Good morning, Spursland! As our old pal theroosevelts indicated in his emotional sign off at the end of last week, I will be taking over the Hoddle for the next five days while he's off enjoying the delights of the dirty Souf, whatever one of those is. Now I imagine some of you are a little worried that the traditions of this fine daily post may not be paid due care and attention during this period, and thus to allay your worries I've already necked a fifth of vodka and switched my keyboard keys around to ensure seamless consistency in the Hoddle's spelling and grammar. Just as Roosie would have wanted. Hope you have a great trip, buddy.
Before scrolling down, please note: I understand a lot of you are probably going to want to discuss Breaking Bad in this Hoddle today. This is of course encouraged, but I would like to remind anyone who wishes to do so to please use spoiler tags.
In a flagrant abuse of mod powers for my own selfish purposes In the interests of keeping this Hoddle free, open and enjoyable for everyone, or whatever, anyone who spoils anything about the latest episode for me will be met with the full force of an insta-ban with a lifespan of the rest of eternity. On this particular issue, I am very much the danger.
And now the "news"
I can only assume that this is because he'll be watching it from a hotel in Panama booked under a fake name, safely separated by a whole ocean from the troubles he fled from at some point this week.
I mention this here because a source implied to me the other day that he's most likely to join our staff once said licence is obtained. Let's also use it as a totally gratuitous opportunity to remember why David Ginola is better than any of us ever will be at anything, ever.
Here's a little bit of insight, my friend- it's because AVB didn't witness you attempting to end Alan Hutton's career during a crucial Champions League place run-in match. A chronic inability to play football somehow couldn't stop Alan Hutton playing football, Danny, what made you think you could do any better?
Somewhere, sweating under his latex Sam Allardyce mask and prosthetic silicone man-boobs and munching down on a liver and onion pie, Kenny Dalglish is finally starting to feel his plan coming together. And also the onset of gout.
In the red corner: the infallible word of Michael Cox. In the blue corner: all of my sensory experiences. At stake: my trust in my own ability to interpret reality.
I like to think that having his feet 'ceremonially' pressed in concrete was actually a contractual prerequisite of him going to play in the A-League.