Well another bumper couple of weeks of Easter sports action has been and gone and many sports fans might have required the extra days off work and chocolate treats to ease their suffering.
All the phony religious mumbo jumbo and copious amounts of choclate eggs delivered by a mythical (if not slightly freaky bunny) will not save poor Terry Connor and Wolverhampton. Wanderers have taken their name to heart since Mick 'blimey' McCarthy got the book from the powers that be and probably deserve to spend a year in the championship to teach them a lesson or two. At present they're about as useful as a chocolate teapot.
'Flippin' heck TC we'll be rid of this turgid mob by season's end'
As it stands them might get a few lessons judging by the standard of play happening in the nations second tier at present. Reading a flying and cannot stop winning, Southhampton have a solid squad of players - both look certain to make the automatic promotion spot. Behind them lie West Ham who seem to have taught Big Sam that football is typically played on the ground these days.
So the Championship promotion race seems more or less sealed, but who along with Wolves will be taking the pay cut, shedding the pounds for the Weight watchers division. My gut (no pun intended) leads me to think that Steve Kean may have ridden the mid-season storm from the Blackburn fans but all the courage and fight means nothing without points.
Which leaves Bolton or QPR???
QPR can't keep 11 men on the pitch recently and despite some good results against some of the big boys I can't see Sparky Hughes or their January ringers saving them. Neil Warnock is perhaps already relishing the prospect of facing off against his former employees next year...that is if he's still at Leeds? Then again, he has so many former employees that he turns up against his old mob almost every weekend!
Seeing as its this time of the season where teams are fighting for titles, silverware, survival, promotion and European spots officialdom is under the spotlight more than ever. Decisions can mean the difference for clubs financially and players mentally. Part of football is the human element of error and the consequent banter between supports, managers, pundits and fans will forever feed the game itself.
More and more these days the odd mistake from the blind man/women in black is actually a complete shocker and calls for technological support grows louder with every blow of the whistle.
Fifa and now the PFA have put their two cents in on the matter and Martin Atkinson can apologise the Harry Redknapp but it won't give him any solace or even encourage the people in high places to take action.
Maybe we're just all annoyed that the very two teams we wanted to see in the cup final aren't going to be there, we'll be back on the side of the referees come Wembley at season's end. The old adage is that decisions even themselves out over an enitre season but when it really matters at the business end that adage seems a flawed statement at best.
Aside from moaning about officials another great past time of this nation is the Grand National. Essentially a cluster fuck of horses that seem to run for an enternity with the added challenge of jumping a series of fences, and we're bonkers for it.
People who never watch a horse race for a year want to be on something with a funny name, a lucky number or colour. Oddly dressed bearded men that live in the bookmakers will keep whatever inner knowledge they percieve to have closely guarded to their chest. Eventually they'll all be wrong but when some long shot that had no hope gets up to win they'll be stroking their hirstue faces and telling you they should've seen it coming!
Basically the Grand Naional is like the Melbourne Cup, just not as good. Nearly twice as many nags on the track, over twice as long and with every fence the prospect that your hard earned cash will end up in a heap on the other side or perhaps refuse to jump the damn thing at all.
Of course the debate rages again about whether if the event itself is cruel on the horses, that when a horse breaks a leg why it cannot be saved, etc. Yes its not the nicest thing in the world to hear about but this has been happening since the Grand National was first run in 1839 and still the animal activists, vegetarians and greenies about the place won't leave it alone.
I suppose these soap avoiding, hemp wearing beatnicks are out in the wilderness lament every creature that passes quietly without the national's fanfare and coverage. Or are they actually sitting smugly at home with a bowl of tofu and shot of wheatgrass cursing the fact they bet on a nag called Greenwarrior or something that didn't even make it over the first.
The old adage in this case should be...'don't like it, don't watch it!'
So long sportsfans!
