However – this made me laugh: “… because this season has seen more false dawns than a French & Saunders lookalike convention” – taken from here
Update – looks like he has gone
Mr Megson seems to think things are getting better .
How much is due to Cullip being harder than the rest of the players and therefore telling them to shut their moaning pieholes?
How much is due to the fact that DJ has vanished off the face of the earth and Gareth Taylor’s been shipped out?
How much is due to the fact that “our Jack” is now getting a game?
Who on earth can the fat bastard be, Kris?
Why does this have to happen just after the play-offs move out of reach?
Will this actually result in us getting three points along with decent football?
Hi, it has taken a while for me to flag it on here, but I put a new report on the BBC Nottingham website about a week ago. The report was edited (with my permission) as the editors were a little concerned about a couple of potentially libellous comments(!). The unedited version is below:
The proof of the pudding
Before I start, let me make it clear that what I am about to write has been hovering around in my mind for a good two or three weeks. In fact I was thinking it after the victory to Oldham, never mind the woeful recent performances culminating in embarrassing defeats to Barnsley and MK Dons.
I have lost faith in Gary Megson. I supported his appointment at the time, because we needed someone who was known for managing things on a tight budget, steadying the ship, someone who believed in discipline, and who believed in the Clough-esque principle of building a team from the back. Megson’s reputation suggested that all of these things were possible.
However, what we have seen over the last year is someone who has spent a fortune in transfer fees and wages, who never looked like saving us from the drop, and appears clueless as to how to arrest the club’s freefall. We have a team, who continue to pick up unnecessary bookings and red cards, and who (if the rumour and anecdotal evidence is to be believed) has little or not support in the dressing room. For many fans though, the worst failing is that not only are we losing badly, we are losing in a manner which is negative, bereft of any style or flair, and creating virtually no chances.
Let’s look at the evidence. Firstly, the case for the defence – Megson keeps resorting to the “something rotten” at the core of the club, and despite his unwillingness to go into detail, there is some evidence to support this. Why do managers keep failing at this club? It is not lack of financial support; contrary to popular opinion, I have it on good authority that it was Paul Hart, not Nigel Doughty, who failed to sanction signings that would have strengthened the squad after the play-off season. It is not lack of resources%2
Eric Cantona makes reference to the fact that both United and England are far too dependent on Wayne Rooney – the reference to Robbie Fowler says it all, in my book.
Just like Michael Branch, those who were there will never forget what a total tw*t Matty Fryatt is. Leicester is the perfect club for a fool like him.
(Please note that I have post-edited the above to remove some of the more offensive words I would like to use)
(some of this may be untrue)
Mr Doughty buys his favourite football club and appoints a chairman, chief executive and an up and coming young manager.
It turns out said manager and chairman are shite. He gets rid, one publicly and the other by finding him alternative employment.
He takes on the role of chairman, and, despite wanting an experienced man for the job, appoints one of his back room staff as manager – bowing to public pressure.
Said manager’s son becomes agent to much of the team.
Mr Doughty publicly states that he will not pay any agent fees, whilst also selling the best players to service the debt accrued during the previous manager’s tenure.
The agent’s dad has a monster strop, because his son’s nest egg has gone and he was forbidden from talking to his friends up north. The team falls apart. Mr Doughty vows, privately, never to bow to public pressure again.
An experienced manager is put in place, after Mr Doughty promises him cash to spend. He plugs the obvious gaps in the team and goes on a fantastic run.
The chief executive organises a shambles of a trip to America and a total shambles of a marketing campaign. Mr Doughty plays financial chicken with local government and loses, meaning that the piles of cash promised to the manager never appear. The manager, already a bit loopy following the shenanigans in America, is sent over the edge and spends the rest of the season dribbling in the dugout. The players take full advantage of the manager’s inattentiveness and spend their massive wads of cash on Hennessy and champagne. But only in the hours before a match.
Mr Doughty tires of seeing the money he pays out being spent on booze and hamburgers and calls in a specialist (albeit one who himself has left a club under some sort of weird post-contract agreement). The specialist bets his ginger locks he can sort out the drinking culture and starts yelling immediately.
More players are brought in to try and change the atmosphere at the club. Mr Doughty despises the sight of the original players, the ginger one uses his specialist training in shouting to try and get them back on track. The new players tire of being yelled at and find the stash of cognac round the back of the Main Stand. The fans call for the ginger one to be sacked as they can’t tell that the players are pissed – they passed round some Polos before kick-off. Mr Doughty remembers his vow and stands firm.
The players are so pissed that for one game, on the TV, they actually think they are on “it’s a knockout” and spend most of the game falling over. However, the laughter ringing in their ears isn’t Stuart Hall – rather it’s the nationwide TV audience. They are so pissed for the next game that (all except one) they forget to acknowledge their own supporters and trip up over each other’s feet in the tunnel.
Mr Doughty hangs his head in despair and prays that the ginger one can yell a bit louder. The players are so drunk they can’t even tell which players they are supposed to be passing to. The ginger one finds a bottle of Moet by the Ticket Office and thinks “if you can’t beat ‘em …”
While rumours abound that some of the players are going to walk out on strike, the chairman effectively calls them overpaid lazy wasters. No-one has gone to the press, as threatened (“boo-hoo, I’m paid thousands a week for a ginger man to shout at me for two hours a day”) but the rumours of dressing room splits increase, despite most of the original “trouble-makers” being shipped out (“call that an hour long jog through the mud – you’re out, you ‘orrible little man you”).
We all know that Megson is a vindictive bastard whose idea of coaching is the old “hairdryer” treatment but we also know that most players are overpaid mollycoddled twats with no idea about the real world.
I’m beginning to think that ND and GM are old-school and think they need a bit of discipline whereas the players think they deserve a fresh mango juice and a rub down and if they don’t get it they will go through the motions on the pitch and pocket their fat pay cheques. And it’s the players that will win.
That was dire. Especially the first half. Gerrard couldn’t be bothered. Commons was fat and uninterested. Perch lacked confidence. Morgan had a fat mare. Holt (G) must be wondering what he has let himself in for. Eaden was just plain shite. Only Tyson looked like he gave a shit (and earnt himself two yellow cards because of it). To be fair to Megson, he took Eaden off, put Holt the 1st on and moved Perch out of central midfield and we started to actually hold on to the ball, but by then it was all too late (although Clingan, in particular, benefitted from having the ball played to feet and looked pretty good in the second half).
Megson has talked about a “Judas in our midst”. There is talk on the internet of a “gang of six” players encouraging the other players not to turn up for training. There are rumours that Megson has lost the entire dressing room (and it certainly looked that way). I still think that it doesn’t seem to matter who we sign or who the manager is, as soon as they get here they are shite and as soon as they leave they become good again. Meaning that it must be something to do with the culture or the running of the club.
I have no confidence in Megson being the man to turn things round and I hope he has the dignity to do a Kinnear and resign. I have no confidence in the fans giving his successor enough time to fix things as the problems obviously run deeper than the Trent. The players are a total disgrace – I don’t care if you hate your boss – you are still being paid a substantial wedge of cash, by us, to kick a fucking ball around with some effort and passion. And I have no confidence in Mark Arthur or Nigel Doughty having a clue what to do to sort this rubbish out.
We are fucked.
Read this, scroll down and check out the picture of superhunk (and Forest reject) Nigel Quashie!