YANNY MAC'S TEN MINUTE FOOTBALL MANAGEMENT CAREER

I'm often asked by desperate people in these austere times, who I think should manage England?
And my reply is always "Kevin Keegan".

With the average weekly wage for a Premiership football player at around £30k + bonuses, it's easy to see why so many of them opt for a career in management, in order to provide at least one meal a day for their families.
In terms of revenue, the Premiership brings little to 'the economy'.
It's financial impact is akin to one of a small supermarket chain like Fine Fare or Gateways.

It's therefore essential that everyone in the UK (including immigrants and foreigny-looking students) get behind our national sport, and support at least two or three top flight teams.
Season tickets can be had for as little as £900;
but if the thought of hanging out with your boss or your local MP doesn't thrill you, a Sky TV package can be had for just a little bit more.
Replica shirts are essential at a little over £50, so it's easy to see why undergraduates would rather get a job than waste their valuable cash on tuition fees.
(More about getting a Ten Minute Job next month).

Bob Shankly once said that football was about believing in life after death, and as a neo-socialist like me, I think he deserves more praise than he gets.
We can't all be Antony Worrall Thompson, so here is my recipe for a short career in football management.

I call this quick-fix special 'Get Your Benefits Out For The Moyes'.


1. Don't let the poor salaries put you off.
Australians eat fruit and salary more than SEVEN times a day, and they are all rich, and very beautiful.
(see Tim Cahill).

2. Try to have a continental sounding name.
Ancelloti, Mourinho, Plopp and Salami are all very exotic, and make you sound a lot posher than you really are.
(David and Ron are quite boring).

3. Add lots of ginger, some oak-aged Fellaini and lashings of Irn Bru.

4. Wear shoes that don't fit you.
Simmer gently.

5. Serve, way above your means, but way below your potential.

Ingredients:

Multi-Billion Dollar US Holding Corporation (essential in 'Soccer' recipes!)
Russian Oligarchs
Media Moguls
Sheep (lots of)
Under-ripe management skills (optional)
Over-ripe players (optional)
A huge dollop of arrogance to serve.

BRING BACK MARY WHITEHOUSE (Alys Fowler)

The little economy fish-finger is up to her old tricks again.

I've written about the green-digit goblin in the past.
She has form when it comes to the sexualisation of our multi media world.
I don't mind Carol Klein or Monty Don getting a little jiggy in the strawberry patch, IF (and only IF) it serves a purpose, and does not refer to genitalia or readers' wives.

But Fowler has gone too far this weekend.
Yet again.

She starts her Guardian Weekend supplement piece by informing us that she pops off to the shed to look at her secret stash of 'Garden Porn'.
Apparently she gets off at looking at pics of bushes in full bloom.
Now, I'm all for a hirsute leylandi, but I don't think this warrants being referred to as 'porn'.
Editorial work immediately goes online these days, so imagine the horror of a part-time gardener entering (and I use that word carefully) search terms into his or her Google, and coming up with an article about pornography.

Amateur + Gardener + Tool + Muck + Redhead + Snow + Muff = moral minefield.

Fowler goes on to say she wishes she didn't have to resort to 'Garden Porn' because she prefers the real thing.
I would go on to say that the 'real thing' is probably indoors, in the warm, waiting for her to stop going blind in the potting-shed.

I would further go on to say "Bring Back Mary Whitehouse".
I've had just about enough of this commodification of Mother Nature, and her feminine wiles.