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Blessed Are The Bookmakers…

George Caveney is not available for children’s parties.

He’s already got an egg in a spoon and his feet tied together Bless the bookies. As inspiring and positive as ever.

Maybe it’s not their fault. Maybe the mild-mannered pools coupon-wielding old boy next to his late morning pint is a dying breed. Maybe the moronic flood of internet odds on everything from the colour of WAGS’ knickers to the likelihood of Hansen saying something comprehensible is now driven by the equally cynical cyber-gambling numbnuts that used to be the nerds we didn’t notice. Woah! Sorry about that.

I’m jolted out of my torpor once again by annoyance and despair. Annoyance at cheap cynicism, and well, despair at general nonsense like this. Like
what? Oh, that Roberto Mancini is already favourite to be first of the EPL   bosses to have his head cut off. Yes, it’s the sack-race bollocks again.
About as useful as the news websites asking ‘Could psycho half man, half bullock Raoul Moat have been caught earlier?’ Yeah, maybe, but he wasn’t,
so let’s focus on what matters, shall we? It’s early July! The World Cup isn’t over yet! More the point, it’s bad enough that bookies are already offering odds on EPL manager sackings, but almost enough to justify genocide that people are writing articles on the subject. And
before anyone cleverly points out that’s exactly what I’m doing… I KNOW.

We’ve only just stopped dissecting the motivation and portent of Scarf Ace’s new hairdo. Cor, eh? That’s news! Look at his hair! What a scoop! That
makes all the difference! Wonder where he got it done? Let’s see… 7-2 on it costing him more than £45. Did he get a massage and a happy finish, too?

17-4 on that, with a free 50p bet on how far a monkey can throw its own pooh. Who reckons he had an itchy neck all the way home (Yes 4-3, No 20-1) and had to throw away his prize pullover (blue or charcoal?) because you never get all the nagging bristly bits out? And so on… Belt up.

Let’s deal with this here and now, shall we? Seeing as some genius t*rd has dreamt up the idea, let’s talk about it. I very, very much doubt Mancini will be first to go. I can’t see him going anywhere till fourth or better is mathematically impossible (something bookies will know lots about), and several will fall on their swords before then. I’d even put money on it, if I really had no imagination and nothing better to do. False dawns, hasty purchases and knee reactions are the high-profile part of the recent story at Eastlands. But dare I say it, I honestly think this is it – our time has come (6-1 each way on top three). A golden opportunity is upon us, and if anyone can lead City to glory, Roberto can. I think he’s a safe pair of hands.

I don’t give a monkeys about his hair – and nor should you. Even if it does entertain you like a gurgling infant between pictures of big boobs or ads for enormous TVs, and prevent you exercising any independent thought or objective reasoning. There are far more likely candidates for the choppy chop-chop than he. In fact, apart from Ferguson, Moyes and Ancleotti, I’d put any of the others much further up the queue for a pay-off than Mancini. Hughton, McCarthy and Bruce perhaps edge it (9-2) simply due to the type of club they’re at. And Hodgson if he
can’t stop the rot pretty quickly (10-3). But Mancini? Naaaaaaaaaaa….. (rank outsider at 43-1). See, it’s annoying, isn’t it?

For a start he’s put his foot firmly down with the troublesome element, the flair players that might have made our hair stand on end at times, but whose influence as peevish children on the training ground and in the dressing room was more notable. We know who they are, and they’ve either gone already or been taped up and shoved in a broom cupboard. Good. And by the look of it, he’s also got Cook and Mansour at arm’s length when it comes to anything relating to players. ‘Here’s what we need, here’s who can do it.’ he points out – and off they go to try and make the club’s dreams come true. It was always going to take a strong character to do that. Of course, there’s still plenty of time pre-season for Cook to infuriate and embarrass us all (4-3 on a tabloid gaff before the end of July), but already I sense a very different City from last season’s.

Unless we lose our first ten games, or he’s found drunk and naked in the car park with an inflatable banana up his jemima (53-1 – must have photo
evidence), I reckon Mancini’s safe. So shut up, you lazy bookie-affiliated pond-life (Odds of that: 1,000,000 – 1).

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Article title: Blessed Are The Bookmakers…

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