Yeah, I’m sick

“The first spade will start going into the ground on that [stadium] project by March [2007].”
– George Gillett

“Liverpool’s owners are convinced Roy Hodgson is not the man to lead the club forward in the long-term and are actively considering replacing him midway through the season, should the right candidate become available.”
– John W Henry (As leaked to friends in the media)

I read all those carefully weighted words in the Telegraph and Times, and all I can see is “Please stop complaining, Daddy knows best. ”

Well, hardly.

I was talking to friend about the Hodgson situation earlier today and I came up with a very colourful and heartfelt if somewhat exaggerated and offensive analogy. Watching Hodgson in the role of Liverpool manager, I said, is a lot like seeing your best friend being raped. Day after day after day. Henry is the man who could make it stop. Right here, right now, he could stop this terrible torment. But he won’t. Because it’s not convenient and because he’s not losing any sleep at night. Because he has no emotional involvement and because it’s not his friend being defiled.

To be clear, I don’t want him to feel rushed into appointing another wrong manager. I don’t even expect him to give Rafa his job back. I’ll happily accept any one of two or three caretaker candidates* in the understanding that things will only be resolved in the summer. Just please, make the bad man go away.

*But obviously not Allardyce or O’Neill