Nowt for North London

So that’s it, North Londoners. Neither of you are going to win owt this year, and speaking as an ardent Northerner I really wanted both of you to bag the big games yesterday.

"Nah mate I said I'm a dodgy geezer, not a tax-dodgy geezer"

Spurs were desperately unlucky at the Etihad. I confess to being one of them soft-headed fools who’s fallen for the hype when it comes to ‘Arry’s ‘Eroes. First off, don’t they play nice footy? Fast, slick, and with two speedy wingers. It’s like the good old days innit? Matthews and Finney. Vava and Garrincha. David Armstrong and whoever we had on the right-hand side at Ayresome Park.

They’ve got that cast-iron Cockney geezer in charge too. He’s lovely ain’t he? He’s like El Tel meets Mike Reid meets Walker out of Dad’s Army. He’s like Del Boy with a bit of savvy.

And of course they haven’t spent a fortune acquiring this outfit. (They have.)

And they’re up against that blinking Eye-talian and his crudely assembled mercenary millionaires. Yeah. It’s not been a good week for your Italian manager. If it’s not one of ‘em waving imaginary cards like a petulant tour guide, it’s Paolo Di Canio insisting he will keep doing the hokey-cokey on the touchline no matter what they tell him! http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/16670824.stm

Oh and there’s the skipper of the Costa Concordia. Nuff said.

But the true Italian villain of the piece is the tyre-track-headed nutter Mario Balotelli. Crikey has there ever been a bigger bag of contradictions? He makes Gazza look like a high-achieving actuary.

Here's Mario in Mad March training.

I’m slightly bewildered by them that think his stamp on Scott Parker’s head was accidental. Although I must admit when I’m off balance I tend to look for the nearest head to stamp on to get me right again.

People have suggested only Mario knows what he was thinking at the time. On previous evidence Mario doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s thinking which is why he finds it so easy to stroke home a penalty with the last kick of the game.

Lescott’s assault on Kaboul was more clear-cut but every time I watch that ref I wish he was wearing a Webbcam. The world must look lovely through Howard’s eyes: he sees friends shaking hands, saying ‘How do you do?’ They’re really saying ‘I love you’.

Nevertheless Defoe should've got more than a faint metatarsal on that sitter and Ledley should've stayed on his feet (maybe them old knees just gave way again?). It all meant that the bad guys got by again.

I hear Spurs have put a £150 million price tag on Gareth Bale’s head. (Well I imagine they’ll just dangle it off one of his lugs – I mean you could hang a weighty duffle-coat off ‘em couldn’t you?) Well I hope they keep hold of the lad. When he pins his ears back – and just imagine how fleet he’d be if he had that particular operation – he’s terrifying, and yet he can stroke a cracker like that over a keeper like Hart from a standing position too. If he could only rewrite history and get himself born in Shrewsbury he’d be blinking perfect.

Meanwhile Arsenal continue to prove that in Arsene Wenger they have a manager whose powers are on the wane. The substitution of Oxlade-Chamberlain – a footballer not a village in the Chilterns – for Andrei Arsewipe was dubious enough even before Antonio Valencia went through him like a Ferrari passing through a slum.

Arshavin is getting a whole heap of flak from Gooners this season, presumably on the basis that if they keep giving him lots of shit he might find he has a shit to give. Putting him on at the expense of the only threat Arsenal possessed all afternoon was akin to recasting Die Hard with Alan Carr in the lead role.

But then Arsenal owe their entire season to Robin Van Persie. It’s ironic that in the one season in which the guy stays fit he plays with a bunch of players who aren’t fit to lace his boots.

I kept thinking of Despicable Me. RVP is the criminal genius and everyone else is a furry one-eyed yellow numbskull assistant.

RVP and a myriad Rosickys

How Wenger can continue to select Johann Djourou is beyond me. He’s like a door-knob that keeps coming off in your hand – it looks okay but it doesn’t work and is really bloody annoying.

Time to groom Wenger's successor methinks and get him a comfy chair upstairs.

Capello was at the Emirates. I’m guessing that Walcott might just be overlooked given that at present he can’t pass, shoot or cross and Oxo-Chamberpot was twenty-three times better. But then Fabio still picks Glen Johnson – the English Djourou – ahead of Micah Richards, so Gawd knows who he’ll be picking.

But Spurs apart, those that trail in the Mancs’ wake all look several woggles short of a cub pack. Dalglish’s Liverpool features a breathtakingly expensive assembly of ordinariness. Kenny slated them for the defeat at Bolton but it’s not come as a surprise to the rest of us.

Here's Andy watching another game go by.

Chelsea’s stumbling seem to be focussed ever more on Pretty-Boy Nando. You might say that Dalglish got a fantastic deal on Torres were it not for the fact he spent that 50 million and another ten and a bit on Henderson and Carroll.

And at least Torres is brighter around the park. Only the yawning of the most open of goals makes him panic like a child at the top of a big dipper.

And Newcastle? Well they got beat 5-2 at Fulham. Which is a bit like a baby stealing candy of a codger.

So a two-horse race it is. And despite their position you just can’t see United, shorn of defenders and more often than not downright ropy, hanging on to the coat-tails of Citeh. It could start to be a breeze if the Sky Blues keep getting away with forearm smashes and river-dancing on the temples of others. It’s not like they need the help.