Lots of things have become clear this season, such as: only three teams have the remotest chance of winning the Premiership, and Carlisle United will need the miracle of all miracles to stay in the Third Division, but there are still far too many mysteries.
Why is Jamie Redknapp captain of Spurs? I suddenly saw him the other week and my first reaction was heh up, what's he doing here. Lost, poor soul, wandered on to the pitch by mistake. Then I remembered that two years ago he had been acquired on a free transfer - far too expensive, but Spurs do throw their money around - and been injured ever since. Spurs is of course a charity, taking in the sick, the lame, the homeless, but why the hell has he been made captain? He has no connection with the club, is not an international, can't play, can't lead. Very mysterious. Does he know something, or is David Pleat in love with him? He has got gorgeous hair. We are told that Rohan Ricketts and Stephane Dalmat no longer appear because Pleat doesn't like them any more. So are Pleat and Redknapp going strong? Photos, please.
How does Brian Marwood find work? As one of Sky's commentators, he is so wooden that he makes Clive Allen look hyperactive. He tells us what we can already see, repeats every banal remark twice, and spins out sentences by adding "in this football match". We know it's a football match, Brian. That's why we tuned in. Then he goes all schoolmasterly and says "we've talked about that earlier" so we know, dear God, that he's going to repeat himself again - and that's exactly what he does. And if he says "exactly what he does" again, I'll scream.
It must be a plot by the Ron Atkinson fan club. The more that bores like Marwood and Allen appear on the screen, the more we all shout, "Bring on Big Ron." At least his nonsense is amusing.
Who ate all the pies? . . . is now clearly totally out of date. The modern version is: "Who drank all the champagne?" Watching Fulham the other day, I noticed a hoarding behind the goals saying "Champagne Lanson - the champagne of Fulham FC". They haven't even got their own ground, yet they are wallowing in bubbly, probably bathe in it, wash their jockstraps in it. Who pays? Is it free? If you know, Fulham season ticketholders, give us a bell. Or a bottle.
Michael Owen, does he smell? He hasn't had a good season, poor poppet, but I've noticed that when he does score a goal, there are few of the monster hugs and passionate kisses his team-mates used to slobber on him. All theories welcome.
What do managers and coaches shout from the touchlines? Often we can read their lips, or body language, but I suspect most of it is total rubbish, which is why players long for the second half to get out of earshot. I have a suggestion. Why not play the video of a game and get the manager to talk us through the bollocks he was screaming at the time? If he can remember.
When did Steve McManaman starting playing with his hands? I couldn't keep my eyes off them while at a Man City game. He's either pointing with them when he's on the ball, indicating where he wants players to move for his cunning pass, or waving his arms at them afterwards for being stupid. Even when he's running around, going nowhere in particular, his arms are flapping like a penguin's. Is it something he picked up with Real Madrid? Should Becks be careful where he puts his hands?
What will Becks do next? That's the numero uno mystery. Will he join Chelsea, as the clever clogs are predicting? I think he will return, once Madrid's manager gets the push. But not to Chelsea. He'll return to the club his family in Essex always supported, where his son is now training, to a team about to have a vacancy for a new captain, only those with gorgeous hair need apply. Yup, look out for his arrival this summer at Spurs. Not just as captain, but joint owner. The present gang are clearly about to sell up and he and Posh have got the money ready. The manager's seat has been deliberately kept empty, waiting for someone tough and determined. Perfect for Posh. And a perfect way to keep an eye on her hubby . . .