Roman's goose

Don't expect Chelsea's new manager to be a messiah

There is one thing still mystifying me about the arrival of Guus Hiddink at Chelsea. Not his name, because the commentators have decided we are calling him Goose, as in the bird, not Hoose, as in the Scottish for house.

Roman Abramovich will always remain a delicious enigma. Does the club's owner speak English yet? We don't know. He doesn't appear vain, in it for ego, but if it were all just a toy he would have got fed up by now, thrown it out of his cradle. He's obviously weird. At Watford last weekend, he didn't know what to do with his hands or his feelings, clapping and shaking at all the wrong moments while Goose sat impassively. Abramovich looked like a Big Issue seller, taken pity on outside McDonald's and treated to his first-ever game.

I could run on the pitch and mop his brow.

If asked, I could say I was Harry Davies, ex-Stoke star, new deputy assistant sponge technician

But he's brilliant for football, old Roman, bringing us so much entertainment, amusement and food for thought. We now know money can't buy success or happiness, not in football, as we once assumed. But I do feel a bit sorry for him - all that loot unloaded, and all he's got is grief.

He's now given us so much to look forward to. Another messiah, hailed by all, will slowly deflate, become oh so horribly human before our very eyes, while Man United run away with the League.

Any road up, the bit that really baffled me was when Goose turned up for his first training session. You could clearly see that on his Puffa jacket, as worn by all training staff, were the initials G H. How did they do that?

Down in the bowels of Stamford Bridge, elves fresh from Siberia must have been up all night sewing G H on to every conceivable article he might wear during the few months, perhaps just days, he remains as Chelsea gaffer.

It never used to be like this. I have no memory of Bill Nicholson at Spurs' training ground having his initials on his tracksuit top - mainly because he seemed to live in his demob suit. Nor did his assistant Eddie Bailey, the physio Cecil Poynton or the kit man Johnny Wallis. That was the total extent of the training and background staff: four elderly-ish blokes, at a club that won the Double. Now most Prem clubs have about 30 thrusting specialists from a vast array of disciplines: video managers, boffins who measure body water, blokes who park the Ferraris.

No wonder they need their initials on their kit. They wouldn't be able to find them otherwise. Initials also tell them who's who. Must be difficult with all the constant changes.

Remember that joker a few years ago who came out of the crowd wearing the full Man United kit and joined the team in the pre-match photo? I have this fantasy every time I'm at White Hart Lane of buying a club jacket, adding the initials H D, then sitting down on the bench. They have a row of benches these days, to accommodate all the experts. I'd get a brilliant view, hear all the secrets, offer the odd bit of advice. When some big bully had felled Modric, I'd run on the pitch with a sponge and mop his poor brow. No one would notice, not if I had a club jacket with my initials, as long as I wasn't tempted to wave to my wife and children watching on the telly. If asked, I could say I was Harry Davies, ex-Stoke star, new assistant deputy sponge technician.

Hold on; I've got it. I should have thought of it before. We know Abramovich has now started an economy drive. It wasn't elves on the night shift. They're reusing the kit worn by Glenn Hoddle, in charge of Chelsea quite recently. Well, eight months ago...