There's this old joke, credited to some old literary gent; forgotten who first supposedly said it. Each morning on waking up, he opens the newspaper and turns to the obituary pages.
I was in the lavatory at Arsenal, trying to have a pee. At this time of the year, I take my flask of coffee. At half-time, at Arsenal or Spurs, I drink two cups.
What can poor fans do? I mean poor in the sense of sad, pathetic, useless, hopeless, not poor in the sense of having no money.
Wouldn't you like to be a footballer today? It's not just the obvious stuff - all the money and girls you can eat, all the Ferraris and Bentleys you can crash - but the fact that life, generally, is so comfy, nay luxurious.
While in St Barts, on my hols - yes thanks, had a lovely time - I was returning one day to my hotel, Eden Rock, when I noticed this rather nice little football stadium, with a decent-looking stand, handsome entrance.
I enjoyed Nowhere Boy, the film about the early life of John Lennon, but came away pretty worried. As if I haven't got enough to worry about.
Are footballers knobs? That's what the distinguished football philosopher Joey Barton suggested on the Today programme. First, we have to define a knob. Is it the same as a dickhead, twat, wanker or arse?
Every New Year's Eve since we moved into this house in 1965, we have sat down by the log fire and made our predictions for the year ahead.
Half a season, half a season onward, into the valley of the World Cup come the round-up and awards and the story so far.
We're way out west on the affluent edge of London and things are hotting up. On the lounge bar screen, men with thick necks slam into each other.
I'll always remember where I was when I heard that England had been seeded for the World Cup. There was dancing in the street, bonfires on the Heath.
In July this year, Everton opened a new club shop in Liverpool city centre. They already had one at the ground, so they called that Everton One, and the one in the middle of town, Everton Two.
My son was born in 1966 and I ate his placenta. It's been so useful, that being his year of birth, because it was World Cup year, so I can always remember it.
I try to visit the National Football Museum in Preston most years, as it's so amazing, wonderful, marvellous and also depressing, because I think why do I bother, they have all the best stuff, how can I ever compete?
I used to get terrible jaw ache. I tried everything: a plate in my mouth, endless X-rays to see if the bones were dodgy - I was visiting top dentists for years.
There was a period in football that I have never understood. From 1863, when football as we know it was invented, till 1888, when the Football League was formed, there were no leagues.
It is October 1973, and England are playing Poland at Wembley in a crucial World Cup qualifier. The score is 1-1, and Sir Alf Ramsey's team, once emblematic of the Swinging Sixties, are crashing out of the competition.
Gather round, children, and I will tell you some Just So Stories for these confusing times.
Horror, shock, Cristiano Ronaldo in porno video scandal. Must be true, as there it was on the front page of my newspaper.
I'm a celebrity. You might not realise it yet. You might have me down more as a funnyman of moderate repute.
I have seen the future - and it will involve moving a lot of furniture. On 10 October, I watched two live games on the net - England under-21, then England-Ukraine.
I have made a bid for Newcastle United.
I am so pleased by the shape and sound of this season so far. At long last we have three Jacks coming through, establishing themselves in Premiership first teams.
And I’d hoped Ray Stubbs had gone back to teaching geography . . .
First it was neoliberals at home and in America. Then it was their supporters in the media. Now Venezuela's Hugo Chávez has his sights fixed on the real threat to his "Bolivarian Revolution" - golf.