My friend N–, with whom I’ve been going to watch Manchester City for the past eight years, was worried about the Queens Park Rangers match.
A couple of months ago, the former Test cricketer Ed Smith wrote a piece for this magazine about English football’s problem with its managers – managers of the England team, that is.
Watching the Spanish Clasico last weekend – which was excellent, how could you take your eye off it?
“I’m so depressed,” I said to my friend Jack as we left White Hart Lane after Spurs’ humiliating defeat by Norwich.
‘‘There were different levels of fear but fear was always there,” says Felicity Aston. This year, she became the first woman to ski solo across Antarctica – and the first person to do so alone without using kites or machines – travelling 1,744 kilometres in 59 days.
I remember, about two months ago, the herd - following the masters-of-the-obvious Match of the Day pundits - saying that Spurs could win the league, they really could.
This is not a time for self-flagellation, just because our two top teams got stuffed in Europe by middling clubs and one team we had never heard of before, Apoel Nicosia, whose total salary would not pay for Wayne's hair trans
After every Big Game, such as an England international or a Cup Final, all newspapers give a rating out of ten for every player.
My next-door neighbour Ian, who is a Gooner, asked me if I would like a ticket for the Big Match. His friend Chris, who sits beside him, was not going.
It's not me, it's you. They are English football's final words to every manager as he heads for the exit.