That was horrid, Henry
It's come to this, boys and girls. Thierry Henry, a man who lit up our league with runs so mazy you'd expect to find them at Hampton Court, the King of the Va Va Voom, charming, eloquent, possibly a bit up himself but you can forgive that... a player whose cut-in-from-the-left-curl-it-in-to-the-far-corner finishes almost have his patent on it, has cheated his team into the World Cup finals.
I'm in a state of utter shock. I remember Henry getting flak for a 'dive' in the 2006 World Cup to win a free-kick from which France scored a winner against Spain and I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Well, not anymore.
It's not good enough to say 'I handled it, but I'm not the referee.' It's like an admission of guilt from a petty thief when he knows it's too late for the police to arrest him.
I'm Derek Robson. People call me Robbo. Legend has it I was raised in the furnace and smog of Teesside. Some might say I took the hard road. I like to tell folk I had trials for Middlesbrough, for Hartlepool and for burglary (not guilty). I've always loved sport. My job is to say it as I see it - whether it's in the bar of the Blue Bell or on this blog. You won't find me calling a spade a soil-redistribution implement.
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