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Down the Dwain again

Robbo Robson | 14:04 UK time, Tuesday, 10 March 2009

Well that was one of the more forgettable weekends this Teessider has experienced. Another decent first half showing was turned over by a man who looks increasingly like a chimney sweep's brush in a football kit.

Marouane Fellaini's hair is of such proportions that it's only a matter of time before the ball gets lost in it forever. They'll have to send in a team of tracker Amazonian Indians with machetes in order to recover the blinking thing.

He's all elbows 'n' all, isn't he? Sooner or later some centre-half's going to wake up in a hospital bed and tell the nurses: "I had this dream I was being attacked by a deck-chair" and they'll have to tell him he was marking a big Belgian lad.

Everton midfielder Marouane Fellaini

They tell me Moyes gave his team an almighty rollicking at half-time. That can't be pleasant; them big blue eyes boring into your face like a monster from the deep. Thing is, it worked. And I can't imagine Gareth Southgate - in fact anyone called Gareth - managing a rant of such quality.

He'd probably get as far as: "Aw come on you fellows, let's try and play more nicely in the second half. Remember there's fizzy pop and lemon drizzle cake for anyone who can tackle!"

International sport sometimes picks a sad man up, but not this weekend. In the West Indies, groundsmen continue to prepare marshmallow duvets on which to play cricket.
Apparently during the England innings, a snail started to crawl up the pitch towards Strauss at the same time as Daren Powell hit his delivery stride. Strauss cuffed the ball to the cover boundary but not before he'd tickled the snail down to long leg for a single.
It's supposed to be a battle between bat and ball, for God's sake, and all we've had is utter monotony. KP's had an average series 'cos the lad's bored to tears. And who can blame him?

It doesn't help that the Aussies seem to have prepared for their series in South Africa by listening to Samuel L Jackson in Pulp Fiction. It is a mighty vengeance indeed that they are wreaking and the new-look larrikins will be licking their lips at the thought of Broad, Monty and Swanny trotting in.

Still, there's always the indoor athletics. Britain always do well at that. I've never quite understood why they have them funny banks round the bends. If Usain Bolt ran the indoor 200m they could probably make them vertical and he'd still go round 'em pretty comfortably.

Britain served up two gold medals. Not great. But then again I wonder about all these uppity types in athletics who expect Chambers to go crawl under a rock marked EVIL.
The trouble is, he's winning and winning easily when what the authorities would like him to do is go race donkeys donkeys on Blackpool beach.

Fact is Dwain needs the money, he owes the top brass the equivalent of a week's salary for a Chelsea footballer - that is, an amount it's impossible to understand or indeed deserve.

He's tried US football and rugby league but even though he looks like two dozen bowling balls poured into a pair of tights, he's still a wussy sprinter at heart. So he's left with what he does best. Now if the people who make decisions don't like that then they should bring in legislation to stop it. I mean, in the name of all that is Fatima Whitbread, they are the ones in charge!

The new coach, a Dutch bloke called van Commenee, was reassuringly downbeat about the performance of Team GB (How I hate that phrase - what next I ask you? Fergie leading out Side ManU? Strauss leading out E11?). Van Commonee looks like Andy Warhol would've looked if he'd never discovered peroxide but he's blunt and that might give some of these nellies the kick up the rear they need.

Van Commonee and Warhol

Mind you, you lot aren't stupid. All this misery is rooted in the same old, same old. The Boro. Doom hung over the boozer at six on Sunday. Never has the Blue Bell been bluer or the pork scratchings scratchier. Faces were so long it was like a van Nistelrooy family reunion, and I tell you my friends, even beer loses its appeal when it mixes with the brine of grown men's tears.

So we're left with the usual cliches: we'll concentrate on the league, keep our minds on survival, and know that we can come again.

But that's what the other 16 top-flight teams not in the Cup are saying too and most of them are in our particular bunfight 'cos the big boys have cruelly got their act together just when we thought loveable old rogues like 'Arry and Big Sam might be getting some silverware after all.

I heard Ferguson explaining how hard it is to leave out world-class players week after week and oh I could have wept for the poor soul. What with that and Abramovich losing all them roubles, I just can't get over how cruel life can be sometimes.

Tony Thompson said he'd rather we lost at Goodison than suffer a repeat of 1997 when we lost two Cup Finals and still went down. And in any case who wants to go to Wembley for a semi-final?

Well you know what, Tony - all of us did, you plank. Let's hope Jose can cheer me up this Wednesday, eh?


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