How not to gain the respect of your wife...
So there I was with Mrs. O the other night, watching Sky Sports News, when up popped a caption on the screen. It showed a list of potential future candidates for the Newcastle United manager's job and the best odds you could get from bookmakers on each one getting it.
"Who would you bet on out of those, then?" said Mrs. O.
"Well let's see" I said.
(At this point I adopted the posture of a man who knew what he was talking about, and was only too keen to pass judgement for his wife who, being a New Zealander, was more akin to the oval ball game.)
"Top of the list, we have Mark Hughes, the favourite. Yes, it's a possibility that he might take the job. He's gone a bit stale at Blackburn after all. There's also Harry Redknapp, but he's ruled himself out anyway so that's not going to happen. Terry Venables? No, a bit long in the tooth now. Alan Shearer? Maybe, but he seems quite happy doing his punditry on Match of the Day. Martin Jol? Interesting... worth a long shot. Jose Mourinho? I doubt it. I mean where would you rather live - Portugal or Newcastle? Exactly. And finally, Kevin Keegan. Er, no."
"Why not?" she said.
"Because they tried him once before and he won nothing" I replied.
"Oh" she said.
You can imagine my surprise, and indeed hers, when the same channel broke the news that Kevin Keegan had been named Newcastle boss last night. She walked in through the door having arrived home from work, gawped open-mouthed at the TV and said "Didn't you say...?"
"Yes, I know" I interrupted, "I know. Just don't ask..."
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