Rangers boss Ally McCoist has insisted the club have no plans to offload any of their star players in the January transfer window, including key defender Lee Wallace.
The ongoing financial difficulties at Ibrox have been well documented over recent years and the club continue to struggle as a new company, losing £14.4 million during their first 13 months of trading.
Clearly the lack of top flight football and European action is playing a major part in Rangers' struggles and there has been talk in the transfer betting news of a few players leaving the Old Firm side next month.
After an impressive start to the season for both club and country, Scotland left-back Wallace appears to be at the top of the list of potential candidates to make a move away from Ibrox in January.
However McCoist has made it clear that he is under no pressure from the powers that be at the club to sell his prized assets.
The former Scotland striker told RangersTV:
"I've had discussions with board members and the chief executive and there has certainly been no indication at all that we have to sell. If that's the case, I'm sure I'll be informed of that but until that moment comes we obviously want to keep hold of our better and best players."
"You'd have to say Lee certainly comes into that category and in moving forward, which the club hopes to do, we'd be delighted to keep our better and best players."
Rangers look set to win the Scottish League One title at a canter, something the current Scottish football odds clearly suggest, but if they want to make their return to the top flight as quickly as possible, they can't rest on their laurels and keeping players like Wallace is clearly important to the ambitious McCoist.
Showing posts with label Transfer Gossip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Transfer Gossip. Show all posts
Friday, December 13, 2013
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Deadline Day Cult
And so transfer deadline day came and went.
Celtic got a left back but not the nameless big name who cropped up in countless anonymous rumours.
Rangers did nothing except turn down a big bid from a nameless big club in an anonymous rumour that may or may not have come from someone who really should have scored in a cup final all those years ago.
Inverness signed a Chippendale. Which might answer more questions about Terry Butcher than we ever cared to ask.
Hearts signed midfielder Callum Tapping from Spurs. If you can beat 'em join 'em. I'll resist a Tapping up joke.
Edwin de Graaf generated a move out of Easter Road. Craig Easton is apparently not only still alive but also now a Dunfermline player.
No matter how engineered the coverage, all of it was almost insufferably dull.
But this is Scottish football so we also have a jury making a bad decision that will now see a football match contrive to drag us into a debate about the whole Scottish judicial system.
We have Peter Lawwell becoming Jimmy Tarbuck.
And, as James Beattie hitched out of Ibrox on the back of an ice cream van, we have the taxman arriving in a hearse apparently not intent on freezing bank accounts. Yet.
At the same time we were all given the opportunity to follow the live totaliser as English transfer window spending ticked above the £400 million mark.
Used to be that the only totaliser you saw was on Blue Peter as well behaved children raised earnest money for worthy causes. Now you have eight year olds loitering outside football stadiums at 10pm hoping to catch a glimpse of Peter Crouch.
This is the revolution and it is being televised.
All of it played out to a soundtrack of increasing hysteria provided by an ex-Scotsport buffoon who has somehow turned his pantomime buffoonery into a kind of cult (sic) hero status.
Transfer deadline day: confirmation that Scottish football's screwed, confirmation that football across this sceptred isle is obscenely out of touch with reality.
And you know what?
It's all Jim White's fault. The cult.
Celtic got a left back but not the nameless big name who cropped up in countless anonymous rumours.
Rangers did nothing except turn down a big bid from a nameless big club in an anonymous rumour that may or may not have come from someone who really should have scored in a cup final all those years ago.
Inverness signed a Chippendale. Which might answer more questions about Terry Butcher than we ever cared to ask.
Hearts signed midfielder Callum Tapping from Spurs. If you can beat 'em join 'em. I'll resist a Tapping up joke.
Edwin de Graaf generated a move out of Easter Road. Craig Easton is apparently not only still alive but also now a Dunfermline player.
No matter how engineered the coverage, all of it was almost insufferably dull.
But this is Scottish football so we also have a jury making a bad decision that will now see a football match contrive to drag us into a debate about the whole Scottish judicial system.
We have Peter Lawwell becoming Jimmy Tarbuck.
And, as James Beattie hitched out of Ibrox on the back of an ice cream van, we have the taxman arriving in a hearse apparently not intent on freezing bank accounts. Yet.
At the same time we were all given the opportunity to follow the live totaliser as English transfer window spending ticked above the £400 million mark.
Used to be that the only totaliser you saw was on Blue Peter as well behaved children raised earnest money for worthy causes. Now you have eight year olds loitering outside football stadiums at 10pm hoping to catch a glimpse of Peter Crouch.
This is the revolution and it is being televised.
All of it played out to a soundtrack of increasing hysteria provided by an ex-Scotsport buffoon who has somehow turned his pantomime buffoonery into a kind of cult (sic) hero status.
Transfer deadline day: confirmation that Scottish football's screwed, confirmation that football across this sceptred isle is obscenely out of touch with reality.
And you know what?
It's all Jim White's fault. The cult.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Time For A Holiday
When I were a lad summer was a very different beast.
Inspired by Seve we'd take to the fairways, dedicated to mastering the Royal and Ancient game well enough to give Nick Faldo the beating he so richly deserved.
We'd take to the tennis court to out boom-boom Boris Becker.
Football would take a back seat, save for the odd snippet of transfer gossip and the release of the official squad photograph, never fully complete without a sprinkling of mullets and a selection of ill advised moustaches.
In odd years there would be a new strip launch. Every four years the season would be extended with a World Cup. Invariably Scotland would be there for a run out in the opening phase, a run out that could be valiant and hopeless in the same breath, a run out that was forever futile.
Times change.
Progress is good. Sometimes.
But this year's summer break has brought with it a gnawing despair, a blanket of depression that is only partly explained by the Scottish summer's decision to schedule itself over five days in April.
Looking at a summer without a major men's international tournament always leads to a feeling of emptiness.
But that's an old school reaction. There is always football being played somewhere. It doesn't require much technical wizardry to hunt it down and consume it.
So there is football. But there is no league football in Scotland or England.
And that brings us to the real problem this summer. The lack of league football amplifies a modern curse: there's too much football.
Even when the game isn't being played we're constantly subjected to it.
The papers projectile vomit a thousand transfer rumours a week.
The actual signing of a player is greeted with orgasmic delight, the manager in us all giving our definitive verdict on where Player A will slot in to Team Y and how Player B will transform the title hopes of Team Z.
In Scotland the SFA's AGM was given more coverage than most cabinet meetings, Stewart Regan suddenly achieving a strange kind of campaigner for change celebrity, as if he had proposed a cure for child poverty.
The Machiavellian machinations at Fifa came under more intense scrutiny in the British media than many a genocidal dictator would expect.
Priorities? Nah, not so much.
Over the last few days we've seen the footballing world convulsed by the saga of Aston Villa's vacant manager's office.
Alex McLeish is a villain to Birmingham fans. He's not good enough for Aston Villa supporters.
He's a top bloke, a great manager and he deserves his chance according to many of the journalists that he has so assiduously courted throughout his career.
He's a reasonable manager who may or may not take Villa to the level they hope to reach. The local rivalry angle is interesting. But mainly it's interesting to readers of the Birmingham Post.
Call off the Newsnight special.
One does wonder if any of Winston Churchill's cross the floor episodes were subjected to such forensic discussion and comment.
Some examples from a blizzard. In a way it's admirable, the skill with which such thin stories are picked up, stretched and relayed with such solemn sincerity.
Never in the history of sport has so little been reported at such length by so many.
"This really does matter," the Sky Sports presenter's body language tells us.
"This is HUGE," we read between the lines of a hundred newspaper articles, a thousand blog posts.
As a football aficionado this should delight me.
If football is your fetish you're never more than an hour or so away from your next orgy of drama, rumour, fact, fiction, speculation, resignation, signing, sacking and takeover.
Yet very little actually changes with all this coverage. We might listen to it, devour it. But those that matter don't. Sepp Blatter still runs Fifa, Randy Lerner is still free to plot an idiosyncratic managerial course at Villa Park.
The seriousness with which the latest news is delivered and the po-faced reaction from supporters and pundits is astounding. Where’s the fun gone? There’s something wrong with football if it becomes a matter of life and death, so let a little light in. Smile. What’s the worst that can happen?
Of course I’m guilty as well; the ego trip that is running a blog is my own contribution to the transient nonsense pumped out about football every day.
I could completely shut down over the summer. But I'm too addicted to page views and bounce rates.
That too brings uneasiness. Every blog that thinks it's a somebody is producing a manifesto for next season, the humble blog morphing into a copy of the mainstream media it pretends to disdain.
(For the record this blog proposes to stay the same next season, I predict that by March 2012 a blog that is simply a blog will be at the forefront of a retro blogging craze.)
What started out as a way of offering an alternative becomes increasingly desperate to become what it once railed against, the ordinary punter again loses out.
We all need a break, we need to grab our holiday with the same passion as a newly hirsute Wayne Rooney has grabbed his.
I know that Rooney is on holiday because I read about it. Just like I read about it his hair transplant, his marital troubles and his piece of brinkmanship over wages with Manchester United.
Not one of those stories added anything to my enjoyment of his well-taken goal in the final of the Champions League. But he's a footballer and football sells so a waddling Wayne on the beach is fair game.
Too much isn't always a good thing. Football is too bloated, too over-exposed and too hyped.
How can we expect people to get excited by the start of a new season if we've spent the summer telling them to get excited by an emailed resignation or a vote by the blazerati?
We can't. And the effect is that the consumption of football will continue to change. No longer will we join the throng, bond with friends and strangers in the communal experience of watching games at football grounds.
Our senses deadened, we'll demand our football in the bombastically branded bite sized chunks offered by TV companies.
We'll sit on the sofa mistaking bad punditry for insight, mistaking a commentator's high-pitched wail for real excitement, mistaking a succession of bland managerial quotes for a proper match report.
Brain dead and subservient we'll think we're on the inside, that managers, players and journalists, all of them choreographed by press officers and PR men that we never see, are letting us into their confidence.
And our clubs will move ever further away from us, the media having collaborated in giving us the impression that wall to wall coverage every day of the year is increasing our access, moving us closer to the action.
We'll believe that even as we're being shuffled ever further from centre stage, the normal fan now the least desirable consumer that our football clubs want.
And something will be lost. Something that might not matter as long as the money keeps rolling in but that will be sorely missed if ever these footballing houses built on sand begin to teeter.
Getting our summer back would be a step towards getting our game back, of redefining football as something other than the hypersized monopoly it has become. I won't hold my breath.
In the meantime I'm off to get ready for Wimbledon.
Unless I hear any rumours about Hibs signing a striker. Then I might nip out for a paper and flick over to Sky Sports News.
Just in case...
Inspired by Seve we'd take to the fairways, dedicated to mastering the Royal and Ancient game well enough to give Nick Faldo the beating he so richly deserved.
We'd take to the tennis court to out boom-boom Boris Becker.
Football would take a back seat, save for the odd snippet of transfer gossip and the release of the official squad photograph, never fully complete without a sprinkling of mullets and a selection of ill advised moustaches.
In odd years there would be a new strip launch. Every four years the season would be extended with a World Cup. Invariably Scotland would be there for a run out in the opening phase, a run out that could be valiant and hopeless in the same breath, a run out that was forever futile.
Times change.
Progress is good. Sometimes.
But this year's summer break has brought with it a gnawing despair, a blanket of depression that is only partly explained by the Scottish summer's decision to schedule itself over five days in April.
Looking at a summer without a major men's international tournament always leads to a feeling of emptiness.
But that's an old school reaction. There is always football being played somewhere. It doesn't require much technical wizardry to hunt it down and consume it.
So there is football. But there is no league football in Scotland or England.
And that brings us to the real problem this summer. The lack of league football amplifies a modern curse: there's too much football.
Even when the game isn't being played we're constantly subjected to it.
The papers projectile vomit a thousand transfer rumours a week.
The actual signing of a player is greeted with orgasmic delight, the manager in us all giving our definitive verdict on where Player A will slot in to Team Y and how Player B will transform the title hopes of Team Z.
In Scotland the SFA's AGM was given more coverage than most cabinet meetings, Stewart Regan suddenly achieving a strange kind of campaigner for change celebrity, as if he had proposed a cure for child poverty.
The Machiavellian machinations at Fifa came under more intense scrutiny in the British media than many a genocidal dictator would expect.
Priorities? Nah, not so much.
Over the last few days we've seen the footballing world convulsed by the saga of Aston Villa's vacant manager's office.
Alex McLeish is a villain to Birmingham fans. He's not good enough for Aston Villa supporters.
He's a top bloke, a great manager and he deserves his chance according to many of the journalists that he has so assiduously courted throughout his career.
He's a reasonable manager who may or may not take Villa to the level they hope to reach. The local rivalry angle is interesting. But mainly it's interesting to readers of the Birmingham Post.
Call off the Newsnight special.
One does wonder if any of Winston Churchill's cross the floor episodes were subjected to such forensic discussion and comment.
Some examples from a blizzard. In a way it's admirable, the skill with which such thin stories are picked up, stretched and relayed with such solemn sincerity.
Never in the history of sport has so little been reported at such length by so many.
"This really does matter," the Sky Sports presenter's body language tells us.
"This is HUGE," we read between the lines of a hundred newspaper articles, a thousand blog posts.
As a football aficionado this should delight me.
If football is your fetish you're never more than an hour or so away from your next orgy of drama, rumour, fact, fiction, speculation, resignation, signing, sacking and takeover.
Yet very little actually changes with all this coverage. We might listen to it, devour it. But those that matter don't. Sepp Blatter still runs Fifa, Randy Lerner is still free to plot an idiosyncratic managerial course at Villa Park.
The seriousness with which the latest news is delivered and the po-faced reaction from supporters and pundits is astounding. Where’s the fun gone? There’s something wrong with football if it becomes a matter of life and death, so let a little light in. Smile. What’s the worst that can happen?
Of course I’m guilty as well; the ego trip that is running a blog is my own contribution to the transient nonsense pumped out about football every day.
I could completely shut down over the summer. But I'm too addicted to page views and bounce rates.
That too brings uneasiness. Every blog that thinks it's a somebody is producing a manifesto for next season, the humble blog morphing into a copy of the mainstream media it pretends to disdain.
(For the record this blog proposes to stay the same next season, I predict that by March 2012 a blog that is simply a blog will be at the forefront of a retro blogging craze.)
What started out as a way of offering an alternative becomes increasingly desperate to become what it once railed against, the ordinary punter again loses out.
We all need a break, we need to grab our holiday with the same passion as a newly hirsute Wayne Rooney has grabbed his.
I know that Rooney is on holiday because I read about it. Just like I read about it his hair transplant, his marital troubles and his piece of brinkmanship over wages with Manchester United.
Not one of those stories added anything to my enjoyment of his well-taken goal in the final of the Champions League. But he's a footballer and football sells so a waddling Wayne on the beach is fair game.
Too much isn't always a good thing. Football is too bloated, too over-exposed and too hyped.
How can we expect people to get excited by the start of a new season if we've spent the summer telling them to get excited by an emailed resignation or a vote by the blazerati?
We can't. And the effect is that the consumption of football will continue to change. No longer will we join the throng, bond with friends and strangers in the communal experience of watching games at football grounds.
Our senses deadened, we'll demand our football in the bombastically branded bite sized chunks offered by TV companies.
We'll sit on the sofa mistaking bad punditry for insight, mistaking a commentator's high-pitched wail for real excitement, mistaking a succession of bland managerial quotes for a proper match report.
Brain dead and subservient we'll think we're on the inside, that managers, players and journalists, all of them choreographed by press officers and PR men that we never see, are letting us into their confidence.
And our clubs will move ever further away from us, the media having collaborated in giving us the impression that wall to wall coverage every day of the year is increasing our access, moving us closer to the action.
We'll believe that even as we're being shuffled ever further from centre stage, the normal fan now the least desirable consumer that our football clubs want.
And something will be lost. Something that might not matter as long as the money keeps rolling in but that will be sorely missed if ever these footballing houses built on sand begin to teeter.
Getting our summer back would be a step towards getting our game back, of redefining football as something other than the hypersized monopoly it has become. I won't hold my breath.
In the meantime I'm off to get ready for Wimbledon.
Unless I hear any rumours about Hibs signing a striker. Then I might nip out for a paper and flick over to Sky Sports News.
Just in case...
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
A big month
Apparently Gary Caldwell’s transfer to Wigan almost fell through because of the bad weather.
Until 40,000 Celtic fans volunteered to help clear the road.
Boom, boom!
In his defence Gary brightened up the SPL. The inexplicable mistakes, the charging runs that so often came to absolutely nothing, the complete lack of self awareness in his pronouncements to the press, the embarrassment of having to explain to anyone not up to speed that the Celtic centre half was last year’s player of the year. All great fun.
He’s got his ambition of playing in the English Premier now. I wonder if he saw that happening with a team like Wigan? Anyway, good luck to him. I’m sure he’ll enjoy endless days of George Orwell related sightseeing at the pier.
Caldwell’s transfer actually forms part of Tony Mowbray’s biggest statement of intent since arriving at Celtic Park. With Willo Flood, Barry Robson and Chris Killen also moving south Celtic are clearing the decks.
Footballing orthodoxy suggests that managers are unable to effect too many changes in January. The poor start to his Celtic career has given Mowbray no choice but to make some pretty major changes now in the hope of turning the season round.
Celtic are out of two of the four tournaments they entered and still seven points behind in the SPL. That gap is not insurmountable but he needs players he can trust and players of a certain quality if he is to hunt Rangers down.
With Jos Hooiveld signed Mowbray has replaced Caldwell already but he’ll need to sign others if he hopes to sustain a challenge.
The risk, as Celtic found to their cost last year, is that to buy in January you’ve sometimes got to pay over the odds. When Peter Lawwell refused to do that last year he robbed Gordon Strachan of the chance to freshen things up.
Strachan must have realised as February loomed that Celtic’s failure to strengthen offered Rangers hope. When Walter Smith managed to turn that hope into self belief Strachan and his players had no way of responding.
This is another January of high stakes for a Celtic manager and his board.
Across the city, at the top of the table Rangers must simply endure the transfer window. The squad will not be strengthened, so Walter Smith must hope that it is not weakened. He’s already missing some key players – including Bougherra and Boyd – through international commitments, injury and suspension.
Temporary absences he’ll feel he can cope with. If too many of them are made permanent in an effort to appease the money men then it will be time for some panic in Govan.
Despite the seven point gap, this year’s SPL remains very much in the balance.
It looks like this snow covered January might yet turn out to be the pivotal month of the season.
Until 40,000 Celtic fans volunteered to help clear the road.
Boom, boom!
In his defence Gary brightened up the SPL. The inexplicable mistakes, the charging runs that so often came to absolutely nothing, the complete lack of self awareness in his pronouncements to the press, the embarrassment of having to explain to anyone not up to speed that the Celtic centre half was last year’s player of the year. All great fun.
He’s got his ambition of playing in the English Premier now. I wonder if he saw that happening with a team like Wigan? Anyway, good luck to him. I’m sure he’ll enjoy endless days of George Orwell related sightseeing at the pier.
Caldwell’s transfer actually forms part of Tony Mowbray’s biggest statement of intent since arriving at Celtic Park. With Willo Flood, Barry Robson and Chris Killen also moving south Celtic are clearing the decks.
Footballing orthodoxy suggests that managers are unable to effect too many changes in January. The poor start to his Celtic career has given Mowbray no choice but to make some pretty major changes now in the hope of turning the season round.
Celtic are out of two of the four tournaments they entered and still seven points behind in the SPL. That gap is not insurmountable but he needs players he can trust and players of a certain quality if he is to hunt Rangers down.
With Jos Hooiveld signed Mowbray has replaced Caldwell already but he’ll need to sign others if he hopes to sustain a challenge.
The risk, as Celtic found to their cost last year, is that to buy in January you’ve sometimes got to pay over the odds. When Peter Lawwell refused to do that last year he robbed Gordon Strachan of the chance to freshen things up.
Strachan must have realised as February loomed that Celtic’s failure to strengthen offered Rangers hope. When Walter Smith managed to turn that hope into self belief Strachan and his players had no way of responding.
This is another January of high stakes for a Celtic manager and his board.
Across the city, at the top of the table Rangers must simply endure the transfer window. The squad will not be strengthened, so Walter Smith must hope that it is not weakened. He’s already missing some key players – including Bougherra and Boyd – through international commitments, injury and suspension.
Temporary absences he’ll feel he can cope with. If too many of them are made permanent in an effort to appease the money men then it will be time for some panic in Govan.
Despite the seven point gap, this year’s SPL remains very much in the balance.
It looks like this snow covered January might yet turn out to be the pivotal month of the season.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Scottish football gossip: Part two
Truth, lies and Joseph Barton
Giddy with signing Scotland international Brian Kerr (three caps, as you ask) John Collins is going to swoop for Chelsea’s Belgian ‘keeper Yves Makaba-Makalamby. Try putting that on the back of your shirt.All is not bright on Mr Collins’ horizon though. Michael Stewart is ready to spill the beans on the whole sorry saga of the player rebellion. Human beanpole and club captain Rob Jones is rumoured to have played a far larger part in the uprising than previously thought. From teacher to Grimsby to Leith’s very own Fidel Castro in the blink of an eye.
As laughing Jim Jefferies waits for Gordon Greer, Gary Locke and Peter Leven to sign new contracts Killie’s crown jewel Steven Naismith is set to join Hearts as Vlad splashes the cash with the abandon of a submariner on shore leave in a brothel. Hearts are also on the scent of Jason Scotland – with Craig Levein also sniffing around in a bid to get Scotland back to Tannadice.
Rangers hope to sign Alan Smith. I presume they are hoping for the Manchester United striker and not the nasal voiced whiner that once played for Arsenal. Meanwhile Nacho Novo is set to leave Glasgow and join Zenit St Petersburg.
Rangers fans still insist that emotional ties will persuade life long Gers fan Scott Brown to Ibrox. Tottenham, however, are confident that £4.5 million will see Scott leave his Rangers scarf at Edinburgh Airport as he scampers down south to cuddle up Martin Jol. Larry Kingston might help soothe Walter Smith’s feelings of rejection.
Neale Cooper could revisit past glories with a managerial return to Ross County – the job was advertised in the Daily Record today so feel free to send in a letter.
Joey Barton might be moving to Glasgow as Gordon Strachan lines up a bid for the midfield psychopath. This may or may not be the breathtaking signing Celtic fans have been promised. Strachan is also going after Watford centre half Danny Shittu. Ah, Celtic and their defenders. Rafael Scheidt anyone?
Meanwhile Royston Keane is after Thomas Gravesen and will offer Martin O’Neill outside as the fight for Artur Boruc gets tough.
Tam McManus is set to repay Dunfermline for giving him another crack in the SPL – by buggering off if they get relegated. Rats, ships, sinking etc.
And Maurice Malpas going is on an mad shopping spree. Scott Agnew, Jamie McLen (Hamilton Accies), Curtis McDonald (Cardiff City) and Daniel Severino (unattached) are all going straight in Mo's Costco trolley.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
The Week in Scottish Football
The runners and riders in Scottish football over the last seven days:
Well Done You!
Until this afternoon Kilmarnock were going to get this for performance of the week. But Falkirk made a late charge and came through on the inside after putting Rangers to the sword.
A special mention to Scott Brown. After building up a reputation as the player other teams love to hate he’s achieved a double whammy by becoming the player the Hibs fans love to hate. A transfer request months after signing a new contract is not endearing. A transfer request minutes after an abject performance is insulting.
Oh Dear!
Stephen Kenny went back over the water to win the FAI Cup with Derry City. Congratulations but after a 6-1 loss yesterday Dunfermline fans will be asking where the manager’s thoughts have been this week.
Paul Le Guen. Turning the corner on Saturday. Hits a dead end on Sunday. Much work still to do.
Villain of the Week
Management at Hearts. Some optimism had returned. Then Steven Pressley was dumped again and the gloom descended once more.
Willie McKay or Rod Petrie. Petrie must wonder how keeping his mouth shut has meant becoming involved in a war of words. McKay says Petrie is in the wrong. Thomson and Brown act like children. Somewhere along the line football becomes the loser.
Well Done You!
Until this afternoon Kilmarnock were going to get this for performance of the week. But Falkirk made a late charge and came through on the inside after putting Rangers to the sword.
A special mention to Scott Brown. After building up a reputation as the player other teams love to hate he’s achieved a double whammy by becoming the player the Hibs fans love to hate. A transfer request months after signing a new contract is not endearing. A transfer request minutes after an abject performance is insulting.
Oh Dear!
Stephen Kenny went back over the water to win the FAI Cup with Derry City. Congratulations but after a 6-1 loss yesterday Dunfermline fans will be asking where the manager’s thoughts have been this week.
Paul Le Guen. Turning the corner on Saturday. Hits a dead end on Sunday. Much work still to do.
Villain of the Week
Management at Hearts. Some optimism had returned. Then Steven Pressley was dumped again and the gloom descended once more.
Willie McKay or Rod Petrie. Petrie must wonder how keeping his mouth shut has meant becoming involved in a war of words. McKay says Petrie is in the wrong. Thomson and Brown act like children. Somewhere along the line football becomes the loser.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
McCarthy on Road to Big Time?
Spare a thought for 16-year-old Hamilton Accies midfielder Jamie McCarthy.
Being linked with Manchester United must be nice, but it surely brings with it a whole different kind of pressure.
Let’s hope things work out for him. Other teams are in the chase but United would appear to offer him the best chance of development. Sure Rangers, Celtic, Aston Villa and Bolton are big clubs.
United, though, are on a different planet. A move to Old Trafford offers a genuine chance at becoming world class.
As Liam Miller would testify it doesn’t always work out but when it does the rewards are incredible.
And two Scotsmen should offer McCarthy hope. Brian McClair and Darren Fletcher have passed Sir Alex Ferguson’s all important loyalty and reliability tests.
He, in return, has stood by them. He seems to like at least one Scot in his dressing room.
McCarthy might well be a name to watch!
Being linked with Manchester United must be nice, but it surely brings with it a whole different kind of pressure.
Let’s hope things work out for him. Other teams are in the chase but United would appear to offer him the best chance of development. Sure Rangers, Celtic, Aston Villa and Bolton are big clubs.
United, though, are on a different planet. A move to Old Trafford offers a genuine chance at becoming world class.
As Liam Miller would testify it doesn’t always work out but when it does the rewards are incredible.
And two Scotsmen should offer McCarthy hope. Brian McClair and Darren Fletcher have passed Sir Alex Ferguson’s all important loyalty and reliability tests.
He, in return, has stood by them. He seems to like at least one Scot in his dressing room.
McCarthy might well be a name to watch!
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