7th October (spanish bombs)

Imagine if there’s any truth to this rumour that Newcastle United’s potential new owners are willing to ‘cut your hands off’ to make Rafael Benitez the replacement for Steve Bruce.

It’s one thing Carlo Ancelotti spewing it for Real Madrid. 

But Benitez.

For St. James’ Park.

It’s almost certainly nonsense. Although I said that about him being made Everton manager, so I’m as bad as any ‘lazy journalist’ really. Even if big man-head Amanda Stavely hasn’t been on the blower to rosy-cheeked Rafa already, you can imagine him sat at home with his agent with Sky Sports News on as the takeover is announced.

On the coffee table between them are two mobile phones. The agent counts down, mouthing the numbers silently, and as he reaches zero, smiles at Benitez and points at his phone just as it illuminates their faces, the first bars of Ring of Fire start, and the name SOFT ARSE MOSHIRI appears on the screen.

‘Farhad! Wagwan!’

Hey presto, a brand new washer/drier for Mrs Benitez and an orangery on the back of the Caldy mansion. Rafa’s hot shit right now and he knows it.

Watch this space.

In other unrelated news, have you read Pat Nevin’s book? 

Good heavens. I’m not even onto the Everton bits yet, but you would have thought that the editor, or at least one of his friends, would have read it and said, ‘Are you sure mate?’

Everyone is enamoured with the idea of Nevin, the fey indie kid with dazzling skills who cut his own path through the lumpen world of the alehouse muzzy merchants of the 80s and 90s.

The thing is, it appears that no one is in love with that legend more than ‘wee Pat’ himself.

Save yourself £9.99 and just pick up any generic footy autobiography and read that, but at the end of every other sentence add something along the lines of:

But I’d much rather be somewhere like the South Bank watching a Chekhov play.

And while they all got pissed I got to know the locals who I really bonded with as I’m from a tough city myself.

Who knows, I was probably at a Fall gig with Peely!

Because even black guys think I’m dead cool.

Did I mention that beneath my arty exterior I’m still from a tough as nails part of Glasgow and know how to handle myself?

Never meet your heroes. Or download them on Kindle.