Wolves in sheep’s clothing

WHO’D be a gaffer? Well, you, me and millions of others is probably the correct answer. Whether we’re in the press box, on the terrace, in the pub or even all alone in front of the domestic box, we’re never slow to express an opinion on the actions of the man in the dug-out, especially when he seems to have got it all wrong.

It’s the ultimate exercise in power without responsibility, the clamour we create guaranteed to reach sonic-boom levels and lead to a situation whereby the gaffer’s name cannot be seen to go out alone in public without being shadowed by words like “embattled”, “under pressure” and, yes, “bacon slicer”.

Mick McCarthy might have made a rod for his own back when he popularised the latter but, really, he was only adding a lurid dollop of colour to the standard diagnosis. It used to be that you were only as good as your last game.