Gillett cut by his own blade

ONCE bitten, twice shy. News of Sundance selling his shares will have to be filed under ‘believe once seen’ for the moment.

Gillett does an uncanny impression of a floundering jackass, his naivety and somewhat casual relationship with truth there for all to read, but I did feel an atom of pity for him last week.

These heavily publicised training ground comments to a supporter were blurted out on the morning of the Hull game, widely expected to be our sixth straight victory.

They were published online days after Fiorentina, and went global thanks to the press after Chelsea.

The overwhelming interpretation of him putting an opportunistic boot into Benitez after a couple of failures was sly and manipulative.

Of course fans went ballistic, the notion that a manager is in any way culpable for his own decisions having been virtually extinct for almost three years in this neck of the woods.

This is the second time that Gillett has wilted after being confronted by a clued-up, persistent fan. Whether he was showing off his common touch to the Saudis or truly thinks we’ll believe anything, he got his ass handed to him and began flailing in all directions.

Blaming Tom Hicks for the long-forgotten (still on YouTube!) stadium boasts of 2007 played right into Texan hands, and the latter’s tabloid stooges got straight to work shovelling more manure up to George’s neck.

Herein lies the real danger. Abominable as they both are, together they were each other’s major obstacle. It was often difficult to fathom which was the drowning man and which the straw.

Hicks may be broadcasting his largesse now, claiming Gillett can sell to who he chooses but it will probably be on Texan terms i.e. more power and influence for him. That can only be bad news for us.

I can’t see any outsider being stupid enough to agree to that, and since the prince is already reluctant to pay off any American debt accrued from their calamitous reign in L4, the whole mess just gets smellier and stickier by the day. In fact the Saudis have been doing too much talking for our liking.

This is before we reconsider defibrillating the new stadium and find another small fortune for Rafa to play with.

Which wouldn’t exactly leave me engorged with frivolity either. Perversely there have been internet arguments over his future, eight games into the season, largely as a consequence of Gormless and his hair-trigger gob.

Henry Winter at the Telegraph is mostly sympathetic to the Reds, but his and others’ musings on Rafa’s ‘coldness’ last week also caused disquiet. When Gerrard’s ghostwriter speaks of a drop in dressing room temperature, ears will prick up. One awful comment about Rafa remaining abroad after his dad died jarred but it was an interesting piece that should provoke thought rather than paranoia.

Not every journalist is “out to get us”, even if it occasionally seems like it. It’s also a bit rich complaining about players gossiping to hacks behind the manager’s back. The biter bit, is the cliché we reach for here.

I’ve never fully managed to persuade people, even close friends, that you can criticise Benitez and still be convinced he is the best man for the job. Any lack of personal empathy simply pares football down to its lowest common denominator; win, and we’ll contemplate the complexities later.

Moores was a poor figurehead but he had moments of cerebral clarity, namely those times he allowed his manager one year of setback. We’re still waiting for Rafa’s; Istanbul, Cardiff, Athens, league improvement and title challenge. Let’s not start the autopsy until the body’s stopped moving at least.

He’s been restrained after Gillett’s faux pas. Maybe he realises self-inflicted wounds are the best kind and left his nemesis to wriggle on the hook.