Turin talk only shrouds the issue

WILLIAM S. Burroughs once said “Paranoia is just having all the facts”.

Was he a Red? I’ve heard enough drug-induced filth on away coaches to think he may have a few relatives in this neck of the woods, even more if you listen to those who insist our manager is being vindictively pursued by der meedja, laaaa.

Now I’ve tended many a grassy knoll in my time, but there are limits. This ‘undeniable’ vendetta has spread its treacherous tentacles across the continent as far as Italy.

This was all a tad convenient, as the mutinous muttering became more vocal after a wretched night in Wolverhampton. It’s rare to have an inquest into a manager’s future after an away draw, given the tripe we’ve already witnessed so far, but when the captain admits the plan was to “nick a 1-0” from the dregs of the league, then words have almost stopped serving their purpose.

A year ago we were executing this plan to perfection in Madrid. Success in the Bernabeu, failure in Molineux. Mighty, fallen, etc. If they’d strung a 10-foot net across the halfway line during the second half, you’d have seen the longest volleyball rally in history. Jaws dropped at the awfulness of it all, and you wonder: why the surprise?

It’s like we’ve discovered Mind Erasure, since the gap between debacles has shrunk to a fortnight. Wolves’ fans had clearly not spent the month at etiquette classes, still as obnoxious as ever especially to a bewildered Reina. It usually takes two seasons for Premiership newbies to lose the giddiness and realise they’re no longer slumming it.

In their current yo-yo mode, it’s not surprising they never learn, and with an oaf like McCarthy in charge, they never will. As if his cowardice in Manchester wasn’t bad enough, he almost blew a gasket berating his own player for showing a smidgen of sportsmanship.

All of that is ultimately of no consequence. We were dire, end of story. There was terrible internet invective during the following days, most of it aimed at Benitez. The players stank the place out but the rapid decline from pass and move to hoof and stand has shocked even his most trenchant admirers.

The trickle of Turinese gossip exacerbated matters. The manager did little to make it disappear.

The British press had already reported Rafa himself had spoken to someone about taking over from Ferrara, who just about had the job at the time. By Friday, Rafa was cranking it up to the point where suddenly he was the one issuing ultimatums to the club with that legally air-tight ambiguity he’s got down to a fine art.

Only his football is lily-livered. Now he has everyone in a strop over what we were going to do to keep him happy! Some nerve.

There are no victims in this lunacy, just volunteers, and there was little chance of being diverted by the football since it was still dull and uneven against Bolton.

Rafa talks endlessly of control but the word ‘tempo’ has vanished from his vocab. This team wastes almost every first half, stumbling from the dressing room bleary-eyed, dazzled by daylight.

Aquilani’s absence last Tuesday caused consternation, but his presence on Saturday did little to dispel it. A £30m-rated player bought on the cheap? I wish I had a laugh left.

Block 306 of the Kop doggedly chanted Rafa’s name, slyly so after both goals, yet few answered the call to arms. Events in Turin, real or imaginary, shrouded the occasion in unease.

Rafa’s denial of subterfuge read like a delegated memo from a bored secretary. Perhaps it was the work/idea of Hicks, who added intrigue by attending a fixture even uberfans hate.

Looking haggard and drawn, he can’t even get out of ‘his’ stadium nowadays without added security and a two-hour wait. Why persist? He can’t bequeath us to his deadbeat foulmouth son and it seems he has to appease RBS and slash the asking price to get any sucker to take this virulent hornets nest off his grubby hands.

Time to get out of Dodge, Hoss.