It was only 24 hours ago when I logged onto my Twitter to be greeted with the message ‘How do you feel about Bent going to Villa Claire?’

WTF? Darren Bent going to Villa? OUR Darren Bent? It may as well have read ‘how do you feel about molesting small children Claire?!’

I didn’t see it coming and it sure as hell looked like I was the only one who didn’t. By the time I’d picked my chin up off the floor and had a quick google sure the internet was flooded with reports a ‘shock’ transfer request had been handed in. The lad I’d only watched play 24 hours ago for us was actually about to jump ship.

But like a jilted lover the immediate question on fan’s lips was a desperate why?

Since coming to Wearside Bent has been no less than a saviour doing the whole water to wine thing except with shots and goals and don’t anyone out there forget that. Without him we still had a team but sure that’s about as useful as having a willy with no hands  – goals were needed and he showed he had plenty in him. Benty may have been snubbed by his national team but he still clocked up a very impressive 32 goals in 57 games and the only other two in the league who managed to come near those stats were Tevez and Drogba, which ain’t too bad to have on your CV is it?

But would he have had that without us? If Harry Redknapp reckons his missus can finish goals better what does that say about his overall value as a player?

When you’re shining as bright as he did at the Stadium of Light it’s easy to see how people can be blinded. The fact is since he came off a hamstring injury he has measuered up half the player we expect him to be. His shooting accuracy is down, his goal conversion number has dropped and it’s not gone unnoticed just how many shots he’s missed in games we should have won – but then went on to lose. No point being our goalscorer if you’re not scoring goals.

Like I said he has a great CV and you can’t blame Villa for sniffing round. But the whole affair reminds me of when my car was robbed. Entirely inconvenient but I was happy to take seven grand insurance for it. A few months into the recession it would only have been worth three.
However none of that really answers the question for me as to why a player in a team currently 6th in the league on target to challenge for Europe would want to move to Villa who are pretty much down there with the dregs of the table.  Sure, money talks but you don’t have to listen!
The arguments on Twitter have been flat to say the least. Everyone else on the planet would take a higher paid job in a shot, so why should he and the super-rish like he be exempt? Well for the simple fact that it’s outrageously greedy, unnecessary and undeserved. You can’t compare everyday little people who scrimp and save to buy a few groceries, put petrol in the car, pay the rent and maybe have a night out once a week with people on the sort of money you need a widescreen calculator to look at.

When you’re on £3 million a year is getting £4 million a reason to move? Do you really notice the difference? Is it like being able to have one more bath in your house filled with £1 coins you can hang out in naked while sipping champagne or what’s the big deal? Because I ain’t buying the bullshit of ‘I’m securing my future’. Unless you’re in the habit of buying small islands you’re already pretty much sorted.

You see the rules of the real world don’t really apply to footballers, well at least to those on extortionate amounts of money. And moving jobs for such astronomical figures is outrageously greedy no matter how you dress it up. It doesn’t matter if “we would all do it”, the point is mere mortals put people on pedestals for a reason – they are supposed to be better than us, they are supposed to set an example.

Having worked in the media as long as I have I’m sceptical at the very least to believe the reasons given for transfer requests because people can say whatever the hell they want to, papers will print it and fucking eejits will believe it. The fact is not one of us will ever really know.

But what we do know is a lad who flattered us into believing he had some deep rooted loyalty to the club was gone before the ink was dry on his contract. It begs the question, exactly how long has he been flirting with that idea? I mean if Villa really did only approach him after derby day then fuck me it must have been love at first sight.

Would he have left us for the same amount of money he is on now? Who knows. Would I be pissed off if he had? Maybe – but at least he’d have been able to justify it.

I used to think begrudgery was just an Irish thing.

It’s like a really bad tradition we’re born into that means you’d rather eat the scabs from a leper’s sock than be happy for others doing well for themselves.

Sometimes there’s a small justification. Take for example I’ve just joined the group on Facebook “To every country in the World Cup – Fuck up France. Kind regards, The Irish”. Well, not much more I can say there.

But other times it’s quite obvious begrudgers are nothing more than little people jealous of the achievements of others because they do nothing but serve to reflect their own inexcusable shortcomings.

Which brings me to Mourinho, the “Special One” who is most definitely not short on haters.

Sure I can appreciate the obnoxiousness of self-appointing yourself a title like that. But in all honestly if I had a record of losing only 54 of the 458 matches I’d overseen as a manager and leading two less than spectacular teams to Champions League glory I’d probably buy a small town, name it after myself and declare a national holiday. Let’s be honest, that’s some feat.

And what’s even more impressive is he’s only at it ten years, which begs the question, if this is the 47 year-olds mid-life crisis then hasn’t the best yet to come?

Mourinho’s CV lists title honours like they were giving them out free with Cornflakes.

In his two full seasons at Porto he delivered two league titles, the UEFA Cup and the Champions League. Not to mention the Portuguese Cup and the Super Cup.

He led Chelsea’s first League title in 50 years and followed it up with a second as well as the FA Cup, two League Cups and some pretty good performances in the Champions League.

At 47 he is the third coach ever to win the Champions League with two different clubs joining Ernst Happel and Ottmar Hitzfeld in the annals of football history. And with his sights set on moving to the Galacticos I’ll put money on him being the first to make that three in the next few years.

But what stands out even more are the teams he led were not the Barcelona’s or the Man United’s but the ones with a lot less on paper. And not only did he do this twice but he hasn’t lost a home game in 8 years!
Last Saturday he led a less than spectacular Internazionale to Champions League glory for the first time in 45 years. One more piece of silverware to go with their Coppa Italia and Serie A trophies.

The only fault I can find (if I try really really hard) is that it was a pretty boring game. And in general the tactics of aiming for a 1-0 win and building a defence of steel is not as spellbinding for football fans as having a team entertain like they’re in some bloody Nike ad.

Of course you can argue maybe they had a stroke of luck when that unpronounceable volcano in Iceland ensured Barcelona had a two day coach drive ahead of their last encounter. But you could equally point out that the magic ingredient in all of this was in fact Mourinho.

Already on route to the Bernabau the real challenge the “Special One” has is to find a compromise to play brilliant football and not just win trophies by not losing.

Of course he’ll also have to find a way to fit his and Ronaldo’s ego in the same room.

My boyfriend thinks Newcastle will finish in the top ten next season. I think he’s a lunatic. And I’ll happily take fifty quid from him next May after he loses that bet.

Understandably it’s hard not to get swept away by the wave of optimism flooding the stands at Tyneside. With a shiny new record of being the only English team to remain unbeaten at home this season, the Mags seem to have turned it all around. And the fact they did it with two games in hand is just the icing on the cake.

Last year Newcastle’s season was a catastrophe from start to finish.  They were a team on the brink of self destruction having given up well before the finish line and in doing so came dangerously close to doing a Leeds.

It was a bleak reminder to us all what could potentially happen to a football club when bad decisions are made at the top level.

However, since then they have taken apart nearly every team in who have faced them in 2010.

So yes, this season has been somewhat of a turnaround.

But before any Geordies start showing a relapse of Massive Club Syndrome let’s put things in perspective – we’re talking about winning the Fizzy Pop League. With a bunch of premiership players, some of who are not good enough to actually play in the Premier League.

It’s sort of like winning a quiz for ten year olds when you’re 18 and a bit thick.

So in terms of staying up next season, well team spirit will only get you so far.

Newcastle are going to need at the very least four new signings to add to their side in the midfield and upfront. True Andy Carroll has shown a lot of potential, skill and strength this season – he is already poised to become their top scorer – but he is young and still learning his trade. Amoebi, his back up, is the nearest thing to a sign with bells hanging off it that they need to build.

No doubt there will be calls to play the Geordie Messiah card and bring in a big name should they fail to get off to the glistening start so many hearts are hoping for. But if you ask me Chris Houghton has more than proved he deserves to be given the chance to lead his team in the Premier League.

When hope was lost and recovery seemed all but impossible he was the man to turn round their fortunes. Not King Kev. Not Kinnear. And not even “Wor Alan”.

As far as club history goes, Newcastle’s tumultuous nature brings with it a worry that there may be more catastrophe in store.

One problem that has failed to resolve is the already questionable commitment of footballs most hated club owner. Mike Ashley was quick enough to throw in the towel last time – he just couldn’t find anyone to take it from him.

The worst excesses and mistakes of management shone from his arse and it is almost impossible to know if he has learned any lessons of football ownership. Or whether this time round he’ll take whatever offers he can get.

This season he barely scraped up £4 million to strengthen his clubs resources but has walked away £60 million richer for his time. And I wouldn’t hold my breath that he’ll be reinvesting all of that.

I’m not going to book my ticket just yet for a 2011 Newcastle relegation party because I’ve a feeling they’ll just about hang on in there.

But I will look forward to next year’s derby and the chance of beating them for the second time in two years.

Ha’way the lads.

If you’ve followed Celtic at all this season – and not given in to weeping in the foetal position between match days – then that’s not really a difficult question, is it? It’s sort of like asking “Does getting hit on the head with hammer actually hurt?”

Unfortunately the damage caused by this seasons limping performances in terms of club support, club reputation and most importantly club spirit is going to need a lot more than a few pills to numb the pain.

I’ve been a Celtic supporter all my life. In fact me Da, Charlie, owes his nickname to Celtics striker Charlie Tully. And in hindsight it’s a good job I never got lost as a young child because I had no idea his name was in fact Brian.

But there will be no football heroes remembered from this season. Instead the names that will be on peoples lips are the flops and the failures, those who promised to deliver and then never bothered to show up.

Marc-Antoine Fortuné and Georgios Samaras – both singled out for their contribution to Celtics demolition last Saturday at the hands of first division Ross County. Then there’s the loan signings, N’guemo and Braafheid –the latter probably en route to Bayern as we speak, while N’guemo is probably still licking his wounds having had his sorry ass hauled off before half time at Hampden.

To add to the list, there’s Scott Brown, seemingly being impersonated by some clown in a number 8 shirt every week who can’t play football. And even the wee man McGeady, once untouchable at Celtic Park, his performance last Saturday’s was that of a first-class fail.
To be honest it would be a much shorter task to list those worth keeping. And far less of a financial headache.

Fortune should never have been bought as a striker. At £3.8million it’s easier to predict when he won’t score. From past club experiences we know he is capable of scoring – unfortunately it just averages once a month.

Robbie Keane has had a bad run of luck. Too expensive to keep on a bench and too good for the clubs who actually want him. He must be counting the days until he can go back to Spurs. With a weekly wage bill greater than that of the entire Ross County team and an expected fall in Celtic’s season tickets next year it isn’t likely they’ll be begging him to stay in Glasgow.

And should we really care?

At £65K a week, Robbie wasn’t just brought to Celtic just to score goals. He was brought to bring home the silverware and whether in writing or not, that was the deal.
But his debut – Celtic losing at Kilmarnock for the first time in 9 years – sums up how well that money was spent.

12 goals in 13 games is undeniable but the SPL Player of the month award is about as good as getting to keep the empty box of a birthday cake. A consolation prize for what must have been the most humiliating match of his life.

When a top flight team goes down to a lower league team you have to question where is the leadership? Where is the fight and the determination and the sheer desire to win?

At Celtic it’s gone. For the first time in 7 years there will be no trophies at Celtic Park.  This season will go down in the annals of Celtics history as one of the biggest disasters in club history, even worse than 1999-2000, Mowbray already named as the worst ever manager with a poorer win/loss ratio than Barnes.

If Celtic want their club back, they’re going to have to find a team. And a manager.

There are times in life when it seems like the whole world is against you and everything that could go wrong has gone wrong.

Like when your entire family dies in a freak hurricane, leaving you with no arms or legs having to eat your way through faeces and severed limbs for survival. Or when you lose your job, your house goes on fire and you find out you are penniless AND have terminal cancer all on the same day.

Then you might just about be able to muster up the words “Nice one, God!”

Earning an eye-watering £82K a week, having FHM’s sexiest woman in the world as your wife whilst steadily shagging your way through an intercontinental list of totty doesn’t quite make the list of “Shit Things That Could Happen to You!”

Unless of course, you are professional shag-lete Ashley Cole.

Following the demise of his marriage Mr Cole spent a week or so holed away in a state of the art Sports Clinic in France lamenting the path his penile compass took him and complaining to people (assumedly between massages) that his life had been “ruined”.

R.U.I.N.E.D.

God, don’t the people of Haiti know what real suffering is?

Having a conscience on par with Jordans he then blamed his serial bedding on none other than his mother-in-law. Not because she pimped him out but because she happened to live somewhere in the grounds of his £3.5 MILLION mansion. And in doing so allegedly affected his sex life.

Now, hands up those of you like me who still live at home and have somehow managed to get on with having a sex life? Granted it may not be one that involves doing the backwards cowgirl on the kitchen table (difficult to explain should your parents come in to make tea or something) but we manage to do things like keep the volume level down or afford a hotel room now and again  – even on our meagre wages.

And it’s reasonable to assume anyone who vomits on someone during sex and then has the audacity to tell them to be grateful for it (before passing out) isn’t likely to care if someone’s Ma is in the next room or not. With a track record like that and the fact he has been so prolific at shagging I could probably count on one hand the numbers of girls he hasn’t actually bedded, I’m not really buying Ashley’s in-law excuse.

And him growing a face rug the size of a small dog while pining away smelling Cheryl’s old pillow and listening to Girls Aloud isn’t going to change that.

Of course I’m writing this on a football blog when it all has absolutely no relevance to football except the spate of slimy spouses making up the English football team has even made aul Fabs eyes water.

Is this the year England will win the World Cup – maybe not, but it is the year of the love rat.
Ashley, having the morals of a horny prostitute with AIDs, has been back partying  (seemingly part of the moving on process) after his “brief” misery.

Probably in the same briefs. Some things never change.

It’s a well know fact that the world is divided into two types of people – those who eat McDonalds and those who prefer Burger King.

I myself fall into what I consider to be the better of the two groups. I’m a “McDonald’s only” girl of course.

My friends (Team Burger King) would argue this is more because I am a stubborn cow and less to do with any sort of gastronomical experience I may have had with a Big Mac.

They know nothing.

The only other argument capable of raising tempers as fast and furiously at 4am outside the chippy is the issue of the number 10 shirt.

Once worn by footballs greatest ever players Maradonna and Pele, today it’s the number shared by Wayne Rooney and Lionel Messi, each a perfect ten in their own right.

But there is one question being asked, who really is the best?

With an eye watering 23 goals in his last 21 games and 72 goals in 91 games overall this season the numbers on Messi’s sparkling record would overwhelm most world class players.

On the pitch the 22 year-old Argentinean seems to maze between players, skipping from challenge to challenge as though the ball is somehow velcroed to his left foot.

He reminds me of that kid in school you always silently hated for being so good at football and somehow managing to get past everyone and bang it in the back of the net time and time again.

You see Messi isn’t just a forward. He doesn’t just conveniently fit a box description of what a player who scores goals should be. When you try to define him on his vision, performance and awareness he’s everywhere and everything all at that point in the career of a footballer when ability, vigour and confidence align to redefine the highest level of talent.

Anyone who saw his timeless performance in a 4-2 win against Zaragoza will realise the one man show performances he is capable of. The first player ever in the history of Barca to score hat tricks consecutively in La Liga, his record is nothing short of spectacular.

And yes I’ve heard the arguments for Rooney – he’s a different sort of player, different styles and different strengths. What he perhaps lacks in delicate manoeuvring he makes up for in sheer determination, physical strength and bravery. He’s ‘better for the team’.

But I’m not a coach or a manager and I’m not picking a team – I’m simply admiring an astonishing set of football skills that are refreshing to my generation.

A few weeks ago you might even have been justified saying Rooney had the greatest chance of any other player to dethrone Messi.

The Barcelona star may edge it on talent but there is the argument that Rooney contributes more to the game.

And despite his dazzling performances at club level, there is still a challenge for Messi to duplicate this play on the international stage.  In his short career for Argentina, he has only scored 13 goals in 43 games for his country.

Rooney on the other hand has suited up 48 times for club and country and found the back of the net 19 times.

The fact that Messi has achieved so much by 22, especially in light of past injury, is incredible and I have no doubt he will continue to outperform and bring football to a level beyond what we have so far seen.

Rooney may have the brute force of the beast, but talent like Messi is what makes it the beautiful game.

I never really had much of a chance to play football when I was in school.

This was partly because I sucked but mainly due to the fact the team was made up of the kind of girls you know secretly have a scrotum and ate little things like me for breakfast. And OK fair enough, when it came to picking a team that would simply bulldoze its way across the pitch and scare the shite out of the other keeper, Team Armpit Hair did it well enough without me.

Anyway, I was (and still am) much better at watching football.

Darren Bent on the other hand, isn’t just good at playing football and scoring goals. He’s only a few goals short of achieving official messiah status on Wearside – his striking ability almost singlehandedly keeping the club afloat this season.

He is currently the second highest English goal scorer in the Premier League, second only to Rooney and in the past 3 games he has managed a hat trick and done the double. Admittedly he may not be in the same class but the only other person I can think of banging out a hat trick recently is Messi.

In addition to this he has scored a total of 69 goals in a 3 year time frame – a record only beaten in the Top Flight by Ronaldo and Rooney. Even his shots to goals ration is bettered only by Torres which is pretty impressive considering the lack of opportunities created for him at Sunderland.

It begs the question, how many goals would Rooney have now if it wasn’t for Nani, Giggs and Valencia setting him up?

But it feels like I can sit here and bang out the facts till I’m blue in the face because even if Benty was scoring goals blindfolded and backwards from the other end of the pitch aul Fabs  probably wouldn’t even bother to look up from his paper.

I’m sure if he were to ask Andy Reid what he should do to change his Italian Gaffers opinion he’d likely tell him to build a wall and get over it – himself as likely to play again for Ireland under el Trappo as me.

But when it comes to choosing his team, the fact Darren Bent has scored more goals than Heskey and Cole put together seems to be irrelevant.

So if anyone has anyone spotted Fabio out with Domenech and choosing the squad on advice from Mystic Meg, please report to the FA.

Interestingly Bent isn’t the first striker from the North East to be strangely overlooked when it comes to international competition.

Kevin Phillips was the only English player to ever win the European Golden Shoe after scoring 30 goals for his club in the 1999-2000 season but he was never given a full 90 minutes for his country and never scored in his 8 caps.

Bent may not play for a top four side but he has scored against them all so far this season and I wonder if he played for any of them would we even be having this discussion?

There is always the argument that a goal scorer needs to be able to contribute so much more to be selected for International games.

But wasn’t Linekar “just a goalscorer?”

Apparently it takes balls to ref in the Premier League.

And by this I mean Daddy bags and man tonsils – the treasured crown jewels about only half the world population possess. Not the ones you kick about or bring home under your arm to your ma.

Courage, the other type of ‘balls’ we talk about in football is only second to the first type.

Being a highly focused individual who inspires true passion for the game and has already proven themselves fully capable of doing the job, is seemingly of less worth than a Y chromosome.  Which, is half an X chromosome I might add.

But genderisms aside, this week headlines were made in football because – wait for it – a woman refereed a championship game.

*Tumbleweed*

Indeed this was in fact the first time in history it had ever been done, and my whole-hearted congratulations to 31 year-old Amy Fearns for getting the job done. But judging by the reaction of some people you’d have easily mistaken the entire foundations upon which football stands was now entering a post apocalyptic era.

Instead a person with breasticles instead of testicles went out and did her job. The one she had been doing since the tender age of 14 no less. Oh the horror.

Now I can understand the reservations that some people, mainly men as it happens, feel about having women involved in the game and I do accept the point that in general women are physically less able than men. That’s life, and sometimes it sucks, but I’m glad I don’t have chest hair if that’s what comes with muscles.

But, in the defence of my gender and female refs, they are not actually playing the game and if they had the super elite sporting capabilities of the players, then by God they’d be earning their wages instead of taking abuse at the sidelines.

And more to the point, the issue of referees who cannot keep pace is old news even without a perfectly pedicured female foot ever stepping onto a top flight pitch. Two words – Alan Wiley.

Amazingly there are still only 6 female referees in the whole of England – and none in Ireland – so you are more likely to marry a Ghanaian Prince at this rate then see one ref a match. That said I am truly in awe of women like Amy who have the balls – yes balls – to dedicate themselves to a game that doesn’t need them.

Sadly, the association of women with football has in recent years been more about the dirty knicker tales of wannabe WAGs who know more about  5K football-like boobjobs than  about the men in shorts running around with ball on the grass. Oh except that they are rich. That detail never seems to pass them by.

For once a woman has made headlines in football for doing something that doesn’t involve sex.

Now isn’t that something to be proud of?

If John Terry is doing the lotto then he might like to avoid the number 12.

Not because he might lose, but judging by the luck he’s had with that number in the past week, he’d probably end up being done for fraud.

You see last Friday, twelve minutes was all it took for the gaffer to get all disciplinarian-like with Captain Chav and strip him of his captaincy – his English one that is.

And because there is only one thing that can happen when a premiership footballer gets caught with his pants down, the proverbial worms then crawled out of the woodwork to confirm that well coincidently TWELVE minutes that is the exact length of time the skipper lasted when enjoying testicular jollies with Miss Perroncel in the first place.

So really, JT should just should just avoid 12 for the rest of his life OR somehow purchase a moral backbone with his grossly oversized wage packet.

Now despite the trash you may have been bathing your eyes in the last week, I don’t believe for one second that Fabs could have cared less about whether his former captain had mounted an entire football team of his friends ex-wives/girlfriends/what-evers.

Let’s be honest, the man comes from a country where the leader eats 18 year-old models for breakfast, literally.

The issue is that John Terry was incapable of doing his job right.

That’s right, HIS JOB.

Which in this case had nothing to do with defensive playing or keeping goals out and instead was entirely about appearing respectable in an ambassadorial role to the global media spotlight.

And in following this he would assumedly have commanded the justified respect and comradeship from his fellow team mates thus uniting the English dressing room in their quest to progress through the World Cup campaign TOGETHER.

But as fate would have it, at best he was just too dumb for the job and at worst he was just too arrogant. Either way, he failed spectacularly, red-cheeked, trousers around his ankles.

Just like taking a shit in public, what John Terry did is simply not acceptable, even if you are in fact a dog.

So regardless of what Ancelotti might think his Chelsea star is doing a great job of in his capacity at Stamford bridge, it just doesn’t cut it when it comes to representing all of England and being an honorable inspiration.

Fabs himself has been hailed a hero for adapting such a swift and ruthless policy, acting quickly to chop the offending captain but the legacy of such a decision remains to be seen.

When the team travels to South Africa, Terry will still be in tow whether or not he has patched things up with Bridge in the meantime.

But their boyish scrap is dwarfed by what should by now be raising alarm bells at the hushed confines of the FA.

The media is by far the most disruptive force a dressing room can feel.

And this weekend they booked their flights.