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For years now, Brentford supporters have looked on as clubs up and down the country have had their financial situations dramatically improved thanks to huge cash injections from a whole manner of dodgy sheikhs, well-heeled Americans, passport-hunting Egyptians, completely legit Russian oligarchs and very British chancers.
Just when things were going so well, Chesterfield have to come along and ruin things.
Pointing out that footballers are not the sharpest knives in the drawer may not be the most earth-shattering revelation, but every so often it is a fact that bears repeating.
I am preparing myself a huge weekend of televised sport. In the early hours of November 9, I will watch Joe Calzaghe take on Roy Jones Jr at Madison Square Garden and, later in the day, I’ll settle down for the surprisingly not-pay-per-view dust-up between Brentford and Havant & Waterlooville.
To offend or not to offend? That appears to have been the big question over the past week or two; from Joe Kinnear’s spectacular tirade against the press to the Tottenham supporters’ goading of Sol Campbell.
Greg Dyke has caused a minor rumbling with his comments about the “farcical” nature of the Premiership. Although I’m certain he wasn’t talking about a country house scene full of romantic misunderstandings and hilarious cases of mistaken identity, he has got a point.
Andrew Maxwell - Supernatural, Pleasance Beyond When comedians get their Edinburgh material almost entirely from heir experiences of other gigs, it could be a sign that they are starting to run out of other ideas, but I'll cut Andrew Maxwell a little slack.
Mick Sergeant - Oh Shit! It's Mick Sergeant There's not an awful lot of character comedy at this year's Edinburgh Festival, and I don't think Lee Fenwick's fictional Geordie former shipyard worker Mick Sergeant isn't exactly making me want to seek out more.
Came on drunk, made up some songs on guitar, took all his clothes off.
Blazing a trail for comedians talking about the industrial revolution is Wallington's Andrew O'Neill.
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