The dog is in Portugal and the city of London is safe.
I asked the players: 'Do you want to enjoy the game? Or do you want to enjoy after the game?' The players told me they wanted to enjoy after the game so I said: 'OK, then we will enjoy after the game'.
A player who dives and wins a penalty in Portugal, or Spain or Italy is considered clever, experienced, cunning, someone who understands the game. In England a player who wins a penalty like that is a cheat.
You are pushed to behave differently here, you don't really have a choice. If you cheat you have no chance of being admired. Even your own supporters will dislike you. So what do you do? Well, the way is not to be stupid, but not to cheat either. If there is a foul, you have to fall. I call it 'helping the referee to make a decision'. That's not cheating.
The longer Jose Mourinho goes on, and on, and on, the more difficult it is for me not to despise him and the set of values he's bringing to football.
If something is not right we give out about it. He is almost a Yorkshireman with a Portuguese accent.
When I take my kids to the zoo in Los Angeles, they always look the longest at the creature that moves the least - especially those in the reptile house. I asked myself: 'Who are the people that are pretty cool but also very still and monotone in their expression?' and I thought of Jose Mourinho.
I must have been a failed football coach in a previous incarnation.
The FA would remove him tomorrow if they had a spine, but clearly, in former lives, were cruel to jellyfish which is why they have returned as them now.
It was a titanic effort.
If he'd been English or Swedish, he'd have walked the England job.
My students used to say, one such as Mary O'Neal, that I identified the students by their boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. That was the way I knew them and keep up with them. Mary was the girlfriend of Stokely Carmichael. She later became a fine painter of distinction and taught at the San Francisco Art Institute, and later became chairman of the Department of Art at Berkeley.
We had probably our best ever Player of the Year Dance last week. You elected Dennis Wise as Player of the Year. Dennis accepted his award mimicking Vialli, whereupon Zola shouted 'Speak English', Dennis switched to his normal Cockney voice only for Zola to shout 'You're still not speaking English'.
Unfortunately much of it is frittered away on fast cars, designer clothes and an attitude to pleasure reminiscent of the 18-30 holiday packages.
A message to the best football supporters in the world. We need a 12th man here. Where are you? Where are you? Let's be having you. Come on!
The black players at this club lend the side a lot of skill and flair, but you also need white players to balance things up and give the team some brains and common sense.
I'm not going to make a present of Santa.
I remember the day when they sold Brian Deane and Jan Aage Fjortoft. It was like when President Kennedy got shot.
A terrific game, even on the losing side I could enjoy it.
It sounds blase but there is a certain amount of luck. We'd all like to take a certain amount of credit for Kevin Doyle... I can't really remember what it was I particularly liked about Kevin when I watched him in Ireland. I had five pints of Guinness in the afternoon and it was all a bit blurred.
He's not fit, either physically or biomechanically.
Good players win you games, good formations stop you losing them.
I think if you've managed Celtic or Rangers you can go on to be Prime Minister of Great Britain, it's that hard.
I'm the same as maybe six or seven people in every ten - I can't take f***ing criticism.
I didn't know anything about it, I swear. Nor did Dave Bassett. We were sitting there saying 'What's happening here?'. It is frightening. A nightmare.
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