Locker Room:First, I'll sign up if everyone else will. There should be a moratorium from here until Christmas on columns about the Irish management job. Ban these weapons of mass speculation. There should be some sort of cyber swear-box system. A fine should be imposed for every mention of Delaney, Staunton or any one of the rinky-dinks which the former might be greasing up in order to replace the latter.
The proceeds could go to People in Need to spare the needy a repeat of the unnecessary blow to their dignity caused by seeing Our Lady of the Chlorine filter-cleaning her contaminated reputation at the C list celeb fountain - all in the name of charidee.
Until such time, however, as the EU steps in and imposes order, this column shall go about its business with all the decorum of a looter during a natural disaster. This column will take what it can while the going is good. I was up at the crack of noon and sweated until lunchtime over an alternative subject for this morning, but there just isn't one that doesn't involve hard work. I was going to say that it's not every year you get to speculate endlessly about the Irish management job, but actually it is. JD, oul stock, don't think I'm not grateful. What's that thing you like me to say? You Da Man JD, You Da Man!
Second: apologies to Steve Staunton. We never knew it would be like this. As one of the first to volunteer for the posse which would soon become a lynch mob, we have to say we thought that being a good friend of the sheriff meant your dispatch would be handled with more finesse than, say, Brian Kerr's, Mick McCarthy's, Jack Charlton's or Eoin Hand's. Is it just me, or is there a pattern there, Inspector? We apologise.
You were laying out the cones in your new job at Walsall when an empty limo pulled up and out stepped John Delaney. The Divine Quiff crooked his finger at you and said, "Hey blondie, what's a great kid like you doing in a dump like this?" And the rest is history.
So Stan, we apologise. You were seduced by JD's smooth patter and large (ish) wad, and in truth we too would have swooned. You weren't up to it and, again, neither would we have been.
However, those of us who were quick to point out that you weren't up to it thought the ending would be cleaner and more decent. We never expected to see JD deliver a historically accurate recreation of Pilate washing his hands. We didn't expect to see the FAI leak like a colander, every whisper tut-tutting over the fact you were looking to negotiate a settlement rather than walk the plank and cast yourself into the chasm of obscurity.
It was your employment, the job you gave up the steady cones gig at Walsall for. You gave it your best shot. You deserved better in the end than the booing and the leaks and the black comedy of the night they knifed you. You deserved better, but you were around the FAI long enough to have known in your heart it would never end well. It never does. Let's hope Michael Kennedy did well for you.
Anyway, listen Stan: you could have fallen faster and farther and landed harder. You could be trying to get a bit of cred back by yomping around the bogs of Ireland for People in Need.
Who will replace you? Who will step into the shoes of the gafferman? In the spirit of only ever asking what this column can do for the FAI and not what the FAI can do for this column, LockerRoom hereby saves the blazers the expense of appointing consultants who know something about football.
Forget Davo. David O'Leary is short-odds fave right now, which is just apocalyptically frightening. The tender age-profile of the Irish squad raises questions as to whether Davo would be a wet week in the job before he began referring to the chaps as his babies. I think I speak for us all when I say, yuck! As a Leeds fan (now, be warned, there is a Leeds column imminent), I am against Davo because he is part of what we are, namely a third division club - albeit one who should be asked to play in the Champions League next year. Anyway, Davo has one huge handicap at this stage of the race (apart from being installed as favourite in the Herald): he is represented by Michael Kennedy.
Michael's velvet glove has just removed a large wad of cash from the FAI safe and handed it over to Steve Staunton. The thought of negotiating Davo's new contract with the one man who knows every line and sub-clause of Stan's old contract is likely to be a little daunting for the blazers. Especially if they feel they might need to be rid of Davo in 21 months or so.
Liam Brady or Frank Stapleton, the other two-thirds of the Three Degrees whose perms excited Gooners back in the 1970s, should be disbarred from entering the competition. Liam has become an integral part of the Billo Show, the man who comes between Eamo and Johnny. Truth be told, international punditry on RTÉ is far more entertaining and incisive than the international football. Given the choice between watching Ireland play or watching the lads do the yakkety yak, I'd opt for the lads everytime.
And Frank? As long as they tell the old gag about Frank getting up every morning and smiling at himself in the mirror just to get it out of the way, then I am against Frank being Irish manager. Anyway, a traditional and enjoyable part of the entire pantomime of appointing Irish managers is listening in the aftermath to the novel ways that the FAI cooked up to humiliate Frank and his partner in pathos, John Aldridge. Announce an appointment the day before they are both due to be interviewed and we'll all be happy.
Kevin Moran can't be appointed because I think too highly of him and would hate to see him fallen so low. Kenny Dalglish is out because I recently spent money on a new digital recorder and need to have something audible to record at press conferences. Graeme Souness looks too much like the Sports Editor and would make me uneasy.
I once saw Ron Atkinson in a hotel in Montpellier, jiggling through the dining room in a pair of excruciatingly tight white speedos as I listlessly forked a sausage. There are other things for which he should never be forgiven, but his attempt to prove that he really is Big Ron should always be on top of the charge sheet.
I like the idea of Phillippe "Omar" Troussier, especially if he would guarantee as a Muslim to make Irish players observe Ramadan. One month in the year of fasting, charity and self-accountability would make up for a lot of the other stuff.
Dick Advocaat, as a former Rangers manager, probably needs to submit himself to a quarantine acting as a pundit under Billo's wise tutelage. It worked for Souey.
Paul Jewell? Even the name sounds rinky-dink. Sorry.
Keano? Out of our league.
A double act of Martin Jol and Chris Hughton would be my favourite combination. I love Chrissie Hughton for loads of reasons, but mostly because he always says a cheery hello to me even though he knows vaguely that whoever I am I seem to be part of the media. That's a rare quality in football and I would like to see it rub off on the Irish side. And anyway, it's important we get management Robbie Keane is happy with.
Failing all that, I would have no qualms about choosing the people's favourite, the man who has been so, so good for all things in Irish football apart from choosing somebody to run the national team or enhancing the reputation of the FAI.
Come on down JD. Anoint thine own self.
You Da Man.
