Big day today.
The Jeff vs Des derby, as absolutely nobody is calling it — but they probably should be. Hartlepool vs Brighton, a proper clash of the titans in Division Three. 90 minutes that will decide whether Stelling or Lynham have Saturday television bragging rights come this evening. I imagine Jeff will already be polishing his lines for Soccer Saturday.
To be fair to them, the programme pulls good numbers. And it’s always nice to give the ex-pro boys something to do on a Saturday afternoon. Keeps them busy.
Still… the whole thing feels rather unnecessary to me.
Give me the classified football any day of the week. Simple. Elegant. One man, a microphone, and the quiet drama of the results coming in from around the Premiership and beyond.
And that man, of course, is James Alexander Gordon.
Or JAG, to his mates.
The way he reads the final scores… extraordinary. Like a proper Jaguar gliding down the motorway on a quiet Sunday evening. Smooth, confident, not a single unnecessary movement. Effortless class. That voice could turn a man. Silk through the speakers.
Maybe that’s why they call him JAG.
The same sort of understated authority you get from a big old Jaguar XJ. Long bonnet, leather seats, walnut everywhere. The sort of machine that doesn’t roar or show off — it just purrs along, dignified, as if it knows it’s better than everything else on the road.
I’ve just remembered JAG is his initials.
Wake up, Lynam.
I might send Jeff a quick text before heading into the studio to see if he fancies a little wager on the match. Nothing serious of course. We’ll say it’s for charity.
Although I do feel that £10,000 should be more than enough to separate the wheat from the chaff.
Right then. Best get moving.
Kettle on first, obviously.
— Des
