My favourite detail of the Newcastle United story regards Alan Shearer. Unnamed sources say he is too "happy with his job on Match Of The Day" to wish to be the manager at this moment.
His job? Let's get this straight. What this means is that rather than working twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week in all weathers, in the pitiless glare of public scrutiny, dealing with spoiled multi-millionaires with less loyalty than attention span, standing still and taking it while thousands of people chant abuse at you, knowing that your kids will come home crying from school because of what some kid said about you in the playground, knowing that unless you're very, very lucky you will lose more than you win and most Sundays will be spent in the pit of black depression, relieved only by strong drink or a gambling addiction, having to make sure than you are accompanied by a bodyguard in public in case some drunk spits abuse at you in the supermarket car park, knowing that your painstakingly acquired professional judgment can be undone by the bounce of a ball, the decision of linesman or the side of the bed that a superstar got out of this morning; rather than doing all that you'd take a high six figure salary for spending Saturday afternoon in a warm dry studio watching highlights of the Premiership, putting on a clean shirt and saying "he'll be disappointed with that" for a full five minutes before going out to dinner.
Really, call punditry on Match of The Day anything you like, but don't ever call it "a job".