Well I did, didn't I?
Cast your minds back a couple of weeks, while we had a blissful week off from the dross that Doubtfire likes to serve up with every opportunity, and you'll remember me spouting the rather prophetic: 'He looks overweight and plainly uninterested; I would have snapped that Turkish side's hand off yesterday. Simply, Gyan must gan.'
And I've been proven right. With a swift v-sign to us lot and a last look in the Roker Pie Shop, Cashamoah has p****d off to some new Arab territory, where I'm sure they'll keep him fully supplied with all the kormas his fat a**e requires.
Oh he's left Doubtfire looking a right mug mind, hasn't he just!
In fairness to our potato-headed one, it's clear the mercenary b*****d has had his head turned by the ludicrous sums of money them rich oil chaps enjoying chucking about. I don't like Doubtfire but to suggest this is his fault is complete rubbish; it comes down to money, pure and bloody simple.
But the reason he's been left looking like a mug is 'cause he believed the treacherous little t**t.
Thursday morning: "Oh he's fine and dandy, raring to go!"
Saturday morning: "Oh...bugger."
And it's not like Saturday got any better either. Chelski and another oily fellow, Abrahama-wotsit (eight years in this country and I still can't spell his Commie name). They've got that new gaffer too, the one that you have to sound like Sean Connery to say properly: Andreshhhh Veeeeyassssh Boaaashhh.
He might have a s***e name but by all accounts he's a cracking manager. Not that he had to be on Saturday, like.
Now, is Doubtfire really a mag in disguise, or just bloody thick? Who the hell buys a bloke from Arsenal, you know, that team that likes tippytappy stuff, then proceeds to lump the ball up to him at every opportunity?
I'm a fan of the old-fashioned way, it's how the game should be played, but this plank Bentnerd is hardly gonna be any good at it is he? He's spent too long being told to 'train wivout zee ball' by that blind idiot Wenger (don't even get me started on that French moron).
So aye, unsurprisingly s**t tactics, and an unsurprising defeat to the cockneys. At least our Korean c**k scored ey, quite a cool finish from Mr Dong, but no surprise again that it was far too late.
Well, maybe it wouldn't have been, if tight-a**e wasn't so sodding useless. I mean, honestly, what the f**k was he thinking?!
For those who don't recall what I'm on about or, more than likely, didn't even bother to go to the game, let me paint a picture for you. After ninety minutes of looking uninterested, we suddenly buck our ideas up, and the dog-eater gets a goal. We then decide to go hell for leather, regain possession, and end up with the ball on the right hand side, with plenty of room to put a decent cross in and scare the s***e out of that hat-wearing puff, Cech.
Only thing is, bloody Shambles is the man over the ball. He could have laid off a simple pass to that Swedish lad Larsson (who was crap but might have done something good eventually), who can actually put in a half-decent cross from time to time.
But no, our favourite ex-Mag decides he'll go for it himself. What the f*****g hell was that man. I couldn't work out whether it was a cross, an attempted lob, an extremely stupid clearance or whether he was just taking the proverbial. Whatever it was, it resulted in bugger all, and we've lost two out of two at home this season.
In fact, we've now lost eight of the last nine at home. What was it that we should expect the Stadium of Light to be, a fortress? Maybe we should rename it the Bastille.
I'm sick of saying it now, but the fat one has to go. Rumour has it the Irishman was thinking about quitting too on Saturday, and it wouldn't surprise me one jot. At least he has some conscience about him, willing to walk away when he realises the damage his decisions are making. Doubtfire won't walk until he gets his big fat severance package.
So, in the words of Keano, we move on. More precisely, we move on to playing the Harlem f*****g Globetrotters at the weekend. Considering Bardo's probably gonna get a ban for trampling on that Matter bloke, and Cattermole has fell out of favour, I'm fully expecting us to get bullied from the first to the last.
Oh happy days.