[Knocks on table]. That’s all I need to hear. A knock on my door:
‘Can we have a chat.’
‘I want to play football.’
‘If you want to dig in with us, roll your sleeves up.’
I haven’t had that. The last conversation I had with him, he didn’t want to be here. He wants to play somewhere else.
The tragic tale of Jack Rodwell: a man with the world at his feet, yet seemingly unable to transform his undeniable talent into lasting success. He will be remembered for his lacklustre performances and his ability to find the slightest of knocks with which to remove himself from all contention.
We now pause for a moment of silence to remember what once could have been as we cast our minds back to his £10 million purchase back in August of 2014... Amen.
Just re-reading that Rodwell interview, and something about it felt very familiar. Cogs upstairs creaked into to life and I found what I was looking for. First image is an interview after just signing - the other is the latest. #safc pic.twitter.com/67jZz3Vbsg— Roker Report (@RokerReport) January 18, 2018
How bloody cheeky was Jack Rodwell’s pathetic attempts at casting a line out into the water looking to hook a new club? Like two bald men fighting over a comb, Rodwell’s pleas for a fresh lease of life will likely end up a futile attempt at finding a new club. Who would seriously take him?
Yet, despite the desperate transfer ad - GSOH ISOLTR, bid at your peril - Rodwell’s awful ‘come and get me boys’ interview has somehow lifted my spirits as we go into this weekend’s crunch fixture against Hull.
I can’t drag him onto the pitch and say ‘please Jack, come and play football for Sunderland,’ and I shouldn’t have to. We’re sitting the day before a big game talking about a player that doesn’t want to play for the club.
I’d rather talk about Asoro or Maja, these players who do want to play for the club, and who can help us, inexperienced though they are. They are putting themselves up. We might play badly, we might play well, but they are here and they are having a go at it.
I don’t really want to talk about players who don’t want to be here and don’t want to have a go at it because that is not going to help us out, although I understand you have to ask the question.
You see, I get this genuine belief from Coleman’s passion and tenacity that he is truly confident in what he says. Sycophants and pretenders, beware! The man in charge ain’t taking no crap - it’s put up, or shut up for the gaffer, and it’s about bloody time.
Sitting bottom of the Championship, many would think it’s panic stations at Sunderland, and in some ways it is. We’ve all seen the dross on the pitch, and the financial figures of fiscal suffering, yet somehow Chris Coleman remains a shining light in an otherwise jet black abyss of suffering and worry.
It’s his unwavering charisma that exudes passion and an undying sense of confidence. He’s like Allardyce 2.0 with his brutal, concise analysis of what’s going wrong, yet somehow he avoids total negativity, and instead breeds a sense of genuine hope and optimism.
It’s spellbinding and defies belief as fans find ways to be positive despite the heavy sense of dread lingering just beyond the horizon. Oh to have his toned arm wrapped around my shoulder telling me everything I need to hear... swoon... Charlotte, you’re a lucky lass!
Whether you are talented or not so talented, it’s the mentality I want. It’s going into situations where you are not guaranteed anything, but you are willing to give everything – even though you might get slapped in the face at the end of it and get no thanks.
It’s those mentalities that you want around you. The ones who think ‘I’m in a bit of pain, I’m suffering a bit, but we’re struggling and I don’t want to miss this game’. The more of those mentalities you have, and the more situations you go into with that mentality, the more you get away from where you are.
Not the one’s who look at it and go ‘that’s not for me, actually. The sun’s not shining, we are not 3-0 up, it’s not March and I haven’t got a big holiday around the corner’. “We don’t want them, we don’t want those people.
Coleman’s rallying cry has been much aided by the incessant bleating of Jack Rodwell’s Sunderland eulogy, and fans will readily embrace the manager’s no-nonsense approach to the issue at hand.
It’s very much a case of rolling up the sleeves and getting to work as Coleman looks to set sparks in motion that will hopefully engulf the side with a passion and verve not seen this season.
It seems as though Coleman is using the situation to question the motivations of his squad. Are you all like Jack? Living in a fantasy of full fitness, adamant you’re not to blame as the club continues to wobble on your watch.
Pah, spare me your platitudes and bugger off if you aren’t up for it. Coleman’s words are nothing short of a rallying cry for those eager to prove their worth. A response is what Cookie expects from his men, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see them come out all cylinders firing this weekend - minus messr. Rodwell.
Sometimes you need that sense of chaos in order to galvanize your efforts - as Friedrich Nietzsche once said: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.” Coleman’s war-cry could be the birthing of a renaissance for the lads in red and white.
Show us your worth, men. Show us you want to fight for what is right. Show us your blood, sweat and tears as you give us your all in the search for success.
Minus the copious amounts of red wine and cringey call to arms, Coleman is very much doing his very own Delia - where are the players capable of lifting us from this fu**ing minging situation? Will they stand up and be counted? I suppose we’ll find out this weekend.