We should be talking about steel. Everyone else is. Especially those lucky enough to live in Scunthorpe. The little town, somewhere ‘up north’, where they have a football team, who play in the ‘lower leagues’, lots of tattoo parlours, judging by the protesters you see on tv, easy availability of beer, and a steel works. In fact, Britain’s last remaining steel works. So British, it’s owned by the Chinese. Who choose to export China-made steel to Britain at about a third the price of the stuff they make here. We need some Trumpian tariffs. But instead, ‘we’ bought the business. Yesterday. In a weird and unusual recall of parliament on a Saturday during what would be their Easter recess, a new law was passed in just that one day, taking back control of the steel works. Yes, the good people of Britain now have the rights to pay the £700,000 a day it takes to keep the works going. Lucky us. Well, lucky 2,800 workers in Scunthorpe. Who would all be out of work if the works shut down. Which would financially ruin the entire town. Except the tattooists, obviously. When you see unemployed people, they always have loads of ink.

But we’re not going to talk about steel. Because I read a headline about ‘the irony of the steel industry’, and quite frankly, that sentence should not be allowed. It’s just wrong, on so many levels.

So we’ll talk about football instead. And the game everyone’s talking about. That amazing ‘battle for 15th place’ between Spurs and Wolves this afternoon. The footballing world is riveted to this amazing event where the fixture program actually brings together the two teams involved on precisely the right day. A game of as much importance as any steel debates.

And then there’s The Tuchel Conundrum. Not an uncommon one for managers of the English football team. Sorting out the glut of midfielders, all worthy of inclusion. In particular, the role of ‘attacking midfielder’ which, as a nation, we seem to breed copiously. We lived through the Gerard/Lampard years, in which our two undoubted best midfielders couldn’t work on the pitch together. And now we have The Elevation of Declan Rice to a Demi God.

Obviously I can’t stand the man. From hateful West Ham to Arsenal is not the path followed by decent people. But in one week, the man has become the best midfielder in the land. A declaration (no pun intended, but I quite like it anyway) in 2 amazing free kicks followed by creating a wonderful ‘goal out of nothing’ yesterday against Brentford. If I was Thomas Teuchel, which I’m not because unlike our England manager, I’M FUCKING ENGLISH!!!, would I put Rice’s name down first on the team sheet? But then you’d have to create a space. Phil Foden maybe? Put him on the wing? But the real contender for the very position Rice excels in is Jude Bellingham. And to push him down the pitch into a more defensive role is to waste the incredible talent which can so damage opposing teams. Furthermore, Bellingham offers more. He can beat people. Does so effortlessly. When he boldly chose the number 5 shirt at Real Madrid, I took a sharp intake of breath. That is a shirt with a history. ‘His’ shirt. Zidane!!! But then I watched Bellingham. And decided (fortunately I can make such decisions alone and unilaterally), that Jude is worthy. Totally. He plays like Zizu. Strong and muscly, fast and skilful. You simply can’t drop him out of the team or around into an alternative role.

There you are Thomas, problem solved. Bellingham stays in the number 10 role, Rice moves.

If only the steel problem was so easy. Less ‘ironic’.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx