There are only so many ways to become a football commentator or pundit.

You can be a famous player with a skinful of trophies and a deep understanding of the game. Like Gary Neville.

You can be a famous player with no understanding at all of the game. Like Alan Shearer.

You can be a famous player with trophies, possibly a deep understanding of the game, but no-one can tell because no-one can understand a word they say. Like Kenny Dalgleish and Jamie Carragher.

You can never have played at a high level but have an encyclopaedic knowledge. Like John Motson, Jeff Stelling.

You can be a really really good looking woman/girl who knows nothing about anything except how to pout, show cleavage and bend over a lot in a tight skirt whilst pointing at a giant league table.

Or you can be Gaby Logan. Who probably ticks more boxes than anyone else.

You can even just appear to be nice, like Gary Linneker (who apparently isn’t very but don’t quote me on that).

Lastly you can be a foreigner whose only English sentence is ‘at de end’a da’day’ which is repeated for the entire hour, but you wont’ be invited back.

What you can’t be is Nancy Dell’Olio.

Unless footballing knowledge is transmissible with bodily fluid exchange (eeeeuuuuwwww) its hard to imagine that her years as Sven Goran Eriksson’s main squeeze improved her education much. And if that was the case, Ulrika Johnssen is much more qualified in other ways to be a pundit (see ‘cleavage’ above).

Nancy is a silly orange person who is allegedly a lawyer, apparently an Italian and increasingly an annoyance.

And she wants to commentate on the World Cup. Well don’t we all? Stupid lump. The average man on the Clapham Omnibus probably knows more about football than Nancy and her entire extended family. Mainly because Italians only know about acting, diving, cheating, feigning injury and being boring as fuck when on the ball.

Ah but Nance, as I call her, has an ‘average knowledge’ about our beautiful game, but thinks we need to discuss ‘other things’ during the game.

The price of fake tan. Handbags by Louis Vuitton. Scicillian vs Neapolitain food. The history of cosmetic surgery (not including Wayne Rooney’s hair transplant). The best vibrators by kilowatt/hours of battery life.

ITS FOOTBALL YOU DOZY TART; WHAT THE FUCK ELSE IS THERE TO TALK ABOUT??????

There’s a fab new game on the internet. No, not suicides, they’re old news. This is even better than that.

Neknominate is a drinking game. Someone goes online and challenges you to pour half a pint of Scotch, a litre of vodka, a quart of red wine (must be red, mind), two pints of lager and a dash of lime into a big bucket and drink it within 3 minutes. Or 5. Irrelevent really. You film yourself then post it online.

Fucking brilliant.

3 kids have died already. That’s how much fun it is.

But that’s not why its tragically, chronically, irredeemably sad.

Its sad because why not play such games when together? Why the ‘online’ shit? At least make it sociable, make it fun, plus you have someone to call the ambulance for you.

Maybe we can get Nancy Dell’Olio involved.

Happy Birthday to Rachie

A xxxx