Derby day? More like direby day! First, Villa. What turgid football we play. Basically our tactics consists of hopelessly lumping the ball up to man mountain Heskey, who's then presumably supposed to chest down the ball, scrape past four defenders and score. A likely story, I'm sure you'll agree! Meanwhile, someone put a leash on Reo-Coker! I can't bear seeing him tear away as our sole central midfield option any longer. Seriously, say Heskey holds up the ball...then what? Is Nigel or Sidwell going to come bounding in to finish the move? There's more chance of Fats Domino scoring a goal for us than those two! Michael: I don't know what you're specifically referring to regarding Phil Dowd, though your sentiments certainly ring a bell. Heck, Mark "Clattertrap" Clattenburg's need to consult his assistant (who reminded me of a drunk man who'd just stolen a golf flag) and, for no credible reason, Rio Ferdinand, speaks volumes of the weak willed shenanigans referees seem to now regularly commit. And quite frankly, during these incidents referees always look like they've just been caught wanking. Forgive my crudeness but please, hear me out now. First there's the profuse sweating, then the furious shake of the head, then the useless denial that it ever happened and lastly, the haunting but forever internalised sense of shame. But can we ever have a laugh about it later? Certainly not; for being a referee is deadly, morosely, thoroughly serious business. Sure sure sure, don't get me wrong, it is a tough gig but the trouble with refs is they want to skip straight past accountability to martyrdom in one sweeping movement. Its why they become such tedious, utterly earnest self-promoting media duds when they retire.