SPUD Watch becomes a normal job again as I actually have players to report on. I felt like Lieutenant Huxley in Demolition Man there for a while, wandering around yearning for things to happen – usually in the Npower Championship but in the end I'd end up on Chat Roulette crying at a group of black people wearing Yankee jerseys in America laughing at my naked body.

SPUD Watch becomes a normal job again as I actually have players to report on. I felt like Lieutenant Huxley in Demolition Man there for a while, wandering around yearning for things to happen – usually in the Npower Championship but in the end I’d end up on Chat Roulette crying at a group of people wearing Yankee jerseys in America laughing at my naked body.

Chat Roulette is the land of the be-dammed, the down and outers – the type of landscapes Shane McGowan use to verse about – and indeed a bad time for me, but this is behind me now and this week’s Spud Watch was written all the while with a solid horn, a horn of glee and hope, but a small horn nonetheless…


Coleman scored against West Ham over the Christmas and when he netted the winner against Spurs the other night I began to realise what multiple orgasms must feel like.

Seamus Coleman is lifting the black cloud that currently hangs over the country. The news yesterday was that Ireland’s exports are at an all time high. It couldn’t be a more apt description for young Coleman. Now I’m not going delve into socio-economics (because frankly the whole thing would be made up) and start pontificating because I read the Business supplement in the Times (while on my daily toils through the broadsheets looking for something to whack off to) but in 2009 Ireland won the Grand Slam, Leinster won the Heineken Cup, and yet the greatest talking point of the year was Ireland being robbed by France in football.

So when Seamus Coleman has run past a player and is exponentially opening the gap between himself and the full-back constantly throughout a football match, you feel a sort of pride inside you. Similarly you feel proud when Brian O’ Driscoll opens up a rugby pitch by attacking a space that seemingly wasn’t there or visible to the human eye. The difference being in Coleman’s case that you know that the whole world could be watching this Irishman as the Premiership and football is a global phenomenon. The whole world is watching (except the obvious ones i.e. Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles, Richard Pryor in “See no Evil Hear no Evil”). I’ve talked to Peruvians, Paraguayans, Ecuadorians, Welshians, Mexicans, Spanishians, Scottishians, Australians, Asians, Pakistanians, English c*nts, people on my travels (I even rid a few of them, women now, not men, I think) – and one thing that always excites in football is the ability to dribble and have close control at top speed. Zidane wasn’t that quick but he was able to dribble when flat-out. And these foreign people used to say the same thing about Damian Duff but most had never heard of Brian O’Driscoll. Driblling at top speed excites. Messi does it. It means that change of pace, which is an obstacle for lesser players, is not a hindrance (point of reference being when Kilbane tries to change direction at top speed or when his trick doesn’t work).

Gareth Bale does it also. This time last year Gareth Bale was struggling to hold down a place. He looked like a right shite-hawk, constantly at fault for goals and creating diddly and look what happened in a year? I’ve been saying the same thing about Coleman. I’ve said on numerous occasions previously on this rag that he’s already at a more advanced stage than Bale was last year. So my friends whatdoes all of this mean? Well basically it means I am the Second Coming as I can see the future. I have amazing powers of foresight and the very least ye should do is have a big whip around and get me a hooker. Not one of them sh*tty ones from EscortIreland.ie that are riddled; a proper high class one that hangs round the Shelbourne waiting for celebrities like Simon Young to come in and whisk her away to paradise.

Seamus Coleman quite simply is the future – we must export our best stuff and bring happiness and prosperity as a result. Now get me a hooker.


Damian Duff is back. All you doubters out there, get bent because you were wrong and I was right. I can only assume Mark Hughes reads Spud Watch as it’s been no coincidence that his side’s fortunes have changed since bringing Duff back into the team just before Christmas. They have won more corners and frees and he has done everything bar score, and maybe setting a few up, but he has done everything else. So I would like to take this moment to stop for a second and pat myself on the back again. If I could perform oral sex on myself I would. If I could perform oral sex on Duff I would also. I genuinely love the man. He has given me more joy over the years than all of my Chris De Burgh tapes combined. Against West Brom he was a constant menace and returned to doing what he does best – beating his man and putting in some really quality balls, which you feel, and you feel that Mark Hughes feels, that this type of ball will be buried by Bobby Zamora. It’s not Rocket science and it’s the foundation on which their success was built last season. Had Duff been fully fit, they would have won the UEFA Cup and I would have been waiting for him in the winners lounge with a bottle of hock and a bottle of lube.


Not a bad week with all things considered for Villa’s Irish after a sh*t Christmas. Gerard Houllier has decided to pick the best players he has available to him again. What a foolish fish-eyed, moron and soon to be unemployed man.

Dunne looked world-class again for about 85 minutes against Chelsea. Still he deserves to be playing and he will be, as I have no doubt he will out-last the French clown currently running the club. The amount of bookings Villa are getting is absolutely ridiculous and points towards ill-discipline and shoddy management. Yes, I may lack reverence but on certain occasions it needs to be said. I bet Martin O’Neill is turning in his grave at Villa’s complete U-turn in discipline and temperment. Martin O’Neill isn’t dead but I read somewhere that he likes to lie in graves as a hobbie. I think I read it in the same place where it says Gerard Houllier is a good manager.

Dunne will be back to a world-class level long before Gerard Houllier finds a new management job.

Bizarrely on Sunday, Ciaran Clark didn’t go green on Aertel? If you’re green on teletext then u have to play for Ireland. That’s the way it is. Is there anyway Messi could go green on Aertel? All the English lads should come with skull and bones.

Ciaran Clark, back in the side playing at left full, was awesome on Sunday. The man is hard as nails, tenacious, and is willing to put his body on the line to make blocks. It’s one thing being willing to make blocks, it’s another thing being constantly able to do it and it’s an art form (see Paul McGrath).

I’ll be a lot happier when I actually see Clark in a green jersey and when he does, I will put everything I own on him being every bit the equal of tough Irish defenders of the past like Kevin Moran and Mick McCarthy. Ciaran Clark will be a hardman.

Man United

John O’Shea, again, was nowhere to be seen in the Man U squad. Sheasy is currently injured for Man United and Sir Alex says he is still very much in his plans, just like hammering a nail into my forehead is very much in my plans.

One man who has had an amazing resurgence after seemingly blowing his chance is Darron Gibson. I fully expected him to be on the move in January but it just goes to show that I’m not right all of the time (although usually I am as I am great). Darron Gibson has proven me wrong, has upped his work rate, and may no longer be a ghost in a green shirt come February.

Gibson seems to have learned a trick off Paul Scholes -the ability to see and make a pass that looks like it’s not on. It’s about time he learned something from Scholes to be fair. If you can’t learn something from him there’s a serious want in you. Like if Carol Vorderman was your mother and you did pass-maths for the Leaving Cert. When you’re around skilled people long enough it rubs off.


Watching Leon Best’s green name on teletext brought a tear to my eye.

Leon Best is obviously taking drugs – but who cares – this hattrick was about as likely as me getting into Lillies a year back when I walked up to the bouncer in reverse – but a hattrick it was nonetheless and fair play to young Best who is 30. I’m joking of course (I love a nice joke); he’s only 24. The hattrick was no doubt inspired in no small part by the passing of Leon’s hero and favourite artist, Gerry Rafferty whom Best loved and has all his albums. Well I bet Leon is at home right now listening to Baker Street. These are good times for Spud Watch and I really am lapping it up this week. It seems nothing can go wrong…

At Sunderland

It’s like in “Reeling in the Years” when all the happy music is playing, then the music stops and there is silence and then images of starving babies or people being pulled out of car wreckages appear on the screen and it’s hard to follow through with the w*nk you were having prior to this.

Yes its been a great week for Spud Watch but the sad news is David Meyler, who has been awesome for Sunderland all over Christmas has done his dicky knee again. Perhaps he came back too soon? A fearless midfield general who seemed to pick up exactly where he left off last April. Like the footballing equivalent of a rottweiler in the middle of the pitch, and cut from the same rock as Roy “soon to be on scratch” Keane. Believe me I know a good player when I see one. I remember watching Gary Breen playing in the non-league and saying to myself, “He’ll play for Barcelona” some day. And low and behold he nearly did.

It’s sad for Meyler and Ireland as he is exactly what we needed to shatter the sh*t-house central midfield partnership that Trap is starting with. Meyler’s contributions for Sunderland since returning to action three weeks ago would make him virtually unplayable if he had got a chance in the Irish shirt. I really hope the injury isn’t as bad this time and that I can return to whacking off to “Reeling in the Years” again.

Stoke City

Glenn Whelan should do the honourable thing and offer Meyler one of his knees. I’ll gladly perform the amputation.

One of the headlines during the week read “Trapattoni Rubbishes Stroke Rumours.”

I wish the headline were “Trapattoni Rubbishes Stoke.”

Hopefully the stroke damages the part of his brain that remembers St Ledger, McShane, Kilbane, and Green. We won’t know the true extent of his stroke until we see his next team sheet – if it includes a frozen Italian pizza, Luigi from Mario Brothers and Mussolini we’ll know it’s time to call Strokes-R-Us. I’d still pick a frozen pizza ahead of Glenn Whelan any day.

Marc Wilson celebrated his Stephen’s Day goal by being on the Stoke bench next time out with the long suffering Glenn Whelan. Glenn Whelan had a sh*t Christmas and I bet Tony Pulis was tempted to bring on a snowman ahead of him. Jon Walters looks more like he should be playing at the World Darts Championships – his gut and physique suggests pub hero and he seems to have the same dietician as Andy Reid, i.e. Dr. Ronald McDonald.


An up and down Christmas which probably had more downs especially after losing to West Ham on New Year’s Day. It was looking like the Spud Amistad was sinking into the Championship. But then a famous and deserved win against Chelsea changed all this with an inspired Stephen Hunt hitting the kind the form with which he made his name during Reading’s first year in the Premier League. Things are starting to look up all of a sudden at Molineux with Doyle back fit. Stephen Ward has played striker, right-wing and central midfield in the last few weeks. Foley too has played in all sorts of strange positions. It’s quite bizarre and reminds me of playing PES on the Playstation. You’d put your goalie at left-back and then you could put the cheat in that allowed you to chase the dog around the pitch. I used to really enjoy that part of the game, then they made me stay back in school, twice, the bastards.

The Championship

I can’t be arsed looking at the Championship or indeed up in Scotland as I’m trying to prolong the feel-good factor as much as possible by suppressing St Ledger, Green, McShane, Kilbane, and all the rest from memory. I will say this though – Shane Long had a fine Christmas and deserves a go in the Premier League. So too does Conor Sammon. One man’s loss is another’s gain and Andy Reid may be looking at Sunderland’s injury list (particularly now with young David Meyler joining it) and rubbing his chin. This could be his chance to get back in their squad. I will say this also; I saw him playing live over the Christmas and he looks like he ate three turkeys and two hams in one sitting. Sean St. Ledger, I hope you got that rope I posted you. This man is a charlatan my friends. A fraud. Listen to me as I am the Second Coming. Speaking of second coming, I’m off to masturbate into my Santa sock, one last time while listening to “Put Em Under Pressure”. It’s like World Cup 90 all over again. Long may it continue..

Spud Watch Irish Dream Team:

Our strongest team on paper:

Best Doyle

Duff Gibson Meyler Coleman

Clarke Dunne O shea Carr

Paddy Kenny

Subs: Hunt, Fahey Long Sammon, Foley, Ward, Given (joke), Keane (also a joke),

Manager: Mick McCarthy,

Assistant to the Manager: Stan

Here comes The Good Times – Here’s what’s playing on the Irish iPods

Seamus Coleman

Queen – Don’t Stop Me now

Seamus Moore – Did You Ever Get The Ride On A Tractor

Kanye West – Runaway

Robbie Keane/Shay Given

Meja – It’s all about the money (it’s all about the dum dum duh dee dum dum.)

Amiee Mann – Wise Up

David Meyler

Natalie Imbruglia – Torn

Sting – I’ll be missing you

Jackson 5 – I Want you Back

Damian Duff

Bob Dylan – Positively 4th Street

Beach Boys – You Still Believe in Me (Liam, which would be me)

Hunt/Doyle/Ward/Foley/Mick McCarthy

Primal Scream – Movin’ On Up

Darren Gibson

Paul McCartney – Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time

Kilbane/ McShane/ Green/St Ledger

The Supremes – Stop!! (playing international football) in the Name of Love

Leon Best

Gerry Rafferty -Baker Street

De La Soul – 3 is the Magic Number