Sunday roast: Straight talking Roger Skidmore.

Sad Blues inherit the fatal curse of Badbuy

BLUES fans have taken an instant dislike to loan signing Lee Bradbury.

And who can blame them. The centre-forward has developed an unfortunate knack of bringing bad luck on his employers.

The jinx first struck at Manchester City who were relegated to the Second Division for the first time in their history while Bradbury was on the books. No wonder they said he should have been renamed Lee Badbuy.

Then he moved to Crystal Palace to put the mockers on the Eagles. Within a few weeks they were bankrupt.

And what happens when he joins Blues on loan? Two games into his stay at St Andrew's and their hopes of automatic promotion have bitten the dust.

Maybe Trevor Francis should have bought Ron Bradbury, the 53-year-old, balding, bespectacled manager of Atherstone United!

I must be going soft in my old age but was Liverpool's Robbie Fowler really so much out of line over his latest witty prank?

Granted, Bill Shankly would have kicked his arse so hard that he'd have landed in Birkenhead.

But making a joke out of an accusation by opposing fans of being a "smackhead" by pretending to sniff up the pitch marking as though it was a line of cocaine, was just that ... a joke.

It was not a criminal offence against civilisation, it was not an endorsement of the drug culture and it was not an evil incitement to our youth.

It was a joke. Maybe not a very clever one, but a joke all the same.

If by getting down on all-fours was another immature gesture directed towards Graeme Le Saux then you could just about understand what all the fuss was about.

Greg's too ruddy slow

GREG Rusedski's marathon Davis Cup clash with Jim Courier dragged on so long it created havoc with BBC's programme schedule last Sunday night. The final straw for me came when a documentary on the sexual deviances of the African rhinoceros had to be cancelled.

There may have been a lot at stake - even for someone born in the backstreets of Montreal - as the thrilling five-set finale ebbed and flowed.

But Rusedski needed a rocket up his backside. Too slow to catch a cold, as my dear old Aunt Maud would say.

The Canadian's infuriating time-wasting tactics consisted of undoing his laces and tying them back up (37 times), mopping his brow with a towel in between points (142), tightening the strings of his racquet with a B&Q spanner (86), hitching up his shorts (19) and munching his way through so many bananas that it would have kept the entire monkey populace of Twycross Zoo happy for the summer.

Give me a couple of horny rhinos wallowing in mud any day.

PTHIS week's turkey was stuffed, roasted and wrapped in tin foil as early as Easter Monday. Fabian De Freitas's bizarre explanation for missing Albion's 5-1 trouncing by Crewe took some believing. "I thought it was a night game," said the daft Dutchman after his no-show.

PCome on Daffy, you had all afternoon to dream up a more plausible excuse than that. Maybe a case of Easter Egg poisoning or being kidnapped by the Easter Bunny.

PBut then, as we all know, footballers don't have a mind of their own. When nature calls they have to ask their manager to lead them by the hand to the little boy's room.

What amazed me most about the De Freitas farce, was that Albion had no way of contacting the striker at home. They had his mobile number - but his girlfriend was using that - but they didn't have the phone number of his flat.

P"I know it," shouted Richard Sneekes. But by then, valuable minutes had been lost and kick-off time was fast approaching.

GREG Rusedski's marathon Davis Cup clash with Jim Courier dragged on so long it created havoc with BBC's programme schedule last Sunday night. The final straw for me came when a documentary on the sexual deviances of the African rhinoceros had to be cancelled.

There may have been a lot at stake - even for someone born in the backstreets of Montreal - as the thrilling five-set finale ebbed and flowed.

But Rusedski needed a rocket up his backside. Too slow to catch a cold, as my dear old Aunt Maud would say. The Canadian's infuriating time-wasting tactics consisted of undoing his laces and tying them back up (37 times), mopping his brow with a towel in between points (142), tightening the strings of his racquet with a B & Q spanner (86), hitching up his shorts (19) and munching his way through so many bananas that it would have kept the entire monkey populace of Twycross Zoo happy for the summer.

Give me a couple of horny rhinos wallowing in mud any day.