Marcus Rashford gets the Bolton treatment from England manager

When you are a Manchester United supporter and you’re dad was not born in Salford it always is a tougher pull on the fan-string of your heart when the England national team makes a stupid decision.

Like leave a United player out. Like leave Marcus Rashford out.

Is Sam Allayrdyce really setting England up like his ‘great’ Bolton team?

Harry Kane, Daniel Sturridge and Jamie Vardy, together, don’t add up to Rashford currently.

If this was Germany Rashford would be in.

If this was Spain Rashford would be in.

If this was Brazil Rashford would be in.

Bolton? No.

Welcome to India, @piersmorgan

Welcome to India, Piers Morgan.

It will be unlike anyone or anything you have taken on before, even Gary Lineker.

Your social media numbers should by this time have gone through the roof, and they will not stop for some time.

Expect all major Indian TV stations to run their prime-time debate shows around you, with one particular hullaboo anchor actually inviting you to be on it.

Every opinion writer (and blogger like yours truly) will run the gamut of emotions attached to calling India a nation of losers in sport; not sporting losers, because that we are.

Welcome.

Man Utd's altar boys, now free-flowing prophets

Fellaini, Valencia, Mata, Shaw, Herrera.

It’s the reinvention of Manchester United’s blood and bones that really lift the heart of this Red Devil.

Zlat and Pog have arrived like the sun, lifting the pall of mediocrity borne of religious ritualism to the letter of the laws of football.

The United core were once altar boys.

Now, under the new archbishop Mourinho they have rediscovered their inner calling to the beautiful game.

They have moved from set positions around the altar to free-flowing prophets still within the grand plan, driving it rather than being driven.

They have rediscovered the journey.

Olympic sexism.... bronzed out

The predominant tone of everything I wrote in the pre-social media age was sexist.

I had a national mast-head carrying my byline, so enjoyed the freedom to take a panties and bra view on most things.

If I was writing in today's social media scene I would be slaughtered; the mast-heads would have to let me go.

Imagine Jeremy Clarkson, without the millions.

So, this year’s Olympics only have some true athletes.

Simone Biles is the Serena Williams of gymnastics.

Simone Manuel is the Serena Williams of the swimming pool.

Serena Williams is… well no more sexist posts.

Pog back, Mata of time now

VIDEO: Mourinho reveals why he subbed Mata off yesterday. Seriously? https://t.co/jaKe74Jn8x pic.twitter.com/57I05HcVnT

— Football Funnys (@FootballFunnys) August 9, 2016

Zlatan at Manchester United? Feels like a perfect fit.

Pogba back? Done deal, no sweat. Felt like he was on loan at Juventus.

Mourinho in front of the United bench? It still makes me uncomfortable – like, and I have to repeat myself – my mum remarrying and the new man trying his best to make me, and himself, feel at home.

It’s going to take some getting used to and Juan Mata is going to provide the new daddy with his first test of handling the Red Devil family.

Schweinsteiger I can understand, but be very careful with Mata, Jose.

What FB busting clickbait means for media Scrats

Facebook claims it has busted ‘clickbait’.

Which, if it has, makes it a game-changer for internet firms like Taboola.

Even more interesting, will be its effect on general journalese of the desk.

Much like Scrat chasing the acorn in a melting Ice Age, sub-editors of today have a choice – be a dinosaur and go extinct, though you will be remembered with fear and fondness; or be like the crocodile and evolve, primarily by killing (reporters).

That evolution hit the clickbait age and suddenly everything in a headline online was about hit-generation.

Facebook – the new world – has changed it. Evolve.

All that jazz

I am trying to avoid beginning a post with the word ‘I’, and thoroughly failing.

So, while I’m at it, let me say…

I am currently searching for a new jazz sound to anchor my old age in.

Throbbing guitar riff, soulful sax solo, rippling piano chord-set?

What I did find in my search was one of the great realities of musicdom in today’s hyper-digital leading to virtual reality age.

Jazz as a genre in terms of musical sales is dying.

Jazz as an experience in terms of ‘live’ performance is alive and kicking.

For the numbers, read this.

Pune voting for Donald Trump? Just...

I come from Pune, Maharashtra, India.

Pune is to Mumbai what Sharjah is to Dubai, or New Jersey to New York – or so I have been told.
In Pune lives a photographer, who is a personal friend of mine.

He has several pictures with Donald Trump.

Not shot-in-the crowd selfies, or ‘please sir one pic’, but relaxed, calm, hand-around-the-shoulder pictures.
Trump did a deal in Pune, cue Trump Tower there now.

What’s Donald Trump like, I asked him. Smart, tough, all business, was his answer.

Is that good enough for US President? My friend hopes so.

Me? Read this