ISN’T it amazing just how easy it is to disappear down the rabbit’s hole that is the internet at just the smallest of prompts.
Take the other day, when Saints fans were asked via Twitter for their favourite ever Tommy Martyn moment.
There I was, meant to finishing off the dishes, instead idly feasting on various opinions on the great St Helens stand off.
And here’s where the trouble started. My own best moment, if I had to choose, would be the ridiculously sublime pass which carved up the Wigan defence like a plump Sunday roast bird.
Lots of other agreed. But for the life of me I couldn’t recall who he made the pass to. Was it Paul Sculthorpe or that big Aussie we had in the front row at the time.
And here’s where the internet your savour transforms into the internet your downfall.
Before tinterweb I’d would have spent the night racking my brains before dashing into the office the next morning to draw upon the collected knowledge of my workmates.
No longer. A few clicks and YouTube (other video sharing sites are available) tells me Tommy’s mathematically exact pass landed into the grateful palms of the outstanding Australia international, Peter Shiels.
Job done. Er, not quite. I’m about to close the laptop and get on with the dishes because, quite honestly, I’ve already taken longer than is strictly necessary.
Time to knuckle down. Only, what’s this? a two minute-long compilation of Jamie Lyon’s best ever Saints tries, complete with a dodgy soft rock soundtrack.
Why, yes, Mr YouTube, I would like to take a look at that, thanks for the kind suggestion.
And then we’re off. I’m back at Knowsley Road cheering on Saints as they trash Wigan 75-0.
Before I know it, Mrs M comes in to investigate and finds me, surrounding by piles of dirty dishes, cheering on Scully as he attempts to punch his way through Australia’s front row, as they pin him to the ground.
Clearly, as I was told at the time, this was really a waste of two hours.
Part of me agrees. Another part says it was worth just to see Tommy God’s wonder pass to Peter Shiels’ again.
THEY settle differences in football in a slightly more foppish manner, I’ve noticed recently.
In the olden days, top players like Kevin ‘We Need to Talk about Kevin’ Keegan and Billy Bremner, would sort things out with an admittedly slightly girly punch up.
Nothing to compare to the 2004 Saints v Wigan Good Friday ding-dong, which I viewed again recently for research purposes (see above).
But at least it was a cut above the antics of alleged Chelsea hardman and all-round nice guy, John Terry.
JT, as he likes to be known, has the hump with FA chairman David Bernstein after he had the temerity to give evidence against him in court. That Bernstein was legally compelled to do so, seems to have escaped Tezza’s notice.
Anyway, what’s done to get back at his arch-nemesis? Written him a strongly-worded letter; refused to hand over his crayons at second break?
No, much worse - he refused to shake his hand.
Given the number of people who won’t shake JT’s, you’d have thought beggars can’t be choosers.
As Sir Alex Ferguson once observed in slightly different circumstances: Football, bloody hell.