I still don't think the gurning cheerleader will be there next season. The way his team have fucked up this season, and the speed with which they've done it, says to me there is something going on that we don't know about.
To fall so heavily behind the leaders within such a relatively short space of time is indicative of inner turmoil, regardless of what enamel man says in public.
From battling for the Prem to mid-table mediocrity doesn't usually happen overnight. The decline is usually spread out over a much larger time frame, a season or two, maybe. But Mr Colgate has achieved it in record time, and is trying to convince everybody that it's all because of Mane leaving.
Utter codswallop. This season his team has looked tired and disjointed, going through the motions, playing like they've only just woken up from hibernation. Compare this to the past couple of seasons when they've been like Mr Burns' hounds when he releases them: all guns blazing, a thousand miles an hour, chasing everything that moves. It wasn't as if they played like they were motivated, they played like their bodies were forcing them to run fast, as if they had no option. And it was like this game after game after game. Pretty much the same eleven, no rotation, same players. And every game had the same pattern - a bunch of red-shirted Speedy Gonzales play-a-likes hurtling about with reckless abandon. And the gurning çunt on the sidelines, the bastard love child of Yootha Joyce and Esther Rantzen, fizzing and popping like a kaleidoscopic Catherine Wheel.
You watch them nowadays and they perform like they've each been individually stuffed full of mega-strength sedatives.