Robbo gets it off his chest

Derek 'Robbo' Robson, the notorious Tees Mouth, launches another tirade against the sporting stars who have been making the news. He will respond to your comments on Friday.

Fake foreigners?

My missus Karen used to tell me I was the only man who could always be in two places at once.

No, she weren't referring to my uncanny ability to get around the park during my days as a rampaging midfielder (nowadays I sit behind the back four, sometimes literally).

No, when I'd get home at night and my Karen would ask: "Where have you been?" I'd say: "Down the Blue Bell."

She'd say: "I rang them up. You weren't there," and I'd say "Ah. That's cos I was in the Green Tree" - and that's when she'd say I'm the only man who could be in two different places at the same time.

Apparently this is nowt compared to our overseas friends in the Premiership.

I pick at random Nolberto Solano who plays for the Geordie bottlers.

Peruvian Greek? Please let me know if you've ever spoken to the lad because he must be bloody bewildered all day long.

No Win Situation

I don't like skiing. Never tried it and I bloody hate watching it.

Reason being, I've never had a need for skis in my everyday life. I'm a walking man.

All these Alpine sorts who win all the events on the piste - I bet not one of them could beat me walking to the paper shop and back.

This hasn't stopped some Taiwanese jessie called Win-Jack Pai from doing a slalom - even though he can barely ski.

Six minutes and 22 seconds?! Five minutes slower than the winner. I could fall down a hill quicker! They say he's set to join Eddie the Eagle and Eric the Eel - I wonder what they'll nickname this berk - bearing in mind his name begins with 'w'.

To Hull and Back

No-one ever seems to have a good word for Hull. Well I do. Dump. That's a good word.

They try, with their white phone-boxes and their once proud Rugby League teams but... no, I can't find it in my heart to be sad for Hull City FC. Or their fan.

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Fish farce

Man taught horses and dogs to run against each other to ennoble the seedy pastime that is gambling. It worked - even though the Royal Family sometimes cast a dodgy shadow on certain race-meets.

Who, then are these brain-dead ponces who insist on gambling on snails or guinea-pigs?

William Hill's say goldfish racing is official. There's no future in it. It's not like you're going to back a fish on previous form or anything - the damn thing can't remember what its previous form was. It's a nonsense!

Some people just gamble on anything. Most likely upcoming things for addicts to bet on include:

Goat-wrestling - 15/8
Underwater Clam Golf - 200/1
Chances of First Foreigner to be kicked out of Premiership for owning a dodgy passport to be playing well for Boro at present - 1/7.

You just wait and bloody see.

Hartson the right place

Some people have suggested that John Hartson, a man who's had more medical tests than Peter Stringfellow this season, is a lardy Welsh yokel who Wimbledon wanted to get shot of before he broke another subs bench. I agree.

But how many of you are proud to play your Sunday league football with a centre forward of equal bulk and intelligence? I know I am.

Strachan was desperate to sign him for lowly Cov. You can see why.

When he kicked his team-mate in the head during training at West Ham, some people called him mad - I call him committed. And undoubtedly, he will be.

Do you think Robbo is sport's Voice of Reason? Or is he a left-back short of a starting XI?

Say what you think - and, remember, Robbo will be back on Friday to give his unique response.