The most baffling managerial decision ever

[Ironside]

he had to make room so hasslebank could become player/manager

[sharpy]

What is baffling is why Mandric appointed Martin Allen to begin with.The pair off them had a falling out when they were at pompey which resulted with Allen going.(he was assistant then I think).

 BTW Tighty you have many more years of this to come.Until Mandric finds another 'arry' to manage Leicester it will just go on and on and on.

  Enjoy

 PS I think the timing of this stinks

[bobby1]

Warnock is exactly what they need, managers dont get promotion records like his by fluke.

[TightEnd]

Peter Reid.?.oh please god no

 

[bobby1]

Peter Reid.?.oh please god no

 

hee hee, I wouldnt wish that on anyone!!

[TightEnd]

Mandaric has signed two players on season long loans since the manager left

thus confirming what we already know. The real manager is the chairman, all you have to do as public manager is say "yes" a lot and do some training sessions

[TightEnd]

Martin's goodbye message

"Good morning everyone,

Yesterday I went swimming in a frozen lake. It wasn't frozen to begin with, I had to freeze it first and then I broke the ice to climb in. In many ways managing Leicester City was like climbing into that lake only there were less dead wet fish because I got rid of one to Charlton and the other to Motherwell before I left. But I still broke the ice anyway.

I think we achieved a lot together before I left, but what I did was incidental; the players deserve the credit not me. They jump after the hare in a blind fashion as it races around the stadium and the trainer just stands near the stadium trying to get into the knickers off the daughter of an addicted gambler.

You can take the dog home at the end of the race, give it a doggy chew, feed it some Bonios, pick up the shit that it leaves lying around and sometimes scratch its stomach...but if that dog doesn't want to chase fluffy rabbits, it doesn't matter how good a trainer you are. Sometimes you find that your house is full of dogs that you didn't buy. Sometimes you ask the dog owner to stop leaving his tired, old dogs around your house but little do you think that it will be the dog owner that bites you. Football management is surprising like that.

I remember thinking that football management is a funny old game while I was grafting 27 hours a day as a self-employed gardener. That's real pressure for you - pruning rose bushes and stopping for cups of tea. You don't want someone poncing about in your garden, and err hanging around, fluffing about and all that stuff. And that's what I did at Leicester. Gardening can help relieve the stress of management but it’s also similar to tending a football team. I took a hedge-trimmer to clear out the flower beds at the training ground. The owner of the flower patch then gave me a load of plants; some of them didn't like the soil, some very very old and some were already dead - but I propped them up and pretended I could make them grow. Eventually, you have to say "No, I want some plants that I like the look of, I don't like that plant - it won't fit on a left-facing wall" but we all know that in the gardening game you have to make you bed and not step on it. Hopefully, some of the seedlings I didn't lend to other gardeners will be able to do a half decent job.

You know, managing Leicester City was a lot like eating your Sunday dinner. At the beginning I was very keen to get started but I had to dick about with the DVD-watching, that was like my prawn cocktail. Then I wanted to tuck into my veg & meat course but the bloke that was paying for the whole thing kept flicking bits of food at me that I didn't want. It was like my plate was being piled up on one side with food that didn't go together, like processed cheese and broken Hula Hoops. They have no place on a Sunday dinner plate at all. I kept trying to re-arrange my plate and in the end had to take it all to a restaurant in Scotland. But, as is always the way, the bloke who pays for the meal gets the final say and here I am now, at the end of the meal, without any wafer mints. Or any coffee. You know what I mean?

After a good Sunday meal I like to play games with my children but they've got too good so I don't play them anymore. Anyway, we can't afford any games now.

It seems as though my Auntie has balls.

Take care,
Martin"

[boldie]

Martin's goodbye message

"Good morning everyone,

Yesterday I went swimming in a frozen lake. It wasn't frozen to begin with, I had to freeze it first and then I broke the ice to climb in. In many ways managing Leicester City was like climbing into that lake only there were less dead wet fish because I got rid of one to Charlton and the other to Motherwell before I left. But I still broke the ice anyway.

I think we achieved a lot together before I left, but what I did was incidental; the players deserve the credit not me. They jump after the hare in a blind fashion as it races around the stadium and the trainer just stands near the stadium trying to get into the knickers off the daughter of an addicted gambler.

You can take the dog home at the end of the race, give it a doggy chew, feed it some Bonios, pick up the shit that it leaves lying around and sometimes scratch its stomach...but if that dog doesn't want to chase fluffy rabbits, it doesn't matter how good a trainer you are. Sometimes you find that your house is full of dogs that you didn't buy. Sometimes you ask the dog owner to stop leaving his tired, old dogs around your house but little do you think that it will be the dog owner that bites you. Football management is surprising like that.

I remember thinking that football management is a funny old game while I was grafting 27 hours a day as a self-employed gardener. That's real pressure for you - pruning rose bushes and stopping for cups of tea. You don't want someone poncing about in your garden, and err hanging around, fluffing about and all that stuff. And that's what I did at Leicester. Gardening can help relieve the stress of management but it’s also similar to tending a football team. I took a hedge-trimmer to clear out the flower beds at the training ground. The owner of the flower patch then gave me a load of plants; some of them didn't like the soil, some very very old and some were already dead - but I propped them up and pretended I could make them grow. Eventually, you have to say "No, I want some plants that I like the look of, I don't like that plant - it won't fit on a left-facing wall" but we all know that in the gardening game you have to make you bed and not step on it. Hopefully, some of the seedlings I didn't lend to other gardeners will be able to do a half decent job.

You know, managing Leicester City was a lot like eating your Sunday dinner. At the beginning I was very keen to get started but I had to dick about with the DVD-watching, that was like my prawn cocktail. Then I wanted to tuck into my veg & meat course but the bloke that was paying for the whole thing kept flicking bits of food at me that I didn't want. It was like my plate was being piled up on one side with food that didn't go together, like processed cheese and broken Hula Hoops. They have no place on a Sunday dinner plate at all. I kept trying to re-arrange my plate and in the end had to take it all to a restaurant in Scotland. But, as is always the way, the bloke who pays for the meal gets the final say and here I am now, at the end of the meal, without any wafer mints. Or any coffee. You know what I mean?

After a good Sunday meal I like to play games with my children but they've got too good so I don't play them anymore. Anyway, we can't afford any games now.

It seems as though my Auntie has balls.

Take care,
Martin"

class

[tikay]

Martin's goodbye message

"Good morning everyone,

Yesterday I went swimming in a frozen lake. It wasn't frozen to begin with, I had to freeze it first and then I broke the ice to climb in. In many ways managing Leicester City was like climbing into that lake only there were less dead wet fish because I got rid of one to Charlton and the other to Motherwell before I left. But I still broke the ice anyway.

I think we achieved a lot together before I left, but what I did was incidental; the players deserve the credit not me. They jump after the hare in a blind fashion as it races around the stadium and the trainer just stands near the stadium trying to get into the knickers off the daughter of an addicted gambler.

You can take the dog home at the end of the race, give it a doggy chew, feed it some Bonios, pick up the shit that it leaves lying around and sometimes scratch its stomach...but if that dog doesn't want to chase fluffy rabbits, it doesn't matter how good a trainer you are. Sometimes you find that your house is full of dogs that you didn't buy. Sometimes you ask the dog owner to stop leaving his tired, old dogs around your house but little do you think that it will be the dog owner that bites you. Football management is surprising like that.

I remember thinking that football management is a funny old game while I was grafting 27 hours a day as a self-employed gardener. That's real pressure for you - pruning rose bushes and stopping for cups of tea. You don't want someone poncing about in your garden, and err hanging around, fluffing about and all that stuff. And that's what I did at Leicester. Gardening can help relieve the stress of management but it’s also similar to tending a football team. I took a hedge-trimmer to clear out the flower beds at the training ground. The owner of the flower patch then gave me a load of plants; some of them didn't like the soil, some very very old and some were already dead - but I propped them up and pretended I could make them grow. Eventually, you have to say "No, I want some plants that I like the look of, I don't like that plant - it won't fit on a left-facing wall" but we all know that in the gardening game you have to make you bed and not step on it. Hopefully, some of the seedlings I didn't lend to other gardeners will be able to do a half decent job.

You know, managing Leicester City was a lot like eating your Sunday dinner. At the beginning I was very keen to get started but I had to dick about with the DVD-watching, that was like my prawn cocktail. Then I wanted to tuck into my veg & meat course but the bloke that was paying for the whole thing kept flicking bits of food at me that I didn't want. It was like my plate was being piled up on one side with food that didn't go together, like processed cheese and broken Hula Hoops. They have no place on a Sunday dinner plate at all. I kept trying to re-arrange my plate and in the end had to take it all to a restaurant in Scotland. But, as is always the way, the bloke who pays for the meal gets the final say and here I am now, at the end of the meal, without any wafer mints. Or any coffee. You know what I mean?

After a good Sunday meal I like to play games with my children but they've got too good so I don't play them anymore. Anyway, we can't afford any games now.

It seems as though my Auntie has balls.

Take care,
Martin"

I'll have some of what he's on. He's a complete fruitcake!

[Longy]

Martin's goodbye message

"Good morning everyone,

Yesterday I went swimming in a frozen lake. It wasn't frozen to begin with, I had to freeze it first and then I broke the ice to climb in. In many ways managing Leicester City was like climbing into that lake only there were less dead wet fish because I got rid of one to Charlton and the other to Motherwell before I left. But I still broke the ice anyway.

I think we achieved a lot together before I left, but what I did was incidental; the players deserve the credit not me. They jump after the hare in a blind fashion as it races around the stadium and the trainer just stands near the stadium trying to get into the knickers off the daughter of an addicted gambler.

You can take the dog home at the end of the race, give it a doggy chew, feed it some Bonios, pick up the shit that it leaves lying around and sometimes scratch its stomach...but if that dog doesn't want to chase fluffy rabbits, it doesn't matter how good a trainer you are. Sometimes you find that your house is full of dogs that you didn't buy. Sometimes you ask the dog owner to stop leaving his tired, old dogs around your house but little do you think that it will be the dog owner that bites you. Football management is surprising like that.

I remember thinking that football management is a funny old game while I was grafting 27 hours a day as a self-employed gardener. That's real pressure for you - pruning rose bushes and stopping for cups of tea. You don't want someone poncing about in your garden, and err hanging around, fluffing about and all that stuff. And that's what I did at Leicester. Gardening can help relieve the stress of management but it’s also similar to tending a football team. I took a hedge-trimmer to clear out the flower beds at the training ground. The owner of the flower patch then gave me a load of plants; some of them didn't like the soil, some very very old and some were already dead - but I propped them up and pretended I could make them grow. Eventually, you have to say "No, I want some plants that I like the look of, I don't like that plant - it won't fit on a left-facing wall" but we all know that in the gardening game you have to make you bed and not step on it. Hopefully, some of the seedlings I didn't lend to other gardeners will be able to do a half decent job.

You know, managing Leicester City was a lot like eating your Sunday dinner. At the beginning I was very keen to get started but I had to dick about with the DVD-watching, that was like my prawn cocktail. Then I wanted to tuck into my veg & meat course but the bloke that was paying for the whole thing kept flicking bits of food at me that I didn't want. It was like my plate was being piled up on one side with food that didn't go together, like processed cheese and broken Hula Hoops. They have no place on a Sunday dinner plate at all. I kept trying to re-arrange my plate and in the end had to take it all to a restaurant in Scotland. But, as is always the way, the bloke who pays for the meal gets the final say and here I am now, at the end of the meal, without any wafer mints. Or any coffee. You know what I mean?

After a good Sunday meal I like to play games with my children but they've got too good so I don't play them anymore. Anyway, we can't afford any games now.

It seems as though my Auntie has balls.

Take care,
Martin"

Brilliant. Him and Ian Holloway are two of a kind.

[TheChipPrince]

Good bloke Martin Allen, he has that rare quality that when he speaks people listen, hope he finds another job soon... On another note don' think Leicester should look any further than Warnock, but whether mandaric and him can get along is another matter...

[CrestOfaWave]

Excellent letter - but in reality no different than corporate life. Too many dickhead money men not letting CEO's and MD's get on with their jobs.

Martin Allen will get another job I am sure.

[sharpy]

 Ian Holloway   

[TightEnd]

 Ian Holloway   

compared to the re-tread options of Reid/Roeder/Souness/Royle it will be like having a super-star.

done well at Plymouth, mad as a box of frogs so as per usual will be entertaining at least

Jean Tigana would have been interesting, he almost came I gather

[boldie]

Jean Tigana would have been interesting, he almost came I gather

yeah but Mandaric couldn't quite pull it off.