I DON’T much care for football. I mean it’s okay and all. I like the excitement of the World Cup as much as anyone but that’s as far as it goes.

Nevertheless, I’ve taken the decision to dip my toe in the water following the announcement of Roy Whateverhisnameis as England football manager.

Yes, yes I know it’s Hodgson really. It’s a name we will all know from now on but I can honestly say I’d never heard of him before yesterday.

Is that my point?

No. I could probably only name about five football managers worldwide so my ignorance is no reflection on him or his ability to carry out this frankly thankless task.

It’s not the appointment I find bizarre, it’s the reaction to it.

Roy has been offered what you have to assume is his dream job.

He steps into the limelight for his finest managerial hour to receive what can only be described as a lukewarm reception.

A barely disguised ‘who?’ hung in the air.

I think a few people may actually have mouthed, ‘Where’s Harry?’ (you see I’m not totally clueless, even I have heard of Harry Redknapp).

Harry was the popular choice but, and forgive me if I’m wrong here, don’t I remember him saying something fairly unenthusiastic about the idea when it was first suggested?

Possibly I’m missing the finer points of football culture.

Perhaps that is what managers say when really they mean they want it desperately?

Anyway, once the Harry issue was put aside, everyone got on with the real business in hand.

Shamelessly mocking the way Roy speaks and trying to dig up dirt on his past (he once played in South Africa or something. About 30 years ago).

So far, so normal.

Why bother having an England manager if you don’t harangue him constantly?

We all know the score.

This man will be a hero when England are winning and a villain when they are not.

That is what he has signed up for – knowingly – because he would have to be a complete fool not to realise it.

It will actually work in his favour if everyone already thinks he’s hopeless. That way the only way is up.