Second only perhaps to West Ham's physio, Jeff Stelling has possibly the hardest job in all of football and it is to his credit that he makes it look so easy. Like the metaphorical duck looking calm on the surface but paddling like fuck to stay afloat, he manages to not only coordinate all the results coming in on a Saturday afternoon, but does it with a calm assurance which is sometimes utterly bewildering to behold. Added to which, he has to cope with Phil Thompson and Paul Merson screaming out like a bunch of pre-schoolers at a cake convention every time there's a half chance in some goalless 'thriller,' between Southampton and Doncaster, or some such nonsense.
The man is a national treasure, like the Stephen Fry of football punditry, and has not only inspired in me a passing affection for Hartlepool, but has also inspired others to invent a drinking game in his name. If you haven't played it yet, here's a link to the rules (http://www.robwoolford.com/journal/2007/03/01/the-jeff-stelling-drinking-game/) and if you have then you'll understand it only inspires more love for the man, like some kind of self-perpetuating drunken football man orgy. Jeff, you are a credit to your profession, and it does not go unappreciated by the legions of football fans robbed of their Saturday afternoon fix, courtesy of Sky and Setanta. Bravo sir!