now, George.
John Giles

Yes, Mr. Stewart, sir     


While the lad McCarthy has pulled his socks up of late, DangerHere still reckons the Irish lads aren't out of the woods when it comes to away day capitulations. So mindful  of the upcoming trips to Cyprus and Estonia,  we set out to find a man of stature to deliver our lads safely to Japan and Korea 2002.

Our brief was simple. The new man would be a stout fellow, steely of nerve and clear of mind. And he'd command the instant respect of the boys in green, who would now think again before enjoying car-top gymnastics on the way home from Copperface Jacks, and might even consider it worthwhile to pick up former Yugoslavs at last minute corner kicks.

Events in Summer Bay have always concerned the lads at DangerHere Towers and one day realisation dawned. Alf Stewart was our man. There he was, a raging block of a man. A proud figure with his head held high, a pillar of his community. Alf would take no nonsense. Constantly frustrated by the shiftless youth of "the bay", Alf railed against these "flamin' yahoos"  threatening to have their "guts for garters" should they not mend their feckless ways.

And the man had success. After Alf had said his piece - usually after suggesting "let me have a yarn with the boy, Don" -  all manner of useless lad would abandon their ways of destruction and begin gainful employment in the surf club rather than "hoon around trashing the joint".  Even aspirant entrepreneur, exotic dancer, and general ne'er do well Vinnie heeded the big man's words, and became sufficiently well regarded in the surf club to marshal operations when Alf was stricken with one of his endless litany of heart attacks.

Yes, the old boy's health was our only concern. But we reckon he's seen it all now, been to the edge and back so many times, that a few fretful nights defending slender leads in the Baltics or such, will be a breeze. But nothing if not fair, we refused to simply back a hunch. Oh no, reluctant to abandon our current leader - apparently no blood relation of David Connolly - without a fair hearing, we compared the credentials of the two men in a series of relevant categories.


Head to Head:            Big Alf         versus       Big Mick    


Tons of top-level managerial experience. Cut his teeth in a successful village store, before going on to turn an old shed into a thriving bait shop. President, secretary, and treasurer of every committee in the bay, the Aussie dynamo still has time to co-ordinate search and rescue teams for the bi-weekly disaster that threatens a much-loved member of the community. And that surf club doesn't run itself either you know.

Took Millwall to mid-table in the First Division.
Verdict: Alf    


Stands by whining battleaxe partner in recognition of her diner management skills

Stands by Ian Evans despite his lack of any discernible skill, management or otherwise
Verdict: Mick    


Has survived dozens of car crashes, heart attacks, and duffing ups by hoons with clumsy break-in skills. Has also shaken off bomb attack by crazed son and has seen the lovely Ailsa come back from the brink at least once. Though this may not be considered fortunate

By his own admission, 'Lucky' McCarthy has brought no great fortune to playoff-failing Ireland. Still, his getting the job in the first place has to be attributed to something.
Verdict: Alf (narrowly)  

Playing Honours

Still proudly recalls schools 'footy' triumph of youth. And if memory serves us, he dabbled in a bit of tennis with sister Celia before goodeggness took up most of his time. Also a keen and proficient fisherman.

Committed most fouls in 1990 World Cup. By a clear margin.

Verdict: Alf (by a street)


Flamin Nora! Babb you gutless wonder. Stop hooning around on me ute or I'll have your guts for garters. Tell you something Ailse, these gallahs need a right good hiding eh.

Copperface Jacks Mark? Yeah you should get in all right. Just don't bring Quinny, you know what he's like, he'll get those Disco Pants out again.
Verdict: Reckon it's Alf  
So there you have it.  It's clearly time the nation resumed its healthy relationship with fishermen managers and let the mighty Alf Stewart put manners on the boys in green