He does it on purpose, Alan Smith

He’s a funny one, Alan Smith. The shame-faced exit from Sky Sports of the nightmarish vision of men gone wrong Richard Keys and Andy Gray was about the best thing that could have happened to football on telly short of Andy Townsend blowing his head clean off halfway through one of his penetrating monologues pointlessly delivered at the side of the pitch but it has had one devastating side-effect: Alan Smith is loose. At first blush, Alan Smith seems fine. There he is, opining away, as he is paid to do, and you might think him harmless. But no, he is far from that. He is a danger to the public and this is why.

Imagine, if you possibly can, that Theo Walcott is having a good game. Now, you are the co-commentator. You might decide the public would like to know that you think Theo Walcott is having a good game. After all, that is what you’re paid to do and who knows, some people listening might not be able to make up their own mind. So you press the microphone to your lips and earn your money. What do you say? Perhaps, “Theo Walcott’s having a good game,” and having said it you sit back in your chair, take a sip of the tea provided by some assistant or other, and feel quite pleased that life has worked out as well as it has. Easy. Martin Tyler has the reins and you are cruising. You are the co-commentator. You used to play professionally and so are qualified to speak. People attend to your every word. You are a god.

That does not satisfy Alan Smith. What does Alan Smith say? Alan Smith says this: “He’s having a good game, Theo Walcott.”

He’s having a good game, Theo Walcott. For no acceptable reason whatsoever he puts the name at the end of the sentence. Ok, you say, so? It’s a fairly standard rhetorical device. It happens. So?! He does it once, you might say ok. He then does it again, perhaps with a seemingly unassuming, “His final ball has been disappointing today for me, Gervinho,” and you begin to twitch a bit. Then moments later he returns with, “He’s not the quickest, Mertesacker” and it stings like a whip. By half-time your mind is recoiling violently whenever he speaks, fearful that he’s going to do it again. And he does. And again. He never stops.

Never.

The self-assured, clipped way he dispatches his gobbets of wisdom, switching the sentence structure like that to make it sound like a much wiser pronouncement than the bland observation it actually is, drives me mad. And he knows it. He’s a menace, Alan Smith.