And so, somehow, incredulously, Martin Jol remains the Tottenham manager.  (Or at least I think he does at the time of writing.)

The Tottenham board have done the right thing – but have done it with such astonishing ill grace that its backtracking is correctly described in today’s newspapers in words such as “farce” and “chaos”.

The man Spurs wanted, Juande Roamos, the current coach of Sevilla, confirms that Spurs last week offered him Martin Jol’s job.  Assuming Ramos is telling the truth, Spurs have illegally approached another club’s coach and constructively dismissed Jol.  Ramos says that he turned down the offer, meaning that Spurs had nowhere else to turn but back to Jol.

According to Gary Jacob in The Times:

Tottenham Hotspur attempted to paper over the cracks of their disintegrating relationship with Martin Jol last night, at the same time agreeing a compensation package worth up to £4 million should they terminate his contract. The revelation suggests that the manager’s position remains virtually untenable after he became embroiled in a battle with Daniel Levy, the chairman, and Damien Comolli, the sporting director.

Statements issued after Jol met the board yesterday hinted that an uneasy truce had been agreed, but the fact that the club’s accountants have approved severance terms for the Dutchman, who has two years left on his contract, will do nothing to dampen speculation regarding his future.

Tottenham are thought to be in talks with several candidates. Mark Hughes, the Blackburn Rovers manager, has emerged as a surprise option after negotiations with Juande Ramos, the highly regarded Seville coach, came to nothing.

So Jol remains a dead man walking, the Spurs board looks at least as incompetent as the Football Association’s Chief Executive and Commercial Director did when they trooped back and forth to Portugal last year in their doomed attempt to land Phil Scolari as England manager, and the stench is turning my stomach.

There is presumably no truth in the rumour that when Spurs take to the Old Trafford pitch next weekend, their team will comprise the Keystone Kops.  But the way things happen at White Hart Lane these days I wouldn’t bet against it.

A friend doubts my sincerity when I say that I’ve had enough of the Beautiful (sic) Game but, as things stand, I have absolutely no interest in it whatsoever.  No matter how nauseous I’ve been made to feel in the past by the ineptitude and corruptness of the game’s administrators, or the antics of greedy, grubby club owners, or prima donna players whingeing about having the hardships of being made to subsist on £50,000 a week, I’ve always felt that I could take a seat at a game or slump on my sofa in front of a televised match and simply immerse myself in those 90 minutes of action.  Right now, I don’t feel that.

Right now, I don’t much care if I never attend or watch another game of football.

Maybe I’ll feel differently in a few days, weeks, months or years.

In the words of Tim Finn, “I can give you the present. I don’t know about the future – that’s all stuff and nonsense.”