Absence can speak louder than words

FRIDAY was another contemptuous day in the life of Vladimir Romanov's attitudes to the supporters of his club. Friday is the day us beleaguered characters who do this job for a living troop off to grounds around the country and find out a sliver of information about what's going on in the game. Nobody much likes these occasions but at least the likes of Gordon Strachan and Paul Le Guen turn up. Duty calls and they answer it well enough. At Hearts different rules apply.

Nobody in management was available to talk on Friday. The place is awash with Lithuanian coaches and not a single one had a word to say. So we don't know for sure if Romanov is intending to appear at Tynecastle this afternoon, we don't know if Steven Pressley is in or out and we don't know if retribution will be taken against Paul Hartley for supporting his mate - further retribution, that is, after he was humiliated on Monday by being used as a substitute against Falkirk when the game was in its final seconds.

We know little about Craig Gordon and whether he may be the next "rebel" to feel the wrath of Romanov nor the latest news on the apparent dressing room split. Edgaras Jankauskas said a few weeks ago that there was no dressing room split between the Scots and the Lithuanians. He said this around the time a plot was being hatched to remove Pressley as captain. I always had my doubts about Jankauskas. I found his diving pathetic and wondered where his heart was when things were going wrong. Pressley and Hartley would be straining every sinew to turn things around. Big Edgar would throw himself on the floor and cry for protection. I called him a fraud in the past. Hearts supporters didn't like that. Maybe they agree now.

I have sympathy for Hearts fans. They'd have a thriving club if only their owner would take his foot off the throttle of self-destruction. At the moment it's foot down and don't spare the mayhem. At their very best, with the right man in charge, they might be SPL contenders. Champions League group stage action wouldn't be a million miles away. At their best.

Hearts fans have tried everything to coax Romanov into change. They've chanted the names of rebel players and departed managers. They've made their feelings clear in the media and to his face too. Nothing changes. They've done it - for the most part - in a subtle way because as bad as Romanov is, he's the only show in town. Without him, Tynecastle would be flats and Hearts would return to the mundane world they inhabited before he showed up.

Today, if he's there, a group of fans plan to stay behind after the match demanding that Romanov explains himself. They shouldn't bother. Appealing to Romanov's better instincts is a waste of breath. Here's another approach. Stay away. Don't go back to Tynecastle until the word comes from Pressley and Hartley that things have turned. If the fans want send a message to Romanov, what better image than rows upon rows of empty seats and relative silence where once deafening noise existed?

Some fans might view it as them turning their backs on the club and the players. Not so. See it as a sacrifice made in the greater interests of Hearts. Pressley and Hartley and Gordon took a risk when they spoke out at their press conference a few weeks back and already two of them have been made to pay for it. Chances are that Romanov hasn't finished with them yet either. If the players can be brave, then the fans should follow their lead. The time to make Romanov sit up and pay attention is overdue. Action, as he'd no doubt agree, always speaks louder than words, especially as those words are growing more plaintive by the week.
One song that gets my goat

GERRY McNee, the doyen of indignation, was on Scotsport on Monday, a programme made watchable now that the studio is rid of the goons in the audience. Gerry reckoned 'it's high-time Celtic banned certain songs being sung at Parkhead - "'The Fields of Athenry' and all that other Irish tosh," as he put it diplomatically.

Down with that kind of thing, says Gerry.

And I agree, but not for the same reasons. Let's be clear, there's nothing sectarian about 'The Fields'. The only thing it's against is a patch of land in Galway that steadfastly refused to spout spuds during the Famine. No, it's a mournful dirge and you need no greater reason to drive it out of Parkhead than that.

If Celtic fans want to honour Ireland in verse, may I suggest a more rousing anthem? I long for the day when 'Paddy McGinty's Goat' echoes across the east end.
Meddler on a mission for the pedaller

THE last time I wrote about Floyd Landis, a fellow in Wisconsin said he was coming to kill me. I deserved it apparently. Indeed, I was asking for it.

Anybody who couldn't see the good in Floyd deserved to be popped, anybody who could think him guilty of taking performance-enhancing drugs to achieve his great dream of victory in the Tour de France was a drain on society.

"This is the best thing that can happen to a piece of shit like you," warned the guy, one of those little yellow smiley face icons at the foot of his e-mail. Smiley takes a gun and puts it to his head. Blows his brains out. Nice.

Landis was back in the news last week. On Wednesday the Chatenay-Malabry that discovered elevated levels of testosterone in his system during the Tour de France admitted it made a mistake in the recording of numbers corresponding to his B test sample. Landis's identification number was 995 474 but the lab's B matching sample read 994 474. One digit incorrectly recorded has given the cyclist's lawyers renewed hope that their man's reputation can be saved.

Something else emerged. A computer hacker had broken into the lab and sent e-mails purporting to be from the lab to the UCI, IOC, Wada, to the federations representing swimming and squash and others and to selected journalists. These bogus e-mails were intended to highlight inaccuracies in the lab's procedures and so cast doubt on its findings. Now who would want to discredit Chatenay-Malabry that badly?

L'Equipe, the French sports daily, reckon they know. They've spoken to Paris police sources and the investigations are focused on a group with links to Floyd Landis. The cyclist's legal team has denied it and, of course, it may well be garbage. But if the authorities are looking for a guy utterly devoted to Landis, who may be willing to crack a computer network to protect his hero's honour or even, say, send threatening e-mails to those who can't see how Floyd did what he did in the Tour without artificial help, then I just might be able to help them with their enquiries.
Seve pops up to say hello, but not for long

THE other day, while reading a piece about Seve Ballesteros and his famous 3-wood out of the sand at the 1983 Ryder Cup at West Palm Beach, Florida, something eerie happened. A door opened in the Aer Lingus lounge in Dublin airport and in walked Seve. Quite honestly, he looked unhappy. Three and a half years without making a cut would do that to a man, in fairness. Later, I asked him would we ever see him play in an Open in Scotland again.

"Where's it next year?" he wondered

"It's Carnoustie."

"Hmmm."

"You don't like Carnoustie?"

Nice one Sherlock. He shot 80 and 86 there in the 1999 Open. He's bound to love it, isn't he?

"I like it. It's fine." Seve spoke about Muirfield wistfully. "My kind of place." He said the Ryder Cup captain in 2010 should be Sandy Lyle. "He deserves it."

Seve's own time has gone. All that's left now is the retirement announcement which he hinted would come next month. "I'm going home now," he said. "Tell Scotland I said hello." And goodbye.

Taken from the Scotsman