Wayne Rooney at centre of tug-of-war as Sky and TNT battle to make him pundit but Man Utd legend in two minds on future

MUCH consternation recently at the news that three football writers were denied the chance to ask Erik ten Hag a question over three consecutive press conferences.

The dismay did not stretch to myself despite being one of those placed briefly on the naughty step.

I don’t agree with such ‘punishments’ for stories or opinions but Ten Hag has had to take a bucketload this season and has never been anything but polite and helpful.

So if he wanted to do something to have a go back for once, no problem.
It’s all sorted now and everyone is friends again.

Having been brought up on Sir Alex Ferguson press conferences and downright unfair bans of varying lengths, seven in my case, you become immune to middle-aged men having a hissy fit.

Recent events reminded me of a lovely warm day at the Haydock Thistle Hotel some years back, where North-West based managers and writers were all invited to a lunch.

Sir Alex was there on the main table laughing, singing and generally holding court when simultaneously all the writers’ phones bleeped with a message from United’s “no communication department”.

He had no doubt arranged for it to be sent bang in the middle of the lunch informing us all that relations would be suspended forthwith.

Our crime was to use his words from a local radio interview he had done that week and the controversial comments he made within it.

We were all fuming so, when he got up to leave I followed him out of the luncheon suite.

As I ranted about how unfair his actions were, he ignored me and walked on ahead, entering another room.

I followed, still ranting, but he kept his back to me and looked down silently.

Was he having a rethink as his gaze remained concentrated, his head stooped?

No, he was having a wee! We had entered the gents but, in my own hissy fit, I hadn’t quite realised.

I’m not sure what the hotel guest two urinals down made of it but how absurd the whole scene must have appeared.

Defeated and deflated, I returned to the luncheon where the free red wine got a hammering and I sulked.

There would be more such incidents, told and retold to this day with laughter.

I always say covering United when Sir Alex was boss was like a stay at Fawlty Towers — not particularly comfortable but certainly unforgettable.