Today is Christmas Eve. In two days West Ham will make the long trek west to Craven Cottage for yet another attempt to win away from home. Not that it's very far from home, of course. But I shan't be going. I've succumbed to Christmas torpor. My family will arrive early so we can collectively suffer in front of the television and the Controller will remove herself and be mildly disapproving of our collective abuse (which will necessarily be moderated in front of six-year old Connor).
You can see I'm expecting a positive result.
But it might be that a fat man in a red costume will come bearing three points and deposit them at Avram's feet, thus ensuring good cheer and him remaining in the job for a little longer. So David Gold, get the costume on.
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