Hmm, what did Le Saux say about Paul Ince’s bed partner?
Le Saux and Incey – not friends
Readers of Sunday newspapers tend to be divided into flocks. You’ve got your Sunday Times types, with their warmed up croissants, and coffee poured from one of those pushy-downy things. Then The Observer crew, who like a fry up – so long as it’s all organic. Telegraph readers will spend most of the day sneering about things, and letting out the occasional ironic honking noise when assessing the weekend’s rugby.
And then there are the tabloids, which rank steadily downwards from the News of the World to the Sunday Sport. What Mail on Sunday readers do with their weekends is probably not suitable for print.
Anyway, for those who view themselves as rather a cut above from the jeans-wearers who like to catch up on Take That sex scandals, the News of the World provided one very intriguing story yesterday – penned from the quill of Paul Ince.
Perhaps following suit after Andy Cole decided to finally lift the lid on his rather ridiculous hatred of Teddy Sheringham, Ince thought it wise to delve into his own furious past, and clear out a little of his own closet, with a revelation about his relationship with football’s 1990s intellectual-of-choice, Graeme Le Saux. Here’s an extract:
I’ve had the best part of 30 years in the game and I can honestly say there are only two people I still actively detest and who I will NEVER forgive.
The first is Graeme Le Saux. I swear, if I ever come face-to-face with him, I’d knock him out as soon as look at him.
It all started when he and Robbie Fowler had their infamous run-in at Anfield. The pair were going for each other and I split them up before telling Le Saux in no uncertain terms to pack it in and clear off.
That’s when he said something disgusting and despicable about my missus and I went ballistic.
I forgot about the game and started plotting how I was going to rip Le Saux’s head off. I kept asking the ref how long to go because I wanted to be first down the tunnel waiting for the little b*****d.
As soon as the final whistle, I was there, primed to give Le Saux a good hiding and not concerned about the ramifications of a tunnel brawl.
He must have got wind of it because as soon as he saw me waiting, he hid behind Marcel Desailly and I couldn’t get at him. There was a lot of pushing and shoving but no revenge.
The next time we met was on England duty under Kevin Keegan and Kevin had obviously got wind of the bad blood. He took us to one side and did his best to patch things up. I told Le Saux I’d drop it as long as he apologised after the game to my missus for what he said.
“Yeah, yeah, Incey,” he said, “of course I will.”
So after the game, I’m in the players bar at Wembley with the missus and I’ve told her what Le Saux said and how he would be apologising.
But we waited. And waited. You know what, the little s*** didn’t even look our way, let alone come over and apologise.
To this day, I still absolutely fume at the thought of what he said and how the coward didn’t even have the decency to say sorry. For that, I’ll always want to rip his head off.
So, what did Le Saux say? Might it have been a clever literary reference, unfortunately lost in translation?
Let us know your thoughts with a comment.