BEFORE we start, let's get one thing straight: I hate you all with a passion.

If you happen to see a lonely teenager stumbling his way through the Sydney streets with a Newcastle United jersey, bloodshot eyes and a disposition for any type of conflict with a significantly weaker being over the next week, your mind should automatically flash "FourFourTwo A-League Blogger".

Perhaps I'm generalising a little though.

The other bloggers seem to have some sort of command of English (kudos boys) and it's safe to assume, in that case, that they have watched the English Premier League at some point in their lives.

In which case, it becomes apparent that anyone who has anything approaching an education would never support Newcastle on the basis that they wish to maintain their sanity and social standing (Geordies, of course, are excluded from this description...Howay the lads!)

You're probably still wondering about the whole "I hate you with a passion bit", right?

Well, it's currently 1:12am on Monday according to my computer.

Moments ago, whilst counting the amount of times Daniel Allsopp has shown the first touch of an imported Greek donkey over his A-League career (it's much more entertaining than counting sheep) in an attempt to sleep, I literally heard the calling of this, oh-so-infallible and sacred A-League blog (I'm just waiting for that no-talent hack Dan Brown to write about why it's an attempt to con mankind).

PS. I justify my Dan Brown hate on the basis that his books inadvertedly have spawned the worst haircut in the history of the entire universe (and its parallel universe): The Tom Hanks mullet.

Logically, you'd be wondering at this point as to the persona of my A-League blog's voice. Richard Burton? Clint Eastwood? (In which case I would sprint to my blog out of pure fear) Charles Bronson? Craig Foster? ("Get to your blog without being too direct or physical") Les Murray? (Hungarian accent: "Get to your blog on fudboll").

The point is, I actually got out of bed when I had planned to squeeze in 45 minutes of sleep before covering Greek football for the rest of what should now be an utterly unenjoyable morning. All thanks to you wonderful people and your junkie-like addiction to this piece of cyberspace bliss.

Cue, Tom Berenger-inspired 'Platoon' rage.

By this point though, I've been sedated by a reflection on the A-League weekend during which I have remembered that John Kosmina has whinged – again.

"lol" would be an appropriate interjection at this point.

In all seriousness, my sympathies extend to a man who doesn't appear to have had total control over his club's recruitment drive this season – and by "drive", I mean signing an overweight, unmotivated, unspectacular, one-penalty-wonder on a grossly grandiose salary players, before scraping about for...erm... Bobby Petta.

It's also nice to see a few players who can actually sprint take to the pitch this weekend though (Minniecon and Zullo, step forward) but it isn't particularly encouraging when only 5,500 people turn up in a one-team nation (obviously Fred's arrival at Wellington has had a galvanizing effect on their fan-base).

Is it just me or does no-one seem to care about football in New Zealand? Clearly though, their place in the A-League is warranted over that of the nation's capital (I mean who wouldn't want to see Karl Dodd showcase his technical abilities instead of AIS graduates? It can only be good for the game...)

Perhaps what is most concerning of all is the frequency with which "Outbreak" is being shown on television lately.

I mean, there is a distinct possibility that people might actually find Dustin Hoffman talking about disease for a solid two hours more interesting than Kevin Muscat "...offering so much to the A-League".

And is it just me or is Morgan Freeman in every second movie? He's like Hollywood's answer to Matthew Breeze…always within shouting distance of all sorts of disasters (at least, on-screen).