To gush, or not to gush?

This evening, there is a very real possibility that I will meet this man;


Look at him. Magnificent, isn't he? Like an even harder-looking Tony Soprano. Ally that with an instantly loveable personality, and the thickest Dutch accent imaginable, and you have as close to a perfect human being as is possible.

If you don't know who he is, let me introduce you. His name is Martin Jol. He is a football manager. He is from Holland, and has all the expected traits associated with that nationality, from the laid-back attitude, right through to the comedy way of pronouncing words like 'crazy', 'sexy' and 'Grolsch'. I bet you just tried saying them out loud in a Dutch accent didn't you? Yeah, me too.

He has one brother called Dick, and another named Cock. Honestly. Go on, check. See?

All great traits, I'm sure you'll agree. But, the main reason I love this man so is he used to be the manager of my football club (by that I mean the football club I support, not that I own one), and while he was there, we had a very lovely, very fun, and relatively successful time. I have sung his name in public. He's got no hair, but we don't care. I have a t-shirt that bears the slogan 'I love Martin Jol. Martin Jol loves me'. He can do no wrong in my eyes.

Alas, football is a fickle mistress, and fate decided that Martin and the club should no longer be together, and as a result we have been apart for the last two years. Tonight though, he's in Bristol with his new club, Ajax Amsterdam, and I'm going to try and interview him. But I'm worried. I'm worried I might gush terribly, or worse still, be star struck. I must say its never happened to me before, but only because I've never met a famous person I've had this much respect for. A friend of mine had it happen to him once, when he saw Noel Gallagher in the street. He just froze, and watched Noel saunter off in to the distance with his Waitrose bag swinging from his hand, monobrow ruffled in the sunshine, until he could see him no more. What if I do that? In a press room full of other people, what if I freeze and just stare at him? Until someone removes either me or him from the room?


I don't think Martin would mind, though. He'd probably give me a solid gold interview, say something brilliantly Dutch, levitate, fly out of the press room, walk up and down the River Avon for a bit, then cure all diseases known to man.


GOD, he's brilliant.