As with Devon White, it's difficult to write about Colin Simpson without feeling spectacularly cruel. He tried hard in the 'honest pro' tradition and was, apparently, a nice bloke with it. And, as anyone who's seen me flailing aimlessly around on a football pitch on a Saturday morning will know, the words 'pot', 'kettle' and 'black' might come into play.

But Simpson, all gangly, awkward limbs and drunken-puppet coordination, was never cut out to be a professional footballer. He might've become a stalwart in the reserves and I dare say he'll go on to prove us wrong by scoring a hat-trick in the 1999 Cup Final for Manchester United but I could never see any suggestion of untapped genius.

He was consistently over-looked by Kenny Jackett in favour of younger strikers (Andrews and Noel-Williams) and it was no surprise to see him released. Without wishing to be overly harsh, the only surprise was that we gave him a professional contract in the first place.

See also The Hall Of Arse