Craven Cottage Newsround

My girlfriend’s parents used to have a Springer Spaniel called Bracken.  I loved Bracken because he’d fetch anything, we’d go into the field with a baseball bat and a load of balls and I’d hit them, he’d fetch them.  Wherever they landed, Spud (as we called him) would find them.  He’d go on for hours, picking up balls from near, far, or thorny bushes.   He was great at what he did.   Bracken did have a mean streak too, in his earlier years he was a bit unpredictable, but for the most part he was a lovely dog.

I only mention this because Michael Brown’s performance yesterday reminded me of Spud.  Brown was all over the place, jogging in that springy way of his, then woof, his eyes light up and he closes down an opponent, who must then lay the ball off and the attack slows.  Brown jogs back into position, waiting, waiting, then woof, off he goes again, snapping into a tackle, doing the simple things, and round again.  For 90 minutes, without missing a thing.

Michael Brown is Fulham’s equivalent of a gun dog, fearless, reliable and indespensible under the circumstances (I know nothing of these things, but presumably shooting without a gun dog would be a waste of time).  I’ve said before that I was wrong about him, but it’s worth repeating: he’s a terrific player and we’re lucky to have him.