Being a good football manager is like being a good teacher.
You can get all the top grades at school, go on to Uni and achieve a doctorate, be an expert on some esoteric field of study and still might not be able to communicate all that intricate knowledge.
Let's take the case of Mr Solskjaer, a highly-accomplished performer with a very impressive CV : all the necessary honours.
Not only that but a likeable man, who came over well at the interview, enough to impress Chair of Governors Mr Tan (a ruthless businessman), even though he now denies having anything to do with the appointment.....because Mr Solskjaer's reign in the classroom was a complete disaster!
The pupils /players looked as if they were eating crisps and drinking coke during every lesson.
They were lethargic,over-weight and couldn't concentrate for the full period.
Mr Solskjaer knew his subject from back to front and inside out, but made it far too complicated for them.
Every lesson he changed topic and there was no consistency to his planning or delivery.
Understandably the players/pupils were baffled.
On the board he displayed the tactics,but it might as well have been hieroglyphics.
He explained the formations in complex mathematical formulae full of 4-3-3s , 4-1-4-1s and 4-2-3-1s.
The pupil/players had no confidence in him and so, none in themselves to perform well.
When it came to producing work, they dallied and dithered. Everyone classed them as 'failures', even though they were supposed to be top set.
Despite the man's affability, the Chair of Governors asked Solskjaer to leave and he was eventually replaced by Mr Slade, after two supply teachers had filled in.
Mr Young,one of the supplies,had been at the school/club for many years and did such a good job that he was appointed Slade's assistant.
Now Mr Slade had taught elsewhere for many years, in tougher schools which were considered second rate compared to Cardiff City High.
All the pupils joked about him before he was appointed, calling him 'Noddy' after the lead singer of the band Slade and quipping that they wouldn't be judging him till 'IT'S CHRISTMAS!'
Mr Slade sported a bald head and a beer belly and was hardly a Mr Mourinho figure ( Head of the high-flying Chelsea Academy).
However, he put his foot down straight away, giving them extra work and demanding first class work at all times.
He kept it simple and straightforward and always explained things clearly. He had never excelled himself at school or college but understood that, given confidence, his players/pupils had the potential to do great things.
Quite quickly they responded, though of course there were serious setbacks, as there are with any learning process. They respected this rather burly figure, who showed so much passion and wasn't afraid to be blunt.
The class was like a team which was winning games and gradually climbing up the league.
In fact, the class is Cardiff City and our new manager Russell Slade has made just this kind of impact, even if our defeat against Millwall was disappointing.
From being a shambolic set of individuals, lost and clueless, we are actually playing as a team with spirit, fitness and organisation.
It remains to be seen if this is enough, but I am cautiously optimistic.
Slade resembles a good teacher....in fact, he was one before he went into football management!
The following poem is written from the viewpoint of an ex-hooligan, but is based on a true incident.
Football has changed dramatically over the last decade and become much more of a family sport.
We mix with the away fans quite happily at the station after the games and Cardiff City - once possessing a very bad reputation - was actually the best club in the Premier last season when it came to arrests.
Seen im at-a ground,
the Merthyr speed king.
I knew im well
from the ol Soul Crew dayz.
Now I got a famlee, settled down,
take my son to-a games.
Twice ee'd bin sent down,
drugs and GBH I bleeve.
'Wha's appnin but!' ee sayz
jest like we wuz young agen.
Could see is eyes wide
an glarin; ee wuz on pins.
We shared stories of firms
and Feds, always the fightin.
Member when he got taken in
f settin fire to-a Union Jack in-a Den.
On-a train back ome, in Cardiff
I yeard it kickin offf.
Im alone takin on Ipswich fans
an securitee flung im off.
On-a platform, surrounded by cops;
bard memree, as we left im be'ind.