Wembley, 24 May, 2008

I do like a tense press conference. Especially when they shouldn't be tense at all. Phil Brown has just taken Hull City to the Premiership. He doesn't give much away in the gladiatorial pit, so I'm not sure where I stand with him.
Obviously, I'd have more to write if he came in swigging champagne and shouting "I'm Henry VIII, I am" but he has the air of a man who understands that any team who are going to be reliant on Dean Windass in the winter shouldn't really be shouting the odds in the summer. He's not especially comfortable, but things are going reasonably well. He's outlined his cunning plan for survival (essentially buy Fraizer Campbell and play like Bolton, but not like Bolton under Sammy Lee), he's said all the right things about Windass and, straight bat ahoy, he's not actually committed himself to anything other than the notion that this was a "fantastic" day.
Then the question comes. Not from me or from my colleague, the blessed Brain Glanville. To paraphrase: does this promotion remove the "question mark" over Phil Brown as a manager after that embarrassing time at Derby County?
The short answer to a silly question is yes. And I'd have followed the short answer with an Alan Sugar-esque bewildered scowl. That would have been that.
Clearly though they don't have media training in Hull. Instead, like a man whose very soul has been punctured, Brown foolishly goes down the "what do you mean by that?" route. The original question may have been rubbish, but its poser proves to be an admirably dogged interrogator. The questioner (I'm not being coy here; I don't think I've seen the guy before) carries on regardless: about reputations; about Derby; about Brown being an ideal number two.
"Are you questioning me?" Brown asks, needing further confirmation of the obvious.
It's about your record responds Mr Bit Between Teeth.
"That's for you to decide," snaps Brown. The press conference is over.