So, Lamar is still a shoe-in for the Heisman. Pretty exciting.

I assume that’s someone you are proposing for your posh twats’ club? I thought it was called the Pendennis, not the Heisman. And sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but nobody called Lamar gets into the Pendennis, unless it’s to wash dishes.

Stop winding me up. Biggest football star here since Johnny Unitas. You read The C-J cover to cover, and then spend the rest of the day complaining about it, so surely you know who I am talking about?

Oh, I know who you’re carping on about. But until about three weeks ago, you couldn’t give a toss about college sports. At least I’m not a fair-weather fan. Frankly, I’m just offended by the attention college sports gets here — regardless of “stars” or “winning.” Because nothing better illustrates Louisville’s provincial lack of ambition than its absurd obsession with amateur sports teams.

Come on you, old curmudgeon, Lamar is the dog’s bollocks. If I was ever a hater, count me as a convert. For now. Besides, anyone six-and-a-half feet tall and built like a brick privy is not a kid, and the standard is amazingly high, at least in terms of athleticism and commitment. They’re anything but amateurs. Erm, even though in the strictest sense they are amateurs, but that’s another matter entirely.

Good foot-in-mouth-job there. But “another matter”? You can’t sing the praises of college sports while at the same time blithely accepting that the vast majority of participants are little more than indentured labour. The deal’s what? Work seven days a week, hit the gym in the wee hours, study videotape when you’re not practicing, and conduct yourself in public with the dignity of the Dalai Lama? All in exchange for a chance at a degree that isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on? Mate, you’ve been conned, just like everyone else.

I’m happy to enjoy the moment for Louisville, the Cards and for all of those kids who are playing their hearts out, whatever the sport. Lamar Jackson seems like a good lad, and God knows there are few enough of those to cheer for. Even you can’t deny that he can play a bit. This sort of thing doesn’t happen often in Louisville.

I live in the real world. You and half this town live in a Hollywood sitcom — which is another reason kids’ sports continue to exert their vice-like grip on this city. Bright shiny things distract the proles from real problems. As Winston Smith noted, football and beer fill the horizons of their minds. No truer words ever written.

Based on previous form, the Cards will be shite again in a couple of years, and Bobby Petrino will be off the rails. Once a rake always a rake. So I’ll enjoy it while I can — if it’s all right with you, Orwell. I’m also loving how the Cards start to the season is the exact opposite of Bevin’s start in court.

Come on, it’s hardly surprising that Andy Beshear’s wiping the floor with him. On some level, they were made for each other; but on another, Beshear is a bright bloke and a lawyer … while Bevin’s a failed bell-maker.

I’m sure everyone who voted for him has still got a boner for everything he does, but bloody hell, sending stroppy text messages the day before a judge rules against him. Schoolboy stuff. But like we predicted weeks ago, Bevin is going to have to get used to losing in court, because Beshear will get the better of him far more often than not. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in Bevin’s office when these judgements roll in.

Who wouldn’t? And as for combining slashing school funding while, in the same breath, calling for prayer for our students — just about the dumbest thing I’ve heard since whatever-the-last-thing-he-said was. The man is beyond parody, and about as good at lawsuits as Dustin Saggers was at running restaurants. Too soon?

Nope. I hate to kick a bloke in the knackers when he’s already down, but I won’t miss Roux. Went there once with friends from London — closest I’ve ever come to walking out of a restaurant. Furniture was wobbling all over the place, service was excruciating and the food was pish. Bloody embarrassing.

You should’ve done what I did: refuse to set foot in there out of principle, after what they did to Le Gallo Rosso. Screwed over Annette Sacco and swapped one of Bardstown Road’s best-kept secrets for a pretentious pile of shite that would have shamed anyone who’d actually eaten real Cajun food. Just deserts, if that isn’t too obvious a pun.

Nope, not at all. Staff must have worked hard, and I hope they all move on swiftly, but whoever kept on giving Saggers money to piss down the drain needs some serious self-examination. Maybe get him a gig washing dishes at the Pendennis next time.