Sympathy for the Devil

In case it has somehow escaped your attention, let me just say that life can certainly be one damned strange trip. For evidence, we need look no further than our old and dear friend Jack Warner, whose blink-of-an-eye roller coaster ride from the stratosphere to the gutter - literally - has few rivals this side of Tiger Woods.

There he was last December being wined and dined and groveled for and fawned over and ass-kissed by the likes of Prince William and David Beckham and then lunching privately with Britains' Prime Minister just before boarding a private jet for the quick hop to a palatial hotel suite in Zurich where he put his arm around Kates' soon-to-be spouse and pledged his vote mere moments before stabbing them all in the back and marking "Russia" on his World Cup ballot.

(It probably wasn't quite as emotionally satisfying when he put an X in the space next to "Qatar" a few minutes later, but on the other hand there's not much he enjoys more than the double whammy of a) pocketing a huge pile of money and b) screwing the White Man, so all in all it was an immensely satisfying day.)

This was of course followed by five months of ardent manlove from his oldest and dearest pal Sepp and the sight of his newest BFF Mohammad descending from the skies with bags full of lovely American money.

(One of the many, many overlooked tales to come out of this endless soap opera is the sworn statement from the General Secretary of the CFU who told the Ethics Committee that Warner instructed her to add up the actual expenses involved in hosting the Port of Spain Festival de Cash, double it and send the bill to BinnyHam with orders to send the check to Simpaul, the travel agency he swore to FIFA that he had nothing whatsoever to do with.

Very few men alive have the finesse and audacity to more or less openly screw ALL of his closest friends with one single transaction and have them love him still, but that's the greatness we lost when Warner went over the rainbow. We shall not see his likes again.)

So it was an almost poignant scene yesterday when the selfsame man, so recently groveled for and fawned over by some of the richest, most powerful and famous men on Earth, found himself earnestly examining raw human waste flowing through a dirt road drainage ditch in a desperate attempt to salvage some small portion of his last vestiges of public power in the face of two days of public protests that at times came perilously close to rioting.

The only thing that could have made it more perfect is if someone had shoved him in.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

On the other hand, once a lowlife, lying, thieving filthy bastard, always a lowlife, lying, thieving filthy bastard, and Uncle Jack, like Uncle Adolf, is - incredibly - still hunkered down in his bunker, hoping for - well, it's hard to say what, exactly.

Because another of the many stories being ignored in the rush of SB Nation, Deadspin and Bleacher Report caliber utterly ignorant "The FBI is chasing Chuck Blazer around Manhattan" articles that are now popping up like weeds - more on that in a minute - is the revelation that Warner has yet to hand over the keys or the bank accounts of the Caribbean Football Union to Horace Burrell or anyone else.

Indeed, the Evil Chuck Blazer, who innumerable internet hacks have just discovered is a really fat rich guy - apparently that's a crime these days - has provided office space to the CFU in the Miami CONCACAF facility so that they can administer World Cup qualifiers and CONCACAF has loaned them operating funds so that they can pay office salaries.

You may recall seeing it mentioned in this space previously that the offices occupied by the CFU - in Trinidad & Tobago, of course - were owned by Jack Warner and rented to them for a ridiculous $300,000 a year, a price that, in Port of Spain, can buy you a luxury hotel, a yacht and half the whores in town. And their mothers.

Yes, Warner resigned a few weeks back but then he locked out the office staff and has denied them access to the bank account information as well. Seen that written about anyplace?

For those of you who were wondering where all of this "Blazer got a couple of checks" stuff came from, wonder no more. Nobody but Jack Warner has access to any of that information.

The only people who have that capability are four people who Warner is telling people are "CONCACAF accountants" but who, in fact, work directly for the entity legally known as "The Warner Group".

No, the name is not a coincidence.

So we're left with the bizarre scenario of Andrew Jennings uncritically publishing information he's getting more or less directly from the man who told him to "go and find your mother".

(Furthermore, Blazer absolutely denies the contention, unquestioningly repeated far and wide over the last 48 hours - that the FBI is investigating him. "Someone" (duh) passed some photocopies of some checks to a task force that is currently investigating "Eurasion corruption" and then fed Andrew Jennings a crock of crap about it. Jack is a sharp guy. Much sharper, apparently, than one hell of a lot of football writers)

Someone out there still want to lecture me on how Jennings has no obligation to consider his sources?

Go ahead.

As for Blazer, early today he had an email correspondence with SkyNews.

He explained again the circumstances behind the personal loan to Jack Warner - from, it should be noted, 2006 - which Warner repaid with a check drawn on the CFU, and which Blazer is holding until someone can determine the source of the money.

Which, of course, no one can do until Jack Warner hands over the CFU checking account books.

At this point, Blazer, in his legal role as General Secretary of CONCACAFand at the behest of CONCACAF President Alfredo Hawitt of Honduras (remember him?) and the CONCACAF Executive Committee, have sent auditors to Trinidad to try and wrest control of the CFU's bank accounts and offices away from Jack Warner so they can, in turn, be handed over to Horace Burrell and the CFU.

And everyone in the US is busy writing about how Blazer held a party at his house for confederation officials.

Stop the freakin presses.