SBlat!

How do you like your eggs Seppy? Easy over, as they have been for the last 17 years? I bet you carry them home in a brown paper bag.

Feeding the chooks is something that must have come naturally, for your battery hens in Curacao and 206 odd countries have paid you back in golden yolks for ages.

Eggs Benedict would have to be your favourite meal Seppy. I can picture you along with Maradona sitting at the right hand of God, both men enjoying a feast.

You’re lucky the police have stepped in to halt your cholesterol-fuelled rampage. They can see there is desperate need to change your high cost diet.

Take a good hard-boiled look at yourself Seppy and clean up your act. There you were with egg on your face, standing at the podium after your dodgy re-election to top cock in the FIFA hen house. 

“Let’s go FIFA, let’s go,” you crowed. More Daffy Duck than Foghorn Leghorn.

It was only a matter of time before your Teflon-coated pan wore out and stuff began to stick: omelettes once sloppy and rich are now dry and leathery, while soft option poached eggs have evaporated in the warm and cosseted bath they simmered in.

So what’s next? It’s out of the frying pan and into the furnace for Seppy. He could host a cooking show that scrambles eggs with Jerome Valcke or move to the Caribbean and make movies with Jack Warner Bros.

My 45 million bucks is on a transfer deal to Qatar. Now that’s a hot bed of activity.

There you can watch the World Game played in 100-degree temperatures while frying eggs on the roofs of stadiums. Win win!

"Let’s Go Seppy, Let’s GO!”