So Big Sam, it seems, has a choice of one chopping block or another. Either he puts his neck on the line by joining Al Jazira - and we know what features in Al Jazeera videos - or he moves to the Boleyn, and dear old Anne's fate shows that 500 years ago, we used to have our own form of Sharia Law.
Must be a tough choice. Who would you want as your boss? Either the Saudi Royal Family, who chop off your hand if you are caught thieving (and let's face it, there's as big a stink around Allardyce as there is around Redknapp and it aint the smell of Spam Fritters) or Sullivan and Gold who assassinate their managers daily by way of entertainment.
One thing is for sure, if Allardyce arrives at the Boleyn, Curbishley's plan, so cruelly cut off in its prime, to turn us into the latest Charlton or Blackburn or Bolton, will be seen through to completion. Pain in the neck? Well yes for Allardyce when the axe eventually falls, but also for the fans as we look skyward, desperately trying to locate the ball. The Upson lump will return with a vengeance - although ironically the man assigned playmaker responsibility by Curbishley is now on his way. Never mind, da Costa can kick it harder, further and higher so Sam already has the key to his tactical masterplan in the squad - if he can keep him out of prison!
Greenwood, Moore and Lyall are turning in their graves as we speak. The stadium is going, our soul is in hock and as soon as Allardyce is appointed, everything that West Ham has ever stood for will be consigned to the executioner's basket.
Credit where credit is due though, The Dildo Brothers and their Hoe promised to transform the club from top to bottom, and I am already struggling to recognise the West Ham United I have supported for 43 years!