The Week In Sport. A review of the last seven days in sport delivered in the style of A Bloke in the Greggs queue eight sausage rolls deep and vibrating with pastry rage loudly declaring he’s got a dangerous opinion about the Winter Olympics despite thinking biathlon is ‘just skiing with attitude.

 

Okay, hold onto your crisps and prepare for maximum sporting stupidity… Because the last seven days in sport have been more chaotic than a stag do in Magaluf armed with sambuca, inflatable guitars and absolutely no sense of consequence. If you thought the sporting world might calm down after the January madness, you’ve clearly never met the Premier League, the Winter Olympics, or the Scottish rugby team on a mission.

We begin with the Premier League, where Sean Dyche has been sacked after just 114 days in charge, proving once again that football managers now have the job security of a mayfly on a bonfire. Dyche barely had time to unpack his gravel‑flavoured throat lozenges before Forest booted him out and replaced him with Vítor Pereira, a man whose CV reads like someone who’s been speed‑running the European managerial circuit for a bet. Forest are now on their fourth permanent head coach of the season, which is impressive in the same way that eating four Christmas dinners in one day is impressive — technically possible, but medically unwise.

Forest fans are taking it well, by which I mean they’re staring into the middle distance muttering “what’s the point” while Googling the symptoms of stress‑induced hair loss. The club insists this is all part of a “long‑term plan,” which is adorable, like watching a toddler announce they’re starting a hedge fund.

Meanwhile, over at the Winter Olympics, Team GB finally achieved something on snow that didn’t involve falling over or finishing 17th. Charlotte Bankes and Huw Nightingale won snowboard cross mixed team gold, securing Britain’s first ever Winter Olympic title on snow. Yes, actual snow — not ice, not slush, not a frozen puddle behind a Lidl. Proper snow. The nation celebrated by pretending we’ve always been a winter sports powerhouse, despite the fact our national relationship with snow is mainly “panic, gritting lorries, and schools shutting because someone saw a flake.”

Elsewhere in Olympic land, the modern pentathlon descended into yet more controversy, because apparently the sport cannot go more than 48 hours without someone being disqualified, confused, or attacked by a horse. This week’s drama involved rules, judges, and athletes all disagreeing about what the hell was supposed to be happening  which, to be fair, is the pentathlon’s entire brand.

Back home, the Premier League refereeing circus continued as Chris Kavanagh and his assistant Nick Greenhalgh were quietly removed from this weekend’s fixtures after their performance in the Aston Villa vs Newcastle FA Cup tie, where they made decisions so baffling they may have been using a rulebook written in Latin. Fans described the officiating as “a disgrace,” “a shambles,” and “worse than my uncle trying to parallel park after two pints.” The PGMOL said they were “not selected,” which is football‑speak for “go sit in the naughty corner and think about what you’ve done.”

In rugby, Scotland beat England in the Six Nations, prompting Scottish fans to celebrate like they’d personally liberated the nation, while English fans reacted with their usual calm dignity by demanding the coach be sacked, the players be replaced, and the entire sport be rebooted from scratch. Scotland played with passion, precision and fury; England played like they’d been woken up halfway through a nap and told to tackle someone immediately.

Meanwhile, in the world of horse racing, I Am Maximus, last year’s Grand National winner, has been handed top weight for this year’s race. Trainers insist he can “handle the pressure,” though being top weight in the National is basically the equine equivalent of being told to run a marathon while carrying a fridge. Bookmakers are already rubbing their hands together like Dickensian villains, preparing to take money off punters who pick horses based on “nice names” and “vibes.”

And finally, a moment of genuine sporting joy: Britain winning gold on snow, Scotland battering England, and a Premier League club burning through managers like they’re on a two‑for‑one deal at Sports Direct. Truly, sport remains the greatest soap opera ever written — and unlike EastEnders, nobody’s pretending Grant Mitchell is coming back to fix it.

Tune in next week, when presumably another manager will be sacked, another referee will be banished, and another Winter Olympic event will descend into absolute farce.