At the beginning of every season, as the kick-off edges ever closer, my anticipation of the excitement to come can rarely be contained and I am compelled to make my predictions for the coming season, in the vain hope that it will bring the start just a little bit closer.

Having said this, by no means am I an authority, as my predictions for last seasons campaign were exposed by the unpredictability of the league, excluding of course the top four places. For example, after narrowly escaping relegation the season before, I had Fulham to be candidates for the drop, with Stoke heading straight back where they came from and Newcastle were never even in my thoughts as potential relegation fodder, especially after their opening day draw at Old Trafford.

Much maligned by my friends for my terrible predictions, considering my supposed interest and love for the game, I decided after a few in the local to make them preserve their predictions on a scrappy piece of paper.

Sometimes I feel like I’m being punished by the gods for my love of football, as over the past few weeks the only sporting relief has come from The Ashes, Wimbledon and The Open, which insist on hogging as much air time on the BBC as possible and dragging out the summer for an inordinate amount of time, before the new seasons starts.

I’m not the only one who feels this way though, as I have spent much of my weekend over the park with friends desperately trying to recreate the excitement that a Saturday normally brings during the football season.

Falling desperately short of our target due to lack of talent, but by no means lack of effort, we instead decided to reproduce our favourite goals and bask in our heroes reflected glory.

Much has been made this week of the attention and criticism Newcastle’s new away kit received from its fans and for the record, yes it’s disgusting, but it could yet prove to be a surprisingly shrewd move.

The usually passionate Geordie faithful failed to turn up in any numbers for the launch, with only six shirts being sold on the day of release, despite a 20% reduction in price. Scenes across the city at Sunderland’s Stadium of Light could not have been more different, as the Mackems patiently queued for the release of their new kit, probably though because it isn’t a putrid yellow colour that reminds me of egg mayonnaise that has been faded by the sun.

The release of the kit has been pounced upon by many as the nail in the coffin of a Newcastle team that are without an owner (Mike Ashley can’t and shouldn’t be considered,) a manager, or any sense of direction. However, through the mist of doom and gloom appears this yellow shirt in what I think is a piece of marketing genius, disguised in horrible clothing.

Dear Doctor,

This summer has been very difficult for me due to a lack the football on offer, but on top of that I appear to be hallucinating.

I woke up this morning to the news that former England manager Sven-Göran Eriksson is to become director of football at League Two side Notts County. I know they have the pedigree as the oldest professional club in the world and that Sven has reportedly been offered £2 million a year thanks to a recent takeover by Middle-Eastern group Munto Finance, but this can’t be true can it? After all we are talking about the former manager of such illustrious clubs as Sampdoria, Lazio and to a lesser extent Manchester City and he is a winner of trophies such as the Serie A, UEFA Cup and Ulrika Jonnson.

This though has just been the tip of the iceberg as I seem to have had a whole summer of it.

Summers where the year ends in an odd number always drag. Summers that end with an even number offer a football season that never ends, with the prospect of either the European Championships or the World Cup.

As it’s 2009, there is no summer of football beyond speculation and gossip. This holds my attention, but is nothing compared to a full 90 minutes.

Instead I find myself flicking past the golf, cricket, tennis and other summer sports of limited interest to me, in search of anything to give me a fix of the football drug that I crave. Of course I’m interested in what ever little morsels I can find, but it’s just not the same as watching the real thing.