THE UTTER wretchedness of the Carlos Tevez saga has reached its lowest point.
Just when we thought it was safe to go back into the world of the deluded mobile moneybags sometimes known as elite footballers, Manchester City have insulted the intelligence of anyone with a passing interest in the game.
Everyone else assumed Tevez was a blot on the sporting landscape, a grubby stain that could not be cleaned no matter how many spin cycles City went through; a mini-microcosm of all that was wrong in the Premier League.
But City are adamant that his return has galvanised the club and refocused their efforts on winning the title and launching a new Blue order.
Just how low are a club willing to go to pacify their paymasters and bring home the booty?