Last night Carlos ‘the jackal’ Tevez issued a fulsome apology over his three-month strike and stated a desire to put everything behind him and get back to playing for Manchester City.

The below was written in the immediate hours that followed the Bayern Munich game back in late September. My feelings have only calcified in the intervening months and should he find himself reinstated into the first team there will be only ten players in blue on the pitch in my eyes.

I would love to be magnanimous and make all of this about Bayern and how sensationally good they were this evening. I would love to lavish Ribery with due high praise for the way he bossed the game throughout; the Bond villain ran us ragged and damn near schooled us. With far less enthusiasm I would also be duty-bound to lambast a thoroughly abject showing by a City side that started brightly then disintegrated before my very eyes. Everything from our shape, composure, to the basic ability to string two passes together crumbled all too easily beneath the unrelenting pressure of the Germans who were not only intent on winning but doing so stylishly.

City have been stunning for the most part this season. Bayern casually wiped away the make-up to reveal the insecure model still unsure of her place in the world.

But none of this matters right now. The last I heard Napoli were winning two-nil in the other group game and I haven’t even checked the final result. Because tonight an  important and extremely highly paid member of the Man City playing staff point-blank refused to take off his training top and do his fucking job. Even the term ‘job’ is a stretch considering to most it is a fantasy calling with fantastical material reward.

This player didn’t throw a hissy-fit the night before the game when he discovered he was once again demoted to the bench and storm to the nearest airport. He didn’t come on as a sub and go through the motions in a protest of apathy. These things are rare in football but unfortunately do occur in a modern game full of squad depth and prima donnas.

Tonight Carlos Tevez spat into the face of all those who have showed him nothing but adoration.

Instead he ceded to Mancini’s selection and – in a calculated move that was no doubt planned beforehand – staged a coup de grace. A public mutiny beneath the glaring spotlights of the European stage. All designed to humiliate his manager to the maximum degree, undermine his authority in front of the biggest possible audience, and make a mockery of the team that I love.

Fuck you Tevez. Fuck you to kingdom come. Fuck your slum morals and scum svengali.

I am sick of him making my club a circus. I am sick of his constant demands, strops and remorseless engineering for a move that offers endless ammunition and amusement to those who cannot wait to twist the knife.

Tonight Carlos Tevez spat into the face of all those who have showed him nothing but adoration. He spat on a badge that is worth fifty million of him and infinitely more.

And he did so with a smile.

Since a precarious truce was called following his latest summer of discontent Tevez has brooded menacingly. His silence spoke volumes. To some extent Mancini has been guilty of poking the sleeping snake with a stick; unnecessarily announcing that Balotelli is ahead of him in the pecking order and bringing him on noticeably late in games almost in chastisement. It was only a matter of time before the fireworks were once again ignited. If corny films have taught us anything it’s to recognize when things are too quiet but nobody could have anticipated anything like this.

Tevez and his puppet-master Kia Joorabchian have tried every trick in the book to inveigle a move away from City. Ultimately, no doubt in desperation, they resorted to plundering from the culture of Mancini’s own heritage in order for him to fully get the message. Their revenge was both Machiavellian and a Mafioso kiss of death. They patiently waited for everything to settle – for arch-nemesis Cook to be dispensed with and the player’s family to join him in Manchester – until there was finally hope for harmonious appeasement. Then the plush leather seats of the Alliance Arena sub’s bench became the boat-house in The Godfather. ‘It was you Roberto. You broke my heart’.

I don’t care if it’s the reserves or banished to training alone, let the despicable excuse for a human being rot.

Now is the time for the club and all supporters to back our Italian gaffer to the hilt as the castigation of Tevez looks to get messy in the ensuing weeks. For starters let him rot. I don’t care if it’s the reserves or banished to training alone, let the despicable excuse for a human being rot. Preferably minus any apparel that bears the mark of MCFC. Surely his unforgivable actions are a breach of contract so there may be a case for termination but until that is concluded, or until the next transfer window, keep him as far away from the first team as possible. Remove the cancer at the source.

After the shambolic performance and the completely needless antagonism of Dzeko by hauling him off at 2-0 down in a match that had personal connotations for the lad – not to mention the omission of Joleon Lescott in favour of Kolo who always looked a second off the pace so that’s two confidence players right there in need of an immediate lift – it has to be said that Mancini doesn’t make it easy for himself sometimes. But now more than ever we require a siege mentality at the club. Pull up the drawbridge and repair the team spirit that until recently appeared so strong yet splintered in one calamitous evening. Tevez has to be quarantined because he is the enemy within.

We live in sabotage times but when such actions are so contemptible they should never find reward.