Jack, God Love Him, is just infuriating in so many ways. His pallid features, his cliché-ridden patter, his exuberant carol-singing during the Christmas time visits to Acorns Hospices when he closes his eyes and sings (admittedly not badly) as if his life depends on it. His failure to ask anything remotely insightful practically ever, his psychophancy towards the manager and squad, his "Cheers for that Paul. Top man" trying-too-hard schtick with said staff, his commentary-style reminiscent of a pubescent boy who has spent too long indoors studying league tables and is still kinda scared of girls.
Plus he supports Sheffield shaggin' Wednesday.
QED
Put him out to pasture with Bananaman come June. It's a cruel, cruel summer.