Exclusives, shocks and sagas. Throw a brick through the transfer window, already.

So it’s transfer window and stuff. So far, I am underwhelmed. Very underwhelmed. I am currently sitting bottom of the ‘whelmed’ league table. It might have something to do with the usual media merry-go-round, which seems to start and end with absolutely nothing that we either don’t know or don’t particularly care about.


The other reason might be because it’s almost identical to previous years. Man United have got their business out of the way early, concluding their regular four or five year cycle where they buy immensely promising young players – generally English – but that’s not to say they won’t make a few last ditch efforts at Samir Nasri, Luka Modric and/or Wesley Sneijder. The Modric example is another nod towards the perennial transfer loop: Tottenham failing to meet their high targets (and supporter’s standards) and sweating their way through the summer as the vultures start thinking of making their swoop for their biggest stars while Levy and Redknapp sit on a sun lounger, avoid looking at the newspapers and eat tropical Soleros.
Speaking of Spurs, the all-too-familiar feelings continue what with them being linked to every player on the planet at some point or another during the close season. High profile targets have included Bojan Krcic of Barcelona and even Rio Ferdinand of Manchester United’s treatment room. Thus far, however, they’ve only signed Brad Friedel of SAGA holidays.

‘SAGA’. The Fabregas ‘saga’ – if you can even call it a saga anymore, it’s more like a box-set of the Wire, in that everybody talks about it but you can’t bring yourself to put that much time aside to watch it anymore – looks to be finally coming to a conclusion, with Barcelona trying to convince Arsenal that they’ve somehow discovered a spare £8m lying around where Yaya Toure’s shirt used to be kept at the training ground to meet their asking price. £35m seems to be the final price, even though Arsene Wenger could quite easily point to the Andy Carroll signing in January this year as proof enough that the fee should be inflated further. This could end one of two ways: Barcelona could up their bid, or they sit and piss themselves at Liverpool for three days. Either way, Fabregas has made it abundantly clear that he wants to re-join the Catalan club; presumably he has that message template saved as a draft on his phone as he sends it out every seven to ten minutes. The extra £8m might be just to cover his phone bill.

Fabregas was told to go away and get a proper
haircut before returning to his boyhood club

The question now is who Wenger will spend Arsenal’s new found wealth on, especially with even more wonga expected after the sale of Gael Clichy to Manchester City in what seems like a sideways move for all involved. This would be City’s fourth purchase at left back since all the oil money came in – one can only presume Roberto Mancini will finally deploy that 8-1-1 formation he’s threatened since gliding to these shores a couple of years ago. Wenger, in keeping with his stubborn management style, is planning on replacing his outgoing left back and two attacking midfielders with two centre backs and a winger; Chris ‘Caravan’ Samba, Gary ‘Not Tim’ Cahill and Juan ‘What’s the’ Mata. That’ll keep the Arsenal fans who paid an extra 6.9% on their season ticket happy, I’m sure.

Liverpool have already signed Jordan Henderson who, according to a thinly-veiled quote from Harry Redknapp, isn’t fit to lace Luka Modric’s boots. Henderson looks a decent footballer while Modric has had to counter claims he is unable to tie his own shoes (no, he hasn’t really). ‘Arry has a point though – Henderson hadn’t even played 70 senior games for Sunderland when he put pen to paper and it’s probably worth suggesting that had he not gained an England cap against France last year the fee would have been a hell of a lot less. With the amount of money flying into the North-East’s two biggest clubs for their best and brightest talents at the moment they could do up the town centre and get a new Debanhams, all for the price of two players with as many international caps. Just sayin’.

One man who seems reluctant to rock West Ham’s sinking ship is Scott Parker. I’m all for loyalty in football, but this is a player who, at 30 years of age, found himself to be a key member of England’s international set up while unsuccessfully trying to pretty much single-handedly keep his current employers in the Premiership. He has got to push through a move if he harbours hopes of being part of the England team that fails to get out of the group at Euro 2012. As for Rob Green and Matthew Upson, well, don’t call us, we’ll call you. But it still goes with the territory of the transfer window that a relegated club’s best player is looking to be on the move.

Now Carlos Tevez wants to get out of Manchester City and go to a Spanish or Italian club to be closer to his children in Argentina, which suggests he doesn’t actually know where Spain or Italy is. With all that money, perhaps City could accommodate their best player’s family in Manchester? Ship their entire school over as well. Why not? Just don’t let Mancini deploy the art and music block as a centre back.
But again – this has been coming for nearly a year now. It’s not an exclusive, or a shock. It’s just the same repeated sequel over and over again. This is even more depressing when you see the tiny amount of coverage the newspapers are giving things like the Women’s World Cup, in which England have a strong chance of making progress in and possibly even winning. It’s hard to imagine any Arsenal fans wanting to read about Fabregas anymore, let alone fans of any other club, and the same goes for the Gary Cahill, Modric, Nasri and Tevez stories. Wake me up when August is here.

The Flog Awards 2010/11!

The 2010/11 campaign is drawing to a close so Flog is having its end of season awards edition. When you ask? Now I answer.


Best Player:
There’s much competition, obviously; Vidic, Van der Vaart, Bale, Nasri, Hernandez, Tevez, Kompany, Adam. All have had terrific seasons, but it’s hard to look beyond one name: Scott Parker. Without him, West Ham would already be down. With seven points.

Best Team:
Manchester United for winning the league, Chelsea for losing it, Tottenham for their Champions League campaign, Liverpool for their resurgence? There’s only one place you’d want a season ticket this year, and that’s Blackpool. Let’s hope they stay up, maybe then they’ll stop getting such patronising coverage from Match of the Day.

Best Manager:
Despite the previous, I’m not on the Ian Holloway bandwagon. Yes, he’s entertaining, but then so is David Pleat, and for all the wrong reasons, like a pissed Uncle at Christmas. Kenny Dalglish deserves a mention for the complete overhaul of squad mentality (and attacking options, it could be argued) at Liverpool after their awful early start, but nobody should underestimate what a wonderful job Owen Coyle has done at Bolton Wanderers. With mostly the same squad as his predecessor Gary Megson, he has made Bolton not just a functional and energetic side to play against, but a pleasure to watch. Plus, they scored the best team goal of the season in November against Blackpool.

Best individual performance:

There might be competition, but nothing comes close to Gareth Bale vs Inter Milan at White Hart Lane in November. Nothing. And in particular, Inter’s Brazilian right back Maicon, who was given a torrid time for 90 minutes against the Welshman, and despite not managing to get on the scoresheet that night, Bale did set up two of Spurs’ three goals with a mixture of intense pace, pinpoint crossing and effortless skill. You would think destroying the reigning European champions (twice) would have sent Bale’s psyche into the stratosphere, but he has kept his feet firmly on the ground since that night. Now he just needs to work on his interviews. Um...

Best Goal:


Kompany and Richards attempt to
make the worst human pyramid ever

Can you really look past Wayne Rooney in the Manchester derby? I mean, really? Since that goal, Rooney has slowly worked his way back to somewhere near his best, when early on in the season it looked like that may have been impossible, not least in a Manchester United shirt. The effort had certainly been there; in particular against West Brom when he turned his ankle nastily and had to walk off the field, only to return for the final minutes- barely able to walk- in order to secure the 3 points with 11 men on the pitch. That was a glimmer of his old self but this wonderful goal meant Rooney was back to doing what he does best: being fucking awesome.

Best Team Performance:

...perhaps of all time, in club football. Barcelona 5 - 0 Real Madrid. Because Real Madrid scored nil. And Barcelona scored five. Effortless, and even the Americans could see that.

The Rio Ferdinand Award for Outstanding Contribution to Twitterature:

@AaronLennonpsl and @thecurtisdavies, more commonly known as Tottenham's Aaron Lennon and Birmingham City's Curtis Davies, and their rather epic conversation about bats and eagles on 10th February this year. After Lennon tweeted about the BBC series Human Planet being on the shiny picture box we regular folk call a television, Davies exclaimed about the size of the bats featured in the show. Lennon's response: 'lol them bats were massive bruv that eagle is a joke as well'. The BBC will be happy to know that neither had seen the programme before but this particular episode apparently led Lennon to be 'on it' from that point on. Gripping.

Best Fans:

Wembley stadium is slowly growing into it's responsibilities in English football, in that it needs to be a big stage for the big games, and whether you agree or disagree with the FA Cup semi-finals being played there (I am in the second camp) it has to be said that Stoke City's fans took advantage of the stadium's acoustics better than any team to visit it so far. The only set of people in the world to ever make 'Why, why, why, Delilah' sound utterly, utterly terrifying, it was as rousing for the neutral as it must have been for the Stoke players, evidence being their 5-0 demolition of Bolton.

Best Agent:

Whoever represents Emmanuel Adebayor. After an indifferent season last time around, the Man City forward decided enough was enough at Eastlands and he wanted to move on. Well, who wants a lazy, big mouthed, inconsistent mercenary? Real Madrid, apparently. And in fairness to the big twat, he's done reasonably ok, even if it really does take something for Spanish people to consider you a bit lazy.

Best Story:

David Wheater's use of his own free time aside, and of course Sergio Ramos' best attempt to shot put the Copa del Rey trophy, how can Flog pass up the opportunity to once again refer everyone to one of football's best ever facepalms. Jermaine Pennant apparently forgetting he parked his Porsche somewhere near a Spanish train station during his time at Real Zaragoza and then swanning off to Stoke City is up there with the very best 'what the fudge' moments, and that's just in his own career. Pennant 'laughed off' claims that he forgot he owned the car altogether, which in his head made the whole thing less ridiculous. Not in Flog's head, it didn't.

Most Overblown Performance:

Wales 0-2 England. Finally deploying a 4-3-3 formation, Fabio Capello's Three Lions swept aside the team ranked 116 in the world and who were without their best player, Gareth Bale. Despite this, it was seen as a great footballing feat by England, and the relative success of the formation as well as those filling it- most notably Scott Parker, Jack Wilshire and Ashley Young- was greeted with the sense that it was a revolution. It wasn't. In fact, it was what every England selection seems to be: decided by the press and 6 months too late.

And finally...

The David James Award for Biggest Cock-Up:



In one moment, Koscielny and Szczesny become
Birmingham Citys most creative outfield players



Let's pretend Ashley Cole didn't take an air rifle into the Chelsea training ground and shoot someone without getting arrested for a moment and focus on an acual football cock-up on an actual football field. At 1-1 in the Carling Cup final and with Birmingham resorting to smashing it upfield, step up Laurent Koscielny and Wojciech Szczesny (two names that I had to look up for spelling, twice) and their Wembley howler to gift Birmingham City the trophy and earn this award. It's hard to choose what aspect most quaifies it for the award; the fact that it extended Arsenal's agonising six year wait for a trophy and in a game they were expected to win comfortably, or, Flog prefers, how the two players could have conceivably communicated in three different languages and avoid all the fuss. Incidentally, I don't know the Polish for 'just fucking hoof it!' Not only did it end any hopes of a quick-fix end to the trophy drought, it also paved the way for Arsenal getting dumped out of two competitions in the two weeks after their little mix-up, as well as seemingly destroying all confidence in Arsene Wenger's young side and their Premier League title assault. Ouch. You can share the award between your mantle pieces, lads.

So that's it for this year, other awards ceremonies offer drinks and nibbles at this stage but here at Flog we prefer all those present to go away to a dark room and think about what they've done over the last 365 days. In my case, it's pretty much harshly judge everyone and everything in football. I'm comfortable with that. Cheers!

Flog - Short memory, Rio?

Yesterday, one of football’s most outspoken idiots, Rio Ferdinand, took exception to one of football’s run-of-the-mill idiots, Manchester City’s Mario Balotelli, celebrating in front of the Manchester United fans as the final whistle was blown on the first FA Cup semi-final of the weekend. City, having won 1-0 and thus ending any chance of another United treble, were obviously ecstatic as any team would be after victory over your neighbours, particularly in a knock-out cup competition.



Anderson dives in for a cuddle

  I actually love Balotelli. I think he’s essential- stock, even- of any successful football side. Discussing a theory before the start of this season with a friend of mine that ‘every team needs ‘a bit of a crazy’’, we referred to recent examples (Roy Keane, Martin Keown, Wayne Rooney, Jens Lehmann, Didier Drogba et al) and concluded that a) we are football geniuses and b) it holds water. A predictable dressing room doesn’t necessarily mean a happy or indeed successful one.

Balotelli’s act of showing his badge to the United supporters isn’t inciting trouble. I’ve been to Wembley and any slight action a player performed on that pitch could only realistically be seen by about 2% of the crowd, and that’s of those who remained in the stadium until the final whistle. Ferdinand, perhaps a little tired after the birth of his daughter- and no doubt the setting up of her Twitter account all night- started shoving Balotelli, along with other United players who looked somewhat confused but thought it was better to join in berating the Italian than to just walk off the pitch, gracious in defeat.

Here is what Rio actually said regarding the incident, via Twitter (what else?):

‘If u score a goal+give a bit to opposing fans I kind of accept that but at the final whistle go to your own fans+enjoy it not opposing fans’.

Well Rio, here is my response: just because Gary Neville has retired, it doesn’t mean he never existed. You remember Gary, don’t you Rio? He was the one who was as gobby as you, spent as much time in the injury room as you for the last couple of years, and owned an equally poor choice of facial hair? And so you remember that time he went completely mental when United scored against Liverpool a few years back, prompting a tirade of fist pumping, badge kissing and vein-throbbing screams at the Liverpool away supporters? Oh that’s right, I forgot. When you SCORE, it’s allowed, but not at the end of a game. Right, demz the rulez.

Flog - ‘Things Football Players Can Do That If I Did Too Would Result in Me Being Sent to Prison’

If I ever write a book about football, something I hope to one day do, then I am going to include a chapter devoted entirely to the things football players can do that if I did too would result in me being sent to prison. Imaginatively, I would call the chapter ‘Things Football Players Can Do That If I Did Too Would Result in Me Being Sent to Prison’.
The reasons for the book not happening are plentiful. Most prominent is my incapacity to sit down and concentrate on anything that’s actually longer than a football match (if any game I’m watching goes to extra time, you could find me starting conversations with random people in the room about things like upholstery, The Cuban missile crisis, or how shit Holby City is). Also, this is the only chapter I have thought of so far, so it’s more of a pamphlet.
But the reasons for the pamphlet going ahead; well, let us go through some of the things that happened this week. Or rather, let’s see them through my eyes, as if I, as a regular human being, were experiencing them first hand.
I went to work the other day. It was a normal day; except the train was actually on time. It was lucky really, because I simply couldn’t wait to get to work and show everyone my massive gun. Oh yeah, I forgot: I took a gun to work as well. Doing! Silly me, but hey, details right? Anyway, me and my gun went into work and I started showing it off a bit. It was fine, I mean, it wasn’t loaded, and I only showed it to a few people who I knew were complete cunts as well. They loved it; I was a massive hit! Just as I’m about to put it away, the work experience kid walked past. It’s not that I dislike him, it’s just, you know, he wears a smart tie in a casual office. Always fills up the paper in the printer without the little red light telling him to. Bloody show off. Who does he think he is? As a joke, I point the gun at him. Again: it wasn’t loaded. Except it was loaded. So when I jokingly pulled the trigger and jokingly shot him in the side- you might say his sides split! Hahaha! Everything’s fine until 2 seconds later when people are jumping on me, shouting ‘call security’ and the like. I tell you, you bring one air rifle into work and shoot a defenceless man and suddenly EVERYONE’S a policeman.
Also the other day, I was in the shopping centre in town. It was a Saturday afternoon, so it was pretty crowded, which I hate. Anyway, I need a new pair of Nike trainers, so I go into JD Sports. I’ve just got a massive pay rise at work- even though I don’t actually do any more than I used to (shh, don’t tell the boss!)- so I thought I’d treat myself. So I’m about 20 yards away from these shoes that I want, right? And I see this bloke right next to me looking in the same direction. I thought, ‘I’m not having this’. So what I did, right, was I went up to him and forearm smashed him in the jaw. Bang. He goes down like I’ve done something wrong. That’ll learn him. Being right in the middle of the shopping centre, everyone saw it, even the security guard, who I thought should have just asked me to leave, but instead he goes and calls the police! I don’t even have a chance to leg it, besides, that seems a bit too much hard work anyway. My trial is next week.
As I’m not Ashley Cole or Wayne Rooney, I’m likely to end up in prison because of these events. You know what it is? You know what all this is? It’s political correctness gone mad...

Flog - Don't assault a dog and you'll get your minutes silence.

It’s been a little while since the last edition of Flog but what with the spirit and joy of Christmas happening all around me everything got a little lost. Now all that is out of the way, Flog comes roaring back to you and today we are talking about DEATH.
Nat Lofthouse died over the weekend, which was sad. The only reason I know Nat’s name is from a few black and white clips showing him battering some goalkeepers over the line in what would today be considered a common assault, so I don’t think I could express the same level of grief that perhaps older Bolton supporters could justify. An English centre forward whose style is nostalgically referred to whenever a big lad like Andy Carroll rises through the ranks to become the next focal point of every English centre back’s forward pass for the next decade.
Lofthouse is a Bolton legend and has been honoured so, and the likelihood of there being a minutes silence (or applause, which I prefer immeasurably) before their next league game is obviously high. The footage of him barging a goalkeeper over the line in an FA Cup final is part of the archives and his record of 30 goals in 33 England games speaks for itself. ‘It’s really very good’ it says from the back of the cupboard, next to an old Morph video.
But what is going to happen in the future? Not to be morbid, but we are all going to die. You, me, the Queen, Vernon Kaye; we’re all on the hit list eventually. So when today’s footballers reach the end of their innings and start popping their Nike clogs, we are to expect minutes silences/applauses/break dances (could happen in the future, these crazy kids) just as we do for the old heroes? The difference, however, will be pretty massive because anyone is a hero these days. It’s a much more personal experience to watch football; the tabloid media and the gigantic, online know-it-all, bullshit machine Wikipedia playing the biggest roles in this of course.
Tottenham fans still remember Steffen Freund with much fondness partly due to his lack of goal scoring exploits but also his combative attitude and decent distribution. He was a good player, but he wasn’t Lofthouse to Bolton or Moore to West Ham. Will he get honoured? Will older generations pass the name of this cult hero on to their children? Will he get mentioned on the Spurs website, which you will be viewing on your iPhone v273?
Where do you draw the line? I expect and demand measures to be put in place: players must have played for the club in at least 100 games. They must have done at least one thing of note, this can include scoring a goal, saving a penalty or punching a linesman. They must NOT, repeat: NOT, have assaulted a child or small dog at any time in their career at the club. Simple rules like these could save thousands of hours in the future, which I choose to take in lieu right now and spend eating biscuits and playing FIFA 11.
In the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, football became much more like what it is now, basically a religion. Superstars were born and when they die they are honoured in the right way because success was measured in trophies and medals. Presently, the lines have been blurred to the extent where success can mean simply staying in a division. I’m not denying those who are part of these teams deserve that recognition, but the greatest achievers in this sport could find themselves lost in the names.
So that’s death taken the piss out of…

Flog - Hughton was Newcastle's dirty little secret; now spill the beans, Chris

Well well well. Just when we think they might have taken their finger off the big red self destruction button that they’ve been bashing for years, Newcastle go and do it again. The sacking of Chris Hughton, however goes a bit further than bashing that button. It’s more like a sledgehammer, and to the testicles.
In an infuriatingly deluded statement, the Newcastle board claimed they wanted somebody with ‘more managerial experience’ to take over, before thanking Hughton for the good work he had done at the club.
‘Good’ doesn’t really cut it though, does it? ‘Good’ would suffice if he had simply stopped the rot after their relegation two seasons ago; stopped them going the same way of Leeds, Nottingham Forest, Sheffield Wednesday and Charlton, to name just four clubs who have failed to recognise where their respective ships were heading. Immediate promotion and an unbeaten home record is a bit more than ‘good’, would you not agree?
And this after being overlooked in favour of Alan Shearer and Iain Dowie for the temporary managers position during that fateful end of season run-in. In hindsight, it’s a wonder how Hughton could sit back and watch Shearer and Dowie patrol the technical area, like the before and after shots of a risky medical experiment, without going completely insane.
And who are Newcastle lining up for his job, exactly? If Hughton could handle everything he did last season, plus a stable 11th position in the Premiership in just under half a season, including a thumping of arch-rivals Sunderland and a 1-0 win at the Emirates against Arsenal and with the lack of managerial experience that effectively cost him his job, then what sort of mental ambitions do Newcastle hold for their new man to attempt to realise?
Relegation was supposed to thump some sense into Newcastle and considering they didn’t just reverse their fortunes in the Championship, they did so in relative style, they should feel very fortunate to be where they are. And it’s because of Hughton. The players think so. The fans think so. What the hell have the board been looking at these past 18 months? Should the Geordie fans be optimistic about their recruitment policy considering the judgement they have shown so far?
Speaking of the players, how on Earth are they going to take this? Under Hughton, Andy Carroll has become an England international, Kevin Nolan has revitalised his career and Alan Smith actually looks like something resembling a midfielder. He’s not been bad in the transfer market either, managing to tempt Ben Arfa away from Marseille on loan and convincing Sol Campbell- who was playing Champions League football for Arsenal this time last year- that he still has a future in the Premiership.
Newcastle have treated Hughton like a dirty one-night stand, someone they were almost ashamed to have at the helm of their club because he wasn’t glamorous or high-profile, who did the dirty job that nobody else was prepared to do. Now they’ve cast him aside for someone who, I presume, is a massive name- it simply has to be to justify the decision. They can’t bring in Curbishley, or Keegan again. How about Allardyce, Newcastle? Might as well compile the idiocy.

Flog - this Friendlies farce has to stop, wright-phucking now.

Can’t wait for the France game. Should be a real crackerjack. An excuse for the newspapers to slate a midweek International friendly for its lack of worth, until we lose that is, then of course it becomes a depressing summation of the Capello regime and a indicator of how little talent there is to shout about coming through the youth ranks, how England will probably be ranked below 30th in the world come the next World Cup and might as well just merge with Scotland to form a super-shite ultimate team in time to maybe give the beach football European Championship qualifiers (West Division) a decent go in 2026.
I imagine it will be terrible. Wembley is still more impressive empty than it is full and will remain so until England host the World Cup, whether it happens in 2018 or otherwise. It’s a great, great piece of architecture but once you half-fill it with representatives from every company the FA can squeeze a tenner out of any pathetic notion of ‘England United’ is, um, a little lost amongst the bullshit, you know? Wembley needs competitive matches between competitive teams. Croatia are the biggest team we have hosted in a meaningful game since the massive arch opened. Don’t agree? Ok then, Russia. Not getting any better, is it?
Some of the players that will feature on Wednesday played Sunday afternoon and will play Saturday lunchtime. Samir Nasri has already voiced his displeasure, and quite rightly. This time next week he’d have most likely played a Champions League fixture, too, on top of the North London derby at the Emirates, a match that doesn’t exactly allow passengers. Seeing as he is one of only about seventeen footballers that the French FA hasn’t banned for thirty-six years after their World Cup debacle, he is likely to play.
As is Andy Carroll, which is where the argument of the game being totally pointless loses pace a little. Carroll deserves an England call-up and should play, presuming his groin injury lets up, from the start. It is a good test for him, but then so would any qualifier that England have coming up over the next 18 or so months. If he’s good enough, play him against Wales. What will we learn if he falters somewhat in midweek, that the tiny pool of strikers we have to choose from will be found to be one man lighter? Are there strikers out there that the FA are keeping from us who can step in for competitive matches should this less-than-drastic experiment fail? In all seriousness, I don’t know why there’s not outright panic at the strikers Capello has called up. Carlton Cole, lead striker of a team bottom of the Premiership that has managed 11 goals in 13 games this season. Peter Crouch, who despite his European and indeed excellent International record has never and will never be prolific- 51 league appearances for Spurs and 9 goals tells its own story. And I’m sorry, but Jay Bothroyd? Really? I’m all for bringing in players on form, but most find the jump from Premiership to International football difficult enough, let alone the Championship. I will take nothing away from the decent season he has been having with Cardiff, and I find it unfair that some commentators have put his goals tally down to the opposition’s pre-occupation with Craig Bellamy, but Barnsley and France are opposite ends of the scale, mate. Should he play, it is likely that England will have two target men on the field. Kick and rush will take on a whole new meaning. Gabriel Agbonlahor completes the set, of whom I am a great fan due to his direct running and having a decent finish on him, but it must be said that he is there in place of Bolton’s Kevin Davies. Again, decent. But not an International footballer. Jordan Henderson is an example of the perfect player to be looking at in these games, if there is one. He’s had under-21 experience, as well as almost 50 Premiership games, and he’s only 20. Him and Wilshire in the middle. No excuses, Fabio. No Gerrard. No Gareth Barry. No Shaun Wright-Phucking-Philips. And that goes for every game in the phucking phuture as well.