Sometimes I wonder if the entire world is going completely mad. Especially the football world, for it seems Sky Sports’ gross monopoly on sport and indeed our lives has grown to new levels. Levels we can’t imagine. Geoff Horsefield’s underpants sort of levels.
On Christmas Eve as I sat in the pub with friends, darting around like karate kid to avoid the thousands of elbows that were a’swinging near my face in the scrum at the bar. On the television was, of course, Sky Sports News. It’s easy to stick that on. If the sound is off (it was) then you can read the really interesting statistics that scroll around Simon Thomas’ face (I didn’t). It’s simple, it’s safe. It being on in the background means when conversation goes silent you can divert your attention to the screen without getting fully engrossed in it. Brilliant. Until you realise what the hell they’re on about.
I don’t know if you saw it, but the feature of the evening involved the presumably bored and under worked reporters going around the grounds and asking what Christmas entailed for the likes of Sam Allardyce, Harry Redknapp, Eddie Johnson (yeah, him!) and many more. Not that they needed to travel the length and breadth of the country, seeing as they all gave exactly the same answer.
‘Probably just wake up, come into training, do some light work, then go home, spend time with the family, eat the dinner, sleep [insert chuckle here] then spend the night in front of the telly or on the coach to the away game’.
Insightful. Honestly, if I hadn’t been told what Allardyce was doing on 25th December, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep, open presents, eat my dinner, nothing. At all. Thank you, Sky Sports News. You’ve got a monkey off my back by boring it to death.
But oh, they’re not finished.
As if the excitement of their Christmas Eve offerings were not enough, they also had Christmas Day covered too. I couldn’t make out what time they stated (I’d fainted with dreariness) but sometime in the morning, they were sending poor cameramen out to film Tottenham training. Training, correct.
Would it be cynical to say nobody wanted the morning shift on Sky Sports News? And to say it was somewhat a TIME FILLER UNTIL SOMEONE FANCIED GETTING TO THE STUDIO? Oops, that last bit was put in capitals by accident. Actually, fuck it, I’ll keep it to enhance the bellowing factor.
Who in their right mind wants to watch Tottenham training, and for that matter any other team? As if we would be watching the Fulham vs. Tottenham game the day after and judging every set piece against how they practiced it at Spurs lodge. This is a frightening vision, truth be told, of where the Club channels (MUTV, RangersTV etc) are heading. Hours and hours of football. Next year; round the clock coverage of Sam Allardyce asleep after his Christmas dinner. You’ll watch. As will I.
27 December 2009
5 December 2009
Flog - Please Please Me
Something peculiar happened to me after watching Man City vs. Chelsea. I was pleased. I actually smiled at several intervals during the game. The required muscles in my face have not been used since 2003. They ached. They burned.
You see, I was so pleased to see a great advert for English football. It was a proper Premiership game- goals, blood and guts tackling and controversy.
But overall I think I was pleased with Chelsea. No, really.
I was pleased to see that despite the fines and player bans UEFA imposed on the club after their behaviour in the wake of being knocked out of the Champions League by Barcelona, they are sticking to their guns and abusing the referee whenever possible. I was pleased that, collectively, they made a mockery of the ideal of growing old gracefully. Pleased to see that of the 32 nations that will be at the World Cup next year, nine of their starting XI against City (and both of the substitutes used) will represent their country; of those nine, four were booked for persistent or malicious fouling (two others found their way into the book as well, therefore incurring another fine from the FA). Another had their mouth wrapped around Howard Webb’s ear so tight all game that you could accuse them of public indecency. It was also pleasing that the same player went down under no challenge whatsoever and brought on an entire team of physios, returning to the action within seconds of ‘treatment’. He must have missed Webb’s soft skin. It was pleasing to see that England’s first choice left back has learnt from past discrepancies and now pays complete attention to the referee when getting booked. Ashley Cole’s conduct during the game was, as ever, petulant at best and the repeat of his mini ego-protest at Tottenham two years ago will probably go unpunished again. Which will please me, of course.
Finally, it was pleasing to see that when Chelsea are on the back foot, they can always resort to violent tackles to quench their annoyance. Deco’s lunge was sadly only a close second to Julio Belletti’s mile long slide tackle on Wayne Bridge’s shin. A 50-50 ball, maybe, but 100% malevolent. Bridge left the field on a stretcher. Undeterred, Belletti spent the rest of the game attempting to get himself that elusive second yellow with a glory-covered mixture of dissent and over zealous challenges. Forgive the sarcasm, but all in all I wasn’t happy with Chelsea during the game.
Their actions afterwards, however, changed my perception slightly. Despite an at times tempered game, one which entertained a sometimes competitively hostile crowd and meant masses to both the Red and Blue sides of Manchester, the players after the game embraced and congratulated each other. Frank Lampard applauded the travelling fans and held his hands up apologetically for failing to convert a penalty in the 83rd minute which would have levelled the game. The home crowd commended the efforts of both sides while still heartily celebrating City’s first win over Chelsea for eight games. John Terry, obviously in some pain after battling hard throughout the game and who limped off late, stood up to observe the last ditch sequence of corners Chelsea had in the closing moments. If his lion heart tendencies follow him to the World Cup with as much vigour, I will be a happy England fan.
All of which added up to a very good game of football. Not even ESPN (Every Stupid Pundit Necessary) couldn’t ruin it. Can we consider it a turning point in the season? Pfft. Please.
You see, I was so pleased to see a great advert for English football. It was a proper Premiership game- goals, blood and guts tackling and controversy.
But overall I think I was pleased with Chelsea. No, really.
I was pleased to see that despite the fines and player bans UEFA imposed on the club after their behaviour in the wake of being knocked out of the Champions League by Barcelona, they are sticking to their guns and abusing the referee whenever possible. I was pleased that, collectively, they made a mockery of the ideal of growing old gracefully. Pleased to see that of the 32 nations that will be at the World Cup next year, nine of their starting XI against City (and both of the substitutes used) will represent their country; of those nine, four were booked for persistent or malicious fouling (two others found their way into the book as well, therefore incurring another fine from the FA). Another had their mouth wrapped around Howard Webb’s ear so tight all game that you could accuse them of public indecency. It was also pleasing that the same player went down under no challenge whatsoever and brought on an entire team of physios, returning to the action within seconds of ‘treatment’. He must have missed Webb’s soft skin. It was pleasing to see that England’s first choice left back has learnt from past discrepancies and now pays complete attention to the referee when getting booked. Ashley Cole’s conduct during the game was, as ever, petulant at best and the repeat of his mini ego-protest at Tottenham two years ago will probably go unpunished again. Which will please me, of course.
Finally, it was pleasing to see that when Chelsea are on the back foot, they can always resort to violent tackles to quench their annoyance. Deco’s lunge was sadly only a close second to Julio Belletti’s mile long slide tackle on Wayne Bridge’s shin. A 50-50 ball, maybe, but 100% malevolent. Bridge left the field on a stretcher. Undeterred, Belletti spent the rest of the game attempting to get himself that elusive second yellow with a glory-covered mixture of dissent and over zealous challenges. Forgive the sarcasm, but all in all I wasn’t happy with Chelsea during the game.
Their actions afterwards, however, changed my perception slightly. Despite an at times tempered game, one which entertained a sometimes competitively hostile crowd and meant masses to both the Red and Blue sides of Manchester, the players after the game embraced and congratulated each other. Frank Lampard applauded the travelling fans and held his hands up apologetically for failing to convert a penalty in the 83rd minute which would have levelled the game. The home crowd commended the efforts of both sides while still heartily celebrating City’s first win over Chelsea for eight games. John Terry, obviously in some pain after battling hard throughout the game and who limped off late, stood up to observe the last ditch sequence of corners Chelsea had in the closing moments. If his lion heart tendencies follow him to the World Cup with as much vigour, I will be a happy England fan.
All of which added up to a very good game of football. Not even ESPN (Every Stupid Pundit Necessary) couldn’t ruin it. Can we consider it a turning point in the season? Pfft. Please.
30 November 2009
Flog - The Megson Powerslide
Here is a list of all the words and/or phrases that follow ‘Gary Megson’ when Google’s weird predictive search thing intervenes; wiki[pedia], pathetic fans, quotes, chants, wife, Manchester City, sacked, out, abuse, jokes.
It’s like someone scanned a suicide note and picked out the verbs.
Megson himself admits that he has hardly been a hit since arriving at the Reebok in 2007, which is as gross an understatement as if you were to say Bolton were not the most attractive footballing side you can watch of a weekend. Since their (2nd) promotion to the Premiership in 2001, Bolton have been used to survival in the top flight, subjecting a couple of high profile home scalps and annoying Arsene Wenger more than any other team. Right now, they epitomise the average Premiership club- no progress is better than mass regress.
Under Sam Allardyce in 2005, Bolton began to dream of perhaps being a mainstay of European club football after finishing 6th. A year earlier they had reached the League Cup final, only to lose to Middlesbrough. Things were rosier than Rafa Bentiez’s cheeks.
But after Big Sam left for ‘better things’ at Newcastle- there’s a story to bypass with the Grandkids- things went downhill for Wanderers. After a short spell with Sammy Lee (why?), they turned to Megson. And they haven’t looked back, or indeed forward, since.
Staying in the league is more important than anything else, especially if you’ve been there a while. Newcastle and Middlesbrough’s relegation(s) represented the absolute horror scenario for every manager, chairman and fan in club football. You only have to look at the weakened sides managers play in the two cup competitions to see that survival means more than silverware. Why? Money, of course, and status.
So Megson is a little stuck. Fans had hoped for a more successful team, but to do that he would compromise their Premiership status. Rock, hard place, etc. I think it’s all a little harsh. Sure, his record doesn’t exactly scream glitz or glamour; According to Wikipedia, his greatest achievements are getting West Bromich Albion to the Premiership- twice. (so therefore being relegated with them in between- but his record still has him in credit, just.)
The Bolton fans have accused him of not attempting to make any sort of relationship with them. How can you, really? How many Man United supporters can say they have some sort of relationship with Alex Fergusson? I think you’ll find the relationship works like this; win stuff, we like you. In my opinion it would have been even stranger if Megson did try and have a relationship with them- like a desperate step-dad bonding with his new children.
So here’s to you, Gary, and your tuft of hair. Keep going, and maybe do a power slide in front of the North Stand the next time you get a result at home. Just ignore the abuse, jokes, chants and indeed your wife in the doing so.
It’s like someone scanned a suicide note and picked out the verbs.
Megson himself admits that he has hardly been a hit since arriving at the Reebok in 2007, which is as gross an understatement as if you were to say Bolton were not the most attractive footballing side you can watch of a weekend. Since their (2nd) promotion to the Premiership in 2001, Bolton have been used to survival in the top flight, subjecting a couple of high profile home scalps and annoying Arsene Wenger more than any other team. Right now, they epitomise the average Premiership club- no progress is better than mass regress.
Under Sam Allardyce in 2005, Bolton began to dream of perhaps being a mainstay of European club football after finishing 6th. A year earlier they had reached the League Cup final, only to lose to Middlesbrough. Things were rosier than Rafa Bentiez’s cheeks.
But after Big Sam left for ‘better things’ at Newcastle- there’s a story to bypass with the Grandkids- things went downhill for Wanderers. After a short spell with Sammy Lee (why?), they turned to Megson. And they haven’t looked back, or indeed forward, since.
Staying in the league is more important than anything else, especially if you’ve been there a while. Newcastle and Middlesbrough’s relegation(s) represented the absolute horror scenario for every manager, chairman and fan in club football. You only have to look at the weakened sides managers play in the two cup competitions to see that survival means more than silverware. Why? Money, of course, and status.
So Megson is a little stuck. Fans had hoped for a more successful team, but to do that he would compromise their Premiership status. Rock, hard place, etc. I think it’s all a little harsh. Sure, his record doesn’t exactly scream glitz or glamour; According to Wikipedia, his greatest achievements are getting West Bromich Albion to the Premiership- twice. (so therefore being relegated with them in between- but his record still has him in credit, just.)
The Bolton fans have accused him of not attempting to make any sort of relationship with them. How can you, really? How many Man United supporters can say they have some sort of relationship with Alex Fergusson? I think you’ll find the relationship works like this; win stuff, we like you. In my opinion it would have been even stranger if Megson did try and have a relationship with them- like a desperate step-dad bonding with his new children.
So here’s to you, Gary, and your tuft of hair. Keep going, and maybe do a power slide in front of the North Stand the next time you get a result at home. Just ignore the abuse, jokes, chants and indeed your wife in the doing so.
23 November 2009
Flog - Cheat Pants
Poor Robbie Keane. In a week alone he has been the victim of not one but two heinous acts of handball, firstly in his nation’s failure to qualify for South Africa 2010 and then during his club’s 9-1 thrashing of Wigan on Sunday. Oh, Robbie, how the football Gods have turned their backs on you. You could be sitting on a plane in six months time, off to the World Cup to pit your abilities against the very best in the world, but, more immediately, you could have been part of a team that scored 9 without reply. No justice, none, none at all. Disgusting.
At least that is how our national newspapers are portraying it all. Paul Scharner’s handball in the lead up to his (consequently) meaningless effort is by no means anywhere near on a par with what Henry did in Paris during the week. The media were delighted there was even the slightest of links between the two incidents, in this case Keane, an unused substitute for Tottenham after his national duties, because had the Irish captain not been ‘involved’ it could have been even more tedious, like Henry and Scharner both wearing the same brand of pants. CHEAT pants. Yeah. That’s what they’ll say. Cheat pants.
The demolition of Wigan masked what was essentially another nudge in the direction of introducing video replays. In theory, it is so undoubtedly necessary that it baffles even the brainiest people at NASA why football’s governing body hasn’t at least attempted to test it out. And they are really clever, them NASA lot. Like, Clarke Carlisle clever.
The debate subsequently dragged it’s beaten and worn carcass into the weekend, limping onto Football Focus and in to the mouths of John Motson and the new boy presenter that Martin Keown has his eye on to be his next victim. After the stupid opening exchanges in which Motson pretends to be listening and new boy pretends he knows what he’s doing, the topic rears it’s head.
Then something amazing happened- Motson actually made a remark that made perfect sense for the first time since around Summertime, 1993. He argued that there are too many decisions people will want to go to the video referee, not just handballs or penalty decisions. And he is right, the old sheep. Last season it was all about goals that never were, balls crossing lines and tight offside decisions. Now it’s handball, diving and offsides.
How many stoppages can we really have in a game? According to no reasearch, the average attention span of an adult football fan is exactly 0.2 seconds and if there’s the slightest delay in proceedings we will all get so confused when watching it on TV it would be like watching Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon on iPod shuffle. Games would go on for hours, which would only please ITV because it could possibly mean endless amounts of adverts. They have no aversion to putting them on in the middle of games anyway, apparently…
Lee Dixon gave his typically level headed view; ‘…heaven forbid really, but I just hope something major- huge- happens at the World Cup, that would make people sit up and go; ‘right. We need this in. Now...’ while new boy just sat looking interested while keeping one eye behind the sofa in case Keown was lying in wait.
How much good will it do? Not a lot, probably. Well in terms of Fair Play, then endless good will be done. Oh, the doing of good there shall be. Good doings aplenty. But how could we really live with ourselves going into work on a Monday and shouting at your opposing fan friend; ‘that was never a penalty!’ only for him or her to reply; ‘you’re right, it wasn’t, and the game continued fairly’. Urgh, it’s enough to make you vom. Urgh.
At least that is how our national newspapers are portraying it all. Paul Scharner’s handball in the lead up to his (consequently) meaningless effort is by no means anywhere near on a par with what Henry did in Paris during the week. The media were delighted there was even the slightest of links between the two incidents, in this case Keane, an unused substitute for Tottenham after his national duties, because had the Irish captain not been ‘involved’ it could have been even more tedious, like Henry and Scharner both wearing the same brand of pants. CHEAT pants. Yeah. That’s what they’ll say. Cheat pants.
The demolition of Wigan masked what was essentially another nudge in the direction of introducing video replays. In theory, it is so undoubtedly necessary that it baffles even the brainiest people at NASA why football’s governing body hasn’t at least attempted to test it out. And they are really clever, them NASA lot. Like, Clarke Carlisle clever.
The debate subsequently dragged it’s beaten and worn carcass into the weekend, limping onto Football Focus and in to the mouths of John Motson and the new boy presenter that Martin Keown has his eye on to be his next victim. After the stupid opening exchanges in which Motson pretends to be listening and new boy pretends he knows what he’s doing, the topic rears it’s head.
Then something amazing happened- Motson actually made a remark that made perfect sense for the first time since around Summertime, 1993. He argued that there are too many decisions people will want to go to the video referee, not just handballs or penalty decisions. And he is right, the old sheep. Last season it was all about goals that never were, balls crossing lines and tight offside decisions. Now it’s handball, diving and offsides.
How many stoppages can we really have in a game? According to no reasearch, the average attention span of an adult football fan is exactly 0.2 seconds and if there’s the slightest delay in proceedings we will all get so confused when watching it on TV it would be like watching Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon on iPod shuffle. Games would go on for hours, which would only please ITV because it could possibly mean endless amounts of adverts. They have no aversion to putting them on in the middle of games anyway, apparently…
Lee Dixon gave his typically level headed view; ‘…heaven forbid really, but I just hope something major- huge- happens at the World Cup, that would make people sit up and go; ‘right. We need this in. Now...’ while new boy just sat looking interested while keeping one eye behind the sofa in case Keown was lying in wait.
How much good will it do? Not a lot, probably. Well in terms of Fair Play, then endless good will be done. Oh, the doing of good there shall be. Good doings aplenty. But how could we really live with ourselves going into work on a Monday and shouting at your opposing fan friend; ‘that was never a penalty!’ only for him or her to reply; ‘you’re right, it wasn’t, and the game continued fairly’. Urgh, it’s enough to make you vom. Urgh.
17 November 2009
Flog - Facebook, football and Mike Watson's Mum
Have you heard about this Facebook thing? It’s crazy- apparently it’s this website you join which can simultaneously distract you from any sort of activity and create the illusion that you are being sociable with your friends, who are also in the ‘book, when talking to their Faces online. It’s got somewhere around 20 trillion members, or something. No? Me neither.
But oh Hayward, I hear you collectively not say, are you not on this Facebook, rendering your opening blab totally void? My answer, of course is yes. I am on there. I was on there the very second before I started writing this. In fact, it’s still on my toolbar. The second question you may be not asking is how on Earth there can be 20 trillion members when there are only 6 million beings…on Earth. And some of them are babies, or technophobes, or people who have yet to discover texting let alone the Web.
The answer is hilarious. People set up fake profiles. As if their (my) own sad lives (life) aren’t enough, they (not me this time) feel the need to live out another life. Suh is the nature of Facebook, they can, because it’s all electronic. It’s all pixels. I’m nowhere near as attractive as my profile picture suggests. Nor are you. Trust me, you’re not.
Example: a while ago I saw a profile for ‘Mike Watson’s Mum’. Which is fucking hilarious. Especially if she made it herself.
So what’s this got to do with football? I’ll tell you what it’s got to do with football, if you’d just stop checking your Wall on your iPhone for one second. Or your Blackberry. In fact, if you have the latter, you might be interested to know I’ve made an ‘App’ for you stupid phone- I call it the ‘Look where you’re going when you’re making that annoying clicking sound on your Shitberry.’ It’s going to take off, big style.
I found a great profile for ex Tottenham boss Martin Jol. The photo of him is typical Jol- hard man with a hint of sex appeal for housewives. I added him as a friend. Yeah, so? I’ve also got Alan Kennedy- Dr. Kennedy from Neighbours. I don’t care. Pride never came into my social agenda.
Under the About Me section it has ‘I am a big football coach and a ferry’- which explains what is written in the Activities section; ‘Football, Crossing the Channel’. A perfect summation of what he probably said to the wife when he moved from Tottenham to Hamburg.
Obviously fake, it paved the way for me to search out other footballer’s names. Inevitably, some profiles are locked or hidden until a friend request is accepted (which by the way was not submitted), like that of Ben Foster, who presumably didn’t want anyone other than his ‘friends’ to see ‘overrated goalkeeper, lolz!’ in his About Me. If no profile is found, groups are brought to your attention. Most of them range from ‘Frank Lampard- Chelsea Legend’ to ‘Frank Lampard is a fat bastard’. And people wonder about apathy in this country.
So, with all this in mind, here are the Facebook highlights I found when I typed in the names of the first choice England XI, not according to Ian Wright, who is becoming ever more intolerable when breathing let alone spewing words on screen for us to digest and ignore.
Robert Green: Firstly, there are a lot of people with the name Robert Green. Damn you all for making it so hard to sift through the shit. As it turns out, there are no actual profiles set up for him (boo) but nearly a zillion groups for ‘Robert Green for England’. Capello isn’t swayed by reputations, guys. Unless…
Glen Johnson: Lots of people, again, but at least he has a noticeably awful fake profile. The picture shows him shaking Rafa Benitez’s hand after signing for Liverpool. It’s rubbish, though, as no personal information is on there (boo again), although one deluded moron has written ‘hope your fit for saturday against city, you are an amazing player’. I’m sure he appreciates your comments, now back to your cell.
John Terry: Brilliant! The first of many that I click on is a somewhat neglected profile, with little work put into it, however his one solitary friend is Michael Ballack. It’s a frightening world when you think about it. Even scarier when you see one that has been maintained, including his About Me: ‘Hi my name is john terry (JT) yoy have probab;y seen me play for Chelsera fc (the best football club) who I hold close to my heart.’ That’s nice. Obviously never held English lessons as close, though. Ironically, the one ‘fan page’ he has joined is this beauty: ‘Fake Profiles for Celebrities- Never be Fooled Again!’.
Rio Ferdinand: The first one? ‘Rio Ferdinand. Network: Thailand’. Failure to launch on that one. Another? His friends include the entire United team. That’s correct. The entire team. Even O’Shea, who has no friends in real life, let alone on Facebook. No funny profile quotes of real mention, but I’m certainly a fan of the group ‘Rio Ferdinand= Twat’. Simple but effective, like the man himself.
Ashley Cole: Uh-oh. Lots of groups to talk about, ones with names beyond reason, apart from ‘Ashley Cole really is a wanker’. Brilliantly, on one profile, the Relationship Status is ‘It’s Complicated’. The only realistic (yet still horribly forged) page has ‘Ashley’ describing himself as ‘happily married’ and ‘enjoys a laff with mates’. Good old Ashley. As if you’ve got any fucking friends.
Gareth Barry: Poor Gary Barry. It seems he is so dull even Facebook fakers don’t want him. However, one closed profile has him enjoying a Birthday cake while on a night out with his librarian friends. Very dull. As for groups, who on Earth made ‘Gareth Barry Wannabees’, and who the fuck are the 10 that joined?
Frank Lampard: Apart from the polarising group names, his reception is generally positive on the profile front, including the stand out page which contains his favourite films. ‘click, harry pooter, iron man’. What??????????????
Steven Gerrard: Thousands. Literally thousands. But the stand out one has to be the one that contains this: ‘\m/ Alcohol doesn't solve any problems, but if you think again, neither does Milk’. Never more relevant after what happened in the summer, which didn’t actually happen, of course. His other favourite quotes include many snippets of Andy Gray’s commentary over his stupendous goals. So self indulgent, Stevie.
Theo Walcott: Perhaps too young to even sign up, but what’s this? Ah, something that makes total sense. His page has one thing on it’s Wall- a photo he has been tagged in- under the heading ‘giveyourfriendanosebleed.com.’ Totally normal, yeah. Ok.
Wayne Rooney: Harsh. One picture is just of Shrek. Unless he put it on himself… Even harsher, the group: ‘Wayne Rooney is overated’. Not only does it have members, those people have actually justified their opinion with lines such as ‘hiz got no skill and if he woz brazilian no1 would have herd of him!!!’. But he’s not, and people have, and he’s pretty much the only chance England have of winning the World Cup.
Emile Heskey: one has a real photo of him, but it’s locked. Devastated. And all the groups are in appreciation of the big wall up front for England. Nondescript both on the field and on the internet, which is fairly difficult seeing as even Mike Watson’s Mum is known.
There you have it. A terrible world we live in summed up in 11 descriptions of stupid people’s spare time. Then again, in my own time I’ve actively searched them. Everyone hates Facebook.
But oh Hayward, I hear you collectively not say, are you not on this Facebook, rendering your opening blab totally void? My answer, of course is yes. I am on there. I was on there the very second before I started writing this. In fact, it’s still on my toolbar. The second question you may be not asking is how on Earth there can be 20 trillion members when there are only 6 million beings…on Earth. And some of them are babies, or technophobes, or people who have yet to discover texting let alone the Web.
The answer is hilarious. People set up fake profiles. As if their (my) own sad lives (life) aren’t enough, they (not me this time) feel the need to live out another life. Suh is the nature of Facebook, they can, because it’s all electronic. It’s all pixels. I’m nowhere near as attractive as my profile picture suggests. Nor are you. Trust me, you’re not.
Example: a while ago I saw a profile for ‘Mike Watson’s Mum’. Which is fucking hilarious. Especially if she made it herself.
So what’s this got to do with football? I’ll tell you what it’s got to do with football, if you’d just stop checking your Wall on your iPhone for one second. Or your Blackberry. In fact, if you have the latter, you might be interested to know I’ve made an ‘App’ for you stupid phone- I call it the ‘Look where you’re going when you’re making that annoying clicking sound on your Shitberry.’ It’s going to take off, big style.
I found a great profile for ex Tottenham boss Martin Jol. The photo of him is typical Jol- hard man with a hint of sex appeal for housewives. I added him as a friend. Yeah, so? I’ve also got Alan Kennedy- Dr. Kennedy from Neighbours. I don’t care. Pride never came into my social agenda.
Under the About Me section it has ‘I am a big football coach and a ferry’- which explains what is written in the Activities section; ‘Football, Crossing the Channel’. A perfect summation of what he probably said to the wife when he moved from Tottenham to Hamburg.
Obviously fake, it paved the way for me to search out other footballer’s names. Inevitably, some profiles are locked or hidden until a friend request is accepted (which by the way was not submitted), like that of Ben Foster, who presumably didn’t want anyone other than his ‘friends’ to see ‘overrated goalkeeper, lolz!’ in his About Me. If no profile is found, groups are brought to your attention. Most of them range from ‘Frank Lampard- Chelsea Legend’ to ‘Frank Lampard is a fat bastard’. And people wonder about apathy in this country.
So, with all this in mind, here are the Facebook highlights I found when I typed in the names of the first choice England XI, not according to Ian Wright, who is becoming ever more intolerable when breathing let alone spewing words on screen for us to digest and ignore.
Robert Green: Firstly, there are a lot of people with the name Robert Green. Damn you all for making it so hard to sift through the shit. As it turns out, there are no actual profiles set up for him (boo) but nearly a zillion groups for ‘Robert Green for England’. Capello isn’t swayed by reputations, guys. Unless…
Glen Johnson: Lots of people, again, but at least he has a noticeably awful fake profile. The picture shows him shaking Rafa Benitez’s hand after signing for Liverpool. It’s rubbish, though, as no personal information is on there (boo again), although one deluded moron has written ‘hope your fit for saturday against city, you are an amazing player’. I’m sure he appreciates your comments, now back to your cell.
John Terry: Brilliant! The first of many that I click on is a somewhat neglected profile, with little work put into it, however his one solitary friend is Michael Ballack. It’s a frightening world when you think about it. Even scarier when you see one that has been maintained, including his About Me: ‘Hi my name is john terry (JT) yoy have probab;y seen me play for Chelsera fc (the best football club) who I hold close to my heart.’ That’s nice. Obviously never held English lessons as close, though. Ironically, the one ‘fan page’ he has joined is this beauty: ‘Fake Profiles for Celebrities- Never be Fooled Again!’.
Rio Ferdinand: The first one? ‘Rio Ferdinand. Network: Thailand’. Failure to launch on that one. Another? His friends include the entire United team. That’s correct. The entire team. Even O’Shea, who has no friends in real life, let alone on Facebook. No funny profile quotes of real mention, but I’m certainly a fan of the group ‘Rio Ferdinand= Twat’. Simple but effective, like the man himself.
Ashley Cole: Uh-oh. Lots of groups to talk about, ones with names beyond reason, apart from ‘Ashley Cole really is a wanker’. Brilliantly, on one profile, the Relationship Status is ‘It’s Complicated’. The only realistic (yet still horribly forged) page has ‘Ashley’ describing himself as ‘happily married’ and ‘enjoys a laff with mates’. Good old Ashley. As if you’ve got any fucking friends.
Gareth Barry: Poor Gary Barry. It seems he is so dull even Facebook fakers don’t want him. However, one closed profile has him enjoying a Birthday cake while on a night out with his librarian friends. Very dull. As for groups, who on Earth made ‘Gareth Barry Wannabees’, and who the fuck are the 10 that joined?
Frank Lampard: Apart from the polarising group names, his reception is generally positive on the profile front, including the stand out page which contains his favourite films. ‘click, harry pooter, iron man’. What??????????????
Steven Gerrard: Thousands. Literally thousands. But the stand out one has to be the one that contains this: ‘\m/ Alcohol doesn't solve any problems, but if you think again, neither does Milk’. Never more relevant after what happened in the summer, which didn’t actually happen, of course. His other favourite quotes include many snippets of Andy Gray’s commentary over his stupendous goals. So self indulgent, Stevie.
Theo Walcott: Perhaps too young to even sign up, but what’s this? Ah, something that makes total sense. His page has one thing on it’s Wall- a photo he has been tagged in- under the heading ‘giveyourfriendanosebleed.com.’ Totally normal, yeah. Ok.
Wayne Rooney: Harsh. One picture is just of Shrek. Unless he put it on himself… Even harsher, the group: ‘Wayne Rooney is overated’. Not only does it have members, those people have actually justified their opinion with lines such as ‘hiz got no skill and if he woz brazilian no1 would have herd of him!!!’. But he’s not, and people have, and he’s pretty much the only chance England have of winning the World Cup.
Emile Heskey: one has a real photo of him, but it’s locked. Devastated. And all the groups are in appreciation of the big wall up front for England. Nondescript both on the field and on the internet, which is fairly difficult seeing as even Mike Watson’s Mum is known.
There you have it. A terrible world we live in summed up in 11 descriptions of stupid people’s spare time. Then again, in my own time I’ve actively searched them. Everyone hates Facebook.
2 November 2009
Flog - Bite you in the arse like a biscuit
Dear Flog
I apologise for my absence throughout the past few weeks. This was due to a combination of other commitments including getting over a cold, going to Thorpe Park and purchasing the new Football Manager.
I promise that any visits to theme parks will be scheduled more appropriately in future, and that this year’s FM will not take over my life to such a degree that I forget what a razor and/or a bath looks like.
Faithfully
Tom Hayward (Mr)
Back to business. This week’s Flog is all about football’s nasty yet uncanny ability to come out of nowhere and bite you on your arse so hard you are convinced you’re a tougher than usual biscuit that’s been left on the counter to dry out. That’s right. I’m going for food metaphors. I’ve tried to quit smoking so it’s all I have to turn to for comfort now. Fuck you.
Firstly, let’s go global. Fair Play, and all that. It’s been going a fair few years now and let’s face it, it’s nothing more special than a motion, a title, just like ‘Arsenal goalkeeper’ or ‘Carling Cup Winners’. At the beginning of each season all the managers tell the press, sincerely mind, that this is the year they clampdown on their players and themselves when it comes to playing the game in a fair and proper way. What most of the press releases leave off, apparently, is the part where they add ‘as long as all fifty-fifty decisions go our way’.
So far this season Fergusson, Benitez and Wenger have all fallen foul of the FA’s and UEFA’s ‘strict’ guidelines on post-match comments regarding the referees, all concerning decisions that had they been given would certainly have been seen as moments that fit into the ‘Big Four decision’ pigeon hole (which some poor old woman has to keep track of, probably). This weekend saw nine red cards, though, which means no matter how absurd some of the decisions were, the problem of foul play lies throughout the league.
So that’s FIFA’s arse bitten. And if we go smaller scale, the case of Robbie Keane’s claims that Spurs’ squad is better than Arsenal’s this season. Honestly, it’s one thing to goad the opposition before your huge derby match, but to do it with outright lies is something else altogether. Spurs fans across the globe collectively slapped their foreheads in frustration at the crazy little Irishman’s words- an action that caused such a loud clapping sound that it woke Roy Hodgson from his afternoon nap.
As if his words were ever not going to be eaten. They were laid out on a plate from the moment he vomited them from his foolish mouth. As captain, he should have kept quiet. Or, at least, made it look as if he was trying a bit harder when it actually came to the match. A pretty dull game in fairness but neither team got out of second gear. In fact, Spurs stalled from the start line.
BUT. Oh, dear reader. How I have let you down. All that went before, that was nothing. For I have the greatest testament to football biting you on the arse ever, right here. It was given to me by a friend, but this is something that needs to be shared. It concerns our friend Rafa, once again and his failing Liverpool side. Now, ask yourself, who have the Reds lost to this season in the league?
Fulham
Aston Villa
Chelsea
Tottenham
Sunderland.
Correct. FACTS. FACTS!!!!!!! Oh the magnificence knows no bounds. No more than, what, ten months since his famous ‘fact’ rant does that beauty come along. In fact (ha!), I can bypass Fact of the Week because it ironically takes it. It’s so good, I may never do another one again- stop cheering at the back.
I apologise for my absence throughout the past few weeks. This was due to a combination of other commitments including getting over a cold, going to Thorpe Park and purchasing the new Football Manager.
I promise that any visits to theme parks will be scheduled more appropriately in future, and that this year’s FM will not take over my life to such a degree that I forget what a razor and/or a bath looks like.
Faithfully
Tom Hayward (Mr)
Back to business. This week’s Flog is all about football’s nasty yet uncanny ability to come out of nowhere and bite you on your arse so hard you are convinced you’re a tougher than usual biscuit that’s been left on the counter to dry out. That’s right. I’m going for food metaphors. I’ve tried to quit smoking so it’s all I have to turn to for comfort now. Fuck you.
Firstly, let’s go global. Fair Play, and all that. It’s been going a fair few years now and let’s face it, it’s nothing more special than a motion, a title, just like ‘Arsenal goalkeeper’ or ‘Carling Cup Winners’. At the beginning of each season all the managers tell the press, sincerely mind, that this is the year they clampdown on their players and themselves when it comes to playing the game in a fair and proper way. What most of the press releases leave off, apparently, is the part where they add ‘as long as all fifty-fifty decisions go our way’.
So far this season Fergusson, Benitez and Wenger have all fallen foul of the FA’s and UEFA’s ‘strict’ guidelines on post-match comments regarding the referees, all concerning decisions that had they been given would certainly have been seen as moments that fit into the ‘Big Four decision’ pigeon hole (which some poor old woman has to keep track of, probably). This weekend saw nine red cards, though, which means no matter how absurd some of the decisions were, the problem of foul play lies throughout the league.
So that’s FIFA’s arse bitten. And if we go smaller scale, the case of Robbie Keane’s claims that Spurs’ squad is better than Arsenal’s this season. Honestly, it’s one thing to goad the opposition before your huge derby match, but to do it with outright lies is something else altogether. Spurs fans across the globe collectively slapped their foreheads in frustration at the crazy little Irishman’s words- an action that caused such a loud clapping sound that it woke Roy Hodgson from his afternoon nap.
As if his words were ever not going to be eaten. They were laid out on a plate from the moment he vomited them from his foolish mouth. As captain, he should have kept quiet. Or, at least, made it look as if he was trying a bit harder when it actually came to the match. A pretty dull game in fairness but neither team got out of second gear. In fact, Spurs stalled from the start line.
BUT. Oh, dear reader. How I have let you down. All that went before, that was nothing. For I have the greatest testament to football biting you on the arse ever, right here. It was given to me by a friend, but this is something that needs to be shared. It concerns our friend Rafa, once again and his failing Liverpool side. Now, ask yourself, who have the Reds lost to this season in the league?
Fulham
Aston Villa
Chelsea
Tottenham
Sunderland.
Correct. FACTS. FACTS!!!!!!! Oh the magnificence knows no bounds. No more than, what, ten months since his famous ‘fact’ rant does that beauty come along. In fact (ha!), I can bypass Fact of the Week because it ironically takes it. It’s so good, I may never do another one again- stop cheering at the back.
12 October 2009
Flog - Coming Soon: Wayne Rooney (in 3D)
Anyone see the England game? I’d certainly hope not.
For one, the game itself seemed to be as entertaining as being read old scripts of Emmerdale by Bob Wilson.
Secondly, what moron would pay anything between £5 and £20 to watch a meaningless (to England, anyway) qualifier?
Well, as it turns out, nearly half a million of you. Half a million? It was a Saturday night! Go out! Socialise! Don’t sit in front a tiny, furious and pixelated Fabio Capello barking at match officials!
Due to the high numbers of consumers for the game, people have been singing the praises of this ‘exercise’ as it is now called, seeing as nobody is admitting a channel called Setanta ever existed, let alone had the rights to England away fixtures.
What really troubled me though was the number of people who chose to go to the cinema to watch it. A select number of Odeon screens were used- at £12 a head, let it be known- to show the game and although many were reported to be half empty, it was still regarded as being a precedent for future games like this.
Now if you are a football fan, you should be very scared by this. Very scared indeed.
Football has very much been wrestled out of the hands of the working classes. It’s a sport where money rules all. We all know this and it’s been relayed a thousand times. The ‘best view in the house’ is reserved those who can pay for it. The windows on the box are double glazed (for your comfort). This, dear reader, is exactly what a football match on a cinema screen will enhance. The whole idea of being one voice, of fans being altogether in support of their team, could be over. If you can pay to watch football in comfort, with an overpriced hot dog and all the customary trimmings of somebody who can afford it, then you do it. And nobody will skip on any chance to do the slightest little thing for you to make it a more ‘enjoyable’ experience.
Whether it be at the ground or at the pub, watching your team with your supporters invokes passion, and an atmosphere. How can you create an atmosphere with people grazing popcorn asking you to ‘shhh’? But it will draw the money in. And sadly, that’s the end credits.
In other news, it has emerged that Harry Redknapp has been assigned ex-SAS soldiers by way of protection on his return to Portsmouth for the first time. I really want one to be Ross Kemp. Really, really, really want. However, no matter how many of the Queen’s finest you put in their way, I can imagine it’s pretty difficult to hold back 18,000 people if they really wanted to have a go. Redknapp will probably take it all in his stride, give a wink to an old lady in a Pompey shirt and everyone will realise why they all loved him in the first place. Paul Hart, the Premiership’s resident deadbeat dad, has a lot to live up to in Harry, even if he has won a lot of affection for his efforts so far. I’d just like to mention the arrival of Spurs’ Jamie O’Hara on the south coast and how much more bite they now have in their depleted midfield. O’Hara has a fantastic air about him, and I think he has a great future, something I thought a friend of mine agreed with, only to be rebuffed quickly, with; ‘he has all the attributes to be a top class Premiership footballer. Except ability’.
Oh, Haha.
Fact of the Week: The first live coverage of a football match shown on television was in the year 1937. It was a practice match of Arsenal and was played at Highbury stadium. Fiction: There may or may not have been sound, as it was reported that some people had to turn up their television full blast to hear anything. For all Arsenal home games, that same tradition stands to this day.
For one, the game itself seemed to be as entertaining as being read old scripts of Emmerdale by Bob Wilson.
Secondly, what moron would pay anything between £5 and £20 to watch a meaningless (to England, anyway) qualifier?
Well, as it turns out, nearly half a million of you. Half a million? It was a Saturday night! Go out! Socialise! Don’t sit in front a tiny, furious and pixelated Fabio Capello barking at match officials!
Due to the high numbers of consumers for the game, people have been singing the praises of this ‘exercise’ as it is now called, seeing as nobody is admitting a channel called Setanta ever existed, let alone had the rights to England away fixtures.
What really troubled me though was the number of people who chose to go to the cinema to watch it. A select number of Odeon screens were used- at £12 a head, let it be known- to show the game and although many were reported to be half empty, it was still regarded as being a precedent for future games like this.
Now if you are a football fan, you should be very scared by this. Very scared indeed.
Football has very much been wrestled out of the hands of the working classes. It’s a sport where money rules all. We all know this and it’s been relayed a thousand times. The ‘best view in the house’ is reserved those who can pay for it. The windows on the box are double glazed (for your comfort). This, dear reader, is exactly what a football match on a cinema screen will enhance. The whole idea of being one voice, of fans being altogether in support of their team, could be over. If you can pay to watch football in comfort, with an overpriced hot dog and all the customary trimmings of somebody who can afford it, then you do it. And nobody will skip on any chance to do the slightest little thing for you to make it a more ‘enjoyable’ experience.
Whether it be at the ground or at the pub, watching your team with your supporters invokes passion, and an atmosphere. How can you create an atmosphere with people grazing popcorn asking you to ‘shhh’? But it will draw the money in. And sadly, that’s the end credits.
In other news, it has emerged that Harry Redknapp has been assigned ex-SAS soldiers by way of protection on his return to Portsmouth for the first time. I really want one to be Ross Kemp. Really, really, really want. However, no matter how many of the Queen’s finest you put in their way, I can imagine it’s pretty difficult to hold back 18,000 people if they really wanted to have a go. Redknapp will probably take it all in his stride, give a wink to an old lady in a Pompey shirt and everyone will realise why they all loved him in the first place. Paul Hart, the Premiership’s resident deadbeat dad, has a lot to live up to in Harry, even if he has won a lot of affection for his efforts so far. I’d just like to mention the arrival of Spurs’ Jamie O’Hara on the south coast and how much more bite they now have in their depleted midfield. O’Hara has a fantastic air about him, and I think he has a great future, something I thought a friend of mine agreed with, only to be rebuffed quickly, with; ‘he has all the attributes to be a top class Premiership footballer. Except ability’.
Oh, Haha.
Fact of the Week: The first live coverage of a football match shown on television was in the year 1937. It was a practice match of Arsenal and was played at Highbury stadium. Fiction: There may or may not have been sound, as it was reported that some people had to turn up their television full blast to hear anything. For all Arsenal home games, that same tradition stands to this day.
5 October 2009
Flog - Adrian and Gary and Me, sitting in a tree, laughing at all the predictability
During the summer I wrote an edition of Flog devoted to how much I was missing football. It flittered between rambling about my failed attempts at finding enough football compilation videos on YouTube and my unyielding hatred of everyone’s favourite leather faced, nicer than pie, mediocre sports presenter Sue bloody Barker.
Which, on reflection, might be considered harsh. She wasn’t to know she was unsuccessfully using a tennis ball to fill a large, football shaped void in my life. (By the way, metaphors: not my strong point.)
This assessment on stupid grandma Sue now seems even more harsh though as it becomes ever more apparent that I am utterly bored of the Premiership already.
Season after season I bemoan the fact that the top 4 is always the top 4 regardless of what Everton, Spurs and Aston Villa have had to say about matters in the very recent history of the league. But their appeal was that if they broke the mini league up, they would have been eaten alive in what that status meant: Champions League football. Everton, the only team to have penetrated that elite of late, found this out in the earliest of the qualification rounds. They couldn’t even continue their smug glances over at Liverpool finishing in 5th because they went and won the bloody thing the season before and were allowed in on this merit.
Ultimately, though, it was comforting to know that in the end the status quo would be restored and these club’s flirtations with the big boys would eventually die out. Each time a club came and went out of the reckoning, the gap got bigger too.
But now we have Manchester City making a break for the top 4, but this time with a sustainable challenge not just for this year but for many to come. I cant deal with that! I like it when Gary Linekar makes a mundane joke about it being all boring and tedious at the end of the season as we look at the same four teams sitting proudly in some sort of order at the top. I like how Adrian Chiles tuts and rolls his eyes on Match of the Day 2 whenever the big four clubs get a dodgy penalty decision or a last minute winner which went in off their right back’s left bollock (try saying that with half a sandwich in your mouth). I like how Sky pinpoint every meeting between the top 4 and build it up for at least 4 months beforehand and it usually turns out to be a cagey, tight affair, but still gets Jamie Redknapp near enough erect with excitement JUST BECAUSE football is on!
City have ruined everything. Now I don’t know what to think. Add to this the fact that Arsenal are doing the opposite of what everyone though they would and, well, doing pretty well actually, and have the most prolific centre back in history in Thomas Vermaelen. And the fact that Manchester United look a little shit at the moment, which quickly and neatly leads me to ask a question I have been asking for a long time; Can everyone stop rating Ben Foster now please? He’s ever so shite and believes his own hype. I even made a little rhyme for you, now sing it and piss off to spread the word.
Liverpool are still playing with a squad that consists of 2 players, (seeing as everybody is starting to see that Jamie Carragher is not good enough to be a championship winning centre back, it’s now down to Gerrard and Torres) and even Spurs are sitting on the high fliers table for now, you know, before the inevitable Christmas downfall. Happy holidays, Harry. (I may not be good at metaphors but give me little rhymes and alliteration and I’m there, no danger).
So overall, please just go back to normal. I can’t bear tuning into football without knowing what’s going to happen in the end. I like stability, comfort, continuity. I like Gary and Adrian and their stupid smiles. So please, football, don’t take that away from me. Sometimes I think it’s all I have.
Fact of the Week: according to Wikipedia: ‘David Ginola was renowned for his "magical" touch on the ball and his ability to get past players from any type of position and then manage to score a goal’. Not necessarily a fact, but maybe the most hilariously banal summation of a footballing genius’ career ever.
Which, on reflection, might be considered harsh. She wasn’t to know she was unsuccessfully using a tennis ball to fill a large, football shaped void in my life. (By the way, metaphors: not my strong point.)
This assessment on stupid grandma Sue now seems even more harsh though as it becomes ever more apparent that I am utterly bored of the Premiership already.
Season after season I bemoan the fact that the top 4 is always the top 4 regardless of what Everton, Spurs and Aston Villa have had to say about matters in the very recent history of the league. But their appeal was that if they broke the mini league up, they would have been eaten alive in what that status meant: Champions League football. Everton, the only team to have penetrated that elite of late, found this out in the earliest of the qualification rounds. They couldn’t even continue their smug glances over at Liverpool finishing in 5th because they went and won the bloody thing the season before and were allowed in on this merit.
Ultimately, though, it was comforting to know that in the end the status quo would be restored and these club’s flirtations with the big boys would eventually die out. Each time a club came and went out of the reckoning, the gap got bigger too.
But now we have Manchester City making a break for the top 4, but this time with a sustainable challenge not just for this year but for many to come. I cant deal with that! I like it when Gary Linekar makes a mundane joke about it being all boring and tedious at the end of the season as we look at the same four teams sitting proudly in some sort of order at the top. I like how Adrian Chiles tuts and rolls his eyes on Match of the Day 2 whenever the big four clubs get a dodgy penalty decision or a last minute winner which went in off their right back’s left bollock (try saying that with half a sandwich in your mouth). I like how Sky pinpoint every meeting between the top 4 and build it up for at least 4 months beforehand and it usually turns out to be a cagey, tight affair, but still gets Jamie Redknapp near enough erect with excitement JUST BECAUSE football is on!
City have ruined everything. Now I don’t know what to think. Add to this the fact that Arsenal are doing the opposite of what everyone though they would and, well, doing pretty well actually, and have the most prolific centre back in history in Thomas Vermaelen. And the fact that Manchester United look a little shit at the moment, which quickly and neatly leads me to ask a question I have been asking for a long time; Can everyone stop rating Ben Foster now please? He’s ever so shite and believes his own hype. I even made a little rhyme for you, now sing it and piss off to spread the word.
Liverpool are still playing with a squad that consists of 2 players, (seeing as everybody is starting to see that Jamie Carragher is not good enough to be a championship winning centre back, it’s now down to Gerrard and Torres) and even Spurs are sitting on the high fliers table for now, you know, before the inevitable Christmas downfall. Happy holidays, Harry. (I may not be good at metaphors but give me little rhymes and alliteration and I’m there, no danger).
So overall, please just go back to normal. I can’t bear tuning into football without knowing what’s going to happen in the end. I like stability, comfort, continuity. I like Gary and Adrian and their stupid smiles. So please, football, don’t take that away from me. Sometimes I think it’s all I have.
Fact of the Week: according to Wikipedia: ‘David Ginola was renowned for his "magical" touch on the ball and his ability to get past players from any type of position and then manage to score a goal’. Not necessarily a fact, but maybe the most hilariously banal summation of a footballing genius’ career ever.
21 September 2009
Flog - WWCBD?
Shock horror, this week’s hot topic is Manchester City.
Shock horror (2), this week’s hot topic is a Manchester City striker.
After Adebayour sprinted anywhere between 80 and 1,672 yards- depending on which of the 2 billion reports you read- last week, his name was being bounced off every wall up and down the country and beyond. I’m sure he hated that. Simply hated it.
Now, after Sunday’s Manchester ‘Derby’, (I usually refuse to call any game where most of the home fans have to travel 200 miles to the stadium a ‘derby’, but for argument‘s sake in this case, let‘s run with it) we have the case of Craig Bellamy and the clown who entered the pitch and got a bit of a tickle on the chin from the Welshman.
Crazy though Adebayour’s celebration was, he didn’t directly come into contact with the Arsenal fans, but whether that stems from him genuinely not wanting to get hurt or that he fell to the floor exhausted, after sprinting the furthest he had ever ran on a football field, is another matter altogether.
Two cases, and undoubtedly entirely different punishments from the ever inconsistent FA.
The valid fear amongst football players- and indeed fans- is that Bellamy’s reputation will precede him when the tiny arm of the FA’s law comes for him. We’re not likely to see any wristbands with ‘What Would Craig Bellamy Do?’ on them anytime soon. But ponder over this ‘fan’ who could have had anything on them, which includes quite simply a bloody good punch. Had he reached a Man City player, the unthinkable might have become a horrible reality.
The FA, however are unlikely to scrutinise the ineptitude of the United stewards who allowed the cretin through in the first place, although they did weigh in on him once he had made very good ground onto the pitch- bravo guys- and instead go for the easy target, in this case the fiery Bellamy.
It was hardly a pasting from the striker, just a shove in the face while he was being held. Still, this prompted John O’Shea, Rio Ferdinand and Nemanja Vidic to all come over and have words with him. Not the fan- Bellamy. Whereas were it a City fan coming at them at Eastland’s, they would try to calm things down with words of course, not that a) anyone would be remotely stupid enough to have a go at Vidic and b) anyone would be able to understand a word the duck-mouthed Ferdinand said anyway.
I’m not condoning any sort of violence to do with football, whether it be from fans, players or indeed both. My point is that the FA need to look at the bigger picture- that sooner or later, things could get a lot uglier than a fan getting a nudge on the chin, and that scenario could just as easily come about from a spectator acting first or a player inciting fans with a celebration.
As for the actual football, we had a great weekend of action. The obvious place to start would be at Old Trafford, where Michael Owen scored deep into Fergie time. No matter what anyone says, there is definitely one rule for the bigger clubs and another for the rest. Owen’s goals certainly wouldn’t have cheered up the man he replaced, either. Dimitar Berbatov- the walking equivalent of a Smiths song- hasn’t exactly lit up the place since he arrived from Spurs last summer, and to be honest doesn’t look too bothered about it. A surprising error of judgement from Fergie, quite possibly.
Meanwhile Chelsea silently took the top spot back by brushing Spurs aside, who ended up with pretty much a defence with a minus number of defenders in it. Wolves and Everton recorded home wins, as well as Arsenal and once again Burnley, who look like they could be tough to beat at Turf Moor this season. They would be delighted with 17th of course, but then so would Bolton or Portsmouth at the moment. It’s also hard not to laugh whenever people refer to Pompey as ’pointless’, not because of the situation, more the choice of words.
Liverpool showed their good and bad points against West Ham, scoring excellently worked goals before deciding a ’zone’ is more dangerous than a real player at set pieces. It seems Rafa simply will not learn from past mistakes Give it time though, and he might well be asking 'what would Craig Bellamy do?'
Fact of the Week: Clive Mendonca is the nephew of former West Indian cricketer Ivor Mendonca. Ivor is the eldest of 10 brothers and sisters. I know! I couldn’t believe it either.
Shock horror (2), this week’s hot topic is a Manchester City striker.
After Adebayour sprinted anywhere between 80 and 1,672 yards- depending on which of the 2 billion reports you read- last week, his name was being bounced off every wall up and down the country and beyond. I’m sure he hated that. Simply hated it.
Now, after Sunday’s Manchester ‘Derby’, (I usually refuse to call any game where most of the home fans have to travel 200 miles to the stadium a ‘derby’, but for argument‘s sake in this case, let‘s run with it) we have the case of Craig Bellamy and the clown who entered the pitch and got a bit of a tickle on the chin from the Welshman.
Crazy though Adebayour’s celebration was, he didn’t directly come into contact with the Arsenal fans, but whether that stems from him genuinely not wanting to get hurt or that he fell to the floor exhausted, after sprinting the furthest he had ever ran on a football field, is another matter altogether.
Two cases, and undoubtedly entirely different punishments from the ever inconsistent FA.
The valid fear amongst football players- and indeed fans- is that Bellamy’s reputation will precede him when the tiny arm of the FA’s law comes for him. We’re not likely to see any wristbands with ‘What Would Craig Bellamy Do?’ on them anytime soon. But ponder over this ‘fan’ who could have had anything on them, which includes quite simply a bloody good punch. Had he reached a Man City player, the unthinkable might have become a horrible reality.
The FA, however are unlikely to scrutinise the ineptitude of the United stewards who allowed the cretin through in the first place, although they did weigh in on him once he had made very good ground onto the pitch- bravo guys- and instead go for the easy target, in this case the fiery Bellamy.
It was hardly a pasting from the striker, just a shove in the face while he was being held. Still, this prompted John O’Shea, Rio Ferdinand and Nemanja Vidic to all come over and have words with him. Not the fan- Bellamy. Whereas were it a City fan coming at them at Eastland’s, they would try to calm things down with words of course, not that a) anyone would be remotely stupid enough to have a go at Vidic and b) anyone would be able to understand a word the duck-mouthed Ferdinand said anyway.
I’m not condoning any sort of violence to do with football, whether it be from fans, players or indeed both. My point is that the FA need to look at the bigger picture- that sooner or later, things could get a lot uglier than a fan getting a nudge on the chin, and that scenario could just as easily come about from a spectator acting first or a player inciting fans with a celebration.
As for the actual football, we had a great weekend of action. The obvious place to start would be at Old Trafford, where Michael Owen scored deep into Fergie time. No matter what anyone says, there is definitely one rule for the bigger clubs and another for the rest. Owen’s goals certainly wouldn’t have cheered up the man he replaced, either. Dimitar Berbatov- the walking equivalent of a Smiths song- hasn’t exactly lit up the place since he arrived from Spurs last summer, and to be honest doesn’t look too bothered about it. A surprising error of judgement from Fergie, quite possibly.
Meanwhile Chelsea silently took the top spot back by brushing Spurs aside, who ended up with pretty much a defence with a minus number of defenders in it. Wolves and Everton recorded home wins, as well as Arsenal and once again Burnley, who look like they could be tough to beat at Turf Moor this season. They would be delighted with 17th of course, but then so would Bolton or Portsmouth at the moment. It’s also hard not to laugh whenever people refer to Pompey as ’pointless’, not because of the situation, more the choice of words.
Liverpool showed their good and bad points against West Ham, scoring excellently worked goals before deciding a ’zone’ is more dangerous than a real player at set pieces. It seems Rafa simply will not learn from past mistakes Give it time though, and he might well be asking 'what would Craig Bellamy do?'
Fact of the Week: Clive Mendonca is the nephew of former West Indian cricketer Ivor Mendonca. Ivor is the eldest of 10 brothers and sisters. I know! I couldn’t believe it either.
7 September 2009
Flog - Crazy cousin Hockey
SCANDAL!
Football is like the older brother of rugby. It’s popular to the extent rugby wants to be. It’s minted beyond rugby’s wildest dreams. Football is going out with the pop star girlfriend while rugby gets a sensible Royal on it’s arm to take to family parties, in which there estranged cousin Hockey usually makes a tit out of itself. Football can never let rugby steal the limelight, even for a second.
After Bloodgate- annoyingly now a phrase the media does not feel needs inverted commas around it- football needed something to take back centre stage, even if it was a stage surrounded by controversy and shame.
So first came Eduardo and his dive- not simulation, not getting out of the way of a challenge, his DIVE- which has been widely debated not only for the ramifications of UEFA’s subsequent ban but also the fact that Arsene Wenger actually saw the incident. In well over a decade of English football, Wenger has only had his eyes open for about 50 seconds collectively and it seems 8 of those were spent watching Eduardo cheat. Not to be deterred though, Wenger said he didn’t think it was cheating. Brilliant- after waiting the best part of 15 years for him to watch a game with his eyes open, eventually it turns out he has cataracts.
Then came Chelsea and the signings fiasco. My, my, the governors that control this football world have been busy, haven’t they? They couldn’t have rugby enjoying the back pages for too long, could they?
FIFA would be naïve to think that Chelsea are the only club to which the finger of blame can pointed, which is exactly why we should fear their half-hearted investigations into other dodgy transfers because this not only puts them in the firing line, it also gives Chelsea one more reason to think football owes them a favour. Hopefully Abramovic will get so upset at all these gosh darn rules and regulations in the legal world of football that he will take the club to Jupiter to form their own league in the gas clouds, which is where Abramovic seems to have stuck his head for a few years now.
Although the appeal is likely to reduce the transfer ban, Chelsea are losing legs to stand on. Back in 2005, they were ordered to pay £18million pounds for Jon Obi Mikel- £16m of which to United- which must have left an even more sour taste in the mouth when they realised just what a pile of crap they had bought. In a world where the normal folk live, this would have triggered a period of laying low on the transfer front, making sure every deal was dealt with painstakingly thoroughness at every stage. This lasted for precisely 34 seconds at Stamford Bridge, as we then had the whole Ashley Cole/nearly crashing his car at his contract offer situation, which not only made us start questioning Chelsea’s means of conducting themselves, it also made us question the need for brakes for footballers who drive Land Rovers.
Then there was Frank Arnesen. Does the list intend on getting bigger? Only a rushed and weak FIFA dossier will reveal.
I’m about ready to move in with crazy cousin Hockey.
Football is like the older brother of rugby. It’s popular to the extent rugby wants to be. It’s minted beyond rugby’s wildest dreams. Football is going out with the pop star girlfriend while rugby gets a sensible Royal on it’s arm to take to family parties, in which there estranged cousin Hockey usually makes a tit out of itself. Football can never let rugby steal the limelight, even for a second.
After Bloodgate- annoyingly now a phrase the media does not feel needs inverted commas around it- football needed something to take back centre stage, even if it was a stage surrounded by controversy and shame.
So first came Eduardo and his dive- not simulation, not getting out of the way of a challenge, his DIVE- which has been widely debated not only for the ramifications of UEFA’s subsequent ban but also the fact that Arsene Wenger actually saw the incident. In well over a decade of English football, Wenger has only had his eyes open for about 50 seconds collectively and it seems 8 of those were spent watching Eduardo cheat. Not to be deterred though, Wenger said he didn’t think it was cheating. Brilliant- after waiting the best part of 15 years for him to watch a game with his eyes open, eventually it turns out he has cataracts.
Then came Chelsea and the signings fiasco. My, my, the governors that control this football world have been busy, haven’t they? They couldn’t have rugby enjoying the back pages for too long, could they?
FIFA would be naïve to think that Chelsea are the only club to which the finger of blame can pointed, which is exactly why we should fear their half-hearted investigations into other dodgy transfers because this not only puts them in the firing line, it also gives Chelsea one more reason to think football owes them a favour. Hopefully Abramovic will get so upset at all these gosh darn rules and regulations in the legal world of football that he will take the club to Jupiter to form their own league in the gas clouds, which is where Abramovic seems to have stuck his head for a few years now.
Although the appeal is likely to reduce the transfer ban, Chelsea are losing legs to stand on. Back in 2005, they were ordered to pay £18million pounds for Jon Obi Mikel- £16m of which to United- which must have left an even more sour taste in the mouth when they realised just what a pile of crap they had bought. In a world where the normal folk live, this would have triggered a period of laying low on the transfer front, making sure every deal was dealt with painstakingly thoroughness at every stage. This lasted for precisely 34 seconds at Stamford Bridge, as we then had the whole Ashley Cole/nearly crashing his car at his contract offer situation, which not only made us start questioning Chelsea’s means of conducting themselves, it also made us question the need for brakes for footballers who drive Land Rovers.
Then there was Frank Arnesen. Does the list intend on getting bigger? Only a rushed and weak FIFA dossier will reveal.
I’m about ready to move in with crazy cousin Hockey.
1 September 2009
Flog - TV + Laptop + sitting in your pants = that time of year again
That’ll teach you for vegetating in front of BBC Sport’s live transfer feed and/or (most likely and) Sky Sports News all day.
This time last year I was still mulling over the 11th hour Berbatov deal and the ridiculous Robinho saga at Man City. This time around all I have is a vague confusion over which Collins now plays for which claret and blue team and which one doesn’t anymore and which one is the ginger one and stuff. I am hardly looking forward to tomorrow’s back pages if they are filled with Ibrahima Sonko interviews about how he is delighted to have swapped Stoke for Hull- kind of like swapping dog shit for a cow pat. That’s not being derogatory to either team by the way, it’s just this particular deal doesn’t illuminate my imagination as to what we can expect defensively from Hull now.
There are two problems with transfer deadline day. Problem one: the amount of fantasy the day not only encourages but now embraces. On BBC’s live feed, a small cartoon of a flying pig was placed next to any crazy sounding deal that a bored so-and-so has texted, belittling the claim and emphasising it’s absurdity. But the BBC is also very clever with this, because although they point and laugh at the texts that flood their inbox, should the unthinkable actually happen, they can say they were first to report it, even though it was actually footballfan87 sitting at Heathrow airport with a packet of Quavers reporting via text.
Being ‘first’ means the absolute world to the media, and we live in such an immediate environment- before you hear the explosion you are standing next to you’re seeing it on the news- that stories have to be made and not reported.
‘Robinho to Man City? Come on, surely not. Stick it on the news feed though, in case he’s right. And stick a patronising flying pig next to it…make sure you can remove it later though…you know...just in case…’
Problem two: the football economy. The colossal increase of money in football was supposed to increase the excitement on transfer deadline days, with clubs fighting it out for the next greasy wonderkid from Brazil or Argentina, throwing fifty pound notes made from recycled twenty pound notes at their clubs in the hope of landing their man. Agents licking shoes of other agents, chairmen and managers so they get their slice of the pie and see their man shoot to the top of the world scene.
But the biggest deals of the summer all went to Real Madrid, and after that we pretty much have to look at the Eto’o and Ibrahimovic swap deal amid of course all that happened at Man City. But even they wrapped it all up over a week ago with the Lescott drama finally coming to a head when- shock horror- he did what we knew he would do all summer and packed his bags. After that, there wasn't much left for everyone else.
Every club now fears that if they offer X million pounds, another club with their own bearded and oil-rich billionaire will come in and offer X million pounds as well, but throw a family pack of Twix bars into the deal. After hijacking the deal, the team who made the initial bid must admit defeat gracefully, unless you’re Rafa Benitez, in which case you launch a scathing attack on the player in question and wonder if all these clubs with all these millions and endless amounts of Twix’s in the cupboards are ruining football altogether.
Soon enough we will be seeing agents and managers meeting under lampposts at the 3 in the morning in the inner city alleyways, their faces lit only by the glow of their last cigarette, passing players between their long coats and checking to see if any rival managers are lurking around to mug them as they walk away trying to look innocent. This is the future of football- secret deals and back alleys. And you will sit and watch it on Sky Sports News all day.
New to Flog, it’s Fact of the Week: only three out of the last ten players to wear the number 3 shirt for Tottenham have made over 10 appearances for the club. This means they have had seven left backs that were so rubbish they couldn’t even make it to double figures before being sent on their way. Worryingly for Spurs fans, this logic tells us that these seven were worse than Mauricio Taricco, who made no less than 160 (awful) performances for them.
This time last year I was still mulling over the 11th hour Berbatov deal and the ridiculous Robinho saga at Man City. This time around all I have is a vague confusion over which Collins now plays for which claret and blue team and which one doesn’t anymore and which one is the ginger one and stuff. I am hardly looking forward to tomorrow’s back pages if they are filled with Ibrahima Sonko interviews about how he is delighted to have swapped Stoke for Hull- kind of like swapping dog shit for a cow pat. That’s not being derogatory to either team by the way, it’s just this particular deal doesn’t illuminate my imagination as to what we can expect defensively from Hull now.
There are two problems with transfer deadline day. Problem one: the amount of fantasy the day not only encourages but now embraces. On BBC’s live feed, a small cartoon of a flying pig was placed next to any crazy sounding deal that a bored so-and-so has texted, belittling the claim and emphasising it’s absurdity. But the BBC is also very clever with this, because although they point and laugh at the texts that flood their inbox, should the unthinkable actually happen, they can say they were first to report it, even though it was actually footballfan87 sitting at Heathrow airport with a packet of Quavers reporting via text.
Being ‘first’ means the absolute world to the media, and we live in such an immediate environment- before you hear the explosion you are standing next to you’re seeing it on the news- that stories have to be made and not reported.
‘Robinho to Man City? Come on, surely not. Stick it on the news feed though, in case he’s right. And stick a patronising flying pig next to it…make sure you can remove it later though…you know...just in case…’
Problem two: the football economy. The colossal increase of money in football was supposed to increase the excitement on transfer deadline days, with clubs fighting it out for the next greasy wonderkid from Brazil or Argentina, throwing fifty pound notes made from recycled twenty pound notes at their clubs in the hope of landing their man. Agents licking shoes of other agents, chairmen and managers so they get their slice of the pie and see their man shoot to the top of the world scene.
But the biggest deals of the summer all went to Real Madrid, and after that we pretty much have to look at the Eto’o and Ibrahimovic swap deal amid of course all that happened at Man City. But even they wrapped it all up over a week ago with the Lescott drama finally coming to a head when- shock horror- he did what we knew he would do all summer and packed his bags. After that, there wasn't much left for everyone else.
Every club now fears that if they offer X million pounds, another club with their own bearded and oil-rich billionaire will come in and offer X million pounds as well, but throw a family pack of Twix bars into the deal. After hijacking the deal, the team who made the initial bid must admit defeat gracefully, unless you’re Rafa Benitez, in which case you launch a scathing attack on the player in question and wonder if all these clubs with all these millions and endless amounts of Twix’s in the cupboards are ruining football altogether.
Soon enough we will be seeing agents and managers meeting under lampposts at the 3 in the morning in the inner city alleyways, their faces lit only by the glow of their last cigarette, passing players between their long coats and checking to see if any rival managers are lurking around to mug them as they walk away trying to look innocent. This is the future of football- secret deals and back alleys. And you will sit and watch it on Sky Sports News all day.
New to Flog, it’s Fact of the Week: only three out of the last ten players to wear the number 3 shirt for Tottenham have made over 10 appearances for the club. This means they have had seven left backs that were so rubbish they couldn’t even make it to double figures before being sent on their way. Worryingly for Spurs fans, this logic tells us that these seven were worse than Mauricio Taricco, who made no less than 160 (awful) performances for them.
23 August 2009
Flog - It's all over, one week in
After just over a week of Premiership action being back it seems the impatient cloud that hovers over the humble football fan is threatening to burst and rain over us once more. As much as everyone wanted football back, including me, it seems people cannot wait for the results of the season to be published like a great big (and impossible) spoiler.
Explain? Ok. Shut up at the back.
Before a season starts, various pundits and ‘experts’ cast their views and opinions over each squad in any given competition. Sometimes even fans get to take part in this, but ever since Dave Mason- the Spurs representative for The Observer newspaper- predicted them to win the league back in 2007-08 the editorial hierarchy have rightly thought differently and just asked for a vague guess. ‘Reckon you’ll get relegated?’ they would ask. ‘No. I think we’ll be safe’ is the reply from MANUTDDABEST. See? The perfect mix of respect for one’s opinion and faceless enough for people to pretend they aren’t mocking a complete tard.
But when the season starts up we are subject to the same twists and turns and unexpecteds (now officially a word) that we are brought every season before and will be every season in the future. Burnley have 6 points on the board, Arsenal haven’t capitulated after the loss of two footballing humans- because that is all they are, just humans, not the Official Chance of Winning a Trophy representatives of Arsenal- and Man City have not blitzed the league and bought everyone else’s opening day points for nearly £2bn and already gone 23 points clear after 3 games.
Instead, new assumptions are being made. And if we are to believe the media and the ‘experts’, this is what we can conclude from this season:
Tottenham are and probably always have been a top 4 club, but it’s for definite this time. Stop laughing. It is. Mark Lawrenson says so. Joleon Lescott’s impending transfer will start a chain reaction of defender transfers which will eventually see Anthony Gardner move to Real Madrid. Hull bought him, so why wouldn’t anyone else? Arsenal have never even heard of Kolo Toure and rather like this new bloke called Vermaelen they have at the back. Ade-what? Nope, never heard of him. Hull will go down because they have lost 2 games, the idiots. Burnley will stay up because they have won 2 games, the genius’s. Manchester United will never, ever, ever replace Carlos Tevez, their official bench warmer, nor will they replace Ronaldo, which is quite obviously evident on the displays of their new signing Antonio Valencia, and the way some are treating the winger at the moment is not AT ALL patronising because it’s a big club and he’s an incy-wincy bit too small a fish to fill the boots of his predecessor. Liverpool are currently missing Xabi Alonso so much that after just 2 games in the league they have told Lucas to grow a beard and learn to pass to an ant’s right foot with perfect precision or don’t bother coming back. Also, essentially the same team and tactics that nearly brought them the league last year will definitely not work this year and we could be seeing the demise of Steven Gerrard, Fernando Torres and Rafa Benitez, ultimately culminating in a mass suicide if they lose to West Ham away. Sunderland’s new strike partnership of Kenwyne Jones and Darren Bent is the best thing that has ever been created or indeed seen at the Stadium of Light since Niall Quinn and Kevin Phillips produced the original ‘big man, little man’ duo that brought them oh so much success in 8th place many seasons ago.
It’s only a week old.
Explain? Ok. Shut up at the back.
Before a season starts, various pundits and ‘experts’ cast their views and opinions over each squad in any given competition. Sometimes even fans get to take part in this, but ever since Dave Mason- the Spurs representative for The Observer newspaper- predicted them to win the league back in 2007-08 the editorial hierarchy have rightly thought differently and just asked for a vague guess. ‘Reckon you’ll get relegated?’ they would ask. ‘No. I think we’ll be safe’ is the reply from MANUTDDABEST. See? The perfect mix of respect for one’s opinion and faceless enough for people to pretend they aren’t mocking a complete tard.
But when the season starts up we are subject to the same twists and turns and unexpecteds (now officially a word) that we are brought every season before and will be every season in the future. Burnley have 6 points on the board, Arsenal haven’t capitulated after the loss of two footballing humans- because that is all they are, just humans, not the Official Chance of Winning a Trophy representatives of Arsenal- and Man City have not blitzed the league and bought everyone else’s opening day points for nearly £2bn and already gone 23 points clear after 3 games.
Instead, new assumptions are being made. And if we are to believe the media and the ‘experts’, this is what we can conclude from this season:
Tottenham are and probably always have been a top 4 club, but it’s for definite this time. Stop laughing. It is. Mark Lawrenson says so. Joleon Lescott’s impending transfer will start a chain reaction of defender transfers which will eventually see Anthony Gardner move to Real Madrid. Hull bought him, so why wouldn’t anyone else? Arsenal have never even heard of Kolo Toure and rather like this new bloke called Vermaelen they have at the back. Ade-what? Nope, never heard of him. Hull will go down because they have lost 2 games, the idiots. Burnley will stay up because they have won 2 games, the genius’s. Manchester United will never, ever, ever replace Carlos Tevez, their official bench warmer, nor will they replace Ronaldo, which is quite obviously evident on the displays of their new signing Antonio Valencia, and the way some are treating the winger at the moment is not AT ALL patronising because it’s a big club and he’s an incy-wincy bit too small a fish to fill the boots of his predecessor. Liverpool are currently missing Xabi Alonso so much that after just 2 games in the league they have told Lucas to grow a beard and learn to pass to an ant’s right foot with perfect precision or don’t bother coming back. Also, essentially the same team and tactics that nearly brought them the league last year will definitely not work this year and we could be seeing the demise of Steven Gerrard, Fernando Torres and Rafa Benitez, ultimately culminating in a mass suicide if they lose to West Ham away. Sunderland’s new strike partnership of Kenwyne Jones and Darren Bent is the best thing that has ever been created or indeed seen at the Stadium of Light since Niall Quinn and Kevin Phillips produced the original ‘big man, little man’ duo that brought them oh so much success in 8th place many seasons ago.
It’s only a week old.
10 August 2009
Flog - Patron Saint of Pretty Pixels
First off, let me explain something.
If- and it’s a big if- you have been wondering what has happened to Flog recently, then blame Goodman’s and Sony respectively. Why? Because it’s better you bombard Goodman’s first as Sony would boil you alive within seconds of your complaint hitting the doormat, granted, but more because the combination of two of their products has transformed my life.
That’s quite a statement, considering just finding a dead toad in the street would stir such emotion within me as well, such is the lack of substance in my every day activity. However, just over a week ago, everything changed. FOREVER.
Sony brought out the Playstation 3 (if my peers’ sentiments are to be believed) thirty five years ago, making my purchase of said product such a non-event that it makes the dead toad look like Watergate. Still, it meant a lot to me, as it was the first real gadget I had bought with my own money. My own, hard earned, watermarked, Queen-faced cash being spent on a shiny brick that plays pretty lights and sounds. That, and a massive fuck-off television that allowed me to experience the full excitement.
So of course, I got FIFA 09, a game so infuriatingly addictive it ranks somewhere between cocaine and Hollyoaks in the addictiveness table. That table doesn’t exist by the way, in case you were anticipating checking it out after reading this to see whereabouts ‘sitting in your underwear on your day off’ came. It’s not real. So 9th,
I’ve played a lot of FIFA, since around 1999 in fact when John Motson provided the commentary with the irritatingly realistic/realistically irritating Mark Lawrenson and the baffling voice of Chris Waddle who always sounded like he had a sock in his mouth. Since then, Clive has come and gone, as well as Ally McCoist, and we now have the excellent Martin Tyler and Andy Gray partnership. Look kids! It’s just like watching Sky Sports but this time you control the little men! Or words to that effect.
My favourite feature on the new FIFA is the improved online play which not only gives you the chance to play people from across the globe but also gives you yet another reason to give up on life completely, usually after being beaten by a 10 year old Israeli child who has had the game before it even touched the shelves. It’s a horrible situation to be in, knowing someone somewhere is literally laughing at you trying to pass an electronic football, but as I’ve said in a previous edition…it’s not real. But damn is it close.
So along with the new Sony With-hell-to-life-station 3 I was treated to a viewing delight on the huge, high definition television to watch in between the occasions that I’ve smashed the controller over my headboard.
It is truly stunning. Flicking through channels, I found Sky Sports News was part of the package I had bought, and after cleaning up the egg-o-plasm that had shot out in the excitement, I settled down to watch some pre-season.
Football, in HD, is outrageously brilliant.
You see every blade of grass, every roll of the ball, every sideways pass Michael Carrick plays in perfectly defined pixels. Every time Jermaine Jenas loses the ball- you see it as If it happened in front of you. Every chance Cameron Jerome misses happens as if you were a team mate on the pitch, throttling him yourself. It’s a work of art, and I take it all back about not caring about HD television. I do. I care a lot. In fact I may ask to become patron saint of HD. Saint Tom of Pretty Pixels. Sold.
So that, children, is why.
If- and it’s a big if- you have been wondering what has happened to Flog recently, then blame Goodman’s and Sony respectively. Why? Because it’s better you bombard Goodman’s first as Sony would boil you alive within seconds of your complaint hitting the doormat, granted, but more because the combination of two of their products has transformed my life.
That’s quite a statement, considering just finding a dead toad in the street would stir such emotion within me as well, such is the lack of substance in my every day activity. However, just over a week ago, everything changed. FOREVER.
Sony brought out the Playstation 3 (if my peers’ sentiments are to be believed) thirty five years ago, making my purchase of said product such a non-event that it makes the dead toad look like Watergate. Still, it meant a lot to me, as it was the first real gadget I had bought with my own money. My own, hard earned, watermarked, Queen-faced cash being spent on a shiny brick that plays pretty lights and sounds. That, and a massive fuck-off television that allowed me to experience the full excitement.
So of course, I got FIFA 09, a game so infuriatingly addictive it ranks somewhere between cocaine and Hollyoaks in the addictiveness table. That table doesn’t exist by the way, in case you were anticipating checking it out after reading this to see whereabouts ‘sitting in your underwear on your day off’ came. It’s not real. So 9th,
I’ve played a lot of FIFA, since around 1999 in fact when John Motson provided the commentary with the irritatingly realistic/realistically irritating Mark Lawrenson and the baffling voice of Chris Waddle who always sounded like he had a sock in his mouth. Since then, Clive has come and gone, as well as Ally McCoist, and we now have the excellent Martin Tyler and Andy Gray partnership. Look kids! It’s just like watching Sky Sports but this time you control the little men! Or words to that effect.
My favourite feature on the new FIFA is the improved online play which not only gives you the chance to play people from across the globe but also gives you yet another reason to give up on life completely, usually after being beaten by a 10 year old Israeli child who has had the game before it even touched the shelves. It’s a horrible situation to be in, knowing someone somewhere is literally laughing at you trying to pass an electronic football, but as I’ve said in a previous edition…it’s not real. But damn is it close.
So along with the new Sony With-hell-to-life-station 3 I was treated to a viewing delight on the huge, high definition television to watch in between the occasions that I’ve smashed the controller over my headboard.
It is truly stunning. Flicking through channels, I found Sky Sports News was part of the package I had bought, and after cleaning up the egg-o-plasm that had shot out in the excitement, I settled down to watch some pre-season.
Football, in HD, is outrageously brilliant.
You see every blade of grass, every roll of the ball, every sideways pass Michael Carrick plays in perfectly defined pixels. Every time Jermaine Jenas loses the ball- you see it as If it happened in front of you. Every chance Cameron Jerome misses happens as if you were a team mate on the pitch, throttling him yourself. It’s a work of art, and I take it all back about not caring about HD television. I do. I care a lot. In fact I may ask to become patron saint of HD. Saint Tom of Pretty Pixels. Sold.
So that, children, is why.
26 July 2009
Flog - Stop shouting. Please, just stop shouting. You are a stadium.
For the first time since it’s reopening, I went to the magnificent new Wembley stadium early this weekend to watch the Wembley Cup. It truly is a stunning piece of architecture, and just about justifies it’s massive price tag when you first come out of the gangway and see the pitch, the stands, the roof and everything else that still looks shiny and clean.
However- and of course, there is a however, because this is me who is talking here- I hate it.
I actually despise it, and for one reason. Or to be more precise, one person. Said person sits in a booth at Wembley, somewhere within the stands, with a microphone. I can only imagine he gets through seven of these every match. Every six seconds he shouts the word ‘WEMBLEY!!!’ so loud that your seat vibrates. I imagine him to be the kind of person that you immediately take a disliking to after a few minutes of mindless small talk. I say small, he would probably shout ‘Nice to meet you… here… at this PARTY!!!’
If you haven’t guessed already, I’m talking about the PA announcer.
Who, by the way, must want to remain anonymous, because no matter how hard I try, I cannot find his name anywhere- and by which I mean Google.
He is a terror of a man. The ticket I obtained was a day pass for both the Celtic vs. Al-Ahly game and also Tottenham vs. Barcelona. If he had got any more excited over these two games then I can only imagine he orgasms himself to death when the first day of the season comes about. At the end of the day, it’s the Wembley Cup. This was the European champions. They were not here to bust a lung trying to win this piece of crap silverware, evidence alone being their starting line up, which contained only one member of the side that overcame United in the final in May. The way Mr PA carried on, you would think Messi had come onto the field naked and scored a goal with his erection. It’s awful.
Was that it? Was that all there was to annoy you, Hayward? No, actually, it wasn’t all. In fact what happened next simply infuriated me.
The Wembley event organisers put on a little show in between the two matches, just as Spurs and Barca took to the field. Before they could kick off, MR PA came-a-booming once more; ‘Welcome…to WEMBLEY!!! Now Ladies and Gentlemen, if you would cast your gaze to the roof here…at WEMBLEY!!!’ It’s not a fucking planetarium, you know. We’re English- if you just said ‘Oi. Look up’ we would have done it if we thought the sky was raining money or something. As it was, four paratroopers who had recently returned from the frontline in Afghanistan had lined up on the walkway across the roof and prepared to abseil to the pitch. As MR PA shouted them to start, they began their descent.
To the theme tune of Mission Impossible.
Hold on, what? It’s off the map, is it not? That’s genuinely mental, surely? These four men, recently brought home from a battle that we could safely say we have no idea who is winning, took to the skies and not only fight in our army but were expected to entertain a crowd on their return- to the theme of Mission Impossible??!! Wembley, for half a minute, took on a horrible sense of propaganda. Whenever the words ‘Afghanistan’ or ‘frontline’ were mentioned, the entire stadium applauded, but not in a encouraging and heartfelt way, more as if Wembley had put strings on everyone’s hands on entrance. It felt fake, dirty. And overall, horribly wide of the mark.
Wembley is a beautiful place, and is a lot better run than the old stadium when it would take at least a week to get home after a game. The food is expensive, but who thought it wouldn’t be? But overall, the whole marketing of the place is totally foolish. A football game is no longer a football game anymore, it’s a PR exercise, a theatre. A crowd is apparently not entirely happy with seeing their team play anymore- we have to have fireworks, stunts, things blowing up, and most of all it has to be shouted at us through a microphone from a little man who at the moment, is the World Hide and Seek champion. Should I ever seek him, though, please tell the court that the murder was just.
However- and of course, there is a however, because this is me who is talking here- I hate it.
I actually despise it, and for one reason. Or to be more precise, one person. Said person sits in a booth at Wembley, somewhere within the stands, with a microphone. I can only imagine he gets through seven of these every match. Every six seconds he shouts the word ‘WEMBLEY!!!’ so loud that your seat vibrates. I imagine him to be the kind of person that you immediately take a disliking to after a few minutes of mindless small talk. I say small, he would probably shout ‘Nice to meet you… here… at this PARTY!!!’
If you haven’t guessed already, I’m talking about the PA announcer.
Who, by the way, must want to remain anonymous, because no matter how hard I try, I cannot find his name anywhere- and by which I mean Google.
He is a terror of a man. The ticket I obtained was a day pass for both the Celtic vs. Al-Ahly game and also Tottenham vs. Barcelona. If he had got any more excited over these two games then I can only imagine he orgasms himself to death when the first day of the season comes about. At the end of the day, it’s the Wembley Cup. This was the European champions. They were not here to bust a lung trying to win this piece of crap silverware, evidence alone being their starting line up, which contained only one member of the side that overcame United in the final in May. The way Mr PA carried on, you would think Messi had come onto the field naked and scored a goal with his erection. It’s awful.
Was that it? Was that all there was to annoy you, Hayward? No, actually, it wasn’t all. In fact what happened next simply infuriated me.
The Wembley event organisers put on a little show in between the two matches, just as Spurs and Barca took to the field. Before they could kick off, MR PA came-a-booming once more; ‘Welcome…to WEMBLEY!!! Now Ladies and Gentlemen, if you would cast your gaze to the roof here…at WEMBLEY!!!’ It’s not a fucking planetarium, you know. We’re English- if you just said ‘Oi. Look up’ we would have done it if we thought the sky was raining money or something. As it was, four paratroopers who had recently returned from the frontline in Afghanistan had lined up on the walkway across the roof and prepared to abseil to the pitch. As MR PA shouted them to start, they began their descent.
To the theme tune of Mission Impossible.
Hold on, what? It’s off the map, is it not? That’s genuinely mental, surely? These four men, recently brought home from a battle that we could safely say we have no idea who is winning, took to the skies and not only fight in our army but were expected to entertain a crowd on their return- to the theme of Mission Impossible??!! Wembley, for half a minute, took on a horrible sense of propaganda. Whenever the words ‘Afghanistan’ or ‘frontline’ were mentioned, the entire stadium applauded, but not in a encouraging and heartfelt way, more as if Wembley had put strings on everyone’s hands on entrance. It felt fake, dirty. And overall, horribly wide of the mark.
Wembley is a beautiful place, and is a lot better run than the old stadium when it would take at least a week to get home after a game. The food is expensive, but who thought it wouldn’t be? But overall, the whole marketing of the place is totally foolish. A football game is no longer a football game anymore, it’s a PR exercise, a theatre. A crowd is apparently not entirely happy with seeing their team play anymore- we have to have fireworks, stunts, things blowing up, and most of all it has to be shouted at us through a microphone from a little man who at the moment, is the World Hide and Seek champion. Should I ever seek him, though, please tell the court that the murder was just.
16 July 2009
Flog - I'll make you an offer you cannot refuse...Clive
This week I refuse to talk about anything Manchester City are doing, apart from the fact that they are building a team of super-strikers and only need to give them all Captain Planet style rings to make one hell of a TV show. I would watch, and I know you would too.
This edition of Flog is devoted to mediocre players. Players that do a job, fill a hole, come on as a sub to waste time. Players you like (or liked) but would never seriously consider getting their name put on the back of your shirt, however this factor also includes Jan Venegoor of Hesselink. We’re in a recession, for Christ’s sake.
Mediocre cannot mean shit either. We’re not taking into account players like Eric Djemba-Djemba here, and that’s also two weeks in a row he’s been mentioned in Flog, so pride should, nay, must be oozing from his talentless head. Nor can it mean unsung heroes, such as Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, who never fully got the praise he deserved as one of the best finishers the Premiership has ever seen.
Ultimate mediocre players; Egil Ostenstadt, a player who took ‘lean goals tally’ to new levels, but seemed to bag a couple of important ones for Southampton and Blackburn when it counted. Neil Redfearn, somehow once labelled ‘captain fantastic’ when playing for Barnsley, he later went on to waddle around aimlessly in a Charlton shirt. Martin Pringle, another Charlton plain Jane, scored more goals in the few months he was on loan at the Valley than for the rest of his top-flight career, and he looked like he never washed. David Howells- even had a mediocre name- fits into our ‘does a job’ category very nicely. Daruis Vassell, shit-hot for England when we needed him to be, but not a top flight finisher. Recently been released by Manchester Ci….ahhh!
Stig Inge Bjornebye has a shot at being the best ever, seeing as he was relentlessly played by Roy Evans during the period Liverpool could ‘boast’ Phil Babb as their best defender and yet still look terrible. Ruel Fox is a man many Spurs fans do not believe existed and was merely some sort of déjà vu of a fat Aaron Lennon. Jesper Blomkvist, the greasy Swedish winger, is wearing a United shirt in the photo on his Wikipedia page (take a look, it’s beyond hilarious) like a jilted boyfriend trying to convince his true love that he still thinks about her. United do not imagine Anderson is you at night, Jesper. They have moved on.
Clive Mendonca! This is getting brilliant now. His surname warranted some sort of Mafia style nickname, like ‘The Don’ or something, but it was when people realised his forename was Clive that his edge was immediately wiped out. Charlton’s hero simply for the Playoff Final against Sunderland, but the name simply shoves him into this list.
And who remembers Danny Tiatto? The only man under 3ft to ever play football professionally. It seemed his only appeal was that he played more like a boxer than a winger, and he could take a wicked free kick and penalty. Good and indeed bad enough for the list.
Kevin Gallagher. Worryingly overplayed by Blackburn, I will always remember his name with utter discontent. Many a Saturday afternoon, sitting at home, I would be forced by my thirst for football to watch a terrible Scotland international qualifier against someone like, I don’t know, The Azerbanistahn Isles, and see Gallagher being marvelled at for his goal scoring ability. He played against postmen (but still scored goals- so he’s in).
I cant pick a winner. Nor can I continue because a) it could go on forever and b) I still find myself giggling at Clive Mendonca every so often.
This edition of Flog is devoted to mediocre players. Players that do a job, fill a hole, come on as a sub to waste time. Players you like (or liked) but would never seriously consider getting their name put on the back of your shirt, however this factor also includes Jan Venegoor of Hesselink. We’re in a recession, for Christ’s sake.
Mediocre cannot mean shit either. We’re not taking into account players like Eric Djemba-Djemba here, and that’s also two weeks in a row he’s been mentioned in Flog, so pride should, nay, must be oozing from his talentless head. Nor can it mean unsung heroes, such as Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, who never fully got the praise he deserved as one of the best finishers the Premiership has ever seen.
Ultimate mediocre players; Egil Ostenstadt, a player who took ‘lean goals tally’ to new levels, but seemed to bag a couple of important ones for Southampton and Blackburn when it counted. Neil Redfearn, somehow once labelled ‘captain fantastic’ when playing for Barnsley, he later went on to waddle around aimlessly in a Charlton shirt. Martin Pringle, another Charlton plain Jane, scored more goals in the few months he was on loan at the Valley than for the rest of his top-flight career, and he looked like he never washed. David Howells- even had a mediocre name- fits into our ‘does a job’ category very nicely. Daruis Vassell, shit-hot for England when we needed him to be, but not a top flight finisher. Recently been released by Manchester Ci….ahhh!
Stig Inge Bjornebye has a shot at being the best ever, seeing as he was relentlessly played by Roy Evans during the period Liverpool could ‘boast’ Phil Babb as their best defender and yet still look terrible. Ruel Fox is a man many Spurs fans do not believe existed and was merely some sort of déjà vu of a fat Aaron Lennon. Jesper Blomkvist, the greasy Swedish winger, is wearing a United shirt in the photo on his Wikipedia page (take a look, it’s beyond hilarious) like a jilted boyfriend trying to convince his true love that he still thinks about her. United do not imagine Anderson is you at night, Jesper. They have moved on.
Clive Mendonca! This is getting brilliant now. His surname warranted some sort of Mafia style nickname, like ‘The Don’ or something, but it was when people realised his forename was Clive that his edge was immediately wiped out. Charlton’s hero simply for the Playoff Final against Sunderland, but the name simply shoves him into this list.
And who remembers Danny Tiatto? The only man under 3ft to ever play football professionally. It seemed his only appeal was that he played more like a boxer than a winger, and he could take a wicked free kick and penalty. Good and indeed bad enough for the list.
Kevin Gallagher. Worryingly overplayed by Blackburn, I will always remember his name with utter discontent. Many a Saturday afternoon, sitting at home, I would be forced by my thirst for football to watch a terrible Scotland international qualifier against someone like, I don’t know, The Azerbanistahn Isles, and see Gallagher being marvelled at for his goal scoring ability. He played against postmen (but still scored goals- so he’s in).
I cant pick a winner. Nor can I continue because a) it could go on forever and b) I still find myself giggling at Clive Mendonca every so often.
9 July 2009
Flog - Ready? *Ahem*... 'G-Owen Places'. Eat that.
One day this week a British newspaper, which will remain anonymous, let’s just call it The Moon for extra discretion, dished out a copious amount of shitcake regarding football transfers. In total- and oh yes, I did count- it listed eleven transfers which were almost certainly, definitely, undoubtedly going to happen within the very near future. Eleven. And do you know how many have been followed up? Of course you do. Because I wouldn’t ask ‘and do you know…’ in such a patronising way unless we all knew the answer was sweet bollocking all.
And after pretty much every paper in the country ripped the piss out of Michael Owen for having to release a brochure to relay his appeal both in football and apparently modelling (‘good-looking` were the odd words his advisers used), they have all started to celebrate the rebirth of his career under Sir Alex Ferguson. Having said this, it was hilarious. The thought of Premiership managers across the land sifting through holiday brochures with their wives on the sofa, only to come across Owen’s sparkly face on the front of what can only be described as a Bible of marketing craziness is very appealing to me. In my mind I have also called the brochure ‘G-Owen Places’. I reject your groan and choose to ignore it.
The point is, absolutely nothing is happening in football at the moment, other than Real Madrid reportedly making a £100m bid for Saturn and one of it’s moons in a swap deal for Arjen Robben. It’s not true. But I bet you’d start watching La Liga on Sky Sports if it was.
So what to do? I can’t stand pre-season friendlies, seeing as managers consistently complain about a jam packed fixture list in the season proper and ‘burn-out’ of their stars, it seems a bit counter productive to wear the fuck out of their players by sending them to Japan to play a team of school children in the hope of selling a couple of extra shirts. What’s annoying is that it usually works and only makes me jealous that my own team are not loved enough in a foreign land for them to accept us at the airport and treat us to their local culture. Bitterness, bitterness, bitterness.
So here is the bulk of this edition of Flog; a ‘this much I know’ about football at the moment.
1) The more excited and emotionally involved Jamie Redknapp is with a game he is providing punditry for on Sky Sports, the more open his legs become and the more he points his girth worm at the camera. Check it out if Liverpool vs. Spurs is shown live. Those trousers will burst.
2) Real Madrid and Man City will not inherit the Earth because they have splashed a bit of cash. As far as I can see, Robinho is the only world-renowned player that has joined City since the Sheikhermakers came in. As for Real, well, have you seen what happened to the world’s ‘boom’ phase of the economy? I’m not saying in three years we’ll be seeing Raul on the streets eating beans, but he might have to…I don’t know…sell a couple of houses, or something.
3) Betting on the side you don’t support in a game against the side you do does not constitute ‘win-win’. I have had to deal with the consensus that ‘if we win, I’m happy, but if we don’t, I still win money’ for far too long, and my argument is that you are English. Whatever the result is, your perpetual state of disappointment will always make you wish the opposite had happened.
4) You can taunt terrorist victims. You can fight in night clubs. You can burn youth teams with cigars. You can commit robbery or assault. You can speed. You can binge drink. All of which you can get away with being on page 8 of The, er, Moon, but if you can in any way, however loosely, be referred to as a ‘Love Rat’, you make proper headlines. Film it, too.
5) Tom Huddlestone can effortlessly kick a football about as far as I can run without getting out of breath. Too much.
6) Jamie Carragher has the loudest scream ever heard in football. The match I refer to comes from last season when Liverpool travelled to West Ham. Annoyed at Dirk Kuyt’s less than energetic attempt to track back, Carragher turned round and bellowed what can only be compared to the scream of a woman in the company of Sepp Blatter.
7) Fabio Capello is the man to lead England to World Cup glory. But he won’t.
Can’t be bothered with anymore and what’s worse is that this final sentence won’t contain any punctuation so I’m going to dump you straight back into whatever the hell else you were doing before you read this nonsense so therefore it really hits home how bored you must be BYE.
And after pretty much every paper in the country ripped the piss out of Michael Owen for having to release a brochure to relay his appeal both in football and apparently modelling (‘good-looking` were the odd words his advisers used), they have all started to celebrate the rebirth of his career under Sir Alex Ferguson. Having said this, it was hilarious. The thought of Premiership managers across the land sifting through holiday brochures with their wives on the sofa, only to come across Owen’s sparkly face on the front of what can only be described as a Bible of marketing craziness is very appealing to me. In my mind I have also called the brochure ‘G-Owen Places’. I reject your groan and choose to ignore it.
The point is, absolutely nothing is happening in football at the moment, other than Real Madrid reportedly making a £100m bid for Saturn and one of it’s moons in a swap deal for Arjen Robben. It’s not true. But I bet you’d start watching La Liga on Sky Sports if it was.
So what to do? I can’t stand pre-season friendlies, seeing as managers consistently complain about a jam packed fixture list in the season proper and ‘burn-out’ of their stars, it seems a bit counter productive to wear the fuck out of their players by sending them to Japan to play a team of school children in the hope of selling a couple of extra shirts. What’s annoying is that it usually works and only makes me jealous that my own team are not loved enough in a foreign land for them to accept us at the airport and treat us to their local culture. Bitterness, bitterness, bitterness.
So here is the bulk of this edition of Flog; a ‘this much I know’ about football at the moment.
1) The more excited and emotionally involved Jamie Redknapp is with a game he is providing punditry for on Sky Sports, the more open his legs become and the more he points his girth worm at the camera. Check it out if Liverpool vs. Spurs is shown live. Those trousers will burst.
2) Real Madrid and Man City will not inherit the Earth because they have splashed a bit of cash. As far as I can see, Robinho is the only world-renowned player that has joined City since the Sheikhermakers came in. As for Real, well, have you seen what happened to the world’s ‘boom’ phase of the economy? I’m not saying in three years we’ll be seeing Raul on the streets eating beans, but he might have to…I don’t know…sell a couple of houses, or something.
3) Betting on the side you don’t support in a game against the side you do does not constitute ‘win-win’. I have had to deal with the consensus that ‘if we win, I’m happy, but if we don’t, I still win money’ for far too long, and my argument is that you are English. Whatever the result is, your perpetual state of disappointment will always make you wish the opposite had happened.
4) You can taunt terrorist victims. You can fight in night clubs. You can burn youth teams with cigars. You can commit robbery or assault. You can speed. You can binge drink. All of which you can get away with being on page 8 of The, er, Moon, but if you can in any way, however loosely, be referred to as a ‘Love Rat’, you make proper headlines. Film it, too.
5) Tom Huddlestone can effortlessly kick a football about as far as I can run without getting out of breath. Too much.
6) Jamie Carragher has the loudest scream ever heard in football. The match I refer to comes from last season when Liverpool travelled to West Ham. Annoyed at Dirk Kuyt’s less than energetic attempt to track back, Carragher turned round and bellowed what can only be compared to the scream of a woman in the company of Sepp Blatter.
7) Fabio Capello is the man to lead England to World Cup glory. But he won’t.
Can’t be bothered with anymore and what’s worse is that this final sentence won’t contain any punctuation so I’m going to dump you straight back into whatever the hell else you were doing before you read this nonsense so therefore it really hits home how bored you must be BYE.
28 June 2009
Flog - I hate you, Sue Barker.
I’ve spent the last week or so doing the following: worrying I have swine flu, scavenging through my favourite newspaper, the Guardian- make no mistake, the greatest newspaper in the world- for any sort of football news that does not involve Manchester City or David Villa, suffering from hay fever and watching Wimbledon.
As it happens, these activities do not make for a life that slots neatly into the fun-filled category. It makes for absolute fear over a disease that has now officially been classed as a pandemic, dismay at how my favourite newspaper can so quickly forget football even existed and move onto other sports that dress nicer and don’t swear and even your mother likes, horror at the amount of tissues that can fill your bin and the guilty look you cannot escape because of it, and Wimbledon (see second point of this paragraph).
I don’t hate Wimbledon. It’s more the way people use it as a way of mocking football fans. These may sound like the words of a lunatic but if you have been anything like me these last few weeks since the Premiership finished you may have some idea of what I’m talking about. People who go to Wimbledon in their thousands are the sort of people that think football is on ALL the time, and like to reiterate this point to you every time they see the big green pitch fill their screen- or anyone else’s screen for that matter. It’s not that it’s always on. Not at all. It’s just whenever it is actually on, we watch it. No matter the game, no matter the importance (except the Confederations Cup. Sorry, but, just…no) we will have to tune in so we can have more memories to feast on while you eat your strawberries and cream while cooing over Sue Barker’s new haircut.
The irony is that for 2 weeks Wimbledon literally is on ALL the time. And these people know it. But they can always come back and say that Wimbledon is only for 2 weeks of the year, whereas football takes to our airwaves 9 months per annum. Correct- but it’s not every day. In fact, look at the maths. 2 weeks of solid tennis, minus the Sunday of the first week, is 13 days. If you stick with one court (red button, oooohh) you get to watch 3 matches a day, most of which will last over 90 minutes. I think you see where I am going with this, and apart from the fact that I can’t be bothered to, I don’t actually NEED to do the maths for you. Tennis is officially on more than football over the course of the year. Probably. Just because it’s only over 2 weeks doesn’t mean you can argue with maths, and that’s exactly what we are doing here. It’s maths that doesn’t actually need doing, the answer is so obvious.
But hasn’t Murray been ever so good?
Transfer news seems to be thin on the ground lately, with the major issues being played out early to leave us all wallowing in rumours and super gluing our ears to grapevines. It will be interesting to see what Manchester United do with £80m, seeing as you can buy four top class Premiership players with that sort of money and maybe push for a fifth. What needs addressing, though, is the fear some United supporters may have that they could see a repeat of the ‘new look’ team they had to contend with when Beckham left in 2003. Djemba-Djemba cannot happen again. And I mean to anyone. Aston Villa had to deal with him after United and I felt a hell of a lot of sympathy for them, too.
If United spend big, it could mean a major reshuffle of squads this summer. Players may go for hefty fees, and who knows, United may pick up five of the Premiership’s best outside the ‘big four’ and streak even further ahead of the pack. But if the money is thrown around it means everyone else has it to play with, too. Everyone is just hoping that Fergie’s eye for talent has relented somewhat, and that he doesn’t just nab your team’s best player, otherwise we could see football’s equivalent of Federer taking to the field for the next few seasons.
New balls please!
As it happens, these activities do not make for a life that slots neatly into the fun-filled category. It makes for absolute fear over a disease that has now officially been classed as a pandemic, dismay at how my favourite newspaper can so quickly forget football even existed and move onto other sports that dress nicer and don’t swear and even your mother likes, horror at the amount of tissues that can fill your bin and the guilty look you cannot escape because of it, and Wimbledon (see second point of this paragraph).
I don’t hate Wimbledon. It’s more the way people use it as a way of mocking football fans. These may sound like the words of a lunatic but if you have been anything like me these last few weeks since the Premiership finished you may have some idea of what I’m talking about. People who go to Wimbledon in their thousands are the sort of people that think football is on ALL the time, and like to reiterate this point to you every time they see the big green pitch fill their screen- or anyone else’s screen for that matter. It’s not that it’s always on. Not at all. It’s just whenever it is actually on, we watch it. No matter the game, no matter the importance (except the Confederations Cup. Sorry, but, just…no) we will have to tune in so we can have more memories to feast on while you eat your strawberries and cream while cooing over Sue Barker’s new haircut.
The irony is that for 2 weeks Wimbledon literally is on ALL the time. And these people know it. But they can always come back and say that Wimbledon is only for 2 weeks of the year, whereas football takes to our airwaves 9 months per annum. Correct- but it’s not every day. In fact, look at the maths. 2 weeks of solid tennis, minus the Sunday of the first week, is 13 days. If you stick with one court (red button, oooohh) you get to watch 3 matches a day, most of which will last over 90 minutes. I think you see where I am going with this, and apart from the fact that I can’t be bothered to, I don’t actually NEED to do the maths for you. Tennis is officially on more than football over the course of the year. Probably. Just because it’s only over 2 weeks doesn’t mean you can argue with maths, and that’s exactly what we are doing here. It’s maths that doesn’t actually need doing, the answer is so obvious.
But hasn’t Murray been ever so good?
Transfer news seems to be thin on the ground lately, with the major issues being played out early to leave us all wallowing in rumours and super gluing our ears to grapevines. It will be interesting to see what Manchester United do with £80m, seeing as you can buy four top class Premiership players with that sort of money and maybe push for a fifth. What needs addressing, though, is the fear some United supporters may have that they could see a repeat of the ‘new look’ team they had to contend with when Beckham left in 2003. Djemba-Djemba cannot happen again. And I mean to anyone. Aston Villa had to deal with him after United and I felt a hell of a lot of sympathy for them, too.
If United spend big, it could mean a major reshuffle of squads this summer. Players may go for hefty fees, and who knows, United may pick up five of the Premiership’s best outside the ‘big four’ and streak even further ahead of the pack. But if the money is thrown around it means everyone else has it to play with, too. Everyone is just hoping that Fergie’s eye for talent has relented somewhat, and that he doesn’t just nab your team’s best player, otherwise we could see football’s equivalent of Federer taking to the field for the next few seasons.
New balls please!
12 June 2009
Flog - Sun cream and Parker pens
Football has officially gone mental. A club breaks its own transfer fee record (which also happens to be the world record) for one of the most sought after players in the world, and then a few days later does exactly the same thing again for the number one most sought after player in the world. Their spending on two players in five days means Real Madrid have spent more than 95% of Premiership clubs have in the last five years.
Well how annoying. Everyone was awaiting another long summer of gossip, players being pictured on holiday with another team’s badge being drawn in sun cream on their bellies and endless battle between managers over who is the bigger pansy. Last summer, transfer news revolved two thirds around players who ended up staying right where they were (Barry and Ronaldo, Robinho being the final third) and it was much expected that this summer would involve the same names.
So how dare Villa, Man City, Man United and Real Madrid clear up within the first gusts of wind through the open transfer window?
Stances have completely changed from last year. Barry chose the potential (apparently another word for money?) of Man City instead of established Champions League clubs like Liverpool and Arsenal, and Real Madrid suddenly became so respectful to United that they resembled a 15 year old boy meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time. The bad boy was still in them, but they kept it inside, bursting to get out and call Fergusson a willy head.
‘We will get Ronaldo, no doubt, but we must make an offer that United accept, which they will, because it will be one they can’t refuse, unless they do, but they wont, and he will play for Real Madrid, most probably definitely.’
Where’s the bitching? Where’s the lack of respect and bullying? Yes, it gets boring when you read every single day that another slanging match is taking place- but come on, you enjoy it. Admit it. You look at it and drool. You sit on the train, commuting to work, covered in spittle as two managers fight over their greasy headed prize asset. Just me?
It seems as if nobody wants the hassle of the deadline day signing, when a player might have to travel as far as the length of Europe in order to have a medical and be forced to hold a shirt up with their name on, all before midnight. Which is annoying, because even though the transfer window has only been in force for a relatively short amount of time, it’s still managed to start it’s own tradition of frantic Sky Sports presenters and hilariously misguided rumours from ‘members of the public’ who ‘have just taken Michael Essien to Plymouth for a medical and he said he would sign for them for 49p and a Twix’. How can you deny these lunatics their last day of fun? Is there no fun left in this world of football? More to the point, is there any frigging money left in the world of football. It’s hard to see most of the £80 million fee Cristiano Ronaldo demanded (I refuse to say warranted) not going towards paying off some of the massive debt United find themselves in with the Glazier family at their helm.
I’m pleased to see Ronaldo go, because I truly believe he is the best in the world and the best in the world must test themselves in different environments. The Premiership has made him stronger in every single way, both literally and mentally. And, above all else, the slightly slower (but hotter) pace of Spanish football will knacker the hell out of him in time for the World Cup and England might stand a chance of beating Portugal. Hell, why not, on penalties too!
Whether Gareth Barry makes it there or not is a whole other story. But his signature wont be the last that Man City’s best Parker pen scrawls this summer, that’s for sure.
Well how annoying. Everyone was awaiting another long summer of gossip, players being pictured on holiday with another team’s badge being drawn in sun cream on their bellies and endless battle between managers over who is the bigger pansy. Last summer, transfer news revolved two thirds around players who ended up staying right where they were (Barry and Ronaldo, Robinho being the final third) and it was much expected that this summer would involve the same names.
So how dare Villa, Man City, Man United and Real Madrid clear up within the first gusts of wind through the open transfer window?
Stances have completely changed from last year. Barry chose the potential (apparently another word for money?) of Man City instead of established Champions League clubs like Liverpool and Arsenal, and Real Madrid suddenly became so respectful to United that they resembled a 15 year old boy meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time. The bad boy was still in them, but they kept it inside, bursting to get out and call Fergusson a willy head.
‘We will get Ronaldo, no doubt, but we must make an offer that United accept, which they will, because it will be one they can’t refuse, unless they do, but they wont, and he will play for Real Madrid, most probably definitely.’
Where’s the bitching? Where’s the lack of respect and bullying? Yes, it gets boring when you read every single day that another slanging match is taking place- but come on, you enjoy it. Admit it. You look at it and drool. You sit on the train, commuting to work, covered in spittle as two managers fight over their greasy headed prize asset. Just me?
It seems as if nobody wants the hassle of the deadline day signing, when a player might have to travel as far as the length of Europe in order to have a medical and be forced to hold a shirt up with their name on, all before midnight. Which is annoying, because even though the transfer window has only been in force for a relatively short amount of time, it’s still managed to start it’s own tradition of frantic Sky Sports presenters and hilariously misguided rumours from ‘members of the public’ who ‘have just taken Michael Essien to Plymouth for a medical and he said he would sign for them for 49p and a Twix’. How can you deny these lunatics their last day of fun? Is there no fun left in this world of football? More to the point, is there any frigging money left in the world of football. It’s hard to see most of the £80 million fee Cristiano Ronaldo demanded (I refuse to say warranted) not going towards paying off some of the massive debt United find themselves in with the Glazier family at their helm.
I’m pleased to see Ronaldo go, because I truly believe he is the best in the world and the best in the world must test themselves in different environments. The Premiership has made him stronger in every single way, both literally and mentally. And, above all else, the slightly slower (but hotter) pace of Spanish football will knacker the hell out of him in time for the World Cup and England might stand a chance of beating Portugal. Hell, why not, on penalties too!
Whether Gareth Barry makes it there or not is a whole other story. But his signature wont be the last that Man City’s best Parker pen scrawls this summer, that’s for sure.
7 June 2009
Flog - Nobody is called Gareth nowadays
So there we were, crying in a ball over another football season coming and passing, dreading a summer filled with half-hearted enthusiasm for cricket and watching mothers throughout England gripping hold of ‘Murray Mania’. Of course, that was until Manchester City opened the treasure chest.
So, the Sheikher Maker has given his vote of confidence to Mark Hughes and has asked him to build them a team of teams. Ideally, Hughes wants a mix of fresh talent and Premiership experience, a recipe for success in any league. Given, Bridge, Lescott, Toure, Richards, Barry, Ireland, De Jong, Robinho, Tevez, Eto’o. It’s the kind of team that an avid FIFA player would dream of, let alone a manager who this time last year had taken Blackburn- a club equivalent of Poundland- to another top half finish.
However, this is exactly it- a dream.
Who can honestly see Tevez swapping the red of United for the sky blue of their fiercest rivals? United have messed him about a bit but in reality the little grubby man from Argentina just wouldn’t do it to the fans. Then again, staying in Manchester might be the best thing for him if he wants to steer clear of the Old Trafford faithful.
Would Eto’o willingly leave Barcelona- possibly the most awe inspiring team in the world right now (sorry Bradford) for a team nowhere near guaranteeing Champions League football? Under the new coach he has his place back and is scoring for fun in a team that boasts some of the best players in the world. Man City boast Wayne Bridge.
Would Lescott leave a consistently improving Everton side which has taken him from Championship football to the England squad? David Moyes would be silly to turn down a large offer, but you can buy someone a lot better than Lescott for the money City are prepared to pay.
And Barry. Gary Barry. Don’t deny it. You’re not called Gareth. Who in this day and age is called Gareth? Come on. You’re Gary Barry and that’s the end of it. You’re Gary Barry and you left 6th place Aston Villa for 10th place Man City. ‘Ambition’ is a ridiculous word to use. The grip the ‘top four’ have on the Premiership will take a lot more than £200 million pounds to relinquish and a hell of a lot more than the most left footed player in history playing for them.
Aston Villa must be laughing- they planned all last summer for a team without Gary Barry- and then suddenly he stayed. An added bonus. Now, they have offloaded him to a team below them, for £12 million, and have a decent enough squad to survive without him. £12m buys you a very decent defender nowadays and that is exactly what they are looking for what with Martin Laursen being forced into retirement.
Say what you want about City… That’s it, there’s nothing to add on there. I’m asking you to say what you want about City.
Other news includes another win for England as they keep their 100% qualifying record intact. In all honesty, it was a drawn out result against a team who are about as European as an Eskimo eating Chinese food. Nobody had a particularly outstanding game, except for perhaps Frank Lampard, who is excelling in the new role Capello has given him. England are finally playing a style of football they can relate to- tough, physical and overall extremely painful to watch. It’s tough to get enthusiastic for International games now, in that there’s still a sense of the team paying the fans back for the debacle of Euro 2008 qualification. Nothing short of 100% is good enough now. It never was, but seemingly it got us to the quarter finals of, well, everything, and we were unhappily settling for it. Now Capello needs to make sure England are ready for arguably the best team in the World, Spain, if we are to get any success at all next summer.
This was written whilst hungover, and I am delighted with the spelling.
So, the Sheikher Maker has given his vote of confidence to Mark Hughes and has asked him to build them a team of teams. Ideally, Hughes wants a mix of fresh talent and Premiership experience, a recipe for success in any league. Given, Bridge, Lescott, Toure, Richards, Barry, Ireland, De Jong, Robinho, Tevez, Eto’o. It’s the kind of team that an avid FIFA player would dream of, let alone a manager who this time last year had taken Blackburn- a club equivalent of Poundland- to another top half finish.
However, this is exactly it- a dream.
Who can honestly see Tevez swapping the red of United for the sky blue of their fiercest rivals? United have messed him about a bit but in reality the little grubby man from Argentina just wouldn’t do it to the fans. Then again, staying in Manchester might be the best thing for him if he wants to steer clear of the Old Trafford faithful.
Would Eto’o willingly leave Barcelona- possibly the most awe inspiring team in the world right now (sorry Bradford) for a team nowhere near guaranteeing Champions League football? Under the new coach he has his place back and is scoring for fun in a team that boasts some of the best players in the world. Man City boast Wayne Bridge.
Would Lescott leave a consistently improving Everton side which has taken him from Championship football to the England squad? David Moyes would be silly to turn down a large offer, but you can buy someone a lot better than Lescott for the money City are prepared to pay.
And Barry. Gary Barry. Don’t deny it. You’re not called Gareth. Who in this day and age is called Gareth? Come on. You’re Gary Barry and that’s the end of it. You’re Gary Barry and you left 6th place Aston Villa for 10th place Man City. ‘Ambition’ is a ridiculous word to use. The grip the ‘top four’ have on the Premiership will take a lot more than £200 million pounds to relinquish and a hell of a lot more than the most left footed player in history playing for them.
Aston Villa must be laughing- they planned all last summer for a team without Gary Barry- and then suddenly he stayed. An added bonus. Now, they have offloaded him to a team below them, for £12 million, and have a decent enough squad to survive without him. £12m buys you a very decent defender nowadays and that is exactly what they are looking for what with Martin Laursen being forced into retirement.
Say what you want about City… That’s it, there’s nothing to add on there. I’m asking you to say what you want about City.
Other news includes another win for England as they keep their 100% qualifying record intact. In all honesty, it was a drawn out result against a team who are about as European as an Eskimo eating Chinese food. Nobody had a particularly outstanding game, except for perhaps Frank Lampard, who is excelling in the new role Capello has given him. England are finally playing a style of football they can relate to- tough, physical and overall extremely painful to watch. It’s tough to get enthusiastic for International games now, in that there’s still a sense of the team paying the fans back for the debacle of Euro 2008 qualification. Nothing short of 100% is good enough now. It never was, but seemingly it got us to the quarter finals of, well, everything, and we were unhappily settling for it. Now Capello needs to make sure England are ready for arguably the best team in the World, Spain, if we are to get any success at all next summer.
This was written whilst hungover, and I am delighted with the spelling.
28 May 2009
Flog - Review of the Season 2008-09
Well it’s all over. The twists, the turns, and (hilariously) the conspiracy theories. Yes, The Barclay’s Premiership 2008-09 is over. Now we have to wait a whole 12 weeks with only England qualifiers, the U21 European Championship, the Confederations Cup and the transfer window being well and truly ajar until it starts all over again. Devastating. So what of this year? Here is a team by team review of the season.
Arsenal - a good start and a good finish to a season that yet again promised much but provided little. Wenger did, however, break his two-word transfer policy (young/foreign) by buying Andriy Arshevin, who is foreign and looks about a month shy of being able to take an 11+ exam, but is actually 27. But if it wasn’t a barren streak from his strikers for Wenger to worry about, it was dressing room disharmony. Fingers point at Gallas. He’s probably a little annoyed at looking like a cross between the cat in the hat and a sad snake. Champions League and FA Cup semi-finals don’t seem to be enough for the Gunners anymore, though. Player of the Year: Cecs Fabregas. New captain, new ambitions. But another season of growth may have to be his last before exploding onto the world stage. Score: 7/10
Aston Villa - early on, Villa threatened to do what only a small number of clubs have done in the last few seasons- break into the top four. To achieve this seemingly impossible yet suddenly extremely realistic target, Martin O’Neill sacrificed any chance of European glory by sending out a team of reserves in their second leg against CSKA Moscow so their top players could concentrate on getting fourth. They lost. And finished sixth. Terrible end of season form meant they finished with a whimper when they began with a roar, but are building a very good project for the future- watch this space. Player of the Year: Ashley Young. Pace, dribbling, and a good delivery. Not bad for a man with a tiny head. Score: 7/10
Blackburn Rovers - Who? It seems not even flirting with and escaping relegation can make Blackburn at all appealing. Allardyce steadied the ship after the Rovers board did the equivalent of asking a toddler to be a fireman- maybe in the future Ince will be able to do it but the jump managing at a level one division lower than the top league, let alone two, is tough enough. If Allardyce buys well in the summer they could once again be a solid Premiership club, but the proof was in the proverbial pudding by the end of the season with Christopher Samba playing up front as a lone striker. ‘Bolton II’. It also still amazes me that someone who is the shape of Brett Emerton can even walk let alone play football. The man is a rectangle. Player of the Year: Ryan Nelsen (I suppose?) Score: 5/10.
Bolton Wanderers - ‘Bolton I’ had a fairly non-descript season, with the club never mathematically safe from trouble but always far enough away not to be worried for their Premiership status. It’s hard to see Megson take them any further than simply being survival specialists but for now he is providing just enough to keep the club (and his job) safe. There really is nothing else to say about Wanderers, but you can sum them up with one question- can you name their first choice back four? Thought not. Player of the Year: Kevin Davies. If Heskey’s attributes make him integral to the England team, then Kevin Davies would be a worthy understudy. Score: 6/10
Chelsea - Many seasons ago, before bearded Russians and heavy pockets waded into our lives forever, this would have been seen as a fantastic season. Another Champions League run which saw them knocked out to the eventual winners in the semi-final, an FA Cup final to look forward to and a solid 3rd place in the table. But that was before. And Abramovic might have been ruing the day he employed ‘Big Phil’, because it turned out that the big man had little ideas. But if Scolari was a gamble, Hiddink was a masterstroke. Knowledgeable, humble and extremely talented as a manager, it’s not hard to see why Chelsea want him to stay. Whoever comes in, they need to freshen up a lagging squad and fast. Just finally, all the talk of ‘conspiracy’ seemed to delightfully deter the attention away from the fact that the serial flopping hitman they have up front missed the two easiest chances of the tie to wrap it all up before Iniesta’s stunner. Anything to say, Mr Drogba? Player of the Year: Nicolas Anelka. Goals, goals, goals in a team that could have struggled without him. Score: 7/10
Everton - Played for half the season without any strikers, and the purchases of Jo on loan and Louis Saha leaves it up to you to make the jokes about not having any for the rest of the season either, but managed to play their way into yet another 5th place finish and another year of European football. I still remember when Everton were fighting relegation each year- how times have changed. David Moyes, the scariest looking manager in the entire world, deserves all the praise he gets, but it wont mean as much to him as winning the FA Cup on Saturday. No money, no hope is not a term Everton can say they live up to. A wonderful story. Player of the Year: Phil Jagielka. Heartbreaking to see a player miss an FA Cup final through injury anyway, but for it to happen after a consistently excellent season is horrible. Will come back stronger. Score: 9/10
Fulham - a fitting testament to the fantastic job Roy Hodgson has done at Fulham would be to point out how during the early stages of the season when up to 11 teams were fighting to pull clear of relegation, Fulham were never mentioned. Not just a solid season, but a very promising one too. They are building a core to their team- Schwarzer, Haangeland, Murphy and Johnson form a super spine to a team that this time last year was celebrating the great escape, and their poor away from seems to be evening itself out too. All credit to them, but European football next season will test their resources. Hodgson looks like a Grandfather sheep. This only improves his stance with me. Player of the Year: Danny Murphy. Makes them tick while making it look easy, too. Perfectly spherical head as well. Score: 9/10.
Hull City - what to say? Great start, crap finish. They started with the element of surprise that most promoted clubs wouldn’t dare to spring on the top league, with goals from Giovanni that really ought to be investigated by NASA. For a while they flirted with the idea of getting top 8, but steadily their season slowly collapsed like Jimmy Bullard’s knee and they were left fighting for their lives on the last day of the season. Phil Brown deserves to stay in the Premiership though, not only for the great job he has done at Hull but also that massive jacket and ’Britney’ earpiece combo he’s got going on. One of the favourites for the drop next season, but as debut campaigns go this was the best they could have hoped for. Player of the Year: Michael Turner. Underrated centre back who kept Hull in a lot of games. Score: 7/10
Liverpool - Will they? Wont they? Can they? No, they cannot- for now. Another frustrating season for the Reds who coupled home and away wins against Chelsea and Manchester United with home draws against Hull, Fulham and West Ham to effectively invite United to chip into their early lead. It didn’t seem to be about pressure in the end, it just looked as if the strain of relying on 2 or 3 core players was too much for a realistic title hunt. The signing of Keane was a correct one in theory- Liverpool need another natural striker for the increasingly frequent injuries to Torres- but perhaps he was not the right choice. I will say now what I said at the start of the season: you can’t win the league if your back up striker is David Ngog. They edge ever closer to what they cannot still call ‘their‘ trophy, but unfortunately United don’t seem to be losing any sort of stranglehold. This season’s ‘Shouter of the Year’ award goes to Jamie Carragher. Did anyone else hear hm against West Ham? Frightening. Player of the Year: Steven Gerrard. Of course. More goals, more power and more talented than most teams put together. Score: 8/10
Manchester City - effectively cheating at Football Manager but in real life. It’s like somebody went into the ‘edit club’ screen and stuck a couple of noughts on the end of their starting bank balance. Ridiculous. However, their only lure was of Robinho, who despite finishing 4th in the scoring charts was considered somewhat of a flop. Perhaps harsh if you consider one of the world’s most talented players was also playing in a team that held Richard Dunne. Another pre-season of speculation will now hold another name in it’s rumours and headlines, but the club’s appeal still doesn’t seem enough for any Robinho-scale signings. Shay Given, however, is an excellent bit of business. They just need to find the form that crushes Arsenal rather than the from that loses to Stoke and Middlesbrough. Player of the Year: Stephen Ireland. Tireless midfielder who has put dead Grandmother myths behind him to become integral to City’s ambitions. Score: 6/10
Manchester United - sometimes they were frighteningly good. But teams are starting to find weaknesses on their off days. Liverpool did- twice- and they could have pushed the Red Devils had they not lost their form to lower teams. Luckily, Sir Alex doesn’t do dips in form, and the stumbles against Liverpool and then to Fulham were put to rest with last gasp wins against Aston Villa and Sunderland and a crushing fight back against Spurs. Losing the Champions League final would have hurt, but that’s when Fergie and United are most dangerous. It’s just a shame that Barcelona are most dangerous when they have the ball- something Michael Carrick seemed all too happy to allow to happen. Ronaldo is still the spoilt little child and he has been quieter this season, but his goal return for someone who is not an out and out striker is still astonishing. Just need someone to come and kick him in the face. Last point: how can you be world champions if you are not European champions? Come on lads, stop listing it as an achievement. Player of the Year: Wayne Rooney. A man who United cannot tick without is the other of the special R’s . Score: 9/10
Middlesbrough - should have been relegated two seasons ago. No depth, no stars, no fight, nothing. They sneaked into relegation- that’s how bad they were. Nobody even noticed. They couldn’t replicate performances like they gave against Liverpool when it mattered most- ie ALL SEASON- and it cost them. Alfonso Alves looked increasingly like he wasn’t sure what he was doing, like he was picked up at the airport one day after being mistaken for their new £10m striker and had been too polite or too scared to stand up and say anything since. If anyone, Tuncay and Downing should stay in the Premiership, as well as Wheater. As for the others, it’s up to them to get them back up there. Woeful. Player of the Year: David Wheater. His early form earned him an England call-up. The rest of his team’s earned them a spell in the second tier. Score: 3/10
Newcastle United - Ok. Can anyone ACTUALLY believe that Newcastle are in the Championship? They have been RELEGATED. It’s shocking. Did anyone ever watch Dream Team on Sky One? Imagine that in real life (sorry to break it to you but Jamie Parker was not a real goalkeeper, people) and you have some idea of what Newcastle’s season has been like. It became increasingly clear after Given left that he was the reason they had tread the water as long as they did- Harper, as good a keeper as he is- is not top class. Defence was clueless, midfield was toothless at best and their strikers were off target more than any Richard Littlejohn article in the Daily Mail. So what do you do when you’re struggling to stay in the division? Employ the most inexperienced person in the history of time. Ok, so he is still revered and worshipped on Tyneside, but he was about as qualified as anyone who has played Football Manager for an hour. Insane decision that cost them their Premiership status and confines them to a long recovery period. Player of the Year: Joey Barton… just kidding. I honestly have no idea but the best of a bad bunch was Steven Taylor probably. Score: 2/10
Portsmouth - went for the record of ‘how many managers can we have in a season?’ but sadly lost out to any Spurs team from the 1990’s. With the season still young, Redknapp left for pastures new and left them in a rather large hole to be honest. Adams, like Shearer, was too inexperienced to keep the club rolling from their previously successful year so an even less experienced man came in and got them playing again. Portsmouth end this season with around half the management team, players and trophies of last but survival was enough to receive a takeover bid from the ‘U.A.E.’s Alan Sugar’. Good luck with that. Player of the Year: David James. Another typical season- great saves and athletic performances keep him as England’s number 1 but still has the odd dickhead moment. Score: 6/10
Stoke City - 12th, who’d have thunk it? A team that proves that if you have a system, stick to it. They found a formula that worked and stuck to it, and other teams found it hard to deal with it. They realised the Delap throw tactic was being found out, so they adapted their game a bit. They lost a few. Then went back to the Delap tactic and beat Middlesbrough. Top stuff. A season beyond their wildest dreams, with wins against Arsenal, Tottenham and Man City to boast from their debut campaign, but will be wary of ‘second season syndrome’. Final note- they have the scariest looking squad in the league. Ryan Shawcross looks like he could head butt an elephant to death. Now all that is left is to find out why Pulis wears that hat to every game… Player of the Year: would be easy to give it to Rory Delap when others shone too, but who can deny the influence he had? Score: 8/10
Sunderland - remember Keane? It’s hard to believe he was ever there now. Late strugglers but in the end they stayed up through a mixture of solid early form and the fact that Newcastle were about twice as bad as them. They need a decent manager to take over from Sbragia who will take them to the next level, otherwise they could find themselves in the same position again next season. Need a new talismanic midfielder and a quick striker for when Cisse inevitably goes. I am still confused as to why they are nicknamed the ‘Black Cats’. That is all. Player of the Year: Ooh, who to choose? Nobody particularly shone but lets give it to Kieran Richardson who was always full of running and scored a scarily powerful free kick in the Tyne-Weir derby early in the season. Score: 5/10
Tottenham Hotspur - as usual, the Lane became the setting for another soap opera season. A terrible start looked like leaving Spurs with an unassailable mountain to climb before Harry Redknapp rode in and saved the day. In the end, they didn’t just survive, and of all the serious relegation candidates this season they eventually finished the highest in 8th. It all went Homeward Bound over Christmas- the likeable wise dog Robbie Keane returned with the snappy young pup Jermaine Defoe much to the delight of the supporters, but like in the film it was sad to see that the whining, arrogant wails from that cat Pascal Chimbonda had not got lost along the way. Interesting to see them fight out with Everton and Villa next season. Player of the Season: Bent had a solid campaign, and Redknapp made a lot of others finally play to their potential (Gomes, Modric to name just two) but it will have to go to Aaron Lennon. Lost his place to Bentley then realised he was actually 100 times better than him. Score: 7/10
West Bromich Albion - boing! Back they go. W.B.A. the club remind me of the programme E.R.- every time you think it’s the last time you will see it, about a year later it arrives back on your screen on a Saturday night. All credit to Mowbray, he continued his ethos of playing football as it should be done, but if you have Abdoulaye Meite in your team that becomes about 50% harder already. Sure enough, we expect to see them back next year, but they need to improve significantly if they want to stay for longer than a little holiday. Player of the Year: Another team with little to go on, but a player who always fought for every ball and scored a few goals with it was Chris Brunt. Score: 3/10
West Ham United - best of the rest in a sense, after the top 6 went out of sight. In fairness, their rise up the table was exceptional, not least after a run of poor results at the back end of 2008. Zola is clearly a talented manager, and next season will be key for West Ham if they are to progress. He even made Carlton Cole look good- something Carlton Cole has tried and failed to do for years now. He still isn’t that good, either. Player of the Year: Carlton Cole. Still not great but had a good season before being injured on international duty. Score: 6/10
Wigan Athletic - fizzled out in the latter stages of the season, they even threatened to catch the last European spot in the months before. Safe long before a lot of others, they still lack that cutting edge which could establish them in the league. And, if rumours are to be believed, which, hell, why wouldn’t you believe them, Antonio Valencia is on the way out. Losing Palacios in January hurt Wigan’s balance, but if the Ecuadorian winger goes too they need to invest the money very wisely. A good team, not a great team, Steve Bruce can be proud of his work. Player of the Year: Antonio Valencia. Though sometimes a close run thing with Mido in the side (please sense the tone and understand I am joking) he gave another good account of himself this season. Score: 7/10.
There we go. I was kind of hoping that would take 12 weeks to write. Damn. Might have to go outside now.
Arsenal - a good start and a good finish to a season that yet again promised much but provided little. Wenger did, however, break his two-word transfer policy (young/foreign) by buying Andriy Arshevin, who is foreign and looks about a month shy of being able to take an 11+ exam, but is actually 27. But if it wasn’t a barren streak from his strikers for Wenger to worry about, it was dressing room disharmony. Fingers point at Gallas. He’s probably a little annoyed at looking like a cross between the cat in the hat and a sad snake. Champions League and FA Cup semi-finals don’t seem to be enough for the Gunners anymore, though. Player of the Year: Cecs Fabregas. New captain, new ambitions. But another season of growth may have to be his last before exploding onto the world stage. Score: 7/10
Aston Villa - early on, Villa threatened to do what only a small number of clubs have done in the last few seasons- break into the top four. To achieve this seemingly impossible yet suddenly extremely realistic target, Martin O’Neill sacrificed any chance of European glory by sending out a team of reserves in their second leg against CSKA Moscow so their top players could concentrate on getting fourth. They lost. And finished sixth. Terrible end of season form meant they finished with a whimper when they began with a roar, but are building a very good project for the future- watch this space. Player of the Year: Ashley Young. Pace, dribbling, and a good delivery. Not bad for a man with a tiny head. Score: 7/10
Blackburn Rovers - Who? It seems not even flirting with and escaping relegation can make Blackburn at all appealing. Allardyce steadied the ship after the Rovers board did the equivalent of asking a toddler to be a fireman- maybe in the future Ince will be able to do it but the jump managing at a level one division lower than the top league, let alone two, is tough enough. If Allardyce buys well in the summer they could once again be a solid Premiership club, but the proof was in the proverbial pudding by the end of the season with Christopher Samba playing up front as a lone striker. ‘Bolton II’. It also still amazes me that someone who is the shape of Brett Emerton can even walk let alone play football. The man is a rectangle. Player of the Year: Ryan Nelsen (I suppose?) Score: 5/10.
Bolton Wanderers - ‘Bolton I’ had a fairly non-descript season, with the club never mathematically safe from trouble but always far enough away not to be worried for their Premiership status. It’s hard to see Megson take them any further than simply being survival specialists but for now he is providing just enough to keep the club (and his job) safe. There really is nothing else to say about Wanderers, but you can sum them up with one question- can you name their first choice back four? Thought not. Player of the Year: Kevin Davies. If Heskey’s attributes make him integral to the England team, then Kevin Davies would be a worthy understudy. Score: 6/10
Chelsea - Many seasons ago, before bearded Russians and heavy pockets waded into our lives forever, this would have been seen as a fantastic season. Another Champions League run which saw them knocked out to the eventual winners in the semi-final, an FA Cup final to look forward to and a solid 3rd place in the table. But that was before. And Abramovic might have been ruing the day he employed ‘Big Phil’, because it turned out that the big man had little ideas. But if Scolari was a gamble, Hiddink was a masterstroke. Knowledgeable, humble and extremely talented as a manager, it’s not hard to see why Chelsea want him to stay. Whoever comes in, they need to freshen up a lagging squad and fast. Just finally, all the talk of ‘conspiracy’ seemed to delightfully deter the attention away from the fact that the serial flopping hitman they have up front missed the two easiest chances of the tie to wrap it all up before Iniesta’s stunner. Anything to say, Mr Drogba? Player of the Year: Nicolas Anelka. Goals, goals, goals in a team that could have struggled without him. Score: 7/10
Everton - Played for half the season without any strikers, and the purchases of Jo on loan and Louis Saha leaves it up to you to make the jokes about not having any for the rest of the season either, but managed to play their way into yet another 5th place finish and another year of European football. I still remember when Everton were fighting relegation each year- how times have changed. David Moyes, the scariest looking manager in the entire world, deserves all the praise he gets, but it wont mean as much to him as winning the FA Cup on Saturday. No money, no hope is not a term Everton can say they live up to. A wonderful story. Player of the Year: Phil Jagielka. Heartbreaking to see a player miss an FA Cup final through injury anyway, but for it to happen after a consistently excellent season is horrible. Will come back stronger. Score: 9/10
Fulham - a fitting testament to the fantastic job Roy Hodgson has done at Fulham would be to point out how during the early stages of the season when up to 11 teams were fighting to pull clear of relegation, Fulham were never mentioned. Not just a solid season, but a very promising one too. They are building a core to their team- Schwarzer, Haangeland, Murphy and Johnson form a super spine to a team that this time last year was celebrating the great escape, and their poor away from seems to be evening itself out too. All credit to them, but European football next season will test their resources. Hodgson looks like a Grandfather sheep. This only improves his stance with me. Player of the Year: Danny Murphy. Makes them tick while making it look easy, too. Perfectly spherical head as well. Score: 9/10.
Hull City - what to say? Great start, crap finish. They started with the element of surprise that most promoted clubs wouldn’t dare to spring on the top league, with goals from Giovanni that really ought to be investigated by NASA. For a while they flirted with the idea of getting top 8, but steadily their season slowly collapsed like Jimmy Bullard’s knee and they were left fighting for their lives on the last day of the season. Phil Brown deserves to stay in the Premiership though, not only for the great job he has done at Hull but also that massive jacket and ’Britney’ earpiece combo he’s got going on. One of the favourites for the drop next season, but as debut campaigns go this was the best they could have hoped for. Player of the Year: Michael Turner. Underrated centre back who kept Hull in a lot of games. Score: 7/10
Liverpool - Will they? Wont they? Can they? No, they cannot- for now. Another frustrating season for the Reds who coupled home and away wins against Chelsea and Manchester United with home draws against Hull, Fulham and West Ham to effectively invite United to chip into their early lead. It didn’t seem to be about pressure in the end, it just looked as if the strain of relying on 2 or 3 core players was too much for a realistic title hunt. The signing of Keane was a correct one in theory- Liverpool need another natural striker for the increasingly frequent injuries to Torres- but perhaps he was not the right choice. I will say now what I said at the start of the season: you can’t win the league if your back up striker is David Ngog. They edge ever closer to what they cannot still call ‘their‘ trophy, but unfortunately United don’t seem to be losing any sort of stranglehold. This season’s ‘Shouter of the Year’ award goes to Jamie Carragher. Did anyone else hear hm against West Ham? Frightening. Player of the Year: Steven Gerrard. Of course. More goals, more power and more talented than most teams put together. Score: 8/10
Manchester City - effectively cheating at Football Manager but in real life. It’s like somebody went into the ‘edit club’ screen and stuck a couple of noughts on the end of their starting bank balance. Ridiculous. However, their only lure was of Robinho, who despite finishing 4th in the scoring charts was considered somewhat of a flop. Perhaps harsh if you consider one of the world’s most talented players was also playing in a team that held Richard Dunne. Another pre-season of speculation will now hold another name in it’s rumours and headlines, but the club’s appeal still doesn’t seem enough for any Robinho-scale signings. Shay Given, however, is an excellent bit of business. They just need to find the form that crushes Arsenal rather than the from that loses to Stoke and Middlesbrough. Player of the Year: Stephen Ireland. Tireless midfielder who has put dead Grandmother myths behind him to become integral to City’s ambitions. Score: 6/10
Manchester United - sometimes they were frighteningly good. But teams are starting to find weaknesses on their off days. Liverpool did- twice- and they could have pushed the Red Devils had they not lost their form to lower teams. Luckily, Sir Alex doesn’t do dips in form, and the stumbles against Liverpool and then to Fulham were put to rest with last gasp wins against Aston Villa and Sunderland and a crushing fight back against Spurs. Losing the Champions League final would have hurt, but that’s when Fergie and United are most dangerous. It’s just a shame that Barcelona are most dangerous when they have the ball- something Michael Carrick seemed all too happy to allow to happen. Ronaldo is still the spoilt little child and he has been quieter this season, but his goal return for someone who is not an out and out striker is still astonishing. Just need someone to come and kick him in the face. Last point: how can you be world champions if you are not European champions? Come on lads, stop listing it as an achievement. Player of the Year: Wayne Rooney. A man who United cannot tick without is the other of the special R’s . Score: 9/10
Middlesbrough - should have been relegated two seasons ago. No depth, no stars, no fight, nothing. They sneaked into relegation- that’s how bad they were. Nobody even noticed. They couldn’t replicate performances like they gave against Liverpool when it mattered most- ie ALL SEASON- and it cost them. Alfonso Alves looked increasingly like he wasn’t sure what he was doing, like he was picked up at the airport one day after being mistaken for their new £10m striker and had been too polite or too scared to stand up and say anything since. If anyone, Tuncay and Downing should stay in the Premiership, as well as Wheater. As for the others, it’s up to them to get them back up there. Woeful. Player of the Year: David Wheater. His early form earned him an England call-up. The rest of his team’s earned them a spell in the second tier. Score: 3/10
Newcastle United - Ok. Can anyone ACTUALLY believe that Newcastle are in the Championship? They have been RELEGATED. It’s shocking. Did anyone ever watch Dream Team on Sky One? Imagine that in real life (sorry to break it to you but Jamie Parker was not a real goalkeeper, people) and you have some idea of what Newcastle’s season has been like. It became increasingly clear after Given left that he was the reason they had tread the water as long as they did- Harper, as good a keeper as he is- is not top class. Defence was clueless, midfield was toothless at best and their strikers were off target more than any Richard Littlejohn article in the Daily Mail. So what do you do when you’re struggling to stay in the division? Employ the most inexperienced person in the history of time. Ok, so he is still revered and worshipped on Tyneside, but he was about as qualified as anyone who has played Football Manager for an hour. Insane decision that cost them their Premiership status and confines them to a long recovery period. Player of the Year: Joey Barton… just kidding. I honestly have no idea but the best of a bad bunch was Steven Taylor probably. Score: 2/10
Portsmouth - went for the record of ‘how many managers can we have in a season?’ but sadly lost out to any Spurs team from the 1990’s. With the season still young, Redknapp left for pastures new and left them in a rather large hole to be honest. Adams, like Shearer, was too inexperienced to keep the club rolling from their previously successful year so an even less experienced man came in and got them playing again. Portsmouth end this season with around half the management team, players and trophies of last but survival was enough to receive a takeover bid from the ‘U.A.E.’s Alan Sugar’. Good luck with that. Player of the Year: David James. Another typical season- great saves and athletic performances keep him as England’s number 1 but still has the odd dickhead moment. Score: 6/10
Stoke City - 12th, who’d have thunk it? A team that proves that if you have a system, stick to it. They found a formula that worked and stuck to it, and other teams found it hard to deal with it. They realised the Delap throw tactic was being found out, so they adapted their game a bit. They lost a few. Then went back to the Delap tactic and beat Middlesbrough. Top stuff. A season beyond their wildest dreams, with wins against Arsenal, Tottenham and Man City to boast from their debut campaign, but will be wary of ‘second season syndrome’. Final note- they have the scariest looking squad in the league. Ryan Shawcross looks like he could head butt an elephant to death. Now all that is left is to find out why Pulis wears that hat to every game… Player of the Year: would be easy to give it to Rory Delap when others shone too, but who can deny the influence he had? Score: 8/10
Sunderland - remember Keane? It’s hard to believe he was ever there now. Late strugglers but in the end they stayed up through a mixture of solid early form and the fact that Newcastle were about twice as bad as them. They need a decent manager to take over from Sbragia who will take them to the next level, otherwise they could find themselves in the same position again next season. Need a new talismanic midfielder and a quick striker for when Cisse inevitably goes. I am still confused as to why they are nicknamed the ‘Black Cats’. That is all. Player of the Year: Ooh, who to choose? Nobody particularly shone but lets give it to Kieran Richardson who was always full of running and scored a scarily powerful free kick in the Tyne-Weir derby early in the season. Score: 5/10
Tottenham Hotspur - as usual, the Lane became the setting for another soap opera season. A terrible start looked like leaving Spurs with an unassailable mountain to climb before Harry Redknapp rode in and saved the day. In the end, they didn’t just survive, and of all the serious relegation candidates this season they eventually finished the highest in 8th. It all went Homeward Bound over Christmas- the likeable wise dog Robbie Keane returned with the snappy young pup Jermaine Defoe much to the delight of the supporters, but like in the film it was sad to see that the whining, arrogant wails from that cat Pascal Chimbonda had not got lost along the way. Interesting to see them fight out with Everton and Villa next season. Player of the Season: Bent had a solid campaign, and Redknapp made a lot of others finally play to their potential (Gomes, Modric to name just two) but it will have to go to Aaron Lennon. Lost his place to Bentley then realised he was actually 100 times better than him. Score: 7/10
West Bromich Albion - boing! Back they go. W.B.A. the club remind me of the programme E.R.- every time you think it’s the last time you will see it, about a year later it arrives back on your screen on a Saturday night. All credit to Mowbray, he continued his ethos of playing football as it should be done, but if you have Abdoulaye Meite in your team that becomes about 50% harder already. Sure enough, we expect to see them back next year, but they need to improve significantly if they want to stay for longer than a little holiday. Player of the Year: Another team with little to go on, but a player who always fought for every ball and scored a few goals with it was Chris Brunt. Score: 3/10
West Ham United - best of the rest in a sense, after the top 6 went out of sight. In fairness, their rise up the table was exceptional, not least after a run of poor results at the back end of 2008. Zola is clearly a talented manager, and next season will be key for West Ham if they are to progress. He even made Carlton Cole look good- something Carlton Cole has tried and failed to do for years now. He still isn’t that good, either. Player of the Year: Carlton Cole. Still not great but had a good season before being injured on international duty. Score: 6/10
Wigan Athletic - fizzled out in the latter stages of the season, they even threatened to catch the last European spot in the months before. Safe long before a lot of others, they still lack that cutting edge which could establish them in the league. And, if rumours are to be believed, which, hell, why wouldn’t you believe them, Antonio Valencia is on the way out. Losing Palacios in January hurt Wigan’s balance, but if the Ecuadorian winger goes too they need to invest the money very wisely. A good team, not a great team, Steve Bruce can be proud of his work. Player of the Year: Antonio Valencia. Though sometimes a close run thing with Mido in the side (please sense the tone and understand I am joking) he gave another good account of himself this season. Score: 7/10.
There we go. I was kind of hoping that would take 12 weeks to write. Damn. Might have to go outside now.
17 May 2009
Flog - Don't hate the game. Hate yourself.
Over the past week I have discovered, at great cost, that a certain two things in my life cannot be mixed. I gave up smoking on Sunday (sort of). That, and I play a lot of Football Manager 2009.
Truly, it is the hardest game in the history of time. You may be great at it. I am not. My stress levels are at a point that I can only imagine are rivalled by being the real life Newcastle manager. And I don’t even mean Alan Shearer- I mean any Newcastle manager. It’s a job that should come with a health warning. (think about it... Keegan ('love it!'), Kinnear ('f***ing heart bypass') and Souness (no particular health issues but he was always on the verge of killing someone).
Football Manager games of years past were simpler- you pretty much picked a team and berated them if they didn’t play well. If they did, you took the plaudits. This version, however, brings you every single aspect of real management. Press conferences, manager ‘personalities’, and the like. It’s too real. Real life managers cannot say ‘I’m an accountant, but I manage Sunderland on the side…’
BUT WE CAN.
And that’s it- it’s not real. But it gives the illusion that it is, whilst simultaneously mocking you for getting into it. I am currently the Tottenham manager and I have been for 4 fantasy years. My fantasy players are brilliant, their stats are through the proverbial (and fantasy) roof. I just can’t get it right. I have not finished above 9th so far, no matter how many fantasy pounds I spend each year.
Any game that has an ‘addictiveness rating’ needs to be investigated immediately. You load the game, thinking you will give it a couple of hours enjoyment each night after work, live the dream and all that. But then- oh tragedy of tragedies- suddenly your wife has left you and your dog is dead; a withering carcass of rover festers in the corner next to it’s spotless food bowl.
Why do we do it? Because we all think we can do better.
We all think we can be a manager. Who doesn’t watch their team capitulate and scream at the screen, willing the players to do the simplest thing? So you give it a go. And you end up watching your team capitulate, screaming at the screen willing your players to do the simplest thing. It’s hell. I ‘stormed out’ of a fantasy press conference the other day after losing to a team two divisions lower than me in the FA Cup third round. Which is okay, you think, because it’s not real.
So whatever happens, you have that to fall back on. Nobody knows how poorly you played. Except you do. You know. You know that you played an anchorman which left your strikers isolated of service. The fans are on your back. That rainy evening against your biggest rivals came and went in a terrifying blur and suddenly your next game is for you to save your job. It's all a bit too Gullit vs Sunderland in 1999...
So why the will to win at a make believe game? Because you know that after your sacking you will have to deal with knowing in your heart that you wasted so many hours caring about something so trivial. That, and you will have to bury Rover.
All of which is okay though, because it’s not real.
Except you spent a large majority of your day at work thinking over tactics. Have you been too negative? Are the players you have at your disposal wasted in a counter attacking team? Is your striker a confidence man or does he need a kick up the arse every game? Are your training regimes good enough? Were you ever ready to take this job?
All are questions that real managers must ask themselves. Which is what FM is going for. It wants you to believe you are the best but also recognise that you, above all else, are a failure when mixing it with the big boys.
Which is okay. Because it’s not real.
Truly, it is the hardest game in the history of time. You may be great at it. I am not. My stress levels are at a point that I can only imagine are rivalled by being the real life Newcastle manager. And I don’t even mean Alan Shearer- I mean any Newcastle manager. It’s a job that should come with a health warning. (think about it... Keegan ('love it!'), Kinnear ('f***ing heart bypass') and Souness (no particular health issues but he was always on the verge of killing someone).
Football Manager games of years past were simpler- you pretty much picked a team and berated them if they didn’t play well. If they did, you took the plaudits. This version, however, brings you every single aspect of real management. Press conferences, manager ‘personalities’, and the like. It’s too real. Real life managers cannot say ‘I’m an accountant, but I manage Sunderland on the side…’
BUT WE CAN.
And that’s it- it’s not real. But it gives the illusion that it is, whilst simultaneously mocking you for getting into it. I am currently the Tottenham manager and I have been for 4 fantasy years. My fantasy players are brilliant, their stats are through the proverbial (and fantasy) roof. I just can’t get it right. I have not finished above 9th so far, no matter how many fantasy pounds I spend each year.
Any game that has an ‘addictiveness rating’ needs to be investigated immediately. You load the game, thinking you will give it a couple of hours enjoyment each night after work, live the dream and all that. But then- oh tragedy of tragedies- suddenly your wife has left you and your dog is dead; a withering carcass of rover festers in the corner next to it’s spotless food bowl.
Why do we do it? Because we all think we can do better.
We all think we can be a manager. Who doesn’t watch their team capitulate and scream at the screen, willing the players to do the simplest thing? So you give it a go. And you end up watching your team capitulate, screaming at the screen willing your players to do the simplest thing. It’s hell. I ‘stormed out’ of a fantasy press conference the other day after losing to a team two divisions lower than me in the FA Cup third round. Which is okay, you think, because it’s not real.
So whatever happens, you have that to fall back on. Nobody knows how poorly you played. Except you do. You know. You know that you played an anchorman which left your strikers isolated of service. The fans are on your back. That rainy evening against your biggest rivals came and went in a terrifying blur and suddenly your next game is for you to save your job. It's all a bit too Gullit vs Sunderland in 1999...
So why the will to win at a make believe game? Because you know that after your sacking you will have to deal with knowing in your heart that you wasted so many hours caring about something so trivial. That, and you will have to bury Rover.
All of which is okay though, because it’s not real.
Except you spent a large majority of your day at work thinking over tactics. Have you been too negative? Are the players you have at your disposal wasted in a counter attacking team? Is your striker a confidence man or does he need a kick up the arse every game? Are your training regimes good enough? Were you ever ready to take this job?
All are questions that real managers must ask themselves. Which is what FM is going for. It wants you to believe you are the best but also recognise that you, above all else, are a failure when mixing it with the big boys.
Which is okay. Because it’s not real.
11 May 2009
Flog - Meat, batter and mid-table obscurity
What exactly is all this about Rangers and Celtic being sneaked into the Premiership? It was mentioned a few seasons ago and the idea never really played out into a seriously considered one, but now- with the FA seemingly selling the Premiership to anyone and anything that will buy it- it has arose again and it seems to be only a matter of time before this is a reality.
Why? Surely it’s not of benefit to the English Premier Division to have two clubs from another league to join and make an already congested fixture list even harder to organise and piss Sir Alex off? And not just any fixtures- these will be fixtures that take fans to another country. Granted, it’s not exactly Timbuktu, but on the other hand it is bloody freezing up there. Even though Newcastle fans go to games semi-naked and see the words ‘below zero’ as a challenge and not a weather report, they might even have to draw the line. However, that’s if they’re even in the League at all…
Also, what if Celtic and Ranger’s first season(s) go disastrously wrong and they end up relegated? What then? Do we suddenly have a super-elite Championship that has Doncaster travelling to a team that beat AC Milan on their ground a couple of seasons ago? And will we be facing a Premiership that has been expanded to include them or a larger relegation zone the previous season to make room? A few fingernails would be left on stadium floors then, wouldn’t they?
Celtic and Rangers are used to success- it seems they almost have an agreement that if one wins a major trophy the other can’t go without, like brothers fighting over a battered Mars Bar and big momma Glasgow comes and splits in half, perfectly even. This raises two points- 1) will they financially suffer from their sudden lack of success (presuming, as most people do, that they do become a mid-table duo for the time being) and would it be covered by their revised TV revenue income? 2) The hole they leave behind- Celtic and Rangers being put in the Premiership connotes that a team such as Hearts winning the SPL will give them that hollow feeling inside that is only rivalled by scoring a Cup winning goal but with your arse.
It’s insane to have these 2 in the Premiership, but it also seems equally insane to keep them in a league that is far too shallow for them. Stick them in France or something. If all else fails at least you’d get some very interesting food combinations.
Why? Surely it’s not of benefit to the English Premier Division to have two clubs from another league to join and make an already congested fixture list even harder to organise and piss Sir Alex off? And not just any fixtures- these will be fixtures that take fans to another country. Granted, it’s not exactly Timbuktu, but on the other hand it is bloody freezing up there. Even though Newcastle fans go to games semi-naked and see the words ‘below zero’ as a challenge and not a weather report, they might even have to draw the line. However, that’s if they’re even in the League at all…
Also, what if Celtic and Ranger’s first season(s) go disastrously wrong and they end up relegated? What then? Do we suddenly have a super-elite Championship that has Doncaster travelling to a team that beat AC Milan on their ground a couple of seasons ago? And will we be facing a Premiership that has been expanded to include them or a larger relegation zone the previous season to make room? A few fingernails would be left on stadium floors then, wouldn’t they?
Celtic and Rangers are used to success- it seems they almost have an agreement that if one wins a major trophy the other can’t go without, like brothers fighting over a battered Mars Bar and big momma Glasgow comes and splits in half, perfectly even. This raises two points- 1) will they financially suffer from their sudden lack of success (presuming, as most people do, that they do become a mid-table duo for the time being) and would it be covered by their revised TV revenue income? 2) The hole they leave behind- Celtic and Rangers being put in the Premiership connotes that a team such as Hearts winning the SPL will give them that hollow feeling inside that is only rivalled by scoring a Cup winning goal but with your arse.
It’s insane to have these 2 in the Premiership, but it also seems equally insane to keep them in a league that is far too shallow for them. Stick them in France or something. If all else fails at least you’d get some very interesting food combinations.
5 May 2009
Live Text: Arsenal vs. Manchester United, Champions League Semi-Final 2nd Leg
19.30 - Excited? I blooming am. Cecs Fabregas turned 22 yesterday, 4 days before I do in fact, and he is playing as captain of his team in the Champions League Semi-Final while I cover it, sitting in my dirty three-quarter lengths describing it. Funny how things work out, isn’t it? No Silvestre by the way for Arsenal, and Park is in for Manchester United. They will need him at his dog-like best.
19.32 - Jens Lehmann- yes, maybe the craziest man in the history of time- is a pundit for ITV. They really do pick them, don’t they? Steve Ryder presents, and along with Teddy Sheringham it makes the weirdest looking boy band you’ve ever seen in your life.
19.33 - Just thought of a name for them- ‘The Golden Age’. Andy Townsend is here as well, complete with orange complexion. Ryder looks like he’s listening but it’s hard to tell.
19.33 - Looks like it will be a cracking atmosphere (some would argue for the first time ever at the Emirates…) as ITV cut to their first break. I actually make that 2mins and 10secs. That’s horrific.
19.34 - I imagine Clive Tyldesley will be commentating tonight, so he’ll have woken up in his Man Utd pyjamas and kissed his Rooney poster before coming to the ground today. By the way, these BT adverts are sort of like a League 2 playoff game- plenty of people watching, but really it bears no resemblance to what it should do whatsoever. I think I lost that analogy about 20 words ago.
19.35 - Time for predictions. I actually think Arsenal will do it tonight. I’m saying 2-0 to the Gunners. Why? I don’t know. Tough to call though. However, if you want an English team to win the whole thing, who would you rather have play Barcelona should they beat Chelsea tomorrow- United or Arsenal? Hmm.
19.36 - Look at Fabregas, trying to out-beard Xabi Alonso. Pah.
19.38 - Sheringham has looked 40 for all his life, but he’s not a bad pundit you know. Ronaldo looks up for tonight, as does John O’Shea, who might turn out to be a match winner. We’re close now, time for another advert break one suspects. I’m excited to see if David Pleat’s numerous cries for help via commentary will continue tonight.
19.42 - Great noise as they take to the pitch. ITV keep us in suspense for the commentary team. My money’s on Jim Beglin.
19.44 - ‘The Chaaaaaaampioooooons’. It’s Jim and Clive tonight.
19.45 - We’re up and running. Just saw Kusciak smelling his jacket behind Fergusson. I notice the important things…
19.46 - Ronaldo seems to be a lone striker with Park and Rooney supporting and helping the midfield at the same time.
19.47 - Easy, Rio. Fabregas keeps a high tempo by taking a long shot from 20 yards, it hits Ferdinand and luckily bounces wide for a corner which comes to nothing as Van Der Sar is impeded. It’s firey already. Mary J. Blimey, I’m excited.
19.49 - Great noise as Arsenal play keep ball for a while. Fabregas plays absolutely brilliant football. Beyond all doubt, he’s a star.
19.50 - Rooney nearly finds Anderson with cute ball into the area after Ronaldo controls beautifully, but As it comes to nothing Arsenal break and Van Persie puts a dangerous ball into the box. Shame Walcott was the target…
19.52 - GOAL - ARSENAL 0 - 1 MANCHESTER UNITED. Stunner. Real, real stunner. And Kieran Gibbs is being consoled already after he slips trying to cut out a wonderfully weighted cut back and lets in Ji Sung Park- whi still had a lot to do. Gibbs looks angry with himself, Wenger looks even worse, but you know he wont be blaming anyone- not really his style. Arsenal need 3, and they had started the better side. Typical United though.
19.54 - United fans are singing in their corner of the ground as Gibbs looks nervous in a clearance. Last week he was solid, this week looks to have destroyed him somewhat. United free kick.
19.55 - GOAL - ARSENAL 0 - 2 MANCHESTER UNITED. Maybe the best free kick you will see this year. Ronaldo whacks it from, what, 30 yards, out on the left of Almunia’s goal, and catches the Spaniard off guard totally. To even suggest it was outlandish is a sign you don’t know Ronaldo. Looks all over, this. Unless…
19.57 - Many would say this result is what the first leg score should have been anyway. Are they letting out frustration? If so, Arsenal should be worried. Jim is trying to say the free kick was ‘soft’, but I think it was a clattering which would have been given by any referee. United have everyone back when Arsenal have the ball. It’s been a mismatch these last few minutes.
19.58 - Carrick, for all his ability, is one ugly little man. Like a ferret, but…not…
20.00 - This makes for quite a boring 70mins of football now, unless Arsenal can hit a couple before half time. Only time is on their side. Unfortunately Ronaldo is not.
20.01 - Great save. Really good save from Almunia as Rooney curls one from 25 yards, the bleach blonde goalkeeper getting fingertips to the massively un-marked United man. Rooney, ironically, looks like a cup more and more every time I see them.
20.03 - I bet Lehmann is close to exploding. But lead singer (Teddy) must be beaming. Clive must be orgasming.
20.05 - Clive just tried to say ‘eligible’ and came out with ‘elnigleilable’. There must be something wrong with him. There just must be.
20.06 - Since going 2-0 up, United have been incredible with their passing. But up until the goal they hadn’t really looked like creating much. Strange game. Anderson makes a rash challenge- but what do you expect? He looks like Blade.
20.08 - Fletcher, despite possessing absolutely no talent, has been excellent for United this season and tonight he has already stood out. But…come on…he’s only there because he’s Scottish, right? Right?
20.10 - I sense more goals and I’m going to try and spice things up by saying one of them will be an absolute screamer. Not sure from who, or even which side, but hey, I’m just trying to make something to play for here.
20.11 - Clive hits borderline racism by comparing Adebeyour to Samuel L Jackson. I cannot think of any other reason other than ethnicity. Crazy. Even Pleat would have thought better of it.
20.14 - What are Arsenal doing giving Ronaldo and Rooney so much space? It seems Wenger’s game plan was to concentrate on their own attacking without paying much attention to their back line’s job. They really have not pressed enough at all. I should be a football manager, clearly.
20.15 - Sagna, or in France ‘La Sagna’, goes in on Ronaldo. Got the ball but got a lot of player as well. Another free kick…
20.16 - Held by Almunia. Damn. Hyped that one up and everything.
20.17 - This is nothing like Liverpool vs. Chelsea (4-4) that I covered last time. And may I just say, thank the good Lord. I don’t think my television would cope with the drama, it’s pretty old.
20.20 - They are clattering Ronaldo. Kind of ‘if we can’t play in the final you can’t either’ sort of stuff. Arsenal are just rattled, in my opinion.
20.22 - If things stay like this, here is a list of things I would rather do than watch the rest of this game. 1) Watch Trevor Brooking in Celebrity Big Brother. 2) Listen to Dimitar Berbatov tell me why he is misunderstood as a lazy, sulking moron. 3) Watch Tottenham vs. West Brom again. 4) Listen to Clive talk about his favourite United moments. Wait, number 4 happens all the time anyway…
20.23 - 5) Eat sick.
20.24 - 6) Watch Richard Littlejohn try to conjure an article that is remotely reflective of contemporary society.
20.25 - All these ironic cheers from Arsenal fans for any decision given to them makes me hope they do not come up with some sort of 3rd party excuse for the way they have (surely) lost this game… they have been outplayed, totally.
20.29 - Good chance for Ronaldo, edge of the box effort that goes safely into Almunia’s hands. The build up, however, was simple yet brilliant.
20.30 - Half time - Arsenal 0 - 2 Manchester United.
Who’d have thought it? Well, depending on your leanings and depending on how much of a fantasist you are, you may well have. United, probably the world’s best club, undid Arsenal’s game plan within the space of 10 minutes. If Park’s goal was unfortunate for Gibbs and the Gunners, Ronaldo’s was nothing short of genius. Talented bastard. I’m off for my obligatory half time yoghurt.
HALF TIME - Hahahahahaha! 2 things- the first is that I’ve just seen Fergusson’s celebration. It’s just getting worse- he needs to be tied to a chair. Secondly, ever-wise Steve Ryder claims that it’s not bad enough to be beaten by a Ronaldo rocket, but to have your former team mate (and rival for your position) watching is ‘even worse’. Fantastic television. ITV have created a pearl in an ocean of disappointment.
HALF TIME - ‘Almunia’s moment’. Ryder is almost enjoying this. Ronaldo’s free kick was from 41 yards by the way, which funnily enough is about as far as Berbatov has run all season.
HALF TIME - Sorry, but why oh why oh why is Jens Lehmann in on this punditry? Arsenal…ok…Champions League…ok….um, I can’t lie to you, all I can think about is his sending off in the final. That’s it. Sorry.
HALF TIME - Wenger and his assistant (I want to say Pat Rice…?) look like an evil double act who live on a mountain in a terrible children’s show. And he has to call Wenger ‘le Master’ all the time, or else he gets beaten.
HALF TIME - A friend of mine on Facebook has offered this option via his status: ‘…still has hope... Let's 'black up' Arshavin and give him a shirt with Diaby and number 2 on the back! There we go, 4 goals!’ I half think he’s not joking, especially with that terminology. They would need more than Arshavin on the field to overturn this United performance. My prediction, as usual, has been terrible.
20.45 - The second half is underway, which must surely be a formality for United. Another goal from either side, please. Reckon I paying for moaning during the Liverpool vs. Chelsea game?
20.46 - Though not totally identical, the referee’s kit is similar in style and colour to United’s blue away kit. Had they lost this, that might have been a talking point (knowing Sir Alex). Rooney must come off soon- why risk him getting booked and missing the final?
20.48 - Sniffer dogs at the Emirates, on the middle tier of the stand on one side. Maybe searching for Arsenal’s defence. Oh, aren’t I a bitch?
20.50 - Arsenal are treading a fine line between ‘pressing’ football and total wipeout stuff. They’re goading United a bit, here. Whether that’s natural frustration or tactical business, I don’t know. Feet are being left in though.
20.51 - Very good save, again, from Ronaldo by Almunia. The winger drives inside and fires a low shot at Almunia’s near post but the Spaniard saves. Seconds later, he tips a miscued cross from Anderson over the bar.
20.52 - United have played with almost 5 different lone strikers tonight, so abundant is their attacking threat. If Ronaldo’s not bursting through, it’s Rooney, or Park, or Fletcher, or Anderson. Fantastic to watch, really.
20.54 - Sagna is fouled on the edge of the box. He goes down and his hair follows a couple of seconds later. Must take him absolutely bloody ages in the morning. Van Persie takes the free kick and whips it just wide of the post in a cross-cum-shot effort.
20.55 - Arsenal started the night needing 1 goal to give themselves a chance at glory and within 15 minutes they needed 4 before they could even think about winning the tie. That’s without conceding any more. We have seen close to a master class from United, and as Arsenal fly in with tackles they are showing how not to bow out gracefully. I wouldn’t mind, but they’ve created nothing, so they can’t be too frustrated that United are running away with this.
20.57 - Giggs is warming up by running up and down the touchline. Berbatov is sitting down and blinking rapidly. I assume he’s warming up too, then.
21.00 - GOAL - ARSENAL 0 - 3 MANCHESTER UNITED. Holy cake. That is football as it should be played. United, defending in their own box, clear to Ronaldo deep inside his own half. He flicks to Park who glides the ball wide for Rooney, who unselfishly squares perfectly in front of Djourou and Almunia to find Ronaldo in the gap to shoot into the roof of the net. I swear, Clive swooned when he watched the replay. If you can get hold of the highlights or something, listen to Clive swoon. I think I am, in fact. Unbelievable goal.
21.02 - Walcott comes off for Arsenal. Quiet game for the man with painted on sideburns.
21.03 - Van Persie exlodes on the edge of the box and hit’s a shot comfortably close to Van der Sar. Vidic is currently down, which must mean he’s been hit by a train, nothing less would knock him down.
21.05 - Arsenal have not been too bad in their midfield or even up front, even if the chances have not come their way, but their defence has simply let United play in front of them and, eventually, destroy them.
21.06 - Rooney is replaced, finally. He will play in Rome should nothing occur between now and 27th May, and he will deserve to make his second appearance in 2 years. He’s only 23.
21.07 - Clive says something worthwhile, telling Ronaldo to lay off the tricks to respect their fallen but still feisty opponents. He wont want to pick up a knock because of showboating.
21.08 - 20 minutes of Arsenal gunning for pride and United looking to embarrass. Either way, there wont be many Arsenal fans left to see it…it’s looking rather empty at the Emirates. At 0-3 down, you may say you don’t blame them, but they have been beaten by a much, much better team over both legs, and they have not done enough wrong to warrant a walk out. Seems a bit of a kop-out, you Gooner bunch.
21.12 - PENALTY
RED CARD
21.13 - Darren Fletcher brings down Cecs Fabregas in the box and heartbreakingly, the least talented man in the team misses the final after a top class season in which he has given his team everything. He is judged to be last man despite, at first glance, looking like he played the ball…
21.15 - GOAL ARSENAL 1 - 3 MANCHESTER UNITED. Van Persie puts the penalty away, quite superbly to be fair. But the talking point is Fletcher and his early bath. Wrong decision, by looks of things. Wrong decision entirely. Even though I mock him, that is truly horrible for him, but you know Paul Scholes will have some wise words.
21.17 - Just seen it again, and it’s totally wrong. Many similarities to another terrible penalty decision involving Manchester United against Spurs but this is just a little different, you might say…
21.19 - Why do I feel sorry for Darren Fletcher?!?
21.20 - Arsenal, now a man up, could have done with that about half an hour ago. Time to close the game out for United, time for Arsenal to try and put some bums on seats.
21.22 - Arsenal showing some spirit now. Unbelievable, Wenger should be fuming. Fabregas shoots just wide after his free kick is blocked by the United wall. Do this in the first half and you have a game on your hands. Although, Adebayour had just run his studs down Carrick’s ankle, the prick. Surely even if you make contact with the ball it would stunt your movement? Crazy, and no excuses.
21.25 - Fabregas could have produced a lively conclusion but just guides it into Van der Sar’s hands. Apart from picking the ball out of the net, the Dutch goalkeeper hasn’t had anything to do.
21.26 - Whistle? Please? Starting to consider the Trevor Brooking idea.
21.26 - Amazing strike from Ronaldo from a free kick in much the same position that his first goal came from. He goes for the top corner this time, just firing it over. If Almunia got his hand to that one he would have gone with it.
21.27 - Clive reminds us that these two meet in the league in 11 days. Tasty.
21.28 - And then Clive goes and says that Ronaldo is ‘not afraid to shoot’ after he shoots over from another free kick. Thanks, Clive, his 65 goals in 2 seasons so far has not taught me anything, you know.
21.29 - Seconds left. Man of the Match is surely Ronaldo, but really it should go to the entire front 3. They have been excellent.
21.30 - Vela has come on, but not this very minute. He sneaked on some time ago. Pay attention, Hayward.
21.31 - FULL TIME - ARSENAL 1 MANCHESTER UNITED 3 (AGG 1-4)
Great game, and a tie summed up in United’s 3rd goal tonight- I.e. total dominance from the Red Devils. Arsenal struggled to contain their opponents as well as becoming frustrated in front of goal, and it shows that a couple of individual mistakes in a cup competition will cost you, and cost you dear. Arsenal finish another season without a trophy- how long will it be before Wenger starts to feel the Chairman’s breath on the back of his neck? Unthinkable, (you may think…)
19.32 - Jens Lehmann- yes, maybe the craziest man in the history of time- is a pundit for ITV. They really do pick them, don’t they? Steve Ryder presents, and along with Teddy Sheringham it makes the weirdest looking boy band you’ve ever seen in your life.
19.33 - Just thought of a name for them- ‘The Golden Age’. Andy Townsend is here as well, complete with orange complexion. Ryder looks like he’s listening but it’s hard to tell.
19.33 - Looks like it will be a cracking atmosphere (some would argue for the first time ever at the Emirates…) as ITV cut to their first break. I actually make that 2mins and 10secs. That’s horrific.
19.34 - I imagine Clive Tyldesley will be commentating tonight, so he’ll have woken up in his Man Utd pyjamas and kissed his Rooney poster before coming to the ground today. By the way, these BT adverts are sort of like a League 2 playoff game- plenty of people watching, but really it bears no resemblance to what it should do whatsoever. I think I lost that analogy about 20 words ago.
19.35 - Time for predictions. I actually think Arsenal will do it tonight. I’m saying 2-0 to the Gunners. Why? I don’t know. Tough to call though. However, if you want an English team to win the whole thing, who would you rather have play Barcelona should they beat Chelsea tomorrow- United or Arsenal? Hmm.
19.36 - Look at Fabregas, trying to out-beard Xabi Alonso. Pah.
19.38 - Sheringham has looked 40 for all his life, but he’s not a bad pundit you know. Ronaldo looks up for tonight, as does John O’Shea, who might turn out to be a match winner. We’re close now, time for another advert break one suspects. I’m excited to see if David Pleat’s numerous cries for help via commentary will continue tonight.
19.42 - Great noise as they take to the pitch. ITV keep us in suspense for the commentary team. My money’s on Jim Beglin.
19.44 - ‘The Chaaaaaaampioooooons’. It’s Jim and Clive tonight.
19.45 - We’re up and running. Just saw Kusciak smelling his jacket behind Fergusson. I notice the important things…
19.46 - Ronaldo seems to be a lone striker with Park and Rooney supporting and helping the midfield at the same time.
19.47 - Easy, Rio. Fabregas keeps a high tempo by taking a long shot from 20 yards, it hits Ferdinand and luckily bounces wide for a corner which comes to nothing as Van Der Sar is impeded. It’s firey already. Mary J. Blimey, I’m excited.
19.49 - Great noise as Arsenal play keep ball for a while. Fabregas plays absolutely brilliant football. Beyond all doubt, he’s a star.
19.50 - Rooney nearly finds Anderson with cute ball into the area after Ronaldo controls beautifully, but As it comes to nothing Arsenal break and Van Persie puts a dangerous ball into the box. Shame Walcott was the target…
19.52 - GOAL - ARSENAL 0 - 1 MANCHESTER UNITED. Stunner. Real, real stunner. And Kieran Gibbs is being consoled already after he slips trying to cut out a wonderfully weighted cut back and lets in Ji Sung Park- whi still had a lot to do. Gibbs looks angry with himself, Wenger looks even worse, but you know he wont be blaming anyone- not really his style. Arsenal need 3, and they had started the better side. Typical United though.
19.54 - United fans are singing in their corner of the ground as Gibbs looks nervous in a clearance. Last week he was solid, this week looks to have destroyed him somewhat. United free kick.
19.55 - GOAL - ARSENAL 0 - 2 MANCHESTER UNITED. Maybe the best free kick you will see this year. Ronaldo whacks it from, what, 30 yards, out on the left of Almunia’s goal, and catches the Spaniard off guard totally. To even suggest it was outlandish is a sign you don’t know Ronaldo. Looks all over, this. Unless…
19.57 - Many would say this result is what the first leg score should have been anyway. Are they letting out frustration? If so, Arsenal should be worried. Jim is trying to say the free kick was ‘soft’, but I think it was a clattering which would have been given by any referee. United have everyone back when Arsenal have the ball. It’s been a mismatch these last few minutes.
19.58 - Carrick, for all his ability, is one ugly little man. Like a ferret, but…not…
20.00 - This makes for quite a boring 70mins of football now, unless Arsenal can hit a couple before half time. Only time is on their side. Unfortunately Ronaldo is not.
20.01 - Great save. Really good save from Almunia as Rooney curls one from 25 yards, the bleach blonde goalkeeper getting fingertips to the massively un-marked United man. Rooney, ironically, looks like a cup more and more every time I see them.
20.03 - I bet Lehmann is close to exploding. But lead singer (Teddy) must be beaming. Clive must be orgasming.
20.05 - Clive just tried to say ‘eligible’ and came out with ‘elnigleilable’. There must be something wrong with him. There just must be.
20.06 - Since going 2-0 up, United have been incredible with their passing. But up until the goal they hadn’t really looked like creating much. Strange game. Anderson makes a rash challenge- but what do you expect? He looks like Blade.
20.08 - Fletcher, despite possessing absolutely no talent, has been excellent for United this season and tonight he has already stood out. But…come on…he’s only there because he’s Scottish, right? Right?
20.10 - I sense more goals and I’m going to try and spice things up by saying one of them will be an absolute screamer. Not sure from who, or even which side, but hey, I’m just trying to make something to play for here.
20.11 - Clive hits borderline racism by comparing Adebeyour to Samuel L Jackson. I cannot think of any other reason other than ethnicity. Crazy. Even Pleat would have thought better of it.
20.14 - What are Arsenal doing giving Ronaldo and Rooney so much space? It seems Wenger’s game plan was to concentrate on their own attacking without paying much attention to their back line’s job. They really have not pressed enough at all. I should be a football manager, clearly.
20.15 - Sagna, or in France ‘La Sagna’, goes in on Ronaldo. Got the ball but got a lot of player as well. Another free kick…
20.16 - Held by Almunia. Damn. Hyped that one up and everything.
20.17 - This is nothing like Liverpool vs. Chelsea (4-4) that I covered last time. And may I just say, thank the good Lord. I don’t think my television would cope with the drama, it’s pretty old.
20.20 - They are clattering Ronaldo. Kind of ‘if we can’t play in the final you can’t either’ sort of stuff. Arsenal are just rattled, in my opinion.
20.22 - If things stay like this, here is a list of things I would rather do than watch the rest of this game. 1) Watch Trevor Brooking in Celebrity Big Brother. 2) Listen to Dimitar Berbatov tell me why he is misunderstood as a lazy, sulking moron. 3) Watch Tottenham vs. West Brom again. 4) Listen to Clive talk about his favourite United moments. Wait, number 4 happens all the time anyway…
20.23 - 5) Eat sick.
20.24 - 6) Watch Richard Littlejohn try to conjure an article that is remotely reflective of contemporary society.
20.25 - All these ironic cheers from Arsenal fans for any decision given to them makes me hope they do not come up with some sort of 3rd party excuse for the way they have (surely) lost this game… they have been outplayed, totally.
20.29 - Good chance for Ronaldo, edge of the box effort that goes safely into Almunia’s hands. The build up, however, was simple yet brilliant.
20.30 - Half time - Arsenal 0 - 2 Manchester United.
Who’d have thought it? Well, depending on your leanings and depending on how much of a fantasist you are, you may well have. United, probably the world’s best club, undid Arsenal’s game plan within the space of 10 minutes. If Park’s goal was unfortunate for Gibbs and the Gunners, Ronaldo’s was nothing short of genius. Talented bastard. I’m off for my obligatory half time yoghurt.
HALF TIME - Hahahahahaha! 2 things- the first is that I’ve just seen Fergusson’s celebration. It’s just getting worse- he needs to be tied to a chair. Secondly, ever-wise Steve Ryder claims that it’s not bad enough to be beaten by a Ronaldo rocket, but to have your former team mate (and rival for your position) watching is ‘even worse’. Fantastic television. ITV have created a pearl in an ocean of disappointment.
HALF TIME - ‘Almunia’s moment’. Ryder is almost enjoying this. Ronaldo’s free kick was from 41 yards by the way, which funnily enough is about as far as Berbatov has run all season.
HALF TIME - Sorry, but why oh why oh why is Jens Lehmann in on this punditry? Arsenal…ok…Champions League…ok….um, I can’t lie to you, all I can think about is his sending off in the final. That’s it. Sorry.
HALF TIME - Wenger and his assistant (I want to say Pat Rice…?) look like an evil double act who live on a mountain in a terrible children’s show. And he has to call Wenger ‘le Master’ all the time, or else he gets beaten.
HALF TIME - A friend of mine on Facebook has offered this option via his status: ‘…still has hope... Let's 'black up' Arshavin and give him a shirt with Diaby and number 2 on the back! There we go, 4 goals!’ I half think he’s not joking, especially with that terminology. They would need more than Arshavin on the field to overturn this United performance. My prediction, as usual, has been terrible.
20.45 - The second half is underway, which must surely be a formality for United. Another goal from either side, please. Reckon I paying for moaning during the Liverpool vs. Chelsea game?
20.46 - Though not totally identical, the referee’s kit is similar in style and colour to United’s blue away kit. Had they lost this, that might have been a talking point (knowing Sir Alex). Rooney must come off soon- why risk him getting booked and missing the final?
20.48 - Sniffer dogs at the Emirates, on the middle tier of the stand on one side. Maybe searching for Arsenal’s defence. Oh, aren’t I a bitch?
20.50 - Arsenal are treading a fine line between ‘pressing’ football and total wipeout stuff. They’re goading United a bit, here. Whether that’s natural frustration or tactical business, I don’t know. Feet are being left in though.
20.51 - Very good save, again, from Ronaldo by Almunia. The winger drives inside and fires a low shot at Almunia’s near post but the Spaniard saves. Seconds later, he tips a miscued cross from Anderson over the bar.
20.52 - United have played with almost 5 different lone strikers tonight, so abundant is their attacking threat. If Ronaldo’s not bursting through, it’s Rooney, or Park, or Fletcher, or Anderson. Fantastic to watch, really.
20.54 - Sagna is fouled on the edge of the box. He goes down and his hair follows a couple of seconds later. Must take him absolutely bloody ages in the morning. Van Persie takes the free kick and whips it just wide of the post in a cross-cum-shot effort.
20.55 - Arsenal started the night needing 1 goal to give themselves a chance at glory and within 15 minutes they needed 4 before they could even think about winning the tie. That’s without conceding any more. We have seen close to a master class from United, and as Arsenal fly in with tackles they are showing how not to bow out gracefully. I wouldn’t mind, but they’ve created nothing, so they can’t be too frustrated that United are running away with this.
20.57 - Giggs is warming up by running up and down the touchline. Berbatov is sitting down and blinking rapidly. I assume he’s warming up too, then.
21.00 - GOAL - ARSENAL 0 - 3 MANCHESTER UNITED. Holy cake. That is football as it should be played. United, defending in their own box, clear to Ronaldo deep inside his own half. He flicks to Park who glides the ball wide for Rooney, who unselfishly squares perfectly in front of Djourou and Almunia to find Ronaldo in the gap to shoot into the roof of the net. I swear, Clive swooned when he watched the replay. If you can get hold of the highlights or something, listen to Clive swoon. I think I am, in fact. Unbelievable goal.
21.02 - Walcott comes off for Arsenal. Quiet game for the man with painted on sideburns.
21.03 - Van Persie exlodes on the edge of the box and hit’s a shot comfortably close to Van der Sar. Vidic is currently down, which must mean he’s been hit by a train, nothing less would knock him down.
21.05 - Arsenal have not been too bad in their midfield or even up front, even if the chances have not come their way, but their defence has simply let United play in front of them and, eventually, destroy them.
21.06 - Rooney is replaced, finally. He will play in Rome should nothing occur between now and 27th May, and he will deserve to make his second appearance in 2 years. He’s only 23.
21.07 - Clive says something worthwhile, telling Ronaldo to lay off the tricks to respect their fallen but still feisty opponents. He wont want to pick up a knock because of showboating.
21.08 - 20 minutes of Arsenal gunning for pride and United looking to embarrass. Either way, there wont be many Arsenal fans left to see it…it’s looking rather empty at the Emirates. At 0-3 down, you may say you don’t blame them, but they have been beaten by a much, much better team over both legs, and they have not done enough wrong to warrant a walk out. Seems a bit of a kop-out, you Gooner bunch.
21.12 - PENALTY
RED CARD
21.13 - Darren Fletcher brings down Cecs Fabregas in the box and heartbreakingly, the least talented man in the team misses the final after a top class season in which he has given his team everything. He is judged to be last man despite, at first glance, looking like he played the ball…
21.15 - GOAL ARSENAL 1 - 3 MANCHESTER UNITED. Van Persie puts the penalty away, quite superbly to be fair. But the talking point is Fletcher and his early bath. Wrong decision, by looks of things. Wrong decision entirely. Even though I mock him, that is truly horrible for him, but you know Paul Scholes will have some wise words.
21.17 - Just seen it again, and it’s totally wrong. Many similarities to another terrible penalty decision involving Manchester United against Spurs but this is just a little different, you might say…
21.19 - Why do I feel sorry for Darren Fletcher?!?
21.20 - Arsenal, now a man up, could have done with that about half an hour ago. Time to close the game out for United, time for Arsenal to try and put some bums on seats.
21.22 - Arsenal showing some spirit now. Unbelievable, Wenger should be fuming. Fabregas shoots just wide after his free kick is blocked by the United wall. Do this in the first half and you have a game on your hands. Although, Adebayour had just run his studs down Carrick’s ankle, the prick. Surely even if you make contact with the ball it would stunt your movement? Crazy, and no excuses.
21.25 - Fabregas could have produced a lively conclusion but just guides it into Van der Sar’s hands. Apart from picking the ball out of the net, the Dutch goalkeeper hasn’t had anything to do.
21.26 - Whistle? Please? Starting to consider the Trevor Brooking idea.
21.26 - Amazing strike from Ronaldo from a free kick in much the same position that his first goal came from. He goes for the top corner this time, just firing it over. If Almunia got his hand to that one he would have gone with it.
21.27 - Clive reminds us that these two meet in the league in 11 days. Tasty.
21.28 - And then Clive goes and says that Ronaldo is ‘not afraid to shoot’ after he shoots over from another free kick. Thanks, Clive, his 65 goals in 2 seasons so far has not taught me anything, you know.
21.29 - Seconds left. Man of the Match is surely Ronaldo, but really it should go to the entire front 3. They have been excellent.
21.30 - Vela has come on, but not this very minute. He sneaked on some time ago. Pay attention, Hayward.
21.31 - FULL TIME - ARSENAL 1 MANCHESTER UNITED 3 (AGG 1-4)
Great game, and a tie summed up in United’s 3rd goal tonight- I.e. total dominance from the Red Devils. Arsenal struggled to contain their opponents as well as becoming frustrated in front of goal, and it shows that a couple of individual mistakes in a cup competition will cost you, and cost you dear. Arsenal finish another season without a trophy- how long will it be before Wenger starts to feel the Chairman’s breath on the back of his neck? Unthinkable, (you may think…)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
