Firstly, I’d like to apologise for this week’s entry being posted on a Tuesday and not a Monday. I realise this flies in the face of the whole premise of the blog, but hopefully you will see from this entry that there is good reason as to why I wasn’t able to tap out this week’s look at the beautiful game yesterday.
That good reason is that I spent yesterday evening in the pub. On my own. I know what you’re thinking but I definitely don’t have a drink problem. However, I do have a particularly bad not-having-an-ESPN-subscription problem and my team are playing away and it’s live on said broadcaster.
Watching football is one of only two pastimes I can think of that are acceptable to do alone in a pub. The other is reading the paper on a Sunday afternoon, accompanied by a cold pint or two. Anything else is almost certainly a convenient way to mask a mild form of alcoholism.
An attack of lethargy brought on by the fact that it’s Monday night and I’m far from confident that my team will take anything from the game means I can only muster enough energy to stroll down to the pub at the end of the road – rather than meet friends slightly further afield.
The local is a welcoming place tonight, with plenty of customers decked out in the colours of my team. After buying a drink, I seek out the most appropriate place for a man of 27 drinking on his own on a Monday night to sit. And by “most appropriate”, I obviously mean “least visible to others”.
As I’m slightly late and possibly as some kind of punishment for entering alone, the only seating position left is on a small stool placed just to the right of a huge plasma screen television. If it wasn’t for the fact that this seat is also placed in both touching and smelling distance of the men’s toilet, it would be a great spot.
Within two minutes of kick off my team are 1-0 down. Within five minutes it should be 2-0, and within 10 it could easily have been 4-0. Things are not going to plan and while I promised myself I would keep my head down and not draw attention to myself, my team are playing so abysmally that I’ve already stood from my stool and sworn loudly at the television a number of times.
Miraculously my team score against the run of play, and I’m one of many men who are on their feet and clapping footage of our striker celebrating. This feels a lot more comfortable. It doesn’t matter who you are down the pub with when you’re team scores – we’re all in this together right?
Not quite. The home side regain the lead and the pub puts it's collective head down. I look around, theatrically shaking my head and wording things like “shambles” to try and prompt some response from my fellow fans. It’s to no avail though, and everyone returns to their conversations – safe in the knowledge that our team will be collecting no points tonight.
Despite having an equaliser wrongly chalked off for a foul, my team are never really in the game again and the home side finish us off with a third goal – owed much to some comical defending on our part.
As the game draws to a close, a well oiled regular stops his charge to the toilet to address the corner of the pub where I’m positioned and ask who supports my team. I’m not in the mood to talk at this point, especially to a man who looks like he has actually enjoyed himself whilst this farce is played out on the screen. But given that he is little more than a yard away from me and staring straight at my face, ignoring him is not really an option.
Ignore him I do though, hoping he will be disheartened by the lukewarm response his question garnered and continue towards the toilet. Aptly enough for a night when most things go wrong, he asks again – this time addressing me specifically. As painful as it is, I admit to supporting my team and he rightly takes issue with me ignoring him originally. Great, a thumping defeat for my team and now the potential for an actual thumping for me.
The man sees I am broken already and offers the correct but insignificant consolation that our second goal should have stood. I agree and offer a half-hearted “never mind though” before exiting the pub as the referee blows the final whistle.
It’s not been an enjoyable night. I trudge back to my flat with my hands in my pockets, already working on a plan to convince my flatmates to subscribe to ESPN - thus saving me from having to suffer this indignity again.
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Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Monday, 21 September 2009
The times they are a changing
Football has changed they say. Our national game is apparently now almost unrecognisable from the one played before the Premier League brought us such innovations as inflatable giant wrestlers way back in 1992.
The summer spending sprees of Manchester City and Real Madrid have heightened people’s perception of how much the game has changed. The sums paid for and to players now are astronomical. How can a fan empathise with his hero when that said hero is pocketing £90k per week regardless of whether his crucial penalty goes in or not?
English teams are now awash with foreign mercenaries who care more about their next transfer than where their next goal is coming from. They are charged with stunting the development of good English players, who are seemingly not getting the chance to show their ability at clubs they love and would die for.
Diving and play acting have also spread through the game like a cancer – supposedly shattering the image of England as country where fair play prevails. And football is also apparently less competitive than it ever was. The same four clubs compete for the domestic trophies year on year, whilst only a handful of Europe’s biggest clubs ever get to put their hands on a European trophy.
But let’s put the rose tinted spectacles back in the case and wipe the mist from our eyes for a second. Has the game really changed that much?
If you were to attend a premier league game, knowing none of the players and with only their numbers on their backs to identify them, you would find a game very similar if not almost identical to the one played pre-Sky TV. The backpass rule aside, the rules have barely changed and the game remains a contest between two teams of eleven men trying to score more goals than their opponents.
Most of the changes that have been made have been focussed more on the commercial and administrative side of the game than what actually happens on the pitch within 90 minutes (or 97 if you’re playing at Old Trafford). Many of them, such as improved stadia, have actually benefited football. Some, such as the weekend’s fixtures being routinely split over Saturday and Sunday, have not.
Players are still asked to do the same things on the pitch, regardless of how much they have in their bank accounts. Goals are still scored in the same way as they were, and in the most part, the same fouls are still against the rules.
The changes to the game that really rankle with me are the ones that make very little the actual game. Their objective is not to change the outcome of football matches, nor what actually goes on between the two goal frames for 90 minutes. No, these changes have been made purely to instigate an onset of nostalgia – bizarrely making me hanker for a time when my team played in the second division and fans fought on the terraces.
These are the things that shaped my experience of football. They prepared me for a lifetime of devotion to something I have no control over, and that ultimately leaves me disappointed. They are the things I miss when I think of the game I grew up with:
Really unprofessional non-league clubs in the FA Cup
The third round of the FA Cup was always when the season got interesting. Non-league teams facing top flight opponents really were from different worlds in days gone by. The amateurs would be a rag bag bunch of postmen, milkmen and people from any other profession that involves getting up early. The manager would wear a 50 year-old coat and keep an odd superstition like letting his dog sit in the dugout for every game. These days, their kits are made by Adidas, there’s at least 75% of the pitch covered in grass and the manager talks of “tactics” in his pre-match interview.
Whistling for time
Before the use of electronic boards to let teams know how much injury time was to be played, the fans of whoever was winning or in my own experience, desperately hanging on for a draw, would loudly whistle from 88 minutes onwards to encourage the referee to call time on the game. Once he went past the 90th minute, we were entering the unknown. The next kick could be the last, or there might still be time for your team to snatch a vital victory. You could be playing for a second, or seemingly all night. Nowadays, unless the figure “4” comes up on that board, you instantly know you might as well head for the car.
Cold war football
Whilst communism reigned supreme over Eastern Europe, there was something alluring about football clubs like Sparta Prague, Dynamo Moscow and Steaua Bucharest. We knew nothing of their players, yet suspected everything. They were often very talented teams who played in hostile environments. Muffled commentary would make it seem as though the games were being played on another planet, and the pictures seemed to confirm it. Now, thanks to the exhaustive Champions League coverage, we know all about these teams and to be honest, most of them are actually quite rubbish.
Evening kick offs
Is it me or do we play less games of an evening now? I seem to remember West Ham playing their fixtures during the 89/90 season exclusively at night. Perhaps it was an experiment by the league to see if evening football would create a less aggressive atmosphere for the hooligans get caught up in? Whatever it was, floodlit football seems to now only be the preserve of the Champions League elite and the entrants for the LDV Vans trophy (it is still called that right?).
The summer spending sprees of Manchester City and Real Madrid have heightened people’s perception of how much the game has changed. The sums paid for and to players now are astronomical. How can a fan empathise with his hero when that said hero is pocketing £90k per week regardless of whether his crucial penalty goes in or not?
English teams are now awash with foreign mercenaries who care more about their next transfer than where their next goal is coming from. They are charged with stunting the development of good English players, who are seemingly not getting the chance to show their ability at clubs they love and would die for.
Diving and play acting have also spread through the game like a cancer – supposedly shattering the image of England as country where fair play prevails. And football is also apparently less competitive than it ever was. The same four clubs compete for the domestic trophies year on year, whilst only a handful of Europe’s biggest clubs ever get to put their hands on a European trophy.
But let’s put the rose tinted spectacles back in the case and wipe the mist from our eyes for a second. Has the game really changed that much?
If you were to attend a premier league game, knowing none of the players and with only their numbers on their backs to identify them, you would find a game very similar if not almost identical to the one played pre-Sky TV. The backpass rule aside, the rules have barely changed and the game remains a contest between two teams of eleven men trying to score more goals than their opponents.
Most of the changes that have been made have been focussed more on the commercial and administrative side of the game than what actually happens on the pitch within 90 minutes (or 97 if you’re playing at Old Trafford). Many of them, such as improved stadia, have actually benefited football. Some, such as the weekend’s fixtures being routinely split over Saturday and Sunday, have not.
Players are still asked to do the same things on the pitch, regardless of how much they have in their bank accounts. Goals are still scored in the same way as they were, and in the most part, the same fouls are still against the rules.
The changes to the game that really rankle with me are the ones that make very little the actual game. Their objective is not to change the outcome of football matches, nor what actually goes on between the two goal frames for 90 minutes. No, these changes have been made purely to instigate an onset of nostalgia – bizarrely making me hanker for a time when my team played in the second division and fans fought on the terraces.
These are the things that shaped my experience of football. They prepared me for a lifetime of devotion to something I have no control over, and that ultimately leaves me disappointed. They are the things I miss when I think of the game I grew up with:
Really unprofessional non-league clubs in the FA Cup
The third round of the FA Cup was always when the season got interesting. Non-league teams facing top flight opponents really were from different worlds in days gone by. The amateurs would be a rag bag bunch of postmen, milkmen and people from any other profession that involves getting up early. The manager would wear a 50 year-old coat and keep an odd superstition like letting his dog sit in the dugout for every game. These days, their kits are made by Adidas, there’s at least 75% of the pitch covered in grass and the manager talks of “tactics” in his pre-match interview.
Whistling for time
Before the use of electronic boards to let teams know how much injury time was to be played, the fans of whoever was winning or in my own experience, desperately hanging on for a draw, would loudly whistle from 88 minutes onwards to encourage the referee to call time on the game. Once he went past the 90th minute, we were entering the unknown. The next kick could be the last, or there might still be time for your team to snatch a vital victory. You could be playing for a second, or seemingly all night. Nowadays, unless the figure “4” comes up on that board, you instantly know you might as well head for the car.
Cold war football
Whilst communism reigned supreme over Eastern Europe, there was something alluring about football clubs like Sparta Prague, Dynamo Moscow and Steaua Bucharest. We knew nothing of their players, yet suspected everything. They were often very talented teams who played in hostile environments. Muffled commentary would make it seem as though the games were being played on another planet, and the pictures seemed to confirm it. Now, thanks to the exhaustive Champions League coverage, we know all about these teams and to be honest, most of them are actually quite rubbish.
Evening kick offs
Is it me or do we play less games of an evening now? I seem to remember West Ham playing their fixtures during the 89/90 season exclusively at night. Perhaps it was an experiment by the league to see if evening football would create a less aggressive atmosphere for the hooligans get caught up in? Whatever it was, floodlit football seems to now only be the preserve of the Champions League elite and the entrants for the LDV Vans trophy (it is still called that right?).
Monday, 14 September 2009
Proceed, but with caution
England are going to win the world cup in South Africa next year. That is not an opinion, that is a fact my friends. Well, if you believe the man on the street, the journalist in the paper and the expert in the studio that is.
Having defeated a Croatia team with consummate ease last week, the England team is enjoying an unprecedented level of praise from its fans - who for the record are some of the hardest to please in the football world. Most, if not every England fan now firmly believes that the only possible outcome from next year’s tournament is an England victory.
With the tournament being played in an English speaking country and in a winter climate, the thinking is that England will never have a better chance to emulate the likes of Sir Geoff Hurst and the late Bobby Moore. Key players will be reaching their prime, and there is genuine competition for places from 1 to 11.
But does all this translate into England having a genuine chance of bringing home the ultimate prize? Or are they simply reasons for us to chastise our players even more if the seemingly inevitable happens and they return to Heathrow with tear-stained faces having been eliminated in the quarter finals on penalties by Portugal/Germany/Argentina (delete as appropriate).
The truth is we are a good side, with “good” being the operative word. We may have qualified with two games to spare and without dropping a single point, but being paired against the likes of Kazakhstan, Andorra and Belarus meant we weren’t exactly tasked with negotiating our way out of the group of death.
Other teams such as Holland, Spain and Germany have performed similarly well and will all go to South Africa with high hopes of winning the tournament. Brazil and Argentina (should they realise appointing Diego Maradona as coach was not exactly their smartest move and replace him in time to rescue their qualification campaign) will also be expecting an appearance in the final at least.
England can live with these teams, heck, they can probably even beat some of them. But beating Croatia and Slovenia in the space of four days doesn’t guarantee us victories against all other nations.
Those two victories have lured the nation into a false sense of security. Haven’t we learnt that the English national team has a capacity to disappoint like no other? The team almost exists for the sole purpose of disappointing people. It serves thousands of fans the lethal cocktail of just the right amount of hope, topped off with ultimate despair.
Yet we now believe we are invincible. Like a lager-fuelled moron in some suburban branch of Brannigans, we are slamming down our pints, holding our arms aloft and screaming “Come on then, I’ll take you all on, every single one of you” to the football world. Taking this naïve attitude to the world cup will, if we’re not careful, result in us being given a bloody nose- probably from the iron fist of Germany or the handbag of Argentina.
There are around nine months to the world cup and in that time Fabio Capello will look to build on the excellent improvements he has already made to the team. We have made a great deal of progress since the Italian took over, and even as it stands we will go to South Africa as one of the favourites.
We are playing well and have strength in depth, but this will not guarantee success. We will face stiff competition, and who knows how many of our squad will be nursing broken metatarsals come June.
The good thing is that unlike Sven Goran Eriksson during the last world cup, Capello is unlikely to let his squad talk of winning the thing. There will be nothing coming out of the England camp that suggests the folks back home should expect , not hope England win the tournament.
Capello will be calm, methodical and measured. The message will be clear - proceed, but with caution.
Having defeated a Croatia team with consummate ease last week, the England team is enjoying an unprecedented level of praise from its fans - who for the record are some of the hardest to please in the football world. Most, if not every England fan now firmly believes that the only possible outcome from next year’s tournament is an England victory.
With the tournament being played in an English speaking country and in a winter climate, the thinking is that England will never have a better chance to emulate the likes of Sir Geoff Hurst and the late Bobby Moore. Key players will be reaching their prime, and there is genuine competition for places from 1 to 11.
But does all this translate into England having a genuine chance of bringing home the ultimate prize? Or are they simply reasons for us to chastise our players even more if the seemingly inevitable happens and they return to Heathrow with tear-stained faces having been eliminated in the quarter finals on penalties by Portugal/Germany/Argentina (delete as appropriate).
The truth is we are a good side, with “good” being the operative word. We may have qualified with two games to spare and without dropping a single point, but being paired against the likes of Kazakhstan, Andorra and Belarus meant we weren’t exactly tasked with negotiating our way out of the group of death.
Other teams such as Holland, Spain and Germany have performed similarly well and will all go to South Africa with high hopes of winning the tournament. Brazil and Argentina (should they realise appointing Diego Maradona as coach was not exactly their smartest move and replace him in time to rescue their qualification campaign) will also be expecting an appearance in the final at least.
England can live with these teams, heck, they can probably even beat some of them. But beating Croatia and Slovenia in the space of four days doesn’t guarantee us victories against all other nations.
Those two victories have lured the nation into a false sense of security. Haven’t we learnt that the English national team has a capacity to disappoint like no other? The team almost exists for the sole purpose of disappointing people. It serves thousands of fans the lethal cocktail of just the right amount of hope, topped off with ultimate despair.
Yet we now believe we are invincible. Like a lager-fuelled moron in some suburban branch of Brannigans, we are slamming down our pints, holding our arms aloft and screaming “Come on then, I’ll take you all on, every single one of you” to the football world. Taking this naïve attitude to the world cup will, if we’re not careful, result in us being given a bloody nose- probably from the iron fist of Germany or the handbag of Argentina.
There are around nine months to the world cup and in that time Fabio Capello will look to build on the excellent improvements he has already made to the team. We have made a great deal of progress since the Italian took over, and even as it stands we will go to South Africa as one of the favourites.
We are playing well and have strength in depth, but this will not guarantee success. We will face stiff competition, and who knows how many of our squad will be nursing broken metatarsals come June.
The good thing is that unlike Sven Goran Eriksson during the last world cup, Capello is unlikely to let his squad talk of winning the thing. There will be nothing coming out of the England camp that suggests the folks back home should expect , not hope England win the tournament.
Capello will be calm, methodical and measured. The message will be clear - proceed, but with caution.
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