Ian Stone - The Unbearable Lightness of Being an England Fan

Why are we only slightly better Than Slovenia?

2010-06-29T09:58:00.002+01:00

Until Sunday afternoon, the players in the England team, playing weekly at the top level in the Premier League and Champions League and getting paid millions of pounds a year, suffered from an enormous, collective gap of delusion. (Essentially, the difference between how good one thinks one is at something and how good one actually is. In order to maintain a satisfactory level of performance and also a modicum of sanity, the important thing is to keep that gap as small as possible). No more. You’d hope that with their humiliation at the hands of Germany the realization might finally have dawned on them that we are, as a footballing nation, only slightly better than Slovenia. The first time we had to face decent opposition, we were outclassed. They were younger, fitter and had more imagination, more heart, more team spirit and more skill. And they probably won’t even come close to winning the trophy.

Yes, Frank Lampards goal that wasn’t a goal was a joke. In a global football tournament, watched by billions of people, each and every one of whom knows that the ball was over the line, how ridiculous is it to play on knowing that the score is wrong? Rugby tennis and cricket use video technology. But not football. Consequently, England had to chase the game and were punished for pushing too far forward. But even allowing for that, does anyone really think that if we were level at half time, England would have won? And even if they had, would they have beaten Argentina? (My son who is eight years old said today that he was sort of relieved that we’d lost yesterday because he thought we’d have been “really mushed” by Argentina).

In the end, I think everyone now knows that we’re nowhere near good enough to win the world cup and if things don’t change we never will be. I got two calls from Canadian friends (I happen to like Canadians) who both questioned the wisdom, when two goals down, of bringing on a man (Emile Heskey) who can’t score. When Canadians can spot the basic flaw in our football tactics, I think we’re in trouble.

But why are we only slightly better than Slovenia? How has it come to this? We won the world cup in 1966, we probably should have at least got to the final in 1970 and we came close to beating the eventual champions in 1986 and 1990. Since then, aside from 1994 when we didn’t qualify, we’ve been knocked out twice in the second round and twice in the quarter finals. And on the evidence of the Germany game things seem to be getting worse.

Is it tiredness? Are there too many games in the Premier League meaning that the players arrive worn out before the tournament starts? They certainly looked knackered on Sunday but then one tends to get tired if you keep giving the ball away.

Is it because there are too many foreigners in the Premier League? Are our best players just not used to being on a football pitch, looking up and only having other English players to pass to? Does it scare them?

Is it the lack of flexibility? England played a fairly rigid 442 formation for the entire tournament. Was that because the manager felt that they couldn’t play any other way? Are they too stupid to do so? Do our footballers need to be brighter?

Is it because we have a foreign manager? We’ve tried both English and foreign managers and none of them have done particularly well recently. Is it time to look further afield? Are their alien life forms with solid tactical awareness and the relevant coaching badges? Are they available?

Is it because we invented football and we can’t get our heads round the fact that other countries, who’ve been playing it for less time than us are now better at it? Are we that insane?

Is it because of the way football is taught in England? Do the academies instill the correct values in our young players? Do they value grit and application over skill?

Is it the parents’ fault? Do all those dads think they’re helping their precious child’s development by screaming “get rid of it!” every time they get the ball? Is that really the best way to encourage possession football?

The answer to all these questions is probably yes. (Not the possession football question. That’s ironic sarcasm. And not the alien life forms bit. That was a joke.) But changing an entire football culture is not a simple thing especially where vested interests are concerned. Rupert Murdoch and the hype machines that are Sky Sports and The Premier League are no more interested in a successful England team than they are in the restoration of democracy in Burma. While the multi-million pound football industry continues to fund the wages of huge numbers of highly talented foreign players, English talent will be excluded and another generation of England fans will spend their hard earned cash watching the national team get soundly beaten by almost everyone. Assuming that we even qualify.

So what now? Well first let’s enjoy the rest of the world cup and some titanic matches between real football superpowers. Spain v Portugal, Holland v Brazil and Argentina v Germany. As for the England players, they’re on the plane home as I write this. I hope they’re in economy class. (If I lived near the airport, I’d go down there and boo. And I don’t care if Wayne Rooney likes it or not).

For the future, I do have one solution to the problem of the national team. We’ve tried foreign managers. I think it’s time to try foreign players. Germany’s line-up contained naturalized Poles, Turks and Brazilians. It’s time for England to do the same. I know the government is talking about limiting immigration but I just think we should limit it to countries that produce good footballers. We need some Brazilians. We can’t offer them decent weather or food but they’ll definitely get in the team. We just need to remind them to keep their heads down on the underground.

PS. I shall be discussing these issues further with Alan Davies and DJ Tayo on Armchair World Cup on sunday morning at 11am on Radio 5 Live

On My Head Son

2010-06-25T10:46:00.002+01:00

So we’re through to the last sixteen and it’s Germany next. Blimey. Sunday is going to be tense. Let’s face it, aside from 1966 (when we played all our games at home and also benefited from a decision from a Russian linesman who may possibly have lost half his family in the second world war and could well have held a slight grudge against the Germans), they’ve always gone further in world cups than us. Which doesn’t augur well.

On the other hand, Germany are a young team and experience often tells in major tournaments. The two finalists in 2006 had the oldest average age of any of the teams. Also, the match is being shown on the BBC and this can only aid our chances. We have a much higher win percentage on the BBC. It’s as if the players play better knowing that as soon as the half time whistle blows, the studio discussion begins. There are no commercial breaks in which to escape the horrible reality of a bad performance.

It’s also likely that we’ll play in all red, which as we now know is probably the colour that will take us to our first major trophy for forty-four years. We’re never happy in white apparently (except when we beat Germany 5-1 in Munich).

Most importantly, we have John Terry. Now while I’ve always had respect for our ex-captains football ability, he’s not exactly been a great role model what with the dodgy training ground dealings and the extra-marital affairs. But against Slovenia, he did something that made me look at him in a totally new light.

I always knew he was brave. But on Wednesday afternoon, ten minutes from the end of the game, he tried to stop a shot with his head. Not a cross or a Rory Delap type throw-in, both of which he’s dealt with a million times playing for club and country. This was a shot. A proper, foot through the ball, “get in there” shot. I don’t know anyone else in England who would try to stop one of those with their head. You can only admire courage like that and at that moment, I honestly thought we might have a chance of winning the trophy.

Of course if we do beat the Germans (and I’m prepared to renounce atheism and return into the arms of God if it’ll help), we’ll probably play Argentina. And then Spain. And then Brazil. And if England win those four games, not only do they deserve to be world champions but I would give every one of the players a six-month amnesty from legal proceedings for any minor criminal offence and grant them permission to take any woman in the country for their wife. Although some of them don’t seem to need permission.

Now I realise that promising England players the earth based on the scenario that they beat, in a row, four of the best teams in the world is hardly going out on a limb. It’s a bit like the way that retailers promised refunds on any major electrical items bought before the tournament if England won it.

But hey, this is a world cup full of surprises. Italy have just gone out of the competition having lost to Slovakia (I’m sure there are many people who didn’t even know that was a country). They finished a point below New Zealand in their group. Spain lost to Switzerland. Germany lost to Serbia. Why can’t the eighth best team in the world beat the teams ranked seventh, sixth, second and first in the world? In eighteen days. Without one of their first choice central defenders. Stranger things have happened. Two days ago, I saw a man try to stop a shot with his head.

Boredom

2010-06-21T15:46:00.002+01:00

The players are bored. Cooped up in five star luxury for weeks on end with nothing to do except train, eat and sleep. They’ve had enough. Which is handy because if they continue playing like they have done, they’ll be home by Thursday.

My children often tell me that they’re bored. Sometimes I provide them with things to do, sometimes they have to sort themselves out. One can’t be too hands on but sometimes they need a little help. A trip out to the park for a kick about followed by an ice cream often does the trick but this may prove less successful with the England Squad.

So here are some suggestions for them to keep themselves busy.

1) Practice passing. In fact practice any aspect of the game. They were having a lot of problems with some of the fundamentals on Friday evening. A little extra work would surely pay dividends.

2) Practice penalty kicks. Assuming they win on Wednesday (let’s just assume), we know this is going to be needed at some point. The chances of us winning four matches by the seemingly simple route of scoring more goals than the opposition are remote. Practicing penalties can’t hurt.

3) Read. Away from the training ground, there are any number of things that can help and reading is one of them. I know it’s a radical suggestion for footballers but it can be a very pleasant way to pass a couple of hours. But they should be creative. Something non-football related. Romantic comedies. Sci Fi. Chick Lit. Or one of those misery memoirs about someone who was locked in a cupboard for the first fourteen years of their life. Anything that reminds them that in reality, they’re an infinitesimally small part of the Universe and the world cup is not that important

4) Scrabble. Once they’ve read a book, they can put some of the new words they’ve learnt to practical use. To make it competitive, why not nominate the loser to be the one who has to ask Fabio to change the formation.

5) Drink. Not loads. Just a couple for one evening. They could have a small party and celebrate being one of the only unbeaten teams still left in the competition.

6) Fight. You know all that aggression that Steven Gerrard was talking about after the game on Friday? Why don’t they take it out on each other? There were plenty of moments against Algeria when they messed up. This would be their chance to exact some revenge for those misplaced passes.

7) Let the WAGS in. More importantly, only agree to them leaving when Fabio names the starting line-up. Either he lets them know whether they’re playing two days before the game or the girls aren’t going anywhere. Whatever, a couple of days of unbridled sex should keep them busy. But they need to take turns keeping an eye on John Terry.

8) Drive the players to one of the rougher parts of town, drop them off and then force them to make their own way back. The ones who get back to the hotel are guaranteed a start in the next game. More importantly, having to negotiate their way safely back through some of the more dangerous neighbourhoods should alleviate any feelings of boredom.

9) Play The Water Game. This involves a glass with a small amount of water. One member of the squad chooses a number between one and twenty-two and each player tries to guess what number he’s chosen. The one who guesses correctly gets the water in the face. This would work well with idea number five.

10) Sleep. I don’t know about you but when I’m bored, sleep helps. Do a bit of training and then go back to bed.

11) I hesitate to say this but surely pornography is available. Once it’s served its purpose, it can often be combined with number ten.

12) Call a clear the air team meeting. This can be a very risky strategy because although it will help with boredom, it may replace it with tension. Definitely do not do this after idea number five otherwise idea number six could ensue.

So there you have it. Twelve ideas to help the players fill their time between matches. A bit like the Twelve-Step Programme for alcoholics except there’s no apologies necessary. At least not until they get knocked out early and come home.

Boo!

2010-06-19T23:36:00.001+01:00

Well I woke up this morning and lasts nights game didn’t look any better in the cold light of day. Frankly, it was absolute shit, possibly the worst England performance I’ve ever seen. Wayne Rooney can complain all he likes but if the fans can’t boo that, they can’t boo at all. It felt bad enough watching it on TV but if I’d spent a couple of thousand pounds flying over there, I might well have felt compelled to boo.

After all the preparation. After flying out the correct food. Fabio making sure there’s no butter on the plane. (Could England have played any worse if they’d spent the last two weeks eating nothing except butter?) After Franco Baldini flew out weeks before the world cup started to measure the length of the grass at the training ground. After paying Fabio Capello six million pounds a year. We get that? Against Algeria, statistically the twenty-third best team in the tournament. Well look out because next up are the twenty-second best team so it’s only going to get harder.

The question is how else do the fans express their displeasure at an inept performance? It’s easy enough at home. We just turn the TV off or over. Godfather Part Three was on the other side and there could be no more eloquent statement of someone’s unhappiness than a preference for watching by some margin the worst Godfather film rather than England at the world cup. When you’re in the stadium, it’s a bit more difficult. I guess you could tut in unison. Or turn your back on the team as they trudge off. Give them the silent, sulky treatment. Wayne Rooney would ask the fans what was wrong and they’d reply “if you don’t know, we’re not going to tell you”.

In the end, nothing is more eloquent than a boo. The difficulty is that a boo implies a lack of effort and I don’t think that was the case last night. Of course they tried. Wayne Rooney was obviously having a mare but he kept running and he kept wanting the ball. Same with Steven Gerrard. Some nights, things just do not go your way. But is that grounds for booing?

Partly, it’s because everybody watching had dreams of being out there on the pitch, representing their country at the world cup. And we never got the chance to do it. And they did get the chance and they’re making a complete pigs ear out of it. We feel let down. We feel that they’re wasting their talent in a way that we wouldn’t do if we were the ones who had it.

Anyway, it’s done now and I'm starting to feel better. Yes, that’s two hours of my life that I’ve given to that football team that I’ll never get back. And what’s more, I’ll give them another two hours next Wednesday. And hopefully some more time after that. That’s the trouble. I have no choice. I’m a fan. Of course I’m sorry the team felt upset at the fans booing. But the team has to understand that the fans felt upset at the way the team played. So let’s call it even and see if we can all get on a bit better next week. Because we’re in the knock out stages a week earlier than we’d hoped and if we don’t all pull together the boys are coming home.

Three things before I go. Firstly, as bad as we were I thought Algeria defended very well. Secondly, if we beat Slovenia by a decent margin, we’ll end up top of the group. And thirdly, it could be worse. We could be France.

The Horn

2010-06-18T11:27:00.001+01:00

Sorry I haven’t blogged for a while but I’ve been watching the football and waiting for something to happen. Let’s be honest, it’s been a bit dull. It’s livened up in the last few days but still. I know everyone has to feel their way into the tournament but come on lads. We’ve been waiting weeks for this festival of football and I just had my first conversation with someone where we agreed that we’re quite looking forward to the new season. (I discount the Germans from this last statement. They arrived fully prepared. Almost like they’d been planning the whole thing. The only word that seems to apply is efficient).

Yes the crowds have been colourful. Yes the North Koreans were better than we’d thought they’d be and it was great to see their three hundred fans “spontaneously“ cheer and clap when they scored. And yes the African teams jerseys are skintight and this has no doubt enhanced the enjoyment of some fans. But, aside from this country where people have been incessantly debating the English goalkeeping howler, most people have been talking about the ball and the vuvuzela.

The ball is possibly the most ridiculous mistake ever made by FIFA, an organisation that has a history of ridiculous mistakes. If there’s one thing that a football tournament requires, it’s a good football. It’s no use telling us it’s the roundest ball ever, the players hate it and let’s face it, they’re the ones who need it to work. Of course Sepp Blatter cannot under any circumstances admit that he may have screwed up but seeing as we’re fifteen games in (as I write) and not one free kick from outside the penalty area has got within ten yards of the goal, the evidence suggests otherwise. And if FIFA need help, I’ve got four perfectly good balls in my garden. If they’re needed, they can be flown out at a moments notice.

As for the vuvuzela, I’m not a fan. According to my children, when I complain about the infernal racket and hark after a more simple time of football chants, I sound like a very old man. But I miss the ebb and flow of crowd noise and the din made by the vuvuzela has slightly spoiled my enjoyment of the tournament. Of course I’m still going to watch it because it’s football and the alternative is tennis or, God help me, Golf. But when I’m at home and I turn off the TV at the end of the game, the overwhelming emotion is one of relief that the noise has gone. And I can honestly say that at the precise moment when there’s no more football, the one thing I’ve never felt is relief.

This is a slightly difficult subject because accusations of racism are never far from the surface when someone from a white European culture criticizes an African custom. And that can be doubled when it involves South Africa. The vuvuzela has apparently been around in South Africa for about one hundred years so it could be considered culturally insensitive to turn up at an event that they’re hosting and in so many words tell them to turn down that noise because we can’t enjoy the football.

But we can’t. And nor can the players. There may well be great games and great moments but I haven’t seen many as yet and I’m concerned that things aren’t going to get better. And it would be a shame to work so hard to get the world cup to Africa only to have it spoiled by a rubbish ball and a horn.

Balls!

2010-06-11T12:06:00.001+01:00

Well we finally got here. I’m So excited. At 3pm today, the hosts South Africa will kick off against Mexico. And they’ll be using a new ball called The Jabulani, which apparently means, “moves funny through the air”. I made that up. It means, “celebrate”. Whatever, people have been complaining. Someone (Julio Cesar?) said it was like a ball that you bought in the supermarket. Don’t know if that’s true. I’ve never bought a ball in a supermarket. And I’d bet he hasn’t either. Adidas say that it‘s the roundest ball ever (?) but it doesn’t move in a predictable way. Is that a good idea? An unpredictable ball? I wasn’t aware that the old balls needed replacing. If we’re going to experiment, how about bigger goals? Or alternatively, no goalkeepers over 5ft 7.

Obviously, the main reason we’ve got a new ball is that the fans can be fleeced for even more money than they’ve already shelled out. But why use it at the tournament? I’m no expert in global events but to me, they don’t seem to be the place to try something experimental at least not with possibly the most important part of that event.

Other than that, Wayne Rooney’s been told to mind his language. He got booked in a friendly the other day when he swore at the referee. For us here in England, it’s no surprise that a boy from Toxteth in Liverpool should use bad language. But in the rest of the world, Wayne spitting out a string of expletives may be seen as slightly offensive and result in a booking or worse a sending off in a match that actually means something. To that end, the referees have been given a crash course in the twenty most commonly used swear words in English. Now I haven’t seen the list so I tried to compile my own and I could only think of seventeen. And I like to swear. I’d appreciate some input on this. If you haven’t got time to make a list at the moment, just watch an England match and note down the ones you come up with. My partner suggested that he learns how to swear in another language. She thinks Klingon. It could work although it’d be just our luck to get a referee who also happened to be a fan of star Trek.

Of course seeing as Wayne Rooney is from Liverpool, there may be other swear words that I’m not familiar with. It’s also possible that the list will not be needed if, as the England players have promised, there’s no swearing. And pigs might fly. Although if they’re anything like the new ball, their direction might change suddenly.

Waiting Impatiently

2010-06-03T14:14:00.001+01:00

I’m waiting. That’s what I do. I wait. I’m like the man in the Guinness advert. The one where he’s waiting for the right wave before he can surf. The wave like wild horses. And then once he’s done surfing, he can roll around in the sand with his surfer mates in a totally non-homoerotic way. I’m like him. Only I’m waiting for the world cup to begin. And if we win it, I may well also roll around with my mates in a non-homoerotic way.

This waiting is killing me. Driving me nuts. I’m not the most patient of men. But when there’s a major football tournament looming, I’m like an addict waiting for the dealer to show up. I can’t relax until I’m on the sofa and there are men kicking a ball around on TV in front of me. All these world cup countdowns constantly reminding you of how many days you’re going to have to wait before the big kick off. I don’t need to know. It’s like being at work and every five minutes someone shouting the time in your ear. It doesn’t help.

Plus I don’t really like the summer. Sure a sunny day is great but how many of them do we get. And as for summer sport, I just can’t raise myself to get involved. Formula One? Don’t care. It’s just rich boys racing around in souped up cars. If I hear there’s been a crash I’ll watch the highlights. Golf? Not my thing. I watched Tiger Woods the other week but only to see if he’d mentally unravel. He almost did. It was great. Other than that, I’m not bothered. Cricket I like but Bangladesh at home I can live without. They played a test match fifteen minutes drive from where I live. It was only a tenner to get in. I still didn’t go. I like tennis as well but only up to a point. Andy Murray lost in the French Open? I’ll try and get on with my life the best I can. All I really want is for the football to start.

You know how some people say they don’t know how we coped without dishwashers or mobile phones. I’m trying to work out how I coped last summer without football. Or indeed any summer without football. Because it’s only been three weeks since the football season ended (OK, two months if you’re an Arsenal fan like me) and I’m going crazy already. Saturdays are a complete waste of time. Like Sundays only slightly busier. And at least this year I’ve got a tournament to look forward to. Whereas last summer, the beginning of June heralded the start of two, virtually football free months. What the hell did I do all that time?

I didn’t go on picnics. I know that. It only stopped raining for about four days and the ground was damp the entire time. I didn’t have a holiday. I don’t really like them. I didn’t go to the Edinburgh festival. I have no interest anymore in getting upset at journalists from provincial newspapers making snide remarks about something I’ve written. All I did was sit about in a huff waiting for the Charity Shield. And as an Arsenal fan, for the last five years I haven’t even cared about that.

One man who’s no longer thinking about the World Cup is Theo Walcott. In the one shock in Fabio’s squad selection, Theo didn’t go to South Africa. This is the man (boy?) who started the whole world cup thing rolling with a hatrick against Croatia and here we are slightly less than two years later and he’s been replaced by Sean Wright Phillips. Football is a fickle game. They say it only takes one second to score a goal but it only takes twenty-one months to blow an England career, at least for the present time.

I’m sure he’s gutted but he’s twenty-one, good looking and a multi-millionaire. He’ll cope. He’ll go and sit on the beach at some exclusive resort, lick his wounds and wait six weeks for the world cup to be over and pre-season training to begin. And he probably won’t watch any football. But for the rest of us the waiting is almost over.

World Cup With Auntie

2010-05-26T16:06:00.002+01:00

I’m definitely watching the world cup on the BBC. To be honest, aside from the early rounds of Britain’s Got Talent when there’s a reasonable chance of seeing someone with a serious personality disorder singing Lady Ga Ga’s Paparazzi, I rarely watch ITV but that’s because I’m a snob. For national sporting events, particularly England games, watching on ITV seems unpatriotic. I don’t want independent television. I want British television.

Partly, it’s the theme tune. Bittersweet Symphony? We know! How clichéd can you get? They might as well play “The Only Way is Up” by Yazz at the start of the game and “It’s a Heartache” by Bonnie Tyler at the end.

But mainly it’s the ads. There are so many of them. At least two breaks in the build up including one of them after the teams have come out. A break as soon as the half-time whistle goes, another one just before the start of the second half, one straight after the final whistle and at least one more during the post match analysis. While I’m watching football, I don’t want to be assaulted by loud exhortations to buy Hyundai cars (or any cars. I’m just using them as an example). I don’t want to buy a newspaper just because someone who used to manage England is selling it to me. And I don’t need new trainers.

In other countries it’s worse. The yanks can’t really get their heads round a sport where there is forty-five minutes of continuous, uninterruptible action. Their favourite sports seem almost as if they’ve been designed with advertisers in mind. They need a time out every ten minutes so they can try and sell us erectile dysfunction cream. I was in Malaysia for one world cup and they kept playing adverts for Dunhill cigarettes (those were the days) when the ball went out for a throw. This was before the multi-ball system where another ball is instantly given to the thrower but Malaysian football fans still missed a couple of goals. Thankfully, this doesn’t happen here (OK, once during an Everton v Liverpool cup replay when ITV thought they’d take a chance on a couple of ads during extra time and missed an Everton goal. What were they thinking?).

This problem with the adverts is not just confined to football. Cricket on Channel Four “solved” the problem by playing adverts when someone lost their wicket. But I found that deeply unsatisfying, particularly when I’d just watched a batsman score a century and instead of seeing them get a standing ovation, I'd get the Ronseal Woodstain bloke.

Probably the only way round this thorny issue is for there to be a dedicated BBC TV sports channel paid for by a rise in the licence fee. I understand this wouldn’t be particularly popular with the people who don’t watch live sport but seriously, who cares about them?

Anyway, I watched some of England v Mexico on ITV but that’s because there was no alternative. (Well I could have watched The Chelsea Flower Show on BBC2 instead of football but I fear that may have lost the world cup blog some credibility). I rarely watch the friendly games. My God they’re dull. You can go away for ten minutes and the only significant action you’re likely to miss are the five substitutions for either side. The only exciting moment was after the game. That was when ITV showed the NIKE world cup ad and we all wondered if this time, they were going to play all of it. They showed the ad after the Champions league final but they missed the last ten seconds. The ten seconds when the ad tells us what they’re advertising. Apparently, Nike are not going to pay the £1.5 million they owe to ITV because they screwed up. Deservedly so. It was like them showing a three-minute joke and then missing out the punchline.

So for all these reasons, if I have a choice it’s the BBC for me. But I’ll miss Adrian Chiles who I thought came across well on his ITV debut although I think that in the spirit of the friendly international, they should have substituted him at half time for another untried presenter.

The North Korea Conspiracy

2010-05-23T10:52:00.002+01:00

The world cup is in the news. Last week it was Lord Triesman saying that the Russians would bribe referees in return for the Spanish stepping aside for the 2018 world cup bid. (Not that I believe in conspiracy theories but any country that’s capable of killing someone with radioactive material could certainly lean on a ref). This week it’s North Korea allegedly torpedoing a ship from the south and the south retaliating by not allowing the North access to their TV signal during the tournament.

The story was illustrated with stock footage of North Korea. We’ve all seen it before. Crazy high stepping soldiers, massive military march pasts, enormous synchronized gymnastic displays (they’re really good at those) and Kim Jong Il looking as bonkers as ever (is it even possible to look at him anymore without hearing the song “I’m so Ronery” from the character in Team America?). But there were also pictures of the North Korean football team leaving for the world cup (seemed a bit early to me but I guess they’ll allow them some shopping time) where they face Portugal, Brazil and The Ivory Coast in the so called “group of death”, although that phrase has a rather literal meaning when it comes to North Korea.

Like I said, I don’t believe in conspiracy theories but I think that Kim had a plan. As soon as he saw the world cup draw, he must have realised what was going to happen. The other three are all going to stuff North Korea. He figured that seeing their brave boys getting pulverized by, in turn Didier Drogba, Kaka and Ronaldo would do irreparable harm to the North Korean people’s pride and self-esteem. Plus you can’t censor a football tournament and it would take more than a dodgy referee to enable North Korea to beat any of those teams.

So he used his imagination. Torpedo a South Korean ship and wind up his neighbours and lackey of the Imperial American aggressors (“what are they going to do? We’ve got nukes”). The South, outraged, blame the North and do pretty much the only thing they can do and cut the TV signal. No world cup coverage. And then after the tournament ends, Kim gets a copy of the world cup made, gives it to the players at the airport and orders them to celebrate like they’ve won it. Who would know?

Implausible? Yes. But if someone told me on July 12^th that the entire North Korean population was wildly celebrating their first world cup victory, I’d be OK with that. Everyone needs a little fantasy in their lives. That’s what the world cup is for.

Sweet FA

2010-05-18T19:52:00.001+01:00

I don’t like the Mail on Sunday. It’s worse than the Daily Mail and I don’t like that either. You’d have thought the Sunday edition would give the right wing politics and their holier than thou attitude a rest for one day a week. Have a liberal, laid back Sunday. But no. If it’s not enough for them to go on and on about asylum seekers, dole scroungers and hoodies, now they’ve gone and buggered up any chance England had of hosting the world cup in 2018.

It was all going so well. The bid seemed to be moving in the right direction. On May 10^th, England’s eight and a half kilogram, seventeen hundred and fifty two page (what the hell is in it? Is it really large print? Are there lots of large photos? Is it like a bumper edition of The Sun?) 2018 world cup bid document and supporting materials (1752 pages were apparently not enough) left Wembley Stadium in a highly specialized vehicle (What? How specialized? Specifically designed to carry world cup bid documents? Is that financially viable?). The documents were secured in forty-two specially designed flight cases (is this some sort of joke?). Four days later, David Beckham (I don’t think he was driving the truck but who knows) personally delivered them to Sepp Blatter in Geneva.

(I’d like to say at this point that much as I’d like the World Cup to come to this country, I can’t help thinking that our priorities are a bit skewed. Government documents giving the names and addresses of every person receiving child benefit have been left on the top deck of a London bus and yet documents relating to a football tournament are “secured in forty-two specially designed flight cases” in a “highly specialized vehicle”.)

Anyway, having gone to all that trouble of making sure the bid arrived in Sepp Blatter’s (no doubt manicured) hands in pristine condition, five days later, on FA Cup final day, we learnt from The Mail on Sunday that the chairman of the bid team Lord Triesman had been secretly taped by a woman, making scurrilous remarks about the corruption of the Spanish and the Russians (Russian corruption. I’m shocked to my very core). All hell broke loose and he promptly resigned.

Don’t get me wrong. I find the FA intensely annoying. These are the people who paid almost one billion pounds for a football stadium with an arch that, if you’re driving on the North Circular at night looks very nice, but has a pitch that you can’t play football on. These are the people who’ve put the England team in a hotel in South Africa costing one thousand pounds per room per night while the five-times world champions Brazil are staying in a hotel costing just over one hundred. It’s not like the England boys will be entertaining (well perhaps John Terry when the players wives turn up but not the others). All they’re doing in there is sleeping and playing the playstation and you can do that in someone’s spare room.

And Lord Triesman definitely should have chosen his friends more carefully. Yes he got royally shat on by the young woman who taped their lunchtime conversation. I have nothing but contempt for her. People say things in private that they’d never say if they knew a microphone was switched on. As Gordon Brown found out to his cost not two weeks ago. But did anyone who loves football look at Lord Triesman and think ‘he’s the man who we want to represent our national sport’?

So like I say, I’m no fan of the FA. But if I had to spend eternity in an FA board meeting or one day in an editorial meeting with The Mail on Sunday, it’ll be the football for me. By breaking this story, The Mail on Sunday may have handed the 2018 world cup to Spain, a country with a great football team but the most racist fans in Europe. Who probably all read the Spanish equivalent of The Mail on Sunday.

Food Glorious Food

2010-05-14T15:03:00.001+01:00

In a world cup, they say that it’s the small details that really make the difference. Those little things that turn a tight game your way. Well, there’ll be plenty of time to pore over team formations and the composition of the squad. At this point, I thought I’d write about food. Tescos have published a list of the food that the England team are going to transport halfway round the world so that they’re fit and healthy for the tournament. Apparently, they’re going to buy fresh meat, fish and vegetables over there but some of the items they’re taking include:

: Forty bottles of traditional table sauces and one hundred bottles of hot sauces. That appears to me to be a lot of sauce. Even allowing for forty-five people in the traveling party, that’s still almost three bottles of sauce per person. Perhaps a bit more imagination shown by the chef might result in the need for fewer condiments. It’s just a suggestion.

: Cardini Caesar salad dressing. I must confess to never having heard of this but if we’re flying it all the way to the southern tip of Africa it must be bloody good. Does Fabio have a stake in the company?

: Two hundred bars of organic dark chocolate. Really? Chocolate is great and everything but we’re flying out two hundred bars of chocolate? It apparently provides anti-oxidants, which are good for the heart. Because let’s face it, no-one wants a heart with too much oxidant. Incidentally, I’d love to see the chocolate rider for the England ladies football team.

: Fifty bottles of extra virgin olive oil. If anything on this list tells us how much football has changed in the last twenty years, it’s fifty bottles of extra virgin olive oil. Not that I don’t approve but it still seems like a lot of oil to me. But if there’s anything a modern footballer likes, it’s as many extra virgins as possible

: Two hundred and sixty six grams of organic vegetable stock. This figure is so specific. Why not three hundred grams? Or what the hell, why don’t they just push the boat out and take five hundred grams. Live a little. It’s only half a kilo. Or slightly over a pound. Are they right on their weight limit? Is it a cost thing? Are they having to spend so much money on new pitches for Wembley that they can’t take another gram of vegetable stock? Are they flying Ryanair to South Africa?

: Ninety packs of teabags. Assuming fifty bags per pack, that’s four thousand, five hundred tea bags. That’s one hundred cups of tea per person for the entire tournament. Works out at two to three cups per day (assuming that they’re still in the tournament in July). I think they might need some more but tea is widely available in South Africa so they shouldn’t worry. They do have a choice of teas which include Peppermint, Jasmine tea or Earl Grey (Oh yeah? Earl Grey Rio?). And of course regular PG Tips. But they’re not allowed Jaffa Cakes and what’s the point of tea without a Jaffa Cake. How will they manage?

: Strawberry jam, marmalade and custard powder (bless their little cotton England socks). We’re told that the custard provides calcium for strong bones (and teeth though we’re not so concerned about that), and that, along with the jams and marmalades constitute the comfort grub that all the players will need to help them adjust to the unfamiliar environment of a large luxury hotel. “Look Wayne. There’s a weird thing in the bathroom that looks like a toilet but isn’t. It’s making me uncomfortable. Quick, get me a jam sandwich”.

Two things about all this. Firstly, what do we do with the leftovers? Are we going to leave it for the Africans? Do they need pine nuts or jasmine tea? Secondly, I hope it all works. I hope the two hundred and sixty-six grams of vegetable stock make a difference. I hope that all that pasta and those complex carbohydrates and pine nuts with balsamic vinegar imbue our boys with the energy needed to take them all the way to the World Cup Final where we spank the unfit foreigners and bring home the bacon. Which we can then have mixed with some greens and drizzled with Cardini Caesar salad dressing.

England Expects

2010-05-10T16:20:00.001+01:00

OK. The World Cup starts here. The football season is essentially over. (Yes I’ll watch the Europa cup final because it’s Fulham. And yes there’s the FA Cup final and I might check the result after fifty-five minutes and if it’s still 0-0, I’ll take a look. But if Chelsea are four up, I’ll go and sit in the garden. And yes there’s the Champions league final but Jose’s in charge of one of the teams and the other team is German so I can’t say that I’m bothered either way). No, the way is clear to concentrate on the world cup. The initial thirty-man squad will be picked on Tuesday and the players know what they have to do. And more importantly, the WAGS have been banished to a safe distance (two hundred metres according to Wikipedia), which is a relief to everyone although now that they’ve lost Victoria, the de facto WAG queen, it’s hard to drum up the necessary interest.

So now we can think about the football. I’ve been projecting forwards which is what you do when the world cup fixtures are published and you have a lot of time on your hands. What you do is that based on your own personal prejudices and a wildly optimistic outlook, you imagine a scenario where your team nonchalantly dismisses your group opponents (surely!), breezes through the first knockout game (Assuming that Germany win the group, it’s a choice of Serbia, Australia or Ghana. Should be OK) and arrives fit and healthy (Ha!) in the quarter-finals where in England’s case the French (probably) await.

I may be wrong about this. There are eight teams we could meet in this scenario but I think the French are the most talented. Yes, their coach is almost certifiable (He believes in astrology. “We lost because Mercury was rising”) and yes, the players are an ageing, difficult and slightly arrogant group (the French! Who’d have thought?). But any team with Anelka, Ribery and Henry is not to be taken lightly. Having said all that, we have our great players too so assuming it’s the French, I think we can beat them because we have a similar level of talent and a better coach.

At this point, we’re through to the semi-finals (that wasn’t too difficult was it) and the country is getting more than a little excited. The media is in full world cup hysteria mode. Pundits are turning up everywhere (Newsnight?). So are ex-England managers. The newspapers are printing prayer mats for white van drivers to kneel on. There are hourly reports on the state of Wayne Rooney’s knee/ankle/back/mental state although he should be fit for the game (I told you. Wildly optimistic). And at 7-30pm on Tuesday July 6^th, our boys step out against the green and gold of Brazil (it could be Holland, I have a sneaking suspicion they’ll do well this year, but Brazil are the favourites so we’ll go with them).

Well let’s just say we beat Brazil. I can’t really see how it will happen but let’s just imagine that by some miracle we keep it tight at the back, our goalkeeper plays a blinder and we go in 0-0 at half-time, Fabio makes an inspiring speech invoking Churchill and Henry the Fifth, Rooney nicks a goal and the boys scrape a 1-0 win. And after an enormous street party, the nation wakes up late in the morning on July 7^th to the glorious reality that come Sunday, England will play in a world cup final for the first time in forty-four years.

Where we’ll meet a rampant Spain and, worn out by the exertions of the semi-final get beaten 4-0 by a team who only let us touch the ball four times in the entire game (Sorry about the result. I’m wildly optimistic but I’m not completely mad).

On the other hand, if we balls it up in the group stages and only get second place, we’ll probably come up against the Germans in the first knockout game and we could be home in time for the second week of Wimbledon. Of course if we do lose early on, it’ll cheer up Andy Murray to such an extent that he might win the tournament. Swings and roundabouts and all that.

Who's the w****r in the black?

2010-05-05T22:42:00.001+01:00

Thirty-two countries and their management and players have been making meticulous preparations for the World Cup. Franco Baldini has flown to South Africa to measure the length of the grass on the training pitch for goodness sake. Nothing has been left to chance. It would be a shame to have it all spoiled by some attention-seeking idiot with a whistle. Who’s the w****r in the black?

For all the talent and ability on display every four years, World Cups are often influenced and sometimes decided by refereeing decisions. Who can forget Clive Thomas blowing the whistle for the end of the game as the ball was in the air from a corner just before Brazil scored what they thought was the winning goal? Or what about a certain Tunisian gentleman who was the only person on earth who didn’t see Maradona handle the ball for Argentina. Our very own Graham Poll didn’t exactly cover himself in glory when he booked the same Croatian player three times in one game. It can’t be easy what with these teams all wearing the same shirts but then that’s what numbers are for.

I’ve got a history with referees. Once, at Hendon during a game in The Isthmian League, my father was so incensed by a poor decision that he ran onto the pitch and offered the referee his glasses. Almost everyone in the ground laughed. Both sets of players, the managers, the two linesmen, the tea ladies and the stewards. The only people who didn’t laugh were me and the referee.

Now that I’m older, I’m the one out of my mates who’s most prepared to give the referee the benefit of the doubt. While the people around me have been screaming for a penalty for our boys, I’ve been admiring the beauty of the defenders tackle (ooh er missus!). That’s not to say that I don’t get irate at refereeing decisions. It happens every ten minutes or so. Sometimes when I’m not even watching a match. But with all the diving and cheating that goes on, I think refs should be commended for getting it right most of the time.

They get no help from FIFA. They might have come up with the idea of a fourth official but they appear, like The Queen, to only have ceremonial powers, their sole function seeming to be as a target for the manager’s anger. Video evidence, specifically goal line technology has been rejected on the grounds that it’s not always correct although nor are linesmen. Sorry, assistant referees. And anyway, why isn’t it always correct? How is it that we can send men into space but it’s beyond our finest minds to come up with a foolproof way of telling if a ball has crossed a line? Surely that’s a more useful invention than the non-stick pan.

Sepp Blatter who seems to have been in charge of football about the same length of time that Castro has been in charge of Cuba, has also suggested that the enforced stoppages while video evidence is examined slows the game down. But let’s face it, nowadays it takes at least two minutes to get a wall formed and take a free kick so I’m not sure that argument holds water. The other objection is that this technology can only be adopted if it’s available for use at all levels of the game. Which is palpably nonsense. When a professional gets a slight muscle strain, at least six men run on with a stretcher, oxygen and a defibrillator. Whereas, in my Sunday games, it’s not unknown for someone with a broken leg to drive themselves to hospital.

They won’t even sanction electronic timing for games, which we all know would instantly render any time wasting tactics null and void. ‘Take as long as you like over that kick goalie. The watch only starts when the ball is in the air’.

Having said all of that, it’s certain that there will be some terrible referees at the World Cup. Even our own representative, Howard Webb, who a few years ago seemed like the natural successor to Pier Luigi Collina, has gone a bit weird this season. Initially, I thought that like Collina, the shaved head was the key but it seems that it’s what’s in the head that’s important and not the lack of what’s on it.

And it’s also certain that some poor team will suffer from an outrageous decision and they’ll have to swallow it and wait four years for another crack. But if it’s us, I might send my Dad onto the pitch to have a word.

Slovenia!

2010-04-30T13:09:00.002+01:00

I write this from the main square of Maribor, the beautiful second city of Slovenia. I have some shows here and it seemed like an excellent time to test the water ahead of the crucial world cup clash against England on 23^rd June. What does the man on the street think of Slovenia’s chances against us? (He thinks they’ll win 2-1, but he’d be happy with a draw). For those of you who don’t know it, Slovenia is a small country in Central Europe. I’m told that over fifty percent of the land is covered in forest although I have no way of verifying this fact. Large swathes of the country might be paved for all I know. I just haven’t got the time to check these things.

The population is just over two million but that doesn’t mean they’re as bad at football as Scotland or Wales. On the contrary, they beat Russia in the qualifying tournament. It’s unlikely that you would have heard of any of their players but they’re compact and skilful and they work hard. Like a very tidy version of Stoke City except none of the opponents in their qualifying group ended up in hospital as a result of a late tackle.

As a country, they’re no pushovers. According to Wikipedia, when Slovenia declared independence in 1991, a ten-day war followed during which “the country rejected Yugoslav interference”. Which sounds like a woman turning down the chance of a date with a prospective suitor but actually involved heavy fighting. (Having said that, I’ve had dates that ended quite badly as well). And again a few years later when most of the other countries in the region were heavily involved in the Balkan wars, Slovenia very firmly told Slobodan Milosevic that his sort of xenophobic nationalism had no place in their progressive country and he invaded Bosnia and Kosovo instead. And neither of these countries qualified for this world cup so make of that what you will.

Slovenia is a country I’ve been to on a couple of occasions and the feeling right now as always is one of quiet optimism. The last time I came here, The Queen had paid a visit a few weeks beforehand and she’d been given a horse as a gift. On behalf of The Queen, I thanked the Slovenian people for the present and mentioned that she’d said that the horse had tasted lovely. Which I think shows that Slovenians have a sense of humour but more importantly that they’re no respecter of big reputations.

Do I think we’ll beat them? Of course. But as much as I’m confident that a country with fifty million people should beat a country of two million people at anything except hide and seek, it doesn’t pay to be too triumphalist. It’s entirely possible that one of the players will be in the audience and that my deriding of his nations soccer skills is the thing that drives him on to score the winning goal against us. Football is a funny game. Who can forget the Norwegian commentator shouting “Maggie Thatcher. Can you hear me?” after Norway beat us in a world cup qualifier. Come June, there is the tiniest possibility that the Slovenian equivalent of John Motson will be screaming “David Cameron/Gordon Brown/ Nick Clegg (cross out as applicable). Your boys took a hell of a beating!”

Roo-Mania

2010-04-26T16:40:00.000+01:00

I have a confession to make. I love Wayne Rooney. Not when he’s playing for Manchester United obviously. Then, I reserve the right to abuse him for the full ninety-seven minutes (on average) per game for the entire season. Including European matches where I know I’m meant to cheer on the plucky English team against the wily continental teams with their evil cheating diving foreigners but let’s face it our teams have as many of them as theirs. But when he’s playing for England I love him. (I should explain to any non-football fans that in the context of the beautiful game, it’s perfectly acceptable for a man in his forties to declare their love for a fit twenty-four year old and for that statement not to contain even a whiff of homosexuality. Just thought I should clear that up).

Yes he’s a Scouser and if like me you’re not from Liverpool, they’re never easy to love. (Stan Boardman anyone? Emlyn Hughes?) Yes in the past, he’s blown it in massive games but he’s not the only one and in the last year or two he seems to have matured to the point where I wouldn’t even nominate him as the prime candidate to do something stupid in an England shirt. (JT, Stevie G, Rio?) Personally, I’d have made him captain but Fabio knows best.

We all know we can’t win the World Cup without Wayne Rooney. (We probably can’t with him but that’s another blog). Other teams could maybe make do with losing star players. If Argentina lost Messi, it would hurt them but he never plays for them the way he does for Barcelona and Lord help everybody if he does. Cesc Fabregas looks doubtful but with Xavi and Iniesta in the team and Javi Alonso in reserve they’ll cope. Brazil have seven blokes who are currently playing beach football who could be called up tomorrow with no discernible difference in quality. As for England, sure Steven Gerrard can change games, Frank Lampard can chip in with the odd goal or two and even Theo Walcott might do something spectacular. But Rooney is the one they all fear and if he’s fit and raring to go against USA, we’re in with a shout.

Part of Wayne’s appeal (aside from being called Wayne which along with Kevin is the footballers name par excellence) is that he seems to embody a sort of Englishness that we thought had disappeared. I know his name’s Rooney and his roots are Irish and his looks are Irish and he’s married to someone called Colleen but his family sailed over at some point in the last two hundred years and stayed here so now he’s ours. He seems like someone from another era. I can picture him now loading a cannon on an eighteenth century man ‘o’ war or bravely defending a besieged garrison in Africa. As a footballer, it’s easy to imagine him in the nineteen thirties enjoying a kick about in the street with the local kids and then wolfing down a pre-match meal of steak and chips. And at around two in the afternoon lashing a great dollop of Brylcreem onto his hair (what’s left of it), waving goodbye to his landlady, sharing the bus to the ground with the supporters and then gliding effortlessly over a pitch that looks less like a football field and more like The Somme. And after a glorious fifteen year career scoring fifty goals a season and having earned a total of seventeen pounds, eight shillings and sixpence quietly retiring to run a newsagents back in Liverpool.

But this is 2010. And a Premiership footballer will not play on a terrible pitch unless his team reaches a cup final. And he most certainly will never have to run a newsagents again. Unless it’s the largest chain of newsagents in the world and he owns a controlling interest and even then, you can’t see him counting the number of Daily Mail’s he’s sold that day and tying up the rest for collection.

Football’s changed. But Wayne Rooney remains the same. Solid. Sturdy. Unyielding. Like a good dining room table. But with two feet. And better heading ability. God protect him and keep him injury free. Until July 12^th when I’d be happy for him to pick up a knock that keeps him out till January.

Hard But Fair

2010-04-23T12:19:00.002+01:00

Fabio Capello is the best manager that England have had since Sir Alf Ramsey. I’ve said in the past that I’m not particularly optimistic about the world cup. But any optimism I may be feeling has absolutely nothing to do with any of the players bar Wayne Rooney and everything to do with the manager. Fabio Capello is on a ridiculous wage and no doubt there are bonus payments that will be triggered the further he takes us in the tournament but he seems to be worth every penny. As much as someone on one hundred thousand pounds a week can be said to be worth every penny unless he’s single handedly saving the planet from alien invaders. In which case I’d be happy to discuss a bonus.

The thing about Capello is he seems to be the real thing. Not a hard man exactly but you wouldn’t want to cross him. A stern disciplinarian who may well shout at the players but only when they absolutely deserve it. Not one of the lads and yet comfortable with the banter of a dressing room. Plus he wears glasses. And not ridiculous ‘I’m wearing glasses but I don’t really want you to notice them’ Sven Goran Eriksson type glasses. Proper glasses with proper frames, glasses that speak of a man who’s been so focused on the job at hand that his eyes have suffered and even though he could easily afford laser eye surgery has opted to not have the operation for fear of losing valuable time watching football.

It’s so refreshing. Our last few managers have been a sorry collection of misfits and miscreants. Kevin Keegan was liked but not loved (except on Tyneside where grown men go weak at the knees at the mere mention of his name) and in hindsight too emotionally unstable to have ever coped with such a high profile job. Sven was the polar (almost literally) opposite, too cool and Swedish for our taste plus there were the unseemly affairs with Ulrika (sort of understandable) and the secretary at the FA (Completely undignified. I mean, can anyone imagine Sir Alf or Ron Greenwood having sex with a secretary?). And then there was Steve McClaren, a man who was quite plainly so out of his depth that one had to avert one’s eyes at press conferences. His habit of always looking for the positives in even the worst defeat started to make me feel like I wanted to pin him up against a wall and say ‘what positives you ignoramus? I’ve seen better performances in our fat, Jewish, over-forties league on a Monday night’. I always felt that if Steve’s family were wiped out in a terrible conflagration, he’d have been stood at the door of his wrecked house saying ‘well, obviously it wasn’t the result I was looking for but one has to look for the positives. I managed to save the dog so that gives me something to build on for the next family’.

But now, finally we have a man we can have faith in. My feeling is that Fabio will take us as far as it’s possible for this team to go. It may be that being Italian, he has the emotional detachment necessary to distance himself from any abuse he may get at the first sign of a downturn in the teams fortunes. (It’s possible there’ll be a certain restraint in that department for fear of being labeled as racist although that won’t stop The Sun).

The players seem happier as well. Lest we forget, footballers although they’re on wages that would make an African dictator blush with embarrassment, are essentially overgrown teenagers who need strict instruction and guidance. They’re only really happy when they’re given a simple but definable task and told to get on with it. Kevin Keegan didn’t give them any guidance at all, Sven indulged them far too much and one could only imagine the stick Steve McClaren got after he left the room. Or even while he was still in the room.

But in Fabio we trust.

The Agony and the Ecstasy (but mostly the agony)

2010-04-20T22:35:00.000+01:00

I need to talk about penalties. We’re going to have to face them at some point and we might as well think about them now and then it’s done. I think we, the supporters need to mentally prepare ourselves for the possibility. The chances of us winning four knock-out games and lifting the trophy are miniscule as it is but to do it without having to win at least one penalty shoot-out, well, to all intents and purposes they’re completely non-existent so we have to be ready.

For the players, things are simple. Walk up to the penalty area while ignoring the fifty thousand screaming fans and the suddenly gigantic opposing goalkeeper and try not to think about the fact that your entire country is pinning all their hopes and dreams on you and you alone. Place the ball on the spot, take a few steps back, inhale deeply and plant the ball firmly into the net. Simple.

They just need to practice. And practice. And then when they’ve finished practicing, they need to practice some more. They should be able to do it with their eyes shut. It might help if they did. If I was coach, I wouldn’t let them go home of an evening until they’d scored ten in a row. I’d keep them there from now till June 10^th. Now obviously this is not practical and possibly verging on a hostage situation. Although if that’s what it takes to win the World Cup, I’m prepared to go that extra mile.

Other countries manage it. The Germans rarely lose penalty shoot-outs. I don’t know whether it’s actually down to steely Teutonic efficiency or whether there’s a special file called Zen and the Art of Penalty Shoot-Outs that’s only available to Germans who get picked for their world cup squad. But when they need to be strong, German footballers stand up to be counted. And their goalkeepers seem to grow.

Whatever, the players are not my concern. I just hope they don’t balls it up again. I’m talking about the fans. How can we cope with mental stress? Well alcohol helps and everyone who’s hosting a party for an England match needs to ensure a well stocked fridge for at least two and a half hours of medium to heavy drinking.

I think positive thinking may also help. The last time we lost to Portugal on penalties, I honestly thought we were going to win. Unfortunately, I was the only person out of ten in the room that did and I feel that the negativity from the other nine contributed heavily to our defeat. I’d actually like to take this opportunity to apologise on their behalf and I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Then there’s the whole thing about not watching the penalties. I can’t abide people who can’t watch. More than that, I’d go further and say that if they don’t watch and we lose, it’s their fault that we lost. What do you mean you can’t watch? This is the final act. No-one goes to the cinema and leaves ten minutes before the end while asking their mate to let them know if it turns out OK. Not only should they be forced to watch, they should be made to sit really close to the TV and have their eyes pinned open like Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange. And if we still lose, at least we can rule them out of any blame.

Finally, we need to desensitize the nation to the traumatic effects of penalties. The government needs to act. Penalty shoot-outs should be made compulsory for every dispute. Whose turn is it to do the washing up? Penalties. Or what if it’s three in the morning and someone needs to feed the baby? Penalties (perhaps only three kicks each parent if the crying is really loud). And what if the general election is a tight affair? I think a shoot out would be the most democratic way to get a result. Before long, penalties will be as natural as breathing and we’ll breeze through the later rounds. Assuming we don’t get beaten in ninety minutes.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being an England Fan

2010-04-17T15:07:00.001+01:00

Fifty-four days to go and I’m a maelstrom of emotions. I’m scared, excited, hopeful, light-headed, giddy with anticipation. The world cup is almost upon us and the possibilities are infinite. Of course we all know what will happen. England will get through the group stage and at some point in the knockout stages will come up against another giant of the football world and the entire country will be put through the emotional wringer. Now this time, things are slightly different because Fabio Capello is in charge and we’ve actually got a chance of winning the game. Apparently, we’ve been practicing penalties. But it usually takes me three days to get over these games and if we win, three days later we’ll be playing again.

And let’s say we win the whole thing. (Let’s just say. It doesn’t hurt to say). The intense joy that everyone who loves football would take from England winning the world cup would pervade every aspect of our lives. And as a bonus, upset every non-football fan, and that can only be a good thing. If England somehow manage to lift the trophy, our country will be a nicer place for months. Less road rage, less criminality, more polite conversations with strangers. Cab drivers would probably let you pull out. It would be like the entire country had moved to Scandanavia.

Not for the first few days obviously. For the first few days, I’d suggest closing the curtains and staying in unless you desperately want to have good-natured but essentially pointless conversations with drunken young men. I’m not saying that society would completely break down but try getting a plumber twenty four hours after England win the world cup and I think you’d be in trouble.

And yet, fantastic as it would be to see an England win, I have mixed feelings about the prospect. It wouldn’t be the first time. Back in the eighties, in the dark days of hooliganism and right wing extremists, I found it hard to support England. How could I want a team to win who’s most vocal supporters were racists. It would have been like supporting Chelsea (that is a joke by the way although there was a picture last week of a ginger Chelsea fan doing a nazi salute at the cup semi-final last weekend. Stupid boy. If the Nazis ever did come to power, gingers would be among the first to go). If England won back then, I’d be happy but the racists would be happy too and I wasn’t pleased about that. I remember going to Luxembourg for a world cup qualifier. Now Luxembourg is less of a country and more a large village in Europe and gangs of England football fans rampaged through the main street turning over cars and setting light to them while doing nazi salutes. It was the national equivalent of a grown man punching a five-year old girl in the face and it was embarrassing and terrifying in equal measure.

Things have changed now. England fans are cuddlesome lovely creatures who preach racial harmony and tolerance. OK that’s not strictly true but the overtly racist element seem to have disappeared or at least quietened down. You do still get the odd clump of old school bigots singing a desultory chorus of ‘No Surrender to the IRA’ but even they know that with the IRA having decommissioned it’s weapons, it’s very unlikely we’d have to surrender to them anyway.

But now a new generation of fans seem to have taken over. Families with kids, professional people. Not that either of those can’t be obnoxious but I’ve never seen a gang of boozed up stockbrokers marauding through a foreign town square scaring the locals. At least not at football matches. Rugby’s more their thing.

So it’s not the fans that upset me any more. It’s the players. If England win the world cup on July 11^th and John Terry and Ashley Cole become feted national heroes, surely I’m not the only person to feel ambivalent about that outcome.

But hey, I’m probably getting ahead of myself. And I know for sure that once the games have started, I’ll be cheering along with everybody else. And if by some miracle we get to the finals and we’re playing Germany and it goes to penalties and John Terry is striding forward to take the decisive kick…..well I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Although perhaps “crossing that bridge” is not the most sensitive phrase I can use when I’m talking about John Terry.

World Cup Fever 1

2010-04-15T14:22:00.002+01:00

Just under two months to go to the World Cup and my pre World Cup training is going very well. The TV appears to be working fine and has a years guarantee. My sofa cushions are fluffed and ready. Unless there’s a run on alcohol, my local supermarkets have assured me that stocks will remain buoyant throughout the summer months. My girlfriend has been warned that any non-football related programmes on TV between June 8^th and July 11^th are subject to match scheduling.

Yes my preparations are right on target. Which is more than can be said for my team. Even with our best manager since Sir Alf, any good feelings we had about England’s prospects have been tempered by a series of unfortunate mishaps. Our goalkeepers continue to give us collective heart attacks every time they need to make a clearance, our defenders hurt themselves in a variety of ways both physical and emotional, our midfielders run themselves into the ground for their clubs and our attackers, aside from one obvious exception blow hot and cold. And at this point, even that one attacker is injured although hopefully only for a short period. It’s all probably for the best. Unbounded optimism almost always ends in tears.

There’s no doubt that Fabio Capello has instilled a winning mentality in the squad and our first eleven are a match for most teams but the chances of those eleven arriving in South Africa fit and healthy are about the same as John Terry becoming a celibate Sufi and relinquishing all earthly pleasures. And even if everyone’s available come June 10^th, there’s no reason to suppose that they’ll still be available, if by some miracle they’re still needed, four weeks later.

Of course one can hope. It’s the hope that keeps you alive as someone once said, possibly me. I’ve always been a glass half full sort of guy and I’ve been known, after a fair number of full glasses, to make a very convincing case for England to win the World cup. To the point where my friends don’t actually like listening to me because they start to believe and then they’re massively let down when England invariably go out to the first decent team they play.

Strangely enough, this time around I’m not as optimistic. There are so many potential dangers. Spain in particular look absolutely brilliant. Any team that can leave out Cesc Fabregas, Javi Alonso and Pepe Reina are definitely better than us. As for Brazil, well they’re Brazil. Can we beat them? Theoretically yes. Will we? Probably not. France may have only qualified because of Thierry Henry’s handball and they’re undoubtedly past their best but if we got them in the second round, would there be a person in England who’d actually expect us to win. Germany always come good in the finals and there’s no way we’d be confident of beating them. Holland are good. Portugal are good. Argentina only just qualified but Lionel Messi could win the whole thing on his own if Diego Maradona (Boo!) got his cocaine addled, dog ravaged head round the fact that he needs to build his team around the little genius. Ivory Coast have Didier Drogba and any team with him in the line-up cannot be taken lightly. USA were quarter-finalists last time and all three of their goalkeepers are probably better than ours.

On the positive side, the weather will be in our favour. (For future reference, we have to lobby hard for all upcoming world cups to be played in countries where cloudy with sporadic showers is the most common climate).

But like I say, I don’t think we’ll win. The last time we got close was twenty years ago. And when we didn’t win, the whole nation went into a collective state of such depression and lack of self-esteem that we re-elected John Major two years later. Perhaps that should be our inspiration. If Major can be Prime Minister, anything’s possible. Portsmouth beat Spurs in the FA Cup semi-final last weekend and no-one saw that coming. Even the mad Portsmouth bloke with the bell. But maybe we need a little extra help. Let’s put everything into the bid for 2018, make the Wembley pitch even worse than it is now and then schedule all the England home games there and watch us fly.

The Credit Crunch

2008-11-18T10:56:00.001Z

Some useful tips on how to avoid the credit crunch.

1) Be Rich. This is probably the best option although it’s not open to many people. You could try befriending someone who’s rich although it’s often hard to find rich people who are willing to even talk to someone who isn’t. Generally, it only happens in employer/employee situations. But if you’re lucky enough to find yourself with lots of money and no sign of it running out anytime soon, you can easily avoid all the usual credit crunch problems like non-payment of direct debits or having to forgo those little luxuries like food.

2) Live somewhere unaffected by the global economic downturn. Fishermen in Vanuatu are unlikely to be hit too hard by the collapse of the world banking system. But learning to be a fisherman in Vanuatu is not easy. Unless you own a spear and some factor forty sun-cream, it’s unlikely you’ll have the requisite tools to fit in. Some people don’t even like fish. Personally, I’m quite partial. Although, if I’m honest, I’d rather someone else caught it, filleted it and presented it to me, possibly lightly grilled and brushed with a basil sauce.

3) Work in an industry unaffected by the downturn. There’s not a huge amount of choice for people who wish to avoid the worst effects of the collapse of capitalism. Speaking from personal experience, stand-up comedy is doing fine at the moment but obviously you do have to have a sense of humour and a certain amount of talent. Although it hasn’t stopped some people, not that I’m naming names. OK Lenny Henry. Funeral director is another possibility, although a bit like fishermen in Vanuatu, this is not an industry that can be instantly picked up. People don’t want to hand their dead relatives over to just anyone. But if you happen to be a funeral director already, or happen to know someone who is and they’re looking for staff, well done you.

4) Invent something that everybody needs, patent it and then sell it in immense quantities. Bill Gates managed it. So did the tall one on Dragon’s Den. If they managed it, why not you? Be creative!

5) Be on benefits already. Being on benefits is pretty much foolproof. Anyone can do it although a long-term disability helps immensely in terms of the government not bothering you. Plus, having had the benefit (no pun intended) of years of practice of living on very little, you are very well placed to continue doing the same thing. Indeed, your wealth relative to others will actually increase.

6) Go to India and become a holy man. Divesting yourself of all your worldly possessions is a sure-fire way of keeping them out of the grubby hands of the bailiffs. You get to travel the country begging and anything you manage to scrounge is, at present, tax-free. Plus, you can legitimately smoke huge quantities of industrial strength marijuana and write it off as a spiritual necessity.

7) Fake your own death. Keep an eye out on the news for train crashes and other disasters. When they happen, concoct a story linking you with said disaster, pack your bags, empty your bank account and set off on your new adventure. Of course you’ll miss the family but you can keep an eye on their progress on Facebook.

8) Adopt a number of different identities. Keep those creditors guessing. In the classic Cecil B De mille film The Greatest Show on Earth, James Stewart played a doctor who murdered his wife in a mercy killing (Of course it was a mercy killing. It was James Stewart for goodness sake!) and then disguised himself as a clown with unusually well practised medical skills. He was caught at the end when he performed a six-hour operation on one of the trapeze artists and people got a bit suspicious.

9) Invest in a number of insurance policies and then commit suicide. This is a bit final plus not everyone can do it at the same time otherwise premiums will go through the roof. But what with global finances being the way they are, it’s unlikely that anything’s going to change anytime soon. If you can stand the pain, this may be the easiest option.

10) Sit tight and don’t panic. This is not strictly avoidance but it might just work. The doomsayers may say that your house is worth thirty percent less than it was a year ago but if you’re not moving, it means nothing. It’s like saying your stereo’s worth thirty percent less. But whatever you do, don’t sell your stereo.

I hope these tips are useful in coping with the current crisis. Let me know how you get on. If you do become very rich, leave your email address. Maybe we could meet up for a coffee.

Obama

2008-11-11T12:34:00.002Z

I’ve been crying this week. I’m a forty-five year old man and I’ve been crying. Because a politician got elected. Jesus! What’s happening to me? Next thing you know, I’ll be watching soap operas and feeling empathy. People are looking at me in the same way that I looked at people who cried over Diana. My mates tell me I’m being irrational. They’re suggesting I have the emotional maturity of a six-year old girl.

It wasn’t this way for Blair, at least I don’t remember it being this way. When Blair won on that warm spring evening in May 1997, I was at a party in Islington (where else?) and we celebrated not, in my memory for Tony but because the many-headed beast of the Conservative party had finally been defeated. And not just beaten, they were stuffed. It was a happy time. But I never cried.

Obama is different. He’s hip. He’s cool. He’s universally known by just one name. (The ultimate in branding. Madonna, Kylie, Hitler although that one didn’t work out) He’s a black man in The White House. The symbolism!

So, in this momentous month, with that in mind, I’ve decided to post what I hope will be the first of a number of blogs. It’ll be a collection of thoughts and ideas with a basic sentence structure and proper punctuation. I'm not sure of the libel laws vis a vis blogs but it's unlikely that scurrilous gossip will make too many appearances on this page. It's a shame really because there's nothing I like more than scurrilous gossip but if there's even the slightest chance of me getting into legal difficulties, I'm not sure it's worth the trouble. Unless it’s particularly funny and then I’ll take my chances.

Why add my voice to the millions of others currently doing the rounds on computers around the world? Well first of all, the world changed on 5^th November and now seems like the right time to get going. Obama’s only two years older than I am and he’s the President of the most powerful country on earth. I’m a slightly successful stand-up comedian. I think I’m underachieving.

Plus there’s the possibility of a wider audience. I like the idea of someone in China being able to read stuff that I've written and possibly comment on it. Not just China obviously although that's a big market. There may be translation issues as well although I haven't really thought it through. Truthfully, I'm not that bothered whether Chinese people read it or not. Not that I've got anything against the Chinese. I was just using them as an example. I had stir-fry with black bean sauce yesterday and it was very tasty.

I'd be glad if anyone in the United States reads this. To you people, I say "well done" and I'm aware of the patronising nature of that last statement but all the same, it seems appropriate to offer my congratulations. You did the right thing by the rest of the world and we’re glad. There was nothing we could have done anyway but we’re glad all the same.

I used to do a joke about how American elections are far too important to be left in the hands of Americans and it always got a big laugh. In one sense, I'm pissed off I can't use it any more but on the other hand, electing Obama is something that's good for the world and I’ve realized I should put aside my selfish satirical side. At least for this week.

To the doomsayers I say what Obama says. “Yes we can”. Unless you’re John Seargent and you obviously can’t. (For specific British references, you’ll have to ask a friend). Because it’s going to be OK. Obama exudes confidence. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. Whereas George W Bush looked like he’d wandered into the kitchen and forgotten why he was there.

Plus Sarah Palin as vice-president would have been a disaster. You can’t have someone like that one heartbeat away from the presidency when the heart belongs to a seventy two year old man who’s been through a war. Of course it’s my opinion. It’s my blog. How can someone be anti-abortion and pro the death penalty. "no! you can't terminate that preganancy cos it might grow up to be a murderer and then we could kill it". Plus, I think it's a bit rich to go on about being pro-life and then kill a moose. I did quite fancy her though and wanting to have sexual relations with a vice-presidential candidate was definitely a first for me. Although I thought Michael Dukakis had lovely eyes.

So each week I’m going to choose a topic and write about it. And this week, it’s Obama. Nothing else comes close. See you next Tuesday.