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Coventry City And The Irrationality Of Hate

February 26, 2012 · Comments ( 7 )

For Ray Dimond

When it comes to the team I hate most in football, it’s not Arsenal who have subjected most of my years supporting Spurs to one humiliating capitulation after another whilst watching on enviously as the trophies and plaudits washed across the hearths of both Highbury and The Emirates. It’s not even Chelsea, who spent years playing the playground bully holding the school squirt’s attempts to land a blow on his chin at arm’s length. West Ham? They’ve always been a minor irritation but have never come close to raising my hackles to such an extent that I lose the ability for rational thought.

That particular ‘honour’ will always belong to Coventry City. It’s not their association with Richard Keys that sets my teeth on edge, although that doesn’t help. No, the genesis for my myopic brand of loathing can be pinpointed to one particular sunny day. 16^th May, 1987. On that day, I awoke to find a seven inch vinyl copy of Chas ‘n’ Dave’s FA Cup final song, Hot Shot Tottenham, gleaming with promise and hope at the edge of my bed placed there lovingly by my mum; it was better than Christmas. And from about eight in the morning to when the television build-up began around noon, I played it continuously on a loop. The outcome of that day we all know, but what truly stung was the realisation that cup win number eight was not as the Cockernee Duo promised, “coming up” and neither were Spurs, “the team, the cream… the best you’ve ever seen”.

Why I Don’t Wear A Poppy

November 13, 2011 · Comments ( 10 )

Many years ago, when I was a cub scout, I remember having to get up on Remembrance Sunday and attend a service for those who fell during the First World War. They were sombre, sober affairs and made a deep impression on this eight year-old boy. In later years, having studied the poems of Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon and like so many others witnessed the final scene of Blackadder, the futility and waste of those four years continued to resonate despite the changing of generations. I always endeavoured to wear a poppy in honour of those who had fought but nowadays, I no longer wear one. It is a conscious decision though not borne out of apathy or disrespect I hasten to add.

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Euros Trashed

October 9, 2011 · Comments ( 2 )

“We watching the England match tonight?” I asked Mrs T on Friday. “Do we have to?” was her reply. I shrugged. She barely managed to stay awake and I spent the majority of the match in a state of disinterest, messing about on Twitter. And in this brief vignette, a prevalent apathy towards international football and more specifically, qualifying matches was captured.

The Last Shadow Puppets

February 27, 2011 · Comments ( 2 )

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The television screens of the world were dominated this week, by an aging man railing at unseen forces hell-bent on dislodging him from his seat of power. Underneath his umbrella, (somewhat reminiscent of that pathetically iconic snapshot of Steve McClaren watching helplessly as his England regime dissolved in the Wembley deluge), Colonel Muamar Gaddafi ranted and foamed at the mouth blaming the twin evils of Al-Qaeda and drugs for the unrest engulfing Libya. Puffy-eyed and increasingly deluded, like any other shameless egoist, he doggedly failed to claim any responsibility for his own failings and threatened repercussions, promising to ‘cleanse’ the country of its enemies.

Schoolboy’s Own Stuff

October 17, 2010 · Comments ( 6 )

My heart stops every time I hear the phrase on the news: “Ex-England star, Paul Gascoigne…”. It happened again last Monday with the reports that Gazza had been arrested once again for driving over the limit. It was an almost throwaway remark by the newsreader, coming as it did after the ongoing farce that Liverpool’s protracted sale has become and the increasingly frosty atmosphere that has been descending upon Old Trafford as Sir Alex and the wayward Wayne Rooney ratchet up their levels of public relations brinkmanship. Gazza being drunk. Again. It’s become such a regular occurrence that whenever it happens, the public raises its collective eyebrows and dismisses it as yet another self-destructive incident in the life of a ‘national treasure’ who has been sadly spiralling into a vortex of self-destruction for nigh-on two decades now. He’s newsworthy but only in the sense that we feel that he deserves an honorary mention simply because we feel we owe it to him for all the years past.

Everything Must Go

October 10, 2010 · Comments ( 1 )

Roll up, roll up for the sale of the century. We have an exquisite little number on show for you today. A quaint little property adjoining the fabulous environs of Stanley Park in the heart of Merseyside. This site may have seen better times, but it nevertheless offers the purchaser the opportunity to regale himself (or herself – this is a buyer’s market after all) in the warmth and glow of a loving and loyal local population which will no doubt do its utmost to make the new owner feel welcome with its world-renowned humour, legendary tales of bootrooms and an unshakeable belief in the twin ideals of Pass and Move. It’s not going cheap, but what we can offer you is the chance to put yourself on the property ladder of one of the world’s most secretive and bloated markets; no questions asked. Debt? Don’t worry about it. If you need it and ask nicely, the more we’ll give you. And to make this once in a lifetime offer even more attractive, we’ll promise you that if you can’t afford the upkeep, you can merely flog it to the next vainglorious chump, oops, we meant budding entrepreneur who’s willing to take up the slack. Just walk away and don’t worry, they’ll keep coming back for more, singing their quaint little ditties and wallowing in their own sense of nostalgia.

In Memoriam

September 5, 2010 · Comments ( 0 )

An old man died on Monday and it would be fair to assume that many of us would not have even the faintest idea of who Francisco Varallo was. With his passing at the age of one hundred years and six months however, the football world lost one of the last remaining links with the game in its formative years and for that we should all feel a little sad. Varallo was on the defeated Argentine side that succumbed to Uruguay in the inaugural World Cup Final in 1930 and with his death, the curtain came down on the pioneers who ensured that the game of football would be elevated to the globe-conquering heights it has subsequently reached.

El Mayor Espectáculo del Mundo

July 11, 2010 · Comments ( 1 )

It may not have been pretty. It may not have been the spectacle of extravagance and style that we would have hoped. At times it resembled a slugging contest with some truly thuggish gamesmanship but in the end the team that attempted to play with a fluidity of movement and expression of freedom prevailed. Spain are the World Champions. And despite my belief that neither Spain nor Holland were truly deserving of their place in the Final itself, it cannot be denied that of the two finalists, it was the Spaniards who did the most to warrant the title now bestowed upon them.

All In The Game

July 10, 2010 · Comments ( 1 )

Thank you Germany! Thank you Uruguay! As I hoped, match number sixty-three was one of the tournament’s truly entertaining and vibrant games. Of course, without the stakes being quite so high, both teams relaxed and played the kind of football that they are both capable of and have shown at various stages over the course of their seven matches in South Africa. And with it they were able to dispel the growing perception that this World Cup has been a series of drab, Mourinho-inspired tactical deadlocks. Of course, there have been those who have used such methods to progress (see holland) and I have been as guilty as anybody else of bemoaning this kind of effective pragmatism but having done so, I have neglected one of the other recurring themes of these Dispatches: the capacity of the World Cup to produce moments that will become embedded in one’s psyche, those golden moments that unfold a sprawling grand narrative which captivates us throughout its duration. (see worldcupdreams)

Unpredictable Predictability

July 7, 2010 · Comments ( 4 )

I’d imagine that fish restaurants from Hamburg to Leipzig will be sharpening their knives tonight in anticipation of a flurry of orders for the ‘kalamari special’ over the next few days. Unfortunately, schools of innocent squid will probably suffer terminal fates because of the uncanny ability of one of their distant cousins to correctly predict the result of all the matches involving Germany at this World Cup. Yet again, Paul the Octopus gravitated towards the flag of the victors in his tank at the Oberhausen Sea Life Aquarium and this time his prediction was Spain.

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