As featured in The Guardian\
It’s the final Wednesday Dispatch, so what better way to bring a cracking season to a conclusion than by handing the Sofa over to someone who sits on it every day. Mrs Theoharis never knew what she was letting herself in for. Let her explain.
Read more on So I Married A Football Blogger by Nina Theoharis…
Somewhere within the sprawling narrative of Dostoevsky’s novel The Brothers Karamazov, you’ll come across a literary oddity entitled Parable of the Grand Inquisitor. A short tangent but an intriguing one nonetheless, it tells the story of Jesus’ return to Earth as the fifteenth century gives way to the sixteenth and sees the second coming occur in Seville with no hint of celestial fanfare. Nevertheless, the unannounced stranger causes quite a stir as he goes about restoring a blind man’s eyesight and resurrecting a recently deceased child of seven years.
The Media Studies student with a basic knowledge of how audiences consume media texts will tell you all about the famed Hypodermic Needle Model. This was a theory that came into prominence in the 1920s that suggested audiences passively digest information without question. As this era ushered in the use of propaganda by the Soviets and later the Nazis, it was more or less accepted that people could be manipulated into thinking what the ‘powers-that-be’ wanted them to believe.
“Right now I’m having amnesia and déjà-vu at the same time. I think I’ve forgotten this before” – Steven Wright
It’s probably fair to assume that it hasn’t been the best week in Alan Davies’ career. Listening to the now infamous Tuesday Club podcast, in which the ‘comedian’ managed to alienate most of Liverpool with his misguided comments about Liverpool Football Club’s refusal to play on the fifteenth of April, it comes across as the snide rantings of a pernicious classroom ‘wit’ who elicits cheap laughs from his gang of sycophantic mates at the expense of the kid with a weight problem/spots/lack of sexual experience. It was malicious in its tone and as a consequence, he has been under fire all week with some equally distasteful comments being aimed in his direction from some in the football community.
It was a very rare public show of emotion from Sir Alex Ferguson last Monday night. With his side having all but sealed the three points against a stubborn Blackburn, the old curmudgeon pumped both fists in a victorious gesture of defiance towards the visiting support. It was in that moment that it became clear that the latest threat to his supremacy at the game’s zenith had been vanquished should the remainder of the season conclude with Manchester United sweeping all before them. Manchester City had blown it. And he didn’t have to break sweat.
Read more on His And Her Dark Materials: The Mind Games Of Samantha Brick & Alex Ferguson…
I am an atheist. This is to my grandmother’s eternal disapproval seeing as she has grown increasingly more religious during the final chapters of her life. Seeking solace in the comforting warmth and promises that religion offers is understandable for an eighty-two year old woman. As for her grandson, he could tell you about the time he held a chimpanzee in his arms and could see in that moment the clear, fleeting connection humans shared with primates before our evolutionary paths forked. Or he could spend the best part of a thousand words debunking the myths of religion. But I am no Richard Dawkins. I am neither zealot nor crusader. Believe what you want to believe.
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. 16th 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”.
The ignominy of seeing one of Britain’s biggest and most successful clubs this week finally accepting the grim reality of administration was one thing. Glasgow Rangers’ humiliation however, paled in comparison when the disparity that exists within Scottish football became glaringly apparent when the club had ten points deducted for its failure to balance the books. The upshot of this was in many respects the biggest indictment of football north of the border. Rangers were left trailing archrivals Celtic by fourteen points but nevertheless maintaining a nine point cushion of comfort from third placed Motherwell. The remainder of the season will inevitably be just a dull procession.
Like him or not, Luis Suarez has been the most talked about and divisive character of the season. I had my say a few weeks ago, but Dispatches is nothing if not fair. As this week the law is under the microscope on here, Liverpool fan Rachael Singh pleads the case for the defence. Take cover.
I’ve always prided myself on the fact that apart from the odd moment when it’s used in context, swearing has never featured in my Dispatches posts. That doesn’t mean I am adverse to the use of what so many paragons of virtue (aka Daily Mail readers) call ‘colourful language’. Hold a conversation with me and I’m likely to add a liberal smattering of effs and blinds for effect. However, when it comes to writing, I’ve always found that the use of profanity does more to limit the ebb and flow of discourse rather than enhance it. It comes across as crass and poorly thought out, demonstrating neither wit nor charm.
Read more on Expletive Deleted: Football’s Culture Of Swearing…
In Defence Of Luis Suarez by Rachael Singh
What’s The Point Of Scottish Football?
Captain Caveman: The De-evolution of John Terry
Alan Davies Is Here All Week
Liverpool Football Club, 1892 – 2012 – An Obituary
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