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.
Tag Archives | Redknapp
Craven Cottage Heights
Inspired by Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights.
The tapping at the window had haunted him for several nights. Despite the gloom that rolled the fog across the field of Craven Cottage and the incessant thunderstorms that had ravaged any hope of a contented sleep, Heathcliff Jol knew that the sounds emanating from without were not of a natural origin. He had seen it some three moonshines ago. An apparition, pallid in complexion, gaunt, transparent but familiar regardless. It was the figure of his great lost love, Catherine Lilywhite. She had returned to him, after so many years but the very essence of her life-force was evaporating before his very eyes.
Jol could not face the spectre for a third night and thus buried his face into the pillow of his bed, wrapping the bedsheets around his hulking frame and wishing for the haunting presence to once again return from whence it came. “Cathy,” he muttered breathlessly, “why do you taunt me so?”
Harry Redknapp Killed My Blog by George Ogier
It promised to bring a more varied and original approach to football writing but George Ogier feels the Great Football Blog Boom has gone bust. And he knows just who to blame…
Mutiny At Stamford Bridge: The Downfall Of Villas-Boas
In the space of seven days, two Russians have asserted their authority with characteristic ruthlessness. In Moscow, Vladimir Putin is currently snuffing out any dissent that has arisen from his contested election victory last Sunday. Meanwhile, in the borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, Roman Abramovich yet again demonstrated that his willingness to abandon his managerial appointments in favour of a dressing room dominated by preening egos is probably the greatest hindrance to Chelsea’s long-term future at the English game’s summit.
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The Amazing Adventures Of Captain Scott Parker
Chapter 33: In which our hero gains a promotion, takes on the Dutch and continues to look utterly dashing.
The call came one Tuesday afternoon whilst Wing Commander Scottisworth Parker was enjoying a brief moment of R&R at his gentleman’s club, deep in the heart of Marylebone. He had spent the morning fulfilling his role as Housewife’s Officer of Choice by posing for a promotional advertisement in which he side-parted his short back and sides with a leading hairstyling wax. By three o’clock he was firmly ensconced in a leather armchair, sucking on a pipe whilst mulling over the latest issue of The Chap, paying great attention to an article within concerning the correct procedure in which one must button up one’s waistcoat.
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Don’t Go Harry: Why Redknapp Should Stay At Spurs
Here I am, emphatically and unequivocally cementing a u-turn. Like most Spurs fans, my plea is clear: don’t go Harry! Alas, it seems that last Wednesday’s tumultuous events have paved the way for the wrongly accused Mr Redknapp to be the next in line to take up that ominous ‘poisoned chalice’ that is the England manager’s job. After all, if all and sundry are telling us it’s an inevitability, then it must be so. And there’s the little matter of Harry’s stating that he is fully “focused on Tottenham”. I’ve heard that kind of talk too many times before. One Sulzah Campbell springs to mind.
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Expletive Deleted: Football’s Culture Of Swearing
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.
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Something Borrowed, Something Blue: The Resurrections of Thierry Henry & Margaret Thatcher
No matter how many times they tried, the enemies of Rasputin could not kill him. Like some beheaded zombie who continues to drag its carcass towards you, the mad monk just kept coming back for more. And that’s how I’ve been feeling lately about the return to the popular consciousness of two foes that I thought had been vanquished and banished to the dark recesses of the dog-eared history book or yellowing newspaper clipping in a dusty archive. Yes, Margaret Thatcher and Thierry Henry are akin to Robert Patrick’s T-1000. Seemingly indestructible and hell-bent on rising from the dead.
Shearer For England by Hayden Shaw
The final Wednesday Dispatch of 2011 sees Hayden Shaw gazing into his crystal ball and telling us the future. It doesn’t bode well for England fans. Ladies and gentleman, may we introduce to you…
An Old Trafford Christmas Carol
It’s coming up to the two hundredth anniversary of Charles Dickens’ birth and it’s nearly Christmas. So this year’s Christmas Dispatch was easy. Say hello, to a famous old curmudgeon…
As the dying embers of the fire crackled and hissed, Ebenezer Ferguson clasped his gnarled hands around a flagon of whiskey and took another sip. Pinched of cheek and red of nose, he sat awaiting the fast-approaching hour of twelve; the night before Christmas morn. An hour before he had received a visitation from a spectre. His former partner, Brian Kiddisworth had miraculously emerged from an ethereal dimension to reproach and warn him to mend the error of his ways. Kiddisworth had betrayed his mentor years previously and the two men had not exchanged a passing pleasantry for the remainder of Kiddisworth’s time on Earth. Ebenezer Ferguson had cared not a jot. He had become hardened of heart and allowed personal feuds to destroy what aspects of humanity still remained within him.
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In Defence Of Luis Suarez by Rachael Singh
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What’s The Point Of Scottish Football?
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Captain Caveman: The De-evolution of John Terry
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Alan Davies Is Here All Week
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Liverpool Football Club, 1892 – 2012 – An Obituary
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