When I turned thirty I had what can only be described as the early onset of a post-quarter-life-midlife-crisis. I was consumed by the desire to do something kerr-ay-zee, so I took myself down to the local tattoo parlour on the eve of the 2008/9 season and booked myself in for an hour or so of self-inflicted skin-scratching, pricking, searing pain. On my right shoulder now resides a cockerel balanced on top of a football. It’s there forever. Forever, ever? Forever. And I hate it and love it in equal measure. It’s there now as a permanent reminder with its ink-stained durability, of the despairing futility that being a supporter of a football club brings. It’s a nihilistic pursuit, with little if any reward. Because like Spurs, I cannot ever erase it. It’s part of me now, for better or for worse.
Don’t Believe The Hype
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.
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?”
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.
Read more on Mutiny At Stamford Bridge: The Downfall Of Villas-Boas…
Roy Race: The Unauthorised Biography by Roger Domeneghetti
It would seem that Dispatches has slipped into the realms of the parallel universe this week. On Sunday, it was Scott Parker as Biggles whilst this Wednesday’s post tells the true-life tale of a very fictitious character. Are you sitting comfortably? Roger Domeneghetti wants to tell you an amazing story…
Read more on Roy Race: The Unauthorised Biography by Roger Domeneghetti…
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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Coventry City And The Irrationality Of Hate
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 Hidden Perils Of Fantasy Football by Simon Jones
What’s ruining football? Manchester City’s ‘moneyball’? John Terry’s foul mouth? The decline of the Big Man up front? Actually, it’s none of the above. Simon Jones reckons it’s something else. His theory is not beyond the realms of fantasy.
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In Defence Of Luis Suarez by Rachael Singh
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.
The Trial Of John T
Inspired by Franz Kafka’s The Trial
Someone must have been telling lies about John T, for although he had done many things wrong in his life, he was arrested for a crime he claimed he had not committed one fine morning. He protested his innocence to the officials that questioned him with vehemence but it seemed his denials had fallen on deaf ears.
How could this have come to pass? John T was a highly decorated and successful member of The Establishment. On many an occasion it had transpired that his propensity for brutish thuggery and sneering condescension towards those of lesser means had been overlooked by his protectors; a mysterious benefactor from the Russian steppe and a boardroom full of greying men known as The Association who feared his wrath but secretly admired his flagrant breaking of the Code of Conduct that many in his line of work dutifully adhered to. It would seem that this time, John T’s immunity was consigned to dust. He was suddenly consumed with a chilling feeling of loneliness. John T was apparently accused of going One Step Too Far.
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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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