Tag Archives | Thatcher

I Support Spurs Because I Want To, I Choose Labour Because I Have To

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(or is it the other way round? I can’t decide)

Let me start this with a confession.

For two whole weeks in the spring of 1988, I became a Nottingham Forest supporter. My ten-year old fickleness was seduced by the charisma of Brian Clough in the dwindling twilight of his managerial pomp and the general attractiveness of their football. Thankfully though, the flirtation was a brief one. Common sense naturally prevailed. What business did I have supporting a team from a town I had never (and still haven’t) visited when there was one that played within earshot of my house? And what would my mum have made of it, having scrimped and saved for my first proper Spurs kit that wasn’t bought off some wheeling and dealing Del Boy clone from the local market?

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Requiem For A Spurs Bennite


Echoes and ghosts followed me last week. Fragments of the past flitted their unsummoned way into my mind and carried me down streams of consciousness. They flickered with images that will forever be beyond my tangible grasp.

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Mandela’s Game: Keane, Vieira & The Cult Of Me

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Those ancient Greeks knew a thing or two. Take the story of Narcissus. A vain boy so full of himself that upon coming across his reflection in a pool of water he falls in love immediately with what he sees. Transpose that a few thousand years and the lad would be posting a ‘selfie’ on Twitter with an added sad face, hashtagging #RIPNELSONMANDELA.

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The 2012/13 Dispatches

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Nine months, forty-one posts, a lot of very happy Evertonians, some very angry West Ham fans, politics, economics, religion, a Black Mirror and a bit of Chas ‘n’ Dave. And there are some out there who think that football is pointless. All this season’s Dispatches in one tidy little post. Don’t ever say, I don’t treat you. Enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. All the best, Greg.

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Thatcher’s Game: Spurs, Sky And Revising History

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If I’m being honest, had I written this on the day she died my words would have been fuelled with eviscerating anger. Anger for the countless individuals, whose lives and livelihoods were callously considered by her to be collateral damage when compared to the implementation of her grand designs for this country. As the days have passed however, my moods have swung dramatically from bouts of resignation (her way won, right?) to moments of outright dejection witnessing as I have, the re-opening of the scars she inflicted upon us all; proof that the society which she alleged did not exist, remains as fractured as it was when she grabbed the reigns of power in the first year of my life.

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Next Home Match: Tottenham Holsten vs Newcastle Wonga

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Imre Varadi. Now there’s a name that doesn’t crop up too often in the every day chatter of even the most obsessive of football obsessives. I only mention him now, not out of any kind of deep yearning for the journeyman forward’s footballing prowess but because of what was plastered on his West Brom shirt when I pulled him out of a Panini packet in 1986. It made a long-lasting impression on me. In place of the logo of some fashionable beer or desirable mod con was a non-smoking symbol. I didn’t realise it at the time, but West Brom were pioneers in what has now become known as ‘ethical advertising’.

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Hillsborough – The Apology


“On behalf of the government, and indeed of our country, I am profoundly sorry that this double injustice has been left uncorrected for so long.”

 David Cameron

What else was a serving Prime Minister of Her Majesty’s government expected to say on the day when the truth that the majority of us knew to be so, was finally and incontrovertibly proven? Liverpool fans were not responsible for the tragedy that took the lives of ninety-six souls and impacted thousands more on that day twenty-three years ago. Those who grossly and malevolently colluded to contrive untruths, were.

Apologies should be humble by their very nature. They show an ability to admit one’s wrongdoing; that one is fallible; that one can reflect upon that fallibility with self-awareness and thus strive to do better next time. This is how apologies work. They are not another opportunity for the egoist in us to bleat on about our own misjudged superiority.

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The 2011/12 Dispatches

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Nick Hornby liked one of them. A lot of Scots hated one of them. Scott Parker was Biggles, Martin Jol was Heathcliff, Joey Barton was Che Guevara and John Terry was all manner of things. From roundabouts to haircuts, cows and even a seance with Brian Clough. A bit of politics, a lot of Spurs and a love/hate relationship with Harry Redknapp. And don’t forget the zombies.

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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.

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Justice For The 96

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For the lost.

For the survivors.

For the campaigners.

For the families.


For twenty-two years they’ve waited.

For twenty-two years they’ve been weighted.

By the untruths spread to be dispelled, negated

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