There was a time when you could saunter up to your local stadium and you’d know you’d have a fairly good chance of meeting one of your heroes. You might even have a chat with them. A photo. Definitely an autograph. But as the song goes, “something changed”. Ian Rands knows exactly what happened.
Tag Archives | Wire
Nick Hornby Ruined My Life
Dispatch No. 100
If you want someone to blame for the ninety-nine Dispatches that have preceded this one, blame Nick Hornby. It was never meant to last this long, you know. It was just something to have a bit of fun with. You weren’t meant to read any of these things I’ve written. I’m riddled by my own obsession with putting a semi-cogent piece of writing together every Sunday. And to cap it all off, an Arsenal fan has done this to me.
This Is Dispatches From A Football Sofa…
In the final series of The Wire incarcerated druglord Marlo Stanfield, having been made aware that his ‘employees’ had kept concealed that his reputation was being denigrated by sworn enemy Omar Little on the streets of Baltimore, angrily exclaims, “my name is my name!” Faced with having his name forever associated with the malicious rumours of gossipmongers, The Crucible’s John Proctor defiantly proclaims:
Myths and Legends
SPOILER ALERT: If you have not seen The Wire in its entirety do not read this piece.
The story of my great uncle Nikos is a much-told story in my family. Fighting for the British in the Second World War, he was captured by the Germans and taken to a prisoner of war camp. Through sheer bloody-mindedness and ingenuity, he managed to escape his captors and found sanctuary in Greece thinking that being amongst fellow Hellenes would keep him safe. He hadn’t accounted for collaborators and he was soon re-captured and suffered at the hands of the Nazis. His survival instincts however, were unquenchable and he broke out for a second time, spending the rest of the war hiding in Switzerland.
Home Is Where The Hart Is
The most enduring stories are those that centre upon the quest of their protagonists to find their way home. From Homer’s Odyssey to Homer’s precarious drive in the opening credits of The Simpsons, we are continually entranced and beguiled by the adventures of characters who crave nothing other than safe passage and security from the raging winds of the world beyond. Tony Soprano wheels across the surrounding New Jersey environs after another day of murder, betrayal and therapy and wants for nothing other than one of Carmela’s leftover gabagool and a reclining seat in front of the History Channel whilst Dorothy intones repeatedly that “there’s no place like home” when the transparent nature of the realities of Oz become apparent.
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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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