Bewitching . . .

So Blur's forthcoming new album is entitled The Ballad of Darren, and the two Darren's are going head to head at Hillsborough.

Who knew Darren would be making a comeback in 2023?

Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby (Riverhead Books 1992)

Social History

Arsenal v Derby
29.2.72

The replay finished nil-nil, a game with no merit whatsoever. But it remains the only first-team game that has taken place at Highbury on a midweek afternoon during my Arsenal time: February 1972 was the time of the power workers' strike. For all of us it meant sporadic electricity, candlelight, occasional cold suppers, but for third-year football fans it meant visits to the Electricity Board showroom, where cut-off rota was posted, in order to discover which of us were able to offer The Big Match on Sunday afternoons. For Arsenal, the power crisis meant no floodlights, hence the Tuesday afternoon replay.
I went to the game, despite school, and though I had imagined that the crowd might consist of me, a few other teenage truants, and a scattering of pensioners, in fact there were more than sixty-three thousand people there, the biggest crowd of the season. I was disgusted. No wonder the country was going to the dogs! My truancy prevented me from sharing my disquiet with my mother (an irony that escaped me at the time), but what was going on?
For this thirtysomething, the midweek Cup-tie (West Ham played giant-killers Hereford on a Tuesday afternoon as well, and got a forty-two-thousand-plus crowd) now has that wonderful early seventies sheen, like an episode of The Fenn Street Gang or a packet of Number Six cigarettes; maybe it was just that everyone at Upton Park and Highbury, all one hundred and six thousand of us, wanted to walk down one of the millions of tiny alleys of social history.

Wales 3 Scotland 0

What a thing to wake up to on a wet Saturday morning.

It gets worse:

"Scotland have not beaten Wales since 1984 and that did not look like altering here as the Scots suffered their fourth successive away defeat - and their fourth road trip on the trot where they have not scored." [BBC Report]

25 years since beating Wales? Frankie were number 1 in the charts with Relax, for christ sake.

What makes it even more depressing is that when you dig out the stats for that Scotland win way back in February 1984, the scorers that day were Davie Cooper and Mo Johnston in a 2-1 win. To have that sort of quality in the team today.

I'm away out to drown my sorrows in a Chinese.

'Firing bullets' in Chinatown

Jumpers for goalposters, and millionaire sports stars in a Lower Manhattan kickabout.

Vanity Fair Culture & Celebrity blog reports on last Wednesday's celebrity charity game that took place in a small fenced-in area in Chinatown.

In the red corner, Steve Nash - stalwart for the Phoenix Suns, Spurs supporter and Communist Manifesto reading NBA all star (of course, the last bit gives it away that he's Canadian) - who brought with him fellow NBA superstars such as Jason Kidd, Raja Bell, and assorted other tall blokes I've never heard of and, in the blue corner, Claudio Reyna - born in Livingston . . . . New Jersey, played for R*ngers, Man City and Sunderland (then his career got a boost by signing for the New York Red Bulls) - who discovered Robbie Fowler, Thierry Henry, Salomon Kalou and, erm, Jozy Altidore, who's also from Livingston . . . New Jersey sharing a poke of chips - with Irish Curry Sauce - at Pommes Frites in the Lower East Side and thought the impromptu game would be a good way of burning off some off season calories.

What with the preening, showboating and playing to the gallery of the multitude looking on, Julian Sancton, the Vanity Fair blogger, is sort of right when he rights that: "The game had the feel of a live Adidas commercial, with a mix of sportsmanlike bonhomie and goofy grandstanding . . ." but I won't be too snarky towards the assembled sporting celebs because anybody who has walked past a court in the Lower East Side when a handball or a streetball game is going on will know that preening, showboating and playing to the gallery of the multitude looking on comes part and parcel with the shorts, sneakers and the funny sized ball.

And, anyway, who am I kidding. I could concoct some lame arse rant about the double whammy cyncism of secretly thrilled East Village hipsters feigning boredom whilst watching overpaid and overexposed sportstars swallow their own PR bullshit of keeping sport real on the urban streets (insert modern day hovis commerical here of David Villa and Christian Ronaldo playing football with street urchins on the cobbled streets of a rainswept Spennymoor) , but if I'd heard about the game beforehand I would have turned up with my autograph book and thermos flask.

. . . and if I found out that Charlie Nicholas was playing keepie-uppie within a hundred miles radius of my good self? I'd walk barefoot over a broken Stephen Glass to go watch him perform.

Back to the game at hand. Where's YouTube when you need it:

"Later in the game, he [Baron Davis] body-slammed a prostrate Robbie Fowler, who is half his size."

Robbie Fowler's bad rep seems to get around.

And is just me, but what's with Steve McManaman morphing into a young and chunky Tim Robbins? (Click on the pic to see the uncanny resemblance.)

I was only joking about Pommes Frites earlier on, but, with Macca, now I'm not so sure.

Hat tip to Will Rubbish, who found out about the game because of Reyna's Black Cat connection.

Shit Celebrity Fans

Oh, that's a bastard. Set my heart on wishing Doncaster Rovers well in today's play-off final against Leeds Utd, and it turns out that their only celebrity fans are the couple of numpties represented below.

Ken Bates versus Clarkson and Daniels . . . . Ken Bates versus Clarkson and Daniels . . . . Ken Bates versus Clarkson and Daniels . . . . Ken Bates versus Clarkson and Daniels . . . . Ken Bates versus Clarkson and Daniels . . . . Ken Bates versus Clarkson and Daniels . . . . Nah, it doesn't matter how often I cut and paste those loathsome names I'm still caught on the horns of a particular footballing dilemma.

What would Charlie have done?

That'll Do

The worst haircut in football outside of the Argentinian Primera División wins the cup for Spurs.

First time since 2004 that a team outside of the 'Big Four' have won a domestic trophy.

The Gasheads for the FA Cup.

Love Comes In Spurs

Come on Tottenham, turn over those wankers from West London.

I won't even mind if Hutton scores the winner.

"Excellent Buzzcocks tunes are many, laughs on the Shelley sitcom were few."

Tony who?

OK, as I've now come clean to the fact that, for me, mention of the name Shelley in 1981 meant a miserabilst half-hour sitcom of non-laughs on Thames TV, rather than the joyful melodic punk noise on 'Singles Going Steady', I should also clear up the matter of 1981 and all things Morley.

In 1981, when someone mentioned the name Morley in my company, my hackles didn't rise at the thought of a gobshite NME journalist. That displeasure was to befall me many years later.

Rather, the mention of the name Morley in 1981 meant the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention at the thought of the brilliant Aston Villa footballer, Tony Morley, who, for a season and a half, was up there with John Robertson as the best left winger in British football.

And of course there was that goal against Everton at Goodison Park which won the goal of the season in 1981. It was a goal that ensured that Aston Villa were my favourite English team for a couple of years, and allowed me to glory hunt their European Cup triumph the following season. (And you thought we were all affecting scouse accents in the early eighties.)

Funny, I can't remember the subject of this month's Socialist Standard editorial but I'm sure I can remember Villa's team that won the Championship that season: Rimmer in goal; Swain, Williams, Evans and McNaughton in defence; Mortimer, Bremner, Cowans and Morley in midfield; with Withe and Shaw up front. [This old article from The Observer fills in the gaps.]

Cowans and Shaw in the same sentence? A beauty and the beast combination* that surely a foreshadows the teaming up of Ronan Keating and Mikey Graham many years later. I seemingly can't get away from drawing comparisons between perfect football and perfect pop on the blog. I need a cup of tea to wake me up.

*Bit harsh on Cowans, I know. In truth, I could have paired Gary Shaw with Bremner, McNaughton, Evans or Withe for the B & B line. They all fit (im)perfectly for the barb. Any thoughts of 'Spice Boys' was a lifetime away.

Paul Morley Tony Morley was once my hero

Further to this post on the blog from a few days back, Snappy Kat was kind enough to post a link to the 'notorious' 1981 TOTP appearance by Magazine.

Sad to discover that it wasn't the 'event' I was expecting from the vivid description in Simon Reynolds post-punk bible. Any stage fright from Devoto had less to do with caught up in the occasion, and probably owed more to being struck dumb by David 'Kid' Jensen's positioning when introducing the band. I always wondered where Ricky Gervais got the inspiration for that pose in the second series of 'The Office'.

Should have known that any story that had the name 'Paul Morley' attached to it would have a certain je ne sais quoi.

However, every cloud had a silver lining and, via the comments accompanying the YouTube clip, I discovered the following nugget of useless post-punk information:

"The guitar lick in 'Lipstick' was given to Devoto by Shelley for use in Magazine's 'Shot by Both Sides', one of 2 Magazine-recorded songs co-written by Shelley, the other being 'The Light Pours Out of Me' by Devoto/McGeoch/Shelley. 'Lipstick' was actually written before 'Shot by...', even though 'Shot by...' was released first on Mon, Jan 16, 1978." [Info via here.]

Shelley, as in Pete Shelley of Buzzcocks fame, not that other Shelley anti-hero bloke from the post-punk era.

What with my trained tin-ear for all things musical, I find it difficulty to hear the overlap between the two tracks. And that's despite the fact that I've listened to both tracks on numerous occasions down the years. But it is a good excuse to post some early eighties stuff on the blog for sampling purposes:

Magazine - 'Shot By Both Sides' mp3

Buzzcocks - 'Lipstick' mp3

Forget what I said about McGeady and the pint of guinness qualification rule

Shameless I know, but I'd donate my left leg for a sweet left foot in the squad.

Can You Guess Who It Is Yet?

Phutball Pheories

Some killer and/or off-kilter quotes:

"This is a sharp, smart, outstanding human being and he's just been sucked into that awful Premier League vacuousness. It's sad to see *** ***** bullshitting. But there you go. It happens." Who's talking? And who are they talking about? Click on the link.

"Just be done with it and give ***** ******* the player of the year awards now, both Scottish Football Writers' Association and that of his fellow professionals. It's shootie-in." Not too fussed by who said it. The bloke's a blowhard, but interesting to note who he is havering on about. This time last year, Reidski was incandescent with rage about the young chap but apparently he's now come good. And when you see the nifty bit of footwork he employed when setting up the third goal on Sunday, you have to wonder if it'll be Liverpool or Man Utd that will be his next destination. (Turns out that Sunday wasn't a one off. He's been known to make a habit of it. Only difference Sunday was that it resulted in a goal.)

". . . . It's a nonsense idea. I am sure (Fifa) will never accept it because it's not good for football . . . In England, you already have no English coach, no English players and maybe now you will have no clubs playing in England. It's a joke." Somebody chipping into the 39 games debate, and going up in my estimation in the process. The bloke has class both on and off the pitch.

Beautiful Sanchez

Repeat after me: two was better than one.

They Blog, So I Don't Have To #2

Mixing Footie and Lists

Midfield Dynamo is the new addition to the footie blogroll. With its mixture of the humorous and the off-kilter it's nearest we'll ever get to a half-decent When Saturday Comes website. (Yeah, I know that WSC has a website, but it's a bit tight-fisted with the material it makes available to the reader.)

A few lists to give you a flavour of MD:

The Top 10 Car Crash Interviews in Football Check out the Walter Smith interview. *shudder*

Books All Football Fans Should Read Before They Die What no 'Soccer Syndrome' by John Moynihan? *bollocks*

10 Classic Cloughie Quotes Cloughie, the Musical? Only if Luke Haines does the honours.

Cult Clubs: St Pauli What was the name of their goalie who went to Nicaragua in the 80s?

Top 10 Teams Who Didn't Win the World Cup Hungary was robbed.

Rio(t)

The bloke's a tube:

"Top-flight players using the new 'A-star' goal celebration are 'encouraging kids to follow role models who don't glamourise crime, guns or drugs'. It's a decent message - and less mixed up than last year's try: the Government unveiling Rio Ferdinand as official ambassador against gun and knife crime. 'Kids are led astray by violent computer games,' said a Government source. 'Rio's the perfect role model.' Five days after the launch, Rio unveiled his own new goal celebration - firing a rocket launcher into the crowd in tribute to stealth stabbing, body-bag heavy console game SOCOM US Navy Seals. 'The players love it,' said a Man United source. 'It's combat on and off the pitch.'" [A-star: Take two]

Don't Go Back To BBC'Ville

The curse of the updated BBC webpage.

With regards to this post, whose original BBC link has unfortunately been updated beyond original recognition, I was of course referring to Hogan Ephraim as my favourite quasi footballing Dickensian character.

I guess it should be bleeding obvious. But, if nothing else, I can fall back on Matthew Connolly being my favourite Joycean character, but where does that leave me with Akos Buzsaky? Reading Tibor Fischer's 'Under The Frog' 15 years ago doesn't necessarily make me an expert on Hungarian literature.

This post is so lame that I feel barrage of YouTube clips bubbling to the surface to push this post south of the front page.

Great Expectations

My favourite Dickensian character has just signed for QPR.

The Unspawny Get

Following a brief discussion with Mailstrom's Alan J a few posts back, I made reference to Tommy Sheridan being one of life's "spawny gets" but, from further investigation, I note that there is little or no reference to the term "spawny get" on the net, save a few passing references to Viz, this blog and the urban dictionary.

So, mindful of giving something back to the english language, I thought I would give an example of someone who is anything but spawny, in the hope that it will better explain who or what a spawny get is.

Step forward Blackburn's Paraguayan striker, Roque Santa Cruz.

Last Saturday, Blackburn went 3-0 down inside forty minutes to Wigan at the JJB Stadium only for Cruz to score a pretty nifty hat trick in the space of sixteen minutes to bring the scoreline back to 3-3. What happened next? Wigan struck two late goals and Blackburn went down 5-3 to a team whose forwards up until that point couldn't hit a cow's arse with Mike Harding's banjo.

OK, bad result for the once high flying Blackburn, but let's accentuate the positive: after a strong start to his Blackburn career Santa Cruz goals had dried up in recent months, so three well taken goals pointed to better things for both him and the team.

Fast forward to tonight, and Blackburn are playing a second string Arsenal side (Randall in midfield? Who the hell is Randall? Tony? Derek? No, Mark.) in the quarter final of the Carling Cup at Ewood Park.

Being a second string Arsenal side, naturally enough they go into a 2-0 lead inside half an hour, and one of Blackburn's better chances of getting some silverware is going the same way as Ricky Gervais's career after the Extras' finale. Cometh the hour - okay, the forty-second minute - cometh the man, and Santa Cruz pulls back one back for Blackburn. Cometh *cough* the hour, Santa Cruz equalises and Blackburn's season is back on track. What happens next? Arsenal's Denilson gets sent off in injury time, but the ten man Arsenal edge it 3-2 in extra time. Arsenal go through to the semi final of a tournament they aren't that arsed about, and Blackburn suddenly become incredibly nervous about their forthcoming FA Cup third round fixture at home to Coventry on the 5th January. (Especially as Coventry have a bit of form this season in turning over Premiership sides in Lancashire Hotspots.)

So, to recap, in the space of four days, Roque Santa Cruz has scored five goals in two games. Both times bringing Blackburn back into games they've thrown away in the first half, only for them on both occasions to go on and lose the games when it would have been easier for them to go on and win. That's the best example I can think of, of an 'unspawny get'.

Oh, and Santa Cruz is an ugly bastard to boot. The poor bloke can't get the breaks in life.

"It's OK, Roque. With some corrective plastic surgery, we can make you look like a real footballer".

Not All Shall Have Prizes

Jimmy Greaves goes up in my estimation by about 750%:

""What's the point of giving us all medals now? It's really not necessary.

"In 1966 we knew you'd only get a medal if you played. Those were the rules. I've never been bitter."

From here.

Post-Mortem Kicks In . . . . and kicks and kicks and kicks

Still saying nothing, but had a chuckle at this comment in reply to David Pleat's piece in today's Football Guardian:

"This may appear absurd, but I recall Malcolm Allison once suggesting that English footballers were basically morons and couldn't be taught subtlety and nuance..." [From someone going by the name of 'VanRamp']

The footballing blogs over the next few days are going to make Socialist Unity Blog look like a Croatian Tea Party.

Win'sor Park

Waterlogged pitch . . . a cracking "dipper" from Feeney that would have been a wonderful goal . . . Healy's sublime turn and chip for the winning goal . . . .and a cackling supporter in - or just outside - the commentary box adds up to my footie YouTube clip on the hour.