Electoral Fraud

There is a great scene in the movie Election where Matthew Broderick angrily tries to deflect questions from one of his young charges, who is scrutinising the vote he has fixed in favour of his preferred candidate.

“We’re not electing the fucking pope here” he retorts, dismissing the goofy teenager’s reservations about the count, given that in the greater scheme of things, it means sod all.

Over the past few weeks, a series of similar voting shenanigans have been taking place over on BBC1’s flagship Saturday evening show, Strictly Come Dancing. John Sergeant, the man with two left feet, the joke candidate who couldn’t possibly win has been finishing bottom of the pile on Saturday only to be resurrected by the voting public the following evening. This has visibly riled the judges, as one superior dancer after another has been eliminated, while Sergeant ambles his way through another routine each week. The latest dancer to suffer this misfortune was Cherie Lunghi, whose demise was simply a bridge too far for the judges and the 15% of viewers who take the programme seriously as a dancing competition.

Initially, the judges adopted a tactic of implying that the voting public were morons, who should do as they say. Strangely, this only served to strengthen the resolve of the Sergeant supporters, and so this week they took a different tact; disappointment - agonising over whether to keep Lisa Snowdon or Cherie as if they were facing Sophie’s Choice. The one judge I’d absolve from this criticism is Len Goodman, who I actually think is a nice enough man who DOES want this to be a dance competition. Unfortunately a dance competition alone is unlikely to be popular enough I’m afraid.

The furore surrounding him clearly made John uncomfortable, as he sheepishly lingered on the edge of the survivors commiserating their fallen comrade. Then came the stories (rumours from ‘insiders’ mostly) of an uprising among the remaining contestants; if Cherie could go, then it could be any of them – yikes, JOHN MUST GO. John Sergeant is not a man to be easily intimidated – when Thatcher resigned there he was in the thick of it prodding her with a microphone (you could argue that this was her weakest moment, but I wouldn’t get in her way). However, eventually the sniping must have got to him and he decided that enough was enough and yesterday stepped down.

The backlash has been swift and vicious. The Facebook groups established when rumours spread of a passing bandwagon on which to jump, are incandescent in their rage. Here is a flavour of the wall…

"Can't believe he's gone. Those tosser judges should go as well. Silly old bas***ds!!!!!!!!!!"

"As far as I am concerned the judges are just a silly bunch of rude, egotistical nitwits with their heads placed so far up their proverbial bottoms they wouldn`t know what entertainment was if it slapped them in the face"

"Noooooooooo!"

Several comments refer to the judges and their egos, but even more hit on the real nub here, that this is an entertainment show, and John was, entertaining…in a way. And even if he wasn’t, the reaction he generated among the judges sure was. He got people (even me) taking an interest and talking about this programme – give it a week, who knows I may even have voted. Now, all that is gone and SCD will have to hope as many people take an interest in a show that is so strictly about the dancing. I rather doubt they will.

A lot of people have questioned why John was in the show to begin with if he ‘wouldn’t be allowed to win it’. Many suggest, and I’m inclined to concur, that he was there at best as light entertainment, at worst so there’d be a contestant the judges could smugly mock for lacking in dancing talent. What is most unsavoury about all this is that when he turned the tables against the bullies, he was forced out because it didn’t fit with what the judges and the producers wanted.

A lot of people criticise X-Factor, and it mostly deserves it. However, there is none of the pretension of SCD. It knows what it is and what is wants to be, and abuse these days is essentially pantomime abuse. It also has the esteemed Cheryl Cole, a trailblazer in that she is someone your wife or girlfriend doesn’t mind you fancying as they do to a bit too.

It is a damn sight better than Strictly which will now produce a winner forever tainted by the nature of John’s exit. Does it really matter who wins? Does it? Of course not. I’m afraid it’s another spectacular BBC own goal. After all, it’s not like we were electing the Pope…

How to lose friends and alienate acquintances...

A couple of weeks ago I had 131 Facebook friends. Today I have 128. This means, over that fortnight 3 people have decided that they no longer wish to be publicly linked with me. If I was a quasi-celebrity being spoken of unfavourably in the media (Kerry Katona), or been accused of doing something I shouldn’t (Chris Langham) this might be understandable. As it is, in two cases I am as peripheral to these people as the day they accepted my friend request. In the third, I actually met the person concerned for a beer this time last year following some Facebook emailing. It wasn’t a social occasion likely to rival my wedding in the annals (we’d not met in 8 years so it was a tad discomforting), but it was pleasant enough, and there was certainly no indication that it was an engagement of such dire proportions as to warrant my purging from their online world. One day I’ll be Prime Minister or the first man to walk on Mars and they’ll all come crawling back, at which point I’ll direct them to my proxy group where they can sit with all the other peons who don’t actually know me (a proxy group really is a measure you’ve made it these days isn’t it).

All this rather reminds me of the unpleasant aspects of school. Writing in The Guardian recently, David Mitchell (of Peep Show fame) mentioned that while he wasn’t the most popular guy in school he ‘got by’. This more or less reflects my own experience; a circle of friends large and strong enough that bullies and/or beautiful people generally picked on an easier target. However, there were odd occasions when I might be caught in the open or be more in need of a hairwash/cut/clearasil than a peer and as such was viewed as fair game. My confidence would naturally take a hit as a result, recover after about a week when some poor fool came in smelling a bit ‘funny’ and then, at some point, depending on how kind my skin or voice were to me, the process would begin again.

However, at school, I never had such a reliable, statistical device as Facebook to quantify exactly how many friends I had or chart their comings and goings (which is probably for the best). As such, there was no numerical measure of my declining popularity to depress me. I might have been aware that not letting Ben Barnard copy my French homework, probably didn’t endear me to him, but no tangible friend total diminished as a result. No, this is a uniquely adult angst.

It isn’t just the number of friends count that gives me reason to fret. I used to display an application whereby your friends rated you on things such as ‘best singer’, ‘best dressed’ and so forth, against another of their other friends at random, and you are allocated a rank based on how many times you ‘win’. I noticed that my ranking for ‘best looking’ was somewhat lower than might be expected and investigated further. I was horrified to discover that three of my so-called friends had been given the chance to rate me on this, and each time, had opted for the other person. This intelligence sent me into a spiral of insecurity and despair I’d not seen in a long time, and in a fit of pique I deleted the application. In doing so, I was warned of the implications for my friends if I deleted it. “Your friends will lose all votes you have cast so far” it told me. Fuck them, frankly.

Of course, I was overlooking any number of possible mitigating factors. I am married, therefore out of the equation, and so perhaps the other person won by default? Maybe all three voters were men, and the randomly allocated opponent was a woman. What if I was up against the partner of the person making the judgement? In short then, plenty of highly plausible reasons for my low rating. Thank goodness for that.

Eventually rational thought entered the equation, and I stopped worrying about all this nonsense, but it was a worrying decline into introspectiveness that I could have done without. Facebook seems to be made to fuel rejection (in addition to stalking, infidelity and defamation of course). Any friend request not answered within 24 hours leads to a furrowed brow and repeated logging in to Facebook. I have just installed a fictional country application and asked my mate Carl if he’d be my ally. He didn’t reply for at least 6 hours by which time I’d almost developed hypertension. Thank god he said yes or I’d have had to kill him…

THE CREDIT CRUNCH BITES

The credit crunch truly is starting to bite at work. Our daily fruit delivery was stopped and then reinstated when a revolt was threatened and they realised they could save the 40 grand a year it costs by sacking a few people instead (Hurrah!). There are no more free dinners (unless a client is present – and lets be honest – in that circumstance, what the hell is the point), but worst of all the instant coffee being provided is no longer Gold Blend, but regulation Nescafe. To quote Swiss Tony (I think)

“This coffee tastes like the strainings of the Devil’s jock strap”

I’m strongly considering bringing my own coffee from home. And people in the Congo think they have problems.

Like most people at the moment I blame the BBC for all this. Not the credit crunch itself, but my perception of how much I am suffering. BBC Breakfast leads the way, veering today from the genocide in Congo one minute to the far more pressing concern of people who own horses that can no longer afford them the next.

“I’ve had horses my whole life” they sobbed.

Really it was the most depressing story about poverty I’ve heard since reading about Cuthbert and Olly Le Fervre who can no longer be educated privately as their dad worked for Lehman Brothers. This follows hot on the heels of a piece Breakfast ran about the rising cost of staple goods in your shopping trolley. What product has suffered the most devastating increase; crossiants and pain au chocolat apparently up 47% on last year. The nation will presumably not be laid low with scurvy and rickets following cessation of French pastry rations, however the WI coffee mornings will not be as well catered as before.

Is all this really news? Presumably BBC Breakfast knows its target audience, and all the really bad news is over on GMTV or the Wright Stuff, but in an era where people are being turfed out of their houses, surely there are better human interest stories to be had?

In Praise of Glock

Well what a scintillating finish to a Formula One season. I’m not sure it would actually be possible to contrive such a conclusion – you’d be derided for cultivating such a far-fetched tale. In the end, much like the England cricket team in the 90s, Lewis Hamilton found himself praying the heavens would open. Thankfully they obliged, and how it changed the race – blunting the challenge of the unfortunate Timo Glock, who found himself overtaken by almost everyone (even the safety car, Fred Flinstone, and the cast of Last of the Summer Wine on an out of control loom would have passed him by). He gamely tried to pilot his stricken car to the finish, however conditions made it impossible for him to travel at anything other than cruising speed. It is somewhat beguiling that a simple variable such as wet weather could wreak such havoc on Glock - a bit like when the nothing could stop the Darleks other than a flight of stairs.

There are already scurrilous rumours that Herr Glock’s curb-crawling on that final lap was some devious attempt to deprive Massa of the world title. The number of Facebook groups devoted to him has swelled in recent days; many in Italian and Portuguese suggesting that they are perhaps not complimentary towards the young man. Of course he wasn’t intentionally ushering Lewis to the championship, you only had to look at his aquaplaning on those final bends to realise that driving any faster would have even more certainly handed Hamilton the title. However, this has not deterred the Massa-supporting conspiracy theorists, nor diminished the warm, glowing sense of affection I have for Glock. I just love him. Of course it is not so much the German driver that I love, but more the notion that Glock, unhappy with earlier decisions by the powers that be, decided to take matters into his own hands and gift Hamilton the title. Take that Belgium! Let’s not forget the commentary team, who played their part in building his aura as well

“IS THAT GLOCK?! IS THAT GLOCK?!” YES! YES IT IS, IT’S GLOCK! they screamed. What a welcome sight he was, and the commentary is right up with “Its up for grabs now!” for perfectly encapsulating the moment.

Given the regularity with which Formula One cars collide meant that there was always a chance a hapless third party would intrude on this decider. It was almost SebastianVettel who spoiled the party, overtaking Hamilton as he did at the death. Vettel is clearly not acquainted with the British press who would no doubt have savaged him after that doozy. Liz, hardly a passionate F1 follower was moved to comment that

“I hate Vettel, why can’t he mind his own business” before the rain intervened. Goodness knows what The Sun would have done with him, given that reaction from a relative moderate. Thankfully, there was no calculated hatchet job by Hamilton’s usual nemesis Fernando Alonso, while Murray Walker and his optimism have retired meaning that he was unable to talk Hamilton out of the title.

“Surely nothing can stop him now” would almost certainly have preceeded Vettel’s nifty overtaking on the penultimate lap – and then it wouldn’t have rained either.

Back in the pits the tension was clearly unbearable. Lewis Hamilton’s girlfriend, Pussy Cat Doll #4 was there, looking as out of place as it is possible to look in a Formula one pit lane. She was dressed as though about to embark on an evening at Bar Med in Guildford, rather than occupying a position about 20 feet away from flammable, and highly combustable materials.

Both teams celebrated as Hamilton crossed the finish line. Ferrari clearly had the same GPS system I used on a recent trip to Canada – i.e. completely useless – not realising that Glock had been passed. It was the one sour part of the day watching their celebrations cruelly cut short, though at least the producers did not linger to watch this news digested. Instead we crossed to McClaren, and unbridled happiness – everyone jumped for joy – even the Pussycat Doll, who I hope did not turn her ankle when she landed on those heels. Everyone ITV found to interview felt that the result was ‘probably fair’ – Lewis probably deserved it, and that Massa was a dignified and utterly noble runner-up; he could almost have been British infact.

There was precious little mention Glock, who had quickly ascended to the position of Britain’s second-most popular F1 driver. I’m already looking forward to cheering him on next season.

New Manager; New players?

So Fabio Capello names his first squad today, and signs are that there will be new faces to ponder. Most managers new to the job pick, one or two uncapped players either because of their familiarity with them at club level, or simply because the squad needs refreshing. Some of these newcomers will go on and enjoy fabulous England careers, others will almost immediately be returned whence they came. Here are a few of them…

1990, Graham Taylor: Gordon Cowans

Of all the managers to ascend to the England throne in recent years, none came at an apparently better time than Taylor. He inherited a squad unlucky not to win the World Cup, the bulk of which still had many good years left in them, and England’s qualifying group for Euro 92 was relatively speaking, quite easy. Taylor retained the majority of Italia 90s returning heroes, however he did add one player from the Aston Villa team he had recently managed, Gordon Cowans. Cowans was not a new cap, already having won 9 caps during the 1980s, however he was only a few months short of his 32nd birthday and had not represented England for four years. That he had significantly less hair than the last time he played for England only emphasised the regressive nature of the selection. Nevertheless, Taylor pitched him in for England’s match with Ireland in Dublin, arguably the most difficult game of the group. It finished in a one-all draw, a great result, with Cowans putting in a robust if unspectacular performance in midfield. Cowans never played for England again, this selection a case of horses for courses, Taylor choosing a man he knew he could rely on for a difficult qualifying opener.

1994, Terry Venables: Graeme Le Saux, Matt Le Tissier, Darren Anderton and Peter Beardsley.

After the tragic debacle of Taylor’s reign came Terry Venables. Where Taylor took control of an England squad in the ascendancy, Venables took control of a squad low on confidence and about to sit out USA ’94. His opening game against Denmark, saw 3 new caps; Le Saux, Anderton and Le Tissier. The latter of these a baffling omission to many observers over the past couple of years, what with his penchant for spectacular goals and ability to score so many in a struggling Southampton team. Le Saux was Venables first choice at left back; in addition to his defensive ability he was a buccaneering type who got forward at every opportunity. Anderton was an exciting young winger; a key member of the Portsmouth side that very nearly dumped Liverpool out of the 1992 FA Cup. A move to Tottenham had followed and a bright start at Spurs, now culminated in England honours. The final new face in the squad, was a selection that pleased many; Peter Beardsley. Ignored by Graham Taylor, Beardsley had fallen down the Liverpool pecking order, eventually being sold to Everton. After a couple of years, he moved on to Newcastle where he established an outstanding partnership with a young Andy Cole. His return to England was initially a success, he scored the second of England’s five against Greece in Venables’ second game in charge. However, the emergence of young strikers such as Fowler and Barmby, the excellent form of Les Ferdinand, and crucially perhaps the development of the Shearer/Sheringham partnership, saw Beardsley finding himself out of contention. He retired from international football shortly before the Euro 96 squad was announced. By this time, Le Tissier was long gone from Venables’ thinking resurfacing briefly under Glenn Hoddle, before disappearing for good. Of the four called up for Venables opener, only Anderton played in Euro 96 (though Le Saux doubtlessly would have but for injury).

1996, Glen Hoddle: David Beckham and Andy Hinchcliffe

Hoddle, like Taylor six years earlier arrived at a time when English football was in rude health. Euro 96 had been a footballing carnival, the sport healing many of the wounds that hooliganism had inflicted in the 1980s. The team had played well, destroying Holland 4-1 in a match that, to this day, is the best England game I have ever watched. Indeed, Hoddle only had the job due to alleged off the field shenanigans that forced Venables to resign.
Hoddle was a proponent of the 3-5-2 formation, and his first squad included an ideal left wing-back in Hinchliffe. A notable benefit was Hinchcliffe’s corners, which in tandem with Duncan Ferguson’s head almost single-handedly kept Everton in the Premiership a couple of years earlier. The other newcomer was Man Utd’s young midfielder David Beckham. Beckham had enjoyed a very good 1995-96 season, and began this season with his half-way line lob over Neil Sullivan. The goal created a groundswell of opinion for Beckham’s inclusion and Hoddle duly obliged, starting both him and Hinchliffe in Moldova. Both players performed well in a 3-0 win, an excellent start to Hoddle’s reign.
With Beckham, the rest as they say is history. Hinchcliffe played in Hoddle’s first three matches before injury ruled him out for 6 months. However, he did return, surviving until the final squad cull at France ’98 and finishing up with 7 caps.

1999, Kevin Keegan; Chris Armstrong

Like Venables before him, non-footballing reasons did for Hoddle, his comments on disability getting him the boot. Kevin Keegan, the Fulham manager, took over on a temporary basis, amid a wave of public euphoria at his appointment. The sudden departure meant no nice friendly for Keegan to warm up, or even much time to ponder his first squad, and as such there were no debutants in his opening game. The closest we can get is Chris Armstrong, a late call up to this squad after the originally selected strikers pulled out. Without wishing to be unkind, Armstrong’s selection reminded me of the type you used to get in cricket where England would be playing in New Zealand, get a couple of injuries, but remember that Tony Pigott was wintering at his brother-in-laws house in Wellington, and thus could be selected for the Test Match. Armstrong had the seat behind Keegan on the bench, which meant that whenever KK was in shot, there was Armstrong in his England warm up kit. In any case, no injuries were recorded up front, and a Paul Scholes hat-trick saw England home. Armstrong fell out of the England reckoning almost immediately and was last seen at Wrexham.

2000, Peter Taylor; Seth Johnson

Taylor only got one game as England’s caretaker, yet he still found time to give Seth Johnson his only cap. Johnson, soon to join Peter Risdale’s circus at Leeds, is one of those players for whom things could have been so different, his first touch in international football, a shot, which could, and maybe should have gone in. After the match, David Beckham’s first as England captain, Sven Goran Erikkson was appointed, and Johnson never got a sniff of another cap. Still only 28, Johnson is currently without a club having been released from his contract by Derby last June.

2001, Sven; Michael Ball, Ugo Ehiogu, Gavin McCann, Chris Powell

To this day I can remember reading the ‘probable’ squads the day Sven announced his first line-up. To my immense delight as a Southend fan, Chris Powell, a former Shrimper, featured in all of them, and was duly named later that afternoon. Precisely no-one in my office shared my buoyant outlook. Yet Powell was worthy of his chance, and how he seized it, nutmegging Spain’s right winger in the first minute, yet looking composed and tidy at the back. His first 45 minutes as an international won him considerable acclaim before a slight injury saw him withdrawn in favour of Michael Ball. This was Ball’s debut, and he was joined at half time by Gavin McCann and Ugo Ehiogu. Strictly speaking this was not Ehiogu’s debut, but he’d not even come under consideration since the Venables era, and given his only appearance had been as a sub away in China, it certainly must have felt like one. He marked it in style too, a thundering header putting England 3-0 up. Alas, there were to be no long international careers for these four. Between them they ended up with fewer than ten caps, and Chris Powell got five of those. After his impressive debut, Powell had a disappointing match against Finland, and Ashley Cole replaced him for the Albania game. He was retained in the squad for a while, making a further three appearances, the last in Holland in 2002, but was never really in contention for a place in Japan. Despite his goal, Ehiogu made just one more appearance, while the second half against Spain was Ball and McCann’s international careers in their entirety, and Ball wouldn’t even have got that had Powell not been injured.

2006, Steve McClaren; Chris Kirkland

Well what else would you expect from the dullest, and most uninspiring appointment of all time. In fairness, McClaren’s appointment was based around the watchword ‘continuity’, and he certainly stuck to it, handing out only one debut; to injury-addicted goalkeeper Chris Kirkland. England were comfortable winners, and Kirkland had little to do. Shortly afterwards he was injured and has not represented England again.

2008, Fabio Capello; Dave Kitson?

The ginger, Reading stiker is in all of this mornings probable squads. One man who isn't is David Beckham...

More Good Work at the FA

You have to wonder why the FA seem so keen to make their own lives so difficult. As you may be aware, non-leaguers Havant and Waterlooville have earned a dream tie at Liverpool having beaten Swansea 4-2 in a thrilling replay. One of their number, Justin Gregory, has since picked up a fifth yellow card and thus a suspension that rules him out of the dream game. However in an act of non-league collaboration and decency that would be totally alien to clubs at the top, fellow blue square side Thurrock agreed a date for their own re-arranged fixture to take place before the FA Cup tie. Therefore Gregory could serve his one match ban and be free for the literally once in a lifetime match at Anfield. However in their infinite wisdom, the FA have over-ruled the two clubs, stating that the suspension will be held over to the Liverpool game, as the scheduling of this match is a deliberate attempt to overcome it.

Well, so the fuck what.

I'm sorry to get too offensive, but this kind of bollocks from one of the most inefficient, disorganised and poorly managed organisations in the country is really beginning to piss me off. The Havant and Waterlooville team, is not a team of superstars; it is a team of men just like me, who do regular day jobs and dream of playing in matches like this. They thoroughly deserve this opportunity, and for a bunch of cretins to intervene to take that away from the young man is an utter disgrace. Had he been sent off, or committed a dangerous tackle then maybe, but I reiterate, the suspension is for FIVE bookings over the course of a season. That they further interfered after Havant and Thurrock amicably arranged this fixture is nothing short of pathetic. Thurrock were happy, presumably Liverpool had no objections, yet the FA couldn't keep their noses out. Personally, I would prefer it if the FA was taking more notice of the lack of talented young footballers coming through in this country, rather than generating unneccesarry red tape and ill-feeling with this kind of nonsense.

In any case, the game at Thurrock went ahead last night, only to be abandoned due to floodlight failure. Despite the lights being repaired, the ref steadfastly refused to re-start the game. A convinient stoppage that, as Gregory notes, "gets the FA out of a hole". Best of luck to Havant at the weekend, hopefully those who do play will savour the experience. As for Justin Gregory; if he has a parachute jump booked in for this week, perhaps best to re-arrange, as luck clearly isn't his friend at the moment!

Economic Downturn and the 'Real' Euro 2008

Apparently Monday was statistically the most depressing day of the year. For a lot of us, it is some time since we were paid, and therefore the bank is empty. On top of that we’ve incurred debts over the Christmas period, which in my case are unlikely to paid off until December, when this lovely process can begin again. Its cold, dark, wet, (in certain parts of the country there is flooding to contend with), and now we are on the brink of a horrific worldwide recession.

I don’t particularly understand the stock market, or indeed why a fall in the price of shares of Minnesota Paint and Plumbing could cost me my job, pension and/or house, but it seems it does. I remember from studying GCSE Economics, something called interdependence. The 1970s text book I had, showed fairly simplistic examples – such as the corner shop owner being interdependent on the banana grower to provide bananas, and at an agreeable price. Essentially the whole economy is underpinned by other like transactions, millions of them every day. Presumably the stock market relies on a roughly equal amount of buying and selling, and the problem we have now is that everyone is selling (this alone is an alien concept to me – the ability to sell with apparently no buyer – where exactly do these sold shares go??? Presumably I am misreading the situation). Amid all this uncertainty, it is of course, solid gold thinking that we should be spending so much tax money (£2,000 per household apparently!!!) to keep Newcastle United’s sponsor in business. Again, my knowledge of this situation is not impeccable, so I am sure there are very good reasons why this course of action has been taken, but is this really the best use of tax money????!!!!

Anyway, just as I’m pondering all these confusing fiscal issues, who should provide the answer, but the trainline.com (the website you book train tickets on). For reasons best know to themselves, they had sent me an ad for a book, carrying the extremely catchy title Greg Secker’s Ultimate Trading Secrets (for those of you who have been living like a hermit, Greg is ‘the UK’s top trader. Whether this is in financial contracts or the Star Wars Customisable Card Game is unclear – as the source of this award is not mentioned). Greg’s book can tell me (“in minutes”);

How live trading floor traders keep and grow their profits.

The "big picture" of how money actually gets made in the trading world, without all the hype about the latest fads. Your future success depends on understanding this!

How to make sure all of your trading decisions are based on risk/reward strategy. If you haven’t used this formula, you’re probably missing the profits


So there you are. If like me, you are confounded by all this financial jargon, you could do worse than have a look at Greg’s book.

EURO 2008

No England of course, but plenty to look forward to, if the Pro Evo Euro 2008 my mate Rich and I had at the weekend is anything to go by, with plenty of big surprises this summer. Watch out for home advantage to boost Switzerland and Austria to the quarter finals, Italy and Holland to emerge from the group of death (with France returning home early), and for Turkey to finish with eight men in their encounter with Switzerland. Still a long way to go, since we only managed the group stages in one afternoon; tune in again for the result. Once we are done with that, we shall upgrade to World Cup – the draw (yes there will be an actual draw) will be held in my living room at the conclusion of the Euro 2008 final.

RESOLUTIONS UPDATE

Have I joined a gym? No, though in my defence some of you are probably aware of the saga regarding my left foot. (No marks)
Am I more professional in my work? Well today I wore a shirt that had cufflinks (Partial credit).

Guess who's back...

Last night, Mike Ashley, the esteemed owner of Newcastle United, pulled off a masterstroke by appointing Kevin Keegan as manager. Rarely in football, is it possible to achieve the feat of leaving fans speechless; not the Newcastle fans of course, they have been partying like its 1996 and they have a 12 point lead. However, for the rest of us, this turn of events is bewildering, preposterous, amusing but also ever so slightly uplifting.

It’s a sign of how extraordinary this story is that the first channel I tuned into on my return home was Sky Sports News (SSN). Usually, finding yourself watching SSN is as good a barometer one can find that you should be doing something better with your time than watching TV. Presumably this is why it is almost the very last channel you land upon on a standard Freeview set-up (when even the likes of BBC Parliament and Smile TV have come up short). This is a channel that regards Steve Finnan signing a new contract as ‘BREAKING NEWS’ and a standard Beckham sound-bite as an ‘EXCLUSIVE!’. Keegan’s return to Newcastle was a broadcasting orgasm for SSN, and this purveyor of hyperbole did not disappoint. First it assailed the viewer with happy memories of yesteryear to Kirsty McColl’s Days in the background. All manner of old friends you’d forgotten (Cole, Beardsley, Scott Sellars) banging the goals in, Keegan and McDermott celebrating. It was hard not to get a lump in your throat. Then followed the darker days at Newcastle, characterised by Asprilla, Cantona’s volley that let Man Utd back in to the title race, and, of course, “I would love it!”. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more OTT the anchorman appeared,

“Its one of those stories, where you’ll remember where you were when you heard it”

The implication being that this was an event of such seismic proportions, that it rivals Diana’s death and the destruction of the World Trade Centre. For the record, I was sat at my desk and my mate Carl told me via e-mail, should anyone bring this up in 20 years time.

Of course the problem Sky Sports News had (and hence the style over substance approach), was that beyond the announcement, there was nothing else to say or show. Neither KK nor Mike Ashley had held a press conference, and the best they could do was that Keegan would ‘probably’ be attending the game that night. That was sufficient for 20,000 or so Geordies who unwilling to pay £25 to watch a match of football, were willing to pay it to watch a match of football that Kevin Keegan was ‘probably’ at, sat in the Directors Box. SKY attempted to get what they could on the subject out of the team assembled for Football Tonight (Paul Walsh and Matt Le Tissier I seem to recall), but the real action was now over on the BBC where Alan Shearer was summarising the wretched game between Man City and West Ham. The beeb had struck gold here, presumably for the first time pleased to have engaged Shearer’s monotone ramblings. However, instead of listening to Shearer’s KK endorsement, we were treated to his own uninteresting flirtations with the job (“they called me, but wanted experience”) before he launched his campaign to become Keegan’s number two. Presumably he picked up this tip from Samuel L Jackson, who managed to blag himself into the Star Wars prequels by openly stating he wanted to be in them on Chris Evans’ TFI Friday a few years back. Still, if Newcastle supporters liked Keegan, just imagine the Shearer/Keegan dream ticket.

Ashley has been criticised in some quarters for this selection, but you have to hand it to him, the fans are generally right behind him, which should make his (and KK’s) life easier in the lean times. It’s almost as if Newcastle is being run like My Football Club, only on a considerably grander scale. I am not one of these parochial idiots who insists that we must have an English manager in charge of the national team, but it is good to see that Ashley has hired not only and Englishman, but a local. There is a kind of throwback in the appointment to a better time in football, when foreign players were an exciting novelty, who either thrilled us (Cantona, Ginola) or couldn’t cut it (Asprilla, Amokachi). When the backbone of a team at the top-end of the Premiership was English; Barton, Beresford, Peacock, Batty, Fox, Ferdinand. Yes, the Premiership had a ‘lower quality’ of player, but it was certainly a great deal more fun. Good work Mr Ashley; if it fails, you will have my sympathy, and not the usual derision big team calamities attract.

Scotland and Nightclub Woe

Hmmmmm…only January 15th and already a post that will make me seem like every one of my 29 years, 114 days but there we are… Anyway, this past weekend I enjoyed an excellent trip to Edinburgh; good food, good company and a brilliant wine-fuelled train journey on the Friday evening. I am a huge fan of long train journeys, and the addition of as much alcohol as you can drink, only enhances the experience. You had to pity the poor woman who boarded the train at Doncaster, only to discover her seat was at the epicentre of our impromptu party. To her credit, she dealt with it well, and enjoyed Adam’s chav jokes, which were far more funny than they had any right to be.

On Saturday we had breakfast, did the bus tour and then wandered about the castle grounds and art gallery. Edinburgh is a wonderful city, and it’s a testament to its beauty that I was able to so easily overlook both its freezing temperature and hilly demeanour. By mid-afternoon my unquantifiable wine intake of the night before had overtaken me, and I returned for a nap before the evening. I don’t know what it is about having a hotel room that induces such a desire in me to nap. Liz and I went to Brussels in July, and by 3pm on the Saturday, I was more than ready for bed. It’s almost as if I develop a mild form of narcolepsy when there is an empty hotel bed nearby – as I almost never nap on a standard weekend. Of course, I also have a fine sense of getting value for money, and presumably feel that a ‘nights paid for : sleeps’ ratio of 1:1 is just not good enough (for the record it was 3:5 on this trip).

After my nap and a great Italian meal, we found our way to a nightclub. Nightclubs and I have never had a good relationship. As a youth, they were never the happy hunting ground for me that they were for other guys, my one slight advantage over other men – being able to talk to women - nullified by the loud, invariably poor, music. You have to pay to get in, you have to dress as if you are going to work (why the fuck would I want to wear smart shoes at the weekend?!), and the drinks are subject to a mark-up that even a football agent would be ashamed of. These days, as a married man, nightclubs offer me precisely nothing that I cannot get better, cheaper and quieter elsewhere. That said, assuming the music is of a good standard, it can be fun to shuffle and shimmy inelegantly across the dance floor under the pretence that you are ‘dancing’, however my attempts at this resemble something akin to Mark in Peep Show when he goes to the hippy dance exercise thing (only slightly less attractive).

However, the worst aspect of all is the people you encounter in nightclubs. Nowhere on earth is there greater proof of evolution, or indeed a lack of it in certain bloodlines (I should point out at this point, this is not limited to Scots people – everything I say can be applied to almost any English nightclub – I just happened to be in Scotland). Almost every basic animal instinct is on display in a nightclub, and none were more prominent in Edinburgh than territoriality. Until about half one, I’d actually been enjoying my nightclub experience; the music was good, we were positioned on the dance floor under the air con, and I had a redbull and vodka in me. Around this time, people started to appear from all directions as if (and lets not mince our words here) some enormous zoo had released its inmates for the night. Space become more finite and one prize cock planted himself where we were stood, decided not to move and rebuffed any attempts on our part to reclaim our land with a fierce elbow jab. Attempting to leave the dance floor – well there is a fun enterprise. I’ve yet to encounter a situation where people resent making way for you to pass to such a huge extent, as if simply moving slightly to one side will kill the flow of their dance moves. In some cases they don’t move at all, and (I just love this) actually resist your attempts to pass them. Now, I am a reasonably intelligent, respectable middle class type, but faced with this kind of opposition even I began to imagine the possibilities open to me, were I to have a glass bottle or a pair of brass knuckles to hand. Sadly I didn’t and had to plough through this mass of ill feeling, and short temper as best as possible to the relative safety of the bar. Here having failed to get served, Liz and I decided to leave; though as a group we did so in high spirits – having lasted until 2am, some achievement for us old folk.

On Sunday we finished off our tourism and had a delightful curry (there was a nap too) before returning on the train yesterday. All in all an excellent trip, and fully recommended if you have not been to Edinburgh.

TRIP HIGH: Mark’s nightclub staircase stumble, having told us to behave ourselves

TRIP LOW: Sarah Green eliminated from Dancing on Ice first. A damn shame.

Bonny Scotland

I’m off to Edinburgh this weekend, my most seasonally ill-timed trip since a new year sojourn to Sweden a few years back (minus 25 degrees C!). Nonetheless, I am excited about seeing Edinburgh again, having only been there once, as a 20 year old student. My good friend Rachel and I travelled there from her home in St. Andrews by bus (labouring under the misguided notion that it would be cheaper than the train). It did cost less, however the saving of £1.85 each did not quite offset the two hour supplement to the journey in each direction, and especially not the 45 minute layover at Kirkcaldy bus station; a peculiar wormhole where the season of summer appears not to exist. Even Rachel, a Scotswoman, was appalled at the extent to which our thriftiness had impacted on the day.

In any case our day trip to Edinburgh was very pleasant; we walked around for a bit, saw the main sights, and then we started drinking. Edinburgh is good for that if memory serves, and with such cold, windy weather in prospect this weekend, I dare say there will be plenty of it happening this time. However, in all other respects this trip should prove to be more or less the total opposite than my last experience; certainly where the purchase ledger is concerned. I will be travelling in the relative luxury of a train, staying in a moderately priced, comfortable hotel, and presumably not eating in Pizza Hut in the evening. I am actually quite skint until payday on 24th, however I am going to assume that my forthcoming promotion pay rise will be a substantial one, and more than offset any debts I may incur this weekend. This, almost certainly, will not be the case but it’s a decent misapprehension to labour under until a better one comes along, and is more realistic than the lotto win I am usually relying on.

Our train leaves at 6, and though we have reserved seats, some in our party are concerned that intruders may steal them if we are not there in a timely manner; a fair assumption on a train departing at Def-con 4 in the rush hour. Where exactly do you stand in this situation? I always assumed people would just get up if they are sat in your seat, but apparently this is not the case. What if the squatter is an elderly or pregnant woman? Are we mean enough to boot them out? The answer must be yes. Our party includes a lawyer, a banker at HSBC who works in Canary Wharf, a Centrica employee (British Gas I think – aren’t they always turning people’s heating off?), a surveyor (is that right?) and Liz and I. We have both conducted research for some of the most morally bankrupt companies on earth. Edinburgh by train is also a long journey, and having booked a seat frankly I want to sit in it.

Anyway, if I can work out how, I will post some pictures after the weekend. Have a good ‘un and if you’re a football fan who doesn’t support Arsenal, Chelsea, Barnsley or Colchester, then best of luck!

Why is the FA Cup so rubbish these days?

It was nice to see the odd upset in the FA Cup at the weekend, albeit disappointing that one of the few teams capable of challenging the big four, Everton, were eliminated by Oldham. Indeed, can it really be true that Everton’s 1995 win was the last time a club from outside this elite were triumphant. I was a gangly, inelegant 16 year old just about to take my GCSEs when that game took place. Not much has changed but these days I have a mortgage and pension and think about how good schools might be when moving somewhere.

West Ham came very close to breaking this obscene big four dominance in 2006, but then Gerrard scored the screamer, that as Alan Pardew rightly pointed out, would have been far more memorable, for us all, had it come in the 90th minute against Portugal. At least that game had an underdog, thus creating some interest. The various permutations of the big four that we have seen since 1995 have yet to produce an exciting encounter, and have given us two utter stinkers (in 1996 and 2005). The cup really isn’t all that interesting any more.

I am not that old, but even I have seen a considerable change since I first started watching football. In 1987 Coventry beat Spurs in the final, and a year later Wimbledon toppled the mighty Liverpool. A couple of years after that Crystal Palace very nearly defeated Manchester united having already relieved us of Liverpool in a humdinger of a semi. These days, such results are limited to memory and teams I manage on Championship Manager. What is even more unacceptable is that these sides have reserve and youth sides of such quality, that the understudies make it to the final of the League cup as well. Unless they have to go to Roots Hall of course, and then they always slip up….

The other great disappointment of the FA cup is the guaranteed anti-climax that is the FA Cup draw. This is a disappointment that only increases the further you get into the tournament, and one that can only be fully appreciated by supporters of clubs from outside the Premiership. I support Southend, and from the moment you get into the 3rd round there is the hope that one of the big clubs will be your guest for the day. Instead of that we drew Dagenham and Redbridge; and I mean no offence to them – I am sure they were equally gutted to get us. This is exactly my point – two unhappy sides wistfully looking over at Luton drawing with Liverpool or Oldham dumping Everton out. Luckily we safely negotiated this banana skin, and with only 32 teams left, surely a big club to play in round four? Nope. Barnsley; and I make no apology to them, as frankly their supporters come across as witless, bovine fools on the message boards. You also have to feel sorry for giant slayers Oldham and Huddersfield who having disposed of Premiership opposition, drew each other in the 4th round. At least Havant and Waterlooville will play Liverpool (except they won’t, as Swansea will hammer them in their replay).

I am confident Southend can beat Barnsley, and if that’s the case home to Fulham in round five (a game I can go to with some Fulham supporting friends) would be the perfect opposition. Instead, we’ll probably end up with Norwich, Peterborough or Tranmere; to our mutual misery.