Two identical scorelines over the last four days in football - 6-0 - showed that two markedly different schools of thought in attaining success as a football club are still relevant, even if they're taking those ideas to the very extreme.
Manchester City's incomprehensibly rich new investors have raised the bar in foreign ownership. It wasn't too long ago that Roman Abrahmovich's relentlessly deep pockets, as they seemed, were scathingly criticised for 'buying' Chelsea's first league title for 50 years. Yet in the short years since that trophy landed at Stamford Bridge, foreign investment in top football clubs has become a common sight, and most recently reached an unprecedented era of bankrolling when the Abu Dhabi United Group agreed to formally buy Manchester City.
Middle Eastern money is a very real force in the modern world, least of all football, but the billions upon billions backing Manchester City now make previous target for money cynics Abrahmovich look a pauper. The club were able to simply wade into the protracted 'Robinho to Chelsea' saga, flex their new-found financial muscle and within 24 hours, Robinho was a Manchester City player. Chelsea were simply not prepared to be bullied over the £32m price-tag: for City it was merely a matter of making a higher offer. In the previous weeks, the club had without blinking forked out £19m for Brazilian Jo - a dubious decision at the time but the player does look genuinely to have the stuff to make it in the Premiership - and enough cash to buy back Shaun Wright-Phillips with minimum fuss. It capped a remarkable final day in the transfer window - and an expensive one for City.
It was short-lived owner Thaksin Shinawatra whose original funds cemented the signings of the then manager Sven Goran Eriksson - another Brazilian Elano, Martin Petrov and the exciting (but injury prone) Valerie Bojinov - and which saw City make a real attempt at challenging the established order in the Premier League. It faltered before any significant inroads could be made, but this season, with results like the 6-0 demolition of Portsmouth, the signs are there to suggest that the almost infinite bank balance at the disposal of City's owners, coupled with sensible long-term planning, low-key involvement from on high and the integration of existing players and youth players, could give City a very real possibility of disturbing the peace at the top of the table.
By contrast, Tuesday night saw another 6-0 demolition, Sheffield United taken apart by an Arsenal side superior in every single way. While the scoreline is surprising on its own, it's the fact that Arsenal's first XI consisted of mainly teenagers; the team's average age was 19. Arsene Wenger had put this team together from gifted - and mostly inexpensive - youngsters sourced from all over the world, with 17-year old Aaron Ramsey the notable exception following his £5m transfer from Cardiff City. Mexican Carlos Vela (19) stole the show with a breath-taking hat trick, while 16-year old Jack Wilshere scored his first goal for the club. Wenger is notorious for unearthing talent from outside of the UK: names like Song Billong, Merida, Vela and Denilson do not exactly suggest players learned in Joey Barton's football philosophy, while the steal of Cesc Fabregas from Barcelona at 16 might be the best transfer ever done. However, Wenger's side also consisted of equally adept teenagers from these isles; Wilshere, Ramsey, Gibbs, Randall and Lansbury all playing some part in the fixture.
The sheer brilliance in technique and ability, not to mention the physicality, of these young players, was testament to Wenger's own brilliance, and the legacy he is building at Arsenal. Though he's already been there 10 years, it might be that the Frenchman has only now started to put on show his plans for the club. He's been quoted as saying the current crop is the best group of players he's ever had to choose from, and it's remarkable to consider that he may have spent his time at Arsenal thus far plotting this, a wunderteam, never mind wunderkids. There is no other club in world football doing quite the same thing, and for fans everywhere as well as Gunners the possibilities are just mouthwatering.
That a team of teenagers can rip apart another fully professional club who, only one season ago, were in the same league as Arsenal, is a powerful commendation to the cause of developing a youth setup capable of schooling and producing young players that can, as a team in their mid to late teens, play football in a manner so glorious and so undeniably brilliant as to stylishly thrash opposition with ease.
The two schools of thought, then: 1) buying the top of the range finished product to give instant results, or 2) developing your own top of the range product steadily to give long-term return on investment, are completely different in terms of time and money investment, planning and thinking. But, for the moment at least, two clubs in the English Premier League have provided evidence to suggest that both remain viable methods to bring results in every football club's endless search for success.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
A cappella Walcott is a Capello masterstroke
When Alan Hansen ill-advisedly uttered the infamous line "You don't win anything with kids" over a decade ago, I doubt that he, let alone the many critics and commentators who jumped on that quote, would have imagined the longevity it would still have today. In terms of relevance, that soundbyte surpasses his glittering playing achievements for most, except maybe Liverpool fans. Yet last night's 1-4 win in Zagreb, the first defeat for the Croation national side on home soil, put Hansen's blithe write-off to the sword, and more seriously, presented the possibility that in Fabio Capello, England may just have found the first coach able to meet English expectations since that Gareth Southgate penalty in 1996.
Let's not for one minute start up the England uber alles brigade - despite resonating around Europe, the defeat of Croatia counts for nothing at the moment aside from a pretty looking table. The fickle nature of England fans, who booed the team's victory away in Andorra but jubilantly cheered the team's victory away in Croatia, should be firmly ignored in judging the chances of a current England team. (Incidentally, we shouldn't even have to play pointless matches against countries like Andorra, but that's another matter entirely). It is easy to see why Capello prefers playing away from home, away the Wembley spotlight and the hysterical media circus that so dominates around England internationals. 'England Expects' all right, but 'England Accepts' is not something supporters are well versed in. From the fans' verdict, the team is either world-beaters or no-hopers, when in fact the actual, far less extreme truth is somewhere in between, edging towards the former.
Last night's victory was more than just three points: it firstly exorcised the demons of England's last competitive match prior to the current campaign, the truly despondent 2-3 defeat by the very same Croatian team at Wembley. It sent out a message to the European nations: yes, England can still mix it with the big boys - Croatia, strange though it seems, have somehow become a 'big boy'. But the performance was the biggest result: the team, and the coaching staff, got it totally right.
After a wobbly opening 20 minutes, England played with determination, courage and wit. To a man, they were forceful in their tackling and closing down, inventive with their passing and movement, and confident with the ball. The first goal naturally helped, particularly with David James once again looking shaky, but once they were ahead the English players never looked back. In the hostile surroundings of Maksimir Stadium, the internationals earned their shirts, earned back the fans' respect, and earned their manager the credit he deserved for his part.
Leaving out Michael Owen was not a good choice, and his presence on the bench may have been a more welcoming sight than Defore or Jenas, but in his first-eleven selections, Capello can congratulate himself for a flawless line-up. Heskey, so often the butt of jokes (including many of mine), was a colossal threat all night, starring in the lone striker role with his strength, aerial prowess and his glorious contribution to Walcott's second goal. Such a figurehead allowed Rooney, Joe Cole and Walcott to roam in the space between midfield and attack, a ploy which is undoubtedly Joe Cole's best position and also brings out the best in Rooney. It did last night, with Rooney banishing critics with a fantastic performance full of technique, vision and crucially, the elusive international goal. Joe Cole, too, was having an enjoyable game until he was cynically elbowed and the resulting blood-spurt injury saw him substituted. Lampard, with Barry as anchor and with less pressure on him to join in with the front four, had his best game in an England shirt for some time, and looked something like his Chelsea self.
But it was, of course, Theo Walcott who rightly stole the show and the headlines with a wonderful hat-trick that oozed with confidence and international class quality. Wenger knew all along, when snapping up the 16-year old Walcott from Southampton in 2006, that a future star was waiting to emerge from the exciting raw talent, but perhaps this potential was delayed in Walcott's early career. Sven, despite the fond memories looking back now, will never live down that ponderous World Cup selection, and it is only this season with Arsenal that Walcott has begun to show that his ability is up to scratch at the highest level. Being a Southampton fan, I'm over the moon for the boy.
As much as it's Walcott's man of the match though, those reading between the lines must applaud Fabio Capello for sticking with the 19-year old. He was hot and cold against Andorra, but Capello is clearly one to put his faith in individuals with the ability to affect matches. As one of the three attacking players behind Heskey, it was Walcott who was the most disciplined, holding a wide right position, running at players and finding space at key moments, as well as showing a deft knack for top class finishing. Walcott is a player who makes things happen, and as tempting as it must have been for Capello to go for the steady, safe bet in David Beckham, he is a coach who will trust his judgement to bring about results. And what an emphatic endorsement of his judgement the result was.
It was fitting when Walcott, wearing number 7, embraced David Beckham as the latter replaced the hat-trick hero for a cameo few minutes. It was almost as if something was passed between them, the torch from the old guard to the leading light of a new era of English football. Capello might not be the young upcoming coach that many would prefer to see in charge of this generation, but there can be no doubt now that, given time, he can be the coach to finally do justice to the nation's expectations.
Let's not for one minute start up the England uber alles brigade - despite resonating around Europe, the defeat of Croatia counts for nothing at the moment aside from a pretty looking table. The fickle nature of England fans, who booed the team's victory away in Andorra but jubilantly cheered the team's victory away in Croatia, should be firmly ignored in judging the chances of a current England team. (Incidentally, we shouldn't even have to play pointless matches against countries like Andorra, but that's another matter entirely). It is easy to see why Capello prefers playing away from home, away the Wembley spotlight and the hysterical media circus that so dominates around England internationals. 'England Expects' all right, but 'England Accepts' is not something supporters are well versed in. From the fans' verdict, the team is either world-beaters or no-hopers, when in fact the actual, far less extreme truth is somewhere in between, edging towards the former.
Last night's victory was more than just three points: it firstly exorcised the demons of England's last competitive match prior to the current campaign, the truly despondent 2-3 defeat by the very same Croatian team at Wembley. It sent out a message to the European nations: yes, England can still mix it with the big boys - Croatia, strange though it seems, have somehow become a 'big boy'. But the performance was the biggest result: the team, and the coaching staff, got it totally right.
After a wobbly opening 20 minutes, England played with determination, courage and wit. To a man, they were forceful in their tackling and closing down, inventive with their passing and movement, and confident with the ball. The first goal naturally helped, particularly with David James once again looking shaky, but once they were ahead the English players never looked back. In the hostile surroundings of Maksimir Stadium, the internationals earned their shirts, earned back the fans' respect, and earned their manager the credit he deserved for his part.
Leaving out Michael Owen was not a good choice, and his presence on the bench may have been a more welcoming sight than Defore or Jenas, but in his first-eleven selections, Capello can congratulate himself for a flawless line-up. Heskey, so often the butt of jokes (including many of mine), was a colossal threat all night, starring in the lone striker role with his strength, aerial prowess and his glorious contribution to Walcott's second goal. Such a figurehead allowed Rooney, Joe Cole and Walcott to roam in the space between midfield and attack, a ploy which is undoubtedly Joe Cole's best position and also brings out the best in Rooney. It did last night, with Rooney banishing critics with a fantastic performance full of technique, vision and crucially, the elusive international goal. Joe Cole, too, was having an enjoyable game until he was cynically elbowed and the resulting blood-spurt injury saw him substituted. Lampard, with Barry as anchor and with less pressure on him to join in with the front four, had his best game in an England shirt for some time, and looked something like his Chelsea self.
But it was, of course, Theo Walcott who rightly stole the show and the headlines with a wonderful hat-trick that oozed with confidence and international class quality. Wenger knew all along, when snapping up the 16-year old Walcott from Southampton in 2006, that a future star was waiting to emerge from the exciting raw talent, but perhaps this potential was delayed in Walcott's early career. Sven, despite the fond memories looking back now, will never live down that ponderous World Cup selection, and it is only this season with Arsenal that Walcott has begun to show that his ability is up to scratch at the highest level. Being a Southampton fan, I'm over the moon for the boy.
As much as it's Walcott's man of the match though, those reading between the lines must applaud Fabio Capello for sticking with the 19-year old. He was hot and cold against Andorra, but Capello is clearly one to put his faith in individuals with the ability to affect matches. As one of the three attacking players behind Heskey, it was Walcott who was the most disciplined, holding a wide right position, running at players and finding space at key moments, as well as showing a deft knack for top class finishing. Walcott is a player who makes things happen, and as tempting as it must have been for Capello to go for the steady, safe bet in David Beckham, he is a coach who will trust his judgement to bring about results. And what an emphatic endorsement of his judgement the result was.
It was fitting when Walcott, wearing number 7, embraced David Beckham as the latter replaced the hat-trick hero for a cameo few minutes. It was almost as if something was passed between them, the torch from the old guard to the leading light of a new era of English football. Capello might not be the young upcoming coach that many would prefer to see in charge of this generation, but there can be no doubt now that, given time, he can be the coach to finally do justice to the nation's expectations.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Heart of blankness?
Last Monday (1 Sept.) Charlie Brooker wrote, somewhat dejectedly, of his 'crippling' internal blankness of soul - that is, a kind of indifference to life: hobbies, culture, his [enviable] job, essentially failing to take an interest in the day-to-day running of his own existence. Or rather, not so much 'failing to', but not being motivated enough to bother. While this sounds a totally depressing outlook, this was not a suicidal confession, nor a cry for attention, because as he quite rightly pointed out, that would require the presence of extreme emotion, and it is a lack of emotion, on any level or at either end of the scale, that seemed the fundamental basis of his terrible 'personal blankness'. A failure to engage with anything, and the lack of will to do something about it.
It is not, looking around, an uncommon predicament. Certainly I have felt sheer listlessness towards day-to-day life: turning up to work on time, mustering the right attitude to going out when it's cold, wet and you've not really got the money, putting the best effort into University work, that sort of thing. In the early years of the 9-5 grind, the transition from carefree party-attending socialite and part-time student to responsible, council-tax paying young adult tends to manifest itself into disillusioned yuppie living for the weekend. Even counting yourself as a yuppie - young, upcoming - requires a certain aptitude that, when faced with the hard work needed to achieve the status, often seems overly difficult. And what we are fed into our daily diet of living tends to appear disinteresting as well. Take television: the latest series of Strictly Come Brother Factor on Ice offers nothing: people perform to the cameras, audience pays money to vote, people pretend to care, someone wins, brief elation, no one cares. It passes the time, I guess.
Music, my deepest love, isn't quite the same, but it requires the strength to locate and enjoy good music to counter the ease of being fed the same commercial, MOR fodder through TV, radio, internet that somehow pleases people enough to pass the time for them. I'm one of the few people I know who will shell out £8-£12 on an artist's album rather than download it, even in full. I've bought 17 CD albums that have been released this year, and two further albums that haven't.
I digress, though; which is something that Brooker himself was wont to do during his downbeat ramblings. Apart from his trademark laconic self-deprecation, he pondered serial killing, mused at length on the 'glass of water' conundrum - half full, half empty? - and practically reviewed a (to me) totally unknown film for the opening third of the article in order to get underway. For a relatively short piece, which surely cannot be too taxing given his licence to meander so freely, and might point to why he feels no sense of achievement in his professional career, it certainly didn't pack much of a punch. Maybe he couldn't be bothered to try.
It amounted to a collection of thinly tied together jabs at himself, a biting cynicism at his own life. Having taken passing interest in Charlie Brooker's media bits and pieces from time to time, it seems that this makes up a large amount of his output: inward-looking criticism with a touch of humour that the reader can relate to. But that's easy, anyone can do that, and many people can do it a lot more succinctly, and with more wit. The article, in the end, read like the bored musings of a faux-depressive, lacking in direction. Of course, this was exactly the type of person Brooker claimed he was - it's just that since most people probably feel like that at more than one stage in their lives, and since it was written with about as much emotion and illumination as the black and white text it appeared in, Brooker's non-cry-for-help proved a pretty dull read.
It's obvious to me that Brooker's direction-less article was a little-needed insight into a no-doubt common anxiety many people will come across, since I seem to have been affected by the same condition - I read the article last Monday, but despite wanting to write a riposte, it's taken me more than a week to actually get round to doing it. I just couldn't be bothered.
It is not, looking around, an uncommon predicament. Certainly I have felt sheer listlessness towards day-to-day life: turning up to work on time, mustering the right attitude to going out when it's cold, wet and you've not really got the money, putting the best effort into University work, that sort of thing. In the early years of the 9-5 grind, the transition from carefree party-attending socialite and part-time student to responsible, council-tax paying young adult tends to manifest itself into disillusioned yuppie living for the weekend. Even counting yourself as a yuppie - young, upcoming - requires a certain aptitude that, when faced with the hard work needed to achieve the status, often seems overly difficult. And what we are fed into our daily diet of living tends to appear disinteresting as well. Take television: the latest series of Strictly Come Brother Factor on Ice offers nothing: people perform to the cameras, audience pays money to vote, people pretend to care, someone wins, brief elation, no one cares. It passes the time, I guess.
Music, my deepest love, isn't quite the same, but it requires the strength to locate and enjoy good music to counter the ease of being fed the same commercial, MOR fodder through TV, radio, internet that somehow pleases people enough to pass the time for them. I'm one of the few people I know who will shell out £8-£12 on an artist's album rather than download it, even in full. I've bought 17 CD albums that have been released this year, and two further albums that haven't.
I digress, though; which is something that Brooker himself was wont to do during his downbeat ramblings. Apart from his trademark laconic self-deprecation, he pondered serial killing, mused at length on the 'glass of water' conundrum - half full, half empty? - and practically reviewed a (to me) totally unknown film for the opening third of the article in order to get underway. For a relatively short piece, which surely cannot be too taxing given his licence to meander so freely, and might point to why he feels no sense of achievement in his professional career, it certainly didn't pack much of a punch. Maybe he couldn't be bothered to try.
It amounted to a collection of thinly tied together jabs at himself, a biting cynicism at his own life. Having taken passing interest in Charlie Brooker's media bits and pieces from time to time, it seems that this makes up a large amount of his output: inward-looking criticism with a touch of humour that the reader can relate to. But that's easy, anyone can do that, and many people can do it a lot more succinctly, and with more wit. The article, in the end, read like the bored musings of a faux-depressive, lacking in direction. Of course, this was exactly the type of person Brooker claimed he was - it's just that since most people probably feel like that at more than one stage in their lives, and since it was written with about as much emotion and illumination as the black and white text it appeared in, Brooker's non-cry-for-help proved a pretty dull read.
It's obvious to me that Brooker's direction-less article was a little-needed insight into a no-doubt common anxiety many people will come across, since I seem to have been affected by the same condition - I read the article last Monday, but despite wanting to write a riposte, it's taken me more than a week to actually get round to doing it. I just couldn't be bothered.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Magpie Madness; Media mayhem
'What on earth is going on at St. James's Park?'
The closing line of a Sky Sports News presenter as they went to a break just before 7:30pm tonight. It's the question anyone with half an eye on football will be asking as well. Forget Manchester City hijacking Chelsea's bid and subsequent pinching (for the meagre price of £32m) of Brazilian 'galactico' forward Robinho from Real Madrid less than 24 hours ago. Ignore Manchester United's bully boy acquisition of Dimitar Berbatov for a fee of similar weight.
It emerged, around 2pm today, that something very strange was developing on in the North East. After Saturday's result - a humbling 3-0 defeat at Arsenal, in which convicted criminal Joey Barton was roundly supported by Kevin Keegan against condemnation by pretty much everyone in football (for being a prick, mainly) - and confusion over who has actually been signing and selling players for Newcastle, 'King' Kevin Keegan and Mike Ashley have been in discussions most of today and yesterday. About what these discussion were was not clear, hence the BBC report earlier today touting that the pair were in talks over transfer policy. However, as interest grew and speculation mounted, BBC's point of view - and Sky Sports News's, according to forums online today - moved to suggest that Keegan's future as Newcastle manager was in doubt. It seemed suddenly that issues arising from the past two days' meetings were more than problematic; enough for a manager to walk out less than a year into a job at a club he loves and at which he is beloved and held in the highest of esteem by fans.
Suddenly, the media frenzy peaked, and 'sources confirming' stories saw BBC, Sky and numerous other news outlets reporting, as fact, that Kevin Keegan had left Newcastle. Eyebrows, if they had been raised, positively receded beyond hairlines. What could possibly force Keegan into such a position that he had no choice but to leave? Could Mike Ashley - laddish chairman of Newcastle pictured downing a pint during Newcastle's defeat at the Emirates - really be stupid and strong-minded enough to force his will onto a man whose dismissal would turn Geordie fans against him to a man?
Indeed, the long-suffering Geordies - who have put up with nine managers in just over a decade, and declare themselves a top four club every time they're asked, despite not having finished anywhere near for at least three seasons - gathered immediately outside the ground to protest at this news. Ashley, if he was aware of this, would surely have realised through the haze that it wouldn't only be Keegan gone if the fans turned against him. The football world scratched their heads in bemusement: why had Kevin Keegan been sacked?
Yet the obituaries had barely been inked - although BBC ran (and still are running) 'Keegan's coaching career in photos' - and the fans' pitchforks raised in anger than Newcastle finally produced a statement: Keegan had not, in actual fact, been sacked. That was around two hours ago; little has changed, except BBC rewriting its story to say Keegan's future was unclear.
And it still is; KK might not have been sacked, but that does that mean he hasn't walked? Who is making decisions at Newcastle? Why was Milner sold? Who sanctioned the signings of Ignacio Gonzalez and Xisco? Has Dennis Wise's position got anything to do with it? Questions that need answering for Kevin Keegan, never mind the fans and media.
But what concerns [me] most at this point in time, though, is the media's handling of it. Keegan was purported to have told those around him he was leaving, or had been sacked. That is information, from unofficial sources. It is not a press conference or statement. Phrases like 'sources close to' and 'we understand' are not enough to base factual journalism on.
However, it is the nature of today's media, where news is instant and global, reaction is real-time, and fans are angry mobs, that neccesitates this need for knowledge - although not neccessarily facts, which seem of secondary importance. Audiences don't just consume, they participate in the news, indeed constitute a substantial amount of detail in internet reporting with citizen journalism, blogging, eye-witness texts and videos. They expect in return a news supply which conforms to a similar time-frame. But facts aren't quite like that: just look at the Foster story where, it has now transpired a week after taking place, father and husband Christopher Foster murdered his family, before setting fire to his million-pound mansion and committing suicide.
It's true that the sporting arena is one of extraordinary passion, under a constant spotlight, with football dominating all year round. It requires an equal in its reporting. But it seems that following yesterday evening's incredible events, a one-off day of madness in football news, in a race to confirm and 'break' a sensational story today in that same sport, the truth may have got left behind.
The closing line of a Sky Sports News presenter as they went to a break just before 7:30pm tonight. It's the question anyone with half an eye on football will be asking as well. Forget Manchester City hijacking Chelsea's bid and subsequent pinching (for the meagre price of £32m) of Brazilian 'galactico' forward Robinho from Real Madrid less than 24 hours ago. Ignore Manchester United's bully boy acquisition of Dimitar Berbatov for a fee of similar weight.
It emerged, around 2pm today, that something very strange was developing on in the North East. After Saturday's result - a humbling 3-0 defeat at Arsenal, in which convicted criminal Joey Barton was roundly supported by Kevin Keegan against condemnation by pretty much everyone in football (for being a prick, mainly) - and confusion over who has actually been signing and selling players for Newcastle, 'King' Kevin Keegan and Mike Ashley have been in discussions most of today and yesterday. About what these discussion were was not clear, hence the BBC report earlier today touting that the pair were in talks over transfer policy. However, as interest grew and speculation mounted, BBC's point of view - and Sky Sports News's, according to forums online today - moved to suggest that Keegan's future as Newcastle manager was in doubt. It seemed suddenly that issues arising from the past two days' meetings were more than problematic; enough for a manager to walk out less than a year into a job at a club he loves and at which he is beloved and held in the highest of esteem by fans.
Suddenly, the media frenzy peaked, and 'sources confirming' stories saw BBC, Sky and numerous other news outlets reporting, as fact, that Kevin Keegan had left Newcastle. Eyebrows, if they had been raised, positively receded beyond hairlines. What could possibly force Keegan into such a position that he had no choice but to leave? Could Mike Ashley - laddish chairman of Newcastle pictured downing a pint during Newcastle's defeat at the Emirates - really be stupid and strong-minded enough to force his will onto a man whose dismissal would turn Geordie fans against him to a man?
Indeed, the long-suffering Geordies - who have put up with nine managers in just over a decade, and declare themselves a top four club every time they're asked, despite not having finished anywhere near for at least three seasons - gathered immediately outside the ground to protest at this news. Ashley, if he was aware of this, would surely have realised through the haze that it wouldn't only be Keegan gone if the fans turned against him. The football world scratched their heads in bemusement: why had Kevin Keegan been sacked?
Yet the obituaries had barely been inked - although BBC ran (and still are running) 'Keegan's coaching career in photos' - and the fans' pitchforks raised in anger than Newcastle finally produced a statement: Keegan had not, in actual fact, been sacked. That was around two hours ago; little has changed, except BBC rewriting its story to say Keegan's future was unclear.
And it still is; KK might not have been sacked, but that does that mean he hasn't walked? Who is making decisions at Newcastle? Why was Milner sold? Who sanctioned the signings of Ignacio Gonzalez and Xisco? Has Dennis Wise's position got anything to do with it? Questions that need answering for Kevin Keegan, never mind the fans and media.
But what concerns [me] most at this point in time, though, is the media's handling of it. Keegan was purported to have told those around him he was leaving, or had been sacked. That is information, from unofficial sources. It is not a press conference or statement. Phrases like 'sources close to' and 'we understand' are not enough to base factual journalism on.
However, it is the nature of today's media, where news is instant and global, reaction is real-time, and fans are angry mobs, that neccesitates this need for knowledge - although not neccessarily facts, which seem of secondary importance. Audiences don't just consume, they participate in the news, indeed constitute a substantial amount of detail in internet reporting with citizen journalism, blogging, eye-witness texts and videos. They expect in return a news supply which conforms to a similar time-frame. But facts aren't quite like that: just look at the Foster story where, it has now transpired a week after taking place, father and husband Christopher Foster murdered his family, before setting fire to his million-pound mansion and committing suicide.
It's true that the sporting arena is one of extraordinary passion, under a constant spotlight, with football dominating all year round. It requires an equal in its reporting. But it seems that following yesterday evening's incredible events, a one-off day of madness in football news, in a race to confirm and 'break' a sensational story today in that same sport, the truth may have got left behind.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Back online!
Months, MONTHS have passed since I was able to even view this page, let alone use it. BT's dismal customer service cut us off from mid-February til the very end of July, although of course they're lightning quick setting us up again as new customers. Not so happy that they're simply the foundation on which we use Sky for everything, but twats can't be choosers as the saying goes.
So it's another year in Bournemouth, the second in a row post-Uni and into a new job, new flat to mark the occasion. The job: Marketing Assistant at Emap Glenigan, the first rung of the ladder, step in the right direction and so on. The flat: four lads, Sky TV, a beer fridge, a back garden with a goal already lined up against the flowers, first name terms with the curry house round the corner. It's the centre of everything that's happening in Winton. Big deals, yeah?
Olympic fever will grip the country for three weeks from tomorrow, Britain's drugged-up athletes (heroes) expected to win around 40 medals. Typically last-minute British fuss, though a strange lack of mass promotion as global companies try not to appear supportive of China owing to the regime's human rights and Tibet issues. At least we can all get behind Andy Murray as one of our own, and ignore the fact he is actually Scottish. Elsewhere, since there's no football (yet! We'll be there in 2012) there's a few other high points, notably proper British idols such as 'attractive woman in epic contest' (Kelly Sotherton), 'talented youngster and underdog' a la Britain's Got Talent (Tom Daley) , 'heroic, nearly-woman' (Paula Radcliffe) and Christine 'innocent after all' Ohoruogu, who, should she win a medal, will bravely fight back tears as the justice becomes all too much.
It's the fleeting frenzy of it all that disappoints, the bandwagon jumping on names who enter into the daily language simply through hype. These people devote their normal working days and weekends into getting good at something, just for the odd event that peaks in the public eye, then disappears again. They're supported not for the hard work, sheer determination and natural talent that goes into their competing, but for being British. But it is their Britishness that is craved: I doubt many people watching the Olympics actually feel proud to be British when they do so; for one thing, it's just sports. It's (usually) thousands of miles away and there's no personal involvement. And many of the events are rubbish to watch: a lot of waiting, something happens, there's perhaps an exciting flourish, the end. It's not (of course) like football or tennis, which no doubt will be the most attractive Olympic medal contests.
I also tend to feel physically inferior, jealous of someone else's obvious talent and muscle, and generally less of a man. So anyone analysing this rambling is immediately diagnosing 'inferiority complex' and putting it all down to me being jealous of muscly men (and women). But it's more an irritation with the over-the-top interest, the hysterical highs and gut-wrenching lows that 'everyone feels' when really, apart from the athlete's, and their coaches and families, come September no one will really be bothered again.
So it's another year in Bournemouth, the second in a row post-Uni and into a new job, new flat to mark the occasion. The job: Marketing Assistant at Emap Glenigan, the first rung of the ladder, step in the right direction and so on. The flat: four lads, Sky TV, a beer fridge, a back garden with a goal already lined up against the flowers, first name terms with the curry house round the corner. It's the centre of everything that's happening in Winton. Big deals, yeah?
Olympic fever will grip the country for three weeks from tomorrow, Britain's drugged-up athletes (heroes) expected to win around 40 medals. Typically last-minute British fuss, though a strange lack of mass promotion as global companies try not to appear supportive of China owing to the regime's human rights and Tibet issues. At least we can all get behind Andy Murray as one of our own, and ignore the fact he is actually Scottish. Elsewhere, since there's no football (yet! We'll be there in 2012) there's a few other high points, notably proper British idols such as 'attractive woman in epic contest' (Kelly Sotherton), 'talented youngster and underdog' a la Britain's Got Talent (Tom Daley) , 'heroic, nearly-woman' (Paula Radcliffe) and Christine 'innocent after all' Ohoruogu, who, should she win a medal, will bravely fight back tears as the justice becomes all too much.
It's the fleeting frenzy of it all that disappoints, the bandwagon jumping on names who enter into the daily language simply through hype. These people devote their normal working days and weekends into getting good at something, just for the odd event that peaks in the public eye, then disappears again. They're supported not for the hard work, sheer determination and natural talent that goes into their competing, but for being British. But it is their Britishness that is craved: I doubt many people watching the Olympics actually feel proud to be British when they do so; for one thing, it's just sports. It's (usually) thousands of miles away and there's no personal involvement. And many of the events are rubbish to watch: a lot of waiting, something happens, there's perhaps an exciting flourish, the end. It's not (of course) like football or tennis, which no doubt will be the most attractive Olympic medal contests.
I also tend to feel physically inferior, jealous of someone else's obvious talent and muscle, and generally less of a man. So anyone analysing this rambling is immediately diagnosing 'inferiority complex' and putting it all down to me being jealous of muscly men (and women). But it's more an irritation with the over-the-top interest, the hysterical highs and gut-wrenching lows that 'everyone feels' when really, apart from the athlete's, and their coaches and families, come September no one will really be bothered again.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Explosion chaos in Bournemouth town centre
The pensioner and student-attracting seaside resort Bournemouth was rocked by an enormous explosion at around 15:45pm this afternoon, inflaming fears of a terror attack on the iconic Bournemouth Tourist Office on Westover Road. Eyewitnesses in the Portman House building report a total loss of power for at least 1.8 seconds, before all eyes were drawn irresistibly across the 6th floor and out to sea - where, in between the eyes and the sea, a charcoal black plume of smoke had risen quite suddenly around 100 feet into the air, towering above the rest of the town centre skyline.
The cloud of black smoke dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by wispy white funnel that was soon barely discernible in the fading grey afternoon light. Further attacks - sorry, burnt out fuse boxes - were not reported, though the town and indeed the entire nation will sleep uneasily tonight while fierce rumours abound that Al-Queda, Muslims, Iran, the US and the Irish are behind this reign of fear.
The centre of Bournemouth was brought to a standstill as the thick smoke engulfed the surrounding area and turned a Wednesday afternoon into night, lit up only by the raging force of an 11,000 volt fireball that terrorised helpess shoppers and countless pigeons for over 4 hours.
What really happened is this: an 11,000 volt electricity sub-station did actually explode, in one burst of flame and puff of smoke, and a tree caught fire to render itself the only casualty of the drama. In typically hackneyed fashion, the Daily Echo website commented unhelpfully on the 'knockout' blow which has left parts of Bournemouth, including surrounding shops and the stream running through the nearby gardens, without power. Rumour has it the tree was unwisely lighting up a cigarette while leaning over the electricity station, though official sources have refused to confirm whether this was an attempt at suicide.
The point here, of course, is not the irony of my blog but the disappointing conclusion and reality to what seemed from where we were, for a few minutes at least, a genuinely frightening proposition: the lights going out, black smoke appearing just across town, concern on people's faces. Maybe I've been watching too many trailers for Cloverfield. But as the entire power running to a building housing some 1,000 people failed utterly, and in the immediate confusion what looked like the aftermath of a bomb appeared starkly out of the window, there was a slight air of unease and mystery that was founded on unknowing, guesses and confusion. A desire for excitement, the thrill of potential horror, the possibilities far more interesting than the probable explanation would be.
So, investigative journo that I am, I walked down to the gardens in search of the facts, to be greeted by one policeman, some Do Not Cross tape flapping lamely in the wind and two men in fluorescent jackets with 'Electricity' on them looking down a hole. Wet leaves and fast-disappearing foam dampened the pavement. A few shoppers were still milling around - in fact the only thing that seemed to be closed was the Tourist Office itself. "Show's over" was never more appropriate. And, if you've read this all the way through, you're probably wondering if it even began. But if I'd stated that at the blog's opening, it wouldn't have made such a good story. And maybe that's the point.
The cloud of black smoke dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by wispy white funnel that was soon barely discernible in the fading grey afternoon light. Further attacks - sorry, burnt out fuse boxes - were not reported, though the town and indeed the entire nation will sleep uneasily tonight while fierce rumours abound that Al-Queda, Muslims, Iran, the US and the Irish are behind this reign of fear.
The centre of Bournemouth was brought to a standstill as the thick smoke engulfed the surrounding area and turned a Wednesday afternoon into night, lit up only by the raging force of an 11,000 volt fireball that terrorised helpess shoppers and countless pigeons for over 4 hours.
What really happened is this: an 11,000 volt electricity sub-station did actually explode, in one burst of flame and puff of smoke, and a tree caught fire to render itself the only casualty of the drama. In typically hackneyed fashion, the Daily Echo website commented unhelpfully on the 'knockout' blow which has left parts of Bournemouth, including surrounding shops and the stream running through the nearby gardens, without power. Rumour has it the tree was unwisely lighting up a cigarette while leaning over the electricity station, though official sources have refused to confirm whether this was an attempt at suicide.
The point here, of course, is not the irony of my blog but the disappointing conclusion and reality to what seemed from where we were, for a few minutes at least, a genuinely frightening proposition: the lights going out, black smoke appearing just across town, concern on people's faces. Maybe I've been watching too many trailers for Cloverfield. But as the entire power running to a building housing some 1,000 people failed utterly, and in the immediate confusion what looked like the aftermath of a bomb appeared starkly out of the window, there was a slight air of unease and mystery that was founded on unknowing, guesses and confusion. A desire for excitement, the thrill of potential horror, the possibilities far more interesting than the probable explanation would be.
So, investigative journo that I am, I walked down to the gardens in search of the facts, to be greeted by one policeman, some Do Not Cross tape flapping lamely in the wind and two men in fluorescent jackets with 'Electricity' on them looking down a hole. Wet leaves and fast-disappearing foam dampened the pavement. A few shoppers were still milling around - in fact the only thing that seemed to be closed was the Tourist Office itself. "Show's over" was never more appropriate. And, if you've read this all the way through, you're probably wondering if it even began. But if I'd stated that at the blog's opening, it wouldn't have made such a good story. And maybe that's the point.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Music for 2008
My internet's just about to be cut off, as we've "forgotten" to pay the bill, so I thought I'd get some blogging in before it dies for 4 days or so. I posted about New Year's Resolutions last year, and I've decided to try and be more active in my blogging as a resolution for this year, so I won't bother with the boring details of my new aims of keeping fit and healthy.
Instead, I thought I'd whack out some details on music for this year. First I'll get a few recommendations out of the way: Foals, We Are The Physics, Los Campesinos!, Operator Please, Bombay Bicycle Club, Duffy, Black Kids, Crystal Castles. All of these are making great, exciting new music and are for the large part stupidly young. Which is a good thing. Forget Coldplay, Hard-Fi, The Twang, Kasabian, Snow Patrol, Razorlight, MOR stuff like that, and search out some of these for a refreshing taste of new music.
2008 is likely to see yet more innovations and irrevocable changes to the music industry than last year. We saw the incorporation of downloads into official charts and sales figures, saw how the opportunity seemed to glisten for every struggling unsigned band going, saw how this new avenue could be exploited through careful campaigns - Chris Moyles made Billie Piper's Honey to the B get to number 17 in January '07 even though it had originally been released in 1998, while Koopa became the first unsigned band to have a top 40 hit through their relentless download campaign - and then saw how smoothly record companies and online music stores were able to capture the market with considerable and unquestioned ease. In light of how, just 3 or 4 years ago, the big record labels were bemoaning the rise of music downloading and file sharing, the shoe certainly seems to be on the other foot now.
But music, in my opinion, is getting ever more fragmented. When MySpace first emerged, bands that had 25,000 friends were heroes, the power of the underground, the shining examples of good, unsigned new music. But already, MySpace has lost its voice: there are probably a hundred thousand bands on MySpace now - and a lot of these will have 25,000 fans. Yet they'll still be unsigned, and unnoticed. Conversely, multi-million selling acts with big record label backing will have quickly cottoned on to the online phenomenon, and will gain double as many fans as the best unsigned band around in no time, through their backing and support from label channels. The smaller bands have had what should rightfully be 'their' medium descend into a free-for-all, with scope for capitalist-like gains and losses.
The competition for real-time music listening for free on sites like MySpace, as opposed to the non-real-time transaction of actually paying for a CD/download, and listening to it once it's purchased, is also too large. The internet has become congested with a thousand great new bands vying for the same fans, the ones that want that new music buzz, the excitement of finding a new fresh band that no one else really knows. But in the ever-quickening pace of modern technological life, staying loyal, or at least staying in one place, is too lazy and worryingly easy to appear out of touch. Bands are constantly having to produce, to innovate, without the financial resources to do so successfully and competitively, to appeal to the internet consumer, without any tangible reward. It's all very well the Guardian Art pages recommending 10 unsigned acts for 2008 - people aren't going to wait patiently for them to take their time to produce a quality debut LP. They want results straight away, and if not offered, there are 100 unsigned bands good enough, and just waiting, to be recommended elsewhere.
The other area in which the signed and established artists hold a major advantage is in the purchasing of mp3s. Admittedly an unsigned act might have a great track record so far, but why take a risk buying their latest EP when it might be a let down? Why not listen to it for free on their MySpace? Meanwhile, you know what you're likely to get with an established band, so forking out just £0.79p for their new song is bound to be great value. This leads to a situation whereby, for example, Iron and Wine's latest album is available to listen to in full, for free, on his MySpace page, while Red Hot Chili Peppers can suffice with 4 one-minute long song excerpts on theirs. The lengths that up and coming artists have to go to to make strides on the internet is now almost as tough as getting signed through someone liking your demo. The internet might well be the world's most democratic medium, but democracy still needs its leaders and rulers.
So it seems to me that music careers are short-term in the modern world. Who released a debut album last year that you could genuinely tout to being the next Radiohead, REM or even Oasis? By that, I mean a band who will have a decade or more of success, a success that contains several acclaimed albums in a number of years greater than the number of albums, and who will even be given the time to earn the chance to do so? The only example that springs to my mind for a modern band achieving this is Coldplay. Seriously. You might not like them, but the fact is they've had 3 huge albums, and a 4th is guaranteed to be in the pipeline and will only be released when they're happy with it. With new bands, record labels are so caught up in snaffling each Next Big Thing that the Current Big Thing is left in the cold to fend for itself in coming up with the notorious difficult second album. Success is fleeting, and nowadays, seems more subjective than ever. Are The Ting Tings going to be successful because they're being widely regarded now as one of the bright stars for 2008? If they get dropped from their label after one album and are unsigned by the summer of 2009, will they think of themselves as a success? I highly doubt it.
If anything, the rise of the online music industry has segmented the audience further and may in fact lead to a recession in opportunity for new bands like Los Campesinos!. Art is held by all its lovers in their hearts for personal aesthetic reasons and reaches real emotion for those who let it. And a personal sense of this can be gained online: there is something inherently romantic and self-rewarding in being part of a clandestine fan base of a certain band, an appeal which is all too easily propagated through websites and online communities, feeling that connection through the egalitarianism of the internet that our personal interaction and support makes a difference. (It doesn't, much). But this creates a group mentality, a need to compare and contrast with other artists of similar stature, a reason to find faults with other people who are on the same level as your favourite band. Online consuming of music has become a matter of taste insofar as who you like, and when you like it, is more important than what you like, and why. As I've said, it is hard to stay loyal when so much more is going on, and trend followers jumping from one thing to the next leave less behind to remember the bands who once 'were', and divide an audience who should be embracing all of this exciting equal opportunity phenomenon into micro groups of support that hold no power to speak of to offer the bands they love.
I've not even touched on the qualities in possessing a CD as opposed to iTunes telling you you now own the YouthMovie Soundtrack Strategies album, but it's 9 minutes past 2am and I have to be up in 5 hours for work. I'll leave that for another time.
Instead, I thought I'd whack out some details on music for this year. First I'll get a few recommendations out of the way: Foals, We Are The Physics, Los Campesinos!, Operator Please, Bombay Bicycle Club, Duffy, Black Kids, Crystal Castles. All of these are making great, exciting new music and are for the large part stupidly young. Which is a good thing. Forget Coldplay, Hard-Fi, The Twang, Kasabian, Snow Patrol, Razorlight, MOR stuff like that, and search out some of these for a refreshing taste of new music.
2008 is likely to see yet more innovations and irrevocable changes to the music industry than last year. We saw the incorporation of downloads into official charts and sales figures, saw how the opportunity seemed to glisten for every struggling unsigned band going, saw how this new avenue could be exploited through careful campaigns - Chris Moyles made Billie Piper's Honey to the B get to number 17 in January '07 even though it had originally been released in 1998, while Koopa became the first unsigned band to have a top 40 hit through their relentless download campaign - and then saw how smoothly record companies and online music stores were able to capture the market with considerable and unquestioned ease. In light of how, just 3 or 4 years ago, the big record labels were bemoaning the rise of music downloading and file sharing, the shoe certainly seems to be on the other foot now.
But music, in my opinion, is getting ever more fragmented. When MySpace first emerged, bands that had 25,000 friends were heroes, the power of the underground, the shining examples of good, unsigned new music. But already, MySpace has lost its voice: there are probably a hundred thousand bands on MySpace now - and a lot of these will have 25,000 fans. Yet they'll still be unsigned, and unnoticed. Conversely, multi-million selling acts with big record label backing will have quickly cottoned on to the online phenomenon, and will gain double as many fans as the best unsigned band around in no time, through their backing and support from label channels. The smaller bands have had what should rightfully be 'their' medium descend into a free-for-all, with scope for capitalist-like gains and losses.
The competition for real-time music listening for free on sites like MySpace, as opposed to the non-real-time transaction of actually paying for a CD/download, and listening to it once it's purchased, is also too large. The internet has become congested with a thousand great new bands vying for the same fans, the ones that want that new music buzz, the excitement of finding a new fresh band that no one else really knows. But in the ever-quickening pace of modern technological life, staying loyal, or at least staying in one place, is too lazy and worryingly easy to appear out of touch. Bands are constantly having to produce, to innovate, without the financial resources to do so successfully and competitively, to appeal to the internet consumer, without any tangible reward. It's all very well the Guardian Art pages recommending 10 unsigned acts for 2008 - people aren't going to wait patiently for them to take their time to produce a quality debut LP. They want results straight away, and if not offered, there are 100 unsigned bands good enough, and just waiting, to be recommended elsewhere.
The other area in which the signed and established artists hold a major advantage is in the purchasing of mp3s. Admittedly an unsigned act might have a great track record so far, but why take a risk buying their latest EP when it might be a let down? Why not listen to it for free on their MySpace? Meanwhile, you know what you're likely to get with an established band, so forking out just £0.79p for their new song is bound to be great value. This leads to a situation whereby, for example, Iron and Wine's latest album is available to listen to in full, for free, on his MySpace page, while Red Hot Chili Peppers can suffice with 4 one-minute long song excerpts on theirs. The lengths that up and coming artists have to go to to make strides on the internet is now almost as tough as getting signed through someone liking your demo. The internet might well be the world's most democratic medium, but democracy still needs its leaders and rulers.
So it seems to me that music careers are short-term in the modern world. Who released a debut album last year that you could genuinely tout to being the next Radiohead, REM or even Oasis? By that, I mean a band who will have a decade or more of success, a success that contains several acclaimed albums in a number of years greater than the number of albums, and who will even be given the time to earn the chance to do so? The only example that springs to my mind for a modern band achieving this is Coldplay. Seriously. You might not like them, but the fact is they've had 3 huge albums, and a 4th is guaranteed to be in the pipeline and will only be released when they're happy with it. With new bands, record labels are so caught up in snaffling each Next Big Thing that the Current Big Thing is left in the cold to fend for itself in coming up with the notorious difficult second album. Success is fleeting, and nowadays, seems more subjective than ever. Are The Ting Tings going to be successful because they're being widely regarded now as one of the bright stars for 2008? If they get dropped from their label after one album and are unsigned by the summer of 2009, will they think of themselves as a success? I highly doubt it.
If anything, the rise of the online music industry has segmented the audience further and may in fact lead to a recession in opportunity for new bands like Los Campesinos!. Art is held by all its lovers in their hearts for personal aesthetic reasons and reaches real emotion for those who let it. And a personal sense of this can be gained online: there is something inherently romantic and self-rewarding in being part of a clandestine fan base of a certain band, an appeal which is all too easily propagated through websites and online communities, feeling that connection through the egalitarianism of the internet that our personal interaction and support makes a difference. (It doesn't, much). But this creates a group mentality, a need to compare and contrast with other artists of similar stature, a reason to find faults with other people who are on the same level as your favourite band. Online consuming of music has become a matter of taste insofar as who you like, and when you like it, is more important than what you like, and why. As I've said, it is hard to stay loyal when so much more is going on, and trend followers jumping from one thing to the next leave less behind to remember the bands who once 'were', and divide an audience who should be embracing all of this exciting equal opportunity phenomenon into micro groups of support that hold no power to speak of to offer the bands they love.
I've not even touched on the qualities in possessing a CD as opposed to iTunes telling you you now own the YouthMovie Soundtrack Strategies album, but it's 9 minutes past 2am and I have to be up in 5 hours for work. I'll leave that for another time.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Christmas Eve
My blogging continues to be as sporadic as ever this year; generally finding time to write that which is not going to earn me money or readers of music reviews is difficult these days, what with a counter-productive job 9-5. Anyway, it's Christmas, and in light of the ever increasing dumbing down of Christmas, thought I would lay down one of the very few qualms I have with a modern Christmas.
Call me traditionalist, or something, but in my view Christmas Eve, and this really only applies if you've made the effort to spend Christmas with the family anyway, is the one evening in an entire calendar year you could bother to make the time to spend in and around your family. It is still a time of coming together and surrounding yourselves with the ones you love, even if it's all about online shopping and credit card debt. Similarly, even today, for me Christmas Eve still holds a sense of magic and anticipation I enjoyed when much younger, though the thrill and excitement of the day itself has long dimmed to a low flame, more of pleasant contentment than high-octane enjoyment. I enjoy spending Eve with my immediate family and remember Christmases from my childhood and recollect those feelings, which probably explains a little of it still retaining the sense of magic.
I also think that Christmas Day is the one day a year where it's unnecessary to be hungover. There is so much to enjoy to be stuck feeling ill, tired, sick, or disinterested. What a waste of time; clearly, Christmas lunch is the best meal of the year, while opening and exchanging gifts requires polite appreciation and is of course, an integral part to a great happy Christmas. Going clubbing, for example, on Christmas Eve, therefore, presents itself to me as a ridiculous notion. I would only look around and think "What the hell have all these people got to do with my Christmas?" I will probably go to the pub tomorrow afternoon with friends, or early evening, as I also enjoy spending time with them at this time of the year, but not as though I'm going to be rolling home at 1am. (Jinxed it now, blatantly going to be smashed).
This has no religious basing, as I don't bother with any services or anything over the Christmas period. This country's Christian stronghold had been dwindling long before I was born, and has never been a way of life for me at any point - more people will be shopping online on Christmas Day than going to a church in the UK, according to an article I read today. However, I just believe in family, I guess, and spending time with them at a time for celebration is something that everyone one can afford to do just once a year. It surely isn't too much to ask.
Call me traditionalist, or something, but in my view Christmas Eve, and this really only applies if you've made the effort to spend Christmas with the family anyway, is the one evening in an entire calendar year you could bother to make the time to spend in and around your family. It is still a time of coming together and surrounding yourselves with the ones you love, even if it's all about online shopping and credit card debt. Similarly, even today, for me Christmas Eve still holds a sense of magic and anticipation I enjoyed when much younger, though the thrill and excitement of the day itself has long dimmed to a low flame, more of pleasant contentment than high-octane enjoyment. I enjoy spending Eve with my immediate family and remember Christmases from my childhood and recollect those feelings, which probably explains a little of it still retaining the sense of magic.
I also think that Christmas Day is the one day a year where it's unnecessary to be hungover. There is so much to enjoy to be stuck feeling ill, tired, sick, or disinterested. What a waste of time; clearly, Christmas lunch is the best meal of the year, while opening and exchanging gifts requires polite appreciation and is of course, an integral part to a great happy Christmas. Going clubbing, for example, on Christmas Eve, therefore, presents itself to me as a ridiculous notion. I would only look around and think "What the hell have all these people got to do with my Christmas?" I will probably go to the pub tomorrow afternoon with friends, or early evening, as I also enjoy spending time with them at this time of the year, but not as though I'm going to be rolling home at 1am. (Jinxed it now, blatantly going to be smashed).
This has no religious basing, as I don't bother with any services or anything over the Christmas period. This country's Christian stronghold had been dwindling long before I was born, and has never been a way of life for me at any point - more people will be shopping online on Christmas Day than going to a church in the UK, according to an article I read today. However, I just believe in family, I guess, and spending time with them at a time for celebration is something that everyone one can afford to do just once a year. It surely isn't too much to ask.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Sweet FA to do next summer
The dour, pessimistic English attitude is rife throughout the sports world, but even deeper down, far more real than we are prepared to admit, is the ever-present conviction that England will do well. Football, cricket, tennis, athletics, Formula 1: constant expectation constantly crushed, and yet every week/year/2 years/4 years, we are eager again in anticipation fronted by feigned indifference or cynicism.
It shouldn't come as any surprise that England's footballers, schooled in the art of doing things the hard way, couldnt grasp a chance gifted to them from a most unlikely situation that could only be described as a lifeline. Throughout their qualifying group England had been inconsistent enough to leave qualification out of their hands, and yet when their fate was placed, by small miracle, back into their hands again, still the performance wasn't there. (I say 'inconsistent' rather than poor, as England had their moments, notably the vital back to back 3-0 wins over Israel and Russia.)
It's difficult to know where to lay the blame for England's failure to qualify for next year's European Championships. How far back do you go? Carson's howler in the 8th monute? Throwing away victory in Russia last month? The 0-0 at home to Macedonia? Was McClaren the wrong appointment 18 months ago? Or did he simply inherit a team managed by a coach who was tactically astute enough to take England to two quarter-finals but at the expense of the passion and heart that is supposed to embody English sportsmen, and which more than anything else inspires the English fans?
Of course, Enlgish fans return their passion and heart through alcohol-fuelled destruction of foreign cities, so tonight's result will be a welcome relief for the Austro-Swiss officials and organisers.
Returning to tonight's game, it never once, naturally, looked remotely like going to according plan. McClaren chose a must-not-lose game to throw Scott Carson his first competititve cap. Of course, less than 10 minutes in and that choice was made to look laughable. At least no one would have been surprised if it had been Robinson making the same error. McClaren then chose to play a defensively minded 4-5-1 formation, neglecting the fact that England couldn't really risk playing for a draw as one Croat goal would scupper the plans completely. Two Croat goals therefore tore the entire plan to shreds. McClaren didn't help his formation by going with Crouch's height as the lone striker, with two wide players whose main asset is speed. Leaving out David Beckham, still one of the best crossers of the ball in the world, when our main threat in a 4-5-1 formation would come from crosses and set pieces, was little short of madness.
The only surprise came when McClaren made exactly the right subsitutions at half time. A quick striker to replace Barry - who had been ineffectually rubbish and, since we had gone 2-0 down with his role supposedly protecting against conceding, was even more surplus to requirements when we need goals - and getting David Beckham on to supply the passes. Almost amazingly, Defoe's presence won the penalty, and Beckham's pristine ball created the equaliser. If it hadn't been McClaren's errors initially, those subs would have been tactical masterstrokes.
Yet just when England looked to be in a position to go on and win the game, the team did what they did under Sven - which was, admittedly, about his only problem during his tenure as manager - consolidate the position and try to hold out. Being England of course, this didn't work. A better team than Croatia could have scored six past England tonight, so when Croatia's third went in, it was time once again for the desperation and anxious panic. Unlike against Greece four years ago when Beckham's 90th minute free kick sent England through, there was no smile from lady luck, no individual piece of genius, no (second) life line for England. The simple truth was we hadn't the belief or the performers to carry out what was required.
In searching for excuses; yes we were affected pretty dreadfully from injuries. Hargeaves fully fit would surely have seen Barry dropped, while Owen and Rooney's injuries saw a striker without a Premiership goal to his name start alone up front, with underachieving Spurs' second string striker pairing as back up. And the least said about the back four - to a man an understudy to England first choice of Cole, A., Ferdinand, Terry, Neville - the better. The pitch was poor, too.
Once McClaren has been sacked, and it will happen because the pithy FA would never risk the complete backlash that will come from every single England fan if a manager who couldn't take us from the group we had to the European Championships was kept on, what's needed is a fresh start. Though the debate about the quality of English players will surface, England do have the players to compete on an international level. The U21s, so nearly finalists at the Euros this year, are all bright prospects. The likes of Walcott, Taylor, Carson, Bentley, Richards, are all waiting to step up. Terry, Ferdinand, Lampard, Gerrard, Rooney and Owen can be the back bone of a world class team for 4 more years at least. It's finding a coach who can convince them, and the rest of the players available, that we ARE a world class team that will bring England's national side out of the slump that is surely at its lowest point tonight.
It shouldn't come as any surprise that England's footballers, schooled in the art of doing things the hard way, couldnt grasp a chance gifted to them from a most unlikely situation that could only be described as a lifeline. Throughout their qualifying group England had been inconsistent enough to leave qualification out of their hands, and yet when their fate was placed, by small miracle, back into their hands again, still the performance wasn't there. (I say 'inconsistent' rather than poor, as England had their moments, notably the vital back to back 3-0 wins over Israel and Russia.)
It's difficult to know where to lay the blame for England's failure to qualify for next year's European Championships. How far back do you go? Carson's howler in the 8th monute? Throwing away victory in Russia last month? The 0-0 at home to Macedonia? Was McClaren the wrong appointment 18 months ago? Or did he simply inherit a team managed by a coach who was tactically astute enough to take England to two quarter-finals but at the expense of the passion and heart that is supposed to embody English sportsmen, and which more than anything else inspires the English fans?
Of course, Enlgish fans return their passion and heart through alcohol-fuelled destruction of foreign cities, so tonight's result will be a welcome relief for the Austro-Swiss officials and organisers.
Returning to tonight's game, it never once, naturally, looked remotely like going to according plan. McClaren chose a must-not-lose game to throw Scott Carson his first competititve cap. Of course, less than 10 minutes in and that choice was made to look laughable. At least no one would have been surprised if it had been Robinson making the same error. McClaren then chose to play a defensively minded 4-5-1 formation, neglecting the fact that England couldn't really risk playing for a draw as one Croat goal would scupper the plans completely. Two Croat goals therefore tore the entire plan to shreds. McClaren didn't help his formation by going with Crouch's height as the lone striker, with two wide players whose main asset is speed. Leaving out David Beckham, still one of the best crossers of the ball in the world, when our main threat in a 4-5-1 formation would come from crosses and set pieces, was little short of madness.
The only surprise came when McClaren made exactly the right subsitutions at half time. A quick striker to replace Barry - who had been ineffectually rubbish and, since we had gone 2-0 down with his role supposedly protecting against conceding, was even more surplus to requirements when we need goals - and getting David Beckham on to supply the passes. Almost amazingly, Defoe's presence won the penalty, and Beckham's pristine ball created the equaliser. If it hadn't been McClaren's errors initially, those subs would have been tactical masterstrokes.
Yet just when England looked to be in a position to go on and win the game, the team did what they did under Sven - which was, admittedly, about his only problem during his tenure as manager - consolidate the position and try to hold out. Being England of course, this didn't work. A better team than Croatia could have scored six past England tonight, so when Croatia's third went in, it was time once again for the desperation and anxious panic. Unlike against Greece four years ago when Beckham's 90th minute free kick sent England through, there was no smile from lady luck, no individual piece of genius, no (second) life line for England. The simple truth was we hadn't the belief or the performers to carry out what was required.
In searching for excuses; yes we were affected pretty dreadfully from injuries. Hargeaves fully fit would surely have seen Barry dropped, while Owen and Rooney's injuries saw a striker without a Premiership goal to his name start alone up front, with underachieving Spurs' second string striker pairing as back up. And the least said about the back four - to a man an understudy to England first choice of Cole, A., Ferdinand, Terry, Neville - the better. The pitch was poor, too.
Once McClaren has been sacked, and it will happen because the pithy FA would never risk the complete backlash that will come from every single England fan if a manager who couldn't take us from the group we had to the European Championships was kept on, what's needed is a fresh start. Though the debate about the quality of English players will surface, England do have the players to compete on an international level. The U21s, so nearly finalists at the Euros this year, are all bright prospects. The likes of Walcott, Taylor, Carson, Bentley, Richards, are all waiting to step up. Terry, Ferdinand, Lampard, Gerrard, Rooney and Owen can be the back bone of a world class team for 4 more years at least. It's finding a coach who can convince them, and the rest of the players available, that we ARE a world class team that will bring England's national side out of the slump that is surely at its lowest point tonight.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Kyle slammed for shit TV show
Yes! A bit of flagrant one-upmanship here for me over Jeremy Kyle's car crash of a show, put out daily by - who else - ITV, the News of the World of television. I'll intersperse snippets of the glorious BBC story into my blog just to rub it in as much as possible.
A judge has branded The Jeremy Kyle Show "a form of human bear-baiting" at a court case in Manchester. District Judge Alan Berg said the ITV1 daytime programme was "trash" and existed to "titillate bored members of the public with nothing better to do".
Don't you love it when judges actually do what their title entails, and pass judgment on something? And this guy couldn't be clearer, or more right. Jeremy Kyle's self-indulgent and moronic 'chat show' has come in for a complete battering, but in my view fairly. The show does exist to titillate members of the public - indeed, perhaps all programmes do - but the emphasis on pitting hapless idiots whose intentions are guaranteed to be anything but honourable is only going to end in one thing. For some reason, ITV producers think we'd actually care to see it.
Judge Berg added that it was "human bear-baiting which goes under the guise of entertainment. It should not surprise anyone that these people, some of whom have limited intellects, become aggressive with each other."
That quote is particularly important; 'under the guise of entertainment'. Certainly, the only possible entertainment to be gained from tripe like Kyle's programme is derogatory laughter at other people whose lives are ridiculously fucked up. Not that there's anything wrong with laughing either; it seems that ITV has a strict policy in place to make sure that only people with low self-esteem, "limited intellects", and a lack of education get on this programme, to ensure the maximum brainless outcome possible.
"It seems to me that the purpose of this show is to effect a morbid and depressing display of dysfunctional people whose lives are in turmoil."
For the purpose of ratings and audiences. I mean literally, the above is all the Jeremy Kyle show does. Is that what we need, a damning reminder of how bad some people's lives are? A reminder, however, that is so pointedly exposing and mocking that the only reaction is simply not to care? Kyle himself doesn't help, of course, but before I get onto ripping him apart, here's some abuse for the producers:
"This type of incident is exactly what the producers want. These self-righteous individuals should be in the dock with you. They pretend there is some kind of virtue in putting out a show like this," said Judge Berg...
which is exactly true, and the same can probably be said for the show's regular watching audience, pretending there's some worthwhile element to it. The show's a pile of crap: it's not social commentary, problem-solving or educational. It's simply encouraging apathy to other humans' plight, and glamorising the failings of society for 'amusement'.
The only amusing thing is what a cunt Jeremy Kyle is. Taking his cues from the US, Kyle simply sits his contestants, sorry, victims, in their chairs and proceeds to abuse them, talk over them when they try to speak, criticise them, make wild claims about them as though fact and then ignore any response he gets, all the while swanning about looking like a plumber dressed in a cheap suit and getting his braindead audience to cheer him on.
My next guest is a story about the sponsor of Jeremy Kyle pulling the plug on their £500,000 advertising deal. Let's bring him out! http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7019266.stm
A judge has branded The Jeremy Kyle Show "a form of human bear-baiting" at a court case in Manchester. District Judge Alan Berg said the ITV1 daytime programme was "trash" and existed to "titillate bored members of the public with nothing better to do".
Don't you love it when judges actually do what their title entails, and pass judgment on something? And this guy couldn't be clearer, or more right. Jeremy Kyle's self-indulgent and moronic 'chat show' has come in for a complete battering, but in my view fairly. The show does exist to titillate members of the public - indeed, perhaps all programmes do - but the emphasis on pitting hapless idiots whose intentions are guaranteed to be anything but honourable is only going to end in one thing. For some reason, ITV producers think we'd actually care to see it.
Judge Berg added that it was "human bear-baiting which goes under the guise of entertainment. It should not surprise anyone that these people, some of whom have limited intellects, become aggressive with each other."
That quote is particularly important; 'under the guise of entertainment'. Certainly, the only possible entertainment to be gained from tripe like Kyle's programme is derogatory laughter at other people whose lives are ridiculously fucked up. Not that there's anything wrong with laughing either; it seems that ITV has a strict policy in place to make sure that only people with low self-esteem, "limited intellects", and a lack of education get on this programme, to ensure the maximum brainless outcome possible.
"It seems to me that the purpose of this show is to effect a morbid and depressing display of dysfunctional people whose lives are in turmoil."
For the purpose of ratings and audiences. I mean literally, the above is all the Jeremy Kyle show does. Is that what we need, a damning reminder of how bad some people's lives are? A reminder, however, that is so pointedly exposing and mocking that the only reaction is simply not to care? Kyle himself doesn't help, of course, but before I get onto ripping him apart, here's some abuse for the producers:
"This type of incident is exactly what the producers want. These self-righteous individuals should be in the dock with you. They pretend there is some kind of virtue in putting out a show like this," said Judge Berg...
which is exactly true, and the same can probably be said for the show's regular watching audience, pretending there's some worthwhile element to it. The show's a pile of crap: it's not social commentary, problem-solving or educational. It's simply encouraging apathy to other humans' plight, and glamorising the failings of society for 'amusement'.
The only amusing thing is what a cunt Jeremy Kyle is. Taking his cues from the US, Kyle simply sits his contestants, sorry, victims, in their chairs and proceeds to abuse them, talk over them when they try to speak, criticise them, make wild claims about them as though fact and then ignore any response he gets, all the while swanning about looking like a plumber dressed in a cheap suit and getting his braindead audience to cheer him on.
My next guest is a story about the sponsor of Jeremy Kyle pulling the plug on their £500,000 advertising deal. Let's bring him out! http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7019266.stm
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