tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22729399634573957402024-03-16T01:09:28.059+00:00RobboTeesside's Voice of Sport.
There'll be blogs, there'll be podcasts and there'll be banter on the messageboardsThe Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.comBlogger256125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-56800253404424749942020-09-11T13:41:00.001+01:002020-09-11T13:45:56.642+01:00Premier Predictions<p>The Premier League is back. It's like it hardly went away.</p><p>It's time to revisit those great echoing stadia and listen to the vain and desperate hollering of touchline coaches as football revisits the Lost Years. I look forward to a tumbling Aubameyang saluting plastic seating after another cool finish; to the resonant yelp of pain every time someone gets within two metres of Jack Grealish; and to the plaintive cries of Mike Ashley as he sits outside St. James's Park doing his weekly oligarch ring-round on the off-chance that someone might sponsor the Gallowgate for a couple of months. </p><p>But there's the actual football, too. It'll be good to see England's players back in club colours after the unnervingly bland efforts in Iceland and Denmark. Watching football that turgid is like an act of self-harm. Or a Lawrence Fox tweet, if you like. Clearly, Foden and Greenwood is the main story from those trips. What on earth were these 18 and 20 year-old young men doing hanging out with attractive young women? I mean it beggars belief. </p><p>And what were these attractive women doing sharing it on social media and having copious interviews in the British press? I mean have these youths <i>lost their minds</i>? Rest assured, you shameless brats, there's not a single person reading this blog - wait, smart-arses, this sentence hasn't finished yet! - there's not a single person reading this blog who would have been so selfish and naive at that age. </p><p>I hope they go home, have a word with themselves - and in Foden's case, several words with the mother of his child - and then they go back to work.Seriously there are men in their forties and fifties bringing serial shame to this country every time they open their mouths right now and we're going to give these lads a shellacking? Priorities, my fellow Brits. </p><p>In passing, a quick nod to Novak Djokovic, who is like a walking billboard entitled The Dangers of Chutzpah. First, his tournament gets riddled with the virus, then he takes out a line judge's Adam's Apple. The overblown hammery of that woman's spluttering near-death experience will live long in the memory. I know the theatres are closed but she's a shoo-in for a Lady Macbeth when they open again. Djokovic is a curious cove. He's so not likeable and I'm not sure it's his fault. His humility has always so practised, and it's something that, like the line-judge I find difficult to swallow. </p><p>But enough of that. Real sport... Footy. And I should tell you who exactly is going to win the Premier League and who s going down quicker than a 2.00 am kebab. So here goes:</p><p>ARSENAL</p><p>Arteta seems to have got the message through that the players need to work hard when they don't have the ball. Not everyone can be Mesut Ozil. Improvement to continue. 5th.</p><p>ASTON VILLA</p><p>A lot depends on Watkins being as good as they hope. But they stayed up by the skin of the skin of the teeth, and it'll be the same this season. 19th.</p><p>BRIGHTON</p><p>I think they'll d okay. I like Lallana, even if his name sounds like some fruit the Telly-Tubbies eat. Potter is clearly a smart gaffer so... 13th</p><p>BURNLEY</p><p>How much longer can Sean stay? Is this season the last roll of the Dyche? There's not a club in the PL more defined by the manager. Effective, honest, not pretty. Every year and somehow he gets them into comfy mid-table. 11th</p><p>CHELSEA</p><p>Could Frank's massive cash-spaff could pay dividends? Or is it a moonshot? Yeah we're looking at furloughs and four million unemployed and somehow CFC have £250 million to spend. There's no doubt that Ziyech,Werner and Havertz are top drawer. Thiago's a useful stopgap for a defence with more leaks than an Eistedfodd. So, I'm saying 2nd. </p><p>CRYSTAL PALACE</p><p>Like the polar opposite of Chelsea. Hodgson's ambition continues to shrink. Palace are like the rest of us. Just get to the end of the week and see where we are shall we? And then have a 'kin drink. Not this season, Roy. 18th.</p><p>EVERTON</p><p>Well, a midfield that moved with all the rapidity and vigour of an oxbow lake has been ripped out by Ancelotti. Clearly he's a boss who knows how to put a team together, it's just a question of how soon that happens. In Carlo I trust. 6th.</p><p>FULHAM</p><p>Well, I know, they can't believe it either. They have bought Anthony Knockaert, so apart from those two worldies the season looks bleak. 20th. </p><p>LEEDS</p><p>Well Bielsa's hanging around so you can't seem them surviving. Weird that they've been out of the the top league for so long, like when you bump into an old mate on the street and you suddenly realise it's been 16 years. Not that a Boro fan is particularly pally with Leeds, like. They'll do enough. 15th.</p><p>LEICESTER</p><p>Rodgers bucked the trend with fifth last season. Trouble is Leicester are always having to offload their top players. Like Southampton a while back, it's a case of the better you do, the weaker the squad next season. Like Donald Trump's defence of anything he's ever said, it's unsustainable. 9th.</p><p>LIVERPOOL</p><p>For much of last season, they were like an episode of 24. Okayish, good production values, a tad boring at times, and then the last five minutes always left you wanting to watch the next episode. I can't see Klopp's Season 6 being so good. And I like Lovely Jurgen to do well. I think 3rd. </p><p>MANCHESTER CITY</p><p>It's down to Pep. If he does a Champs league and skilfully outthinks himself then this could be another weird season. Ake and Laporte should give more security at the back, though. When they're anyhting like you can't see anyone beating them. 1st.</p><p>MANCHESTER UNITED</p><p>Reasons to be cheerful here. Fernandes is superb. Pogba's upped his game since someone better than him arrived. Van de Beek (de Bork? de Buck? de Bleedin' 'Eck Dutch names are so tricky) is a vital improvement. If Maguire can avoid getting arrested, and the front three keep firing, well... 4th. (But not far behind 1st.)</p><p>NEWCASTLE UNITED.</p><p>Not unlike the Toon Army I've had my doubts about Bruce. But he's been great. Wilson, Fraser and Lewis are top signings. Trouble is, it's all the other shit isn't it? People know when they're working for a dysfunctional organisation. Just ask senior civil servants. Should be doing better but all that crap will trickle down onto the pitch eventually... 15th. </p><p>SHEFFIELD UNITED</p><p>I dunno. Miraculous effort last season. I think cos Wilder's so old school about it, it's easy to ignore how skilled and savvy United were, too. The end of the season indicated tougher times ahead but a team to admire. 12th.</p><p>SOUTHAMPTON</p><p>Still hard to believe that 9-0 drubbing last season. How that hurt the heart of Hassenhuttl. Hassenhuttl's higher hurdle has to be harder however. Hassenhuttl's hopes hang on Danny Hings. 10th...</p><p>TOTTENHAM</p><p>Mourinho is a busted flush. I mean it. It's a good squad but unless he's banking up lines of four and five and grinding out draws against the big boys he's got nowt to offer. The team looks so utterly cheerless. Not Spursy. Except some bottling will occur. 8th.</p><p>WEST BROM</p><p>It all looks very boing boing. Still, out of conviction that Palace must drop, I'm giving the Baggies an arbitrary benefit of the doubt. Bilic is always good value too. 17th.</p><p>WEST HAM</p><p>Moyes remains. Even the venal pornographers in charge couldn't cast him to one side like a rain-soaked jazz-mag in a lay-by. Quite how this season is anything other than another long slog with the squad he has is beyond me. (Honorable exception - Antonio). Think they'll get away with it again. And Moyes will be gone this time next year. 16th.</p><p>WOLVES</p><p>I know why Klopp got all the gongs for last season but Nuno (or Wilder) deserved them just as much. Such a civilised soul, too. Every time I watched Adama Traore last season I was reminded of a bloke with a similar name who once ran about like a man on an uncontrolled motorised scooter at the Riverside. Different bloke though the one at Wolves. 7th. </p><p>That's that then. You can ignore the entire season now you know how it will end. Hope that's distracted you from the cavalcade of lying law-breaking self-interested, untrustworthy fucktards that are dragging this country's name through the mud at every turn. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com63tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-86787209741627166302020-08-26T15:18:00.003+01:002020-08-26T15:19:53.824+01:00Messi-Brough Here We Come<p> Okay, it's been a while. But at least I've been more in the public eye than the Prime Minister. I've been on a holiday in North Wales. The tent was real and actually used. The weather was less wet than the green grass would suggest. The waterfalls were many and bleeding beautiful and the wifi was as reliable as a policy statement on schools by the Education Secretary. </p><p>I return to find that Twitter seems more obsessed with whether wobbling-jowled Tories can sing Rule Britannia at that toe-curling tradition that is Last Night At The Proms, rather than the fact that the Government seems to have a never-ending spaff of funds to splurge out on their nearest pals in the glorified Etonian wank-circle they call public policy these days.</p><p>But this is a sports blog, and sport has ducked in and out of the showers to bring us some interesting cricket and some fascinating footie. I copped on to some wifi for long enough to watch the Champs League final which, hyped up as some carnival of carefree kickaboutery, turned out to be predictably dull. </p><p>Of all the glorified superstars of world football I find Neymar to be my least favourite. He spends a Grealishly long time falling on the floor during matches. Yes, he's got all the tricks and flicks but I want to slap the lad and just tell him to get the f**k on with it. Indeed, shorn of all the intensity of a full stadium, the pratfalls and rolling around look even more desperate and, well, cheaty. </p><p>More to the point, is anyone else utterly fed up with the replaying of penalty shouts where some pundit uses the well-worn phrase <i>there was contact - </i>as if the defender in question is less a footballer and more a 1970's predatory politician in a typing pool. Since when was touching a striker a criminal offence? Truly the modern game has entirely embraced the dishonour of going down like a sack of spuds. <i>He's entitled to go down. </i>You hear that a lot. It's like me getting a bloke arrest for theft cos he was standing next to my car. FFS. </p><p>Far more entertaining was Bayern's annihilation of Barcelona. <i>Mas que un club</i>? The whole thing's imploding and Lionel Messi is off. If they let him. Which they must. Unless 17 years of faithful service count for nowt. </p><p>Any road, we've had a whip-round in the Blue Bell, £62.13 so far, and we reckon Lionel'd do okay at the Riverside. Warnock and Messi? It's a perfect combination - like ice-cream and gravel - or Trump and Truth. </p><p>Seriously though - actually I'm quite serious so maybe I mean... Realistically though, it would be bloody wonderful if he had a couple of seasons in the Premier League. I know Lineker and Piers Morgan have a tedious fake-Twitter spat over whether Messi or Ronaldo is the best ever - it's like disagreeing about what you favourite colour is and I wish they'd just shut the fuck up about it - but Messi is the one I like watching most. </p><p>And I really wouldn't care which monstrous moneybags of a team grabbed him. Except that I'd love him to pop up somewhere that's just struggling a bit: Crystal Palace, Aston Villa, Newcastle even. The sort of place that would quite simply form itself into a giant hand and spend the next nine months pinching itself with glee. It'd be like Juninho popping up at Boro but times about seventy thousand. </p><p>I'm sure the lad has bills to pay and places to be, and maybe Saturday night down the Bigg Market isn't exactly what he had in mind, but dreams, my friends, dreams are all we have right now. </p><p>Meantime, I've enjoyed the cricket, despite the fact there's been days when it felt like the bubble they've been played in was nothing less than a sophisticated carwash. Of most interest, beyond Zac Crawley's ludicrous 267 and Jos Buttler's return to batting form being coupled with the occasional indication he couldn't catch a hazelnut in a laundry basket, has been the never-diminishing greatness of James Anderson. </p><p>Sometimes you have to get a cricket ball in your hand to understand how what he does is so utterly remarkable. It's like watching Ronnie O'Sullivan knock in a 147 and then missing the reds off your break-off shot when you get down the snooker club. Anderson's control, the way he sets up batsmen with forensic cunning, the fact that his averages go up and up even as he approaches 40, suggests that there's no reason why he can't carry on snarling and grumping his way to 700 victims in a couple of years. </p><p>In a year where sport has felt remote, detached, (and, when Neymar rolls around and Liverpool players jump up and down on a podium in celebration in front of no one, it has felt downright absurd) just watching a master of his craft in action makes life a little - no, a lot - more bearable. </p><p>I might add that it's good to see a highly competent Englishman at a time when those leading us are entirely inept too. </p><p><br /></p>The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-64263124747792044532020-07-21T12:55:00.000+01:002020-07-21T12:55:02.753+01:00Good Citizen KaneIf there's one thing I haven't missed about the football, apart from standing inside the Riverside Stadium and weeping tears of quiet frustration, it's the meticulous pulling apart of people's psyches by both national and social media alike. However I'm nowt if not a hypocrite so here's the pennyworth I'd be delivering in the Blue Bell if I could find a mask through which a craft brew lager could pass.<br />
<br />
Exhibit 1. David De Gea.<br />
<br />
De Gea has been for most of his seven years at United the only truly reliable performer in a sea of banality. Just think what he's seen come and go since Fergie's departure. (I say 'departure' but when you see him up in the stand they named after him, it looks more like he's floated up to some heavenly plinth, from where he, Godlike, glares down on the wrecked landscape of a beautiful world he once created. It's kind of how Tony Blair regards the Labour Party.)<br />
<br />
De Gea's brilliance kept United competing in - and even swinning - the odd trophy here and there. He saw off the grisly horse manure that Moyes put in front of him after Fergie's Lord Mayor's show. He was a cornerstone of excellence amongst the monotony assembled by <span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Aloysius Paulus Maria van Gaal - yes his name is almost as ponderous as the football his United played. And when Mourinho arrived with a footballing philosophy that had all the inspiration of Matt Hancock's Parkour video, still the Spaniard's keeping stayed as firm as the lacquer that still sweeps back his hair. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But in the last two years, and lockdown's no excuse, this exemplar of goalying has gone from Master Craftsman to Mr Bean. Every arching tip round the post seems to be the precursor to an inept flop to the floor. He has the air of a man who catches a falling vase, calmly replaces it on the shelf only for the whole cabinet to collapse in front of him. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #202122;"><span style="background-color: white;">Cliche dictates that a manager who shows faith in such a crumbling reputation is to be admired in this day and age. I disagree. Solskjaer needs to get shot of him. I'm reminded of the rapid decline of Joe Hart, and Roy Hodgson's bewildering faith in him despite the fact that he had a lot of trouble stopping hard shots to his left. Hart had been well nigh brilliant for five seasons but Guardiola didn't hesitate to sideline him. He wasn't good enough anymore. Same goes for De Gea. Romero's been good when he's stood in. Henderson has been magnificent at Sheffield United. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #202122;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #202122;"><span style="background-color: white;">Whether De Gea will recover his form is debatable, but the oft-mooted stories about Real Madrid gagging for him must be long-forgotten now. It's tough at the top, but it's even harder at the back, especially when you've been surviving the hapless contributions of Phil Jones, Chris Smalling, Eric Bailly, Marcus Rojo et al. When you think about it, there's maybe a delayed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder at play here. Rest and recuperation is a must for the poor lad. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #202122;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #202122;"><span style="background-color: white;">Exhibit 2 - Harry Kane</span></span><br />
<br />
Social media in particular is full of snide remarks about aspects of his play and personality which I don't get. Kane is:<br />
<br />
(a) Overrated<br />
Kane isn't overrated. Is he world-class? Well he's not Government Track and Trace app world-class, no. The problem is you'd be comparing him with Messi and Ronaldo when you say that, which is like saying Andy Murray's shit cos he's nowhere near as good as Roger Federer;<br />
<br />
(b) Greedy<br />
Well strikers are supposed to be greedy, aren't they? It's like criticising a walrus for being too fat. England: 26 goals in 35 appearances. Spurs 142 goals in 207 appearances. Yes I know there was the Stoke goal he claimed when it brushed past a nasal hair. So what? Long Live Greedy;<br />
<br />
(c) Too many of his goals are penalties.<br />
Man City have flailed around with some inept spot-kicks this season. They're miles behind Liverpool too. A reliable penalty-taker is a must-have.<br />
<br />
(d) Hasn't got nearly enough pace in the modern era<br />
Well, he's not slow and Southgate plays him a little deeper as a creative front man particularly wen the likes of Rashford, Sterling or Sancho are haring down the flanks. Pace isn't everything.<br />
<br />
(e) Speaks funny<br />
Yes he does. He'd prefer to let his feet do the talking I'm sure.<br />
<br />
(f) Hasn't got the balls to go to a massive club<br />
Well I guess these homegrown players tend to be too loyal. Spurs seemed to be in that bracket when they opened their great new stadium and got to the Champs League final. I'm sure a move wouldn't harm his career, mind.<br />
<br />
(g) Has won nothing<br />
See (f)<br />
<br />
(h) Is injury-prone<br />
He's not Darren bleeding Anderton.<br />
<br />
What troubles me is that even when we have a national team that's really enjoyable to watch, in which Kane is captain and a central figure, there still seems to be a campaign to undermine him. There's an idea that, as was the case with Sterling, these lads need taking down a peg or two. I don't know what more Kane is supposed to do. He works hard, gets his rewards. seems ambitious without being a prick about it. And still the snipers snipe.<br />
<br />
It makes you fear a little for the future of wonderkids like Mason Greenwood or England's best midfielder Phil Foden. I hope when these lads get in the England team that a bit of leeway is given them.<br />
<br />
What's more it seems that successful footballers are held to more exacting standards of morality and behaviour than the people who run the country right now. Given a choice between to an entitled vacillating racist inconstant babyfathering sickbag of half-truths and evasions and a decent footballer, I know who I'd choose.<br />
<br />
<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-47077594699506513192020-07-05T00:37:00.000+01:002020-07-05T00:37:09.639+01:00Klopp-Clap but Never Mind ThatClaps to Klopp and the empty Kop! No amount of hammering by Citeh should confuse the issue. That victory was like a lapped runner hitting Mo Farah with a rotten orange - a small victory but you’re still wayyyyy behind.<div><br /></div><div>Still it whets the appetite for next season and next season will be here very soon. As a Boro fan I’d be happy if it started now. The arrival of Warnock is like a foreshadowing of death. He is the managerial version of the last chance saloon. He’s the old guy in the zombie apocalypse movie who dealt with something like this Back in ‘92 and knew he’d be needed again. </div><div><br /></div><div>All the scrapes he’s been through have left him with an iron will, a foolproof method and no discernible eyebrows. That method involves defending like she-lions and nodding in the odd set-piece. I reckon his man-management technique is very much stick and carrot. But without the carrot. I think we’ll stay up with him there. Whether my nerves can bear it is a whole other matter.</div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile other sports are tiptoeing into the limelight and, in the case of Novak Djokovic, skipping straight off to the hospital. Djokovic has always struck me as a little up himself despite the odd nod to humility. It is often asked why we don’t like him as much as Rafa or Roger and I think its cos he has all the charm of a gatepost and hair that looks suspiciously like an otter pelt. But that’s just me. Any road, swanning about with your tennis chums and taking as many precautions as a prime minister in a Covid ward reaps its inevitable rewards. Get well soon and don’t be a twat when you get back on court.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Conservative Party at play is revived next week too. Test cricket returns - and indeed club cricket now Boris Johnson has understood that cricket need not necessarily involve lunches and teas and shared boxes. Just as education need not necessarily involve Latin verbs, emotional stunting and the induction of a wholly unjustifiable superiority complex. I’m kind of looking forward to it, although without Root England’s top 4 has all the solidity of Norwich City stroking it around on the edge of its own penalty area.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite the arenas having the air of a implausibly uninhabited planet on Star Trek, the Premier League itself is shaping up nicely, now that the champs are just about keeping their crowns on straight. Beyond the Canaries, who fell off their perch a while back, there is a bum-squeakingly tight contest at the rear end of the table. Bournemouth look doomed. The club, not the twats clustered on the beach. Eddie Howe’s team have all the bearing of men not quite recovered from induced comas.</div><div><br /></div><div>Above these two, Watford’s minor improvement under Pearson seems a distant memory, Villa have been treating the route to goal as some some of maze in a Beano annual, and West Ham miraculously found some from to grab a 3-2 against Chelsea.</div><div><br /></div><div>Still Chelsea are hanging in there, as the foot-race to the Champions League becomes keener than some English mustard with a kick of chilli. United - with Fernandes looking as good as anyone this season - are reborn; Leicester might just have woken up in time; Wolves, armed with the superhero auditionee Adama - who unlike his days at the Boro has learn to run extremely fast <i>and</i> keep the ball with him, look good even with the Arsenal defeat.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the other hand, who the hell are Spurs right now? And when is Mourinho going to take a long hard look in the mirror? (Okay, <i>clearly</i> he does that every day - but for the wrong reasons). Personally I think Jose’s lost it. He’s got a pretty fine squad there and yet the defence is as polite as a socially-distanced queue outside Waitrose, and the attack is utterly without a plan. Mourinho, as is the way with responsible personalities in this grievous modern age, is happy to dole out blame to anyone who’s been within two metres of the team bus. If players lack motivation then maybe the bloke in charge of them might find ways to find that motivation. Or maybe you just sit on your hands and moan at the ref? No that’s our job, the fans’ job!</div><div><br /></div><div>In short, I reckon it’ll be United and Chelsea to nick out Leicester. And Norwich, Bournemouth and Villa to go. Be glad when this season’s over and we have no rest </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-39509706761115622892020-06-17T18:44:00.001+01:002020-06-17T18:44:19.782+01:00The Admirable Marky Dashford<div>That Daniel Rashford eh? One minute he's bigging up the trans community, the next he's getting the government to make a U-turn on their policy of hiding in big houses while poor children starve. </div><div><br /></div><div>Of course Twatt Mancock's a busy fella and it's easy to make mistakes. Like standing right next to someone in parliament when you've been banging on about social distancing for three whole months you dozy prick. Or like Turkish PPE. Amazing how we were lied to about the Turks coming into Europe in 2016 and now we're so desperate for cheap gloves and aprons that we'll buy any old shit off them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Still xenophobia is a go-to solution when you've run out of credibility. There's still a market for it, if we look at the Churchill-in-a-Fred-Perry-Looky-Likey Competition that occupied Parliament Square on Saturday. Sexy men though, eh? Everyone just ripe for the wank-bank, ladeez? Lager, hair-loss and spittle roughly thrown together in humanoid form. Lush. Mind you, don't let these Grim Gurgles of Reflux distract you from the racists who manipulate, inflame and then abdicate all responsibility.</div><div><br /></div><div>Black Lives Matters is here to stay, I hope. As a response 'All Lives Matter' just makes me want to stove in the television. Here's an analogy that might appeal to your average Daily Telegraph bigot. </div><div><br /></div><div>Say you want to renovate a tumbledown mansion. And Kevin McCloud says to you "I expect you'll start with the foundations in the Great Hall: the damp course has been neglected and the floorboards are rotten." And you turn to Kevin McCloud and you say "Kevin, ALL THE ROOMS MATTER!" And Kevin says "Well, yes, but if you don't fix the foundations then the whole building's in trouble." And you say "ALL THE FLOORS MATTER, KEVIN!" And Kevin says "You're two of the biggest wankers I've ever met" and you say "ALL WANKERS MATTER, KEVIN." </div><div><br /></div><div>Now of course if you're a <i>poor </i>white person you might find it hard to understand why rich brown people like Raheem Sterling are getting all the attention. (By the way it's cos although he's extremely wealthy and very good at his job, people still shout obscenities at him). But of course while this is an issue of race it's also an issue of poverty.</div><div><br /></div><div>Which brings us back to Marcus Radcliffe. </div><div><br /></div><div>Darcus Rashworth's greatest strength in all this - and by God if he can lead the line for England with the same skill and fortitude in 2021 I'll be grabbing the Queen by the ermine and demanding his knighthood be presented on the pitch there and then - but, yeah, his greatest strength is that he's been there and he hasn't forgotten. He was that hungry kid: raised by a devoted but hard-working single parent but without the recourse to family wealth that will no doubt help the children of other more notable absent fathers. Like PM Norris Johnstone. Jernstern treats difficult political issues like he does the offspring of his own carefree spaffing - he heads indoors and hides for a couple of weeks and reappears when Cummings tells him the coast is clear.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite the media saturation of Marius Bashful's call to feed hungry children rather than wait for them to devour each other, Johnson only heard of it yesterday. Which begs the question, what the f**k were you up to? </div><div><br /></div><div>Turns out he was busy recording a video to celebrate a brand spanking new trade deal with Australia. As Liz Truss put it, her oratory as uplifting as a seal cull, it's a long-established relationship - we gave Australia some steel to build a bridge and they gave us Edna Everage. See that Europe!? Yep we're in the financial and cultural big league now. Swapping sickening biscuits and salty spreads. And they systematically abuse brown people too! </div><div><br /></div><div>(Also Bernice Whoreson was onanistically splurging £960,000 on the prime ministerial plane - it's going to be covered in Union Jacks as it pollutes its way into foreign lands. A sort of airborne hooligan, full of shit-for-brains and begging bowls and on its way to a quasi-dictatorship not very near you.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway once Marvin Duxford made BJ aware of this iniquity the PM quickly donutted his Limousine of Indifference and headed back towards the foreign country that is Common Decency. These U-turns are becoming as regular as disappearing scientists these days. What Doris Jenson and his breezy sidekick Mitt Handsock tend to do these days is name a figure or a date and then find out later whether any of that is feasible. I'm sure as a flaxen-haired junior gargoyle Beavis Jizzbomb would often declare to anyone that was listening that he'd love a crown and a cloak to swan about in 'and by Tuesday it will be here' and lo and behold some lackey had made it happen otherwise the immigration authorities would have been made aware of his potentially illegal presence in the home of a wholly unaware toff. </div><div><br /></div><div>It may be how the world works in Downton Abbey but government policy requires consultation and time - two things Bernice DimSum has no concept of. </div><div><br /></div><div>But at least we have distractions to comfort us ordinary mortals. Yes we look around the world and think 'Why are we in the top three stupidest countries in the world?' but forget that - the Premier League's back on. I though I'd be utterly unmoved by the prospect but, actually, I can't wait. In fact we're half an hour into Sheffield United v Villa and I'm writing this pigging blog! </div><div><br /></div><div>Any road, whatever else with this footy bonanza let us not forget the magnificent contributions from the footballer Marcus Rashford - not to mention the brilliant and capable young fellas like Sterling and Mings and Sancho - who are proving that players of the beautiful game have smart and beautiful minds too. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to watch the match now (well the second half any road). I'm going to cheer like nobody's watching. Where's that lager? </div>The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-55330523170551359992020-06-01T16:26:00.003+01:002020-06-01T16:26:42.165+01:00And we're off! Sort of!And we're off!<br />
<br />
Sport begins in the UK on what people are calling Happy Monday. (Tomorrow is Rueful Tuesday, then its Wait-A-Minute Wednesday, Think-Again-Thursday, F**k-This-Friday, and Stay-At-Home Again Saturday.)<br />
<br />
For every life that's being lost during this crisis there's a couple of hundred thousand pounds sterling that's way more important. and anyway it won't half cheer us up! Bye bye Granny, hello French 2000 Guineas! Woohoo!<br />
<br />
Yes the first reentry into the sporting calendar is that perennial yawn horse-racing. You remember that, right? It was the bits of Grandstand that you used to turn off every Saturday afternoon. Little men sitting on mighty beasts and cracking them on their flanks is not my idea of fun. I've even stopped having a flutter on the Grand National cos £10 of my money is riding on your back, Neddy, then you're more likely to see a curtain being drawn around you than the finishing line.<br />
<br />
Incidentally if they shot the jockey too, I swear to God they'd be jumping those horses over those fences with a bit more care.<br />
<br />
Horses, I'm told, love horse racing just as much as we do. Really? Funny how they're never in the crowd watching isn't it? They might have helped at Cheltenham - if we could've kept everyone a horse-width apart we could saved 10,000 lives right there.<br />
<br />
Anyone, the gee-gees will be galloping around some empty acres for our amusement and penury from today and that's just grand. And it's as meaningless as a Matt Hancock stat.<br />
<br />
Snooker is starting too. What you need when a respiratory infection grips the globe is a small room with a few blokes coughing in it just to reassure you. Okay there'll be no audience, but they'll still be taking all the necessary precautions. Washing your hands between every shot is going to take its toll but for those of us old enough to remember it'll just feel like Dott v Ebdon.<br />
<br />
Of course the German footy has been going for a bit now and I have to say there's been nothing more impressive than the likes of Sancho and Thuram using their platform to express their support for #BlackLivesMatter and justice for George Floyd. Of course there's nothing condemning a racist assassination for getting you an instant yellow card. Nice one, ref. If Trump has his way you'll get sent off in the MLS for wearing a t-shirt that says 'That Hitler? Not a big fan.'<br />
<br />
People will always say keep politics out of sport. Bollocks. Sport is a brilliant platform for political statements and so it should be. Ask Tommie Smith and John Carlos, and Peter Norman come to that. Ask Jesse Owens for God's sake. Ask Colin Kaepernick. Ask the entire country of South Africa.<br />
<br />
There are now young black sportspeople pointing out that Floyd's death is the ghoulish and wicked extreme in the everyday world of casual racism that dogs not just the US but here too. Rashford, Brewster, Cori Gauff, Naomi Osaka. They are not sucking it up and neither should they.<br />
<br />
And Lewis Hamilton (yeah, I know Formula 1 isn't really a sport) but Hamilton has addressed this head-on and pointed to the silence amongst an almost exclusively white world of motor racing. His fellow drivers have responded.<br />
<br />
Others have suggested that the hashtag #blacklivesmatter is somehow unacceptable. These 'reasonable' folk who say 'No, no, no ... ALL lives matter.' As if by pointing out the atrocious inequality of their income and treatment, and the recurrent obscenity of cops killing black men, they are somehow privileging themselves. As Rhian Brewster tweeted 'We don't want special privilege. A level playing field is all we've been crying for.'<br />
<br />
'All Lives Matter' is just people unaffected by prejudice, and unaware of their own privilege, telling black people to go away and get a better slogan and then we can talk. It's patronising, irrelevant bullshit.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile back in Blighty and all is well. Thanks to Dominic Cummings and his litany of gutless apologists - do these men have remotely activated electrical filaments in their urethras or are they just gutless worms? - Britons can get back to being proper Britons again, using our British common sense. We can throw ourselves into the sea and summon an air ambulance. We can crowd onto beaches, disperse a bit more Corona and then leave said beaches looking like Carrie Syminds front room after she'd confronted Boris Johnson about the Arcuri affair.<br />
<br />
We can do what we like because Dom can. For a while there we were all pulling together, keeping our two metres, thinking of others, not least the poor sods we clap every Thursday night. Then we realised that we don't really care about other people. Rules are for other people, right?<br />
<br />
We look at our sportspeople - often they are young, inexperienced, brilliant and well-paid - and when they f**k up we haul them over the coals. If they're black and they f**k up, even worse. They're role models, you see. They should be using their position to encourage goodness and decency.<br />
<br />
But if you're in government, you don't need to worry about being a role-model. You can lie, relentlessly; you can father children and abandon them; you can hang out with European neo-fascists; you can take an infected person the length of the country and make up the most laughable excuses for driving them out on a birthday trip and it's fine because what you do doesn't particularly matter. You're not a 20-year old footballer with ten England caps.<br />
<br />
Except that's not true. If the person who makes the rules breaks the rules then the rules stay broken. Because trust is broken. We all know that. No amount of horse-racing will take that fact away.The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-83378188411360519522020-05-05T13:15:00.000+01:002020-05-05T13:15:18.053+01:00The EPL - Football's Indifferent Masters <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well Sport is slowing stirring, opening one eye, peeping out
from under the continental quilt of Covid-19 and looking for ways to find some
sort of rebirth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sports bodies could do worse than ask Matt Hancock to come up
with an arbitrary target – 100,000 sporting fixtures by May 15<sup>th</sup>,
say – and then it will definitely happen. Okay so half the
footy matches were played on FIFA, the British Grand Prix was nothing more than
Lewis Hamilton and Sebastian Vettel sharing a socially distanced Scalextrix and the County Cricket Championship just carried in as normal cos no one
bothers to watch that any road, but hey 100,000 is 100,000*.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the football authorities are looking at ways to get things moving
again. Behind closed doors seems to be the most likely first option. Of course
Arsenal fans will notice very little difference in terms of atmosphere, save
that they won’t have to endure Piers Morgan braying his criticisms of Meszut
Ozil from out of the posh seats. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest of us will watch from our sofas (or
behind them if you support the Boro) and wondering when if ever, you’re going
to get back to that glorious match-day routine:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pint in the pub, the whiff of onions and salmonella from
the hot-dog stands, the moral crisis as an adjacent fan offers up another
racial slur as banter, the slow unravelling truth that the dreadful performance
of a fortnight ago is not looking quite so bad in the light of this week’s
effort; and finally the post-match pint-packed moan, the slammed front door,
the catflap swinging cos your moggy knows better than to hang around, and the
all-too-understanding wife looking up from her Netflix nonsense with a face
that says ‘I am sorry for your loss.’ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some fans might enjoy it. West Ham fans will feel closer to
the action if it’s on the telly than they do at the London Stadium. Man United fans
will enjoy the Scousers’ inability to fully enjoy the moment of their Premier
League resurrection (but not as much as the wholesale abandonment of the season
altogether). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for the players themselves, well there’s talk of cooping
them up together for six weeks of quarantine, before the season kicks back off
again. It sounds hellish. It’s bad enough being incarcerated with your own family. In our house, home schooling has become home shouting followed by home sulking followed by the
type of atmosphere that you could microwave potatoes in. But being cooped up
with your workmates? Is there a space in the country big enough to house the
collective egos of Paul Pogba and… well, anyone. And where will Man United house all Pogba's hairdressers?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I suppose all the players will need testing too although when it comes to Jordan Pickford why bother? He hasn’t caught anything all
season. Gordon Taylor, Middle Earth’s only successful export, was on the radio
saying all the players will be ready by mid-June, which is easy for him to say
when he’s not going to be man-marking Jack ‘Reckless’ Grealish in the near
future. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Taylor also suggested games might not be the full 90 minutes
– well surely they can make that retrospective? Liverpool would be 20 points down
if they took the scores from 80 minutes across the season. In fact Man Utd
would be a few titles down if they took it further back. The Vulcan-like
mind-melding of Sir Alex and the match officials in order to extend a game to
indefinite lengths would be of no use in this new 40 minute a half world.
Fergie Time be gone!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(I can't help thinking that there was a time at Buckingham Place when the two words Fergie Time must have sent an icy shiver down the collective spine of the Royal Household. Mind you, if you can still tolerate her ex-husband, then maybe not,)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Any road it's at times like these, some dimwits ask if 'football really
matters'. Surely just knocking the season on the head and starting again like they’ve
done in France makes sense. Well PSG get the trophy before the season starts, so
that’s hardly relevant. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And there are livelihoods involved here. It’s obscene for
the richest clubs to even consider not keeping as many workers on the payroll
as they possibly can – so obscene you might call it Bransonian. The poorer
clubs… well there’s a case for arguing that a small town club does more to bind
a community together than any other single entity. There’s a case for arguing
that without them clubs, all British football becomes is Have-Way-Too-Much FC vs Have-Way-Too-Much FC second XI. Then again, this is precisely what the Premier League was designed to
do. Slice off the money-making top tier and let it serve itself
first and the national game as a whole a very distant second.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Indeed, you might want to draw a parallel across the country
generally. If you create an elite (based almost exclusively on wealth) and your
main focus is to maintain that elite even if it means broadening the gap
between the rich and the just-getting-by (remember how Theresa was going to help
us there? In fact, remember Theresa at all?) then at a certain crisis point,
only those members of the elite will be able to withstand a catastrophe. Now, if
that elite was in any way interested in sustaining the wider community above
and beyond its own narrow interests it might consider using its accumulated
funds to support, maintain and benefit those weaker than themselves, until the
catastrophe passes on and we can all rebuild again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then again, notions of ‘the greater good’ carry little
weight in the murky upper echelons of business and/or government, where private
firms are helping themselves to NHS contracts, even as the government stallholders
clap the endangered souls brave enough to keep going in to work to clear up the
debris of their indifference.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I digress. It’s only footy innit? Just a game. An
indulgence, a little luxury on the side. Well no. It’s a living. It’s a
passion. It matters. Enormously. It’s more, to me at least, than just another
commercial sector that lives and dies by market forces. It’s time for the
Premier League to represent more than itself. Lecture over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-90002638466239365052020-04-27T22:04:00.000+01:002020-04-27T22:04:41.139+01:00Oh shite! BJ’s back! Right. Who’s had enough of this?<br />
<br />
Who’s fully intending to just blow this all off and see if we can’t try this herd immunity theory for ourselves? Or shall we stick with our Prime Minister’s strategy of Not Seen and Not Heard Immunity?<br />
<br />
Some say this lockdown is bringing out the best in people. Me, I’d say it’s bringing out the truest spirit in people, and not always for the better. If, for example, you achieved a lot of success through craven mendacity then it’s very unlikely that that will change when you’re put under pressure. Every time a government minister potters out in front of those flaccid Union Jacks I feel that the nation has turned into an overly tolerant headmaster who’s giving them all one last chance to ‘fess up before we expel them from our collective rears like the foetid balls of gas they really are.<br />
<br />
While Johnson recuperates in his elegant sty, and his expectant fiancée wonders how this perennially late responder was so premature on that one occasion, we have been led by one Dominic Raab. D-Raab, as the legend on the cardboard packaging read when he first arrived at the Foreign Office. There’s been a reasonable amount of sympathy for a man who looks (and occasionally talks) like central casting’s go-to-Nazi Uber-Lieutenant. How can you possibly fill in for the Blonde Bullsh*tter? Well, turns out you can massage figures and creatively lie in less flagrant a way.<br />
<br />
Boris is back now so God knows how Allison Pearson’s going to cope without slipping off to rub one out every five minutes. In fact I envisage Andrew Neil leading the Daily Telegraph in a sponsored Spaff For The NHS to greet the Second Cummings.<br />
<br />
Sadly that won’t mean less of Matt Hancock. Matt, it seems to me, possibly cowed by the situation, talks utter bullocks, gives us more and more bum steers and gets less bullish by the day, the dozy ‘effer. Dreadful cattle puns aside, therewas a time when he smoulders as if he imagined he was Aidan Turner playing Matt Hancock in the movie adaptation of his autobiography HANCOCK: THE MAN THAT SAVED A NATION. Time and the terminal decline of far too many human beings seems to have restored a wretched back-catalogue of platitudes that you can boil down into three pithy soundbites:<br />
‘This is unprecedented’<br />
‘Our amazing NHS staff’<br />
‘We’re ramping up the PPE/Ventilators/level of deceit*’<br />
<br />
*delete as applicable<br />
<br />
Of the others only Michael Gove seems ready to poke his puckered package of processed piss over the parapet. Gove has been practising social distancing from the Truth for his whole adult life and so is a safe if slippery pair of hands right now.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile Priti Patel tells us shoplifting is down on last year. That’s probably because shop-opening, and indeed shop-owning, is down on last year, but you know, some people will make any stat look bad won’t they?<br />
<br />
Liz Truss has said very little, so no change there. Even her longest orations contain as much substance as a cheesy wotsit. As for the rest of ‘em, well I’m not saying this cabinet is thick, but there are actual cabinets, fully functioning and made from finest English beechwood, that have higher IQs than the lot of them put together.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile people die in their hundreds every day and Premier League footballers invite their mates round. Latest Numpty is Moise Kean, the best teenager playing in Europe (after Mbappe) this time last year, and until recently struggling to ease the agoraphobic Theo Walcott out of the first eleven.<br />
Kean, who has spent his entire time at Goodison socially distancing himself from the first team, took it upon himself to host a party in his apartment. Now don’t get me wrong, he’s on top dollar every week so chances are his apartment is like a flaming national museum compared to the eight people two rooms horror some families are going through. But I fancy that the old two metres apart is hard to sustain in an environment like that.<br />
<br />
But once again we are hoping that footballers like Kean, Grealish and a collection of Arsenal halfwits are going to lead by example and well, they’re not. Not if the PM is shaking hands with Covid-19 patients, not if toffs left, right and centre are blithering on about the impositions on their personal liberty and how appalled they are by it. I’d love them to try other ways to limit their freedoms once this is all over. Things like poverty, zero hours contracts, reliance on food banks, see how they seriously hinder your ability to have fun. I mean I’d love to be gallivanting about infecting the relatives of vulnerable old people too, but I’m just not that much of a self-centred c**t.<br />
<br />
Of course, sport would be a wonderful distraction from all this. And I fear that this season is going to be written off, which only the most shite-minded fan would find acceptable given Liverpool’s majestic form. If they have to finish it behind closed doors I wouldn’t much mind. If they can’t, we could just say Liverpool won it anyway. Cos they did.<br />
<br />
Having said that, I wouldn’t mind everything just starting from scratch. We could even have the Brexit vote again, given that the unintended consequence of the Government’s hopeless handling of this whole crisis is the death of the age group most likely to have voted Leave.<br />
<br />
Mind you, they were right though, eh? Imagine being part of an organisation that cooperates over testing and ventilators and PPE provision? We’d be in a right state now wouldn’t we? We’d be losing as many citizens as Spain or Italy and we’d be relying on foreigners to pick our fruit.<br />
<br />
Thank God we’re doing it our way.The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-17210291945717359502016-11-21T22:44:00.001+00:002016-11-21T22:44:53.763+00:00Give It To Gareth, FFS.Gareth Southgate's being interviewed as I write. For the England job, not for next year's I'm A Celebrity although it's not hard to imagine that as his next career move after he gets the job. He will get the job and that's because he is so well-qualified for it.<br />
<br />
I would lay out Gareth's assets for the role as the following:<br />
<br />
1. Availability.<br />
2. Willingness.<br />
3. Niceness.<br />
4. Englishness*<br />
5. A bit of success with the under 21's.<br />
<br />
Of these, availability is the major factor. Pundits can bleat on about how he might fare in the crucible of tournament football. He might lack the strong mindset of people like oo, I dunno, Fabio Capello. They might even fret that being a decent fella never seemed to matter to Mourinho or Ferguson - they were both utter shits and it worked for them. Woy, Stevey Mac and Sven were gentle souls and look at their international records. Then again Sam Allardyce is a bit of a twat and yet his England win ratio is 100%.<br />
<br />
But the main point is that Gareth Southgate is the only bloke who fancies having a go at the job at present. And therefore he should get the job. It's no point giving an important role to someone who doesn't really want it. I mean look at Boris Johnson. (Then look away quickly before you break all the crockery in your house.)<br />
<br />
Of course Southgate's interim stewardship has been as okay as any other manager's might have been. England still struggle to look good going forward without looking as disorientated as a gathering of American liberals at the back. But that's simply a matter of personnel. If there was ever a Golden Generation then this one is made of lead. The Leaden Generation.<br />
<br />
It'd be lovely to imagine Gareth is some sort of Gok Wan of international football. In six months' time we'll know the make-over is complete when Gary Cahill plays a 60-yard Rabona onto the chest of Jordan Henderson whose clever-back heel puts Theo Walcott in acres of space, at which point the wannabe-Henry loses his life-long agoraphobia and calmly slides the ball into the path of a purposeful Raheem Sterling who calmly side-foots home without the use of his shin.<br />
<br />
But that ain't gonna happen.<br />
<br />
I hope Southgate's cause is not undermined by England squad members behaving like young men on a night off. It's just another example of how removed from reality these England superstars are when they get caught doing things that other people their age might do.<br />
<br />
Wayne Rooney was drunk, I tell you, drunk. And on a Saturday night. Worse than that it was at a wedding party to which he had been <i>invited </i>and the arrogant out-of-touch Scouser<i> </i>said<i> 'Thanks I'd love to.' </i>So full of himself was Wazza that he then proceeded to drink <i>red wine.</i> We can safely assume that beer just isn't good enough for the up-himself tosser these days.<br />
<br />
[Incidentally I am employing the use of irony in the above paragraph - I realise since the advent of Trump as President-Elect, irony has little place in the world but I will try my best to maintain a cherished place for it here.]<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson apparently went to a strip club. I hear it's not cos there were lasses there getting their kits off, but cos they'd got vouchers for a 2 for 1 offer on spirits until midnight. Strip clubs are shit. And, in the case of Sunderland away kits, club strips are shit too.<br />
<br />
None of this, it seems to me, is any reason to go off the deep end and condemn these lads any more than a slick five-pass move by England deserves the strange sound of Glenn Hoddle cooing and saying 'that could be Spain playing there'. It's not great behaviour, no, but nothing untoward happened and unless Rooney's having to leave the pitch to vomit Merlot into a bucket then I'm just not bothered frankly.<br />
<br />
Wayne apologised for the 'inappropriate' images but jeez he was a bit tiddly and sat on a sofa - he wasn't waggling his cock about in a primary school playground. That is genuinely not appropriate. I can vouch for that. I was seven at the time but even so...<br />
<br />
I've never been one of these twerps who think that because they wear an England shirt ten times a year and get paid vast amounts of money by their clubs they should bear in mind that they are role models. It's horse dung frankly. I am bothered when they play like a bunch of bleeding fuckwits because as professional people they should at least be able to get that bit of their lives to function more frequently.<br />
<br />
I heard Peter Shilton suggesting that Southgate hasn't got enough experience for the job. Who the hell has? All this hubbub around waiting for Wenger strikes me as misguided. Look at the Englishmen who have flourished under his tutelage - Walcott, Oxlade-Chamberlain, Wilshere, Chambers... not really, eh? The best he's managed is a training routine that repeatedly twangs hamstrings.<br />
<br />
Nah, it may be with a touch of resignation, but give it to Gareth. Everyone likes him. He's got the gumption to take it on, much like he had the nuts to take that sixth penalty in Euro '96. Okay that didn't work out but...<br />
<br />
LOOK THERE IS NO ONE ELSE!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Not really a qualification</span><br />
<br />
<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com241tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-8043667843534683832016-11-07T12:43:00.000+00:002016-11-07T12:43:15.471+00:00Bloody Lovely StuffOne of the reasons I stopped blogging a while back was coz even when he was out of a job all people talked about was Jose Mourinho. This is partly coz he manages to draw attention to himself like a pissed aunty at a funeral. Constantly saying inappropriate things, slating the officials, undermining the bride, saying the bridesmaids are just not up to snuff. (Well that was my Aunty Pat, any road.)<br />
<br />
There was a time when this tactic was a way of drawing the fire away from his team and creating a bunker mentality to help the players thrive. Nowadays, he seems to take a misfiring first eleven to be a personal slight. That might seem like paranoia but in the case of his last half season at Chelsea, I think it was justifiable paranoia.<br />
<br />
You only have to look at Conte's Chelsea, featuring the same players by and large that Jose left behind, to realise that the boys in blue just didn't give a shit for the Special One. Costa's back to his rollicking best, Hazard is twinkling around like a footballing Tinkerbell, and the back three look as unbreakable as the skull of a Trump supporter.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile United are still a scatter-brained blend of the overpaid and the barely worthwhile. One League Cup win over Manchester City's B-team and a victory over a Swans team that played like cygnets hasn't changed that. Moyes, Van Gaal and Mourinho have all tried and failed to instil some sort of pattern and belief on a struggling club. And frankly I'm quite pleased. United fans might get snarky, but as it says in the song 'if I hadn't seen such riches I could live with being poor.' In other words, Sit Down next to me (A Boro fan) Stretford Enders.<br />
<br />
Having said that, a Boro fan is more likely to witness a point being won at the Etihad. Last Tuesday, Citeh had a night which some people seem to think has changed the world of football for ever. It's as if a late middle-aged woman had finally discovered the female orgasm. The result Citeh have been waiting for. Yes, and... They're still going to finish second in their group and go out to Bayern Munich in the last 16.<br />
<br />
Apart from flickers of brilliance up front, Citeh still can't put teams away. They're like me getting home from the boozer and trying to find the wastepaper basket with an empty crisp packet. Even leaning over the bloody thing I can still tweak it wide. Sterling fills me with least confidence in front of goal - I doubt he can find the bowl with his piss even if he were sat down - but his form elsewhere has been terrific and Guardiola deserves much credit for reviving the lad after a desperate summer.<br />
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Nevertheless the back four, with Kompany's absence throwing a long shadow over it, has a brittle look about it, Pep likes a ball-playing goalkeeper and I do too so lng as it's cos the bloke's got his hand down his shorts cos he's got bugger-all else to do - come on we've all done it. Citeh's title chances, as has been the case for a few seasons, rather depend on whether Aguero's chunky little legs don't keep falling away like slow-cooked lamb off the bone.<br />
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And I haven't mentioned Arsenal. It's not unusual for Wenger's team to have a good start. Arsenal are like delicate summer blooms which flower long into November, only for winter's icy blast to bring them withering to the ground. In other words, they don't like it up 'em, whether that be a sadistic centre-back or a strong north-easterly.<br />
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That being said, Mesut Ozil is making kicking a football about into the sort of them fecking rhythmic gymnasts could only dream of. The goal to see off Ludogarets was so sublime that Darcey Bussell is dancing it at Sadlers Wells next week. Ozil is the Federer of footy. When he's on the ball, he looks like he's got more time than the planet itself has. He's left more goggle-eyed this season than he is. <br />
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As for Liverpool, well, they're shining as bright as a Klopp grin. I haven't purred so much about a Koppite eleven since the days of Barnes and Beardsley. Really bloody lovely stuff. The way they knock it around between the front four - well, it's just a shame Andy Carroll's not there to finish it off, isn't it? Yep. That's what was happening not very long ago.<br />
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But it's been a happily hard to predict beginning to the post-fact Premier League. The current champions are Leicester City. It's worth repeating this as fact every now and then, just to underline that it's not some neutral's blissful dream - a kind of counterbalance to the dark nightmares of Brexit, President Trump or West Ham's stewarding at home games - but an actual fact.<br />
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I was pretty much dreading a return to the grim days of Chelsea/Citeh/United dominance. But no. It's been a pretty bleeding wonderful start to the season. Entertainment galore and in Hazard, Ozil and Coutinho (with Sanchez, Firmino and Costa not far behind) we are getting to see some top players at the peak of their powers.<br />
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Mourinho aside, I'm enjoying it again.<br />
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The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-47253141757775036832016-10-18T14:54:00.000+01:002016-10-18T14:54:05.384+01:00Go away Jose!Let's face it, a lot of us are scraping by at the moment. If we're lucky we'll have a skanky Chinese of a Friday night and keep up the Netflix monthly payments if we can. If you've got little uns the ungrateful bastards are getting every single available item from Primark and they're just having to live with it.<br />
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Sod your ethical investment funds and your organic cotton, we've got to screw every last penny out of every nook and cranny we can find. Sofas that haven't had their grim contents eviscerated for years are being ripped open to reveal a horrific combination of lost keys, soiled tissues, battery-less remotes, Ginster's pastry, a few quid in coppers and in my case about three pairs of socks. Well, six individual ones but times are tough so I've paired em up anyway.<br />
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Austerity continues to press upon us like a weighty layer of marzipan, squeezing our innards outwards in an unappetising way that would have Mary Berry's face wrinkling into a charming walnutty frown.<br />
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History tells us that at times like these, what we want is a bit of escapism: a glance into a better world of glamour, of artistry, of sophistication,<br />
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A world where fellow parliamentary representatives of our country are knocking each other sideways; where the country isn't run by a kind of wicked governess that wouldn't think twice about locking you in the cupboard under the stairs, especially if you hadn't passed your 11-plus; where the words 'grab her by the pussy' are magically transformed into something more romantic and alluring like 'I've got a half of Lowenbrau with your name on it, pet, but obviously it's up to you, like.'<br />
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Yes, when you can't see where your next tuppence is coming from what you need more than anything else is ENTERTAINMENT. Especially from those for whom Austerity is something that is happening in a parallel universe somewhere beyond the leylandii at the bottom of the garden.<br />
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Of course Jose Mourinho has never believed he was in the entertainment business. Unless referee-baiting becomes an international sport, in which case he'd be WORLD FUCKING CHAMPION, the louse.<br />
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It's been a long time since Duff and Robben seared up and down the flanks at Stamford Bridge while Drogba ploughed between them like some fleet-footed shire horse. He'll have none of that frippery anymore. For all his pouty good looks and his occasionally colourful outbursts Mourinho has become as dour a coach as the game currently has. What is wrong with the miserable sod that he has to inflict such pragmatic workaday drudgery on the expectant football fan?<br />
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I bet if you went round his house for dinner you'd get some dry white bread, a scrape of butter and one of those mandarins with all the taste bled out if it. If he bought you a present it'd be gift vouchers for Jewson's. He'd be the one buying a winter coat on the warmest day of the year.<br />
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Now look, as a Boro fan maybe I'm feeling this more than most. Karanka's not exactly got us leaping of our seats right now. In fact I've invested in some comfy cushions for the next home match cos there's nowt like a sheet of cold plastic for kickstarting your haemorrhoids. But we have to be a bit practical. The club's not awash with cash like some of them.<br />
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But Manchester United? Well, they've spent the gross domestic product of a middle-sized European nation on their team and all we get is a decent defensive unit with a top keeper and an ageing showpony up front.<br />
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I mean what's Mourinho said to himself here? 'It worked for Simeone and Atletico'? Yeah but he's making the most of not much. 'And look how well Iceland did'? Yeah but that's Iceland. Ibrahimovic could buy Iceland with a week's wages.<br />
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And here's my point. Life gets a tad dull when your nose is to the grindstone. The last thing you want to do is go and see a team of multimillionaires play the greatest game on earth like their noses are to the self-same grindstone. We want self-expression, extravagance, spontaneity and a dash of the unexpected. In other words all the things that Mourinho abhors.<br />
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I tell you this for nowt, if United had Tony Pulis in charge right now they'd be doing just as well. At least Guardiola gets his rich boys knocking it about a bit. Right now United, the keeper aside, wouldn't look out of place wandering out onto a municipal playing-field having just downed a jar of ale.<br />
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And don't one of you lot even begin to argue that it's working and that it's a valuable point and not a lot of teams come away from Anfield looking that sort of reasonable.<br />
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<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-30461004950703389892016-10-12T21:11:00.001+01:002016-10-12T21:11:29.596+01:00We're Not Very GoodThe job of England manager is a poisoned chalice, right? Well it used to be. Nowadays it's a vast hadron collider of radioactive particles and disturbing faecal matter all whirring through an endless canal of hydrochloric acid, ectoplasm and old man's piss.<br />
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Currently swimming against this most monstrous of tides is one Gareth Southgate. In their infinite stupidity and desperation this giant toilet of a job has been handed on to clean-cut Gaz for four games. Yep, four games, Even for a Premier League chairmen that's a short attention span. Perhaps goldfish are now in charge of the FA.<br />
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Given the parlousness and paucity of the national team's plight, extra provision might be provided for the emergency gaffer: more time with the players; a longer stretch of matches to familiarise himself with the mess he accurately describes he's been left with; some magic dust to sprinkle onto Daniel Sturridge's eyes to make him see a simple pass when it's all so fucking obviously on.<br />
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But no. Just get on with it. No pressure. Just get us halfway to Russia til we find someone we want to do your job. (Who knows, Gar, mate, it might be you!)<br />
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Gareth has made a good start. Sort of. He's nice with the press, can string sentences together and doesn't pretend he's one of the finest managers the Premier League's ever seen. Big Sam believed he was but then again there are still some women prepared to vote for Donald Trump. Southgate does strut about in a permanent state of blustering, shifty self-delusion. Good.<br />
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On the pitch, well... not so good. But that's because, and I will say this until we all, as a nation, understand this simple truth, ENGLAND ARE NOT VERY GOOD AT FOOTBALL.<br />
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Yes but, I hear the UKIPs of football opinion say, the English Premier League is <i>the best league in the world</i>. Well (a) no it isn't and (b) even if it were, the people making it exciting tend not to be audaciously gifted Englishmen.<br />
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In fact the only world-class performer on Tuesday night can't get a game in our league cos an eccentric Chilean bloke has forced him to go to Turin - and Joe looked a whole lot more relaxed for the experience. (Southgate praised his calmness too. He looks more like himself again.)<br />
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But I am utterly fed up of punters and pundits, through a mixture of patriotism and optimism and plain stupidity, arguing that this latest batch of young players have talent to burn. Like who, exactly?<br />
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Daniel Sturridge? Floats in and out a game like a sea mist, and don't get me wrong, mist can look quite pretty sometimes.<br />
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Theo Walcott? I swear the lad's agoraphobic. Put him in space and he absolutely panics.<br />
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Jordan Henderson? Well he was man of the match against Malta. That's Malta, okay? Not fucking Argentina. And he got praise for passing it to his teammates frequently. I mean that's like giving a train driver a bonus for stopping at all the right stops. It's the bloody least he should do.<br />
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As for the others, it's all potential isn't it? Meaningless. Alli, Rashford, Stones... some chump'll tell you that this is the backbone of England for years to come. Hmmm. If that's the case then the team's going to need a damn good osteopath.<br />
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And yet, they are the only hope. Stop me if you've heard this one before but unless they give youth its head, and let it sink or swim for a while, and resist the temptation to lob Milner on cos he can 'do a job and he tries awful hard' then we're going to be banging our collective heads against the same wall and wondering if 1966 was just another bit of post-fact nonsense that we invented to create some myth of nationhood.<br />
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Southgate has done one very fine thing. He's told Wayne Rooney his days are numbered. Every right thinking person who has managed to detach the potent image of the hirsute boy-chimp who terrified Europe in 2004 from the current version realise that Rooney 7.0 has a battery problem and no matter how many times you take it back to the shop to be reconditioned, it just doesn't work like it used to.<br />
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Wazza is nowt nor summat. Not a holding midfielder nor a striker. He's like a jaffa cake. You reach for it when you need some cake and find you've got a biscuit. But if it's a biscuit you're looking for you find you've got a cake. What he is - and always has been - is willing, and a huge trier and a man who has always played for the team (except when he's stepped on a testicle, but hey who wouldn't want to step on Ricardo Carvalho's groin given the opportunity?)<br />
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And so for that reason, it's crap to jeer him, give him stick that his effort does not deserve. Indeed it's true of all the team. They desperately want to do well, I don't believe even Sturridge can't be arsed. They're all trying really quite hard. It's just THEY'RE NOT VERY GOOD, OKAY?<br />
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So, FA. Southgate has had some success with young players. And he should be playing a team chock full of them. So just give him the job. Cut him some slack. And the rest of us can just do our best to be a little bit more understanding and think a little bit more long-term and hope that whatever talent the babies do possess can be moulded into something resembling a decent team.<br />
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But me, I'm starting to develop the mentality of a Scottish football fan. Take what little sustenance you can from the meagre crumbs on offer. We are not at the top table anymore. We are the stray dogs hiding underneath it. And hey who knows, in time we might just discover we've got a bit of pedigree after all. I'm just not holding my breath.<br />
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<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-81334540135566041342016-10-05T12:07:00.002+01:002016-10-05T12:07:57.765+01:00England Expects Sweet FAWell I wasn't going to bother. Blogging was getting me down. I was a rotten record, whingeing about the same cash-fuelled self-interested egocentric baastards who run, organise and play the beautiful game.<br />
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I stopped the blog. Then Leicester kept winning. Even Spurs perked up. Citeh were lacklustre. Chelsea a swirling pit of Mourinho-muddled masochism. Van Gaal looked more and more like a man who gone seven rounds with Tyson Fury (and after the first four rounds they'd probably thrown in a chaser to go with the pint).<br />
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What's more Middlesbrough, that great groaning loss at the core of my being, started to return the love. It was if I'd met up with the love of my schoolboy life and she hadn't been a cow to me all that time, she just didn't know how to say she loved me. But now she was paying me back big time.<br />
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I'm a football supporter. The confluence of Teesside triumph and the Fantastic Mr Foxes were directly down to my putting down my typing fingers and using them instead to gesture at Leave voters out of me window. (Don't get me on to that. Safe to say that when the ageing dullards who voted for it get senile and need their dumb arses wiping, they'll find the care home has lost its Eastern European workers and they'll just have to sit in their own shit for a couple of decades).<br />
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Any road England's summer of shame nearly prompted a response of more than 140 characters - which is precisely 139 more characters than there were in the England dressing-room during that tournament - and the exception to that should still be at school.<br />
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The game against Iceland was England's single worst performance of my lifetime. Yes Iceland were well-organised and plucky, but so's a Bernard Matthews turkey farm and you wouldn't think there's any meat products available that wouldn't surpass Bernard's.<br />
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What made it worse, beyond even Joe Hart's scarecrow hands, was the calamitous shitness of all the rest of the team. It was a highlights package of awfulness. Like a 'You've Been Framed' football special. That notorious free-kick was less Harry Kane and more Harry Hill. It couldn't have been more embarrassing and humiliating had the whole team's shorts fallen down simultaneously to reveal a collection of shit-stained buttocks.<br />
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I was pleased we lost. Never said that before about any team I support. We deserved nowt better.<br />
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(Briefly, well done Wales. but don;t get ahead of yourselves - you lost to England. That England.)<br />
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Unsurprisingly Roy Hodgson shuffled off to a quiet corner of the world where he is slowly disintegrating into vodka and heroin inspired catatonia - if he wasn't there already during the second half of his last match as boss.<br />
His replacement? The lumbering bull-faced long-ball lummox that is Sam Allardyce. Well, his speciality was resurrecting the dead so his CV looked perfect. If you can save Sunderland, thn you could probably successfully reintroduce the dodo to the Pacific Islands. <br />
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Never mind that the Toon Army and the fans of West Ham - who now watch their team play at home with the same proximity as the French eye the white cliffs of Dover - could barely watch Big Sam's plebeian fare. At east he'd get the team doing what they were told and knowing their jobs. Apart from Wayne Rooney who could, apparently, pop off for a bag of sherbet lemons during the second half if that's what he wanted to do.<br />
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Now we've got a very nice man in charge - and believe me Southgate makes Roy Hodgson look like Bashar al-Assad - and all because the blobby fuckwit Big Sam couldn't keep his grasping greedy hands in his fucking pockets.<br />
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Mind you, don't blame the FA. When it comes to shady dealings, Sam has <i>absolutely no previous whatsoever</i>. He's whiter than white is Sam. Pure as the driven slush. Shearer says we're a laughing stock. That's nowt new. The only people overrating this England squad is the squad itself.<br />
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Chris Waddle gets it right. When the pressure's on, our players still lack technique and competence. But if the first thing you learn on a footy pitch is that you have to win, then the first thing you reward is getting the ball down the other end. Great when you're nine and the pitch is massive. Shit when you're twenty-nine and the opposition have a clue how to pass it to each other. Shit too when they put ten men behind the ball and ask you to be inventive. Thank God Thomas Edison wasn't an English footballer or we'd all still be sitting in the fucking dark,<br />
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I hope, genuinely, that Southgate does a good job, that Scotland don't rub our noses in the manure we've created, that Rooney becomes chief cheerleader and the likes of Alli, Stones, Rashford and Dier get to play, no questions asked. But reality has bitten, boys and girls.In the great rolling ocean that is international football, we are the bottom-feeders. Get used to it.<br />
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<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-12446137542253026152015-12-24T17:04:00.003+00:002015-12-24T17:04:51.408+00:00Ho ho ho! It's Robbo's Christmas Presents!Happy Christmas Christians! And to the other 67%of the UK population - and the rest of the world - I hope you're busy being merry in the best way you know how.<br />
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Traditionally I like to play Santa at this time of year, bestowing my largesse on the great and good and piss-poor of our sporting world. So here's your pressies, people.</div>
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To Sepp Blatter: a mirror. Take a long hard look in it. You feel 'sorry for football'? The one you've left behind is like a deflated flaking casey that's been kicked through playing fields strewn with dog shit. And you Platini. Don't think memories of your twinkle-toed derring-do is going to get you forgiveness. </div>
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To Jose Mourinho: one of those NHS posters warning you not to abuse the staff in the hospital. With Dr Caneiro's face on it. And a few brochures for property in the Cheshire area, just in case. </div>
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To David Moyes; a lovely Titleist three-wood - it's the only new club he's going to get for a while. </div>
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To John Terry - a mobility scooter - it'll make him quicker off the mark and it's got a tighter turning circle than he has. </div>
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To Jesus Navas - some hypnotherapy to help him over come his fear of open spaces. Just cos your name's Jesus doesn't need to mean you can't put over a good cross. </div>
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To Leicester City - sleeping tablets, so you can keep on dreaming. I was quite excited when it looked like Liverpool might bag a Premier League a while back. If Leicester win it I might have to have a bonfire in the back garden and throw every piece of cynicism I have on to it. </div>
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To Guus Hiddink - a rear-view mirror (always assuming he can't have surgery to insert eyes in the back of his head.) Chelsea can still win stuff when the manager does what he's told - Avram, Di Matteo, etc. But if you're thinking of laying down the law, well, let's just say there's thirty pieces of silver under every coat-peg in that dressing-room. </div>
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To Wayne Rooney - a trichology operation to undo the criminal acts done to his scalp. He's a kind of reverse Samson, Wazza. Ever since he had that hair put in he's lost all of his power. </div>
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To Louis Van Gaal - a big thank you for his defiance in the face of the media scrum. It may sound a tad hypocritical but me I just make jokes at the expense of these extremely well-paid dictators. The proper press, as LVG more or less said, get to almost sack someone themselves if they really put their minds to it. Louis, now you know how Jeremy Corbyn feels. </div>
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To Daniel Sturridge, Sergio Aguero, Andy Carroll - a special gentleman's remedy to make you relax a little more. A kind of anti-Viagra which might stop you being pulled off early so often.</div>
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To Roy Hodgson - Stuart Lancaster's phone number. They can have a good chat about how to play Wales and Woy can do the bleedin' opposite. </div>
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To Remi Garde - a new Villa, preferably one on the Algarve fecking miles away from Birmingham.</div>
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To Tyson Fury - a kettle, a teabag and an instruction manual, so he can get his poor Mrs sorted on Christmas morning. </div>
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To Riyad Mahrez and Jamie Vardy - a pair of headphones each with some happy-clappy music playing, and a block on the phone numbers of their respective agents. Yes, a footballer's career is short, the time to cash in on your success is even shorter (particularly in Vardy's case) but withering on a bench somewhere amongst the rich kids is no way to further a career. Stay put. There's plenty of time to review options in the summer.</div>
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To Lord Coe - a Teflon suit, probably the one Blatter wore for twenty years. There's going to be some shit flying around and it's only a matter of time before some sticks to you. </div>
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To Chris Froome - a few buckets of faeces at the ready for the Tour de France. They throw piss, you throw poo. It's the only way to answer these critics. </div>
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To Andy Murray - well he's something of a gift to the rest of us if I'm honest. If the Scots get independence we'd lose two things of major importance: North Sea Oil and Andy Murray. The rest, you can keep. But any road I'd buy Muzza a GB team shirt so he can delude himself into thinking he's still playing Davis Cup when he hits the inevitable Federer semi* and Djokovic final.<br />
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To Gary Neville - a foreign language dictionary. Not English-Spanish by the way - I'm sure he'll catch on to that soon enough - but an English-PhilNeville dictiionary. Much of what Phil says gets lost in translation and given it's the younger brother who talks to the players at Valencia I'm wondering how the hell Gary can possibly survive. It might well be, as Phil might put it 'a bit of a baptismal of flame in that sense'.<br />
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To the drug testers in Rio 2016: patience, and more patience. Analyse every last drop of that urine as if you;re life depended on it. In fact if the competitor is running beyond 800 metres and is Russian, stand on her bladder until every last trickle has been eased into the pot. And best of luck.<br />
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To the international footballers of Scotland - some very comfy cushions for the summer time. Enjoy your rest. Just imagine how much fitter you're going to feel in August without a busy summer of action knackering you out.<br />
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To all the readers of this sometimes sporadic blog - have a great Christmas, and may the roll of the ball and the blow of the whistle always favour you.<br />
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May the dive not deceive you, the shoot-out not shaft you, the vagaries of fortune take you to the very brink of success.<br />
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And may Leicester City, in an act reminiscent of Usain Bolt's unmanning of Justin Gatlin, lift the title and make the country believe in the beautiful game all over again.<br />
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And failing that, may Boro keep tonking promotion rivals 3-0 cos I'm not up for any more of that May Day play-off tosh.<br />
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Happy Christmas!<br />
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[*You're right - the phrase 'hitting a Federer semi' doesn't have a good ring to it.]<br />
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The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com450tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-48033797345758161082015-12-10T17:06:00.001+00:002015-12-10T17:22:25.131+00:00Just say MO to FuryWell it's nearly Christmas time and that must mean one thing: it's time for the old 'Sports Personality! That's a contradiction in terms!' joke. Done.<br />
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Except this year there's one candidate who, for reasons best known to himself, is very much a 'personality'. Chris Froome. I jest. Chris Froome looks like a face found on a EU-banned potato, but has less charisma. I meant, of course, Max Whitlock. He's a gymnast, but not the one who did the dancing competition on the telly. I'm sure he's got a terrific personality but I wouldn't know as I'm still not quite sure who he is. </div>
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No the real lively folk are Lucy Bronze and Lizzie Armitstead. Lucy was like a left-back who scored a top-notch goal and then that other lass scored that quirky own-goal and English football confirmed what it always knew about itself - heroic, noble, unsuccessful.<br />
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Lizzie is good at riding a bike. And is full of personality. Then there's Greg and Mo and Jess, the 2012 triptych revisited. All lovely. The real problem is the big beardie boxer bloke with the preposterous name. Tyson Fury. A colourful character, isn't he? He could have his own comic strip, couldn't he?<br />
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And as with many men who have built a career on punching people in the face, a man who rarely engages his brain before he speaks. Which is not to say he doesn't think before he fists someone's nose. Indeed the way he masterminded the defeat of the untopplable Klitschko was impressive stuff. But this isn't about whether he's got ringcraft. It's whether a homophobe and misogynist should be on the list in the first place.<br />
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Now this is a tricky one. First of all, he does talk bollocks. That is without question. His mouth opens and it's like a bin being emptied into a dustcart. My biggest hope is that Klitschko wins the rematch by a knock-out, announces he's gay and then snarls at Fury's stricken body "The best place for an intolerant bastard is <i>on his back</i>."<br />
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Of course, since the issue has caused much fence-sitting at the BBC and condemnation from right-minded folk everywhere, Tyson has sought to clarify his remarks about womankind and the oft-noted link between Satanism and homosexuality. His first attempt was:"Tyson Fury loves everyone, Tyson Fury doesn't hate anyone". And Robbo Robson hates anyone who uses the third person when talking about themselves.<br />
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The second effort saw an eerie glint come across his eyes as he sought to enlighten folks as to the attractions of Jesus Christ. Now I'm no expert but I don't remember the parts of the New Testament where Jesus says "Shalt it not be okay to twatteth another in the mush for money?" Or the part where Christ beseeches Mary Magdalene to leave his feet alone get on her back but not before the slapper's made a decent brew.<br />
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Of course there is that bit when poor Jesus is in the wilderness and the Devil appears unto him and tempts him into sinfulness by introducing him to a lithe and well-toned Nubian homosexual named Maurice.<br />
<br />
But I digress. The question is: Should Tyson Fury be on the list? And the answer to that is 'yes'. Should he be allowed to say stupid things? Yes. It's called Freedom Of Speech. People have fought very hard over the years to be permitted to say what they like; many of those striving for such opportunities have been and still are gay and/or female.<br />
<br />
We should not tolerate his bilious garbage, we should challenge it, preferably during SPOTY. I'd love to see Clare Balding having a right old pop at him. "Sorry for being here Tyson, but I've been resting up for this conversation - on my back - while Satan cooed sweet nothings in my ear."<br />
<br />
Ban him and he just dribbles off back under that bridge and where them stupid goats trip-trap over the river. And spout even more cack whenever he is moved to speak publicly.<br />
<br />
My SPOTY would be Mo Farah. Unless the Salazar allegations get in the way, he's a shoo-in. My overseas personality of the year would be Louis Van Gaal. Now there's a bloke with charisma, personality and a great sense of humour. This week he surpassed himself with:<br />
<br />
"We are better than last year."<br />
<br />
Well maybe, but that's like saying a firm turd is better than a runny one. It's still, at the end of the day, shit. Now obviously being 4th and getting beaten by the might Boro in the League Cup is no great shame, unless it's cost you a quarter of a billion quid to get there. LVG resembles one of them dopey toffs on Grand Designs who has to dolefully admit that everything is costing way more than he ever thought possible, and that's just for the foundations.<br />
<br />
He added: 'It was a tough group."<br />
<br />
Really? PSV, Wolfsburg, CSKA. Well now you mention there's an almost overwhelming European pedigree amongst that lot isn't there? Every one of them awash with modern greats of the game like the Polish winger Ooji-watzhit and the Ghanaian wonderboy Thimgummi. I mean, <i>puh-lease</i>, Louise. That's a cushy first six games, mate.<br />
<br />
And if it was a tricky group and they are a bit better than they were, Manchester United are certainly, more than anything else, as <span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">dull as this font</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">. I've been more entertained by the movement of the hour hand on the town clock in Yarm. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are mutterings that Van Gaal might be coaxed towards the exit door while Carlo Ancelotti does his regular successful two-year stint and gets ditched with his dignity intact. What's for certain is that United need to get a bit more bloody lively. Failure's bad enough. Turgid failure's unforgiveable. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Arsenal's failure didn't come to pass, of course. In fact underneath all that po-faced sobriety Arsene had just a twinkle of smugness. And Giroud, a man maligned for appearing to be Bendtner Mk II when he's far from it, took his chances well. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pellegrini had a smile on his face too, which is hard to tae when normally, even in </span>victory,<span style="font-family: inherit;"> the bloke looks like he's just witnessed a fatal car-crash. And Mourinho was all humility and diffidence. Yeah, whatever. I'm sure there's some myopic match officials just waiting to undermine him on Monday night. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Citeh and Arsenal should still be smiling by then. Villa can't possibly stop a team so burgeoning with confidence and Swansea, without a manager, could have an easier away-day than the Etihad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">By then we should also have learnt that either Mo Farah has won SPOTY or an entire fraternity of British sportsmen are wandering around the streets of Belfast urging women to</span> take Jesus into their hearts and <span style="font-family: inherit;">fall on their backs with. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just say MO, people. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com109tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-56173907400828973202015-11-20T12:17:00.001+00:002015-11-20T12:43:11.648+00:00Vive La France, Vive JonahThere's no such thing as a friendly international. It used to be the case. Nowadays they are always 'feeling out' exercises that by and large leave England supporters disarmed by futile optimism. Tuesday night at Wembley had none of that, unless you actually look at England's performance.<br />
<br />
Two neat goals. A young side with a bit of pep about it. Dele Alli looking less of a whim and more of a winner. That was an irrelevance. The main thing was that the game was being played at all.<br />
<br />
First of all, it's hard to imagine respect and empathy better demonstrated by a sporting crowd than the pre-match proceedings at Wembley. It was solemn, hugely dignified (not least by the French players who, reluctantly in some cases I'm sure, put on their kits and put in a shift in the most onerous of circumstances); it was not indulgent, there was a footy match to be played after all, but neither was it without passion - I belted out the Marseillaise myself from the comfort of a pub stool and I wasn't alone. <br />
<br />
But Christ Almighty, Allah Be Praised and Atheists Shrug In Disbelief, it has been a shitty old week. Let's make that clear. So don't expect too much of the funny here.<br />
<br />
I have always had a problem with people who say that sport and politics shouldn't mix. Well, especially in matters of international sport, they always bloody well do. Occasionally this brings out the worst in us and Sun headline writers, but often it brings out the best.<br />
<br />
Anyone who thinks that Nelson Mandela handing Francois Pienaar the Rugby World Cup trophy in 1995 wasn't of huge political significance is an idiot. Or two black men clenching their fists on a podium, supported by a white man who only recently has had his bravery acknowledged - <a href="http://griotmag.com/en/white-man-in-that-photo/">http://griotmag.com/en/white-man-in-that-photo/</a>. Or the treatment of Basil D'Oliveira by the MCC.<br />
<br />
Yes, it's a shame when the Olympic Games becomes a political football. (Sepp Blatter could make a fortune out of Political Football couldn't he? Hey, but let's not have a pop at the poor man, he's had a minor nervous breakdown and it's hard to sleep with all those rogue payments crumpling up your mattress.) But sport <i>is</i> political.<br />
<br />
So similarly, but more solemnly, this harmless international fixture became a bold and emotional statement about what unites people, rather than what divides them. The tricolour on the Wembley Arch spoke volumes, as did the minute's silence while rivals came together around the centre circle.<br />
<br />
That's what sport does - unifies, rather than separates. It's why it's so bloody infuriating that the men running it are so waist-deep in the sewage of their own corruption, and utterly unconnected from the passions of those that watch and practise it (except, possibly, in a ruthless exploitative way). If the likes of Platini and Beckenbauer, men upraised by the splendour of football and their place in it, have seen fit to grub around like hyenas in a carcass for the last five or so years I think we might as well all give up.<br />
<br />
France of course weren't exactly at the top of their game. Conclusions need not be drawn form the result. But, what with more horrendous news from Mali today, these gatherings take on huge significance. There have been many more courageous acts in the last seven days, but nevertheless those French workers simply going back to work was impressive. Football has never seemed so important to the lives of decent citizens.<br />
<br />
There have been other less momentous stories from the week's sport but one that should and has been properly marked is the very early death of Jonah Lomu. Me, I didn't care too much for rugby union. Not in England anyway. It was and still is the province of the posh lad at play. Its rules are murky, its occasional glimpses of wonder soon disintegrate under a pile of heaving steaming flesh, like a darting kingfisher suddenly crushed beneath collapsing cattle.<br />
<br />
I couldn't help identifying more with the Wales team, peopled as it was by working men from grittty backgrounds. Plus they were way better than the lilywhite Englanders. But there weren't too many charismatic blokes around - Serge Blanco maybe.<br />
<br />
Lomu blew a hole in all that partisanship. Here was a bloke who rewrote the rules. Your wingers were whip thin and swift, shimmiers and sidesteppers. Forwards were massive and slow. If your backs were fast-running streams your front five were glaciers, hard to stop but easy to catch up with..<br />
<br />
Step forward Jonah, a wardrobe fixed with an outboard motor. Fast enough to go round you, big enough to go over you, strong enough to simply straight-arm you into the stand. And a lovely bloke. It's hard to remember quite how unbelievable he was until you look back at the clips of <a href="https://youtu.be/Y1hJyjPLRDc">Lomu at the World Cup</a>.<br />
<br />
Occasionally there are sportsmen and women who outgrow the narrow boundaries of their sport for reasons of brilliance and sometimes outspokenness too - Muhammad Ali springs immediately to mind - or simply a certain unique genius that reinvents the sport they play. I'd suggest here is where Lomu sits, alongside current giants Federer, LeBron James, Messi, and of course Stewart Downing.<br />
<br />
The idea that this behemoth could have been brought down so soon by an ailment he struggled with all his life makes me feel a little bit humbler. Lomu wasn't one to complain. We should celebrate him, too.The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com73tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-53787413354890505392015-11-09T22:27:00.002+00:002015-11-09T22:27:48.630+00:00Spurs On The Up!
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Confession time. This might come as something of a shock to
many of few. It certainly shocks me. Here it is: I’ve always had something of a
soft spot for Tottenham Hotspur. What, the laughably unsuccessful neighbour of the not quite so laughingly unsuccessful Gunners? (Okay, 2 FA Cups makes that very hollow.) Yes. Them. What the hell has North London got
to do with a boy raised on steel and smog? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well let me put this in context. First of all there was a
brief time in the very early 70’s when Spurs were the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">last team to win the Double</i>. Arsenal did it too in ’71 when Charlie
George belted in an extra time screamer at Wembley but at the time the Double
was a rare beast indeed, like an albatross in golf, or a decent cross from
Shaun Wright-Phillips. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That 1961 double-winning team was captained by Danny
Blanchflower, a man who turned down Eamonn Andrews on This Is Your Life. A hero
of our age in other words. In the 70’s they won nowt as far as I can remember
but David Coleman used to love shouting ‘Chivers… 1-0!’ on Match of the Day and
they had a bit of that swagger about them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few years later and they were parading two members of the
victorious Argentine World Cup winning squad. Osvaldo Ardiles was one of them.
God it was exotic! Like opening your curtains and finding a flamingo trotting
about in your water feature (I don’t have a water feature by the way but I hear
North London is full of them). Bobby Robson managed a similar trick at Ipswich
with the majestically spindly Dutch duo of Muhren and Thijssen. Ardiles spent
that World Cup dancing about the Argie midfield as if he held the ball on a
gossamer thread attached to his big toe. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Joining him at Spurs was a suspiciously elegant genius
called Glenn Hoddle – one of those too talented Englishmen who, far from being
celebrated for the nigh-on supernatural capabilities of his feet, was merely decried
for not tracking back enough. (“So what if he can hit a seventy-yard pass onto
Tony Galvin’s instep, can he outmuscle Claudio Gentile? Nah, I thought not.
Poof!”)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With Steve Archibald and Garth Crooks forming a surprisingly
sharp spearhead – Crooksy looks and sounds a lot blunter these days – this was
the team to watch. It lacked pragmatism but more than made up for that with
good old-fashioned flair. In essence they were a Cup team – which is
football-speak for ’11 Fancy Dans who don’t like it much when it gets cold’. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From amongst the swirls of and spumes of Teesside, this
seemed like glamour writ large. There they were in their spotless white shirts
(apart from Steve Perryman who was the only bloke who liked a tackle in the
whole team), the cockerel crowing cockily on their breasts, a bunch of lads
playing continental footy the like of which we’d not really seen before. This
was pre-Wenger, pre-Juninho… Spurs have always been a little bit bling, what
with your Gazzas and Waddles and Ginolas.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s been some lowly and frequent hiatuses – Christian Gross
wasn’t a name that promised much, indeed it sounds more like a couple of
adjectives you might use when describing the American Republican Party, and
Juande Ramos proved a Juan-day wonder, picking up a cup and then leaving
Tottenham rock-bottom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s hard to believe that Daniel Levy has been a wholly
beneficial force at the club. His policy of managerial appointments has too
often resembled Graham Norton’s red chair. But the current occupant of the hot
seat (and if his seat’s hot then the one at Leeds United must be a bloody
inferno)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mauricio Pocchetino may just be
lugging the club beyond its traditional position as Not Quite As Good As It
Thinks It is. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Obviously Spurs were once just a botulism-infested lasagne
away from Champions League glory – well, qualification anyway – and this may be
the year they get there. Chelsea’s continued difficulties offer the opportunity
to someone to get a top four spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, Chelsea are helped in their cause when the
opposition centre-half stinks. I believe Diego Costa. He didn’t spend nearly
enough time in the opposition penalty area cos old Stinky Shawcross was there.
And NOT because Chelsea can’t create anything much at the mo unless it’s a
fluky own goal or a Willian free-kick. Seriously though, anyone who’s worn a
football shirt for more than ten minutes knows they bloody stink of their own
accord. At least that’s my excuse. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So can Spurs clamber higher? Well possibly. Citeh should
really win it at a canter but much depends on the tweaks and twinges of Aguero
who seems to pull up more often than a medieval drawbridge. Arsenal have their
injury concerns too. If you’re English and wearing a first team Gunners’ kit
the stretcher-bearers are virtually following you round the pitch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Leicester can’t possibly keep this up. Yes, I know it’d be
nice. But it won’t happen. And Man U – well as a spectacle right now it’s like
Crossroads - unwatchable and yet somehow <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i>
on. Spurs just need Kane to keep firing, Son to get fit again and Eriksson to
maintain some brilliance for more than the odd half-hour and there’s a real
chance for them. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So there… with the dizzying dribbling of Ossie and Ginola
addling my nostalgia-ridden brain I’m going to say it. Spurs will do it this
season. They’ll win the title… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">…. of runners-up to Man City. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-73611728233033582512015-11-04T11:21:00.000+00:002015-11-04T11:21:02.536+00:00Hardy Vardy*All strikers get on a roll. Even Darren Bent. Hell even Paul Mariner, a man who looked like a featherless goose and often played like one, managed a fine run of goalscoring for England once. Last night Wayne Rooney got on the scoresheet for Manchester United and equalled Denis Law's total for the club. Despite the fact that Wazza increasingly looks like a concrete-booted version of his teenage self, we might have to start acknowledging that his record speaks for itself. <br />
<br />
But Jamie Vardy is a case apart. I think we've all played against a Vardy. This lad stalks across your ploughed field of a school pitch. Not a scrap of fat on him, possibly whiffs of the Silk Cut he just toked behind the hedge, and he's already spouting off about how these are nowt much to look at. <br />
<br />
The whistle blows and he's off like a ferret, scooting over the furrows, elbows and knees in a geometric blur. He's nagging the back four, leaving his foot in, a one-man bundle of thorns. He's backing his blade-edged bones into the centre-halves, spinning and leaving their galumphing strides in his wake like a streamlined trout swimming through the legs of a twenty-stone fly-fisherman, <br />
<br />
But obviously the lad's in the side for his pace, his nuisance value, his chippiness. He's Robbie Savage with a sensible haircut and a turn of speed. And you might have thought that except he's just waltzed round the keeper and slid in his third goal of the morning, having dinked him earlier and scuffed in a side-footer before that. <br />
<br />
If this sort of lad gets anywhere in modern football then by the time he's nineteen someone's come along and knocked the edges off him, buffed him up, and made him fit for purpose. That is unless he falls through the cracks and ends up plying his humble trade in non-league footy. Then somehow the rougher, ruder parts stay unrefined. <br />
<br />
Of course, Vardy's passage through non-league somewhat mirrors his staunchest advocate Ian Wright. Wrighty, currently hoping a pair of outsized Harry Potter specs might encourage you to believe that his enthusiastic burblings are laced with wisdom, sees a kindred spirit in Vardy. And to be fair Wrighty knows. <br />
<br />
There's a bit of the attack dog in both, a relentlessness to their pursuit of vulnerable old centre-halves. Neither seem to know when to stop running. Both seem to be driven by the injustice of a premature dismissal from the realms of professional football. <br />
<br />
Vardy hopped around from Halifax to Fleetwood, scoring goals for fun it seemed, until Leicester scooped him up for a record non-league fee. Wright schlepped around with Greenwich Borough and had a fortnight in jug before a Palace scout sought him out. <br />
<br />
Wright thinks Vardy should be in the England squad permanently, which is difficult for some of us to contemplate. Theoretically there are riches available to Hodgson upfront - Kane, Sturridge, Sterling, Welbeck, Walcott - all of them swaggering away with proper elite football teams that get to play big matches all the time...<br />
<br />
Except (1) half of them are injured almost perpetually and (2) what does Jamie lack in comparison? And (3) no I didn't mention Rooney and maybe that's cos he's not worth mentioning right now. Indeed Rooney is barely a year older than Vardy and yet the Leicester forward possesses much of what the England captain appears to have lost in the last couple of years: pace, passion, stamina, desire... <br />
<br />
A bit ago I posted a blog with my England squad on it. Vardy was conspicuously absent. And I suppose it depends, such is the fickle way with us footy fans, and I don't mean this tantrically, on how long he can keep it up. And how he gets on when he's up against the likes of France and Germany. <br />
<br />
And whether he can keep his gob shut in a casino of a Saturday night. At least he's apologised though eh? Unlike, say, former England captains who are struggling at club level at the moment and won't take advice from Welsh pundits. <br />
<br />
So yes, Vardy on the bench at the very least. And give him a run-out down the middle rather that stalking the flanks. Let's see whether the flinty Yorkie has what it takes. And if he fails, he'll keep on bloody well trying anyway. <br />
<br />
*<span style="font-size: x-small;">Out of respect for the dignity of his personal conduct this season, this blog contains no reference to the manager and arch apologist of Chelsea Football Club, Jose Mourinho. And if you're disappointed with that, don't blame me. Blame everyone - fuck it - <em>anyone</em> else</span>. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-39755025290985339562015-10-27T16:43:00.003+00:002015-10-27T16:43:46.167+00:00Go 'WayJose!Finding out that Aston Villa had fired Tim Sherwood was about as surprising as an England batting collapse. Villa have been unable to construct anything resembling a team plan since they lost the one-man wrecking-ball Benteke over the summer. (It says a lot about the state of Liverpool that they haven't worked out how to incorporate the big Belgians into a decent frontline - yet another example of Liverpool just buying anyone.)<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sherwood is one of those use chest-out, glass half-full, heart-on-sleeve characters that you wish the best for, in the full knowledge that a whole heap of shit's just waiting to engulf him. Villa will be shaking hands with their latest plastic Messiah very soon. David Moyes is the favourite - clearly on the understanding that his career is bouncing along the bottom and can only go in one direction. (As opposed to One Direction who are now officially going in Five Directions.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's about time Villa started sorting out their mess in a less inhospitable environment - League One might be a good place to begin. Not that even these perennial lightweights have anything like the number of potential shitstorms buzzing around as the lovely potboiler at the Bridge. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once upon a time back in the nineteenth century queues of people used to mass on the dockside awaiting the arrival of the latest instalment of a Charles Dickens' novel. Journalists are doing the same in West London right now, in moist anticipation of Mourinho's latest improbably wobbly chapter.<br />
</div>
<div>
Remember the sweet perfume that wafted the air as he returned back to the Bridge? The Happy One, dimples twinkling, teeth a-dazzle, a charm offensive and a half? Now what? Well it's offensive still but that's about it.<br />
<br />
The FA have his number on speed-dial, he pillories doctors, he shoves stalking teenagers (good for him), and at the moment he goes from touchline to terrace to potential stadium ban... The direction of travel suggests that he's getting further and further away from football itself. This time next week he could be sunning himself in the destination of his choice.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Of course when you get £30 million for getting sacked, that destination might even be Mars. It's marvellous how much failure can earn you these days, whether you're head of a major financial organisation or a football manager. Of course plutocrats like Roman want their guarantees and even the most successful gaffers can't offer you that. It's an investment and trophies can go up as well as down. Unless you're chucking money at a fawning tinpot Government who desperately want your dubiously acquired own to fund, say, a nuclear power station. Or build a hospital. In that case Success Is Guaranteed! British Infrastructure - The Gift That Keeps On Giving! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But Mourinho's main problem is that his team is just bloody awful at the moment. He can bewail blatant penalties, witless refereeing, unnecessary persecution, but it's all tosh. Matic got himself sent off for two acts of stupidity. I'd hate to sit next to him on a train cos clearly he can't keep his hands to himself. And Chelsea were done by a top header from Andy Carroll, a bloke I'd still like to get in the England squad cos if he's fit and firing he'd terrify you. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Of course the likes of Slaven Bilic can purr through their postmatch interviews about how they beat the Champions, but it's not all it sounds this season is it, less overcoming Avengers Assembled and more evading the Keystone Cops. Reduced to kicking opponents and railing at refs the whole edifice is crumbling like a slice of cork bread. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Others wait to return. Ancelotti and Hiddink could pop back for a few months - hell Abramovic might as well just rotate between these three - throw Rafa in and he'll have a lot of eye-wateringly expensive contracts to pay off in the next decade. There are mutterings about Guardiola, but last time everyone wanted him he chose that oasis of calm at Bayern.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Whoever takes on the task may need to note the impact Klopp has had at Liverpool. That is, none. Time will tell but the supposed 'bounce' hasn't happened. Brendan had already mastered the frustrating 1-1. It's time though. Managers need time. And it's as scarce as accurate emissions tests on diesel cars. Or unbribed FIFA employees. Or peers of the realm who do what they're told. Bless em. <br />
<br />
Things have come to a pretty pass when it's the unelected politicians saving you from the elected ones.</div>
The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-8267507936928773172015-10-14T19:58:00.005+01:002015-10-15T17:41:16.423+01:00England Expects (Very Little)10 out of 10. England completed the job in Vilnius on Monday night with a comfortable win against a bunch of Nordic looking types who you've never heard of. It might well be that the Lithuanians weren't entirely au fait with the England team either. Danny who? Delli what?<br />
<br />
Jamie Carragher says it's never been easier to get in the England team. He's right. Hodgson says 'It's not a situation where, the moment you kick the ball correctly from A to B, you'll get in the England team', True enough. Phil Jones can't even do that.<br />
<br />
Incidentally how long will it be before we stop giving Jones the benefit of the doubt cos of his injuries and the fact that he hasn't nailed down his position and start accepting that he's a bit shit? Sometimes versatility simply means not much good anywhere. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But Carragher's point still holds. 32% of first choice players in the Premier League are English. If you get that far you're almost bound to get a kick in an England shirt. Witness Delli Alli. The lad looks elegant enough on the ball and is what we used to call 'one for the future'. But the future arrives much more quickly these days. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now I'm not having an unnecessary pop at Woy. There are good reasons to blood youngsters as soon as possible and in this regard he's done well. But thirty-odd (occasionally very odd) players in this qualification and that's hardly indicative of a coherent long-term strategy. Indeed it's very reminiscent of Stuart Lancaster's build-up to the recent calamity in Toff Sport. </div>
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<br />
If you were looking at a 23 for next summer there are a few defenders I'd rule out instantly: Jones (he'll be injured anyway), Shaw (he is injured), Gibbs (he might as well be injured), Walker (I lost a stone in sweat every time he had the ball). </div>
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And I don't see the likes of Lambert, Ings or Vardy - that speeding skeleton of flinty knees and elbows - being there in France either. Other than Rooney up top somewhere - you'd prefer Kane but that ain't going to happen - and Hart in goal it's still all up for grabs. <br />
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All of which tells you that we don't have that great a squad when all's said and done. If you think a 100% record in our group is tantamount to putting us on the brink of major tournament glory then you're blinking potty. As preparation it's no better than a brave knight getting ready for the task of dragon-slaying by cuffing kittens with a peacock's feather.<br />
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Me I'd be pushing for the inventive Barkley to be starting - yes he's creative when it comes to losing the ball too but hey-ho we'll just slaughter him when does it at a really bad time. And isn't it great to have a lad who doesn't just use one foot for balance?<br />
<br />
My first team'd look summat like this:<br />
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Hart, Clyne, Stones, Smalling, Shaw (Bertrand), Wilshere, Henderson, Barkley, Sterling, Rooney, Sturridge. <br />
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The squad: Butland, Forster, Chambers, Cahill, Jagielka, Bertrand (Baines), Carrick, Oxlade-Chamberlain, Walcott, Welbeck, Kane. And Milner. Good old James. As English as a faltering Cup campaign. <br />
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Wilshere if he's fit should play. Which is as reliable as selecting a narcoleptic on the off-chance he's awake. And Sturridge too, if he's well. Which is as reliable as selecting Sepp Blatter to carry out a financial review - something I think he was until very recently pushing himself forward for. <br />
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I suppose I should have something to add to the troubles at FIFA. But the fact that they are all (seemingly) such terrible crooks that yet another (alleged) crook is in temporary charge means that it's all utterly laughable. These men have been on the make for decades? Really? It's like when that Sam Smith - the lad that sings like a ball of phlegm is stuck under his palette - told us he was gay. We all just raised an eyebrow, put a camp hand to our chest and murmured 'No!'<br />
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But the Euros have thrown up some heart-warming tales: Van Persie's divine own goal depriving the Dutch; Iceland's greatest success since Bjork; and of course Wales and Norn Ireland. And Scotland - don't forget Scotland - oh yes <i>do</i> forget them, of course. Ahem. <br />
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Now I'm not playing down the success of the constituent parts of the United Kingdom but - of course we all qualified! There's 24 teams in this monster tournament next summer! There were eight more places up for grabs and we bagged 'em. If it was only 16, Wales would be scrapping it out with somewhere scary like Albania. <br />
<br />
(I'm sure if UEFA have their way, there'll be Europa League for them that finish fourth, fifth and sixth in each group which will last nine months and take in every Godforsaken square inch of the continent before arriving for a Kiev kickabout in the middle of August.)<br />
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Here's the thing, though. If Wales keep their best players fit they're going to do better than England in France. Now that might not mean they get through the group stage either but they'll make a better fist of not doing so. <br />
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If that seems a little pessimistic on England's chances, trust me. We've been there. We've done that. We've burnt the t-shirts. <br />
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-44042198976547762142015-10-05T17:40:00.002+01:002015-10-05T17:40:30.279+01:00Rodgers And OutNot very long ago, Brendan Rodgers was the best young manager in the country. I know - he was even better than David Moyes. He led a side full of vim and vigour - a veritably Keeganesque mixture of attacking wizardry and defensive stupidity, with a little splash of King Kev's heroic failure to top it off. <br />
<br />
That Liverpool team had a hellluva lot to recommend it. Gerrard was magnificently resisting the status of grizzled veteran, a kind of Scouse Pirlo, Sturridge was a stiletto blade of a striker, Sterling buzzed round in his Little Richard bouffant, hell even Jordan Henderson started to resemble a footballer. And the real bite was provided by a wantaway front man who transformed himself from villain to hero in nine short months. <br />
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Suarez left, Sturridge limped, Sterling mooched, Gerrard moped, and each has been replaced by... by a lamentably poor clutch of misfits. Even then, Koppites witnessed two Cup semifinals, but for a club who can justifiably wallow in past success, this is small beer. In fact it's not even beer - it's flat Lambrusco.<br />
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Rodgers' days have been numbered for some time now. And yet he has done his best to carry that large head around on that tiny body with the same confidence he had when Suarez was doing things Derren Brown could only dream of. <br />
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Even in the aftermath of another formless and nondescript performance, Rodgers would insist he can't criticise his players who had given everything. Brendan seemed not to realise that Everything = Nowhere Near Enough.<br />
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His main crime - and here the blame can be fairly shared around - has been the squandering of huge sums of money received from the sale of Suarez and Sterling. It's a struggle to think of anyone Bren's bought who could be considered even a qualified success. <br />
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Top of the list of misfits was Balotelli, a sort of kryptonite to the supermen of Rodgers's 2014 vintage. Ballotelli makes the original Maverick look positively conservative. Why Liverpool thought they could tame this fruit-loop is beyond, well, everyone. <br />
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Added to that, Rodgers seemed incapable of looking beyond Southampton and ripped the heart out of the Saints. Unfortunately, by the time it reached Anfield that heart was suffering from serious arrhythmia. Dejan Lovren transformed from defensive rock to powdery chalk, Adam Lallana went from nimble and inventive to nonplussed and defective, and Ricky Lambert... well at least he got to spend a bit of time back home, la'. <br />
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Recently Firmino and Benteke have turned up, neither of whom seemingly aware of why or how that happened. You can't help feeling Liverpool's transfer policy, conducted as it is by a 'transfer committee', is a total dog's dinner. It's not so much a constructive way to unearth real potential and talent as a kind of Merseyside X-Factor audition all of its own, with Ian Ayre playing Simon Cowell and whoever the can-carrying numpty who gets the manager's job playing Louis Walsh. <br />
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Jurgen Klopp is the new man, it seems. Here's a bloke who cuts the right sort of dash. He's got specs and he speaks a few languages which makes him smarter than your average gaffer. Dortmund were a fine outfit under his tutelage. And, as Arsene is Arsenal so Klopp could be to the Kop. <br />
<br />
But the first thing he has to do, surely, is be allowed to select transfer targets and pick players who he sees might fit into a structure of his choosing. Otherwise, in three years' time we'll be looking at another £292 million that's gone to waste after the likes of Coutinho have been flogged to La Liga for the price of five no-marks. <br />
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But Rodgers, decent fella though he is, had to go. <br />
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Meanwhile, in other sports, the nation (that's England) is slowly edging out from behind the sofa, faces as white as the team shirts, as the Stuart Lancaster's men go into hiding. It was not pretty, that mauling at the hands of the Wallabies. (And that's just rubbing it in, too, isn't it? Australia is full of the animal kingdom's most poisonous bastards and yet we get beat by a pack of iddy-biddy kangaroos).<br />
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Two things about this: <br />
<br />
one, England haven't been much cop for a few seasons now - even in terms of the Six Nations they've not been great and they were never going to win the whole thing; <br />
<br />
two, home advantage is supposed to count for summat so how come England ended up in a group with Wales, Australia and Fiji? Look at the other frigging groups! I mean New Zealand have barely had to break sweat, South Africa can afford a humiliating defeat and still get Scotland as a get-out-of-jail-free card. Why couldn't they have recruited Sepp Blatter to do the draw? Warm those balls and the hosts don't suffer. Everyone knows that! <br />
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Of course Lancaster has to walk. He picked a brilliant League player in Burgess but had no idea where he should be played at Union. He deselected the stand-off Ford for the Wales game when England's whole attacking platform for eighteen months had been built around him. And even though there are many, many more people in England playing the game than anywhere else in the world, England still manage to resemble a bunch of lumbering cybermen who've run on to the pitch through a line of hospital bed-linen and can't quite get the sheets off their faces. Dire, it was. <br />
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And as with Liverpool, that's no going to change soon, but with a different bloke in charge, at least there's a chance it might. <br />
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In the meantime, let's support someone else. I'm backing Ireland. Life's more fun that way. <br />
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<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-43341159482610867502015-09-21T17:40:00.001+01:002015-09-21T17:40:54.798+01:00The Costa CrimeFor just once, I'd like to write about something other than Chelsea. I'd like it to be about pig's head and posh knobs. But this is a sports blog. And there are no jokes left on the subject of pulled pork. <br />
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So I'll keep this brief. Diego Costa is dickhead. There. Done. <br />
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Dammit, there is more to say. I'm with Keown on this... and every time I see his ghoulish face, the eyes hidden beneath a brow that protrudes like the lip of some forbidding cliff, I think I'd never dare to disagree with Martin ... but it's the trying-to-get-others-in-trouble shit that really gets under your skin. <br />
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We've all been on school pitches or playgrounds when some infuriating twot bleats out "Sir, sir! Robson trod on my foot, sir!" (All right, pedants, your name might not be Robson, but you get my point.) And it'll be the same twot who's been wittering in your ear all morning about the dubious provenance of your family or the sexual orientation of your father. Costa is that. A friendless nark. A tick but with less of a moral compass. <br />
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There's another thing that irritates me too - the fact that pundits like to praise him as a player. As if we can somehow separate footballing ability from his propensity to dump fellow pros in it whenever he can. That 'orrible wiggle of the imaginary card at the referee... it makes me want to crush that hand in a vice. <br />
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If it were me - and let's hope one day that it is - I would be tying the snub-nosed conman to a chair and slapping him around the face with damp trout until he promises never to do it again. I'm sure there are some muppets around the football world who'll tell you that he'd be half the player without that bit of the devil in him. Good. Let's keep the good half and lob the rest of him into a wheelie bin. <br />
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Only his manager, of course, the overseer of all things and an apostle of the Law that states that We Win First and debate later, he, Mourinho, thinks the Brazilian-Spaniard bruiser was the man of the match. Yes. Pretty soon there'll be a category on your Premier League Top Trumps that says 'Nuisance Value'. <br />
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Even teammate Kurt Zouma suggested Costa 'likes to cheat a lot'. Kurt has since put it down to English not being his first language. But I'd just like to reassure the lad that he's using it with great precision at the moment. <br />
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It may be the beautiful game but there sure are some ugly buggers thriving right now.<br />
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None of this is to let Wenger and his players off the hook. Clearly he's no angel, Gabriel. Just as Santi is no saint. But neither particularly deserved a red card and it made a big difference in a game that Chelsea were desperate to win, especially given their parlous position. Costa's needling was part of a slightly desperate gameplan. (I was reminded of the mendacious Ronaldo wink.) But Arsenal were fools to fall for it. Utter suckers. I've already sent half the first team an email telling them how I'm stuck in Ukraine and they've taken my passport. I expect the money will come pouring in any day. <br />
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But on to more ennobling subjects. Firstly, Japan 34 South Africa 32. (This is rugby union, by the way, a game played in this country (England) by steroidal public schoolboys. Not long ago they would entertain themselves by shouted abuse at young women, throwing small people around bars and jumping into the sea from slow-moving vessels but that's all changed now. They're really top chaps, don't you know?)<br />
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Japan is not a country noted for the bulkiness of its inhabitants. Every time someone tells me of the health benefits of sushi I can't help replying that the Japanese are always eating that stuff and most of em look like they're wasting away. <br />
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Well in order to get together a rugby team that can compete against the muscular mountain ranges that pass for rugby players these days they've drafted in a few blokes from other places to help. Fact is, though, that they have mustered together a side that plays beautiful stuff: the niftiest hands since the Artful Dodger retired; feet so fast they make Fred Astaire look clompy; and all the stamina of the winner of one of them horrible Endurance gameshows their nation loves. <br />
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Now it may well be that South Africa have a bunch of players so long in the tooth that half of them have tusks. But Japan won through their own brilliance. And courage. And I don't think I was this happy to see a team win a game of rugger when England won in 2003. Indeed so far the Rugby World Cup has looked good. When it comes to my favourite sports rugby union comes somewhere between the biathlon and synchronised swimming, but a result like Japan achieved can't help but peak even the most sour of sports fan's interests. <br />
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And another thing... if Nicola Sturgeon insists on Scots getting another pop at independence could they not extend that self-sufficiency to the Davis Cup tennis team? It's fascinating that the best players of this game that we've ever produced haven't dripped out of the white-clad bore-holes of the Establishment at Play but rather from some gritty geezers from Dunblane and, 70 or 80 years earlier, Stockport. Fascinating and not coincidental.<br />
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These days the weak link in Team GB is always the Englishman but it was another exceptional effort from Andy Murray, who gets more likeable with every passing shot. <br />
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I have a problem with the Davis Cup, mind you. It's the format. It's a team competition, right? So how come one bloke can win three matches and the team wins the tie? Surely a true test of the strength and depth of the team would be if no player could play more than twice, that way avoiding the predominance of one particular player in the tie as a whole? <br />
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Obviously we'd get nowhere pretty quick, but that's not the point. A team sport should be about the team, yet Murray has single-handedly wrestled that squad through to the final. <br />
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Right now GB just need Andy (and Jamie). They might as well have me as the other player for all the difference it makes. It does not make sense.<br />
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<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com53tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-63191551209252804682015-09-16T14:07:00.003+01:002015-09-16T14:07:55.904+01:00Blue Days At The BridgeWhat a pretty Premier League picture the table paints this morning. <br />
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First up, all hail Signor Ranieri and his fearless foxes. The quiet dismissal of Nigel Pearson was a bold move. Not least because Big Nige always has the bearing of a night-club bouncer who's just on the right sides of losing it. I saw a miffed silverback behind some bars over the summer and I swear he was giving me the Pearson glare. <br />
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Of course his dismissal - it would seem - was as much down to his errant son as anything Nige did (given he turned the tepid water of early season form into the heady fizzy wine of survival. His dismissal had more to do with his racist slur-using son - yes I'm sure some of his best friends are Thai - than anything Dad did. But who better to fill those shoes than the lovable Tinkerman?<br />
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Yes we all recall with great fondness his happy demeanour, his comical English and his mind-bogglingly changeable first elevens. Except he's not a chump, is he? He kept the same backroom staff that oversaw Leicester's amazing run-in last spring; he's identified what the team have that makes them good, namely great pace up front, terrific persistence and in Mahrez a lad with feet as nimble as Nureyev's. And he hasn't rotated the squad like they were rabbits on a spit. <br />
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Lo and behold they are playing brilliantly. It won't last though. Then again they said that about Southampton - and they were pretty much correct.<br />
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Secondly the very foot of the table has a familiar ring. Newcastle, strong enough to hold up the rest of the division, seem bound to plummet. Ashley seemed desperate to court McClaren even as John Carver looked certain to choke the life out of the club. The idea that Smiley Steve is the Saviour is a rum one - clearly Ashley would hire a fox to guard his chickens. <br />
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Just a quick glance at Derby's form in the last couple of months of the Championship could have told you that. Not even a play-off spot was indescribably bad. So far Newcastle have displayed the worst tendencies of a McClaren team, tentative in possession, unable to pick up the pace, rarely dangerous unless they're 2-0 down and there's nowt to lose. The squad looks bright enough but he needs to sort out his shit quick or Joe Kinnear will land on his shoulder like some great cockney albatross of Doom.<br />
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Of course the Big News is that Jose Mourinho's Chelsea are a bag of bona fide horse manure. There's been almost as many radio hours dedicated to their dreadful start as there has to the emergence of a socialist leading a socialist party in the UK. (I mean what the hell is this atheist republican doing not singing God Save The Queen?)<br />
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It's difficult to decide where the rifts are deeper, Walworth Road or Stamford Bridge. Mourinho's problems run deep. While his surprising humble and open post-match interview on the Beeb made you think that here was a man ready to roll with the circumstances, other factors suggest the delusional paranoia that helps to build a bunker mentality can also divorce one from reality.<br />
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The petulant hissy fit cos Martinez was answering questions before him on Saturday wasn't the act of a patient man in control of himself. More The frontline, led by a Diego Costa with all the dynamism of a narcoleptic hippo, couldn't cut through cellophane right now. The defence looks doddery with Ivanovic lumbering around like a concussed bear. <br />
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Nothing is working out for Jose. He blames misfortune - a couple of deflections went the wrong side of the post. Another of seeing that is that the defenders made good blocks. Everton score three from five shots. Unlucky Chelsea? Or clinical Everton. The sort of goals to chances ratio that Mourinho thrives on. <br />
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But much of it is Mourinho's making. The pursuit of Stones, nobly denied by Martinez, can't have reassured the present incumbents in the Chelsea squad. The haranguing of the team doctors seems to have left even those most self-centred of human beings professional millionaire footballers aghast at their poor treatment. <br />
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It's not a happy camp. Fabregas - a name that always sounds to me like something you take with you when you go camping - is playing like he's sprung a leak. JT just looks pissed off. Ivanovic could be replaced by a mighty oak and there'd be more difficulty getting past him. <br />
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Meanwhile the whole unseemly cesspit of cash sees hundreds of squad members being given out to the needy as if they were out-of-date sandwiches from a high-street retailer with a conscience. It's a bleeding travesty and the fact that it's not working is DELIGHTFUL. Yes, Mourinho did get one thing right. We ARE enjoying it, HUGELY. <br />
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Long may the topsy-turvy look of the league continue. <br />
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Of course some things remain the same - like Man City's European form being miserable. And football still being a contact sport with all the occasional horrors that that results in. Get well soon, Luke Shaw. At least time is on his side, but that's hardly a silver lining. <br />
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What might cheer him - and the rest of us - up is a perky 2-1 win for Maccabi Tel-Aviv tonight. It's far from unlikely. Hehehehehehe. <br />
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<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-42843578282930312812015-09-10T22:47:00.002+01:002015-09-10T22:47:35.924+01:00Well Done Wazza!Congratulations to the Pie-Faced Wonder. Wayne Rooney crashed home another penalty to see him become England's record scorer. Glenn Hoddle purred that the keeper got nowhere near it. The keeper touched it on its way in actually, Glenn, but then, with your hotline to God, you do see things move in mysterious ways.<br />
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It is undeniable that Wazza is now the greatest striker England have ever had. Then again Margaret Thatcher was PM for 11 long years but that doesn't make her the best we've had unless you're a proto fascist fuckwit with all the empathy of a tapeworm - or George Osborne to give that worm its proper name. <br />
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Certainly those of us that witnessed the manchild's brawny arrival on the international would be unsurprised to have been told 11 years later that the lad had surpassed Sir Bobby in the legion of goalscoring greats. At that time Rooney looked capable of anything. Three Weetabix, a cow-pie and a liaison with a forty-something hooker... and it's not even nine o'clock. <br />
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Since then, like many an English prodigy he has slipped slowly back into the ranks of the Merely Very Good at a time when the Very Best are, when it comes to Messi and Ronaldo, Bloody Ridiculously Good Like You Might Be If You Were Having The Most Wonderful Dream Ever.<br />
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But even in the company of England's finest finishers, he's a little bit wanting. <br />
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Jimmy Greaves was the finisher supreme, they tell me. Fleet of foot, lithe and slippery, good on either side. And he did all this on pitches that halfway through October turned into the sort of pasture a herd of cattle might turn its nose up at. Those eyes that were once cold and ruthless lost their lustre in the perennial post-playing battle with the booze. He had a massive stroke recently but somehow football and its fans have mustered the £30,000 necessary to pay for his physiotherapy, possibly by asking every Premier League player to contribute 0.00001% of his weekly salary to help the greatest goal-taker the top division has ever seen. Or not.<br />
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Bobby Charlton took the record from Greavesie of course. He had much in common with the man who beat him at Wembley. They both played for Man U, both scored 49 goals from 106 games, both had humble beginnings and both were at pains to deny their baldness. <br />
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The Charlton comb-over fooled no one. Indeed the smallest breeze left Bobby's pate glisteningly free while the strands flew in his wake like a plume of smoke from a steamboat's funnel. (C.f Alan Gilzean, Ralph Coates - what the hell were they thinking?) <br />
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Rooney of course bought himself a topweave which to this day looks a little like it belongs to someone else. Frankly, footballers shouldn't give a shit whether their heads can be slapped or not. It's of no bloody consequence whatsoever and a bit pathetic and vain to think that it is. <br />
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Similarities between Wazza and Chazza end there though. Charlton was a barnstorming midfielder whose gentle demeanour was at odds with the dynamite in his boots. Rooney's dynamite is as likely to emerge from his brain as his boot. Cristiano Ronaldo can tell you that. <br />
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Michael Owen seemed destined to overhaul Charlton but ended up falling short. Well, writhing in agony on a touchline, really, as, once again, hamstrings overworked in his late adolescence by unthinking staff at Anfield twanged like so much perished elastic. Owen is now the least charismatic football pundit in living memory and I wish him every success with the gee-gees instead. Indeed any one of his gee-gees could make a more inspired contribution to a half-time review on BT Sport. <br />
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Before Owen we had the saintly Gary. Now there was a crisp finisher. He barely set foot outside the box, and now he's barely off it. Except for <i>that</i> penalty he would have joined Bobby. Rooney's penalty v Switzerland was struck with all the vehemence Lineker's lacked. For a man so wonderfully clinical in front of goal it is a moment of unrivalled embarrassment for Gaz: it's the football equivalent of Heston Blumenthal burning the toast or Darcey Bussell falling on her arse.<br />
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Each of these surpassed goalscorers seem to be better at scoring goals than Wayne. There are numerous reasons to downgrade Rooney's achievement then. His performances in major tournaments have been woeful since 2004. He has neither the predatory skill of Lineker or Greaves or the midfield drive and purposefulness of Charlton. But does that really actually matter folks? <br />
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In his defence, Rooney has often, both for club and country, had to 'do a job' for the team - which translates as having to be plopped somewhere because teammates are less adaptable. The current England dressing-room seem to admire him enormously - and like him too - which I'm imagining is less likely if you have to hang your coat on the peg next to the Gelled Winker Cristiano, or a truculent narcissist like Ibrahimovic. <br />
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Furthermore, the lad, regardless of whether he's having a stinker (and sometimes he looks like he's wearing cotton-wool boots), puts in a hell of a shift every time. Beckham had his limitations, many more than Wazza, and yet you could never doubt his commitment either. <br />
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So, while comparisons are odious - I haven't even mentioned Lofthouse and Shearer, who to my mind is still the best English centre-forward of my lifetime - let us not be so bloody churlish. I've heard people moan that Andy Murray is well boring (he sort of is), or that Stuart Broad is an arrogant sod (he can be), or that Lewis Hamilton is a massive cock (he is, he <i>so</i> is) but that doesn't mean we downgrade their achievements. And any road, Wayne seems to me like a decent fella. <br />
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So. Raise a glass to the lad, hell, have a fag too. He would if it were you<br />
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<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2272939963457395740.post-26785659005930682872015-08-26T12:21:00.000+01:002015-08-26T12:21:29.893+01:00Precious Stones Bound To GoThe window's closing and inexorably the cost of young English talent rises. Any club with a perceived gap in their squad is starting to leave extra sacks of cash outside the door of any lad with a UK passport and a smidgeon of talent. <br />
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The likes of Berahino and Stones have proven unable to resist. No doubt their agents, eyes on stalks and new Audi TT's in their sights, are helpfully nudging their clients into a trip to the manager's office. Martinez appears to be Stoneswalling the move; Pulis, ever the pragmatist is happier pushing the unwilling out of the door. <br />
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The greater the lure, the more the old heads on the comfy sofas urge restraint on the part of these kids. Loyalty and game-time are al very well Mr Lawro and Mr Shearer, but what about fuckloads of money and the odd trip off the bench in the Champions League, eh? <br />
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As with most things in life these days it's short-term gain versus long-term success. Raheem Sterling set the bar at the end of last season. He managed to combine flagrant disloyalty with poor form and virtually forced his way out of Liverpool. Berahino is missing sitters for the Baggies, ensuring a spell on the sidelines, increasing disaffection and getting even more entreaties from a Spurs team that gets no better with every passing season. <br />
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Clearly Chelsea have no one else in sight as a replacement for the warrior carthorse and captain JT. Mourinho has signalled his opinion: last year Terry was playing as well as he ever has; this year he's halfway to being dog-food. The latest offer is around £40 million. That's frankly mental. And Everton will have to accept. Or be 40 million quid less well off, and have a very grumpy centre half on their hands. <br />
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Of course there's the national picture here. We'd all like to see England benefit from our young players playing at a higher standard. But exactly how much will Stones play really? He can't rely on the numpty skipper getting himself a red card every weekend. <br />
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As usual, and with horrible cynicism, Chelsea are chucking out loan players like so many crumbs on a frozen bird table. Marin to Trabszonspoor, Cuadrado to Juventus, some other fuckwit you completely forgot about to somewhere you didn't know exists, etc.<br />
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Chelsea still can't resist buying talent just cos they can - Pedro seems a perfect example and his purchase leads to the temporary offloading of identical staff. So if Stones wants to improve as player he should probably stick it out at Goodison for a season longer. He's the best defender they have, and Jagielka isn't a bad bloke to have at your side. <br />
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But there's the estate in leafy Surrey, the bling, the West London lifestyle - and his agent might even encourage Stones to consider getting himself some of this too. <br />
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Meanwhile Everton look to strengthen their squad with a sixteenth of the fee with Spurs's haphazard hombre Fazio. Given Martinez's recent track record with centre-backs - Alcaraz, a man who defends like he's on the end of a parachute that's caught in a tree, comes to mind - Everton fans will be gnawing fingernails at the prospect of any new boy wandering in. <br />
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Spurs's pursuit of Berahino is understandable given that Pocchetino has three strikers, one of whom is a wonderful example to John Stones of what you can achieve if you combine a huge wage with a lack of commitment. Everyone's hoping that Harry Kane can keep up his brilliant form of last season but it's going to be bloody lonely out there on his tod. He's like the Ray Mears of goalscoring at the mo. So Saido's got to reckon on getting a lot of starts. <br />
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Of course one team that could well do with a centre forward - and who got shot of one over the summer - is Man United. Van Gaal, who is so eccentric he makes a Labour Party leadership election look straightforward, has now told everyone that Marouane Fellaini is a central striker. Given that David Moyes had him as a plodding holding midfielder with all the distribution of a postal strike, that's some change of role for the Sideshow Bob of Belgium. <br />
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Still, you look at the table and the facts don't lie. While United and Liverpool can't hardly score they can't concede either and with this Mourinhoesque dullness they might go far. <br />
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Meanwhile, if you have a teenager with talent in his toes and a keenness to learn and earn, well now's the time to start touting him around. You too might find yourself following a trail of gold coins and all the way up to the substitutes' bench of a top club for a five minute appearance in three years time on a blustery night in the League Cup. <br />
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Hell he might even get the chance to miss a decisive penalty in a shoot-out. We can always dream. <br />
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<br />The Tees Mouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17950307472669556323noreply@blogger.com51