City United

Tonight at 8pm a global audience of 650 million may watch Manchester's two global icons take aim on each other's title aspirations.  It is enough to send the cheaper sky subscribers scurrying to their piggy banks to beg steal or borrow £20 for a months sports subscription.  Of course the global audience will know little of Bobby Shinton or Ralph Milne.  Ashley Ward and Tom Black will not figure in the global love-in of tonight's beautiful game.  The essence of football is it's heritage and it's history, not the immediate glory and joy of a 2-0 victory for Manchester City or the misery of a 2-2 draw.  Glyn Pardoe was on the Radio today talking up the derby.  His career was finished in a Derby by George Best of all players.  When asked if he ever broke a leg in a Manchester Derby Roy Keane is alleged to replied "Sure but I can't remember the poor guy's name".

Passions are high. The stakes even higher. May the best team win.

Final Score - who's winning mate?

In Huyton, the Cricket Club is an oasis in the midst of a "Beirut-style" shopping and living situation.  It was in the 70's any way and current reports suggest that things have improved none. In those days of yore, I used to play there and was always amazed when asked by the Kids watching "Who's winning Mate?". Because the Cricket system dictates that the winner can only be declared at the end of the contest, it was an impossible question to answer.  Needless to say I always answered Huyton. It was rarely the truth but it fostered a sense of civic pride.  Huyton is a famous place.  Bleasedale, Reid, Gerrard...... Barton - okay 3 out of 4 isn't bad.


Fast forward from those halcyon days to yesterday's Final Score on the red button and BBC HD.  Mark Chapman was in the chair ably abetted by Dion Dublin and Matt Holland. A combination that could only be bettered with Yorath replacing Chapman.  Mark Chapman is a nice enough bloke. Manchester Grammar, BBC, blokey nickname "Chappers" it's all there. He just has the tendency to lapse into punditry.  Heck Mark, you're supposed to ask the experts the dumb questions that make them look insightful and smart.  Yesterday when Wolves were trailing to a rampant Swansea, Chappers proffered the opinion that Wolves were a disgrace and the travelling fans would feel let down. "Who's winning mate?".

Terry Connor by all accounts, a good football man, must have "skyplussed" and play the piece to the lads in the dressing room for the Half Time team talk. In the second half Wolves played like men possessed.  Clawed their way back to draw 4-4 - some achievement.  Chapman ate his words graciously during the "Lazarus Like " comeback and the post match interviewer asked Terry Connor if he felt the Wolves could have won the game. Terry suggested the "could" should have been  a "should".  


And the moral of this story? I'll let you decide.  


Good Luck next season Terry. If there is any justice you'll be given the job of bringing Wolves back.  Perhaps out of the glare of  Premier League media scrutiny you can prove to be a great manager, be given time to develop a more robust team and reap the rewards of a lifetime in the game you so clearly love.


Who's winning mate?

Father Christmas, Danny Baker and Arthur Magee

Many years ago outside Pride and Joy in Sherbourne Square in Huyton, 1967 to be more precise My brother Howard told me that there was no Father Christmas.  It was a construct, a deceit he said. Mum and Dad just buy the presents.  Christmas was never the same but in a good way.  Years later when Danny Baker was a fresh innovative broadcaster and I was enjoying this breath of fresh air on Radio 5 Live, I had another discussion with my elder brother.  This was to lead to an epiphany.  He took away the mystique and explained Danny's shtick and from that point on I saw Danny as a mere mortal.  I have never really followed his career since, choosing to use my time better with other less heady indulgences.

Last night my dear friend Arthur tried to explain why Barcelona had lost to Chelsea over two legs of the Champions League Semi Final.  I stopped Arthur in his tracks because I don't want to know the secret of why football works.  The pundits try to explain - fail miserably. The league tables try to explain. The Sun's Monday Goals Goals Goals Extra supplement tries to explain, but they all fail.  It is a riddle.  Why do Underdogs beat Goliaths? Why did QPR come back from 4-0 down at Port vale in 1997 after being booed off the pitch at Half Time to draw with a wonderful John Spencer equaliser?

I have no answers, nor solicit any. Barcelona cry foul whenever they lose and cite "Anti-Football" as the villain of the piece.  I would suggest to Messi, Xavi, Busquets, Thiago Alcântara or any other proponent of the anti football conspiracy theory that whatever the result. Football is always the winner. Because "football...." to quote very dear friend and guiding light "..is really fantastic"

Go Figure Guardiola, Alan Green, Garth Crooks, Jim Beglin, Colin Murray.........

Toxteth über alles

I was in Liverpool yesterday and was taken with the huge changes there have been since I left in 1979.  Then it was synonymous with Militancy and decay, you had to leave to get a job.  Now it is a wonderful viable prosperous "visitor experience".  My Alan Hansen "Match of the Day"  moment of the day was meeting 3 German blokes from Berlin.  "Ost oder West?" fragte ich.  With political correctness they answered that Berlin was a complete city now, but within seconds they betrayed the fact that they were "Ossies" and proudly told me that their team was Union Berlin.  In my mind the English equivalent of Union could be Charlton Athletic.

The comparison would be even more accurate had the Russians annexed and walled south east London and the Secret Police ran Crystal Palace under iron fisted communist rule. However my Charlton/Union Berlin connection was the fan based democracy that exists systematically in Germany Football and acutely in "Cult Clubs" like Union Berlin and until recently St Pauli.  This fan democracy flourished on the English scene in the dark days of the 80's when Mrs Thatcher and her puppet cabinet were planning to destroy/regulate football through ID cards.  The FSA & the Fanzine movement roundly dispelled the myth that football was merely yobs and morons. Charlton at the time were dying with the rest of football but with smart and democratic action, the fans saved a club with no home and returned it to its rightful place  The Valley and Division 1 -  That's the Premier League for those who are going to pay £120 to watch Arsenal v Chelsea at The Emirates today.

Back in 80's I was in Valencia for festival of Music called La Conjuras de la Danzes put on by Radical Records.  NME hack Danny Kelly came along on a junket and told me the story of a trip to Berlin (East naturally, this was the NME.)  Danny got into a deep philisophical debate with some officials from Dynamo Berlin about the rights and wrongs of state intervention in footballing matters. "Surely it's wrong for Dynamo Berlin the state sponsored Stassi football club to enjoy league title after league title."  With impeccable German logic his hosts highlighted their belief that surely the same state intervention occurs in England with the Government ensuring continuous success for Liverpool in order supress the militant sponsored socialist revolutionary turmoils in Liverpool.

Liverpool, the city, has developed long and special relationships with Germany since their largely successful attempts to raise it to the ground. Liverpool Boys, the schools FA respresentative XI for under 16 year olds played a regular annual friendship two leg match with Cologne's equivalent team.  The Liverpool leg was annually played at Penny Lane, which links beautifully into Liverpool's other gift to Germany.  Liverpool gave Germany The Beatles a naive beat troupe in the early sixties and Hamburg returned them months later a wiser, rawer, more commercial, drug fuelled monster ready to be launched on an unexpecting world.  My favourite Scouse-German connection is the growing contingent of German men who come to Liverpool regularly on weekends of Football and nightlife.  Back in the days when the Kop was being rebuilt and was yet to get a roof, I took my Dad - tickets were easy to buy - cheap and available.  We were amazed to meet a group of Borussia Monchengladbach fans over for the weekend. I was waiting for  infamous "longest song in football" zwei vier sechs acht wer wissen wir zu schätzen wissen B O R .......

Which reminds me Hamann was on Scottie Road and went into William Hills for a bet.  Didi?  No, he's working through his gambling addiction now and things are looking a lot better.  (Cymbal Crash)