ARSENEOIA…A NEW DISEASE IS BORN

No-one would argue that Arsene Wenger isn’t one of the most gifted managers in modern football. Unfortunately, during his time in the English game Wenger has also shown himself to be, without any dispute, one of the worst losers the country has ever seen.  Furthermore, with his consistent public displays of petulance, he has proven himself to be a man addicted to the ‘IA’ family of ailments.

 

Wenger’s myopia has been so commonplace over the seasons that it is now sadly no more than an accepted character trait (put it this way, pundits have stopped giggling when Wenger says he did not see an incident involving purported foul play by his own side). Add to this his increasing paranoia, widely seen in the last few weeks when commenting in the British media about what Arsene perceives as a huge bias against his beloveds.

“This team has been punished in the last seven weeks more than any team I have seen in England since I arrived [12] years ago,” Wenger was quoted as saying back in an April edition of The Guardian. “Every single decision has gone against this team in every single game recently.”

Funny, having just re-read this, it’s worth re-checking to see if the word ‘exaggerate’ ends in IA.

But he has outdone himself with his latest comments, which have come about as the media try to figure out why Mathieu Flamini couldn’t wait to do a runner from the Emirates (perhaps because of the reportedly paltry wage he was on), and why Alexander Hleb is so seemingly determined to jump ship.

“I know the rules in this job, the guy [Flamini] is free, he can go to somebody who pays him more,” said Wenger, again as reported in The Guardian. “But he said he wanted to stay. If you say ‘no I want to go somewhere’ that is ok. But you cannot say ‘I want to stay but I go.’ This club here has a history of being built by people of values…”

 

Oh where to start!

First of all, a reminder to Arsene…Sol Campbell. The comparisons with the Flamini situation are virtually identical, right down to some of the language used by each player when at their initial clubs and before ‘doing a Bosman.’  Campbell said he wanted to say at Spurs before, mysteriously, it all went quiet on that front, negotiations between club and player broke down. Arsene could not have possibly been keeping tabs on that situation as that would make him a hypocrite (strangely another word not ending in ‘IA’). And Barcelona could write a long old essay about the poaching of Fabregas from their youth system and, more recently, Fran Merida.

 

“…and zat eez ze thing, they’re ALL out to get me…you’ll see…”

(”wow…thith man ith craythee…”)

 

As for the whole ‘club-built-by-people-of-values’, the precise nature of those ‘values’ should be established. Arsenal are a club who were moved across the river and into North London by Sir Henry Norris, a West London real estate agent, in 1913. And in 1919, after a meeting with the football league, Tottenham Hotspur were relegated and Arsenal promoted from 6^th in the second division at their expense.  A club with a history of being built by ‘people with values’ indeed (there is, of course, so much more to document, but space doesn’t permit such a luxury unless people really want it detailed). Laughable.

Here’s the truth. This season more than any other, Wenger has been outed as suffering from megalomania. His refusal to buy the big name talent necessary last August and again in January has ultimately cost him silverware. His arrogant belief that he could steward a group of players who desperately needed a real leader (not Princess William Gallas) without buying some short-term, world class experience was both foolish and the obvious result of an ego gone quietly askew. And to then blame every single circumstance but the one which you yourself helped create is the height of dellusionaloia.*Arsenal had some bad luck here and there, but the ultimate truth is that their manager got vital things wrong, and made poor decisions at crunch moments, on more occasions than at any other time during his tenure. And until Arsene Wenger faces up to that fact, he will always be regarded as a seriously flawed talent.

 

 

ROY HODGSON – FROM ‘ON THE BUSES’ TO ‘RAGING BULL’

 

Some time ago now, this column had a chuckle at Roy Hodgson’s expense. He was referred to as looking like an extra from dreary British TV sitcom “On The Buses” because, well, he did. As the final whistle blew at Fratton Park on Sunday to close-out Fulham’s 1-0 victory and thus their Premiership survival, it can be best said that Hodgson took on the spectre of a DeNiro character, a Jake La Motta perhaps. Put simply, the man had, with a combination of self-deprecation, class, humility and steel, managed to keep his previously dead Fulham squad fighting. Whilst doing so, they kept the ball on the deck as much as possible. They played football. And they got their reward. Hearty congratulations to Mr.Hodgson, and an apology for tagging him as such a shallow thespian.

 

It’s hard not to feel sorry for Reading, a lovely club with a decent manager, but Steve Coppell would be the first to admit he sold the Madjeski patrons short by not buying when he needed to, and thus their 4 goal thrashing of Derby was too little too late. As for Birmingham, it’s hard to feel any sympathy for such a generally nasty little club. Their ‘supporters’ have never been the nicest and their chairman is not dissimilar to the worst of used car dealers. Alex McLeish is the odd one out. A decent, solid manager, he deserved more than he got from the chairman and board when he arrived to try and help save Birmingham from the dreaded drop. As for David Gold’s absurd accusation that Steve Bruce cost them their status due to some poor signings, he should hold his hands up and come clean on the fact that he absolutely blew it with regards to Bruce’s Birmingham tenure. Proof? Ask Wigan.

 

 

CHAMPIONS AND CHUMPIONS

 

Congratulations to Man.Utd on a deserved Premiership title. It was never in doubt to this writer, but they did end up cutting it tight to the wire. United’s joy at another Premiership crown and a 2-0 win at Wigan must’ve been exacerbated by the news coming from Middlesbrough. ‘Boro 8, Manchester City 1. It speaks for itself. And in a bizarre way, it is an ominous warning of what the Premiership future could hold. After all, would Manchester City really have lost by 7 goals had their chairman remained calm and their manager remained unchallenged? Doubtful. No, this was surely players emotions getting the better of them during what they have been forced to understand was their manager’s last Premiership match in charge. It was almost as if City went on strike for 90 minutes. And with Liverpool’s situation far from clear off the pitch and other sharks sniffing the premiership waters for substantial food, the name iof the game in the future is to try and ensure that those who buy our great clubs are fit, responsible and actually UNDERSTAND the true nature of this beautiful game. Proof? Er, ask Man City!

 

 

BEST PLAYERS OF THE WEEK: Jimmy Bullard, Ryan Giggs, Danny Murphy

All three should take a bow. Bullard has been sensational since returning from such a horrible injury, and his drive, enthusiasm and sheer character continued to shine during Fulham’s great escape. Giggs speaks for himself. A legend. A tireless worker who despite winning virtually every honor remains insatiably diligent and hungry. Plus he scores vital goals. As for Danny Murphy, well, it’s all been a bit of a pig’s ear for him since being forced out of his beloved Liverpool, but on Sunday, his small, boney balding head provided salvation for Fulham and vindication for a talent who had been wayward for too long.

 

WORST PLAYERS OF THE WEEK: Manchester City

 

Look, their performance was (as noted above) obviously tainted by the recent actions of their buffoon of an owner, but it cannot be allowed to excuse them from a horrific dereliction of duty on the pitch. Professional it wasn’t. Not even schoolboys get it that badly wrong.

 

 

MATCH OF THE WEEK: Too many to isolate one.

The final day of the ‘07/08 season was everything the Premiership fat cats wanted. Matches between Wigan and Man Utd and Chelsea v Bolton kept the title going right to the 75^th minute, whilst Reading at Derby, Birmingham at home to Blackburn and Fulham down at Portsmouth all made sure the relegation battle went to the absolute final whistle. A Pompey goal and it would’ve all been so different.

 

 

* This is a fictional word with true factual basis. Use as necessary. Merriam-Webster will come knocking…

 

 

THAKSIN SHOWS HIS FAMOUS BENEVOLENT SIDE*

Manchester City, the club, and it’s supporters deserve more. But anyone who accepted the tenure of the club’s new owner, Thaksin Shinawatra, must have seen this very day coming, and if they didn’t, more fool them. In case you’ve missed the news, Thaskin is unhappy with how his new toy has been performing recently, and has made it known that not only will manager Sven-Goran Eriksson be getting a P45 as soon as a convenient replacement has been found, but that City need a whole bunch of new players, “particulary midfielders.” It would boggle only the minds of those who know nothing about both Shinawatra and his sort of “new footie owner.” A much-rumored abuser of human rights back in his native Thailand (Amnesty International consider him one of the worst), where corruption and media suppression charges were also common, Shinawatra perhaps only ever bought City to escape the impending problems building for him in his own country.  Or maybe he bought them because he was actually a bored little despot in exile who wanted a plaything to keep him company. Or maybe he wanted to be able to walk around the place saying he owned a Premiership football club (back in 1994 he spoke of owning Liverpool - consider that for a moment all you Scousers before the Yank-bashing gets too thick) seriously, who actually knows what this mans motives were? And coming from a background where his obviously enormous ego is used to being massaged by a phlanx of sycophants, his latest outbursts should not be a shock. 

Indeed, the weirdest bit about the whole episode has been the amount of national sympathy it has generated for Sven, a man who two summers ago was a candidate for the most hated man in England thanks to the national side’s miserable failures. Yet here we are, offering the Swede tea and sympathy  sympathy thanks to an equally diminutive figure who happens to be a nutcase.  Of course the reality is that Sven deserves our sympathy no more than Thaksin; he took the fool’s gold and now he looks like a fool. But when the person shelling out said-gold is someone who makes Ferdinand Marcos seem rational, then even the fool is worth a moment of your mental charity. Still, one thing Thaksin has going for him…at least he’s made City a genuinely newsworthy club again!

…such a popular man, from Manchester to the Mekong delta…

THEY ONCE WERE GIANTS…AND ONE OF THEM IS AGAIN!

During a weekend when  Ronaldo was helping put a tighter grip on Man Utd’s impending title, when Robbie Keane plunged a dagger into the heart of Reading, and when Fulham were continuing to produce a Houdini act, in the Championship matters were at an emotional boiling point between two sides who have plenty of top flight history, albeit from a time before the Premiership existed.

Stoke City and Leicester City were once permanent fixtures in the old First Divison. Stanley Matthews, Gordon Banks (who also played for Leicester in his early career), Mike Pejic and Jimmy Greenhoff graced the Potters’ red and white striped shirt with aplomb, and whilst one League Cup win in 1972 is all they had to show for their years of top flight tenure, a trip to the old Victoria Ground was never a fond one for visiting teams. Leicester, meanwhile, produced some of the finer British players of the 70s and early 80s, Peter Shilton, Keith Weller, Frank Worthington, Gary Lineker, all internationals, all top-drawer names who ensured that a game at the old Filbert Street remained a tricky date for the likes of United, Spurs and Liverpool.

And there they were on Sunday May 4th, at approximately 2.35 pm UK time, their respective destinies hanging in the proverbial balance. Stoke needed a point or Hull City to lose for them to get automatic promotion to the Premiership. Leicester needed to hope Southampton did not win their final match at home to Sheffield United whilst also needing to beat Stoke, or else they would be relegated to the first division (the old second division). having under-achieved and snatched more than a normal percentage of defeats from the jaws of victory, Leicester were the definition of a team who whilst too good to go down had ben doggedly determined to prove otherwise. 

It’s no exaggeration to say that for much of the match, Leicester had battered Stoke. Brilliant saves were made, obvious penalties materialized into free-kicks on the edge of the box and the ball just would not go in. Goes to show that statistics really can be a waste of time when viewed out of context, as statistically-speaking, Leicester had owned the match. But they didn’t score. They couldn’t force the ball in. And with Hull losing in the end of it all, Stoke could’ve ridden the defeat and still been automatically promoted. Plus they didn’t bother scoring either. 0-0.  In a cruel way, this is precisely why football works, because such common-sense symmetry has no place whatsoever. There’s never any collusion (unless you believe the tales of Asian betting syndicates), no messages exchanged between opposing managers to agree to sit tight and force an unfortunate third party into trouble. Well, unless you count that disgraceful Austro-German farce in the 1982 World Cup Finals, but Austria’s got enough PR problems right now without past possible match-fixing being dragged up. 

At the final whistle in Stoke’s Britannia Stadium (their home for a mere 11 years with the Victoria Ground site now used as a dog run) three-quarters of the ground erupted in cheers whilst one side shed tears, although in their hour of misery, Leicester’s supporters sportingly found time to offer a round of applause to Stoke. Perhaps because they, of all clubs, understand what it is to be in the top flight, what it is to be out of it and what it means to get back into it. 

BYE BYE BERBY?

Is he leaving? Isn’t he? Agent and player in long talks with Spurs management this week? Nope, wait a moment, he’s been sold to AC Milan as of last night! What a soap opera! The man is much-loved for his skills and sublimity by Spurs supporters, but if he leaves (and it looks like he will) Tottenham Hotspur will survive. It survived the departures of Mackay and Greaves, it rode the end of Glenn and Gazza’s Lilywhite careers and it went marching on despite the likes of Waddle, Klinsmann and Sheringham making their ways. In the end he will leave, people will moan, a new face or two will arrive (Modric already has) and by Christmas, as long as results are decent, then all will be forgotten. So, er, bye-bye Berby and remember, the manager will always be more important…

 

BEST PLAYER OF THE WEEK: Frank Lampard

ALthough the Champions League semi-final second leg was a week ago now, Frank Lampard’s performance will last in the memory for so much longer. With every potential cliche potentially on display, Lampard managed to not only play his most direct and impactive football of the season, he generated a genuinely moving moment when he took the go-ahead penalty; yes there were tears and yes there was an obvious outburst of emotion, but who on earth didn’t feel genuinely happy for him at that moment (Scousers don’t count)? Whatever your team, whoever you cannot stand, Frank Lampard had to have softened you if only for a moment. It was, in every sense, an enormous performance.

 

WORST PLAYER OF THE WEEK: Nani - Man Utd

Er, more like Nini. At least he had the courage to admit it, but his stupid head-but at the admittedly unpleasant Lucas Neil was ridiculous, as was his subsequent strop. The folly of youth? Perhaps.

 

MATCH OF THE WEEK: Southampton 3 v Sheffield United 2

How many times have So’ton dodged the relegation bullet on the last day of a season? Usually adept at doing so in the Premiership or old First, this was perhaps even more important for their long-term health as dropping a division makes matters so much harder. Veteran striker Stern John was the main catalyst for another great escape, notching what proved to be the winner in the 69th minute, but then the excitable two-goal glory boy got himself sent-off in the 81st leaving the Saints nervously clinging to the victory which gave them survival. Along with the Stoke v Leicester game, a further reminder that there is a lot more footie to be enjoyed than just the Premiership.

 

*this headline is false and deceiving

 

ONE MAN WENT TO MOW? NO, HE WENT TO FIGHT!*

The main headline from Chelsea’s massive win over Man Utd wasn’t just the fact that the nouveau riche had beaten a shell-shocked Man Utd, oh no, it was about the post-match thuggery. Reportedly (and that is a requirement in these litigious days, to say that as of right now, it is only ‘reportedly’ and that what is about to be discussed may, or may not, have actually happened) a Chelsea employee on the ground-staff threw a punch at Patrice Evra as the latter was warming-down post-match with some team-mates on the Stamford Bridge pitch. Having reportedly (!) asked the players not to run across the pitch as it was being prepared for Tuesday night’s Champions League semi-final second leg v Liverpool, said-employee reportedly (!) racially abused Evra (’reportedly’ calling him a ‘fucking immigrant’) and reportedly (!) threw a punch at Evra (though this is easier to assume as the photographs show a cocked fist). Players and staff reportedly (!) had to intervene in order to prevent a massive brawl, and no doubt the CCTV footage being reviewed has, by now, revealed exactly what happened (lip-readers will doubtless be involved). 

 

Chelsea ground-staff warm-up for some post-match pitch maintenance on Saturday…

 

Chelsea are for many observers an ugly side. Saturday’s 2-1 victory was probably their best performance of the season, and the relentless energy and drive of the team for 93-plus minutes was admirable. But they weren’t especially nice to watch and frankly, they never have been, despite their recent glut of success (ask their benefactor). As such, the pressure which rumbles around the club is infused with a utopian desire for attraction that’s always rudely shoved aside by the need to win. Credit to Uncle Fester, aka Avram Grant, as he has survived the sort of  interrogations from both the media and his own which usually ends in an early p45, yet there he stands, quite remarkably on the precipice of a very unlikely Premier and Champions league double.

But even Grant cannot ever properly extinguish the odor which will always prevail at Chelsea. The thug-life reportedly (!) displayed by the groundsman is a reminder that such culture has existed at the Bridge for decades. In the mid-80s, a security firm used to recruit across the street from the infamous Shed end, and a few years before them, the National Front regularly found new foot-soldiers at the Bridge. Paul Cannoville, a dashing black Chelsea winger in the early ’80s, was mercilessly abused by his own ’supporters’ and visiting fans were treated to death threats and regular attacks from some of those same ’supporters’ known as the Chelsea Headhunters. Their former chairman, cuddly Ken Bates, would’ve happily had an electric fence installed around the perimeter of the pitch during the early ’80s to keep the hoardes penned in if the GLC had let him. And who can forget the actions of ‘professionals’ like Jody Morris, John Terry and Frank Lampard in previous off-field incidents? Add to this a particularly virulent strain of anti-semitism over the years (Chelsea have, in all fairness, made very stringent, public attempts to stamp that out since Abramovich took over) so like it or not, their modern  cultural default is not especially warm or fuzzy.

And so what a shame it is that this fracas has dominated the post-match reporting, dominated Michael Ballack’s most effective performance in a Chelsea shirt, over-shadowed conversation of a famous Chelsea victory and marginalized discussion of a frankly absurd penalty decision against Utd. But perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise. Because anyone who thought of Chelsea as being a cultured club and a bastion of civility, and anyone who has forgotten that money doesn’t necessarily equal class got a large reminder of exactly what their more modern history is. And few neutral observers would applaud a Chelsea title for precisely that reason. 

p.s. Before anyone complains, yes, Rio Ferdinand misbehaved too, kicking out in frustration at an advertising board and catching a female steward on the leg with his boot. But the response was swift and appropriately apologetic, Ferdinand admitting he’d been a plonker and already making sure flowers and an apology were delivered pronto. It might not excuse the stupidity of the behavior but it goes a long way to resolving the issue in a positive and self-accountably responsible manner.

 

MODRIC SOUNDS A WARNING SHOT

Tottenham’s signing of the Croatian midfield playmaker Luka Modric for around 15 million UKP was a resounding warning shot to the top 4 in the Premiership that Spurs under Juande Ramos are not prepared to stand still, hope they can get a decent player in the window or be gagged and bound by whatever Dimitar Berbatov does. Ramos clearly wants a full-pre-season with his chosen squad, and Modric is proof positive that what the man wants, the man gets. Further, it’s a message to Berbatov and his agent Dantchev that whilst Spurs would be delighted if he chose to stay he is not the entire football club, and the Spurs will go happily marching on if he leaves. Incidentally, (and it really IS incidental to the bigger Tottenham picture) Spurs drew 1-1 with Bolton and squandered about 100 chances, but it’s been a while since Spurs supporters could relax before a season’s end with silverware already in the cupboard, a European place guaranteed and a manager who is considered amongst the world’s elite, so we’ll excuse these frustrating weekly 1-1’s.

 

RELEGATION TIME, COME ON!

Of course to Gary ‘the Ginger’ Megson, it was a vital point as he tries to steer Bolton to safety. He will further giggled at Birmingham’s hopeless capitulation to Liverpool at home (2-2 after holding a 2-0 lead) but he will have felt no comfort from seeing Fulham snatch a last-minute win at Man City for a 3-2 win that keeps things interesting. It’s going to the wire down there, but you still feel that Fulham are down along with already-relegated Derby and either Brum or Reading.

JOHN ARNE-RIISE UPDATE

A friend recently drew my attention to an incident involving the now-reserve Liverpool left-back. Apparently he was arrested last week on the M62 for heading in the wrong direction.

 

BEST PLAYER OF THE WEEK: Diomansy Kamara, Fulham

Kamara gets the nod over the more obvious Ballack because of two vital goals in the final 20 minutes at Eastlands as well as fine al round performance of energy and endeavor. A quality striker who will always do the business when given decent service, it is a shame that he might well end up plying his trade in the championship regardless of his efforts on Saturday.

WORST PLAYER OF THE WEEK: John Arne-Riise

Easy? Yes. Cruel? Yes. Should the cross have even got into the box? No. But the bottom line is that Riise had absolutely no need to try a diving header clear there, a swing of his right boot would’ve sent the ball flying out of the area, and to the best of my knowledge Riise does use this foot for walking/running on a daily basis, so he does have one. Instead he produces the most comical own-goal of the season, exacerbated by the event.

 

MATCH OF THE WEEK: Chelsea 2 v 1 Man Utd

Chelsea showed up with their A+ game and put Man Utd to the sword via a display of strength, power and pace. Skill wasn’t in abundance, strength was and as such, Ballack found the conditions perfect to produce his most effective performance of a chequered Chelsea career and not just because he netted both goals. Rooney dispatched a great finish despite being injured, and Ferguson’s side can consider themselves horribly unlucky to have ‘that’ penalty given against them, especially as Carrick wasn’t exactly flinging his arms in the air. United should still win the title (their goal difference is an extra-point) but this result certainly kept things interesting for a while longer.

 

* - ‘allegedly!’

 

 

 

The Referee’s a Wanker

SOMETIMES, it’s a wonder how certain officials can wake up in the morning with a clear conscience. Perhaps Rob Styles never sleeps in the first place.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Rob Styles is a member of some sub-sect, a bio-mechanoid, a creature who needs no rest, who moves endlessly like a shark for fresh bodies on which to feed his insatiable desire for perversely poor decisions, arrogant, smirk-infested stares and generally masochistic tendencies.

During Blackburn’s 1-1 draw with Man Utd,  Styles (who incidently looks like the sort of chap that enjoys a night out with his open neck shirt, gold chain, signet ring and a few floozies) got two clear-cut penalty decisions so defiantly wrong that even Stevie Wonder was hopping mad (watching a live feed in Los Angeles simply for the purposes of this column). And it is the repetitious nature of this arrogant manner and poor decision making by Styles which continues to irk everyone who suffers him.

Styles showing his natural charisma as noted by the author

 

He leaves the impression of a man who looks down his nose at players; no warmth, no attempts to work with them, only a driven desire to dominate their dirty little hides. This writer believes there’s a strong element of jealousy involved, as though he feels cheated, like he believes he should have a share of the playing spoils given the fact he walks the same turf week in week out. And perhaps Rob Styles thus feels that his only revenge on the Rooneys, Ronaldos, Lampards and entire Tottenham teams of this world is to deny them what’s right, wear that arrogant smirk  and goad them to react so as he can theatrically brandish red cards.

Someone really needs to teach Styles and his ilk some basic man-management skills. How hard would it be for a referee to establish a cordial but firm rapport with each team prior to the match? How hard would it be for the officials to make sure that they address the players as human beings before each mach? How hard would it be to NOT look like a smug wanker from the first moment you’re seen on the pitch? And how hard would it be to show a little consistent communication? IF a player shows verbal dissent, take him aside, be polite, be firm and SPEAK to them about it. CALL the team-mate’s skipper over and appraise them of the situation.

Mark Halsey is a referee who appears to have undergone some sort of change in this direction, and as such he has managed to somewhat reduce his previously foul and egregious profile. Howard Webb appears to have a good balance, but if he’s not careful the gradual glare of the spotlight will force him into some sort of protective stance which will eventually become ego-mania. Ineed, the only grump who cuts the mustard for me is Steve Bennett, who basically manages to work with such a blank and cold film over his face that he must be a distant cousin of Star Trek’s Dr.Spock.

Of course referring isn’t easy, and today’s current crop of spoilt brats don’t always help matters, but the tragedy here is that when met with referees like Styles, you can almost understand some of the pathetic behavior displayed by players towards officials. No-one should work that hard during the week to see such endeavors undone by a smug, self-righteous and repeatedly erroneous referee. Let’s hope that come the summer, Keith Hackett at Ref Central pays attention to these issues and sorts out the arrogance of referees like Styles, the meekness of others like Mike Riley plus the blazing inconsistency they all show. 

GLUM BRUM WHILE BOLTON HAVE FUN

Aside from watching Birmingham get absolutely annihilated by a rampaging Aston Villa 5-1, the bottom changed favorably for Bolton, who under the sombre gingerness of Gary Megson seem to be ready to pull a Houdini and escape, their latest 3 points coming in a 1-0 win at Middlesbrough which got them out of the trap-door trio. It might be tougher next week though, as they have to go to White Hart Lane…sorry, was that a smirk? Don’t worry. The inside word is that the Spurs side have signed a written agreement with Juande Ramos and Gus Poyet to actually show up for the second-half, which will make it their fourth such appearance since February 24th.

Liverpool shoved a large ‘get down to the championship NOW’ boot right back down Fulham’s throat with a comfortable 2-0 win compounded by Kasey Keller’s flub-tastic gaffes; this had the double-positive for the Scousers of illustrating that not every single  American on the planet is trying to ruin the Anfield club. And Bouncy Squeezy Happy King Kevvy Keegan continues to show the master tacticians like Benitez, Wenger and Ferguson that all you really need to be good manager these days is to play FIFA 2008  until 4 am every day without once using a defender and base everything your team does around said-experiences. Oh, and also behave like an over-excited school football Dad by jumping up and down like a lunatic whenever your team scores. Sadly for King Kev he only got to do that twice this week against Roy ‘I’m A Stoic’ Keane’s Sunderland who will nonetheless stay up because there really are some poor teams in the league this season.

TOYS, PRAMS AND OWNERS

And finally, Thaksin. Shinawatra. A small man with a big toy. That toy is called Manchester City, and when that toy doesn’t do exactly what he wants, he tells it off in public and warns that he will break the toy in order to make it work better. Even though everyone knows that sort of rubbish just doesn’t work. But it doesn’t matter because it’s Thaksin’s toy, and Thaksin is the sort of chap who buys an orange, gets half-way home, wants an apple and starts killing people around him if they cannot make his orange into an apple. Apparently, if Sven-Goran-Eriksson doesn’t start making Thaksin’s toy work like he thinks it should, then he might be the apple of this tale. But seriously, is this tomfoolery and nonsense to be the future of modern football? Screaming fighting Americans, mad Thai despots, Russian oligarchs and Saudi princes?

Say one thing for the likes of former Aston Villa owner Doug Ellis, at least he went to every match and at least he knew his club. Can anyone honestly say that Hicks and Gillette at Liverpool, Shinawatra at City or even the Glazers at Man Utd (who at least know the value of shutting up and understanding which corridors not to snoop in) do the same? Of course not. Though it probably explains why when Ellis finally sold up to a foreign investor, he chose a chap in Randy Learner who has proven every bit the perfect blend of benefactor and quiet cultural appreciator. Indeed, when it comes to an exciting future, Villa Park looks like one of the more stable bets outside the top 4. And guess what? Their manager won’t be threatened with the sack even if they don’t make the Uefa Cup…

PERFORMANCE OF THE WEEK - Ashley Young

When he’s not fiddling about in front of his computer on YouTube, Young is obviously putting in some good work on the training ground. His display against Birmingham was nearly flawless. Strong, direct, skillful, if he were Brazilian he’d have enjoyed block print headlines in every Monday edition tabloid. Add to that two excellent finishes and it appears that the man has a tremendous future ahead of him.

 

WORST PERFORMANCE OF THE WEEK - LIAM RIDGEWELL

It’s easy to pick on defenders when they’ve been party to a 5 goal concession by their team, but in Ridgewell’s case it came against his former club, as did a performance so utterly bereft of common sense or positional nous that it’s almost cruel to call him out. Worst moment? Getting pathetically nudged off the ball by Gareth ‘The Tank’ Barry and weedily scampering vainly in his former team-mates’ slipstream (note to those who don’t know, Barry is is not known for his pace) as Barry swept the ball home. Defensive headers? Pah! Nowhere to be seen from young Liam. Plus he looks like a retarded shrew. All in all, abysmal.

 

MATCH OF THE WEEK

Aston Villa 5   v   Birmingham 1

 

Plenty at stake in this one, with Birmingham really needing the points to aide their attempt at survival, whilst Villa wanted to continue sneaking up on Everton’s  Uefa spot. With 10 goals in their last two games Villa would’ve been excused for finding the going tough against a side who routinely gives them trouble. Instead they ran riot, in the process inflicting tremendous damage on their very close neighbors and giving England manager Fabio Cappello two superb performances from Barry and Young. Riveting stuff which had ants dancing in Martin’s pants after the third…

IN THE PREMIERSHIP, SOMETIMES BEAUTY ISN’T ENOUGH

About three months ago I greatly angered a friend of mine. He is an Arsenal supporter so frankly this is always an easy thing to achieve, however on this occasion I was genuinely bewildered as to why what I’d said had ticked him off so much. I had told him that yes, Arsenal had played some magnificent football but that this was not their season. I had told him that their skipper William Gallas was a liability, an emotional roller-coaster who should not be skipper. I had told him that their strength was not in-depth. I had told him that even Arsene Wenger seemed to not quite trust his players like he used to. And I had finally told him that for once, their luck was not in. After years of the golden Lady smiling at them, from dodgy penalties awarded to the likes of Pires and Henry to the Lasagnegate episode in May 2006 which handed them Tottenham’s Champions League spot, she’d finally decided that enough was enough. And suddenly, dodgy penalties were being given the other way, balls were coming out off woodwork instead of into the net and injuries were piling up with no respite on the horizon. 

That they could so comprehensively outplay Man Utd for 55 minutes at Old Trafford last Sunday (and Liverpool in the Champions League the Tuesday before) yet still end up losing owed much to both their lack of luck and their manager perhaps not trusting his players via a couple of gambles which seriously back-fired. At Liverpool, Arsene Wenger’s decision to play Kolo Toure, his rock of a centre-back, at right-back to accommodate the ludicrous Senderos backfired when Toure put in a centre-half’s challenge on the speedy Babel and paid a harsh price (yes, he made contact but we all know that half the time such pens are never given - see the previous week’s CL foul by Kuyt on Hleb). At Old Trafford it was Gallas who jerked like a spastic teenager when a bit of pressure was applied, 4 minutes after Adebayor has bundled home the opener, and gave away United’s route back into the match which they won 2-1.

And despite Arsene Wenger’s insistence that mysterious refereeing conspiracy theories were the reason behind his side’s failure to bring silverware back to the Emirates for a fourth season (refer to the first paragraph to see how THAT one has worked in the past)  Wenger must take some of the blame. Why persist with Toure at right back when moving him alongside Gallas offers more stability, would’ve allowed Eboue to revert to a right-back berth which was his last season and offered Theo Walcott from the beginning.

Wenger would argue that to do this would’ve left him with no true game changing option off the bench, yet  the manager is more than good enough to shuffle his pack and formation if necessary, to move Walcott inside and behind a front pair of, say, Adebayor and Bendtner if chasing the game. That he did not choose such options suggests that deep down he  did not trust his team like the old Arsene used to. Of course, I maintain that his single biggest error all season was handing Gallas the captaincy; losing a lead once you could understand, but in the last few months against major opponents, Arsenal have made a habit of it, and each time their skipper has been Gallas. Where was the leadership? Where was the calm? Where was the steady-head, watching, seeing and knowing where people needed to be? Certainly not with their mohawked pantomime-dame of a skipper.

In the end, you’d have to add that luck was not on Arsenal’s side either. How many times does a riocochet like the one off Ferdinand end up cannoning off your own keeper to safety? And they certainly taxed the Old Trafford woodwork. But add it all up, the bad luck, the injuries, the profligacy and the recent collywobbles of their manager, and it was never going to be Arsenal’s season. For it to be so next season, Wenger doesn’t so much need to buy a new phalanx of players than courageously and more cleverly utilize the ones he has. 

I was surprised to see Dallas the West London soap opera sneaking right back into the title mix these past few weeks, that is until they shot themselves in the foot by failing to beat Wigan at home, Emile Hesky volleying a 90th minute equalizer to earn a 1-1 draw.  Chelsea’s continual chokes owe much to Avram Grant and an increasingly bizarre habit of not starting his best creative player Joe Cole, who if given a full 90 minutes would, you feel, win matches. Ah well Avram, I hope you enjoyed your tenure in West London.

Just down the road,  Roy Hodgson proved that he is much more than a tea-drinking, Players No6 smoking “On The Buses” thespian, overseeing a 2-0 victory for Fulham that was completely overwhelming. Three strikes off the woodwork this time, and with a fit-again Jimmy Bullard and Brian McBride pulling strings, the Cottagers might just climb their way to safety. Bolton again threaten to pull off a Houdini having beaten West Ham 1-0, but my money says they’re still going down, and as for Derby’s 6-0 capitulation to Aston Villa, all I can say is no wonder Paul Jewell wore the expression of a man who’d just seen his face on the front of a Sunday newspaper embroiled in a sordid sex scandal with some dubious midlands munter. Come to think of it, at least there the manager had achieved some sort of result. Ahem…

Finally, Tottenham. Another insipid draw, this time with Middlesbrough at White Hart Lane, and further proof that half the squad is already on holiday having brought back a silver pot from Wembley in February and achieved European qualification in the process. But it’s not really good enough is it? Especially if, as has been rumored, half the players are performing for their jobs (in which case it would appear that a few have been eyeing unemployment with a fair degree of zeal). Amidst the staggering mediocrity and under-performance sits the diamond who is set to send the summer transfer window crazy; Dimitar Berbatov. Sublime, frustrating, productive, occasionally wasteful and dramatic like Andy Garcia in a baroque Hungarian opera, Berbatov has everything. There is no doubt that were he surrounded by the likes of Ronaldo, Kaka, Pato or Robben, he would flourish.  It’s a gamble no-one was prepared to take when Bayer Leverkusen made it clear they’d sell for 10 mill, and the summer will see if anyone is prepared to match Spurs valuation of him (reported as 40 million UKP but, realistically, 30 mill would do it).

For Spurs, to lose a player of his magnitude would hurt, but the pain would be salved quickly if Ramos could convince Gattuso, Lucho Gonzales, Danni Alves and David Villa to sign on for the revolution. Indeed, a quartet like that would see the style change but perhaps the balance would be better and maybe certain players wouldn’t believe that everything has to go through Berbatov. Of course my preference would be for Gattuso, Gonzales and Alves to join Berbatov in what would be a sensational Spurs side, but I learnt a long time ago not to hold my breath for such things. After all  my lot are routinely linked with every  footballer this side of 60 and not in a wheelchair, plus we might be the only club to have ever received a thank you letter for our nice approach to a player who still thought we were beneath them (Rivaldo for those who don’t remember). But at least this summer we can rest assured that Newcastle will challenge us for the most absurd transfer dramas of the window…

 

PERFORMANCE OF THE WEEK

 BRIAN MCBRIDE - FULHAM V READING

34 years old with bones that sound like nails on chalk board, the veteran US striker put in a marvelous display for Fulham when the pressure was most on. Only recently back from a potentially career-threatening in jury, McBride showed the gutsy predator in him to poach an excellent opener for Fulham and was desperately unlucky not to score a contender for goal of the season when his wonderful 25 yard volley dipped and crashed off the bar. Leading by example, and supported by the player EVERY opposing fans like, Jimmy Bullard, one of the first Americans to ply a Premiership trade showed why his fitness is critical for Fulham’s potential survival.

 

WORST PERFORMANCE OF THE WEEK: DERBY COUNTY

Every single one of them. An abomination. A capitulation. A disgrace. Martin O’Neil should’ve been angry that Villa didn’t get into double figures because they won’t have a better chance in the Premiership. As Villa celebrated their 6th, my son remarked how many Derby fans there were. “Do you mean Villa fans?” I asked.”No, Derby fans,” he said. “But they’re the home side…” I started before I worked out what he meant. That when THAT many of your supporters stay in a ground to watch you show your collective arses like that, the subsequent lack of performance should result in a mass refund and an appearance in publick stocks for charity.

 

MATCH OF THE WEEK

Man Utd 2  v Arsenal 1

Pulsating, pacey and a proud performance from both sides, it was impossible to tear away from. And there’s nothing more to say about what Sir Alex Ferguson rightly called the best match of the season other than if you didn’t see it live, find it and watch it now.

 

 

STEVE GIBSON, SNAKE-OIL SALESMAN EXTRAORDINAIRE

 

…Vic Reeves. Teeside’s only forgiving and exciting attraction? 

 

 

 

 

Let me first of all say that the greed monsters who preside over the FA have, in principle, got it all wrong in  placing cup semi-finals back at Wembley.

It isn’t a semi-final venue. It’s a final venue.

And part of the glory in reaching the FA Cup Final is that you get the chance to play at Wembley.

Except for now of course, when some greedy dunderheads decided to rake in as much cash as they could.

Of course, when the plans were made, you can bet the fat cats weren’t expecting West Brom v Portsmouth or Cardiff versus Barnsley, uh-uh, they had grand designs of ‘Super Sunday’ style match-ups between Mega-Power Manchester and A-Team Arsenal (their new names in exchange for a slice of 2022’s Inter-Galactic Mobile-And-Virtual-Tee-Vee rights).

So perversely, it actually worked out as a victory for real football. Because let’s face it, unless there’s an Auto Windshield trophy or a play-off, Barnsley aren’t going to be trumphing back down the M1 from Yorkshire to the big arch anytime soon, thus real football won when Simon Davey and co got this chance to grace the turf. Incidentaly, am I the only one, or does Simon Davey sound like a meat pie that you might buy at the Watford Gap service station? More than that, can you not imagine him as the manager of a Pasty Shop, in his bleached overalls and little white hat? Not even his Wembley  Mr.Byrite  suit could alter that vision.

The match? Well, on 9 minutes Cardiff City’s Joe Ledley smashed a left-footed 20 yard volley into the back of the net to win the match 1-0, and despite Barnsley’s huffing and puffing (as well as a blown one-on-one by Kayode Odejaye, which whilst costly was nowhere near as easy a chance as the pundits have told you) Cardiff were clearly the better side; if they also end up getting promoted, they’ll be a Birmingham more than a Derby. As for the weekend’s other semi-final, Portsmouth (courtesy of Kanu) found a way past the strong and generally unlucky West Brom, who’s manager Tony Mowbray (another manager who sounds like a pie, in fact he has on named after him already, the Melton Mowbray pork puck!) won’t be too upset so long as the Baggies do what they should and solidify promotion in the next few weeks. Clearly a strong side, West Brom are another side I can see avoiding their yo-yo past once back in the Prem. But it has to happen this year. And it will.

Meanwhile, back in the land of giants, Alfonso Alves popped up to make life a little more interesting in the “Race for the Title” with two superbly taken goals in a 2-2 draw at the Riverside against Man Utd, and in doing so, the Brazillian re-ignited a burning question for us all i.e. how does ‘Boro chairman Steve Gibson sell Teeside to all these Brazillians? Does he simply tell them that the ‘Riverside’ is part of a utopian sunny resort town, swathed in bronzed ‘Boro babes with surf to boot? Does he speak of the, ahem, ‘famous’ downtown churrascarias? Does he regale with tales of the legendary sun-baked Teeside sands? And if so, does he have a sideline business selling used cars to said-players on their arrivals? If anyone genuinely knows how he’s managed to get the likes of Juninho, Emerson and Alves to one of the most unforgiving and boring corners of the UK, please let me know. For United, the injury to Rio Ferdinand is not ideal but should not be enough to derail their title, Gerard Pique proving a competent plug with Wes Brown an experienced centre-back partner. Arguably, the injury to Vidic is a greater inconvenience, but the truth is that so long as Ronaldo, Rooney and Scholes stay fit, United should have too much to lose many more points.

 

Elsewhere, Fulham look to be down after a 1-3 defeat at home to Sunderland, Roy Hodgson continuing to look like a cast member from 1970’s TV series “On The Buses” (Blakey’s supervisor anyone?) and as for fighting talk, Roy’s post-match interview was bristling with the stuff*. “The teams around us lost,” said Roy, “and we lost, so we lost a chance to gain 3 points on them, but there’s still 5 games left and we win them all then we give ourselves a chance of escaping.” Or something very similar to that. Fantastic stuff Roy, real Dunkirk spirit and motivation there mate.  HOW much is Fayed paying him per week for that? Although knowing Fayed, he’s getting his pound of flesh by calling Hodgson,  making him dress up like the Duke of Edinburgh and thus berating him for hours at a time. Perhaps this is why Roy looks so  completely and utterly lost?

 

A quick word about Arsenal.

1-1 at home to Liverpool. Another hiccup. Another draw. Another 2 points lost. Yet Arsene Wenger is now saying they’ll win the title and the champions league! He is either the single-most belligerent and myopic man in football, a hopelessly romantic optimist or a large bullshitter. Personally I’d say he’s a deft combination of all three who also suffers from bouts of temporary blindness. As I put this column to bed this morning, His Grace was out and about once again telling everyone that Arsenal would win the league.

Which is, of course, rubbish. Funny that Arsene can’t see that!

 

Finally, Newcastle.

A funny thought occurred as I watched Viduka slot home their third of a 3-0 win over Reading at St. James Park. After all the jokes, after all the giggles and after all the laughter (yes, from me too) what if Mike Ashley ends up having the last laugh in a year’s time? What if Kevin Keegan manages to maintain the level of passion and performance which has seen Newcastle score 9 goals in the last three games with only one concession? What if he gets a top-class centre-back? What if Viduka and Owen stay fit? Because it has to be said, when they’re in flow like they have been the last fortnight, Newcastle are tremendous to watch, an almost beautiful, somewhat reckless embodiment of everything Keegan brought to them the last time around. Perhaps, just perhaps, in seeming to stand still, Kevin Keegan will enjoy a further rennaissence next season despite himself.

 

 

BEST PLAYER OF THE WEEK:

 

GERARD PIQUE

The young Frenchman once again stepped in to strengthen United at a vital moment on Sunday, the match against ‘Boro hanging in a procarious balance amidst snow and an inspired Alfonso Alves. With minimal effort and the air of a man who’d regularly featured in United’s defence all season, Pique steadied the ship, snuffed out any signs of an impending storm and gave United instant relief as their centre-back crisis threatened to hit defcon levels of strife.

 

 

WORST PLAYER OF THE WEEK:

 

GARY CAHILL

A simply awful performance at the worst time of the season from the England under 21 international. With his marking skills non-existent on the day, Cahill was not the only culprit in Bolton’s defensive horror show (Andy O’Brien take a bow), but as a centre-back of emerging pedigree his performance was sorely lacking in the sort of focus, resolve or quality that England u-21 boss Stuart Pearce would want to see (or Bolton’s manager Gary Megson come to think of it…)

 

 

MATCH OF THE WEEK

 

MIDDLESBROUGH 2   V MAN UTD   2

 

A gripping match in some typical adverse Teeside conditions (NOTE: no Brazillian-style sunshine), saw  Southgate’s ‘Boro show up (as they usually do) against the big guns and run Man Utd to the finishing line. Playing with passion and an extra degree of creativity (Arca and Downing both had fine matches) as well as seeing Alves hit stride, they always looked dangerous coming forward, and could consider themselves unlucky not to have won. United were forced to grit their way back into the match despite losing Ferdinand, and with Carrick standing strong, Rooney never saying die and Park popping up to prove that Ferguson gets use from every inch of his squad, they snaffled the sort of point that will prove crucial in the run-in. One of those matches where the winner could truly have been anyone.

 

*This is a blatant, bare-faced lie.

Why The Title Race Is Over

Don’t believe what Sir Alex Ferguson says about the Premiership title going ‘to the wire’…he’s far too clever to seriously believe such nonsense, indeed, it’s worrying that his legendary mind games are becoming so ordinary. United’s destruction of Aston Villa last weekend was both ruthless and beautiful, Ronaldo showing again how much he’s matured from show-pony to thoroughbred racehorse, whilst in Wayne Rooney, Ferguson has perhaps the most catalytic player in British football right now, a player who helps facilitate the skills of others whilst also possessing more than a few extraordinary ones himself. He also has more heart than a slaughterhouse. 

 Compare this to Arsenal, who in skipper William Gallas have a tottering pantomime dame throwing kaniption fits at key moments, plus a star striker in Adebayor who’s form has legged it down the Avenall Road at precisely the wrong moment, and it’s clear that the current top 4 ‘draw’ specialists are going to come up short. A 3-2 win from 2-0 down at Bolton proves prove nothing other than Bolton are going to be relegated with suicidal behavior like that.

United’s other title ‘rivals’, Chelsea, have hung  onto their coat-tails despite themselves. You have to feel a bit sorry for Avram Grant. He started off looking like Uncle Fester from The Addams Family, and since being given Henk Ten Cate as an ‘assistant’ plus enjoying dressing room visits from Roman ‘The Boss’ Abramovich. These are not your ordinary ‘team-owner-flashes-gormless-smile-and-leaves’ affairs, oh-no, Roman wants in on footballing matters, offering ‘advice’ such as telling the likes of Michael Essien where they should be on a football pitch. Wonderfully helpful for any manager I’m sure. The result is that poor old Avram  now resembles Jabba the Hut from Star Wars. As well he might, because all the above ingredients combined with the usual restlessness of players on 130,000 pounds-plus a week (before bonuses) have left Chelsea operating like Dallas, the ’70s TV show. Abramovich is JR but without the mouth, John Terry is increasingly becoming Sue Ellen, Frank Lampard is desperately presenting himself as Bobby, and Ashley Cole has solidified his role as the pet dog who continually soiled the Southfork carpets*. I think Dider Drogba might be Lucy but cannot be sure as of yet. Anyhow, add David Hasselhoff to that cast (come on, it’s obvious who that is) plus the original EastEnder-cockney-geezer ‘oo rhymes wiv’ ‘pole’ and quite simply, it’s all too much for Avram to organize.

So again, it’s United’s title. End of. 

 

BEST PLAYER OF THE WEEK: Wayne Rooney. Yes, Ronaldo is the icing, but make no mistake, Rooney is the double layer of sponge on which it’s all rested. When he plays, United play, his drive, passion and return to clinical scoring form were all underlined in a superb performance against Villa.

WORST PLAYER OF THE WEEK: Paul Robinson. There might have been other culprits, but my vote is ENF (England’s number five) who once again showed how not to line-up and stand behind a wall, showed the reaction time of Steven Hawking for Newcastle’s first goal in their 4-1 drubbing of an abject Spurs and continued to behave like the vampire he’s become since the 2006 World Cup Finals.

BEST GAME RECENTLY: Spurs 4  v  Chelsea 4

Yes yes, a bit of cheating here as it happened a fortnight ago, but this is the first of these blogs thus tough luck. A superb game of attacking football showing absolutely disasterous defending, some brilliant goalkeeping (!!! no joke), a superb performance from Joe Cole and the biggest laugh your humble scribe has had in a long time as Spurs dragged themselves back from 3-1 down to 4-4, nearly pinching the match at the death. Yes, I was seated close to the Chelsea fans who’d been singing ‘We want six’ and ‘It’s so easy at the Lane’ and yes, I did engage in amusing reciprocal banter with the bemused West Londoners as we put a mighty dent in their title challenge.  

 *I cannot be sure there ever was an un-toilet-trained dog in Dallas, but if there was, Cashley’s got that role covered.