The Hillsborough verdict

I have seen some outrageous behaviour from human beings in and around football grounds. Watching Preston it has been on a small scale compared to what I've heard from fans of top flight clubs. I have read some of the hooligan books that came out in the late '90s.

What strikes me is the self-appointment of these men as the representatives of their tribe/town/club. And then their chosen behaviour that they feel best represents their tribe.

The question that some on here seem to want to ask, is; would Heysel and Hillsborough have happened if you had replaced the team involved? 

In my opinion, any set of English fans (see previous World Cups e.g. Italia '90 where England played their first matches on the island of Sardinia, for reasons including control of England's fans. Not, note, the fans of a specific club, but all England fans) would have responded to provocation from people throwing missiles at them, the same way as did the Liverpool fans at Heysel.

You only have to listen to a seasoned England fan who will tell you that provocation is expected when following England abroad, not only from their counterparts but also from the armed forces and police.

The only balanced conclusion available is that Liverpool Football Club was a common participant in Europe in those days, and hence the higher likelihood that any incident, whenever it happened, would involve their fans. Not, therefore that Liverpool people were especially likely to cause a wall to collapse.

In that sense, if you follow the Heysel chain of events, those who threw missiles at the Liverpool fans were agent provocateur and cannot therefore be exonerated from the blame for what then followed.

You have to ask yourself the following questions before casting judgement on others.

Have you ever been provoked and responded with aggression? If you have never done that, then you probably took a serious beating, or you have never been provoked significantly. And, in reality, if you were next to me in a threatening situation, I would rather have someone next to me who would fight back against provocation, as it would be in my best interests, all things being equal.

I am quite curious that the topic of conversation has not diverted towards police corruption and police in general, on this board. Instead, it has migrated towards quasi-racist slurring of Liverpudlians.

I would go back as far as 1914, and beyond, to explain the genesis of this football tribalism. The propoganda that washed over this country for half a century has left its mark on 6 generations of men and women. We have been conditioned to fight back against all provocation, and we feel completely justified in doing so, thanks to the war rhetoric that flooded ALL aspects of life throughout the 20th century. It is "in our blood". This is complete bollocks, of course. When THEY were asked, the men and women of our heritage sacrificed themselves so that oppression didn't take hold of them and their future generations. I don't think they fought and died so that modern men shouldn't have to. Only, the generation after the war had nothing to fight for, and in its place, for a generation of young people with lots of pride and energy, came football tribalism, and the beginnings of hooliganism at football.

Why did it manifested in football and no other? I would look further than the built in tribalism of the sport, plus the sheer weight of popularity and inclusiveness of the sport for all social sectors. In short, the terraces were the new battlefields on which the finely-propagated war children could express that mentality.

Ashes Fever part 1

Something strange is happening to me. Its July and its warm outside. I have a bad case of pollen allergy at the moment, and my eyes are streaming. The work is coming in slowly, so I have a few things to be getting on with.
Only, I can't seem to get motivated. I can't seem to shake off this overwhelming emptiness I'm feeling inside. I can't easily describe it but, with difficulty, I will try to do just that.
The Ashes urn is the prize that awaits the winner of one of the oldest sporting rivalries in human history. The cricket family contains only a few major nation teams. England and Australia form one of the fiercest rivalries in any sport. Every 2 years for the last 140 years, the two nations have sent their best cricketers to battle it out for the urn.
Anyway, it is a contest that has captured my attention for decades. Firstly, the game of cricket is a mesmerising one for those fully initiated into it. For those who aren't, cricket is about as enthralling as peeling dried paint off a wall. But it is important for the uninitiated, or unenchanted, to acknowledge that there must be something special about it. A bit like walking past a women's clothes shop. I can see people in there, doing something with a mixture of enthusiasm and frustration, but it has no appeal to me whatsoever. I see men tinkering under the hood of a car and I admire their patience and technique, but it has absolutely no appeal to me.
But if you're into it, its great, and that's what truly matters.
From here on in I assume the reader knows all about the Ashes, what it means, what it is about, who are involved and what is at stake.
After England's heavy defeat during their last visit to Australia, optimism for England retaining the urn was low. Arriving at Cardiff for the first test of the series, I was not expecting much fortune to go the way of England. Despite a decent summer of preparation against a tough New Zealand team, Australia always bring an extra level of ability into the arena.
Despite a test match lasting anything up to 5 long days of play, it is the minute moments of play that carry gargantuan significance. A dropped catch, a missed stumping, a fine edge not picked up by the umpires, a close run out, the batsman recalled to the crease after the umpire spots a no ball.
In the universe of cricket fate plays its hand at every moment, and weaves its tapestry as the minutes, the hours, the lunches and the teas play out in front of you. Joe Root, England's best batsman, is dropped on nought. He goes on to score a huge hundred, and drags England out of a precarious position. Destiny was out of his hands and in those, momentarily, of Australian keeper Haddin. Once the ball dropped and Root received his early escape, Root took advantage to maximum effect. The game was altered from that point and the story of the first test was altered forever.
Australia may well have cruised to victory had Root been caught out with England 46 for 4. As it was, their heads went down and they never scraped themselves back into the match.

My problem is I can't take my eyes or ears off the action. Its on the radio, its on the TV. Its on the computer, its on my phone. What's the score?
Only, life hasn't noticed. Life continues to tick by and expects me to play my usual role within it. Visits, days out or a day's work. Shopping, family responsibilities and dog walking, all still need to be attended to. Its not a hard life, but I'm trying to watch the cricket? Doesn't anyone understand?
On Saturday morning, the test coverage was due to start at 11am. I mowed the lawn, washed up, ate my breakfast, walked the dog and had a wash. At 1045am I turned on the TV to watch the pre-match punditry. All is well. Beefy and Athers are discussing the wicket, and reflecting on the play so far. I'm counting down to the first ball of the day. I am, quite literally, strapping fridge to sofa, and flicking my shoes off. I put my feet up. 1057am. The players come out onto the field. I'm set, seated, and I'm exactly where I want to be (being live at the test match would be, admittedly, much better).
"Ding Dong." That's the doorbell.
I look up, to see who is visiting at this time. It is the mother and father in law popping round. At this point the missus is still in bed. Its her day off and a lie in is her weekend activity of choice. I shout upstairs, "your mum's here."
"Put the kettle on will you, I'll be down in a minute."

"JESUS FUCKING-CHRIST-ALL-FUCKING MIGHTY. I JUST WANT TO WATCH THE FUCKING CRICKET."

.....to be continued.

Is that a monster? No, its Jesus

"Is that a monster?"

The first words out of my infant daughter's lungs during a visit to a Roman Catholic church. As the 3-year-old spoketh forth, she pointed her finger toward the church's graphic three-dimensional model depiction of the criminal Jesus' legally binding execution on the cross. My mother nearly spat her boiled sweet into the contours of the mauve hat of the elderly worshipper ahead of her (probably nothing in this but there always seems to be a large number of distressed babies in church. In any other circumstance you would probably remove the child from the source of its distress and terror. In church, however, tell it to shush and let the shaman do his paid job and read out stories from his old leather book). I answered the question as accurately as I could. "No, that is a famous criminal called Jesus."

From the moment I was first instructed to recite and repeat...repeat...REPEAT! the christian mantras in all manner of daily pursuits, as was the norm throughout school and occasional church visits, I sensed it was all (...er, let me see, my vocabulary deserts me) bollocks. For a while, I was seduced by the reward-based social myths of Father Christmas, the tooth fairy and the egg thing at Easter. I'm getting chocolate, money, a new football and a bike - as much a no-brainer as an 8 year old gets. 

At that age, it didn't really occur - or really matter - to me, whether the providers were real or make-believe. Inspired, as a small boy, by heroes like Gary Brazil, Daniel Laruso, Tony Ellis, Rocky Balboa, Frank Worthington, James Bond, Sean Gregan, Superman, Daley Thomson, The A Team, Ian Botham and Wasim Akram - and, often, equally taken by their ever willing enemies and opponents, the factual or fictional nature of each meant little to an 8 year old kid in football socks. They were all people - men - I aspired to be one day.

Jesus never really did it for me. I liked the story of Thor, Zeus, Hermes, Achilles, Beowulf and that bloke who saved Snow White. Again, their origins didn't matter.

But the mantra of christian prayers, hymns, stories and the rest never really did anything for me. I sniggered throughout most prayers, and invented my own words during hymns, with the simple goal to make the lad next to me piss himself laughing. Usually I found the singing attempts of nearby adults - teachers mostly, and my own father sometimes - concurrently hilarious and terrifying. 

Most of religious prayer is completely counter intuitive to me. Along the cold, hard, upright and uncomfortable pews of the grim and cold local church I was forced to attend as a kid, were hung large rectangular cushions, hanging from nails in front of each worshipper. These, I learned, were for people's comfort when kneeling in worship of their imaginary leader.
This desire for people to submit to a higher force was utterly perplexing to me, and I never ever once felt the need to do so.

Later, I would learn that there are countless other factions or cults containing similar types of community knee bending only, in other cults the imagined recipient of this acquiescence was slightly different. Each had a mandated set of rules and life instructions based around abstaining from doing things with, to and for your body, and those of other people and animals. All of which, however, required those wanting to join in to completely submit to the rules of the club. Take your shoes off. Put your shoes on. Take your hat off. Put a sheet over your head. Don't cut your sideburns. Get on your knees five times a day. Say you're sorry a lot, and then make the same mistake again.

I bow to the reaction of a 3 year old child, when she saw a model of a blooded, filthy dead or dying man hanging by his hands from a wooden structure, on the wall of a cavernous building full of kneeling down, fully grown adult humans.
"Is that a monster?"
"You make up your own mind, petal, and never stop asking questions."

Ashes 2015 1st Test, Cardiff

The tale of these 4 innings will report a convincing win for the hosts against all the odds handed to them at the start of play.
England won by 169 runs - (full scorecard here)

 

Australia bring with them a swaggering confidence and a bravado that is unique within the sport, contrasting with the approach of the rest of cricket, which is a cautious modesty and respect for cricket as master of fate.
England has been utterly dominated in the 06/7 and 13/14 tours of Australia, losing all 10 test matches played. England managed to buck this trend between '09 and '13, by losing only 2 out of 15 tests during that time.
Australia do not take, or forget, defeat very well. They go down with a swagger, and return with that same swagger, belligerence and optimism.

The clamour, in the cricket media both home and down under, to pick the remaining flesh from the Australian carcass, is, in my opinion, a little hasty. The result is the result and over two innings any fortune either way tends to balance out. Some pundits may point out that the luck only evens itself out over an entire series.
Australia had a chance to take the scoreless wicket of England's most prolific batsman, Joe Root, in the first innings, and squandered it. Whether this counts as bad luck or simply a lack of skill, remains in the hands of the viewer. The viewer would then search for reasons for that bad luck. Perhaps the Aussies started the test with complacency. This is quickly quoshed when you note that, at the moment that chance went begging, Australia had already obliterated England's opening line up, to 43 for 3.

Australia may well have earned the right to be complacent in preparation for this latest Ashes series. After all, England failed to put up resistance during the most recent 0-5 reverse on Australian soil.
And with a resurgent England side that contains both talent and solidarity, the England victory at Cardiff will probably go down as the result of nonchalant Australia taking their recuperated hosts too lightly.
England has shuffled the pack and given chances to several players in recent months. There have been huge question marks over all of the top 4 batsmen, and rightly so, justified by their performances on the first innings scoreboard. Captain Cook's runs will be essential to a winning series for England. And in recent tests with New Zealand, Ballance and Bell have struggled to make a big impact.
Perhaps reassuringly for England is the confidence of the new blood with bat. The middle order of Stokes, Buttler and Moeen offer insurance for the fragile openers, as back up for the blossoming Joe Root.
If England's top 4 can start firing, then this would be disastrous for Australia.
England would be wise to focus on their own game in the short time ahead, and simply hope that Australian squad cannot recover from the inevitable meltdown that will follow this defeat. What can be certain, is that Australian cricketers do not enjoy losing, and they will move heaven and earth to put this first defeat right.
But, determined as they are, Australia will be unlikely to prosper unless they adapt to these lush, slow English wickets which offer less bounce than their pitches down under. Progress is not, therefore, a question of attitude, but one of technical skill. This England is not lacking in its own sense of bravado, and is technically ahead in respect of preparing for the conditions of play.
England should expect an Australian backlash from this victory in the second test, at Lords. But with the Australian squad morale teetering on the edge, and with their home media questioning the ability of half the side, a certain pressure will mount upon their shoulders in the build up. Not that they aren't used to high expectations. Its normal for Australian cricketers.
Huge stakes fall on the imminent second test. Heroes needed, once again.

2nd Test
Thursday, July 16-20, 2015 - at Lord's, London
England v Australia

Byrons 1992

I've attempted to compile an exact replica of the DJ playlist/mix from the summer of 1992 at Lord Byrons' Night Club, Tithebarn Street, Preston, Lancashire, England, United Kingdom.
The playlist is incomplete, so any suggestions are welcome. Not sure how you do this, but please, if you have a useful contribution to make, please try to leave a comment and a link.
'Byrons was a dance phenomenon that ended the 80s and kicked off the 90s by magically splicing the outgoing tacky pop with genuine indie scene, twixed the pioneering, new and emerging house music sounds that would define the rest of the decade in the UK and beyond.
Lord Byrons blended the lot. Thanks Pete.

Dyche and Henry - Separated at birth

Lenny Henry discusses Premier League budgets...



Sean Dyche (Dye-eeshhhh) discusses the lack of diversity in the arts...

World Cup 2014 - Brazil

I can't wait until the start of the 2014 World Cup of association football. I never can. Despite a cynical view of the grotesque and self-serving corruption at the top level of the sport, I always enjoy the World Cup. The multitude of matches that cascade through each day for a fortnight is my favourite part. The cagey, tactical and chess-like manouevres of the first round of matches, followed by a more ostentatious approach in match round two. Followed quickly by the shit or bust knock out of the final group matches. Defenders being outsmarted by forwards. Midfielders jostling for control of the field. Forwards waiting, predatorily, for their glimmer of a chance to strike. Goalkeepers hoping they're not going to be the star of the highlights shows that evening, for all the wrong reasons.


The second round is a chance to dream. Some major outfits will not make it. Some surprise qualifiers will sneak through unexpectedly - at least as far as most onlookers will see it. Turkey, Japan, Switzerland, Chile, Belgium all will believe they can go a long way in Brazil, while the world will focus on the usual suspects the heavyweights - former winners.

England Goalkeeper - Hatch

Other teams will be daring to dream beyond doing their nation proud. The African nations, well overdue a march through to the later stages, no doubt at all the USA are not there to make the numbers up. Australia will want to establish themselves beyond their South East Asia dominance.
England, my team, carry a huge expectation on their shoulders and need an injection of inspired skill from someone - anyone! - to break the very best sides down.
The climate in the host nation is always an advantage to the native country and their neighours. Hot humid conditions are more suited to the latin style of play, and possibly the African nations this time around. The cooler northern climates tend to get used to playing their fast-paced game at a high tempo and they can often fail to adjust their squads and playing style to the sapping conditions in the tropics.
Substitutions will play a vital role in the heat, and I predict the tournament will be dominated by the latin countries of South and South America southern Europe, and African sides. My one fear for the African sides is that their style is very physical, which is often exploited by the simulation that pollutes the game, and FIFA's apparent tolerance for this foul aspect of the sport.
Referees will come under intense scrutiny too, as players perfect their simulation skills to cheat their path to glory, without the officials seeing them or, should the referee see it, without the right punishment being applied. A sighting panel would be the obvious addition, for me, forcing retrospective "yellow cards" in the hours after a match. This will, in turn, free referees from having to spot simulation, and also deter would be cheats from attempting such means.
All in all, these ingredients go into the fun of the tournament. They create drama, disgrace, turmoil and turbulence. Gladiators of the modern era, it is over to you.