Three positives and three negatives from the new series of 10 O'Clock Live

We’re now four episodes into the new, streamlined version of last year’s hugely trumpeted, all-star casted 10 O’clock Live so now is probably a good time to see what’s been good so far this series and what could do with some improvement.

The Pluses

1. Streaming down to 45 minutes worth of content

The first series weighed in at only 10 minutes longer per episode than this series but the slim down has done 10 O’clock Live the world of good for three main reasons.

Firstly, the over-reliance on David Mitchell for both serious interviewing and humour has been reduced now that he anchors just the one leg of the show, instead of his previous three. Although this meant cutting the usually amusing “Listen to Mitchell” segment, it does allow a stronger debate with the experts section and means he can contribute to the roundtable discussions more (more on that later).

Secondly, as a result of the loss of “Listen to Mitchell”, Charlie Brooker now has the sole ‘ranty’ section of the show and with good reason to as it’s what he does best. Dropping his to-camera, fast-as-a-bullet-but-still-eloquent rants from two to one an episode has allowed him to refine his piece and the show is not overloaded with to-camera shouty-ness.

And thirdly, 55 minutes of live, largely unscripted television is a difficult enough task for long running programmes, let alone a new kid on the block. As such, the show felt overextended with not enough content spread too thin. Whilst the reduction in running time has meant certain positive elements of the programme have had to be cut, it is to the benefit of the show as a whole.

2. Increased frequency of group, roundtable discussions

Along with the reduction in running time, using a roundtable discussion (technically a square-table discussion I guess) to bookend each segment of the show before the ad breaks has given greater structure to 10 O’clock Live, helped bridge the gap between the political and the humour aspects of the show and given the presenters greater scope to showcase some rapport and eliminate any lingering clunkiness from the first series.

3. Better usage of Lauren Laverne

As the only presenter with real experience of how live broadcasting works, Laverne was given the role of leading the show in the first series of 10 O’clock Live and she has, rightly, been given even more responsibility this time around, being charged with leading the discussions and steering the show in the right directions.

Whilst her pieces aren’t quite as humorous as the other presenters (naturally, as she is a broadcaster by trade rather than a humorist) and she sometimes struggles to keep the discussions on the straight and narrow (in fairness, God’s own job with three men trying to out-humour each other), her role in the programme is the most important of all the presenters and she has risen to the challenge.

The Minuses

1. Questionable usage of Carr

The first series of 10 O’clock Live had a clear role for Carr which consisted of; get the show off to a flier with some near-the-knuckle topical jokes at the start and interview someone newsworthy that week (a skill which he proved surprisingly adept at). Towards the end of the first series, a strange, weekly attempt at putting Carr into a sketch came into place, an element of the show I was hoping would be quietly dropped seeing as Carr is a comedian and presenter, not a comic actor.

However, this second series, his interviews have been abandoned to be replaced solely by these weekly sketches which, if last night’s was anything to go by, are getting worse; even worse than that ill-conceived Vladimir Putin impersonation in the first episode, somehow.

Better use of Carr’s talents should be made. The ambiguity of his political leanings should be made better use of in an otherwise very left-leaning presenter line-up.

2. Equalling out the humour/politics ratio

Perhaps the biggest challenge still facing the show is consistently keeping a balance between the humour and political aspects that the programme wants to get across.

By vacating the Thursday 10pm slot, Channel 4 has rightly pulled 10 O’clock Live out of the firing line of juggernaut Question Time and so might be able to gain some politically-minded viewers from the rescheduling.

However, segments like the Putin sketch feel a bit too lightweight (almost patronising) for a show aiming to attract a more political audience, if indeed, that is the aim.

3. Continued issues around the live aspect of the show

Whilst this is less of an issue than in the first series, where the presenters lack of experience on live TV (despite their Alternative Election Night together) was clear to see, there still remains some slip-ups, whether it be with slight fluffing of lines or presenters appearing in the background of someone else’s piece.

But this might be something of a harsh criticism as it is live TV and there never will be a 100% gaffe-free live TV show as we’re all humans and we make mistakes. That’s why they put editing suites at TV studios…

Blast from the past- The "ill-off-school" slot on Nickelodeon

As alluded to last week, being part of the generation that grew up with widespread access to cable and satellite TV had a profound effect on people of my age. Mostly, it made us a collectively fatter, frightened of the great outdoors and nature and helped, somewhat inadvertently and wholly regrettably, make being a nerd cool.

But were all of these new kids TV shows filling up the hundreds of new broadcasting hours worth the aforementioned consequences? No, is the simple answer to that, not one little bit. But that’s not to say the 90s marked a dearth in quality of kids TV, just the opportunity of playing innocently with your contemporaries everyday is something you really don’t appreciate until a decade or so after it finishes.

In fact, the 90s might even be a watershed for animation at children anyway. But first, a history lesson.

As anyone with the slightest knowledge of TV knows, the 1970s was the highlight of kids TV (in Britain at least) with shows like Bagpuss, The Clangers (basically anything by Oliver Postgate and Peter Firmin) and the wealth of American imports from Warner Bros and the like; all of which remain as entertaining today as they were then. Or I expect they were then, being only 21 means my personal experiences of the 70s were rather limited.

However, for my money, in terms of animated kids TV, the 90s was something of a high-water mark. Sure there was some real dross (Fat Dog Mendoza springs immediately to mind there) but there were some stone-cold classics in the mix.

Mention Nickelodeon cartoons and immediately you’ll most likely get two responses; the Rugrats or Hey! Arnold and rightly so; both were well written, identifiable at the respective ages, aimed at children but not patronising and easy to follow. They’re only downside being they were both American and so continued the Americanisation of the English language in Britain.

However, a ‘Blast from the Past’ article shouldn’t focus on TV shows everyone knows and remembers so let us take a wander down a quieter road and get closer acquainted with something a little more niche.

Aside from the unusual head shapes in Hey! Arnold and the weird hair colours and faces of the adults in the Rugrats (and possibly Phil and Lil as twins are scary as), there was no real what-the-hell aspect to either of these TV shows. All kids’ cartoons should have an element of abstract oddness as said concept very rarely works in other TV aimed at older audiences, as evidenced by the career of Noel Fielding on TV.

So, on the basis for sheer balls-out, what-the-fuckery, this blog post will, somewhat belatedly, look at two animations that occupied the coveted “off school ill” slots on late 90s Nickelodeon; Arthur and Doug.

We’ll start with Arthur, now into its 15^th series (with another two in the pipeline), a show that, in retrospect, was incredibly crammed full of moral messages. It is made by PBS in America, mind.

For starters, Arthur’s extended circle of friends contains an individual from every conceivable socio-economic background and a large number of the problems Arthur and his chums encounter are often solved by a trip to the library or opening a book in some manner. Elsewhere, Arthur’s parents work from home as a chef and an accountant, respectively. Thus, we have arguments for the benefits of multi-culturalism, reading/publicly funded libraries, the nuclear family set up and running one’s own business (in the form of his father).

Elsewhere, Arthur also doles out advice on real-life social issues too from the death of pets and how to deal with dyslexia to advice on coping with loved ones with cancer, Aspergers and Alzheimer’s which is also nice and cheery.

Somehow, as well as throwing in moral crusades and advice on social issues into a kids’ TV show, there is even a steady stream of pop culture references made that keeps the at-home-looking-after-the-kids crowd mildly interested. How Arthur managed to fit in any of his shenanigans when all these other themes were cramping his style is a mystery.

Thankfully, all these other, more adult elements were delivered using an anthropomorphic aardvark, (although if you knew he was an aardvark at the age of 9 you were a super-genius) with lots of fun being had so we were all but putty for the messages to seep in, especially after that intensely catchy, reggae-style theme tune. There is probably a link between the amounts of Arthur a person my age watched in their youth and how left-leaning they are now.

At the other end of the covert influencing of young minds scale we have Doug a show which, from my memory at least, was notable for two things.

Firstly, the obsession Doug and his friend Skeeter had with the Lipps Inc. tune ‘Funkytown’ and going to a theme park called ‘Funkytown’ that presumably played ‘Funkytown’ over the PA 24/7 in a distinctly unfunky dystopic version of the early 1980s. Chilling.

Secondly, that the show either had the worst budget in the history of animation and could therefore only afford one box of crayons a series or, the writer had never seen human beings before and so had no idea at all what they looked like. I say this as nobody in Doug had the skin colour of a real human being, besides Doug, his family and his love interest, Patti Mayonnaise. Yes, that was really her name. Incidentally, ensure SafeSearch is on before Google image searching “Doug”. I really mean that; I’ve seen things, terrible things.

Anyway, yeah, skin colour. The aforementioned Skeeter was an aqua-green colour, nemesis Roger was also green, and neighbour Buddy was purple, as were twins Al and Moo.

Perhaps kids’ TV of today is equally as strange and bizarre and full of underlying socio-political messages but, quite frankly, I don’t care as things were always better in one’s own day (and that’s a fact) and, furthermore, I’m not going to watch hour upon hour of CBBC as its hard to sell that as “research” to those close to me.

Happy dawn of Spring day

For a person with self-diagnosed-but-unwilling-to-have-it-confirmed-as-medical-fact seasonal affective disorder (SAD indeed!), today was a quite momentous personal day.

Today marks the first day of happy weather season, medical term incidentally, for a number of reasons.

For those who mark their calendar based around sporting events, i.e. every sane person on this planet of ours, today is the football League Cup final day which, along with the first Grand Prix of the year and the end of the Six Nations, marks the dawning of Spring to cheer up our depressingly tedious little world. Largely cheering us up by allowing us to guffaw at randy farm animals boning everything that moves as we fly by on the motorway. Anywho, soon enough we’ll be hearing the sound of leather on willow and Frisbee on forehead and that’s a very warm thought indeed.

Secondly, you may have noticed that it was a tad unseasonably warm today, unless you’re from the North East in which case it’s warm all day, every day. Despite ridicule from my co-workers as I completed my exhausting 6 ¼ hour shift, I strode purposefully and manfully from my place of work to my car (which was parked at good 20 metres away) with nothing but a t-shirt to protect my skinny torso.

Amazingly, my mighty man nipples did not turn into the world’s most useless pair of orange juicers and thus, upon reaching my car, I was allowed to look magnificently cool (or a humongous douchebag, depending on your interpretation of the next few words) as I drove home with the window down and my driving arm resting on the window frame. Like I said, magnificently cool…in my mind. If only I had the foresight to have taken a pair of sunglasses. Alas.

As an aside, how nice of God (omnipotent and omnipresent Rupert Murdoch) was it to ensure that the first edition of the Sun on Sunday was met with some sun on Sunday. Way to win us all over again Rupert!

Thirdly, and most importantly as this just affected me and no-one else, the drive to work this morning was in something approaching broad daylight. The last time the sun rose before I did, the world still possessed Muammar Gaddafi, Whitney Houston and only one type of KitKat Chunky*. There is something quite uplifting about not having to graft one’s way to work through darkness so thick that it attended special classes, to deploy a rather awful metaphor.

So, I hear you not asking, how did I celebrate this wondrous day whereby the incredible changing of the seasons that our planet produces? Staying indoors all day and getting unhealthier, but of course. Money is required to be able to enjoy ciders in the sunshine and anyone who sunbathed today really should have had some funny looks aimed at them (yeah, I would have sunbathed today, but self-consciousness issues and all that).

 Happy dawn of Spring day y’all.

*For the purposes of that joke, we’re ignoring Christmas and New Year booze-induced lie-ins and any of my days off work. Why? Because I’m lazy and I’m not going to do a rewrite so there.

Blast from the past; pain with your cereal

Growing up around the dawn of the age of widespread satellite TV had many benefits; not having to go outside and the sacred ten minute freeview being two positives that immediately spring to mind.

Another advantage was the sheer breadth of viewing options covered for that vital period between waking up and going to school/college. This wealth of viewing alternatives meant you were never short of something to watch whilst you ate that retrospectively foolish chocolate-heavy cereal.

For the golden age of your childhood innocence, Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon were all you need with their bright colours, jaunty theme tunes and mild flirtatious banter between the presenters that largely went over your innocent head.

However, come the age of 11 or 12, secondary school had changed the way you saw the world. Laughing at other people’s misfortune became far more fun and we hedonistically hunted for something to appease that particular urge, a skill that would come in handy again around the age of 16 when another urge began to strike.

Uniquely, Challenge TV and, less uniquely, Japan, provided the solution to our morning schadenfreude craving; a man taking a football to a place where objects travelling at a high velocity hurt (his tescticles) was the perfect addition to our somewhat more adult, though still heavily-sugared, cereal of choice.

I am indeed talking about Takeshi’s Castle, the show that (may have) saved the (probably) floundering dental and chiropractor industries in late 80s Japan.

For those select few who are not familiar with niche, Japanese game shows from nearly two and a half decades ago that were only ever broadcast on satellite TV in the UK, here is the basic premise of the show; Japanese sadists smiling, laughing and only occasionally screaming as they have pain inflicted on them in a startling varied number of cruel, mad, ingenious ways.

The pretence for the biggest public display of pain-infliction since last John Terry last took a penalty, was a fictional Count Takeshi laying down a challenge; 100+ mad Japanese folk had to storm his ‘castle’ which was constructed out of what appeared to be cardboard and firework remnants, defended by dignity-free guards armed with water guns. These water guns were later upgraded to rather sad and pathetic looking lasers, presumably to match the sad and pathetic costumes.

To sort the wheat from the chaff and to prevent 100 very 1980s looking Japanese people breaking aforementioned cardboard castle through sheer weight of numbers, a series of challenges had to be overcome by the victims/contestants/ mental patients. These challenges often included the risk of facial disfigurement, permanent limps or loss of ability to bear child. Loss of dignity was never an issue however, as this was the 80s so uni-colour jumpsuits and God-awful hair were par for the course.

What was quite remarkable about Takeshi’s Castle was the staggering number of variations on challenges and games the producers managed to twist out of the term ‘ritual humiliation’.

There was a game where people ran through a maze of doors, being chased by men who looked as if they should have been on a government-enforced register, before having their faces blackened (for no discernible reason) or running through a door into some water. The Benny Hill theme tune was thankfully absent.

Elsewhere, people lost teeth and broke ribs as they skipped along stones, risked cranial damage by having giant balls dropped on their heads, ran headlong into potentially solid walls and received footballs fired from cannons into their unwelcoming testicular zone. Sadly, the challenge where contestants wrestled

Inevitably, more fails were shown than successes because, as the internetz knows, fails equals fun. However, a handful of victims made it through to the final showdown where leader of the assault on Takeshi’s Castle, the suspiciously dark-haired and dangerously inept military leader, General Lee led to them certain failure. Only nine contestants ever won the show, meaning you probably had a better chance of winning the lottery, although the constant hope-disappointment cycle of the lottery is less painful than a one off headlong dive into some mud.

Probably the one real flaw of the show, aside from the Craig Charles commentary, was that it eventually spawned in the UK Total Wipeout, 101 Ways to Leave a Gameshow and about a million other programmes with the same basic premise but all without the certain special something Takeshi’s Castle had; most likely a 1980s Japanese woman in her 20s making the peace symbol before cheerfully setting off at a brisk pace and the scene ending in her bouncing off of a wall that looked like a door.

Britain’s Gay Footballers @9pm Monday, BBC3- 7 out of 10

Over the last few years, BBC3 has managed to find a niche market in the realm of documentary making; oscillating between hard-hitting issues and trivial bollocks, often with a semi-celebrity host to add some white smiley teeth and good hair.

Without even watching the hour-long programme (seriously, I’m typing this sentence at 8.46pm), Britain’s Gay Footballers will be using the standard BBC3 documentary format; get a celebrity face, said term stretched to breaking point here it must be said, to front a look into the cutting subject of homophobia in football. Perhaps it’s for the common touch to draw in the audience figures. Or a C-list celebrity is cheaper than a journalist these days. Who knows? Not me, that’s for damn sure.

However, there is one very marked and hugely important with Britain’s Gay Footballers. A difference anyone with even a passing knowledge of either football or the fight for gay rights in the UK, not the most exclusive centre circle in a Venn diagram in these increasingly enlightened, will recognise the name Fashanu.

Justin Fashanu was the first openly gay British footballer, ‘coming out’ in late 1990 and, depressingly, remains the only one to have come out. He essentially became an outcast in football, with no club offering him a full time contract since he broke the story in an interview with the Sun. His brother and fellow professional John Fashanu even appeared to ostracise him; a decision he clearly deeply regrets now. Fashanu would later commit suicide in 1998 with his suicide note reading he “did not want to give any more embarrassment to my friends and family”.

This documentary follows Amal Fashanu, niece of Justin, son of John Fashanu and near subject of nominative determinism (she works in fashion), as she looks into the reasons why out of some 5000 professional footballers in the UK, none are openly gay.

Straight from the off there are some damning indictments of the football world's attitude towards the issue of homophobia in the sport. Cases in point; the outright refusal of nearly all current professional footballers to talk on camera about the issue, albeit not helped by Amal’s to-the-point-not-so-subtle interviewing technique, the generational difference of ex-professionals who still operate in the sport exemplified by John McGovern’s quotes regarding the word “poof” and the refereeing union blocking a gay assistant referee to be interviewed.

Even the players that do talk about the issue seem to treat the issue somewhat trivially and banally, occasionally slipping back into the “banter” default mode and not confronting the issue. However, credit where credit is due to people like Darren Purse and Paul Robinson at Milwall and Joey Barton to break ranks; particularly the latter who tackled the issue with now trademark intelligence and perspective. If more footballers take the stance of these three, the apparent perception from inside football that speaking about the issue means you are homosexual may well hopefully abate.

As a documentary, the show is a bit on the weak side with Amal’s lack of interview technique causing problems and irrelevant asides such as Amal chatting to her friend over coffee about their thoughts on the issue, which just smacks of filler due to a lack of cutting interviews with those in the field; the Barton and Anton Hysen interviews aside.

All in all, for anyone with a knowledge and interest in the issue of homophobia in football, there was very little new ground covered on why there are no current openly gay footballers; the fear of ridicule from both teammates and fellow professionals, abuse from fans, the culture ingrained from previous generations of players and the unfortunate precedent of Justin Fashanu's eventual fate.

However, that’s not really the point. The real point is that the subject needs coverage and to be aired in the public domain. Despite many column inches and blog bytes (that’s the phrase I’ll use for that idea) devoted to the issue, the oxygen of TV is far more important. A slightly soft documentary on the subject, but heart-wrenching on the Fashanu family level of the programme, is a great starting point but there is a long way to go yet.

Noel Fielding’s Luxury Comedy @10pm, Thursdays, E4- 5 out of 10

Finally, a show that has lived up to the promise of the Channel 4 comedy sponsors’ Fosters’; “original comedy”. Let’s face it, there are very few places where you might find a Miami-based drug dealer character with a sword and shield (and a bug face) and a man with a seashell as a head dancing to a radio broadcast of a Sherlock Holmes novel.

However, the apt catchline of the sponsor is one of the few positives to come out of Noel Fielding’s latest creation, a surrealist part live-action, part animation half hour romp that even seems to be seeping into the adverts on 4OD, if Gail Porter emerging from portable toilet in Cardiff that had been dropped in by a helicopter is anything to go by.

“Luxury Comedy” brings together the cast of BBC3’s The Mighty Boosh (let the inevitable comparisons begin early), minus Julian Barratt, for a sketch show with a  slight difference as characters from each sketch glide into one another’s segments, each battling for “look at me, aren’t I bizarrely unique and weird” screen time presumably.

The trademark left-Fielding (ha! Word play) ideas are in evidence from the start with outrageous concepts for sketches like a cookery show cum space mission starring Rennie and Gaviscon (who I cannot even begin to describe just exactly how they look) and Roy Circles, the teacher with a military history but happens to have the body of a chocolate finger. Clearly, no expense has been spared on the clothing and make-up departments of “Luxury Comedy”; it would appear blue or yellow are the standard colour faces for the occupants of the “Luxury Comedy” universe.

The seamless transition from live action shots to the oddly beautiful animation of Nigel Coan works a treat but, with this being surrealist comedy, inevitably, the sketches are particularly hit and miss. The Boosh worked, for me, because it had some semblance with reality (identifiable job locations of the main characters for example) and a linear structure. And having Barratt around to reign in Fielding’s wackiest ideas and to provide identifiable character traits for the audience; a middle-aged man not really going anywhere despite (and probably because of) his passions in life.

The best parts of Luxury Comedy are the pieces with the aforementioned semblance to reality. Dondylion, trapped in a zoo with nothing but a tyre on a rope, some Hula Hoops and a picture of David Lee Roth (“King of the lions”) jabbering to himself and slowly going mad is a lovely a oasis of satire about animals caged in zoos in a desert of surrealism.

Elsewhere, against the odds somewhat, Sergeant Raymond Boombox’s tales work as they also have this basis in reality (a cop doing a job) that can be subverted to add the bizarre dialogue of his talking knife wounds and the drug dealer mentioned way back in the intro (well done if you’ve stuck with me this far, incidentally).

However, elsewhere, one just got the sense that the show needed reigning in. It wasn’t a sense of surrealism for the sake of surrealism on the part of Fielding (an outstanding comedic writer and actor in the right dosage and setting) but a lack of input from the producers to keep the show just about enough on the straight and narrow.

Or my descent into premature aging has begun, coupled with not being a resident of or regular visitor to the independent Republic of Camden, and I just didn’t get “it”.

All questions, very few answers

A weekend is a long enough time in football on the pitch; build up to the game, pre-match talk, the match itself, post-match reaction from the manager, TV analysis, Sunday press analysis and then Monday press analysis. Throw in an off the pitch story and it suddenly gets an awful lot longer. And madder too.

It was only announced around 48 hours ago through Reading Football Club’s official website that a previously unheard of company is in the preliminary stages of gaining a significant stake in the club. Blogging in reaction to that announcement, this writer guessed that it would be a while until any further news came out about this investment and it was a while; less than a day.

Since then, two further statements have come out of the club, numerous speculative news articles and countless pages of discussion across the Internet.

Cutting through the speculation, let’s establish the facts as they are at this stage.

Fact number one; a new group called Thames Sport Investment looks set to buy a “significant” stake in Reading Football Club. The fact that the company is yet to be registered at Companies House and there is no evidence of its existence anywhere is testament to the company being a new group.

Fact number two; Sir John Madejski will stay on as Chairman until at least 2014 and will be Life President once he steps down from the Chairman role. Madejski, therefore, will still have a role in the running of the club until 2014.

Fact number three; the main points to the partnership have been outlined and an agreement signed with regard to these from all concerned parties. The deal is scheduled to be completed by the end of March 2012. Until that point, there is no obligation for the persons involved in TSI to be revealed.

Fact number four; TSI will provide limited funds (although it is not stated in what form these funds will be given; loans? Donations? etc.) for Brian McDermott and Nicky Hammond to strengthen the squad this transfer window.

These are the sum total of the facts we know thus far; essentially, what the original statement on Friday night told us. However, there is an awful lot more to the story than the mere facts. Using nothing more than a cynical eye and no insider knowledge, here are what appear to be the assumptions about the takeover circulating around the media and Reading FC messageboards.

Assumption number one; the man behind TSI is Anton Zingarevich, son of a Russian print businessman who was educated to university level in Reading and who was part of a wildly unsuccessful attempt at providing investment for Everton Football Club. Very little information is available on the man and his previous with Everton as a manager of the Fortress Sports Fund might well suggest there is more to the group than Zingarevich but that is also speculation.

Assumption number two; TSI will take a 51% stake in the club, costing £40 million, and so become owners of the club. Like ‘assumption number one’, the prevalence in this assumption seems to come from a short Daily Mail exclusive published on Saturday (subsequently picked up by no other national media outlet but both Reading-based newspapers) but makes logical sense as any new in investor would presumably want majority ownership.

Assumption number three; as is the case with any takeover, rumours about big spending immediately begin springing up, linking anyone and everyone with the club. When the most concrete rumour is a loan deal for an ageing centre forward, fans speculating about big money deals (this transfer window anyway) would appear to be wishful thinking. What kind of investment fund would pump millions of pounds into an operation that they aren’t even owners of yet? A small good-faith payment is feasible but anything in the millions, at this stage anyway, is surely unrealistic? Whilst the fun of takeover talk is built on Championship Manager-style spending, some realism must be taken into consideration, particularly when the identity of the prospective owner is still pending, let alone his wealth.

Assumption four; I’m as big a defender of the way Madejski has sought a buyer over the last five years as anyone. After 20 years+ at the club, he was always likely to want to sell to the right people to continue the superb work that he has done for the club and the town also. However, as has been documented, the last few years have been difficult for Sir John so perhaps his desire to sell has increased thus loosening his ideals for a new owner.

Essentially, straight-up fact-wise, we know very little more than what was said on Friday night, aside from the stage in negotiations Reading Football Club and TSI are. The rest is largely conjecture and speculation on conjecture. It’s very much impossible for any supporter to make a judgement on the proposed takeover based on the facts we have at hand right now. But that won’t stop anyone doing just that, myself included.

This Tweet might well lead to some more concrete information tomorrow but it only raises further questions. How are the Daily Mail getting so many stories on Reading now? If Zingarevich is the sole member of TSI, how has he gone from being a student with only his father’s money to spend to being able to buy a majority stake in a Championship club inside six years?

All things considered, it’s an exciting time to be a Reading fan but an equally confusing one.

A Post-Madejski World?

It seems like an eternity since Sir John Madejski started his search for new financial investment in Reading Football Club. That would be because it was the better part of five years ago and merely a week in football is a long time, as Carlos Tevez seems so eager to prove.

Anyway, upon promotion to the Premier League way back in 2006, Madejski stressed the need for a new financial backer at Reading; a billionaire rather than a millionaire being the main headline grabber.

Fast forward some 60 or so months, all of which passed by with very little news of any interested parties whatsoever, and we arrive at the consequently surprising announcement made a mere two hours ago.

As the Reading Post and Reading Chronicle seemed it prudent to run the whole statement as the bulk of their article on the subject, this blog shall be doing completely the opposite. If you want to read the three paragraph long statement, go here.

Both the Chronicle and the Post seem to be convinced that the deal is the initial announcement for large-scale investment in Reading Football Club, though cynicism would appear to indicate this is a “we-are-not-quite-sure-but-watch-this-space-and-buy-our-paper” play, with the lack of  clear information outside of the statement posted on the official Reading FC site as evidence for this.

All we have to go on right now is a whole lot of conjecture so here that is.

As pointed our rightly on Hob Nob Anyone?, the ‘Thames Sport Investment’ group is not registered at Companies House and a Google (ever reliable as it is) search brings up no relevant links aside from the official site statement, the resultant stories from the Chronicle and Post  (and subsidiary media outlets) and the Hob Nob thread.

As a result of this and the “no further announcements can be made until a binding agreement has been reached” paragraph of the official site statement, would both appear to indicate that “Thames Sports Investment”  is a new company and the next announcement would come once it becomes a registered company.

One of the perceived stumbling blocks when it comes to new ownership at Reading Football Club has been the role of Madejski in a new set up at the club and the theory that he would want to stay on at the club in some capacity. The statement confirms that he will stay on as Chairman for the foreseeable future, despite the agreement with this new group.

For this observer, this would appear to indicate that the “Thames Sport Investment” company is either a new holding company for Reading Football Club with Madejski at its head or a new set of investors who have grouped together and are awaiting approval for their company to be formed, with the blessing of Madejski to work alongside him.

If the eventual outcome is the latter, this would work well as it would allow the Chairman to guide the new investors in how the club works and its identity, leaving the club in safe hands when Madejski should decide to retire from ownership of the club.

On the other hand, if this new company is merely a restructuring of his ownership of the club, it leaves the club in the same position as it was before this evening’s announcement. However, why the fanfare of a statement if this was the case?

One of the things that Madejski cannot be criticised for is having the club’s best interests at heart, which is why news of a more investment or a takeover has been so long in coming as it had to be approved by Madejski that it was right for the club. If the “Thames Sport Investment” company does prove to be a case of new ownership, this observer would feel confident that they had the best interests of the club at heart, thanks to Madejski.

It may well be some weeks however, before the ramifications of this statement become truly clear, though if any Reading fan is expecting a spending spree akin to Leicester as a result of this, its probably best to come back to reality.

A mid-season review

Despite it _­not quite being halfway through the season, coming after the Christmas/New Year run of games and the 3^rd round FA Cup exit, now would seem like an appropriate time for a mid-season review of Reading’s season.

The one idea that can sum up the season thus far is the effect of diminished and enhanced expectations; a theory best surmised in analysing our exits at the first hurdle of both cup competitions this season.

Our defeat to Charlton wasn’t the end of the world and was generally viewed as a chance to concentrate on our league form. On the other hand, an emphatic (if not on paper but on grass) defeat to another in form team from League One, Stevenage, has prompted much navel-gazing.

So, putting aside the difference in historical size of Charlton and Stevenage, what caused such a large discrepancy in the reactions to the respective defeats? It should be noted that seven of the thirteen players who featured in our League Cup exit also made an appearance on Saturday.

The answer is the difference in expectations of Reading’s capabilities between the two points in the season. The Charlton defeat occurred after only one win in our first four league games and a 13^th place in the Championship. So a defeat to a high flying, inform team in the division below us was almost to be expected.

Fast forward four months or so and a run of seven wins in ten games, putting us into the play-offs, the expectations going into the Stevenage game were much higher than they were ahead of the Charlton game. Admittedly, a terrible “performance” on Saturday exacerbated the reaction but sitting in 5^th place gave many fans (and perhaps the team) a sense of entitlement; an effect of enhanced expectations if you will.

The value of this in-depth look at these two games that were not even in the league comes from our form in the Championship between September and January.

Ten wins and six draws from twenty games in that period, including wins over numerous rivals, has catapulted us from lower mid table bona fide play-off contenders. A solid, and sometimes spectacular, centre back partnership between Alex Pearce and Kasparss Gorkss and Adam Federici’s underrated performances has allowed Reading to eke out results without needing to score too many at the other end of the pitch.

However, impressive as four defeats in twenty games and 5^th place in the league is, there is a flip side to it. A commonly used yardstick for promotion is an average of two points per game and no team in the Championship is achieving this currently. This hints at a league in which many teams are very evenly matched thus making our current 5^th place look a bit false; a result of outstanding current form rather than consistency. In each of our last three seasons back at this level, taking into account the number of games played, 39 points for 5^th place is the lowest total required at the turn of the year.

 A top goalscorer with six goals and the four main strikers contributing just over 50% of our total league goals (17 out of 32) tells its own story on Reading’s area of improvement and why they haven’t been able to push on to that magical two points a game mark.

At the start of the season, especially after the departure of Shane Long, there would have been very few Reading fans who could have confidently stated that we would sit 5^th going into 2012. The fact that we are is testament to Brian McDermott, for the second season in a row, forging together a team and playing style that is successful. On that basis, Reading fans should be particularly pleased with our season thus far.

But the concerns that were expressed at the close of the transfer window, when we sat 20^th in the league, still remain; overdependence on Jobi McAnuff and Jimmy Kebe for creativity, a lack of variation in the striking department and a lack of depth in quality both at centre half and on the wings.

Impressive seasons from Federici, Pearce, Gorkss, Mikele Leigertwood, McAnuff and Kebe have masked these flaws so far, as has the rather average standard of the Championship this year.

All in all, Reading’s season has the potential to go one of two ways still. If the above players can keep up their standards and one of the strikers finds a run of goalscoring form, a play-off place is eminently achievable. McDermott’s record in the second half of each of the last two seasons makes this very plausible, if you believe in the repetition of history.

Equally as plausible however is a couple of injuries or a loss of form to key personnel would lead to a reverting of type and a mid table finish. The matches against Cardiff and Stevenage seem to hint at a relatively small squad feeling the effects of a hectic Christmas/New Year period, although a FA-cup free rest of the season may alleviate the impacts of squad tiredness.

Finally, no predictions will be made this time around; even if they are proven emphatically wrong to the benefit of us all.

The Kébé Conundrum

Another transfer window, another “will-he-won’t-he” transfer/contract drama for Reading fans is on the horizon this January with the news that Jimmy Kébé has been offered a new deal to replace the one that expires this Summer.

A man that has enthralled, amused and infuriated (sometimes within the space of five minutes) during his time at the club presents a conundrum to Brian McDermott should he reject the new contract offer; break the bank to keep him or cut your losses in the Summer and move on?

On his day, he is by far and away the best winger to watch in the Championship. He has the ability to tear apart any defence with a combination of pace, trickery and quality of final ball. Anyone who saw his performance against Leicester at home last season will attest to this; he was simply unplayable that day.

However, therein hides the issue. When the last time “your day” was the better part of a year ago, the word inconsistent fits you like a glove. Wingers are naturally inconsistent, whatever level they play at, but the frustrating thing with Kébé has always been that he looks like he could do so much more because he has so much talent. Arguably his best performance since then was against West Ham this season but that can be pretty much put down to a stellar half hour against a tiring ten men and the amusing gloss that his sock-gate antics put over the entire 90 minutes of play.

Couple this perceived lower standard of play with a natural body language that doesn’t scream the effort and commitment English football fans love and theories that the man isn’t trying hard enough or just seeing out is contract start to flourish.

But, despite the consensus being that Kébé has underachieved thus far this season, the fact remains that he has scored once and notched up six assists in the league and so is actively involved in just under a quarter of our total league goals, a ratio only bettered by his captain Jobi McAnuff. For reference, he netted nine times and set up seven goals all last season and ten and five respectively the year before that. While he isn’t scoring as many, he’s making up for it with assists.

Clearly, Kébé is an important facet of this team and, indeed, has been a key element of the three teams McDermott has constructed in his managerial stint; contributing goals and assists aplenty in each of those three very tactically and stylistically different teams. A handy average of active involvement in Reading’s goal scoring in his career here as well as the ability to occasionally tear a defence to shreds should mean McDermott and Nicky Hammond should be doing all they can to keep Kébé at the club.

If we take a wider angle though, Kébé’s number of assists so far doesn’t even put him in the top twelve assist-makers for the season in the Championship thus far.

 Furthermore, six out of that top twelve did not play in this division last season which suggests that there is talent in the lower divisions capable of stepping up to the Championship and excelling. With McDermott’s track record of picking up signings (his number of transfer failures can easily be counted on one hand), finding a replacement for Kébé may be easier than first thought.

The overarching issue here would be that it would never be a like for like swap as there are very few players around right now that can generate the excitement Kébé does when in full flow. A replacement might offer the same contribution as Kébé in raw stats terms but the positives that cannot be quantified (putting fear into opponents and other psychological aspects) is a lot harder to replace. This talent, the very same talent that causes him to be loved and hated in equal measure by Reading fans, is the secret ingredient that makes the contract tug-of-war so interesting.