I'm currently reading Jim White's (the writer, not the football transfer maniac with more mobiles than a modern day Pablo Escobar) ambitious 'Premier League; A History in 10 Matches' which explores...well, you can probably guess what the subject matter is.
The eighth match in the book is one Reading fans will never be able to forget as it was one of the most conspicstaging posts in the collapse of our greatest ever team.
It was on Saturday, September 29. Stephen Hunt, Dave Kitson, Shane Long and an OG from a Nicky Shorey short were our scorers. And we still lost.
Yup, it was Portsmouth 7 Reading 4 - a match which presumably still has Alan Hansen waking up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat and needing to turn the bedside table lamp on.
The chapter focuses largely on the largescale financial incompetence at Portsmouth under the ill-fated Harry Redknapp/ Alexandre Gaydamak axis starting in around 2006 and how the club are still paying the price for that to this very day. The Reading angle is largely sketched in (small club inferiority complex yada yada yada), but more on which later.
The overall summarisation being that Portsmouth's demise changed the way the Premier League saw the potential financial implosion of its members - from being something very distant to being a genuine threat (though one which one always got the feeling they were hoping to just keep Portsmouth going until the end of the season and then they would be the Football League's problem).
The chapter ends on a positive with the takeover of Portsmouth by its Supporters' Trust and highlighting the fact that their opponents on that strange September afternoon were a sustainable model they could seek to emulate.
This book was written last year and hindsight is 20/20 of course but given the events of the past year at Reading, it makes such a suggestion seem somewhat laughable. The pace of change in modern football, eh?
The club and Sir John Madejski are praised in the book for the self-sustainable model imposed and more or less achieved (in relative football terms anyway) from 2006 to 2011 - a model which many Reading fans were rightly proud of and perhaps, whisper it, even miss the security of.
While Portsmouth chased the dream and lived so scarily obviously - and obviously scarily - beyond their limited means, Reading cut their cloth (to use the parlance) and lived within their similarly limited means.
However, both ended up being sold on to a young owner with ties to Russia with no real indication given where they had earned their respective wealth with suggestions dubious Daddy was behind each of them respectively.
While Reading - or so it would seem if the latest takeover gets finalised - were saved by the early prudent bookkeeping and owning their stadium and their training ground (making them a much more attractive purchase), Portsmouth were not so lucky and League Two has proved to be the place where enough anvils were thrown out of the hot balloon to allow them to float.
Were it not for Reading's circumstances of owing a modern, income-generating machine of a stadium, the post-Zingaravich world could be looking a lot worse - indeed, genuine fears over administration earlier this summer suggests it may not have been all that far away.
All of which goes back to that 7-4 game nearly seven years ago where two similar-sized clubs met with markedly different immediate pasts, presents and immediate futures but ended up going in the same direction (though to differing extents) further down the line.
Wednesday, 23 July 2014
Monday, 21 July 2014
In defence of Alastair Cook
The time was 12.58pm on Monday, July 21. The largely Indian crowd at HQ was subdued - even the chap who wanted to stand in everyone's way at the foot of the Lower Compton to get pictures of himself had sat down, the victim of an epic Coca-Cola spill on a white shirt - a 100-run partnership had been secured and the first bottle of wine was nearly finished. All was well and good.
Then Moeen Ali got caught between pulling and ducking (pucking?).
An hour of play later and that was that - England all out, six wickets lost for around 50 runs or so, tipsy but inoffensive Indian fans were delighted and England fans were just plain offended. A collapse to a fast-medium pacer in English conditions deploying some short-pitched stuff.
Batsman after batsman going taking on the hook and pull.
Prior? Live by the sword, die by the sword right and play to your strengths but read the situation as an experienced player - there are three men out on the hook. Leave the short ball alone.
Stokes? Yes you're out of form and slightly green but take a look at the scoreboard. Leave the short ball well alone.
Root? Likewise. You've batted superbly for 66. You have lost three partners in quick session. You have only played 19 Tests but take a step back and breathe. And leave the short ball well alone.
Broad? Well, you're not an all-rounder so we can let you off really.
Inevitably, the inquest spotlights fell on to Alastair Cook, unfairly in my view.
The buck probably does stop with the captain but what can he do when his players are not using their brains?
Yes he can score more runs but that isn't going to get his batsman to play properly. He was incredibly proactive in both innings when talking to his bowlers (for the most part) but if they don't use their initiative as professionals, what more can the captain do? What else can the skipper do to get his senior players backing him and leading alongside him when he is already taking scorchers of catches and setting relatively smart fields?
Yes Matt Prior and Stuart Broad in particular look to be carrying injuries and are knackered but there is no shame in sticking your hand up and saying 'I can't carry on' rather than forcing your captain and management team in to having to make a tough decision. Ian Bell is out of form and James Anderson is probably pretty shattered and distracted by the Jadeja spat furthermore.
Cook has enough to worry about with his own form without having no-one to stand alongside him
He is still the best man for the job. Without wishing to make him sound like the best of a bad bunch, every other candidate has a worse CV.
Bell - equally as out of form. Root - arguably in too good form (captaincy will drag it down). Prior? No form and injured. Eoin Morgan? Average Test record and no first class captaincy experience. Chris Read? He's nearly 37 and averages 19 - you might as well bring back Mike Brearley. Any bowler? Too many Tests crammed into a short space of time so they won't play regularly.
Furthermore, what would be the point in shaking up the team so violently when the Rose Bowl Test is five days away?
Cook should remain as captain - though certainly take a break after the Tests and come back in the winter - as he is still the best candidate - mentally strong, seen it all in the game, the natural choice and up until a year ago, a very good track record.
Unlike Andrew Strauss - a very similar captain - and perhaps in a similar vein to Ricky Ponting, Cook has had to deal with the demise of a very good team. In the past year, for one reason or another, Cook has lost Jonathan Trott, Kevin Pietersen, and Graeme Swann.
Cook probably has a similar job description to that of Nasser Hussain - the changing of the guard with a young team in transition. Who will be the new Marcus Trescothick, Michael Vaughan, Andrew Flintoff, Steve Harmison and Matthew Hoggard to lead the next generation? Root, Gary Ballance, Moeen Ali and Chris Jordan look promising but not ready for leadership.
Cook still wants the role and can lead the next generation through. Let him get on with it.
Starting XI for the Third Test vs India- Cook (C), Robson, Ballance, Taylor, Root, Ali, Buttler, Woakes, Plunkett, Jordan, Anderson
Then Moeen Ali got caught between pulling and ducking (pucking?).
An hour of play later and that was that - England all out, six wickets lost for around 50 runs or so, tipsy but inoffensive Indian fans were delighted and England fans were just plain offended. A collapse to a fast-medium pacer in English conditions deploying some short-pitched stuff.
Batsman after batsman going taking on the hook and pull.
Prior? Live by the sword, die by the sword right and play to your strengths but read the situation as an experienced player - there are three men out on the hook. Leave the short ball alone.
Stokes? Yes you're out of form and slightly green but take a look at the scoreboard. Leave the short ball well alone.
Root? Likewise. You've batted superbly for 66. You have lost three partners in quick session. You have only played 19 Tests but take a step back and breathe. And leave the short ball well alone.
Broad? Well, you're not an all-rounder so we can let you off really.
Inevitably, the inquest spotlights fell on to Alastair Cook, unfairly in my view.
The buck probably does stop with the captain but what can he do when his players are not using their brains?
Yes he can score more runs but that isn't going to get his batsman to play properly. He was incredibly proactive in both innings when talking to his bowlers (for the most part) but if they don't use their initiative as professionals, what more can the captain do? What else can the skipper do to get his senior players backing him and leading alongside him when he is already taking scorchers of catches and setting relatively smart fields?
Yes Matt Prior and Stuart Broad in particular look to be carrying injuries and are knackered but there is no shame in sticking your hand up and saying 'I can't carry on' rather than forcing your captain and management team in to having to make a tough decision. Ian Bell is out of form and James Anderson is probably pretty shattered and distracted by the Jadeja spat furthermore.
Cook has enough to worry about with his own form without having no-one to stand alongside him
He is still the best man for the job. Without wishing to make him sound like the best of a bad bunch, every other candidate has a worse CV.
Bell - equally as out of form. Root - arguably in too good form (captaincy will drag it down). Prior? No form and injured. Eoin Morgan? Average Test record and no first class captaincy experience. Chris Read? He's nearly 37 and averages 19 - you might as well bring back Mike Brearley. Any bowler? Too many Tests crammed into a short space of time so they won't play regularly.
Furthermore, what would be the point in shaking up the team so violently when the Rose Bowl Test is five days away?
Cook should remain as captain - though certainly take a break after the Tests and come back in the winter - as he is still the best candidate - mentally strong, seen it all in the game, the natural choice and up until a year ago, a very good track record.
Unlike Andrew Strauss - a very similar captain - and perhaps in a similar vein to Ricky Ponting, Cook has had to deal with the demise of a very good team. In the past year, for one reason or another, Cook has lost Jonathan Trott, Kevin Pietersen, and Graeme Swann.
Cook probably has a similar job description to that of Nasser Hussain - the changing of the guard with a young team in transition. Who will be the new Marcus Trescothick, Michael Vaughan, Andrew Flintoff, Steve Harmison and Matthew Hoggard to lead the next generation? Root, Gary Ballance, Moeen Ali and Chris Jordan look promising but not ready for leadership.
Cook still wants the role and can lead the next generation through. Let him get on with it.
Starting XI for the Third Test vs India- Cook (C), Robson, Ballance, Taylor, Root, Ali, Buttler, Woakes, Plunkett, Jordan, Anderson
Monday, 14 July 2014
An ode to an NHS A&E department from a first-time adult user
Last night, for the first time in 15 years, I found myself in the Accident and Emergency department (as with the last time, very much emphasis on 'accident') of the Royal Berkshire Hospital.
My problem? Drunken misdemeanor involving a traffic cone and a statue of Queen Victoria? Punched in the face repeatedly after defending an old lady from two callous criminals? Falling off a bicycle and under a truck, leaving my lower body looking like a toothpaste tube nearing the end of its natural usage? Anything even remotely cool or exciting?
Nope. Bet that wasn't a surprise...
Being a spry, youthful 24-year-old, it was a dodgy back. Yeah, a dodgy back. A debilitating, horrendous, tear-inducing series of sharp, stabbing, excruciating jots of agony pouring out of my lower back up as far up as my shoulders and down as low as my knees leaving me on two occasions unable to move and, even now, stooped like a marginally prettier Hunchback of Notre Dame (but with a far worse singing voice apparently). All that and more. But still, a 24-year-old hobbling into A&E with a hot water bottle crammed into my lumbar region with a back problem.
Anyway, enough self-pity.
Outside of a Wetherspoons at 7.30 in the evening, the A&E department of any hospital at nighttime is perhaps the closest you can get to a Mad Hatter's tea party - sans tea and cake but with added vending machine Fanta - in terms of strange, concerning and daft characters.
In roughly two-and-a-half hours last night (big up the NHS for that short wait) I witnessed, to mention but three:
-a certainly drunk and potentially mentally troubled middle-aged gent who arrived in ambulance, was led out from the A&E ward to the waiting room, asked the receptionist on five separate occasions if he could go back on the ward to find his '£220 glasses', asked who had won the football 'Brazil or Argentina', fell asleep in the toilet for half an hour and then fell asleep again outside the toilet door for another 15 minutes.
-a chap behind a pair of dark glasses who had an 'accident' at 7pm the night before, proceeded to sit in the waiting room for 90 minutes making out with his very blonde other half and then deciding to head home- despite said other half referring to a 'fractured eye socket'- mentioning the word (presumably not entirely in jest) 'curfew' to the receptionist as he left
-a woman rant and rave about the competency of NHS staff to a poor Irish patient who looked as if all she wanted to do was be on her own but was far too polite to say so.
And then some people who were genuinely injured and in quite some pain.
Through all this, the lovely NHS staff took it all in their stride and got on with their jobs with smiles on their faces, the picture of politeness when by rights they should be legally (let alone ethically) allowed to administer a heavy dose of tranquilisers and be granted a short, sharp kick to the sensitive parts of said damn fools - me included for basically turning up to get some super-strong codeine when there were people who walked as if one of their legs had been replaced with a none-too-supple pool cue.
Personally, in my adult life, I've never had to rely on the NHS apart from an occasional GP visit, but happily paid my taxes knowing that one day I would need to utilise it. That night came last night.
For free at the point of use, I could call a hotline to get some information and help, speak to an on-call doctor (who basically told me to go to A&E and get off the phone, perhaps as the second half of the World Cup final was just starting), get checked out, reassured, get some painkillers and be granted the bliss of a relatively painless night's sleep, advice on how to get literally back on my feet and prevent it from happening again in the future from pleasant, knowledgeable staff, all within three hours or so.
What more could you possibly ask? Except maybe more comfortable chairs...
My problem? Drunken misdemeanor involving a traffic cone and a statue of Queen Victoria? Punched in the face repeatedly after defending an old lady from two callous criminals? Falling off a bicycle and under a truck, leaving my lower body looking like a toothpaste tube nearing the end of its natural usage? Anything even remotely cool or exciting?
Nope. Bet that wasn't a surprise...
Being a spry, youthful 24-year-old, it was a dodgy back. Yeah, a dodgy back. A debilitating, horrendous, tear-inducing series of sharp, stabbing, excruciating jots of agony pouring out of my lower back up as far up as my shoulders and down as low as my knees leaving me on two occasions unable to move and, even now, stooped like a marginally prettier Hunchback of Notre Dame (but with a far worse singing voice apparently). All that and more. But still, a 24-year-old hobbling into A&E with a hot water bottle crammed into my lumbar region with a back problem.
Anyway, enough self-pity.
Outside of a Wetherspoons at 7.30 in the evening, the A&E department of any hospital at nighttime is perhaps the closest you can get to a Mad Hatter's tea party - sans tea and cake but with added vending machine Fanta - in terms of strange, concerning and daft characters.
In roughly two-and-a-half hours last night (big up the NHS for that short wait) I witnessed, to mention but three:
-a certainly drunk and potentially mentally troubled middle-aged gent who arrived in ambulance, was led out from the A&E ward to the waiting room, asked the receptionist on five separate occasions if he could go back on the ward to find his '£220 glasses', asked who had won the football 'Brazil or Argentina', fell asleep in the toilet for half an hour and then fell asleep again outside the toilet door for another 15 minutes.
-a chap behind a pair of dark glasses who had an 'accident' at 7pm the night before, proceeded to sit in the waiting room for 90 minutes making out with his very blonde other half and then deciding to head home- despite said other half referring to a 'fractured eye socket'- mentioning the word (presumably not entirely in jest) 'curfew' to the receptionist as he left
-a woman rant and rave about the competency of NHS staff to a poor Irish patient who looked as if all she wanted to do was be on her own but was far too polite to say so.
And then some people who were genuinely injured and in quite some pain.
Through all this, the lovely NHS staff took it all in their stride and got on with their jobs with smiles on their faces, the picture of politeness when by rights they should be legally (let alone ethically) allowed to administer a heavy dose of tranquilisers and be granted a short, sharp kick to the sensitive parts of said damn fools - me included for basically turning up to get some super-strong codeine when there were people who walked as if one of their legs had been replaced with a none-too-supple pool cue.
Personally, in my adult life, I've never had to rely on the NHS apart from an occasional GP visit, but happily paid my taxes knowing that one day I would need to utilise it. That night came last night.
For free at the point of use, I could call a hotline to get some information and help, speak to an on-call doctor (who basically told me to go to A&E and get off the phone, perhaps as the second half of the World Cup final was just starting), get checked out, reassured, get some painkillers and be granted the bliss of a relatively painless night's sleep, advice on how to get literally back on my feet and prevent it from happening again in the future from pleasant, knowledgeable staff, all within three hours or so.
What more could you possibly ask? Except maybe more comfortable chairs...
Monday, 28 April 2014
Play-offs good, promotion bad. Thoughts ahead of Reading's last game of the season
The journey is more often than not far more enjoyable than the
destination. The commute into work, the slow process of getting drunk
rather than actually being drunk and watching The Dark Knight Rises are all disappointing testament to this.
Oh, as is promotion to the Premier League, which the comparison with the commute to work is probably most apt.
Flying through on green lights/ tearing apart all-comers? Check.
Dreams of endless possibilities that can be achieved in the day/season to come? Check.
Ultimate disappointment and looking forward to getting home/back to the Championship? Checkity, check, check.
And so we come to the last day of this season with Reading battling to secure a play-off place which a win against Burnley on Saturday will secure.
But is promotion really something we, as fans, would or, perhaps should, want?
In the optimistic aftermath of our last two promotions, Reading fans were rightly hopeful of achieving a modicum of success in the top flight. The glorious 2005/06 season where records were smashed and the 2011/12 campaign where we came from nowhere to win the title both hinted at a long-term plan and a team capable of competing at a higher level.
The promises of the 106 season proved to exceed expectations - albeit for one season - while the 2012/13 Premier League season probably paints a better picture of what we should expect if we were to win the most unexpected of promotions this season.
The feeling throughout the 2011/12 season throughout the superb second half of the campaign was when our opponents were going to find out our limitations and exploit them and this season, our form has been even worse yet somehow we are in the play-off picture.
With all due respect, this squad is not as good as the 2011/12 season let alone the 2005/06 vintage - though possessing the trademark character and strength of will associated with a lot of Reading teams so far this century - so what could we expect in the Premier League next season?
Presumably, with no investment looking likely, weekly batterings, non-existent confidence in the squad and relegation by early April would probably be a fair assessment.
Furthermore, if the club does get promoted and is suddenly far more attractive to an oversea moneybags buyer a) what chance fair and due diligence will be done on them in the rush to get some cash and b) how likely is it to expect funding to be in place for new signings outside of a late August, Crystal Palace-style splurgefest last summer which Tony Pulis has proven to have been completely futile?
Football may well be about the glory, but those who cannot see a long-term plan and decry anyone not wanting promotion immediately to be unambitious are themselves incredibly naive.
I would be delighted with a play-off place and even a play-off final as it can be enjoyed stress-free with no desire for promotion, similar to the Swansea play-off final in 2011 which was nowhere near as heartbreaking as 1995 or 2001, no matter what anyone says.
A few years at Championship level building properly and steadily is no bad thing. The clubs more successful at establishing themselves in the Premier League in recent years - Wigan, Stoke, Swansea - spent a few years in the Championship laying the foundations of becoming a Premier League team.
We've had the chance twice, but failed to take it for one reason or another. This time around, we have a talented crop of youngters coming through which, coupled with Nigel Adkins' track record of blooding young players, bodes well for long-term building with the right leadership from the board.
But that's another issue for another day.
Oh, as is promotion to the Premier League, which the comparison with the commute to work is probably most apt.
Flying through on green lights/ tearing apart all-comers? Check.
Dreams of endless possibilities that can be achieved in the day/season to come? Check.
Ultimate disappointment and looking forward to getting home/back to the Championship? Checkity, check, check.
And so we come to the last day of this season with Reading battling to secure a play-off place which a win against Burnley on Saturday will secure.
But is promotion really something we, as fans, would or, perhaps should, want?
In the optimistic aftermath of our last two promotions, Reading fans were rightly hopeful of achieving a modicum of success in the top flight. The glorious 2005/06 season where records were smashed and the 2011/12 campaign where we came from nowhere to win the title both hinted at a long-term plan and a team capable of competing at a higher level.
The promises of the 106 season proved to exceed expectations - albeit for one season - while the 2012/13 Premier League season probably paints a better picture of what we should expect if we were to win the most unexpected of promotions this season.
The feeling throughout the 2011/12 season throughout the superb second half of the campaign was when our opponents were going to find out our limitations and exploit them and this season, our form has been even worse yet somehow we are in the play-off picture.
With all due respect, this squad is not as good as the 2011/12 season let alone the 2005/06 vintage - though possessing the trademark character and strength of will associated with a lot of Reading teams so far this century - so what could we expect in the Premier League next season?
Presumably, with no investment looking likely, weekly batterings, non-existent confidence in the squad and relegation by early April would probably be a fair assessment.
Furthermore, if the club does get promoted and is suddenly far more attractive to an oversea moneybags buyer a) what chance fair and due diligence will be done on them in the rush to get some cash and b) how likely is it to expect funding to be in place for new signings outside of a late August, Crystal Palace-style splurgefest last summer which Tony Pulis has proven to have been completely futile?
Football may well be about the glory, but those who cannot see a long-term plan and decry anyone not wanting promotion immediately to be unambitious are themselves incredibly naive.
I would be delighted with a play-off place and even a play-off final as it can be enjoyed stress-free with no desire for promotion, similar to the Swansea play-off final in 2011 which was nowhere near as heartbreaking as 1995 or 2001, no matter what anyone says.
A few years at Championship level building properly and steadily is no bad thing. The clubs more successful at establishing themselves in the Premier League in recent years - Wigan, Stoke, Swansea - spent a few years in the Championship laying the foundations of becoming a Premier League team.
We've had the chance twice, but failed to take it for one reason or another. This time around, we have a talented crop of youngters coming through which, coupled with Nigel Adkins' track record of blooding young players, bodes well for long-term building with the right leadership from the board.
But that's another issue for another day.
Saturday, 26 April 2014
Amazing Greys with their hammer of comeuppance
Do you know what's cracking good fun? Laughing at other people and TV show creators just know it.
Many modern entertainment programmes are based exactly on that premise, making us all feel better about ourselves as we sit watching TV every night getting slowly older, balder and full of aches which must be nothing...not worth bothering the doctor about surely.
The Only Way Is Essex? Ha, they lack primary school level syntax. Deal Or No Deal? Chortle, some people think chanting will change what they will find in a box. The Jeremy Kyle Show? Well, you get the picture.
Laughing at social groups or 'show title first, show format second'. That's the secret to TV success. I know the rules, but just don't want to exploit them to my own ends...
Amazing Greys (ho, ho) fits both of those categories - a pun title and the mild titillating thrill that you'll get to laugh at a segment of the social strata - this time the older generation.
The premise of the show is a strapping young person, cocksure and fancy-free, strides on to Ant and Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway stage (decorated slightly differently) to take on a series of challenges where he or she will take on a person who experienced food rationing, the Suez Crisis and men always wearing great hats.
Said young person is seemingly encouraged to make a series of thrusting pronouncements the jist of which he will beat someone who has 50 years on him/her at any game - making them look less confident and more of a bullying 'banter-saurus'.
The show sets you up to think the young person will sweep all before them and take home £10,000. I mean, look at the opposition. Take a good, long look at them. They're old! They like slippers and read the Daily Express and wear fantastically ironed trousers.
But, wait, hold the phone, all is not as it would seem. This older generation are all experts in their fields (like a 1940s-born version of Eggheads but far less annoying). They make amusing cracks and jokes. Some of them aren't even grey!
And lo! More often than not they wipe the floor with their opponents and it is wonderfully life-affirming.
Not the fact older people are showing off mad skillz, bur rather arrogant Take Me Out-standard knobheads usually getting their comeuppance handed to them from someone three times their age.
They even get the chance to be given a 'headstart' in one of the games and get gimme questions about Katy Perry or TOWIE and still they fail.
Ha ha, screw you young people with your sexual promiscuity and your haircuts and your Daily Star and your skinny jeans - you got beaten by people with decades of experience in their field, a field you presumably have very little experience in. Ha ha! Oh.
Many modern entertainment programmes are based exactly on that premise, making us all feel better about ourselves as we sit watching TV every night getting slowly older, balder and full of aches which must be nothing...not worth bothering the doctor about surely.
The Only Way Is Essex? Ha, they lack primary school level syntax. Deal Or No Deal? Chortle, some people think chanting will change what they will find in a box. The Jeremy Kyle Show? Well, you get the picture.
Laughing at social groups or 'show title first, show format second'. That's the secret to TV success. I know the rules, but just don't want to exploit them to my own ends...
Amazing Greys (ho, ho) fits both of those categories - a pun title and the mild titillating thrill that you'll get to laugh at a segment of the social strata - this time the older generation.
The premise of the show is a strapping young person, cocksure and fancy-free, strides on to Ant and Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway stage (decorated slightly differently) to take on a series of challenges where he or she will take on a person who experienced food rationing, the Suez Crisis and men always wearing great hats.
Said young person is seemingly encouraged to make a series of thrusting pronouncements the jist of which he will beat someone who has 50 years on him/her at any game - making them look less confident and more of a bullying 'banter-saurus'.
The show sets you up to think the young person will sweep all before them and take home £10,000. I mean, look at the opposition. Take a good, long look at them. They're old! They like slippers and read the Daily Express and wear fantastically ironed trousers.
But, wait, hold the phone, all is not as it would seem. This older generation are all experts in their fields (like a 1940s-born version of Eggheads but far less annoying). They make amusing cracks and jokes. Some of them aren't even grey!
And lo! More often than not they wipe the floor with their opponents and it is wonderfully life-affirming.
Not the fact older people are showing off mad skillz, bur rather arrogant Take Me Out-standard knobheads usually getting their comeuppance handed to them from someone three times their age.
They even get the chance to be given a 'headstart' in one of the games and get gimme questions about Katy Perry or TOWIE and still they fail.
Ha ha, screw you young people with your sexual promiscuity and your haircuts and your Daily Star and your skinny jeans - you got beaten by people with decades of experience in their field, a field you presumably have very little experience in. Ha ha! Oh.
Saturday, 15 March 2014
Big Men In Little Shorts - the Six Nations and I
You know the feeling when something sounds really important - like the annexation of Crimea or what that woman from The Only Way is Essex wore to dinner last night - but you just cannot seem to give it the same amount of interest as say, freeing the sock fluff from in between your toes?
That is basically how I feel about Big Men In Little Shorts From Half A Dozen Countries Pushing Each Other While Being Terribly Polite About The Whole Thing - or to give it its official name, the RBS Six Nations.
I get that it's important in the world of rugby and usually I'm unthinking enough to buy into jingoism and Scot-bashing played out on grass in most other sports but...just...something...there is something about it that means I end up writing a blog that will be read by eight people at most while the tournament culminates.
It's the sporting equivalent of not watching Borgen or not listening to Yeezus by Kanye West - it probably is worth my time, but that doesn't mean I will.
Then again, I polished off Breaking Bad in the last six weeks, just started watching House of Cards and read all of the so-far-published A Song of Ice and Fire books in about four months so I'm just as mindless and sheep-like enough to follow the tempting, tempting crowd with their offers of social acceptance in those fields anyway.
Just for some reason, the sport really, really does not draw me in. Do you know where I was when England got to the World Cup Final in 2003 and 2007 - in a branch of Argos and at a dog-racing evening respectively which about sums it all up.
I'd watch golf in the form of the Ryder Cup over either code of rugby which I don't like typing, but that is simply the way it is.
All in all, it must be pretty much the same feeling that people who are ambivalent to the omnipresent, all-consuming monster that is football feel for the rest of the 45-odd weeks of the year - enduring the never-ending questions of "Did you watch the game?", "Did you see X fuck up?", "I hate Y so much; how about you?" and so on and so forth.
No I didn't watch it, can we talk about something else? Nope, thought not. I'll go back to de-fluffing my littlest toe.
That is basically how I feel about Big Men In Little Shorts From Half A Dozen Countries Pushing Each Other While Being Terribly Polite About The Whole Thing - or to give it its official name, the RBS Six Nations.
I get that it's important in the world of rugby and usually I'm unthinking enough to buy into jingoism and Scot-bashing played out on grass in most other sports but...just...something...there is something about it that means I end up writing a blog that will be read by eight people at most while the tournament culminates.
It's the sporting equivalent of not watching Borgen or not listening to Yeezus by Kanye West - it probably is worth my time, but that doesn't mean I will.
Then again, I polished off Breaking Bad in the last six weeks, just started watching House of Cards and read all of the so-far-published A Song of Ice and Fire books in about four months so I'm just as mindless and sheep-like enough to follow the tempting, tempting crowd with their offers of social acceptance in those fields anyway.
Just for some reason, the sport really, really does not draw me in. Do you know where I was when England got to the World Cup Final in 2003 and 2007 - in a branch of Argos and at a dog-racing evening respectively which about sums it all up.
I'd watch golf in the form of the Ryder Cup over either code of rugby which I don't like typing, but that is simply the way it is.
All in all, it must be pretty much the same feeling that people who are ambivalent to the omnipresent, all-consuming monster that is football feel for the rest of the 45-odd weeks of the year - enduring the never-ending questions of "Did you watch the game?", "Did you see X fuck up?", "I hate Y so much; how about you?" and so on and so forth.
No I didn't watch it, can we talk about something else? Nope, thought not. I'll go back to de-fluffing my littlest toe.
Saturday, 8 February 2014
The Winter Olympics - an 'expert's' view
Despite it basically being a collection of increasingly madcap ways of getting down a frozen hill really, really fast, the Winter Olympics are something amazing.
Tales of triumph over adversity, the very real chance of catastrophic injury for the competitors, the glory, the very real chance of catastrophic injury for the competitors, the political animosity, the very real chance of catastrophic injury for the competitors, the back stories, the very real chance of catastrophic injury, the token athletes from countries where snow has only ever been read about and the very real chance of catastrophic injury for the competitors.
But the best thing about it is, much like the summer Games, you can become an 'expert' in the sports you are watching within 20 minutes of first tuning in.
Take, for example, the slopestyle snowboarding this morning which consisted of 12 very dude-ish dudes going down a massive hill very fast on a five-foot-long piece of plastic with an American dude out dude-ing all the over dudes to take home the gold medal.
At first, you watch it and have pretty much no idea what is going on. There are "frontsides" and "bolts" and "triples" and "1260s" and lots of blond hair in a whirlwind of snow, blue sky and over-excitable commentary.
The only two vaguely normal - and so, by extension, ridiculously incongruous- things witnessed were at one stage, someone knitting at the top of the slope and most of the boarders having their gloves tied to their jackets, like Dougal in Father Ted does.
To add to the confusion, the scoring system is stupid and subjective with judges marking the dudes down for slight technical deficiencies like issues with their shoulder position or maybe a hair is out of place or their jacket wasn't baggy enough or something.
Anyway, fast forward about a dozen jumps and you find yourself saying "Oh he didn't nail the bolt-on there; that will cost him" or "That was such an awesome triple" or "What a perfect rodeo". Being British, one then gets terribly embarrased.
The other thing about being British is you buy into backing your countrymen (one of whom was second at one point and so I got that horrible hopeful feeling and another who was competing without a cruciate ligament - an item of the human body I've always considered pretty important). Given they are British and this is the Winter Olympics, one imagines they probably train by buying a Hobby Craft-ful of that fake snow stuff at Christmas time and taking a trip to their local park.
But that is all the fun of the Games - lesser-known athletes enjoying themselves on the biggest stage after four years of hard work and the audience finding out more about sports they have never seen before and perhaps getting really into them. Like we didn't with Greco-Roman wrestling and synchronized swimming at London 2012...
Tales of triumph over adversity, the very real chance of catastrophic injury for the competitors, the glory, the very real chance of catastrophic injury for the competitors, the political animosity, the very real chance of catastrophic injury for the competitors, the back stories, the very real chance of catastrophic injury, the token athletes from countries where snow has only ever been read about and the very real chance of catastrophic injury for the competitors.
But the best thing about it is, much like the summer Games, you can become an 'expert' in the sports you are watching within 20 minutes of first tuning in.
Take, for example, the slopestyle snowboarding this morning which consisted of 12 very dude-ish dudes going down a massive hill very fast on a five-foot-long piece of plastic with an American dude out dude-ing all the over dudes to take home the gold medal.
At first, you watch it and have pretty much no idea what is going on. There are "frontsides" and "bolts" and "triples" and "1260s" and lots of blond hair in a whirlwind of snow, blue sky and over-excitable commentary.
The only two vaguely normal - and so, by extension, ridiculously incongruous- things witnessed were at one stage, someone knitting at the top of the slope and most of the boarders having their gloves tied to their jackets, like Dougal in Father Ted does.
To add to the confusion, the scoring system is stupid and subjective with judges marking the dudes down for slight technical deficiencies like issues with their shoulder position or maybe a hair is out of place or their jacket wasn't baggy enough or something.
Anyway, fast forward about a dozen jumps and you find yourself saying "Oh he didn't nail the bolt-on there; that will cost him" or "That was such an awesome triple" or "What a perfect rodeo". Being British, one then gets terribly embarrased.
The other thing about being British is you buy into backing your countrymen (one of whom was second at one point and so I got that horrible hopeful feeling and another who was competing without a cruciate ligament - an item of the human body I've always considered pretty important). Given they are British and this is the Winter Olympics, one imagines they probably train by buying a Hobby Craft-ful of that fake snow stuff at Christmas time and taking a trip to their local park.
But that is all the fun of the Games - lesser-known athletes enjoying themselves on the biggest stage after four years of hard work and the audience finding out more about sports they have never seen before and perhaps getting really into them. Like we didn't with Greco-Roman wrestling and synchronized swimming at London 2012...
Friday, 6 December 2013
Why politics is like Doctor Who
Everybody makes mistakes; its one of life's certainties like death, taxation and pretending to like Scandinavian crime dramas.
Some mistakes are bigger than others, some are further reaching than others and some are better remembered.
The ones that are best remembered are usually those by made by people of influence as they are usually carted out to prove said person is either a hypocrite or they are flip-flopping.
In that sense, politics is like writing for Doctor Who.
Doctor Who writers have to contend with a myriad of rules and ideas laid down by their predecessors and somehow plot a course through them all to create some kind of viable plot and Heaven forfend if they get something wrong, lest the internet explode with extremist Whovian bile.
One imagines the show writers have an old file with the word 'Rules' crudely inscribed on the front it, packed to bursting point with every single restriction they have to consider with each law also containing sub-sections on how to get around them. Finally, the file has an ultimate checklist - the result of years of hard graft and shrill abuse - full of hoops which every episode must leap through without touching the sides before storyboarding let alone filming can begin.
In a similar way, politicians have to contend with often unworkable parameters set down by their forebears (or indeed, their own younger, immature, incorrect selves) and when they inevitably have to go back on them, Twitter users find every modicum of hypocrisy in the form of Twitpics and YouTube videos while old fusty people with too many surnames write to the Daily Telegraph complaining about them selling their souls for pragmatism.
Unlike Doctor Who writers, politicians and their aides lurch day-to-day, finding ways to get out of previous policy pledges and they inevitably crash and burn but survive more often - pretty much every day in fact.
Yes, not answering in the 50th anniversary episode how the Doctor and Clara are still alive when they jumped into the Doctor's time stream, scattering themselves across time and space, at the end of the last series is a tiny bit different to a policy of Nelson Mandela being a terrorist - which is less of a mistake and more of a monumental fuck up of gargantuan proportions - but that is another similarity between TV and politics.
You can be completely under-qualified to comment on it but the magic of the internet means you can.
Some mistakes are bigger than others, some are further reaching than others and some are better remembered.
The ones that are best remembered are usually those by made by people of influence as they are usually carted out to prove said person is either a hypocrite or they are flip-flopping.
In that sense, politics is like writing for Doctor Who.
Doctor Who writers have to contend with a myriad of rules and ideas laid down by their predecessors and somehow plot a course through them all to create some kind of viable plot and Heaven forfend if they get something wrong, lest the internet explode with extremist Whovian bile.
One imagines the show writers have an old file with the word 'Rules' crudely inscribed on the front it, packed to bursting point with every single restriction they have to consider with each law also containing sub-sections on how to get around them. Finally, the file has an ultimate checklist - the result of years of hard graft and shrill abuse - full of hoops which every episode must leap through without touching the sides before storyboarding let alone filming can begin.
In a similar way, politicians have to contend with often unworkable parameters set down by their forebears (or indeed, their own younger, immature, incorrect selves) and when they inevitably have to go back on them, Twitter users find every modicum of hypocrisy in the form of Twitpics and YouTube videos while old fusty people with too many surnames write to the Daily Telegraph complaining about them selling their souls for pragmatism.
Unlike Doctor Who writers, politicians and their aides lurch day-to-day, finding ways to get out of previous policy pledges and they inevitably crash and burn but survive more often - pretty much every day in fact.
Yes, not answering in the 50th anniversary episode how the Doctor and Clara are still alive when they jumped into the Doctor's time stream, scattering themselves across time and space, at the end of the last series is a tiny bit different to a policy of Nelson Mandela being a terrorist - which is less of a mistake and more of a monumental fuck up of gargantuan proportions - but that is another similarity between TV and politics.
You can be completely under-qualified to comment on it but the magic of the internet means you can.
Saturday, 31 August 2013
Jimmy Kébé: how will he be remembered?
There are players that split fans' opinions and then there is Jimmy Kébé, the kind of footballer who makes an out-of-date yogurt look like the model of consistency.
In an odd kind of way, the very reason for his popularity with certain sections of the Reading support is the same fodder for his detractors to lob bombs.
To his supporters, Kébé has been our most naturally talented and devastating player for the last half a decade, capable of tearing defences apart and winning games single-handedly.
To his detractors, Kébé has been our most naturally talented and devastating player for the last half a decade, capable of tearing defences apart and winning games single-handedly - just he didn't do it often enough as his talent suggests he should.
Reading's history has been littered with players who have been maddeningly inconsistent despite - or perhaps because of - being blessed with huge natural talent, but the Kébé situation always had another factor to it.
Say what you like about how often the talented likes of Michael Gilkes, Jamie Lambert and John Salako delivered, they didn't shrink from a physical challenge.
Even players unfairly seen as having far more talent than bottle such as John Oster and Seol Ki-Hyeon still played when called upon.
And this is why the Kébé situation has been different as there was always the nagging feeling he only really played when he was 100% physically and mentally and didn't fancy it if he wasn't.
He certainly does not lack for bravery as player - headers against West Brom and Sunderland at home last year attest to that - but the feeling always was that he wasn't prepared to play if he was nursing an injury.
Its the old dilemma of either having a brave, committed footballer or a talented one - not that they are mutually exclusive, just more so the lower down the league ladder you go.
Ultimately, Reading will miss him as he was one of our most talented players we have had in the last six years, but his time has probably gone now.
There is usually only room for one 9/10 in one game 5/10 for the next six kind of player and with Royston Drenthe taking that particular role of maddeningly inconsistent talent, Kébé looked likely to be restricted to less regular football unless Nigel Adkins was feeling particularly confident/reckless.
In essence, going back to the start of this blog, in the same way Kébé's supporters and detractors can point to the same reason for their respective arguments, they can also acknowledge the same memories of him to back their points.
He will be remembered for frighteningly good performances against the likes of Leicester in 2010/11 and Sunderland last season (and pulling up his socks of course).
Whether you choose to remember those performances as stand-outs or frustration they didn't happen more often sums up your view on the man who does what he wants.
In an odd kind of way, the very reason for his popularity with certain sections of the Reading support is the same fodder for his detractors to lob bombs.
To his supporters, Kébé has been our most naturally talented and devastating player for the last half a decade, capable of tearing defences apart and winning games single-handedly.
To his detractors, Kébé has been our most naturally talented and devastating player for the last half a decade, capable of tearing defences apart and winning games single-handedly - just he didn't do it often enough as his talent suggests he should.
Reading's history has been littered with players who have been maddeningly inconsistent despite - or perhaps because of - being blessed with huge natural talent, but the Kébé situation always had another factor to it.
Say what you like about how often the talented likes of Michael Gilkes, Jamie Lambert and John Salako delivered, they didn't shrink from a physical challenge.
Even players unfairly seen as having far more talent than bottle such as John Oster and Seol Ki-Hyeon still played when called upon.
And this is why the Kébé situation has been different as there was always the nagging feeling he only really played when he was 100% physically and mentally and didn't fancy it if he wasn't.
He certainly does not lack for bravery as player - headers against West Brom and Sunderland at home last year attest to that - but the feeling always was that he wasn't prepared to play if he was nursing an injury.
Its the old dilemma of either having a brave, committed footballer or a talented one - not that they are mutually exclusive, just more so the lower down the league ladder you go.
Ultimately, Reading will miss him as he was one of our most talented players we have had in the last six years, but his time has probably gone now.
There is usually only room for one 9/10 in one game 5/10 for the next six kind of player and with Royston Drenthe taking that particular role of maddeningly inconsistent talent, Kébé looked likely to be restricted to less regular football unless Nigel Adkins was feeling particularly confident/reckless.
In essence, going back to the start of this blog, in the same way Kébé's supporters and detractors can point to the same reason for their respective arguments, they can also acknowledge the same memories of him to back their points.
He will be remembered for frighteningly good performances against the likes of Leicester in 2010/11 and Sunderland last season (and pulling up his socks of course).
Whether you choose to remember those performances as stand-outs or frustration they didn't happen more often sums up your view on the man who does what he wants.
Sunday, 18 August 2013
Five talking points from Reading 3-3 Watford
1) The striker conundrum
On the face of it, two league goals in two league starts should guarantee you a starting place as a striker in any team, but things never seem to go to their obvious conclusion with Adam Le Fondre and his best role; starter or super sub.
The argument goes that he has neither the physical strength, nor the blinding pace to play the lone man role in a 4-5-1/4-3-3 system as a starter. This ignores the fact he can hold up the ball, link play as well as anyone and is by far an away our best finisher (notwithstanding two golden chances he had yesterday).
Nick Blackman seems more suited to the lone striker role being very mobile, having a good touch to take down long balls and having a Jason Roberts-esque knack of winning free-kicks. However, he has only scored one goal in a Reading shirt and never looked like scoring yesterday.
With Pavel Pogrebnyak our striker best suited to a lone-man role out of favour and Roberts still working his way back to fitness, Le Fondre remains our best bet as first choice striker at this stage and he has every right to feel aggrieved if he doesn't start.
2) Full back worries
An interesting development as come over the summer from Nigel Adkins and that is squad rotation, particularly in the attacking department with all of our wingers or strikers, baring the injured and Pogrebnyak, getting a start in the first three games of the season.
Yesterday saw two strikers (Le Fondre and Blackman), a winger (Jobi McAnuff) and a no. 10 (Royston Drenthe) start in a very loose 4-3-3 formation.
When it worked, especially going forward, it was fantastic to watch, particularly the interplay between Le Fondre and Drenthe, but defensively, it is always looked rickety with our full backs being particularly exposed with no cover in front of them. This was particularly true on the right with Chris Gunter being overmanned on many an occasion with Le Fondre, McAnuff, Drenthe, Blackman and Jem Karacan all taking up residence in the right winger role during the first 60 minutes.
The players are still clearly learning Adkins' system, but the number of times Gunter and Wayne Bridge were up against two or even three attackers with not much in the way of cover must be a particular worry.
3) The calculated long ball
When does a long ball become a hoof? Yesterday, the most obvious feature of our play was the clearance from the full back position up the channels or to Le Fondre or Blackman in the attacking third.
Everytime this happened, the Watford fans would shout "hoof", but this is far from the hoofball we used to see last season under Brian McDermott when players had no confidence and launched the ball in the direction of the opposition corner flag due to fear they might make a mistake.
This was a deliberate ploy to either get one of the front four in behind the Watford defence or use Le Fondre and Blackman's underrated skills as hold-up men to either win the ball and play in an advancing midfielder or to win a free kick.
The problem was, as the second half wore on, Watford got wise to the tactic. They pressurised the full backs so the ball ended up with Alex Pearce or Sean Morrison, neither of whom's passing is their greatest asset, and the long ball became less accurate. Thus, Watford got more possession and gradually overwhelmed us to earn a deserved point.
4) Bridge of quality
Matt Robinson, Nicky Shorey, Chris Armstrong, Ryan Bertrand, Ian Harte. For a decade or more now, we have always had a left-back who has been one of the best in the division we are playing in (last year excluded of course).
However, of all of them, Wayne Bridge may well be the best. He simply exudes quality and experience, defensively and going forward.
On countless occasions yesterday, he did the Shorey circa 2005-7 trick of winning himself a moment's time when he was backed up into a corner, looking up and picking out a pass to a teammate.
He occasionally found himself overmanned due to the constant changing in wingers in front of him (see point 2), but hardly put a foot wrong and was a danger pushing forward.
To to top it all off, he used all of his experience in the last minute to win a free-kick for no apparent reason when he went down in our penalty box with Watford threatening to break through once again.
5) A new Danny
Last year was a strange one for Danny Guthrie; in the eyes of many Reading fans he went from being starter, to primma donna to hopeful saviour to just plain old occasional starter.
What was clear was that Guthrie played best when he was the main man and this is the role Adkins has given him this year as the base and focal point for the starting of our attacks when we are in passing and not long-ball mode.
The centre halves spilt and Guthrie goes back to pick up the ball from the keeper and picks a pass. His game is all about keeping the ball moving and keeping possession which is probably why Adkins thinks so highly of him.
He rarely loses the ball, his long passes are a joy to behold (one in the closing minutes from the left back spot fully 70 yards across pitch to Garath McCleary was gorgeous) and he seems to be playing with confidence shown by his drag back played in his own penalty box to set up a counter attack yesterday.
On the face of it, two league goals in two league starts should guarantee you a starting place as a striker in any team, but things never seem to go to their obvious conclusion with Adam Le Fondre and his best role; starter or super sub.
The argument goes that he has neither the physical strength, nor the blinding pace to play the lone man role in a 4-5-1/4-3-3 system as a starter. This ignores the fact he can hold up the ball, link play as well as anyone and is by far an away our best finisher (notwithstanding two golden chances he had yesterday).
Nick Blackman seems more suited to the lone striker role being very mobile, having a good touch to take down long balls and having a Jason Roberts-esque knack of winning free-kicks. However, he has only scored one goal in a Reading shirt and never looked like scoring yesterday.
With Pavel Pogrebnyak our striker best suited to a lone-man role out of favour and Roberts still working his way back to fitness, Le Fondre remains our best bet as first choice striker at this stage and he has every right to feel aggrieved if he doesn't start.
2) Full back worries
An interesting development as come over the summer from Nigel Adkins and that is squad rotation, particularly in the attacking department with all of our wingers or strikers, baring the injured and Pogrebnyak, getting a start in the first three games of the season.
Yesterday saw two strikers (Le Fondre and Blackman), a winger (Jobi McAnuff) and a no. 10 (Royston Drenthe) start in a very loose 4-3-3 formation.
When it worked, especially going forward, it was fantastic to watch, particularly the interplay between Le Fondre and Drenthe, but defensively, it is always looked rickety with our full backs being particularly exposed with no cover in front of them. This was particularly true on the right with Chris Gunter being overmanned on many an occasion with Le Fondre, McAnuff, Drenthe, Blackman and Jem Karacan all taking up residence in the right winger role during the first 60 minutes.
The players are still clearly learning Adkins' system, but the number of times Gunter and Wayne Bridge were up against two or even three attackers with not much in the way of cover must be a particular worry.
3) The calculated long ball
When does a long ball become a hoof? Yesterday, the most obvious feature of our play was the clearance from the full back position up the channels or to Le Fondre or Blackman in the attacking third.
Everytime this happened, the Watford fans would shout "hoof", but this is far from the hoofball we used to see last season under Brian McDermott when players had no confidence and launched the ball in the direction of the opposition corner flag due to fear they might make a mistake.
This was a deliberate ploy to either get one of the front four in behind the Watford defence or use Le Fondre and Blackman's underrated skills as hold-up men to either win the ball and play in an advancing midfielder or to win a free kick.
The problem was, as the second half wore on, Watford got wise to the tactic. They pressurised the full backs so the ball ended up with Alex Pearce or Sean Morrison, neither of whom's passing is their greatest asset, and the long ball became less accurate. Thus, Watford got more possession and gradually overwhelmed us to earn a deserved point.
4) Bridge of quality
Matt Robinson, Nicky Shorey, Chris Armstrong, Ryan Bertrand, Ian Harte. For a decade or more now, we have always had a left-back who has been one of the best in the division we are playing in (last year excluded of course).
However, of all of them, Wayne Bridge may well be the best. He simply exudes quality and experience, defensively and going forward.
On countless occasions yesterday, he did the Shorey circa 2005-7 trick of winning himself a moment's time when he was backed up into a corner, looking up and picking out a pass to a teammate.
He occasionally found himself overmanned due to the constant changing in wingers in front of him (see point 2), but hardly put a foot wrong and was a danger pushing forward.
To to top it all off, he used all of his experience in the last minute to win a free-kick for no apparent reason when he went down in our penalty box with Watford threatening to break through once again.
5) A new Danny
Last year was a strange one for Danny Guthrie; in the eyes of many Reading fans he went from being starter, to primma donna to hopeful saviour to just plain old occasional starter.
What was clear was that Guthrie played best when he was the main man and this is the role Adkins has given him this year as the base and focal point for the starting of our attacks when we are in passing and not long-ball mode.
The centre halves spilt and Guthrie goes back to pick up the ball from the keeper and picks a pass. His game is all about keeping the ball moving and keeping possession which is probably why Adkins thinks so highly of him.
He rarely loses the ball, his long passes are a joy to behold (one in the closing minutes from the left back spot fully 70 yards across pitch to Garath McCleary was gorgeous) and he seems to be playing with confidence shown by his drag back played in his own penalty box to set up a counter attack yesterday.
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