This Saturday, before the Blackburn game, we will hear a watershed announcement for Everton Football Club.

Last Saturday, whilst the table toppers were losing at Reading, I was sat watching a fantastic musical about the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz. And the following night, whilst Liverpool fans were bemoaning the refereeing decision against Chelsea (the drunken Reds fan I asked the score didn’t realise the irony of his ‘same old story’ response) I sat on my own in a cinema to watch Eagle Vs Shark.

Anyway, these events are kind of linked…

The announcement I mention concerns whether or not the majority of Evertonians are for or against continuing to look into the proposed move to a new stadium in Kirkby next to a TESCO.

For three weeks, current and former season ticket holders amongst other fans, have been asked to put a cross in a box on a piece of paper sent to them by the Electoral Reform people, and accompanied by a glossy brochure proclaiming the move to Kirkby as being the only feasible outcome in the whole stadium debate. Our chairman, manager and players have come out and stated why a move is important, and interesting stadium designs published, whilst Duncan Ferguson and one of those planes (the ones you always see on Big Brother, this time with a message behind it saying “Vote No to Kirkby”) being two of the loudest anti-move protesters, plus bright yellow stickers saying SAY NO.

Unfortunately, many fans seem split on this topic, which has resulted in some tense arguments on message boards and fanzine pages, and chants in the Gwladys Street. Many don’t see Kirkby as being part of Liverpool (it is in fact proud to be in Knowsley) even though a large majority of Everton fans (and two first-teamers) come from there. The Blue Boys even come out to the theme of Z-Cars, a TV programme set in what was meant to be Kirkby (Newtown).

In the interests of anonymity and fear of lynching, I won’t say which box my cross went in. However, I will say it is sad to see the club not having the guts to continue its initial plans, and that I fear more could happen depending on the result. It is also sad to see Liverpool City Council not being able to push for a definitive site within the city boundaries, despite Warren Bradley’s desires, whilst all along the Echo gleefully prints images of the impressive new Anfield Bowl in Stanley Park – where we started, if you know your history.

Anyway talking of evil witchcraft and green-skinned villains, Wicked the Musical, which claims to tell the real story of the witches in The Wizard of Oz, was fantastically entertaining. I thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon of songs, comedy and special effects and got to thinking about how different that afternoon was to what I normally spend my Saturday afternoons doing.

Whilst we were there, two Americans were sat in front of us in restricted view seats. They moved at the interval, but explained the slight reduction in price made it worthwhile. The unfortunate knock-on effect was that we had had restricted views for the first half, but as I explained to my family, my season ticket at Goodison is not for an obstructed view seat yet I can’t see the whole pitch, do spend a lot of the match on my feet, and don’t grumble (the first time I’ve used grumble, one of my favourite words, in an article, fact fans) even though I don’t get any reduction. It adds to the spectacle in a way.

Anyway the next day I went to a less-soulless-than-most Multiplex to watch the impressive New Zealand(er?) film, Eagle Vs Shark. As I excitedly bought my ticket, little did I know I would be THE ONLY PERSON IN THE CINEMA. Well, for twenty minutes at least, at which point rather embarrassingly a young couple walked in during the opening credits, to great awkwardness on all our parts, but by then the damage had been done. I sat during my period of solitude, feet on chairs, munching popcorn, talking on my phone to someone I wished was with me, thinking – just imagine if you went the match on your own? I mean, I go the match on my own normally and quite like it that way, but imagine an empty stadium apart from yourself and the players and coaching staff. Whilst in the cinema I thought to myself, will they even show the film, or apologise profusely and offer vouchers – similarly, would the match still go ahead? Would it be enjoyed fully if it did?

And that’s where the three moments meet, a bit like the storylines of elaborate US dramas but perhaps less exciting – will this week’s ballot result change the experience of going the match forever? Will we be sat alone, isolated, lonely, with awkward relationships formed in shared seating arrangements? Will we complain if we can’t see the whole pitch or if it’s not a thrill a minute? And will the dissenters take long to complain that we should have moved or stayed where we were?

These questions may not be answered for years. I am proud that Everton have taken the stance of asking their fans, their People, what they want, but am worried that we will divide as a support as a result. We already suffer poor accommodation and facilities and on some afternoons, entertainment, some love this fact, and this might change in Kirkby, but will we lose our identity in the process?

In the Wizard of Oz, it said the Witch melts when Dorothy throws a bucket of water over her. At the end of Wicked (stop reading now if you’re planning to see it, soz) we realise she was never that wicked, just misunderstood, and we see her emerge, alive, and elope with the Scarecrow to pastures new.

Quite how this is symbolic to Everton’s dilemma I’m not sure, I think there is something in it, and we all know that Bill Kenwright does love a drama. Both the musical and the film had a happy ending. For all our sakes, I hope the stadium debate does too.

Many of us are still pinching ourselves as we reflect on what can only be described as an unthinkable end to the opening week of the season. Everything imaginable has happened with dreams realised and extinguished in one swift week in English football. What agony. What ecstasy. What a contrast in fortunes. The drama! And who would’ve guessed it?

The season is upon us once again and boy have we missed it.

While one half of Manchester reluctantly sobered up after endless celebrations, the other was left wondering how they relinquished defeat to their inferiors and now stand 5th from bottom in the table, with jubilant renditions of ‘Blue Moon’ still fresh and echoing in their ears; on what turned out to be a painstakingly bitter Monday morning for United fans. Meanwhile down the M6 or A34 (I normally take the scenic A34 avoiding the infamous bottleneck Stoke junction on the M6) the sun shone bright in the potteries; as early on Saturday evening Stoke City, in front of the cameras, came from a goal behind to beat Championship new boys Charlton 2-1, and moved top of The Championship. This was retribution. This was euphoria.

How apt that two clubs, so often juxtaposed in each other’s indignation should share in this rare, yet justly rewarded moment of glory. The tale of two City’s went something a little like this…

It wasn’t all that long ago that both teams played each other in old Division One on the last day of the season, both being relegated, though City won 5-2. They now both stand perilously tall at the summit of their respective divisions.

These two clubs have had to shrug off incomparable humiliation over the years, with the successes of United not doing anything to ease the pain for City. At least there’s never any danger of The Vale ever winning anything, which bears some consolation for Stoke. After this weekend though, pride is momentarily restored and both sets of fans have every right to milk it for everything its worth.

The match at The Britannia began with an honoured minutes silence for Daniel Shaw (the 15 year old who was run over & killed in a car accident on the way to see Stoke play in pre-season). The tributes paid to the teenager gave a stark reminder of the compassion that still exists in modern society and restored my faith in humanity. As the cameras panned left where wreaths had been laid at the feet of Stoke legend Stanley Matthews’ statue, morality weighed heavily on our minds. This had become a matter of life and death, and humanity, now what’s more important than that?

In a sport where there seems to be more silver linings than a series of friends (or maybe we’ve become so used to having to create them ourselves to survive as a supporter of teams like the two City’s!), the day for 13,000 Stoke fans was about to get a whole lot better. Charlton, a mainstay in the recent Premier League rankings, got an insight into the kind of quality that exists in the championship. Pundits claiming that the so called ‘yo yo clubs’ will dominate this division (due to their parachute money) may well have to reconsider. This dubiously remains to be seen as any one of twelve have the chance of promotion, with every team beatable. Not only is this division the most competitive in English football, the quality has improved dramatically also. A good championship team is now every just as good as a shitty Premier league team and Stoke City proved that last Saturday.

Going a goal down courtesy of a Fortunate deflection was completely against the run of play and totally undeserved. 3 minutes later and Ricardo Fuller showed what he’s about by scoring a sublime solo equaliser. Then 12 minutes from time, Jon ‘The Beast’ Parkin came off the bench to secure a famous win, enhancing his folk-hero status at the club he’s now joined on a permanent basis from Hull. The promotion merry-go-round has begun.

On a typical dismal day in Manchester, the city was buzzing with the earliest derby of the season in Premier League history, and the most anticipated for many a year. What an exhilarating and captivating day of football it turned out to be. At Eastlands many sensed an upset after Sven’s promising start in English football and Ferguson’s uncharacteristic below par start to his title defence. Remember Sven? He’s the one who had the futile job of becoming England’s first-ever foreign manager. If he’s got nothing else he has defiantly got guts.

Now lets put the record straight, United dominated, as expected for the most part and deserved at least something from the game. But who can take anything away from City as they resiliently stuck to their task and held on for a famous but slender 1-0 victory?

A nervous City rode their luck in the early moments of this match lacking the cohesion expected of a team so quickly assembled and had young Kasper Schmeichel to thank for some Dad-like goalkeeping. Wisely, Fergie nullified Sven’s playmaker Elano and City found it difficult to create any clear-cut chances. However, marshalled by seasoned professional - Dietmar Hamann, City grew in dexterity, inspired by the magnificent Micah Richards who made some breathtaking last ditch tackles. Then came an auspicious moment for Geovanni to endear himself to the City faithful. As United backed off the match winner they were made to pay as he bent a shot around Edwin van der Sar with the outside of his right boot. It proved decisive. What followed was the sublime bordering the ridiculous and a moment Manchester City fans wont forget in a hurry: Adding to United’s frustration, a cocky City nonchalantly played keep ball for 7-8 minutes to the rapturous cheers of an invigorated crowd; reminiscent of that famous Leeds footage from 71/2 Vs Southampton. From here onwards City were obstinate in their refusal to coerce with the advances of Man U, with Richards and Dunne persistently coming out on top.

For all Utd’s possession, but for some clever flicks from new-boy Nani, they failed to really penetrate the City defence and at times lacked shape and fluidity. Despite what I may have said in previous articles, Giggs and Scholes are still an integral part of this team; but Ferguson has to decide between Hargreaves and Carrick who he’ll drop from midfield, as it obviously doesn’t work playing all three. The latter would be my choice as despite the defeat, Owen Hargreaves had a good shout for Man of the Match (behind Richards & Dunne naturally) and displayed the kind of appetite and big match mentality everyone has become accustomed to. The idiosyncratic Tevez, for all his inventiveness looked slightly off the pace and will certainly need time to bed in.

What was most evident from this memorable derby, was United’s need of a natural finisher; and if you scour through their sizable squad, it’s hard to find one, and no storm in a teacup will help Fergie find one. Is ‘Big Al’ going to dig even deeper into his American pockets?

Of course as the season progresses, the hopes of the two City’s will fizzle out and fade away like a wilting flower in autumn. Man City will flatter, entertain and promise much but it’s inevitable the big four’s advances will precipitate and they’ll end up scrapping it out for a Uefa cup spot with the likes of Spurs, Everton and possibly Newcastle. The inconstant loyalty of Stoke’s players will undoubtedly lead to more players jumping ship as they take their place in the Championship dog fight and the ensuing race for the holy grail intensifies.

When witnessing such overrated gobshites as Ferdinand, Cole & Lampard, strutting their inconceivably wanky and over-hyped bullshit, it’s easy to agree with your old man when he says money has ruined the game; as in many ways it certainly has. But to marvel at such precocious talent possessed by Richards; and when I begin to understand and     admire the humility of his underrated mentor and teammate Richard Dunne, then my faith in football is fully restored, indefinitely.

Anyway there’s reason to be faithful. Because to over-use that old footballing cliche: the table never lies. A week into their respective campaigns the two City’s are sitting pretty at the top of England’s two top divisions, basking in the glory…. and deservedly so. The bubble may well burst come Saturday when both travel south to Arsenal and Southampton respectively, but for now things couldn’t possibly get any better. Oh and I’m City till I die! 

And so it went… Saddened and shocked by the premature death of Anthony H Wilson, who was probably more responsible than Morrissey for putting the M in Manchester, a bad night’s sleep on Friday led me to the first day of the season.

Optimism, sunshine, Sky Sports News, fry-up… and excitement, what excitement. Earlier in the week, I’d decided to do something I’d not done for years, something to herald the start of a new season and to try to rekindle the flames of enthusiasm that the beginning of the SKY era had brought.

I went the ground for midday, pen in hand, in the hope of seeing the players arrive, and collecting cherished autographs.

When my dad used to take me to matches in the early 90s, I’d drag him to the ground as early as possible and we’d stand around waiting for autographs and photos with heroes such as Jason Kearton, Paul Holmes and Les Helm and Jimmy Martin, the Everton physio and kitman of the day. Now of course, I knew it would be very different, and though I would have a match programme from Saturday covered in illegible scribbling, I did expect it to be a surreal, sobering experience.

First to arrive was Phil Neville, scowling and tanned, then Andy Johnson, moody but accommodating and with an amazing car. As the rest of the first team squad turned up and duly signed shirts and books and posed patiently for mobile phone photographs, the crowd of fans swelled. I admit I must have looked a bit odd, older than most of my fellow devotees, and than a lot of the players I was actually waiting for.

It got me thinking about the boundaries between player and fans, indeed at Goodison you’re separated from your heroes by a line of blue railings. Smaller kids reach hopefully through the gaps, for a signing that will mean much more than the paper it’s often written on. I realised that though there’s still a joy to be gained from meeting someone you cheer on every week, it’s also quite humiliating, what must the player be thinking as he writes his name for you (or more often, just a doodle, strangely met with their squad number, as if that tag follows them around forever)?

As an avid autograph collector, this is something I’ve become more and more conscious of over the years, but meeting the likes of Liam Gallagher, Peter Blake or Dave from the Zutons recently, have got away with quite easily. With Ebay’s help I’ve even managed to get Morrissey’s and Beyonce’s signatures (both look real enough) but for some reason with footballers it’s just that bit weirder.

When Arteta scurried past us, explaining he was late, I felt a pang of disappointment reminiscent of my childhood. I held out the photo I’d taken of him at a recent game like the pre-pubescent me, in awe of my favourite player once again. That brought back the excitement factor to the occasion, and I guess the reason why we do it all. Regardless of age or income, these men are living out our dream, and a souvenir of a meeting, whether chance or forced, is the closest we can get to proving the experience happened, well, without a camera anyway, and maybe some of their skill and fame will pass over to us? I walked away for a prematch pint quite happy, though, Arteta will just have to wait another day to meet me, I supposed.

Anyway overall it was an enjoyable ninety minutes, more enjoyable perhaps than the match, which we won 2-1, without ever playing particularly well. Wigan were poor, we weren’t much better, the atmosphere was lifted a few times only by the mercurial Mikel’s magic moments. He just gets better every game, and is now getting the recognition we have, in a way, been fearing he would. If he can continue this form and others around him can up their game a little, things could actually be looking up for us Blues, and not just at the expensive ‘VOTE NO FOR KIRKBY’ plane that flew overhead before kick off.

Meanwhile, Tranmere were losing to Leeds, apparently all over the country though the half time score was met with cheers, football fans do not tend to think ‘there but for the grace of God’ when it comes to Leeds, rather to celebrate their demise. Those fans of clubs recently bought by foreign investors should perhaps read the most recent FourFourTwo and consider such actions. Carlisle drew at Walsall, a result which prompted the board to lose confidence in their manager. Chester, Preston and Morecambe however, all drew nil nil in their respective home matches, which would have been disappointing and somewhat anti-climactic, especially with Blackpool getting one of the results of the day winning at Leicester.

Which brings me, in alphabetical terms anyway, to Liverpool. As I wrote in previous articles, nothing surprises me where they, and Stevie G, are concerned, and the innocuous challenge which led to a superb winner at Villa Park kind of summed up my feelings towards that particular individual. I shudder to think how they’ll win their next match, especially if Gerrard’s in such an aggravating mood. I certainly can’t imagine asking him for his autograph the next time I see him buying bread in Marks’s.

The season’s underway at last! After the weekends opening fixtures everyone’s whining on about the same surperfluous issue. I’m not talking about United’s inability to breakdown a resilient Reading or Portsmouth, Rooney’s unfortunate hairline, or even Sven’s touchy yet impassioned post-match interview. Incidentally I visited every bookie in Chorlton on Saturday in a vain attempt to back Man City to be top by the end of August, but to no avail. After seeing it on the net late on Friday I thought it worthy of a punt (valued at 50-1), but for once, no one would take my money. Adding to my disappointment City won convincingly and are now more fancied at 11-1! Where’s a Paddypower when you need one?

Did you get it too then? I have to say I got the warning signs in the bookies earlier that day (worst being William Hill), and I’m not talking about the scotch eggs, cocktail sausages, or mini sausage rolls they place out on the pre-match day buffet (I dread to think whose dirty hands pick-up and put back their ‘finger food’). I’m talking about the foul stench of human flatulence. 

What do you get if you get if you cross 6 bottles of Bulmers, 2 Bacardi Breezers (watermelon flavour), a double JD & coke and a large Doner-Kebab? Well I think we all found out over the weekend! And this time there was no smoke to soften the blow.

The people of England were about as prepared for the smoking-ban as they were for a Spice Girls reunion…not very. If it wasn’t bad enough first time around! After failing to make it in their own right they’ve decided to make us suffer once more. If it’s not one bandwagon, it’s another. Seriously, anyone who goes to watch them this time around has an acute personality defect; and if those ludicrous rumours begin to circulate touting infamous woolyback - ‘Mel C’ to be ‘the fittest’ Spice, then sorry but I’m leaving the country! 

And no she can’t sing either 

For the record I welcomed the smoking ban with open arms and see it only as a good thing. An annoying reformed smoker yes, but I lived in Massachusetts in the US whilst smoking full-time and was in favour of the ban there too. Even smokers should be pleased. Think about it. You smoke less, drink more and  go home with more money in your pocket. Still not convinced? Well you also give less money to the government (as if they don’t tax us enough!) and regardless of those still kidding yourselves: smoking seriously damages your health and others around you too.

Those warnings aside, the last time I checked, air wasn’t part of the deal. Air in the outside sense has and always should be free for us to breathe, smoke into, or do with it whatever we so desire. Does a stadium not constitute an outdoor covered area; similar to those which have now become commonplace in the English pub? Is it not slightly partisan of us to ask ‘the smokers’ to do their smoking elsewhere or is this victimisation justified.

We all know smoking can be dangerous. We only have to think back to Valley Parade and the fire of 1985. Cigarettes were to blame in this instance and sparked the restructure of English football stadiums; but the vulnerable wooden seats have long since been removed and fires will hardly spread by plastic and stone! Why on earth wasn’t smoking banned back then? Surely it would’ve been a lot cheaper than replacing whole wooden stands? I smell a rat, and it’s a dead one. 

Yes its true, people should not be subjected to other people’s bad habits but surely they can’t ban it in open-air venues unless designated areas are provided; which from where I’m standing have not been provided. Will they ban farting in the stands as well then? Can you imagine the ‘no farting signs’, ‘farting areas’ and the general caos of people in and out of their seats!

Of course new stadiums will inevitably make allowances for this country’s smokers and adopt a similar approach as America. Will it only be new stadiums who facilitate smokers though? If so, I know a lot of fellas down Moss Rose who will not be happy.

The Stubborn English could learn a lot from our counterparts across ‘the pond’ where in most stadia smoking is only permitted in designated areas. These areas are outside the stands where bars and big screens are usually situated. These multi-purpose all catering arenas recoup money lost in ticket sales (In some states of America ticket prices are as low as 8 dollars!) by huge profits made on food and refreshments. Will the new ’super stadiums’ of England adopt a similar policy? We can but hope.

I had always favoured the return of terracing and saw it as the perfect solution to bring down ticket prices in this country; although the merest thought of getting any closer to ‘Big Dave’ from Runcorn than I was last Saturday, without the comforting solace of tobacco smoke, has me reaching for the proverbial sick bag.
 
If extortionate ticket prices or new extensive television coverage doesn’t deter supporters from attending games; then the smoking ban might and I’m not just talking about smokers. Whatever happens many non-smokers like myself will be thinking of staying at home this weekend in the safety of a stink free-environment.
 
However, whilst live streaming on the laptop certainly has its perks and Skysports down the pub provides the perfect foil (from mothers, wives & girlfriends alike) for midweek drinking, there’s nothing quite like the experience of going to the match. Soaking up the atmosphere, basking in the drama and a much-needed dose of implacable camaraderie cannot be surpassed. I’m just not sure the new aromas add anything to the romance.

Smoking kills yes, but so does alcohol and smoking doesn’t make blokes farts smell like dead animals! A new smoke free environment doesn’t come without its drawbacks.

Although there’s probably more chance of a reunion organised on face book of ever coming to fruition - bring back terracing and bring back smoking…Please, I’m gagging for it!           

…Disgusting Smells!

I was recently awoken by a text from the esteemed editor of the English Football Post asking for my all-time XI from the English league. It was the first day of the summer holidays (being a teacher does have its benefits) and I’d had a really great weekend so maybe wasn’t thinking straight…

At least that’s the reason I’ll give when asked why I chose a certain newlywed Red in the centre midfield alongside a red (haired) late legend Alan Ball. I still question my decision now, but if anything am pleased I did it.

Steven Gerrard is for many of us, particularly Evertonians, the epitome of what we dislike about Liverpool FC. The arrogance, the lack of personality, attracted to glamour and commercial success, questionable temperament… qualities he seems to share with many of their fans. Perhaps the most galling aspect of his character, and that of the club itself, is that they were both once ‘Everton’ – just as a greedy Scotsman drove the Blues out of Anfield back in 1892 to form the Reds, so Gerrard was more than probably a Blue, at least for a day anyway, as the photo of him with the ’87 trophy shows.

He hasn’t played so well in the last couple of derbies, indeed was childishly sent off the year before and had tears in his eyes as he trudged off the ‘hallowed’ Anfield pitch. However, his presence in my all time team of class is certainly merited, unfortunately. He has developed from I think, a full back of raw promise, to a star performer in most positions, apparently he was even man of the match in a couple of pre-season friendlies last week.

Too often now, so much so that it has become a little predictable, Gerrard is the one who has dragged his underperforming team-mates out of the mire, normally on the big stage, and usually with a moment of brilliance. Our flat was cheering West Ham in 2006 but silenced at the end by that goal. Similarly, a couple of games I only vaguely recall last season at Anfield, Istanbul, Olympiakos etc ad nauseum. He’s even started doing it more regularly for England, I hate to say it, perhaps saving McClaren his job in the Andorra debacle.

What I would do to have someone like that in the centre of our midfield. Love them as I do, Carsley and Neville together only scored a couple of goals last season and don’t expect Jags to trouble many opposing goalkeepers, unless he’s playing in nets himself…

Stevie G as his devotees love to call him (though somewhat unsurprisingly a moniker I despise and find strangely laughable) is the sort of player and maybe even man, lots of young impressionable boys want to be. All-action, bustling, goalscoring hero who never fails to impress it would seem. Personally, I prefer to be a graceful Platini or Zidane, or even a less graceful, but still quite skilful, van der Meyde or James McFadden, when I play 11-a-side, but I can see the appeal nonetheless.

We all love football for many reasons, some of which might simply be because we admire those who can do it a lot better than us. I spend two weeks wages every year on the chance to see some of these players, many of whom are younger than myself, because I would love to be able to do what they can. Some people admittedly pay their money to do the opposite, choosing instead to abuse the individuals, possibly through jealousy or insecurity, it depends who the player is I guess. I’ve done it myself, but am now seeing even the villains who have caused me pain and tears in life, in a different light. Maybe it’s growing up, falling in love, teaching…

I always vow never to get too deep in what I write but it always seems to happen. Unfortunately, no amount of cognitive behavioural therapy can stop me finding links between football and the real life I live. The two are clearly intertwined, but not to the extent I sometimes think. We love something and therefore have to hate whatever comes up against it, particularly if it makes us suffer, but surely we should all be accepting of any footballer who plays the game well, even our heroes might be idiots off the pitch and we might never know it.

And the greatest skill we can show, if not out on the pitch in our beloved shirt, is the maturity and ability to at least respect someone much better at fooball than we (or maybe some of our club’s players) could ever hope to be. Some players respond to being wound up, vilified, harangued, and perform better because of it, their determination pulling them through. If only a crowd could simply ignore the hate figure on the opposition, maybe even applaud them, and see what happens, the romantic in me thinks it would confuse them sufficiently to allow The Best Little Spaniard We Know to waltz through and win us the game.

But anyway Gerrard. I still hate him, and his silly haircut and embarrassing adverts and stupid celebrations, but for some reason am in admiration of most of what he does on the pitch. So I had to put him in the dream team. He is a one-off, and the way the fans love him is quite remarkable, I see it every day with kids at school, and where he’s come from too makes it at least partly inspirational that one day one of the kids I teach can get to the same peak of success and talent. As long as they’ve got a better persona and choose to wear a blue shirt, I’ll be happy, and may even forgive him.

Or maybe not. Altogether now…

After what has seemed like an eternity, with no World Cup or Euro’s to numb the pain, the football season is finally upon us once again. Having survived purely on frenzied transfer speculation and meaningless pre-season friendlies or competitions such as The Emirates Cup or the Hong Kong challenge or whatever the fuck it was called, the real business is thankfully about to commence.

The past two months will have seen fans from all over the country indulge in, depending on the team they support, either outrageously unrealistic expectations or depressingly pessimistic predictions of imminent and embarrassing failure. Indeed, many fans, myself included, will have fluctuated wildly between the two emotions as that star signing who was single-handedly going to transform the teams fortune fell through at the last minute or as defeat against some obscure pre-season opponent shatters the dreams of championships that had seemed so rational only that morning.

This roller coaster of anticipation is what makes pre-season both so exciting and so frustrating, at least when the season starts we quite quickly get a realistic idea of our teams potential. We know where we stand and are relieved from the purgatory of falling prey to the football fans epidemic that is false hope.  While the initial realisation, for most fans, that this season in all reality is not going to live up to pre-season expectations prompts an initial self-loathing for being such a mug to never learn our lesson, this promptly gives way to a satisfying realisation that this is part of being a football fan.

This pre-season must have been particularly trying for a few sets of supporters. Firstly, I feel we should all spare a thought for out long suffering brummie villainous companions. Only the most battle weary and cynical Holte ender must have been able to keep a rationale perspective, the other poor bastards must surely have naively allowed themselves to envisage Marty, backed by Randy’s millions, using his Gaelic charm to persuade Ronaldihno or Kaka to come and be part of a revolution to bring the glory days back to Britain’s second city. Alas, it didn’t quite pan out that way but at least they had the sizeable consolation of signing Homer Simpson AKA Marlon Harewood. With a poor mans Emile Heskey as their star signing surely even villa fans with a penchant for rose-tinted spectacles and eternal optimism must be wallowing in self-pity due to the affliction of being a football fan.

On a similar note, as a Liverpool fan, even I felt a little sympathy for the bluenoses this summer as the clubs own website, indulging in some sick act of masochism, started peddling rumours that the signing of Juan Roman Riquelme was imminent.  Given Carlos Tevez and Javier Mascherano’s ridiculous arrivals at Upton park on the first weekend of last season the bluenoses could be forgiven for thinking that the first truly world class player since Beardsley was about to grace the Goodison turf. (Just to pre-empt any angry postings, I know you love Andy Johnson and I know he scored in the Derby but unfortunately he isn’t world class). Anyway, surprisingly enough the rumours were complete bollocks and the Gwladys Street End faithful will have to spend another season watching lee Carsley and Phill Neville labour to make a forward pass, and will once again be dependent for flair on the fleeting moments of true class shown by McFadden of Arteta.

The final set of supporters who I feel have had to endure a somewhat traumatic summer are perennial strugglers The Mackems. After their humiliating relegation two seasons ago, where they managed to break their own record for the lowest premiership points total after spending a paltry 4.5 million on strengthening a what was clearly a championship team, the summer brought respite as Sunderland legend Big Quinny and his consortium of fellow leprechauns took over the club. However, the nadir was still to be reached as they lost their first five games, were rooted to the bottom of the championship and seemed to be in freefall. Then in came their saviour Mr Keane. In what was true Roy (excuse the pun) of the rovers stuff Keane, displaying a calm charisma unbelievably at odds with his on field persona, totally revamped the side with astute transfer wheeling and dealing and clearly-apparent man management skills, led Sunderland on a remarkable run which culminated with a 5-0 rout at Luton and the championship on the last day of the season. Understandably, the black cats allowed themselves to become convinced that Keane was the heir to his mentors Cloughie and Fergie.

However, a summer of seriously questionable transfer activity must have tempered the unparalleled optimism on Wear-side. As an admittedly biased Geordie mate pointed out, The Toon paid fractionally more for Geremi, Viduka, Barton, and Cacapa than Sunderland did for either Richardson or Chopra. Thus, if Sunderland struggle with the daunting early fixtures and key big money signings fail to settle quickly the passionate love-in between Keane and his followers could become strained quickly.

Having said that keane obviously saw something in Richardson in training that we haven’t and Chopra will probably score a hat-trick against spurs on Saturday and prove I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m on about. Either way roll on the new season so all this pointless anticipation and predicting can give way to action cause who really knows how things are going to work out? There are so many factors at play aside from whose has the best team, such as how the players will gel, how they deal with setbacks of unexpected or embarrassingly heavy defeats etc. And we will only really be able to attempt to answer these questions once the season is a few weeks old.

Indeed, even if my annual renewal of optimism that Liverpool will mount a challenge that last beyond august is dented by defeat at Villa Park I for one will still be glad that the purgatory of pre-season is over. My weekend will once again be dominated by football and any plans will once again be subject to the arbitrary machinations sky sports and now Setanta’s programming. I will once again be subject to the awkward situations and patronisingly sympathetic glances of friends and family as another birthday, Christmas or wedding is disrupted because of my pathological need to watch even the most obscure match (recently a pre-season friendly caused a little embarrassment…you just can’t explain how much you’ve been looking forward to seeing the new signings to somebody who is never going to understand, even rationalising it in ones own head it becomes apparent that it’s slightly strange behaviour). I will also have to put up with being viewed with suspicion in public as some sort of weirdo tourettes sufferer as I listen to matches on the radio. However, all this suffering will be worth it as weekends, aside from the barren wastelands of international weeks, taken on a greater significance, aside from getting hammered and the invariably futile attempt to pull birds. I have matured enough that a Liverpool loss does not precipitate a deep and dark depression, like it once did, so even the weekends when Liverpool lose are worth it for those when they win a tricky away fixture and I can head out on a night out with an extra spring in my step.

And then there was: Chelsea, losing in the Charity Shield and feeling the pressure from the off, Arsenal and how will they cope without Henry? Whether or not Van Persie is the new Bergkamp? Spurs? West Ham and all that Jazz….Mines a Kronenbourg mate!

It’s been a funny old Summer.

Teams up and down the West Coast Mainline are in the main quite content, some ecstatic, and would you believe Liverpool were one of only two of our teams to end the season with relative disappointment. Naturally, I didn’t enjoy that moment at all, or try to order a 2007 winners Athens t-shirt (actually I wanted Kaka’s ‘I belong to Jesus’ version).

Therefore, the summer came quickly and money has been spent, new stadiums discussed, and it’s gone quite quickly too. There’s been the Copa America and some absurdly early friendlies to fill the gap, and now, only a couple of weeks to go. Fantasy Football listings in the paper, new shirts being worn all over town, and before you know it we’ll be watching Jeff Stelling and the boys and eagerly awaiting Post-match interviews discussing the latest controversy or wonder goal.

The lower league team I’ll be looking out for most next year will be Morecambe. Having won a glorious play-off final that for some reason was live on Sky Sports News, they approach their first League season with intrepid optimism, and a rejuvenated town spirit presumably not felt since the Stones played the Winter Gardens (as my uncle always reminds me). I’m originally from Lancaster you see, and the club I played for as a boy, despite its being a City, are so far in the Shrimps’ shadows not even Steve Zissou could locate them. They are the team, remember, that ended the season on nil points having been deducted ten, lost all their players, and struggled to even get out of minus figures. Thankfully, features on Focus and Granada Soccer Night seemed to do the trick and relegation brought with it a new hope. Meanwhile, Morecambe are looking at a new stadium, certainly their crowds this year will be enhanced dramatically, though whether or not the players will be celebrating in the sea front’s most famous nightclub The Carlton we’ll have to see.

Blackpool are also celebrating, having had a fantastic end to the season and winning n the play-offs, the trips to Bramall Lane and The Valley will evoke memories of their heyday and Mortensen and Matthews lighting up Wembley Way. Simon Grayson has worked wonders at the club and we can only hope that this will be the year the Seasiders finally fill in that last end of the ground. That sea wind’s terrible you know…

Elsewhere in Lancashire, Blackburn and Bolton – whatever. In the words of Morrissey, I find it almost impossible to care (although I don’t think he was commenting on these two teams at the time) as I can’t stand either, new signings, European ventures etc, a new manager for one, but no doubt they’ll remain horrible to watch, hard to beat and generally irrelevant. Good luck to them and their fans, at least Allardyce isn’t involved any more I suppose.

I quite like Burnley actually, though all I’ve heard about them this close season has been that Alistair Campbell bid £15000 to be a squad member for the day so that’ll improve their chances no end.

Wigan meanwhile is a different story. I’ve always had a soft spot for them, I don’t particularly like the team or ex manager but they try hard and have a few old Evertonians amongst them. They’ve been spending big too, and the scribe who wrote above my local’s gents’ urinal ‘Titus Bramble – misunderstood genius’ may well have had a few too many Magners but may just also have got it right. If however they sell Leighton Baines that would be a shame as he’s a Kirkby lad too and has a great left foot. I’m just jealous I suppose cos I kind of wanted us to sign him.

Liverpool then… what more can you say other than they’ll be there or there abouts yet again next season, Rafa’s probably got the final pieces (of eight? He does look like a pirate with that awful goatee). Voronin looks class, Torres will probably be a success, no doubt even Kewell might make the team. Blah blah blah. They’ve spent and sold heavily and generally look to have improved even more, but I question the fans’ embracement of the American investment (random soundbite – fan outside Anfield to George Gilette, “We gona bring the European Cup home George?” “You bet your ass we will!”) when they so ridicule Manchester Utd’s Glazers arrival.

What I do have to say will happen is that Liverpool will become even more of a parody of themselves and win games with luck or divine/devilish intervention and even if they beat each other up for fake tickets, ‘The Kop’ will be applauded as the greatest fans in the world yet again.

That comment probably explains who I’ll be mentioning most in my correspondence this season. Yes, I am a sometimes bitter, occasionally optimistic Evertonian. I started supporting them in 1986 because I liked Lineker (I was a child) and I felt sorry for them at the Cup Final. That’s a feeling I’ve continued to have towards the self-styled People’s Club over the years, though often I think people have felt sorry for me too.

After the relative success of last season and the giddy heights of being disappointed with a draw at Chelsea on the last day, it’s been down to earth with a bump on Planet Everton, not enough signings, missing out on possible important players and generally doing not so great in their friendlies. With Vaughan now facing a long lay off, AJ and McFadden still coming back to fitness and only Victor looking threatening, I’d like to think there may be a big signing on the way. Fernandes looked class at times last year, but if Beattie is to have any fond memories of his time with us, now is the time to do it, especially if nobody else comes in.

Nugent, Koumas, Barton and maybe Baines were all touted as in the pipeline, but, as with Kieron Richardson, something wasn’t right with any of them for Moyes’ liking and so we face the prospect of a UEFA run with too small a squad. Maybe the rumours are true though and Riquelme will be joining before the big kick-off, ironically against Wigan. I haven’t excitedly salivated as much (football wise incase she’s reading) since Ruben Sosa was allegedly on his way.

At the same time, there’s all this talk of the new stadium, Kirkby or not Kirkby, that is one of the questions, shared grounds etc, should we stay or should we go? One thing’s for sure, it’s bound to be a typical Everton season with more questions than answers.

Or maybe not and this is the year of the underdog when twenty one years of mediocrity are ended and Phil Neville is parading the trophy around the pitch come May, whilst Little Leon and Nuno Valente frolic in the sunshine with Carling-branded champagne and we all film it on our phones in the Gwladys Street end of the School of Science. One can but dream…

And that’s what it’s all about ultimately isn’t it. Every one can be an optimist, hopeful that this could be our season, this is the one… at least until the end of the first match, when reality kicks in.

And that feeling is what we should all enjoy and cherish. Cos that’s what it’s all about, or at least should be.

Bloody hell, football.

In the uncharacteristic warmth of last April, I crammed into a smoky Manchester boozer and watched on in fascination as Ferguson’s latest assault on Europe came to another premature end. As Milan substitute Gillardino raced clear to score the decisive third goal, I subsequently became aware of the extreme pressures that exist at a club like Manchester Utd.

Predictably the atmosphere became acrimoniously unsettled. Beer bottles and pint glasses were pelted at the big screen, as the now seasoned rants of “Time to go (Darren) Fletcher” and “Pile of sh*te, (Wes) Brown” filled the room. Moments later, Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs; both of whom, had not enjoyed the best of games, became the focus of supporter’s frustrations. These two stalwarts of the club, who’d been instrumental to the clubs successes over the past 15 years or so, were the latest victims of a forgetful and ruthless ‘mob’ mentality. Despite winning the title, fans were left dissatisfied, signalling for changes to be made by their manager, who is seldom lacking in motivation.

Fans expectations have never been greater and it seems the need for supremacy is far greater than the need of any one player. Ferguson embodies everything they stand for and indoctrinates this into his team’s ethos. Contrary to the ideals of the football purist, success wastes no time on sentiment and neither does Fergie, post-Keane anyways. You see, Ferguson’s biggest asset is he learns quickly from his mistakes. He spots the error, takes full responsiblity. A strict diciplinarian also, owed much to a mining background, hasn’t softened and his eminent man-management skills remain very much intact. He certainly isn’t scared of making a decision. Unceremoniously axing of high profile stars like; Ince, Beckham, then Veron, and more recently Van Nistlerooy go someway to proving this. However unpopular these decisions were at the time, ultimately it benefited the team, restoring harmony.  I’ve come to the decision that the fans are merely an extension of their manager and success must come at all costs.  
   

You have to admire United for their outright arrogance. It’s cut throat in modern football and it appears that ruthlessness is a requisite for success. It does seem rather harsh however, that Scholes and Giggs should suffer such scrutiny. After all Ryan Giggs is the most celebrated player in Premier League history and both had played pivotal roles in bringing the title back to Manchester. Déjà vu must have overwhelmed Alex Ferguson in the ensuing weeks of that defeat as once again United’s shortcomings in Europe have left him reaching for the company chequebook. Its true this time around ’Big Al’ cannot be accused of resting on his laurels(spending a possible £80 million).  Will lightening strike twice though? Or will his new recruits add pace and guile to an already competitive team?

“You can’t stand still in football, especially if you want to remain successful” explained Giggs, conceding that no player is indispensable. “If you are playing well then you have got a great chance of staying in the team. If you’re not, then you won’t play. It’s as simple as that.” With the signings that Ferguson has made, Giggs will find it increasingly difficult to nail down a regular first team place. Scholes also, may find himself warming the bench more often than not this season, with Owen Hargreaves now in the fray. It wouldn’t overly surprise me if Scholes moved on at some stage; in much the same way Mark Hughes, Nicky Butt and Roy Keane were inadvertently shown the door in seasons gone by. Players have a shorter shelf life these days as Ferguson knows only too well. 

Last Season; Chelsea paid heavily for failing to replace an aging Makelele, who like Keane and Scholes, had been fundamental to their successes. John ‘Obi’ Mikel hardly constitutes an adequate replacement as anchor man, contrary to the views of some media critics. With the exception of Keane, Ferguson has had the knack over the years of getting rid of players at just the right time and I expect Scholes will be no different. It may sound grim, but in the corporate world of football winning is everything. Players who threaten to jeopardise this will be disposed of.  
 

Of course spending the money doesn’t necessarily guarantee results as Ferguson is well aware. Prior to 2001/02 season, United spent close to £60 million on team rebuilding following on from a disappointing season by their standards. Despite winning the title they were knocked out of Europe in the quarter-finals, humbled by a classy Real Madrid side. After the dizzy heights of their treble season, by comparison, this was a failure and had Ferguson licking his wounds. The resulting season was disasterous. The signings didn’t have the impact intended and that season, amazingly United won nothing.

The lesson in Milan bears remarkable similarities to that defeat by Madrid. Both ended Fergie’s hunt for that elusive second European trophy and both proved to be the catalyst for significant strengthening. Fans will be hoping this summers spending doesn’t have corresponding results.

As I sat up transfixed on this summers only footy action: The Copa America, something suddenly dawned on me. Tevez’s performances left United fans drooling with anticipation and his potential partnership with Rooney promises to be tastier than a bacon and egg barm cake(subject to opinion, naturally). With all eyes on Tevez, the subject of much transfer speculation, I turned my attentions to a couple of his couragous teammates. The mere sight of a vintage Veron and an evergreen Heinze (both soon to be former Red Devils) blew gales of caution. I wonder if they told Tevez: global warming has yet to hit Manchester? A little birdie told me that they dont get along. So it could well be they lied to him. Maybe thats why he was so incessant in signing!

Ferguson’s record with South Americans is pretty dire also. Argy’s aside, Forlan and Kleberson also proved expensive flops. This has caused widespread debate that its either the Manchester rain or English culture which doesn’t bode well with Latin Americans, or maybe both. In Tevez and Anderson, Ferguson has the chance to make amends. Both personify ‘rough diamonds’ and are crying out for Fergie’s guidance and discipline. Potentially they could make huge impacts in the Premier League.

Just recently Ferguson vowed “never set a date to retire” claiming his motives to be the extent of talent posessed by his current crop of players. This may well be the case. Great managers thrive on bringing the best out of their prodigies and see such challenges as a privilege. Ferguson now has the chance to put right missed opportunities. Least we forget how Ferguson was infamously denied the chance of nurturing the vulnerable but ultimately talented Paul Gascoigne. We only have to look at Keane to see what discipline can do for players of such raw precocious ability.

I’m not entirely convinced that these are the only reasons why Ferguson is reluctant to call time on his tenure at Manchester United. He’s certainly out to prove his single European Cup triumph was no fluke, but I fear there are bigger things on his agenda. Alex Ferguson is without doubt one of the finest football managers of his generation, but one suspects Fergie wants to go down as the best there ever was. Delusions of grandeur wont help him in his quest. By competing against pioneers of the past, Ferguson is embarking down a road of discontent and bitterness. As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about!

Bob Paisley is probably the most successful manager in the history of Liverpool FC, possibly in English Football. Yet his achievements are incommensurable to those of Bill Shankly whom he proceeded.  The legendary Shankly is irreplaceble in the hearts of Kopites, despite winning far less silverware.

By trying to emulate his predecessors ‘King Rat’ (as labelled by Brian Clough) will never reach contentment, just ask Sissyphus. For every treble that he wins, there’s someone whose done the quadruple (Jock Stein with Celtic); every European Cup victory there’s those who’ve won it twice: back to back (Paisley & Clough – Liverpool & Forest respectively) and for every championship he wins with just ‘Kids’, there’s somebody’s ‘Babes’ who’ve won it younger! (Busby won title with United in 1955/6 with an average team age of 22).

Whether Ferguson resolves matters or not, wins more trophies, or turns more talent into superstars. He should feel proud of what he has already achieved (28 major club trophies in total) and retire gracefully.  Sir Matt Busby(all bow) once claimed that “to win at all costs” was not in fact winning. Take heed Sir Alex of Scotland!

In future, Fergie should think twice when trying to compete against football’s immortals and be content with becoming apart of footballs illustrious past.

It’s now 15 years since Leeds won the Championship. Much has happened since 1992 - just ask John Major. Fashions come and go, tastes change (look at Shakespeare’s Sister: improbably, they spent eight weeks at No 1 in the early part of that year) and Leeds United continue to get worse.

The Peacocks are now beyond shambolic: an appalling joke of a football club, bile and rancour spewing forth at every turn, with Ken Bates and Dennis Wise presiding over team affairs like an even less funny version of Laurel and Hardy. Champions League to League One in six seasons - that’s some going, chaps. And with adult tickets costing up to £25 next term, the club unable to bring in any players until a transfer embargo is lifted, and the threat of insolvency still very real, what possible explanation is there for going to Elland Back next year? However, fear not, Whites fans: here are five ways for you to derive at least a modicum of pleasure from the forthcoming campaign.

1. Stay away.
When Richard Nixon spoke of ‘The Silent Majority’, it was doubtful he was referring to Leeds fans, but Whites supporters could learn something from the American anti-counterculturalists who got Tricky Dicky re-elected in 1972. Noisy protests are all very well, but far more effective are those conducted in silent. The list of Leeds’ recent administrators - Ridsdale, Venables, Reid, Krasner, Gray, McKenzie, Blackwell, Bates, Wise - reads like a Who’s Who of utter dreck, so what better way to protest against the chronic mismanagement by these clowns than by completely withdrawing your custom? Just imagine the symbolism if only 4,000 turned up to watch the home fixture against Bristol City. OK, so the loss of revenue from gate receipts would almost certainly send the club to the wall, and it’d be all your fault, but at least you can claim you weren’t held to ransom. Small victories, I suppose.

2. Form your own club.
When Malcolm Glazer bought Manchester United in 2005, ‘real’ United fans  - you know, the ones that talk in loud voices in pubs about how none of these bastards watching on telly were there at Plymouth away when we were shit - decided to renounce their support of football’s biggest behemoth and form their own club, which theoretically combined the best aspects of Manchester United (whatever they were) without the dreadful excesses of rampant commercialism. Leeds fans should applaud their morality, and try something similar in west Yorkshire. Never mind that United’s attendances increased significantly over the past two years, and that fans secretly love the funny-looking one for giving them the funds to compete in the transfer market. It’s all about the ethics, you know.

3. Go down the road to Headingley.
Paradoxical it may be, but while the football club are Yorkshire’s biggest losers, Leeds’ other Big Two are experiencing something of a renaissance. Goughy seems to have waved his magic wand at Yorkshire CCC and appeased their notoriously crabby members (even Boycs appears almost satisfied), thanks to improved displays which see them in sight of only their second County Championship title since 1968. And the enviable talents of Rob Burrow, Kevin Sinfield and Danny McGuire have made the Rhinos one of the most attractive rugby league teams to watch on the planet. With 17,000 boisterous Yorkshiremen packed into Super League’s most atmospheric ground, tries galore, and 18-stone knuckleheads knocking seven bells into each other, it’s the perfect way to spend a Friday evening. And you can drink Tetley’s in your seat, too.

4. Watch ‘Leeds United: Champions 1991-92’ on video again and again.
So it’s indulgent, admittedly, but why shouldn’t Leeds fans have a little joy in our lives? And with bids starting at just £3.99 on eBay, you too can re-live the early 90s glory days under Howard Wilkinson for less the price of a sausage roll and a lukewarm Bovril. Unbeaten at home all season, and seeing off the challenge of Manchester United with consummate ease (even if they did get beaten 2-0 by Oldham), this is the stuff to watch long into the night. Marvel at Wee Gordy’s ceaseless running and Gary Mac’s midfield guile! Rejoice at Lee Chapman’s trademark that’s-one-we-worked-on-on-the-training-ground near-post flick-ons! Shudder to recall that professional carthorses Mel Sterland and Chris Whyte actually won league championship medals! (DVD bonus footage includes Tony Dorigo on the time he cheekily stole 10 yards at a throw-in, and Rod Wallace reminiscing about the moment they all fell about when the stadium announcer got him confused with twin brother Ray after scoring against Wimbledon.) Great days.

5. Get all excited about the new season and go down to Elland Road with more zeal than ever.
OK, so it’s counterintuitive, and I argued earlier that watching Leeds was akin to watching The Friday Night Project sober, but let’s face it: Leeds will win League One next season. At a canter. The third tier of English football is packed full of teams so hopeless it’s almost impossible not to succeed. Nottingham Forest, the only other club capable of giving the Whites a run for their money, are officially useless, and the rest can do no more than kick bollock and brain and pray for three points at the end of it all. If Leeds can manage to keep hold of Douglas, Cresswell, Lewis and Derry, it’ll be a cake walk. And £25 might be a bit steep, but you’ll see lots of goals, lots of action, and some spectacularly inept defending (and not just from Leeds, either). Not losing every week might do wonders for the general mood at Elland Road. Even a serial incompetent like Dennis Wise couldn’t mess this one up. Could he?

A year is certainly a long time in football. 12 months ago Sunderland sank to ever-greater depths than what they achieved in the 2005-06 season when they beat their own dismal record to become the worst team in Premiership history for the second time.  New owner & saviour Niall Quinn had promised ‘World Class’ players & a Big Name Manager. Little did those cheeky little mackems suspect that by ‘big’ Quinny meant all 6 foot 7 of himself. Oh that vision of him striding down the touchline with a big gawping grin like the BFG on E on those opening games of the 2006-07 season is one that brings much joy to my heart. 

However like most good things it sadly came to end in spectacular fashion with the 2-0 capitulation against lowly Bury in the League Cup.  Quinny himself learnt a valuable lesson all modern chairman need to heed & that is to under promise & over achieve.  By raising expectations to unrealistic levels even the appointment of Roy Keane as manager was only greeted with muted enthusiasm by those on wearyside.   My own personal view was one of bewilderment. The thought of gentleman Quinn & maniac Keane working together after falling out so spectacularly at the 2002 World Cup & Keane succeeding his nemesis McCarthy at Sunderland led me to reason it could go one of two ways.. It would either be an astounding success or be a calamitous failure.  Unfortunately as history shows, it was the former!!!

After walking out on his country at the World Cup for criticising the training facilities laid on by the FAI & being unceremoniously booted of Old Trafford after questioning the calibre of some of United’s squad one can only imagine what Keane thought when he first laid eyes on Liam Lawrence & Co. One crumb of comfort in those early days must have been the reassuring thought that there was no ‘prawn sandwich eaters’ in the fulwell end.’  There’s only so far that giro will go..

Keane opted to stick close to home in his initial forays into the transfer market.  Ex Celtic & Utd players such as Liam Miller & Dwight Yorke brought much needed quality & experience to the side. By the close of the transfer window he had also added Graham Kavanagh, Ross Wallace Stanislav Vagra & David Connolly.

The initial post Quinn results were promising. Abandoning the long ball tactics of his predecessors Keane opted for quick passing football ball deploying two pacy wide men who created plenty of chances for the still admittedly lacklustre strikers.  The defence too had newfound confidence and at times played with a swaggering confidence.  The Midfield almost predictably given the managers background was strong & ferocious in the tackle.

Keane himself seemed to take to management like a mackem to the dole queue… His press conferences were articulate & insightful & his team played with direction & dare I say it flair.  However what particularly tickled me was the physical transformation he underwent, whether this was to convince the world he was now a professional manager or just a gross fashion error only he knows. However those tighter than tight suits & his grey speckled beard made him look more like an Islamic fundamentalist leader than a top footie coach..  

Boy aren’t those mackems friendly

Sunderland already firmly established in the ‘axis of evil’ along with the smog monsters & the ‘dirty mancs’ launched their own jihad on the Championship in 2007. Losing only twice to bogy side Preston (in the FA Cup)  & Colchester they won the Championship at a canter.  This achievement made all the more remarkable considering the woeful start they had, not to mention the previous seasons debacle.  Any question marks over Keane’s ability as a manager had been laid to rest as he displayed acute tactical awareness & proved he was a dab hand in the transfer market.   Personally I was impressed by his temperament.  As a player Keane’s aggression & forceful nature had served him well pushing his team forward to greater glories but as a manager he learned quickly not to be as critical with his players & fostered a remarkable team spirit. 

Almost predictably the fans came crawling back, only nine months after so visibly abandoning their team they stood shamelessly in their Scope jackets & Reebok classics fantasying about future footballing glories.

The media also got carried away with the hype.   Feeling the need to categorize a resurgent Sunderland they drew comparisons with the Sir John Hall & Kevin Keegan era ten years earlier. 

Renewed optimism on wearyside contrasted sharply with a downturn in fortunes on Tyneside.  While the Toon Army had stood loyally with their team in terms of numbers, patience was wearing thin with a regime lacking in ambition & direction.  The free spending days of the past appeared to be over & the football employed by manager Roeder was an embodiment of the man himself… Dull & boring.  The mackems began to predict a shift in power.

Old Big Bird Quinny, not heeding the lessons of pre-season began making bold statements of intent regarding Sunderland’s return to the top flight. Boasting that he would sign top class Premiership players he sent pulses racing on wearyside.  Whether this was a cheap marketing ploy or just boastful naivety it had the desired effect as the Stadium of Light actually witnessed people queuing to buy season tickets.  The last time people queued at Sunderland in regards to season tickets was to throw them at Reidy & Big Mick..

Bob Murray must have been amazed at the scenes.  For years his regime had inflicted child abuse on thousands of innocent children stretching as far as Chester-le-Street by offering free tickets to local schools.  Now people in Sunderland were actually paying to watch their side.

Quinny was keen to show he was one of the people by standing shoulder to shoulder with the shite

However Keane & Quinn discovered that signing proven premiership players was no easy feat. Big Birds frustrations were evident when he lambasted Portsmouth & West Ham for paying over inflated prices for players & then shelled out £5milliom for Michael Chopra. I mean £5 mill for fucking Chopra.. Yet another Toon cast off not fit enough to wear the sacred Black & White who lowers himself to playing for the shite. (I tell you what; you can fuck off if you think I am buying oot from Chopra News again!).

While the £5 million acquisition of Kieran Richardson was hardly inspiring he does bring mild Premiership experience.  However the bank was finally broken this week when £ 9 million was paid to Hearts for jock keeper Craig Gordon.  Whether he’s the business is open to conjecture but his capture highlights a bizarre disparity in blunderlands transfer dealings. While they were prepared to secure a top keepers signature at almost any price they baulked at meeting Preston’s valuation for striker Nugent  & shirked away from launching bids for Bellemy or Defoe.

Does this mean the mackems will be making a quick return to the Championship???  Well right from top to bottom Sunderland lack experience of Premiership football.  While last seasons remarkable transformation will not doubt stand them in good stead a bad start will evoke painful memories of the past two premiership campaigns. That said Keane’s post match press conference at Hillsborough where he lambasted his own players who had just won 4-2 was reminiscent of one of his former managers, ‘old big head’ himself, Brian Clough.  Cloughie was a master in extracting top quality performances’ from below average players & if Keane himself can muster one tenth of that magic then they should stay clear of the bottom three.

Toondog