“…Baby seems like everywhere I go I see you

              From your eyes, your smile, it’s like I breathe you

              Helplessly, I reminisce, don’t want to

              Compare nobody to you”

Chapter One - he sets the scene

Beyonce’s lovely song continues with the line “your sexiness is so appealing, I can’t let it go, Oh!” so I’ll stop there for now. But, you get the gist - this is another article about repeats.

It’s the first weekend of the Premier League season and everyone’s in high spirits. Months of build-up, new shirts bought, new players bought by some lucky teams too, fantasy football teams picked - it could have been any year, really. And, the action didn’t disappoint…

Well, actually it did.

Rewind back a week and the football league had got off to a flyer. The Charity, sorry Community Shield, was apparently a damp squib but hey, the real stuff was yet to begin, so we’ll forgive the Wembley showpiece yet again.

Two days before the official start to our campaign, and we’re sat in a nice city centre restaurant. Devotees of my scribings will recall last year’s meeting with Xabi Alonso, and me drunkenly telling him that I “fucking hated him but loved him at the same time” - it was my birthday, forgive me. Anyway, fast forward nearly a year and just as my better half and I were tucking in to our antipasti who should turn up to sit at the next table but the self-same Spaniard, this time with a strange Scouse companion in tow.

Xabi Alonso - Liverpool & Spain

I was determined to stay cool, infact, act oblivious, and managed it just about. Even when Andrei Voronin and Damien Plessis walked (separately) past the restaurant window, the latter popping in to say hello, I was able to enjoy a fantastic veal steak with the minimum of fuss. I was almost revelling in the previous evening’s result, a surprising draw in Liege. Now another ‘been there, done that’ moment had even occurred during that match when my flatmate and I agreed that we already knew what was going to happen, such is Liverpool’s propensity for lucky escapes - and, I can predict many comments already on their way to me about bitterness which I’ve received before.

Chapter 2 - he delves deeper

Anyway, the whole scenario made me smile, and got me thinking - 

             “…When I saw you walking past me, I almost called your name

              Got a better glimpse and then I looked away

             It’s like I’m losing it”

Because I wondered, did Xabi remember me? I’ve spotted him at least a dozen times since he joined Liverpool, on the streets of Kenny - well, Marks & Spencer and Bold Street anyway. Sure, he must get loads of fans coming up to him saying they either love or hate him, many far more memorable than my self, but this was just too coincidental (it was indeed a kwinkidink as a ghost from the past used to say) to let it pass without comment.

In case you’re wondering, I just about behaved myself, in fact my good lady said I’d gone some way to redeeming myself, having asked the (albeit arrogant) mystery guest to apologise on my behalf for past misdemeanours, once Alonso was out of earshot.

Meeting players is always strange, I’ve written of it before. And, the following Saturday I continued my own (slightly childish I know) tradition of getting my programme signed by the Everton team before the first game of the season. Many of last year’s sentiments were echoed this time around - envy and embarrassment among them - only this time they were heightened by the paucity of our squad allowing several teenagers on to the bench. I can only imagine what Kieran Agard and Dan Gosling thought of having to scribble their name (and squad number, just to make sure) on the glossy pages that belonged to a greying teacher at least ten years their senior.

Still, the excitement of the first game meant that the teamsheet mattered little, and despite a few misplaced passes, Jack Rodwell performed well against Blackburn. The exotically named Jose Baxter made a cameo appearance that was even more exciting, only a few inches stopped him from winning it for the Blues. His physical appearance and speed actually remind me of Michael Branch, I hope his career does not go the same way of course, but either way it should not be up to two young men young enough to be sat in my classroom only twelve months ago, to give Everton a good start to the season, and Mikel weaved some magic to almost grab victory from the jaws of defeat after a terrible first half.

Micheal Branch - Ex-Everton protége

Again, this suggested a glitch in the matrix - so many times the Blues have rescued points in dramatic circumstances and cued delirious celebrations in and around my area of the Gwladys Street End and although we never bore of it, Saturday did feel like that again when the Yak was fed - by the way, I don’t like the song, it’s just more appropriate than likening him to an overweight version of a local homosexual boogyman paedophile as some fans are wont to. Anyway, all this happened just minutes after it looked likely that Neville Southall could wander out at half time and sit despondently against a post…

But it wasn’t to be and alas, neither was a surprising victory, because another familiar feeling consumed me when Blackburn went up the other end and equalised before a last kick of the game winner by the even more exotically named Ooijer.

Andre Ooijer - Blackburn & Holland

Chapter 3 - he summises

A couple of hours later, lo and behold, Torres pops up to save an under-par Liverpool from a poor showing up in Sunderland. He really is an amazing player, I’ve said it before and will again…

            “…Is he the best ever, that’s the argu-a-ment

              I don’t make the list, don’t be mad at me

              I just make the hits, like a factory”

And what a pleasant surprise, Alonso popping up with a sublime assist, and another effort from his own half. What we’d do for a player of a similar ilk at Goodison at the minute - but given some dodgy comments I’ve recently read about his form over the past 12 months (since the incident at the Malmaison?), maybe seeing me inspired him this time?

Let me know, Xabi lad. Anyway, to underline my paranoia even more, further events on the fixture calendar last weekend created a sense of deja-vu too. Arsenal, playing some great stuff but trying to walk it in and only getting a 1-0. Chelsea, looking awesome at times, with a charismatic Portuguese remonstrating wildly on the sidelines. Tottenham, anti-climaxing. Perhaps the only surprise of the weekend was Manchester United’s lacklustre performance against Newcastle, though Rooney’s wild challenges must have shocked few of us.

So there we have it, the first weekend, seen most of it before, and what I hope to be my final encounter with the talented Spaniel, who I’ve definitely seen enough of. I’ve told you before what happened to me in a previous encounter with the Spaniel by the lake - my mate Xabi clearly likes me too much to do something similar. Though, the derby is coming up…

Chapter 4 - he backtracks

And that was meant to be the end of the article.

Except, after finishing it and carefully choosing appropriate images to illustrate my ramblings, I settled down to watch ‘The Golden Vision’ not really knowing what to expect. Well, I say that, but having seen two of Ken Loach’s previous offerings and fallen in love with Cathy Come Home and Kes, I suppose I kind of did.

Ken Loach - Writer & Director

It didn’t disappoint. The songs, the scenery, the characters, the intimate interviews with Alex Young about to train a group of school kids, or Ray Wilson smoking his way down to Arsenal away - Jimmy you were right, those did seem the days.

And you know what - Saturday was forgotten. What’s our name? EVERTON. And I’m glad it is. The golden vision wasn’t just a beautiful, blistered footballer, it was also the name of a beautiful play, that sums up what a lot of people live for, it is 70 minutes that all football fan should watch, regardless of who you support. Yes, I’d heard a lot of the songs before, and of course, seen some of the caricatures, not just at the match but on the streets of Liverpool, but it also presented the passion of the fans and the people of this city that rejuvenated my faith in the school of science, and made me long for a week on Saturday. Forget last minute defeats or backroom wranglings. Who knows, it may be a golden oldie instead of a recurring nightmare.

            “…Know that I can’t get over you

              ‘cause everything I see is you

              And I don’t want no substitute

              Baby I swear it’s déjà vu.”

Xabi’s at the door, I’ve got to go now.

Picture the scene, a sportswear superstore housed in what used to be the Heaven ‘n’ Hell nightclub I used to frequent, 20ft high on Blackpool promenade. 

   “Are you sure you don’t want this one, lad?” The bald Geordie bloke asked, cheekily. He held up the new Liverpool away shirt, before wandering off to buy another pair of England leisure shorts.
   “Ha, no you’re alright thanks mate (fuck off)” I retorted, wanting to make the 1=20 sign to him, knowing he wouldn’t understand anyway.

And so it was that a twenty one year tradition continued, and I got another new Everton shirt.

It’s been a while dear readers, and much has happened since my last heartfelt mutterings were submitted for your consideration. Both personally and vis-à-vis the football world, things have changed, and although certain aspects of this boy’s life look more rosy now, the murky world of L4 4EL is not quite so positive at present.

Everton's only summer signing

The only new addition is a funnily-named assistant coach Steve Round (pictured above), whilst our tubby Chief Exec and several players have departed, the three non-hairy ones and two of the hairier ones strangely. Anyway, rumours persist that signings are imminent and despite the ground move being discussed and delayed ad nauseum, the new season at least offers intrigue and some excitement.

Much will be written about the upcoming season, I’ve decided instead to update you on my summer and to discuss in depth another of my first loves – the football kit.

The Euros seem long ago now, some great football was played there though not by my chosen team Italy, more on which later. In fact, let’s start now, I bought the smart Italy shirt on ebay to show my loyalty to the Azzurri. Even though it was a realistic enough fake, I was glad not to have spent the full amount as they were largely disappointing save a much-needed performance against France. Overall it was a great tournament and the wallchart and sticker album were certainly kept busy.

My team during Euro 2008 - the Azzurri

I wore the shirt (to some funny looks) on my jaunt to the peninsula. What a week myself and Mrs Morrissey had, food and wine like nothing else and some amazing sights – beautiful landscapes, bright sunshine, tortoises having aggressive sex in a restaurant garden that sort of thing – I even visited the PisaCalcio stadium which was a disappointment save for the interesting graffiti around it. The lifestyle there is so incredible, those of you lucky enough to have visited will know what I mean, and it’s totally understandable that whatever his lifestyle preferences, Ronaldinho made the right choice of Milan over Manchester.

Manchester or Milan?

Whilst away, only one little thing got to me, the sight of a small ginger haired boy wearing last season’s Liverpool shirt (the Meff) under the Tuscan sun. It got me thinking – how can a piece of polyester have such an effect on the eyes, the brain, the heart?

In his excellent book True Colours, author John Devlin goes to great lengths to dissect how a shirt design can be an extension of a club’s spirit and how a simple strip can express confidence, arrogance, strength and the like. I’ve never thought that, I just really like them and what they stand for.

Blue & White colours of Argentina will forever be synonymous with Maradona & Mexico '86'

When we were younger, Summer holidays seemed to last forever. As a teacher they seem to do the exact opposite but that’s a whole other article. However, I recall one of the highlights being our father taking me and my sister to Blackpool one day on the bus and the tradition was to buy us one toy each. In 1987, it was different, and I distinctly recall the pride of seeing the stallholder in Pricebusters (under the tower, in fact under the location of this story’s prologue too) bringing down the blue Everton shirt I had always wanted. My sister got some Barbie accessory I think, and for me (not her thankfully) it was the start of a long, expensive and at times embarrassing love affair.

Most of you will have a favourite football shirt, either of your own club or even a rival. Many will be favoured for the memories it evokes, some for the sheer aesthetic quality, the colours or the material, those with unusual senses of humour might also have funny anecdotes about said shirt – Man Utd changing at half time,  Celtic having numbers on the shorts only, things like that.

Numbers on shorts made famous by Glasgow Celtic in the 1950's & 60's

Most of the shirts I’ve had have been Everton admittedly, looking back some horrific designs (and memories) but still much loved because of what they represented.  Names and numbers are quite a recent innovation but can still help with identification – either of the shirt or with it. Days out are often punctuated or exacerbated by the spot the shirt competition, you’ll always get the Man Utd or Liverpool staples, but I still get excited by a proud youngster (or even better, whole family) wearing some obscure abomination from a small town club.

As we grew up, it became de rigeur to sport an unusual foreign shirt. All I want for Christmas isn’t necessarily a Dukla Prague away kit, but I have worn Russia, Barcelona, Parma, Holland, Chevas USA shirts in my life time, aswell as a few of those cheap imitation shirts sold on market stalls abroad (Czech Republic (no name), Italy (Toni), Inter (Materazzi), Real (Figo) amongst others) and it’s clear to see that football shirts have had a huge presence in my wardrobe.

As a teenager I even used to sit on a Friday night designing kits for different teams. I remember being envious of a fellow youngster who won a competition in match to design Melchester Rovers’ new strip, and marvelling at a contestant on You Bet who correctly identified twenty sections of shirts in the time limit. I once sent my designs to Umbro who very kindly returned them, annotated, with praise and genuine interest in my ideas. My dream job is no longer a reality, however every summer a personal highlight isn’t just the trip to Blackpool, but the scouring of websites and magazine adverts to see the new strip for any team.

This year, Preston have gone traditional which is nice to see (I forgot to mention I took my good lady to the pre-season friendly, some good youngsters coming through, shame about our fans though) and Wigan have made the strange decision to go with Champion, who as far as I know haven’t done a strip before. Carlisle will always be remembered for the deckchair kit, whilst Blackburn’s only interesting addition is a new sponsor, Crown Paints.  Which brings us back to the beginning, and Liverpool’s decision to go back in time with the grey strip of circa 1990, maybe they think it will offer a return to the glory days, even if Arsenal have also resurrected the 1989 away kit (Mickey Thomas… can he FFINNIIISSSHHH!!!!!!) 

 In terms of our new kit, in true Everton style the launch of the home kit was delayed (maybe this was the final nail in Wyness’s coffin) and is a nice if unspectacular combination. The away is white once again (amber must be due a return soon) but is a particularly smart design and, more importantly, goes with my new trainers. Said girlfriend who knew how much I was looking forward to its release, and duly bought it for me on our day out in Blackpool. Even if lots has been said about men in football shirts having no taste, regardless of the baldy’s comments or the sales assistant admitting that even though she was a Blue, this was the first she had sold so far, I was in love again. Now – when is the third shirt out?

Have a good season – may everything be beautiful and nothing hurt (including the shirts)

A few months ago I wrote an article (croatia article) expressing my concerns about the direction of English International football & fears I had going into that game against Croatia. I also mentioned that prior to the defeat by Bilic’s chequered men, I was met by gut-wrenching reservations similar to ones I had experienced in 1994, when England failed to reach USA 94 under Graham Taylor.

I’m a little too young to remember when England last failed to reach the Euro championships (1984 was the last time; degradation a certain Norwegein commentator’s now legendary “Maggie Thatcher..” - seen above - rant won’t let us forget in a hurry!), meaning ‘USA 94′ was the only other time I’ve experienced something similar (me being a patron of such a colossus in the football world!). And what does USA 94 & Euro 2008 have in common? Well for me, they have both proved to be more gratifying tournaments in Ingerland’s absence. And just before nationalists, meatheads & the like, get their St George’s Y-fronts in a twist & disembowel me metaphorically, hear me out:

- I have been able to relax & enjoy football purely for the entertainment value. No emotional attachment, no lofty unrealistic hopes, no sleepless nights, & no agonising defeats at the hands of the Germans via a crushing penalty shoot-out!

- Like USA 94 (though I was 13 back then), I have been able to concentrate on scouting for players in my imaginary world where I’m the manager of the team I support & buy in players to fit the system I have created, annoying the missus by scribbling this team on the back of any scrap of paper I can find around the flat; thus confirming how incredibly childish & idyllic my thoughts still remain after all these years!

- I’ve seen no scenes of English yobs scrapping/rioting either abroad or in our local pubs, therefore saving us all from the shameful, self-defeating violence & yobs tarnishing the flag for the umpteenth time; for a few more years at least.

- And lastly, we can take a long hard look at the direction we are going in & take notes/lessons from the free-flowing, high tempo football we’ve witnessed at this tournament & move with the times. With failure comes lessons that we have to learn, with failure has to come a chemical reaction to improve & make sure we don’t make the same mistakes again. As so often is the case, this can often be the catalyst for success. Capiche? (Oh & PL clubs can buy up all the best players of the tournament which helps!)
 
After USA 94 & in the post-Turnip era, England reacted by importing shed loads of classy foreigners into our domestic league, which strangely corresponded with the birth of the Premiership, which in retrospect rejuvenated English football at that time. We learnt so much from players such as Klinsman, Ravenelli, Gicá Popescu, Di Matteo, Dan Petrescu, Ziege & Branco(Brazilian with thunderbolt left peg who spent a season with Boro- or rather 9 games to be more precise). We then went on to go within a whisker of battering everyone at Euro 96 (who will ever forget that 4-1 victory against the Dutch? Watch below for those who drank too much!) & responsible for reinvigorating a nation seemingly on brink of losing its affection for the game she invented.

All this poppycock about foreigners ruining the English game is a load of pish. Ask McManaman,  ‘Shaggy‘ Anderton & Sheringham if foreign imports harmed their developement. We just use this as an excuse for our failings. Get Silva, Villa, Arshavin, Modric et al into the Premier League & it will invariably improve our countries chances of qualification & ultimately being victorious at World Cup 2010; end of. And the man with the umbrella has to be aiming for this. As my good friend Eric has already brought to the table, we have to emulate the football Hiddink& Holland are producing, move swiftly & adapt. But for now, he’s something to cheer all England fans up (who’s the skinny bloke in the suit with the dodgy tash?):

Life is all about reacting to scenarios & failings. Life is about accommodating a new set of circumstances; adapting once things don’t go as we might’ve planned. And life is about chemistry & reactions.

Allow me to elaborate further…

An old article that my friend Eric Utheim penned earlier this year (Same winner) suggested that winning the Champion’s League has become predictable, & the days of Ajax, Red Star Belgrade, Steaua Bucharest & Nottingham Forest winning Europe’s most prestigious trophy is a thing of the past. I beg to differ.

If all the components/elements are in place & players/managers react in the correct manner, anything is possible. Look at Greece last time around, Turkey’s achievements this time, but more aptly look at Hiddink’s Ruskies. Only one player in Russia’s squad plays outside Russia & despite Zenit St. Petersburg hinting massively at Russia’s potential in last season’s Uefa Cup, no one in the so-called savvy British media identified them as dark horses even, never mind contenders. I know Dunphy, Brady & Giles (RtéTwo) can be v.annoying at times, but even their contentious, never-in-the-wrong drivel is better entertainment than the smug, sit-on-the-fence, dial-a-cliché bores that line-up on the English gravy train! It just goes to show, regardless of the money & popular opinion, that if all the elements are in place; such as the right manager is appointed, who in-turn installs the correct tactics, & with all his players on top of their games & gelling together; then magic can happen.

Hiddink’s success will not only have England selectors kicking themselves, but Chelsea hierarchy also. Honestly, has Big Phil Scolari really done enough to warrant the praise he’s received from the world’s press? I mean, he’s never even managed a European club team & only has club experience in Brazil! His nearly man CV hardly has other PL clubs green with envy. In this environment, he is nothing short of an unknown quantity. He’s not a leader of men. He’s not a revolutionary. He’s not Gus Hiddink.

A few months back, I was over in Liverpool meeting up with friends. As we gathered for afternoon pints in the charming ‘Ye Cracke’ pub off Hope St. something profound dawned on me. The Guinness was flowing & the craic was indeed mighty. And I was surrounded by all of the friends I love, fellas I’d met at different periods of my life, all unique & all equally fantastic in their own delightful way. Each friend’s idiosyncrasies were obvious. Our differences were there for all to see & the group dynamics were as diverse as they could’ve been; yet everyone gelled perfectly, sparks flew & we all got on famously. That stolen afternoon in Liverpool – you know the one lads – for me was what life is all about & why it is such a wonderful gift. And it’s all about the chemistry.

Normally, merely mentioning the word ’science’ has me heading for the nearest exit, yet recently, I’m starting to think that life is made up of little else. Good things usually occur from shit situations. Look at USA in ‘94’, when Leonardo (whom along with Romario, was Brazil’s player of the tournament) was suspended for his infamous elbow on Tab Ramos of the USA (seen above). His replacement; Branco, came in & scored the winner in their ¼ final against a Bergkamp-inspired Holland, winning 3-2. Branco would later go onto score a crucial penalty in the WC Final’s shootout against Italy as Brazil lifted the World trophy for the 1st time in 24 years. Life is made up of decisive decisions at crucial moments & these shape our future. Football is no different. What if Chelsea hadn’t signed ‘la Sulk’ (Anelka)? What if Steven Taylor hadn’t committed that horrendous tackle on Eduardo? Drogba wasn’t sent-off against United? And what if United hadn’t defeated Chelsea in the CL final? (I’m certain Ronaldo would’ve stayed, but now he’s won literally everything there is to win, then I’m now certain he’ll leave – at some point.)

And what if Russia hadn’t lost 4-1 against Spain? Would they be in the semis?

Despite originally rooting for the perennial underachievers - them being the Spanish - to win the Euros, & how I never fail to be impressed by the sheer efficiency of the Germans; I think Russia deserve to win it now, so that we all learn a very valuable lesson. Football is changing & Gus is reminding us all (As Eric so eloquently said so in the previous post!), that anything is possible with skillful, fast & energetic players. And Spain has to be very wary of the wounded tiger or Ruskie as it is in this case.

I’ve just returned from a very enjoyable stay in the metropolis that is London (I’m saving that story for my next post by the way!) & I am starting to realise an important lesson about geting things wrong myself. Things may not always be as they once seemed & hopefully the English coaches involved in the future of our game see things in a similar light. In summery, in England’s absence - like in ‘USA 94 ’ - free from ulterior motives, emotional constraints, vested interests & sure bets (though I did attempt to enter The Metro’s fantasy league that unceremoniously collapsed after game 3!), I have had the opportunity to take an objective look at the great game & International football on the whole. And as an Englishman this is extremely necessary, especially in light of England’s latest failings.

What I’ve been trying to get at is that football, like life, is unpredictable. A series of random events with reactions, which if you get right brings about success. Moreover, great things can be created from adversity, success stories out of general shitness. Take the Irish Literary movement of the early-mid 20th century, the Manchester music phenomenon of the late 80’s & early 90’s, Wayne Rooney, & quite possibly Hiddink’s Russia in 2008.

From where I am standing, there is only one thing worse than mindless football violence & that is complacency. England are not in a position to become complacent, so therefore have the perfect opportunity to learn a valuable lesson from their omission from Euro 2008. As they did in the aftermath of USA 94, like then, England now have an opportunity to react accordingly. Also, like Sheringham, Shearer & Anderton before them, English players can learn a lot from the foreign imports that will inevitably follow these Championships. And this tournament akin to USA 94 can only have a positive effect/reaction on English football.

Untill next time…

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Tomorrow the semis of the best international tournament since Mexico 1986 starts.

EURO2008 has been a tremendous success. The entertainment has been excellent. Brilliant goals, new stars has appeared, and late, late drama. The Euros has had it all.

But first and foremost EURO2008 has shown the way forward for football. It has shown what the future will bring.

It is quite simply the start of a new era.

Mobility, speed and stamina.

Those are the key words. Those are the main components that herald the future of the beautiful game.

And no one is a better example of this, and few teams are more beautiful, than Guus Hiddink’s Russia.(pictured above)

Brian Barwick must be kicking himself. What if England had appointed the Dutchman after Sven Göran Eriksson left in 2006, instead of plumping for that man with the umbrella?

Hiddink’s philosophy is the way forward for modern football. It is a way that doesn’t consist of rigid formations and set patterns. It is a philosophy that is based on quick players, all capable of beating opponents. It is based on mobility, where players change positions all the time. It is also based on stamina. The workaholic Russian midfielders and full backs quite simply run their opponents into the ground.

It is total football reinvented.

And indeed, Hiddink’s home nation, the inventors of total football, are another example of the new virtues that will dominate modern football.

Holland were breathtaking in the group stages. Van der Vaart, Sneijder, Van Nistelrooy, Van Persie and Robben’s technique, pace and slick passing tore the last World Cup’s finalists apart. And Engelaar, De Jong and Kuyt’s hard work enabled them to do so. It was fantastic football, performed by athletes that combined those three main assets that will be at the core of football in the future: Mobility, speed and stamina.

Jaime Carragher teased his Spanish Liverpool team mates ahead of the Euros, saying that they lacked the physique and pace of the French.

Carragher was right in pointing to how important physique and pace are in modern football. But he forgot that speed is not only about how quick a player runs, it is also about how quick the ball moves.

And the Spanish have excelled in this compartment. Yes, with exception of Torres, defensive midfielder Senna and the defenders, Spain lacks height and strength. But the slight frames of Silva, Villa, Iniesta, Xavi and Fabregas have the ability to move the ball around with such crisp precision and quickness, that opponents are torn apart. This is where Portugal failed against the Germans. Despite possessing world class ball players, they dwelled to long, taking too many touches, and becoming too static. 

Manchester United showed a lot of the same as the Russians, the Dutch and the Spanish have done in the Euros, in their title winning campaign last season. The way Rooney, Ronaldo, Tevez and Park changed positions, the way all their front players are capable of beating opponents, the way all their players have quick feet capable of finding team mates with passes from the most tight angles and positions, the way full back Patrice Evra covers every blade of grass on his side.

That workaholic approach is the key to the free flowing, free moving modern football. In a world without rigid formations and structures, balancing deep midfielders (Senna, Engelaar, Zyryanov), and the work ethic of the team are crucial. The Russians have proved this. When the Dutch where running on empty in the quarter final – despite resting their entire starting eleven in the last group game – Arshavin, Zhirkov, Torbinsky and the other Russians were still running around as if the game had just started. It has been the same with Hiddink’s previous teams. Remember how hard the Koreans worked at the World Cup in 2002? Up and down, up and down, all the time.

That enthusiasm and movement is crucial. That was lacking for England at the last World Cup. The English players were moving around at pedestrian pace. The Germans, despite having a worse team player for player, showed how it should be done. Klinsmann’s Germany of 2006 reached the semi finals with their enthusiastic, eager and run-until-you-drop style. Now Joachim Low’s 2008 outfit has done the same.

Movement, how fast the ball travels and how disciplined and hard working the players are, those are the main components of modern football.

Hiddink has understood this. And he is the real star of EURO 2008. In a time where we have plenty of spectacular and entreating players, but no one that rises above the rest and clearly are the best player in the world (like Platini, Maradona and Zidane were), we can at least say who is the best national team coach in the world.

He is Guus Hiddink, the man England missed out on.

I’ll round of by selecting my all star XI of Euro 2008 so far. Do you agree?

Top of the Tops:

Goalkeeper: Artur Boruc (Poland)

The Celtic goalie was immense in the group stages. Poland would have been embarrassed without him.

Right back: Sergio Ramos (Spain)

Has often been criticised for neglecting his defensive duties, but so far the Real Madrid heart throb has excelled both defensively and when he has joined the attack.

Left back: Yuri Zhirkov (Russia)

The revelation of the tournament, alongside his team-mate Arshavin. Why is this fella at CSKA Moscow, and not playing for one of the big guns in Western Europe? Fantastic physique and stamina and a deadly left foot. The Russian Roberto Carlos. Bombs up and down the left flank. 

Centre half: Per Mertesacker (Germany)

Good in the air. Lacks pace, but has yet to be caught out. Has hardly put a foot wrong.

Centre half: Pepe (Portugal)

The Real Madrid man was excellent in the group stages.

Midfield: Konstantin Zyryanov (Russia)

Fantastic against the Swedes, not so dominant against Holland. But his calming presence, and his combination of grit and guile makes him crucial for Guus Hiddink’s team.

Midfield: Wesley Sneijder (Holland)

The best player of the tournament in the group stages. Fantastic movement, brilliant ball control and shoots equally well with both feet.

Midfield: Michael Ballack (Germany)

Was Chelsea’s best player in the league run in, and has continued his good form in the Euros. Has the ability to rise to the occasion.

Attacker: Andrei Arshavin (Russia)

The star of the tournament. Quick feet, a nose for goal and pace to burn. Will surely join one of Europe’s elite clubs after the summer.

Attacker: David Villa (Spain)

The tournament’s top scorer so far. He will probably be so after the final as well. Good movement, a stinging shot and the ability to be on the right place at the right time.

Attacker: Luka Modric (Croatia)

Nicknamed “Little Cruyff”. He wears Cruyff’s old shirt number (14), and even looks like the old Dutch maestro. He plays like him too. Tottenham fans must be rubbing their hands with glee at the thought of watching this brilliant little footballer at the Lane next season.

My Team of Euro 2008 

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It’s been two months since I last wrote you a letter. At the start of the season, I promised you drama of Hitchcockian proportion, and to an extent that prophecy has come true during that time.

I have just returned from a visit to Paris, the city of light, where I marvelled at the Mona Lisa, Oscar Wilde’s grave, and the plight of begging women with fake babies and distraught-looking men selling Eiffel Tower keyrings at 3 for one euro. And I was enlightened.

As With any holiday I guess, there is the danger of anti-climax, of expecting too much - of putting Nil Satis Nisi Optimum (or more aptly, given the 40th anniversary of the Paris student riots of ’68, Soyez Realistes, Demandez L’Impossible) above reality’s bites. The holiday though, represented the season, from Everton’s and my own points of view. How can this be? As Mr Grossman used to say, when we all watched Through the Keyhole agape at this weirdo’s drawl, let’s look at the evidence.

It was Everton’s best season for twenty years! Highest points total ever in the Premiership! Scintillating stuff played at times too, with one sublime performance resulting in them being likened to none other than Keats, and Moyes, lauded by James Lawton as the best young manager in Britain. However, lest we forget, we also missed out on the holy grail of fourth, were knocked out of Europe on penalties, having beaten the eventual winners, were defeated at home by Oldham (some still blame the chippy fire) and lost another semi-final to a not-very-good Chelsea team.

What I mean is that the Sunderland victory was like standing in front of La Joconde, something I’ve always wanted to see. As Ricky Fitts, the plastic bag filming freak in American Beauty said, ‘sometimes, there’s so much beauty in the world, I feel like my heart can’t take it’. I’ll be honest, that afternoon in the Louvre was like nothing else I’ve ever felt, but back in November the 7-1 win was the best victory I’ve witnessed from the Gwladys Street…

Similarly, our visit to Pere Lachaise cemetery, primarily to see the grave of Edith Piaf, was a bit like the Fiorentina match. To make such a link might seem strange, but let me explain. Spending two hours wandering around a load of graves in the rain won’t be many people’s idea of a good time, but neither would clawing back a two goal deficit before losing on penalties. However, that evening at Goodison was perhaps the most satisfying moment of the season, particularly after Arteta’s goal when the ground was literally bouncing. We don’t get many magical European nights, in fact I’d imagine other teams will soon get bored of special atmospheres if it doesn’t lead anywhere, but I felt such pride and so little disappointment exiting the UEFA Cup that I realised I was a changing man, I’d learned how to handle failure and ‘death’ and ultimately, celebrate it.

There were nice surprises along the way too, Steven Pienaar and Leon Osman’s flashes of brilliance, Phil Jagielka’s improvement, the group stages performances… whilst in Paris, the view from the roof of Galeries Lafayette, an amazing Armagnac elevenses, a thriving street market ran by Maghrebins – the list goes on.

Incase we need any more alignment of the trip away and 2007-8, we even bumped in to Everton’s fitness coach outside the Louvre whom I watch warming the team up every game.

And, just like our season, the holiday ended on a high with a trip up the Eiffel Tower, when we won the league within the Premier League and can look forward to more trips away with excitement. See what I did there?

Don’t get me wrong, I did have such high hopes at one point that I felt small pangs of regret that we limped across the finishing line on a wet day in May when, with a bit more luck, we might have been gathering cups like the other shower used to. And, there were minor disappointments in Paris – a slightly overcooked steak, not finding the Rue Des Trois Freres, getting soaked on an open top tour bus, breaking the hotel room safe, and a still ill girlfriend – but expectations were not set so high that this was a let down. Far from it, the new me has managed to take the good bits and concentrate on the positives. I wrote a while ago about smiling on the way out of the Clattenberg derby, I was also thankful that I missed the Oldham game to go the theatre instead, and applaud Joleon Lescott for an incredible season rather than bemoan his letting SWP outjump him in the last minute at the Bridge.

I wonder though, how other teams’ supporters might view their own seasons, and how they might look for similarities from their own lives. Many I feel would be disappointed. After an exciting run-in, the final day was for many an anti-climax. Carlisle looked at one point to be cruising towards automatic promotion, and even beat Leeds for the first time, before a crushing last minute play off semi final second leg defeat. As the PA played after the final whistle, heaven knows (they were) miserable now, but can take solace in the improvement made under John Ward, especially at home. Kieran Westwood gained even more fans, including the Trap.

Morecambe had perhaps the most reasons to be cheerful, as they stayed mid-table for most of the season and can look forward to welcoming more league teams to the recently opened Midland Hotel soon enough. Elsewhere in Lancashire, Preston and Blackpool looked perilous at times but did well to stay up – particularly Preston who went from disappointment under Simpson to some promising signs with Alan Irvine.

Blackburn Rovers though, might have expected more from their season, but can be pleased that Santa Cruz and Bentley performed brilliantly, and they might yet hang on to their manager. Which takes us to Liverpool, and yet again overall they flattered to deceive. Defeat against Barnsley, not turning up again at Old Trafford, and Rafa’s luck finally running out against Chelsea in Europe – all set against frankly comical boardroom shenanigans – mean they could easily be the most disappointed team in my region. But, another thing I’ve learned this year is not to be bitter or resentful towards the loveable Reds, and so I’ll be positive. Frankly, I find it almost impossible to care, but in Fernando Torres they have for me the player of the season, it’s now not solely up to Gerrard to save them, and if he continue his form into the difficult second season maybe next year will actually be theirs.

Before I have to worry about that though, we have the European Championships to look forward to, and to be honest I think it will be nice not to watch xenophobic sunburnt drunkards crying in the fan parks or fighting on the slopes when England lose. I’m quite excited about the likes of Spain, Italy and even Germany doing battle, as I’m sure it’ll whet our appetites for 08-09.

Particularly as I’m planning to return to New York for next year’s summer jaunt, just imagine if our season was to be a reflection of that…

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my correspondence this season.

Everton, Paris, EFP – Je t’aime

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Spaniels possess a great share of intelligence, affection, and obedience, which qualities, combined with much beauty, make them highly prized as companions. The name comes from the word for Spanish (Español).

When I was three or four, I got knocked into a lake by a Spaniel. I have a tendency to over dramatise this event, but its effect on me was huge. I can recall seeing the brown and white thing running towards me, and the impact of the cold water as I fell in. And before my dad pulled me out (thanks dad if you’re reading) I will always remember an England’s Glory matchbox amidst the stones on the bottom. Anyway, I was always dubious of Spanish things after that. I despised the people, for no real reason. Chose to do Latin instead of Spanish at school. I also hated Spain during Championships, luckily they weren’t a great side in that period, though I did have soft spots for Miguel and Emilio ‘The Vulture’ Butragueno (pictured below) until I found out their nationalities. My opinion of the country changed somewhat after a first visit to Salou/Barcelona, so much so that I returned for a longer stay a couple of years later. I have embraced Spanish cooking and wine, and celebrated their art history and films (Open Your Eyes is much better than Vanilla Sky). Then they came to Merseyside.

Let’s go back a bit though. I have read and heard much about the Real Madrid teams of the Fifties and Sixties, and am currently enjoying Barca: A People’s Passion by Jimmy Burns which goes into great detail about the real people’s club. I just never ‘got’ the essence of Spanish futbol.

I suppose, when we were growing up, Barcelona were of course a great team, with Maradona, Schuster, then later Romario, Stoichkov et al (do go on You Tube and search for ‘Barca top ten goals’, in the words of another European great Herr Lipp, it’s a real good treat) but Italian football was where it was at. Italia 90 was enough, but on top you had the real stars in Serie A, and the excitement of James Richardson on a Sunday afternoon treating us to Sampdoria Parma and Guiseppe Giannini etc.

Nowadays, although Channel 5 is doing its bit for calcio, Spain’s La Liga is seen as the other best league in the world, and some of the dirge the Premiership offers, suggests it can claim bragging rights.

Recent years have seen Spanish footballers and coaches influence heavily what we see and do. In European competition, Valencia, Villareal and Sevilla have impressed, Real’s Galacticos are gone and even though Barcelona are currently in a dip of form (Guillame Balague says it’s a crisis) still have tons of world class talent. Whenever I’m at my girlfriend’s on a Sunday night, I try to catch some of whatever game is on, and I’m normally impressed. Not that that’s the only reason I go, of course.

But there is something special about the goals, the strips, the fans, Gerry Armstrong or Roberto Martinez in the studio…

I was lucky enough to go to a Barcelona match a couple of years ago. It was a pre-season friendly against Bayern Munich. The atmosphere and build-up was incredible, and Carles Puyol blessed the club in Catalan before kick-off. Ronaldinho, Eto’o (2) and Saviola scored and some of the play was breathtaking. Lionel Messi was the real draw though, and probably the best nicknamed footballer in the world played some of the best football I’ve ever seen. I’d recommend anyone on holiday in Spain to try to get to a game and compare the differences.

But this article isn’t just a discussion of Spanish football, or dogs with fleas attacking small children. There is a link between the two…

Fernando Torres is amazing. There, I’ve said it.

Mikel Arteta is still the best little Spaniard we know, but even despite his outstanding goal in the Fiorentina match, only Torres can lay claim to being the best Spaniard, perhaps player, around right now. Many scoffed at his price tag but his current run is so impressive that you can see him overtaking Ronaldo in the scoring charts and being the new Rush in the eyes of ‘the Kop’ (out of interest, how could Gillette or Hicks, could be either I can’t tell the ‘Muppet yanks’ (my friend’s words when interviewed on ITV, not mine) apart, describe a stand as a person who has opinions? I digress) which in his first season would be an awesome achievement.

His recent goal against Newcastle when he dummied the keeper and slotted calmly was pure class, and I’m sure there have been many others, I normally cover my eyes. He’s also good looking and seems quite genuine, if it wasn’t for his meff hairdo he’d be a frontrunner for most stylish footballer too.

The whole point of this is that it’ll be because of him, not Gerrard or Benitez or Alonso (sample quote when I met him earlier in the season - “I f**king hate you, but you’re brilliant” tho now I like him as his decision to stand by his pregnant girl was admirable) that Liverpool win fourth spot this season, and maybe even the Champions League once more. If only we can find a way to stop him in the derby, or it might be Everton that sink after meeting a Spaniel, twenty four years on from my unfortunate happening. 

In May, the most prestigious European Cup will get an English winner. For the 11th time. You mark my words…

Has English club football ever been better? Perhaps in the late seventies and early eighties, but probably not. Four English teams out of the eight quarter finalists, and unless Fenerbache can pull off TWO major shocks, we are more or less guaranteed at least one English team in the Champion’s league final. No country has ever had four representatives in the quarter-finals of Europe’s top club competition before. England (2000/01 and 2006/07), Germany (1997/98), Italy (2004/05 and 2005/06) and Spain (1999/2000, 2000/01, 20001/02 and 2002/03) have all had three in the past.
 

In the nineties Serie A dominated the European cups, so far this millennium the Spanish league has done the same. But there seems to be a shift in power now. It probably has happened already, with the Premiership having taken over the mantle. Last season England had three teams in the semis. That could very well happen this season as well.
Some have argued that the Spanish league still holds the lead. That the Premiership is all about the might and financial muscle of the so called big four. Or is it just that the money in football now means that in all the big leagues the top clubs are just in a different league compared to the lesser lights? After all, for Bolton and Wigan in England, read Murcia and Levante in Spain, or Catania and Siena in Italy.

I think it all boils down to this…

The top dogs in the three biggest leagues, England, Spain and Italy, are so powerful that they basically can buy whoever they want, that they can offer their players salaries that others only can dream of, and off course as they are so regular Champion’s League contenders, they have a pulling power that other clubs cannot compete with.
Manchester City and Aston Villa for instance, have enough Thai bath and American dollars, to buy and pay top players, but will they win a tug of war over a player if the competition is called Manchester United, Real Madrid or Inter? Probably not.
 

A chasm has opened up in the top leagues. Basically you have three divisions within the Premiership, Serie A and La Liga. The Champion’s League regulars at the top, the UEFA Cup hunters behind them, and the relegation candidates at the bottom. And it is difficult to see teams breaking out of these groups in the long run.
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These are testing times in football as we approach the business end of the season. With nervy title races, gritty relegation scraps, tempestuous fights for promotion & the Champions League still to be decided, we face an exciting finale to what has already been a memorable season. Despite Liverpool progressing in Europe, thus ending any doubt they are a club in crisis, it was Stoke City’s return to form which I found particularly gratifying. After 2 demoralising defeats, Stoke bounced back with a 1-0 win at Norwich on Tuesday, to move back within a point of the league leaders.

With both Stoke & Liverpool seemingly rejuvenated (their penance surely served?), my confidence has been fully restored & I am hoping 2008 will materialize into the year of the underdog. Hold onto your oatcakes, we’re in for a pulsating end to the season.

Firstly, let us assimilate the events of the last fortnight…

After a sojourn stint as league leaders, Stoke suffered 2 defeats culminating in a crushing loss at QPR. The degradation of this 3-0 thumping had emanated from the disappointment of Preston, with the presence of the Sky cameras rubbing more salt into Potters’ wounds. This maudlin feeling distended until the 91st minute against Burnley when Lenny Lawrence (aka Golden Balls) coolly dispatched that penalty, via keeper & post, to salvage a vital draw for the Potters. Memories of England V Greece came flooding back. Which brings us to the events of last Tuesday when Stoke recaptured their form by grabbing a slender 1-0 win at Norwich. It was a crucial victory & puts Stoke right back in the promotion race.  
 
If Lawrence was an expected hero against Burnley (grabbing his 14th goal of the campaign), Tuesday’s match-winner Mama Sidibe then was possibly the unlikeliest of suspects, after scoring only his 2nd goal of the season. For me though, the real match winner was again Rory Delap, the genuine unsung hero of our incredible season. Again, it was his lethal long-throw which set-up Mama’s goal, whom even with his woeful scoring record would’ve found it difficult to fluff. A friend of mine suggested Sidibe reminded him of John Fashanu (of Gladiator fame). Now I prefer to think of him as a poor man’s Heskey, but it did get me thinking there is a strong resemblance between the spirit of ‘The Crazy Gang’ & that of this mighty Stoke team. I’m not getting at Sidibe mind; He does give this team something with his admirable work-rate & attitude, especially away from home. Nonetheless, Sidibe is to ‘Premier League Striker’ what Lilly Allen is to ‘Ghetto Princess’. 

Now, we are having a wonderful season, so it is hard to cast aspersions, or blame anyone in particular for our sudden collapse. But hey what the heck? Salif Diao’s form has been woeful since he returned to City & results when he has started games have reflected this. In contrast, games Delap has started have ended well for the Potters, & it’s not purely because of his dangerous throws (though they do help!). What stands out most in his absence is the extra time & space given to our opposition. This indicates the shift he puts in & workrate, which at present, in this department Diao is found wanting. At QPR, minus Delap, we looked exposed, as Diao failed to close down their midfielders; & two goals were a direct result of this. The third was obviously down to Griffin’s scandalous dismissal as they took advantage of their extra man. Despite Griffin being a euphemism for ‘Premier League Reject’, he is a vital component of this Stoke team, & when he is not palying, he is sorely missed.

Admittedly, I was one who called for Daio’s inclusion at QPR, but I now realise this was just wishful thinking. And with Whelan returning from suspension against Watford, he surely has to come in alongside Rory.

Let me bore you with the statistics. We’ve scored 61 goals in games that Delap has appeared in & conceded just 49. We’ve scored 12 goals Diao has appeared in & conceded 15. For minutes they have been on the field we’ve conceded an average of 0.7 goals per game that Delap has been involved in; comparing to 2.3 goals per game for games involving Diao, & we have to remember Delap has been involved in the majority of games until recently. Make of these stats what you will, but IMO Rory Delap is a major factor in our success & without him we look far more vulnerable. Bear in mind that both played together at Norwich & played well, but it wasn’t until Diao left the field that we went on to score. 

Watching Liverpool last Tuesday (with the Stoke commentary blaring through my PC speakers) I drew huge encouragement from the Reds performance, which pervaded from their miraculous turnaround of late. Yes, they may well only finish fourth in the PL, remain a rasher short of the full fry-up, but victory in Europe is far from beyond the realm of possibility; & their performances since the owners/manager confrontation have improved enormously. Likewise, Stoke seem to have turned things around on Tuesday night after seemingly losing their way in their bid for automatic promotion.

Two weekends ago it was an altogether different story, as I enjoyed a deserved break in wonderful Killarney (Co. Kerry). And it went something a little like this…
(This is my attempt at a blog for those of you who are interested. Those who are not please feel free to skip the italics & move onto rest of article) 

The road to Killarney was a treacherous one, insinuating caution up ahead. The wind whistled hostilely, the rain blew boisterously on the wind, as I left the sharp rocky undulations of Galway in the West, for the green, luscious & rolling hills of Kerry in the South. However, as I revelled in the charms of the place they call ‘The Kingdom’, I couldn’t help but think – not only about Stoke’s game on Sunday – but that it was well worth the journey. For Stoke it was a different story.

Killarney itself - sleepy by day yet a bastion of activity in the evening - was both warmly friendly & infectiously relaxed. The surrounding landscapes of Kerry were nothing short of breathtaking; & the dreamy green meadows, grandiose mountains, calm soothing lakes & picturesque waterfalls, made for a most memorable weekend. I even had the novelty of visiting one of the world’s most spectacular golf courses, coincidently sharing its name with my surname (now that’s identity for you?).

It was the journey back however, which stands out most for me, as I desperately searched for a venue to witness Stoke’s televised trip South against QPR.

With Liverpool playing at a similar time on Setanta, especially considering their huge popularity in Ireland, my chances of finding a pub playing the Stoke game were slim to none at all. So, when I stumbled upon The Queens Hotel, in the historical town of Ennis (Co. Clare) whom – in having the benefit of two separate systems - agreed to put the game on a small screen in the corner, I was obviously delighted. Randomly this “delightful” establishment, featured in James Joyce’s masterpiece ‘Ulysses’. However, it was the maelstrom created by the abnormality of these two particular games being played simultaneously, which made for an altogether surreal & testing scenario.

For those of you who don’t know by now, I am also a massive Liverpool supporter. This affection owes much to the three enjoyable years I spent on Merseyside, & the eternal bond I will forever hold with Scousers. Nevertheless, however dilettante my support of Stoke City has been over the years, & pleasure Liverpool have given me, I have always stressed, if I had to choose, then Stoke City would undoubtedly come first. On mothering Sunday though, my allegiances & integrity were well & truly tested.            

It would turn out to be an afternoon of bittersweet emotion. Afraid the game may be switched-over, I watched unobtrusively in the corner, sound turned off, as the Liverpool-Bolton match blared out from the big screen. Determined not to let the Liverpool match distract me - despite Stoke’s 3-0 capitulation & the sheer noise levels of Liverpool’s brogue relations - I kept my eyes firmly on the Stoke match until the final whistle. In doing so, I proved to myself (if to no one else) that it is the Stoke fraternity where my heart truly belongs, & ultimately whose promotion to the PL would mean that much more to me. The road from Killarney was not a conversion as such, more like a strengthening of a faith that needed confirming. THE END

The clash of the Stoke & Liverpool matches that Sunday resulted in galvanising my fraternity for the team I have supported since childhood, & may well have cured a very mild identity crisis. It has been a similar situation for Rafa at Liverpool. Benitez, judiciously it now seems, decided to test the metal of Liverpool’s Yankee owners, calling their bluff to see how serious they were about Liverpool FC. It seemed risky at the time, but Benitez knew he had the backing of the fans as a safety net, & in-turn he received the assurances he was looking for. Moreover, His team look stronger as a consequence of this conflict & he too looks to be in a much stronger position, despite his many doubters outside the club. Deep down, I - like Benitez - knew the loyalty was always there; it just needed to be tested to confirm what I had always suspected.

So, I am hoping both clubs will put their indignations behind them & the fortitude displayed of late continues to shine until the end of the season. I have been mightily impressed by the resolve of both Benitez & Pulis this season, especially the way they are not afraid to make changes when things are simply not working. Pragmatic as Pulis is; He like Benitez has a ruthless streak, & IMO this is required for the current circumstances at Stoke. Pulis surprised many when he stuck with Sidibe at Norwich in favour of top scorer Ricardo Fuller. But while this decision raised many eyebrows, it came off for our Tone, as Sidibe grabbed the winner. As I mentioned earlier, Sidibe works his socks off, & this is a huge asset away from home. Fuller, despite his goal threat, is an individual & can at times go missing &  appear lazy. Furthermore, Pulis has shown his strength in the loan market again, acquiring the services of Chris Riggott from Derby, who has steadied our recently shaky defence. Ryan Shawcross, for all his potential, is still only young remember, & although he has been a colossus this season, it was right he was dropped after QPR. And didn’t this decision pay dividends?

Nevertheless, I feel Pulis has to delve into the transfer market one last time if we are to achieve promotion. A catalyst in attack is needed to get us across the finish line, akin to Sheringham’s move to West Ham or (dare I say it?) Merson’s move to Portsmouth. There are rumours of Nugent coming & he certainly fits this criteria. However, IMHO I would opt for more experience in our current situation (viz. Brian McBride or Jason Roberts). But I suppose Jay Bothroyd will just have to make-do!
 
Tomorrows game at Watford will provide our biggest test yet - & of course is the quintessential 6-pointer. But if Whelan comes in alongside Delap in midfield & Riggott continues his impressive contribution to the cause, I have every confidence it’s a game we can overcome. And wouldn’t it be great if Liverpool triumphed in Europe again, wiping the smug smiles off the faces of first Arsenal, then Chelsea & possibly United in the final. But, regardless of the events of the close season, nothing will ever change the way I feel about Stoke City, successful in their quest or not. But, wouldn’t it be the proudest moment of a whole new generation of Stokies, if we were to reach the Promised Land? And my ties with Liverpool FC would be finally severed. (Everybody!) I’m City till I die…

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In his autobiography, ‘Walking on Water’, Brian Clough recalls his feelings on the day he was interviewed for the vacant England manager’s job:  “When I sit at home, busy doing nothing at all, and think back again to that day I bowled into Lancaster Gate as if I already owned the place, I remain unshakeable in my belief that the whole interviewing process was a charade.”  This recollection provides an indication of Clough’s brash self-confidence and an insight into how a conservative FA had already earmarked ‘their man’, Ron Greenwood, for the top job.  Despite a strong shortlist consisting of such luminaries as Bobby Robson and Lawrie McMenemy alongside the lesser known Allen Wade and Charles Hughes, many football aficionados agreed that Clough was the best qualified for the job.  Moreover, most football fans in the East Midlands still regard Brian Clough as the greatest manager of modern times – his achievements unmatched in the British game when you consider that he was only able to flex relatively meagre financial muscles. 

Manchester United supporters and a brown-nosed media might wax lyrical about Alex Ferguson being the best thing since sliced bread, but Clough himself summed it up best when he said, “For all his horses, knighthoods and championships, he hasn’t got two of what I’ve got.  And I don’t mean balls.” 

Clough’s European pedigree was exemplary: two European Cups in consecutive seasons in 1979 and 1980 were the ultimate prizes for a man who also won the Super Cup in 1980 and who featured in the European Cup semi-final with Derby County in 1973.  Would Alex have matched those feats with the same team and resources?  As well as this fine record in Europe, Clough also captured the league title with both Derby and Forest and won four League Cups while in charge at the City Ground.  During his tenure as manager, Forest went on a run of 42 games unbeaten, only seven games less than Arsenal’s 49-game run which unsurprisingly drew hyperbolic headlines such as ‘Invincibles’ and ‘The Best Ever…’ from a sensationalist London press.  Clough was universally seen as a hard but fair manager, who insisted on clean play from his players and who suffered no fools when communicating with the media. 

Clough was a man of principle and high standards and was never afraid to offer his advice to player or pressman.  When Trevor Francis (pictured above) found himself with the honour of receving an award from the great man, Clough told him in no uncertain terms to “Take your hands out of your pockets!”  On England goalkeeper David Seaman, Clough observed, “That Seaman is a handsome young man but he spends too much time looking in his mirror rather than at the ball.  You can’t keep goal with hair like that.”  He was famous for insisting on being called ‘Mr Clough’ and earned great respect from his peers for his ability to turn a game to his and his team’s advantage. 

While his outspoken and humorous comments enthralled many fans across the country, there were times when his acerbic wit and sharp tongue got him into trouble. One such situation he later lived to regret. After being knocked out of the European Cup semi-final by Juventus as Derby County manager, Clough accused The Old Lady of being ‘cheating bastards’ and questioned the Italian nation’s courage in the war.  His argument with with the Derby board led to Clough walking out on the club, a move which would have Derby’s fans demanding the board’s resignation.  After a brief stint managing Third Division Brighton and Hove Albion, Clough was famously sacked after just 44 days by Leeds United after upsetting several star players.  Most poignant was the break-down of his relationship with one-time right hand man and close friend, Peter Taylor. Taylor had been Clough’s assistant at Hartlepool, Brighton Derby, and Forest, and had retired in 1982, only to then come out of retirement to manage Derby County.  Taylor arranged the transfer of Forest’s John Robertson without Clough’s consent, leading to an irreconcilable breakdown in the pair’s relationship.  The two men had not put aside their grievances when Taylor died in 1990.  Clough regretted his stubbornness and continued to drink excessively. 

Some people believe that Brian Clough was the greatest England manager never to have got the job.  I myself would tend to agree with this.  First and foremost, Clough was a good northerner who spoke his mind and called a spade a spade.  What you saw was what you got.  He was also fairly conventional in his approach to handling his squad; he demanded that players were ultra-professional off the field as well as on it and insisted that his players upheld on a clean image and were well-presented with neat haircuts and smart suits.  He also insisted on shirts being tucked inside their shorts and always played with their socks rolled up.  This cleancut appearance was also reflected in his teams’ behaviour on the pitch as he was adamant that his players should behave honourably and never argue with the referee.  His tactics and methods demonstrated a desire to play the game in the right way by keeping the ball on the ground and not resorting to Route One football which was employed by so many other teams in England at the time.  He was an inventive coach and used left wingers like John Robertson at Forest and Alan Hinton at Derby to particularly good effect.  Like Alf Ramsay at Ipswich, Clough moulded together a group of lesser-known players and turned them into a really effective crushing machine, where the onus was on collective responsibility and the team playing for each other rather than relying on Fancy Dans who were out for themselves.  Although Clough himself signed Teddy Sheringham, it is rumoured that Clough didn’t really care for him and thought he was another flash and cocky Londoner.  This feeling is perhaps typified in the way that Clough constantly referred to him as ‘Edward’.

When Clough speaks about the interviewing process being a charade it is because the FA were never in a million years going to appoint a man of Clough’s outpoken nature.  In Walking on Water he says: “They (the interviewing panel) could have saved us all a lot of time and bother because Greenwood seemed merely to be rubber-stamped.  They would have gone home and boasted to their golf-club cronies that they had appointed the nice Ron Greenwood, a first class diplomat as well as a fine coach, and they had given the bum’s rush to that objectionable braggart from Nottingham Forest.”   Whatever the reasons the power-men had when deciding not to make Clough manager, it surely was to England’s loss. 

Looking back on his success, his record stands alongside any of the top managers in the English game.  Clough himself says, “Who thought Derby County could be turned into League champions; that any manager could bounce back from getting the bullet after 44 days with a great club and go on to prove himself among the best managers of all time; that what was done at Derby could be repeated at Forest; that after winning one European Cup, we could retain it; that a brash, self-opinionated young footballer, cut down by injury in his prime, would go on to achieve more impressive fame as a brash, highly successful manager?”  To paraphrase a famous Clough quote, he may not have been the best manager in the business, but he certainly was the top one.

It was the moment we had all been waiting for. And much more besides. Stoke City took on Preston at Deepdale on Tuesday night, in what was the 101st meeting between two of England’s most prestigious clubs. It was league leaders against a club fighting for survival, old masters versus –hopefully - the new. It was a blustery evening in the northwest, on a heavily waterlogged pitch & a typically open night in the Championship.

And on such an emotionally-charged occasion, it was the youngest referee in the league who took charge of the game (if that’s what you call it), a mere pup at the tender age of 22. This was the Championship & this was of course Stoke City.

But, despite this being an evening of bitter disappointment, when inexperience cost Stoke City dearly, I refuse to dwell on the negatives. And in a game which could quite easily ended 5-3 to the Potters, I am determined to remain objective. This after-all was just another ordinary night in the Championship & hopefully just one more lesson learned in complacency. And oddly enough, just what the manager had warned his team about prior to the Preston match.

In the pre-match build-up, with Stoke receiving some unfamiliar - & possibly unwanted – media attention, Pulis’ perfect analogy revealed to journo’s the competitive nature of this division. A typically down-to-earth Tone, told of how his team knew the dangers of their position, & if his team didn’t continue to fire on all cylinders, then their pants would be duly pulled & their arses unceremoniously reddened (or words to that effect). Needless to say, his team, not for the want of trying, were slightly off their A-games at Deepdale & as a result a newly expectant crowd went back to Stoke extremely disappointed.

The game for me went something a little like this…

Rushing back from work, I was desperate to purchase something, apart from ale, that would get me in the mood for the 12th from last game of the season. I decided, as I was not at the match, in Ireland even, I would try to recreate the conditions as though I were actually there - a sort of antidote for my recent bout of home-sickness. Of course, the friendly looking young girl behind the bakery counter looked at me quizzically when I asked her for a savoury meat & potato pie, so I decided to refrain from asking my 2nd question of “got any Wrights?”(Realising I was clutching at straws with this one!). I left dejected, but not defeated.

Undeterred, I stopped to get steak mince from the butchers & grabbed some spuds from the Super Valu. Yes, I would have a bash myself. I had to be quick though; it was 5.30pm & the match kicked-off in a little over 2 hours. Once home, I diligently cracked on with my pie-making. After much fortitude & persistence, I scrupulously glazed a wholesome looking pie with egg yolk & whacked it in a hot oven. Job done. Or so I thought.

Now sweating profusely, I switched on my PC & Sky Sports for the build-up, where Stoke were receiving some uncharted media attention. We were the league leaders & with our rivals not in action until the weekend, this was an opportunity for us to move four points clear of the pack, so the interest was fully justified. Sky Sports news flashes & radio Stoke (via the internet) provided my usual vantage; headphones on, like an old man with his wireless, I listened on intently…

The game kicked-off & I could hear a buoyant travelling support in the background. I went through the usual list emotions: “why aren’t I there”, “I’m missing out again” & “I know we can do this”. After a bright start, we were immediately put on the back foot, as Preston showed us their credentials. I didn’t expect this to be an easy game - despite their precarious league position -after experiencing some tough battles with Preston in recent years (most memorably when they beat us 4-3 at the start of season 02/03 - with none other than Cresswell scoring the winner in injury-time for the North-Enders). Moreover, despite being in the relegation zone, they’d recorded some pretty impressive results this season, including; homes wins against Watford (& a recent draw away) & Brazil (aka West Brom), & also performed an FA Cup demo-job on Championship bound Derby. They are indeed a team who deserved respect & we were duly obliging…             

The crowd continued to show their support & we heard our first (impressive) rendition of ‘Delilah’. The atmosphere in those early stages, I have to say, sounded electric & I dearly wished I was there in person soaking up the atmosphere. They responded with an ‘olé olé olé olé’ of their own after doing well to retain possession. Tony Gayle - the Sky correspondent for this game - was making long ball jibes all-night long (& will always find an ally in Paul Merson – who bizarrely has an axe to grind with Stoke) & suggested Preston wanted it far more. I begged to differ. The ex-pro (in case you weren’t aware) would later wind-me-up further when accusing Lawrence of “over-playing it” with ‘that’ chance, making the wise crack: “you won’t hear that said about Stoke too often” (very original!). I can now see why he writes for The Sun… 

And so, when they took a seemingly deserved lead, everyone at Sky saw it coming. I shrugged it off nonplussed, with thoughts of Scunthorpe an overriding factor for my continued optimism. Besides, maybe it was what the game needed & more importantly give Stoke the proverbial kick up the backside. How wrong I was…

10 short minutes later (me, momentarily soothed by hearing the drawled-out monosyllables of my beloved home-town accent) & it was 2-0 & my confidence came crashing down to earth with a thud. It was the same scorer, another free-kick, & more importantly young Shawcross who was again at fault for their goal. With the poignancy of the “Ell feel that, I can tell ya” comment resounding painstakingly through my earphones, I irrationally blamed the commentator for the curse he’d placed on our team. Regaining my composure, albeit fearing this was going to be one of those nights, I said to myself: “one goal & we’re back in it”. These sentiments lasted until 10 minutes from the end; when I decided after a barrage of chances, a couple of injury scares & bans to key players, my fears had been fully realised. I became engulfed by the fowl stench of defeat & it wasn’t the only thing I could smell. Caught-up in the melodrama, I had completely forgotten about my bleedin’ pie!  My beautiful pie was burnt beyond recognition & capped what turned out to be a miserable evening.

I quickly snapped out of my depression as I regained some much needed perspective. We can take major consolation in the manner of this defeat & solace in the fact we still sit proudly at the top of the table. And in the Championship, the points are certainly worth more than the games in hand. Furthermore, an away tie at a club fighting for their lives, on a murderous night in the northwest, was never going to be easy.

This crushing defeat didn’t exactly have a silver-lining per se, but in the grand scheme of things it could well prove to be a blessing in disguise. I would much prefer to learn a lesson like this now, rather than in the last couple of games of the season when it is much too late to put things right. I only hope this was a passing shower, that we recover quickly & the sun is shining on Stoke City in Shepherds Bush on Sunday. 

In hindsight, this was an evening to forget about & it is only how we react to it that matters most. If we respond to it like we did to the defeat away to Charlton, then it may well have done us a favour. If we let it affect our confidence, then it could harm the rest of our campaign. I sense it won’t trouble us too much & our bellicose spirit – which we’ve shown in the past - will be our redemption once again.

Nevertheless, it’s important we learn form this & we learn our lesson quickly. In this division, resting on one’s laurels is not an option & Pulis has to find a solution to our wayward finishing & nervous defence, if we are to achieve promotion. Last season Sunderland persistently added to their squad right until the end, adding to areas where they needed to improve. The signing of Stern John added fresh impetuous to their attack & he in-turn added some vital goals in their run-in. Despite Sidibe playing a pivotal role in our success this term & him being an un-sung hero of this team (a concept which a Guardian journo failed to grasp in midweek), IMO we do need more variation to our play, & more importantly, another goalscorer to come in alongside Fuller. We have to keep improving & keep progressing, or else, as Bob Dylan once put it – we will certainly start to sink like a stone.        

IMHO, tough games at Deepdale should be taken with more caution & Diao possibly should have started the match. A 0-0 draw in the circumstances would have sufficed. But then again, Diao has struggled with fitness of late & his combative spirit has waned somewhat from last season. I agreed totally with TP’s judicious decision to leave Salif out in the last few matches, but at QPR on Sunday; it is time he is reinstalled in the Stoke City midfield & we call upon his vast experience in these testing circumstances.

In summery, the Preston match was much like my pie fiasco. I don’t mean Stoke resemble a burnt-out mess, full of spuds & mince, on the crust of failure, although I have met a few dubious characters from the Potteries in my time. Rather, despite the effort & application I put into my pie-making, it just wasn’t meant to be. My girlfriend has warned me not to try it again, in fear ill bugger et up once more, but I most certainly will; knowing that if I just adjust the temperature & get my timing a little better, I’ll make a success of it next time around. Similarly, if Stoke learn from what went wrong at Preston, then they still have a great chance of promotion. I would’ve been more worried if Stoke didn’t make the chances on Tuesday, but in truth, we could’ve easily won the game 5-3 with the chances (& penalty shout) we created.

In response to my last article on Stoke, a confused Sunderland fan (missing my point completely) wrote in angrily to me, saying that if we go up then we too will have glory-hunters latching onto us. For the record I was only suggesting Sunderland had gained a huge Irish following since the appointment of Keane & his subsequent Irish recruitment policy. But, if what he was suggesting comes true, then I wouldn’t bemoan the fact & will except our fate willingly.

I’m off to Killarney (Co. Kerry) this weekend & I am certainly looking forward to seeing ‘the Kingdom’ and the famous ‘Ring of Kerry’. But mostly, I can’t wait to see Stoke City’s long overdue match shown on Sky Sports this Sunday. And if I can recruit, round-up, or muster any kind of support for the mighty Potters, then I will do so with pride & honour. We’re still the underdogs I know, nethertheless, despite our many doubters after Tuesday, I am still hopeful we’ll bounce back even stronger at QPR & I am sure we’ll continue to add to our ever-growing support. Fingers crossed.

Remember to join me again & ill let you know how I got on in Kerry….