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. 

Spaniels possess a great share of intelligence, affection, and obedience, which qualities, combined with much beauty, make them highly prized as companions. It’s clear that Torres, and to a lesser extent Arteta, are highly prized companions, I hope we can both keep them if the season proves to be a failure. My legendary girlfriend has just come in and told me she’s always wanted a Spaniel. I’ll get a towel.

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.
  (more…)

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 Red’s 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 resolving of 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 slightly alternative 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 also, 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 and infectiously relaxed. The surrounding landscapes of Kerry were nothing short of breathtaking and 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 and 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, and 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 and truly tested.            

It would turn out to be an afternoon of bittersweet emotion. Afraid the game may be switched over, I watched-on 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, and ultimately whose promotion to the PL would mean that much more. 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…

Remember, if you wish to join in with this discussion, write a post, or just want to leave a comment, you need to be signed-in; or else complete our simple registration process to become an EFP member.

Click here to Register                                                                                              Login 

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….

These are intriguing times in football. Already in 2008; there has been the return of ‘King Kev’ - to the delight of the masses on Tyneside (and rightfully predicted by your humble narrator), an Italian taking charge of England, & another much older & wiser (say the Irish) one taking charge of Ireland (in what has surely been the longest appointment process of all-time), they even planned to play the PL abroad – with an absurd ‘39th game proposal’. There is also Keano’s Irish revolution happening up at Sunderland, who incidentally, have become embroiled in one of the most exciting relegation battles in PL history. But for me, the most invigorating story in football at present is the rise of my beloved Stoke City to the summit of the Championship; whom after years of suffering & degradation find themselves on the verge of top flight football once again. And I have never been more excited.

These are also significant times for The English Football Post. Soon, you will be able to leave your own post, similar to this one, as we attempt to revolutionize the way football is discussed on the internet & offer an alternative to the usual forum archetype. Register & you’ll also be able to share your views with a mass audience; post your own article; or even start your own blog.

Anyway, back to my story…

When I moved to Ireland, any hopes of watching my team regularly had relinquished; fearful I had condemned myself to a life of listening to Stoke City on the radio via the internet, but for an annual FA Cup exit that may or may not be televised. Or, I may be lucky enough to occasionally watch the mighty Potters live on Sky Sports in the back room of a deserted Irish pub, as I listlessly attempted to explain to a polite-but-uninterested fella, where exactly Stoke-on-Trent is (closer to Manchester than Birmingham), who indeed comes from there (the Captain of the Titanic), & how important the Potteries used to be (pre-Thatcher). And this of course, would be on condition no Rugby or Gaelic matches - with any whiff of significance – were not on another channel; or that SUNDERLAND were not on Setanta, in which case, I’d have to indiscreetly & shamelessly watch the game in the stink of the bookies.

It seemed I had incarcerated myself to a life of torment. Or so I thought…

You see, after a 5th straight win against Ipswich yesterday, Stoke sit proudly at the summit of the Championship, & I would be lying if I said I am not slightly hopeful about our very realistic chances of promotion. My ardour, is echoed I am sure, by my fellow long suffering Stokies, & we could well be watching our team regularly on Sky Sports, Sentanta, ‘MotD’ & ‘The Premiership’ (its Irish equivalent) next season. And Potter’s fires will be well & truly reignited.

IMO Stoke are the Sunderland of the Championship this season; minus the Irish bandwagon – those which mysteriously came out of the woodwork last season, swearing blind they had followed the Black Cats since the days of Gabbiadini (classy goalscorer from 80’s & early 90’s) & the legend that was John Byrne (not so great goal-getter with 22 Caps for Eire). Stoke do not just adopt a similar style of football as Sunderland, possess their never-say-die spirit, or simply share the same workmanlike qualities as the Wear-siders; Stoke embody a je ne sais quoi, reminiscent of Roy Keane’s team last term, which ultimately won them promotion.

But the correlation between the two northern cities don’t stop there, & the similarities between the two clubs, dare I say it, are there in red & white.

Not only are these two heavily industrial cities of similar size & stature, but the working-class inhabitants are of corresponding nature also. And despite Sunderland being far more successful in the first half of last century, many parallels can be made in both club’s illustrious histories. Those amongst you who know your history will be aware that Stoke City are the 2nd oldest football club in the world, & inaugural members of the football league. But in that first season, unable to compete with likes of Preston, Burnley & Blackburn, Stoke finished bottom of the table & were controversially voted out of the top division. Their replacement, yes you guessed it, were Sunderland AFC. And to add insult to injury, Sunderland – the first club outside the midland/northwest region to compete in the football league – played in the same red & white strips famed by the Potters. The archetypes don’t stop there. 
                              

Some hundred years later & Stoke City were relegated from the top division in 1984/5 with a record lowest points tally. Some 20 years later, & who else but Sunderland were relegated with fewer. And finally, if it wasn’t enough that the old Roker Park looked suspiciously identical to Stoke’s famous Victoria Ground, the Black Cats new stadium - albeit with their corners filled-in thus accounting for an extra 20,000 capacity – is a carbon copy of the Britannia Stadium, & both opened in Aug 1997. It’s no great surprise then that ‘the Mackems’ are beginning to get up my nose.

Sunderland’s renaissance has been well-documented; I only hope the coincidences continue.

The excitement of transfer deadline day, matched any I’d experienced & took me back to days of page 302 on Ceefax. Whilst most, tuned into Sky Sports news to see if the Defoe/Benjani transfer had gone through, I anxiously sought confirmation that Glenn Whelan had become a Stoke City player. With his move from Sheff Wed not confirmed until 20 after midnight, with not even a mention by newsreaders, I retired to my bed with my renewed optimism fully justified. This signing, together with the £2.2million spent on 2 free-scoring centre-backs represented a massive change at Stoke City; whom hitherto, had always been a selling club. I wouldn’t go as far in saying that the Whelan transfer will be the catalyst in Stoke’s promotion, but it is certainly an extremely positive sign for a club used to letting go players with even an iota of potential. (Garth Crooks, Paul Bracewell, Adrian ‘inchie’ Heath, Peter Beagrie, Steve Bould, Lee Dixon, Mark Stein & Mike Sheron to name just a few)

At a club, where over the years, the fans had lost all confidence in the board (& at times the feeling  has been mutual) the Glenn Whelan signing, arguably the most promising midfielder outside the PL, for a meagre £500,000, is a massive coup for Stoke City & a gigantic step in the right direction. He’s young, gifted & Irish; I cannot believe Roy Keane & ‘Big Bird’ didn’t come sniffing.

But it’s two other Irish midfielders, whom Keane atypically decided to let go, that have been the biggest factor in Stoke’s remarkable run of form. Lawrence (£500,000 & scored 13 goals this season) & Delap (free & player of the season IMHO) have been Stoke’s two outstanding performers this season & a clear indication of Tone’s (as he’s affectionately known on the Potteries) shrewdness in the transfer market. If Stoke do get promoted, Stokies will be eternally grateful to Keane for gifting them with these two gemstones.

While we’re on the subject, & taking nothing away from Keane’s achievements at Sunderland; his dealings in the transfer market at times have been, at the very least, contentious. Tony Pulis, on the other hand has an impeccable record, & he deserves all the kudos that will inevitably be thrown his way. Previously known as the ‘Loan Ranger’, Tone has finally been granted a modest transfer kitty by friend & chairman Peter Coates(Bet365), & despite spending a record breaking £3.5million on players this season, the money he has recouped on sales such as Danny Higginbottom (£2.5mill to Sunderland – who else!) means he’s still £370,000 in the green. Furthermore, in his last tenure as Stoke manager, Pulis managed to make profits of £1.15million. No wonder himself & the chairman are such good friends. Keane for the record is £41.42million (& people give Benitez stick!) in the red in just 2 seasons at Sunderland, & I am not in the least bit surprised himself & big Quinny don’t get along.

Pulis, is not quite in the Wenger mould, nevertheless, Tone is the quintessential modern day manager, who understands the realities of running a club such as Stoke City. Whilst Sunderland’s return to top flight was quick-fix, tempestuous & dramatic, Stoke’s revival has been more steady & pragmatic. His team reminds me a lot of Tony Waddington’s (Stoke legend) teams of the seventies. He too, assembled a team of strays, cast-offs, past-its & also-rans, & mixed them with young talent (like Pejic & Hudson), & his strategies earned him huge success (winning the league cup in 1972). Tone’s side may well be a little more workmanlike than they were in the ‘Waddo Years’, owing much to his military background, but by incorporating flair players into his team such as Fuller & Lawrence, Pulis, like Waddington, has achieved a similar balance; & this has been key to the club’s recent success.

In short, on deadline day Stoke signed a young promising Irishman, wouldn’t it be ironic if he, along with 2 other Irishmen whom Keane cast aside, were the reasons behind Stoke City’s promotion. And wouldn’t it be poetic justice if it was Sunderland we replaced & this time it was they who were relegated? This is in no way any form of schadenfreude, it’s more like retribution, albeit after waiting 128 years for it to be exacted.

Keane, more than anybody, knows that success is born from adversity, & it’s for this reason, together with how much it means to the fans, that I am so desperate for Stoke to get promoted. And if my dreams are realised, we reach the PL, & we also sign a few more Irish players; I wonder if, whilst watching my beloved Stoke City live on Sky Sports in an Irish alehouse, I’ll be sitting alone? Or will I be joined by a bunch of brogues, all shouting for the mighty Potters?

It is a beautiful notion…

 It was Valentine’s Day last Thursday, and love was certainly in the air.

The previous night, Everton surpassed everyone’s expectations once again with a record sixth straight win, albeit in the UEFA Cup but we are doing well. Hopefully this week’s home leg will see us progress towards a much harder test against Fiorentina or Rosenberg, whilst continuing to challenge for a Champions League qualifying place… you can but dream.

I actually missed Wednesday’s match, and went for a romantic meal instead. It felt strange, detached almost, but it was nice to not get stressed and drunk in front of a screen… I did it in front of my girlfriend instead. Only joking, we had a lovely time and it got even better when my dad contacted me with the final score. And, her dad had sky plussed it so I managed to watch it the following evening. But I liked the fact that such a small gesture meant a lot and it’s something that I’m sure will happen more and more in the future. Priorities should change over time. What’s scary is how missing a match for someone you love somehow feels like a betrayal or two-timing, and that such an act might somehow have had an effect on a match taking place thousands of miles away.

Many relationships are said to flounder as a result of football. Nick Hornby expressed this much better than I ever could, in Fever Pitch, and the adaptation to baseball for the movie ‘The Perfect Catch’ encapsulates even better the conflicts that can come when two worlds collide. There’s even a scene when the main character avoids a big match to accompany his girl to a party, which my own pre-Valentine’s evening echoed. He admits he had the time of his life, though then holds it against her when he finds out he missed a pivotal comeback.

Love, however, is the key. Many fans insist their attraction to and support of a club is down to love, and being a fan does evoke many similar emotions. Disappointment, sheer happiness, excitement, expense, betrayal… The Great Dome Howard Kendall once explained his return to Everton as a marriage, whilst Manchester City was a love affair, and in real terms, not a week seems to go by without a player involved in some love cheat story or on field celebration scandal. My recent favourites do not involve Ashley Cole, instead, the aptly named Brazilian Vagner Love’s leaked film, and a wholly unromantic incident involving a glove wearing right back and a friend of a friend.

We regularly have players kissing the badge, supporters’ chants declaring their love for their club, demands for heart and soul, anger at ‘betrayal’ and some fans’ support even bordering on an obsession. The passion and intensity of certain occasions or even an exciting glorious climax, often inspire the interview question ‘what’s better, scoring a goal or having sex?’ to which I suppose you’d have to have done both in front of forty thousand people to know.

Another good example is probably all the fans who invade pitches to hug their heroes and try to grab their shirts. Phil Neville tried his best to stop this happening in Bergen, but is it understandable given the fans’ devotion and pleasure? This reminded me of a recent Morrissey concert, said girlfriend was shocked at the lengths fans were going to, to grab their hero’s hand or even better, hug him on stage. Over-eager/aggressive security guards meant that this homo-erotic occasion was soured somewhat by seeing grown men thrown off stage like rag dolls, or fighting each other over a sweaty shirt thrown into a crowd.

But if we are talking of beauty, hope, feel good stories of fairytale proportions, every round it seems the FA Cup will provide. Think of the competition as a E-On sponsored Cilla Black (why she features in more than one of my articles is indeed a surprise), matching up prospective couples in the hope she will have to buy a hat.

It would be ignorant and churlish of me not to mention Oldham, but we are used to such aberrations at Goodison particularly under Moyes. I for one still love him, in a different way of course. This year though, the exploits of Bristol Rovers, Huddersfield, Havant & Waterlooville and of course you guessed it Barnsley have all conjured up notions of roses and hearts, dreams and tears, and above all else the romance of the cup.

Fans’ demonstrations and banners hint at a more religious devotion, which will not be discussed here. Rather than focus on the Reds’ bad luck (?) against Toby Tyke et al, I will instead return to another recent disappointment the Blues suffered. The defeats against Chelsea were inevitable once the normally impeccable Joleon Lescott let SWP out-jump him, but even during the home leg we dared to dream that this could just be the evening that football returned to its roots and the original blue millionaires won through. Many in the ground that night had seen us at Wembley but a whole generation of fans across the country have never seen anyone other than the old Big Four win the FA Cup and even the Milk/Littlewoods/Rumbelows/Coca-Cola/Carling Cup during their own individual love affairs with football clubs.

I felt terrible that night because I’d forgotten to wear the pin badge my ‘true’ love gave to me for Christmas. Somehow I attributed the absent-mindedness to losing a semi-final, when in reality we all realised that they were just the better team. Successful, positive relationships are all about responding to situations and learning from them, moving onwards and upwards, which perhaps also explains why so many people are keen to go back and try to rekindle a light that has already gone out.

Perhaps this is another analogy for love and football – many fans, and partners, often look on enviously at other teams or players and wish longingly that they had that success, style, or pride, or in some cases that former objects of affection were still theirs, or will be again one day, before grudgingly accepting what they actually have.

Believe me, it’s much better in fact to celebrate your own love, whatever problems one has to be mindful of, and put everything possible into it, because then the rewards are much greater. Whether that means in football or in life, make sure you choose the right one.

Sometimes, it is only when you move away that you find out most about the place you left behind. After years of scrutinizing, it is this very wonderful paradox which has allowed me to become closer to understanding the nature of English football & the fundamental reasons behind its success. Whether it is a new found maturity, a clarity born from escaping the social constraints of home, safe from hazardous distractions, or simply because I now have something to compare it to; I’m not entirely sure. Nevertheless, moving away has certainly opened my eyes to a concept that many managers have seemingly failed to grasp; that it is the fans who make football what it is, & any club chasing success has to consider them when building a successful team.

This was something Bill Shankly was only too aware of, & probably why he seemed light years ahead of his contemporaries. My sincere apologies for bringing it up again but his ‘more important than life or death’ analogy of the game showed more insight than it is ever given credit for. Yes, it is the most famous, overused (often misused) football clichés of them all, but read between the lines – which a country the size of America failed to do when Lennon made an equally profound observation about human behaviour - & Shankly was beautifully emphasizing how much football meant to the English people. He realised the importance of the people, the major role they played, & by understanding the social fabric of a club he was unlocking the door to success. After what he installed at Liverpool, it’s no surprise his legacy shines perpetually through the corridors at Anfield & his veracious philosophy of ‘placing his faith in the fans’ becomes more poignant by the day.

Two contrasting situations at Liverpool & Newcastle in recent weeks, indicates further the power of the fans & the importance of having their backing. There is no doubt in my mind that if Liverpool fans had turned against their manager – in what has been a turbulent few months at Anfield – then ‘the Americans’ would have given Rafa the boot faster than it took Hilary Clinton to turn on the crocodile tears when she was told it would help her election campaign. And Allardyce; if fans hadn’t become so disenchanted with the ‘Big Sham’ style of football, then Mike Ashley would have certainly waited until the end of the season before making any sort of decision.

You see, football has never been about the players, the chairman – even if he has his own agenda - or even the manager. It is the happiness of the paying public that dictates the destiny of a club. And if a club loses sight of this, then failure is inevitable; & someone, usually the manager, has to pay the price. Of course in light of what happened to Phil O’Donnell, the irrelevance of football pales in significance, but where football is concerned, then it is the supporters who have to take precedence.

I have the utmost respect for the two sets of aforementioned supporters, both for their impeccable football knowledge & their judicious demand for entertaining football – which many sets of supporters often lose sight of. I was shocked by Chelsea fan’s lack of protests after the departure of a man who had brought more success to their club than anyone in its history.

Yes, there are wider issues to be considered, but the fundamental purpose of our game is to be entertained & it is this factor which has worked in favour of Benitez at Liverpool & against Allardyce at Newcastle. It is testament to the people of the Northwest & Northeast whose primary loyalties lie with seeing good football.

Despite Liverpool’s title aspirations becoming ruefully unstuck in December, fans are not fickle enough to forget everything Benitez has achieved & how the cultured, often complex football, which his sides adopt, is a far cry from the wing-backs of Souness & the defensive counter-attacking of Houllier. It would be interesting to find out how the hoi polloi of the Toon – who have been used to watching flair players inspire their team to victory over the years (Keegan, Waddle, Mirandinha, Gazza, Asprilla, Ginola to name just a few) - viewed Big Sam’s appointment in the first place. It appears new chairman Mike Ashley was against it from the start & should maybe bear this in mind when he’s appointing a new man at Newcastle; & that fans are consulted.

Great managers have always taken the thoughts & feelings of the fans into careful consideration when building their teams, & the traits of people they are representing have reflected in the team’s style of football. Busby, Stein, Kendall & Clough – all from mining backgrounds - managed their clubs like factory owners, in keeping with the working class northern & midland cities they represented. And it arguebly paid dividends.

There is Ferguson also, who is made from similar stock; although his more cosmopolitan warehouse has moved with the times & won numerous prizes for innovation over the years. It was Shankly though whose philosophy first created a club for the people. Placing his faith in the supporters, he created an image of Liverpool FC in the likeness of its citizens. This laid the foundations for continued success & turned a struggling club into a bastion of invincibility. Liverpool of the seventies & eighties reflected the image of the city itself; hardworking, canny, passionate, resilient & creative, & his faith in the people was undoubtedly rewarded. Benitez has similar respect for the fans & their traditions, & that is why they’ll back him indomitably. Often it is a case of pleasing the masses & more often than not it’s a case of - the public gets what the public wants.

Watching my home-town team Stoke City against the Barcodes, was an enlightening experience & strengthens my argument further by two apposing expectations of these two, once similar, sets of supporters. It has been quite some time though since Stanley danced on the wing in the Potteries, and the glory days of Banks, Conroy & Hudson, when Stoke were a mainstay in England’s top division (& even League Cup winners in ‘72’) , have long since diminished. For the moment at least, the good people of the Potteries are content with watching their players running their bollocks off & expect nothing less than ‘getting stuck in’ as a requisite for playing for Stoke City. But Potters, once famed for their highly skilled craftsmanship, like Geordies, albeit rather more surreptitiously, long to see players of similar stature playing at the Britannia & witness football akin to the quality of the pots they once skillfully produced not all that long ago. Get to the Premier League & they just might!

But, despite the increased television coverage of football - & living in Ireland where amazingly there is more English football on TV than in England – the older I become the fussier I have become about the type of football I like to be watching. It is possible my newly found liberty is down to leaving the territory of teams I support, or that the organically neutral Irish are rubbing off; who knows? But if Liverpool fail to win the league – which looks increasingly likely - & Stoke don’t win the cup or get promoted, then I would like Arsenal to be triumphant, after their easy-on-the-eye football added me to their growing list of admirers. Their vibrant multi-cultural style, refreshingly youthful approach to football has been a joy to watch this season & thus paints an inviting picture of modern London. In fact, you could say they have put London on map in some respects. (Well maybe not, but you see what I am getting at)

The point I’ve been trying to make is that football should be a matter of basic economics & comply with simple laws of supply & demand. Football in England is more popular than Jesus Christ, so it is only wise – regardless of the money factor – that fans are consulted & considered. And before Americans get their frilly knickers in a twist, start to burn effigies of my name, or go persecuting any more civilizations that differ from their own; this, for once, is not about you. My statement reflects trends in the culture of heathen England & is merely an observation. And Catholics (of which I stand accused) alas! Pope Benedict XVI has recently acknowledged the increasingly powerful role of football within society, suggesting that - despite its obvious(?) exploitation & corruption – football has an important moral message about life to teach us all. Sounds familiar doesn’t it?

And for what it’s worth, I would like to see Shearer, with Keegan as a director of football, to return to the healm & lead the renaissance up at their beloved Newcastle. And I would like to wish them every success in the future, as God knows, the people of Newcastle surely deserve it.

As a Liverpool fan there are two words that make my neck hairs stand straight up. The first one is “Istanbul” (no explanation is needed). The other word is “2001″.

In my last post I wrote about the manager situation at Anfield. And with current developments, it could be tempting to write another piece on that subject. (I can not believe the amount of Liverpool fans who are rooting for Mourinho to take over. Have they forgot what that man said about our football club only a few years a go? The contempt he treated Liverpool fans with at the 2005 Leauge cup final? Mourinho was massively booed at the 2005 CL semi final, and in the following matches we faced Chelsea. And now these people want him as our manager? What next? Salman Rushdie as president of Iran?)

But enough about current plights, and ramblings about who shall and shall not be manager at Anfield come August 2008.

Let us instead go down Memory Lane - a pleasant walk for any Liverpool fan.

No, I am not going to write about St. Etienne, the glory of Rome in 84, or the above mentioned Istanbul.

Let us talk about 2000/2001.

My favourite year!

As a football fan my year goes from August to July, not from January to December. At the start of the year (in august 2000 in other words), I enrolled at Liverpool John Moores University - where I was supposed to study journalism for three years. (Instead I ended up spending the vast majority of those three years in the pub - a lot of the time in company with this site’s editor!)

The reason John Moores University was my preferred top choice at Uni was not the incredible stature that particular University has as a journalism school, it had of course all to do with my love or Liverpool Football Club

As I am not born and bred on Merseyside (yes, I’m one of those pesky out of towners), this was my chance to follow the Red Men on a regular basis - not for one whole season, but for three.

Let us make a jump in space and time again. This time to the period preceding my enrolment at John Moores. Back to  the time I was still slaving at school here back home in Norway, passing time chasing after pretty blonde little things in skirts, watching footie on the telly, and reading everything I could get my hands on when it came to English football. Fanzines, match day programmes and books. A lot of books. (No wonder I was the teacher’s pet in my English class, as a teenager I had probably read more English than she has in her entire life)

My favourite footie book is called “My Favourite Year”. Published by the When Saturday Comes magazines, and edited by Nick Hornby. It is a collection of 13 tales by 13 famous football fans and writers, where they all describe their favourite season.

Inspired by that, I will now go trough the highlights of my favourite year. A year that saw me jump up and down with John Aldridge, share an elevator ride with Ron Atkinson, stamp on Frank Stapleton’s coat and last but certainly not least, saw me witness Liverpool win three cup finals.

The first memorable match of the 2000-2001 season was the Merseyside derby at Anfield. This early in the season, I still had not sorted out my press accreditation.

Yes, I freelanced my self trough my favourite year. I paid for my football by writing about the football I saw. Genious! On one occasion I covered a Walsall - Barnet FA Cup game at the Bescott stadium, when I suddenly noticed I had been standing the entire first half with muddy shoes on the coat hung over the seat in front of me. That coat belonged to Frank Stapleton! Finally, pay back time for that 1985 FA Cup semi final loss against the Mancs!

The only way I got hold of a ticket for that derby game was by buying of a tout. Something I hate doing, and something I have only done once ever since.

To my nightmare, someone was sitting in my seat when I finally entered Anfield five minutes after kick off.

A bluenose!

 I feared that I had bought a fake ticket. But after wandering aimlessly around the Annie Road End for the first few minutes, I simply hoped for the best and asked a steward for help. Thank God, that bluenose was sitting in the wrong seat. My ticket was the real deal after all.

The game can be summed up in two words: “Nick” and “Barmby”.

The winger had just joined from the dark side. And I will never ever forget that wall of sound when he, of all people, headed home for Liverpool’s first goal.

Kevin Campbell equalised, but Liverpool were easy winners against a piss poor Everton side in the end.

Another memory from that game is a fresh faced Steven Gerrard, at right back, tackling left winger Idan Tal so hard that the Israeli literally flew of the pitch and landed in the stands!

I can still remember standing among the Liverpool fans on the Sheil Road Circular bus going back in to town after the game, singing “He’s red, he’s white, We bought him from the shite. Nick Barmby, Nick Barmby…”

Outside it was pissing down (that autumn had the most rain recorded in history), inside it was all sunshine.

On a more curious note from that autumn, I remember swapping scarves with a drunk Czech, who looked and smelled like he had drunk all the Cains in Liverpool, in the Albert before the game against Slovan Liberec (A more bizarre experience was probably watching Bernard Diomede playing in that same game. My God, how did that impostor of a professional footballer ever win the World Cup!)

But it was in the spring that the 2000-2001 season really picked up the pace.

Liverpool were making great strides under Gerard Houllier, but even before Christmas - despite a Danny Murphy winner at Old Trafford - it was evident that we were never ever going to catch Man United and Arsenal in the league. In fact, keeping Leeds United and Ipswich at bay was going to be more than difficult (Leeds! Ipswich!!)

However, we where doing brilliantly in all three cup competitions. Chelsea (with a late goal from the returning Robbie Fowler), Stoke (8-0, Tim!), Fulham (then outside the Premier League) and a mauling of Crystal Palace at Anfield put us in the final of the League Cup. Rotherham, Leeds (who back then was rather good) and Joe Royle’s Man City were put to the sword in the FA Cup.

By February The Kop had a new ditty to sing. “Tell me ma, me ma, to put the champagne on ice. We’re going to Cardiff twice”

The first trip with Barnes’ coaches from Lime Street to the Welsh capital was made in February, as Sander Westerveld’s heroics gave us the trophy and a memorable and happy coach ride back home (I can remember a snow ball fight at a service station in the Midlands somewhere. The only time I have ever seen snow in England).

But The Millennium Stadium was not the only destination we had in sight. Looming on the horizon was also the Westfalen stadion in Dortmund. After being in the doldrums when it came to European football after the UEFA ban, Liverpool fans where finally getting a regular fix of our preferred drug: European glory.

Today the UEFA cup is viewed as nothing more than a distraction by most clubs. But in 2000-2001 it was the source of rebirth and new hopes for Liverpool FC. And also, have there ever been a UEFA cup with such quality as in 2000-2001?

We knocked Fabio Capello’s Roma out in February, thanks to a fantastic Michael Owen in the Stadio Olympico, and thanks to a fantastic Kop who scared the beejeesus out of a Spanish ref at Anfield.

Remember this was at a time when Serie A, quite rightly, was regarded as the by far best league in the world. And later that year Roma won the league title.

In the next round we beat a very good FC Porto side comfortably - two years before the same Porto side won the UEFA Cup, three years before the same FC Porto side won the Champions Leauge.

In the semi FC Barcelona awaited.

Roma, Porto, Barca… Arguably we defeated tougher opposition our way to the 2001 UEFA cup triumph, than when we won the Champions League in 2005.

The day after Liverpool had beaten Wycombe at Villa Park to qualify for the FA Cup final, I travelled up to Anfield and queued for seven - yes 7 - hours to get my hands on a ticket for the semi final against Barca at Anfield. Finally reaching that ticket office window was like sex! (And very much like the first time I had sex, I went straight home and slept for ten hours afterwards! I was knackered)

A funny story: I was in that line with my mates Declan and Dermott. When they phoned me up they day before, to arrange where and when we should meet up, my Spanish flat mate Eduardo answered. His grasp of the English language was pretty much at the same level as the current England manager has now. When Declan asked “Is that you Eric?”, Eduardo answered “I don’t know!”

Those seven hours queuing around Anfield on a cold Monday morning was well worth it tough.

Gary McAllister netted from the spot (that penalty would have hit me full on in the face had it not been for the Anfield Road End net).

Oh joy! Oh jubilation!

After 16 Liverpool had finally a European final to play.

But before that, there were matters to address in the league. Yes, Man United and Arsenal were light years ahead in the league.

But there was still a lucrative Champions League spot to play for. George Burley’s Ipswich had, as most people expected, ran out of steam. Leeds was the main challenger (only three English teams qualified back then).

It was a major blow when goals from Rio Ferdinand and Lee Bowyer gave the Yorkshire outfit a undeserved win at Anfield on Good Friday.

On Easter Monday Liverpool quite simply had to win. If not, that first ever Champions League entrance was at least another year away.

The oposition? Everton at Goodison.

In my 70-80 or so games watching Liverpool live, I have been lucky to experience many memorable moments, and I have seen many more from in front of a television set. But of all my Liverpool experiences, my favourite ever memory is the 3-2 win at Goodison in April 2001. Yes, it even beats Istanbul!

It was a thrilling game. Heskey scored. “In for a week, out for a month, Duncan is a tampon” Ferguson equalised. Babbel scored. Then Biscan was sent off by the truly awful Jeff Winter. Then Everton got the mother of all soft penalties (Yes mister Moyes, Everton got a soft penalty in a derby match). That hippo David Unsworth levelled.

Oh no!

We could forget it now.

Another year in the UEFA Cup awaited. Slovan Liberec and Dundee United rather than Real Madrid and Bayern Munich.

But then. Three minutes into injury time Liverpool won a free kick 44 yards out. Gary McAllister floated the ball into the box. Sami Hyypia rose like some 14 year old school boy’s cock in a strip bar. The flying Fin met the ball perfectly. It was going in! Yes!

…but no. Everton’s otherwise ordinary goalkeeper Paul Gerrard delivered a stunning save. All the Liverpool fans could not believe it!

We were all still holding our heads in disbelief when late substitute Gregory Vignal (remember him?) won another free kick in almost the exact same position.

Everybody expected another long ball into the box from McAllister. But Gary Macca had other ideas. Instead he placed the ball perfectly in the diving Gerrard’s bottom corner.

To this day I will never ever forget the sounds around me, as I sat here in the Goodison Park press box.

First total and stunned silence. Then an almighty roar from the travelling Kop on the other side of the pitch. Then the fump-fump-fump sound as 30.000 Everton fans simultaneously rose from their seats and headed for the exits. Then the sound of my own voice going “Aaaaaaargh” and out drowning the fella in front of me who was also jumping up and down letting out primal screams. That fella was John Aldridge, commentating on the game for the local radio.

If football brings me nothing but disappointment and hurt in the next 50 years, I would gladly take it and suffer it just to experience just two second of that feeling I had as Gary McAllister curled that ball into the Everton net on Easter Monday 2001.

Of course there was more curling and more scoring from McAllister in the following weeks.

When we entered the last week of the 2000-2001 season, Liverpool had three cup finals in eight days.

Arsenal in the FA Cup on Saturday the 12th, Alaves in the UEFA Cup on Wednesday the 16th and Charlton in the league on Sunday the 20th. A win at The Valley, and qualification for the Champions League was dead certain.

I can still remember the fantastic vision of the Millennium stadium bathed in glorious sunshine, as I made my way up the gantry for the 2001 FA Cup final. Due to a shortage of tickets in the writer’s press box, my paper at the time had managed to get me a press pass alongside the TV and radio commentators. The view was spectacular!

As I watched Arsenal totally outplay Liverpool and take the lead 1-0, I was sat squeezed in between the commentators of Norwegian channel TV2 and David Ginola commentating for some French channel.

Before I went down to Cardiff, my Arsenal supporting friends (I have got a few) reminded me that this was the fourth time Liverpool and Arsenal met in a cup final. In 1950 Arsenal had won thanks to goals from Lewis. In 1971 they had won thanks to goals from Graham and George, and in 1987 they had won thanks to goals from Nicholas. “And now, we have Henry” they said.

“But yes, we have Owen” I answered.

I could also have pointed out that when Liverpool meet Arsenal in FA cup finals, the team that wears gold and blue win.

Well, you all know what happened. Michael Owen, dressed in gold and blue, turned the game on its head. (Try to write a play about that, Mr. Hornby!)

One down, two to go.

I was not able to get a ticket for the UEFA final in Dortmund (Maybe Luke can write about that one?)

So the final was watched in the student’s union in the Haigh building on Mount Pleasant in Liverpool. Everything went fine. Babbel scored, Gerrard scored. We were cruising.

But then the ale pressed on. I had to go to the toilet. Alonso (no, not Xabi) pulled one back while I was out taking a leak. Gary Macca, in the form of his life, restored the two goal advantage.

Just after the restart I went to the toilet again. When I came back Moerno had scored - not once, but twice! Fuck!

Fowler netted, and with another couple of bottles of Becks (£1,45 a piece, if I remember correctly) necked, I decided to sneak out for another quick leak (I know, I know).

When I came back, Yordi Cruyff, of all people, had made it 4-4!

Extra time came. I was drunk now, all I can remember is standing with my legs crossed, desperately trying not to think about my undersized blather. Oh, and some unfortunate chap called Geli slicing a Gary Macca free kick into his own net.

Two down, one to go.

Next up Charlton. Once again, I had not been able to get a ticket. I can remember watching the game in the pub. I can remember Liverpool having a highly uncomfortable first half, and then Fowler scored with an over head kick, and we cruised to 4-0 and Champions Leauge qualification.

Three down, mission completed.

A couple of days later 300.000 people (Everton, the people’s club my ass!) turned up in the streets of Liverpool to watch an open top bus parade that had, as one banner proclaimed, more cups than a bra factory.

In the end it was the right decision to let Gerard Houllier go. At the end Liverpool was going backwards under him. But we should not forget that after many barren years, he gave us belief, pride and trophies. Liverpool would never have won in Istanbul, had it not been for the big game experience Gerrard, Carragher et al built up under Houllier.

I always felt that Gerrard Houllier came in, and still does, for unwarranted criticism. Yes, he had his faults, and it was right to let him go in the end, but he certainly gave us some glorious moments - while almost ending up paying with his life, least we forget.

But for me, he first and foremost gave me my favourite year!

What about you? Do you have a favourite year, or any favourite football experiences?

Happy New Year to you all. FA Cup third round day is nearly here, the day of dreams and all those other clichés… Ronnie Radford wheeling away, Dave Beasant’s penalty save, the strange looking Sutton United fan crying into her boyfriend’s arms – don’t we just love it!

But something happened to football once again last week that should make every fan, player and significant other, take stock of their life and priorities. FA Cup third round day doesn’t seem that important when a player dies on the pitch.

Despite my penchants for Morrissey and wearing black, this is not going to be a downbeat, morbid tale. It was tragic what happened to Phil O’Donnell – I think I saw him play once for Celtic in a testimonial – and before him, to Marc-Vivien Foe, the Seville player, and several others I vaguely recall. It does make you think, it must surely give team-mates, opponents and even casual five-a-siders the world over, food for thought too. I can only echo the sentiments you’ve read and seen elsewhere, and my little article means little I know, but if we’re to discuss football it’s an issue we need to at least consider.

However, as I said (rightly or not) the show must go on and football will carry on, not quite regardless but perhaps not with enough consideration. You could say the same about Hillsborough, Heysel, Bradford, Glasgow, events in Italy, or USA 94… I don’t know what the answer is, and will no doubt be berated in some quarters for what I have said but strangely enough I’ve been meaning to write about James McFadden for a while now and whilst not the best circumstances, feel the article has some substance given his touching display of emotions up at Boro on new Year’s Day.

Jimmy Mac as he is sometimes embarrassingly referred to, is something of an enigma - both on and off the pitch. The tone of my original essay was the homophobic rumours and comments he constantly has to put up with, and perhaps his goal celebration and tears at the end of yesterday’s match support my praise of how he conducts himself.

We all have to face certain struggles in life. I myself, without going into detail, have had issues in my personal life leading to secrets and lies, rumours and confrontations, and not just my second life as an efp writer. The main issue at school is being called a queer, gay, homo, poof etc on a regular basis by pupils (and colleagues but that’s a whole other can of worms) but have learned over time to deal with it in the correct manner. Homophobic bullying is a big issue in schools thankfully, charities such as Stonewall are making sure it is no longer ignored, but the problems inherent in society mean that it will be a long process. I accept I may not be quite what the students expect a male role model to be, in fact you could say I’m the Graeme le Saux (art loving, Guardian reading, sensitive, Smiths listening etc) and unfortunately there’s loads of Robbie Fowlers.

I’ve got to stop making these articles a counselling sessions. But you must see the link – many of you will have heard the James McFadden / Will Young rumours that did the rounds a few years ago (though I understand they featured several different footballers depending on which city you were told the titbit in). However, how many of you knew that McFadden is married with children and for the wedding last summer, asked guests not to bring presents, instead to donate to the special care unit that looked after his child?

Therefore, imagine my surprise at the horrible example of Evertonianism who sits infront of me at the match and constant refers to McFadden as McFaggen and shouts get off you queer after every missed shot or dribble down a dark alley. Many fans share these sentiments and here you open up the debate of free speech, different generations etc. But regardless of that fact, maybe Sol Campbell has a point, and more players should be ‘coming out’ and agreeing that fans need to change their attitudes. Surely we have come a long long way since Justin Fashanu’s demise?

This is not a debate on homosexuality in football. There’s enough column inches written about it, and silly quotes too. My argument is just that McFadden has behaved impeccably, long before last weekend’s tragedy, and I really hope we don’t sell him. I truly believe he has the potential to become a real star and although we’ve only seen glimpses of his talent, as a man he deserves more than what we’re giving him.

TOP FIVE JAMES McFADDEN MOMENTS

Early games against Stockport & Leeds when he looked a world beater
The Rat’s Tail he eventually got rid of
The winner against Charlton last year – skill unlike anything I’ve seen before
Shocking most of Goodison after the last game last year, bringing his offspring on with him for the end of match walkround
The goal against Middlesbrough, New Year’s Day 2008<