In a week which saw Stan ‘not the man’ Staunton surplus to requirements by the Republic, debates continue on whether or not they – or any other team – should go ‘foreign’ in their search for a new saviour; or remain stubbornly stagnant & continue to stick to their own. Judging by the current events at Man City & in light of my recent immigration to Ireland, I can certainly see the benefits of being an outsider, & the rewards in hiring a man who’s free from the shackles of an increasingly unappreciative crowd. As Irish pundits understandably focus on the negatives, from where I’m standing - if the FAI make the right choice – there is much reason for optimism.

Idealistically, an experienced & impassioned native would do nicely, but in reality O’Neil & Keane aside, there’s none capable of doing the job, as the Hiddink’s & Sven’s of this world continue to outperform our less tactically minded patrons, & goes some way to proving that keeping to what you know gets you absolutely nowhere.

Firstly, if we cast our minds back to the tail end of last season, Man City found themselves in a remarkably similar situation to the Irish. With fans feeling more despondent then ever before (that’s some depression by their standards) after witnessing a season of abominable horse shite, being led by the quintessential Englishman & arguably overly passionate - Stuart Pearce. Although ‘Psycho’ was an established international left-back, he’d had no real previous experience in management, did shockingly & was rightfully dismissed. Sound familiar?

He too received a handsome pay off.

It seems that a change in company policy proved just the tonic for City, & the detached stealth of Sven, albeit with the help of his Thai checkbook, is so far working perfectly. What I’m finding hard to fathom though, is what I discovered on my visit to Eastlands, on what proved an atypically sunny afternoon in Manchester. After pulling all the strings & pulverizing a Newcastle team distinctively lacking ideas & sophistication, an inspired Elano then blasted in a spectacular free kick from 30 yards. Derisive scoffs of “He’ll never make the winter(?)” from the bloke behind were followed by similar jibes by the City faithful, with their rendition of “Empty Seats…” aimed at those who were leaving early. I soon became aware (& respect to them) of the fact that no Geordie had budged, & ‘twas for the benefit of their own fans, whom - instead of basking in the glory – were leaving in their droves. This was The City of Manchester Stadium & this could only be City!

Despite yesterday’s harsh lesson at The Bridge, Sven won’t be feeling the pressure, neither the burden of responsibility that a Keegan-type might. Sven will coolly learn from this defeat & see where his side needs improving. In fairness, they look 3 players short of a side challenging for a place in the Champions League. But with more Thai money being made available in January – especially if Sven spends it as he did in the summer - subjects should stay seated for  what promises to be the most exciting season in the clubs Premier League history. Citizens should certainly be cherishing witnessing the finest football being played at City since the glory days of Mercer & Allison; & realise the enormity of what Sven & his team are currently achieving.

It makes me laugh when you consider who the FA chose to replace Sven, with a man supposedly their idea of a Lion-heart. No disrespect to Steve, but I’m sure ‘Psycho’ could’ve done better (& astonishingly he was a candidate), as I’ve met door-to-door salesmen who’ve possessed more genuine passion for their shitty tat they try to shift, than Steve – painfully dull - McClaren.

And so the search begins for the long suffering Irish. In the country boasting the birthplace of public lynching (In Galway, if rumours are to be believed) - whoever they choose - it’s important he receives a fair crack of the whip & the backing of the nation.

In my opinion, Ireland have to spend big (& they’re certainly not short of a few bob) & get the best manager available, which unfortunately means he shouldn’t be Irish. This may come as a blow to Eamonn Dunphy – who, like most of those morbid old bastards he sits beside on the RTE-Two - feels he’s in with a shout. Pissed wisdom one suspects, as ‘Dumphy’ couldn’t spot good football if it bit him on his wrinkly contentious arse.

As an Englishman now living in Ireland & a foreigner here for nearly 5 weeks, I’ve already started to realise this country’s vast wealth of beauty, beauty that only an outsider could possibly apprehend. Whilst being warned(flashed) by thoughtful onrushing motorists of Gardaí up ahead, being offered the tastiest triangular sarnies (known to man) during matches in my local pub, & being spoken to by passers by on the street may be commonplace in Ireland, from an outsider’s point of view this is something invigorating & unique. So too may it be difficult for natives to recognise the charm of being passed by a burly 30-something woman; power-walking her way to town, the sensuous smell of turf burning outside incredibly inviting boozers, or the majestic art of sleep-drinking – a skill I witnessed one man performing on my very first night out in Galway. And then there’s Barry’s Tea, Abrakebabra, Jonnies Onion Rings & Rock Shandy – all equally scrumptious & perfect examples of Ireland’s - say it like it is - approach to advertising.

Sometimes we all need an outside influence to remind us of what qualities we already possess, but cannot see. Someone who, as Mike Scott from The Waterboys once splendidly put it, see’s “The Whole of the Moon” and not merely the crescent. And the boon of recruiting a top foreign manager I feel can do exactly this.

Sven’s early success at City comes as no surprise to me, as his record in club management is as good as any one in European football. So fans of Manchester City should certainly be counting their blessings. And let us hope Ireland get their act together and appoint the right man; as lets face it, any tournament without them is a far duller one. If they can capture someone of similar stature & ability as Eriksson; someone who’s ice cold, cunning & (money?) driven, even if he does have a weakness for the ladies, then I’m sure they’ll be just fine. And I don’t mean a Catholic Priest, before anyone at the FAI gets any bright ideas. 

And so the moment had arrived. The last time – in a long time at least – I would experience watching my team Liverpool in a Manchester ale house. The last time I’d be forced to switch allegiances on grounds of personal safety; & hopefully, yet highly unlikely, the last time I’d have to endure the partisan presumptions from United fans.

For this weekend - after much contemplation - I’ve decided to leave sunny Manchester for the greener & ultimately safer pastures of Ireland; the land of the Gaelic Games, as the plot thickens & contradictions look set to continue.

Unable to resist slipping back into character & going against the grain one last time, I ordered a Guinness, grabbed a pew & watched on in wonderment as Liverpool took on Reading at the Madejski. It turned out to be one of the more memorable, most enjoyable games of the season & bizarrely responsible for rekindling my passion for Liverpool FC, my love of football & reaffirming my affections for Mancunians.

There will be many things I’ll miss about Manchester – or Chorlton to be precise – most notably: (& in no particular order) The Inn Plaice, Barbeque’s breakfast barms, the secret charms of the vibrant Beech Rd, & Oxfam’s bookshop – IMO, the pearl of Chorltania.

But most notably of all, I’ll miss the eye-opening & uniquely invigorating experience of being a Liverpool fan in Manchester. Don’t get me wrong, two years of celebrating Liverpool goals in silence, alone in piss-stenched toilet cubicles has certainly had its drawbacks. But the rewards will certainly drown out hours of uncomfortable lip-biting & all lingering smells I’d duly been subjected to. Reading Vs Liverpool was indeed a pleasant surprise. In a game holding no particular significance, I witnessed one of the finest all-round performances from a Red centre-forward for many a year. A vintage Owen or Fowler, or even Rush at his peak would’ve struggled to match the talented, all action display of our newest amigo Fernando Torres. Not only did he bag a hat-trick, but he also showed the kind of character & work-rate not normally associated with foreigners playing in England. For me - on Tuesday night - a new star was born on Merseyside.

Torres has the skill & pace of Henry, with the work-rate & desire of a Shearer; now that’s no small accolade. Since the demise of Fowler & once the false dawn created by ‘that’ Michael Owen wonder goal versus the Argies had subsided (I’ve since found Owen to be very one-dimensional), I’ve been searching for a new hero in a Liverpool shirt & in Fernando, I may just have found one. 

Prior to the Reading game I’d slumped into a mini-depression, in fear of another Houllier-esque performance & prepared myself for another season of painfully relinquished hope. In all honesty, I found the Birmingham & Portsmouth games possibly more frustrating than a trip to the Trafford Centre with the girlfriend. So in an end-to-end action packed match, the excitement was nothing if unexpected. For want of a better phrase: it was a game brimming with life & had me glued to my seat.

As I sat transfixed amongst the enemy, listening to the moans & dismissive rants of envious Mancs, I began to saver the moment, appreciating something I will miss enormously.

After a thoroughly entertaining first half, the game was in the balance. Torres was running Reading ragged, despite being battered all over the park & had just scored his first of three expertly taken goals. Steve Coppell’s men responded brilliantly though & equalised for the second time in the match. Amid murmurs of “Fergie should’ve signed him when he had the chance”, a man persistently asked for updates as he floated between bar & the outside smoking area. He then asked the bloke sitting beside me - who was deep in conversation about the importance of local rivers & ship canals in the economic growth of Manchester - if the match was in any way entertaining? The response he received was a classic & so typical of the now legendary cynical Mancunian humour: “Iv seen more life in Southern Cemetery lad” was His response. For all those not familiar with Southern Cemetery or Manc humour even, it’s a notoriously large graveyard situated in South Manchester, as referenced by The Smiths in their timeless & misspelt classic ‘Cemetry Gates’ & where Sir Matt Busby, among many, now rests.
 
To be honest though, after all my tribulations of watching Liverpool in Manchester, never had I witnessed exact hatred or outright nastiness towards their supposedly bitter rivals - Liverpool. Scathing attacks were never vicious & the taunting always in jest. It’s largely a friendly rivalry exaggerated through football & one that I’ll miss immensely when I’m gone.

And so I move on; to become an Englishman in Ireland, supporting a soccer team from England & worshiping a Spaniard who plays for Liverpool. But as well as declaring my love for Liverpool, I’ll now speak highly of similar folk, of harmonious pride & humour, with the loves, the hates and the passions just like mine. The people of Chorlton, the people of Manchester - good people, people I’ll miss immensely.       

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course as the season progresses, the hopes of the two City’s will fizzle out and fade away like a wilting flower in autumn. Man City will flatter, entertain and promise much, but it’s inevitable the big four’s advances will precipitate; and they’ll no doubt end up scrapping it out for a Uefa cup spot with the likes of Spurs, Everton and possibly Newcastle. The inconstant loyalty of Stoke’s players will undoubtedly lead to more players jumping ship, as they take their place in the Championship dog fight and the ensuing race for the PL holy grail intensifies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome to the first edition of ‘Northern Soul’ dedicated to bringing you veracious tales; trends; trials and tribulations, of a truly incomparable footballing region.

Join me this season as I attempt to uncover all the goings on in and around Manchester, Cheshire and Stoke-on-Trent. No doubt there’ll be scrapping down the Vale, a resurgence round at City, up the junction at the Alex, Silkmen survival stories and Gigs up the Lane. Not forgetting all the drama as it unfolds at Old Trafford - ‘The Theatre Of Dreams’. Ever watched a United game in Chorlton-cum-Hardy’s Royal Oak? It’s a must for all real Man Utd fans! Last but not least there’s ‘the pride of the potteries’ and the cornerstone of Northern Soul.

Ours is a region steeped in rich tradition. Local delicacies: North Staffs oatcakes and Eccles cakes, Barms and Pikelets, oh and Betty’s Lancashire hotpot. Then there’s our fantastic music heritage, oh and there’s Robbie Williams also. Through sprawling Manchester suburbs to urban sprawls of Crewe and Stoke, folk are brought up on a strict diet of nogger and music, and haven’t we been spoiled?

‘Joshua Brooks’ still pound out sounds of the Sixties and Seventies and of course Northern Soul’s timeless classics. Relished in Manchester in the early Seventies, spreading quickly across the Northwest, Jackie Wilson and his fellow more ‘relaxed’ R & B compatriots, (predominantly US) were played all night long in dingy underground nightclubs like ‘The Twisted Wheel’. These sweaty, yet intrinsically cool Soul clubs put this region on the cultural map.

What people seem to forget is, these underground sounds were first aired by DJ’s in ‘The Torch’ on Hose st. Tunstall: Stoke-on-Trent’s most northern of it’s ‘Six Towns’. Its a shame the mancs take all the credit.

Then came Madchester and the baggy phenomenon. In the 80’s and 90’s Manchester was the place to be, responsible for producing most of the country’s best music. Ian Brown, former lead singer from Manchester’s most promising band of that era: The Stone Roses, once blamed the sudden influx of bands on Manchester’s infamous rainy climate, suggesting there’s nothing else to do but practice on your instruments! He went on to advocate that the only thing missing in Manchester was a beach. Nobody get any ideas, from experience the beach isn’t much craic in the rain, so stay in doors and keep practicing. “Oh Manchester, so much to be answer for!”

Music movements come and go. People grow up and places inevitably change. Decline of industry has led to widespread depression. Derelict bottlekilns are all that remain in Tunstall and Wedgwood has long since packed up and moved on.  The days of The Hacienda are now just a blotted memory. Sadly in its place stands another lifeless apartment block desperately lacking in atmosphere. Outside sit flowers for the recently deceased Tony Wilson: former owner of ‘Factory Records’ and most responsible for creating such legendary nights at the venue, never to be forgotton by those who were there. Youth culture is disappearing fast and our one last hope is our indomitable football tradition.

Never has there been a more exciting time in English football and clubs from our region are heavily involved. Older statesman Ferguson and Erikkson will battle it out for Manchester supremacy, though realistically the latter will be out to salvage some much needed local pride. United’s dominance is relentless but with Liverpool, Chelsea and Arsenal hot their heals, this season’s Premier League promises to be the best for some years; with the highlight usually being United’s bitter battle with local scouse rivals Liverpool.

There’s reason for optimism for all our regions clubs as now - more so than ever - football is making us proud again. So come hither fellas and loves, ducks and darlin’s and stand tall once more, unite and keep the Northern Soul burning bright.          

Tim Killeen - Northern Soul

The Midlands is a region steeped in history; yet one still struggling to redefine itself after the carnage left by a decline in industry;  & a region recuperating from a footballing depression. 

Fans of Wolves, Forest & Villa are still scratching their heads in disbelief, wondering what in God’s name has become of their beloved clubs in recent years. Midland clubs; once at the forefront of English football, have shamelessly slipped down the pecking order, league tables & divisions, with European competition seeming further away from middle England than global warming.

Forest fans could be forgiven for feeling uninspired by a September fixture list that reads ‘Bristol Rovers (Away)… Port Vale (Away) …Yeovil (Away)’. No offence to these teams - but they’re not exactly Liverpool… Zurich Grasshoppers… or Kevin Keegan’s Hamberg!

It wasn’t all that long ago that England’s Midland teams were top of the pile. When Villa scaled the dizzy heights of Europe (European Cup Winners in 1982, above), Cloughie (The Messiah) inspired Forest to win the same trophy & against all odds - successfully retained it (1979 & 1980), & a prestigious Wolves dominated English football in the fifties. It wasn’t all that long ago either, when in 1966, an England team triumphed at a World Cup and sat proudly at the summit of world football - some hundred years after she’d invented the beautiful game!

It must not be forgotten that Nottingham was the birthplace of competitive football. It all began with the formation of Notts County in 1864 with the City also providing the battleground for the inaugural local derby.

Judging by the state of these two footballing institutions, you’d never have guessed their importance to world soccer; & memories are fading fast. 

Fortunes of both have spectacularly flat-lined in recent times, with England’s national team in dire straights, Forest languishing aimlessly in League One, Wolves desperately flattered by their ‘Yo Yo club’ status, & only Villa staging a mini revival under Martin ‘The Prophet’ O’Neil.

It was a radio phone-in from a couple of years ago, on a Birmingham radio station, that cited the regions gradual decline in industry, as the contributing factor in the dramatic downfall of this regions football. This came after Wolves; Birmingham & West Brom had all recently been relegated from the premiership. Villa remained stagnant, whilst Derby, Leicester & Forest all suffered further indignation and sank deeper into debt. The argument falters slightly when you consider Liverpool’s success of the 70’s & 80’s, amid widespread recession & mass unemployment.
 
It maybe also worth considering, that since these former giants in world football started to waver, so too did England’s once soaring achievements in industry.

Mills & Machinery have long since closed down; Scabs, Sheriff’s & Skinners (both Mike & Frank) have all checked out and left town, and Glam Rock has hopefully disappeared for good. The Midlands are rapidly changing & subsequently facing some sort of identity crisis. Unsure whether to follow the distinguished roots & infectious pride of the north; or if indeed they should stick to the influential more patriotic slurs of the south, Midlanders are destined to fluctuate between the two, unless they rediscover what made them and this country great in the first place. That was being themselves & being proud of it. Shakespeare, Lawrence & Tolkien embraced their idiosyncrasies & used them to their advantage. Its time the people of The Midlands did the same. How uncanny & coincidental that Steve McLaren faces a similar predicament with the national team.

Birmingham, England’s second city, & surrounding cities provide a cultural hot bed of innovation & insight that needs to be celebrated. In many ways it’s self- deprecating & a contradiction of itself. As diverse as it is secular, as proud as it is apologetic, the region has somehow lost its balls & cultural self-importance. There’s enough to shout about & a heritage even Brummies can’t ignore.

It’s bleedin’ time people became proud about where they come from, even if that happens to be Sutton Coalfield! When asked if they’re up to anything decent this evening, people of the Black Country surely have something more constructive to say than: “Yam going doggin”(famed by Cannock born Stan Collymore). How about: “We’re gonna slaughter Chelsea”  “We’re playing in Europe again” or even “Britannia rules the waves” & I mean that purely in a footballing sense.

Yes, industry has died out in this region just like it has throughout England, but the world moves on & there’s no point dwelling on it. The Midlands has to adapt, progress & kick on, being proud of a distinguished past. The cities of this region are redefining themselves fast & it’s time its people did the same.

The need for a quality football team however, remains more blatant than a Joe Cole step-over or more appropriately, a Jasper Carrott punchline. Now is the time for people to start backing their clubs & their country; but more importantly, it’s time for the people of ‘The Midlands’ to show they have an identity, & also, this nation to show us it has a heart. 

Tim Killeen – Heart of the Nation