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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everton, Paris, EFP – Je t’aime

Remember, if you wish to join in with this discussion, 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 

 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.

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

As the title of this article suggests, whether or not he is gay straight whatever is not the issue. A diatribe against a minority of supporters, journalists or footballers will not be enough to change some people’s attitudes, whether on the terraces or in the classroom. I like McFadden, think he’s had a raw deal (I haven’t even mentioned his heroics for Scotland so far) and hope he stays. End of story.

Rather, what’s more important is how we respond to things, sadness, adversity…. Someone once said something about football being more important than life or death. Please let’s not argue that point any more, yesterday’s events said it all. And it made me admire McFadden even more. The very fact you’ve read to the finale and I’ve spent an hour writing it shows football is a myriad of emotions and maybe the beauty of it is that it can help us get over things.

So, play on by all means, but just don’t forget what’s important.

When Sunderland were trounced 7-1 by Everton the other weekend, many football fans probably felt a little bit sorry for Roy Keane and his bunch of hapless Black Cats. Why? It might be because there are certain teams one feels an instinctive sympathy towards. Not necessarily for any overriding reason, more a feeling, an intangible something that makes you not want them to be managed by Graeme Souness. Maybe it’s the gloomy humour of the fans, or the team’s commitment to attacking football, or something even more prosaic, but Manchester City, Fulham and Celtic, for example, are probably quite well-regarded by fans of other sides.

By contrast, there exist several clubs football lovers feels nothing but contempt towards. Chelsea (all that money), Manchester United (all that money and all those glory fans) and Leeds (too many to mention) are obvious examples. Sheffield United less so. It’s nothing against the club per se, and it’s no reflection on Blades fans and players, really, but certain elements leave a sour taste in the mouth of the neutral. Foisting Brian Deane upon an unsuspecting world, for example. Acting hard done by after being relegated from the Premier League last season, when a solitary point at home against Wigan (Wigan!) would have kept them up. Having Sean Bean as their most famous celebrity fan. And, of course, allowing Neil Warnock to remain in gainful employment.
But then Warnock resigns, for reasons too complex to go into, and the United board have the perfect opportunity to show the world that the Bramall Lane denizens are, in fact, a caring, considerate, family club, not one who allow a Sky documentary crew to film behind-the-scenes goings-on and fail to emerge with even a modicum of sympathy. (If you haven’t seen it, do your best to get hold of it on DVD; Warnock shaking hands with the Millwall players after a particularly tasty encounter at The New Den is worth the price of it alone.)

So, a perfect opportunity. And then they go and spoil it all by doing something stupid like appointing Bryan Robson. And blowing £4m on James Beattie.

Actually, Beattie has impressed, having netted 12 goals by the end of November to lead the scoring charts, but Robson hasn’t: a 3-0 home reverse against an Arsenal second team in the Carling Cup had one irate fan storming the pitch and throwing his shirt in the manager’s direction. (Whoa, steady on there, tough guy.) What was expected to be a stroll to promotion is looking somewhat more testing, particularly as Watford and West Brom appear to have gained some crucial momentum already.

Yet the Blades are not out of it, and though Robson is pretty clueless as a boss, feelings towards the club have probably become less hostile in recent months. (I have a sneaking suspicion Crystal Palace might suddenly become everyone’s most-hated team.) Sheffield United’s problem is one that several Championship teams are currently experiencing: they’re a biggish club from a large urban centre, with good support and a proud sense of tradition, but the expansion of the Premier League left them behind. Perhaps if Mark Stein hadn’t scored twice for Chelsea in the last 10 minutes on the last day of the 1993/94 season to send United down, Everton might have spent most of the last decade in the second tier. As it is, the Blades, like Norwich, Palace, Southampton and Wednesday, have never really recovered from relegation.

It may irk fans of those clubs that Wigan, Reading and Fulham occupy places in the top flight, but without a sugar daddy, clubs find it increasingly difficult to compete. Nottingham Forest won Division Two in 1978 and the League championship the very next season. The gap between Premier League and the rest is bigger than ever. It may seem as if Adam Pearson has got it all wrong by sacking Billy Davies before December, but in one way he’s right: if you avoid relegation in that first season, you can very quickly become an established club. I mean, just look at Bolton. (Just don’t stare at Andy O’Brien for too long. You might never recover.) 

When Liverpool got new American owners this spring, a lot of Manchester United supporters questioned why the Liverpool fans didn’t protest against the move more stubbornly then they did. Having arranged massive protest against the similar overtaking of their own club by the Glazer family, they didn’t understand how the Liverpool fans could greet their new Yankee owners with such celebration. Now it looks like those questions were justified.

Yes, Gillett and Hicks played the PR-game perfectly at the beginning. Coming out with all the right noises, all the right sound bites. But now, Liverpool’s American honeymoon is over. Reality is setting in. And for the first time since they seized control of Britain’s must successful football club, George Gillett and Tom Hicks find themselves under fierce criticism from a vast majority of the Liverpool fans. It is the serious broad sheets that are leading the way; it isn’t the Sun or the other tabloids. Serious papers are writing that Benitez will be out of a job sooner rather than later – and no statement has been released, yet, where the owners show their support for Benitez. If you want the Rafalution to continue, it doesn’t look good.

Many newspapers have over the last few days written that Rafael Benitez has picked a fight he cannot win. Because, as Jose Mourinho found out, in modern football it is the men controlling the purse strings that now control the game. Well, by going against the Liverpool supporter’s wishes, it looks to me like it is the Americans who have picked a fight they cannot win. Sure, they can sack Benitez, but at the same time they will lose the vast majority of Liverpool Football Club’s main asset: the fans. I’m not talking about day-trippers from Bury St. Edmund, Trondheim or Donegal, but the loyal match going Reds, the season ticket holders from Bootle, Dingle and Huyton.

In this conflict, I cannot avoid thinking that the two Americans are seriously underestimating the Kopites. If the unjust sacking of the manager who brought Ol’Big Ears back to Anfield on a permanent basis goes trough, the before mentioned Manchester United supporter’s protests will seem like a San Francisco hippie love in from the late 1960’s. Yes, Benitez should have kept his criticism within the club, and not so actively used the press to get his point across. And yes, this is one of those conflicts where it is not black and white. None of the parties involved can claim to be 100 per cent right, none of the involved parties can claim that the opposition doesn’t have valid arguments. The two Americans anger at Benitez’s public outbursts are understandable, and it is unworthy of the manager of a gentleman’s club like Liverpool to use the kind of tactics that Benitez has used over the last week or so. But at the same time they should handle football related criticism from the man that is paid to decide on the football matters at Anfield, and that should always be the manager.

Frustration at the Liverpool suits’ slowness in transfer negotiations is nothing new, and is something that existed long before the two Americans arrived. Remember Simao Sabrosa? When it comes to negotiating - and more importantly, going through with – transfer deals, Liverpool aren’t exactly moving like Ian Rush onto a Kenny Dalglish through ball, but more fittingly like Neill Ruddock giving Jan Molby a piggy back ride.

So it is understandable when, according to reports, Benitez is close to a few cheap deals, but isn’t allowed to seal them because Mr. Hicks and Mr. Gillett wants to wait until they arrive in England just before Christmas, that Spanish frustrations run high at Melwood. Benitez hasn’t lost his temper because Hicks and Gillett have refused to sanction a big money move for some International superstar, but rather because the green light isn’t given to what can be described as minor transfer deals, and because the mighty Liverpool FC – one of the major trademarks in the World - is run via e-mails and a fax machine in Texas.

Apparently Liverpool have been close in recent weeks to clinch a £4 million pound deal for AC Milan’s Kakha Kaladze, wrap up a couple of Bosman player’s for next season, and sign a few talented but cheap South American youngsters. But all this is put on hold until the two Americans arrive on Merseyside for the game with Manchester United on the 16th – thus putting it all in danger as other clubs are hovering over the same targets. The transfer window means that you can only sign players in January, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t necessary to get all the groundwork in, in advance.

Personally, my main beef with the American owners is their lack of involvement in the day to day running of the club. I cannot help but think that Rafa feels the same way. Hicks and Gillett visit Liverpool around every two months, all the major decisions are made through e-mails and phone calls across the Atlantic. Mr. Gillett’s son Foster, who is supposed to be at Anfield to run the show together with Rick Parry, has apparently been spending more time back home in the States lately, than in Liverpool. The new American Liverpool seems to be like a car with the engine in England, and the steering wheel in America. The main course of concern for me, is Rafael Benitez’s boldness. Has the situation gone so far that Benitez feels that he now has nothing to lose? Is the fact that Benitez now uses the media as his outlet a sign that he feels himself that his time at Anfield is running out? Or even worse, is Benitez using this as a tactic to speed up the process of his own departure, because he sees that it will happen sooner rather than later anyway?

I think it boils down to one headstrong and stubborn Spaniard, who knows how Liverpool FC works, and who knows where the chink in the Americans armour is: Their lack of history in the game of soccerball, and their lack of historical knowledge when it comes to Britain’s most successful soccerball team. Rafael Benitez hears his name being chanted at every game, not at least so in the last outing at St. James’ Park. He is well aware of his own popularity, and I believe he attempts to use this as a stick to beat the Americans. Or rather, he gives the stick to the Kopites, so they can swing it for him.

When Liverpool face Porto and Bolton later this week, Gillett and Mr. Hicks will see what fans’ passion is all about. This isn’t hockey, baseball or the NFL. This isn’t bowl shaped stadiums filled with middle-aged rednecks sitting still, sipping their Budweiser while they punch the air and let out screams of “Yeah!” every five minutes or so. This is real football, real feelings and real fans. By picking a fight with Benitez, the two Americans have also picked fights with the Liverpool fans. Perhaps seen by the Americans as nothing more than “customers” in their new soccerball business. But this will not be an American dream for George and Tom. If they do sack Benitez, it will turn into a nightmare, because as a poster on a Liverpool forum wrote here the other day:

“The Yanks have the money, but we have the scousers…”

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. 

By the end of last season it really wasn’t much fun being a City fan even by our own standards, not that I’m saying it has been a bed of roses for the last 3 decades, but the atmosphere amongst the fans was extremely low, somewhat disparate to past seasons of failure. We were even issued with paper clips and a rubber band; in a makeshift smile kit by one fanzine, as it was getting that hard to raise one.

The team had ended the season without scoring a home league goal since New Years Day, some 8 matches and 720 minutes of football, scoring only 10 in total the whole season, and missing 2 penalties in the last 2 home games just rubbed salt in our wounds. The football was negative, the team visibly lacked confidence, while we had to put up with the ranting of a rookie manager on the touchline, which though endearing at first, became embarrassing, when you heard some of the nonsense he was shouting, his actions were more akin to an annoying dad at a kids football game. The players simply had no room to breath and express themselves.

Fans were going into the summer praying that we got took over, looking on enviously at clubs such as Portsmouth, Villa, West Ham. Asking why it hadn’t happened to us yet?

Had we shot ourselves in the foot, with too much debt?

It didn’t surprise many when Pearce was told to pack his bags, most blues liked Pearce ‘the man’, but his style of football and failures in the transfer market were his undoing, he’d simply created a very dull side which lacked pace and creativity.

After a period of uncertainty with the club in limbo (which lead to one of the few top quality players in Distin moving on), things started to happen. Eventually the well documented, and drawn out, takeover happened by way of the ex-Thai Prime Minister Thaksin Sinawatra (nicknamed Frank Sinatra by fans), who after much speculation surprised us all by appointing Erikkson as the new manager, foreseeing all that would have been way beyond the imagination of even the most optimistic blue.

As a result media attention on the club has intensified 10 fold, with the tabloid hacks salivating at the prospect of Sven failing miserably, to justify their stance on his England regime. I expect the witch-hunt against Sven and the team will be prominent in the opening weeks of the season, especially if we start poorly. I also believe we can now expect a proportion of the red top reading public, who have been brainwashed into despising Sven, openly wanting to see City lose, simply because he is at the helm.

I have to admit, I was somewhat undecided on his appointment, but looking beyond the negativity portrayed to us by the media (his personal life included), the hard facts are that England hired one of the most successful European club bosses of the modern era, who’s reputation on the continent is still intact, mainly due to their much more realistic version that England players aren’t as great as English public/media think.

Sven himself has won more major trophies than the club itself! Simply put, City have hired the most high profile and successful manager in the clubs history. Something we wouldn’t have been able to do without the promise of the new chairman’s money to invest in the team. Despite what we are led to believe, Sven is officially the 2nd most successful England manager of all time behind Sir Alf Ramsay, losing only five competitive games, two of which were on penalties.

Since he has took over Sven has been a busy man in the transfer market, quickly realising that the squad lacked quality and had become wafer thin. He has used his pulling power (which is just as good in football as it is with the ladies), to acquire some excellent talent from abroad, who are well known to European and World football fans, but to the average British football fan who only watches the premiership then they are nobodies.

Attracting players of the calibre of Elano and Petrov as well as sort after young players in Corluka, Bianchi and Bonijov, would not have been possible without a high profile manager. It should be noted, all the aforementioned, cited Eriksson being the biggest factor as to why they joined.

I have already read criticism from so called experts, who incidentally, are out of a job in football, criticising Sven for buying abroad and ignoring England players. Totally ignoring the fact that the English market is vastly inflated, so much so that Liverpool want £20million for Crouch, Spurs paid £16m for Darren Bent, West Brom want £9m for Curtis Davis and Newcastle want £8m for an injury prone trouble maker in Kieron Dyer…and on top of that, English players seem to be able to command ridiculous wages. Instead we have looked to get more value for our money, and have bought a mixture of young and experienced internationals, none of whom are over 30, which had been a major failing of the past two regimes, and who don’t cost an arm and a leg in wages.

Expectations of the team have now been raised, and there is a bounce in the steps of the fans again, though most are realistic, understanding that this season is very much a settling in period for team and manager. I expect us to struggle for the first half of the season as the new players acclimatise to the premiership and get to know each other. A top half finish while playing decent football will leave many a blue content this season.

It’s certainly going to be an interesting season at Eastland’s, and the blue half of Manchester can’t wait.       

                                                                                                                                        (9/10)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boy aren’t those mackems friendly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toondog