Bowyer makes it a Magnificent Seven for Blues

It is perhaps a sign of how much Lee Bowyer has matured in the last year or so, not celebrating his match-winning goal against his former club. Not only has he matured as a person, he has matured as a player- this was his sixth goal of the season, after only netting four times in 35 appearances for West Ham. This latest great performance saw Birmingham move up to eighth after extending their unbeaten run to seven games.

A sell-out crowd saw an energetic game between two sides, which Birmingham, on balance, just about deserved to win. The Blues certainly had the best of the first half, with Cameron Jerome's headed chance the best opportunity just before the break. West Ham offered little strength up front, and it is clear they miss Carlton Cole. The pair of Junior Stanislas and Franco up front were tricky, but the experience in Birmingham's midfield and defence ensured that the Hammers had few chances. The lack of a big striker for either side made it difficult for either side not to play football, and as such, provided an open game. In a similar way to how Nikolay Valuev always appears to be dominating due to his strength and height, neither side dominated throughout, as it was difficult to hold the ball up at either end. Instead, it was more of a basketball game, with both sides enduring corner after corner at various stages of the match. As the first half went on, West Ham pushed out more, and at half time, it was anyone's game.

Seven minutes into the second half, and an expert ball from Christian Benitez proved to be the deciding factor in the match. Lee Bowyer ghosted into the penalty area, as he so often does nowadays, and slotted the ball past Robert Green. (Incidentally, if you didn't know, you would have assumed that Joe Hart was England's Number 1, with his far superior handling and more composed kicking). As so often happens nowadays, Bowyer scored against his old club, and declined to celebrate.

The referee, Lee Mason, was poor. I have often thought he is weak, and this was proved again today. He simply referees according to the crowd, and his sending off of Mark Noble for two bookable offences, on first viewing, seemed very harsh. Noble and Scott Parker were West Ham's best two players, and once one of them was off the field, the threat of an equaliser went. Birmingham could have made it 2-0 with five minutes to go, but Cameron Jerome inexplicably fluffed a chance- unless his finishing improves, he will never be a Premier League striker. He has the pace and power, but much as it pains me to say it, he lacks serious composure in front of goal.

Both sets of supporters must be given credit for creating an excellent atmosphere inside St Andrews. West Ham brought the most away fans to Birmingham this season, and they don't deserve a long hard struggle this season. However, I fear they could be looking straight at relegation, with no firepower up front, and unless they find some investors, no money to spend in January.

It was a brilliant piece of irony this week, with David Sullivan, ex-Blues owner, stating his interest in buying the London club, two days before the two clubs did battle. The Blues fans sang 'Are you watching, Sullivan?' With Birmingham 8th, and West Ham 18th, I know who I'd rather own.

We? You? Who???

Recently, one of my very dear friends, admittedly not a football fan, but we can forgive him, lambasted me for referring to Birmingham City as 'we'.

'We're up to 9th now'.
'Who are?'
'We are. Birmingham City.'
'Oh right. You played, did you?'
'No, but-'
'So why the use of 'we'?'
'It's just what everybody does.'

Admittedly, in hindsight, 'it's just what everybody does' was an extremely weak argument. But, in honour of the Facebook group which has caught my eye, I have 'thought up a retort after the argument'. The above friend is extremely keen on politics, and so it would perhaps be best to use the analogy of the Prime Minister and his cabinet. If one of them messes up, it is best to (on the face of it at least) rally behind him/her and take collective responsibility. That is what it is like supporting a football team. It is far more comforting to cry as a group, rather than on one's own. If 30,000 fans troop out of a stadium demoralised, it is somehow just about bearable. If only one person is sat in a corner crying into their drink, then it will take far longer to get out of that spiral of depression. In addition, as I mentioned in a previous blog, there is no better feeling than belonging to a group of people, and 'taking over' the city, or train station, or stadium. You feel safe, confident, and even a little bit mischievous.

Imagine if we did single out one player for criticism. Do that, and we may as well bring back hanging and burning at the stake. Remember David Beckham at France '98? His sending-off in a crucial match led to, in some people's opinions, England going out of the World Cup, and back home, Beckham was victimised. I love David Beckham, and I think anyone that doubts his ability or wholesomeness should remember what he's done for football and for kids around the world. Anyway, I digress. If the same treatment was dished out to someone made of weaker stuff than Beckham every time someone made a mistake, then we'd probably have no players left! Two years ago, I could have been forgiven for wanting Liam Ridgewell to be hanged after giving away an embarrassing own goal to Aston Villa. If I'd been working at school with someone who made a similarly monumental clanger, I would probably have blamed the person. Yet with Ridgewell, the thought never crossed my mind. In football, we look for anyone to blame but our own players. The referee, the opposition, the weather. Even the manager gets stick over the players. But the players, thanks to the 'go on my son' mentality, are given a collective arm round the shoulder by thousands and thousands of people, and 'we' stick together.

I do, however, think that happiness is best had by a small number of people. It may be my own schadenfreude, but when my team had the best result of the weekend over my friends' teams, it felt extra-special. This, to me, is the attraction of supporting a lower-league team. When only a few thousand are celebrating winning, it's similar to when many people win The National Lottery. As seen in Bruce Almighty, when millions of people win, each person gets a very small amount of money. However, when only one or two people win, there are millions of pounds to be won!

Referring to your team as 'they' sounds cold and distant, like you're trying to shift the blame. Refer to your team as 'we', and you move one step closer to fulfilling every single football fan's dream, of stepping on to that hallowed turf, and having a kickabout with your heroes.

Birmingham v Fulham- A Match Report

Birmingham City have certainly played a lot better than they did yesterday this season, and got nothing from the game. This has been largely down to a chronic inability to score goals, and more recently, some poor refereeing decisions. In that case, thank heavens for Lee Bowyer. The former Leeds player rolled back the years yesterday with a performance that showed that he can still last 90 minutes at this level. The box to box midfielder showed his class with a well-taken goal 16 minutes into the game, after a beautifully insightful pass from James McFadden, who has too often failed to live up to expectations in the blue of Birmingham, after some excellent performances in the blue of Scotland.

After the pressure was lifted from St Andrews after the early goal, it was down to the defence of Birmingham to keep out the attack of Fulham, which consistently pressed throughout the second half, after offering little before the break. Where previous Birmingham City defences would have crumbled, this side is made of sterner stuff. Instead of ageing squad players such as Martin Taylor and Radhi Jaidi, Roger Johnson and Scott Dann have impressively made the step-up in divisions with relative ease. Many pundits and fans looked on in worry as Alex McLeish packed his defence with young Championship defenders; how would they cope against the likes of Rooney and Defoe? However, it is hoped that Johnson will do for Birmingham what Joleon Lescott did for Everton when he moved from Wolves, who, incidentally, Birmingham face next week in a local derby at Molineux. His partner Dann, although visibly lacking in experience and know-how, clearly has the talent and potential to become an established centre-half in the Premier League.

In a match lacking in quality and serious chances, mostly hindered by the weather, Fulham looked the brighter early on. Bobby Zamora, with so much untapped potential, played as the lone man up front, and looked lively as he troubled the Birmingham goal early on. Joe Hart, after looking shaky early on in the season, appeared to be far more assured as he commanded his goal and defenders. Hart, if he wants to become a serious contender for the England jersey, needs to come off his line and claim crosses more, but his handling, on a day when the ball was slippery, was perfect. Then came the goal, on 16 minutes: the one bit of true quality in the entire match. Bowyer, so often associated with simple workmanlike grit and determination, showed good presence of mind to burst into the box, and his composed finish was worthy of winning the game.

Roy Hodgson, although surely delighted with recent home wins over Liverpool and Hull, will be worried by his side's lack of penetration up front. Damien Duff remained on the bench for most of the match, after the way he terrorised the French defence on Wednesday night, and without him, there was no one to get to the byline for the away team. As any side with the giant Brede Hangeland in their ranks would be, Fulham looked dangerous from corners, probably their best chance of scoring. McLeish, after seeing his side record their 4th win of the season, claimed that his team were 'untidy', and probably echoed the feeling that I expressed in my opening line.

A third of the way into the season, however, and Birmingham are on course for 45 points, a tally that would comfortably ensure Premier League survival. With Wolves, Wigan, Blackburn and West Ham to come next for the Blues, Mcleish's men haven't lost since the takeover of Carson Yeung, and the disappearance of David Sullivan and Karren Brady. A coincidence? I somehow think not...

Tradition V Modernity- Where football is the winner

There is every chance that England and Qatar will be battling it out to stage either the 2018 World Cup, or more likely, the 2022 World Cup. This represents a dilemma for FIFA: go with the tradition, where each stadium and each person lives and breathes football; or side with the 'new kid on the block' with bags of money, but a worrying lack of soul. At the risk of sounding like a footballing Victor Meldrew, who sits in his armchair not wanting the world to change, exclaiming 'I don't believe it!' whenever the planet decides to move on without informing him, this fight is surely over before it has even begun. Favouring Qatar over England would be like kicking your own mother and siding with the mouth-watering girl next door who has fluttered her eyelashes at you once since she's lived there for half a decade.

When England play Brazil, sparks fly, no matter how many first-teamers are missing for either side. There is usually a wealth of trickery on show from the Brazilians which comes up against the guile and pace of the England team. However, when the two met at the Khalifa Stadium in Doha the other day, all the energy seemed to be sucked out the game. Brazil showed only fleeting glimpses of brilliance; England failed to get out of first gear. Even the atmosphere reflected the game- it seemed as if, due to the heat, no one could be bothered. The radio commentary seemed lacklustre, although coming from a glass box, it is no wonder that the commentators couldn't get wrapped up in the game. England blamed the heat for their no-show in Germany 3 years ago. In July, temperatures reach around 40 degrees in Qatar. If every game is like the one on Saturday due to the stifling heat, then Qatar will certainly not be having my blessing.

In contrast, every single one of England's stadia has magic. Even the new 'stone bowls', such as Arsenal's Emirates Stadium appears to be a remarkably modern and smart looking stadium. Although some have criticised the New Wembley for lacking atmosphere, the mystique and history that surrounds 'the Home of Football' more than makes up for it. So much history surrounds English football, it seems a terrible state of affairs that the country that gave the world football has only hosted the biggest prize in world sport once. Perhaps the biggest factor in deciding that England should have the World Cup is the people. I imagine that some will have left the Khalifa Stadium on Saturday exclaiming that 'it's just not cricket'. As Mike Bassett once said, 'when England win, everyone is smiling. You go to any bus stop or workplace, and you will see people smiling'. If England win the World Cup, then people will be smiling for a month solidly.

The only thing that appears to be stopping England from taking back what is rightfully ours is the hapless Lord Triesmann, and his band of merry men and women. Everything else is in place- the stadia, the infrastructure, the history, and most importantly of all, the people. Over to you, m'Lud.

You can punish Ngog, but where's our 3 points?

First and foremost, I would like to point out that if you think this article is biased, then you are probably right. I will try not to let my heart rule my head on this one, as I feel that if this had happened to any club in the lower reaches of the Premier League, where a win is so frustratingly difficult to come by, then I would feel equally angry and upset at an an act so blatantly intended to cheat the opposition. But, diehards being diehards, there will be an element of 'we woz robbed' creeping into this article, I fear.

Birmingham came to Anfieldwith a gameplan, which worked. Of course Liverpool were going to have 75% of the possession, and the vast majority of shots on goal. They were the home team, with a team that (even without the brilliance of Torres and a fully-fit Steven Gerrard) looked far superior to the team that Birmingham had to offer. The Blues could not have played expansive football, or else they would have been picked apart. To get anything out of the game, Birmingham had to turn the game into a scrap, and pray that they took their chances when they came along. Like Greece in Euro 2004, Birmingham did not succeed through playing 'rubbish' football. It may have been dour, but it worked to perfection.

However, when David Ngog tumbled over in the penalty area, all that hard work could have been wiped out. If Liverpool had scored straight from the kick-off to make it 3-2, and later grabbed a fourth goal, then Birmingham's gameplan would have been undone, essentially through an act of cheating. My first reaction when I saw that Lee Carsley had made no contact with Ngog was anger. This quickly gave way to sadness, and a sense of 'what's the point?' We will never know whether Birmingham would have held on to their lead on another day, when a more honest striker than David Ngog was playing up front. I don't feel that Ngog merely cheated Birmingham out of what could have been a famous win, I feel that he cheated Cameron Jerome, whose strike was more than worthy of winning any game; I feel he cheated those who reportedly collectively wagered £11m on the game; I feel he cheated the millions of neutrals watching the game on ESPN, who were keen to see whether Liverpool could arrest their slump through fair means; and perhaps most appallingly of all, I feel he cheated the 42,000 inside Anfield. This may seem laughable and very naiive, but if Ngog hadn't have dived, then the last 20 mins would have provided fantastic entertainment for both the Liverpool and the Birmingham fans. Instead, David Ngog finished the match as a contest when he decided to show absolutely no respect to Birmingham City, or any of the groups of people I've just mentioned.

Speaking to some Liverpool fans, I get the sense they think their draw feels a little bit hollow. There was an almost apologetic tone in Rafa Benitez's voice as he conducted his post-match interviews. For me, David Ngog can have no excuse. On Saturday, I was prepared to give Darren Bent the benefit of the doubt- Heurelho Gomes did make contact, and at any rate, would have brought him down anyway- in a sense, Bent jumped before he was pushed. With Ngog's dive, however, nothing can save him from the ire of Birmingham City fans. Lee Carsley was nowhere near the striker. I don't blame referee Paul Walton either. My first reaction when Carsley dived in was 'penalty'. The attack moved at such speed, the referee didn't stand a chance. Referees are heavily reliant on the honesty of players. If a player goes down with what looks like a serious injury, they have to trust that they're not simply feigning to get the game stopped. The same thing can be said with divers. There is no hard and fast rule to spotting a dive, and I believe Walton is 100% blameless.

Just as a child who cheats at Monopoly needs to be reprimanded by their parents, David Ngog needs to be given a stern talking-to by Rafael Benitez. Unfortunately, I doubt that it will happen. I've learned today that no action can be taken by the FA against Ngog, as Walton dealt with the issue at the time. To me, this sounds lame. The only way of changing the ways of the cheats is to punish them. And even if Ngog is banned for life, and Darren Bent hung at dawn, Birmingham will hope and pray that they're not relegated by two points at the end of the year.

Why I really don't want to like Top Gear

Being home alone is both a blessing, and a curse. A blessing in the sense that you can watch whatever you want- you have total carte blanche in terms of what goes on the television. However, it is a curse in the sense that whilst watching a random repeat on 'Dave', you can stumble across something that you really don't want to like- but find yourself chuckling.

I have always prided myself on how I have a vehement dislike and non-interest in cars. By association, I have a strong dislike for Top Gear, and Jeremy Clarkson to boot. You might think that given my bordering-on-unhealthy obsession with football, cars would be right up my street. But to me, they all look the same. I can't tell a Ford Escort from a Ferrari, or a Subaru from a Saab. If ever I see what a call a 'car bore' at a party (40-something male, bohemian scarf, trousers far too tight) I veer away from them at a rate of knots. And this is what I have always assumed Top Gear is like. Three car bores guffawing at the latest model of Skoda, with the occasional 'boys' day out', like three 11 year olds. Since my epiphany on Friday, however, I will, in part, take that back.

In this episode, Clarkson, May and Hammond all tried to cross the Channel from Dover to Calais, using a car. No, really. This idea in itself simply sounds like another 'boys and their toys' outing. I was alongside the three blokes' mothers tutting on the sidelines, sighing 'I'll call the ambulance when it all goes wrong'. But in fact, the repartee between the three presenters was actually very funny. They've all developed characters- Hammond is the excitable schoolboy, May the useless buffoon, and Clarkson the arrogant pr*ck who brags about his victory for weeks afterwards. We all know a Clarkson. I appreciate that the motor-mouth is the reason the show works, but I still can't face even an ounce of liking towards him. I much prefer his shaggy-haired foil, James May. May is stubborn, but determined, beaten-down but not beaten. We all love an underdog, and May is the underdog in this programme. Admittedly he remains the underdog throughout, and bears the brunt of Clarkson and Hammond's fury, but James May is arguably the friendly fella' with an interest in cars, as opposed to 'the car bore'.

They also had music legend Jools Holland on the show, to talk mainly about cars. This bit was the bit I was dreading. We can all laugh along at the Channel section, where knowledge of cars is obsolete, but when the facts and figures come out, I get the urge to either run out the room crying, or turn over to the friendly, welcoming face of Sky Sports News. As it happens, I stick it out. Admittedly, I'd have had more of an idea what they were talking about if they were chatting in Russian, but the knowledgeable conversation between Holland and Clarkson, solely about cars, really impressed me. I had a respect for how they'd managed to commit to memory all these gas-guzzling facts about cars, in the same way that I've committed to memory Birmingham's next 5 fixtures. True, all three of us would be better off learning something worthwhile, but I was still impressed.

I still can't bring myself to wholeheartedly embrace the show. Something holds me back. Maybe it is the subconscious me stopping myself, after cars featured in 90% of all the Physics questions I've ever answered. Perhaps I have this deep fear that cars are somehow nerdy, and I would be betraying my footballing self to even acknowledge the interesting aspect of cars- Top Gear. Or perhaps the one thing that puts me off is the absurd and irony-free remark that revving a certain super-car is like 'the Devil clearing his throat'. Oh how I flocked to a re-run of 2004's greatest goals!

Hello Championship, My Old Friend

I've always thought the Championship is a bit like school. You dread the idea of going, but once you're there, it's actually quite fun. For the last 5 seasons (and counting), my club have bounced from the pits of the Premier League, to the upper reaches of the Championship, and back again. Whenever Sky reels out its ludicrously over-dramatic 'Survival Sunday' graphics, they are invariably plastered with clips of fans and players alike weeping at the thought of playing Scunthorpe or Barnsley away on a cold Tuesday night. But as ever with football, once the dust settles, everything seems far better.

For me, the Championship is a return to football how it should be: two games a week, where anybody can beat anybody. Before Saturday's home game with Sunderland, Birmingham had not played a Premier League home game since the 26th September- virtually a month's gap between the two. In contrast, West Bromwich Albion had played three home games in that time. For what the Championship lacks in quality, it more than makes up for it in excitement and the regularity at which games come round. At a quick glance down my club's fixture list, I think there are approximately nine matches which we have little to no chance of winning. This may be down to my pessimism, but for a league which calls itself 'the best in the world', something has to be wrong. In contrast, the Championship saw only a few days ago, Scunthorpe beat Newcastle United. Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule- for example, when Burnley beat Manchester United. However, the excitement of the Championship is clear to see when one looks at the league table- four points currently separate the top ten teams.

Although rugby league's playoff system is much maligned, it does make for fantastically exciting matches at the end of the year. Although 16 points separated Catalan Dragons in 8th from top team Leeds Rhinos, one off-day from Leeds combined with a superhuman performance from the Dragons would've resulted in triumph for the team eighth-best for such a large portion of the season. Is this fair? Possibly not. Is it exciting? Most definitely! In the Football League Championship, from the last eight seasons, the team finishing 3rd has only been promoted three times. Not a massive disadvantage, it would seem, finishing 3rd. On the other hand, enough of a disadvantage to keep the playoff system, in my view, the most palpitating and thrilling few weeks of the football season.

If I have one criticism of the Championship, it is that it fails to prepare teams enough for the step-up. Admittedly, nothing can prepare you for facing Rooney and Drogba & co, but not since 2002 has every single promoted team remained in the division. It would be far too churlish and ignorant of me to suggest that too many Championship teams simply kick and rush, but perhaps the money given to promoted clubs should either be increased, or certainly spent far more wisely. I will almost certainly be proved wrong when Wolves, Birmingham and Burnley all beat the drop now, but to me, at least two of the teams look like Championship sides with a few flowery adornments. Clubs making the leap need to spend money on quality to stay in the Premier League, and the difference between a side required to gain promotion and a side required to stay up is enormous- and expanding.

It doesn't stop the Championship being bloody good fun, and extremely interesting, however!

Happy Birthday Fulham

Tonight, Fulham FC will celebrate 130 years of being in this, our beautiful game. I've got a soft spot for the West Londoners, for a variety of reasons. They seem to me to be the meaning of the phrase 'family club'. I haven't always felt that way, however. Before my visit to Craven Cottage 18 months ago, Fulham were just another club, always fairly uncontroversial, and so I had no particular reason to dislike them, with 'innocent until proven guilty' my motto on liking or loathing football teams. So what has all changed? Why do I feel deep down, that if Birmingham City slipped out of existence, I would quite happily step out onto Putney Bridge, and take in the wonderful surroundings of Craven Cottage?

Let me take you back to May 2008. Fulham v Birmingham City. As far as relegation six-pointers go, they don't come much bigger than this. The winner will be within touching distance of Premier League survival. The loser will almost certainly be relegated. As the train full of Bluenoses pulls into Marylebone Station, goosebumps run from my head to my toes. I maintain, in all seriousness, and without any hint of sarcasm, there is no better sound in the world than the iconic anthem of 'Keep Right On' being belted out at a train station, much to the bemusement of tourists. Forget the sound of a baby laughing, or a beautifully played concerto, this is audio heaven, and I try to fight back the tears of emotion and pride. After the usual away-day tomfoolery, we all remember we are in fact here to watch a game, and so we make probably the most pleasant journey to a football match anywhere in the world. The walk up the banks of the Thames, through a beautifully picturesque park, coupled with the colours of an early May day, is a fantastic sight, and one wonders why we get so worked up about football, when there are sights like this to behold.

Craven Cottage is the only ground that I have sat in where there has been a neutral area. Admittedly, no one in the ground was 'neutral' on that day, but the very idea of having both home and away fans sat in the same area of the ground was wonderful, if potentially a little naiive. I cannot for one moment imagine this happening at St Andrews, especially for a match of this magnitude. The Fulham fans were wonderful. They admired our incessant chanting, laughed at our hate-filled songs about Aston Villa, and were thankfully magnanimous in victory. Even the worst Birmingham performance I have witnessed couldn't prevent me from admiring these fantastic supporters, and as I choked back the tears of disappointment and anger (you should learn by now I cry often at football) I realised that Fulham fans were not goading or jeering the opposition, but quietly making their way out. I'd like to think every club in the country could behave like that, but I am not that stupid.

I've always been dazzled by teams in white. Real Madrid, England, Fulham. Don Revie and I share this same sentiment, it would appear, when he changed the Leeds United kit from all-yellow to all-white. I guess this has something to do with purity, but also, it's a useful tool to see which players have been really getting stuck in- those with brilliant white shirts at the end of the game clearly haven't.

I was hugely disappointed when I saw that our match against Fulham was scheduled for February 20th. That beautiful walk to the game will be nothing more than a slog through the mud on a cold, wet February day. But there will be other opportunites to sample the Cottage, I'm sure. Happy Birthday Fulham.

Love Thy Neighbour

"The Bible tells us to love our neighbours, and also to love our enemies; probably because they are generally the same people"
G.K Chesterton

On Sunday, fierce Lancashire rivals Blackburn Rovers and Burnley will meet for the first time for four years. It will be the first time they've met in the top flight since 1966. Whoever wins will be able to hold their head up high and bound into work on Monday morning; the loser will most likely stay in bed. Only one thing is certain on derby day, and that is that the atmosphere inside the ground will be the equivalent of a gladiatorial theatre. Andy Mitten, author of 'Mad for It', an excellent book about derby matches, says that the 'buzz is indescribable' on derby days. I whole-heartedly agree, but then again, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach is probably 'indescribable'. But why do we have such a loathing for our 'neighbours'? Is it serious, or is it just a silly squabble over nothing?

I have never been too fond of derby days myself. The memories are always far better than the games themselves. In recent times, our big derby against Aston Villa has been a scrappy affair, settled by poor defending or heat-of-the-moment issues. I was recently asked to explain why I feel such a loathing towards our local rivals. Only silence came out of my mouth, occasionally interspersed with a few inaudible cries of rage and frustration. I felt a bit silly, really. I have nothing against the fans for 364 days a year. I get on well with our 'neighbours' for every day apart from derby day. Only those who have experienced the rivalry and grown up with it can understand the hatred between the two clubs. At the risk of this article becoming a self-indulgent wander down Memory Lane, one of my favourite memories about football is my first derby day. As I stepped out the car, clutching so tightly to my Dad's hand my knuckles went white, I could sense the hatred in the air. Being only nine, it was thrilling. I had no real loathing for the opposition at this age, so I could, to some extent, enjoy the occasion, couldn't I? Ho-ho. I wish. The intensity gripped me. The noise was deafening from start to finish. I found myself swept up in the atmosphere, shouting and swearing like a trooper. And of course, we won. Had we lost, the memory would have been so much more bitter.

Of course, there are different types of rivalry. England v Australia, for example, I've found to be a largely amiable and friendly rivalry. People often talk of Liverpool v Everton as a 'family derby', and from the glimpses of the fans, there are often Blues mixed in amongst Reds, and there is rarely any trouble. This does not however, degrade the rivalry in any way, shape or form. Some of the greatest rivalries exist upon a mutual respect, that brings out the best in both sides. But if Liverpool v Everton can be described as 'the friendly derby', there is one match that must surely be described as the 'hate-filled derby'. Glasgow Rangers v Glasgow Celtic make Birmingham v Villa, Blackburn v Burnley and Cardiff v Swansea look like tea-parties. The Gers and the Hoops play each other 4 times a season at a minimum, and yet the rivalry does not diminish. I feel these two could play each other every week and the rivalry would still be red-hot. There is no doubt that good old G.K Chesterton's quote rings true around Ibrox and Celtic Park when these two meet.

It would be madness to write this article about rivalries and simply focus on sport. If we look closer to home, sibling rivalry can be as fierce as the afore-mentioned Glasgow derby one minute, and loving and caring the next. One of the earliest instances of sibling rivalry is the Bible story of Cain and Abel- where Cain murders his brother. This rivalry is put down to Cain's jealousy of God's favouritism towards Abel. Ahh, jealousy. That green-eyed monster could quite conceivably be at the root of many rivalries. The jealous ones, those who have been languishing beneath their rivals for many years, would like to think of it as the plucky underdog, not the jealous monster, kicked for all these years, turning round to bite their 'superior' on the bum.

Burnley will be hoping that the story of Cain and Abel is pre-emptive of their success on Sunday, as they set out to kill the dominance that Blackburn have held over them for so many years.

Heskey and Rooney? More like Daly and Forsyth

This afternoon, England will play Ukraine in a World Cup Qualifier that is meaningless for the national side. Absolutely meaningless, pointless and a waste of time. In fact, we would learn more if Fabio Capello took his team to London to watch a bunch of ex-soapstars and sportsmen take to the dancefloor scantily clad with the Russian champion of waltzing on their arms. At least, that would appear to be the view of the BBC, Sky, ESPN and the other big-name broadcasters that have abandoned their duties to the millions of English football fans up and down the country. If we want to watch Rooney, Terry & co play their penultimate competitive match before June in South Africa, we will have to pay the best part of £10 or more for the privelege. Is it worth it?

To many hardcore football fans, the answer will be yes. Any opportunity to watch the 11 brave young men of England take on a bunch of foreigners is worth it. Any other view would be treason. There are, of course, still questions to be answered before South Africa. Can Robert Green cut it as England's number one? Is the much-maligned Emile Heskey a better option than Defoe or even Carlton Cole? Ukraine poses a real test for England, far more so than the game on Wednesday, against Belarus, will likely do. Let us imagine that (God forbid) Wayne Rooney is carried off with England 1-0 down this evening. This is where Capello will earn his corn. England have not been convincing without their star man in recent times, and if Rooney is to show the same hot-headedness that was displayed in Germany in 2006, England will need a Plan B. These are the sorts of games that a Plan B needs to be trialled. We cannot simply reply on the impromptu job of hoofing it long for Heskey to flick on for Defoe- far better teams than Croatia, Belarus and Kazakhstan will deal with this threat. However, Mark Thompson, Director-General of the BBC clearly already has the solution, or at the very least feels that Capello has it all under control.

Maybe you are of the opinion that the repartee between Bruce Forsythe and Len Goodman is far more entertaining than that of John Motson and Mark Lawrenson, and won't be paying to watch England, in your view, 'labour' to an easy victory. I don't blame you. I really don't. To someone who is not an expert on computers (don't let this blog fool you), the whole system sounds rather risky. Picture the scene: Wayne Rooney has just been felled by big Ukrainian centre half Vitaliy Mandzyuk. England's physio has rushed onto the scene. It looks bad. A long term injury could be fatal to England's chances. All of a sudden, the football has been replaced by a pop-up selling Viagra. The match has vanished into cyber-space, along with your money. And we still don't know if Big Vitaliy has received a card to rule him out of Ukraine's next match...

On a more serious note, football has become too expensive. I can only speak for my club, but ticket prices are driving fans away, and money is scarce. Not only is the international break a diversion from the stress that comes with the club side, it is also a chance to rebuild finances before the long cold winter. An away trip can cost the best part of £100. £10 to watch England on a crackly screen is, for some, an insult.Especially when Big Joe Calzaghe is midway through a rumba that makes an elephant falling through a roof look dainty.

Champ or Chump?

Whilst watching Sea the Stars sweep to an unprecedented treble of the 2,000 guineas, the Epsom Derby and most recently, the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, all sorts of superlatives were being uttered by the commentator and those with any ounce of horse racing knowledge.

'Fantastic'. 'A great in the world of sport'. 'A true champion'.

These words made we wonder: Why do we adore and admire racehorses so much, even though they are so far removed from ourselves as human beings? The nation collectively wept when terrace favourite Desert Orchid died in 2006, as it did when the brilliant Best Mate passed away in 2005, right at the peak of it's powers. Horses, on the face of it, share very little of our human characteristics, but then again, so do cars, and nobody could claim to feel an attachment to the Mclaren that Lewis Hamilton raced to victory in last season.

When one thinks of brilliant sportsmen and women, and the reasons we love them, it is hard to place them in the same category as a horse. We loved Brian Clough for his unpredictability, and the spell he held over a room of journalists, or the way he admirably tried to do the impossible; make the Leeds United team of 1973 loveable; just like him. We loved Andrew 'Freddie' Flintoff for his normality, and the true belief that he was simply like one of us, in addition to his fantastic cricketing ability. Admittedly, 'Fred' may not have been as technically sound as Ponting, or Lara, or even Strauss, but his endearing personality more than made up for it. (I use the past tense fully aware that Flintoff still feels he has a career to fulfill; alas, without test cricket, he will never win our affection like he did in 2005). Sometimes we love sportsmen or women for a moment of brilliance, or being in the right place at the right time. We will always love Jonny Wilkinson for that drop-kick in 2003. Stuart Pearce will always have a place in our hearts for his penalty kick in 1996, and the way we saw how much it meant to him, despite his relatively ordinary international career following that.

But horses cannot, it seems to those not 'in the know', show these emotions. We cannot see the temperament of Clough in a horse, or the passion of Pearce. We certainly cannot see in a horse what we see in Flintoff- a bit of ourselves (although Ruud van Nistelrooy may disagree). Perhaps that is the reason. Maybe I have been looking too deeply. It could quite conceivably be that the reason we adore racehorses is that it gives us a chance to escape from being human. It is back to the primitiveness of Darwinism, of survival of the fittest. A striker subconsciously knows that if he misses a chance in a match, there will be one coming soon afterwards. A cricketer knows that if he throws away his wicket, there will be at least four or five more ODIs to come, probably in as many days. A horse would not know this.

This is the romantic view, anyway. Of course, it could just as easily be that the reason we love Sea the Stars, Arkle, Best Mate or Desert Orchid is that we had £20 riding on it, and the horse losing is too much to bear.

Supporting a struggling club- a joy, or a misery?

This afternoon, my team slumped to yet another defeat, this time at the hands of Burnley. In contrast to our slim pickings of 1 win, 1 draw and only 2 goals, the Clarets kept up their 100% home record with a performance that didn't reflect the 2-1 win. Instead, Burnley's win should have been far greater. Alas, the false dawns of Birmingham City have confirmed why, to paraphrase Elton John, 'they call us the Blues'.

Today's matches gave football fans a chance to enjoy or endure the trials and tribulations of the bottom of the league, with none of the 'Big 4' playing at 3 o'clock. There were wins for Hull, Portsmouth and Burnley, with defeats for Wigan, Wolves and Birmingham. To these clubs, winning is never a formality. Fans of Manchester United and Chelsea can, to some extent, turn up knowing that to drop points against one of the afore-mentioned teams is at worst, unlikely. To some extent, I think this must take some of the fun out of life. Two weeks ago, I was on top of the moon after a gloriously scrappy 1-0 win away at Hull. To a supporter of a successful club, the same result would probably be looked upon like this:

Two weeks ago, I was relieved that we laboured to a 1-0 win away at Hull.

As ever, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. On the other hand, as a supporter of a lesser Premier League side, the defeats away at Manchester United and Liverpool do not hurt as much. I am not for one moment daring to trot out the old, and false cliché that football doesn't mean as much to fans of the 'Big 4', but to hold a win at home to Portsmouth in the same regard as a cup final win is held by a Man United fan makes me feel very priveleged.

Supporting a club that seems to be forever on the brink of either being relegated or blowing promotion creates a fear amongst fans. It is not the same fear that grips, for example, a Liverpool fan when losing at home to Barnsley. That kind of fear is coupled with humiliation, and a sense of black humour. Our fear, on the other hand, makes fans freeze with a sense of 'what if...?' 'What if we don't get promotion?' 'What if the yo-yo snaps, and we go the same way as Leeds United, or Charlton?'

Every fan experiences fear, joy and misery, to varying degrees of regularity. They say to truly enjoy the good times, you must first experience the bad. As a Blues fan, we've certainly had enough of the latter.

Should Adebayor have been punished?

This evening, Emmanuel Adebayor of Arsenal has been fined £25000 and given a 2-match suspended ban, for, in simple terms, celebrating a goal. Admittedly, this may not tell the whole story, and players of today are hardly likely to lose sleep over losing money. It does make you wonder what the letter from Soho Square said, though. I imagine it read something like this:

Dear Mr Adebayor,
Following your celebration against Manchester City after scoring a goal, the FA has decided to fine you £25,000, and give you a 2-match suspended ban. If you continue to celebrate after your goals, further action will be taken.
Yours sincerely,
The FA.

To me it seems the FA has set a dangerous precedent. Not long ago, players were warned that if they took their shirts off after scoring a goal, they would be issued with a yellow card. I still fail to see who this offends. The beauty of football is that, in the words of the Ladbrokes commercial, 'everyone has an opinion'. Inevitably, there will be those who feel that Adebayor was stirring up hatred and violence amongst the Arsenal fans, and in the light of the horiffic events at Upton Park, the Arsenal forward should be given a far stricter ban. There is no doubt that what Adebayor did was stupid. But a poorly-timed tackle in the centre-circle is 'stupid'. Yet it does not warrant a ban. Where do we draw the line?

Adebayor will argue that he was celebrating within the confines of the pitch, and he is perfectly within his rights to do so. For me, however, it is the Arsenal fans who need to look at themselves in the cold light of day. I've been guilty myself of shouting horrendous things towards opposition players and fans, but in the heat of the moment, grown men can act like children. A far worse crime, in my mind, is an appalling two-footed tackle on an opponent, or, as we saw from Adebayor on ex team-mate Robin van Persie, a sickening stamp which caused the Dutchman to require serious treatment. In that now infamous match at Eastlands, we saw the best and worse of Emmanuel Adebayor. We saw his mesmerising trickery which showed that the forward is worth every penny of the £25m City paid for him in July. Unfortunately, we also saw the petulance and sheer foolishness that so often dominates the back pages, when in fact it shouldn't. I hope now that both City and Arsenal can draw a line under the whole affair, and we witness a repeat only of the highlights, and not the lowlights, when the two meet again in April.

Ed Higgs.

A bit about me

My name is Edward Higgs, and I am 16 years old. I have wanted to be a journalist since a young age, and following a talk from teachers at my school, I have decided that the best way to climb to the top of the immensely tricky ladder of journalism is to build up a portfolio of articles.

I am particularly interested in sport, although as a lifelong supporter of Birmingham City, it has often brought me more hardship than joy, it has to be said. But as our anthem states, we 'keep right on to the end of the road', and for that reason, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Enjoy reading.