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!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, October 5, 2009
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.
'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.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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