Dreaming of a White Summer

Although the name of this blog could be interpreted as a potential title for Nick Griffin's autobiography, it is actually the hope that is rising up inside me with each passing day, the hope that England can finally reclaim the World Cup this summer. It seems I'm one of the few people in the country to actually believe, not simply hope, that we can do it. It might simply be a childish dream. I might just be kidding myself that we can win it, and this belief may just be borne out of desire, rather than any substance. But I hate going into any sporting occasion thinking my team won't win it, so I'm believing. I couldn't think of 25 points, like the NSDAP, or even 10, like David Gold and David Sullivan, so here are 4 points on why we can finally end 44 years of hurt.

We don't expect to.
In 2006, there was a nationwide feeling of jubilance before we'd even started. The FA had booked Trafalgar Square in expectation for the glorious homecoming, and we'd beaten the mighty footballing force of Jamaica 6-0. Then we realised that there were actually lots of teams far more organised than us, and it all collapsed around us. This time, nobody thinks we stand much of a chance. We've got the second oldest squad, and we're on the way down. There is an eery calm descending over England, rather than an overwhelming expectation that we usually experience before a World Cup. Perhaps we've finally learned our lesson, and had our fingers burned once too often. There's a feeling that for once, if we only keep our heads and not drive around with flags sticking out of our cars like some ugly rally, then some good might come of it. We've got to try something different, anyhow.

It'll be Winter
For once, it'll be hotter here than at the World Cup, so we can be spared the excrutiating excuses that we had in the Sahara Desert (sorry, Germany) about how it was too hot, and we 'wilted'. This time, it's the Brazilians turn to moan about how its too cold. Admittedly, I don't like the idea of the World Cup in Winter myself. It sounds like we won't be able to hear ourselves think, everyone's apparently not going to come back alive, and the cold's going to ruin everything. But again, the fact that there's something different about this World Cup surely can only work in our advantage? Perhaps we should give up playing in the World Cups that get played in normal places in normal climates, and only play the slightly quirky ones that we think might give us a hand. It's the 'do the opposite to what you'd expect' philosophy, as I like to call it.

The others aren't that impressive
When the other countries aren't bribing referees (sorry, Lord Triesman's words), they're not actually that impressive. The Dutch will play well in the group stages and bottle it, the Brazilians won't cope with the weather, and one of the Spanish backroom staff will probably commit an act of racism that causes them to fall apart. Which leaves the Germans, who I will now proceed to underestimate, and describe as 'too ordinary', because that always works, right?

We're crap
We were very good in 2006. We were good in 2002. Now we've got Leighton Baines as a reserve left-back, and most of our players are over-the-hill, no-one can ever describe us as anything more than ordinary. But then how many World Cup winning sides have been ordinary? Who tipped the Italians last time? Who tipped Greece in 2004? Who ever tips the Germans? So many excellent sides have been poor in World Cups, and so many seemingly poor sides have been excellent.

I'll be watching most of the World Cup in Germany or Poland, so I'll most likely never see any of the goals, or understand anything that's going on. I'll probably end up coming back from holiday thinking that England have won it. If I come back grinning like a fool with a flag of St George draped across my chest, while the rest of the country is in mourning, please don't awake me from my joyful slumber.

Bradfordians Will Never Be Forgotten

Tuesday was the 25th anniversary of one of the worst days in football. For some, it has been swept under the carpet, overshadowed by perhaps more infamous disasters such as Hillsborough and Heysel. But for others, the pain of Saturday 11th May 1985 will never go away. It was the day when the culture of football began to change, and arguably, society.

At St Andrews, Birmingham were playing Leeds, and should have been celebrating promotion back to the First Division. However, a riot broke out, and a wall collapsed killing a fourteen year old boy. Even Leeds manager Eddie Gray was attacked on the pitch. This came only two months after Millwall fans tore up Luton's Kenilworth Road, revelling in their reputation, using seats as shields to fight police.

The riot at Birmingham was terrible enough for what was already a dreadful day, but it was nothing compared to what was happening at Bradford's Valley Parade. Halfway through a match (in which Bradford were also incidentally celebrating promotion) , a fire broke out, killing 56 people. The stand was engulfed in flames and black smoke, and the footage, captured by television cameras, is shocking. The disaster was followed by a comprehensive enquiry, in which Sir Oliver Popplewell banned the planned building of a wooden stand, and put the first steps in place for safe stadia as we now know it.

It is surprising that before Tuesday, I knew little of this shocking day in comparison to the events at Hillsborough, and I'm sure many young people like myself will feel the same. 1985 has to go down as the worst year in football. The riot at Birmingham was overshadowed by events at Valley Parade, and only weeks later, the infamous Heysel disaster occurred, inspiring yet more shocking scenes.

It should be noted that the Bradford disaster is unique from the other three, in the fact that it was not caused by hooligans. It makes me sick to hear journalists and other such people refer to these people as 'fans', as these people could not be further from the fans that are the lifeblood of every football club, and go to matches with the sole intention of supporting their club, and indulging in the love of their life. It also makes me sick to see films such as Green Street, which clearly glorify football violence. I refuse to even touch the book on the Birmingham City Zulus, as I believe it is wrong on principle to even stock these books, and how they have made it to press is beyond me. I feel saddened whenever I hear people comparing firms, and boasting about how they 'ran the police up the street'. It's pathetic. The only time I've ever witnessed anything close to a riot between two sets of football hooligans was at Stoke City, where I was genuinely scared and appalled, even though I was a safe distance away.

Of course, football is not the only sport marred by violence, as much as fans of other sports would like us to believe. Only a few weeks ago, two Worcester Warriors fans had to be separated after fighting broke out when the club's relegation was confirmed. It was later discovered that these grown men were two of the players' fathers.

Therefore I just hope that when these morons watch hooligan films, they remember the disasters of years gone by, and the pain and suffering it has caused to so many, even those not directly affected. Football doesn't need these idiots: it's coping fine without them.