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.

As it Stands- We're all Petrified

The time has come, ladies and gentlemen, for Sky Sports to wheel out their graphic in the right hand corner of the screen that will strike fear and hope in equal measures into the hearts of football fans everywhere. It is as much a part of the end-of-season ritual as fancy dress and montages of kids in facepaint crying their eyes out. Of course, it's the 'As it Stands' graphic, showing exactly where your team are, should the season finish right now, with no warning. Imagine that...

As Adrian Chiles once wrote in his brilliant book We don't know what we're doing, 'it's the hope that kills you'. In that case, Sky Sports has a lot to answer for. Is there anything that strikes false hope in you more than seeing your side out of the bottom three/in the promotion places with the vast majority of the game still to play? I first spotted the 'As it Stands' graphic this season last week, when watching Plymouth v Newcastle. It seems a bit strange to dust off the graphic in the middle of April. It's a little bit like defrosting Bruce Forsythe in June, ready for Strictly Come Dancing- it all seems a little bit pointless, when so much could still happen. Nevertheless, I felt the need to shout out 'AS IT STANDS!' at the top of my voice, possibly a mild form of Tourettes.

'As it Stands' season does produce some great moments, to give the little graphic his credit. He plays almost as big a role as Richard Keys does at Sky Sports around this time of the season, constantly jinking his way in and out of fear and hope. Crystal Palace and West Bromwich Albion saw only a minor role for the diminutive diagram, with only two goals, thus only two opportunities to show what he can do. But he'll be back on Sunday for sure, keen to show what an impact he can have on a season.

The game itself was fantastic. Any fears over West Bromwich Albion not trying were quickly put aside when Crystal Palace made rods for their own backs by riling the Albion players so much that they thought 'like Hell are you beating us'. It had the feeling of a play-off game about it, which in some senses, it was, with a Palace win guaranteeing survival. It ended 1-1, so AS IT STANDS, Palace need to avoid defeat on Sunday to stay up. The cameras caught a glimpse of a Palace fan sobbing his heart out at the finish (like you expected anything else from the masters of overstatement Sky Sports). My first thought was that he'd misunderstood the situation, thinking that Palace had already gone down. Surely this is where Sky Sports could do with an overhead projector to display 'As it Stands' on the pitch? Of course, it was the tension that caused the poor lad to cry his eyes out. The 'hope' that was killing him. We've all been there, supporters of Chelsea or Cheltenham, we all know the feeling. Sitting through double History going through the various permutations, using the Russian noblemen as Birmingham and the slavophiles as Reading, wondering whether the serfs (Crystal Palace) will roll over for the Tsarist ministers (Sheffield United). The teacher wasn't best pleased when I referred to Tsar Kevin Blackwell in my essay, but only football fans would understand.

'As it Stands' season causes so many bonds, breaks so many hearts. My sister stopped going to the football when in her previous two visits, Birmingham were relegated and missed out on promotion. Such is the power of the magical little graphic. If in doubt though, remember the words of The Shawshank Redemption:

Fear can hold you prisoner. Hope can set you free.

Midlands Meltdown

Whatever happens this Sunday, when Aston Villa and Birmingham meet, there will be four West Midlands teams in the Premier League next season, which will be music to the ears of Birmingham City fans, who are still haunted by the 5-1 humiliation in 2008 which all but relegated the Blues for the second time in three years. Not that this is anything new, you understand. It is normally about this time of year when Midlanders are fretting over West Brom's and Birmingham's survival chances, and bemoaning Wolves' inability to win promotion. Although many Baggies and Wolves fans would prefer to have three rather than four clubs in the top flight next season, I'm immensely excited and proud to be a supporter of a Midlands side at the moment.

For too long, the national media has been far too frantic over London and Northern clubs, and to a degree, quite rightly. Midlands sides have been poor for the last 25 years, with the last time the 'West Midlands Big 4' met up in the top division coming in 1984. However, at times, Midlands sides have understandably become exasperated with pundits. For example, Mark Lawrenson has been adamant that Birmingham have played 4-5-1 throughout the season, which is totally wrong. Wolves fans have been forever sending letters to the BBC questioning the lack of highlights on Match of the Day regarding their team. Admittedly, Hagley-based Adrian Chiles has redressed the balance to an extent, but even with his imminent departure, West Midlands teams look like they will finally be able to stand on their own two feet.

Aston Villa have, despite murmurings of discontent from B6, had a good season, reaching Wembley twice and sustaining their Champions League challenge far longer than before. It looks like they will fall short thanks to the superior spending power of Tottenham and Manchester City, but this season has to represent an improvement on the days of 'Deadly' Doug Ellis and David 'Dreary' O'Leary, when Villa finished in lower mid-table. O'Neill, thanks to his enthusiasm and passion, has attracted many admirers, and Villa's close-season will likely resemble plate-spinning: on the one hand attempting to improve the squad to enrich their Champions League aspirations; on the other keeping hold of O'Neill and the player of the season James Milner.

Over in B9, Birmingham City must be one of the success stories of the Premier League campaign. I, along with other Blues fans, would not have been devastated had McLeish jumped ship after gaining promotion, such was the lack of quality football in the Championship. However, he has proved us all wrong, and his qualities as a man have impressed many, namely his reluctance to criticise referees, and his refusal to lie down, a trait mirrored by his side. For a side only just promoted on the last day, the achievement of not losing at home to the top six is very impressive, and when comparing the achievement of Blues to the relative anonymity of Sheffield United, whom Blues pipped to promotion, you can see the fine lines between success and failure. The only serious black mark which will not go away easily is the surrender to Portsmouth in the FA Cup, when a Wembley appearance was beckoning. The falling away in the second half of the season has emphasised the frailty of the squad, and McLeish must beware second season syndrome.

I doubt many people envisaged Wolves being safe so early. Their surrender of the lead to Birmingham was worrying, and many Wolves fans filled the phone-ins with calls for McCarthy to be sacked. His record in the Premier League before this season was questionable, if not laughable, however his never-say-die attitude which has transmitted towards his players has earned him many supporters, and it looks like McCarthy will finally get a crack at establishing himself as a Premier League manager. All this, from an outsider's point of view, seems to be down to the two players who I would place in any midtable team in the league: Kevin Doyle, and Karl Henry. The impact of Doyle has been well documented, but tenacity is the name of the game for staying in the Premier League, and Henry has this in abundance. He was one of the view players not to meekly surrender at St Andrews this season, and Wolves fans will be indebted to this pair. So it looks like Mick McCarthy, despite his odd voice and similarity to the Professional Yorkshiremen sketch from Monty Python ('ball? You had to kick a rock when I were a lad') will be locking horns with Mcleish and O'Neill again next season.

Speaking of strange voices, West Brom have coped extremely well with the departure of Tony Mowbray, who possessed the most annoying voice in football. Ever. A few Albion fans raised eyebrows when Roberto di Matteo was appointing, but his footballing style (one of the few things the suave Italian must have in common with the North East's Mowbray) has transferred well to the players, and have gained promotion at a canter. But will things be different this time? For so long, Albion have gone straight back down without a fight, and Jeremy Peace, the Albion chairman, surely has a duty to the fans to put his hand in his pocket. However, he has already said that di Matteo will have to be shrewd, so it looks as if Albion may be set for yet another immediate return to the Championship.

Next season should be a cracking year for sides in the West Midlands. We'll have the friendly derby (Albion v Blues), the historical derby (Albion v Villa) and of course the hatred derbies (Blues v Villa/Albion v Wolves) along with many others. For Blues, Albion and Wolves at least, the team that picks up the most points in these matches could be the side to stay up, with the least successful side going down.

Armageddon Outta Here

I used to quite like West Ham. There's always been a razzmatazz about them, something which makes them quite cool to support, not like if you support Grimsby, or Preston, or even, let's face it, Birmingham City. All the cool celebrities support them, people like Ray Winstone, Russell Brand, all the impish Cockerney fashionable types, yet they still retain an aura of hard-up Londoners battling against the odds. I could even look past the fact that they play in claret and blue to have a soft spot for them. And of course, in case you didn't know, they won us the World Cup. However, ever since a couple of months ago, all this admiration for them has disappeared. Like the rest of the country, it seems, I've developed an intense dislike for the new West Ham owners, pornography entrepreneurs David Sullivan and David Gold. The difference between Birmingham City fans and the rest of the country is that we've had good practice at hating them.

In 1993, Gold and Sullivan rocked up at Birmingham City, with the club in dire financial trouble, and the team going nowhere. They introduced the 'kids for a quid' scheme to get the fans back to St Andrews, they made the club absolutely debt-free, and had an admirable record with keeping faith with managers. How do I know all this, and how can I trot this information off without even looking it up? Because they reminded Birmingham fans of this every single day, and threw this information at us after the relationship between the fans and the board soured. To my mind, this happened in 2005. Gold, always the 'good cop' in the relationship, told us that 'Birmingham fans would sit back and go 'wow'' at the players on show, namely Jesper Gronkjaer, Emile Heskey and Muzzy Izzet, amongst others. We didn't. The club went backwards, and managing director of the club Karren Brady went from having a waiting-list for season tickets to struggling to fill the ground. In any other profession, Brady would've surely been sacked. In 2007, Sullivan declared he wanted to sell his stake, citing that Blues fans had totally unrealistic expectations of them, and in 2009, finally handed over the keys to Carson Yeung.

Now that the background has been described, you can imagine the knowing looks exchanged between Birmingham fans when Gold and Sullivan rolled into Upton Park, spouting the same promises to unsuspecting Hammers fans. Ironically, West Ham's first victory under the new owners was against Birmingham, but now that the Hammers are still in danger of relegation, the prone to hyperbole Sullivan has claimed that it will be 'Armageddon' if the team went down to the Championship. I'm not entirely sure what he means by 'Armageddon'. Presumably, a comet will hit Upton Park, the players will spontaneously combust, East London will become a wasteland occupied by no-one, and West Ham will have to play Norwich on a Tuesday night. Thankfully, the national media has finally cottoned on to their ways, and has realised it wasn't just a bunch of 'whingeing Brummies' moaning about the poor management of the club, but instead frustration caused by years of false promises and not delivering.

All this has been capped off by their treatment of Gianfranco Zola, a man so small and delicate you just want to wrap him in a blanket and tell him everything will be OK. Backstabbing and using the media as a tool to get one over on someone is not a new device by Sullivan in particular, but his open letter after the 3-1 defeat to Wolves totally undermined Zola, and it's a credit to the Italian that he hasn't reacted worse than he did.

I have nothing against the West Ham fans, and I like the sound of 'I'm forever blowing bubbles' and Frank McAvennie as much as the next man. However, for me, I'd love to see a triumph of Hull over West Ham, of East Yorkshire grit against East London chic when it comes to the relegation battle. Sullivan and Gold, if they can drag themselves away from their open letters to the fans and their countless media appearances, will have to deal with the rubble of 'Armageddon' without the help and sympathy of many football fans. The fans deserve better.

Why 5th officials aren't such a new idea...

In the very limited amount of Europa League football I've seen this season, I still can't work out what the point of the two extra officials is. They stand behind each goal-line, looking thoroughly bored, and having absolutely no impact on the game whatsoever. It occurred to me, whilst watching Liverpool v Lille last night, that I'd seen the use of two extra officials before. This is how the conversation would've gone last night, between Liverpool goalkeeper José Reina and the official stood behind the goal:

Official: Alright 'keeper, what's the score mate?
Reina: 2-0 to us.
Official: Ahh right, who are you?
Reina: The Reds are Liverpool, the Whites are Lille.
Official: Oh right. You having a good season?
Reina: Yeah not ba- CLEAR IT JAMIE! Sorry about that. Yeah, we're doing OK thanks, couple of lads working today though, we're not quite full strength.
Official: I'll let you get on. C'mon Triggs!

Of course! It's the typical man-behind-the-goal on a Sunday morning! 5th and 6th officials have been working on parks up and down the country for years, and UEFA have only just realised it! Perhaps the official should have a dog to walk behind the goal and a flat cap, then the image would be complete. It might keep the poor guys warm if nothing else. Being a referee, it's hard enough to persuade two people to run the line on a nice day in April, let alone getting two more people to stand behind the goal for Spartak Moscow v Dinamo Kiev in mid-February.

So on that basis, I hope that UEFA see sense, and knock this whole idea on the head, before the officials behind the goal get blamed for talking to the 'keeper when he should have been clearing a backpass...

How I Learned to Stop Being Jealous and Love Beckham

It's perhaps fitting that I should hear the news that David Beckham is seriously injured and unlikely to ever play again when I was in a state of grogginess looking at my worst after little sleep on a Sunday night, given how immaculate Beckham always looks. Beckham has always, and will always, be mine and many other boys of my age's idol, because of the way we've grown up through our childhood and into our teenage years in the same way that Beckham has grown through his footballing career. I don't remember France '98. But I do remember the furore that surrounded Beckham, and although it didn't quite hit home at the time, I now realise just how pivotal that sending-off was for football, for Beckham, and for me.

It didn't hit home that I'll most likely never see Beckham until about 11 o'clock, when I felt like running to Finland to give Becks a giant hug. Beckham has been my idol since I started watching football, and has only ever been briefly replaced by Darren Carter, Geoff Horsfield and Ashley Giles. But Beckham has always found a way back into my heart, like a homing pigeon, in a similar way to how he always found his niche in the England team, slotting into the right-midfield position regular as clockwork. When other players have come and gone, when the Michael Ricketts and Seth Johnsons of this world have had their one cap and left through the back door, Becks has been there, immovable, indestructible, incredible. But I should have seen it coming. Being loved by me is a bit like being interviewed by Martin Bashir, whose 'victims' include Michael Barrymore and Princess Diana. My 'victims' number Oasis (split up), Russell Brand (Sachs-gate) and Darren Carter (sold to West Brom). John Bishop and Craig Gardner, watch out...

It's not just the way Beckham played that drew me in, although I could sit and watch his free- kicks all day long. I remember spending hours in the garden, trying fruitlessly to 'Bend it like Beckham'. I identified with Becks because of his lack of pace, which he made up for in vision, and blinding ability to spot a pass. His elegance when he stepped up to strike a free-kick... mesmerising. But it's not just his footballing skills, which says a lot about how Beckham has changed football. It's the way he conducted himself on and off the field. He was an ambassador, and a role model. The only time after '98 in which Beckham appeared in the wrong was the unproven affair with Rebecca Loos. It's impossible, in hindsight, to think Loos was telling the truth when you consider how much of a family man Becks is. There are no examples of fracas outside nightclubs, or missing drugs tests. The truth is, Beckham was 'golden', in every sense of the word.

There will be those that criticise Becks for his endless sponsorship deals. But let's put all our ludicrous 'holier than thou' attitudes to one side for a moment, and realise that every single one of us would do the same, given the opportunity. The fact is, nobody wants to play 'Lee Bowyer Soccer' on the Playstation, or wear 'Eau de Steve Mclaren'. There will also be those that claim he's just a showpony, with his endless changing hairstyles and designer suits. Just realise this. Beckham was cool. I wanted to copy him. Middle aged men wanted to copy him. Everyone wanted to copy him. He looked like a superstar, but he still retained the aura of a normal lad from Leytonstone, which very few superstars can do. I can only think of Robbie Williams in this category of superstar fame mixed with down-to-earth, all-round nice-guy attitude.

Reaching the end of this blog, I feel I've come full circle. I have felt quite emotional all day, none more so than whilst writing this blog. It's fitting, really, considering the emotion raised when one sees Beckham's finest moments replayed. Some of the things he did really are hairs on the back of the neck stuff. So 'thanks' Becks. 'Thanks' for that free-kick against Greece. 'Thanks' for that penalty against Argentina. And 'thanks' for living your journey through football with me, and with so many other lads my age.

TV Shows Don't Get Tougher Than This

I love cookery programmes. I'm not sure what it is about them that appeals to me, considering I'm not a particularly keen cook, although I do know my way around a kitchen. Perhaps it's the sort of voyeuristic quality about them, the idea that even though I have no intention of 'realising the dream' and eating the food shown on the small screen, there's still a fascination, a 'look but don't touch' peculiarity that appeals to me. Or maybe it's the personalities on the shows. Gordon Bleeping Ramsay, Jamie Oliver, Nigella, and of course Dave Lamb from the hilarious Come Dine With Me. Yet, after witnessing the shocking programme Michael Winner's Dining Stars on Friday night, I'm willing to 'hang up my eyes' when it comes to watching cookery programmes.

The show dressed itself up as Come Dine With Me with Michael Winner, or at least that's how it appeared to me. My first issue is with the title. Wouldn't Michael Winner Comes To Dinner have been a much better option? Michael Winner Throws Your Dinner In The Binner? What the hell is a dining star anyway? Anyway, Winner, 74, visits two houses in an hour-long show, has dinner with the families, and then reveals whether they've won one of his much sought-after 'dining stars'. Winner endeared himself to the viewing public when he declared that there were no good cooks 'Oop North', a sweeping statement if ever I heard one. Winner, the colour of a ripe satsuma, first insisted on showing us round his huge mansion, and introducing us to his assistant, a middle-aged woman called Dinah. Winner first visited Longridge, where he planned on dining at Justine's, a very pleasant woman with two disabled children. He could have quite easily had a nice meal, not been any trouble, given the woman her star, and buggered off down South, where the air is so much cleaner. But no, Winner had to have his fun. He acted like a spoiled 6 year old all evening, and then towards the end of the dinner, bizarrely went into the toilet to record his thoughts on a dictaphone, while Justine and her family looked bemused.

Next, Winner went to Cheshire to visit Dean and his family, who cooked up, what looked to me, like an extremely competent Jamaican meal. Again, have the meal, and give the man a star Winner. But no. Winner went home, without a word, and called the two families all the way down to London. Ah, how nice, he's going to give them both a star, and let them have their day out in London, all expenses paid. Again, wrong. Dean was dragged down South, into a theatre with just himself and Winner, to receive no stars, and Justine received one, due to how Winner was so emotionally moved by her two disabled children, which rendered the whole eating experience utterly pointless.

Oh how this contrasts with Masterchef! Rock 'N' Roll of the cookery shows! John Torode, housewives' favourite, with his hair so flexible it changes length with each shot, and Greg Wallace, fat glutton with not one hair. How Wallace must pine for just one of Torode's locks! Anyway, onto the cooking. We all know the format. 'The Invention Task'; followed by a humilation by some chauvinistic pig in the pro-kitchen; and then the contestants are required to serve something up for Torode and Wallace while they stare on greedily, rubbing their hands with glee and making eye movements at each other. And most importantly of all, no Michael Winner. There is, of course, the danger of overkill. With two and a half hours of Masterchef a week, I am starting to talk like Torode, calling 'pasta' 'paaaarrrrssssstttaaaaaaa' and not using complex sentence structures, simply shouting 'sweet, sticky, sour, yum'. I've also taken to hovering over my Mum's food like a gannet in the style of Wallace, raising my eyebrows every so often and wondering whether there's 'too much going on on that plate'.

So don't stop the cookery shows! For me, they're at least on a par with Bolton v Wigan on Sky Sports, possibly even surpassing it! Just please, TV Licensing, promise me one thing. Keep Michael Winner and his Dining Stars away from my television, at all costs.