The Only Way Is Up

Seeing the rather sickening sight of Keiron Dyer have his leg shattered from behind certainly wasn’t a video nasty – or replay nasty – compared to, say, Henrik Larsson’s leg splitting horribly in two, or the aberrant picture’s of Dave Buust’s tibia making a unwanted appearance, much to the disgust of Peter Schmeichael.

Nethertheless, we can now watch the long montages on Sky Sports News of newly-transferred Hammers coming a cropper in their debut appearances. The Curse Of New West Ham Players seems to be coming spookily true.

One football curse which is nothing more than an urban myth is the Manager Of The Month award. The legend goes that the gaffer whose strength of will over the last four-and-a-half weeks has put their team in a commanding league position, or marshaled their players in to a better-than-expected performance, usually collects his Barclays-emblazoned trophy, keeps a hand firmly clutched to the token bottle of champagne, and promptly lets things slip the following month. Their team drops back in to the obscurity of mid-table and the murmurings amongst the fans resumes.

It’s all in the mind though; Kevin Pullein of the Guardian points out that runs of form can indeed occur in monthly patches, and that said winning streaks are seldom repeated across the rest of the season.

Fortunately for Dennis Wise and Leeds United, things can’t really get any worse. That’s no fault of their own, obviously, but I can’t really remember the time a manager has scooped the prize with their team bottom of the league the entirety of the month they earned it for.

Wise described the award as “a little tap on the back saying ‘we do apologise’ from the Football League.” You can’t help feel sorry for him, either – and this is coming from someone whose loyalties are split between Chelsea (sworn enemies of Leeds for decades) and Northampton Town, League One rivals of the Elland Road club.

They’ll easily be back though – Sunderland pulled off an amazing assault on The Championship under the cold steel nerve of Roy Keane, and the way things have gone this month, Leeds are on for at least a playoff place. Unless the curse is true.

Wooden Spoon For Spurs

Being young and of a generation brought up on a diet of Premiership football supported by sponsorship en masse, it’s quite refreshing to settle down and tune my freeview box to Sky Three, where a rerun of Football Years can take us back down a memory lane we’ve yet to venture in to. For those not familiar with Football Years, the show is essentially an irreverent look at a particular football season and the cultural impacts of the time. It’s lazily put together with old archive clips and ex-pro and D-list celebrity talking heads, but it’s become compulsive viewing – staple diet of late evening telly.

The other night the show focussed on the 1989-1990 season. In the twilight years of the old Division One, we could hardly believe our eyes when MC Harvey (who else) told us of the sad state of affairs Manchester United was in. What, THE Man Yoo? Left to languish in 13^th place? Yup, that’s where finished. One place beneath Coventry City. To say that their fledgling manager was under pressure was under pressure is a bit of an understatement. But somehow, despite months of media and fan hounding, the United board stuck with Alex Ferguson. The mind starts to unravel at an alarming rate when you wonder what would’ve happened if United had lost their patience too early.

So, when should you start to worry about the team’s performance enough to take action? One man under the cosh is Spurs manager Martin Jol. Bottom of the league without a point is, quite frankly, rubbish. But is it really that bad with just two games played? Well, let’s examine the facts. Firstly, their loss against Sunderland is a tough one to call. Many have the Mackems marked down for a bottom-of-the-table finish or a golden era under Roy Keane. I must confess I’m in the latter camp. But until we see who the real Sunderland is, we can’t say too much about them.

We’re left with the midweek opponents Everton. Spurs fans had a right to boo their team off the field. But were they ever dead-cert favourites to beat the Toffees? No.

Everton are a very respectable side, and to assume you’re going to beat them is asking for trouble. They scored three very good goals to win. But the sports reporters told the story that Tottenham conceded three goals and lost. This is grossly unfair on Everton, and I anticipate a great season for them if they can maintain this sort of performance week in, week out.

It all boils down to this – would these two losses have the same shock value to the White Hart Lane faithful if they happened midseason? Just because it’s the first two games it’s certainly not a precedent. Other teams have picked themselves up after poor starts and finished respectably without having to sack the manager. Jol is a godsend for Tottenham, who have had some turkey managers in recent times, and it would be unwise stare at these first two games under the microscope for too long.

If nul points is a bad start for Tottenham, two points out of six for Manchester United – disastrous, surely? Without Rooney or Ronaldo for the next few matches, Ferguson is probably thankful he was attack-minded in the transfer market this year. The derby game against City looks a mouthwatering treat, and the match against Chelsea looms heavy. In the past few seasons, the race for the title has always been a game of catch-up; keep winning and hope your opponents slip up. Now Chelsea already has a four point head start. This makes the game against Liverpool crucial for ensuring the Blues don’t drop valuable points.

Only one week in, this weekend’s Premiership fixture list never looked so good.

Season 2007/2008 Preview

Like a child at Christmas Eve, the hour is finally upon us. Tomorrow, I drive Danny up to his first home for the grand opening fixture at Sixfields against Swindon. As clocks strike three across the land, terraces and tiers great and small will get things underway. It’s a cheesy way to describe the start of the football season alright, but at the risk of incurring the wrath of hyperbole, it looks set to be an absolute cracker.

Picking up my flatmate’s copy of FourFourTwo, you begin to realise how much has happened since it all came to a crescendo in May. All eyes are on Chelsea and Manchester United for the main battle. The onus this year seems to be on who’s going to pick up the most injuries – have we really got to the point where there’s so little to choose between these two that it all comes down to the toss of a coin? I’d like to think that there’s more to it than that. Surely these teams have shown they have bad days, or even a run of poor form, that keeps the title so tight. Liverpool are serious contenders this year – in Fernando Torres they have the complete squad now. They’ll be able to push for the title this year. Provided they don’t pick up too many injuries.

At the risk of upsetting the red northern half of London, Arsenal may struggle this year. Unless Arsene Wenger can produce miracle from the likes of Cesc Fabregas, they may find themselves lacking. I’m reminded of the also-rans Chelsea squad of the late nineties – ability to produce wonders in the big games, but giving a half-baked performance against teams you’d normally expect them to beat. To that end, I expect a tough challenge for the fourth Champion’s League place – Tottenham being the favourites to step up to the plate. Everton may have a strong squad, but I think Newcastle will have a stronger campaign. Bringing up the list, West Ham should be this year’s surprise team if they can get their act together. And provided they don’t pick up too many injuries.

At the wrong end of the table, the three plucky hopefuls recently promoted face the inevitable battle of slotting in to 17^th place. The respite for them is that there are some contenders for the drop. Last season’s great-escapers Wigan face a fight without the excellence of Paul Jewell at the helm, and Fulham’s treacherous end to the season could well be a sign of things to come.

Finally, Carlos Tevez has finally got clearance to play for United by the Premier League. The bitter irony of this saga is that Sir Alex isn’t going to play him against Reading.

Edwin Shielded From His Finest Hour

I remember a time a few years ago when we were all shaking our fists at the ill-gotten contractor Multiplex. You can expect a tin-pot cowboy builder to make a pig’s ear of your patio extension, but for a company who were given responsibility of rebuilding the most famous stadium in the world into a modern masterpiece it was a proper shambles. Hundreds of millions of pounds over budget, Wembley was eventually opened years after the projected opening date.

Yesterday, with hindsight, I was pining for Multiplex to have gone that little bit further in their uselessness and opted to have delayed the handover date even further down the line - so that Cardiff would've had the honour of hosting the 2007 FA Cup Final. The reason for this indulgence of cynicism is that the Community Shield would’ve made a far better debut for Wembley based on the entertainment on show.

It’s what Chelsea versus Manchester United would’ve been about – arguably the two greatest teams going head to head and demonstrating why they’re the mightiest in the land. Players were fresh and returning from a summer free from national duty (South American company excluded). It was clear back in May that the teams were nothing short of knackered after a grueling season.

There was less a stake on Sunday, not least from the embarrassment of losing. Without taking anything away from the Community Shield, the notion of having an oversized fifty pence piece missing from your trophy cabinet carries far less heartache than the dread of collecting a runners-up medal in the FA Cup Final. The upshot of this gravtation towards a more friendly match, not exactly a must-win game, gave us free-flowing football and a very well-worked goal from each team respectively. It reminded us of the good old curtain-raiser spectacle it was always intended to be.

The one problem I found, much to the chagrin of the red half of Wembley, was that the man of the match award was announced with four minutes of normal time to play. This wouldn’t have been a problem for the fact that extra time was never meant to be played, but the sight of Ashley Cole grinning as if someone had stuck a coathanger in his mouth as he clutched his man of the match award and large bottle of champers was just buttock-clenchingly wrong.

Part of supporting Chelsea has always been to respect your opponents, not least if said opposition put in a strong performance against the Blues and craft themselves a win. Manchester United applied a classy and entertaining performance and the draw in normal time was the fair result for both parties. The kudos to United came in the shoot-out, where they thoroughly deserved to win thanks to the man of the match that never was; Edwin Van Der Sar.

OK, so his rather elongated face reminds me of the ‘My Lovely Horse’ song sung on that episode of Father Ted even more so than fellow countryman Ruud Van Nistelrooy. And in his post-match interview I was caught off guard by his uncanny vocal similarly to Andy Pipkin of Little Britain. When it comes to saving penalties, though, he’s absolutely first class.

Saving three spot kicks out of three, Van Der Sar spread himself like a deployed parachute, a mass of cloth exploding outwards to cover what looked like half of the gaping goalmouth. What look liked flailing arms and legs stuck out at random was in fact a cold, calculated judgement of player movement in that fateful run-up. Somehow, he was able to guess exactly which way Messer’s Pizarro, Lampard and Wright-Phillips had chosen to place the ball, and parried each one perfectly. I tip my hat to you, sir, the heir to Schmeichael’s crown, and look forward to an exciting Premiership season.

Downsizing – Stamford Bridge to Sixfields (Part 2)

It’s become something of an urban myth, the football ground burger. Or so it would seem. Perhaps the image of perfectly-prepared prawn sandwiches at Premiership grounds across the land were making the idea of an undercooked burger seem not just dated, but just a complete over-exaggerated. Football’s fast losing its image as the working man’s pastime, with the lure of lucrative prizes proving a magnet for business acumen proving irresistible. Even so, I somehow was convinced by my housemate to travel to the most northern end of the Northern Line on the tube to sink my teeth in to a burger that was inexplicably hot on the outside yet still stone cold in the centre. It was playing Russian Roulette with my stomach, but it tasted of real football – and that made it delicious.

To say that 2006 was a good year was an understatement. We’d both got our degree results and the early summer air was rife with celebration. Chelsea had done it – they’d won back-to-back Premiership titles. A poster bearing the roaring lion of Stamford Bridge adorned the living room. Accompanying it, though, was another similar homemade poster. This one was of centre-forward Scott McGleish, arms aloft, lapping up the applause of a sea of people I had naively mistakenly as wearing ‘dark red’ coloured shirts. The correct term, you see, is claret. And the claret spilled over in to a large club crest, with the superimposed text:

NORTHAMPTON TOWN – PROMOTED 2006

Having visited my first Cobblers game against Barnet, I was suddenly hooked. Many people have missed the point of football. Cast your mind back to the first goal you scored at school. The feeling stays with you. That feeling can only be replicated in a Football League ground – the intimacy and good old sense of fun is blotted in to obscurity by a 40,000 seater stadium. In a one-tier stand on a chilly winter afternoon, you finally get the feeling you know what Paul Whitehouse’s character Ron Manager was on about in his waxing lyrical ramblings. For a ticket a fraction the price of a Premiership game, you’re buying in to a sense of fun in footy.

So now things are in limbo. I’m still watching out for Chelsea – you really can’t let go of them after all these years with them – but as a parting present when I moved out of my old house, Danny gave me his old Northampton Town shirt. I’ve still got it now we live together again, and I’ve worn it on my travels with my new adopted team. I’ve laughed at chavs in a goalless draw at Bournemouth. I’ve gawped at Brighton & Hove Albion’s bizarre Withdean Stadium. I’ve chanted 'what a load of rubbish' when the Cobblers were thrashed 4-1 in the Cup - when was the last time you could crack that old chestnut at Stamford Bridge? I’ve cheered in sheer delight on my first visit to Northampton’s Sixfields, with the match abandoned with 20 minutes to go with Millwall leading. And I’ve been dressed in a white lab coat in Doncaster…long story.

Last season, Town finished 14^th place in League One. Big deal. But the bottom line is I’d rather see Cobblers tough out a win to earn that league position than watch Chelsea take another win with everybody else in the ground expecting the cakewalk. Much rather.

I hate to advertise external links on this site, but this one deserves special mention. You can find more on the trials and tribulations on Danny's blog, aloadofcobblers.blogspot.com - it pretty much sums up the unique matchday enjoyment I've just described here.