R.I.P. Premiership Football. You have finally disgusted me to such a point that I no longer care that my beloved Saints are not in the top league.
You can take your football and stick it up your arse.
See what I'm on about.
Talkin' Bear Mountain Picnic Blues
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Emptied the trash
England 2 Croatia 3. Ho Hum..
Million Dollar Bash
A joke making the rounds on the net - What's the difference between England and Lewis Hamilton? At the end of the day, Lewis still has a McLaren..
Million Dollar Bash
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
In broken French
Danny Kelly, football broadcaster and radio presenter, writes on Southampton FC legend, Matt Le Tissier. I've spoken about him before. But here's a little youtube reminder of how great he was, first. I like the way he writes about Matt and it is a loving tribute for one of the greats of the game who is likely to be forgotten because he played for a "small" team.
“Rock and roll”, boogie bigwig Bob Seger once sagely observed, “tends to forget”. So, it seems, do football fans. I am really struggling to understand the reaction to this week’s announcement that Matt le Tissier, of the Channel Islands, Southampton and England, has retired.
I am mystified in two ways. First, by the actual paucity of column inches devoted to the man with the lop-sided face. All right, he took his leave on the same weekend that the Queen Mother did but I’m still astonished so few words has been written about Le Tiss.
Second, what little ink has been spilt over his departure has been tinged with the bitterest bile. The line of argument seems to be “good riddance to a fat waster who chucked away what modicum of talent he had”.
This, I have to say, is incredibly spiteful. And wrong.
So I come not to bury Matt but to praise him. In an age when footballers seem almost universally to walk on feet of clay, and where our own experiences, and letdowns, make it almost impossible to have a footballing hero, Matthew le Tissier is almost beyond reproach. I don’t know how he could have arranged things so that his departure could have been more spectacular or more widely noted. All I know is that he was a one-off, a truly remarkable footballer and that we shall honestly not see his like again.
I suppose that I’m so shaken by his going because he really does represent the passing of an age. Of several actually. Like some strange hybrid dinosaur, Le Tissier represented a number of marvellous strains of the Genus Footballerus, and his tearful farewell at St Mary’s last weekend means the DNA may well have been lost forever. With his final bow, we may have seen the last of such once-revered species as The Lazy Footballer, The Maverick Footballer, The Fat Footballer and The One Club Man.
Let’s deal with the fat/lazy thing first. The Guernseyman is 6-foot-1 and for most of his career weighed in at 13 stone. Hardly likely to win him Slimmer Of The Year but no heavier than, say, recent Footballer Of The Year David Ginola. Whatever his waistband, there’s no point denying that Le Tissier was not the most athletic fellow ever to grace the greensward, but that was of little comfort to the defences that he regularly tortured before age and infirmity caught up with him. Somehow, from inside that shambling frame he found the right physical stuff to do his wonderful job.
In all, this supposed tub of lard has turned out 541 times for Southampton (starting 463 matches) and managed to drag his lazy arse into position to score against supposedly superior athletes on a mere handful of occasions. A mere 210 occasions to be precise! And what goals!
In the years running up to the emergence of David Beckham, nobody scored a greater number of spectacular efforts. Equally, all of Le Tissier’s goals seemed to be fantastic. The fellow seemingly never managed a tap-in or a bobbler; they were all twinkling dribbles, howitzer blasts or geometric chips. They used to say that you were either a great goal scorer (Lineker, quantity over quality) or a scorer of great goals (Gascoigne in his prime, or Bobby Charlton); Le Tissier was both. He was also, for the record, statistically the best penalty taker in the top division in the Nineties.
Even more damaging to his reputation than the fat thing has been the accusation that he is a maverick, that he cannot fit a team pattern. On the surface, this argument would appear to hold much water. A succession of England managers were too frightened of Le Tissier’s supposed lack of team play to put him in the national side. But the players who he played with week-in, week-out knew better. They realised that if they were prepared to run the extra yard for their genius colleague, to graft that bit harder to gain him a yard of space, a speck of time, he would reward them with the most precious coins in football’s currency, a pile of magical, win-bonus bringin’, relegation-avoidin’ goals and assists.
And Le Tissier was completely aware of his shortcomings. Barry Horne sweated and grafted and ran and toiled for Matt for several seasons in Southampton’s midfield. The Welshman recently told me that after every game, when people would be clamouring to congratulate and lionise Le Tissier, the winger would take time out to personally thank his team-mates for their efforts on his behalf.“To be thanked by a pure footballing genius”, Horne said, “was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
There are those too who criticise Le Tiss for not leaving Southampton and trying his luck at a bigger club. Again, Horne has been enlightening. In the early Nineties, Le Tissier had indeed agreed to join one of the capital’s giants. At the last minute he went to that club’s manager and asked to be released from his obligation, saying he couldn’t bear to leave either Southampton the football club or Southampton the city. Of course he can be accused, in the modern parlance, of “lacking ambition”, but, ultimately, he followed his heart (exactly as he did when playing the game) and which of us can say that that is ever a bad thing?In sticking by the team he loved, he probably sacrificed a wheelbarrow full of cash. To some that might make him a fool. To me, and millions of other football fans, it assures his status as a hero.
It is ironic that the player who most closely matched Le Tissier for pure skill should have been the Saint’s nemesis. Glenn Hoddle never forgave the Southampton man for his admittedly lacklustre performance (of which he was by no means alone!) against Italy when England lost the World Cup qualifier at Wembley in February 1997. Hoddle dropped him from the squad and waited a year before giving the wing wizard an ultimatum at the back end of the following season: Show me what you can do and you’ll go to the World Cup. The supposedly lackadaisical Le Tissier scored seven goals in Saints’ last nine fixtures and, in a B international against Russia that the press rightly regarded as a trial for the Southampton man, he scored a hat-trick. And hit the woodwork twice. Yet Hoddle didn’t even include Le Tissier in the provision squad for France 98.
Things were never the same after that. Except, that is, for one glorious day last May. They were playing the last ever match at The Dell, the ramshackle ground that Southampton had occupied for a lifetime.T he greatest player ever to regularly grace that pitch (with apologies to Ron Davies. Mike Channon, Terry Paine, Kevin Keegan and Alan Shearer) was on the bench. Southampton and Arsenal were sharing four goals when Le Tiss finally meandered out onto the sun-washed grass.
Of course he scored the last ever goal at the ground. Of course it was a last minute winner. And of course it was an absolute stunner. Further, it was proof that the gods of football are still taking a very active interest in what goes on and that they have a special place in their hearts for the stroller from Guernsey. It remains one of my favourite ever goals, and Matthew le Tissier is one of my favourite footballers.
I love the way he played. I loved the fact that he owned a nightclub. I love the fact he shagged busty actress Emily Symons out of Home And Away/Emmerdale. I have even forgiven him for not joining Spurs.
His passing from the game should not be a matter for carping and pettiness.Instead there should be bunting in the street, a nationwide ringing of bells and a recognition that this was, as Saints fans have always averred, a God.
© Danny Kelly 2002
Bob Dylan's New Orleans Rag
“Rock and roll”, boogie bigwig Bob Seger once sagely observed, “tends to forget”. So, it seems, do football fans. I am really struggling to understand the reaction to this week’s announcement that Matt le Tissier, of the Channel Islands, Southampton and England, has retired.
I am mystified in two ways. First, by the actual paucity of column inches devoted to the man with the lop-sided face. All right, he took his leave on the same weekend that the Queen Mother did but I’m still astonished so few words has been written about Le Tiss.
Second, what little ink has been spilt over his departure has been tinged with the bitterest bile. The line of argument seems to be “good riddance to a fat waster who chucked away what modicum of talent he had”.
This, I have to say, is incredibly spiteful. And wrong.
So I come not to bury Matt but to praise him. In an age when footballers seem almost universally to walk on feet of clay, and where our own experiences, and letdowns, make it almost impossible to have a footballing hero, Matthew le Tissier is almost beyond reproach. I don’t know how he could have arranged things so that his departure could have been more spectacular or more widely noted. All I know is that he was a one-off, a truly remarkable footballer and that we shall honestly not see his like again.
I suppose that I’m so shaken by his going because he really does represent the passing of an age. Of several actually. Like some strange hybrid dinosaur, Le Tissier represented a number of marvellous strains of the Genus Footballerus, and his tearful farewell at St Mary’s last weekend means the DNA may well have been lost forever. With his final bow, we may have seen the last of such once-revered species as The Lazy Footballer, The Maverick Footballer, The Fat Footballer and The One Club Man.
Let’s deal with the fat/lazy thing first. The Guernseyman is 6-foot-1 and for most of his career weighed in at 13 stone. Hardly likely to win him Slimmer Of The Year but no heavier than, say, recent Footballer Of The Year David Ginola. Whatever his waistband, there’s no point denying that Le Tissier was not the most athletic fellow ever to grace the greensward, but that was of little comfort to the defences that he regularly tortured before age and infirmity caught up with him. Somehow, from inside that shambling frame he found the right physical stuff to do his wonderful job.
In all, this supposed tub of lard has turned out 541 times for Southampton (starting 463 matches) and managed to drag his lazy arse into position to score against supposedly superior athletes on a mere handful of occasions. A mere 210 occasions to be precise! And what goals!
In the years running up to the emergence of David Beckham, nobody scored a greater number of spectacular efforts. Equally, all of Le Tissier’s goals seemed to be fantastic. The fellow seemingly never managed a tap-in or a bobbler; they were all twinkling dribbles, howitzer blasts or geometric chips. They used to say that you were either a great goal scorer (Lineker, quantity over quality) or a scorer of great goals (Gascoigne in his prime, or Bobby Charlton); Le Tissier was both. He was also, for the record, statistically the best penalty taker in the top division in the Nineties.
Even more damaging to his reputation than the fat thing has been the accusation that he is a maverick, that he cannot fit a team pattern. On the surface, this argument would appear to hold much water. A succession of England managers were too frightened of Le Tissier’s supposed lack of team play to put him in the national side. But the players who he played with week-in, week-out knew better. They realised that if they were prepared to run the extra yard for their genius colleague, to graft that bit harder to gain him a yard of space, a speck of time, he would reward them with the most precious coins in football’s currency, a pile of magical, win-bonus bringin’, relegation-avoidin’ goals and assists.
And Le Tissier was completely aware of his shortcomings. Barry Horne sweated and grafted and ran and toiled for Matt for several seasons in Southampton’s midfield. The Welshman recently told me that after every game, when people would be clamouring to congratulate and lionise Le Tissier, the winger would take time out to personally thank his team-mates for their efforts on his behalf.“To be thanked by a pure footballing genius”, Horne said, “was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
There are those too who criticise Le Tiss for not leaving Southampton and trying his luck at a bigger club. Again, Horne has been enlightening. In the early Nineties, Le Tissier had indeed agreed to join one of the capital’s giants. At the last minute he went to that club’s manager and asked to be released from his obligation, saying he couldn’t bear to leave either Southampton the football club or Southampton the city. Of course he can be accused, in the modern parlance, of “lacking ambition”, but, ultimately, he followed his heart (exactly as he did when playing the game) and which of us can say that that is ever a bad thing?In sticking by the team he loved, he probably sacrificed a wheelbarrow full of cash. To some that might make him a fool. To me, and millions of other football fans, it assures his status as a hero.
It is ironic that the player who most closely matched Le Tissier for pure skill should have been the Saint’s nemesis. Glenn Hoddle never forgave the Southampton man for his admittedly lacklustre performance (of which he was by no means alone!) against Italy when England lost the World Cup qualifier at Wembley in February 1997. Hoddle dropped him from the squad and waited a year before giving the wing wizard an ultimatum at the back end of the following season: Show me what you can do and you’ll go to the World Cup. The supposedly lackadaisical Le Tissier scored seven goals in Saints’ last nine fixtures and, in a B international against Russia that the press rightly regarded as a trial for the Southampton man, he scored a hat-trick. And hit the woodwork twice. Yet Hoddle didn’t even include Le Tissier in the provision squad for France 98.
Things were never the same after that. Except, that is, for one glorious day last May. They were playing the last ever match at The Dell, the ramshackle ground that Southampton had occupied for a lifetime.T he greatest player ever to regularly grace that pitch (with apologies to Ron Davies. Mike Channon, Terry Paine, Kevin Keegan and Alan Shearer) was on the bench. Southampton and Arsenal were sharing four goals when Le Tiss finally meandered out onto the sun-washed grass.
Of course he scored the last ever goal at the ground. Of course it was a last minute winner. And of course it was an absolute stunner. Further, it was proof that the gods of football are still taking a very active interest in what goes on and that they have a special place in their hearts for the stroller from Guernsey. It remains one of my favourite ever goals, and Matthew le Tissier is one of my favourite footballers.
I love the way he played. I loved the fact that he owned a nightclub. I love the fact he shagged busty actress Emily Symons out of Home And Away/Emmerdale. I have even forgiven him for not joining Spurs.
His passing from the game should not be a matter for carping and pettiness.Instead there should be bunting in the street, a nationwide ringing of bells and a recognition that this was, as Saints fans have always averred, a God.
© Danny Kelly 2002
Bob Dylan's New Orleans Rag
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Dignity never been photographed
(for some reason, I can't edit my subject line!)
I've recently got the internet at home, so I can now update this blog with loads of photos that have been stuck on my hard drive for the last few months. Here is me meeting Southampton FC legend, Matthew Le Tissier. I went to see Saints v Derby (0-1) earlier in the year.
Another footie related one. This is Barnet v Stockport. Barnet has a quaint ground, vrey old-school. So far from the billions of pounds floating around the Premiership. Another great day out. I like the photo as it is an action shot. Wonder at the beauty of North London behind. What a shit-hole.
(for some reason, I can't edit my subject line!)
I've recently got the internet at home, so I can now update this blog with loads of photos that have been stuck on my hard drive for the last few months. Here is me meeting Southampton FC legend, Matthew Le Tissier. I went to see Saints v Derby (0-1) earlier in the year.
Another footie related one. This is Barnet v Stockport. Barnet has a quaint ground, vrey old-school. So far from the billions of pounds floating around the Premiership. Another great day out. I like the photo as it is an action shot. Wonder at the beauty of North London behind. What a shit-hole.
I imagine that I'll be updating with photos for a while yet, seeing as I've ran out of interesting things to say. Coming up will be: photos of Amsterdam, Milano and Metallica at Wembley.
Friday, May 11, 2007
I'm glad to see you're still alive, you're lookin' like a saint
This weekend sees my football team, Southampton FC take part in the playoffs. For those outside of the UK who are reading this blog it is a kind-of mini-tournament where the winner gains promotion to the Premier League. Our first match is tomorrow at St Mary's stadium, and I for one cannot wait. However, I am also a little nervous. In fact I'm nervous as hell. The rest of the season is now completely irrelevant. Our entire season now hinges on us getting through three matches.
There is a good omen however, our manager, George Burely was the last manager to win a playoff at the old Wembley Stadium, so here's to hoping that he can be the first at the new stadium. See the photo of him below shouting out orders.
This season our young team has done bloody well. We are well respected by football commentators and the other managers for playing flowing, passing football (which to be honest is a rarity in the Championship) and we've by far got the best talent. The only thing that has let us down is our defence which has leaked too many goals for my liking. Players of the season for me have been George Rasiak and Gareth Bale. (See photos below).
In other news, when I went out at lunchtime, there were a multitude of TV cameras and journalists outside a building. Apparently, Gordon Brown had just launched his campaign to be elected leader of Labour and thus Prime Minister. It took place in a building next to a building-site, which I guess could hold some relevance and symbolism, although I'm struggling to think what that could be. Anyway, I'm getting to the age where I believe that politics has lost any relevance to my life and almost always fails to change anything for the better. As the Kaiser Chiefs sing, "Everything is average Nowadays".
Also if you thought my review of Wilco's Sky Blue Sky was good then read this one from the Guardian. They do a minute-by-minute look at one album every week which makes for a very particular and comedic review. Here is the concluding paragraph on Sky Blue Sky. (PS: It's out on Monday so go and buy it).
Imagine a lazy, if devilishly handsome and talented boyfriend, moping around the house, making excuses for his lameness, only to allow occasional flashes of his former loveliness to break through his listlessness. And then, when you're almost to the end of your tether, he only bloody goes and gives you the greatest kiss of your life. Wilco, you're maddening!
Monday, April 23, 2007
I need something to support me
Q: What do the Queen, Osama Bin Laden, Zammo from Grange Hill, Johnny Rotten, Rachal Stevens (from S Club 7), Dale Winton and Greg Rudeski have in common?
A: They are all Arsenal fans.
It was a slow news day for the sun who brought us the "Royal Exclusive" that the Queen supports Arsenal. What a load of bollocks, how lazy are their journalists? 12 people died in a police station bomblast in Iraq on Sunday, by the way.
Money Blues
A: They are all Arsenal fans.
It was a slow news day for the sun who brought us the "Royal Exclusive" that the Queen supports Arsenal. What a load of bollocks, how lazy are their journalists? 12 people died in a police station bomblast in Iraq on Sunday, by the way.
Money Blues
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
'Bout an old man who never done wrong
So I’ve written an article on the UEFA Champions League and how it is now a crock of shite.
And I’ve received some feedback. Apparently people think that I’m a 60 year-old fart. Maybe I am in spirit but I'm certainly not in body.
Read the controversial article now.
Man on the Street
And I’ve received some feedback. Apparently people think that I’m a 60 year-old fart. Maybe I am in spirit but I'm certainly not in body.
Read the controversial article now.
Man on the Street
Friday, December 15, 2006
If God's on our side
Yesterday I put up a link to an article I wrote about Southampton FC. I mentioned Matthew Le Tissier who was possibly the most talented and underrated footballer ever to have graced the Premiership, he was a legend and a gentleman and not driven by money like so many of the modern players are today. Here are his best 10 goals courtesy of YouTube. Enjoy. Many of you reading this from abroad won't have heard of him, but he was absolutely amazing - he should have been an England regular. Hell, they should have built the entire team around him. His nickname at Southampton was 'Le God'.
He scored some great goals, there are possibly twenty or thirty which should have been included. He only ever missed one penalty in his professional career. My favourites are the one vs Blackburn and both of the goals vs Newcastle. Although the one vs Arsenal in the final match at Southampton's old stadium was something special. He had the romance element of football down to a tee.
In other news I went to see a band called Second Sense. Read all about it here.
With God on Our Side
He scored some great goals, there are possibly twenty or thirty which should have been included. He only ever missed one penalty in his professional career. My favourites are the one vs Blackburn and both of the goals vs Newcastle. Although the one vs Arsenal in the final match at Southampton's old stadium was something special. He had the romance element of football down to a tee.
In other news I went to see a band called Second Sense. Read all about it here.
With God on Our Side
Thursday, December 14, 2006
I'm goin' down south
A second post today for you lucky readers. I've had my first article published on a website called Sportingo. It's a place where sports fans can submit their writings to be published as a kind of communal blog. I wrote it about Southampton FC and the future in a money driven footballing world.
Read the article here.
California
Read the article here.
California
Monday, December 11, 2006
Like in a dream, when someone wakes up and screams
On Sunday for the first, and hopefully last, time in my life I supported Arsenal. As a football fan and having grown up in the 1980s you were always taught to hate Arsenal. They were boring and their fans were dull. All the cool kids supported teams like Tottenham, Liverpool and Everton because they were, at the time, playing attacking, beautiful football and Arsenal were dull as shit winning 1-0 all the time.
Of course that has now changed – Arsenal play attacking football now and they have gone all continental on us, but I still hate them. Football is about irrational love/hate, and my relationship with Arsenal is no different. Yesterday I felt sick to my bones that I had to support them. The reason why I was supporting them? Because they were playing Chelsea.
Chelsea is the new team to hate in English football. It’s because they have come in and just bought their way to success, playing relatively dull football (I mean it’s not as bad as Arsenal were doing the eighties and early nineties, but close). And i'm not the only one who hates them, a few weeks agao the entire pub wanted Man Utd to beat them and yesterday the entire pub was 'rooting', as the Yanks say, for Arsenal. They represent all that is wrong with football. A Russian billionaire with a murky past comes in and spends all of his “hard-earned” billions on a football team, buying superstars at a whim as if it were his play thing. There is one player who is especially reviled. He represents all that is wrong with Chelsea and modern football. He is Ashley Cole.
According to the Observer newspaper yesterday, Ashley (or Ca$hley, as he is fondly referred to) is paid £13,000 a day. That’s right you read me right, a day. (Incidentally, Chelsea’s total wage bill is a whopping £315,068 a day, in case you were wondering). A staggering amount of money. It’s the fact that he met in secret with them while he was under contract at Arsenal, spent the rest of that season complaining that he wasn’t loved and then moved on, insisting that it wasn’t for the money, that makes him such a hate figure. He is simply the epitome of what’s gone wrong in football due to too much money.
His autobiography has thankfully bombed – no one was interested in hearing about his problems and his excuses for leaving Arsenal because we already know the real answer. Quite who thought that Ca$hley would have an interesting story to tell is beyond me. Every single non-Chelsea football fan hates him. Whoever decided to buy his story should be fired immediately. He is a pampered and spoilt football star who doesn’t know the meaning of honour or what it’s like to support a football team.
Ca$hley also has a famous wife. Cheyrl Tweedy of Girls Aloud. Below is a photo that they released at the time of their wedding for the media. Note the lovely matching clothes and the fact that he’s got his fingers crossed (probably in tribute to the national lottery, seeing as he’s won his millions). I love the ‘DREAM’ number plate on the rolls, a nice touch. That photo and his person makes me want to puke. Also who in their right mind finds that photo acceptable - it’s the tackiest thing in the world ever. God, I hate him. I even hate him enough to support Arsenal for a match.
Series of Dreams
Of course that has now changed – Arsenal play attacking football now and they have gone all continental on us, but I still hate them. Football is about irrational love/hate, and my relationship with Arsenal is no different. Yesterday I felt sick to my bones that I had to support them. The reason why I was supporting them? Because they were playing Chelsea.
Chelsea is the new team to hate in English football. It’s because they have come in and just bought their way to success, playing relatively dull football (I mean it’s not as bad as Arsenal were doing the eighties and early nineties, but close). And i'm not the only one who hates them, a few weeks agao the entire pub wanted Man Utd to beat them and yesterday the entire pub was 'rooting', as the Yanks say, for Arsenal. They represent all that is wrong with football. A Russian billionaire with a murky past comes in and spends all of his “hard-earned” billions on a football team, buying superstars at a whim as if it were his play thing. There is one player who is especially reviled. He represents all that is wrong with Chelsea and modern football. He is Ashley Cole.
According to the Observer newspaper yesterday, Ashley (or Ca$hley, as he is fondly referred to) is paid £13,000 a day. That’s right you read me right, a day. (Incidentally, Chelsea’s total wage bill is a whopping £315,068 a day, in case you were wondering). A staggering amount of money. It’s the fact that he met in secret with them while he was under contract at Arsenal, spent the rest of that season complaining that he wasn’t loved and then moved on, insisting that it wasn’t for the money, that makes him such a hate figure. He is simply the epitome of what’s gone wrong in football due to too much money.
His autobiography has thankfully bombed – no one was interested in hearing about his problems and his excuses for leaving Arsenal because we already know the real answer. Quite who thought that Ca$hley would have an interesting story to tell is beyond me. Every single non-Chelsea football fan hates him. Whoever decided to buy his story should be fired immediately. He is a pampered and spoilt football star who doesn’t know the meaning of honour or what it’s like to support a football team.
Ca$hley also has a famous wife. Cheyrl Tweedy of Girls Aloud. Below is a photo that they released at the time of their wedding for the media. Note the lovely matching clothes and the fact that he’s got his fingers crossed (probably in tribute to the national lottery, seeing as he’s won his millions). I love the ‘DREAM’ number plate on the rolls, a nice touch. That photo and his person makes me want to puke. Also who in their right mind finds that photo acceptable - it’s the tackiest thing in the world ever. God, I hate him. I even hate him enough to support Arsenal for a match.
Series of Dreams
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
About the TV, God and all the pain that it invokes
Family Guy is one of the best cartoons out there. It takes the piss out of almost any subject matter - many find this offensive I find it hilarious. It features, among other characters, a talking dog and a baby who is hell-bent on world domination and a little camp at the same time. Here's them taking the michael out of Zinedine Zidane. Just click the play button in the middle.
I've also written a review of the Fratelli's album, Costello Music. I didn't like it very much. Thanks to whoever uploaded that clip from Family Guy Season 6, which isn't out in Europe yet.
TV Talkin' Song
I've also written a review of the Fratelli's album, Costello Music. I didn't like it very much. Thanks to whoever uploaded that clip from Family Guy Season 6, which isn't out in Europe yet.
TV Talkin' Song
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Hear ya got a brother named James
While travelling back from Leyton FC’s abysmal 4-2 defeat at the hands of the Metropolitan Police’s football team (fuckin’ pigs!) my mate Steve came up with the perfect idea for television.
Get the Big Brother house, insert all of the guys from Jackass and Dirty Sanchez and let it rip for eight weeks by giving them cheap cider. Guaranteed entertainment. Far better than putting celebrities in there who ultimately do nothing but sulk and bitch or ‘normal’ people who are so socially dysfunctional that it’s uncomfortable to watch. Just let the Jackass/Sanchez dudes be themselves for eight weeks in a confined environment. It's got hit written all over it.
Foot of Pride
Get the Big Brother house, insert all of the guys from Jackass and Dirty Sanchez and let it rip for eight weeks by giving them cheap cider. Guaranteed entertainment. Far better than putting celebrities in there who ultimately do nothing but sulk and bitch or ‘normal’ people who are so socially dysfunctional that it’s uncomfortable to watch. Just let the Jackass/Sanchez dudes be themselves for eight weeks in a confined environment. It's got hit written all over it.
Foot of Pride
Monday, July 10, 2006
Lord, she took it away to Italy
Well done to Italy on their World Cup win. I think that on balance they were the team that most deserved this victory. Their play in the knock-out stages has been exceptional. Boo-hiss to Zidane who is quite obviously retarded. If you get so wound up that you have to headbutt someone then something is terribly wrong. I mean at any level of football there are people winding you up - it is part of the game. What an idiot. And people keep saying how it is so out of character and they may be right but I remember that in the World Cup of 1998 he stamped on the chest of a Saudi Arabian player and was sent off but I seem to be the only one who remembers that... People have selective memories - especially French people.
So back to the domestic league soon. In a way it is always nice to get back to the normality of a domestic league after a world cup or euro competition. You may remeber that I support Southampton FC and you may remember that I wrote a post on Rupert Lowe, the most inept chief executive of a football club since records began. Well he left his post a few days ago and we've got new management and one of the first things they did was to buy Sean Wright Phillips' younger brother Bradley. This is a good move and I wish him the best. Let's hope that it marks a new beginning for the club. First match is August 6 2006 (only 3 and a bit weeks away) against Derby (away). Let's hope that we can play better than England did and return to our rightful place in the Premiership.
Read this review of Primal Scream's Riot City Blues. Its a rock and roll record and it is great.
Down the Highway
So back to the domestic league soon. In a way it is always nice to get back to the normality of a domestic league after a world cup or euro competition. You may remeber that I support Southampton FC and you may remember that I wrote a post on Rupert Lowe, the most inept chief executive of a football club since records began. Well he left his post a few days ago and we've got new management and one of the first things they did was to buy Sean Wright Phillips' younger brother Bradley. This is a good move and I wish him the best. Let's hope that it marks a new beginning for the club. First match is August 6 2006 (only 3 and a bit weeks away) against Derby (away). Let's hope that we can play better than England did and return to our rightful place in the Premiership.
Read this review of Primal Scream's Riot City Blues. Its a rock and roll record and it is great.
Down the Highway
Thursday, July 06, 2006
I shook his hand and said goodbye
Yo! I've been in mourning because England were complete and utter rubbish. This is despite the fact that I secretly had a feeling that the England team were going to flop. Goodbye Sven. I'm glad to see the back of you, not because you're a foreign coach, not because you were payed too much, not because you were always looking out for better paid jobs but because you, quite simply, were not good enough for the job.
I wish you luck in your new job with Jamaica or South Africa or whoever offers you a job. Laters. I think that Italy will win the World Cup (in fact they will wipe the floor with France). But my predictions have been rubbish (I came 2nd from bottom in our office prediciton game), so don't listen to me.
Rockbeatstone is back up and running and we've been adding some new stuff. Firstly we've improved the newsblog with a new gig guide section. Secondly, I've had these articles added: a review of the Triffids rerelease, Born Sandy Devotional (good names, less than good music), a live review of Hope of the States at Koko in Camden and two video playlists (with a world cup special).
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Myself, for what I did, I cannot be excused
The World Cup is great. Loads of footie every night, teams and players that you know little about and stars in the making and stars on the decline. It truly is the best thing in World sport. No question.
At this World Cup, a certain Thierry Henry has once again been mouthing off at the injustice of his team's poor performances. After the first match (a 0-0 draw against Switzerland) he blamed his team mate Frank Ribery for the team's failure. After the second match (a 1-1 draw against the mighty giants of South Korea), he blamed the ref. This isn't a new phenomenon for Henry. After the Champions League final against Barcelona he proceeded to claim that the ref spoiled the match (Arsenal had a player rightly sent off) and then claimed that Barcelona were rubbish ("Where was Eto?" he asked. The commentator should have pointed out that he was there - he scored a goal). He was a bad looser and disrespectful to both the opposition and the competition. This has added to my hatred of the French football team.
Those who know me on a personal level will point out that I am French. This is true, but after having spent my secondary school years in a school in France, you tend to hate the French sporting excuses. All you would hear were excuses fed by the French media and the French players. Never did anyone stand up and take responsibility. All I would hear were excuses as to why the French team in question lost to an English one (Until recently, a French team had never beaten an English one over two legs in a European competition). So when I see Henry in the press and on the pitch making excuses for himself, blaming everyone but himself, I go into a rage and I see those French kids who were being spoon-fed their excuses by the French media and the French players repeating their ludicrous claims.
Thierry Henry's attitude represents all that is wrong with French football. I hope that they don't qualify. Can't wait to hear what excuses they come up with then.
At this World Cup, a certain Thierry Henry has once again been mouthing off at the injustice of his team's poor performances. After the first match (a 0-0 draw against Switzerland) he blamed his team mate Frank Ribery for the team's failure. After the second match (a 1-1 draw against the mighty giants of South Korea), he blamed the ref. This isn't a new phenomenon for Henry. After the Champions League final against Barcelona he proceeded to claim that the ref spoiled the match (Arsenal had a player rightly sent off) and then claimed that Barcelona were rubbish ("Where was Eto?" he asked. The commentator should have pointed out that he was there - he scored a goal). He was a bad looser and disrespectful to both the opposition and the competition. This has added to my hatred of the French football team.
Those who know me on a personal level will point out that I am French. This is true, but after having spent my secondary school years in a school in France, you tend to hate the French sporting excuses. All you would hear were excuses fed by the French media and the French players. Never did anyone stand up and take responsibility. All I would hear were excuses as to why the French team in question lost to an English one (Until recently, a French team had never beaten an English one over two legs in a European competition). So when I see Henry in the press and on the pitch making excuses for himself, blaming everyone but himself, I go into a rage and I see those French kids who were being spoon-fed their excuses by the French media and the French players repeating their ludicrous claims.
Thierry Henry's attitude represents all that is wrong with French football. I hope that they don't qualify. Can't wait to hear what excuses they come up with then.
Ballad in Plain D
Monday, June 12, 2006
The weather was hot, a-nearly 90 degrees
Ahhhhrrggh. I've deleted my post..Bloody thing. Its far too hot for me to even blog properly and it's fuckin' easy to blog. So this is a second draft from my head...and it doesn't feel as good as the first one.
Weather is far too hot to do any work. In fact it has made me reassess the real value of the England team performance at the weekend. The first half of my day I was all proactive and stuff, producing real "management solutions" (TM, official business speak). Now I have spent all afternoon in a pool of sweat wondering about nothing. No wonder the England team melted away in the 2nd half, it is exactly what is happening to my brain. Still no excuses for the shambolic management decisions taken by Sven in the 2nd half though. Unless he caught the sun while he was sunbathing...naked. You know he does it, he is Swedish after all. Now try and get the mental image out of your head....you can't can you. Now ask yourself this, why did Ulrika choose to see this image for real?
My article on the Zutons' new album, Tired of Hanging Around has been syndicated to Blogcritics.org. In turn it was syndicated to a group of regional US websites which means that hicks in the middle of America (ie: the Red States) are now reading my review. This is most amusing. See an example from Cleveland here (you'll need to scroll down).
Day of the Locusts
Friday, June 02, 2006
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune
Recently, I’ve been completely obsessed by the blog/website Who Ate All the Bratwurst. This website has a comedy take on the world cup and England’s chances. It also has some mean videos including Peter Crouch dancing like a robot at David Beckham’s party and even rapping like an MC. This is truly worth a look. You will not be dissapointed.
In other related news, my good friend from Italy, Paolo (aka Roving Gambler) has started a proper blog about music and stuff. He’s a journalist but an Italian one, just ignore the occasional grammatical errors (hey, we all do it, I’m sure some of these posts are non-sensical).
Have a good weekend, practice your Peter Crouch moves before you unleash them on the dancefloor this Saturday. If Peter Crouch scores at the World Cup and does the dance he will become the cult-hero of the tournament. I have this vision of a small boy in a poor country at the otherside of the world seeing the lanky Peter Crouch score against Sweden and then do his dance and say, "Daddy when I grow up I want to be Peter Crouch both on and off the field". Wow! What a legend!
Jokerman
In other related news, my good friend from Italy, Paolo (aka Roving Gambler) has started a proper blog about music and stuff. He’s a journalist but an Italian one, just ignore the occasional grammatical errors (hey, we all do it, I’m sure some of these posts are non-sensical).
Have a good weekend, practice your Peter Crouch moves before you unleash them on the dancefloor this Saturday. If Peter Crouch scores at the World Cup and does the dance he will become the cult-hero of the tournament. I have this vision of a small boy in a poor country at the otherside of the world seeing the lanky Peter Crouch score against Sweden and then do his dance and say, "Daddy when I grow up I want to be Peter Crouch both on and off the field". Wow! What a legend!
Jokerman
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