Monthly Archives: May 2011

Club vs Country – Engage Rant.

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Do you remember the good old days where players actually liked/loved playing for their country? The days when Bryan Robson, Gazza, Shearer, Lineker, Shilton, Pearce among others actually jumped with joy and passion  when they scored or won a game?

I recall arguing with a work colleague a few years ago as they said that they loved their club football more than their country.

With a cry of “What the fuck?” I then berated him and told him how playing for your country was the greatest honour and privilege that a player could be given.

My colleague stood fast and we agreed to disagree.

Fast forward a few years and I find that he is right. If there’s a friendly on TV I just don’t give a damn anymore. If it’s a World Cup or qualifying match then it piques my interest for a short time until I watch, realise that we’re still shit and that the players don’t care, and watch something else instead.

NOT us in the LA Bowl

I remember the days we used to pile in the LA Bowl, dressed in all our England finery, face-painted and pissed, and wrecking the place when we celebrated won World Cup/Euro games… and wrecked it even more if we lost.

But back then fans had the passion – they cared.

Now who gives a damn when the players can’t even be bothered to show up. Today Fulham’s reserve keeper was called up to the senior squad (although he has had to decline as he is getting married the day before!) because Rob Green, Paul Robinson, and Ben Foster have all ‘retired’ from international football because they each believe they should be our country’s number one… despite all having proven themselves as shite on occasion and not a patch on Joe Hart.

As it happens, David Stockdale has pulled out (because of said wedding) and Rob Green has been called up as a replacement, even though he said he’d never play for England again! Does he expect to get in ahead of Joe Hart? Will he retire straight after again in a piss?

And to think, I used to love Rob Green as a Norwich player.

As per usual, I digress.

Where is the passion? Steve Coppell once said he would walk to wherever it was England were playing if they needed him, and I don’t recall Stuart Pearce ever not turning up for duty. Hell, the guy broke his leg against Watford while playing for West Ham and was only kept from playing on by the physio!

I fucking love Stuart Pearce.

The greatest living Englishman ever.

And then you have Wenger, Ferguson, et al, moaning that the players are too tired after a loooong season. Fuck off and do one. Giovanni Trapattoni said in an interview today that he used to play 70+ games EVERY season and they didn’t have the diets, fitness regimes or lifestyles that the pampered players have now. He also said that the life of a professional footballer was just like going on holiday… for your whole life.

You can also point the finger at the ludicrous wages paid now, or there’s also the fact that the Champions League is more important than national teams.

Before you scoff at that, the point was made on TalkSport today… and not one person called in to disagree.

Now, I’m 35, unfit and have as much skill as a club-footed dwarf, but I’d still give my all for my country in a game.

Unless my boss says otherwise.

Or I’m feeling a little too tired after a long season at work.

Or I retire.

End rant.

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If I Won The Lottery…

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Now that the euromillions runs twice a week and I’m forking out almost £40 a week on that and the normal lottery, I feel that I’m due a great big dirty win. The record amount won by someone in the UK was £113million.

Which, I feel, is a fair amount for me as well.

Here’s how I’d spend it.

1/ Give £13million to Norwich City FC

(cue jokes about wasting money, etc) I love my club, and always have done. By giving them £13big-ones I’d ensure myself a place on the board, so as to be a voice of the fans.

The money would go to redeveloping some of the ground (it’s already a good stadium, but it needs more seats), buying myself an executive box for life – which I wouldn’t use as I’d be in the Snake Pit with the fans – and then whatever is left will go on players. Scott Parker would be a good start.

2/ Sort the clan out

Houses for my sisters, folks and kids. Big fat trust funds, bonds, savings, whatever is advised by the best financial advisers in the country.

Which I’d then ignore and go and spunk it on…

3/ Toys

Boats, cars, quads, you name it. Anything that I don’t need and don’t want I will buy. A Hummer? Why not. And paint it pink.

My own jet, parked up in Southampton airport so that, whenever I feel like it, I can go and fly to one of my many…

4/ Houses

I’d have one in Canada, somewhere around Victoria. With a helicopter in the garden so I can pop out to Calgary and Vancouver. I fucking love Canada. I’d buy a pet bear and let it roam free in the garden. Just because I can.

I’d have a home in Italy, too. A great big villa in the north, with acres of vineyards where Jose will make shit-loads of wine. Jose is Spanish. I’m not sure what he’s doing in Italy. Other than making me wine.

I need a home in the US as well, but I haven’t picked where yet. One around New York, definitely, and one in Chicago for sure. Then I can go and watch the Chicago Bears in every home game.

Rosie Jones

I’d pay for a private photo shoot with Rosie Jones. And by private, I mean she can get butt-naked and let me take pictures. If she feels uncomfortable I’d point at the table next to the camera with enough coinage to make Simon Cowell touch himself.

6/ Sasha Grey

This lady might not do porn anymore but once I whiff the fibre of my monetary fabric under her nose she’ll lay me like a new carpet.

Everyone has their price. I’ll pay whatever hers is.

Incidentally, my price is knocking around the minimum wage mark. Or throw me a quarter pounder and I’m yours.

6/ The Ryde Sandblasters

Excuse me for a moment.

I’d revive my old beach team and make them a force to be reckoned with. We’d tour the world playing football with myself as coach, and a host of ex-professionals flaunting their stuff on the sand.

“Cantona to Maradona… Maradona to Di Canio… Di CANIO TO RUTH… RUTH… RUTH… it’s a throw-in.”

7/  Get that damn book published…

…by finally finishing the damn thing, buying a publishing house, and then publishing it everywhere. If book shops don’t stock it, then I’ll buy them and they’ll do as they are fucking told.

8/ X-box vs PS3

I’d buy every X-box fanboy a lesson in common sense until they actually get some. And a PS3.

9/ Comic

I’d write and release my own comic. Something along the lines of The Walking Dead but without half of the fucking comic being taken up by gushing fanboy letters. I don’t buy porn to read the smutty stories, and I don’t want half my comic to be a fucking letters page.

I used to write comics as a youngster, into my teens, and I think I was getting somewhere at one point. Then I got drunk a lot.

10/ Tattoos

I probably need a couple more. I have some bare skin. Somewhere.

A zombie-sleeve by Dan Gold, then I’d travel the world getting inked by the best tattooists out there.

11/ The Sopranos

Ok, ok, I get the ending, but it’s still a little flat. I’d commission a one-off special just so we find out what exactly happens.

And if the guy at the counter is a shooter…

12/ You can add another episode of Lost to that as well.

—————————————————————————————————

A couple of you that know me might wonder why I haven’t added ‘Buy Shitloads of Porn’ to the list. It’s because I actually own every fucking magazine and dvd ever made. Fact.

That’s all I can think of for now. I probably should add that if I did really win all that cash then I’d probably be dead within a week, via an explosion of Charlie Sheen-like proportions.

Death by pornstars.

I’d take that.

Now, let me know what you’d do with a big win. Go on, blog it. (I’m looking at you Roy Radventurer).

Blogs I Follow… and So Should You!

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If you are friends with me on Facebook or twitter you will have noticed that I spam the hell out of other peoples’ blogs as well as my own. So, I thought that I would collate all the main ones I read/whore out and share them all in one space here for you.

I’m good like that.

In no particular order: (click on heading to go to their blog)

Roy DeWinkeleer and his RADventurer blog:

Ok, I said ‘in no particular order’, but Roy is an absolute fucking heavyweight in the

Roy is not the one on the right. I think.

blogging world and one of my favourite bloggers/writers around. His turn of phrase and the shit he gets up to is something of legend. Hell, in the guy’s latest blog about Beef With Shakespeare he manages to offend The Bard and most of my country and yet I still thanked the fucker afterwards.

He made me feel cheap and used. And I liked it.

Kevin Crew – Social Assassin:

Kevin is an old school buddy of mine and relatively new to the world of blogging, but his writing and subjects are strong, and he has already waded in by destroying the music of today in his very first blog! Follow-ups include the seedier side of Jamaica, and his latest offering is about… fire-eating. Go look.

A guy – like me – who likes to litter his blogs with pretty pictures.

Kerry Ella Connolly’s blogs about sex:

I just told you it’s about sex. Plus she puts in LOTS of rude pictures.

Ms Connolly

So what the fuck are you still reading this for?

Jeff Bennington:

Author of Reunion and also the successful Writing Bomb blog. A friendly, amicable author who takes the time out to answer any and all questions! Aspiring writers should read his blogs… and his book! Jeff also teaches a creative writing course, and the students and their book are the subject of his latest blog.

Natalie’s Twentysomething blog:

Ms de Gruchy is a new friend of mine but has been blogging for a while. Her page is covered with her thinkings/feelings, her pictures, stats about herself and her thoughts about the new man in her life.

It’s so saccharine I feel sick. But I like her and her blog and her cakes, so she makes the list.

The MixTrain:

The MixTrain

Being a radio DJ it goes without saying that I LOVE music, but Fatter Agnus’ collection of DJs from all over the world is the only blog I really follow to any extent. He often posts reviews of music products (if you’re that way inclined) but the real deal is when he posts up new mixes by himself and other DJs – that’s when you find yourself dancing around your lounge, washing up, or partying with these guys in the background.

Tune in and drop out.

Rachael Williams’ blog:

She’s a famous, she’s beautiful, one of her favourite films is Akira (as is mine) and her latest blog is about Vincent Price. Oh, and she blogs about porn and has naked pictures all over the place.

This girl ticks every fucking box I’ve got.

Did I mention she’s also a model?

Mitch Day – footballer, buffed, handsome, idiot.

I love Mitch. Everyone loves Mitch. You, too, will love Mitch if you read his blog. He’s a professional footballer (grass and beach) and plays in Spain. Plus he’s going out with a Barcelona cheer leader.

If that guy fell out of a plane he’d still land on his fucking feet.

The G and T Blog:

My fellow DJs at Vectis Radio (an online radio station) that have currently overtaken me in the ‘Who Can Get The Most Complaints Per Show’ race – mainly due to Gareth Icke being able to stick 500 straws up his arse in a record-breaking attempt.

They might be idiots, but they're our idiots.

Marni Mann:

A lady in Florida who has probably done more for my writing in the short time I’ve known her than I ever have myself. Read her blog, and soon you’ll be able to read her book… watch this space.

That’s all for this week. All the bloggers above are also on my blog roll. Enjoy!

I want to be like Mitch when I grow up.

Portsmouth vs Norwich 2nd May 2011

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Being a Norwich fan living on the Isle of Wight means I don’t get to go to as many games as

Defending a corner

I would like, but it puts me at a distinct advantage when my team come down to the south coast to play the local teams.

So, armed with Ant Ward, Andy Ward, and Darren Hall off we set on the 6.10pm boat and we still had time for Burger King and for Wardy (that’s Andy, not Ant) to realise he didn’t have enough clothes on and then discover all the shops were shut for bank holiday Monday.

Luckily I’m a Fratton Park veteran. Three layers, hat, job done.

We grab a taxi to the ground and buy a programme on the way into Fortress Fratton. Well, it’s more like a ramshackle shed, but a lovable one – and the fans are always loud and top notch.

However, the blue and white army are a little subdued tonight and seem happy to let us have our moment in the spotlight as the 3000 Canaries, and several of them are wishing our fans ‘good luck’ as we enter.

Cardiff’s 3-0 capitulation to mid-table-mediocrity-specialists Middlesborough mean that a win will guarantee us promotion. No one’s saying it out loud but the crowd outside the ground are buzzing as we enter the away end.

The players celebrate

Last time I was stood in the Milton End it had no roof, it rained, and there were roughly 1000 of us crammed into the corner as we lost 3-2 to a Paul Merson-led team.

This time we have the whole stand, with roof, and more inflatable toys than a porn convention.

Kick-off and the noise in our end grows to a tumultuous level. One of the first ballads is our own “E-I-E-I-O”. If you don’t know why then you’ve never been to the farming capital of the world.

The first half isn’t much to write home about, but we’re in good voice and keep it up until half time. Then it takes me twenty five minutes to circumnavigate the toilet and the food stall. Which has NO food. Or hot drinks. This causes several arguments among the fans and the stewards!

The second half erupts as Simeon Jackson stoops to head home a David Fox five minutes in, and – as I’m returning from the loo/food stall I manage to run down into the corner the players are celebrating in and snap a couple of pictures.

The rest of the game is a bit of a nervous blur. The guy next to me talks my ear off while Wardy and the others laugh in my other one, while I try to concentrate on the game and watch Norwich soak up a few attacks from Pompey that are going nowhere.

On the other side, we press and press, and Jackson should have scored again.

94 minutes are finally up, we clear the ball from defence, the referee blows his whistle, the

A blurry Paul Lambert - our king, the next Alex Ferguson

players run towards us, they slide along the ground, the stewards attempt to hold us back, but soon there are easily a thousand Canaries on the pitch dancing and celebrating with the players as we watch from the seats, snapping photos and taking videos.

It’s been a great night, and we are Premier League again after a 6 year hiatus.

I feel for the Norwich fans for their long journey home, although they probably won’t be complaining too much as they dream of trips to Old Trafford, The Emirates, and Anfield.

I get home just after 11pm and flick on my recording of Sky Tv. Fast forwarding to the goal I manage to catch myself as I emerge at the top of the stairs to take a photo…

…and promptly start falling down them as I jump up in celebration with everyone around me.

If you’re going to be a clown on live TV, then do it properly.