December 2006 Archives

Christmas is over, the last of the Turkey sandwiches, chocolates and beers are slowly being consumed and football managers up and down the country are starting to turn their attention to the opening of the transfer market in a period that is generally known as the “January transfer window.�

The problem with the transfer window- it’s not actually a window - is, just like the post-Christmas sales, managers enter the market armed with cash and desperate to spend it. It’s a dangerous and potentially costly state of mind, as the ridiculous pair of baggy corduroy trousers I bought and never wore a couple of years back will testify.

Actually, come to think about it, there has also been the bright orange jumper (now used to mop up dirt on the kitchen floor), the yellow trainers (I’ve no idea where they’ve gone), the Spice Girls CD (a timeless classic!) and the blender to make smoothies (used twice).

You see, that’s the danger. You’re lured in by the sales, get over-excited and come home with a “bargain� buy that seemed like a good idea at the time, but which will soon be gathering dust at the back of the wardrobe before making a switch to the charity shop.

In football, it’s a bit like buying a new centre forward on the basis of a couple of videos and then finding out that he is 5ft 2inchs (eg. Peter Reid’s wonderful signing for Sunderland Milton Nunes) weighs 18 stone (eg. Mark Viduka) with a first touch that has all the subtlety of a policeman’s sledgehammer on your front door.

They arrive, they are rubbish and all you can you hope for is that another club shows you some charity and takes them off your hands.

Both Sunderland and Newcastle will be in the market for new players next month, but to help them out, here is my list of ideal targets.

First things first, let’s get Christmas out of the way. Presents, drink, food, family argument, family make-up, more drink, more food, then crap evening television. Four months of hype, over- spending and anticipation all over in a belch of rich food and alcohol.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of Christmas, it’s just over so quickly, a blur of goodwill and over-indulgence which, a bit like heroin, is great fun while it lasts (note to lawyers - in no way am I condoning the use of heroin or any other illegal substance and neither do I have any personal experience of heroin use) leaves you with an overwhelming sense of deflation once it’s over.

The Festive weekend began for me at Crystal Palace, in freezing fog which made me think of Sherlock Holmes for some reason, regretting my decision not to take a hat and trying to concentrate on the game as I slowly lost any sensation in my toes.

Sunderland served up a steaming pile of dog turd of a performance as a pre-Christmas appetiser, which was at least spiced up with some brutally honest post-match comments from Roy Keane.

Oh well, that’s the end of that then, Newcastle play Chelsea in the cup, Chelsea win 1-0 and the Carling Cup dream dies for another year at least.

Whether anyone at St James’s Park actually dreams of winning the Carling Cup I’m not sure - the Uefa or FA Cup would surely be the stuff of dreams - but having been slapped in the face by Didier Drogba for the umpteenth time on Wednesday night, it’s difficult to see how the Magpies will triumph in any of them this season.

Cup competitions, so the cliche goes, are a great leveller. Or, if you prefer, upsets are what the cup is all about. Yeah, nice in theory, but it just doesn’t seem to apply where Newcastle are concerned.

In the last four season, Newcastle have lost to Liverpool, Chelsea (three times) and Manchester United in cup competitions to help ensure that football’s established order remains intact and Newcastle’s season peters out into yet another anti-climax.

Could someone please remind me exactly why Zara Phillips was voted BBC Sports Personality of the Year?

Look, I've got over my prejudices about lazy, minor members of the ruling class winning a popular vote and I even admitted that, as a world champion, Her Royal Highness, deserved to be recognised for her achievements in a sport which, unlike cricket for example, has a truly global following.

It's just I haven't heard or read anything from Zara since she bumbled her way through an acceptance speech.

Maybe it's because she's a Royal and the nasty media will ask her tricky questions like - Do you work? What are William and Harry really like? Did you cry when Princess Diana died? And, Is it true that horses resemble their owners (or should that be the other way round!)

I'm not really one for football trivia, you know, those brain teasers know-it-alls like to throw into pub conversations, like name four players who have played in every season of the Premiership or name the footballer who slept with his pet goat and became a chicken farmer?!

It might just be that I'm not very good at them, or perhaps it because I've got better things to do with my time with friends than ponder over, at best quirky, at worst downright useless, bits of sporting trivia.

Nevertheless, as it's approaching Christmas and people do lots of things they only do once a year - talk to people, drink, go out, eat Brussel sprouts - I thought I'd pose a little question of my own.

What do Leicester City, Blackburn Rovers, Middlesbrough, Sunderland, MK Dons and Coventry City all have in common? They are just some of the rubbish teams to have won a major piece of silverware since Newcastle United last got out the silver polish in 1969!

Most of you probably got that one, but it's about this time in every football season that United fans start to go on and on about their club's lack of trophy success and football fans up and down the country laugh at their barren run.

I had a dream last night and no it wasn’t that sort of dream before the smut minded among you start letting your imagination get the better of you.

No I had a great dream about cricket, a dream where Kevin Pietersen and Andrew Flintoff were playing with style and panache, slog sweeping, pulling, driving and cutting a steady stream of Australian bowlers to the boundary as England won the Third Ashes Test in Perth in spectacular fashion.

I woke up with cheer only to find that I’d left my bedroom window open and that I’d been dribbling in my sleep. I frantically reached for my radio alarm clock and turned the volume up to see if my dream had been real....

It hadn’t, England had lost the Ashes with a whimper, the Aussies were crowing in their post-match interviews and I sank back into my cold, damp pillow and sobbed quietly to myself!

Actually, the last bit isn’t quite true, I didn’t cry, but I did struggle to get back to sleep, which was annoying. I eventually drifted off to be haunted by nightmare visions of Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath.

More reports of takeovers at Newcastle United today, more denials from the club that a bid has been made/received/accepted/talked about/discussed/contemplated/ (delete as appropriate).

One thing seems pretty clear though. People/Companies want to buy the club, the Hall family look like they want to sell, Freddie Shepherd looks like he doesn't.

The latest lot supposedly interested are another faceless bunch, this time US investment firm Polygon (pension funds and that sort of thing) and some Swiss Bankers, which as we all know rhymes with ......

Apparently they are leading the chase instead of Jersey-based investment group Belgravia, who are starting to look like the financial world's equivalent of a 999 hoax caller - a waste of everybody's time.

This is just getting stupid now, 15 players out, over-worked and surely stressed medical staff and a manager who cracks bad jokes about it being easier to name the players who are fit than those that are injured.

Newcastle's injury list is starting to look as long as a chocoholic's shopping list on a visit to the Cadbury's factory and it's all down to evil spirits - probably.

Charles N'Zogbia is the latest to feel the wrath of the St James's Park demons, medial ligament damage picked up in the 1-0 defeat at Chelsea that will keep him out for as long as three months.

Antoine Sibierski is also struggling with a bruised Achilles tendon, although reports that he has blinded a Chelsea player with the glare of the floodlights on top of his shiny head have proven to be false.

The green wellies wearing, Barbour jacket sporting ,horse loving, money rolling, land-owning lot had a lot to celebrate last night - one of their own had unexpectedly scooped the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Award.

When Zara Phillips' name was read out I initially scoffed in indignation. How dare a spoilt, over-privileged minor member of the Royal Family beat the likes of boxer Joe Calazaghe, golfer Darren Clarke and scally gymnast Beth Tweddle to the award.

Little rich girl, jumping around on a horse while the rest of us have to do a day's work to make a living, "boo, boo" I shouted from the comfort of my own living room.

But, after a while and after vague contemplations about using this outrage to provoke a class war, the revolution obviously followed by the establishment of a new ruling elite with me as President, I begrudgingly accepted that Zara was a worthy winner.

Now you know me, never one to rant about anything or launch into unreasonable or unfair abuse of unfortunate victims.

That said, I really hope Blackburn Rovers go down the sore losing, dirty, tinpot Lancashire club who have more empty seats than an X-Factor Series One Reunion Gig.

If this is read by any Rovers fans you might feels like strangling me, but a) you don't know where I live and b) I should warn you, I'm 6ft five inches, 18 stone and have a black belt in a variety of mixed martial arts!

In fairness, I don't have anything against Blackburn fans - other than the fact almost 20,000 of them have disappeared since Alan Shearer and Jack Walker's millions were firing them to the Premiership title in 1995 - it's just everytime I visit Ewood Park I'm irriated by some jobsworth with a power complex.