Polly

Well, maybe my last post did make all the difference in keeping Rooney [sic] out of the White House. Who knows? The Ajax match didn't exactly work out as one might have hoped however. As it happens, I was at the theatre, watching my eldest perform in a version of Hamlet while the match kicked off. Quite good (Hamlet, I mean) it was too, and I think may have further cemented the kid's love for the stage. Why not, eh? I realise, as much from my lover as anyone else, that acting is a tough profession, and a road as likely to lead to tears and fears as any in life - yet, there are a lot of good things to be said for it, and who am I to ruin a young girl's dream - if indeed that is what it will become? Maybe she will have her hopes dashed, and end up working in transportation or facilities management, but she will sure as hell have an interesting enough life if she sticks with it.

But, as often seems to happen, it was Twitter getting itself arse about face which caused me some confusion as I sat in the darkened theatre surreptitiously checking my phone. There was no mention of either of their opening goals until too late, and in a cruel twist, notification of the first (what a fucking joke of a goal that was) only came in after the match had finished, by which time I had managed to get home and watch the last infuriating 20 minutes or so. Blah blah, you can't blame the officials; blah blah, not good enough over the two matches; blah blah poor tactics. It all may well be true, but it doesn't half piss me off sometimes. Kun's third goal of the night, and his second disallowed one, should definitely have counted, and Mario was clearly fouled in the box at the end. Regardless of what those fucking idiots with the wands are supposed to be doing behind the goal line (and someone on Twitter pointed out that it was one of these dweebs who indicated this was not a penalty, though I haven't had chance to look closely at it again yet) the ref himself should have blown for that, and then we would have had another last gasp Balotelli pen to look forward to.

Alas, it was not to be. I'm also not going to change my view about the use of technology either, which is that it should not be used. Part of the whole emotional charge of footy is the argument in the pub after a match as to whether a decision was right or wrong, and in general things do balance out (unless you're a filthy cheating Rag with the ref in your back pocket) so to complain is churlish and a waste of time.

One of those teams of course who could have quite a few good reasons to complain are coming up agin us this weekend. The mighty Spurs no less, facing their own seemingly endless battle with the fates and struggling to come to terms with the overrated AVB. Personally, I don't think this will be an easy one either, although Defoe getting a hat trick midweek is not an indicator that he will play well - or even play at all - on Sunday. Cautiously, I would suggest a 2-1 win, but would not be too surprised at a draw. I desperately desperately desperately want Tevez to get a goal as recognition for all the hard shifts he has put in. Will little Silva come back into the side at last? Will I be at the theatre? No fucking chance! Come on City!

The Eve of Whatever

Like Stephen Fry, I have to say of course that the US election is really none of my business, even if Matt Johnson's rant on the 51st state is ringing in my ears. Mr Fry however has the advantage on me in having met Romney. I suppose that's one of the benefits of being a celebrity: getting to meet other famous people. Anyway, what I'm coming around to is that this piece is intended to persuade anyone who does have the vote in the Land of the Free to put their X next to the name of the incumbent. If just one undecided person (though how anyone could even consider voting for Romney/Ryan is actually incomprehensible to me) reads this and makes up their mind to vote Obama then I suppose I will be happy. Ish.

It didn't feel like a Barry McGuire sort of day when I struggled out of bed this morning, but in many ways it is. I realise that Mr Obama is far from perfect - the constant references to the 'middle class' (whatever that means to an American. It certainly is not the same thing we refer to in this country. Can you imagine trades unions being allied with the middle class here?) are particularly grating; the horrendous record of killing, whether by drone or Navy SEAL, is hard to stomach; the shocking fact that not only have the living standards of black Americans declined since he came to power, but also that the poverty gap between white and black people has actually increased. And yet... unbelievably there is a worse option. Mitt Romney emerging from his cave (don't be fooled by the smart suits) with his club swinging will take the world even further and even more quickly down the road to hell. Perhaps he's comfortable with that, believing as he does in the Mormon faith, undoubtedly also 'sealed' with his family, coming from the upper echelons of Joseph Smith's particular happy band, and so does not feel the need to worry about this earthly pile. I think (N.B., that is not 'I believe') that - in the words of Bob Marley - 'if you knew what life was worth, you would look for yours on earth'.

I faced a similar dilemma during the recent mayoral and local elections, when the presence of Boris encouraged me to vote for Ken Livingstone. A fat lot of good it did in the end, but I felt that it had to be done. Again, come the next general election in this country, though I know that Miliband and Labour will not really offer anything much better, I will once more go out and vote against the Tory/Lib Dem monsters. These are small strips of land we are fighting over in modern politics, and though it hurts, though it feels like a monumentally impotent and idiotic thing to do, we have to do something. Don't we?

The exit polls in the USA will be getting the Jon Snow treatment when City face Ajax tomorrow night, and the omens - though still in the balance for Barack and Mitt - are not good for us. Watching (some of) the West Ham match on Saturday, I really felt for Carlos. He ran his heart out, did everything he possibly could, and yet still could not buy a goal. Nasri had one of those games where he actually looked like he gave a shit and if only Mario had been a little less Mario... Ah, what's the point? A 0-0 draw is often more disappointing than a loss, and that's how Saturday felt, despite the fact that we (at least for large parts of the match) dominated play and West Ham were clearly intent (that early 'offside' escape notwithstanding) only on shutting us out, with the predictable massive boots upfield to the waiting Andy Carroll. Big Sam's grand slam comes to town again. A travesty at the Academy, and all that jazz.

Ajax were surprisingly good when we played them at the Amsterdam Arena, and we can only hope that our formidable home record, along with (please, please please!) the return of Silva will make the difference. However, even Thursday night football is now hanging by a thread for us, and the fucking Rags are sitting on top of the league. Fuck. Shit. Wanker. Good night.

We had joy, we had fun

Quite an interesting week in all. I'm struggling through the seemingly endless The Shape of Things to Come and really wishing it would end, although the ideas are very interesting. The problem I've found is that the stuff which speaks about the current and future worlds is far less interesting than the historical chapters - those concerning the First World War and the inter-war years. Having said that, the whole concept of a World Government is something which seems particularly resonant at the present time, where it's clear that the structures of capitalism and the legendary democracy we're supposed to be so proud of are crumbling before our eyes.

The weekend's TUC march would have been a must-attend for me a few years ago, especially in the current climate of fear and suffering inflicted on so many people. For personal reasons (I'm too old, and too worried about the potential impact on my work life... I am as scared as everyone else, I suppose) and as a result of my thoughts on where we are headed, I did not go, did not feel the need to go. Protest itself (at least as it's done these days) seems somehow unsatisfactory. Like so much of modern life, it all feels so corporate and hollow. What will Ed Miliband contribute from the stump at Hyde Park? What will he say that is going to make a blind bit of difference? A dead horse is a dead horse, whether it's wearing blue or red livery, I say. So the pleasure of seeing Andrew Mitchell resign, as well as Osborne and the first class fiasco, delicious as it was, still had the edge taken off it slightly by the fact that there really isn't any alternative.

How utterly insane is it that there are now articles in newspapers stating that the slump is over, and that we're on the road to recovery? How does that mean anything to the mother who has to borrow money for her Lidl shopping, or the family living in a dingy B&B, trying to get their kids through school? Where is the sense in the opening of a vast new restaurant, actually an old warehouse, specialising in meat in EC2 when huge numbers of people are either starving or morbidly obese?

Anyway, to stop another of my directionless, depressive rants, I will console myself with the fact that I got the result right at the Hawthorns, even if there was a very late goal from the fabulous Dzeko (Oh-ohhhh, Edin Dzeko, oh-ohhhh, Edin Dzeko!) to clinch it.

   

 Now, I hope that my prediction for Ajax tomorrow will be wrong, because a draw will really not be good enough for us in the Champions League. I don't know enough about the Dutch side at the moment, only that they are not playing terribly well, so I can't really say whether I think we can win it. Let's see.

Overall, the performances have been just about good enough, and we're only a couple of goals adrift of the Rags, with Chelsea maintaining good form and looking very hard to beat. I am struck by the fact that journalists base so many of their assumptions on a single match: City are showing the form of champions; Dzeko is a super sub; all the other guff that gets spouted. When I went to Fulham a few weeks ago, I thought they were a pretty terrible side, largely bereft of attacking ideas at home for at least the second half, and yet they are 6th in the table. It all points - yet again - to a dearth of really good teams in the Premier League.

Overwhelming

'I turned my face away, and dreamed about you.'

It must be approaching the festive season again, as Shane and Kirsty have started to seep into the consciousness. Overwhelmed as I am with the sheer weight of news at the moment, I feel the need to stick my head in the sand and hope it all just goes away. I was not a big fan of Jimmy Savile, but I did like Jim'll Fix It when I was about 10 years old (though probably not as much as he would have liked me, by all accounts) and besides that could not - even in the context of the wild and woolly 70s - really understand why he was such a prominent figure on the BBC. Still, even though I had heard nodding, winking, paedo gags about him for many years, which I assumed were just of the vindictive/silly type, it has been increasingly shocking to watch the truth slowly come out; astounding to see his ostentatious gravestone torn up and smashed to pieces, so that even death is no refuge for him. Hearing some of the horrific, almost unbelievable stories, neither should it be, I suppose.

Then there's Hillsborough, still (rightly of course) rumbling on, the forthcoming US presidential election, the Syrian war and Turkey's involvement, the never-ending Eurozone crisis, Lance Armstrong's reign of terror, Conservative and coalition cuts, John Terry, Ashley Cole, Juilan Assange, Andrew Mitchell, Gary McKinnon, Abu Hamza...

It's all too much for me, and in those circumstances, a bit of footy usually does the trick. So, a review of City past and City yet to come, with some words on England sandwiched in between.

My trip to Craven Cottage was a delight, in a very Fulham sort of way. Not for them the standard pie or burger on the way to the ground, oh no. Instead, a slice of artisan goat's cheese and spinach pizza (at a very reasonable £4 for a large slice. Recommended) was the pre-match choice. Seats were excellent, just on the edge of the City support, who were in fine voice and happy to see a good win over a poor side. Then it was off to South Wales for a few days' break, where the Dortmund match was played out in a pub called The Corvus in St Clears. Nice little place, tiny snug bar with a Calor gas heater and a few sardonic Taffs at the bar. How we survived that torrid but entertaining night is purely down to Joe Hart, and they looked a frighteningly good side, full of vim and vigour, passing the ball well and closing us down at every turn. Some slight encouragement in the chances we made, but I don't hold out much hope for the return leg. What with that and a visit from Jose's men to come, the result against Ajax might make all the difference in the world, though if I'm honest, I think we'll be looking at Thursday night football again at the end of the group stages.

By contrast, Sunderland was all too easy, despite (if you listen to Bobby) being played at the crack of dawn after 2 hours' kip. A strolling romp at home (yet again) and a bit of a disappointment from O'Neill's boys, who I thought might have tried a bit harder. Having Richards back is a good thing, though it does raise more questions about the recent acquisitions. Ironic perhaps that these players were brought in in preparation for the Champions League campaign...

As far as England go, I'm in agreement with most sane people, who question the logic of having San Marino in competition at this level. What is the sense in it? Five nil was just about a satisfactory result for England, and that surely makes a mockery of them playing each other at all. Now we eagerly await the re-scheduled kick-off in Poland and... Oh, fuck it, I can't be bothered to write any more about the England football team. I just hope that something is done about the racism levelled at the Under 21 side in Serbia, but I'm not holding my breath.

Something should also be done about the bloody French, causing damage to Silva before our crucial matches at West Brom and against the Dam united. I'm hopeful of a 2-1 win at the Hawthorns and perhaps a draw with Ajax. Let's see.