The Blues

Well, quite a shock with Fabrice Muamba. It set me to remembering Marc Vivien Foé, a sudden and tragic death on the pitch during the reign of Keegan (though of course he was playing for Cameroon when he died) as a result of heart failure. I can't imagine how it must be to experience such an event as a spectator or player, but I'm sure it sears the day into your memory. I hope that Muamba recovers.

Now, as we all know, the show must go on. Wolves though didn't seem to think so yesterday, getting tonked 5-0 at home by the Rags in yet another shameful capitulation. They should never have got rid of the wonderful Mick McCarthy, I say. Things are definitely not looking so bright now for the City side of Manchester, and I have serious doubts that we will be able to catch the Rag fuckers up - Tevez or no Tevez. It seems to me that our biggest worries are once again at the back (though Silva's perhaps understandable dip in form after such a mercurial start to the season is also playing a part) rather than the front, and I fear for the result on Wednesday night, despite some of our recent successes against Chelsea.

As we used to say in school - first the worst, second the best, but that was from a place of some desperation as we struggled across the finishing line just ahead of the boys who liked Physics lessons and watching butterflies. So, Bobby's coming across a bit lame to say the least, saying once again that he had made a mistake in underestimating Sporting, just as he did when we lost to the Toffees a few weeks back. Come on son, sort it out! At least there was some spirit in the fightback against the Portuguese the other night, and I suppose you can't ask for much more than that. Also helpful that Bilbao (fans as well as players) showed United how it should be done, and absolutely humiliated them.

I will stick to my guns and maintain that losing a good match is preferable to winning a dull one in the cosmic balance of football karma, but I can't hide at least a little disappointment at the fact that (it at least looks as if) it will be the Rags that pip us to the post again. I have to agree with whichever football writer (Andy Dunn, I think, read in a café copy of the Sun, in case you were thinking I may have bought one) who was sure that Bobby's services would be dispensed with should we finish runners-up, the patience of the Sheikhs predicted to be used up by that point. Mourinho, tired of banking his £10,000,000 a year from Real Madrid, might consider bringing his talents to Eastlands, and in any case we'll win the lot next year. Won't we?

A word from our sponsor

Everything has to be sponsored these days. Watching ITV or Channel 4 means a bombardment of product endorsements and interstitials the like of which we have never seen. The approaching Olympic Games are simply one massive advert. Even West End theatres can't seem to get by without plastering American Airlines stickers all over the front doors.

Boris has allowed this (unconstitutionally, some might say) to seep into the (and excuse my London-centric views here. It's where I live after all) very fabric of life - i.e., our capital city's transport system - and its wonderful, iconic map. It started with North Greenwich receiving a footnote saying 'For the O2' and has moved through Barclay's Cycle Hire to the Emirates Cable Car, once again blighting that little loop of the Thames at North Greenwich. Here's an extract from the press puff release in the link above:

"As title sponsor, Emirates will receive a range of naming and branding rights, including the right to name the scheme, its stations and the creation of a joint logo."

Pretty soon we'll be struggling to make out the names of the stations amid all the white noise of ads. Bond Street station, sponsored by Boots, Apple's Oxford Circus, or McDonald's Euston (TM). It's hardly as if, when we're on the trains, or trudging through the tunnels at the stations, we're not subjected enough to images of whatever shite they're trying to offload on us.

Mr Johnson was proud of his achievement in bringing sponsorship to Harry Beck's masterpiece, as if putting a commercial stamp on something makes it a good thing, rather than a Bill Hicksian, Satan's cock sucking vision of hell. It need not be said that this is all part of the vision BJ and Cam IDS and Liam Fox and Andrew Lansley have for us. Everything swallowed up by the can't-do-wrong commercial world. The all-conquering market which bestows the gift of choice on us all, whether we are in hospital or on a train, whether we are old or young, whether we want it or not.

Football is not exempt either of course: today's match ball is sponsored by VM Ware... Today's match program is sponsored by Demon Internet... And City, perhaps among the worst, with everything Etihad and our future mortgaged to the whim of an energy billionaire. For all that, an inspiring performance against the Dragons the other night, to nicely back up the stirring comeback in Porto. Just a shame that there couldn't have been a bit more vim at the Sty, with a good sprinkling of Ajax in Fergy's red eyes. Not incredible.

Pass the Porto

This blog will be five years old in June, and I am around 35 posts away from a total of 500, so expect a few short and potentially rubbish pieces in the coming months as I strive to keep up with my number superstitions and coincide the two.

Thanks to the rather hysterical nature of the security services in this country, which could have resulted at the very least in a Dooce, and possibly even worse, I have chickened out of a piece on Abu Qatada, which remains on draft. I will instead step on the safer ground of the Europa League, whilst studiously avoiding any mention of that C----- T----.

After an ultimately satisfactory if not entirely satisfying victory at Villa Park, thoughts must now turn to the utterly pointless and seemingly endless slog of the inferior European club competition. I don't know much about Porto, other than that they have been among the best Portuguese teams for some time, although the once great heights of clubs in that country have not been reached in recent years, so their title win - albeit by a margin of 21 points - last season (wonder if AVB wishes he had stayed on there now?) can perhaps be taken with a small pinch of sodium chloride, though they did of course win the bloody Europa Cup as well. Hulk is there to smash and they have Maicon and Danilo. It's a tough one to call, and I don't expect it to be an easy game, though it may be suited to the style of Merlin. Looks unlikely that Yaya will get a run out, which is a shame, and let's hope Mario doesn't blow it again. It's on ITV in any case, so that's got to be good.

I've started reading Notes on a Scandal by Zöe Heller and, although the style initially put me off, I'm now beginning to enjoy it. In the early chapters, Heller mentions Kit Kat by name and then goes on to refer to 'instant noodles in plastic pots'. Why couldn't she just say Pot Noodles? But there is some redemption in the use of the word 'gelid' in chapter 5, and I'm enjoying (in a purely literary way, you understand) the sexual frisson of the teacher's affair with the adolescent boy. It's made me think of myself as a 15 year old, and made me realise how very unappealing I undoubtedly would have been for any bored pottery teacher, especially one who looked like Cate Blanchett. Ah well.