Tomorrow Never Knows

Tomorrow Never Knows was playing on the jukebox, but the volume was just too low for the music to be heard properly.  The sign outside said:

THIS AREA IS FOR PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY. IT IS NOT FOR ANYONE ELSE.

Inside, although she had been across the other side of the bar when I came in, the barmaid suddenly appeared right in front of me.  There were a couple of teeth missing at the front, although she had nice enough hair.  She was wearing a Guinness t shirt.

"What can I get you?"

"Foster's please," I said as she bobbed her head down and picked up a carton of milk with which to make tea.  Next to me, a man wearing a shirt with the legend:

LIFEGUARD

ILFRACOMBE

was playing the poker machine.  He was wearing a dolphin earring.

I shuffled the coins in my hand... Two sixty? Two eighty? Maybe even three quid...

"Two pound please," said the barmaid with her toothless smile.  I smiled back approvingly - a paying customer - and moved towards the outside area.  Two Irishmen were sharing cod and chips out of the paper beneath the umbrella, and the aroma of salt and vinegar filled my nostrils as I passed.  One of the men had very small hands.

Tomorrow Never Knows had finished playing.

SUPER Sunday

While it's still fresh. Got to love the moment. Fourteen goals in 3 games. Onuoha doing his chances of appearing for Nigeria in June a power of good by getting a brace, and 4th spot looking good, especially with Spuds providing the final fantasy for the Pompey losers (I don't have a heart of stone, and I can appreciate the amazing-ness of their being in a Cup Final after blah blah blah, but I never liked those bastards, chimes and drummers and shitty little place down there. Sorry.) softening them up for the visit of the Gooners in midweek and inflicting the expected psychological damage which will probably lead to the usual end of term choke-up. On top of that, Scousers unable to put the Gentleman's Club to bed, and the most excellent Mr Allardyce keeping the Rags at bay. All in all, what one might describe as a good day at the office.

With the exception of the goal, Brum were surprisingly meek today. Not on a par with Burnley, by any means, but hardly the street fighters we've come to expect under the tutelage of the Hun Big Eck. They got a lot of bodies in the way in the opening 20 minutes, but never looked as if they would pose a threat, and most definitely melted away when we started to attack them. I have to say that Adebayor had a good game, and I felt sorry for him on two occasions when Carlos could have fed him an easy tap-in, but chose instead to try himself. Never mind. He got his own brace, and it was a definitely pleasing team performance. Thankfully, Kolo Toure was not called on once that I can remember to make a saving tackle.

Now, to my previous statement on the end of season placings. Based on current form, I still expect Chelsea to finish top. Two key games yet to come will decide the position beneath them. Should Arsenal do the Spuds on Wednesday night (which is now a stronger possibility than it was. It's a tough one to call, but I feel that Arsene's boys might just have it in them) then the pressure on SAF will be just that little bit more intensified. Again, however, it's a tough one to call, and City are just as likely to implode as they are to win. I'll stick to my guns and say that the result doesn't really matter as long as it's a decent game, like the one at the Sty all those aeons ago.

For the moment then, I reckon it's going to be as follows:

1. Chelsea
2. Arsenal
3. Rags
4. City
5. Spuds

A lovely day.

MOTD2 LOFB

Now I'll freely admit that the news of Ramos' sacking and the midnight installation of Uncle Arry was big news. Even in the context of the current lunacy of the game, and the ongoing drama at the Lane, this was pretty hectic. Reading the match reports today, and watching the oleaginous David Bentley being interviewed by Gabby Logan, I'm convinced that the whole Spurs being totally Efan Ekuku thing was down to a player revolt in protest at Juande's dietary restrictions on them. They can be sure now that they'll be allowed back on the jellied eels and rubies, so they'll start twinkling their multi-million pound toes again. Plus, the dead cat bounce that gave Spurs their first league win of the season was also I suppose relatively interesting.

I'll even admit that Liverpool (bastards!) ending Chelsea's 'magnificent' record (I'm so sick of hearing the tributes to that already) of home wins probably merited their inclusion at the head of the running order on MOTD2. I fail to understand why the City highlights were on last, however. What with the clocks going back, I was fairly tired and was forcing myself to stay awake and catch Robinho's fantastic hat trick, only to find that we had been relegated to the end of the programme, just before the lame '2 Good, 2 Bad' bit. Sodding West Ham/Arsenal, bloody Wigan/Villa and even fucking Portsmouth/Fulham made it on before we did. There's no justice, I tells ya. Then again, it was only Stoke. Sorry Charlie.

In any case, a good win at home, and a small bit of breathing space between us and the bottom of the table. I'm not convinced though, and don't think I will be until Hughes goes.

The power of 10

I'll say it right away. Spurs BASTARDS.

Interestingly, Ricky Villa wore every outfield shirt number for Spurs except the number 2, though he never scored against City whilst wearing the number 10 shirt, and Ossie Ardiles (who wore a number 1 shirt in the 1982 World Cup and managed the team that won the Japanese Emperor's Cup in 2004) never played alongside Hicham Zerouali, which is a bit of a shame.

I am a highly superstitious man when it comes to footy (as a matter of fact, in general life, I do throw salt over my left shoulder and avoid walking under ladders; I hastily uncross knives, and can't quite get over the fact that people wantonly pass each other on staircases) and so there was something creepy about all the number 10 coincidences leading up to, as well as during, the game last night.

First of all, there was a load of guff in the papers on Sunday and Monday about 'Sven 10', 'Ten for Sven' and all that shite, because of City's perfect home record following the comeback against Bolton. This I perceived as not good. I'm not one to crow about future games for fear of the hoodoo. Then, my oriental friend, Don Cake, told me that he had been leafing through my (as yet unread by myself) Perfect 10 football book. At this stage, I hadn't made the connection, of course, but some unseen force clearly had.

Needless to say, Sky were not showing the game because Blackburn and Arsenal were playing, and nothing can upstage that little party, can it? Don and I watched the game in Kennedy's in the heart of Goonerland, squeezed into a corner because there was a ladies darts match taking place near the big screen, with a very small handful of people watching the match rather half-heartedly. None of this augured well, and Sky being Sky, or me being unobservant, I didn't get the score from Eastlands until the second half was about to kick off at Ewood. One nil down, with Spurs down to 10 men. Ten men. This was getting ominous.

Then, with about 10 minutes to go (I'm stretching a point, I know...) Spurs stuck another one in. At least Robbie Keane didn't score it, but Arsenal did get Denilson sent off, and won despite being reduced to ten men. So clearly, it's all in the numbers. Blackburn are the next visitors to Eastlands after a tough away match at Villa Park this weekend, so it looks as if the 10/10 home league record might not be in the bag either.

Floored

Well, it never looked likely that Ricky Hatton would beat Pretty Boy, but the hype has been so massive and the support so impressive that many people believed that it just might have been. But it wasn't.

I am a fan of boxing, despite the fact that I think it's very dangerous, and really I know it to be morally wrong. When I watch a good boxing match though, I forget all about that and really get into the visceral, man against man - against nature itself - stuff. I didn't stay up or get up early to catch the fight. I wouldn't have considered paying £15 for it, even if it had been on at a reasonable hour of the day or night. From what I've read this morning, it was a treat for boxing fans, a 'masterclass' by Floyd Mayweather; ten rounds of holding and breaking. There are some great shots of Hatton starfished in the red corner in the papers today.

When all's said and done, it just wasn't to be. Which kind of sums up Ricky's football team, doesn't it? Despite an almost total lack of attacking options (Vassell preferred up front to Samaras says it all really) and Elano continuing to sit out the worst of the English winter, it still took some serious luck and cheating for Spurs to beat us yesterday, from what I can gather of last night's MOTD2 coverage and the Grauniad write-up. How anyone, let alone a supposedly professional ref, could have let the Chimbonda goal stand, is beyond me. As is Sven's zen-like attitude at the moment. Cool is not the word for it, and there is something distasteful about cracking Theo Walcott jokes like some prodigal David Blunkett.

If I hadn't have been otherwise engaged, I would have been at the Lane yesterday, sitting in the Spurs end. Thank god for that other engagement. We had 2 shots on target the whole game, and I fear...



It's gonna be lonely this Christmas
Lonely and cold
It's gonna be lonely this Christmas
Without you to hold
It'll be cold, so cold...

Without you.

Not embarrassed

You might be thinking that I have an unhealthy interest in Spurs, especially as I'm a City fan. You might be right, if you think that football is in itself an unhealthy interest. In which case, I don't think we have a lot in common.

The history of our two teams has been intriguingly woven together on both the public and private level for me. I lived in Tottenham for some years, and have a great deal of happy memories from my time there. Many of my friends are Spurs fans, and I have been to the ground more than I have been to both Maine Road and Eastlands put together. I've been in director's boxes there twice.

There is of course the iconic two legged FA Cup final of 1981, with Ricky Villa's wonder goal and so many more incidents besides. And there have been other games of titanic struggle and heroic endeavour. Up to this point in time, I would say it has been a story of two honest teams who have never achieved (perhaps because of that honesty) the success they would seem to merit.

In addition to that, there is also the link of shambolic management which we share. The other night in the pub, we were trying to work out how many managers our teams have had since the early 70s (which is when we started to get into football, so it's not an entirely arbitrary timescale) I was sure that City had had more managers than Spurs, but I was proved wrong. Here is the data:

SPURS

1. 11/09/74-23/06/76 - Terry Neill
2. 14/07/76-25/06/84 - Keith Burkinshaw
3. 25/06/84-13/05/86 - Peter Shreeves
4. 16/05/86-23/10/87 - David Pleat
5. 28/11/87-30/06/91 - Terry Venables
6. 23/07/91-15/05/92 - Peter Shreeves (again)
7. 27/05/92-19/06/93 - Doug Livermore (who?)
8. 19/06/93-01/11/94 - Ossie Ardiles
9. 01/11/94-15/11/94 - Steve Perryman (two weeks!)
10. 15/11/94-19/11/97 - Gerry Francis
11. 19/11/97-05/09/98 - Christian Gross (snigger)
12. 07/09/98-01/10/98 - David Pleat (again) and Chris Hughton
13. 01/10/98-16/03/01 - George Graham (oh dear)
14. 16/03/01-02/04/01 - David Pleat (again!!)
15. 02/04/01-21/09/03 - Glenn Hoddle
16. 21/09/03-03/06/04 - Yes, it's David Pleat again...
17. 03/06/04-05/11/04 - Jacques Santini
18. 05/11/04-26/10/07 - Martin Jol (sob)
19. 26/10/07-29/10/07 - Clive Allen
20. 29/10/07-???????? - Juande Ramos

That makes 20.

CITY

1. 12/04/74-01/01/79 - Tony Book
2. 16/07/79-01/10/80 - Malcolm Allison (again, though pre-dates this list)
3. 01/10/80-03/02/83 - John Bond
4. 03/02/83-07/06/83 - John Benson (must admit, his dazzling reign passed me by)
5. 30/06/83-22/09/86 - Billy McNeill
6. 01/10/86-01/05/87 - Jimmy Frizzell
7. 01/05/87-30/11/89 - Mel Machin
8. 06/12/89-05/11/90 - Howard Kendall (what is it with us and Toffees?)
9. 15/11/90-26/08-93 - Peter Reid
10. 26/08/93-28/08-93 - Tony Book (again - 2 days!)
11. 28/08/93-16/05/95 - Brian Horton (tenacious little sod)
12. 02/07/95-27/08/96 - Alan Ball
13. 06/10/96-16/11/96 - Steve Coppell (who do you think you are, Arsene fuckin' Wenger?)
14. 08/11/96-29/12/96 - Phil Neal
15. 29/12/96-17/02/98 - Frank Clark
16. 18/02/98-21/05/01 - Joe Royle (ex-player, still a fuckin Toffee)
17. 24/05/01-11/03/05 - Kevin Keegan (I would luv it)
18. 11/03/05-14/05/07 - Stuart Pearce (fuck this and fuck that, fuckin you're a fucker...)
19. 06/07/07-???????? - Sven-Goran Eriksson

That's nineteen. Close.

As of now, our chairman is on the run from a Thai court order and Sven will stay only as long as it interests him. And of course, as my old friend so eloquently sums it up, there is last Saturday. But Spurs...
On and on it goes.

Jolsch

Anyone who knows me will attest to my liking for a drop of the brew. You can't drink it till it's ready? Fuck that, my old son! Many's the time and oft that I have pillaged a home brew bucket. Vile. Force it down.

But that's beside the point right now, talking, as we are, of Tottenham Hotspur. I can only say that I am very grateful (not to mention stunned) that Spurs have managed to upstage City with their boardroom shenanigans this season. A couple of my friends are afflicted with the Spurs, and I do feel for them. I'm not sure what I feel, but I do feel. Really.

I have a long-standing superstition of not contacting anyone during a game in which either City, or one of the teams supported by friends, are involved. I believe that there is a karmic force at work which detects any attempts at bravura or schadenfreude and punishes accordingly. So, even if City are 4 up with 3 minutes to go, I refrain from sending crowing texts, and similarly, if we are 3 down with 4 minutes to go, I don't expect any of my friends to send me 'amusing' messages either. Most people respect this, with the notable and obvious exception of the Rags (I love the Persil ad about halfway down the page) who unfortunately move among us. Last night though, amazed at what was going on at the Lane, I sent a WTF? text to one of my Spurs mates. His reply? 'Not during the game.'

I felt terrible that I had broken the taboo, even though I don't think he is aware of this particular foible of mine, but he actually meant don't sack the manager during the game!

So anyway, the soap opera reaches the end of one plot and we move on to the next. Surely Daniel Levy must feel like a right twat this morning. I mean, how badly can one handle a situation? Even in the mad mad mad mad world of football, there is only one word for this farce. And that word is: dizzying.