Videotuomarit eivät ole ratkaisu Thierry Henryn käsivirheen kaltaisiin rikkomuksiin. Päätyrajatuomarit eivät ole ratkaisu epäselviin maalitilanteisiin. Siksi huippujalkapalloilu tarvitsee avukseen sekä huipputeknologiaa että päätyrajatuomarit.

Aina kun jalkapallossa aletaan puhua videotuomareista, mieleeni tulee neljä tapausta. Ensimmäinen niistä on Geoff Hurstin kuuluisa ja kyseenalainen voittomaali vuoden 1966 MM-finaalista. Hurstin maalista on kulunut 43 vuotta ja sinä aikana ihmiset ovat käyneet kuussa ja keksineet internetin, mikroaaltouunin ja nanoteknologian. Silti erotuomaristo on pallon pompatessa maaliviivalle edelleen yhtä avuton kuin 1960-luvulla.

Tästä saatiin esimerkki tammikuussa 2005, kun Manchester Unitedin maalivahti Roy Carroll rähmi Pedro Mendesin laukauksen maalin. Peliväline ehti käydä lähes metrin verran maaliviivan paremmalla puolella ennen kuin Carroll onnistui kahmimaan sen takaisin kentälle. Tottenham olisi voittanut pelin tuolla osumalla, mutta joukkueen epäonneksi Mendesin kuti lähti lähes keskiviivalta ja avustava erotuomari oli maalin syntyhetkellä 30 metrin päässä päätyrajasta.

Jalkapallo on ehkä maailman kolmanneksi konservatiivisin asia, mutta silti on maalitilanteissa on turha raahata epävarmuuden taakkaa vain siksi, että sitä oli pakko raahata 100 tai 40 vuotta sitten. Avustavat erotuomarit tarvitsevat apua maalitilanteisiin ja nyt sitä olisi tarjolla. Sitä paitsi teknologiaa käytetään jo. Erotuomareilla on radioyhteys avustaviinsa. Vaihdot ja lisäajat näytetään valotauluilla.

Mikä sitten olisi pätevä apu maalitilanteisiin? Videot vai päätyrajatuomarit? Itse asiassa ei kumpikaan. Se käy ilmi tästä tilanteesta: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U1UTImKQPoM Kyseessä on Liverpoolin Luis Garcian Chelsea vastaan tekemä maali(?). Olen nähnyt tilanteesta toistakymmentä hidastusta, mutta yhdestäkään niistä ei selvinnyt oliko pallo maalissa vai ei. Lisäksi jokainen voi päätellä maalin takaa tulleesta hidastuksesta kuinka hyödytön päätyrajatuomari olisi tuossa ollut.

En ole muutenkaan villinä videoiden käyttöön otosta, enkä ole ainut. Tämän päivän Veikkaaja otsikoi juttunsa “Jyrkkä ei teknologialle”. Veikkaajan toimitus kysyy “kuka vetää rajan, mihin peleihin videot otetaan käyttöön ja mihin ei”. Se on yksi ongelma, mutta vielä suurempi on se, mihin vedetään raja, missä tilanteissa videoita käytettäisiin ja missä ei.

Thierry Henryn käsivirhe tapahtui ennen maaliin johtanutta syöttöä. Jos sellainen pitäisi tarkistaa, niin silloin olisi tarkistettava monta muutakin tapausta: Maalitilanteet? Ilman muuta. Rangaistuspotkuun johtaneet rikkomukset? Luultavasti. Ulosajon arvoiset rikkeet? Toki. Entä paitsioliputukset silloin kun pelaaja on pääsemässä läpi? Niinpä.

Pahimmillaan videotarkistusten kanssa oltaisiin tilanteessa, jossa ottelu pitäisi keskeyttää pariksi minuutiksi kymmenen kertaa pelissä. Sellainen ei sovi jalkapalloon. Mikä sitten sopisi? Päätyrajatuomarit. Maalin takana oleva ylimääräinen silmäpari olisi varmasti nähnyt Henryn käsivirheen tai – mikä vielä parempaa – ehkäissyt sen kokonaan. Päätyrajatuomarilla saataisiin lisävalvontaa maalin edustoille, juuri sille alueelle, jossa ottelut usein ratkaistaan. Ja mikä parasta, se saataisiin ilman turhia katkoja ja ratkaisu olisi kustannuksiltaan koko jalkapallomaailman ulottuvilla.

Maalitilanteita päätyrajatuomari ei kuitenkaan ratkaisisi. Siihen tarvittaisiin uutta teknologiaa. Tenniksestä (ja kriketistä) tuttu HawkEye-teknologia kertoisi varmasti oliko pallo maalissa vai ei. Järjestelmään kuuluisi kuusi kameraa ja tietokone ja sen asentaminen maksaisi noin 300 000 euroa per stadion. Mutta sillä hinnalla joukkueet saisivat varmuuden maalitilanteista puolessa sekunnissa. Ratkaisu kuulostaa paljon fiksummalta kuin Adidaksen parin vuoden takainen epäonnistunut älypallokokeilu.

Ai niin. Kerroin että videotuomareista puhuttaessa mieleeni tulee neljä tapausta, mutta olen ottanut esille vasta kolme. Neljäs on tämä: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8Bdsjm0E6E Kyseessä on vuoden 1998 MM-kisojen alkusarjan ottelu Brasilian ja Norjan välillä. Ottelun yhdysvaltalainen erotuomari vihelsi matsin loppuhetkillä Norjalle rankkarin, joka näytti kaikista tarjolla olleista kuvakulmista oikeusmurhasta. Lopulta kuitenkin selvisi, että ruotsalainen tv-ryhmä oli saanut kuvattua pätkän, jossa Baianon rike näkyi.

Tarinan opetus? Toisinaan tuomarit ovat viisaampia kuin videot.

Lisää tietoa HawkEye-teknologiasta: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/sport/football/article2274405.ece

I only started this post back in February this year so I don’t want any accusations of being slow! The problem was that part 1 – political and social – turned into a bigger episode than I thought and I ran out of steam for this one, even though I’d already found most of the images.

So, to remind you of the point. As I am now into the second half of my allotted ’sto lat’ (100 years) I thought I’d take a look at how things were when I was born in 1959. That’s shortly after the dinosaurs were wiped out by the asteroid although the dust was still settling.

Music & the arts

I was prodded into doing this second part by reflecting today on what was a number one hit when I was the same age as Zosia is now, well here it is – The Rolling Stones, 1965, “Get Off Of My Cloud” (ignore the YouTube title & year, both wrong):

Holds up pretty well I think against the 2009 equivalent, which seems to be about a 12yr old kid called Chipmunk having an affair with his mother?!

Fair to say though that the Stones were a bit of a glorious exception to the rule. When I was born most pop stars had a very wholesome look about them (and quite large spectacles in some cases):

Not wishing to leave the wrong impression, by the time I was choosing my own music things had moved on a bit, although Elton John did take the large spectacle tradition to unforeseen heights:

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Many things have changed out of all recognition since I was born but music is perhaps the thing to stand up the best to the ravages of time. As a baby, I lay in my pram and listened to The Beatles and as a small kid I listened to The Rolling Stones. The latter are still giving concerts and the former are still the best band ever to walk the earth. Even the “run of the mill” bands I listened to when in my teens are still going strong, played on the radio, many are still influential and those that aren’t are at least selling-out comeback concerts. I wonder if Chipmunk will still be remembered when he reaches the age of 50+, in about 2049?

Perhaps it is unfair to single out music as other arts will have held up well also. Painting and sculpture are relatively timeless. Jackson Pollock was dead by the time I arrived but the likes of Picasso and Magritte were still going strong, as were Edward Hopper, Escher and Lucien Freud (the next great artist to die?), with Warhol, Hockney and Lichtenstein just getting warmed up. Nobody can say that their works look terribly dated today.

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With writing it is harder to maintain a modern feel as language changes so much, as do attitudes and behaviour but despite being obviously written in a different age they none the less retain their value. One of my favourite writers is Graham Greene who coincidentally was writing around the time of my birth. One favourite of mine is “Our Man in Havana”, written in 1958 and filmed in 1959:

Sports

I won’t get too much into sports for fear of it becoming an almighty rant about the state of sportsmanship these days and how money is ruining everything. Just a few examples:

Football. In 1959, Geoff Hurst joined West Ham United, the greatest football team in England! In 1966, at the age of 24, he scored a perfect hat-trick (one goal with each of head, left foot & right foot) to help England beat West Germany 4-2 in the World Cup final. The last time England came anywhere near winning the cup and the last time anyone scored a hat-trick in the World Cup final. I imagine Geoff was paid 3 shillings and sixpence a fortnight and drove a Mini Cooper. If there’s an equivalent today, would it be David Beckham? Paid a zillion quid a second and has a stable of Ferraris, Astons & Hummers. Even a nobody, crap player in a nothing team gets more money than Geoff could have ever dreamed of. So much money these days, so little delivery, so bad an attitude. I dare not go further. My favourite football period was from the early 70’s to the mid 80’s.

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In tennis in 1959 we had the delightful Rod Laver making his breakthrough on the world stage, by reaching all three finals at Wimbledon, winning the mixed doubles title with Darlene Hard. Laver is the only tennis player to have twice won all four Grand Slam singles titles in the same year — first as an amateur in 1962 and second as a professional in 1969. In 1962, the Grand Slam events were open only to amateur players, who were given (under the table) little more than cost-of-living money for their appearances in tournaments. Laver has been rated as the greatest male player of all time by several experts and polls. Those that didn’t vote for Laver must have voted for Roger Federer. In 2007, Federer became the tennis player to win the most prize money in a single year, over $10 million. Not to mention the cash from endorsing – Wilson, Rolex, Nike, Mercedes, Gillette and others. Today’s tennis players don’t seem to be quite as removed from their predecessors as the footballers do, except for the finances of course. For myself, I enjoyed the days of Connors, McEnroe & Borg the best.

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A favourite sport of mine, until it got too boring, is motor racing. In 1959, Jack Brabham drove the new Cooper Type 51 to claim the Formula One World Championship. He did so with victories at Monaco, the Dutch Grand Prix, the French Grand Prix, and the British Grand Prix. This was the first ever World Championship for a rear-engined car. Every World Champion since has done so with the engine mounted behind the driver. The Cooper had an engine made by Coventry Climax, better known for fork lift trucks and fire pumps. The engine Brabham used was in fact derived from a fire pump and had almost exactly the same power as my Passat does today, 179KW. Modern day F1 uses engines that regularly produce over 500KW and in the high-power days of 1995-2005, in excess of 700KW!

In 1959 the British Grand Prix was held at Aintree, a course 4.82 km long. The fastest lap was driven by Stirling Moss in 1 minute 57 seconds. The winner drove a total of 2 hrs 30 mins and 11 sec to cover 362 km (75 laps).

In 2009, the British Grand Prix was held at Silverstone, which is longer at 5.14 km. Sebastian Vettel had the fastest lap of 1 minute 20 seconds. The winner drove a total of 1 hrs 22 mins and 49 sec to cover 308 km (60 laps).

My best F1 days were between about 1985 and 1995 watching Senna, Prost, Mansell, Piquet and an emerging Schumacher.

The sport has changed completely.

….

All Our Yesterdays – part 1

Coming soon in part 3 – technology & mechanical things

Primeiro gol de Hurst na final da Copa de 66 veio nesta cabeçada, após cruzamento de Bobby Moore

Ele foi o único jogador a marcar três gols em uma final de Copa do Mundo. O inglês Geoff Hurst usava a camisa 10 na Copa de 1966. Em um time que tinha estrelas do quilate de Gordon Banks no gol, Bobby Moore na zaga e Bobby Charlton no ataque, coube a ele brilhar na decisão do Mundial contra a Alemanha Ocidental, marcando nada menos que um hat-trick em Wembley.

Bem… um dos gols não foi tão gol assim. A polêmica bola que não entrou na final da Copa de 1966 saiu de um chute de Hurst, na prorrogação. Após um 2×2 no tempo normal, a Copa estava sendo decidida no tempo extra. Hurst e Peters haviam marcado os gols ingleses, enquanto Haller e Weber (no último minuto) anotaram para os germânicos.

O cronômetro já marcava 10 minutos do primeiro tempo da prorrogação quando Allan Ball cruzou da direita e Hurst chutou. A bola bateu no travessão, quicou fora da linha de gol, o zagueiro espanou para fora… mas o árbitro suíço Gottfried Dienst, após consultar o auxiliar russo Tofik Bakhramov correu para o centro do campo, validando o gol.

Os alemães ficaram revoltados, enquanto os inventores do futebol estavam eufóricos – tanto no campo, quanto nas arquibancadas. Mas Hurst ainda não estava satisfeito. No derradeiro minuto, o então jogador do West Ham recebeu uma bola pela esquerda e avançou rumo à área.

“Tentei chutar o mais forte que pude. O jogo estava perto do final, e se a bola fosse pra fora do estádio, caísse no estacionamento, ganharíamos mais tempo. Tentei chutar o mais forte que pude”, declarou Hurst. Saiu melhor que a encomenda. A bola foi no ângulo do goleiro Tilkowsk, o time do técnico Alf Ramsey venceu por 4×2 e os súditos da rainha comemoravam, em casa, seu primeiro título mundial.

Hurst chuta a bola que não entrou, mas valeu para as estatísticas do hat-trick

1966 World Cup Winners

One of the most iconic images of sporting history.

Geoff Hurst triumphantly aloft on his team mates’ shoulders having helped his country to the World Cup win of 1966.

This fantastic, inspirational piece of art is available from AllPosters.com from £13.99.

Englands måske allerstørste spiller nogensinde bar 6-tallet på ryggen. Han emmede af klasse både på og udenfor banen. Hans kone får dagens wags til at ligne udskidt shepherds pie (selv denne sammenligning i nogle tilfælde virker næsten er generøs). Han trak den hvide trøje med three lions over hovedet 108 gange i sin karriere – og dette var vel at mærke på en tid, hvor man ikke kunne få en landskamp på cv’et ved at lade sig indskifte i et kvarter mod Kazakhstan (*hostBeckhosthamhost*). I de fleste af disse kampe bar han anførerbindet. Han spillede skak mod Franz Beckenbauer, og Pelé kaldte ham den bedste modstander han nogensinde havde mødt. Han spillede i øvrigt sammen med brasilieneren (og Sylvester Stallone!) i fodboldfilmen Victory.

Han løftede pokaler på Wembley tre år i træk midt i tresserne: FA-cupen i 64 (samme år blev han kureret for testikelkræft), Cup Winners cupen i 65 og den største pokal af dem alle i 66: Jules Rimet-trofæet, efter en legendarisk 4-2 sejr over ærkerivalerne fra Vesttyskland, i en kamp hvor klubholdkammeraten Geoff Hurst lavede et hattrick, selvom bolden måske kun var over stregen to gange. Kampen sidste engelske mål blev i øvrigt sat ind af holdets tredje eastender, Martin Peters. Han spillede næsten 550 kampe for West Ham inden han afsluttede karrieren med et par sæsoner i Fulham og siden i USA. Han døde af tarmkræft, alt for tidligt, i 1993, blot 51 år gammel. I dag står der statuer af ham ved både West Hams Boleyn Ground og Englands New Wembley. Hans navn var Robert Frederick Chelsea Moore – men han var kendt og elsket som Bobby Moore.

Det var dengang. I skrivende stund har ingen West Ham-spiller løftet en pokal siden 1980 (hvis man fraregner ungdomshold og en enkelt TOTO-cup). Trøje nummer 6 er trukket tilbage i erkendelse af, at der nok aldrig kommer en spiller der kan udfylde den igen. Ironisk nok blev trøjen afgivet af Matthew Upson, som er ved at manifestere sig i en den engelske landsholdstrup som førstealternativ til evigskadede John Terry og Rio Ferdinand (begge med West Ham baggrund i øvrigt). Ikke desto mindre har der faktisk været en mand i West Hams trup, som har taget titlen som selvbestaltet sekser for England indenfor de seneste år; nemlig keeper Robert Green.

Bobby Green var inde omkring landsholdet før VM 2006. Dengang spillede han for Norwich. Han fik debut i en kamp mod Colombia i 2005, men var svineuheldig at blive skadet i en B-landskamp inden selve VM-slutrunden. Hans plads i VM-truppen blev snuppet af Scott Carson, som siden brillierede ved at have smør på handskerne da England tabte en afgørende EM-kvalifikationskamp til Kroatien mens Steve Mclaren så passivt til under sin paraply. I mellemtiden skiftede Green til West Ham, mens selvsamme Steve Maclaren bevirkede at han ikke kunne komme i betragtning til en plads i landholdstruppen ligegyldigt hvor godt han spille for klubholdet (og ikke mindst; upåagtet hvor dårligt Paul Robinson spillede for England). I denne periode opstod et ritual mellem Green og West Hams fans; når de hyldede ham med sangen “Englands number 1″ efter et af mange succesfulde indgreb svarede han igen med 6 løftede fingre: Englands number 6.

Da Fabio Capello ligeledes valgte at udelade keeperen til sin første trup, valgte Green, som havde startet sæsonen fremragende, at se situationen fra den galgenhumoristiske side, ved at lade sine handsker brodere med sin nye catch-phrase. Om det var den humoristiske sans der overbeviste Capello er ikke godt at vide. Faktum er at Green har spillet de seneste to landskampe fra start. Ganske vist i David James skadesfravær, men det må alt andet lige være sjovere at være nummer 2 end nummer 6. Måske er Capello bare historisk bevidst; hvis han studerer historien vil han i hvert fald se det fornuftige i at fastholde Green i startelleveren. England kan jo åbenbart ikke vinde trofæer uden mindst tre hammers i startopstillingen, og på det seneste er Don Fabio også begyndt at udtage Carlton Cole…

Både Green og Upson har i øvrigt ifølge rygter afslået nye kontrakter med West Ham. Fortune’s always hiding og alt det…

The sun has been shining so there has been alot to make a sing and dance about in Bristol and the South West.

Its been a high kicking week in Press and Pr, here are a few pics that I took last week to prove my point.

All pictures Neil Phillips Copyright.

The largest viewed and most prestigious of all soccer games is the World Cup. These are the championship games for the best of the best teams from around the world. Like the Olympics, different countries get to take turns hosting the event. There have been a total of 17 World Cup events so far. Out of this seventeen World Cup competitions, 6 of them have been won by the host countries.

France was the first to win a World Cup soccer event in 1930. They beat Mexico by 4 to 1.  The most common score to happen in the World Cup is a 1-0 win.  Below are the World Cup winners listed by country:

World Cup Winners

• Brazil 5
• Italy 3
• Germany (West) 3
• Uruguay 2
• Argentina 2
• England 1
• France

Check out this controversial World Cup goal shot Geoff Hurst of England. The game was against West Germany in 1966.  This call is still being debated today. What do you think?

Tradition, Tradition. Tradition wohin man schaut. Ich gebe es ja gerne zu, Vereine mit etwas außergewöhnlicheren Namen stoßen bei mir gleich auf gesteigertes Interesse. Und Westfalia Herne ist sicherlich kein Allerweltsname. Allein aus diesem Grund darf man sich schon auf ds Gastspiel des Ruhrgebietsclubs im Südstadion freuen.

Der SC Westfalia 04 Herne, so der volle Name, bietet natürlich einiges an Geschichte. Einer der großen Namen aus der Vor-Bundesliga-Zeit, der in dem wunderbaren Dokumentarfilm “Im Westen ging die Sonne auf” neben anderen Legenden wie den Sportfreunden Lotte oder der Spvgg Erkenschick herrlich gewürdigt wird. In gewisser Art und Weise bietet die neue NRW-Liga einen kleinen Flashback in die Zeit der alten Regionalliga West, als dieser Teil des Landes noch als das “Land der 1.000 Derbies” galt. Der größte Name aus dieser Zeit ist sicherlich Hans Tilkowski, der wahrscheinlich noch bis an sein Lebensende die Geschichte von dem Tor erzählen wird, das niemals gefallen ist. Ich hatte das Vergnügen ihn auf einer Lesung im Vorfeld der WM 2006 erleben zu dürfen, wo er zusammen mit dem ausgewiesenen Westfalia-Fan Joachim Król ein paar Geschichten zum Besten gab. Irgendwie ein bißchen bemitleidenswert, weil Herr Tilkowski wohl nie von diesem Trauma des Treffers durch Geoff Hurst loskommen wird, aber dennoch wirkte er wie ein sehr umgänglicher Zeitgenosse.

Aber auch leicht weniger talentierte Kicker haben für Westfalia die Stiefel geschnürt. Von Sönke Wortmann, dem Initiator des Projekts deinfussballclub.de, wußte ich schon, daß er dort aktiv war. Aber Michael Steinbrecher?! Ganz ehrlich, bei dem, was man da im Sportstudio ertragen muss hätte ich schwören können, daß der Mann noch nie in seinem Leben gegen einen Ball getreten hat. Aber, Wikipedia klärt mich auf, “Abwehrspieler und rechte Außenbahn, in der Saison 1985/86″. Wer hätte es gedacht. Ich muß Abbitte leisten.

Wie kriegt man jetzt die Kurve vom Wembleytor zu den Niederungen des Oberligaspielbetriebs? Das der aktuelle Kader nicht mehr mit solchen Koryphäen aufwarten kann sollte klar sein. Ein große Hausnummer ist die Mannschaft, die zur Zeit auf dem zweiten Platz steht, aber immer noch. Sieben Siege aus zehn Spielen sind nicht zu unterschätzen und es dürfte für die Fortuna ein ziemlich dickes Brett sein, daß es am Samstag zu bohren gibt. Das sieht der Trainer ähnlich:

“Herne ist zu Recht Zweiter. Sie haben zehn von 14 Spielen gewonnen. Auswärts waren die Leistungen aber nicht ganz so überzeugend. Die Offensive ist sehr gefährlich. Schwachstellen gibt es, wenn überhaupt, in der Abwehr. Es wird sehr schwer, aber wir werden versuchen, unsere Chance zu nutzen.”

In der Tat, das scheint schlüssig. Was die Torausbeute und die gefangenen Gegentreffer angeht liegen beide Teams gar nicht mal so weit auseinander. Allerdings trennen sie auch sieben Punkte, also ist Vorsicht geboten.

Verzichten muss Matthias Mink weiterhin auf den verletzten Marco Stasiulewski und die gesperrte etatmäßige Innenverteidigung mit Mimbala und Jagusch. Dazu gesellen sich vielleicht noch Andreas Moog und Abdenour Amachaibou, die sich unter Woche mit einer Grippe rumschlagen mussten. Die Personaldecke ist also leicht dünn. Es bleibt die Frage, wie beide Mannschaften den Spielausfall am letzten Wochenende weggesteckt haben. Für die Fortuna wäre es natürlich super gewesen nach dem Kampfspiel gegen Schwarz-Weiß Essen gleich noch einen nachzulegen. Aber daran kann man jetzt auch nichts mehr ändern.

Ein kleines Bonbon nebenbei: Am Sonntag um 12:30 Uhr kommt es zu einer kleinen Revanche für den letzten Spieltag der vergangenen Verbandsligasaison. Die zweite Mannschaft der Fortuna trifft in der Kreisliga A auf den VfL Leverkusen (auch II). Das Spiel findet auf der Bezirkssportanlage Süd statt.

A free hairstyle

An up-tight hairdo

Having given the Daily Mail a hard time recently with my Fear & Death analysis of its content and my highlighting how at odds it was with its own readership over The Sex Education Show / Sexperience, I’ve decided to take some inspiration from the rotten rag in the form of its political sketchwriter and theatre critic Quentin Letts and his new book Fifty People Who Buggered Up Britain. I haven’t actually read it but I have read a review which got me thinking about my own list – I’ve only just started really and could definitely use some help so feel free to join in. The timeframe is the last 5 decades. I thought I’d also counter Mail miserableness by adding a list of 20 inspirational figures in Britain from those same 50 years who helped counter-balance the malign influences. I’m hoping to have the full 50 (+ 20) in place by the New Year so do chuck some ideas into the pot…

Buggered up Britain:

1 Ashley Cole – stands out as the most unpleasant character in the Premiership and that’s no easy feat

2 Rupert Murdoch – brought vulgar anti-culture and arrogant anti-democracy to the country in equal measure – I vowed many years ago to throw a big party the day he shuffles off his awful coil and you’re all invited

3 Viscount Rothermere, co-founder of the Daily Mail which published his editorial on 15th January 1934 entitled ‘Hurrah for the Blackshirts!’

4 Ian Paisley – spent his whole toxic life saying No!

5 Doctor Richard Beeching – killed our (relatively green) railways

6 Lord MacAlpine – the Tory treasurer who vandalised Battersea Powerstation, ripped its roof off in the service of…

7 Margaret Thatcher – brought so much misery into Britain in such a short time – I’ll leave this one to Elvis Costello:

I saw a newspaper picture from the political campaign
A woman was kissing a child, who was obviously in pain
She spills with compassion, as that young child’s
face in her hands she grips
Can you imagine all that greed and avarice
coming down on that child’s lips?

Well I hope I don’t die too soon
I pray the Lord my soul to save
Oh I’ll be a good boy, I’m trying so hard to behave
Because there’s one thing I know, I’d like to live
long enough to savour
That’s when they finally put you in the ground
I’ll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down.

When England was the whore of the world
Margaret was her madam
And the future looked as bright and as clear as
the black tarmacadam
Well I hope that she sleeps well at night, isn’t
haunted by every tiny detail
‘Cos when she held that lovely face in her hands
all she thought of was betrayal.

Notice the link to MacAlpine via Tarmacadam. Notice the link to Murdoch via lively celebrations of the passing of a big bugger.

8 Simon Cowell – for spreading the corrosive myth of instant fame

9 Oswald Mosley – married to one of the Mitford whores in Goebbel’s drawing room with Hitler present as one of only 6 guests – nuff said (do we detect a residual anger in my tone? give me another 50 years and I may start getting over the Nazis …but I doubt it)

10 Stock Aitken Waterman – for devaluing music, torturing us with the likes of Rick Astley and Jason Donovan

11 Howard Shipman – undermined trust in GPs and the NHS in a rather extravagant way

12 The Queen Mother – epitomised how anachronistic royalty and aristocracy are, and how unhealthy reverence of royalty can be. [This choice inspired by Adam D's suggestion - House of Windsor]

13 Erno Goldfinger – typifies the brutalist school of architecture [not sure this is exactly the right culprit but the notion, of Practical Psychologist, is spot on]

14 Victoria Beckham – “She succeeded in her desire to be ’more famous than Persil Automatic’ and is as about as interesting as a box of it. I think she has created such a one-dimensional aspiration for the young. Success can now be measured by vacuity and the meaningless.” [Practical Psychologist] Her husband by contrast captures some positive values such as leadership, commitment to a passion/skill-set and rehabilitation.

15 Reggie & Ronnie Kray – for the misguided hero-worship they have subsequently inspired and inspiring Guy Richie innit [courtesy of Practical Psychologist]

16 Steve McClaren – humiliated himself and England simultaneously under that umbrella with his stupid fucking biros and spiral-bound notepads. Saw him once in a hotel in Manchester (with Anthony Lilley) and there was no question who was the centre of the group… not him, but El Tel.

17 Paul Dacre – Mail supremo who reckons (vis-a-vis the Max Mosley case, son of #9 of course) distinguishing between ‘a sick Nazi orgy’ and ‘people having sex in military-style uniform’ is “almost surreally pedantic logic”

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Counterbalanced the buggers:

1 David Hockney – picked up where Picasso left off

2 Bob Marley – brought some Jamaican colour to the grey London of 77

3 Joe Strummer – with The Clash helped British musicians discover the honest energy of DIY

4 Tommy Cooper – just makes me laugh (could equally have been Eric Morecambe in this slot)

5 Francis Bacon – one of the two greats of 20th century art (alongside Picasso)

6 Hannah Billig, the Angel of Cable Street – too busy looking after people to collect her MBE (she asked them to post it)

7 John Peel [courtesy of Adam D “…fades in quietly” ]

8 Tony Hart: “We’re sorry we can’t return your pictures” [courtesy of Adam D] what nobler calling than bringing art and inspiration to children

9 Tony Wilson – for bringing together shining talent in a bold, rounded way – Martin Hannett, Pete Saville, Ian Curtis et al – and showing how to champion your hometown

10 James Bond – [courtesy of Practical Psychologist, in his words...] “overcame the stereotype of the sexually repressed Brit who liked a cold shower before having his bare bottom spanked by a tart” – those Pan edition covers certainly captured my young imagination

11 Michael Young – for the Open University and other progressive policy [courtesy of Practical Psychologist and in memory of Naomi Sargant, first Head of Education at Channel 4, appointed by Jeremy Isaacs in a more adventurous, imaginative age]

12 John Betjeman [courtesy of Practical Psychologist, in his words...] “he saw what we were doing to our land and tried to stop it”

13 Joe Orton – for reviving the Comedy of Manners and finding humour in the black stuff

14 Lennon & McCartney – for taking pop music up a gear or three. PP’s view below: “we led the world in something for the first time in a long time”

15 Geoff Hurst – for scoring that goal

16 Jonny Wilkinson – for scoring that try and creating a Perfect Moment

17 Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger – for bringing Technicolor British Romanticism to the big screen

18 Rabbi Hugo Gryn – for his efforts in uniting the faiths and demonstrating how to survive to do good, a true Mensch

19 Steve Redgrave – for being a model of commitment, plus his work on dyslexia & education

20 Humph (Humphrey Lyttelton) – for combining the quintessence of Englishness with jazz

Bubbling under:

Tony Benn – doing his best to show what politicians could be like {courtesy of Scanner, Adam D and Overthewire} [I'm not sure about this one, keep wavering]

With the new English football season upon us we’re sure to see some fantastic and breathtaking goals. Every season a handful of players pull out something magical and score a goal that you didn’t think was possible. Looking over the best goals from last season made me wonder, what would be the best goals ever scored? Well I’ve done some research and this is what I’ve come up with.

10. Geoff Hurst for England against Germany in the World Cup final in 1966. As an Englishman I think this one can almost go without saying any more. The goal that clinched the World Cup for England and secured our only international triumph to date has a special place for any football fan from the country where it was born. When you combine the goal with the black and white footage and unforgettable commentary from Kenneth Wolstenholme you get a classic moment for English football and one that hasn’t been replicated since.

9. Zinedine Zidane’s left foot volley in the Champions League final in 2002. Volleying a ball that drops from a height is one of the hardest skills to pull off in football. To volley it with such power and accuracy on his weaker foot is why Zidane was such a special player.

8. Carlos Alberto for Brazil against Italy in the 1970 World Cup. The Brazil team of 1970 have often been thought of as one of the greatest teams of all time, with this goal one of their crowning glories. It is a brilliant team goal involving the whole team and when Carlos Alberto bursts out of nowhere to provide the finishing touch you have a moment of World Cup history.

7. Trevor Sinclair’s bicycle kick for QPR in 1997. If volleying a ball was one of the hardest skills then an overhead kick must be the hardest skill to pull off. Sinclair’s overhead kick is the best one I’ve ever seen, hit with precision off a pacey cross with flawless technique, it is simply an amazing goal.

6. Roberto Carlos’ free kick for Brazil against France in 1997. Dubbed the banana kick, or the impossible goal the amount of swerve that Roberto Carlos managed with this kick is unreal. The flight of the ball completely fooled French keeper Fabian Barthez as kids all over the world spent the next day trying to replicate this jaw dropping piece of skill.

5. Tony Yeboah’s volley against Liverpool. Another volley, and this is a special one. Seemingly from nothing Yeboah smashes the ball against the underside of the bar to beat David James from 25 yards. Yeboah would score a similar goal the next week before fading away. Still, if you’re going to be remember for something you may as well be remembered for an outstanding goal.

4. Nayim against Arsenal in the Cup Winners Cup final. One of the first goals of its kind, Nayim’s audacious lob fooled everyone, David Seaman included. The vision to spot the goalkeeper off his line combined with the perfect execution is what makes this goal so good. Add it to the fact that it is in a major European final and you have one of the best goals ever scored.

3. George Weah for AC Milan against Verona. This is an absolutely amazing goal. Picking the ball up inside his own penalty area Weah beats four players on his own while running the length of the pitch to score. One of the best goals of all time no one has ever come close to scoring anything like it since.

2. Marco Van Basten for Holland against the USSR in 1988. This is the best volley ever scored. Hit from an impossible angle it is still unbelievable to watch the ball fly in, it is hard to think that a volley will ever beat this.

1. Diego Maradona against England in 1986. No, not the handball that should have been disallowed. The other goal. The one where Maradona beats five England players before calmly slotting the ball into the net. While not running as far as George Weah, Maradona didn’t just use pace to beat players, but ghosted past world-class English players like they weren’t there. If there ever was a one man team it was this Argentina team, and Maradona was their driving force. An incredible player and this was his best goal.

Well these were my favourite goals of all time. There are a lot I’ve left out, but search for these on YouTube and you’re sure to be amazed.

Hot on the heels of Collectormania at the CentreMK in Milton Keynes is Sportsmania this weekend. I didn’t see anything about this in the local press, so I could easily have missed it. It seems I wasn’t the only one as it was all very quiet around 11am this morning. All the more space for me to take a look at some real sporting heroes.

Boxing legend Sir Henry Cooper was there alongside Frank Bruno. “Our ‘Enry” is a real hero, as I was trying to explain to my youngest, he is only one of a few boxers who ever gave Mohammed Ali a proper bashing in the ring! Around the corner were the football stars. 1966 World Cup winners Sir Geoff Hurst and Jack Charlton (others due later in the day include Nobby Stiles, Gordon Banks, George Cohen and Martin Peters) were sitting next to revered goalie Peter Shilton. I’m not a football fan but even I knew who they all were. Get along over the weekend and see who you can spot!

Peter Shilton and Sir Geoff Hurst

Sir Henry Cooper and Frank Bruno

I’m all behind today, so I’m starting this now, even though I have to dash out and pick the kids up from school before they think I’ve run away and left them.  This way it’s a marker in the sand type thing that I can come back to, rather than something I idly remember at midnight just before I collapse in a comatose heap into bed, which is exactly what happened last night.  This explains the plethora of worse than usual spelling and grammar mistakes from yesterday’s entry.  I’ve always had a tussle with apostrophes, and yesterday they definitely had the upper hand.  Still, it does attest to the off the cuff nature of these ramblings.  I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not to be honest.

It was an exhausting night last night.  Tallulah’s temperature finally broke at about half twelve, but she was restless and complained of a tummy ache every hour between then and when we got up for school.  In between Oscar squawked a couple of times.  He’s been really good recently, giving us four uninterrupted nights in a row, but I think he was bothered by my tramping up and down stairs to see to Tallulah.  I know I was.  She was having interesting dreams last night.  I know this because I kept having to wake her up to dose her with medicine or take her to the loo.  At one point she said: ‘I am just not enjoying any of the happy bits.’ to which my reply of, ‘oh dear!’ seemed to be suitable.  The next time I had to get her up she gave a little sob and said: ‘I hate the parts where we go on holiday.’  I said: ‘Don’t go then.’ to which she replied: ‘Oh. O.k. then,’ and then trotted off to the toilet quite happily, still fast asleep.  I dread to think which parts she does like.  Probably all the maiming and running around that everyone else hates.  The potential future psychopath plot thickens.

I had thought the bags under my eyes were decreasing, but it doesn’t take much to restore them to their full and startling glory, and today I look as if I’m peering out at everyone from inside a well.  Nice one.  I’m hoping the gloomy goth look might  be big on the catwalks in 2008, but I doubt it somehow.  There’s no way I’m going to be able to make a feature out of these.  I must just hope that Jason is developing a fetish like appreciation of sallow looking women with black eyes.

My friend Kim was coming round this morning.  I hurtled to school, but didn’t have time to do my hair, consequently I ran my fingers through it and tied it up with an elastic band.  It was incredibly windy on the school run, but I thought: ‘never mind, I’ve got half an hour when I get back.  I’ll sort it out then.’  I got back home and realised that there were clumps of mud from dirty shoes all over the hall floor, the kitchen bin smelled of hideous nappies and the pots in the sink were mutinying their way onto the draining board.  By the time I’d seen to all that and made sure that the downstairs loo was respectable she had arrived and my hair looked worse than ever.

She looked at it and said: ‘I’m glad to see you’ve had your hair done!’  The only thing I could do was show her the fact that I haven’t got three inch roots any more as evidence of the fact that I had actually graced the hairdressers and not in fact been caught outside the Co-op rifling through the bins, which is what it looked like.  I thought about brushing it, but it was too late by then and I knew I’d only have to go out in the wind later, so it’s been in an elastic band ever since.  Some mums look fabulous doing the school run.  I look like a man called ‘Arthur’ with his dinner down his vest.

Another big fashion no no, along with the fact that Oscar wee’d all over my trousers at lunchtime when I went to pick him up from nursery.  This was very unfair as he was actually wearing a nappy at the time, but nursery were just about to change it as I arrived and instead they relinquished him to me.  I got him home, took him out the buggy and popped him on my knee and he did a lovely warm wee all over my knee, which then dripped into my trainer and onto the newly swept kitchen floor.  My life is so exciting.  A rich tapestry, I think the remark is.

Kim bought cake this morning.  She did Nigella’s brownies from her Domestic Goddess book.  I was very impressed as I’ve never managed to get these to set properly.  Mine have always ended up in a glutinous sludge, sulking sullenly at the bottom of the oven.  I’ve tried it three times, and even ventured out to buy a new brownie pan in the hope that it wasn’t me.  It didn’t help.  Kim gave me a top tip which was to turn the oven off after the allotted cooking time, but then keep them in the oven for another twenty five minutes as it cools.  This does the trick apparently.  I can vouch for this, as I managed to eat several.  I also recommend giving up on Nigella and swapping your allegiance to Nigel Slater’s recipe in the Kitchen Diaries, which is what I ended up doing.  It works just as well.

I do feel slightly sick now, as I have existed on banoffee pie, victoria sponge cake, lemon cheesecake and brownies for the duration of this week, and I’m going out for lunch with Tom tomorrow, so I know that abstinence will not be a top priority on Friday either.  I just have no willpower whatsoever when it comes to desserts.

It has probably been my top ever week on the cake front, apart from Kate’s wedding, which I mentioned in a previous blog, but it is playing havoc with my waistline, and my mood is somewhat temperamental, due to the massive doses of sugar.  I have been trying to compensate by drinking more water, but it is really a feeble, finger in the dyke type attempt at staving off imminent diabetes and obesity.  It’s rather like eating a loaf full of lard sandwiches but eating them with a lettuce leaf for health purposes.

Today, apart from eating a lot of cake and doing some serious chatting I have been part of a great mystery that has been unfolding for weeks.  Jamie and I used to employ a gardener when we were married and lived in a big house with a big garden.  His name was Geoff.  He is also my mum and dad’s gardener.  Then when Jamie and I divorced, we shared custody of Geoff and he came to work for me and Jason, and for Jamie.  A good gardener is worth his weight in gold and should not be squandered in the case of a divorce, or any kind of civil rupture.

Jamie is a bit erratic at keeping track of things, and has owed Geoff some money for mowing lawns for quite a while now.  Geoff is a very kind man, and puts up with all sorts of things, and has been patiently awaiting the fruits of his labour.  Jamie is now in Canada, skiing down a mountain.  His assitant Nicki is now on the job and has rung me today because she needs to send Geoff a cheque.  She wanted to know Geoff’s surname and his address, which is reasonable.

As an aside I must say that Jamie has still not taken up the cause of nude skiing.  I know this because he sent me a youtube clip of him skiing down a mountain.  He was fully clothed.  I registered my disappointment and told him that I thought he was likely to get significantly more hits if he was doing it in nothing but a bobble hat and some boots, but he didn’t go for it.  I was disappointed that he has not had the guts to test out what is, after all, his own theory.

Getting back to the mystery, which actually isn’t much of a mystery, but I lead a dull life and want to big myself up, so bear with me on this.  I was totally ashamed to admit that I do not know either of these details (the solicitor would not be surprised at all.  See last week’s blog).  He is now, and always has been; ‘Geoff the Gardener’.  I explained this to Nicky.  She asked if my mum and dad would know.  I said that they surely would, because they went on holiday with Geoff and his wife last year, and you don’t go on holiday with someone when you don’t know their name and address.  I rang my mother in full confidence.  She shamefacedly admitted that she does indeed go on holiday with people whose names and addresses she does not know (form an orderly queue if you like going to mid Wales in November), and that the only details she has in her address book are for; ‘Geoff the Gardener’.

This is terrible, as it makes poor Geoff seem like a menial servant, which he clearly isn’t, as not only does he know what to do with unruly clematis, he has gone on his bonnes vacances with my parents.  I rang Nicki and admitted our complete rubbishness.  I had thought his surname might be Hurst, but then my mum pointed out that this only sounded familiar because Geoff Hurst was a footballer, one who may have been instrumental in winning the World Cup back in 1966.  I did not proffer any more useful suggestions, mainly because I had run out of Geoffs to name.

Nicki did manage to find out and rang me so that I could update my records.  I will now take it upon myself to ring mother and let her know, so that she can do the same.  I know that even though I now know his name (which I will not divulge, as he is a modest, mild mannered gardener, who would not relish the fame or notoriety), he will forever be Geoff The Gardener to me.  I did think about ringing him and suggesting that he change his name by deed poll to Geoff-The-Gardener, complete with hyphens.  I’m sure this is how a lot of people with odd surnames started out.  He could start a new trend for people being named after their professions.  I would probably end up as Katy Bloggit, not ideal, but very descriptive and better than Katy Bum-Wiper.

Tallulah is a lot better today, which is good.  She has had a series of late nights recently due to hideous temper tantrums about going to bed.  I think it had all caught up with her and that she was just over-cooked.  I am praying this is what it was, and that I don’t have to iron the yellow plague flags again.  I’ve only just put them back in the airing cupboard after the last bout of illness.  She is currently emptying the contents of her toybox all over the bedroom floor.  She is being ‘amazed’ by all the toys in it which she hasn’t played with for about twelve months and keeps running in to show me all her treasure.  It’s going to be hell to clean up, but it is a relatively peaceful way to spend and afternoon, so I’m not complaining.

Oscar is right in the thick of it with her.  So far he’s tried to eat a small wooden plant pot from the dolls house, trapped his finger in the lid of the toy box, covered himself in navy blue felt tip pen and done a huge pooh which he looked very proudly at in the abandoned nappy and declared to be ‘chocklik’.  He’s having a lovely time.  He’s currently trying to chew the cork out the end of her pop gun while she shines a torch in the shape of a fish up his nose.  Apparently this fish torch is going to save us all from being eaten by bears when we are traversing the Canadian woodlands on our holiday.  Bears don’t like torches you see.  How she knows this I am unsure, but she is very sure of herself and I am not about to argue.

Tallulah is frightened of Canadian bears.  This is mainly because Tilly has been telling her all sorts of horror stories about rampaging bears and snakes in the undergrowth.  There is a five minute walk through the woods from the house we are renting to the beach.  Tallulah is now completely convinced that if we don’t take Ray Mears with us that we will all be eaten alive.  She is worried that they will be attracted by the smell of the sandwiches that we will have had for lunch.  She is slightly appeased by the fact that Tilly has told her that they like jam sandwiches best.  Tallulah doesn’t like jam sandwiches, so she thinks she will be last to be devoured in the jaws of the evil beast.  Frankly it is a small consolation. 

This means bears have been a hot topic for several days now, and will no doubt continue to be so until we return safely from our holidays with no bear sightings or tooth marks upon our persons.  She veers between the total conviction that she is a world expert on the ursine world and asking me reams and reams of questions to which I don’t know the answers.  I did point out that Daddy Jamie managed to grow up and into manhood in Canada without being devoured, but she is not convinced.

So, what does the rest of the day hold in store for lucky me?  I will be using wikipedia extensively to enlarge my sketchy knowledge of ursas major and minor.  I will be thinking of something delicious and cholesterol free to do with a lot of turkey mince, which should be gripping.  I will be conversing intelligently with my tutor to prove my extensive knowledge of art and dung and their related spheres, and then I will round off the day watching a fascinating (I hope) film, about the habits of cocaine smugglers in Miami, which I am supposed to produce an intelligent review of for Amazon Vine.  Oh yes, and I will be bandaging Oscar’s finger, and orchestrating the feeding of three small children, their homework, and their bed time, as well as spending valuable one to one time with each of them so that they don’t grow up to be stunted and repressed individuals.

Jason is going to do battle with dragons tonight, so it is me against the world, and him against the dragons, which is fair enough once a week.  I quite fancy slaying dragons myself this evening, but I know my place.  I am a mere maiden.  The maiden of the dung heap.

Am I the only poster on here? Apparently so.

No Pot Noodle news this week, but me and the woman have got some new toys, so here’s some in depth reviews….

•  TomTom – It’s brill. After turning the patronising woman voice to chilled out Aussie bloke (“you were meant to turn left back there you fucking idiot pomme”, doesn’t say that but it should), my random driving is now much more fun and direct. I’m freed up to eat sausage rolls and change the ipod, while my car shouts me instructions. It’s fairly accurate, but not to the extent of driving with my eyes closed, just yet. Beeps when there’s a speed camera on route too, so license could stay cleaner for longer.
• Wii – My arms hurt. Not sure how it works. Girlfriend very happy. Next time, don’t get Harry Potter, get Resident Evil. Doesn’t play music CD’s or DVD’s. Japanese constant chirpyness could get annoying, perhaps the new equivalent of water torture. Can I chip it? No, it’s not mine (JBs). Running out of holes in A/V to plug things into. Had to program new button on Pronto.
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