A Sporting Life

Latest from the Gaffer

2011-09-21T17:02:00.003+01:00

Back in the bootroom, the Gaffer has been demanding 110%. Natch. Most recently, we've explained what a "zonal marking" is; downloaded the latest filth from the Inside Man's floppy disk of x-rated gossip; stopped by Gary Mabbutt's gaff for a lie-down on his couch; and worked out how to make a killing on the superinjunctions market. Go get some.

Eagle watching

2011-04-16T22:00:00.002+01:00

Essex season preview at Third Umpire. Have some of that.

Gafferlicious

2011-02-23T12:08:00.003Z

Remember Euro 96? Baddiel and Skinner. Karel Poborsky. Gazza and his dentist's chair celebration. Find out more about the latter here.

Secondly, a bit more Mabbutt, to help keep the demons at bay. And the latest richly imagined, culturally nuanced, stereotype demolishing round-up: this week from France.

Crash, Bang, Wallop, What a Series!

2011-01-30T15:47:00.000Z

No, I still haven't got around to writing about this yet. But it's a good title for a post, isn't it?

Things on the internet

2011-01-03T14:09:00.004Z

A few hot Gaffer links to keep you warm through the winter months: Gary Mabbutt has some advice for two more troubled young men; our betting columnist is back with a few seasonal tips; and find out what the Norwich boys have been getting up to in the latest chapter of Ian Crook's diary.

The English disease

2010-12-17T12:15:00.004Z

Yesterday morning, I had succumbed to it. Hubris, that is - not necessarily a historically English affliction but one that right now seems dangerously seductive to those of this isle concerned with the fate of the Ashes. Or at least it did until the events of last night, triggered by a weakness that is as English as train delays and tea cups swimming in custard: the batting collapse.

The possibility had lurked like a hell beast in a storm drain, despite England scoring 517-1 and 620-5 in consecutive innings. I wasn't prepared to believe we could wrap up the series without suffering at least one nightmare out in the middle - previous tours Down Under have marked out their territory in the darkened corners of my subconscious. But even as that redoubt remained standing I was steadily beguiled. The ordure heaped on Australia in recent weeks had firmly tipped the scales; England were in the ascendancy and, perish the thought, I had even mused openly on the possibility, however remote, of 4-0.

Such were the heights to which my expectations had soared that as Australia's tail ski-jumped their side to a respectable 268 I was already thinking, 'That's 70 runs too many'. Not, 'That's a decent effort against any Australian side on their own patch'. No, having reduced the hosts to 69-5, I wanted more; a brutal land grab, a beer hall putsch. The English boot was on the Australian throat and the prospect of resurrection was a non-runner, not with this bunch, this rabble of Raggy Greens, incompetents and half-blokes.

And then the dawn broke, with the news that we'd been Waca-ed by Mitchell Johnson. A glimmer of hope remains, but we have been been forced to reassess our opponent's capabilities. This should serve as a wake-up call, a reminder that we cannot slumber easily until the job is done and the Ashes are retained. The Boogie man still resides under the bed, at least for now.

Ashes ahoy!

2010-11-25T20:01:00.004Z

The sleep function on my clock-radio kicked in at around 1am this morning, moments before Shane Watson bowled Jonathan Trott to leave England on 41-2. Watson's first two balls had been hit for four and called a wide respectively, so I felt reasonably content as TMS and Michael Slater's voice abruptly cut out.

As I slept, I dreamed of serene progress past the 400-mark, confident that there would be nothing to discombobulate Smyth and Bull on the guardian OBO ... then I awoke to drowsily check the score on my phone some seven hours later. A Siddle hat-trick? Bleurgh, there was nothing about that in my reverie. Still, it wasn't quite as horrific as four years ago.

Not too much can be read into England's score of 260 (though it looks a little short at first glance) until the Aussies have batted. Come tomorrow morning, we'll have a much clearer idea of how the first Test is balanced. Anyway, ahead of the resumption of hostilities, some recommended reading: Sam Collins' Ashes blog. It's a ripper.

A game increasingly beyond satire

2010-11-08T18:46:00.009Z

A bunch of stuff I've done for The Gaffer recently:

Essex 2010 season review

2010-09-28T14:11:00.013+01:00

Gravity had its way in the end. In answer to the question of whether Essex could maintain their heady Division One status for the first time, Paul Grayson's side eventually responded with a fairly emphatic 'no'. The magnetic pull of the second tier has now claimed Essex three times out of three in seasons following successful promotion campaigns.

Ultimately we finished bottom, some 30 points from safety, after losing four of our last five Championship matches - a quite disastrous run that included twin defeats to Warwickshire, who dragged themselves off the foot of the table to finish sixth. In one of those odd little sequences that cricket sometimes throws up, Warks scored 155 in all four innings against Essex, twice to win by seven wickets in the second dig. Swap those results around and it would most likely have been the Bears, rather than the Eagles, who went down.

Having gutsed it through the first half-and-a-bit of the season (with 78 points from nine games), a thumping victory over the eventual champions, Notts, and a creditable draw against Yorks left Essex with 107 points and eyeing survival. Then came that sequence of defeats - four in a row that sealed relegation - and a final-round draw with Durham (where probable victory was eschewed in favour of preparation for the CB40 semi-finals). Five matches, 19 points. It was a miserable way to go.

The most obvious problem, apart from unsuccessful tilts at two one-day trophies (last-four exits came against Hampshire on T20 finals day and Somerset in the aforementioned CB40), was an extra-crumbly batting line-up. From those last seven County Championship fixtures, half of the 14 innings ended with Essex all out for less than 200; their highest total was 399 (so no maximum batting points, then) but 300 was only passed three times.

In the T20 era, seeing out the overs in which batting bonus points are scored (the first 110) seems tough enough for most teams, let alone getting near the 400 required for a maximum of 5 points. While most Division One counties averaged between 2.5 and 3 bonus points from their bowling (Warks, the best in 2010, took 47 from a possible 48; Durham's 39 was the least) only one side regularly took 3 batting points from their matches - Somerset, who play at batsman-friendly Taunton, scored 53 from a maximum of 80. The decline in ability to amass consistently high first-innings totals is worthy of further investigation (it's a project I hope to get round to) but even in a weakened market, Essex were under-powered.

As was the case at around the year's halfway mark, James Foster was the team's standout batsman but his performances dipped slightly after taking on the captaincy from Mark Pettini. Foster's 839 runs at 32, whilst leading the side and keeping wicket, put him level with Jaik Mickleburgh (839 @ 29.96), whose season should be viewed as a success despite a similar tailing off. Matt Walker, who I suggested was key to Essex's survival hopes, ended with 782 at 39, though his one ton came in the dead game against Durham. Tom Westley (440 @ 25.88), who I also had high hopes for, managed a meagre 100 runs from five appearances during the run-in.

Pettini, meanwhile, had his worst season since being handed the captaincy in early 2007, after Ronnie Irani's sudden retirement, totalling just 599 runs at a shade under 25, with two fifties and no hundreds. Injury restricted Ryan ten Doeschate to 11 appearances, meaning the Dutch Saffer could only muster 577 at 34. Billy Godleman (532 @ 26.60) was too inconsistent; Ravi Bopara (550 @ 42.30) and Alastair Cook (474 @ 39.50) too often on international duty to sufficiently bolster Essex's totals.

Mediocre performances and a constantly changing top order fed into one another to further undermine the batting. Only Foster played in every match, with Pettini and Mickleburgh making 15 starts (out of 16); six other batsmen, not including the allrounder Ten Doeschate, made between six and 11 appearances. There were six different opening partnerships used over the course of the season (Goldeman-Maunders, Godleman-Cook, Godleman-Mickleburgh, Westley-Mickleburgh, Mickleburgh-Cook and Pettini-Mickleburgh); and while seven batsmen scored hundreds, only Bopara managed more than one (two, to be precise). Failing to find a settled line-up made for a disjointed and often messy showing.

Essex's bowlers, by contrast, faired pretty well against higher-calibre opponents. Since David Masters arrived to lead the attack three years ago, our bowling unit has improved to the point where it is a real wicket-taking force ... though I guess skittish batting throughout the game, as mentioned above, could also be a factor. What used to be a weakness is now a strength (we certainly held our own in the top division), but it's a shame that the renaissance has coincided with a gradual hollowing out of the side's batting.

Masters was almost an ever-present, and his 53 wickets at 23 from 14 matches represented a career-best season's return. At 32, he's developing into just the sort of knowledgable, canny opening bowler that Essex have needed since Darren Gough ended his three-year stint down south in 2006 - or even since the days of Ashley Cowan and Mark Ilott.

Masters was the only man to meet bowling coach Chris Silverwood's target of 50 Championship wickets, but there were still decent returns for Maurice Chambers (32 @ 25.81) and Chris Wright (31 @ 37.29) - though Wright, like Walker with the bat, achieved his best innings analysis (5-70) in the final game of the season. Chambers in particular is capable of devastating spells these days and his workload has been increasing encouragingly year-on-year. Tony Palladino (18 @ 27.72) chipped in with his usual end-of-season cameo - when will the boy be available for a whole summer?! - while Ten Doeschate's medium pace (27 @ 26.51) was as effective as ever before his injury.

In the spin department, Danish Kaneria was disappointing - though with all the match-fixing rumours swirling around both him personally and the Pakistan team in general, it is understandable that he was affected. Nevertheless, his 23 wickets at nearly 33 runs apiece represented his worst Essex return in six seasons. Tim Phillips (20 @ 37.60) was useful, while Westley (6 @ 29) also turned his arm over on occasion. In a season that featured several middling overseas signings (think Dwayne Bravo's costly T20 finals appearance or Chris Martin's 1-84 after visa trouble delayed his arrival) Bryce McGain was a colourful two-match presence, taking 10 wickets at 26, including an eventful 5-151 from 30-odd overs against Kent.

All of which is to say: things could have gone better. Disappointingly, I failed to make a single day's play on our return to Division One of the Championship, my County Ground attendance record limited to a Pro40 win over Middlesex. Still, the place should look largely the same next season as the development of the stadium is unlikely to start this winter, despite planning permission finally being secured.

So, it's back to the comfy sofa of the second tier. It may be beer stained and poorly upholstered but there's always the possibility of finding a couple of quid down the back. See you there ...

The Gafferski

2010-09-19T14:58:00.001+01:00

Vodka jelly shots and Cold War references? It's Russian round-up time ...

A message from our sponsor

2010-09-04T17:11:00.003+01:00

The Gaffer has been hard at work over the summer, scouting for the latest haircuts at the World Cup and tidying up his magnetic tactics board for the 2010-11 campaign. It's bound to get messy.

After dipping into the transfer market, with a little help from the Inside Man, and tending to the pastoral side of the game (thanks, as always, to Uncle Gary Mabbutt), he's finally found the time to close the office door and settle down to the latest chapter of 'Too Many Crooks'. After all, there are plenty of lessons to be learned from the Norwich City glory years (many kit-related).

Like a dedicated number two (or three, or four), yours truly was on hand to make notes ...

World Cup 2010: So it goes ...

2010-08-25T16:16:00.014+01:00

I said I'd be back to talk about the World Cup in August, didn't I? Well, we'll have a look at the Mundial before moving swiftly on, seeing as it was such a stinker. Actually, that's too strong but it was a tournament that ultimately failed to come up to spit.

Significantly, the final provided an experience akin to finishing a decent pint only to end up with a mouthful of sediment. For better ('50, '66, '98) or worse ('90, '94) the World Cup final is often the source for the most lingering memories of a tournament - but, for reasons elucidated elsewhere, Soccer City 2010 left an imprint like a brass knuckle on the cerebral cortex.

Both semi-finals were not half bad, in their different ways (goals in Holland-Uruguay; Spain's general excellence against Germany), and the Germans' effervescent campaign as a whole had charm. But classic matches - like fresh contenders, players who came zinging out of nowhere - were scarce commodities.

New shinies (as in sticker albums, get with the scene) include Mesut Ozil, Thomas Muller and Luis Suarez ... but they were hardly unknowns when they boarded the plane to South Africa. By and large the big names disappointed (Rooney, Ronaldo, Messi) and the surprise-package sides (Ghana, Uruguay, Paraguay) were solid rather than spectacular. Even Chile, recipients of Johan Cruyff's imprimature, achieved limited breakout success.

That is not to say this was a World Cup without interest: questions of formation (such as the ubiquity of 4-2-3-1) and tactics (possession v counterattack) arose; several managers won plaudits for their successful stewarding of limited sides (while Fabio Capello was handed the opposite end of that particular stick); and there was the satisfaction of seeing Spain's artistry rewarded. The champions became the first side to lift the World Cup after losing their opening game - a defeat which only seemed to strengthen their faith in their principles as they went on to win six matches in a row, conceding just one goal and none in four knockout games. Sure, the finish was matt rather than gloss but there was no denying the best team got their hands on the trophy.

All things considered, then, South Africa 2010 was a difficult World Cup, one that made the spectator work for his or her enjoyment. Living in the global village of the 21st century probably means that the tournament, even as it gathers together teams and players from disparate parts of the globe, will never be quite as enigmatic and tantalising an event as it one was. We've seen most of the performers down the park already, or at least heard the hype from travellers passing through. Just another thing to blame our technological age for killing ...

Still, I imagine we'll have all rediscovered our libido in four years' time. And what better location than Brazil for an orgy of sexy football? Now don't try and tell me that's just a vuvuzela in your pocket.

World Cup watch: Much ado about nothing

2010-06-18T11:20:00.006+01:00

As the world prepared to throw up its arms in despair at the lack of excitement so far at the World Cup, the cavalry appears to have arrived mounted on the back of the second round of group games.

After just 25 goals were scored in the first 16 matches (1.56 goals per game), there have since been 13 in four, with emphatic wins for Uruguay and Argentina, an upset (or not, depending on your view) between Mexico and France and the first victory from a goal down for Greece against 10-man Nigeria. We've had a first strike from outside the box (with the help of a wee deflection), a first hat-trick, and even the first goal direct from a free-kick (let's not quibble about whether it was actually a shot, hey).

It's easy to see why caution was the watchword of the early matches. Only one team managed to win without keeping a clean sheet (Brazil, who conceded late against North Korea) and with the profusion of data and tactical information in today's game, many chose to set themselves up in a way that negated their opponent's strengths rather than attacked their weaknesses.

It's when systems break down - or when they're broken by a piece of individual brilliance - that football gets interesting; when football becomes "chaos" as Danny Baker, a bright and breezy (should that be windy?) presence in the BBC studio after last night's France game, had it. For now acts of klutz have outweighed those of genius, but still we remain expectant.

That said, there were still plenty of enthralling games in the first week. I missed Germany's demolition of Australia but enjoyed Holland's win over Denmark (particularly after the introduction of Eljero Elia, one of the few instances of pace being deployed to good effect in the final third), Argentina's shaky 1-0 smashing of Nigeria (not to mention yesterday's performance) and even the muscular nil-nil between Ivory Coast and Portugal.

As Rob Smyth wrote the other day in his build-up to another momentous 1-0, World Cups are "approximately one parts group stage, four parts knockout stages, so there's no need to worry yet". Prezactly.

World Cup!

2010-06-11T11:09:00.003+01:00

Yes, the World Cup starts today (you hadn't noticed, of course). I'll probably blog in a bit more depth if I get a quiet moment during the next four weeks (expect a post-tournament review in late July, then) ... but for now, here are a few simple statements:

The obvious favourites
Spain; Brazil

My tip/second team
Holland

Dark wildebeests
Denmark; Slovakia; France(?!)

Stranded on the highveld
Argentina; Italy

Everybody loves Nelson award
Ivory Coast (again)

Anyway, brus, let's hope the football is lekker, hey?

Essex's Division One odyssey

2010-06-09T13:22:00.006+01:00

So, after nine games, more than half of the season gone, how are the Eagles faring against the big boys? A seven-year absence from county cricket's top tier always meant Essex would face a challenge to adapt to what is undoubtedly a stronger division (the gap is more pronounced now than it was the last time we bobbed up) but a competitive and sometimes chaotic campaign so far means hopes of survival will linger beyond the mid-summer Twenty20 break.

After a thrilling last-over victory against Hampshire, the reigning champions Durham were lucky to escape with a rain-influenced draw ... Then came crushing defeats to Lancashire and Yorkshire, sandwiching an enervating draw on the Taunton road. Since then, draws have ruled the results column, with the weather intervening twice to Essex's detriment (when well-placed against Notts and almost certainly denying victory against Lancs) and once in their favour, in this week's shaky draw against Hants.

There have been solid contributions throughout the squad but, as yet, no one has produced the stellar performances that will be required to fight off relegation. Even Ryan ten Doeschate, currently leading the PCA's Most Valuable Player rankings, has still to score a Championship century and he seemed to struggle to at the Rose Bowl (six and nought with the bat and bowling figures of 1-96) - though he has admitted to fatigue being a factor for the team after playing more games than anyone else in the division so far.

David Masters (29 @ 26) continues to lead the attack with aplomb (he's now taken more than 100 wickets at around 25 in less than three seasons at Essex) but Chris Wright has managed just 18 @ 44 despite being the second most-used bowler. Maurice Chambers (19 @ 26) looks to be fit again and, on the back of a five-wicket haul against Hampshire, could be an important figure in the second half of the season. Ten Doeschate (25 @ 27), whose burst in the first game sealed the Eagles' only victory so far, and Ravi Bopara will also have to keep chipping in, as Danish Kaneria's impact is likely to be limited by Pakistan commitments over the summer.

With the bat, James Foster is the leading run-scorer (518 @ 39), while 20-year-old Jaik Mickleburgh is currently averaging nearly 35, with one big hundred, against Durham, to his name. Captain Mark Pettini (379 @ 31) passed fifty for the first time in his 13th innings (though again missed out on a hundred after falling for 96) against Nottinghamshire, while Billy Godleman (350 @ 29) seems to have lost his place after a promising start.

Much may depend on the form and fitness of Matt Walker (331 @ 55) and the continued development of Tom Westley (337 @ 48). Both have only managed four games out of nine, with Walker troubled by a calf problem, but I reckon their contributions could be crucial to the Essex top order. Westley's new-look opening partnership with Mickleburgh is one of youth and promise (at 21, Westley averages 33.66 with two Championship hundreds), while the experience of the 36-year-old Walker will further stiffen the batting. Here's hoping that Bopara, with an eye on an England spot for the Ashes, proves his class in Division One too.

Essex are, of course, the imposters at the party. In the 10 completed seasons since the creation of the two-tier system, Essex have spent two in the top half, ending up relegated both times. Their eight opponents this year (Notts, Yorkshire, Lancs, Somerset, Kent, Durham, Hants, Warks) have all spent at least five years in Division One. At this altitude, the Eagles aren't yet fully fledged birds of prey.

That said, the division looks as if it will be tightly contested from top to bottom, perhaps as a result of all the counties looking to fit a larger slice of T20 pie on their plates. Durham, champions for the last two years, have managed just two wins from seven, while their successors (assuming there is no north-east revival) look likely to come from the pack of four at the top: Notts, Yorks, Somerset or Lancs. Essex will need to outlast two from Hants, Warks and Kent in order to beat the drop.

Between now and August, Essex will play only two Championship games - against the pace-setting Nottinghamshire and Yorkshire. That means the last six weeks of the season, which include a double-header against Warwickshire, will be crucial in determining whether Essex can cling on to top-flight status for the first time. Give it three months and we'll know whether the Eagles are still soaring ...

An emotional rubdown with Gary Mabbutt

2010-06-08T13:42:00.002+01:00

Ever felt the pressures of love, life and football getting to much for you? Well, Uncle Gary will always be there (in a way that insulin never was for him) ...

Inside line from the Inside Man

2010-05-13T17:18:00.002+01:00

More gossip, of the hot and possibly-manufactured variety.

Gaffer's back

2010-04-28T09:42:00.001+01:00

And here's the latest installment of 'Too Many Crooks' ...

Do you IPL?

2010-03-08T12:31:00.003Z

So the 2010 tournament is to be screened on ITV4 ... Reason enough to ruminate on Lalit Modi's publicity-hogging circus for the Wisden Cricketer.

Six Nations to savour could be rugby's saviour

2010-02-04T17:01:00.007Z

If RBS is still synonymous with inflationary excess followed by a crippling crunch and an enforced bail-out, then it is perhaps appropriate that the bank-fallen-upon-hard-times remains the principal sponsor of the Six Nations. Rugby has suffered plenty of bad PR in the last couple of years, as the game bulked up on muscle and money only to be sucked into a downward spiral caused by contentious rule changes, tactical wrongheadedness and the odd scandal or two.

So a rescue act is required, but who will provide it? The public may still be putting its hand in its pocket when it comes to attending Premiership and international rugby, but the game needs more enterprise on the pitch if it is to avoid a recession in popularity off it.

Saracens, who currently lie second in the Premiership and could return to the top with victory in their game in hand over Leicester, have epitomised the grinding, ultra-pragmatic approach to the sport that has become prevalent in recent seasons. In 12 matches, Sarries have run in 14 tries and conceded just eight - that's less than two tries a game for the paying spectator. It's true that Northampton have scored 26 to 14 conceded - their aggregate of 40 tries in 12 matches (3.3 per match) equalled only by bottom club Leeds, who have conceded 30 - but Saints are running against the grain.

After a grim series of autumn internationals, in which England scored one try in three games against Australia, Argentina and New Zealand, and a 2009 Premiership final which is etched on my mind only because of the weight of its dull, thudding tread, coaches have begun to face legitimate questions about their modus operandi.

Martin Johnson, England's team manager, and Saracens coach Brendan Venter are easily made into straw men to take the brunt of public criticism, but ever since the advent of professionalism in the game the focus has edged more towards pulling together a physically imposing XV, fine-tuned to the last tree trunk-like quadricep, than cultivating exceptional ball-handling skills. Simon Shaw spoke out against the dominant 'gym monkey' culture last October - but we are yet to see a popular uprising against reps and sets, and the pervasive 'kick and tackle' approach.

That there are coaches out there who buck the trend, the 2009 Lions tactician, Ian McGeechan, among them, is a reason for optimism. Keith Barwell, chairman of Northampton (those side-stepping Saints again), made a point of praising the Scot in a Donald McRae piece for today's Guardian:

"I remember Geech telling me the problem with the England coaches, particularly the dour ones, is that when they get the team together all they do is beast them and work them. Geech opens his players' minds. That's the difference."

McGeechan, who is currently mentoring younger coaches away from the front line, was responsible for the best advert for Test-match rugby of the last 12 months: the Lions tour. Three fixtures produced an average of more than 40 points a game, and close finishes in the first two Tests (albeit both won by South Africa) coupled with a win for the tourists in the third helped to revive a concept that was beginning to seem anachronistic.

The Six Nations needs a similar splash of cold water across the face. We've had the crash (crash ball, crash tackle, crashing boredom) ... now must come the bail-out. Johnson has certainly selected his most adventurous line-up yet. A back line including Delon Armitage, Riki Flutey and Matthew Tait is shaped to punch holes in Wales when the sides meet at Twickenham, and one can only hope for the sort of display that England produced against France last year.

That sparkling performance must sit in the the history books alongside a particularly horrific display against Italy (surely one of the worst five-try victories ever). The grisly spectacle of the autumn series and this season's Premiership has cast an even greater shadow. Rugby now needs a Six Nations to savour.

Only a game

2009-11-19T16:55:00.000Z

'Keep calm and carry on'. That's what it says on my coffee mug. Advice from a more fraught era (although never actually used at the time), but words which we might be advised to dwell on in these days of unceasing thunder.

Football has once again been enveloped by controversy. Thierry Henry is this week's pantomime villain, his sinister act of handling the ball as a prelude to France's equaliser denying the Irish any chance of progressing to the World Cup finals (a job that was far from complete at the time); drawing opprobrium down upon himself from all quarters; reigniting the smouldering debate on the 'use of technology in the game' (as vague and nebulous a concept as there is); and providing the 24-hour news agenda an overspilling trough with which to gorge itself on.

These increasingly regular excuses to get all in a lather - be it due to Sir Alex Ferguson's offensiveness, David Ngog's or Eduardo's acrobatics, or, a bit further back, the injustices visited upon Chelsea in last season's Champions League - now have something of the pagan ritual about them. As Harry Pearson might put it: this looks set to be football's darkest week since the last one.

Of course, football in the 21st century is a high stakes game and the shining sword of truth must necessarily be wielded to lance the boils of corruption, bullying, cheating and diving that disfigure its once-beautiful aspect. Or have we actually got our perspective, and our priorities, quite wrong here?

We live in a world of opinion - so whether you view Henry as scum, Fifa as corrupt, Ireland as robbed, or football as debased, then fair enough. But maybe we should be concentrating our energies, prodigious as they are when it comes to comparatively trivial matters, elsewhere.

Granted, there's plenty to pick through, so let's try and cut to the quick. It seems clear that Henry committed an act of foul play; although I think the handball was instinctive - rather than a conscious attempt to cheat - he deliberately (in the sense that he was aware of the consequences) kept the ball in play. Would the use of replay technology have seen the goal chalked off? Certainly ... but then how would we utilise such methods without initiating a creeping and insidious disruption to the flow of the game?

The crux of the issue is that football does not have discrete passages of action, in the way that cricket, tennis, American football, or even rugby does. Fine, after William Gallas put the ball in the net, play had stopped. But what happens when the ball comes back off the crossbar and bounces on to the line, or is clawed away by the keeper? If it's in, then the break in play is justified. If not, how do you restart the game? A free-kick? A drop-ball? What if the defending team immediately broke and scored on the counterattack? Should the original decision be reviewed then, potentially rewriting the course of the game? Should play be called back, even if said defending team is in full flight, to test the case of whether a goal had been scored - and thereby denying them an attacking opportunity? What about penalty appeals, fouls in open play, off-the-ball incidents? Questions, questions, questions ...

Now that was a long paragraph. The most pertinent question, however, is this one: how long before the game of football becomes both unrecognisable and joyless? It is loved the world over because of its beautiful simplicity. Most of us start out playing with jumpers for goalposts - and even that comes with its controversies (the old dispute of whether the ball was inside or outside when it passed 'through' the post). But would we want it any other way? We don't (or shouldn't) participate for the outcome, but for the 'thing' itself.

This brings us to the morality of the issue. Does a sport have a moral obligation to the rest of us? To the fans, who've been let down? Can football's integrity be irreversibly damaged by the actions of its protagonists?

A proportion of the hue and cry has focused on Henry's failure to incriminate himself in the moments after the goal - to effectively make the case for it to be ruled out. Sure, I'd love to think that in the same situation I would put my hand up, so to speak, and explain my misdemeanour. But would I? In that white-hot instant, would my moral fibre be stiff enough? Would any of ours? It's all very well to huff and puff after the event, to take to the high ground and fulminate about those who have transgressed against us ... but it is an aspect of human nature that we almost invariably take what we're given.

Football had a muddy face long before now, and the rare and cherished exceptions, of Robbie Fowler or Andrey Arshavin for instance, effectively prove the rule. Should Henry be vilified as Maradona was? I can't see the incident ever being remembered in quite the same way. And how does it rank alongside Zidane's headbutt, Schumacher's forearm or, indeed, South Korea's 2002 World Cup campaign? Our heroes may be destined to let us down, but wouldn't we all prefer to be remembered for acts that highlighted the best of us, rather than the worst?

Football is still only a game, despite the distance it has come from its origins as the pastime of the working classes. Money and celebrity have distorted the lens through which we view the sport. Henry's act was no worse than the innumerable instances of petty dishonesty that pock-mark our day-to-day existence. We should of course try to eradicate these, but to do this we must focus on the quotidian, not the extraordinary; act with integrity ourselves, rather than pointing up the flaws in others.

At the same time, the question of setting an example to children is an interesting one. Surely, we all have to learn that, for want of a better expression, it's a hard-knock life? Sometimes bad things happen to good people. What is 'fair'? Moral and ethical values exist on a shifting scale. If we are to deal in absolutes, then every infringement ever committed in football is as bad as the one from last night; and if that were the case, the roars of indignation would be as unending as they are deafening.

No one got hurt, apart from maybe the commercial interests of the Irish team. Let's just simmer down, eh? If we all cared less about winning and more about the craic, then maybe we'd all enjoy ourselves more. And maybe if players didn't feel such pressure to succeed, whatever the means, then they wouldn't resort to sticking their hands where they shouldn't be, throwing themselves to the ground at the slightest touch and generally embarrassing us all. If such hysteria is one of the side effects of us all getting more bang for our buck, then I no longer want to pay the overpriced entry fee, thank you very much ...

Finally, the game should not be replayed. Ireland had a roughly 50-50 chance of progressing through a penalty shoot-out, but it should be remembered that they were not going to the World Cup at the moment Henry intervened. We might not ever consider the luck of the Irish in quite the same way again - but I'd wager they're big enough to take it.

Inevitably, the 'Hand of Henry' will take its place in the chronicles of controversy. But where would we be without our talking points, after all?

Player bulk represents a big problem

2009-10-13T17:32:00.003+01:00

Man down ... again. The news that Danny Cipriani will miss England's autumn internationals is the latest in a series of injurious blows to team manager, Martin Johnson. Cipriani, albeit he was well down Johnson's pecking order, joins the likes of Riki Flutey, Toby Flood, Delon Armitage, Jordan Turner-Hall and his Wasps colleague Tom Rees on the sidelines ahead of what is shaping up to be yet another testing November for England.

The only remarkable aspect of the build-up for England's first Test against Australia is the absence of Jonny Wilkinson's name from the list of casualties. Rugby's bionic man, so oft-operated on has Wilkinson been in recent years, is thriving across the Channel with Toulon - but the painful legacy of professionalism in rugby union continues to claim less high-profile victims.

Those who play are usually big enough and ugly enough to accept that it is a contact sport to its battered and bruised bones, and that injuries are an inevitable part of the game. But have we gone too far down a reckless road? Cipriani's injury, described by his club as a "contusion" - a bruise to you and me - resulted in a hairline fracture of his fibula. That's some bruise. This comes just 18 months after the horrific fracture-dislocation of his right ankle; and the lad's still only 21.

The 21st-century professional rugby player is an imposing physical specimen - as the Powerade promo shots in this gallery demonstrate. Players are bigger and more muscular, and the gaps between them on the pitch have got that little bit smaller. This has led to more tackles and less tries, increased collisions and, essentially, more man sandwichs. And the guys who get munched may find their bruise has become a break, their shoulder strain a dislocation, their winding a lacerated kidney ...

With South Africa, the world's No1 team, utilising a pragmatic, power-based gameplan focused on kicking points at every opportunity (a blueprint first perfected by Clive Woodward's England), the spectacles of scrambled line-breaks, successful sidesteps and dazzling dashes for the whitewash have become scarcer - something most fans bemoan. But it could be worse: we're not the guys getting crunched week-in, week-out, after all.

Now this may seem like ambulance chasing after a spate of injuries in the England camp, and it is certainly difficult to come up with current figures on injury rates. However, a BBC study in 2005 - 10 years after rugby union became a professional sport - pointed to the huge rise in players being sent to the treatment room over the course of a season. I'm guessing that the graph has at best plateaued since then ... though with young players now coming through already chiselled into huge slabs of men (think James Haskell or Tendai 'Beast' Mtawarira), it could well have got worse.

What to do, though? Reduce the number of games?Allow players to wear more protective armour? Change the rules? Maybe the ELVs, aimed at producing more expansive rugby but effective only at increasing the amount of kicking and inconsistent refereeing, should have been designed with a different goal in mind.

The talk over the last month or so has centred on the Harlequins fake injury scandal (known predictably, and depressingly, as 'Bloodgate') but it is real casualties - such as the ones that plagued the Lions' summer trip to South Africa, and which have depleted England's resources for their autumn programme - that should vex the administrators in the long run. Whatever the solutions, the issue of player welfare is only likely to become more pertinent.

As an aside, this piece in the New Yorker by Malcolm Gladwell, looks at the different but not unrelated problem of head injuries in NFL linebackers. Sobering, however you prefer your ball games ...

Farewell to all that ...

2009-08-25T12:13:00.007+01:00

So, the big man has taken his final bow - though not without a flourish. In a way, victory at The Oval neatly summed up Andrew Flintoff's contribution to English cricket over the last decade: statistically unremarkable (29 runs from two innings; one wicket for 77 runs), but sprinkled with moments of irresistible genius (that Ponting run out).

I was hoping that whilst on a quest to win his second Ashes single-handed, Flintoff would manage to get his bowling average down below his batting average ... Alas, that wasn't to be (and perhaps inevitable, given the patched-up state of the man) and Statsguru at least will always remember him as an allrounder slightly outside the Botham-Khan-Dev bracket.

But Flintoff, certainly in the eyes of fans and team-mates, always seemed to transcend such workaday measurements of greatness; he was a man of 'moments', of enthusiasm, brio and showmanship. The crop bore a number of choice career cherries, and everyone has their Freddie favourites. From a blistering 84 from 60 balls against Pakistan as England chased 300 plus in an ODI for the first time in their history; to his maiden Ashes ton, adding 177 with Geraint Jones in 40 overs at Trent Bridge; to that down-on-one-knee stuff at Lord's. And who could forget 'Mind the windows, Tino'?

But that's the stuff of whistful reminiscence and grainy HD footage in years to come. Using the raw data of this statistical, chronological retrospective, I propose we do the Flintoff 'math' instead ...

After 20 Test innings, spread over almost four years, Beefy's latest much-heralded successor was still to pass 50. Then something finally clicked, as Flintoff blasted 137 in an extraordinary Test against New Zealand in 2002 - following a run of three ducks in four innings, as well. The lad clearly didn't do things by halves.
The following summer, Flintoff averaged above 50 in a series for the first time. His 423 runs at 52.87 against South Africa helped Michael Vaughan to elude a home defeat in his first series in charge. Even better, under Vaughan (Nasser Hussain resigned after the first Test), Flintoff averaged 54.71.
Between March 2002 and August 2005, Fred scored five Test tons. The roughly four-year spells either side, contained none. Purple Freddie was exhilarating while he lasted, though.
Flintoff took the new ball for the first time in India in 2001, claiming then best figures of four for 50 in the second Test. It was an early sign of his bowling proficiency outside of England (due to his back-of-a-length style); he averaged 29.69 on tour as opposed to 36.11 at home.
Despite only taking three five-wicket hauls in his career, Flintoff was at his champion best bowling to the Aussies. Two of his five-fors came against the old enemy, and in total he claimed 50 Australian victims, more than against any other nation. His other five-for? West indies at Bridgetown.
From 2002 onwards, when Andrew Flintoff really started to become England's Fred, his bowling was almost metronomically reliable, if not always devastating. Between then and his retirement, Flintoff only went wicketless in a match three times: twice at Edgebaston (against South Africa and Australia, in his penultimate Test) and at Perth in 2006.
During those years as the attack's go-to bowler, between August 2004 and March 2006 Flintoff took a wicket every time he bowled - a run stretching across 37 innings.
Flintoff achieved the allrounder's holy grail of a better batting than bowling average against three opponents: the relatively weak West Indians and New Zealand; and Australia. Again indicative of the man's capacity to seize the moments that mattered, Fred's 33.55 with the bat and 33.20 with the ball against the world's No1 side are indicative of how good his career stats could actually have been.

Anyway, that's enough numbers for now. The geek in me has been sated. But here's looking forward to the Stuart Broad version in a decade or so.

Fredheads

2009-08-19T10:07:00.001+01:00

One man will be more important than any other to England's hopes of winning the decisive Oval Test, which starts tomorrow, and thereby regaining the Ashes - but it won't be the six foot four Lancastrian near-legend we call Fred.

Andrew Strauss has gone about his Ashes 2009 business with quiet efficiency, much as he has done since returning to the side against New Zealand in 2008 after being dropped due to poor form. He is England's highest run-getter by a clear hundred (344 @ 49) - as he was during the fight to save the series in the Caribbean (541 @ 68) over the winter - and he currently averages at least 10 more than any of his top six colleagues do against the Aussie attack.

That, coupled with a direct, pragmatic approach to the captaincy, means Strauss has emerged as the team's MVP - a status conferred as much by his approach and ability as the absence of a certain KP. He has also succeeded in defying the traditional affliction of batting like an England captain, ie. poorly - as this comparison of his averages with and without the extra responsbility shows (a handy link that will either add weight to or disprove the contention as time passes).

Strauss has thrived under pressure, leading by example and tackling the Australian menace head-on, albeit in his trademark undemonstrative manner. Contrast and compare with England's supposed titan, Andrew Flintoff, for a moment. Fred took the plaudits for his five-for at Lord's (when Australia made 400 in their second innings) ... but shouldn't, as Lawrence Booth points out in his Spin column, the MoM award really have gone to Strauss for his first-dig 161?

Not to say that Flintoff's presence in England's fifth-Test line up is insignificant. He appears as some kind of bogeyman in the tourists' psyche and his no-nonsense batting bolsters the lower-middle order a sight more than Steve Harmison's. But he bowls as part of an ensemble cast - with seven wickets at 49 he is fourth in the England standings - while Strauss is the team's standout batsman.

Australia must be bowled out twice on what is likely to be a batter's wicket, and Flintoff's fire will be as important as the hoped-for contributions from Jimmy Anderson, Stuart Broad et al. But England have also to score 'big runs' (and winning the toss wouldn't do any harm either). This is Strauss's department - and if he hits his straps again, he might just drag the rest of the team with him.

No pressure, Andrew ...

By any means necessary

2009-07-14T14:44:00.003+01:00

It may seem superfluous to say it, but England needed to save the first Test in Cardiff. Psychologically it was important; in terms of remaining in the series, it was imperative. Australia's funk at perceived English time-wasting may well become a significant corollary - and Ricky Ponting did well to play the incident down.

Can England take 20 wickets in a match from here? The signs certainly weren't encouraging. And if you examine the form of England's bowlers against Australian opposition in the last seven years (encompassing three Ashes series), the question appears to echo that bit more ominously. What would you give for Simon Jones (19 wickets @ 21, strike rate of 34) to be fit right now?

Still, it is thanks to two bowlers, Jimmy and Monty, that we endure. To Lord's, lads, and let's make a fight of this one.

Something missing from the Arsenal?

2009-05-12T17:04:00.004+01:00

After a lamentable Champions League exit to Manchester United, where, despite the momentum-sapping quality of United's early lead, a fightback never seemed likely to materialise, questions began to hover again over Arsene Wenger's brood.

Then the Emirates was sacked by Chelsea five days later. Whatever the progress made by the Arsenal youth project since November, when the title challenge foundered on the rocks of defeat to Fulham, Hull, Aston Villa, Stoke and Manchester City, the shortcomings of Wenger's squad were twice brutally exposed within the space of a week.

Arsenal is a subject I try to keep close to my heart but far from this blog. Partisanship doesn't often make for sober, cogent analysis ... but sometimes subjectivity can offer its own insight. As someone who welcomes the cosmopolitan mix of players brought to this country by the likes of Arsenal, I'm loath to light upon the hoary old 'foreigners don't care' argument; but after a classic post-defeat bout of soul-searching with my fellow Gooner brother, Ross, we'd settled on a hypothesis or two.

Maybe there is a case, chest-beating chauvinism aside, that a collection of largely foreign players don't 'want it' quite so much as ones who are wedded to the badge. This is perhaps symptomatic of the increasingly footballer-as-businessman nature of the game - but certainly Arsenal seem to lack a Rooney, a Gerrard, a Terry, who will always give their utmost for the cause.

Is this because they are English? Or because Cesc Fabregas isn't? Such a postulation would surely apply to various domestic leagues around the world, in that locally sourced players may well feel more than a casual affinity for their club. Arsenal undoubtedly have a squad of committed professionals, but does each individual view the arrangement as more of an employer-employee relationship than, say, Jamie Carragher does at Liverpool?

Arsenal rarely overwhelm teams as often as they did in their glorious late-90s, early 2000s heyday, when players of Dennis Bergkamp, Patrick Vieira and Thierry Henry's quality blended with the likes of Tony Adams, Ray Parlour and Sol Campbell. Does the current collection of elite graduates from the Gunners' global scouting network lack a heartbeat - or at least someone who understands the fans' chants, knows why they turn up evey week?

Perhaps, too, there is an excessive focus on cold technique within the Arsenal side, at the expense of passion and grab-the-game-by-its-scruff dynamism. Certainly Wenger has emphasised that aspect of the current team's play - perhaps influenced by criticisms of more robust, combative, possibly cynical, Arsenal line-ups of the past. There was a time when the aesthetes of north London were perceived as an indisciplined, bully-boy side, lest we forget.

Whatever the case, it is painful to see your side fail to raise its game in the cauldron of a must-win Champions League semi-final against one of the oldest of enemies. Easy answers there are none, and Wenger will doubtless tread his own path. But unless Jack Wilshere and Theo Walcott start stamping their personalities on the team soon, our doubts and questions will linger ...

Here comes the sun (which is often not a bad thing in a sporting context)

2009-04-24T19:24:00.007+01:00

The warm murmurings of spring; the smell of cut grass on the breeze ... things that remind me of youthful trips to the fields over the back to play cricket on the concrete strip, or headers-and-volleys with rugby posts for a goal.

Normally I favour more pluvial conditions, the type that change the tenor of a late-autumn football match, or which make for muddled and muddied rugby. Such a preference is probably also influenced by a pallor more Ronald (McDonald) than Ronaldo, but there is one unequivocal bonus to seeing the sun parked high in the sky: cricket.

It has to be pleasure-in-chief of the summer months and, with the World Twenty20 and the Ashes among the few major sporting events on the 2009 calendar, there will be plenty of bat'n'ball to be enjoyed. There may be some scuffling along cricket's boundary rope - such as the continued debate about the respective merits of the Test and Twenty20 games - but that shouldn't overshadow another season of domestic and international contest; provided the weather holds, of course.

Yes, it's certainly one thing the sun is good for. Hat on, can/glass/hip flask in hand, some bins shielding the eyes as the players shimmer out in the heat. I have, of course, done my time sitting under cover while rain conquers the outfield - but a sport can't be blamed for the inconsistencies of the native seasons, can it?

There is, simply, an ineluctable beauty to a day spent watching two teams - or more precisely, two men - jousting out in the middle. And this is where I think the county game, and the championship in particular, holds its own. Away from the circus of England matches (which are of course fun, but for other reasons), and the inescapable marketing and consumerism that swamps so much of professional sport, the county championship hums along, a faithful and trustworthy friend. Like the libraries of academe, or meadows filled with nothing but cows and buttercups, there is something of the English idyll at play here, I think.

This is cricket, for me, pared down, perhaps not even that popular - but pure. With time to read the paper, or go for a wander in search of a pint, then to return to the duel at hand. Because that's what we're after, isn't it? Two fellows (along with sundry supporting players) taking to the wicket to try and get the better of each other with just a bat and a ball.

So I'll be taking advantage of the sunshine, whensoever it happens to grace this isle, to add to my list of county grounds visited and while away a few more hours taking idle pleasure from the summer game. Making sure to apply the sunscreen to myself, of course ... almost as often as applying myself to the ale.

All in the best (worst) possible taste

2009-01-16T18:49:00.003Z

The Gaffer waits for no man, especially not me. But I know his PO Box address, so I could send him these hot scoops anyway. First, a little dip into football in the far east; and then the lurid tales told by The Inside Man (except the Defoe one). Clickety-click...

Fin de regime(?)

2008-12-31T18:23:00.003Z

Rupert Murdoch! Bob Hawke! John Howard! Ricky Ponting! Madge Bishop! Kevin Rudd - can you hear me Kevin Rudd? Your boys took one hell of a beating! Your boys took one hell of a beating! Excuse me... just releasing some pent up emotion. Now, where was I?

Ah yes. Perhaps we should hold back from proclaiming a new world order, but, after victory as sweet as South Africa's was (adding 180 for the ninth wicket; JP Duminy's breathtaking 166; 10 wickets for Dale Steyn), it's tempting to get all flustered, if only for a bit.

To recap, the notion that Australia's cricketing empire is contracting - just as the West Indies' did almost 15 years ago - has already be tossed around; but a first home series defeat since the early nineties looks to have provided further evidence for the prosecution. An Aussie side with passengers? Game-winning opportunities declined with increasing regularity? Internecine bitching? All sounds familiar to this Pom...

Australia's case of subsidence may give KP and the gang heart ahead of the summer's Ashes dust-up, but it doesn't preclude England making a pig's ear of what looks right now a golden opportunity. Last time, it took a leonine effort to wrest back the Ashes. This year, maybe just calculated competency will be enough. For now, lads, keep Lance-Corporal Jones' advice in mind... Don't panic!

Now let's look at that again

2008-12-10T12:46:00.001Z

More hilarity from The Gaffe r. Time to re-rewind MOTD...

Rafa lafa

2008-11-25T17:51:00.003Z

Cheap, and so deliciously easy. Boom boom!

Straya on the ropes(?)

2008-11-24T22:46:00.003Z

Before the 2006-07 Ashes series down under - The Ashes II, for cricket fans who think things all began with Fred Flintoff - Gideon Haigh wrote:

Not so long ago, the Ashes looked a spent force as a cricket attraction, a monocultural, irrepublican irrelevance amid our modern sporting cosmopolitanism. Then, with a single delivery, the one grazing Michael Kasprowicz's glove en route to Geraint Jones at Edgebaston last year, the world turned topsy-turvy: the sacred soot was up for grabs, and finally changed hands after an Ashes series to die for.

Haigh went on to predict the 5-0 whitewash that ultimately ensued, as Australia firmly shut the lid on the can of whup-ass opened by Michael Vaughan's team in 2005. But, were one to engage in such a 'long-range forecast' now, looking ahead to next summer's baggy-green tour of England, what odds would be given for another truly 'sooty' contest?

Looking at England's patchy form, and even given KP's ascent to the captaincy, they would possibly be long. But then, whilst England circa 2008 couldn't buckle on the pads of the 2004-5 vintage, Australia's progress has been far from serene itself in the past twelve months or so. From Monkeygate to Punter's over-rate ordeal, the Aussies have slip-slided from a record-equalling 16 Test victories in a row (20 from 21, including the ICC super Test, post Ashes) to three wins in the last ten, including three defeats. The last time Australia lost three times in the space of ten Tests was 2000-01, which included two defeats in India during VVS Laxman's series mirabilis, and the traditional dead-rubber Ashes turn-around the following summer; but, interestingly, it also was immediately preceded by that initial bar-raising 16 Test run.

These things happen, eh? Throw another Pom on the barbie... But, as Australia struggled to victory over New Zealand at the weekend, the extent of their diminished stock became a little clearer. The two best performers in a brittle Aussie batting display were Michael Clarke and Simon Katich. Clarke will likely be his side's middle-order cynosure next summer, and has added maturity to his undoubted technique - yet he only averaged 37.22 during the 2005 Ashes. Katich, whose 131* effectively stuffed a Kiwi side that, as England gleefully discovered during their own summer, offer generous slip practice, seems established in Justin Langer's boots - but his average against England is a frankly un-Australian 26.30. Without Langer, Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath, Straya's record reads: P14, W7, D4, L3. Less Wallabies, this side are closer to Wallabeens.

Whether England and their man-o-war captain Pietersen can make capital from Australia's devalued line-up is the [insert sufficiently inflationary figure] dollar question, but it seems nailed on that the 2009 series will once again be far removed from the "monocultural, irrepublican irrelevance" that was the mark of Australia's 16-year dominance. Our antipodean cousins have consistently set the mark for others to strive for; however, this time it looks like they might finally be brought down to our level.

History lesson

2008-10-28T14:06:00.005Z

Apart from the first entry, another Gardner Gaffer production...

A word on The Gaffer, while we're here; it's still something of a start-up, and we're looking for thoughts and ideas on the content, so feel free to email editor@the-gaffer.com with suggestions. Oh, and just as with all good car chase sequences, traffic's important - so tell you friends, eh.

Ambrose selection is a fig leaf

2008-10-03T20:58:00.005+01:00

Following on from the sentiments expressed below, the Wisden Cricketer have kindly allowed me to expound the point a little further, here; with less of an overt Essex bias, obviously.

Fostering discontent

2008-09-30T14:52:00.008+01:00

James Foster's omission from the England touring party to India was to be expected. Peter Moores has been inking the names of Matt Prior and Tim Ambrose onto his team sheets for too long now just to abandon the habit at the click of a ball-point pen. But the question of why Foster continues to be overlooked for the role of wicketkeeper certainly bears some examination; and may yet prove pivotal for an England coach still to entirely win over his observers.

It can't be that his glovework isn't up to spit: last week Jack Russell described Foster as the best keeper in the world. And it ought not be his batting, which this season averaged a more-than-healthy 50.66 in the Championship; and comes in at a non-too-shabby 35.34 over the course of his career. He's performed in Tests before, so we know a bit about his temperament on the international stage. And he isn't a loose cannon or a rogue factor, prone to outbursts and boughts of ill temper - he appears a fairly genial, down to earth fellow, who is currently Essex's vice captain.

What, then, is the barrier to his inclusion? After being anointed Alec Stewart's heir apparent as long ago as 2001, Foster's handful of Test appearances stalled with a single Ashes cap on the winter tour of 2002/03. At this juncture, there were still evident weaknesses in his game - as a batsman he was green, and his ability behind the stumps was considered functionary rather than spectacular. However, six English summers of phlegmatic self-improvement have elevated Foster - in terms of professional aptitude - far beyond the promising 21-year-old handed Stewart's now-mythical gauntlet.

As Foster learnt to stand up to the wicket to Essex's battery of medium pacers, and perfected his stumping technique, Chris Read returned to the national frame - some time after a less than successful debut of his own. Geraint Jones, his buccaneering batting style another weapon that Foster was carefully crafting, then became the man in possession, until handling errors and a mental fragility finally let him down. And now, as Moores toys with his former Sussex wickies, Ambrose and Prior, Foster continues to be overlooked.

Maybe Foster has failed to produce the consistently eye-catching feats required to prick the selectors into action. Certainly, a more impressive knock in this season's Friends Provident Trophy final wouldn't have done his chances any harm - his scratchy 18 was no sparkler, despite it coming in the biggest partnership of Essex's innings: 68 with match-winner Grant Flower. Then again, a double century last summer against Notts went by largely unnoticed - as did Read's in the same game. Two wicketkeepers scoring 200 in a match, and still the selectors plough their south coast furrow?

We are told that there are seasoned eyes and ears amongst Geoff Miller's scouting network, who scour the county circuit, separating out raw talent from the rest of the dreck. If so, how can Foster have been missed again? The recalled Prior looks to have at least brought his gloves with him this time, but Ambrose had a woeful summer, in front of and behind the timbers. Dropped catches and missed stumpings will cost England against Australia next summer, if not before, but the national hierarchy's prevarication over their wicketkeeping requirements appears to have given bat the whip hand over glove once again. That said, there can surely no longer be any doubt over Foster's competency with the blade...

Essex coach Paul Grayson has voiced his disappointment, yet the facts remain: Foster should be in the England set-up, but he isn't. The longer that aberration is allowed to stand, the worse things may get for Moores.

A Guinness toast

2008-09-21T20:56:00.001+01:00

Raise a glass of stout, because the Premiership is back. After three weekends of games, things are looking feisty as always in the world of English domestic rugby, and it seems that if ever there were old certainties, they aren't so certain anymore.

Take defending champions Wasps losing all of their opening fixtures so far. Or Leicester's kicking; without their former dead-eye, Andy Goode, who left over the summer for Brive, new signing Toby Flood has worn the mantle uneasily, converting just 55% of his attempts at goal. His 11 successful kicks have, however, ensured three wins from three for the Tigers, and their early-season solidity is in marked contrast to last year's quixotic quest to retain the crown they won in 2007.

Gloucester's traditional fragility remains, a problem bemoaned by coach Dean Jones, but Northants, relegated with barely a whimper in 2007, have added the steel of Neil Best and Ignacio Fernandez Lobbe, and fought their way to two wins from three and fifth in the table. Throw into the pot the newly-minted ELVs, which Jones reckons have been applied differently in all three of his side's games thus far, Jonny Wilkinson playing in two consecutive games injury-free, and Ollie Barkley in a Gloucester shirt, and the Premiership almost begins to look like a kind of newfoundland.

Some things don't change, though. Wilkinson's kicking percentage is up at 100, for instance. Worcester, for all the hype surrounding Chris Latham's arrival, find themselves at the wrong end of the blender; while Sale, the club who looked most likely to vie with Wasps and Leicester for domestic supremacy when they claimed a well-deserved title in 2006, are motoring again. And then there are the hardy perennials, the autumn internationals, just over the horizon...

England will play Australia, South Africa and New Zealand on three consecutive weekends in November, and, after the disastrous tour to Kiwi in June, that's a pretty fearsome-looking triptych. Even with Wilkinson fit having undergone shoulder surgery over the summer, it would be great to throw that physical manifestation of game-breaking unpredictability, Danny Cipriani, into the fray against the southern giants. Let's hope his own recuperation from injury is going well.

Football Explained

2008-09-10T17:07:00.002+01:00

The beautiful games is full of evocative phrases. "They think it's all over...", "terrible defending" and "megs!" are just a few classic examples. Anyway, here's 'Total football' explained.

Too many Crooks

2008-08-14T16:35:00.003+01:00

Ever tried to take on the persona of former Norwich stalwart Ian Crook? Neither had I; but when the Gaffer asks you to do something, you do it, no questions asked...

A striking shortage

2008-08-10T19:24:00.002+01:00

Unpublished article written in May for guardian.co.uk/sport, based on previous musings.

Absences are, by their very nature, often conspicuous, yet one of the more arresting disappearances of this season has been thus far overlooked. For the first time since Brian Deane christened the Premier League way back in August 1992, the top ten of the scorers’ chart is devoid of an Englishman. To be precise, the top five has never wanted for a representative of the home nation until now, but in spite of Joleon Lescott’s heroics an area of shortage for

England

is looking more depleted than ever.

England’s striking indigence has come during a time of ostensible plenty for the top division. This, however, has been the year of Cristiano Ronaldo and Fernando Torres, Emmanuel Adebayor and Roque Santa Cruz, and the days when Teddy Sheringham, Les Ferdinand and Dean Holdsworth were the most lethal marksmen in the country now seem so far away as to be almost indiscernible. With Alan Shearer a familiar outline on the punditry landscape rather than atop the scoring tree, home-grown strikers are a rarer breed. In recent seasons, Darren Bent, Wayne Rooney and even James Beattie have flown the flag, but in 07/08 only Robbie Keane, whose 15 goals place him in joint fifth, can provide a presence even approaching ‘domestic’.

If this seems like an opportunity to indulge in jingoism, then it shouldn’t be. Whilst it may be true that such a paucity of goalscoring resources has occurred at the time of

England

’s most recent footballing ignominy, failure to qualify for Euro 2008, it is frustratingly parochial to blame the woes of the national team on the influx of foreign players. Besides, if we want to produce a Torres of our own, what better way than to be able to observe him against Premier League opposition week-in, week-out? The current situation provides Fabio Capello with plenty to mull over, though. After all, even catenaccio requires a goalscorer.

Despite the gloom, there is scope for some positivity. Since February, Michael Owen, currently out of favour with England’s professore, has scored nine times in just 14 appearances, helping to make up for his early season shortfall. A look at Opta’s statistical breakdowns is also instructive: Owen’s conversion rate of goals-to-shots is up at 23.4%, putting him on a par with Adebayor (23.1%) and Ronaldo (23.7%), and only fractionally behind Torres (25%). Gabriel Agbonlahor has continued to develop his eye for goal with 11 this year, and surely only his 12-game drought during November and December kept him out of the top ten; while Jermain Defoe appears reinvigorated down on the south coast, where he has scored eight times in 12 games for Pompey.

Perhaps most worryingly for Capello, the striking form of his apparent first-choice to lead the line, Wayne Rooney, is the least encouraging. With 12 goals, Rooney finished the season tied with Defoe as the Premier League’s 11^th top scorer, but this was his lowest return since his first season at Manchester United. His conversion ratio also pales in comparison to those mentioned before, with just 14.1% of his efforts finding the net. Peter Crouch, who not so long ago racked up 11 goals in 14 internationals has suffered in Torres's shadow, with just five league goals this term, and Everton’s Andy Johnson seems unlikely to once again hit the heights of scoring 21 times in a season, as he did with Crystal Palace.

Indeed, Johnson’s heroics for the relegated Eagles three seasons back are a vestige of a more innocent era, the like of which was embodied by Marcus Stewart scoring 19 goals to help newly promoted Ipswich to fifth in 00/01, and Kevin Phillips winning the golden boot the year before, with 30 goals for Sunderland. Such feats look anomalous now. The Premier League has become a boom-town marshalled by the big four, and it is conceivable, even likely, that the top four scorers this season would have been provided by United, Arsenal, Liverpool and Chelsea, had Didier Drogba not endured such a truncated campaign – and none of them would have been English.

What next, then, for our prospects of unearthing a new Shearer, or pre-injury Owen? In the Championship, Sylvan Ebanks-Blake topped the scoring, but it is only two years since he was released by United without having made a first-team appearance. Phillips will return with West Brom for a last Premier League hurrah, but at 35 he is the oldest of a group of seasoned campaigners in the second tier which also includes Beattie. Fraizer Campbell could still make a mark, either with play-off hopefuls Hull, where he is on loan, or back at parent club United, while Capello will surely be monitoring Theo Walcott’s progress at Arsenal and possibly even the young Freddie Sears of West Ham. And maybe there are yet more rough diamonds down in the leagues’ lower reaches of whom we are currently only passing aware…

If there’s one silver lining to this typically English cloud, it is that the striker with the best conversion rate of those discussed here was born in east London. Jermain Defoe’s record of netting with 29.6% of his shots since joining Portsmouth hints at the pedigree he has long been associated with but seldom lived up to. Perhaps under the guidance of the most successful English manager this season, Harry Redknapp, there’s still hope for a prodigious scorer raised on our green and pleasant land.

Run with me on this one

2008-08-08T02:03:00.003+01:00

Part me, part someone else: all Gaffer.

He's alright, Jack

2008-07-31T15:46:00.009+01:00

The presence of school books and protractor sets around Arsenal's London Colney training ground is unlikely to raise eyebrows among observers who know Arsene Wenger's predilection for green talent, but as the Premiership season rumbles ever closer, there's a new boy in class at the Gunners Academy for Precocious Performers - and he looks like a doozy.

I usually try and keep Arsenal chat off this blog, as partisan posting can be an ill-judged thing, but the playground tyke in question just looks too good to avoid commenting on. Jack Wilshere, a 16-year-old of particularly cherubic aspect, dinged in his third goal in two pre-season friendlies last night - against former Arsenal custodian Jens Lehmann, no less - having already notched his first two senior goals at the start of the week. In taking down a Gael Clichy cross on the right side of the box, steadying himself, and then striking a low shot with his left foot past Lehmann in the Stuttgart goal, Wilshere showed both his ability and confidence. And that's not the only example.

In a reserve team match against West Ham in April, Wilshere created one goal with a Bergkamp-like inside pass, before curling a left foot effort into the top corner from 25 yards - an effort worthy of Thierry Henry. If that seems praise too high, judge for yourself. The English lad, a rare commodity at Arsenal, has been the subject of discussion on some of the blogs for a few months, and Wenger is doubtless aware of his promise. For now, though, the manager is prepared to play a cool hand.

Talk of Arsenal's youngsters can be tiresome, and it seems clear that the side needs some experienced heads if they are going to end the longest trophy drought of the Wenger era. But, after becoming accustomed to the likes of Fabregas and Clichy, Denilson and Bendtner breaking into the first team in spite of their tender years, it's nice to be talking about some truly home-grown prospects. Alongside Wilshere, there's the much-touted Henri Lansbury, who made his first team debut in last season's league cup, and Luke Freeman, signed from Gillingham in the January transfer window, currently the youngest player to have ever appeared in the FA Cup.

And then, of course, there's Theo. Not an Arsenal success story yet, but slow-burning his way towards greatness, maybe. Last season I craved a moment of Walcott genius after he had flickered sporadically - and then came Anfield, that run... and a Ryan Babel-shaped shadow to obscure it all.

Consistency and game-time will be crucial for the newly-anointed No14 this year; but for Wilshere, a low key introduction surely beckons. In any case, for now: believe the hype.

Napier rising for T20 finals day

2008-07-26T10:26:00.003+01:00

Well folks, it's time for the summer hit'n'giggle bonanza, three 20-over thrashes, with untold riches the reward for the victor. Obviously I'll be 'woop-wooping' for the Eagles when they kick-off today's Twenty20 finals, and hoping they can overcome the reigning champions Kent in the first match. Although the last time I saw the two sides play, at Beckenham a month ago, we were treated to an absolute spanking...

Anyway, on the subject, and with particular reference to Graham Napier, I've managed to inveigle some more Essex propaganda onto a respected website, namely the Wisden Cricketer. So, if an account of Napier's fall and rise tickles your pickle, then follow the hyperlink road.

Beautiful game mugged by opportunistic credit crunch gag

2008-07-04T02:12:00.002+01:00

Read all about it, read all about it! Well, go on then.

Graham 'Napalm Death' Napier

2008-06-25T16:41:00.001+01:00

Two weeks ago it was Ravi Bopara - this time it was Essex's lesser-known allrounder Graham Napier out in the middle, detonating the ball to all parts of the ground. His 152 from just 58 balls may well have been touched by the kind of fortune that only comes to those who truly 'give' themselves to the slog (as well as blessed by the short boundaries at Chelmsford), but it certainly served notice of the often-elusive potential that Essex-goers have been aware of for some time.

In my preview of Essex's 2008 fortunes, I suggested that this could be a watershed year for Napier, after the period he spent in New Zealand over the winter. There, whilst playing club cricket for Upper Valley, he was called into Wellington's side for the State Twenty20 and State Shield (50 over) competitions, at one point sharing the batting with former Kiwi captain Stephen Fleming. The hard yards of wintering abroad were described on Napier's Essex blog, and it's a good indication of how seriously he's perhaps beginning to view his cricketing career. In Kiwi, he picked up a first ever hat-trick, on his was to 7-34 for Upper Valley; back on the county scene, and after a slowish start, he's managed to claim a world record for the number of sixes in an innings.

Whilst the carnage was being wreaked against Sussex, Sky's David 'Bumble' Lloyd mused that Napier had got himself fit, and was beginning to show the application required of a cricketer who wants to step his game up a level. He also suggested that England may well like to find a place for the Colchester-born 28-year-old at some point. As with Bopara, such predictions are generated as much by the heat of the crucible as the cold, hard facts. But then again, stranger things have happened (Paul Grayson in the Champions Trophy, for instance)...

Fictional progression

2008-06-17T15:54:00.005+01:00

For a long time I considered that making up your story as you went along would constitute the most enjoyable form of journalism. Well, it actually turns out to be not quite as easy as I first though - but still pretty fun.

Ravi runs away with it

2008-06-05T18:42:00.002+01:00

Phenomenal. That's about the only way to describe Ravi Bopara's blistering double hundred against Leicestershire in the Friends Provident Trophy. I'd just tuned in to BBC Essex's streaming commentary when Ravi cleared the ropes for the tenth time, bringing up his 200 with one ball of Essex's innings remaining. This was astonishing not only because there have only ever been a handful of limited-over double hundreds, but also due to the fact that Ravi had reached a mere 150 about five overs beforehand, when I belatedly checked the score for the first time.

I remember noting Ravi's innings of 83 from 46 balls against Surrey in the Twenty20 Cup in my 2006 season review for Third Umpire. As luck would have it, Essex's next one day fixture will be at Surrey in the T20, and I'll be sitting in the Oval bleachers again, hoping for more of the same. There have been no less than forty hundreds scored in T20 competition, the highest being one of the most recent - Brendon McCullum's ferocious 158 not out in the IPL - so it's not beyond the realms of fantasy that the Eagles could be rocket-propelled towards another big total by Centurion Bopara; though another double looks unlikely.

As the BBC Essex commentators mulled the significance of Ravi's pyrotechnically accomplished knock, they immediately projected forward to him scoring bucketloads of runs in the one-dayers against New Zealand, and then doubtless returning to the Test side to face the Saffers. Caution should be preached, for now, as he has already received caps in both forms of the game, and ended up departing with them in hand. However, with such undoubted aggression, and his wristy, punchy stroke play, there's every reason to hope - particularly while England's middle order continues to suffer so excruciatingly...

It's what Ian Rush drinks

2008-05-13T10:52:00.002+01:00

Have you heard the one about the football website that behaves like an onion? Well, it's worth a look, not least for this hot and steamy little number from yours truly...

Fox-in-the-box cull?

2008-04-27T21:34:00.004+01:00

It looks as though this season's Premier League scoring charts will be without an English representative in the top ten for the first time since its 1993 inception (indeed, probably ever then, as foreign players have only really proliferated in Britain in the Premier League era).

With Wayne Rooney's goal yesterday (his 12th league strike), and John Carew's equaliser at Everton earlier today (13 goals, equal with Carlos Tevez and Yakubu), the Manchester United forward now stands level with Portsmouth's Jermain Defoe as the 11th highest scorer in the league. Kicking about just below are Gabriel Agbonlahor, Steven Gerrard and Frank Lampard - but up near the medal positions, as it were, there's a significant dearth of English names.

Is this down to imports crowding out home talent? I'm loathe to believe it. After all, with four tiers of professional football in England, as well as numerous semi-pro leagues, there is a much bigger pool for players to splash around in than most other countries, which usually have just two or three professional divisions.

Bringing me to the question of how we coach youngsters and inculcate within them both the requisite skill level and a mentality to succeed. Maybe more English footballers should play abroad, and learn about different iterations of the game; it's worth NBing that many of the great players of the modern era - Zidane, Ronaldo, Henry, Maradona, Bergkamp - have been itinerant performers of their craft. Only the Italians stay at home.

We could take, for example, Emmanuel Adebayor, who has scored 21 goals for Arsenal so far this season. Blessed with a gangling talent, but aware of the need to improve his technique, the Togolese, who arrived in England via France with little in the way of a reputation, has run his cotton knee-socks off all year, helping Emirates-goers to forget, perhaps for just a nanosecond, about a recently-departed No14. He may miss more easy ones than he scores, but his commitment and work ethic have been unimpeachable. If only we were describing Emile Heskey two seasons after he had moved to Liverpool...

But even if there has been a restriction of opportunities for young English strikers, should we not be able to bank on producing another Shearer or Owen, sooner or later? Of the successive heirs apparent, James Beattie, Andy Johnson, and Darren Bent have all struck rich veins of form only to end up mining in the relative wilderness; Beattie and Bent now sadly diminished, Johnson a mere stage hand to Yakubu's headline act. Only Defoe remains on the prowl at his new south coast hunting ground.

There are other bright, young things, however. Dean Ashton has at times provided a rough and ready simulacrum of Shearer's power and finishing, while his young team-mate, Freddie Sears looks to have a bit of nip about him. And then there is Theo Walcott, who has bagged half a dozen goals this season, despite spending much of his time on the wing. Manchester United's Hull loanee Fraizer Campbell is much touted; Blackburn's Matt Derbyshire much underrated. Otherwise, all we're left with is Kevin Phillip's vulpine grin - although that's still probably better than Heskey.

To change or not to change?

2008-04-06T18:28:00.002+01:00

Slightly off-topic, but have you considered the issue of being a sweaty cyclist? I have, and you can read my thoughts, and chip in with your own, on the London Cycolumnist.

Oh captain, my captain

2008-03-29T19:16:00.015Z

For a position that requires the bearer to wear an armband and not much else - bring their familiarity with probability to the coin toss? Yell stuff like, "'e ain't don' nuffin' ref!" at the fella with the whistle? - there has been an awful lot of hoo-ha surrounding the issue of the England captaincy. In fact, leadership is right at the top of the agenda right now, particularly in terms of setting an example. What was John Terry doing whilst Ashley Cole pulled the head off of his teddy bear (also known as Mike Riley) at White Hart Lane? And how about William Gallas's wobble at St Andrews after Birmingham's late equaliser? Yes, that little (c) has become a weighty matter of late.

The issue of who would lead the boys out in the Stade de France generated enough column inches to reconstruct the Parthenon. In the end, Rio got the job after Terry was apparently overlooked by 'Il Professore' because of the general aspect of indiscipline that marks out the Chelsea captain. Of course, Terry's got poor form, so to speak, when it comes to speaking ill of the powers that be: he was fined early last year for questioning Graham Poll's decision to send him off in a match against Tottenham.

The Cole incident was a recent flashpoint, and highlighted the brothers-in-arms mentality that is the common mindset among footballers. Rather than step in and act as a placatory influence, Terry's first instinct, just like the rest of his team-mates, was to converge on Riley and unleash a storm of invective at the official. Similarly, when Javier Mascherano let his kettle boil over after being told to 'offski' at Old Trafford, it was noticeable that none of his fellow Reds managed to restrain him - an action that, had it been effectively carried out in the moments before the Argentine opened his chatterbox, would have saved Liverpool the penalty of being reduced to 10 men.

At Arsenal, Arsene Wenger has said that he handed the responsibility of captaincy to Gallas to help forge a more committed, perhaps more stable, player who could help shore up the Gunners' back line. In doing so, he ignored the claims that Gilberto Silva - a more placid character by far - may have had on the role, and Gallas has undoubtedly responded with a certain vim and vigour. However, his passion has got the better of him at regular junctures (his recent lacrimation at Brum was preceded by a petulant kick at Nani in Arsenal's 4-0 drubbing against United), and the decision has highlighted the difficulty in trying to coerce your leader into also acting as an exemplar.

In picking Rio against France, then, Fabio Capello was perhaps just keeping the safety catch on. Ferdinand has performed creditably in the role for United in the absence of club captain Gary Neville, but then so has Ryan Giggs and even Cristiano Ronaldo. Roy Keane, who once skippered United with typical aggression, was symbolic of what has rightly come to be seen as the bad old days, and his ugly pursuing of Andy D'Urso as part of a pack of red-shirted team-mates was a nadir for player-official relationships. However, recently Ferguson seems to have abandoned the idea of having a 'representative on turf' - perhaps enforced by Neville's long-term absence - in favour of instilling a form of discipline throughout the team that needs little reinforcing by an armbanded senior player.

Because in reality, how important are such grass-stained generals? As Mascherano departed amidst much recrimination last week, where was his captain, Steven Gerrard? As a symbol for the crowd to exult and adore, Gerrard is a nonpareil - but as a communicator, a stabilising influence, even a motivator who can galvanise his team-mates through words rather than simply deeds, his worth must be questionable. Gallas and Terry are analogous figures - players whose characters override their ability to act as on-field prefects. A good example in the Premiership these days seems to be Gareth Barry, who quietly sublimates his own agenda in order to carry out his manager's bidding on the pitch. Martin O'Neill knows that Barry is a level-headed young man - and, more importantly, that the power of office won't go to his head.

Capello made a sensible call in throwing the elasticated black band Ferdinand's way. An unfussy player who can act as a focal point without distorting the focus, Rio is far more likely to embody his manager's ethos simply because he will concentrate on his game rather than grabbing the badge on his chest. And maybe, when it things get sharp and pointy, managers should be confident in their captain's ability to act as an ambassador for the team, rather than for their own ego.

Grand Sham Sunday

2008-03-23T12:30:00.000Z

Some thoughts on our great footballing quadrumvirate...

Essex season preview

2008-03-22T20:28:00.001Z

Time to prepare the wicker hamper and discuss the various merits of sticking it in short and hard once again... Yup, the Third Umpire county preview series is placing its mark, and I've contributed my Euro-fifty on Essex CCC's chances. No Vauxhall Novas or white stilettos, guaranteed...

Match Report

2008-03-12T16:39:00.001Z

Queens Park Rangers 3-2 Blackpool

What goes up must come down, so says the dictum, but Rangers’ rise under the guidance of Luigi Di Canio currently shows no sign of abating. There was, however, more than an element of up-and-down to their defeat of midtable rivals Blackpool, who resurrected their challenge after going three goals in arrears – as well as to Akos Buzsacky’s opening strike, which set Rangers on the road to eventual victory after just ten minutes.

Hungarian international Buzsacky has now picked up nine goals from his position on the right wing, and he could have moved into double figures here with a couple of fizzing volleys. In the end he had to settle for the delicate flick which looped into the top corner of Paul Rachubka’s goal after Patrick Agyemang’s deep cross.

“It came a little bit behind me and I hit it first time. I have not scored one like that before, but I didn’t have a choice so I just tried it,” said the 25-year-old when asked if the effect had been intentional. “Only one in 10 of those goes in.”

Despite scoring twice in the first-half while letting Blackpool do most of the running, the west Londoners were never entirely comfortable, and when Martin Rowlands added a third, to go with a finely taken Rowan Vine effort, the home team suddenly appeared keen to hit the self-destruct button.

“We go three-nil up and then start panicking and anything could happen,” observed Busacky. “There were a lot of positives, but also things to improve. The main thing is we can play some really good football and score goals, although when we are in the lead we can also lose goals, so we need to plan for that. We got the three points and that’s what mattered.”

In the end, Blackpool may have felt they deserved something from the game, with Wes Hoolahan working tirelessly on both wings, and the away support often drowning out the Rangers faithful. Conceding so soon after half-time was crucial, admitted Tangerines boss Simon Grayson: “When you give any team a two-goal start you are up against it. But at half-time we said if we could get the next goal we'd be right back in it – but unfortunately we didn't.”

Goals from substitute Ben Burgess and Stephen McPhee were all Blackpool could muster, and the game meandered towards its conclusion as Rangers made several tactical changes in the final twenty minutes.

Di Canio was understandably pleased to see Rangers move into the top half of the table for the first time since taking over – their rise coming at the expense of Blackpool who slip to 13th – but he stressed the need for his team’s continued progress.

“I am quite upset because what could have been a triumph turned into a stuttered win. This slightly slows down the growth of our confidence and self-belief, something which is fundamental in the development of a team.

“I am more interested that the team plays well and expresses what they are trying to do, and this is more important than a point more or a point less.

“Really good work has been done both with the players who were here at the start and the players who have arrived. By becoming more of a team we can get even better”

Written as a piece of coursework for my journalism diploma. With thanks to Ian Cole for the press pass.

Roses in bloom

2008-02-29T22:13:00.003Z

Well, predictions are made to be dashed, I suppose... A cussed defeat of the French in Paris by England and a predictable win for the Irish over the Scots saw the table level out again, with Wales still just ahead. Although I remain confident that my forecast of a Wales-France showdown for the championship will come to pass, it looks like the equation may not be quite as simple as it looked like turning out.

England in particular will have their tails up after winning away to France in the Six Nations for the first time since 2000. Where the team had fallen away in the latter stages against Wales and Italy, Ashton's charges showed far greater resolve in the Stade de France, and their rugby was typified by a hard-boned aggression which Marc Lièvremont's youthful side could not compete with. Although France's lone try came from a front five push, it was chiefly in the tight exchanges where England confirmed their ascendancy, while the inexperienced half-back pairing of Morgan Parra and François Trinh-Duc were unable to harness the running potential of the back three outside them.

England's victory could yet turn out to be another false dawn, with a potentially troublesome trip to Murrayfield tomorrow, but at least they have finally shown some guts on the road after numerous disappointing international away-days over the last few seasons.

With a final match-up against Ireland at Twickers to come, England will hope for eight points and only the aberration of Wales' win at Twickenham to haunt memories of their 2008 campaign. Brian Ashton may then be able to unfurl the attacking masterplan we all hope he has up his sleeve and lead the red rose back to the lost citadel of try-scoring rugby. Fingers bisected of course.

For the Welsh, the fable of 2005 could yet be retold, and the Irish will need luck as well as judgement to resist the shimmering waves of red. A victory margin of anything more than 10 points will bolster the already-formidable Welsh difference, and see them practically assured of the title, if not the grand slam. Don't bet against it...

Two games leaves two teams

2008-02-18T13:16:00.006Z

Although my rugby coverage has been remiss thus far in the 2008 Six Nations, I thought I would use the lull between game weekends two and three to analyse some of the goings on. After the belligerent renaissance orchestrated by England in the World Cup, their collective resilience appears to have dissipated, while a youthful French team and the resurgent Welsh have claimed the early plaudits. So how are things going to play out?

Well, it already appears that it's between two teams, with a second Grand Slam in four years in the offing for Warren Gatland's Wales, and a possible third successive title on the table for Marc Lièvremont's beguiling Bleus.

Although the Welsh must surely consider themselves lucky to have pulled off their sacking of Twickenham despite only turning up for the last twenty minutes, their enterprise and brio during that late period of the Championship's second game was enough to justify them the points. Quite how England's wheels fell off so spectacularly, Brian Ashton will probably never know; but if it keeps occurring, as it did against the Italians in Rome, then his time free for pondering will rapidly increase. The unemployed-sitting-on-the-sofa-watching-daytime-TV kind of time, that is.

While the post-World Cup blues have suckered England once again, the new-look French have come haring out of the traps, playing some of the free-flowing rugby that used to be such a quintessential part of their game. In particular a livewire back three of Cédric Heymans, Vincent Clerc and Julien Malzieu/Aurélien Rougerie has contributed to their impressive start - Clerc's five tries already put him only three behind an 80-year-old tournament record.

Heymans, a winger whom I greatly admire, but a full-back of dubious pedigree, has broken the shackles of his indecision and is penetrating the line from the No15 position with an insouciant swagger (just watch France's third try here). Clerc, so lethal in denying Ireland at the last in 2007, is as deadly a finisher as anyone currently operating in the world game, and has the quicksilver feet to damage most sides. England will be attempting to bag him early at the weekend.

While some uncertainty remains around the pack, France's ability to hold their own up front whilst running in tries from all parts of the field makes them one of the teams to beat. However, just such a beating may be meted out by the Welsh in a few weeks' time, as Les Bleus will have to attempt to confirm their ascendancy by avoiding defeat in Cardiff in the final round of games.

After last year's abject campaign where Scotland were narrowly forced to accept the wooden spoon, the Welsh dragon has grown a leathery hide; although one which still sparkles with the odd jewel. Shane Williams is still dancing through defences (even when they put him into touch), while James Hook continues to look like a world class five-eighth. The real fillip, however, has been the return of Ryan Jones, whose captaincy and skill behind the scrum have shored up Wales' tight play. It is, of course, pretty handy to have the recently-retired Martyn Williams lurking around again too.

Whilst Ireland might justifiably claim that their late assault on the French means they cannot be discounted in what will probably be another tight Championship, they find themselves in the same uncomfortable position as England. Close analysis does not treat either team well. Scotland have been heartbreakingly unenterprising, while the Italians' brute force and increasing proficiency seem destined to come to naught this year, possibly until Scotland visit the Stadio Flaminio in March.

So, with just two games played, it's looking like Wales versus France, just like it was in 2005. Only this time the French will travel to Cardiff, where they will have to be on their game to avoid getting burned. Once again, the dragon is roaring.

Hail the traveller

2008-01-30T17:31:00.007Z

With the latch about to be safely shut on the transfer window for another five months, an interesting number of players in what would be kindly referred to as their dotage are off to pastures new - rather than being put out pasture once and for all. Clearly the Eels song 'Last Stop This Town' is not a record Andy Cole cares for...

In an age of greater career mobility, it should perhaps not be so surprising that many of the game's old stagers continue to seek out the next gig on the horizon. Teddy Sheringham, currently the oldest player in league football, could have retired happy when he hung up his Spurs shirt for the second time in 2003; but five years on, Sheringham is with his third club (his seventh in total), still knocking in the odd penalty for Colchester United.

Some credit is due to Teddy, however, as for all his years (41 and counting) he is no senescent chancer. No, despite his off-pitch antics with various glamour models, there are far more promiscuous footballers preying on unsuspecting clubs out there.

Take Jon Macken, for example, who, despite being only 30, has been loitering around for yonks. Some would say he was lucky to score a £5m pound move to Manchester City in 2002. Kevin Keegan, the Geordie Messiah who shelled out for Macken, may view himself as somewhat less lucky. After scoring just seven league goals in over 50 appearances for the Sky Blues, Macken's box of four-leaf clovers finally ran dry and he was shipped off to Crystal Palace in 2005. Since then he's played for three more clubs (Ipswich on loan, Derby and Barnsley, whom he signed for permanently a few days ago); yet he still hasn't scored more than four goals in a season since 2001/02.

Then there's the aforementioned Andrew Cole, one half of United's famous treble-winning strike force. Since leaving the red bit of Manchester behind in 2001, and putting in a few years at Blackburn (2001-2004), he's begun to take the piss a bit. He's flirted with Fulham (where he did at least net 12 times), Man City, Portsmouth, Birmingham, Sunderland, and now Burnley. The 36-year-old has pulled on the colours of three clubs in the past 12 months alone. Talk about growing old disgracefully.

While there were great nomads during the Premiership's salad days, they seem to pale in comparison with today's dirty old footballers. Tony Cottee turned out for Everton, West Ham and Leicester in the top flight, and in 2000 achieved the dubious distinction of playing in all four professional divisions in the same season. It was enough to make him retire.

Jari Ltimanen, who played for Liverpool during the 2001/02 campaign, has no such dignity. After three clubs in twelve years (two spells at Ajax, one each at Barca and Liverpool), Litmanen has now whored himself out to four different clubs in the last four seasons. He turned up on trial at Fulham this month patently no longer fit to put out the cones, let alone attempt neat one-twos for 90 minutes. But, with itinerant rent-a-coach Roy Hodgson, Litmanen has seemingly scored - even if he's unlikely to in front of the Craven Cottage faithful.

Fulham, it seems, just can't get enough sloppy seconds at the moment, with Daniel Cousin's transfer still hanging round the darker parts of Knightsbridge like a particularly desperate punter. The problem for Cousin is that he has already played for two other clubs this season: Lens and Rangers. Cue, a Fifa investigation. Well, if you're going to get a reputation for being a serial offender, then I guess you'll have to put up with being pulled in for questioning from time to time...

At 31, Cousin could yet go on to rack up some kind of record, given his current transfer rate. Whether this will be a good thing for football is a moot point, as with so many ageing pros putting it about, the transfer merry-go-round only looks like getting more and more sordid.

The January trolley dash

2008-01-20T19:09:00.000Z

In a bout of Supermarket Sweeping that would make even Dale Winton blush, British clubs have already broken the spending record for the January transfer window - and there's still almost two weeks left.

While the 'Hey big spender' badge is currently held by Chelsea, with around 25 big ones being lashed on Sulky Nic and Serbian international Branislav Ivanovic, it is the clubs in the bottom third who have been most frantic in their hunt for hastily-scribbled signatures.

Paul Jewell will attempt to plug the holes in his leaking Derby ship by using Robbie Savage's ridiculous barnet - swept off a Blackburn barber's floor for £1.5m - and unknown Argentinian, Emmanuel Villa. Fulham have payed around 5 mil for Brede Hangeland and Eddie Johnson, centre-back and centre-forward respectively; whilst they're also duking it out with Wigan for the privilege of lining Watford's pockets with crisp fifties (£5m worth, no less) in return for the services of Marlon King.

Knocking all the above into a cocked hat, however, is Alex McLeish, with the Birmingham manager laying out a princely £5.75m for fellow Scot, Everton's James McFadden, and another million and a half to take Hibs' David Murphy south of the border. Bolton too, have expended a hefty whack (another 5 oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh pounds) on taking Matty Taylor from Fratton Park, and it seems that of those teams desperately trying to put some distance between themselves and relegation town, only Sunderland, Reading and arguably Boro are yet to really throw the chequebook at someone.

Doubtless, some of this thinking comes from casting back to West Ham's eventual survival last season, after the Hammers began January in the bottom three. In bringing in the likes of Lucas Neill, Matthew Upson, Luis Boa-Morte and Nigel Quashie, Alan Curbishley paid out over £10m, while the teams eventually o'erleapt by the east Londoners, Charlton and Sheffield United, spent relatively little.

Similarly, Harry Redknapp resurrected Pompey by completely restructuring the ailing side that his predecessor Alain Perrin had assembled. The signing of players like Sean Davis, Pedro Mendes and Noe Pamarot from Spurs, as well as club record buy Benjani, Dean Kiely in goal, and Wayne Routledge and Andres D'Allesandro on loan, boosted the south coast club, lifting them away from a relegation spot before the final game of the season, and sealing 'Arry's reputation as a master wheeler-dealer.

However, while these two examples showcase the January transfer window as an opportunity for clubs in trouble to mount a bid for safety swaddled in the protective layers of a heavy bankroll, it hasn't always been thus. West Brom, the only club to climb from that gravest of positions, bottom at Christmas, did it with barely a note changing hands (£1.5m to Burnley for Richard Chaplow being their sole expenditure) - although the canny free signing of Premiership old-stager, Kevin Campbell, and then-bright-young-thing, Kieran Richardson, on loan, certainly strengthened Brian Robson's hand.

In fact, back in those days, the window was merely another aspect of the league beholden to the tyranny of the big clubs. In 2004, the three biggest deals involved Arsenal (£17.5m for Jose-Antonio Reyes), Man U (£12m on Louis Saha) and Chelsea (£10m for Scott Parker); while Newcastle (who in the minds of the Toon are the biggest club on the disc) blew £9m on Jonathan Woodgate during the 2003 window and £8m on Jean-Alain Boumsong in 2005, topping the spending charts both times.

Of course, leaving the dance floor while the relegation tango is in full swing has always relied on elbow grease and teamwork - not something you can pick up in the January sales. West Ham ultimately had Carlos Tevez to thank for coming good during the second half of last season, while Redknapp managed to get large parts of his old Pompey squad working again, sprinkling some much-needed quality on top courtesy of the new chairman's wallet.

The likes of McFadden, Taylor and Savage will doubtless be joined by others, as the cash swilling around even the lower reaches of the Premier League is put to use by desperate owners. Whether this abundance of bunce will do anything more than keep a few more agents in pinstripe suits, I don't know.

In Harm's Way

2007-12-18T19:54:00.000Z

Steve Harmison has looked less like a shadow of his former fast bowling self than a fart trying to imitate a hurricane in the last twelve months. His wide to kick-off the Ashes will go down as the most famous misfire in English Test history; but every big-hearted trier is only ever a good towling down and a bottle of Lucozade Sport away from a shot at redemption, and Harmy is looking like he might have strapped his sights on this time.

After toiling at Colombo for figures of 3 for 111, Harmison's detractors had only to look at the surface to see what a stirling effort he had put in. Taking three wickets on a track worthy of the grim reaper after six months without a Test appearance was one thing, but chalking up over 40 overs in an innings on the subcontinent for the second time was quite another. For a man who has been accused of a rather lackadaisical approach to touring, it was timely riposte.

Onward to the third Test, and England's last chance of saving their place next to Australia at the top table, where 'Steady' Steve, as he'll probably not henceforth be known, is again right on the spot. Figures of 13-2-28-3 at the close of day one suggest that Harmison may well be motoring back to the sort of lethal consistency that once made him the fearsome fairy atop the fast bowling tree, and England's success in engineering a great Sri Lankan escape will probably rest on his broad Geordie shoulders.

Barring such an outcome, an impressive showing here and some target practice against the Kiwis will hopefully give England's big man the best chance of showing the watching cricketing world what he can do again when the Proteas come a-calling next Summer...

Commentary for free...

2007-12-05T21:31:00.000Z

So, not much action here, as you can see. However, this little piece has found it's way onto the Guardian's Sports blog.

Roving Reporting

2007-11-13T23:45:00.000Z

Yes, in an attempt at virtual self-destruction, I'm going to potentially slash the number of visitors to this site by linking to yet another online refuge for my pithy observations on all things sporting. 4sportsake, a collection of views de fußball, contains the musings of Nigel Winterburn, Gary Pallister and others, alongside my own.

A Bridge too Far for Ashton's Army

2007-10-21T22:58:00.000+01:00

Well, there's no shame in being beaten by the best. Despite tearing up the form book, the play book and any other book you care to mention, England's oak-strong World Cup challenge was finally neutralised by a clinical Springbok team, who adopted their opponent's tactics in closing out a second world title.

On the day (or evening, rather), there can be few complaints from Brian Ashton and his team, after vastly-overachieving in the tournament's final equation. Had South Africa blown the English away, it would have provided a bitter after-taste to the deposed champion's sweet run to the final; but the two teams tussled competitively, and it's no disservice to the Boks to say it could have gone either way.

The Cueto 'try' call was of course crucial. The extra points would have almost certainly allowed England to mount a more credible challenge during the game's dying moments, and the boot of Monsieur Jonny may well have become the deciding factor once again. Although I'm of the mind that the attacking team should benefit when there is such an element of doubt for the TMO to take into account, probably, just about, on balance, extremely grudgingly, Stuart Dickinson - probably - got it right.

Allain Rolland's 'crossing' decision - a far worse call - some 15 minutes later, effectively ended it for Phil Vickery and co. Despite allowing an almost identical incident involving Bryan Habana to pass unnoticed, Rolland decided that Cueto had used Ben Kay to obstruct the South African tacklers, allowing a different boot, this time belonging to tyro Francois Steyn, to put England's chances to bed. The decision didn't look hugely significant at the time, but had England been awarded a similar penalty beforehand then the difference would probably have been reduced to three points again. Ah, for ifs and buts...

South Africa were my own tip from the start, and they've played the most consistently well since touching down in France. But England have salvaged a lot from their increasingly durable performances, and should now set about getting their house in order so that the post-World Cup blues does not strike twice.

Although I thought the grinding, forwards-based style of play championed by England in '03 was as dated as Martin Corry's haircut, it prevailed again; but invention with the ball in hand must be added to satisfy onlookers and ensure that the team is not simply outmuscled in future. If the blend can be perfected, there may be fewer surprises next time they get the Web-Ellis out of its cupboard...

2007-10-08T18:36:00.000+01:00

Favourites Dazzled by Northern Lights

Deftly sidestepping my last post on the dominance of the southern hemisphere, two giants of the northern game delivered hammer blows to antipodean rugby in a barnstorming World Cup quarter final weekend. Australia and the overwhelming favourites New Zealand were sent tumbling out of what is cranking up to be an outstanding tournament - setting up a repeat of 2003's Anglo-Gallic last four clash, and potentially clearing a path to the trophy for this year's form team: South Africa.

As the events of Saturday dramatically unfolded it became increasingly clear that we had been watching two games of incredible moment. Bernard Laporte's Redemption Blues will have left livid marks across the hearts and souls of many a Kiwi, and the recriminations will surely not be long in coming; but it was the English assault on their oldest enemy that was the more impressive, as unexpected as it was timely.

The odds on such an outcome as Saturday morning dawned must have been enticing. France were clinging to memories of their famous 1999 humbling of the All Blacks at Twickenham, having conceded over 100 points during two meetings between the teams in June. England, like Les Bleus runners-up in their group, had the withdrawal of Andy Farrell from Brian Ashton's original XV to contend with, as well as suggestions that the Aussies were less than daunted by the prospect of facing the English back line.

Yet as the dust settled on the opening exchanges, it became clear that England's early-tournament hesitancy had been banished. Opting to revert to traditional strengths, white shirts pounded into gold again and again, disrupting Australian phases, shaking the confidence of the world's second ranked team. Ashton's charges were emboldened as the ball was transferred efficiently if not electrically through the attack, a renewed purpose infusing their play; and then came the detonation of the Australian scrum.

It's clear now that the tests posed by Fiji, Wales, Japan and Canada were not quite the best preparation for Matt Dunning, Stephen Moore and Guy Shepherdson. As England's front row, powered by the man-mountain, Andrew Sheridan, ground repeatedly against the head, cracks appeared more devastating than the San Francisco fault line. And with Lewis Moody crashing into the breakdown, Nick Easter punching holes in the Australian defence, and Simon Shaw even displaying a cute eye for an offload, England's front eight supremacy left their opponents floored.

Not that it wasn't tight. The tension was almost paralysing as the minutes ticked away: and when Stirling Mortlock cocked his boot for a siege gun effort from way out on the left, a nation crossed everything it had to cross. But despite Jonny's errant kicking, and the inability to cross the try-line (though Mike Catt was a dropped pass and five yards from doing so), the lads sneaked home, worthy winners, huge drifts of pent-up frustration sliding from their shoulders. Bloody fantastic, and almost as exhausting to watch!

And then came the drama of Cardiff. Quite why the Kiwis played such a narrow game, picking and driving into a staggering French Resistance, with the calibre of the backs they had lining up outside, I don't know. But that mercurial cockerel, still recovering from its Argentine bullocking, crows on, and will fancy its chances against England. With both teams building their way into form, we could be set for an enthralling crescendo next weekend.

The winners in all this, other than in the immediate sense, must be South Africa. Jake White has navigated his team's path smoothly through to the semis, keeping his star performers fresh, and chalking up some impressive displays in the doing. While they will surely need to play better than against Fiji to end Argentina's continuing fairytale, the final beckons. And even if their performance arcs continue upwards, England and France must face a mighty Bok standing in the way of their quest for glory...

2007-09-29T20:00:00.000+01:00

Pacific Storm

In the two weeks since England's schooling at the hands of the Springboks, the ascendency of the southern hemisphere has become increasingly confirmed. However, aside from the fearsome triumvirate of South Africa, New Zealand and the Aussies, it has been the Pacific islanders making waves at this French World Cup.

The Samoans were widely considered as the most dangerous coming into the tournament, their greater experience and destructive runners more fancied than the attributes of either Tonga or the Fijians. And Samoa brought their physicality to bear in England's battling, resurgent victory of last Saturday; as they pummelled the English line in the second half, it took a deal more resistance than many thought Brian Ashton's men had to keep the blue waves at bay.

But moments of menace are different to sustained threat, and Tuilagi and Co. found little consistency at any point during the pool stage. The ability to maintain a 'perfect storm' of attacking rugby seemed to have passed across the international dateline to their neighbours the Tongans, who terrorised South Africa for much of their group encounter before the second-string Saffers squeaked home. For England, the task of neutralising one of the tournament's best back rows so far must have seemed as daunting as anything they had planned for.

In the event, the Tongan centres almost filleted their opposite numbers; but a much improved English rhythm enabled the monstrous red tide to be bravely withstood and then effectively subdued. Memories of Epi Taione and Sukanaivalu Hufanga slaloming through a routed defence will be treasured for some time though, while the extraordinary outline of Finau Maka must surely now loom large on the horizon of world rugby. If the Tongans (or their islander brothers) get a fair crack at the big nations from here on, that is.

And after this afternoon's thrilling contest between Wales and Fiji, there can surely be no argument that the lesser-known lights of Australasian rugby are deserving of greater exposure. The Fijians displayed raw power, technical accomplishment and no little spirit in slaying the Welsh Dragon, blasting holes in a hierarchy that has become increasingly destabilised. Argentina will likely dump Ireland out of the tournament tomorrow, establishing another point on the new power axis, while Scotland face pressure from the slowly improving Italian game for a quarter final berth. Only the traditional powers from the southern hemisphere remain comfortable dining at the top table.

In his French headquarters, Brian Ashton will be hoping that the stern Pacific test his players have passed in the last week will go a good way towards preparing them for their game with Australia. And while South Africa will not be unduly worried by their quarter final with Fiji, we will at least have another opportunity to view some more of the islanders' tenacious play. Surely the IRB's top priority must now be to make sure that the growing storm isn't allowed pass.

2007-09-17T20:12:00.001+01:00

So where's it all going wrong?

England's RWC travails have left most of us wondering whether someone had significantly changed the rules since the last time out. A stumbling performance against the US Eagles was followed by bald failure in the face of South Africa's (not inconsiderable) threat. But for all the menace of the Boks, more worrying was England's paucity of ideas, pedestrian running and inept execution. The wheels haven't just fallen off; the transmission appears to have bust too.

Stoic resistance was one characteristic of Friday's drubbing - and defensively we fought pretty well, managing to head off Habana and co for the most part of the first half. However, in possession, not only were penetrative moves at a premium, but attempted incursions often became shambolic retreats, the ball slipping through groping fingers, bouncing of body parts, and compounding the already parlous lack of ideas.

How has this happened on Ashton's watch? A coach renowned for his ability to get players' hands on the ball and minds in gear, he has been reduced to piecing together a physically intimidating, but mentally slow, team of hasbeens and hopefuls with little opportunity to fine-tune their thinking. That said, even if they were all on the same wavelength, the low level of skill represented by the white shirt currently would probably see any semblance of sophisticated rugby remain an island in a sea of turgid forward play.

A case in point must be Andy Farrell, for all that I think he is a good player. His speed of thought at times cannot be matched by his speed of hand (and the first isn't particularly lightning), forcing him to try things that are patently not on. Giving away possession helps release pressure on a defending team and England as a whole have been guilty of basic mistakes that let their opponents of the hook. Amateurish errors and sloppy penalties have rendered what game plan we do have effectively null and void - the fact that no one appears to be running lines, attempting to outwit defences, or offloading effectively in the tackle shouldn't mean that simple passing through the hands is beyond us.

With the honourable exception of Jason Robinson, who played like blood and thunder against the Springboks, and Olly Barkley, who missed the most recent outing, we look glaringly ill-equipped to take on the top nations at this tournament. It's to be hoped that a certain Mr. Wilkinson will return to the fold for the Samoa game, if only for his ability to extract points in the face of the most stubborn resistance, while a fit Barkley wouldn't go amiss either. However, Ashton perhaps needs to go with his gut from now on, and stop attempting to balance old and new ideologies. Only by freeing his players from their mental shackles (and sharpening up their basic skills) will England be able to endure at this World Cup now.

2007-09-15T00:52:00.000+01:00

Fat Frank or Stevie G?

In the wake of England's all-conquering performances (in the football at least) over the last few days, I thought it time to ask whether Lamps is now due his international P45. I have before made my feelings plain on the subject - but this time I've got a bigger audience. Join the debate over on Footballing World...

2007-09-12T23:06:00.000+01:00

The Man with the Golden Grin

Out of the fire, for now, and into the glare of the cameras, Steve McClaren must be feeling like a man who's lost VD and discovered a lotion that makes him irresistibly attractive (and my, what a powerful unguent that would have to be).

Although it's fair to say injuries played their part in the renaissance enacted on Wembley's immaculate surface, the coach must be chuffed to bits with the way things panned out. Recalling Emile Heskey, who hasn't exactly set the world alight at Wigan, was a bold move, but the link play of old between him and Owen was soon justifying McClaren's decision. Perhaps it was the familiarity of the partnership, as Owen put in two vintage goal-scoring displays - pleasing for Newcastle fans as much as for those of England.

With Frank Lampard and Owen Hargreaves' enforced absences McClaren's charmed week led him to stumble upon another perfect match - albeit one with a lot less history. Gerrard and Barry can never have occupied the centre of England's midfield together before, but the way they dovetailed was fuel for the fire of those who claim Lampard can no longer be accommodated as first choice (myself included). Barry's strength and composure on the ball enabled him to break down play, keep possession and then link with the attack; and while Gerrard was quiet by his own high standards, he clearly enjoyed the freedom given him further up the pitch.

Whether Barry or Heskey will able to retain their places once Hargreaves and Rooney have returned from injury remains to be seen. Barry certainly has the stronger case, and if the rise of the Villains propagated under Martin O'Neil continues, then he seems only likely to garner more plaudits. Heskey is surely a little too one-paced to trouble the likely opposition at Euro 2008 (presuming we finish the job and qualify), and his goal-scoring is unlikely to ever reach 'prolific'. But for now, McClaren seems to have found a couple of spark plugs to light his way out of the darkness.

2007-09-08T09:59:00.000+01:00

Argentine Magic

What a fantastic start to the rugby World Cup! Few expected the Pumas to out-muscle Les Bleus in yesterday evening's curtain-raiser, but a marvelous display of commitment and application saw the French cockerel well and truly strangled.

Seemingly overcome by nerves, Bernard Laporte's players committed a horrendous amount of unforced errors, allowing Argentina to chip away at French confidence and push the game out of the hosts' reach. The kicking out of hand by both sides highlighted the contrasts, with Juan Hernandez's steepling kicks repeatedly allowing his blue and white team mates to regain possession. Stuttering and scruffy, France's kicking mirrored their play as they booted the ball back to their opponents time and again.

Whilst one bad call does not a defeat make, Laporte's decision to go with Cedric Heymans, a winger by trade, at full-back looked particularly culpable, as his poor decision-making in an alien position repeatedly placed the pressure back on blue shoulders. The half-back partnership of Mignoni and Skrela was equally indecisive, while missed goal kicks by the starting 10, and then his replacement, Frederic Michalak, were also costly.

That the generally outstanding Felipe Contepomi missed two late shots to seal the result, as well as narrowly failed to take a pass that would have seen him through for a game-winning try, underlined how Argentina richly deserved the outcome, however. In the loose they were ferocious, with Mario Ledesma and Juan Leguizamon particularly conspicuous. Their opportunism enabled them to steal a try from nothing, after a French mistake put Ignacio Corleto through, and they wisely took points from most of their forays into home territory in the first half. The way they shut up shop in the second will not have gone unnoticed by Ireland.

Only once before had the home nation lost the opening game of a rugby World Cup tournament - England in 1991. The Red Rose still managed to grace the final that year, however, and France will be hoping that their cockerel is still crowing come October 20th. On last night's showing, it doesn't look likely.

2007-08-28T18:14:00.000+01:00

A Good Old English Summer...

Not that I got to soak up many rays in Landsafar, but it seems a traditional old time of it was had back on Albion's homesteads. However, rain is not only good for ducks and hosepipes - it's just the thing to make a lush, green playing surface a little bit lusher and greener.

And was there much use for the aforementioned verdant 'swards? Of course there was. Ball has been stroked crisply by bat in an intriguing summer of cricket: the Windies were dispatched with ease by England's new look Test bowling attack, but India proved a tougher nut to crack - a first home series defeat in six years ensuing; whilst the Queen's own county, Essex, have struggled to find the promotion potion in the wake of talismanic captain Ronnie Irani's retirement.

In football, a rare old ding-dong about some bloke getting on and off planes has seen Steve McLaren's Euro 2008 qualification campaign come close to being grounded. As Beckham attempts to climb American soccer's greasy pole, England's attacking options have been shorn with injuries to Wayne Rooney and, potentially disastrously, Steven Gerrard. Fat Frank, who popped one in against Germany last week, still looks like a decent league player in an international sheep's clothing, and the reasonable job done in Estonia has failed to silence the grumbles about our smiley Head Honcho.

As August draws a close to our glorious summer, the rugby World Cup looms like an 18 stone prop (or possibly Sebastien Chabal) on the horizon. Disastrous reverses against the Saffers in May and June, albeit with a severely depleted line-up for the World Champions, left many of us with a feeling of trepidation, if not dread, over the scheduled group rematch in a couple of week's time; and while a right royal thumping of the Welsh, to go with a couple of middling displays against the French, have allowed a little steam to build up, we're still a long way from boiling.

So, what to make of it all? With England's cricketers showing improvement in their one day form, and the respectable performances of most of the Test team (who were desperately unlucky not to win the first Test in the India series, remember), I think we can proffer Peter Moores a gentle smattering of applause, and hope for a strong showing in Sri Lanka come December. While the Eagles are still in with a shout of promotion from CC Division 2, their batting appears to be running a bit short (sorry, pun intended), just as their two overseas bowlers really begin to get amongst the wickets. If it's not one thing, it's the other, eh... Another season in the bottom half looks likely - but a couple of victories in the Pro40 league should see them safe, despite the precarious position above the Division 1 relegation slots they currently occupy.

For McLaren, were I a modern-day Cassandra I wouldn't need to be banging too many crystal balls into the mystic net to say that his current course is headed straight for trouble. I'm sure Fernando Alonso once looked fondly at wee F1 sprite Lewis Hamilton, just as we found McLaren's winning smile and Dad-coaching-his-son's-football-team wisdom initially endearing - but in both cases the mood has soured. While the German performance wasn't abysmal by any stretch, ultimately it was another example of the squad failing to take their chances, and if six points aren't safely in the hutch by September 12th, then it'll be goodnight and probably not good luck for Steve.

As for our RWC 2007 challenge, well, it's a case of turn up on the day, and see how events pan out. Certainly there's experience within our Dad's Army, but youthful exuberance can be found too, in the shape of Rees, Tait and Hipkiss. The key game, obviously, is against South Africa - which I fear, unlike the last time, the Boks will edge. A QF against Australia may stretch Ashton's abilities, but I could see us making it through, setting up a second consecutive semi-final against the French. Just depends which bunch of Gauls turns up then, really!

The Sporting Life expects...

2007-07-17T01:18:00.000+01:00

Fingers, Pies...

As an allrounder, I like to think that I've got something to say about most things. So when invited to sound off from time to time on the Footballing World blogsite, I naturally accepted. As something of a blog hermit (rarely straying from my own domain) I'm ill qualified to judge; but it seems like a well put-together site, with many more contributors than you're ever likely to find here!

So, despite making a shocking call in my first post (Argentina to comprehensively bounce Brazil in the Copa America final - Brazil won 3-0), you may find me in the FW orbit again in the near future. If you're after footballing opinion great or small, it's definitely worth a gander...

2007-06-26T22:37:00.000+01:00

Ronnie Irani: The lad done good

It's been a few days touched by sporting sadness for me - not least because Thierry Henry has departed for Catalunyan shores - but because it also seems that injury has cut short Ronnie Irani's final season at Essex.

Arriving in Chelmsford from the more northerly environs of Lancashire, Ronnie quickly established himself as a favourite at the County Ground - although he never did manage to shed his accent! A combative allrounder, he was the obvious choice to take on the captaincy in the wake of Paul Prichard's retirement and Nasser Hussain's increased commitment with England, and, I'm sure he'd be pleased to know, he always did us proud.

Whether he was bustling in to unleash his niggardly medium pace, or flaying the ball around at a fair old strike rate with willow in hand, his ability as a player was clear; despite never being quite able to translate this to the international arena. At his best as a one day player, he guided Essex to National League success in 2005 and 2006, as well as the last ever Benson and Hedges Cup final in 2002 (unfortunately not a great day out, as I remember). His strongest international analysis also came in the short form, with 5 for 26 and 53, in the same match against India.

It was as an increasingly accomplished batsman in the longer game that the last few seasons have been most notable for, however, as knee trouble forced the right-arm away swingers to be packed up in the kitbag for good. Performing solely in the top order from the 2004 season onwards, he consistently averaged around the 60 mark, and his bankability helped go a long way to making up for the loss of such stalwarts as Nasser Hussain, Paul Grayson and, more recently, Andy Flower. Before announcing his plans to retire at the end of this season, Reggie was averaging over a hundred, having hit a career-high score of 218 in the second game of the Championship at home to Glamorgan. Sadly, the knees couldn't quite make it.

With some of the young, talented players Essex have brought on recently, I'm not too worried about the batting (it looks like Grant Flower's staking his claim as 'veteran run-getter' at the moment too): it's more as a presence in and around the team that Irani will be chiefly missed. Always a jovial, friendly cricketer, his captaincy engineered us a few wins we might not otherwise have had, and his honesty and connection with the fans were much respected. I'll always enjoy the memory of his clobbering Shane Warne out of the ground in one Warney's first few games at Hampshire; as well as some of the thunderous strokes he employed in Essex's recent one day ascendency. But it's the simple, incongruous-sounding, familiar three sylables in the middle-order of the Essex scorecard that I'll pine for most of all.

Cheers, R. C., you done good.

2007-06-25T15:20:00.000+01:00

Baubles for Boca; and Becks

With a late brace, Juan Roman Riquelme sealed Boca's Copa Libertadores triumph, in doing so making sure that their season didn't finish trophyless. After being pipped to the domestic post by San Lorenzo (whose fans were driving through the streets after closing out the title), Boca - and in particular Riquelme, who is set to finish his Juniors career - needed to dispatch Brazil's Gremio in the two-legged intercontinental final to avoid disappointment.

With a resounding three goal triumph cushioning the Buenos Airen team from the first-leg, a cagey second match-up ensued; but Gremio lacked the wit to break down the Boca back line, and despite cracking one effort against the bar while the tie was theoretically still alive, it was incisive counter-attacking by Riquelme and co. which brought the first goal. Fed inside from the right by Palacio, the man Juan Roman himself finally nailed the Brazilians in the 68th minute, with a dipping drive, whipped from right to left into the far corner of the Gremio goal. Irish bar, Wilkenny, in Andean Bariloche, went mad, and it wasn't long before the hundreds-and-thousands were sprinkled over the icing as Riquelme applied the decisive touch from close range to turn home a second, after Palacio' initial effort had been blocked.

So, the Argentine who perhaps suffered most after his country's poor showing at World Cup 2006, achieved some form of redemption, as pictures of him in the press the next day, held aloft by his team mates, demonstrated. Another cathartic moment for followers of footballing drama was provided a few days prior, with Real Madrid's snatching of the La Liga title from arch-rivals Barcelona: a win in his first season back in Spain for Fabio Capello; and a trophy at last for the resurrected Golden Balls of English football, Mr. D. Beckham.

I noted on this cloud some months ago that I expected Becks to make it back into the England fold - and it seems now that he's about breathing a little vim into his country's Euro 2008 qualification campaign, the Spanish sun is shining on his final hours too. After being exiled in a fit of pique by Capello and the Madrid board following the announcement of his summer transfer to LA Galaxy, his recall and subsequent contribution to Los Galacticos' title run was immensely satisfying - particularly as someone who has rarely seen cause to doubt the player's ability. He may have a grin made for a billboard, but if he's smiling that widely come end of summer '08, we'll know a little more of the pain has eased; and Stevie Mac may just have picked up a first trophy for England in fourty years...

2007-05-29T00:38:00.000+01:00

Boca, Boca de mi vida!

So, my first sup of the feverish brew that is South American futból. Despite a tepid first forty five, in which barely a decent opportunity was worked by either team, Boca answered their fans' imploring cries for victory with three second-half goals, and an entirely more composed performance. Although Gimnasia did score late on, giving Boca a winning margin of 3-1, the fans were able to pour out into the neighbourhood that holds football clutched tight to its breast knowing that league leaders San Lorenzo's advantage remained just three points.

Standing in the south terraces, we were actually in our places a good hour and a half before kick-off, a point at which the stadium looked decidedly empty. However, as more and more people poured in, and banners began to unfurl along the tiers, La Bombonera swelled its chest and prepared to exhort onward the eleven blue and gold figures below. Whilst the advertising and pre-match paraphenalia slowly cleared (and this was a laborious process, nothing like the players and officials running out onto the pristine greensward at a Premiership game), and the players lined up opposite each other, the rumblings began. The north stand seemed to be the heartbeat, with a low, thudding drumbeat counting the time for the massed choir. And as song broke out, it seemed that everyone knew the words, and no-one, except us, was humming along. Unlike the majority of English terrace chants - verbally minimalist, repetitive, two-toned - the ballads that sprang forth from the Boca crowd were nuanced and harmonious, rising and falling as the melody and pace of each different chant changed. It was (almost) orchestral! Admittedly, I couldn't understand a word, but it wouldn't half of spurred me on.

With kick-off approaching, flurries of torn-up paper sprang from the stands, like miniature squalls of snow, heralding the expected storm to come. The Boca team, however, perhaps contemptuously familiar of the devotion of their following, allowed themselves little inspiration in an opening display that brought frequent anguished howls from the stands. Although Gimnasia were by far the more agricultural in the approach, hoofing the ball towards advanced wide men whenever the opportunity arose, Boca's attempts to stroke the ball around often went awry. Misplaced passes and ill-judged stepovers frequently allowed possesion to be squandered, and there was a suggestion that the Juniors may have initially taken their task a little lightly, with Gimnasia sitting in the bottom two of the division. Certainly the pitch wasn't to blame, despite it looking like a council allotment. The one moment of excitment arrived when the visiting keeper dallied on the ball some twenty five yards out on the left, was tackled by Bruno Marioni, only for his angled shot to cannon out off of the post. South American glovemen are, after all, a special breed.

In a classic game of two halves reversal, though, Boca snatched a scrappy opener at the start of the second half, with the skilfull Palacio heading home from no more than five yards after a looped cross from Marioni. Despite the humdrum nature of the goal, the stands errupted, as the crowd danced as one, hopping up and down as the drums beat louder. It's a good job concrete doesn't flex, else there would have been a noticeable (and severe) trampoline effect. A second, equally unedifying, followed, with the ball cannoning in off Sebastián Battaglia from a set-piece. His passing and industry had been impressive, but with his goal coming via what looked like a deflection from his posterior, it was entirely appropriate that he had indeed worked his arse off.

The offside law clearly transcends language barriers, and I was impressed to hear the sacred word called many times by the home support. They were treated to something a little less workaday late on though, as the attacking right-back Rodriguez smashed home a peach of a volley, right in front of our stand. With the introduction of Martin Palermo and the hunched Juan Roman Riquelme from the bench in the last half hour, a classier edge was added to the team's efforts, and a couple of delightful through-balls by the probing Riquelme were only just short. All of which made for the greater surprise when Gimnasia bashed one on off the post with five minutes left. A match that was littered with bookings (and some rather shameless diving) had become something of a cracker, and it was not only the Boca faithful that left the ground pleased, with their team placed second in the Clausura. In my newly-purchased blue and gold livery, I felt pretty entertained too. Now, I just need to start learning some of those songs...

2007-05-24T18:34:00.000+01:00

Allrounder Abroad

As I write this from a Buenos Airen t'internet cafe, it looks like keeping track of events back in the English sporting world may be difficult for the next few months...

However, I will do my best to chip in here and there; and with a potential visit to see the Boca Juniors play at La Bombonera on Sunday in the pipeline, I shall definitely record my thoughts on the quality of Argentinean football, and the passion of its supporters, after I've experienced it first-hand.

Watch this cyber-space, amigos...

2007-05-09T23:50:00.000+01:00

Reds delight in face of Blue might

It's not often that I'd feel compelled to toss verbal confetti towards Sir Alex and his Red Army, but after one of the more enthralling title races in recent years, I'm happy to say that Manchester United deserve whatever praise comes their way.

The sense of schadenfreude weighed heavy as Arsenal held Chelsea at Ashburton on Sunday, thus finally halting the Blues' creaking title challenge in its gold-plated tracks. As a proud Gooner (I normally try to keep party politics out of these posts, but you'll forgive me the odd slip), serving up a championship on a plate to the team with whom we have most vied for supremacy since the late nineties is bound to smart. They even had their feet up at the time. But then, after the breathtaking pace of some of their football this year, they probably deserved a short repose.

It's the love of a truly beautiful game that urged me to put tribal loyalty aside, ever so briefly, and root for Red over Blue in the final reckoning. Chelsea's dark arts have brought them their fair share of recent success, and, driven on by the increasingly monomaniacal Mourinho, one had to admire the unstinting commitment of the likes of Terry and Drogba, Essien and Cech. Despite the paucity of their resources, Chelski's challenge was this time little-augmented by raids on Abramovich's piggy bank; instead it was brutally elemental, as if hewn from the very rocks of Mourinho's formidable self-confidence.

Yet when it came to the blinking contest, Ferguson and his charges seemed unfazed. The verve that has been the hallmark of his team's play in 2006/07 was not dimmed by the relentless efficiency of their pursuers (9 consecutive wins between 31st Jan and 18th April, including 8 clean sheets), as if United's desire to prove the worth of their precocious talent above Chelsea's mental resilience galvanised them to greater levels of endeavour. Two behind to Everton at Goodison became 4-2 to the Devils, while Chelsea's concentration was distracted by Bolton's aerial threat. At one time, I checked the scores to see United behind and Chelsea ahead - but as those fortunes turned so did the chances of a third Premiership trophy making its way to Kensington. Tonight's anticlimactic 0-0 affair saw steely resolve pitted against youthful flair, Chelsea's ice against Manchester's (somewhat throttled) fire. Ice may have edged the contest on balance, but the flame still burns. United need only inject the appropriate fuel to create an inferno at Wembley come 19th May.

These may appear the empty blandishments of a supporter whose own team checked out of the silverware hotel months ago, but in all honesty, I think that there is much to applaud in Ferguson's refusal to settle for the pipe and slippers. I cursed his soul when he reneged on retirement a few years back, and wished him nothing but bitter failure for his trouble. But after Arsenal's fleeting exposition of enlightenment football during the invincible campaign was crushed by Chelsea's utilitarian grit, United's response has been laced with the most sweetness.

For that, I can ignore the past antagonisms... at least until next year.

2007-04-29T23:19:00.000+01:00

Absence makes the heart grow fonder...

You know you've missed me. Particular hellos go out to regular readers, my Mum, Mrs Bescott from next door, and AndrogynousMel64. Since KP's wall-flower hundred against Australia irritated the hell out of me a lot of water's passed round the U-bend. So, let's dip into a delightful bag of pic'n'mix, shall we...?

World Cup Washout
The ICC Cricket World Cup West Indies 2007 - a name eloquently derided in Lawrence Booth's fantastic The Spin column - ended up being almost as long, unwieldy and exasperating as the formulation ICC CWC WI 2007 itself. Fifty-odd games, almost seven weeks, less than a handful of exciting finishes, and almost limitless shovel-loads of opprobrium. The messy whimper which signalled its close (the teams mistakenly forced back onto the pitch to play a final three overs in near total darkness) fairly well summed the tournament up; Oliver Brett delivers a pretty damning report.

Almost as saddening was the West Indies' decline - although their contribution to a thrilling final Super Six match against England went some way to showing how entertaining the tournament could have been. Brian Charles Lara will of course be sorely missed from the international arena, and even though my favourite memory of the man is still his falling for a first golden duck to Craig White's right-arm-around in 2000, it is a shame that his singular abilities could not be matched by his team mates in the twilight of his career. It will be with a wistful sigh that I next boot up Brian Lara Cricket for the Playstation.

County On Regardless
There is some succour, however, for lovers of the thud of ball on bat: the County Championship season is well and truly underway. As a dyed-in-the-wool Essex boy, I shall be casting judgement on Ronnie and lads over the course of the season (hopefully with some boundary rope analysis to supplement my avid Ceefax/web score-watching), and hopefully celebrating more success at the County Ground, Chelmsford. After an underwhelming draw against Derbyshire, I had begun to fear that taking wickets was again going to be a problem; and with Andy McGarry (young Essex paceman, who seemed to have left the game) re-registered for the first time since 2003 before the Glamorgan fixture, things didn't look great. But thanks to to some Danish Kaneria magic - and a little assistance from God Almighty (see the news archive for an interview) - a first, and emphatic, CC victory of the season was garnered. That's 19 wickets from two games for Kaneria, and once he's joined by Andre 'Angry' Nel, we should be firmly in the groove - even on early season featherbeds!

NB. Just in case there are any partisan McGarry fans out there, it's not that I don't rate him (I can remember a few decent wicket-taking performances from the early '00s), more that his return signals just how threadbare our pace resources are at the moment. No offence intended...

Where Eagles Dares
A stunning finish by Chris Eagles capped Man U's stirring comeback against Everton, and seemingly wrecked the Special One's hopes of bringing a third title to Stamford Bridge. After Mourinho's recent dyspepsia, I am more than happy to root for Ferguson and his devilishly good squad, despite a historic antipathy for Manchester's red half. United have been this season's thoroughbreds, playing the best football the Premiership has seen since Arsenal's invincible campaign three years back, and while Chelsea's indefatigable spirit is praiseworthy, their manager's increasing petulance is less so. A spate of unedifying rants has seen Mourinho stand accused of 'doing a Keegan'; and it looks like Ferguson's mental resilience has done for his challenger once again. And who says he doesn't have the prettiest wife at home?

Which Leeds me onto...
Whilst Newcastle have at least retained top-flight status since their spontaneous combustion under Keegan, another former giant, who transformed Yorkshire grit into Champions League glamour, is on the verge of a catastrophic slide into English football's third tier. Leeds United were as good as handed their League One (old Division 2, old-old Division 3) registration forms yesterday, as a late equaliser for Ipswich left the White Rose three points and nine goals from safety, with just a game to play.

A school friend of mine - stand up Safari Dan - is a Leeds man, and for that reason alone I willed them not to fall out of the Premiership. Big spending during their brief tilt at Champions League glory had left them drastically top-heavy, and relegation saw them slowly dismembered by the bean counters. Their quixotic rise to the top unravelled as fast as the likes of Kewell, Viduka, Robinson and Bowyer could say 'pack my bags'. It's a harsh tale for Yorkshiremen and neutrals alike, and the scars still appear livid today.

Despite making the play-off final last year, more internal disharmony saw Kevin Blackwell, the man who almost took them back up, ousted, and an irregular duo of Dennis Wise and Gustavo Poyet brought in. The slide was never averted, however, and life outside the top two divisions for the first time in their history now seems a certainty. This is grand guignol theatre for the club's faithful (not least Safari Dan) - but they must look down the M62, towards the City of Manchester Stadium at Eastlands, for a glimmer of hope. In 1998 Manchester City became the first English winners of a European trophy to descend into the third division (Division 2), during a turbulent period in their history - just as Leeds were beginning their late nineties ascendancy, initially under George Graham, and then whole-heartedly under David O'Leary. If resurrection is to be achieved, then Leeds will have to find a resolve similar to that employed by City in their rise back to the Premiership; and a return for such a great club would surely be warmly welcomed around the country (perhaps excepting Manchester!)

Lost the pot?
And finally, in this hotch-potch of sporting analysis/gabble, a sideways glance at the Crucible, that theatre of respectfully silent sporting genius, where Stephen Hendry, ranked numero uno coming into the World Championship, seems set to depart the tournament in the second round, after scratching his way to just four frames out of 16 (best of 25) against Ali Carter.

Now, I only really get interested in poking small balls with big sticks once or twice a year [insert own joke here], and the championship in Sheffield is usually good for a bit of olde worlde entertainment. I say that, because with a large number of eighties bellwethers - Parrott and Davies in the arena; Virgo and White behind the mic - still on the scene, coupled with the generally somnolent atmosphere that pervades the hallowed arena, one can take in the action at a gentlemanly pace, undisturbed by changes of strip or the introduction of hawkeye to detect surreptitious double-hits. The only records likely to be broken are ones for extremely lengthy encounters - as happened in last year's final - and with regular repeats of Dennis Taylor manically gyrating, cue held aloft in victory, from 1985 (check out those bins by the way), you can virtually taste the sepia.

Yes, there is a respect for one's elders at the World Championship. Which is why I'm saddened to see Hendry getting whupped by young Carter (even though the lad's from Tiptree, home to Essex's finest jam-maker). But almost as ruffling is the absence of Dougie Donnelly as the BBC's anchor for its coverage. Hazel Irvine may have an appealing lilt to her voice too, but this break with tradition is most unwelcome. And while it mayn't be long before Hendry exchanges his potter for some patter in the world of punditry, surely there's still room for the Silken Scot (yes, I realise both Irvine and Hendry are Scottish as well) in the BBC SWC (British Broadcasting Corporation's Snooker World Championship) 2007 dramatis personae?

If someone could make it so, we'd be in Grade A Partridge territory: "In off the red!"

2007-04-09T22:16:00.000+01:00

Pyrrhic Pietersen

Take a short long-hop over to Third Umpire for my thoughts on Kevin Pietersen's hundred yesterday, as well as more cut-and-thrust debate on England's fortunes.

2007-03-31T19:01:00.000+01:00

Footballers: Old Romantics at Heart

After Ian Pierce snatched Fulham's late equaliser against Portsmouth earlier today, Soccer Saturday sage Jeff Stelling opined on how the journey-man centre back's intervention on behalf of the Cottagers would have spoiled Harry Redknapp's fifth anniversary as Portsmouth manager - sidelining in this post-nuptial calculation Our 'Arry's "brief sojourn" (Jeff's words) over the road at Southampton.

Now, I'm no marital guidance councillor, despite having read my fair share of Dear Miriams, but I'd wager a Robert or two that spending the best part of a year lodging apart from your loved-one - not only with another partner, but the bitterest enemy of your current missus - is rarely termed in the business a 'sojourn'.

Whatever Relate's best advice is for couples dealing with an affair, referring to said infidelity in the same manner as one would perhaps describe a trip to Provence, or possibly a spell in a Swiss sanatorium, is probably not it. But in Stelling's blithe air-brushing of Redknapp's less than salubrious extra-marital dalliances, there is a salutary lesson to be learned for us lovers of joga bonito.

Yes, when it comes to affairs of the heart, football fans know that it is better to forgive and forget. A star player's youthful concupiscence is often overlooked once his errant career move(s) leads to that moment of recognition; i.e. his one true love was who he was with in the first place. This revelatory clarity was known to the ancient Greeks as anagnorisis; but may perhaps be better understood in modern day footballing parlance as the knowledge of 'never-bloody-having-it-so-good'.

Robbie Fowler, revered in the Kop end as 'God', did his best fallen deity impression whilst embarking upon a passage of peripatetic poaching around England's northern climes - but no sooner did Rafa Benitez realise that an ailing thirty-something goal-hanger who could barely run was just what his strikeforce needed, than Anfield opened its arms wide for another passionate embrace with its former beau. Doubtless the obituaries will describe Fowler as a one-club man.

Like star-crossed lovers, certain players/managers are inseparably entwined with their club, and even a bit of hanky-panky on the side cannot (and indeed must not) shake the convictions of the faithful. The footballing public is often done a disservice in descriptions that lean heavily toward the binge-drinking, lairy-chanting, couldn't-set-off-a-firework-in-a-match-factory variety, but clearly the unstinting knowledge that some relationships are just meant to be displays no small degree of classical learning. Tristan and Iseult is perhaps the best analogue for our modern day 'When Harry met Pompey' tear-jerker, with both hero and heroine marrying other partners in spite of their eternal bond. The fact that they were buried side-by-side should not be mistaken for the looming threat of relegation here, as going down is usually only a problem in unsuccessful liaisons.

Similarly, when Clinton Morrison scuttled back to Selhurst Park after three somewhat barren years with Birmingham, the Palace support immediately forgave him for scoring with someone else (perhaps because largely he didn't). Graham Taylor, surely a man only a mother could truly love, seems to be a beacon for polygamous enduring affection, with both Watford and Aston Villa eager to welcome ol' turnip 'ead back for another roll in the hay. One would not be surprised were the Lilywhites to fall for Sol Campbell's charms once again, despite the ritual cutting up of the wardrobe, throwing out of cherished photo albums, and burning of crudely constructed effigies that followed his (admittedly somewhat brazen) move across the block to Arsenal. Hate is, after all, the flip side on the coin of love.

So, far be it from me to correct the learned utterances of Stelling. My initial suspicion that he was merely searching for a schmaltzy soundbite, and didn't mind trampling roughshod over history to get it, was on reflection a touch disingenuous. Clearly, despite the superficial trappings which adorn the contemporary kickabout, a soft-centred goo still resides beneath the sickly exterior. And next time I have to sing 'You're not fit to wear the shirt', it'll be with the sweet flush of affection warming my insides. That or a meat pasty, of course.

2007-03-25T17:37:00.000+01:00

The Platitudinous World of Fat Frank

Fingers crossed. That seems to be about as deep as Frank Lampard's tactical philosophy goes. Following the kind of no-frills performance that gives competency a bad name (there is, after all no shame in being competent, as long as that's all one aspires to be), Pobre Frank, he of the post-World Cup wounded pride, decided that the best way to get the fans back on side, and really show his commitment to the England cause, was to was to roll out a few of the old shibboleths.

It was like wandering into a fully-stocked candy shop of footballing clichés. "I'll have a pound from the 'we've got to keep our heads up' jar please, oh, and a handful of 'hopefully things will start to go our way', thanks..." This self-serving junk is the stock in trade of many a sportsman, but after the umpteenth pitiful performance from a man supposedly locked in a till-the-death tussle with Steven Gerrard - the only man currently worth the lion on the shirt - for one of two central midfield slots, it really begins to stick in the craw.

On Saturday Lampard again appeared to go about his business as if merely hovering around the final third of the pitch was indication enough of his ability. He may have picked up the runner-up gong to Ronaldinho in the 2005 World Player of the Year award by pinging in twenty yard pot-shots against whichever worthies happened to be caught in Chelsea's opulent maw week-in-week-out, but as a good few years in the England team have demonstrated, that does not an international player necessarily make. Not a clear-the-decks midfield dynamo, a la Roy Keane or latterly Owen Hargreaves, nor a puppeteer, like Cristiano Ronaldo or Zidane, Lampard seems to get by on a fairly quotidian range of delights. He is not known for his Beckhamesque passing - sure he can knock neat one-twos, but so can just about every player in the Premiership - while his aerial threat is certainly not manifest for someone who stands 6'3'' (barring, perhaps, his decent nod in the opening fixture of Euro 2004 against France). Okay, Lamps has been known to lamp the odd scorcher, but his strike rate in this field of endeavour is not always flattering, viz. World Cup 2006 (over twenty shots: no goals).

Against the doughty but limited Israelis, England's best chance, created by Gerrard, was frittered away by Lampy Jnr, his feet stumbling to get the ball under control as goalkeeper Dudu Aoute smothered with ease. When opportunity knocked again in the second half, Lampard's header wide could better be described as a deflection. The debate about whether Lampard and Gerrard can play together in the centre seems to have become one of how to fit Gerrard in without hurting Fat Frank's feelings, and even plonked out on the wing Stevie G outshone his erstwhile sidekick. Surely it wouldn't have taken much of a leap in strategic thought to have removed Lampard, brought Gerrard inside, and put Aaron Lennon back out on the right where he belongs. It needn't have mattered who was introduced on the left; even the largely unambitious Stuart Downing's presence would have restored the balance. The compromise that has seen both McClaren and Sven fudge the question must surely be jettisoned.

But then, it's understandable that the England coach is in a quandary when even the venerable Al Hansen professes a desire to keep having a bash at solving the problem (is that the sound of fingers crossing again). If Hansen needs a list of alternatives, perhaps Joey Barton can help draw one up for him...

2007-03-15T23:25:00.000Z

Allrounder On Tour

I've been drafted into another line-up by the good men who run Third Umpire. For my Essex CCC 2007 preview, just follow the hyperlink road...

Cheerio

2007-03-11T20:06:00.000Z

Cutting the (French) mustard

Juxtapose, for a second, England's performance of two weeks ago in Dublin, against today's versus France. To heap opprobrium on England for their deficiencies in the Ireland match does an injustice to the levels of skill shown by their opponents at a wet and windy Croke Park, but if there were few sparks of life in that starkly stuttering performance, the corpse was well and truly reanimated to a rousing backdrop of 'Swing Low' this afternoon.

While I felt that there were signs of a willingness to try something new in the defeat to the Irish, with the big men in green marauding up front, and O'Gara pulling England this way and that with his kicking, there was little opportunity to evaluate whether the rose had any chance of blooming again soon or not. But from Toby Flood's early (and successful) chip and chase, through some of David Strettle's quicksilver footwork and George Chuter(!)'s backhanded offload in open play, right the way to Sean Geraghty's pinwheeling mid-tackle offload, minutes after entering the fray, there was an invigorating sense of 'he who dares wins' about England's play against France.

That there were so many errors in the game (even Brian Moore blanched at some of the skill levels on display, old quick-fingered virtuoso that he once was...) perhaps provided the best indicator that England were playing off the cuff, giving it some air - although Josh Lewsey took that mandate a little too far when he launched a pass so misguided it would have provoked guffaws at a colts match. For all of Nick Easter's impressive yardage, his two attempted 'hikes' from the back of the scrum came off badly, while there were some awful periods of turnover ping-pong in the first half; though this admittedly relied in part on some gracious return gestures in the shambles stakes by the French. Yet, it has become increasingly clear that 15 muscular hominids crunching into each other, phase after phase, does not only make for a dour spectacle, but is also less likely to bring results than it once was. Going long, as NFL Quarterbacks have it, helps to stretch teams, and quick offloads, cut-out passes, and high-speed switches all exist on the fine line between success and failure.

The most heartening aspects of England's victory - and boy, were they joyous - were the contributions of the two young stand-offs, Flood and Geraghty, who both played as if the legend of Jonny Wilkinson had never been written, let alone has a few chapters left to run. When Ashton picked his first squad as head coach, I voiced the opinion that while the fly halves of Newcastle and London Irish respectively may one day inhabit the same empyrean sphere that Jonny and Daniel Carter rule largely unchallenged, they were surely too callow for that day to come any time soon. Well, it's too early for superlatives, clearly, but Flood exuded supreme confidence in his decision making, while Geraghty made his presence felt like an electric heater dropped into a bath, all sparks and heat, slicing through the French midfield like so much Gallic butter. The only aberrations (if they were such) can have been Flood's two missed penalties, which, had they been scored, would have pushed England's total towards a (probably undeserved) rout.

So, plenty to be cheery about, from a fixture that loomed almost as menacingly as the Irish did. With a Wales scorned up next, some lessons in consistency and handling will need to be learned in training, without attenuating the free-flowing ideals that infused the best of England's moments today. I don't know about you, but I fancy munching on some Welsh rarebit this Saturday...

2007-02-26T20:21:00.000Z

Arsenal's Samba Trio

They may not have been able to resist the might of Chelski at the weekend; but it seems that running rings around the Blue brigade on the pitch is only part of the Brazilian contingent's repetoire...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-RiCQZkaF7M

2007-02-21T21:31:00.001Z

The Beckham Equation

Sven heaped scorn upon himself by taking Theo Walcott to Germany, and then giving him all of nought minutes on the pitch; but McClaren's own hubristic axing of Beckham in the immediate aftermath looks like its only just coming home to roost.

With Beckham restored from exile at Madrid (despite the red card), likable Steve has signalled that a bit of back-tracking may replace his usual soft-shoe shuffle ("As I always say, let's look at the positives...") by hinting at an International recall for Los Cojones de Oro.

It seemed plangently unfair that Beckham became the straw man for all of England's underachievements at the World Cup, and by slamming the door with such vigour on the Real Madrid man, McClaren invited this very situation to turn up in his backyard. There seemed a touch of vindictiveness, however unintended, in effectively denying Beckham the chance to win the 100th cap he craved, and in the wake of Massimo Maccarone's vituperative dissection of McClaren's man-management skills, you've got to wonder about the coach's wisdom in so publicly ejecting the erstwhile captain out into the cold.

To claim that Beckham could no longer cut it at international level after the desultory German affair is one thing - but that thesis would in turn have to implicate pretty much every other member of the squad, barring perhaps Joe Cole and Owen Hargreaves. At 31, he is hardly over the hill, and with the level of professionalism that he brings to his preparation one could argue that he still has several years left at the top. Granted, this period will now largely be played out amid the more parochial surroundings of the MLS; but having weathered a separate period of acrimony in the Spanish capital and come back strongly, the public and the press would do well not to underestimate perhaps the most talented midfielder of his generation.

Yes, Beckham's aspect and lifestyle at times invite contempt, and for a footballer with such an ability to strike a ball, the number of occasions on which his contributions have actually decided the course of a match have been too few. But in an era when footballers rarely earn their keep, Beckham gave his heart and soul, as well as his legs and lungs, to the English cause. Only Steven Gerrard can offer a similar galvanising effect, and even his powers appear muted when compared to some of Beckham's moments of inspiration (at their most mythic, of course, when firing England into World Cup 2002 with a blistering last-minute free-kick against Greece). Perhaps he was too cosseted by Sven, and that lack of competition may have contributed to the torpor which afflicted him as much as anyone during the summer. Yet he surely deserved better than to be inelegantly tossed aside. For all his sins, it was not Beckham who missed a penalty against Portugal.

If McClaren can see his way clear to rotating around the axis of his convictions (which I'm sure he will be able to do), I expect Beckham to contribute up to, if not including, the next European Championships (providing they qualify). Golden Balls is up for it; the only real question for Ruddy Steve should be: is he?

2007-02-13T19:46:00.000Z

Who'd a thunkit?

Cor blimey, strike a light, guv'na - England cricket team in one day cricket success? Read all abaht it, read all abaht it...

The World Cup's back on the agenda, we have the best all-rounder in the world, and the Aussies are on the slide; some welcome light at the end of the long, dark Ashes tunnel. But I think that a first overseas ODI tournament victory since Sharjah should probably be tempered somewhat by the bald statistics of mediocrity that show England lost 22 of the 33 games previous to their winning run to the VB Series final.

Credit where credit is due; you don't beat Australia three times on the bounce without playing the odd session of decent cricket. Missing the batting of Kevin Pietersen, and, in the winning sequence, the swing bowling of James Anderson, England could have justifiably claimed to have been deprived of two of the three or four really world class one day players they have. But with Liam Plunkett bringing along his bag of jaffas, Collingwood batting like it was day two of the second Test in Adelaide again, and some of the bits-and-pieces players finally coming good (hands up Jamie Dalrymple - what a catch in Sydney, by the way - Mal Loye, and Ravi Bopara), they didn't do a half bad job.

I've mused on the flummoxing nature of England's ODI record before, and it's difficult to see everything slotting smoothly into place come the West Indies. It depends who makes the squad, I guess, and fingers should be crossed over Jimmy Anderson's back, Jon Lewis, for some much needed control with the new ball, and someone who can bat as wicket-keeper (although don't hold your breath, as Nixon looks likely to get the nod for his jabbering alone; poor old James Foster). With a decent run of form, they might make a tilt at the semis, and then it's anyone's to play for really. I'll have my fingers crossed, of course, but having observed England splutter at the two World Cups of recent memory, I won't be getting too excited just yet...

2007-02-03T18:39:00.000Z

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeere's Jonny!

It's easy to rhapsodise - so let's. After three years in limbo, Wilko's return was the stuff that dreams are made on. Intelligent in his distribution, gritty in the tackle, almost flawless with the boot, his performance cemented the fledgling optimism of Ashton's reign into a display of solidarity and aggression. Although not called upon to deliver anything like sublime inspiration in a series of backs moves that were more efficient than incisive, the calm application which typified the returning fly-half's contribution instilled confidence in those around him, and enabled the consistent leverage required to open Scotland up.

Even the TMO was overcome by a bout of sentimentality, awarding Wilkinson his try despite his foot landing a good yard in touch before his splayed arm managed to pop the ball down. A gift from the Gods indeed. Scotland did not deserve that, but they earned scant credit besides, only notching two tries through slack English play. Such errors will need to be eradicated before the visit to Croke Park; but with Italy next up for the Jonny treatment an opportunity to hone some of the finer elements of the game should present itself.

Another seventy minutes will be the order of the day for Wilkinson, who was so untested by the Scottish that he almost had to take it upon himself to pick up the obligatory battle scars. Caught across the face by an elbow when throwing himself ball-ward early on, Wilkinson's bloodied fizzog served as a totem for how much has been thrown at him in recent times, and how well he has endured it all. Even a few crunching tackles, including clattering his face into a Scottish forward - a move which elicited criticism of his technique from Brian Moore - could not dim his influence, which shone throughout.

Without being required to stretch the Scots greatly, either with his kicking or passing game, there were still opportunities to exercise the synapses of a mind that lives and breathes rugby. His lightening take and offload, shipping the ball laterally along the line even as his opponent's arms closed around him, created the space for Jason Robinson's first try, and it was also a sharp decision to take an immediate three points from the drop goal after Scotland had briefly rallied. Some of England's passing through the midfield was ponderous, and Wilkinson will need to marshall Tindall and Andy Farrell with greater urgency, particularly against Ireland, but gametime should buy him the opportunity to reach full speed. Already, he now appears integral to the World Cup defence.

Brian Ashton can afford himself a wee dram and a conceited smile after watching such a consummate performance from the man whose unfortunate selection as England captain by Andy Robinson came to haunt the coach who was never able to see his chosen leader make the field of play. Retaining the World Cup will take an act of supreme conjuring; but already Ashton appears to have a touch of the Houdinis about him.

2007-02-02T20:03:00.001Z

One to watch

Liam Plunkett

After England managed to polish off Australia for the first time in a good few months this morning, I thought it was time to reflect on the fortunes of the England bowler most marginalised over this Ashes tour.

Plunkett, the Durham quick, who hit the scene around the same time as Saj Mahmood, had fallen back behind Jimmy Anderson and Mahmood to the point where after getting clubbed for 39 from five painful overs in his first competitive outing since the English summer, it looked as though serious doubts where beginning to form over his ability.

However, that one loosener aside (yes, five overs is generous for a loosener, but wait...), Plunkett has taken 6 wickets at around 15 in the subsequent two ODIs, topping that by producing figures of 9.5-1-24-3 in the immensely satisfying tonking meted out to the Aussies. The crucial aspect here is control - something which both Plunkett and Mahmood have lacked in their short ODI careers; Mahmood's economy is up over 6, while Plunkett's is only just below.

While Plunkett's promise has only reared its head sporadically, I think his style is more suited to forging a successful international career. Mahmood's shotgun pace is undermined by his habit of spraying the ball all over the place - something that definitely isn't out of the Glenn McGrath school of wicket-taking. Maybe he'll settle down, like Shoaib did, but until then, Plunkett's line and angle of attack, allied to a more smooth, economical action, would get my nod. He may not be as quick as Saj, and he may not be able to create the bounce and angles of Chris Tremlett, another rival from England's youthful pace stable, but he seems to have a certain amount of savvy about him that compensates for this.

Looking at the breakdown of his bowling figures may not be all that instructive - but, he takes wickets, and he gets runs, highlighted by the fifty he scored in only his second one day international. Coupled with the productive period he produced in the summer's Tests against Sri Lanka, before injury, I think he's got a decent case for being 'the new Simon Jones'; at least until Jones himself is back. Then he can battle it out with the Welshman and Stuart Broad for that number eight position...

2007-01-31T23:28:00.000Z

Ashton holds the key

The World Champions head towards France with just the impending Six Nations tournament left in which to find some form. With the seasoned alchemist, Ashton, at the helm, it's with a renewed sense of excitement that I look forward to the action of the coming weeks.

Although that's not to say it's not edged with trepidation. Ashton's reputation for transforming stolid performers into thoroughbreds was borne out last season in his work at Bath, where a team who had struggled to cross the try line began to run in score after score - even if it meant racking up, on the face of it, heavy defeats. Whatever the truth in his 'free-thinker' label, Ashton certainly seems able to imbue his players with an elan that allows them to do things they'd before thought impossible; and even if it's as simple as requesting they play with a smile on their faces, as Mike Tindall joked this week, it's certainly a valuable skill.

Someone who may be in need of a confidence shot before the big kick-off against the Scots on Saturday is Johnny Wilkinson. With all the hype and interest that surrounds him, his England comeback more than three years after kicking the points to win the Web Eillis trophy has the potential to be fraught with nerves, even for as experienced a performer as Wilko. The Scots will surely target him early on, to test his resolve as well as his body; but I'd be as confident as Ashton is in throwing him the chance. Over the Autumn, I pondered the options at 5/8, and was presented with some uninspiring options in the face of Charlie Hodgeson's injury, and continued indifferent form. Andy Goode is not, to my mind, an international fly-half, while Olly Barkley seems more likely to make a case for himself at inside centre. Toby Flood and Sean Geraghty are new, and inexperienced, ingredients in the mix, and although they may flower into players of true international pedigree, there is still no one to stand toe-to-toe with Wilkinson. Another serious injury, in such a pressure cooker as Twickenham will surely be, could break England's golden boy - but the mental strength that helps him slot kick after kick, just as its aided him in coming back from successive injuries, will hopefully see him through. Ashton must believe this, else why pick him?

I'm also willing to back his judgement in giving Andy Farrell his Union international bow, as well as excited by the potential the big guy has. Despite some messy exchanges early in the season, as Saracens and the RFU got a bit silly in working out where to play the League convert, he seems to have been producing some sterling performances in the centre in recent weeks, and praise has flowed, beginning with his performance for the World XV last year., and growing steadily louder. Zinzan Brooke shooting his mouth off isn't worth paying heed to, on this occasion.

Yes, tomorrow could be a real tingler. Ashton's the man with the plan, and the mere fact that the turgid performances of Robinson's era are unlikely to be repeated is something to smile about. And if smiling's all we need, boyish Brian's just the man.

2007-01-26T19:08:00.000Z

Nemesis

Arsenal face Bolton on Sunday, in what could be a sticky tie for the Ashburton boys. In recent times the direct style of play employed by the Trotters has proved particularly obdurate in the face of the Gunners' embellishments, and even though Bolton were dispatched in the same competition at Highbury two years ago, Ashburton Grove has yet to obtain such a menace for visiting teams, despite the lack of a defeat there to date.

Beaten 3-1 at the Reebok earlier in the season, Arsene Wenger will be well aware of the qualities his opposite number aims to cultivate in his players, and will surely attempt to galvanise his own team toward a clinical victory, avoiding the dual pitfall of a return leg, further congesting Arsenal's fixture list. A home defeat shouldn't be categorically ruled out, as Bolton are able to smash-and-grab with the best; but it's on their own patch that they find their metier.

Whatever the result, Allardyce and his Wanderers have become something of a nemesis for the North Londoners, and the game could provide fascinating watching. I'm no fan of Bolton's approach, so when fire meets ice come the sabbath eventide, I'll be hoping sangfroid prevails.

2007-01-06T12:33:00.000Z

In Summary

Inspired by a rather tupperware review piece of England's Ashes squad in London Lite, here are my own thoughts about each player, and their international prospects. The scoring system I have chosen to implement is based upon the old schoolboy ritual of sticker collecting, and runs thus:

Shiney - key player, a must for the collection
Keeps - a solid performer, and required for the full set
Swapsie - not needed, should be exchanged as soon as possible

So, without further ado...

Andrew Strauss
Silver spooner Straussy, the man who would be King, probably shold have been for this series. His performance as captain against Pakistan resulted in a cohesive and energetic 3-0 win (albiet boosted by Pakistan's forfeiture of the last Test), and, crucially, his form didn't appear to suffer, as so often happens, scoring over four hundred runs, including two centuries. His technique outside offstump appeared suspect against the Aussie seamers, but he was also victim to several bum umpiring decisions. Still a classy opener, his presence will be even more vital with the uncertainty surrounding Tresco's Test future.
Verdict: Keeper

Alastair Cook
The youngest tyro in a team of young tyros. Cook's travails against McGrath and Lee with the new ball were as pronounced as his partner's, although his century at Perth offered a glimpse of his ability. Rod Marsh has said that Cook should captain England in the future, having worked with him at the Academy, and on the evidence of his intelligent and phlegmatic approach to Test cricket, this doesn't look a bad bet. The youngest Englishman to score four Test centuries says it all really.
Verdict: Shiney

Ian Bell
The rabbit in 2005 turned himself into something more resembling of a predator this time around, and his four half centuries provided the middle-order with at least a dash of resistance. Has shown against most other Test-playing nations that his early-career billing was justified, and on the strength of his improvements in Australia, he should go on to make that elusive Ashes century, and the number three spot his own. Aptitude plus application can make him a great player.
Verdict: Keeper

KP
No debate necessary on this one. Pietersen was the only batsmen to show the sort of acumen and aggression required against the rightly-vaunted Australian attack, and even though he still has a lot to learn, he should form the bedrock of England's middle-order for years to come. His apparent rufflability should dissipate with age and experience, and an ability to guide the tail through, rather than hit out with abandon, can hopefully be fostered too - although if he bats at four rather than five, his natural instincts will need less reigning in. Pietersen is the most outrageously talented batsmen in world cricket at the moment, and should become the first Englishman to average over 50 in Tests since Ken Barrington in the sixties.
Verdict: Shiney

Paul Collingwood
The stoic geordie, scorer of the first double hundred by an Englander in Australia since before the first World War (Wally Hammond, incidentally), showed that he really was more than just a nuggety bits and pieces player (although not this one), and deserves his place in future England squads. A starting spot cannot be guaranteed, simply because he is not as gifted as some of his contemporaries, but his grafting qualities have taken him further than many would have guessed, particularly after an innocuous debut against Sri Lanka three years ago.
Verdict: Keeper

Ed Joyce
Called into the squad after Trescothick's departure for a Swiss sanatorium, Joyce's Test credentials have yet to be examined. His county performances have been good in recent seasons, so, let's judge not, lest we be judged, yet, eh.
Verdict: Keeper - pending a flick through the album

Freddie
The only genuine allrounder on the English horizon, unless you count James Dalrymple (and perhaps Ravi Bopara - come on the Eagles!), and a towering performer. Averages and impact messed up this time around by his lack of fitness, and the added burden of captaincy, but should still be an important cog in the machine by the time the Ashes come to be competed again. His batting relies on rhythm, and his ankle needs rest if it is not to restrict his bowling, but as a talisman, he is still worthy of Beefy's mantle.
Verdict: Shiney (if in need of a little buffing)

Geraint Jones
Jonesy, Jonesy, Jonesy. Where did it all go wrong? This series looks to have broken Jones as a batsman (cf. the dodgy run out in Perth), and that's all he reportedly won his place on. Glovework appears to have improved, although still prone to the odd miss, and he must now surely score ton after ton in the County game to earn even the glimmer of a reprieve.
Verdict: Swapsie

Chris Read
Perhaps one of the most instructive statistics from this Ashes series was Read's eleven catches and one stumping from two Tests, compared to Jones's nine catches from three. Read is the gloveman par excellence. But he averaged only a fraction more than Jones, and that's probably only because he was less exposed. Read has been a work in progress since the late nineties, and that's unfortunately where he still is. Should just cling to a squad position though.
Verdict: Keeper - just

Ashley Giles
The King of Spain experienced more rain on the plains than most, before departing from Oz, and should now contemplate the end of his Test career. England never play more than one spinner in home Tests in the modern game, and, barring injury, Monty Panesar should have the spot sewn up, meaning Giles's chances over the next year look bleak. He is a battler though, and I wouldn't be surprised to see him trundle in one more time... although if he does, we'll know we really are in trouble.
Verdict: Swapsie

Monty Panesar
The young twirler burst into the series with five-for at Perth, although he faded somewhat from there, possibly because he only had no second-innings bowling in either the fourth or fifth tests. A vast, chasm-like improvement on Giles's dib-dobbers, Panesar's guile was only undermined by a tendency to drop short and wide a little too often. However, he should continue to come on in leaps and bounds (literally so, if he takes wickets), and if he works on his batting and fielding a smidge, then Fletcher can have no excuse for dropping him. Could be a star English spinner in the making.
Verdict: Keeper/Shiney

Matthew Hoggard
Little to be said about Hoggy, except that he can keep trundling in until the day his dogs have do the perambulating for him. Exceptional figures on Adelaide's feather bed showed what a resourceful bowler he has become, although his average is still not up there with the best. Needs a good English summer, but can rest assured of his place. Should become only the fourth English bowler to take 300 wickets.
Verdict: Keeper

Steve Harmison
Less 'grevious bodily' than 'likes to keep out the way of' this time out, Harmison's series-opening delivery unfortunately summed up England's tour. Plenty of puff, but too often off-beam, the wayward quick suffered the brunt of media criticism, exacerbated as it was by the knowledge that Harmison finds touring difficult, and would confessedly rather be at home watching the football. And didn't he play like it. However, having retired from the one day game in order to prolong his Test career, he should be a fresher and more menacing figure in the five-day version from here on out. Unlikely as he is to ever reclaim the number-one bowler spot he once occupied, he still has the capability to be a lethal weapon, and should be given the new ball as soon as the West Indies step off the plane.
Verdict: Keeper

Saj Mahmood
Neither the selectors or his captain seem to know what to do with him, but his raw pace and ability to wield the willow should give him time to be worked on. Far too expensive for international cricket at the moment, with an economy of above four in test and six in ODIs, Mahmood needs to ally control and accuracy to his express delivery. With those in harness, he might just come to compensate for the perennially injured Simon Jones.
Verdict: Keeper

Jimmy Anderson
A fiesty little swinger, Anderson's series was summed up by dropping too short too often, and his figures of five wickets at an average of 82 runs a piece testifies to that. Anderson lacks the reliability of Hoggard, and is unlikely to find a place in the team until he can sort that out; although his capture of Langer, Hussey and Gilchrist in the final Test offers him a last throw of the dice. Should remain a squad player, at least until Stuart Broad comes of age.
Verdict: Keeper - just

Duncan Fletcher
This review cannot ignore the Coach, and for all his hard work over the last seven years, scrutiny of the Zimbabwean does not result in a glowing report card for 06-07. Guilty of excessive caution in the first two Tests, a move which appeared to undermine the team's confidence, Fletcher must also shoulder some of the blame for Andrew Flintoff being made captain, thus overloading one of his key performers. His relationship with Michael Vaughan - whose continued rehabilitation in the full media spotlight also appeared to subdue Flintoff - hung over events, and contributed to the uneasy demeanour with which the camp faced both the Australians and the press. Sometimes one man's input can become stale, and while John Buchanan has already set his date, Fletcher continues to kick. I think it's time England looked for some fresh ideas in this area, and the World Cup should be his swansong. Whether that will happen, however, remains a case unsolved...
Verdict: Swapsie

2006-12-30T12:45:00.000Z

A wag redeemed...

So, popular culture has added yet another dumb acronym to our language in the last year. As if some of the great advancements of 'text speak' (lol - laugh out loud; gtg - got to go; l8r, etc) and spuriously acronymised pressure groups (FOREST - Freedom Organisation for the Right to Enjoy Smoking Tobacco) weren't enough, we now have the term WAG, a group noun for the Wives and Girlfriends of famous sportsmen, in particular those of the English football team.

Now, not only has this term been purloined, shunting the more archaic (and interesting) meaning aside, it's fucking stupid as well. Fine, a group of women being referred to, somewhat demeaningly, as objects only identifiable through their association with their male partners, could be called the wives and girlfriends - the WAGs. But when the term is applied to a singular member of this group, then they must surely become a wife or girlfriend. WOG is certainly not as palatable, but it's a darn sight more accurate; not that this has prevented WAG's propogation throughout the national media as a handle for both the collective and the singular.

Obviously, the usage has been so widespread since the World Cup, carping on about it as we turn toward the New Year seems a bit futile; but what really irked me in the run up to Christmas was an article about the whole bone-brained saga in the 22nd's Guardian. A phenomenon so blindingly oafish being dissected in my sports pages of choice? Now that I do not like.

The blessed wordsmith who first minted this new currency of idiocy, Andrea Thompson (of fabled tome, Grazia, no less), garbled on for nearly a thousand words about the WAGs's triumphs over the summer, albeit in an ironic sense. The cursed voyeurism which afflicts the national media is pretty much entirely summed up in the following excerpt:

"Everything the Wags did, ate and bought was dissected in pubs and offices across the country. Our fascination lay in watching a group of ordinary working-class girls plucked from obscurity playing out (and making a mess of) their new roles as ladies of leisure on the world stage. With nothing to do all day for three weeks but drink themselves stupid, spend their partners' money and gloat over their new-found celebrity status, they made addictive viewing."

If humanity has not quite descended all the way into the slurry pit yet, then, by my reckoning, the only people for whom this form of bird watching can have made "addictive viewing" are the ones whose brain cells are only kept going by the regular doses of radiation from their mobile phones. Watching stupid, rich people doing stupid things, a subject for national dissection? I bloody hope not.

But perhaps the worst part of it all, the part which really cuts to the core, is the injudicious appropriation of the term itself. The 'wag', helpfully defined at Bartleby, is one of the most delightful and evocative characters that one could have the fortune to come across. A wit and a humourist, perhaps even a raconteur, the wag recalls a 'boy's own' world of mischief, of Tom Brown's Schooldays, and Wildean aphorisms. It is so far above a cheap pop reference.

And so I'm launching a campaign to reclaim the word for its original purpose. Nevermore shall our language be sullied by this distasteful (and faulty) acronym. References to WAGs shall be systematically expunged from the record books wherever possible, and a society that applauds and commemorates waggish behaviour will prevail. Quips and cutting ripostes will abound, while the doltish and fatuous pursuit of non-entities shall become verboten. Gawping will be outlawed. This may be utopian - but what fanciful and comedic project ever wasn't?

Postscript. This guerilla movement may also coincide in some way with my attempts to have Arsenal's new stadium recognised solely as Ashburton Grove - more updates soon.

2006-12-14T18:59:00.000Z

Monty Parmesan and the Grapes of Perth

And yeh, they said, no English spinner hath taken a decent haul at the Wacker. Eftsoons, the young Montgomery of Parmesan did come on, a-bounding and a-leaping and a-grinning like a daft apeth, with a dash of the old twiddly stuff, thereunto taking 5-93 amid many hosannas and 'ee, bah gum's.

[Boycott, 12:4]

That Monty is a wizard should have been more than readily apparent (the beard and silly hat are a dead giveaway). His powers of prestidigitation were such that before conceding an Ashes run he managed to bewitch Justin Langer into missing a straight one on off stump (no small feat), thus cementing his place in cricketing folklore.

Cheese and grapes have a well-known after-dinner rapport, and on Perth's once rock-hard board, young Parmesan sent down enough deep red, juicy spheres to knock over five battle-hardened Aussies, and claim only the third 5-for by a spinner at the WACA. Like a gleeful schoolboy, Monty's pinwheeling celebrations evoked a more innocent era of international competition. No matter that each and every high-five missed its mark; his controlled left arm spin was spot on.

Like Rip Van Winkle, England have woken up post-Giles to a spinning landscape that is remarkably different (okay, they'd had a glimpse over the summer - but obviously Fletcher wasn't looking that hard, despite calling Monty the best finger spinner in the world). Ashley has been a doughty campaigner, and it's unfortunate that the record books will probably now mark him as a bowler who averaged forty (low-tide, even in the modern game). But the ascent of the remarkable young Sikh, a magician of rare aspect, must surely see the King of Spain dethroned. We can only hope that Fletcher's resistance of the coup for the first two Tests doesn't ultimately render our sourcerer's skills redundant in retaining the Ashes...

2006-12-12T18:38:00.000Z

Striking while the Irons are not so hot

Whether West Ham's new owners took the right decision in removing Alan Pardew yesterday will probably always remain a question of debate; unless his replacement somehow drags them into Europe from their current precarious position.

But that Pardew has been less than fortunate as his fate has played itself out seems certain. The intentions of the deus ex machina who parachuted the Argentinian duo, Tevez and Mascherano, into Upton Park may have been wholly worthy, but their arrival has coincided with such a disastrous run of form that Pardew would be forgiven for reflecting on the deal as being one loaded with Faustian significance.

From their arrival on transfer deadline day, as the English summer drew to a close and the football season moved into September, the Hammers only managed three wins from 16, scoring only six goals. Pardew, who had faced calls for his dismissal even in the season that West Ham won promotion back to the Premiership, coming as it did via the back door of the play-offs, had seemingly triumphed over his naysayers after leading the club to ninth in their first season back in the top flight, as well as taking them to within seconds of a famous FA Cup success. But despite praise and support from legendary Hammers (notably Brooking and Peters, and recently Julian Dicks) there seemed an element of resistance to Pardew's acceptance among the West Ham faithful.

Known for their 'family values' as a club, the Hammers have only ever had ten managers in their 100 year history; although that number was as low as eight until the year 2001. Glenn Roeder and Pardew, the most recent two, have managed to seem somehow like outsiders. Roeder had been promoted from within, but had never played for the club, while Pardew was recruited from Reading, also having not been an Iron as a player. Prior to them, the last West Ham manager not to have played at Upton Park was Lou Macari, whose one year spell in charge from '89 to '90 must count as the most inauspicious in the club's history. Before that, Ron Greenwood joined after spending most of his playing career at Brentford, Chelsea and Fulham - but his unprecedented success won over any doubters there may have been.

The point is - and having had many conversations with my old man, who is ardently claret and blue, about this, I feel qualified to discuss - Hammers supporters warm to their own; and have difficulty ever loving those they've fostered. With another Alan, the reliable Mr. Curbishly, firm favourite to be installed by new head honcho, Eggert Magnusson the biscuit tycoon, I hope that another long and fruitful partnership will ensue. Curbishley played for the club in the mid to late seventies, and after fifteen years managing Charlton it's clear that he's anything if not durable.

But the feeling still lingers that Pardew could have scooped the team out of their rut, and probably would have eventually. We are destined not to know - and Pardew left to rue the heightened expectations born out of a wonderfully successful 2005-06, and the arrival of two South Americans whose presence coincided with West Ham's pretty bubbles bursting; for now at least.

2006-12-09T12:47:00.000Z

Empty

So, after the worst Test defeat I've experienced, is there any point in following the Ashes to their denouement? Waking up on Tuesday left me feeling more hollow than I ever have before (at least where sport's concerned). I'd checked the score at 8am-ish, with Aus on 148-4, and assumed it had closed on a draw... but as I began to scroll down the WAP page on my phone, my retinas flicking over our scorecard, the gripping in my stomach began. Some rudimentary maths told me the Aussies had come very close to winning; then it dawned that the match might still be playing. Refreshing the page saw Australia move to 151-4. Shit, shit, shit!

I listened to the death rattle with the TMS team, as Aggers and Mike Selvey observed the proceedings with a sort of funereal resignation. Truly the most gutting day's cricket that I've never watched (probably best - seeing it live would have been like some sort of Chinese water torture). Last summer, the closest I came to despair was when Bell went for a golden duck on the final morning at the Oval, and my heart tried to explore the boundaries beyond my chest. But Adelaide plumbed a Mariana trench.

Today/last night's tour performance was okay (BBC), but with only the Don's Australian team of '36-7 ever having come back from 2-0 down to win the Ashes, it all seems a little forlorn. Even last night's examinations really only reflect positively on Anderson. 309-8 from a Sheffield Shield side isn't exactly blowing them away, and Harmison's 1-99 at almost five an over isn't encouraging, coming at the WACA, venue for the 3rd Test. I certainly think that Panesar should get the nod, even if his own figures of one for sixty-odd weren't great either. Giles has served England extremely well, but this is a bridge too far for him; his bowling average has crept into the forties after the first two Tests, and unfortunately he's not even that good anymore. Panesar should get the chance to learn on Australian pitches, in preparation for him being the first choice spinner in 2010-11, when conceivably the entire home top order will new(ish).

I'm not going to give up on us getting something out of this tour, even if it's only valuable experience for a young side (only Hoggard, Harmison and Giles have played down under before). We've shown we can bat (sometimes), we've dealt with Warne (ditto), Collingwood's proved himself (without doubt), and Hoggard's taken another step towards English fast-bowling immortality (more useful than Gough, more reliable than Harmy, not as silly as Caddick). Now, let's draw two, and win one boys, eh?

2006-11-25T17:30:00.000Z

Dust to Dust.

As England crumble miserably in the face of a torrential assault in Brisbane, the obits must be being primed for rugby's Robbo, in spite of last week's victory.

The difference in pedigree between Duncan Fletcher and Andy Robinson could not be more pronounced, but as both the men in whites and the soon-to-be deposed World Champions struggle against Southern hemisphere opposition their respective coaches must be fingering their colours with grim desperation.

After Ireland's sublime subjugation of the Aussie's last week, we saw a vibrant example of how European teams need to take their game to their antipodean counterparts. The energy of their back row (the destructive power of Neil Best contrasted with Dennis Leamy's tireless probing) was strikingly at odds with what England's 6, 7 and 8 have managed to produce, today or at any point over the past three weeks.

There is currently not a man in the England set-up who can be said to stand head and shoulders above the sea of mediocrity that has characterised Robinson's reign. Corry's workaday honesty on the pitch is not enough to inspire a tragically one-dimensional squad, while the engine room components such as Worsley, Sanderson and Moody fire repeatedly but equally fail to ignite. From 9 through to 15 there seems a lack of confidence, ideas and sheer gumption - today, as before, runners declined to fix their man, offloaded in dead territory, and watched on as wave after wave of attack sputtered out. Of the personnel, maybe Cueto, Lewsey and Tom Palmer have distinguished themselves this autumn, but the rest has been little short of dross.

Robinson's claim that things were 'happening' when England moved into their early 14-3 lead seemed more self-deception that conviction; but his pugnacious refusal to bite the bullet sums up the team's bloody-minded approach to the game. It's been said that Robinson is nothing more than a good forwards coach thrown in at a depth he wasn't prepared for, but what seems certain is that his inability to appreciate the subtleties of international rugby is harming our chances. Surely the more scholarly Andrews must feel that a fresh and innovative approach is required. In becoming an immovable object, in the worst sense, England have lost their irresistible force.

As New Zealand grind Wales into the Millennium turf, the sporting landscape looks bleak currently (there's not time to even begin to poke at McClaren's footballing travails). Awaking to discover we'd barely scraped a quarter of the Kangeroo's total in the cricket was disheartening enough. Fletcher has earned a few breaks since he took over, but his decision to leave out Panesar has left him open to criticism. With the attack looking toothless apart from Flints, and Harmison's radar completely wonked, Monty's probing and restrictive spin could have proved vital. We'll never know. The one hope is that England's young team can learn a lot from facing such naked aggression, and use it to school a decrepit Australian squad in 2009. Woodward took Wilkinson and co on the Tour to Hell in '98, and it paid dividends years later. Out of the pain of defeat...

Our cricketing and rugby fortunes shouldn't converge any more than they already have. Although we're odds-on to lose at the Gabba, respectability can still be extracted from the tour. Half the battle, as ever, is psychological, and if the lads screw their heads on, they should be able to compete, even if drawing the series to retain the urn is ultimately beyond them. At Twickenham, I think there are two options. 1) Leave Robinson with the car keys until after World Cup, see how we hobble through it, and then get out the wrecking ball and tear up the entire professional set-up. 2) Depose him now, try a host of new players and ideas in the Six Nations, then hit the World Cup like a wet-behind-the-ears terrier.

We surely couldn't do any worse than currently?

2006-11-13T16:09:00.000Z

Bugger.

2006-11-13T13:43:00.000Z

Re: Familiar Faces

D'oh. Well, that just bred a whole load of contempt, didn't it. The only poultice for the wound would be Robinson falling on his sword this afternoon. We wait expectantly...

P.S. Good to see France are as village as us though!

2006-11-11T12:18:00.000Z

Familiar Faces

It’s good to see Andy Robinson stick with largely the same line-up that came off so badly against the Kiwis last week. Apart from Perry Freshwater coming in for Andrew Sheridan (who is still to live up to the reputation as a destroyer he created for himself against the Aussies last year) there is continuity throughout the team.

That means another chance for young Anthony Allen, who I thought impressed despite a couple of errors. His ability to break the line was heartening, and it was his movement that finally sent Noon over for a (legitimate) try – albeit through a slightly fortunate bounce after the intended pass went a little astray.

The high tackle which Daniel Carter handed-off with alacrity was a rooky error (though, despite being slightly older that Allen, I still tend to make the same mistake; England call up anyone…?) but hopefully he’ll wear the scars on his sleeve and make mincemeat of the next 5/8 who tries it on.

Richard Williams got some flak out there on the t’interweb last week for striking up the old clarion call for monsieur le Jonny – but it has to be said that there’s a paucity of candidates. Hodgeson’s confidence is so brittle that a misplaced pass in the warm-up might be enough to break him, and there are times, although not specifically last week, when his inability to nail kick-after-kick-after-kick (or even just ‘kick’) loses us games (France 2005 sticks in the mind). But who else is there? Goode is not goode enough, at least not until he obtains the physique of a rugby player to go with his kicking skills. Lamb would surely be one to the slaughter just now, and Toby Flood is hardly looking like the next Matt Giteau.

The Wilko debate is academic, as his fantabulous injury bandwagon shows no sign of halting (report). I’d be interested to see if Olly Barkely’s matured enough for the role – when I watched England vs Wales in 2004, he looked callow, but he’s a bit bigger now, and should flourish under Ashton. That said, he was Hodgeson’s partner in criminal offences in the aforementioned France game.

Interestingly, although Mark Van Gisbergen was slotting everything in front of him last season (equalling Wilkinson's consecutive kicking record in the process), he subsequently hit a sticky patch of form just before the Autumn internationals, got a few minutes as a temporary replacement against Australia, and then was shunted to Andy Robinson’s box of odd socks. Being as Ian Balshaw didn’t exactly light the blue touch paper last week (he might have found it, but he probably punted it into touch), why not stick the itinerant Kiwi plumber at 15, and let him have a crack?

2006-10-30T17:56:00.000Z

The Consistency of Bad Mash.

One win, two defeats; a glorious run chase and two abject batting surrenders; a victorious but pitiful bowling display and two determined, but ultimately failed, entrenchments in the field. How to sum up England's Champions Trophy? Brittle bottlers, naive greenhorns, spirited try-hards, or just plain crap?

A cursory reflection on England's recent ODI history conjures up an image of patchy form - and a closer statistical look does little to unmuddy the waters. Since the last World Cup (pretty much when they began planning for the next one) a win percentage of 48 from 80 games is only fractionally lower than the historical 50% that sums up the team's crushing mediocrity in this form of the game (see cricinfo) . This drops to 44% from the last 60 games before plumetting to 34% and 26% through the last 40 and 20 games, respectively.

However, in this time players like Pietersen and Bell have emerged in the batting line-up, averaging 59.28 and 41.9 respectively; the only other modern batsmen to play a significant number of ODIs (ie. more than 5) and average in the forties is Nick Knight with 40.41 (Chris Broad averaged 40.02 between '87 and '88 - but that was pretty much the middle ages as far as the ODI chronicles go). Marcus Trescothick, 37.37, a regular other than when non compos mentis, has more ODI centuries (12) to his name than any other English batsman - although admittedly this is less than a third of Sachin Tendulkar's total.

With the ball, Jimmy Anderson, 78 @ 27.11, and Flintoff, 109 @ 24.89, can stand alongside Bob Willis's 80 @ 24.6 and Botham's 145 @ 28.54. Even the last of Goughie's 234 @ 26.29 came during the fallower half of England's performances since 2003.

Paul Collingwood's 32.54 with the bat and 38.38 with the ball are backed up by his excellent fielding (56 catches put him fourth on the list), placing him realistically only behind Beefy and Freddy in the all-rounders list (although Phil DeFreitas's 115 wickets @ 32.82 derserve a mention).

Of course, the phrase 'lies, damn lies, and statistics' finds it natural habitat amongst this sort of analysis - but beneath the farrago of misdirection resides the feeling that a collection of good players are repeatedly missing their lengths.

In the last four years, England have made their way to the final of the Champions Trophy (2004), ending their 14 match losing streak against Australia along the way by chasing down 260 for the loss of only four wickets. Their record against the World and ICC Champions since then is won three, lost four and tied one (including the Natwest Series final in 2005). They have beaten every one of the top nations apart from New Zealand (last victory in 2002), and unearthed players of quality, Strauss and Mahmood (fingers crossed) in addition to the aforementioned Bell and Pietersen.

In fact, the positive blips on the readout almost obfuscate the abject return of one win in four over the last couple of years - enough to have Fletcher still intimating a late run at the World Cup. It's fair to say our poor luck with injuries has been limiting; but the lack of continuity in strategy, batting order (Pietersen has batted at numbers 3, 4 and 5 in the last four ODIs; Bell playing as ersatz opener) and bowling attack (Harmison, Plunkett, Anderson, Mahmood, Lewis, and Broad have all had a go at opening the bowling in recent games) is more to blame. It seems that for all Fletcher's vibrancy and leadership in Tests, he is decidely short on short-game tactics.

All that number crunching leaves me grasping for conclusions (pretty much where I began then). The win over the Windies was impressive, but the game was meaningless. With the surfeit of fixtures in recent years, maybe overkill is a problem - but we can't blame that with other countries playing the same if not more. It seems that until we focus on the one day game as a valid form of contest - rather than a feeder environment for the Test side - we will continue to be also-rans; and that means coaching players to adapt their mentality for the type of innings required (how many times have we blown easy run chases by trying to blast our way to the total from only half the overs?), working on bowlers' rythms and lines (both at the death and during power plays), and fostering an atmosphere of confidence and invention. Until then, all the promising tyros, rough diamonds and honest journeyman we can pack into a touring party won't be enough to bring a consistent, a careful and deliberate, period of success.

2006-10-17T15:31:00.000+01:00

One Day; Who Knows?

With

England

needing to beat

Australia

on Saturday to prolong their interest in (one might say distraction with, for all the respect we seem to accord the one-day game) the Champions Trophy, Duncan and Freddie must be hoping something clicks. After a dismal few years in the short form, a couple of spirited victories at the tail-end of the summer over Pakistan and a convincing pummelling of a Rajasthan XI had perhaps raised the expectation level a mite too high - although, given that we were finalists in the tournament last time out, we should probably be aiming to be there or thereabouts again.

With the classic 'bits-and-pieces' roles filled by the somewhat nuggety Collingwood, the doughty Dalrymple and deceptive Yardy, I had begun to harbour the hope that the side had achieved a degree of balance... however, then India roughed up the top order and we were effectively back to the drawing-board (although it was two of those gritty three that turned out to be top scorers, sandwiching KP in between.)

I'll have my fingers crossed against the Aussies, but won't be holding out too much hope. The drawn final of the one-day series in 2005, prior to the Ashes, was held to have had a significant bearing on the series, particularly on England's powers of self-belief, but I don't think they need such a fillip this time round. The players know they can stand toe-to-toe with Australia in the Test arena, and I don't expect a negative result in a second-rate one-day trophy's group stage to alter that. Would be nice to give them a good dusting though...

2006-09-11T21:20:00.000+01:00

Post Script.

So, Raymond Domenech is prepared to make some concessions... he'll only pick Claude Makelele for competitive fixtures. When I railed against the France coach's arrogant rejection of common sense last week, I assumed UEFA would soon have to intervene; but after Domenech's comments on Friday (see the ever helpful guardian), I cannot imagine that Chelsea will do anything but take the issue to the highest authority.

Domenech claims the "law" is behind in him, and that picking Makelele for internationals is only fair and just, "even against his [Makelele's] own wishes". This fatuous claim makes a mockery of the current situation, whereby a player can currently be suspended from playing for his domestic side, in the event of his refusal to attend an international fixture once called up. This law, which is sensible in that it prevents clubs dictating which of their players can or cannot be selected for international duty, has been twisted by the France manager into a means of half-nelsoning the unfortunate Monsieur Makelele into abiding by his demands. It apparently isn't enough that Makelele retired once before, only to be persuaded to go back on this (2005 BBC report): now he must remain in servitude to his national side until they see fit to eject him from the set-up, or, presumably, his legs give out from under him - although whether that would be enough to persuade Domenech not to select him again remains to be seen.

As I argued before, this course of action violates an unwritten agreement, that when a player sees the dying of the light, and opts to prolong his years in the game (and presumably his chance to earn money before retirement and obscurity, or worse, Football Focus) by absenting himself from the field of international competition, the presiding manager keeps his side of the deal, ie. doesn't name him in the next sodding squad. If a coach can bend the rules in his favour, to override any sense of free agency an aging player may have, then the governing body may be forced to draw up an official system - which would doubtless be open to abuse. FIFA spokesman Andreas Herren's comments appear to support Makelele, in that by putting his international retirement in writing, he would not be subject to a ban; but it appears someone has yet to inform Domenech of this.

At any rate, I look forward to seeing how the affair pans out. Domenech's eccentricity was a feature of the World Cup, and perhaps we'll now bear witness to a bizarre game of one-upmanship between the Frenchman and the equally crackpot Chelsea boss. Given the pugnacious nature of both, it could be fun.

2006-09-05T13:42:00.000+01:00

By way of introduction...

Okay, well, I guess a quick introduction is due, as a debutante in the blogodome. This journal will attempt to look chiefly at events from the sporting world, as refracted through my own eyes. Hopefully it'll be stimulating, interesting, amusing and even satirical; and I'll probably meander from the subject matter, as the mood takes me - but feel free to shout 'stop' if I'm going on...

Anyway, I think it's best to get stuck right into the meat and two veg, as it were. It seems that storm clouds are a-brewing above Stamford Bridge once again. I'm going to attempt to refrain from being partisan in these posts, but I think I can intimate that I'm not the greatest fan of Mourinho's Blues, and their Abramovich fuelled revolution.

However, other than to snipe at William Gallas, Chelsea's press department has rumbled into action today with a statement in defense of the Special One's comments regarding Claude Makelele's supposed international retirement. According to a BBC report, Chelsea have backed their manager, and moved to dissociate his choice of words from their potential "social and political" implications.

To backtrack slightly, the fuss revolves around Mourinho's decision to describe Makelele as a "slave", that he could be made to play for his country despite his apparent decision to retire from the international arena - Kevin McCarra in the guardian. This led to a barrage of small-minded (at least as I see it) nonsense from Raymond Domenech, the French national coach, and Makelele's team mate, Lillian Thuram, (see the guardian again) describing Big Jose's use of the term as "insulting" and "offensive".

Now, here I have to interject on Mourinho's behalf (I'm sure he'll thank me in time). The Portuguese is undoubtedly a shrewd manipulator, and adept at antagonising those who provoke his ire - but to equate Mourinho's inconsequent ranting with a deliberately insensitive jibe at the legacy of the African slave trade, as Domenech and Thuram have done, seems to me as unhelpful as it is reductive. The term 'slave' is not solely rooted in the lexicon of black oppression - it goes way back, referring in its essence to the enforced bondage of one individual to another. Of course it would be naïve to ignore the resonance of the word in the modern era; but it rankles to see this argument needlessly degenerate into an issue of race. As far as I understand the situation, Makelele declared his intention to retire from internationals post-Germany '06, only for Domenech to brazenly select him for their next competitive match. Does that not in some way make Maka a "servant completely divested of freedom and personal rights"? Domenech is correct to say that people died to free themselves from slavery - but it trivialises the issue to raise it in a bout of mud-slinging.

Domenech's perverse handling of the situation is the most unsettling aspect of these exchanges. That a player's desire to not be selected for international matches has no regulation in UEFA's rulebook means that there must be an unwritten code, restricting a manager from picking such a player. Domenech's breach of this left Makelele open to suspension if he refused to play, and potentially uncorks a barrel of monkeys about when a player can or cannot excuse himself for international duty. For him to then engage in a diatribe against Mourinho's perceived racial slur is extraordinary, and muddies the waters of an already convoluted issue.

Well, that's enough for a first post, I think. What with Bjorn throwing his toys out of the pram, Murray on the brink of a first QF, and England looking like breaking the summer's ODI hoodoo (as I write, at least) there should be plenty more to talk about. And that's definitely the last time I wade in on Jose Mourinho's side...