Gerard Houllier is an Arsehole

In an interview to Sky Sports last night, Gerard Houllier reminded me that he was an arsehole.

First, commenting on Tiago's booking that would keep him out of Lyon's second leg tie at Milan, he described the midfielder as 'sacrificing himself for the team'. Effectively he was condoning the player for making a cynical foul on Kaka late on in the game. He also added that Lyon had been missing Juninho Pernambucano, who he referred to as their 'star player'. Effectively this is isolating a single player as the side's 'star', insinuating that he is better than the rest.

Houllier has a history of displaying the grace of an elephant, and in my opinion is guilty of one of the worst crimes ever committed against football. As the Manager of France in 1993, Houllier's Blues needed a draw against Bulgaria to qualify for the 1994 World Cup in America. As a late sub, David Ginola found himself in a good position near the corner flag, with the score tied at 1-1. Ginola crossed the ball into the area, a Bulgarian intercepted it, drove up the field and slotted to through Emil Kosdadinov, who promptly scored the winner for Bulgaria (left), ending France's hopes of qualifying.

In the post-match press conference, rather than protecting Ginola from a media backlash, or taking any responsibility for the woeful underachievement of the national team, Houllier stated, on national television:

"David Ginola is the murderer of the team ... he sent an Exocet missile through the heart of French football ... David Ginola committed a crime against the team, I repeat, a crime against the team."

Ginola never played for France again. Even after winning the PFA and Football Writer's player of the year awards in 1997, Bernard Diomede was the preferred choice on the left wing for France under Houllier's successor Aime Jaquet.

Ergo...Houllier is an arsehole.

For the record, anyone who thinks Houllier deserves the credit for Lyon's current form is wrong. Three years ago Paul Le Guen (the new Ranger's manager) revolutionised the Lyon team, winning two Championats in a row, before deciding to leave. Houllier merely picked up the reins of a fantastic team, has barely changed it, and has managed not to fuck up.

Gor Blimery Guvernir, Mate.

I recently had the, erm, pleasure of watching trhe latest cinematic offering on English football hooliganism; Green Street. This one I had a particular interest in as the firm in focus were supposed to be a West Ham firm. Here are my impressions


Good Bits
1) Nice to see West Ham on the silver screen
2) Just about passable performances by the guy playing 'The Major' and the guy who was the head of the Millwall firm
3) Decent last half an hour-good fight scenes if you're into that kind of thing.
4) Elijah Wood's sister is fit.

Bad Bits
1) Clearly unimpressed with Don Cheadle's magnificent attempt in Oceans 11 to pull off the worst cockney accent in the history of entertainment, whoever put this film together decided to give the role of the top boy of West Ham's firm to an ozzie actor, Charlie Hunnam (above), whose accent is possibly the most annoying thing i've ever heard. Unfortunatly, his character is the pivot of the entire film. He's good at being angry, shit at being cockney. Imagine Vinnie Jones playing a Yakuza mobster.
2) These films always try too hard. Unfortunatley it seems virtually impossible for actors to act like football hooligans without looking like that kid at school who tried to convince everyone he had got into a football fight once by swaggering a bit, using the 'fackin hell' vernacular, and saying 'waaaaaay' sometimes. In fact everyone knew that kid was just a middle-class tryhard, essentially just like these actors.
3) Annoying bits- trains to Manchester do not leave from Kings Cross, 'bubbles' is always sung with arms in the air, East London hospital does not exist. Could go on, but wont.
4) Tried to copy the formula of I.D. (which is actually the best hooligan film out there, still not that good though) New guy(s) infiltrate firm, get very involved and find themselves enjoying it, scandal when found out whether falsely or not, all goes tits up...yadda yadda
5) These films have missed the boat. This kind of stuff doesn't really happen any more. Old Bill are all over it. Was still around in the late eighties early nineties (when ID was made), but trying to recreate it in a contemporay environment is missing the point. And somewhat glorifying it. Getting the train away from Bolton away recently, i saw a bunch of scally wannabe thugs chucking stuff at the train chanting 'where's your fucking GLE' (GLE being the firm in the film).

As usual, if you know nothing about the English football scene, let alone hooliganism, you might enjoy it. Otherwise it is really quite annoying.

Moral of the story: films about football hooliganism could be really good. But never are.

Political Football

Recently i had the chance to indulge two of my interests at the same time. For a module i am doing on Israeli politics, i gave a presentation on the impact of football on the Arab-Israeli conflict, specifically the role it plays in exacerbating/dissolving the ethnic cleavages within Israel itself.

The link is a transcript of the presentation, a little rough around the edges, but you'll get the jist.

Full Transcript

Mourinho Boo-Boo Number Two!

Two blogs in one day you lucky lot...I couldn't help myslelf...you'll understand.

So, it turns out the best team in West London is...Fulham! And you won't believe it, it happened again...Mourinho messed up!

Despite having constructed the finest squad the Premiership has ever seen (I won't mention how much it cost, that would be boring) Mourinho's style is mainly about, well, style. The Special One does a lot of things for the sake of image, essentially this is what he is about. He jaunts around, the personification of arrogance, and this rubs off on his team- often seemingly invinveable: they have walked the Premiership. He runs out first at Barcelona to take the flack for his team- not before telling the world he was going to do so. An sometimes, when he's feeling most rebellious, he makes a double substitution after 23 minutes. What a renegade, he just doesn't give a shit. But let me be the first to say 'José fucked up, na na na na na' (in a very annoying voice)

Unfortunately Jose my friend, image can be very important in football, but it will not tanslate in raw tactics. A double substitution after 23 minutes has to be the most egotistical substitutions of them all. The headlines write themselves, 'Mourinho master-stroke changes game!'...'Double-switch saves the day!' and so on. Essentially, like changing the lineup against Barcelona...the change is mainly about image. By doing so Mourinho wanted the turnaround to be because of something he did.

Tactically both decisions were questionable. I have discussed at lenght the defficiencies of his lineup at the Camp Nou. Yesterday's decicion showed similar impatience. Shaun Wright-Phillips was having a poor game, and hadn'r beaten their left-back once. But SWP is one of those players who gets tackled 5 times in a row, before skinning his man at the 6th attempt and setting up a goal. He was having a stinker when he came on for England against Uruaguay, and then he set up the goal...for Joe Cole. Joe Cole is on the form of his life, but was another victim of the Mourinho ego-tactic.

Mourinho tried to make a tactical masterstroke, but forgot the tactical bit, battering the confidence of Cole and SWP in the process (the looks on their face when they trotted off said it all). The variation of 4-3-3 that Mourinho- to his credit- has mastered at Chelsea is the key to their success: two defensive midfielders behind Lampard, two attacking wingers behind Crspo/Drogba. BUT, twice in a row when he has found himself in trouble he has deviated from this formula, this time changing to an akward 4-4-2, rather than having faith in his players, and a bit of patience- but in both cases moving the onus to him.

When this works, he looks like a genius. When it doesn't (Camp Nou, Craven Cottage) he deservadly looks like a twat.

The Charm of Siria B

Whilst in Sicily this weekend i went to the second Siria B game of my life... Catania Vs. Triestino (1-1)

I first saw a Siria B game about three years ago when me and two friends decided to watch Venezia whilst in Venice. The game stood out for two reasons; firstly it was really quite poor- the gulf in class between Siria A and B makes the Championship look sexy by comparison. Secondly it was the scene of perhaps my greatest footballing faux pas. Having grown a centurianesque strap of facial hair for the occasion, I suplemented my unmistakeable Italianness by buying a replica Venezia top...No 9: Stefan Schwoch. I couldn't lose. But I did.

A brief glance down the team sheet revealed that Mr Schwoch had recently been transferred to the visiting team Vicenza, and proceeded to score the two goals that beat Venezia on the day 2-1. Needless to say the offending item was sheepishly removed poste haste. Schowch is pictured above in Vicenza colours.

The Catania-Triestino game was similarly shite, but again was made stroy-worth by a series of heart-warming moments. I hadn't actually planned to go to the game and at 2pm i was on a train an hour outside of Catania on the slopes of Etna. Normally when I'm away i will try to catch a local game, but recently introduced anti-violence legislation has made doing this in Italy a bit of a hassle- each ticket has to be pre-bought and personalised.

I met a guy on the train in Catania colours (red and white) who proceeded to talk to me for an hour about how Catania was his life before passing me onto an old man who i was told would take me to the stadium. I was quite confused by the whole thing, i tried explaining that i didn't have a ticket but this didn't seem to matter. I was even more confused, and then touched, when the first guy bid me fairwell with a kiss on each cheek- it seems even Italian football hooligans roll like this.

The walk to the stadium with the old man was brilliant. I said things like 'Del Piero..magnifico!' and he said things like 'Rooney...eeeeeeh', and so on. The international language of football my friends. When we got there the old man started talking to a grizzled dodgy-looking type and then asked me for 20 euros, which for some reason i gave him. For a moment i thought it was going to be one of those stories, but sure enough a ticket for the curva nord was thrust in my hand...in the name of one Salvatore Costentino.

I had three minutes to become Salvatore, and having adjusted my walk slightly i was amazed that the security man asked to see some ID. At this stage my little old man launched into a tirade of defence, justiculating in frenzied animation. Within seconds I was in the ground, with the old amn slapping me on the back smuggly reoeating 'mo problemo, no problemo'. My hero. When in Sicily I guess...

As with all Italian games, there was really two show going on: the Ultras conducting the crowd with loudspeakers (v interesting) and the game itself (less so). It always amazes me that almost two hours before Italian games the Ultras are already arriving unravelling their flags. The guys with the loudspeakers don't even watch the game. Nutters. Anyway...Forza Catania, Palermo Merda!

P.s. if you ver find yourself football-starve in Italy on a Sunday, head to a betting shop, one of the few establishments that do not abide by the Catholic tradition of shutting everything on Sundays (pretty mean considering Pope John Paul II was apparantly a mean goalie in his youth). The shops show English, Italian and Spanish football all day, through a haze of cigarette smoke and local banter.

One In, One Out (oh, and another two out)

So, the first knockout stage of the Champions League is over for our British teams. My reflections:

Chelsea Vs. Barcelona
Player for player, Chelsea are better than Barcelona. As a friend of mine commented, however, Chelsea are a ‘solid’ team: virtually all 8 out of 10 players, with perhaps Crespo and Lampard poking the boundaries of world class. Ronaldinho is a 10 out of 10 player, and has the capacity to nullify the collective worth of a team full of 8s.

Secondly, something that I think is often overlooked is the quality of Barcelona’s defence. I believe Marquez (above right) to be vastly underrated, and commands the Barca defence, Terry style. Puyol on form is one of the best defenders in the world. Oleguer and Van Bronkhorst are decent, and Edmilson and Motta do the job cleaning up. Their main strength, however, is organisation. Whilst they may not be individually brilliant, Barca are a team that know how to defend. Over two legs they conceded a single goal (lets face it Chelsea’s penalty last night was a joke) to a team that has pissed all over the Premiership. They didn’t give Chelsea’s creative players time on the ball, and closed down Chelsea attacks from midfield quickly and firmly. I don’t need to say anything about Barca’s attack.

Thirdly, drumroll, I feel Mourinho made a tactical error in the second leg. Chelsea needed to score twice at the Camp Nou, and the special one decided to do this by twisting rather than sticking. By moving Cole to central midfield he changed the formula that has made Chelsea so formidable this year. The players often seemed unsure what to do when they had the ball, and the usual options weren’t presenting themselves. This is because they were forced to get used to something new at the same time as trying to win the most important match they have had all year.

Mourinho’s line-up was deliberately attacking, but they can be as attacking as they want with their tried and tested midfield, they just needed to go for it. They missed Gudjonsson’s distribution in the middle pinging it out to Cole and Robben on the wings. Joe Cole is awesome on his game, but he is not the type of player to sit in the middle of the park and run proceedings. Cole is always going to attack defences, so let him do it from the wing, rather than having him in the centre where his marauding requires Lampard to be more restrained than otherwise. It sounds odd, but even playing Maniche instead of Duff would have meant Chelsea could have attacked in a format they know well and are more likely to succeed with: two defensive midfielders freeing Lampard to get on the ball and have a crack, and their two best wingers, Cole and Robben, twisting up the flanks.

Arsenal Vs. Real Madrid
As I have commented previously, there are fundamental problems at Real Madrid, all of which reared their head tonight. Ronaldo was lazy, Zidane did what he could (which to be honest is not much anymore) and tactically Caro got it all wrong. From the kick-off Real tried to lift balls towards a deeply unimpressive Ronaldo for him to hold up or try to break through the Arsenal defence. Arsenal’s highly motivated defence were all over him from the outset, winning virtually every ball in the air, and yet Real Madrid kept on trying the same tactic for 90 minutes.

Simultaneously, Arsenal play best against teams that try to play 'proper', open football against them. This is because, chances are, they are better than you at it. They stutter when Robbie Savages are glued to their hips pinching their ears. Closing down voraciously and maintaining a tight combative midfield is not in Real Madris's DNA, especially when they have to win. Graveson is big, strong and has a skinhead. He is not, however, a defensive midfielder and never has been. He has good distribution and a decent strike, but does not have a defensive mentality and had no idea how to deal with an Arsenal midfield expert at scurrying. In any case, when Guti dropped and played the libero role he looked much better in front of the back two than Graveson. Neither of them kept up with Arsenal all night.

Hleb (right) looked like he had been playing the Arsenal way all his life, and together with Fabregas (who I have underrated), Ljungberg and an ever-present Uncle Thierry cut up a desperate looking Real midfield with vintage Arsenal geometric passing. Even Reyes had a good game as he did in the first leg, despite missing a sitter, noticeably raising his game for the Spanish audience. Ebou and Toure made a number of forward runs which split the priorities of the Real midfield and defence, eliminating a ‘keep to your man’ defensive strategy. Henry was all on his own up front. He is, however, one of the two players in the world (the other being Ronaldinho) who it is seemingly impossible to outnumber. All in all, the best team won.

Rangers Vs Villareal, Liverpool Vs. Benfica
Neither team had the quality to progress. In reality Rangers wouldn’t have thought they had. Liverpool, mistakenly, thought they did. Wake up! Gerrard id the only world class player they have, their strikers are not (or no longer) in any way prolific, they need two more quality midfielders, and more depth in defence. Until these problems are remedied they have no right to complain at not being in the quarter-finals of the greatest club tournament in the world.

I will say this only once. It feels dirty but I’m going to do it. Well done Arsenal, and good luck.

Terrace Humour

Cheers to KUMB for this, some rib-tickling terrace melodies...no offence...to anyone!!

To the tune of The Addams Family, by fans visiting Norwich:

"Your sister is your mother Your uncle is your brother You all f@*k one another The Norwich family der der der der clap clap etc"

Sung at Highbury when Cygan is drafted in as emergency cover...

"He's bald, He's sh*t, He gets a game when no-one's fit, Pascal Cygan! Pascal Cygan!"

Sung at Liverpool:

"He's big, he's red, his feet stick out of Bed, Peter Crouch, Peter Crouch"

To the tune of Craig David - Rewind:

"VAN PER-SIE, WHEN A GIRL SAYS NO - MOLEST HER"

To Graham Rix when he was released from prison after being convicted for, well, you know... (To the Manic Street Preachers song):

"If you tolerate RIX, then your children will be next"

A song about Tim Howard's tourettes syndrome, chim-cmimeny style.....

"Tim timminy, Tim timminy, Tim Tim Tirooo
We've got Tim Howard and he says F*CK YOU!!"

Toon fans to JF Hasselbaink. He even laughed!:

"You're just a fat Eddie Murphy"

Manyoo fans to the G-Unit, to the tune of 'Rebel, Rebel':

"Neville Neville, you play in defence,
Neville Neville, your play is immense,
Neville Neville, like Jacko you're bad,
Neville Neville is the name of your dad"

Scousers:

"Don't blame it on the Biscan,
Don't blame it on the Hamann,
Don't blame it on the Finnan,
Blame it on Traore,
He just can't, He just can't, He just can't control his feet. He just can't, He just can't, He just can't control his feet."

Celtic fans to Andy Goram after its revealed the chubby keeper was diagnosed with Schizophrenia:

"Two Andy Gorams, there's only two Andy Gorams..."

Hahahaha.

Mr Galactico Galacti-goes!

In what was a bit of a shock, Florentino Perez resigned as president of Real Madrid last night. I actually think this is a respectable move by a businessman whose plan has quite simply not worked. The failure of his plan signifies something more important though, which I would like to briefly outline.

The ‘Galactico’ system- buying the best players in the world every year- was fundamentally flawed. If one is to look at the two players that exemplify the Galactico policy, Zidane and Ronaldo (with 6 World Player of the Year awards between them), an obvious question arises…what have they got to prove? Both have won world cups, virtually single-handedly, and between them boast virtually every major trophy the game has to offer.

The theme was repetitive throughout the team: Last year, if the Real Madrid starting XI got all their (major) medal out at the same time they would have had 21 La Liga titles, 17 Champions Leagues, 6 World Cups, 7 World Player of the Years, 5 European Player of the Years, 2 UEFA Cups, 4 Premierships, 3 Sirea As, 5 Copa Americas, 1 European Championship, 1 Copa Libertadores, and a partridge in a pear tree. What they wouldn’t have had: much hunger.

If you look at the main protagonists of the teams dominating Spain and England at the moment, Chealsea and Barcelona’s players don’t boast much between them, in crude English: they fucking want it. As we saw against Arsenal the other night, Real Madrid don’t seem that bothered, they’ve been there and got the T-shirt. Another obvious problem with buying Galacticos is that by their very nature they have hit their peak. They can only get worse, circa Zidane and Ronaldo. What they might have brought in shirt sales, they have stopped bringing in success. Perez clearly began to see that his masterplan was flawed, and the signings of Robinho, Baptista, Cicinho and Cassano show that they are moving in the right direction: buying young players who want to win, but this is too little too late.

Similarly whilst Perez has bought Galacticos, he has appointed buffoons to coach them. Duh! Real Madrid have recently been coached by Carlos Quieroz (randomly appointed after being assistant at an underachieving Man United- lasted a year), Wanderlay Luxemburgo (the guy who managed NOT to win the World Cup with Brazil) and John Toshak (frankly ridiculous).

So, a new era begins. If I was Real Madrid I would go for the Milan Mandaric-Harry Redknapp combo, with the ‘buyrandomio’ policy. Safe as houses.

What do Sven's squads and Michael Owen's spare time have in common?

It thrills me to find that Sven Goran Eriksson is clearly planning to go out in the manner that has underpinned the majority of his tenure: a blaze of conservatism. I’m not Mr Loverman’s biggest fan, but my current gripe is with his squad selection for the upcoming game against Uruguay. Lets face it, we all know exactly what the starting XI will be if all remain fit for this summer. This is not what concerns me; I would pick the same as Sven. What troubles me is his lack of imagination with the remaining 12.

In a wave of unpredictable exuberance Sven has given a Bent a shot. Bully for him. A number of players, however, may feel slightly aggrieved at having not been give a shot. The Uruguay game is the last time for Sven to have a bit of a play before settling. His choice of Richardson, Carrick and Jenas as backup midfielders is about as exciting as curling. We know exactly what sort they are; decent players with couple of caps between them, definitely not going to set the world on fire between now and the World Cup, nothing special internationally speaking. So what’s the fucking point? Even if they go to Germany they’re not going to play anyway.


Two omissions are obvious, both better than the triumvirate of mediocrity mentioned above. An injury to Cole, Lampard or Gerrard would inevitably change the midfield formation to a diamond, the only reason we don’t have one right now is that Lampard and Gerrard are too go not to both start (you work it out). The only decent, and actually pretty good defensive midfielder we have is Scott Parker (above). Playing Rio or King in midfield is a mistake, Gerrard or Lampard are wasted there, and Hargreaves and Carrick not good enough. Parker would be our best bet. But he’s not even in the squad. Another one who could play there, or anywhere in the centre if necessary is Kevin Nolan (right). Whilst he would obviously get nowhere near the starting XI, he is surely stronger that Carrick, more threatening than Jenas, and more consistent that Richardson.

The third replacement I would have is simply for the sake of it. For fuck’s sake Sven, live a little! Why not give Aaron Lennon a try? Take a chance on a bit of Nigel Reo-Coker action? Leighton Baines or Matt Taylor at left back anyone? Kerrea Gilbert slipped in on the right? Joey Barton in England call up shock? Its not as if they’ll actually play a game this summer!! Whatever happened to the Sven that would call up Chris Powells and Gavin McCanns for a bit of a laugh? But that’s just not the way Sven rolls these days is it. Much more likely to try to defend a one-nil lead against a Zidane-inspired France for 84mins than try out Jimmy Bullard on the left of a three man midfield. Ok, maybe that’s too much, but you get the point.

If you can bear the excitement, full squad list can be found here

Wenger's Special Children

It certainly has been an interesting year for Arsenal. Whilst every gooner worth their salt will tell you this is the calm before the revolutionary storm of the new stadium era yadda yadda it's clear that something a bit weird is going on at Arsenal. Despite the result last night, with Vieira gone and Henry potentially on his way, things seem to have gone a bit rotten.

However, as much as it pains me to say this, any chicken counting is almost certainly premature. I don't like him, but Arsene Wenger is responsible for discovering and resurrecting some of the finest talent we have seen in the Premiership; Henry, Vieira, Ljungberg, Pires, Toure, Petit, Anelka, and co were all plucked from obscurity or the realms of underachievement. Arsenal is certainly going through a transitional period, and the theme is clear…investment in youth. With the old guard getting on, with perhaps only Henry still at his peak, a new wave has emerged.

Despite Wenger’s cleverness, for every Vieira there has been a Francis Jeffers and Stephan Malz (do not overanalyse this- a one in three record of risk-taking is bloody impressive), so in this blog I would like to give my impressions of the current crop, and (probably foolishly) predict who will be the Ljungbergs and who will be the Christopher Wrehs.

Emmanuel Eboue - Strong, looked great last night, but seems a bit dodgy on the ball. Unreliable.

Johan Djourou - A poor man’s Emmanuel Eboue

Senderos- After being promised he was the new Adams, Senderos is slowly but surely showing that he has the right to be mentioned in the same sentence as our favourite ex-alcoholic.

Gael Clichy- Essentially a worse version of Ashley Cole, will always be in his shadow whilst cole remains at Arsenal.

Kerrea Gilbert (left)- From what I’ve seen, looks like an excellent prospect. People seem to agree, but opinions do suffer from the over-exuberance that is inevitable when anyone talks about an English right-back who isn’t Neville.

Vassikirri Abou Diaby- Apparently the new Vieira. Big boots. Chelsea were interested. Very much a wait and see.

Sebastian Larsson- Have only seen him play a few times. Really impressed me in an interview recently. A very mature head on young shoulders, but don’t think he has the quality.


Cesc Fabregas (right)- A little shitbag, but a very talented little shitbag. Fantastic passing ability, but suffers somewhat from small man syndrome (perpetual laryness). The syndrome will make him a better player, but will not make him any bigger. Small central midfielders have to be pretty fucking special to make it in a Premiership midfield. I can’t think of a single example of a lightweight CM who has done well for a big club. Unfortunately Fabregas isn’t even stocky.

Mathieu Flamini- Wnger seems to have a lot of faith in him, seems like a bit of a headless chicken whenever he plays. Has not excelled in any of the various positions he has been played in. Wenger’s apparent faith is the only thing stopping me from saying outright that he’s shit.

Theo Walcott- God knows, but the most hyped player since Rooney, and they weren’t wrong with him.

Robin Van Persie- Yup, yup and more yup. Can see him getting better and better too. A true Wnger coup.

Emmanuel Adeyabour- Can see Wenger having trouble with this one, has a history of being a prat. Has been very hyped both internationally and at club level, and would seemed to have extended his nose up his own arse.


Arturo Lupoli (left)- pinched from the Parma youth academy when pinching from the Parma youth academy was all the rage. Aren’t financial crises great. Wait and see.

The most obvious thing is the shear volume, 13 players under the age of 21 flirting around the first team, and there are 5 others who I have never heard of on the official squad list- Anthony Stokes, Nicklas Bendtner, Matthew Connely, Alexandre Song, and Fabrice Muamba. And Justin Hoyte on loan at Sun’land (but he’s shit).

Conclusion: If Wenger’s past record is anything to go by, at least 5 of these players will turn out to be the business. My 5 are Senderos, Gilbert, Van Persie, and any two from Abou Diaby, Walcott and Lupoli.

A Right Koldrup

Cheers to 'back where we belong' off KUMB for this. Story is a rumour, but seems to make a lot of sense, and is, frankly, hillarious. The tale is of Everton's recent wonder signing Per koldrup...

"Apparently Moyes signed Kroldrup without going to see him himself, took the advice of a European scout working for the club. A £5.1 million bid was lodged and Udinese the Italian club who Kroldrup was playing for couldn't believe their luck and immediately accepted Everton's bid.

Only after the player was signed and all the necessary paperwork had been completed, and the player himself had completed his first training session with his new team mates did Moyes begin to smell a rat.

Moyes was apparently totally unimpressed with what he had seen and it was only then after he made enquiries with the scout that it dawned on him. Everton had signed the WRONG player!!! The player the scout had watched had been Kroldrup's centre-back partner! This was why the Everton bid was immediately successful and they (Udinese) were it has been reported, totally amazed with the size of the bid.

So, Moyes now had a problem, he had a centre-back he knew was not good enough for the Premiership, he also needed to off-load him and get back if possible the club's £5.1 million.

How was he going to do this without losing face with the Everton fans. The first thing he did was report to the press that Kroldrup was injured, he did in fact have a slight injury but not enough to keep him out for 3 months ,which is what happened.

Eventually through pressure from local phone-ins, fan groups and local and national press asking questions about this £5.1 million invisible man, and also because of the club's injury list, Weir was injured etc, he eventually had to play him against Villa at Villa Park.

It was there that David Moyes worst fears were realised, Kroldrup had a stinker, was out of his depth and Moyes knew it. The problem now was that other managers had now seen Kroldrup's non-performance so there was no chance of them getting back their £5.1 million- and he knew it.

It has been recently reported that Florentina have put in a bid for £3.6 million, sources say that is in fact bull, they have offered Everton 1 million Euros- which is approximately £700,000.

An agreement has been reached with Fiorentina to release to the media that the figure is £3.6 million, mainly, to save face at Everton Football Club.

So, there you have it, mismanagement on a grand scale which goes to show how EFC went from being called the Mersey Millionaires in the sixty's to the total shambles which the club is today.

Moyes apparently blames Chief Executive Wyness, he blames the european scout, others within the club blame Chairman Bill Kenwright."

The twisted tale of John Mikel Obi

In a brilliant bit of investigative journalism, Arlo White managed to track down many of the key figure in the John Obi Mikel transfer saga in a report aired on 5live yesterday.

If, like me, you've found the whole story way too complicated to care about, this report is a fantastic summary, exposing the madness of the situation. Sounds to me like Chelsea have been Grade A shits, but then all parties seem to have been acting amazingly. The story involves death threats, Alex Ferguson bizzarely turning up for a cup of Norweigan tea, fraud, Jo Tessem, and a man called Shittu. Marvelous football scandal.

My favourite bit...
Arlo White: Do you know where you're going after the Nations cup?
Mikel Obi: I dont like to make comments, but inside me i know where i want to go, I think Chelsea.

He clearly knows how to keep his cards close to his chest.

The report really is a must, click here to listen. It lasts about 20mins, and starts after 37mins, so flick through. Do it.

Oh, and you'll need the latest Realplayer.

If you are a Premiership club, whatever you do, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SIGN BENNI MCCARTHY!

Having been widely linked in the press, it was announced today that Portsmouth’s attempts to sign Benni McCarthy have failed. According to the Independent, Porto upped the asking price in the final hours of the deal. Portsmouth should have known better.

In 2002, Middlesborough were ‘on the verge’ of snapping up the South African striker, but the deal broke down with Boro executives blaming the “outrageous demands” of McCarthy’s agent Rob Moore. Later in the year, Aston Villa seemed to have McCarthy in their pocket, but the deal again came to nothing and he ended up going to Porto.

2005 was a particularly good year for Benni McCarthy not moving to the Premiership. Rob Moore, clearly missing a bit good old-fashioned British grub, went into overdrive. The first half of the year saw McCarthy linked to Blackburn, Everton, Birmingham, Newcastle, Bolton and Chelsea, in all cases seemingly because Rob Moore had said so. McCarthy himself, presumably after old Robbo had given him a few beers, declared:

"I am tired of so much ingratitude, so much falsehood and so many accusations. I deserve to live in peace and it would be best if I could go elsewhere to seek the happiness"

In September West Ham stepped in to end poor old Benni’s misery, but the deal fell through in the last minute, when Porto upped the asking price, a trick they repeated yesterday with Portsmouth. In any case, there must have been pretty good weather in Portugal over the last four months, for in a dramatic change of heart Benni is now happily smitten with his current employers, and claimed on Wednesday “I am happy. I do not have any interest in leaving FC Porto.” Oh what a difference a fallen-through deal makes.

So, the moral of the story is: DO NOT attempt to sign Benni McCarthy if you are a Premiership club. In the last four years he has been linked to 10 Premiership teams. In crude maths: if you are a top-flight English club you have a 50% chance of being linked to Benni McCarthy, and a 0% chance of getting him. His agent is a twat, his club are bent businessmen, and the player himself is emotionally unstable.

Jason Roberts is really good you know

Just a quickie to declare that if there’s Jason Roberts Appreciation Society, I’m in. I saw Roberts play at Upton Park over xmas in a thoroughly deserved 2-0 win for the Latics, and came away with the same feeling I’m sure many have had about Alan Shearer in the past: what a cheeky fouling bastard, wouldn’t mind him at West Ham though.

In fact the Shearer comparison is a good one. Essentially, Roberts is a thug with a good touch. Having found myself marvelling at Sylvan Distan’s strength and size when I saw him play for Man City earlier in the year, when Wigan hosted City a home a few weeks ago (winning 4-3) I couldn’t help giggling to myself when Roberts shrugged him off like a little girl, twice. Roberts is one of those footballing clichés; his shear presence causes defenders problems. You’re never quite sure if he’s fouled a defender or if they’ve fouled him. Anyway, if he was English, he’d be my fourth striker. This year he has scored 14 goals in all competitions, more than Owen, Rooney, Crouch and Defoe, and is one of the main reasons Wigan are doing so well.

Hats off to the man, especially today as its hi 28th birthday, which he celebrated by scoring the goal that knocked Arsenal out of the Carling Cup last night. Anyone who pisses off Wenger is a friend of mine.

Joey Cole comes of age

So, it seems Joe “end product” Cole got himself into a bit of trouble recently. Our favourite born again left-wing solution has recently been added to Grove Park police station’s ‘bovver’ file, currently stored on an offshore tanker having outgrown a local warehouse. Apparently Joey was getting friendly with Page 3 temptress Keeley Hazell when her boyfriend walked in and, cutting in from the left flank, perfectly timed a few blows right onto Cole’s head. Cole was forced to jump out of the window topless (pictured right) and flee with mates Anton Ferdinand and Bobby Zamora, who had presumably been playing Pro Evo in the next room.

Joey, Joey, Joey. I’ve always had a soft spot for Cole, who I saw sign his contract on the pitch at half time for West Ham, and make his debut against Swansea in the Cup (he bamboozled their left back), and eventually outgrow us and move on to Chelski. Other than his obvious ability, one of my favourite things about Joey was that he seemed to be a bit of a footballing geek. Having heard stories of a young Cole leaving training in tears as none of his mates were passing to him, and the loveable fact that his voice hadn’t even broken properly by the time he was regularly starting for West Ham, I had (and still have) Cole down as more of a Michael Owen than a Kieron Dyer. The kind of player who goes home after training to update his Merlin sticker Album instead of joining Neil Ruddock down at Chasers.

So, instead of joining in with that gleeful lot down at the Sun, tonight I will toast to Joey Cole’s coming of age. Obviously Joey had been in the middle of arranging his computer games alphabetically when Anton and Bobby knocked on the door and told him he needed to get out a bit more. Fumbling off his shinpads, Joey jumped excitedly at the prospect of going out with the cool kids, put on his best Ben Sherman and headed out. Not believing his luck, Joey managed to cop off with a Sun stunner under strict instructions to bag an England player, who in turn couldn’t believe her luck at finding one she’d hadn’t shagged yet. And the rest is tabloid history.

Poor old Joey. Caught with his pants down one his first real night out with the lads. How sweet. Never mind eh, he’ll be the most popular boy in the dressing room this week. Having developed into a consistent player with convertible flair, and having become one of the first names on the teamsheet at England’s most prestigious club, little Joey is now snogging girls. No wonder everyone is talking about how much he has matured over the last couple of years. Joe Cole is now a man.

The January Sales

The January sales are on! It seems that if you can play football you are linked to Portsmouth. Pompey rang me this morning but had to inform them that my loyalties lay with Goal Pie Town FC (2004 Manchester Power League University League Division 2 Champions). They’ve just signed Davis, Mendes and Pamorot from Spurs, reducing Spurs’ squad to 253, and confirming that ‘Arry still doesn’t really know what to do when he’s got loadsamoney. Give him a fiver and he’s fine, give him £10m and he’ll sign Don Hutchinson and Tomas Repka (see West Ham’s mercurial signings using the Rio/Lampard kitty).

I can semi-definitely assure you that another one of their signings, Emanuel Olisadebe (pictured above) will do nothing. He was good a couple of years ago when he was considered Poland’s great hope for the World Cup, but has since been injured lots and not scored many goals. I actually saw him play this summer for Panithinaikos against Wisla Krakow, he did nothing. Despite filling all of Bolton’s transfer criteria (a couple of years past his peak, great signing on CM3, available for free) they weren’t even interested: he must be really crap.

Maniche (right) is a class act, and annoyingly adds to Chelsea’s ridiculously talented squad. He’s one of Mourinho’s favourites as well, was with him at Porto. By all accounts Evra is a damn good left back, and should be pretty good for United. Much more impressively, West Ham have signed another Israeli for £100,000, we really are mixing with the big boys now.

Otherwise, transfer window has been pretty uneventful so far, nothing particularly amazing has happened. Birmingham signed Chris Sutton. Wow.
transfers so far (Footy365)

My Favourite Chairman

Over recent weeks, that old wildcard Milan Mandaric has been popping up in the press quite a bit; reunited with jilted lover ‘dirty’ Arry, selling half the club to Abramovic’s ex-business partner’s housekeeper’s mate’s cousin-in-law’s drinking buddy (I think), and sending Rupert Lowe a dead duck for xmas. Blimey, we do have some real characters in the English game, eh? No. Introducing Luciano Gaucci.

Luciano Gaucci is my favourite chairman in football, and makes old Milan look like a thoroughly sensible bloke. Chairman of Italian side Perugia, Gaucci first hit the headlines in England after he hounded Ahn Jung-Hwan (the decent South Korean striker) out of the club having scored the golden goal to knock Italy out of World Cup 2002. Essentially Spurs did the same thing with Helder Postiga after he scored against us in Euro 2004, but with a little decorum. Like Ahn himself, decorum is clearly a little too foreign for Italian football, and certainly Gaucci, who commented that Ahn had “offended me and the whole Italian nation”. But like the Murphys, he’s not bitter.

In 2003, Gaucci almost pulled off the most hilarious triumvirate of signings since Wayne Rooney spelt his name right at the third attempt when joining Manyoo. Gaucci started off with a veritable Lockerbie bombing of a transfer, by signing the son of Libya’s cute and cuddly dictator Colonel Gaddafi. Italian football has a strange relationship with ex-Italian colony Libya, and even bizarrely hosted the Super Cup (their charity shield) in the Libyan capital Tripoli in 2002. Saadi Gaddafi never even got a game for Perugia, probably because he was shit, and ended up getting caught taking nandrolone.

Perugia then announced they were looking at a Swedish played called Ljungberg. First name Hannah. Yup, exploiting a loophole in the Italian regulations, Gaucci endeavoured to make Perugia the first team ever to sign a woman footballer to play in a male team. Gaucci reasoning was faultless, explaining that

“We are in 2003, men go to discothèques and go naked on the beach, I can’t see why players would have a problem having a woman on the team”

Clearly we can see that Gaucci is not only an astute chairman, he is also an intellectual. Amazingly, Ljungburg turned down the opportunity to join Gaucci’s haven of sexual equality.

Having been thwarted by his Swedish tit interest, Gaucci swooped to pull of the most astonishing transfer of all. Having been deemed surplus to requirements at newly relegated Coventry, Jay Bothroyd became a free agent. Realising the glorious opportunity Gaucci pipped a host of European giants (Grimsby, Cardiff, Dundee) to the post and signed up the marauding attacking genius, citing that Perugia needed “quality to progress in the Inter-Toto Cup”. Not only an intellectual, Gaucci is also a mean scout. Bothroyd is currently sitting on the bench at Charlton, suffering from blackouts, and recently crashed his car.

So, when my fellow West Ham fans are next chanting ‘Brown Out!’ in fevered unison (happens approx. every 3.4 years), I will be chanting ‘Gaucci In’. If that fails, I will settle for Mandaric. Turns out that George Best’s son Callum has Milan as his middle name, as the Pompey chairman was one of our favourite alcoholic lothario’s closest friends. Now that’s what I call a chairman.

A Cup Convert

Ok, i'll admit it. I was one of those cynics who frankly didn't give much of a shit about the FA Cup. This is probably largely because i support West Ham and we do things like getting knocked out by Wrexham rather than galavanting on glorious runs. I don't think i was alone either. With the pressures and financial importance of avoiding relegation, or getting into Europe etc. the prospect of travelling to Shithouse United in the middle of the Welsh Valleys for a part-time plumber on a frozen pitch to kick lumps out of your ageing right back at a stage of the season when a teams lack of depth can be blatantly exposed by a couple of injuries, is hardy romantic. And yet today i felt the romance of the cup.

Watching Burton hang on for a nil-nil draw against united, seeing Leyton Orient and Leicester claim the first two premiership scalps (Fulham and Spurs respectively), and Nuneaton hold Middlesborough was truly thrilling stuff. I actually watched the Burton game at my local in Manchester and was bloody nervous for the last 10 minutes as Rooney and co pummelled their goal. At the end i felt exhilirated, alsmost post-coital, the romance of the cup indeed.

It makes you realise just how Greece can win the European Championships, or Porto win the Champions League, as football is simply 11 versus 11, and anything can happen. Oh crap i think i just finished my blog with a glaring cliche. The Leicester game really was a game of two halves though. Shit.

Kick Off

Hi
As a self-confessed football addict, this blog will be a bit of an indulgence for me. Anything football-related that tickles my fancy will be dealt with, probably rant-style, whenever I feel the need to let it all go.

My credentials? A worrying 'CM-life' (have wasted approx 2 years of my life buying Slovenian midfielders and letting them mature into cultured playmakers etc.), an unfortunate, irreversible love affair with West Ham United (why why why), and a silly capacity for remembering useless football-related information (I know Batistuta's child will be able to play for Qatar, but I have trouble remembering the names of all my cousins).

So, from time to time, this will be the the internet equivalent of a really good burp, gets it all out and makes you feel better afterwards. And smells a bit. Sorry in advance.