Tag Archives: rivalry

Alan Smith: Saint or Sinner? The Smudger Debate – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 23/11/2013 | 17 comments
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Smudger – one of our own?

It’s over nine years now since Alan Smith, the Rothwell lad with Leeds United in his DNA (although there are rumours that he was a Liverpool fan as a cherubic little boy), broke with an on-the-record vow and signed for Them.  From THERE.  It was impossible to believe, but it was true.  Smudger had sold his soul to the Devil.  Our Alan was a scummer.

Ever since then, the debate has raged off and on.  Is Smithy more sinned against than sinning?  What were his choices back in 2004?  Is he still our golden boy, famous for scoring with his first touch in front of the Anfield Kop, for putting Anderlecht’s formidable home record to the sword, for that Cruyff turn when he scored against Southampton at home?  Or is he the living embodiment of Judas Iscariot, selling himself and prostituting his talent for a few (million) pieces of silver?

There is evidence on both sides of the argument, and plenty of ill-informed, scurrilous comment as well.   No less an impeccable source than Peter Lorimer tells us that Smudge had little choice in the matter; that Man U was the only offer on the table that suited our dire financial predicament; that the lad even waived a rather large payment so that the Club could gain maximum advantage from the deal.  My own crib at the time was a TV interview immediately after relegation when Smith confirmed he’d be leaving as he was “not a first division player”.  Well excuse me, son – I brooded – but you are.  You’ve just earned that status by being part of a team that got relegated.  But it was all a long time ago.

So I thought I’d ask people to vote for how they see our former striker (38 goals in 172 appearances).  Is he a goodie or a baddie?  Saint or Sinner?  Is he Leeds, or is he not? Please give your view below.  We might as well do this now; the lad is way past his best and let’s face it – after all the years of rumours and sightings – he’s not coming back.  So let’s nail this one now.

Comments are equally welcome.  If you MUST insist on a democratic right to vote, even if you’re a Man U fan – then at least have the decency to admit it.  I could of course protect the integrity of the process by filtering out I.P. addresses in Devon – but what the hell.

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Posted in Football, Leeds United

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Post-Leeds United Cup Final Syndrome is Reality for Huddersfield and Millwall – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 11/11/2013 | 62 comments
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Huddersfield’s Ground, pictured on a non-Leeds United match day

Both Huddersfield Town and Millwall have recently enjoyed league victories over the Mighty Leeds United – classic David and Goliath tales of tiny, grubby backwoods clubs enjoying their moment in the limelight as they contrive to overcome a world-famous footballing superpower.  The fallout was similar in both cases – joy unconfined, celebration and jubilation in excelsis, dancing and cavorting in the cobbled streets and who knows what other forms of primitive festivity.  It’s anticipated that there will be a sharp spike in the birthrate for both of these isolated communities nine months hence – though sadly the limited gene pool means it’s unlikely we’ll see any such augmentation of the average IQ figure.

All of this is quite understandable, given the chip on the collective shoulders of each respective band of David fans, where this particular Goliath is concerned.  It’s probably more acute in Huddersfield, whose fans have had to live their lives in the long shadow of Big Brother from Elland Road on the one side, and of the Pennines on the other, their only protection from the barbaric hordes of Lancashire.  But Millwall nurse their own grudge against Leeds, who they feel somehow outshine their own carefully-nurtured reputation for mob-handed naughtiness.  This is a misconception – the old Leeds wild boy tendency are mostly harmless elderly chaps these days, venting their spleen – if at all – from a computer keyboard.  Millwall fans seem convinced however that something nasty awaits them in LS11 – at any rate, they rarely bring more than a few dozen along to our annual meetings at Elland Road these days, and they spend their time sitting quietly in a safe area of the ground, shuffling their feet and hoping not to be noticed.

But whatever motivates these quaint if rustic people to nurse such savage hatred in their bosoms – and really, who could ever tell what goes on inside those misshapen heads? – there is certainly a galvanising effect on the teams they support.  Those guys can be relied upon to play well above their usual form and give even superior Leeds sides a terrible time.  The motivational aspect is undeniable and, sadly, it costs an unwary United points that should be there for the taking.  This happens time and time again – every time a Leeds fixture is in the offing, the drums start to beat, the blood stirs and an atavistic glitter is to be seen in the eyes of otherwise placid and useless players.  We Leeds fans refer to it ruefully as “Cup Final Syndrome” – much to the annoyance of the unwashed hordes in opposition camps.   The Huddersfield and Millwall lot would have you believe that Leeds is “just another game”.  But this is demonstrably not so.

Quite apart from the annoying regularity with which these dingy little clubs raise their performance levels against Leeds, another noticeable factor is the slump in performance immediately afterwards.  It’s as if the players, egged on by their desperate fans, have given every last drop of blood, sweat and tears and then gone on to draw on hidden reserves to complete the job, leaving them shattered and drained.  What inevitably happens next time out is that a team of pale wraiths take the field, wave and smile wanly at the applause due to them for beating Leeds, and then capitulate to whoever they are playing, simply too knackered from post Cup Final Syndrome to offer any resistance. Don’t take my word for it.  Check out the facts.

Since Millwall beat Leeds 2-0 on 28 September, they have played six games.  The first two after Leeds were away at Birmingham where they lost 0-4 and then away to Bournemouth, who tonked them 5-2.  Three draws followed and then the most recent defeat was at Bolton by 3-1. They’ve mustered 3 points out of the 18 available, registered not one further win and generally looked like exhausted relegation fodder.  Huddersfield have hardly fared better.  They’ve played only two games since beating Leeds, losing them both – away to Wigan by 2-1 and at home to Birmingham (1-3).  It’s especially notable that both teams have been easily beaten by a Birmingham side made to look like Sunday morning park footballers as Leeds murdered them 4-0.  Funny old game, isn’t it?

The truth of the matter is that this “Cup Final Syndrome” is a real factor, one that can distort results and affect the whole season.  As I’ve previously written, Leeds suffer more than most from the phenomenon – not that this is any reason for sympathy.  It’s something Leeds have to sort out and overcome, if they are to achieve anything in the foreseeable future.  It’s just the loud and indignant denials you get – from the clubs who experience Cup Final Syndrome – that amaze me.  They’re prepared to swear blind that there’s no such factor at play, and yet the figures speak for themselves.

The managers of those clubs concerned might see things in a different light; they might argue that if their team can reach such heights and expend such effort when they play Leeds, then they could and should do it all the time.  But that’s the point – they can’t. They almost literally do give that hackneyed 110% against Leeds.  It is their cup final. They try and they try – and they come off the field, maybe victorious, but shattered and run down, their batteries as flat as the top of Wayne Rooney’s head.  They’ve nothing left to give, with predictable consequences next time out as they get royally stuffed.  It’s all there, in those results.

Maybe the Millwall and Huddersfield fans would rather have a more consistent level of performance – and in that case, maybe they’d tolerate a less superhuman level of effort against the arch-enemy Leeds United.  But do you know, I somehow doubt it?  I have this sneaking suspicion that they’d rather continue to settle, grumpily maybe, but settle nonetheless, for mediocrity and runs of defeats for most of the season – just as long as they can have those wins against Mighty Leeds.  That, for them, is what it’s all about.  It’s not as if they’re going to go up anyway – so they need those Cup Final victories, they’re a validation of sorts.  It’s a defining characteristic of the type of club they are, with the type of fans they have.

So, you small-time, small club, small-minded envious pariahs – next time you hear Leeds United fans singing to you about “your Cup Final”, and feel moved to utter an offended bleat of protest – just bite your lips, and pause a second or two.  Think on.  You might just realise that what we’re singing to you is almost literally true.

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Posted in Football, Leeds United

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Hurt Feelings and Childish Tantrums Down Millwall Way – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 20/10/2013 | 27 comments
No-one likes them, and apparently they care TERRIBLY

No-one likes them, and apparently they care TERRIBLY

Tears are being shed, teddies thrown out of cots, feet stamped in darkest Bermondsey. Tantrums are the order of the day.  Millwall fans are feeling hurt and slighted, and d’you know wot, Guv’nor?  They don’t fink it’s fair.

They have this catchy little song they sing to something vaguely resembling the tune of Rod Stewart’s “Sailing”.  The melody (for want of a better word) is just about recognisable, despite the distinct lack of choirboy types among the New Den congregation.  It’s sung loud and proud, if not all that sweetly, but what can you really expect from proper ‘ard ‘ooligans eh?

The thing is, the words are a bit misleading.  There’s a catchy verse or two about being Millwall, Super Millwall, from The Den, and then it goes “No-one likes us, no-one likes us, no-one likes us, we don’t care.”  And this is where the irony kicks in because, to judge by the reaction my few “home truths” articles about Millwall and its fans have received recently, they DO care.  They care terribly, and their feelings, bless ’em, are painfully, grievously hurt.  The resentment is palpable, which seems a little odd when set against the background of the misery that, over the years, these barely civilised ruffians have doled out to visiting fans.  I’d normally use an “allegedly” in that last bit, but you know. Come on. Get real.

They’ve caused mayhem on the road too, whenever they’ve travelled in sufficient numbers.  Happily, as they normally bring only a hundred or so to Elland Road, they tend to huddle together quietly at our gaff, being ever so well-behaved and not saying “Boo” to a goose.  But generally speaking, the behaviour they like to display (if their numbers are sufficiently intimidating) to opposition fans strikes a curious contrast with the prevailing attitude if anyone has a go at them in print.  Then, the collective lip starts to quiver, tears spring to the eyes and the mewling and whinging starts.  This petulant attitude can reach quite a crescendo, and seems to consist mainly of childish protests along the lines of “You’re as bad as us!  Pot, kettle, black!!  IT’S NOT FAIR!!!!”  All very disappointingly soft and lacking in the hard-as-nails, “not bovvered wot anyone else finks” image they like to portray in their little song.

So, over the past few weeks, I’ve gained a new and unfamiliar impression of your average Miwwwaww fan (they’re not very good at pronouncing their L’s darn sarf).  Previously I’d thought of them mainly as squat thugs, built on troglodyte lines, eyes close-set, knuckles tattooed “Love” and “Hate” and an anchor on the forearm with “Muvver” etched beneath it; terrifying when part of a mob – which is how they would invariably operate. But in the light of the piteous squeals and squeaks of protest I’ve received lately, I’ve had to revise this image.

Now it seems to me that yer typical New Den habitué is a more sensitive soul altogether, with perhaps a rather weak chin beneath a trembling “north & south”, vulnerable blue eyes all a-brim with big fat tears – and the whole topped by the kind of golden curls you associate with that soft lad whose mum would never let him play football in the street. He’ll be a bit skinny, built more for flight than fight, and his whole demeanour will be suggestive of someone who, if anyone should raise a voice to them or speak an angry word, might very well break down altogether and run home shrieking to hide under the bed.  It’s a picture at odds with popular folklore – but what else can you conclude when you hear such awful, grief-stricken and self-righteous fits of pique?

The kind of people I’ve been hearing from, so distraught and horrified that I could even dream of being critical or unkind, would appear to be the type that are quite happy being as offensive as they can get away with in the furtherance of their pursuit of happiness, but – and here’s the thing – who get extremely unhappy should anyone tell inconvenient truths about them, or make uncomfortable allegations – maybe even generalise a bit or otherwise paint a grim picture of the archetypal Millwall fan.  They get so cross, it’s amusing.  They take to Twitter, where they spend half their time going on about how they’re not bovvered – and the other half making it abundantly clear how awfully, painfully bovvered they are, and calling down divine judgement upon the head of the inoffensive blog that is the source of all this distress.

Such is life, I’m afraid.  Sadly for the Miwwwaww fraternity, if you live by the sword you have to accept you might very well die by the sword – or even by the pen which, as any literary type will tell you, is easily the mightier of the two.  It’s simply a case of suck it up, stop whinging, straighten up and fly right, all that kind of thing.  Or of course, the option is there to “Carry on Crying”, if that’s what floats the Millwall boat, soft and silly as it might appear to everyone else.  It’s your call, Miwwwaww fans.  I’m happy to say that I couldn’t give a toss.

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Posted in Football, Leeds United

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After the Lord Mayor’s X-Rated Show as Exhausted Millwall Capitulate to Birmingham – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 02/10/2013 | 14 comments
Those Cheeky, Chirpy Millwall Chaps Amuse Themselves at Wembley

Those Cheeky, Chirpy Millwall Chaps Amuse Themselves at Wembley

We’ve seen it all before of course.  Some daft little chavvy club from the back of beyond get all worked up, bless ’em, about the prospect of playing Yorkshire giants Leeds United – all that history of achievement, all that tradition and global support – and they bust a gut, strain every sinew and try their little hearts out.  Backed by a flaky bunch of tribesmen from whatever godawful hole they represent, they raise themselves to twice-a-season heights.  Thus charged with fervent and passionate determination, they do it – they beat Leeds United, aided by our favourites’ occasional ineptitude when it comes to facing determined yet tiny opposition.  All very embarrassing.  But we know we’ll be wryly amused by what invariably comes next.

The little club relish the glory of their hard-won victory.  They can think of little else, and the praise of their manager and coaches, their fans and their big game hangers-on, washes over them like a warm ocean in which to bask under the sunshine of achievement.  We beat Leeds, we did it – but God, we’re knackered.  And there’s another game a few days down the line…

Reality bites.  The little club’s little players and their greatly-reduced band of supporters – unwelcome anywhere outside of their own early 20th century ghetto – head off for the next fixture.  There, wiped out, exhausted, nothing in the tank because they’ve given it all, they abjectly fail, surrendering meekly before the opposition they have no power to resist. They lose, heavily.  The manager is disappointed, the fans have fallen heavily back to earth.  They half-expected it anyway.  But what the hell – they beat Leeds and what a performance THAT was.  No wonder they’d nothing left.

I’ve seen it happen time and time again.  This is what the name of Leeds United means. This is what the history behind the badge says to the teams we face nowadays.  We’re a scalp, and they’ll give it all, 110 percent, Brian, anything so that they can beat us.  It’s got to the stage now whereby, every time we lose to one of these comical yonner teams – and it happens far too often – I look for their next result.  It’s amazing how often I can predict it: they’ll be knackered, they’ll get nothing there.  It’s funny how often I’m right. Normally I’ll just shrug and think that we have to learn to deal with these adrenalin junkies when we play them instead of just softening them up for the next lot.  But this time, there’s a thrill of satisfaction.

Because this time it’s poxy bloody Millwall.  Horrible, repellent, disgusting Millwall, late of Cold Blow Lane and that smelly slagheap of a ground where the bricks used to fly and the home crowd rioted among themselves behind netting because their own fellow fans were all they could find to fight.  Unpleasant, racist, evil Millwall, who moved from an old Den to a New one, made of Meccano, resplendent in tacky placky blue seats – and improved not a jot in the process.  Sick, gloating, shameful Millwall who won’t let go of their pastime of celebrating violent death and taunting the bereaved extended family at every opportunity.  Millwall, the stain on the game.  They beat Leeds last Saturday and partied hearty.  Then they went to Birmingham on Tuesday evening and got well and truly stuffed 4-0, having left all their blood sweat and tears in the mud and grass of the field where they played The Whites.  I could have warned them it would happen.  They possibly feel it was worth it, to beat Leeds United.  It’s the price of fame, though of course, we’re “not famous any more”.  Yeah, right. Anyhow, it’s back to reality for Millwall and their nauseating, cowardly fans.  Suck it up.

The aftermath of the Leeds game in South Bermondsey has been predictable too.  I published a blog on the morning of the match, alerted by the bile and gut-wrenching hatred on Twitter that the morons and the cretins were up for a party during the game. Very swiftly, I was inundated with threatening messages of hate and imbecility, mostly unfit to print.  Some – a few – were from clearly educated people and even they reduced the issue to “well you lot have sung about Munich for years”.  The more I argued that a minority did that, years ago and that it has now largely stopped, the more I kept getting the same refrain, in amongst all the vicious threats of retribution and violence: “Pot, kettle, black”.  And these were the intelligent ones.  Some posed as Leeds fans, pretending to condemn from within the offended support.  Some tried to trick my address out of me. I had to change my blog settings, such was the tsunami of filth.   All for complaining about the number of appalling tweets that morning and for predicting that the afternoon’s fixture would be infected by the usual, awful, gloating references to the murders in Istanbul.

And, lo – it came to pass.  The police had promised to take action if, as in previous years, there was offensive chanting. They failed to keep that promise.  The stewards stood idly by, bovine and uncaring, just as they had at Wembley last April when these animals fought each other during an FA Cup semi-final, heedless of crying children, drunk on bloodlust, savage and ignorant, reckless of consequences or what the civilised world might think.  It happened against Leeds as we knew it would, the sick chanting, the salivating over violent death.  But now Leeds supporters organised under a unifying banner are demanding some action.

The Leeds United Supporters Trust (LUST) have issued a statement summarising the events of the day at Millwall, and asking for witnesses as to the nature and extent of any offensive chanting, with any video captures particularly welcomed.  LUST also intend to make representations to Millwall FC and to the Metropolitan Police.  The message to those who behave in this appalling manner is: we will not stand idly by and let you get away with it.  Pressure will be exerted on the relevant authorities to identify offenders and to deal with them to the full extent of the law.  Clicking on this link will present a variety of options for responding to LUST’s call for help.

Naturally, I hope that LUST are successful in obtaining some action against the lowlife scum who perpetrate these obscenities on such a regular basis.  But I shall not be living in hope, nor holding my breath.  The casually indifferent attitude of police and matchday security staff alike speaks of an acceptance that this is just the way things are in the cesspool that houses these people.  It’s not good enough – but it seems to be the case. Millwall FC and its fans evidently inhabit a grubby little bubble of the past, where the improvements in behaviour and in the attitudes of rival fans towards each other have failed to penetrate.  It is tempting to say that I hope this will not remain the case, but I’m not entirely sure I mean it.  It would be better, perhaps, for such a very backward lot to remain separated from proper football fans.  Maybe the best thing of all would be just to get rid of Millwall FC altogether.  After all, if you cut the head off the snake, you render it harmless.  It seems to me that that’s the best way to go.

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Posted in Football, Leeds United, Life

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The Tipster: Dark clouds continue to hang over Manchester City and Manchester United ahead of tomorrow’s Champions League jaunts

Posted on 01/10/2013 | Leave a comment

I see the point – but I feel given the result in the recent derby clash between the two Manc clubs, it’s the reds who have more to worry about than the blues.

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Posted in Football, Leeds United, Uncategorized

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Altered Priorities Ahead of Leeds’ Cup Date at Newcastle – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 25/09/2013 | 10 comments

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Sometimes, I appear to be bang to rights on a charge frequently leveled at me by friend and foe alike: namely that I hate Man U more than I love Leeds United.  This evening’s Capital One Cup fixtures would be a case in point; an occasion when I would have to hold my hands up and say: Yes – my priorities are altered tonight.  Given a choice between Leeds progressing and the Pride of Devon getting stuffed by the Scousers at the Theatre of Hollow Myths, then I’d have to go for the latter.  I know that is base treachery and quite the opposite of the way in which I should behave – but I’m too long in the tooth and perhaps too cynical to look at things through those old, stardusty, yellow white and blue-tinted specs I used to wear.  So fine – tie me up and burn me for a heretic – but I’ll be watching Man U v Liverpool tonight, and screeching for a Reds victory (the real Reds, not the plastic variety).  I may even forget there’s a game going on at St James Park, Newcastle.

Disgusting, the average, bone-headed, blinkered fanatic will bellow at me.  Leeds first, last and foremost.  Well, I can see that point of view, but you have to be a little bit pragmatic too.  Sure, it would be nice to progress in this Cup.  I have a very good friend who supports the Toon, and I just know he’ll give me hell if they beat us.  Despite his protestations that he’s not bothered about the result and indeed that he’s jaded with all things Newcastle right now, I can tell he’s nervous about this tie.  He knows he’ll have the bragging rights if the Toon prevail, even though that’s the way it really should pan out, given the relative strengths of the two squads.  Equally he knows that I’ll make his life a misery if Leeds happen to win.  And that would be nice.  But I won’t despair if we lose – we have bigger fish to fry, after all.

Look at last season in the League Cup. Joy unconfined when we beat two Premier League clubs at Elland Road.  The bunting hung out and street parties as we celebrated a home tie against old foes Chelsea.  Ecstasy as we led 1-0 at half time – and then the sky fell in and we got murdered 5-1.  When you’re at the current level of Leeds, the happiest of Cup runs ends in tears. Bradford City know that harsh lesson even better than we do.

With Cup competitions, the best attitude is to expect the worst and welcome any better than that with open arms – but there’s no point getting too upset about it, whatever happens.  Since I’ve been a Leeds fan, I’ve seen us lose in every cup competition we’ve entered, every season, for 38 years.  You get used to the incessant disappointment, and the pain becomes more of a numbness.  Every now and then though, you reach a semi-final and the pain of defeat is more acute.  Twice we even reached a final; they were the unkindest cuts of all.

The Germans have a word for the way I feel about nights like tonight.  Schadenfreude. For those who don’t know, it means taking delight in the misfortunes of others.  Every now and then, Man U serve me up a big, tasty dollop of Schadenfreude and I’m a happy man – quite as happy as I am with the occasional victories of Leeds United.  The lads from Salford were kind enough to oblige me in this way on Sunday as they meekly got murdered by their more illustrious neighbours City from over the boundary in Manchester itself.  Joy abounded in our house; we didn’t kill the fatted calf, but we did lash out on a celebratory takeaway. On January 3rd 2010 I got both sides of the bargain – humiliating defeat for Man U as well as an unlikely win for little old third-tier Leeds as the latter visited the former and won 1-0, dispatching the favourites from the FA Cup.  A whole herd of fatted calves wouldn’t have done justice to that occasion.

My career as a football fan hasn’t had too many positive highlights – that’s just the way the cookie crumbles; if you’re going to follow your local team instead of glory-hunting like those sad, inadequate Man U fans with their deeply compensatory behaviour recalling the teachings of Sigmund Freud – then you’re going to spend most of your time dealing with disappointment.  It’s the nature of the beast.  How much better then, to have a fall-back position, psychologically speaking. That’s what I have.  Every time Leeds let me down, I have a second chance of happiness that weekend or midweek.  Often, of course, I am let down again.  I happen to despise the most undeservedly successful team of the era, so disappointment is often my portion there too – I am usually denied my helping of Schadenfreude.  But when it comes around – oh boy, do I relish it. Through the thin and thinner of being a Leeds fan, it’s been those delightful occasions of Man U misery and despair that, frequently have kept me happy and ready for more.  Otherwise I suspect I’d have given up on football long ago, much as other aging former enthusiasts have.  There is a limit, after all.

So tonight, I have two shots at happiness and satisfaction – and due to the preferences of the TV companies in these matters I shall be concentrating on the negative side of things, hoping for more Man U misery, cheering on Liverpool as they aim to knock the Gloryhunters out.  If it happens, I will be happy, whatever has happened up in Newcastle. And if Leeds happen to have pulled off a surprise against the Mighty Barcodes I shall of course be happier still.  But you have to take your satisfaction where you can, and if Man U lose tonight, they’re OUT.  If Leeds win, we’ll simply postpone our own demise in the competition, but it’ll surely come sooner or later.  So good luck to both my teams tonight, but if I have to pin my colours onto one particular champion, it’ll be the Reds of Liverpool as the enter the lists looking to cheer us all up by ending the Capital Cup involvement of Man U.

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Posted in Football, Humour, Leeds United, Life, Sport, Television

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Moyes Fluffing His Fergie-Lite Lines as the Mask Drops – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 23/09/2013 | 4 comments

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It sounded odd at the time. Leading up to the start of his first season at the Theatre of Hollow Myths, David Moyes chose to abandon his previous upright, downright, straightforward no-nonsense Evertonian demeanour and go for a good old-fashioned Fergie whinge with the requisite helpings of paranoia and self-righteousness. “They’re conspiring against us,” he grizzled, bitterly. “Three tough games against title contenders in the first five league outings.  It’s no’ fair.”  It was straight out of the Taggart Manual, from Chapter One: “Build a Siege Mentality”.  The thing is, however tried and trusted the lines are, you need the right kind of actor to convey them. Now that the Old Ham had gone off, could the relatively green Moyes carry on with the same old act?  Was it even such a good idea to try?

Whatever the whys and wherefores, the gambit appears to have blown up in the fledgling Man U manager’s face.  Yesterday’s humbling against Mancunian giants City was not only a salutary lesson on the field.  It also raised serious questions about the new man’s deportment off it.  On the face of it, the Moyes Whinge, as it has come to be called, looks in retrospect like a timely warning.  Of the three fixtures he was complaining about, the Pride of Devon have lost both away matches, at Liverpool and City, and gained a somewhat lucky point in a dour home struggle against Chelsea.  But the fact is that the fixtures are simply that: fixtures.  There’s a clue in the name, and while Sky may tamper slightly for TV requirements, the basic framework for the season is carved in stone.  To complain about them at the time Moyes chose to complain, and in the terms, moreover, he chose to employ in making that complaint, showed more weakness than foresight, more lack of confidence in himself and his team than lack of faith in the authorities. What message was sent out by the manager to his troops as they prepared for combat? Would they have been inspired by their leader’s belief in them?  Or would they, instead, have had a subliminal fear implanted of facing three formidable teams early in the season?  Were they, in short, afraid?

A hindsight version of the Moyes Whinge emerged this morning on the radio.  He referred again to the perceived unfairness of the fixtures arrangement.  As an exponent of psyching his team up and psyching opponents out, Fergie was tiresome, he was tedious, he was annoying and detestable in the eyes of his enemies.  But it clearly worked more often than not in the bunker that was Man U’s dressing room.  Moyes, by contrast, seemed to have waved a white flag and called for stretcher-bearers before a shot had been fired. Certain of his players, van Persie for one, are already emitting rumbles of discontent. You can imagine them asking themselves: who would we rather have as our leader as we enter the trenches?  The margins between victory and defeat are incredibly fine, one iota of backsliding by the historically dominant force, one iota of improvement in the fortunes of his enemies (the football term for “iota”, interestingly, is “Özil”) – and the tables can be well and truly turned.

It may also be that Moyes’ emergence from the comfort zone of Goodison into the fishbowl glare of the Theatre of Hollow Myths has been particularly ill-timed.  The gene-pool at the top of the Premier League appears to have expanded dramatically over the summer.  Arsenal have improved by probably more than just one Özil.  Tottenham seem to have contrived to have lost a golden nugget and replaced it with the equivalent weight in gold-dust, and to have improved in the process.  Chelsea have wound the clock back to the reign of the Special One, and you just know he will weave his magic again whilst laughing sardonically at his carping critics in the media, embittered journalists all of whose significant others are unanimous in fancying Jose.  Liverpool have looked “at it” again, despite a dip in the last two games.  Everton are unbeaten, with a new style and belief under Martinez.  The whole landscape at the top of the game has a new and, from the Man U point of view, dangerously unfamiliar look about it.

Maybe one craggy and purple-faced individual in particular foresaw this sea-change, and perhaps this explains the abruptness of his departure from the hot-seat in Salford.  There must, after all, be a significant danger that the still debt-ridden Evil Empire will finish outside of the top six this season, favourable ref decisions notwithstanding; and on that subject – what on earth happened to Howard Webb in the Derby?  He failed utterly to live up to his Man U Player of the Season form, and must now be worried about his place in the team.  Moyes has a lot on his plate, and – sallow-faced and bug-eyed compared to the smug, well-fed, puce sleekness of his tyrannical predecessor – he frankly does not look as though he has the appetite for it.

The noisy neighbours across the border in Manchester will be well aware, as they leap and cavort in celebration in the sullen faces of Manchester’s Red minority, of the problems that are stacking up for the hapless current incumbent of Salford Towers. But those happy fans will care not one jot, as is the case with thousands of other equally happy fans the country over, outside of Devon and Cornwall.  They can see golden horizons ahead, and a game reinvigorated by true competition across a well-matched group of clubs vying for the ultimate prize.  If Man U do end up outside in the cold, there will be millions who feel it’s a reckoning that’s arrived not a minute too soon.

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Arsenal Celebrate a Century of North London Domination – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 22/09/2013 | 17 comments

Arse Spuds

It was one hundred years ago today that Arsenal FC, kings of North London for as long as anyone can remember, made that historic move from Woolwich to Islington.  Life in North London would never be the same again – certainly not for Tottenham Hotspur, the Gunners’ long-suffering rivals.  For that day 100 years ago was the day that Spurs stopped being the Cockerels crowing from Tottenham right across North London, and became instead permanent residents within Arsenal’s shadow.

An aggregation of Arsenal’s league record across the 20th Century – the only complete century of League football – shows that they are not only top dogs in the Capital, but arguably across the country as a whole.  The aggregated League table 1900 – 1999 puts the Gunners firmly in top place.  The whole point of a league system is a club’s placing over time, so this decisively ends the argument as to who were the top club of the last century.

Spurs had their moments in the league during the 20th century as well – but not in colour. Their last title triumph was in 1961, an age of flickering monochrome TV when JFK succeeded Eisenhower for his ill-fated US presidential term, Harold MacMillan was Prime Minister in the UK and – most notably of all – I was born.  In short, it was a bloody long time ago.  If I ever wish to emphasise what an old fogey I am, I simply mention that my eyes first opened on a world where Spurs were Champions.  People tend to get the message.

Since those far-off days of temporary Spurs supremacy, Arsenal have been Champions six times.  Even my own beloved Leeds United have won it three times for heavens sake.  To hear Tottenham described as a major club in the light of such damning statistics always seems a little bizarre.  In London and beyond, the world of colour TV, the transistor era, the space age, the digital revolution, all the many different ways that the modern era can be encapsulated – it’s all been dominated by Arsenal.  And as befits a club with a full century of ruling their own North London roost, Arsenal have done it with class.  Class and prestige are integral to the club.  The marble halls of Highbury were legendary and now Arsenal have a new world-class super-stadium, the finest in the land.

The pre-eminence of Arsenal on their own patch, and in their own 20th century, is beyond doubt.  This Centenary day then is worthy of being celebrated – and Arsenal celebrated it in typical style with a comprehensive victory over Stoke City to go top of the league again. You don’t have to be an Arsenal fan to admire them and to appreciate what they’ve done for the game as a whole.  My fondness for them is down to their class, their history, their style and the sumptuously gorgeous football they play under M. Wenger.  And perhaps also for being the only club we can beat in domestic Cup Finals…

Congratulations, Arsenal, on your hundred years in North London.  May there be another hundred to come – and much more success.  Arsenal FC are what football is all about.

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Aside

“We’re not famous any more” sing the fans of Leeds United FC, quite regularly and demonstrating a neat grasp of irony in a medium too often dominated by the literal and the just plain crass.  The point is, of course, … Continue reading →

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Posted on 22/09/2013

Can Liverpool’s Suarez “Do a Cantona” on Comeback Against Man U? – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 17/09/2013 | Leave a comment
Sic 'em, Suarez!

Sic ’em, Suarez!

There was a feeling of inevitability all those years ago when Eric Cantona, enfant terrible and martial arts amateur extraordinaire, returned from his lengthy FA-imposed ban for being the true incarnation of “The Shit Who Hit The Fan”, to face the old enemies of Man U.  Liverpool were the visitors, before an expectant crowd of Devon day-trippers at the Theatre of Hollow Myths.  The script was written, and although the scousers aimed to poop Eric’s party by taking the lead, the man from Marseilles had the last laugh, ensuring a draw for his side with – you’ve guessed it – a penalty.

All of that was a long, long time ago – but these old rivals have memories like elephants (and backsides to match, for many of them).  So Cantona’s ban, comeback and celebratory strike will not have been forgotten by fans of either side.  Even though the personnel will be almost entirely different, give or take a superannuated Ryan Giggs, there will be many who might wonder if that old script might not be taken out and dusted off.  Man U host Liverpool in the League Cup next week.  Suarez is available for the first time since being banned for biting without due care and attention.  He’d love to take a chunk out of Man U’s season – wouldn’t he just. Could it really, actually happen?

Think of it: Suarez is the man that the Man U faithful love to hate after his run-in with their own less-than-likable Patrice Evra – and the subsequent Handshakegate Scandal. All very petty and handbags of course, as matters relating to bruised Man U egos tend to be.  But these things matter when you have a close rivalry based on mutual antipathy between Merseyside and, erm, most of the South of England.  Can Suarez, like Cantona so many years before, make his long-awaited comeback from durance vile, in the media glare – and, again like Cantona, stuff it up a hated enemy?

There would be such a neat reciprocity about it, if it actually came to pass.  How funny, how satisfactory it would be.  Cantona made his mark at the Liverpool fans’ end of the Theatre of Hollow Myths – could Suarez possibly end up laughing in the faces of the Stretford End?

I have a great respect for football omens and fate in general.  It’s tempting to look up the odds against Liverpool to win 2-1, Suarez to score at any time.  Anything above 10-1 might just tempt me to have a punt on that.  Come on, Liverpool!!

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