World's Most Forgetful Goalkeeper?

The return of that trusty stalwart, "goalkeepers are idiots"

Whatever became of Franny Jeffers?

Gentlemen No Swearing Please

A lovely sign from Hallam FC's clubhouse



via Footysphere's Picassa

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Unintended consequences – could Financial Fair Play kill small clubs’ youth development? by @andersred

Norwich City Are Going To Hell

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Playing by the rules? by @alansmithys

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Backwards, and in high heels. The whole sorry-arse Keys/Gray/sexism debate, sorted. Via @Twisted Blood

The Fourteenth Emergency Service

You're writhing on the floor in agony. The paramedics speed to your aide. First class medical care is but seconds away. The instant diagnosis is that you have to be removed from the field of play. But the thought of making your own way off is too painful to indulge.

All hail the stretcher bearers.

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Fancy reading a feel-good story about football as an educational tool? 8-Country Soccer "Family" Goes Undefeated

When The Simpsons Won The World Cup

Paul The 'Psychic' Octopus Honored With Golden Memorial

England's greatest legacy from the 2010 World Cup? A sodding great plastic statue. To a cephalopod. Well played chaps.

Paul The 'Psychic' Octopus Honored With Golden Memorial

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Time: Football's most precious resource via @dominicpollard

Football on the radio

This could be a long piece about how much I hate Alan Green (over 1000 hits on Google). Or it could be another hockneyed piece about the short-lived trial of using a grid when the BBC first started broadcasting games (which, incidentally, may have spawned the phrase "back to square one". But no, it is a quick "big up" for a little series of four documentaries run by the World Service in the midst of World Cup fever - were we ever so young, kids?

Anyway, if you're downloading The Ramble, or the Guardian's thingy, or Gibs' effort, not to mention the Non-League Show, get these four downloaded too.

The Power and the Passion

There might be quite so many laughs, but you'll be a better person for it.

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Jack of all trades #1 – Willie Watson
Top work by @2ndYellow

Jermaine Pennant. Still pretty much a cock

Alright, so it's not as bad as physically attacking a woman. Or starting a fight in a Cardiff nightclub. But still....

Stoke star 'forgot he owned Porsche'

Lee Sharpe v A Shed

Take one former England footballing starlet, and couple of garden sheds. Add a random bloke. Job done.



Via Twitter. Originally seen on Unmentionable Title.

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Just What Can Be Done To Help Declining Clubs? by Nobody Remembers Losers

About This Whole West Ham Thing

I could not care less who the manager of West Ham United is.

It may be an unfashionable thing to say. But I'm a maverick, so what do I care?

Dignity, apparently

It is not a stance borne from any residual hatred or even dislike for West Ham in particular. Indeed, if pushed I could probably name several Premiership, and non-Premiership teams, and fans, whose very existence galls me more. I am aware of a belief amongst certain fans that there is a cartel working within the media with a fondness for Upton Park, and that as such they get more than their fair share of coverage. But, like the "Alan Green (apologies for the language) is  a United / Liverpool* fan" debate, it makes no difference to me in my little enclave of Nottinghamshire.

But this whole sorry saga over their manager has moved me to put finger to keyboard in a way unknown of on this blog until now. Heady days indeed.

Now, I am not for one moment suggesting I am the first to be moved to write to no-one in particular.  And regular readers (hi mum) will be delighted to know this doesn't herald a marked departure into a blog you have to read. But this is my blog. I was good at English 20 years ago when I took my GCSE's. I also had a mullet, and if this post is a success, who knows what else may get reinstated?

Gold, Sullivan and Brady have previous in screwing with football clubs, of course. And, naively, you kind of thought they would have learned from that experience. Learned that football clubs thrive under careful stewardship. Learned that football managers, like EVERY OTHER EMPLOYEE THAT EVER WALKED GOD'S EARTH, are likely to perform better when they are secure in their position, working to a long term aim. And, perhaps most importantly, football fans are likely to support their club in ever-greater numbers if they believe it is being run in a professional and proper manner. And such a consideration might be important if, say, you were in the process of looking to move to a soon-to-be-redundant sporting arena with a few more seats than your spiritual home.

Pencil skirts

Kicking Karen Brady is easy. Which isn't to say one shouldn't indulge. Examples of similarly clueless Managing Directors are ten-a-penny of course. And examples of similarly publicity-hungry wastes of human flesh are equally populace. But really, what business does anyone have texting players asking them to break ranks against the incumbent manager?

Hat hair

As a mark of how little I normally care (or possibly how little I have researched before typing) I couldn't tell you which one of the other two clowns is Sullivan, and which one is Gold. Although I suspect the clue might lie in the ridiculous headgear one of them carries at all times. It's the next step up from Ant always standing on the left. What I do know is that their bulldog licking a wasp off a nettle expressions rarely change, and this gives me no end of pleasure. Watching their money bankroll such an unmitigated disaster must really stick in their throat. Alas, they are too egotistical, too self-aggrandising, to understand that, like their Birmingham experiment, the fault does not lie with Carlton Cole, or Matthew Upson. And most definitely not with Avram Grant (although there is a very strong case for saying he isn't any good, of which more in a moment) No, the root cause of all that is wrong with West Ham today sits in the board room. That there were problems at The Boleyn long before that, and that blood must surely still be on "our 'Arry"'s hands to this day is a topic for bloggers more passionate than I.

Budget Santa

But what of Avram Grant? The man stumbled into a job at Chelsea, and with a squad the envy of every other team in the league he won THE SUM TOTAL OF NAFF ALL. Within a year he was dismissed. This didn't stop the comedic cavalcade of Portsmouth thinking he was the man to salvage the good ship Pompey. With a squad that definitely wasn't the envy of every other club in the league, he won THE SQUARE ROOT OF NAFF ALL, and Portsmouth were relegated. So obviously, West Ham seized the opportunity to plant him at the helm. And to date, Grant has won.... four games.

Defenders, apologists, call them what you will, but they will point to a Champions League Final with Chelsea, an FA Cup final with Pompey, and very possibly a League Cup final with West Ham, of course. And they would be right to. But at that time Chelsea's raison d'etre was WINNING the Champions League. Portsmouth had won the FA Cup a couple of years previously, and today would happily swap a day out at Wembley for a day out at Wigan, I'm sure. As would West Ham.

So, yeah, Avram Grant not a very good manager. But the clowns at Upton Park knew this. And yet they gave him a four year contract only a matter of months ago. To be looking to squeeze him out this early reflects poorly upon their own judgement. And allows Grant to "handle himself with great dignity" as the media are so fond of saying. But what the lunatics who are in charge of the asylum fail to understand is that the manner in which they are seen to conduct their business is serving only to make working them ever more unpalatable. Just ask Mr O Neill.

For someone who professed at the start of this piece to not give a rat's ass, I appreciate I have gone on a bit. But then this is just a reflection of the way the whole episode has saturated our TVs, radios and papers of late. Maybe there is a Wham bias as the more conspiratorial would have us believe. And maybe there isn't. But there is an awful acrid smell emanating from East London. And it is poorly dressed smell at that.

*delete as appropriate

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Two teams in Leyton by The Ball is Round

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Norman Wisdom on the failings of British football via @footiesphere

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Six football pundits for the ages
by @DangerHere

Roberto Carlos scores a goal

Remember Roberto Carlos? He took massive run-ups, and hit free kicks really hard. But only occasionally accurately. Well, in his dotage, he takes corners too

Goalkeeper goals

In the Evostik Premier yesterday, FC United keeper Sam Ashton opened the scoring after three minutes.



Nice to see Cannon Park, Retford again.

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Sport vs Twitter Unless you’re a public school boy that just so happened to stumble upon something approaching ability in the sports of cricket and rugby union then you’ll more than likely fall in with the rest of the sporting world. This place that you fall into won’t be where you find intellectual visionaries or Stephen Hawking type banter.

Top 20 Football commercials

At least, according to the Chicago Tribune

Philadelphia Union FC officially a bunch of bimbos

Row in Philladelphia Over Sponsorship on Soccer Team’s Jerseys

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Disingenuity Through Omission : On Louise Taylor's “Democracy” via @TwoHundredPercent

Football Supporter Map of London

Turning up fashionably late has never been BTFM's style. We much prefer not pitching up in the first place. But sometimes, the party is too good to miss.

Football Supporter Map of London

Dalglish Exclusive: 'Only I can get the best out of these players'

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An Appeal on behalf of Football’s Unfortunate Fans

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That’s not what democracy looks like by Twisted Blood

Derby fan tells Savage to leave the club now

Phil from Derby calls the BBC and tells Robbie he's no longer welcome at County, and neither is the manager, Nigel Clough. Robbie doesn't take this lying down.

BBC - BBC Radio 5 live Programmes - Victoria Derbyshire, 13/01/2011, Derby fan tells Savage to leave the club now

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Creepy Crawley buying their way out of the Conference

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Is football the new punk?

by @jamiecutteridge on Two Footed Tackle

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Tony Adams breaks new footballing - and diplomatic - territory

Chorley v Mossley Match Report

Time was when the official website of a football club was a safe refuge. If you missed the game, chances were you could catch a fairly level headed report on affairs. OK, so maybe they would play up the dominance, or play down the ineffectiveness, of your team. But by and large, you got what you needed.

Not if you follow Mossley, it seems. This report from their recent Evostik Division One North clash with Chester-scaring Chorley is a joy. Revel in its pie-eyed-ness.

Click for bigger

Chorley v Mossley on-line version van be seen here

Gringos At The Gate

For someone with more than a passing interest in all things American, this little snippet exploring the rivalry between the US and Mexico on the football pitch really grabbed me this morning. If you have 10 minutes to spare, have a look. And think about throwing a couple of pennies their way too.

(via Passport Soccer)

"I Still Haven't Found My Best Fountain Pen"

Dunkirk 1
Ashington Colliery 2

FA Vase 3rd Round

*editors note: In the course of this post, I will endevour to ensure there are no lazy puns based around the home teams name, and that no regional stereotypes be played upon.

BTFM. Topical AND satirical.

Third round day. Up and down the country doe-eyed young boys look up at their fathers and say "really Father, must we watch Leeds on ITV again?" Christmas scarves are donned, coats buttoned up, and entire towns uprooted for the excitement of a day out in Huddersfield. Or, in this case, the arse end of Nottingham.

But don't be fooled, dear reader. For this is not the standard tale of Cup Third Round Day. Oh no. For that is the reserve of other blogs. Today, we are savouring the Third Round of the FA Vase. The Step 4 and lower competition that lets the cliched postmen and school teachers actually dream of Cup glory. It was, in quainter times, known as the Amateur Cup.

And that's just the wine list

Down a uninspiring dead end, backing on to Beeston train station, sits the Victoria Hotel. Quite what the proprietors were thinking when they bought the place is anyone's guess. But, as the saying may go, if you make it good enough, they will come. And come they do. For the Victoria Hotel is an absolute gem, and worth getting off your train to Nottingham one stop early for. Mine's a pint of Theakers Perry, since you ask.

Who Is Benson McGarvey?

Ten minutes down the road sits Lenton Lane, home of Dunkirk FC. And Greenwood Meadows. And Pegasus Juniors. Not clubs sharing a ground. Three grounds, next to each other. Look. (for those unfamiliar with football at this level, there are no cantilever stands, or centrally heated carparks. Sorry)

I caught the last five minutes of Dirty Leeds' battle with the Arse, before heading into the ground. And then out again when informed the toilets were in the clubhouse. Suitably releived, I made my way past some temporary seating behind one goal, and was hit by the realisation that I had been parked in direct trajectory to any and all high wide and handsome efforts. Still, not to worry, there are no recorded instances of errant shots in this competition. The BoneShaker would be fine.

The dugout side and the far end were standard pitch-and-rail fayre, but on "my" side I encountered firstly a corrugated shed under which the Ashington Army had congregated. And then there was a regulation four-deep seated section that could hold about 80 or so. Only, there was no walk way at the front of these seats, so people were constantly wandering through the seats like a low-budget toilet escape at the cinema. "scuse me! Sorry! Ta" Still, it was all homely enough.

Probably too small to be of any use to anyone, I know

It is an on-going debate as to the comparative standard of the Northern League. A couple of clubs have recently been fast-tracked out of the leagues and into the national pyramid. But I think it is fair to say that it wasn't an unmitigated success. Newcastle Blue Star went under in their first season in the Unibond, whilst Durham ended their first season playing kids when their sponsors withdrew due to a ridiculous ruling on their artificial pitch. In truth, it's only really Blyth Spartans and Gateshead who have managed to survive "in the real world". Although there is a chance for Bedlington Terriers now.

All that said, it was clear from the outset that Ashington were the better team. Set up as a 4-4-2, they were bigger and stronger than most of the home team. They had a Peter Crouch-alike upfront, who was equally ineffective, but served as enough of a distraction to allow the tricky wingers on both sides time to bamboozle the Dunkirk fullbacks. The leftback in particular was to have a torrid day. Left backs do tend to be the weak link in many teams at this level, I find. Interesting insight, no? But try as they might, they could not breach the home defence.

If one man can make such a difference, then today his name was Marquin Smith. The Dunkirk number 8  is only about 24, and was playing Unibond Premier football last season with Retford, before moving to London and seemingly drifting off the footballing map. So to see him in Dunkirk red was something of a shock. I can only assume he was turning out as a favour to someone, as he was palpably better than anything else on show. Retford fans nick-named him "Tank" and today it was obvious why. Impossible to knock off the ball, he ran up and down the centre of the park all day, breaking up play, spreading the ball out wide and generally being everywhere.

So it was fitting that when the deadlock was finally broken, it was Smith who scored. Having  stood toe to toe with Ashington in their own half, Dunkirk had started to believe they could be a match for their opponents, and started to play football. It paid almost immediate dividends, as the visitors struggled to clear their box, and Smith picked up on a bobbling ball to bustle his way through a couple of defenders before slamming home. It wasn't a fair reflection of the game, but Dunkirk had defended doggedly, and for all their nice approach play, Ashington were yet to really test the keeper.

Got a monkey heed

Ashington came out for the second half all guns blazing.  Running at the home defence, and eager to make the most of the difference in ability. Barely three minutes in to the half, Dunkirk failed to deal with a ball played into the box in hope more than expectation, and it was tucked away by the nattily-attired Scott Blanford. Although quite why a Geordie should be seen playing football in gloves I do not know. Perhaps this was mentioned to him during his "I scored, yay me" goal celelbrations, as a melee ensued, the root, and indeed result, of which was unclear.

The game was sparked in to life by this, and it became a corset-ripping end-to-ender. Both sides wanted to keep the ball ont he floor as much as they could, and run at the defences. It made for cracking viewing. Dunkirk stuck with their 4-3-3 which gave them more opportunities to use the speed on their flanks, but left their shaky full backs exposed to the finer skills of the visitors.

Eventually the class of Ashington was going to pay off, and inevitably it came from a full-back howler. Reeling from the constant onslaught (albeit a largley toothless one) Dunkirk began to visibly tire. A failure to track back left the right back exposed, and he panicked, bringing down the impressive Jonny Godsmark. Peter Crouch's stunt double to put the ensuing penalty away. Both wingers were enjoying their day out, but Godsmark especially stood out. All of this is not to say that Dunkirk were without their merits.  Alongside the aforementioned Smith, the pace of the front line was enough to keep Ashington on ther toes. But ultimately, this was a step too far for the Central Midlands side.

So Ashington march on, further than they have ever been in the competition in it's current guise. It wasn't all bad for the North East this weekend. Just, y'know, only as far as the media could be bothered to look.

For a more professional, albeit slightly biased, look at the game, nip over to the New Post Leader.

Not been paid? Why not protest

Roy Hodgson's Musical Walkabout

So many questions...

A Rush Of Blood

Yay, we scored!

Ow

Never touched him, ref

I Took A Picture Of A Brussel Sprout

Heanor Town 2 
Borrowash Victoria 2 

East Midlands Counties Football League

There are adavantages to living in this part of the world. It's not London being one of the major ones. But when you scour the tourism brochures for the East Midlands, alarmingly few of them point to the surfeit of non-league football clubs populating the area. I'm sure this is just a temporary oversight.

Of course, with this such a  blessing comes great responsibility, and on days like today you have to chose your game carefully.  With so many games to chose from, a stupid hopper might accidentally return to a ground he visited previously when it served as a neutral ground for some tinpot County Cup final. Imagine how much of  a chump he would feel.

Luckily, as I don't keep document my visits in any way, other than this half-arsed blog, it matters not to me that I return to some places (see Gedling Town for example) And there are worse clubhouses to warm yourself up in, it has to be said. It's not every clubhouse that features a man with a box of eggs, after all.

I brought those eggs you wanted, Ken

Today's pre-match cocktails were taken in the Bull's Head in nearby Denby, a rose amidst the thorn that is this downtrodden part of Derbyshire. Do me a favour though. If you have kids that are still of an age where they don't understand the principle of talking quietly, take them to a Wacky Warehouse, please. 

Packed to the rafters

The match was one of the better ones I have seen this season. I suppose, given it was second v third, such a standard could have been expected. Both teams were bolstered by the news that title rivals Gresley had surprisingly lost in an early kick off, so the top of the table was there to be grabbed. The success of both teams this season lead to a healthy 120+ crowd packing the touchline (the oppossing side being a cornered off cricket pitch) and despite a supremely vocal home support, both sets of fans were extrememly affable with each other. United, perhaps, in their incredulity of the officiating. When the linesman admits he doesn't know what is going off, it's fair to say the ref is having a mare.

In the shower this morning (calm yourselves, ladies) I was pondering what happened to the portly ex pro within non-league football. It may or not have been inspired by this piece by the ever-mighty Fwtboll, but regardless, the journeyman who drops down the leagues as his waistband expands appears to have been eschewed in favour of younger players who possibly still harbour dreams of being spotted. Of course, that doesn't mean that all on view are lithe, athletic types who couldn;t stand to lose a pound or two. And true to form, both sets of centre halves were best described as "cuddly". Or "brick shit houses". Take your pick.

Happy New Year

In cotrast though, both sides offered impressive attacking flair. Fittingly both players sported Fancy Dan Boots, and had they been on the same side, they would have formed a lethal partnership. As it was, the toiled in increasing frustration amongst team-mates who simply were not up to their standard. The visitors made things harder for themseleves when the inexplicably brought on THE WORST PLAYER I HAVE EVER SEEN (c) Warming up I assumed he was the sub keeper, such was his girth and apparent age. As it turned out, he was an immobile centre forward who offered such little assistance to his impressive partner as to be a hinderence. So, "Giz", if you read this, hang up your boots.

For the visitors, Karl Demidh caught the eye with not only his electric pace, but his inability to keep his mouth shut. In his defence, he was on the wrong end of some ridiculous decisions, but you get the impression he could start a fight in a an empty lift. He did raise a smile towards the end however, when a man I assume was his father encouraged him to tun at the full back as he was knackered. "So am I!" came the reply. OK, so it won't have the writers of Come Fly With Me knocking on his door, but in the land of the blind and all that.

The goals were of varying merit. Demidh beat the offside trap, Heanor won a penalty (see below), Borrowash took the lead with a thunderbolt from a corner mele, and finally Benger curled in a peach of a free kick to pull things back to 2-2 (despite the prophecies of doom from the loud mouth home fan behind me) .

This title race looks set to go down the wire, which can only be a good thing. I'll have to hunt down Gresley now to see if they play on a par with these two. As things stand, neither would look out of place in the NCEL, and whilst it took them a bit of time to find their feet, Louth are showing that once up there, the difference in standard is minimal.


More photos (none any better than what's here) on the Facebook page. One day I'll do this reporting thing properly. Maybe when it's warmer, eh?

 

If Arsenal did this...

... Alan bloody Shearer would cream himself on national TV

Oh what might have been

Buxton 2
Marine 1

Evostik Premier Division

Last season, you could barely keep me away from Silverlands. This season, I have managed to get to new Years Day before treking over to the capital of the Peak District. I think the problem is that the Evostik Premier no longer holds any appeal for me. Who ever knew that such a fixture could be too glamorous for me?

He was never so flash at Retford

Truth be told, it was the promise of seeing one-time Retford hero Neil Harvey ply his trade for Marine that really sold this game to me. That, and a visit to the Old Sun public house for pre-match cocktails. As it happened, only one of those lived up to the promise. But it could have been such a different story. He says, enticing the reader to read on...

I thought we had seen the back of the snow, but, this being Buxton, I guess I should have known better. In the short walk to the ground (having passed up my complimentary parking space, thanks anyway Mr Yates) it started to snow yet again, and I had cause, yet again, to be thankful for the man who invented thermal underwear. They may make you look like a special needs case when you strip off, but by jimminy they are a God send when hopping at the highest football ground in England.

A pint in the clubhouse, including a graphic re-enactment of the barmaid's efforts on her new Wii which would make a docker blush, and I was ready to brave the masses. Hardened drinkers will be delighted that Buxton continue to play silly beggars with league rulings regarding pich-side drinking. Me, I was happy to keep my hands in my pockets, which should go some way to explaining the paucity of photos to accompany this post.

"Lads, I reckon we've got a chance here"

Buxton were getting no end of joy by playing the ball between the visiting centre halves, and down the flanks. But both sides struggled to understand the concpet of boggy pitch holding up the ball. In a bizarre twist, both teams seemed insistant that they needed to play the ball on the floor whenever possible. Marine scrambled one off the goal line which got stuck in the mud, before finally getting the breakthrough. Industrious work by Mark Reed, who is another of those strikers you can't help but think has at least another division in him (see also Matlock's Ross Hannah, and Marine's Neil Harvey, amongst others) eventually saw Lugsden tap home from a yard out. Cue heated exchange in the Marine defence.

The inner sanctum

Moments later, Jamie Rainford hit the Buxton bar with what would have been my goal of the season, had it dropped in.  A long punt forward was lobbed forward on the volley from fully 45 yards out, and looped ever so agonisingly over the keeper. Then, the lauded (by me, granted) Harvey beat the home offside trap, but was thwarted as the home keeper dived at his feet. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

But Buxton did not push on, and Marine made them pay. Rainford had a punt from outside the box, and on the boggy surface, the ball squeezed under the home keeper to the joy of the fans behind the goal, and the discontent of the rest of the ground. Or did it? Subsequent discussion of the game on Twitter revealed the posibility the ball snuck in through the side of the netting....

So, one all at half time, and whilst the managers threw some tea cups, I spent 15 pleasant minutes in some VERY learn-ed company. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Proctor.

The second half continued in much the same vein. Buxton had the bulk of the possession, but Marine were making the better chances. Harvey was again foiled by a last gasp save from the keeper, and there were half-hearted calls for a penalty as the impressive Brown side footed one goal-ward, only for it to be deflected wide.

Remember when it mattered this much?

Down the other end, Reed and Lugsden never stopped running which, given the state of the pitch, was no mean feat. That their colleagues saw them both as being a good four or five inches taller than they were did not seem to dishearten them too greatly. Although the onlooking fans certainly seemed to have had enough of it.

Apparently, Buxton got the winner with about 15 minutes to go. I have no recollection of this at all. Sorry.

I do recall Rainford trying to claim a penalty near the end, when it would have been simpler to pull it back to one of his colleagues. The boy is good, make no mistake. But very selfish, and, on this showing, very moody. There is a reason Lionel Messi is so widely acclaimed.

With full time came news of a really rather rubbish day in "proper" football. Only for things to be spiced up a little on the journey home with the news Stimpson had been sacked at Barnet. I like to think this majestic peice of artwork played in a part in the decision.

Your taxes at work

Spurs Burger

An interesting range of sauces