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Search: ' Paolo di Canio'

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Focus on Benito Carbone: Bradford City and Sheffield Wednesday’s popular Italian playmaker

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The flamboyant forward delighted the Premier League with his eye for the spectacular – and helped save the Bantams by writing off the millions owed to him in wages

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Focus on Hermann Hreidarsson: Ipswich, Charlton and Portsmouth’s imposing Icelander

389 HH Main Ipswich

The versatile defender was a popular figure wherever he went during his long career in England, and having won the FA Cup and played in Europe, he achieved far more than most

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Put them in on French, German, Spanish and Portuguese words where we’re certain they’re right. Leave them off all other languages except in occasional instances when it’s polite, eg with a contributor’s name. Use discretion when the whole article contains accents and they are definitely correct and consistent. Leave them off common English words like cliche and protege. But do put them on words that could otherwise be confusing eg exposé.

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We Are Celtic Supporters

311 WeAreCelticby Richard Purden
Hachette Scotland, £8.99
Reviewed by Jonathan O’Brien
From WSC 311 January 2013

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Even Celtic supporters – some of us, anyway – are often irritated by the self-mythologising flannel regularly parped out by sections of the club’s fanbase. “A cause”, “a rebel club”, “different”: all these claims are routinely made, with not very much at all to back them up. At face value, Richard Purden’s collection of interviews with Celtic fans – some famous, some not – looks like an attempt to perpetuate this sort of empty puffery. There’s more to it than that, though, and Purden shows plenty of imagination in his choices of interviewee. One of the best chapters in the book is a conversation with Roberto Longobardi, a longstanding Celtic fan from Rome who is so dedicated he visited the grave of Johnny Doyle, a winger who died aged 30 in 1981, during an away trip to Kilmarnock.

Longobardi cannot stress enough how much he detests the “shameful” Paolo di Canio, who is still held in high regard by a lot of Celts. “The only thing worse than a mercenary is a fascist,” he says. “We shouldn’t celebrate Di Canio’s time at Celtic because the Nazis and the Holocaust still hang over us.” He also tells Purden that Enrico Annoni, a “very good servant”, took the time to learn about the club’s history; unlike Massimo Donati, who, when unable to answer Longobardi’s questions about Celtic, mumbled sheepishly: “I don’t live in Glasgow.”

Simple Minds frontman Jim Kerr contributes a predictable but entertaining fusillade against the commercialisation of modern football, noting that “we know far too much” about the players’ wage packets and wives. He likens a pre-game ritual to a pre-gig one, not wanting to let the people down. Eddi Reader of Fairground Attraction tells how she tracked down her father’s old Rangers-supporting friends in a hardcore Bluenose pub. Composer James Macmillan’s heartfelt declaration that Catholicism is intrinsic to understanding the whole Celtic thing might raise eyebrows among those who regard the club as open to all.

Pat Nevin’s is the most distanced perspective, having started off as a Bhoys fan and ended up following Hibs. For some reason, he detests Martin O’Neill’s hugely successful 2000-05 side, deriding them as unwatchable and a “slightly more sophisticated version of [Wimbledon]”. Nevin claims incorrectly that the gifted Lubo Moravcik was frozen out: in fact, Moravcik played in two-thirds of league games under O’Neill then retired, not because he had been pushed to the margins by beefy-thighed warriors, but because he was 36 years old.

A few errors have slipped through, such as when Purden writes that Dermot “the Kaiser” Desmond is worth “145 billion euro”, a decimal point having vanished two points to the east at the crucial moment. He goes on to say that a “financial stake in Celtic isn’t just business”. Gordon Strachan, who was crucially denied the £800,000 required to sign Steven Fletcher in 2009, might disagree. Those aside, this is a diverting enough read, even if a number of the contributions stray the wrong side of maudlin, uncritical adoration.

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There’s Only One Stevie Bacon

310 BaconMy life watching 
West Ham through 
a camera lens
by Steve Bacon & Kirk Blows
Biteback, £15.99
Reviewed by Neil Fairchild
From WSC 310 December 2012

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When Steve Bacon was appointed West Ham club photographer in 1980, John Lyall was only the fifth West Ham manager of the 20th century. In the 23 years since Lyall’s departure, there have been nine different permanent managers and almost as many promotions and relegations. For Hammers fans the familiar rotund figure of Bacon waddling across the pitch on matchdays has become a reassuring constant in an uncertain world.

Until Alan Pardew arrived in 2003 Bacon would travel to away matches on the team coach. He would even be present in the dressing room during team talks. There’s Only One Stevie Bacon is a behind-the-scenes glimpse at the dysfunctional world of West Ham over three decades, with a chapter dedicated to the tenure of each manager from Lyall to Gianfranco Zola.

Although Bacon’s subjectivity gives the book a partial and at times spiteful feel – Paul Kitson is a “weasel”, Brian Kidd a “horrible little shit” – his refusal to pander to fans’ preconceptions makes for a refreshing viewpoint. Ron Greenwood is an “awkward bugger” and Pardew, who was the last manager to have his name sung by West Ham fans, is repeatedly dismissed as arrogant and mocked for his use of psychology and motivational techniques. Lou Macari, loved by neither fans nor players, is portrayed in a surprisingly compassionate light. Others are depicted in exactly the way you would expect: old-fashioned Billy Bonds, for example, struggles with the modern world. Following rumours about the close relationship between Ian Bishop and Trevor Morley, Bonds calls both players into his office and asks: “Well, are you or ain’t you?” It turns out they ain’t.

Kirk Blows, author of various books on West Ham, has been enlisted to bring a sense of cohesion to these anecdotes. Blows appears to have viewed his role as that of articulating Bacon’s thoughts rather than challenging them. At times some editing would have been kind. Bacon’s bafflement at the poor quality of televisions in a department store in 1980s communist Romania (“the arsehole of the universe” as he charmingly calls it) would have been a useful omission.

Bacon is the first to admit that he is no football expert and this book sheds little light on why the FA Cup that was won just before his arrival was the club’s last piece of major silverware. Nevertheless there are plenty of interesting and funny tales: the team coach stopping on the way to a match at Stoke to allow the kit manager to put a bet on for Macari; a naked John Moncur jumping out of a locker during one of Harry Redknapp’s team talks; a frightened Paolo di Canio telling a stewardess “I don’t want to die” before getting off a plane that is about to take off.

Far too often the tone of the book is brought down by stories that would be better left in the pub. His fondness of Mark Ward’s wife’s “big boobs” and a players’ masturbation competition on the team coach (yes, really) are two examples. Then again, given the niche target market for this book, perhaps Bacon simply has a good understanding of his audience.

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