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14 March 2008 ~

Four English clubs are through to the last eight in the Champions League so, as you might expect, the beleagured Premier League chief executive Richard Scudamore has been on a smarm offensive this week. In a particularly greasy interview with the Telegraph on March 13 he cooed over the way the league has shaped up this season: “We have a real title race. It's fantastic. The middle bit of the League is interesting; getting into the top half is important to people psychologically. At the bottom, there are eight clubs in the relegation tussle. There's action everywhere.” The reason there are so many teams trying to avoid the drop of course is that PL has a great big rump of clubs who have no hope of doing anything other than staying up and being cannon fodder for the four global brands. Anyhow, Scudamore also revealed that football officials from all over the world having been calling in lately, “trying to learn from us”. That's because “we are blessed with some fantastic clubs, fantastic tradition and a 120-year history – 1888 to 2008”. So the Premier League now wants to lay claim all that came before it. Soon we'll hear about how Preston North End's Invincibles of 1888-89 were “innovative thought-leaders who maximised their potential in a crowded marketplace”.

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Badge of the week
In 1976, just nine years after their formation, Trabzonspor Kulübü were the first Turkish team outside the big three from Istanbul to win the First Division title. Unfortunately, as their website states with attractive melancholy, “Trabzonspor's last title joy dates back to 1983-84 season”. The club badge asserts the team's youth and modernity. Bold blue curves surely represent mountains and a lake – or is it the Black Sea, close to which the city of Trabzon stands? Or is that actually a teardrop, representing the ultimate fruitlessness of all human endeavour, or the fact that no league title has been won for a quarter of a century? Clearly the Trabzonspor crest is saying, with its bold, non-representational style: “This is a club that will blow aside the old order of Turkish football with their stupid old stars and footballs on their crests that look just like stars and footballs.” And that is just what they did, for a while. Cameron Carter 

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Slow news day
Xabi Alonso missed Liverpool’s Champions League tie in Milan on March 11 because he wanted to be at the birth of his first child. The Sun duly canvassed opinion on this issue from some ex-pros. Martin Allen put the case for allowing players to attend births while Petr Cech described how he missed seeing his daughter being born prematurely. Having consulted their database of Ex-Players With Boneheaded Opinions, the Sun also contacted Ron “Chopper” Harris, whom their readers are reminded “was a legendary Chelsea hardman in the 60s and 70s”. Ron was playing football when his wife gave birth because “it was what I got paid to do. And I was paid a lot less than today’s players.” He goes on: “If you were fighting in Iraq, would you be allowed home? I don’t understand why people would want to stay at home rather than they do what they are paid to do. A lot of players seem a bit pampered. It’s the same with injuries – people used to play through the pain, but not these days.” It’s worth noting that Ron’s nickname among his Chelsea team-mates wasn’t “Chopper” but “Buller”, short for “Bullshitter”, because he was prone to making outrageous claims.

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from Neil Wakeley
“Following an interview with Arsène Wenger on Setanta before the Arsenal v Blackburn game in February, I have altered my Top Three Things I Can Do Without In The Modern Game, so it now reads: (1) Geological close-ups of the faces of players and fiftysomething managers during interviews for no reason other than to give some form of job satisfaction to a creatively-frustrated producer. (2) Players, fans and blokes in pubs shouting “Handball!” 20 times a match when the ball ricochets somewhere near a shoulder in the penalty area. (3) Ray Stubbs. Incidentally, the nostril-exploring super-close-up goes straight in at number 1, dislodging The Beckoning Gestures of Goalscorers About To Begin A Complicated Group Celebration, a long-standing chart-topper, out of the top three.”

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Anyone worrying about what Rio Ferdinand will do when he retires will be reassured by an item in the Overseas Property section of the Daily Express this week. Rio and John Terry have invested in a Caribbean resort, the Caicos Beach Club and Marina. Rio is hoping to be joined in the venture “by people I know who work in other fields, such as entertainment”. He adds: “It would be good to influence younger players to tie up some of their money ‘early doors’ rather than rushing out and buying the latest car or expensive watch.” Will it be a gated community? “It will be a bit of a mixture. Whoever wants to get into the resort can, but to enter the hotel or have a meal you’ll have to go through the right channels.” That’s only sensible. Are there any plans for a football academy, Rio? “Oh, yes. A formal announcement is due to be made later this year.” Sounds great – local youngsters who don’t make it as footballers might be able to retrain as security guards or waiters. Finally, does Rio have any plans to go into business with his defensive partner, Nemanja Vidic? “Yes, it would be nice. But I don’t know how many opportunities there are in Serbia!” Well, we’ve heard that it’s an undervalued market right now.

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Tales From the Landesliga ~ No 2
WSC contributor Matt Nation's series about watching lower-league football in Hamburg
Although it translates as “groundsman”, a Platzwart in Germany, even in the sixth division, is much more than an affable old chap who leans on his pitchfork and talks about cup runs from decades past. A semi-human equivalent of the Royal Assent, a Platzwart speaks only in the imperative and refuses to acknowledge questions beginning with “Why?”. For a Platzwart, explanations are an unnecessary evil and a sign of incurable weakness.

And it's a Platzwart who decrees that the game between Sportverein Wilhelmsburg von 1888 and Bramfelder Sportverein von 1945 should take place not on the lush green meadow next to the dressing-room, but on a patch of wasteground half a mile down the road. It's bad enough that the alternative venue is cinder rather than grass. However, it’s also the smallest pitch in the world; there have been pitches on top of a children’s birthday cake that were bigger. Combine this with a gale-force wind typical of Wilhelmsburg, Europe's largest inland island, and you've got all the ingredients of a right pigswill of a game.

And, of course, a ready-made excuse for players whose inability to pass the ball is compensated for by a natural flair for passing the buck. Every knee-high pass, every botched clearance, every gormless punt into the opposing goalkeeper’s arms is blamed on the pitch. At one point, the Bramfeld centre-forward, inexplicably wearing No 66 and peacocking about in the manner of a particularly frisky Sally Bowles, produces a cross with a trajectory so askew that it looks as though it's signing an autograph. He kicks the ground repeatedly, like a Jack Russell on a bucket-and-spade holiday, insults the pitch and then berates the linesman for allowing the game to go ahead in the first place. The visitor eventually run out 3-1 winners, thanks to a lob-turned-daisycutter, a daisycutter-turned-lob and an apologetic penalty awarded after a defender manages to miscue a loose ball into his own hands.

The players continue to cuss the conditions as they leave the pitch, and the temptation to blurt out something about bad workmen always blaming their tools is tempered only by the fact that you don’t actually know how to say it in German. You make a mental note to ask the Platzwart when you get back to the clubhouse, he just might be able to help.

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It has been said the 1966 World Cup final is a bit like the Crucifixion – it has mythical status now but comparatively little fuss was made about it at the time. Further evidence of that comes with news of a campaign to award posthumous medals to Sir Alf Ramsey and two members of England’s staff, coach Harold Shepherdson and trainer Les Cocker. FIFA didn’t present medals to an entire winning squad until 1986 and the 11 non-participants from 1966 only got theirs last year. Now the management team’s relatives are asking the FA to have medals struck. Former Sports Minister Richard Caborn is backing the campaign; you sense that if Tony Blair was still PM, he’d hand over the medals personally while bouncing a leather casey on his head. There’s a petition you can sign on Facebook if you feel strongly about this.

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Seeing John Hollins on TV discussing his return to the limelight as manager of Weymouth prompted a recollection of his involvement in possibly the worst record ever made by footballers (and, yes, that is a big claim). This was the 1979 single Peace by The Peace Band in which a players’ chorus, including Ossie Ardiles, Steve Perryman and Viv Anderson, sang of their desire for peace on the (then troubled) terraces. The b-side was A Peace Of Reggae featuring noted gadfly Kenny Lynch, who used to be a TV regular despite having no apparent career of his own. Hollins and friends were invited to sing the song on BBC’s Nationwide but were handicapped by all being in different studios around the country. Some duly heard the backing track several seconds later than others and the ensuing cacophony staggered on for an extremely long three minutes. The song failed to trouble the top 75.

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Stickipedia  
A mine of information constructed from sticker cards
Ally Hunter, Scotland The Wonderful World of Soccer Stars: World Cup 1974
Few players have had such a quick rise and fall as Celtic goalkeeper Ally Hunter. Having being capped four times by Scotland in the build-up to the 1974 World Cup, his celebrity status was cemented when he became a regular columnist for Shoot’s weekly Tartan Talk column, in which he alternated with Rangers captain John Greig. However the 24-year-old Hunter had been at fault for the goal scored by Czechoslovakia in the crucial qualifying match at Hampden in October 1973. Scotland won 2-1 but Hunter lost confidence. After more shaky performances, he was dropped by Celtic and ended up being left out of Scotland’s World Cup squad. He stayed with Celtic for one more season but then made only a handful of first-team appearances in the rest of his career, playing eight games for Motherwell and seven for St Mirren. The Shoot column was discreetly dropped somewhere along the way.

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