Dear WSC
The theme of recent letters regarding the playing of ironic music after games reminds me of when Brentford started playing Suicide is Painless at the end of home defeats a couple of years ago. I can’t remember if it was the original Mandel/Altman version or the Manics’ cover, but the experiment ended as the team set about achieving a humiliating relegation to the bottom division.
Alan Housden
The Archive
Articles from When Saturday Comes. All 27 years of WSC are in the process of being added. This may take a while.
Scotland's troubles in Macedonia were not just on the pitch, says Kevin Donnelly
Any football fan who regularly travels home and away with their team will have faced the problem of lack of tickets for their respective end. The dilemma is whether to shrug your shoulders and accept it or go in the home section and sit on your hands, a choice made by approximately 1,500 Scotland fans for the game against Macedonia last month. The events around the World Cup qualifier in City Stadium in Skopje on September 6 raise a variety of questions over the official ticket distribution, stewarding of matches and the facilities that ought to be available for spectators in 35-degree heat.
Online scouting resource or commercial venture, asks Ian Plenderleith
According to Tom Bower’s book Broken Dreams, Israeli agent Pini Zahavi made £3 million on the transfers of his client Rio Ferdinand from West Ham to Manchester United via Elland Road. Rio’s such a nice bloke that he’s still doing his agent favours, endorsing a new scouting website founded by Zahavi that claims to represent “the world’s biggest ever football database” on players.
Owning a football club is now officially beyond the wildest dreams. Even Harry Pearson's
When they reach their forties, men experience a change. You begin to suspect that the manufacturers of jeans have started skimping on material, you meet young people (yes, you have started to use the phrase “young people”) that you assume are sixth-formers and when you ask politely what A-levels they are doing discover that in fact they are GPs, barristers or your new boss, and you feel strangely compelled to tell your children not to keep saying like, like all the, like, time, for goodness sake because “you’re hardly going to impress a prospective employer speaking like that”.
Newcastle, managerless and looking for new ownership, travel to a seemingly far happier club, with West Ham fans welcoming Gianfranco Zola. But fresh turmoil is about to emerge: the papers reporting on the game predict the imminent verdict in Sheffield United’s appeal over Carlos Tevez, writes David Stubbs
I caught this fixture in April, on an unseasonably warm day. The Jubilee Line was subject to one of its rare closures and I had to make the trip in a replacement bus, which, like a mobile greenhouse and packed to the rafters, wended its way at gridlocked-traffic’s pace to Canning Town, then past some of east London’s most eye-catching industrial estates before reaching West Ham. Uncannily, though the journey lasted 40 minutes, the Millennium Dome hovered throughout, seemingly never more than 250 yards away; a curse of the white elephant. West Ham, under the lugubrious watch of Alan Curbishley, darted into a 2-0 lead but then, having blown their bubbles, conceded two quick goals to a Newcastle team with the air of having accidentally rediscovered their self-esteem under Kevin Keegan.