The Archive

Journalist Terry Daley used to work for Chelsea – at least when it suited the club. It seems Roman learnt a few tricks from Pravda…

“This must be your dream job, I bet your dad must be really proud of you,” is the first thing almost everyone said to me after they found out that I was working for Chelsea’s official publications. To nodding heads and blank stares I’d point out that the money was terrible, the people above me had no idea what fans wanted, didn’t care what they had to say and had less of an idea of what made a good magazine. The response was the same almost every time: “Still, Chelsea eh? And what happened with Mourinho? Go on, tell us.”

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On October 15, England face a Belarus team whose coach used to be an informer for East Germany’s secret police. Paul Joyce reports

“Football trainers shouldn’t mix work and politics,” Belarus coach Bernd Stange stated in March. “That is dangerous.” His critics would argue that Stange has often used this tenet as an excuse to pursue his career while closing his eyes to the political and human consequences of his actions. A media-friendly, yet curiously elusive, figure, Stange was known in the former East Germany as “der Lügenbaron” – a modern-day Baron Münchhausen whose tall tales about his exploits needed to be taken with copious pinches of salt.

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For day four of the WSC advent calendar we have a piece from issue 259, September 2008. Ariel Ortega – nicknamed “little donkey” – was dubbed the next Maradona and so it partially proved, though not in a good way, reports Chris Bradley

There was one conspicuous absence as the open-top bus carried the victorious River Plate squad through the streets of Buenos Aires on June 22. The fans were there, with flags and songs; there was joy and champagne and fireworks; but, not for the first time this season, there was no Ariel Ortega.

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The name Clough is becoming as much a fixture at the Pirelli Stadium as it was at the City Ground. Nigel warms up for his 11th season as Burton manager with a game against his old club and it's a friendly that lives up to the name, thanks in part to fans who are savouring slow progress, writes Pete Green

Some friendlies have always belied the name. The Manchester United fans playing up at Altrincham the other week have continued a long tradition of friction at non-competitive fixtures that dates back to the rioting spectators who knocked a Preston player unconscious at a kickaround against Aston Villa in 1885. Here at Burton Albion, some Derby fans were thrown out last week after contriving to pick a fight with some other Derby men. But midway through this gentle workout against Nottingham Forest I realise that this is the safest and least threatened I have ever felt at a game of football. I even leave my nerdy indie specs on in the half-time queue for a pint.

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The trend in fake orgasmic goal celebrations is out of control and something needs to be done, according to Al Needham

Like everyone else, I thoroughly enjoyed Euro 2008, but I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why. Sure, the football was great, the lack of lumpy Englishness refreshing, and the feeling that you couldn’t tear yourself away from even the 0‑0 draws (just in case the entire Turkey squad ran on at the last minute, scored the winner, then ran off down the tunnel leaving everyone else standing there) was palpable throughout. But there was something else. And it bugged me for weeks.

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