The Archive

Four clubs fight to their keep heads above water. By Tom Davies

Who could possibly have imagined that the link-up between Sam Hammam and Peter Ridsdale at Cardiff City would have brought problems? The fallout from Hammam’s departure as chairman is casting a considerable shadow over City’s future, with the club facing a court action in March over ­£24 million of unsecured “loan notes” owed to investor Langston, for whom Hammam is now acting as “mediator”. Defeat in court is likely to land the club in administration.

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English reaction to Fabio Capello’s arrival has bemused his compatriots, as Matthew Barker reports. Some wonder how a man used to the best will cope with English talent – a problem other foreign coaches face

Italian reaction to the appointment of Fabio Capello as England coach was, in fairly quick succession, pride, bemusement and a smattering of scepticism. Often deemed a cold, haughty northerner (Capello hails from the Bisàsco region, near the border with Slovenia), the former Real Madrid boss had been steadily winning over a new breed of fans during a stint as guest pundit on state broadcaster RAI’s Domenica Sportiva show. Certainly his entertainingly forthright views and surprisingly chatty demeanour put him noticeably at odds with another apparent candidate for the Soho Square hot seat, Marcello Lippi, who, when coaxed off his yacht for co-commentating duties with Sky Italia, is often disappointingly uncomfortable and wooden.

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Rioting marred a dramatic final of Africa's Champions League, a competition that struggles in comparison to its European namesake and shares some of its drawbacks. Chris Taylor reports

It was not perhaps the showpiece culmination to the year that the Confederation of African Football (CAF) had hoped for. The Cairo Stadium was full to bursting, with Egypt’s President Hosni Mubarak on hand to present the Champions League trophy to the winning team in the presence of massed ranks of dignitaries, and the match itself was certainly exciting. But the occasion ended in mayhem as the victorious Etoile du Sahel players were pelted with missiles and attacked by a mutinous crowd. And by the dignitaries. And the gentlemen of the press. At least no one could accuse them of not taking the competition seriously enough.

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For the second time this year, Italian football has been rocked by a violent death, but this time the killer was a policeman and the victim was a fan asleep in a car. Vanda Wilcox examines the tragedy

In the early hours of Sunday November 11, Gabriele Sandri climbed into the back of a friend’s car and went straight to sleep. A group of fans were headed for Milan, to watch Lazio take on Inter. The 28‑year-old shop manager had been up DJ‑ing all night at one of Rome’s best-known night clubs, but his nightlife never stopped him from following Lazio home and away, however far he had to travel. He was friends not only with individuals in the club’s established ultra groups – though not himself a member – but also some players.

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Try to forget the stereotypes. On one hand, a team from a much derided city with a sparkling stadium seemingly on the up. The other, historically rich perennial play-off contenders suffering a dreadful start. By Taylor Parkes

Before the opening of the Humber Bridge in 1981, Hull was near-impossible to reach from much of the rest of the country. Stuck out on the pointless curve of the East Riding, half-moated by the fat slash of the Humber estuary, reaching Hull by car required a miserable detour of many miles. With half the town smashed by Nazi bombing raids, post-war Hull offered little incentive – if you just wanted to smell a fish dock, you could go to Grimsby. So, aside from the seafood trucks, little traffic passed through for many years, and Hull became known mainly for its  lonely coastal desolation. Even today, after major redevelopment, Hull can feel slightly less than welcoming: entering the city from any angle brings a sense of gathering gloom, and the place still carries a reputation as a bleak north-easterly desert, home to hardy, wind-picked fighting boys, or incurable misanthropes thirsting for solitude (most famously, talented racist Philip Larkin)

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