Do you have an idea how many key passes Darren Fletcher has had in the Champions League? Would you remember enough about Frank Lampard’s various performances against Barcelona to be able to take a guess at his total yardage? Good luck to you if you do, because we haven’t got a clue. And neither would anyone else 15 years ago. In the century of football that occurred in the pre-Sky age, supporters somehow managed to cope without knowing how much ground a certain player covered or whether he was statistically his team’s fifth-best decision-maker in the final third.
The Archive
Articles from When Saturday Comes. All 27 years of WSC are in the process of being added. This may take a while.
Cameron Carter thought he was just sitting down at his computer, but instead found himself sucked into a whirlpool of bizarre and arcane football clips – plus the odd grilling labrador. That’s YouTube for you
If, for any reason, you were thinking of removing all structure from your life and severing ties with humanity, your first step might be to log in to YouTube and use football as a search theme. I embarked upon this experiment on a recent Friday afternoon with the beautiful phrase “Alan Sunderland 1979” and came up for air when it was dark outside – I think it was Sunday – having weakly tapped in “Monkey Football” and sifted through 599 related titles. YouTube is a separate reality, a democratic film utopia with the implied promise that in the future every image will be captured, nothing will be overlooked and, while you watch, food will be transferred directly into your stomach from a national grid.
It’s 23 years since the “Hadrian’s Wall derby” was played in league or cup, but luckily hostilities can be renewed in a pre-season friendly staged in high summer – at least that’s what the calendar claims. Pete Green writes
It’s the odd-numbered summers that get to you. The close seasons unrelieved by World Cups or European Championships. As much as we feel sick at the corruption of our game; as much as we feel jaded and excluded by the Premier League’s closed shop – and the impenetrable play-within-a-play that is the top four – we still need football like we need air. We believe the game can overcome the choreography of balance sheets, can still depart from the script. This is why we still feel itchy and restless in these alternate summers, when the grandest international tournaments aren’t available to tide us through. This is why 12,346 people have left dry and comfortable homes to watch Carlisle and Newcastle play out a tame and inconsequential draw on the wettest and dankest of summer days.
Everton’s plans to move from the city to neighbouring Kirkby have left a lot of Goodison regulars up in arms. Mark O’Brien reports
There are few things in life more predictable than death, taxes and stories linking Manchester United with Klaas Jan Huntelaar. One of them is talk of Everton moving to a new stadium.
A documentary film that shows five diverse Britons on a road trip across the Americas to visit Maradona is the cinema’s best offering about the game in ages, in the view of Taylor Parkes
Perhaps the reason In the Hands of the Gods is the first enjoyable film about football for many, many years is that it’s not really “about football”. The cinema has never come close to capturing the atmosphere of a match, for players or supporters, and has only ever dealt with the mental/emotional/character-based aspects of the game in terms of cliche. We’ve all seen at least one of these efforts – Yesterday’s Hero, When Saturday Comes, Goal! – and been sick in a cup. This is different: a plot-driven documentary that doesn’t flinch, a cinéma vérité account of five freestylers busking their way across the Americas, ball-juggling for money, in the hope of reaching Buenos Aires and meeting their idol, Diego Maradona.