The Archive

Here’s the diary of a typical week in the hectic life of Tommy McDonald, host of the late-night radio phone-in football karaoke show Sing When You’re Winning. He is currently working on his next book, The Cat, a biography of Peter Bonetti, which he is co-writing with Damon Albarn of Blur. A former reviewer for the NME and an obsessive QPR, fan Tommy lives in Islington with his dog Loftus and his girlfriend Marie-Clare, an Orient fan

Monday A bit tired this morning as we had a massive booze-up at the studios of Mantalk! Cable where we were doing a pilot for a new show – Kicked Into Touch. I think they will go for it. It is an off-the-wall, irreverent look at players who were rejected by clubs after their apprenticeships, a sort-of This is Your Life for failed players… except with bollocks. Tony Wilson, Richard Jobson and Elton Welsby are in for the presenter’s job as well. But I think this could be the one to get me into Tellyland – they’re so old school and the fellas at Mantalk! are looking for something a little more New Football.

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France may be hosting the World Cup on merit, but Cris Freddi examines previous hosts who were chosen for other reasons

FIFA started promisingly, awarding the 1930 World Cup to Uruguay, where a coalition of the two strongest parties ‘was able to avert dictatorship’ – then blotted their copybook in spectacular fashion. They handed the second tournament to Italy.

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Burkina Faso staged the recent African Nations Cup. Piers Edwards reviews all the action from the thrilling yet controversial tournament

Burkina ’98 was the most successful ever African Nations Cup according to those who had attended previous championships, with the friendly Burkinabe proving far more receptive to the tournament than the South Africans had been two years earlier.

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Dear WSC
The recent screening of the 1975 FA Cup final by ITV unearthed disturbing memories that had remained buried deep inside me for over two decades.  The need to unburden myself of this long-forgotten trauma has its origins in the Fulham full-back on that occasion, John Cutbush, and in the commentary of David Coleman on the BBC coverage of the final. Others may remember West Ham’s clash with Fulham for the performances of Bobby Moore and Billy Bonds, but not me and my equally strange chums.  For some reason, Coleman clearly pronounced the Fulham No 2’s surname in a curious and outlandish way, approximating to “Cootboosh”. As were many at the time, we were particularly sensitised to Coleman’s verbal meanderings, and this caused much mirth as we sat gathered around the television.  Later that evening we returned repeatedly to Coleman’s creative licence with Cutbush, culminating inevitably (beer involved here) in further elaborations and versions of the name. Good Saturday night fun, you’ll no doubt think.  However, things did not end there, as maybe they should have done. For months, nay years afterwards, blameless pub-goers were subjected to increasingly theatrical, elongated and continental versions of the basic ‘John Cutbush’. I particularly remember a friend rolling around as if possessed on top of a pool table and wailing out a six-minute Germano- Hispanic variation, prior to being ejected by the landlord.  I suppose in time we all moved on from this phase in our lives, some of us to pursue promising careers, establish stable relationships and have families. But none of us will ever really rid ourselves of the spirit of John Cutbush. Where is he now? And what were you thinking of, David Coleman?
Steve Edwards, Birkenhead

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It may be winter, but Ian Plenderleith points out that the football can continue indoors

There are some things in football as sure to come around every year as Ian Wright’s suspension and Thomas Brolin’s attempt at career rehabilitation. In Germany and Switzerland it is the litany of the coaches moaning about the tough playing schedule when the annual fixture lists are produced, as if they thought perhaps this year they would only be playing their opponents once and that the national cup had been abolished. They carp on about too many “English weeks”, meaning that their poor oppressed players have to some-times turn out on Tuesdays or Wednesdays. And that the summer break is far too short.

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