Dear WSC
I’m assuming the Ruud Gullit who recently defended himself working for a dictator by saying he wasn’t interested in politics (Caucasus calling, WSC 292) to be the same one who dedicated his 1987 European Player of the Year to Nelson Mandela. I realise people’s opinions can change over 20 years, but I’m just curious as to what made him decide he wasn’t bothered about injustice anymore.
John Chapman, Sheffield
Search: ' Viv Anderson'
Stories
Chris Sanderson assesses Birmingham City’s mixed season and how a return to the Championship has affected the club’s finances and tactics
In a Premier League awash with money and abetted by a hyperbolic media, journeyman teams like Birmingham City face an impossible dilemma. How can we join the celebrity foam party when we turn up wearing M&S slacks, looking for the carvery?
Georgina Turner is sick and tired of an inane background hum – constant chirrupings from the extra in the commentary box
“I’ve got to say that to get away with that in such a hostile environment, you’ve got to count your chickens” – the wisdom of Ray Wilkins, following Peter Crouch’s second bookable tackle early in the first leg of Real Madrid v Tottenham Hotspur.
With Blackburn Rovers linking themselves to several high profile players, it seems enhancing the brand may be a little too high up the priorities list for some clubs
WSC is delighted to announce that JK Rowling is set to join our editorial team later this month. We have arranged an attractive salary package in the vicinity of £20,000 a year plus three weeks paid holiday and various fringe benefits including the use of a bike rack. Her representatives are still to confirm that it’s a done deal but we expect to have it tied up by the middle of January. In the meantime be sure to join the throng flocking to our Twitter and Facebook pages for regular updates. We’re pretty stoked about this as you can imagine.
Al Needham gets nostalgic over a clash of two sides still hoping to return to a time of former glories
I don’t mean to bang on about the past, but this fixture really brings it out in me. Forest v Ipswich was the first game I ever went to, on October 4, 1977. I stood as a nine-year-old in the Trent End with Ian Marriott and his dad, gasping at the sight of the blues and reds merging with the green, floodlit pitch – just like the picture on the Subbuteo box that I’d just got from him in exchange for an Action Man (in one of those undersized tanks, where his arms hung over the side) – my head fizzing as Kenny Burns, Peter Shilton and Viv Anderson ran about in front of me just like they did on the telly.