Search: 'Hamm Utd'

Newcastle, managerless and looking for new ownership, travel to a seemingly far happier club, with West Ham fans welcoming Gianfranco Zola. But fresh turmoil is about to emerge: the papers reporting on the game predict the imminent verdict in Sheffield United’s appeal over Carlos Tevez, writes David Stubbs

I caught this fixture in April, on an unseasonably warm day. The Jubilee Line was subject to one of its rare closures and I had to make the trip in a replacement bus, which, like a mobile greenhouse and packed to the rafters, wended its way at gridlocked-traffic’s pace to Canning Town, then past some of east London’s most eye-catching industrial estates before reaching West Ham. Uncannily, though the journey lasted 40 minutes, the Millennium Dome hovered throughout, seemingly never more than 250 yards away; a curse of the white elephant. West Ham, under the lugubrious watch of Alan Curbishley, darted into a 2-0 lead but then, having blown their ­bubbles, conceded two quick goals to a Newcastle team with the air of having accidentally rediscovered their self-esteem under Kevin Keegan.

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The words “Football League” must evoke painful memories for all concerned on a bleak afternoon in Cumbria, with the limelight just a fading memory for the hosts and the visitors struggling one year on, writes Harry Pearson

In the Borough Park clubhouse, a ­middle-aged woman in a yellow-and-black Boston United scarf leans across to a vast, elderly Pilgrims fan who is tucking into a polystyrene tray of pasty and chips like he hasn’t eaten since the end of rationing. “You been here before?” she asks. The man shakes his head, cheeks bulging with potatoes and pastry. The woman glances quickly from left to right. “Bit bleak, isn’t it?” she whispers. The big man grins sadly, nods and stuffs more food in his mouth.

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Glasgow and Manchester – Two Football Clubs, One Passion
by Frank Worrall
Mainstream, £9.99
Reviewed by Jonathan O'Brien
From WSC 253 March 2008 

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Two bad books mashed into one inedible puree of diametrically opposed flavours, Celtic United is the literary equivalent of one of those garish scarves you see being waved at European fixtures between Celtic and any English side, with half the garment taken up with their name rendered in green and white, and the other half bearing the name of their opponents, usually in red and white.

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Dear WSC
The substitutes’ bench at a football stadium should be exactly that – a rickety, splintered wooden structure, also housing an elderly physio with a smoker’s cough, that players will be only too keen to get away from. Yet several Premier League clubs, including Newcastle and Spurs, have comfortable seats for the substitutes that look like something from the executive class on an aeroplane. These players won’t feel motivated to leave their padded headrests with optional vibro-massage function in order to run around in the wind and rain. What next – soothing music piped in through headsets? Treat them mean to keep them keen, for God’s sake.
Glyn Teasdale, via email

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The heat is on – and not just because summer has put in a rare appearance. A spending spree has raised expectations at Upton Park, but so far money hasn’t bought Hammers happiness, as Barney Ronay reports

Money: does it ever really make you happy? Heading towards Upton Park through the exciting new infrastructure of the Greenwich peninsula prompts this kind of question. South London’s former dockland has been ambitiously made over of late. Money hasn’t just been spent, it’s been recklessly slathered around the place with a loaded pallet knife. Here and there it even covers some of the cracks. There is probably some kind of comparison here with the new model West Ham United. At its old industrial heart, Greenwich now has the Millennium Village, known for its gleaming white dome, symbol of an aspirational spending beano that never quite got where it wanted to go, but did spark off a whole load of aggravation. West Ham, these days, are fronted up by Eggert ­Magnusson, the Icelandic businessman also known for his gleaming white dome, ­symbol of an aspirational spending beano that… well, you get the idea.

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