Africa's ambition of hosting the World Cup lies in ruins, writes Alan Duncan
The wailing outside Accra’s Military Hospital in the hours after the May 9 clash between Ghanaian giants Asante Kotoko and Hearts of Oak confirmed the worst – 126 fans killed following a stampede sparked by security forces who had fired volleys of tear gas into the popular Ade Coker Stand.
Gonzalo Anton's is a typical rags-to-riches story. Phil Ball tries to establish exactly who he is
Distinguishing Features Tubby but tough, slicked-back hair with blazer and tie – more British Legion than Savile Row. With the flattish nose of an ex-boxer, not the sort of chap you’d cross too often. Cuts a respectable figure, without looking as though he’s been dressed by his wife. Anyway, he’s divorced.
Ian Plenderleith look at some non-League websites
One of the most user-friendly and comprehensive football sites is Non-League Football: Conference & Pyramid Leagues Soccer, which provides an overview of all the latest news, results and tables down to the Unibond, Ryman and Dr Martens leagues, with easy intra-site links from competitions to teams to players.
Gary Sprake was the weak link of Don Revie's all-conquering Leeds United. Nonsense, says John Tandy
It’s almost as though the sniggers are a part of the name. In a verdict of history as unfair as any since Canute it seems that Gary Sprake will always be The Keeper Who Made Mistakes. When you ask for the evidence, they’ll tell you that in December 1967 he threw the ball into his own net against Liverpool. And in the 1970 FA Cup final he let Peter Houseman’s shot go under his body. And… well, that’s about it, really.
Dear WSC
Your piece on the delights of terracing in Germany (WSC 171) provided a stark juxtaposition with the book I am currently reading, Nick Varley’s Parklife, where remorselessly he denies the reader any escape from the fact that Hillsborough is the pivotal moment of modern English football. For a moment I bathed in a tide of nostalgia, wistful for the excitement and overwhelming passion of terrace culture. Seats were for spectators, not fans. I also recalled the crush amidst the Tottenham fans at the Leppings Lane end in 1981 referred to in Varley’s book as the disaster that nearly happened. Last month I watched another semi-final, this time sitting in the Stretford End with my children. I’m proud they share my undiminished enthusiasm for the game, but we would not be together, either at Old Trafford or in the Members end at White Hart Lane, if we had to stand. We go to every home game in perfect safety and the view is excellent. Earlier that day they had for the first time been exposed to a fraction of the experience of the old days, and the famous adage that clubs never learn. Several thousand fans arriving for the official coaches formed an orderly queue round the ground. Well past departure time the random arrival of coaches, no stewards, no information and only three police meant that we joined everyone else roaming up and down the High Road. The best informed copper had not been told where the coaches would pull up and advised us to wait and “scramble for a seat”. The club were sufficiently organised, however, to open up the club shop from 5am. Thanks to the fans there was no trouble. My kids were bewildered at this lack of organisation because their experience of supporting their team is so utterly different, and I am glad this is the case. They already know about the contempt with which football treats the fans (left home 4.30am, back home 12.45 am). The game remains indifferent to Hillsborough and the Taylor Report in so many ways, but if terraces return we will still be sitting down.
Alan Fisher, Tonbridge