Monday, July 31, 2006

Local Authority News

From our Welsh desk, Newtown have found someone at last. Check out Council Vacancy Filled
Stop snickering at the back!

Saturday, July 29, 2006

Terror Good, Botox Bad, Apparently

If this is the end of the enlightenment, I have been considering where the "enlightened" go from here.
Maybe it's time to unleash the bigot within us and reconfigure our belief systems into something more pragmatic and flexible.

Let's tolerate the things we like, yet be less giving to that which we disagree with.
For example: The right to choose: Good. The right of teenage boys to wear their jeans below their arses: Bad. The right to vote: Good. The right to vote for George Bush: Bad. That kind of thing.

I'm not a fan of the Fatwa, yet when I heard that the Islamic Fatwa of Malaysia had vetoed the use of Botox, I felt that they may be right, as it's a useless practice and worthy of scorn (although it seems a bit mean considering that it stops devout muslim women from treating the only bit of flesh they get to show—that bit between their eyebrows).

And all credit to the Malaysian government who banned chewing gum, saving themselves the bill of cleaning it off the streets for which "democracies" elsewhere have to divert funds away from the welfare state (£150 million in the UK). And let's face it, no reasonable person agrees with the death penalty, but used sensibly it could save us shitloads on prison fees.

Yes, it's time for the enlightment to bow out the way it arrived, festooned with despots. Obviously, an elite will be needed to decided what is goes and what don't—it's a delicate process after all, requiring impeccable judgement—but we know who we are, and there will be no need for consultation with the public for whom we'll provided guidance.

The Democratic/Christian/Liberal impulse needs revision, so let's give the new, new world order with a taste of their own medicine!

Dirigiste? Moi?

Thursday, July 27, 2006

The End of Civilisation As We Know It?

There's no point in spending all night pointing the searchlight on the insanity of the White House/Israeli axis, or the ultimate conclusion on world affairs (for the worst) that their actions have put into motion, but it does appear that the balance of power across the world has fallen into the laps of the misinformed, and everybody else must sit by and witness the global car-crash that will consume us all.

The enlightment was a beautiful thing whilst it lasted.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Small Cat Diary

Our Tom Cat caught his first rat tonight!

We were enjoying a salad on the new garden table, when there was a kerfuffle behind the shed, from whence came a eeking and a squeeking, followed by the emergence of our Archie (eagerly accompanied by Alli, girl cat) head aloft with said rodent in his jaws.

In the confusion that followed, with me preventing him from giving Rodent1 a tour of the house, all three animals rushed to the flowerpots, where Ratty broke free. As Archie trashed the geraniums in an attempt at recovery, I stepped in—gloved—and removed the Tom to the shed and girl cat to the house, whilst the vermin climbed the fence into the ivy, where no doubt he still awaits nightfall.

Obviously, we're all proud, but have realised that we probably have another 12 years of this, and as my partner is of the "standing on a chair screaming" school of creature control, I will have to play Mellors.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Supermarket Blitz

Hey, guess what? Yes, the United States has voiced its disapproval over the Israeli actions in Lebanon. Like DUH!

Basically, we all know that the White House agreed the Israelis a week's grace to do as they like, before Condo Rice shows up playing the part of the good guy.

It's like a form of Supermarket Sweep, where the lucky winner gets one minute to scour the store to grab as much they can; only in this version Israel waved away the trolley in favour of a sledgehammer, as they set about wasting the electricity junction boxes; freezers and cash tills before pissing over the meat counter and stamping on the fruit, then hastily grabbing a couple of bottles of Johnny Walker, declaring "this is what we came in for!" just as Condoleeeza Rice blows the whistle: whereon the underpaid Saturday girl is informed that she has to work late to clean up after them.

And wait until the Americans find out that Hizbullah* are still there! They're going to be SO pissed off! "Jesus, you guys; what have you been DOING in there?!"

*Yes, there's a spelling war. I'm sticking with the Guardian's choice, but I suspect that the BBC's Hezbollah is going to win the day. Maybe they're different branches of the same gang. Maybe they should take each other on to sort this spelling business out for once and for all.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Economic Warfare

If the demise of the Cold War was the "End of History ", then life after 9/11 must be the start of Post-History, an era when the western governments began to create a new bogeyman in "terrorism" (See Here) in order to undermine the democracies under their control. Blair introduces ID cards, an anathema to the British; the Americans begin to use anti-terror legislation as a Foreign policy weapon, such as against the NatWest3 (heaven forbid Enron had anything to do with Americans) and now we see the Israelis imposing economic warfare upon its neighbour under the pretext that it's fighting Hizbullah.

Lebanon completely destroyed itself in the 80s, yet recovered, stabilised and was preparing to thrive before the Israelis bombed it back into poverty. Practically none of Israel's targets have been related to Hizbullah. The fundamentalists don't work at petrol stations, dairies or power plants, they're too busy living the martyr's dream out in the wilderness with their weapons.

Yes, the Israelis don't like arabs, and neither do they want their security undermined: but the evidence indicates that this attack is an opportunist war in order to curb Lebanon's recovery as an economic region. It's a Tory mentality: short term gain at the expense of everybody else's quality of life.

The consequences of this attack—ie: the nurturing of revenging terrorists—will have to be shared by the rest of us.

Fuck off Tel Aviv, and tell your buddies in the White House to fuck off back to their ranches with their billions and to leave the world alone.

Next Door

The new neighbours have a cat, a dog, & a Land Rover.
OK in our book.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Heatwave Shorts Ban

Yes, the boys at the Evening Standard continue to struggle for news as the above billboard indicates.

I cannot confirm that the ban is the result of London Mayor Ken Livingstone, but I'm sure the Evening Standard will find a link.

Israeli Alibi

As Israeli intelligence senses that the USA is becoming isolated from Israeli actions in Lebanon, the following excuse has been cobbled up to keep the Rumsfeld/Cheney camp on board: Apparently Iran did it all along!

Ridiculous? Well, Rumsfeld/Cheney/Bush ran with the "Saddam is head of Al Queda" bullshit and entered Iraq accordingly. Maybe they'll LOVE this claim!

Hell in a handcart.

Religion; Tradition: No Hope

Twenty years ago, it was claimed that caring people had began to suffer the guilt that accompanied "compassion fatigue", the post-Live Aid inability to mobilise against the continued want in the Third World. However much it mattered, it was deemed impossible to maintain public empathy as donors began to refocus upon concerns in their own lives.

I think the same is happening in the Middle East, where Third World Bully Israel over-reacts and pounds its poorer neighbours in a tedious spat between cultures that will destroy innocent lives needlessly. It's not as though western liberals don't care anymore, or that there isn't the will to do something about it: I just think that people have sussed that there is no end to this conflict as none of the protagonists want it to end. The conclusion reached therefore, is to focus on what CAN be achieved in the world.

When I hear Israeli ministers—the elected representatives of a democracy—shouting at BBC interviewers because they've been asked to account for themselves, or listening to Palestinian mothers saying how proud they would be if their son became a suicide bomber, then I cannot imagine how such a fucked up region could ever reach an equilibrium. And I suspect that this notion has begun to influence otherwise positive, radical thinkers into creating a blind spot regarding the sensory over-load coming from the Middle-East. More people died in one suicide bombing in Baghdad yesterday than at the hands of the Israelis. This will continue tomorrow, and so on.

So what can we do? A plague on both their houses?

Maybe we draw breath and consider the folly of concentrating on what's happening now, and begin to consider the ridiculous possibility that there's a 0.1% chance that, in time, SOMETHING, (possibly something unimaginable to our generation) may shift in the history of the region that will make the current options untenable to the protagonists. It is therefore everyone's responsibility to ensure that that 0.1% chance is not obstructed, because it's the only one on the table.

Personally, I feel that the world's fate has fallen into the hands of a those that never matured beyond the mindset of 14 yr old boys, who "ain't gonna be dissed, init!" as the work of centuries of western enlightenment is about to disappear down the toilet because it has too many shades of grey for their polarised world.

And the only superpower available is in the hands of a certifiable idiot.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Wyatting Revisited, a reader responds

The NSSB has received correspondence re: "Wyatting" (see below), the misuse of jukeboxes for purposes of dissent/amusement. (The author has withheld their identity, but from the information available, I suspect it is either actor Hugh Grant, or former Tory leader William Hague.)

They write:

"In my day the weapon of choice was 'Goldfinger', which for some reason in the late 1970s was still present on 2 jukeboxes in Oxford, viz. the one in the Bulldog and the one in the Lamb and Flag. There were still grants then, so it could be played repeatedly until someone large at the bar noticed who was feeding the machine.

PS What the hell is an 'internet jukebox'?"

(Correspondence ends)


The discovery of vestigal hits on neglected jukeboxes was the topic of a colleague of mine, who informed me earlier today that, as a younger man in the mid 1980s, (well, we were ALL younger then) he discovered Lieutenant Pigeon's "Mouldy Old Dough" on a jukebox in a Bermondsey pub. Naturally, he selected it for play eight times, but left after the first spin, complaining about the quality of the music in that gaff.
For those overseas: causing bother to the pub-goers of Bermondsey in the 1980s was like wearing the Star of David on a Beirut firing range, not to be recommended. Tasty work Dave!

And thankyou, "anonymous", this blog accepts all correspondence, on any topic, but cannot offer payment.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Italian Shame is Deflation's Gain

With the World Cup behind us, we now face the pre-season speculation of who goes where, as clubs, managers & players jostle for advantage on the merry-go round of European football. Yet as the "Van Nistelrooy to Real" style hype builds—and if you believe the tabloids, Real are going to sign EVERYBODY—one must surely question the impact of the Italian cheating scenario, which, with the punishment of Juventas & Milan, has not only removed twenty per cent of Europe's big clubs from the transfer market (no-one will want to go there), but has flooded the market with talent.

This surplus could only undermine the circus with an impact on transfer fees, or at least WAGES. Unless, of course, Chelsea & Real do buy the surplus, at the asking price, to stop their opponents buying them, and then put everyone on the bench for next season. Feasible I suppose, and for someone like Fabio Cannavaro an opportunity to take a final big wage in exchange for an early retirement.

Those most affected, however, are the journeymen like Hasselbaink (and their agents), who will find their wage demands just a little bit more difficult to fulfill, as their worth declines in proportion to the surplus. Well, let's hope so.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Summer Killer Wasp Invasion!

Yes it's a quiet week for London's Evening Standard, as tonight's billboard scrawl indicates.

Mayor Ken Livingstone hasn't threatened to tax middle class car owners and the RMT hasn't planned Tube strikes based on European Union influenced human rights.

"Oh well, we'll have to dust off the Killer Wasp thing again."

What we all need to know is what is Mayor Ken going to do about it?

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Zinadine Zidane, Political Football

It appears that Iran's politicians have seen an opportunity to exploit the "ZZ Incident" for their gain. Ho Hum

HERE

New York Madrid London Mumbai

Mumbai transport system is the latest to be targeted.

As the irritation of unthinking obscurantism continues, another urban space is disfigured and modernism takes another hit.
And now we're running out of things to say, as the obvious is becoming a cliché from overuse.

The Prime Minister of India declares that "No-one can make India kneel" and insists that those affected reacted with "courage & humanism". A commuter declares that "I will go on the train today again. I am not afraid of death".
So much the same as we've heard amongst the previous attrocities.

During WWII, both RAF Bomber Command & the Luftwaffe were encouraged to target the opposition's civilian populations, under the belief that it was possible to break the opponent's public moral and thus shorten the war. Equally, both sides bought into the notion that BEING BOMBED bred resilience, and brought out the best in the native people. Neither side saw any contradiction in this, convinced as they were that it was the OTHERS that lacked the moral fibre.

It appears that the citizens of the world are much alike, and therefore they need to lean on the same rhetoric to make sense of the atrocities before them. Equally, our young radicals share a passion for the rhetoric that suggests they too will emerge redeemed.

Maybe we should find an alternative to rhetoric.

World Cup Autopsy: Zidane Speaks

OK, so Zinedine's issued a qualified apology for the head-butt, but has not disclosed what Materazzi said.

Lip readers are daggers-drawn about what passed between them, so I think I'm going to have to clear this up for once and for all:

They grapple, Materazzi is a little too rough.

ZZ: "You wait 'til I get you home"

M: "I'm not coming home"

ZZ: "What do you mean? I've bought Tiramasou!"

They begin to walk forward.


M: "No, I won't be coming home again. I've met someone else; he's an interior designer. He's going to teach me pilates."

ZZ: "You cheap slut"

Zidane begins to walk away.

M (piqued): "I never lost that sweater you bought me for Christmas. I lied: I BURNT IT, it was horrible. I HATED IT!"

Zidane stops, turns, OVER-REACTS.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

A Right Wyatt

I understand from the Guardian that people are "Wyatting" in pubs these days. HERE

This refers to the practice of trawling internet jukeboxes in pubs, with the purpose of choosing tracks considered inappropriate for the setting. Hence these are usually long "difficult" works, such as that by Brian Eno or Robert Wyatt. The article debates whether this is some kind of statement, or just a childish prank.

Well, sod "Wyatting", I didn't even know that there were internet jukeboxes! (Although, it does explain the playing of the Argentinian national anthem in the Nelson the other night, particularly as the version appeared to be from circa 1928)

And anyway, when I was doing this kind of thing thirty years ago, it was called taking the piss: just one of many tedious practical jokes to which teenage boys are attracted.

Of course, as far as the pre-internet options were concerned, there wasn't a vast opportunity for dissent back in the 1970s, as the jukeboxes would only hold something like 100 singles of dubious quality, and these ranging from "Distant Drums" to "Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep".

In fact, the only record available for subversive purposes was "Sultanesque" . This was an otherwise obscure B-Side of Roxy Music's "Love is the Drug", an early experiment in "electronic" music. This comprised of a long throbbing intro, with Bryan Ferry playing a single note sawtooth wave, manually turning the knob on an early synthesizer, producing a sound not unlike the electric current running through a badly wired guest house. This lacklustre din continues for over a minute until a simplistic "beat" arrives, followed by, well, little else. For 5 minutes & 24 seconds.

In the interest of research, I've just played my copy, and with the passage of time it doesn't sound too different to a lot of early electronic music of the period, (usually practiced by the Germans, and "avant gardists"). However, back then, hardly anyone had been exposed to that kind of thing outside of art-schools, and it wouldn't be unfeasible if some who had purchased the A-Side on the strength of its radio performances or it's position at No. 2 in the charts, may well have played the B-side and concluded that the disk was faulty and needed to be returned.

Thus, armed with my only option, I would sit in the Rockley Arms, awaiting my moment to squidge across the beer-soaked carpet to the juke box, where I would deposit the freshly minted decimal coinage in the slot, select the track by punching the clunky buttons, before returning to my rickety seat to admire my work.

To the clients of that nicotine-stained boozer, the 5 minutes & 24 seconds that would follow was never considered educational or enlightening. No one said "Hmm; interesting, this could prove to be a prescient moment in popular music", or even "the brave thing to do would be to release this as an A-side!"

No, what they would actually say was "BLOODY HELL, WHO PUT THIS SHIT ON?" or "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!" or even—amongst the more mannered patrons—"Excuse me Landlord, could you turn this down, it's giving my lady wife a headache!"

And yet to me it was hilarious. There they were one moment, swigging their Watney's Red Barrel, moaning about the England football team, the perils of immigration and their disappointment with Brentford Nylons, whilst not really listening to "Hold Back the Night" and "Tie a Yellow Ribbon". Then the room would be slowly, and initially imperceptively, infused with a sonic fug, which would only slowly seep into their consciousness.

Conversations would stall, brows would furrow, and geezers would turn about in their seats looking in the direction of the Juke Box: possibly expecting to see an electrician sorting out the apparently poor earthing. The initial confusion would give way to disgruntlement, which in turn would rapidly develop into an opprobrium of the "WHICH ONE OF YOU CUNTS DID THIS" variety.

I didn't need Cannabis, the response of the drinkers to that track could keep me giggling senselessly for months.

Mind you, I only witnessed this the once, as I was very much of the belief that practical jokes were not about schadenfreude (although I didn't know there was a name for it back then), and that it should be suffice to merely set up the circumstances of a prank, and then leave the hapless recipients to their fate*. I found the concept of their plight far more agreeable than the vulgarity of witnessing it first hand. From then onwards, I would merely visit the juke box as we were leaving a bar, dial up "Sultanesque" and exit, smirking for the rest of the evening at the confusion to come.

*I went too far with this once, when, attempting to smoke bomb the Red Lion, I quickly realised that the Fumite I had just ignited was NOT appropriate for a prank, designed as it was to help plumbers detect the extent of blockages in flues. As the rank, over-bearing odour belched from the fizzing tablet atop the cistern I struggled, Napoleon Solo-like, with the lavatory windows, only to find that Jack, the world's meanest landlord, had NAILED them shut. Choking and blind, my eyes streaming with tears I ran into the bar and gestured to my (unknowing) cohorts that it was time to leave. We donned coats and made our way to the door as brows furrowed and the atmosphere grew acrid as the locals began to rub their eyes.

After spending the rest of the evening at the Potter's Arms, it was decided to risk the Red Lion on the way home. We arrived in time for last orders, just as a police car pulled away.

Apparently, my "prank" had cleared the pub with the impact of an early 70s counter-terrorism raid. The air was still viscious, and those few stragglers left stood around squinting through blood-shot eyes, sporadically coughing, and unable taste their drinks (but then, in the Red Lion, not a bad thing). Jack couldn't prove anything, but his grimace that night as he served me was more menacing than the usual distain.

Of course, we knew how to make our own entertainment in those days.

Monday, July 10, 2006

World Cup 2006: Hey Materazzi, Shuddupya Face!

And so the great speculation begins: what did Materazzi say in the World Cup final that so incensed Zidane, that it would lead to the maestro's disgrace.

All theories appear to revolve around aspersion made against Zidane's Mother/Sister/Boyfriend.

Apparently "Lip Readers" have got involved, although no-one's saying what language the Italian was using when he berated the Spanish-based Algerian.

One thing is certain: whatever is was that could produce such vehemence in Zidane, IT HAD TO BE TRUE!

Apparently Zidane has a Golden Ball.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

World Cup Final: Frankly, I Feel Let Down

The French couldn't possibly score in open play, but at least went for it, and edged it overall. The Italians' performance grew consistently laclustre as the game went on, so I feel slightly disappointed for the Frogs. And let's face, a world cup won on penalties isn't really a win.

And that was never a penalty, although Malouda's fall in the second half on almost certainly qualified: which make's you wonder if the referee saw footage of his error at half-time and wasn't prepared to make the same mistake twice.

Extra time was merely half an hour of the Italians running the clock down.

A turning point in football history:
Interestingly, the Zidane sending-off wouldn't have happened if it was left to the refereeing staff on the pitch. None of them noticed it (and why should they, the ball was elsewhere)l, but clearly FIFA stepped in, and aware that the biggest global audience ever had witnessed what had happened, realised that they couldn't let it go. We still don't have refereeing by camera in football, but that was clearly the first unofficial decision from off-field.

Henry's not up to much is he? Just an Andy Cole with flair? Flash against the crap defences, nothing against the best.

However, the fact that Coco the Barthez had nothing to cock up in goal said too much about Italy's failure to turn up.

Shame the French couldn't grab it in extra time, I doubt if a French side will reach a final again.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Sol Campbell to leave Arsenal

I understand they have discovered that he is English

The World Cup Final 2006

I can't think of a better final than France v. Italy.

The French, faltering, finally got it together, dispatching the over-achieving Spain, the perennially over-rated Brazil, and the over-acting Portugese, with an almost JUST ease. Yes, Henry has sullied his reputation, possibly for ever, with the cheating stuff, but Zidane, having shrugged off his reputation as a fading giant, has rediscovered an almost teenage playfulness which suggests that someone took him to one side and told him to forget the responsibility and play for the sake of it.

Italy, coming in under the radar, despite an incredible unbeaten run, have benefitted from the media's myopia, where the focus has been restricted to the cliched reverence of Brazil, Argentina & Germany. (Except in England, where Sven's over-paid lather-boys were believed capable of winning with naive public devotion alone).

Although they lack a world-class striker, the Azzuri have everything else and they're playing like a side that really has a point to prove. They run, they tackle. They support each other, they're a team and they will win because of it.

Yes, France have Zidane, but he probably had his moment against Brazil. Henry? Actually not that great against real defences, and the Italians have the ultimate defence, even without Nesta.

I hope the Italians don't see the final as reason to rediscover their traditional conservatism. If they approach this game as they have the others in this tournament they can roll the French over. I predict 3-0.
Forza Italia!

Let's Make 7th July Last Year's News

I'm actually old enough to remember life before the one minute silence, let alone life before the two minute silence.
Yes, there was armistace day, when former servicemen assembled in Whitehall and remembered their wars, but that was as far as it went. And I can remember as a youngster, being told by my brother that there had been a time when the whole country, in factories, rail stations et al, would observe a minute's silence. But that had been a previous generation, our generation was the fortunate one; we would not be sacrificed in war and no one would have to mourn our wasted lives, collective grief could become a thing of the past.

Admittedly, there may have been an occasion at a football ground, when a respected servant of the club was honoured by a minute silence, although this was typically punctuated by the hooligans amongst the opposition support.

But then somebody realised that the cause of cheap nationalism could be forwarded by re-inventing the one minute silence, in the pretence that we needed to thank a previous generation for their efforts.

Please accept my sincerity when I state that I personally believe that we owe a massive debt to my parent's generation. I also believe, however, that gratitude should take the form of a decent pension, access to a comprehensive health service and a right to live securely, before we even consider any of the more token forms of gratitude.

I suspect, therefore, that it was the Tories, having set about destroying the quality of life for the elderly, who hit on the jingoist ruse of papering over the cracks by "honouring" the older generation in the highly symbolic—AND ENTIRELY FREE—one minute silence.
But once people had become inured to the practice, it wasn't considered enough to stand for one minute. Apparently that seemed disrespectful, so we got the TWO minute silence, because we all needed a little longing to show how much we care.
But it wasn't just for those war veterans anymore: no, ANYONE could qualify. We became a victim culture. Under touchy-feelie New Labour, we're all super-sensitive. To be human is to feel an other's pain. And it's not enough to feel it; it is necessary to SHOW it.

7th July 2005 was a horrible day. My own experience, however slight in comparison to those who genuinely experienced those events, was too close for comfort, and I found it deeply moving. I willingly took part in the silence that took place a week later, standing with thousands of others in the eerie calm besides Kings Cross, untroubled by the tourists who persisted of wheeling their suitcases through us, as though they were witnessing some eccentric lunch-time custom amongst the locals.

Yet here we are a year later, and we're having another go.

Radio 4's today programme was almost entirely dedicated to digging over the ashes of last year's tragedy. The newspapers reprinted last years photographs, and reinterviewed the victims. And once more we're asked to observe the silence.

Why? How much respect can we bear? Is victimhood something to revere?
Why don't we stick by the rhetoric AND CARRY ON IN DEFIANCE in the face of terrorism?

The more we show how much they hurt us, the greater the value of their actions, the greater their effectiveness at hitting at the society they detest. We should be countering this by actively moving on, putting our tragedies behind us.

Twentieth Century warfare was fought on a massive scale, particularly in terms of the Great War. "The Lost Generation" that perished in that conflict had a profound effect upon their contemporaries left behind to pick up the pieces. Hundreds of thousands were slaughtered, to the effect that every village, every factory, every railway station, had a member taken. The Somme alone claimed 20,000 souls in one day. It is no wonder, then, that the survivors left felt the need to grieve together; everybody had lost someone. It was genuinely a bid to stop it happening again.

Terrorism is wicked, and frightening in its random, pointless violence. It is not, however, anything near the social disaster that the Great War was. Neither are any of the other tragedy's of our age, however hurtful they feel.
In an age when it seemingly only takes one scouser to trip on the litter strewn streets of Merseyside to send the people of Liverpool into a grieving frenzy, (and the florists off to the Mercedes dealerships with their earnings), maybe it's time to ask WHY we need to do this. Are we really that sensitive? Or are we all a little bit too comfortable to feel good about ourselves anymore?

Let's toughen up a bit and take a leaf from our parent's generation; keep it to yourself. I'd rather bottle it up than bottle-it any day.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

The Press Continue Baiting John Prescott

In London, billboards for the Evening Standard read:

Prescott; the five sex questions.

Surely "who, what, where, when and WHY?

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

World Cup: Portugal Dive Out

As Earl says: you do bad things & bad things happen to you.
Of course the penalty they conceded wasn't a penalty, but that's karma.
Now tell Christine Ronaldo.
Nice to know too, that both finalists qualified with wins, and not penalties.
Barthez is crap though! Just wait 'til the Italians get at him!
Viva Italia!

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

The NatWest Three

Three British men are fighting extradiction to the US, linked to the Enron scandal.
I don't think that this is getting the coverage that it should.

Nobody likes smart arsed businessmen, and my first reaction was not to care, but look closer.

They're accused of a crime which took place in Britain, on a British company, where all the witnesses are British.
Their treatment in the US would not be as lenient as here, and the sentence far more excessive.
The US is using 'terror' legislation to bully the world, and this government is not willing to stand up for this country's sovereignty.

It doesn't matter whether these guys are crooks or not, they should be subject to (and under the protection of) the British law, and no other.

I can't believe that we need to turn to Rees-Mogg to spell it out, but read about it here:

dailyreckoning.co.uk

Monday, July 03, 2006

The Tabloids Defend Rooney

And so the great rationalisation begins: apparently England were cheated.

Rooney's sending off was nothing to do with his stamping on an opponents goolies IN FRONT OF THE REFEREE, it was Ronaldo's intervention!
Otherwise, Rooney would have stayed on, England would have miraculously found their form in the last half an hour against the cheatin' Portugeezers and we'd have gone on to sweep past the French on our way to beating the Hun.

My point: England scored five goals in five games, and one of those was an own goal.
They were rubbish, and as long as the commercial world continues to whip up the flag of St. George in blind support of the patently obvious mediocrity, and the FA believe the jingoism, then there is no hope of English football creating a world beating side.

It's the Brian Clough conundrum. The right man, but the wrong board. As long as people allow themselves to be deceived by the false prophets who say otherwise, we're doomed.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Beckham resigns as England captain

4 years too late matey!
Meanwhile, has it occurred to anyone that England don't have anyone else coming through?
Are they, perchance, the new Scotland?
We may be looking back on Erikson's Under-achievers as a golden age.
Hmm, makes you shiver.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

Why England are Rubbish

I was in a bar in Tulum, Mexico last year, watching football on the TV and passing the time of day with the landlord, when he asked the ultimate question that foreigners get round to asking Englishmen:
"Every World Cup, England are favourites, but they always fail. Why?
And I gave him the usual answer:
"The players are good enough, but the managers, chosen by the conservative forces within the Football Association, are mediocre and inevitably get in wrong. No shape, no style, no imagination. "
And ultimately, I could add how the English themselves seem to prefer their teams to struggle through the qualifiers, unpunished for their mistakes by ineffective opposition (whom England should thrash), until they reach the quarter-finals, where they raise their game only to lose heroically. Heroic failure, the English way.
We would have won, if only. We SHOULD have won, but we were cheated. At least we won the moral victory. Etc. (A mindset unthinkable amongst Australians & Americans)
But 2006 should be different. Why? Because this squad is the most talented in England's history.
So why are they so awful? And they ARE! Uninspired, gormless, directionless, error-prone: in short, a bunch of over-paid, moisturised nancy-boys.

Apart from the fact that they're all too rich to care, I think I've recognised the void between their talent and their inability deliver, and the wealth is something to do with; not in their club wages, but in their commercial activities.

Last week I watched the England v. Sweden fiasco at a friend's, having previous seen all the games at home, alone, where I've been sitting down at kick-off, then popping out for a spot of gardening at half-time, and switching off at the final whistle, to get on with my life. The Sweden game was on Britain's commercial ITV network, and thus the match was enveloped with ads, all featuring members of the England squad, flogging cell phones, beer, Nike, cars, you name it. And it struck me that every advert, with their high budgets and chic production values, portrayed our chav over-achievers as stylish and smooth operators. Brilliantly lit, with slick editing and moody scene-setting, they all take on the role of the Super-Celebrity, the film star in waiting; the style-leader in chief.

A) I wondered why they were being lauded so much BEFORE they'd won anything, shouldn't this wait until after they've brought the trophy home with them?

B) It occured to me that the posturing in the adverts—the virtual reality of an iconic status—was actually influencing their performance on the pitch.

This self awareness, honed by an ever-watching media (the "Wags" —wives & girlfriends—have competed with the players for coverage) has created an idea of success that is impossible to recreate on the pitch. Watch Beckham take a free kick. He'll stand stand there posing ridiculously for the cameras before he steps up, no doubt at the insistence of his sponsors.

They're no different than New Labour, with one eye on the tabloids as they turn to their PAs for advice. In the past, crap England sides have just shrugged and denied it, often reacting belligerently to critics. Not any longer; each member of this side has taken their turn to admit "we've not been good enough", and have insisted that they're going to make every effort to improve, stressing their sincerity in feeling the public's hurt.

It's left to Sven's side-kick (and God help us, successor) Steve McClaren to deliver the sound-bite: "we're just two games from a World Cup Final, three games from winning the World Cup!" I was saddened to here this repeated with enthusiasm by a BBC reporter in his own summary of England's chances.

So we have a situation where the players on the pitch are unable to identify the fantasy of winning the world cup, in terms of their public persona, created by the media that pays their outrageous fees, and the reality of getting out there on the pitch, talking to each other and taking responsibility. None of them has the character to stand up and take the initiative. Their pampered lifestyles have rendered them victims of an arrested development and reduced them to the status of adolescence, which no doubt explains their inability to tell Sven to stick it.

Can they beat Portugal? Well, yes. Particularly with Scolari's side missing crucial players. Can they win the World Cup? Watching the determination of the Germans & the Italians to win the ball last night, one has to say no. Neither team could be describe to be a classic, but the fact that they are TEAMS spoke volumes.

England to play well and lose. Probably because Gerrard gives the ball away.