‘The book’ might be out but that hasn’t stopped
Nick and Shaun delving into the murky world of blogging. Here goes...

NB. As the photo opposite suggests, it is only a matter of time before
Nick uses this blog to bang on – in a mildly obsessive way – about floodlight pylons. Just ignore him.

>> 14th August 2008 >> Nick >> The big kick-off

‘The book’ is out today. I woke up this morning and the world was still spinning, traffic was still rushing past our front door (it’s a 30mph zone you goons), and I still had to go
to work. I think, in publishing, they call it a ‘soft launch’.

So, no champagne only dodgy ‘coffee’ from the office machine. No sign of glamour models posing suggestively next to an unstable pyramid of our books. Ho-hum.

So how I am I feeling about the book, now it’s finally published? To be honest, I’m scared witless. Not of the inevitable scathing reviews from ‘proper’ journalists, just scared at putting ourselves out there. You see, my missus reckons that the book is the contents of our heads emptied onto the page – and, in a sense, she’s right. The book is really just a compendium of the stupid conversations me and Shaun have been having for last 20-years. We never really imagined anyone else would want to publish them. It’s all there in black and white – from my worrying adolescent obsession with Penny Race to Shaun’s destructive addiction to play-by-mail.

So, if you do buy a copy, not only are you getting a prolonged rant about the state of the game, you are also getting a worrying insight into the mindset of two middle-aged men – men who should know better than to write a book armed only with an unhealthy nostalgia for the 1970s and a stash of woefully out-of-date political opinions. On the plus side, we think it’s quite funny – well, in places.

What would I like from the book? Easy, to be invited to play in one of those ‘celebrity’ five-a-side tournaments and to line up against Tim Lovejoy. And, as I’m writing this on a break from shoe-horning text into a document (who said design was glamorous?), selling enough books so that I don’t have go to work tomorrow would be nice. Dream on.

PS For all the people kind enough to pre-order a copy – thanks! Now, get onto amazon and write us a glowing – if not strictly accurate – review. Ta.

>> 5th August 2008 >> Nick >> Bright ideas

http://www.werder-fanshop.de/

Flutlichtmast Weserstadion LED, Preis: €111,00

Football merchandise doesn’t get any better than this. For €111 you can own your own desktop floodlight. Hell, if you’ve got a spare €500, you could have four of the little fellas, one for each corner of the room. I say ‘little’ – they stand at an impressive 53cm high. And they light up. Genius.

These aren’t any old floodlights either. They are scaled-down versions of the iconic lights that are bolted to the top of Werder Bremen’s Weserstadion. They are beautiful specimens, among Europe’s finest and the very same floodlights that I’m photographed with at the top of this page. This is football merchandise at it’s most gloriously kitsch. And, if we sell more than a handful of copies of this darn book, I’m going to treat myself to one.

>> 2nd August 2008 >> Nick >> Dire Straits

The wheels are coming off. The housing market is in meltdown, banks are going pop, pensioners can’t afford to heat their homes and Luton Town are starting the new season on minus 30-points. MINUS ‘EFFIN THIRTY!

I need to nail my colours to the mast here. I’m a Watford fan, and really, I should be dancing round the room laughing until my sides split. Only I’m not.

I don’t hate Luton. In fact, back in the early ‘80s when I started going to football, I really quite liked them. In Ricky Hill, Brian Stein and Paul Walsh they had some quality players, whilst Steve Foster brought a touch of Mark Knopfler-esque glamour to the club with his brave bubble-perm and headband combo. Hell, that white adidas shirt with the orange sleeves in one of the greatest kits of the era. True, Watford had Elton John but Luton had Eric Morecambe. We had John Barnes but they had Emeka Nwajiobi. In terms of stature, you couldn’t split us: small town clubs punching above their weight.

Anyway, enough ‘80s nostalgia. My point is, it’s not right that any team starts a season on minus 30-points. Yes, there has to be some punishment for the financial irregularities, but docking 30-points? It’s throwing them out of the league by another name. Worse than that, it’s a suspended death sentence hanging over the club for an entire season.

And who suffers? Yep, the fans. Fans who had no control over what went on behind closed doors. Now, I’ve had bricks lobbed at me at Kenilworth Road (Christmas 1982?) and been chased out of town (whilst *supposedly* under a police escort (1997) but that was just a few idiots and every club has them. I wouldn’t wish this absurd penalty on the majority of decent, law abiding Luton fans.

It won’t make me popular in WD18 but I’m really hoping they avoid the drop.
Yet I can’t help thinking, a bit like Fozzie’s improbable ‘80s hairdo, Luton are
in Dire Straits. And that’s a real shame.

>> 23rd July 2008 >> Know your NME

Not a blog as such, more a heads-up to a fantastic rant by Steven Wells on The Guardian website. It’s mostly related to the Olympics but the themes are strangely familiar.
Read all about it here. It’s damn good.

>> 21st July 2008 >> Nick >> Silly season

I think it was Hornby who said there are actually two seasons not four: the football season and the close-season. These days it’s more like the football season and the silly season. 

As soon as the action stops, the fun starts.  From the end of May to the middle of August, wildly optimistic and frankly ludicrous speculation occupies the back pages of the tabloids.

Rational thought is the first thing thrown out the window. Ronaldinho to sign for Man City? Really? COME ON?! Ronnie was never going to swap Camp Nou for Eastlands… Milan, yes. Moss Side, no.  But it was fun while it lasted. Manchester City fans could dream, the rest of us could shake our heads in disbelief and the red-tops could keep their sales figures high.

Thing is I’ve started to enjoy silly season more than the regular season. The Premiership is a three horse race after the first month of fixtures, but during silly season absolutely anything can happen. Okay, so it doesn’t, but it could. And it is that element of mystery that makes the summer so bloody exciting.

Chelsea to spend £119m on Kaka? It’ll never happen. Will it?

>> 19th July 2008 >> Shaun >> His name is Jo*

Time was the only Brazilian you could find in the top-flight was Mirandinha. He was great at hogging the ball and running down blind alleys, and that was just finding his way home in the industrial North East. But at least he had proper Brazilian name.

For 18 million quid I would expect at least an ‘inho’. Long suffering Manchester City fans now have a new idol, and his name is Jo. Simple, but hardly exotic. He may turn out to be a great signing, but give me a flawed South American flair-player with an extravagant name any day
of the week. If he guarantees a cheeky back heel and audacious lob every couple of games, all the better. But remember, that won't be happening in January, as Sven found out last year.

1. *With apologies to Ken Loach.
   

>> 13th July 2008 >> Nick >> Uncle Cyril

A couple of days after my rant about tackling teachers, what should pop-up on my iPod but Robb Johnson’s ‘Uncle Cyril’. All together now: “If you can’t get the man, get the ball / you can play it fair and square, it don’t get you anywhere / if you can’t get the man, get the ball”. Well, it made me smile.

‘Uncle Cyril’ can be found on his excellent – but hard to find – album ‘Friday Night in Brentford’. 12 songs about football, and I think I’m right in saying he profits from the album go to Bees United, The Brentford Supporters Trust.

>> 11th July 2008 >> Nick >> Slide rule

When did Sepp and his FIFA cronies ban the slide-tackle?

I ask this because today a friend of mine invited me to play as a ‘guest’ in a match between teachers of rival schools.  Great I thought, the chance to boot PE teachers up in the air – the chance to fulfill a childhood fantasy and reek revenge for being made to play rugby and run cross-country without pants on (what was that all about, eh?)

It was an opportunity that was too good to refuse. I even took a day off work. So imagine my surprise when, on making my first perfectly executed slide-tackle, I was told that slide-tackles were banned. Err, since when? Telling me I can’t slide-tackle would be akin to telling Joe Jordan not to head the ball, or telling Cryuff he can’t turn. My 11-a-side game is entirely based on the slide tackle. It’s the only thing I do well.

A well-timed slide-tackle is a thing of beauty (unless it’s me doing it, then it’s about as graceful as a walrus sliding across the ice into the sea). So, why did they want to outlaw it? Apparently, it’s dangerous. This is bollocks. Unless you are stupid enough to go in studs-up, a slide-tackle is much less dangerous than two players going into a tackle on their feet. No, the real reason they wanted to ban the slide-tackle was because they knew they’d lose the ball. They wanted to cleanse the game of contact, so they could play pretty little triangles before buggering-off for six weeks summer holiday. Sorry Sir, that’s not football. English football is blood and thunder, passion and physical contact. Sure, this probably explains why we failed to qualify for Euro 2008, but, so what? We must never trade the passion, the intensity for an outside chance of winning a trophy.

Anyhow, back to the teachers: they started awarding free-kicks for my perfectly timed slide-tackles. Then they put me in detention. Still, I did learn something – PE teachers never change. And, at least, I kept my pants on.

>> Click here for older rubbish

>> 19th August 2008 >> Nick
>> book launch 2.0*

This bloke is me. Obviously, he’s better looking and three stone lighter, but in terms of ineptitude we stand shoulder-to-shoulder.

* With thanks to RB for bringing this
   to our attention.

“The authors have hit the nail on the head with this poignant and thought-provoking book” – 442

>> 21st October 2008 >> Nick >> The last taboo

Nice to see the FA and the Kick It Out team are tackling football’s last taboo. 
At a  forum last Friday, 'Homophobia – Football's Final Taboo' – Paul Elliott spoke of the need for homophobia to be addressed with the same vigour as tackling racism. Now, the cynic in me would say – what vigour was that? Racism in football is usually tackled by a combination of toothless inertia and token financial penalties. But no, Paul Elliott, the FA and Kick It Out deserve nothing but praise for bringing the issue to our attention. Homophobia is rife in football, and attitudes need to change. Fast.

The forum didn’t attract the media attention it deserves, and the press it did get was skewed to focus on the ’12 current top players who are gay’.  This isn’t about public outing of gay players – it’s about chucking out the morons who shout abuse and changing attitudes in the game.

>> 12th October 2008 >> Nick >> Boo!

“FA labels booing fans as 'crazy'” ran the headline on the BBC Football website.

Just when I thought (thanks to the impressive Lord Triesman) football’s governing body was starting to drag itself into the 21st Century… this statement confirms how cut adrift from the average fan the FA remain.

And, according to the BBC, “Cole was singled out for abuse by a minority of fans after playing a sloppy pass that led to the visitors' goal”. A minority? Funny, on the telly it sounded like the entire stadium was booing him.

So, was booing Ashley Cole wrong? Probably, yes. But were we (and I include myself here as I was wholeheartedly joining in the pantomime from the comfort of my own living room) booing him for the sloppy pass that gifted Kazakhstan a goal? Only partly.

Cole’s poor pass was a trigger. A timely reminder of why – in the eyes of certain fans – he has become one of the most vilified players in the English game. Football fans never forget and they only rarely forgive (oh, the irony of the huge cheers Becks got when he came on). No, the boos were as much about Cole’s protracted transfer from Arsenal to Chelsea, his wage demands, his showbiz wedding, his autobiography, his tabloid persona, his attitude towards referees – as they were about needing a scapegoat for England’s poor performance against supposedly inferior opposition. In that instant Cole became the embodiment of everything that is wrong with modern football.  Although, I did notice that as the goals flew in and England racked-up a respectable scoreline the boos subsided.

Either way, the booing fans certainly weren’t crazy. Nor, as Rio Ferdinand opined in the post-match press conference, should those responsible ‘ashamed’. This wasn’t the vile personal abuse directed at Sol Campbell a couple of weeks earlier. It was purely pantomime, the right of the crowd – a right extending back to ancient Rome – to express their dissatisfaction. Whether the dissatisfaction was with Cole, England or modern football in general, we’ll never know for sure. I like to think it was with the latter – an impassioned, audible condemnation of the modern game.

On another topic entirely: the FA maybe a soft target, but the stat that kept flashing up on the electronic hoardings during Saturday’s match highlighting the 7,000 referees who quit the game last year, was both hard-hitting and alarming. Make no mistake refs are an endangered species, and we are going to need a real cultural sea-change to reverse the decline. So there you go. I start off lamblasting the FA and end up praising them – a job at Lancaster Gate (sorry, Soho Square) surely awaits.

>> 9th October 2008 >> Nick >> Noble prizes

So, we didn’t this year’s Nobel Prize for Literature. To be honest, we didn’t realise that West Ham’s Mark Noble was that into books. Anyway, the honour went to French novelist Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio. He has been described as, "an author of new departures, poetic adventure and sensual ecstasy," which sounds a lot like Modern Football is Rubbish, and makes us think we’re in with a shout for 2009.

>> 9th October 2008 >> Nick >> Saint Michel

Is Michel Platini the most hated man in football? Probably not, that honour surely belongs to Tim Lovejoy. Even so, Platini is constantly underfire, dodging bullets fired by irate fans, media-hacks and club chairmen.

I’m sure part of it is because he is French and we are a nation of xenophobes. But mostly it is because he speaks the truth. Platini is not – like so much of the nations media – seduced by the razzamataz of the English Premiership. As UEFA President, he is rightly concerned with the development of the game on a European (global) scale. He wants genuine pan-European competition and not England’s ‘Big Four’ spending their way to the Champions League semi-finals every bloody year. And so do we.

I’ve quite enjoyed this week – with Lord Triesman, David Taylor and Platini squaring-up to the ‘untouchable’ big clubs. Factor in the global credit-crunch and things might just start getting interesting.

Saint Michel – we salute you.

>> 8th October 2008 >> Nick >> Deep joy

Apropo of nothing, if Simon Jordan or Tim Lovejoy voice an opinion on football then I’m pretty much guaranteed to hold the polar-opposite viewpoint. In a way, it’s comforting.

>> 6th October 2008 >> Nick >> “So retro, he’s gotta be so retro”

When Sinitta burst onto the scene in 1986, with her big hair and collection of micro-skirts, singing “So retro, he’s gotta be so retro” – she could (and perhaps should) of been singing about Backpass Magazine. We stumbled across this fine publication whilst promoting our book. Let us just say one thing – it’s a work of absolute genius. A magazine devoted to football in the 1960s, ‘70s and ‘80s, it is an unashamed nostalgia-fest but, more than that, it’s packed full of interesting articles about football, from a time when it was still a game and not a global branding exercise. Visit the website, or even better stroll into WH Smiths and buy a copy. Who knows, a future issue might include a free 7-inch, lime green, flexi-disk (remember them, nostalgia fans?) with Sinitta doing a reworking of her biggest hit – just for you!

>> 30th September 2008 >> Nick >> Tassle-tastic

I think I’ve stumbled across the Holy Grail of crap football shirts. For years Shaun and I argued the toss as to whether Hull City’s tiger print or Brighton’s ‘Tesco’ kit was the most kitsch-kit of all time. Now, a shirt has been brought to our attention that trumps both of these – with tassles on!

No, literally – with tassles on. Check it out at: www.footballshirtculture.com The shirt belongs to defunct NASL side Caribous of Colorado, and was worn during their ill-fated 1978 campaign. But seriously, TASSLES? This is pure retro-kitsch genius. For years I’ve been searching for evidence of a Country & Western/football crossover, and here it is. I fully expect, adidas or Nike to run with tassles when the announce next season’s new kits. Yee-hah!

>> 22d September 2008 >> Shaun >> Clatter chatter

As the media condemns Danny Guthrie's cowardly attack on Craig Fagan of Hull City, and argue over the merits of a red card for the cynical, lame, pre-meditated rugby tackle by John Terry, I ask what has happened to the clatter? The real footballers tackle of choice.

The clatter allowed players of limited ability to take ball, player and anything else in their way whilst careering across the pitch and ending up in a muddy heap, with no-one quite sure who was at fault. Invariably a 60-40 ball, the trick was to make it look as clumsy as possible, so to avoid anything more than a handshake with the opposition, and the universally used shrug to indicate unintentionalism (not to be confused with unilateral disarmament). This was a tactic best employed by the journeyman midfielders of the 1980s, those with a chronic lack of pace, such as Terry Hurlock, Lloyd McGrath or Peter Reid. It was an honest tackle for honest players, guaranteed to bring a smile to fans' faces. BRING IT BACK!

NB. Nick's nickname when patrolling the mean streets of Canley for our Sunday League side was ..... Captain Clatter. I would like to point out he did not suffer from a lack of pace, nor was he a journeyman as I am sure he will confirm*

Nick: I can confirm that I never suffered from a lack of pace. I was born without it and you can’t miss what you’ve never had. I am also aware that certain teammates used to refer to me as ‘Captain Fatter’, which said it all, really.

>> 21st September 2008 >> Nick >> Morally bankrupt

I used to think Steve Coppell was one of the game’s true gentlemen. Now, I’m not so sure.  Not since the ‘Goal That Never Was’. I’m referring to the ‘goal’ that put Reading 1-0 up against Watford at Vicarage Road yesterday.

First things first: the referee and lineman cocked-up. Big time. But, that’s human nature – people make mistakes – although this was a Grade A clanger. Then, I listened to the renewed calls for goal-line technology. But, in this instance, it just wasn’t needed. This blunder didn’t require a particle accelerator, a series of infra-red laser beams or an entire department of IT geeks to put right. No, if there was any bloody honesty left in modern football, the Reading players and/or manager would’ve put it right.  Everyone knew the ball hadn’t crossed the line, so the only thing to do was to let Watford equalise straight from kick-off. Perhaps, it was expecting too much of today’s players, after all, most of them are incapable of original thought let alone making the distinction between right and wrong, but this incident happened in the 13th minute – there was plenty of time for the ref and/or Steve Coppell to sort this mess out at half-time.

If the ref had any balls, he would’ve got the managers together, admitted his mistake and asked Reading to allow Watford to walk a goal in at the start of the second half. If he were any sort of man, he could’ve explained his actions to the crowd over the PA. Not a chance.

Failing that, Coppell should’ve had done the decent thing – off his own back (a la Gary Johnson). The Reading players knew it wasn’t a goal, and I’m sure it was the talk of the dressing room at half-time. Again, nothing. It would appear that football is too far up it’s own arse to be honest. Greed and a win–at-all-costs mentality holds sway even in the poxy Second Division.

This is why football is screwed. We live in a world where, if you are the England captain and you commit a deliberate, cynical challenge, you can worm your way out of a stonewall red-card by appealing to the authorities. But if a goal is awarded incorrectly, then there’s absolutely bugger all you can do about it.  Not that it should come to that – players and managers have a duty to be honest. Sadly, they’re not, and their actions prove beyond reasonable doubt that Modern Football is Rubbish.

>> 16th September 2008 >> Nick >>
Super Saturday / Stoke v Everton Sunday / Meltdown Monday

What a weekend... Newcastle get militant over King Kev, then go and lose at home to Hull. Liverpool fans get militant over their American owners, then go and beat Man Utd (can’t remember the last time that happened?) John Terry quite rightly gets a red card (he knew *exactly* what he was doing) then gets it quite wrongly reversed – can’t help thinking the powers that be have opened a can of (spineless) worms there. Robinho scores and does lots of ‘look at me’ posturing but manages to stop just short of kissing his badge. Then, yesterday, with everyone getting their knickers in a twist over a load of investment bankers – is there a more gratifying sight than a load of City ‘workers’ crying into their beer as they realise that they won’t be getting the usual obscene Christmas bonuses? Go get a proper job* –  Spurs go into meltdown, losing at home to Villa. Time to bring back Martin Jol, anyone?

But best of all? West Brom and West Ham playing each other without shirt sponsors. Lovely.

*Obviously, I feel sorry for the admin staff, caterers, cleaners etc caught up in this run on the banks. But the fat cats?
  No chance.

>> 15th September 2008 >> Nick >> Poetry corner

Apologies if this has been done before, by greater minds than us. From our not-soon-to-be-published volume of poetry...

Little Jack Warner sat in a corner,
writing a letter to Roy,
Roy wrote one back,
‘twas a literary smack –
a two-footed challenge, oh boy!

>> 8th September 2008 >> Nick >> Comic genius

I’m probably not supposed to do this, but I feel the need to promote someone else’s book. I can’t help it, I don’t think I’ve been this excited since I got my first Roy of the Rovers annual back in 1979.

You see, Mick Collins has had the vision and genius to pen: Roy of the Rovers: The Unauthorised Biography. The blurb says it sets Racey’s story against the context of the times and includes interviews with the writers and illustrators of the comic. This sounds great, but I’m really wondering whether it will settle and 25-year old argument – did Roy bonk Sandie Lewis, or were they really just good friends? Whatever the outcome, this is one book I really can’t wait to read.

>> 7th September 2008 >> Nick >> Flamin’ Andorra

No easy games in international football? Bollocks.

Andorra are part-time, semi-pro at best. England (I’ve long since dispensed with ‘we’) could have tonked them 8-0. They just couldn’t be arsed. Saving their energy for the upcoming and all-important Champions League group matches. Lazy, underachieving blighters.

I love football. I love playing football. I’m nearly 37 and I still play every game to win – by as many goals as possible. Me and Shaun play five-a-side together in a league in Coventry. Most weeks we get stuffed by younger, fitter more skilful opponents but we *always* play to the end as if our lives depended upon it. And, when we finally come across some team worse than us do we go easy on them (saving our energy for a more important game the following week)? No we fucking don’t. We try and win by the biggest margin possible. If we are 6-0 up at half-time, we don’t sit back and relax because, Fabio, you never know when a huge goal-difference will come in handy. 

And what of professional pride amongst the players? When we are involved in a turkey-shoot against inferior opposition we are trying to score as many goals as possible to break our club’s record win (17-3, since you asked). The current England squad should be thinking, “Andorra, they’re crap, let’s try and score eight or nine”. They all seem to love gambling so much, why not have a wager on getting into double-figures? But no, we get the usual – just enough – 2-0 victory. Pathetic.

I’ve had enough. I’m going to support a country that produces talented players of a never-ending conveyor belt. A country with a youth academy at Clairefontaine that is the envy of the world. That’s right, I’m going to support France. They wouldn’t amble half-paced through an important World Cup qualifier would they? They’d win and win in style. Oh, shit, hang-on.

>> 2nd September 2008 >> Nick
>> My oligarch is bigger than your oligarch…

Is it okay to say that football has had a bit of a sheik-up? It’s certainly fair to say it’s now ‘all about the oligarch’. Football’s not a game any more, but a rich man’s plaything – bored billionaires buying popularity and having a bit of fun. We knew this already – yesterday just confirmed it.

Millions of column inches are going to be taken up by this over the next week or so, and I’m not sure I particularly want to add to them. But there’s one point I’d like to make… as fans we think we’re disenfranchised? What about the managers and coaching staff?
I mean, did Mark Hughes have any say in the Robinho transfer? Having spent a few million quid on Shaun Wright-Phillips under a week ago was he really in the market for another diddy front-man to play in-the-hole behind Jo? Probably not. Of course, he’s not going to complain that his club have spent £32.5 million on a Brazilian international, but this wasn’t about a manager strengthening his squad for the season ahead, it was about some rich kid being given the keys to the sweetshop five minutes before closing. There was no thought to what he was buying, just the need to come away with something bigger, better, stickier and sweeter than all the other kids. He picked Robinho. Well done, Mr Super-Rich Consortium. Ever seen him play?

I just think it’s crackers. I mean, why not save a few quid and play fantasy football like the rest of us.

* and NO, the transfer window doesn’t bloody well ‘slam shut’ (© Every tabloid newspaper ever) – it’s not even a real window.

>> 22nd August 2008 >> Nick >> Fabio Capello backs MFIR?*

Was England’s performance against the Czech Republic a 90-minute long advertisement for Modern Football is Rubbish? It sure felt like it. Fortunately for England, but unfortunately for us, everyone was watching the Olympics.

* Can we just make it absolutely clear Fabio Capello does NOT in anyway endorse Modern Football is Rubbish. There.

>> Today >> Nick >> A break from the blog

Eagle-eyed listeners (sic) will have noted that we’ve not been blogging for a while. Sorry.

Don’t panic though, we are working hard behind-the-scenes, and hopefully will have some mildly exciting news for you soon (ish). In the meantime, don’t forget to cheer up any relegation threatened friends with a copy of Modern Football is Rubbish (we’ve just been reprinted for the second time! Hurah!)

>> 1st December 2008 >> Nick >> Cup upsets

Well done Histon. Leeds aren’t the superpower they once were, but this was still a genuine upset. A muddy pitch, driving rain and the winning goal scored by a postman? It’s like the 1970s never happened. Hell, it’s even set against a backdrop of financial turmoil and rising unemployment.

But the absolute best bit was the chorus of “ITV is f***ing Sh*t” that was broadcast to the nation early in the first half. Not big, not clever, clearly not true, but mildly amusing nevertheless!

>> 10th November 2008 >> Nick >> Rough justice

Yes, Arsene, we admire your free-flowing, ‘tippy-tappy’ football. And we fully support your right to try and play that way.

But really, is there anything more beautiful than a lumbering 16-stone centre-half launching himself into perfectly executed slide-tackle? And, yes, by ‘perfectly executed’ we mean a tackle that takes the ball, ploughs straight through the man and occasionally catches a stray ballboy in the crossfire. Now, that’s beautiful.

Anyway, how exactly how else do you expect teams like Stoke to compete? They operate on a fraction of your budget with a squad half the size of yours. Isn’t it one of football’s greatest traditions that if you can’t beat ‘em, at least you can kick ‘em up in the air.
Stoke, it seems, can do both. And, I guess, that’s what really gets Arsene’s goat.