With their club sliding slowly down the table since November Middlesborough fans have not had much to shout about this season. However, according to a recent letter distributed by the club then that may not be a bad thing. Whilst most clubs enduring a slump in fortunes would call on its fans to get behind the team, Boro have taken a much different approach with the letter, signed off by the club's safety officer, actually asking supporters at the Riverside to keep it down.
It's the letter's concluding paragraph which has angered most Boro fans receiving it. “I am receiving more and more complaints from our fans... about both the persistent standing and the constant noise coming from the back of this stand. Please stop, make as much noise as you like when we score, but this constant noise is driving some fans mad.” If Boro fans are to only make noise when their team scores then the Riverside is set to be eerily silent in coming weeks; Middlesborough have found the net just once in their last nine league games.
Middlesborough are a well run club who unlike many of their compatriots have not tried to overreach themselves in recent years. It is perhaps that which has stopped the Riverside being surrounded by the sort of doom-mongering which may have greeted similar form at their fellow top flight North East clubs. However, when the chips are down its perhaps best not to give your supporters more ammunition. Gareth Southgate's task at hand is difficult enough without this sort of over-zealous PR making the need for results more fierce.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Bobbing Along
If I said to you 'football', you would no doubt be confused as to to the agenda of this tall bearded man yelling the names of sports at you without any sense of practical syntagmatical understanding. However, if I subsequently explained how I wanted you to tell me what you intrinsically associated with that sport then football could bring any number of responses, such is the way it is littered across both popular culture and our own personal lives. However, if I were to ask you to do the same for bobsleigh then the chances are you will respond with two words; 'Cool Runnings'.
The film Cool Runnings dramatised the Jamaican bobsled team's participation in the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary, but whilst most people will be able to name one of the film's bobsled crew, and no doubt be able to quote many a line from the film too, few people will be able to name any genuine bobsledders. That's because bob-sled is one of those sports, along with curling, skeleton, sailing and modern pentathlon, which only enter the general public conscience once every four years. In the mean time these sports are rounded up and corralled into one unspecific 'Olympic Sports' category on the BBC website and left to carry on like a TV soap extra, just going about there business silently in the background.
One of the key problems with this temporal abandonment comes from the fact that Great Britain's standing in many of the world's less popular sports is much better than Olympic performances necessarily reflect. A lot can happen in four years which subsequently goes under, or just plainly un-reported. Which draws us back to the bobsleigh, an incredibly fast-paced and dangerous sport, exciting and enthralling to watch, but another which is only seen when linked to from a large sofa and implausibly vast and expensive table by Hazel Irvine.
Not only is bobsleigh exciting to watch, and of course a lot less life endangering than the ice-slope on a dinner-tray sports of skelton or luge, but it is also one in which Great Britain can currently boast World Champions. At the weekend the female British duo of Nicola Minichiello and Gillian Cooke claimed the World Championship with victory at Lake Placid, USA. A great acheivement on its own, but even more of note for a country in which there are no actual bobsleigh tracks. Instead the British team trains on a one hundred and twenty metre track, tucked behind the trees and just beyond the football pitches at the University of Bath. Its not quite a box-cart derby and a lucky egg, but its still a story which deserves more than just leap year style coverage.
The film Cool Runnings dramatised the Jamaican bobsled team's participation in the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary, but whilst most people will be able to name one of the film's bobsled crew, and no doubt be able to quote many a line from the film too, few people will be able to name any genuine bobsledders. That's because bob-sled is one of those sports, along with curling, skeleton, sailing and modern pentathlon, which only enter the general public conscience once every four years. In the mean time these sports are rounded up and corralled into one unspecific 'Olympic Sports' category on the BBC website and left to carry on like a TV soap extra, just going about there business silently in the background.
One of the key problems with this temporal abandonment comes from the fact that Great Britain's standing in many of the world's less popular sports is much better than Olympic performances necessarily reflect. A lot can happen in four years which subsequently goes under, or just plainly un-reported. Which draws us back to the bobsleigh, an incredibly fast-paced and dangerous sport, exciting and enthralling to watch, but another which is only seen when linked to from a large sofa and implausibly vast and expensive table by Hazel Irvine.
Not only is bobsleigh exciting to watch, and of course a lot less life endangering than the ice-slope on a dinner-tray sports of skelton or luge, but it is also one in which Great Britain can currently boast World Champions. At the weekend the female British duo of Nicola Minichiello and Gillian Cooke claimed the World Championship with victory at Lake Placid, USA. A great acheivement on its own, but even more of note for a country in which there are no actual bobsleigh tracks. Instead the British team trains on a one hundred and twenty metre track, tucked behind the trees and just beyond the football pitches at the University of Bath. Its not quite a box-cart derby and a lucky egg, but its still a story which deserves more than just leap year style coverage.
Dorset and Match
Anyone watching the BBC's Score Interactive on Saturday or any of the Garth Crooks free alternatives will not have failed to note one particular non-league scoreline frequently flashing across the base of the screen. Rushden & Diamonds travelled to face mid-table Weymouth in the Blue Square (the Conference to me and you) without a win in eight games. They returned to Northamptonshire having defeated their hosts 9-0, a score-line so severe that in the years BC (Before Crooks), Grandstand's ticking videprinter would have helpfully spelt it, less you assume it was a 0-0 draw recorded by a prticularly thick fingered typist.
As this wasn't Scottish League football which routinely features at least one implausibly large away victory a week, you would have no doubt sensed there is more to this story than a lot of goals. And you would be correct for the majority of the Weymouth side faced by Rushden and Diamonds on Saturday spent the previous weekend facing Merthyr Tydfil in Division Two of the FA's South West Counties Youth League. After ongoing unrest at the club, the majority of the club's first team players and staff had gone two months without pay and in the day's up to Saturday's game their insurance cover also ran out, leaving manager Alan Lewer no option but to field the club's youth team.
After a 9-0 home defeat you could perhaps expect support for The Terras to be at its lowest ebb. However, it appears that the events of Saturday have instead galvanised those still connected with the club, with immense pride shown in those youth team players who took the field for Weymouth. As Weymouth fan Ian D put it on the independent fans' messageboard Terras Talk; "There does not need to be humiliation in losing at home by the odd goal in nine. You can still find pure human qualities of dignity, respect and belonging, the quality of people giving their all, to the absolute maximum of their ability, with honesty and pride of the best kind. Football isn’t about who can be the most successful, it’s still about the blood that runs through your veins."
That was not the only positive to come from Saturday's defeat, as many Weymouth fans also took advantage of the football media and betting world's obsession with the top end of the game. Despite the players' walk out on Friday, there were still long odds to be had on a high-scoring away win, with only the town's own bookmakers sharp enough to refuse bets. The large scoreline is reported to have cost online bookmakers over £1million, with many Weymouth fans donating their winnings to the supporters' led Save Our Club fund. The Weymouth youth team can expect to chalk up a number of appearances in the weeks to come, whilst supporters do their best to maintain the club's presence.
As this wasn't Scottish League football which routinely features at least one implausibly large away victory a week, you would have no doubt sensed there is more to this story than a lot of goals. And you would be correct for the majority of the Weymouth side faced by Rushden and Diamonds on Saturday spent the previous weekend facing Merthyr Tydfil in Division Two of the FA's South West Counties Youth League. After ongoing unrest at the club, the majority of the club's first team players and staff had gone two months without pay and in the day's up to Saturday's game their insurance cover also ran out, leaving manager Alan Lewer no option but to field the club's youth team.
After a 9-0 home defeat you could perhaps expect support for The Terras to be at its lowest ebb. However, it appears that the events of Saturday have instead galvanised those still connected with the club, with immense pride shown in those youth team players who took the field for Weymouth. As Weymouth fan Ian D put it on the independent fans' messageboard Terras Talk; "There does not need to be humiliation in losing at home by the odd goal in nine. You can still find pure human qualities of dignity, respect and belonging, the quality of people giving their all, to the absolute maximum of their ability, with honesty and pride of the best kind. Football isn’t about who can be the most successful, it’s still about the blood that runs through your veins."
That was not the only positive to come from Saturday's defeat, as many Weymouth fans also took advantage of the football media and betting world's obsession with the top end of the game. Despite the players' walk out on Friday, there were still long odds to be had on a high-scoring away win, with only the town's own bookmakers sharp enough to refuse bets. The large scoreline is reported to have cost online bookmakers over £1million, with many Weymouth fans donating their winnings to the supporters' led Save Our Club fund. The Weymouth youth team can expect to chalk up a number of appearances in the weeks to come, whilst supporters do their best to maintain the club's presence.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
the Bill and Ken Show
As a club, there can be few sides that garner less casual support than Leeds United. They are not a team for which anyone ever really generates a soft spot. There are folk who love that club, with a particularly partizan insular pride, and there are those who cannot stand them. In all my life, and bare in mind I grew up in Yorkshire when they were the county's most successful club, I am yet to meet anyone who could take or leave Leeds United.
Throughout the past forty years the club has been particularly easy to hate with a combative style on the pitch under Don Revie in the 1970s, to a strong hooligan element off it in the 1980s and one which at times held particularly strong links to the BNP. And then, just in case these things were starting to slip from your mind, they brought in Ken Bates and Dennis Wise to ensure that no fence-sitters began edging the way of Elland Road. During Leeds slide into the third tier of English football, and their subsequent attempts to get back out of it Bates has been particularly irksome; as have those who have fallen into the trap of his propaganda. Leeds were destined to win last season's play-off final, because they had a bigger support and a richer history than their opponents Doncaster. Whilst both those aspects are true; neither supporters nor history win as many matches as playing better football does.
And so Leeds soldier on in the third tier, but lest you forget who they are, they are still particularly apt at finding new ways and reasons for a new generation of fans to hate them. In the wake of their victory over Leeds United last weekend Huddersfield Town received a letter from their opponents asking them to pay their hotel bill. Leeds claimed that the midday kick-off at the Galpharm Stadium necessitated an overnight stay to give their players apt preparation time for the match. Of course the Football League does have rules to that end, allowing teams to claim hotel expenses from opposition sides when forced to travel for an early kick-off. However, what Leeds have overlooked in this case is the distance between the two clubs... a mere sixteen miles, most of which would be travelled by motorway.
Huddersfield Town brought the letter to light through their official website yesterday, with the club CEO Nigel Cibbens stating; "Leeds' claim is as sad as it is laughable... [it] does nothing for Leeds' reputation at all".A little petulant you may feel, well yes, but not half as much as Leeds United's reply via a story on their own official website later that day headed Huddersfield Town - The Facts. In this response United quite wisely state; "The process will be dealt with by the Football League and we will pass no further comment on the matter, so as not to prejudice the outcome until a decision is made", before going on to spend the four subsequent paragraphs passing a list of comments about the match.
Whatever happens next is in the hands of the Football League, but until a decision is made Leeds United are to get no pudding for a week, and Huddersfield Town are to be allowed only to choose one play item per day from the toy box.
Throughout the past forty years the club has been particularly easy to hate with a combative style on the pitch under Don Revie in the 1970s, to a strong hooligan element off it in the 1980s and one which at times held particularly strong links to the BNP. And then, just in case these things were starting to slip from your mind, they brought in Ken Bates and Dennis Wise to ensure that no fence-sitters began edging the way of Elland Road. During Leeds slide into the third tier of English football, and their subsequent attempts to get back out of it Bates has been particularly irksome; as have those who have fallen into the trap of his propaganda. Leeds were destined to win last season's play-off final, because they had a bigger support and a richer history than their opponents Doncaster. Whilst both those aspects are true; neither supporters nor history win as many matches as playing better football does.
And so Leeds soldier on in the third tier, but lest you forget who they are, they are still particularly apt at finding new ways and reasons for a new generation of fans to hate them. In the wake of their victory over Leeds United last weekend Huddersfield Town received a letter from their opponents asking them to pay their hotel bill. Leeds claimed that the midday kick-off at the Galpharm Stadium necessitated an overnight stay to give their players apt preparation time for the match. Of course the Football League does have rules to that end, allowing teams to claim hotel expenses from opposition sides when forced to travel for an early kick-off. However, what Leeds have overlooked in this case is the distance between the two clubs... a mere sixteen miles, most of which would be travelled by motorway.
Huddersfield Town brought the letter to light through their official website yesterday, with the club CEO Nigel Cibbens stating; "Leeds' claim is as sad as it is laughable... [it] does nothing for Leeds' reputation at all".A little petulant you may feel, well yes, but not half as much as Leeds United's reply via a story on their own official website later that day headed Huddersfield Town - The Facts. In this response United quite wisely state; "The process will be dealt with by the Football League and we will pass no further comment on the matter, so as not to prejudice the outcome until a decision is made", before going on to spend the four subsequent paragraphs passing a list of comments about the match.
Whatever happens next is in the hands of the Football League, but until a decision is made Leeds United are to get no pudding for a week, and Huddersfield Town are to be allowed only to choose one play item per day from the toy box.
Monday, February 16, 2009
All Star and Stripes
As a British sports fan its easy to knock the NBA All-Star Game. The notion that any self-respecting professional sports league can, midway through it's season just stop what its doing and hold a mini-exhibition is frankly alien to us. A week ago you could have been watching two of these guys snarling at each other as their paths crossed on court and they each sort to come out on top; now a few days later here they are high-fiving after a successful alley-oop showboating combination. It is to a degree the sporting equivalent of the cast of Eastenders doing one of those Comic Relief song and dance routines where they re-enact the big dance scene from Fame.
But, this is of course sport as entertainment, 'sportainment' if you will and its what the Americans do best. Sure we have our imitators on this side of the Atlantic with Masters' Tennis and Masters' Football, but the key is in the pre-fix. On these shores we only let the athletes let their hair down when they've long since retired from the top-level of their sport. Whilst even in their twilight these players can entertain, and I'm thinking primarily of the great tennis showman Mansour Bahrami, what spectators of these events are essentially buying into is 'sportainment' fuelled by nostalgia.
In America, they deal with the hear and now and they excel at 'sportainment'. Hence the success of WWE Wrestling, Arena Football, Demolition Derbys, and the Harlem Globetrotters. What the All-Star Game, and indeed all American 'sportainment' has over British immitations is that they are all contested by the stars of now, showcasing what they are capable of at the top of their game. The Dunk Contest, the Three-Point Contest et al may be effectively sideshows, but they are still populated by the current game's top players. And those players don't stop at just playing the game.
Sunday's main game was preceded by a lengthy song and dance routine, which culminated in Shaquille O'Neil centre of a white mask clad breakdance troupe. No matter how cynical you may be about American sport, surely you cannot deny that if the country's top footballers met in a North vs South fixture, opened by Peter Crouch robot-ing it up, mimicked by a surrounding dance-troupe of hand-picked cheerleaders, you would not be glued to your television. Thought not.
But, this is of course sport as entertainment, 'sportainment' if you will and its what the Americans do best. Sure we have our imitators on this side of the Atlantic with Masters' Tennis and Masters' Football, but the key is in the pre-fix. On these shores we only let the athletes let their hair down when they've long since retired from the top-level of their sport. Whilst even in their twilight these players can entertain, and I'm thinking primarily of the great tennis showman Mansour Bahrami, what spectators of these events are essentially buying into is 'sportainment' fuelled by nostalgia.
In America, they deal with the hear and now and they excel at 'sportainment'. Hence the success of WWE Wrestling, Arena Football, Demolition Derbys, and the Harlem Globetrotters. What the All-Star Game, and indeed all American 'sportainment' has over British immitations is that they are all contested by the stars of now, showcasing what they are capable of at the top of their game. The Dunk Contest, the Three-Point Contest et al may be effectively sideshows, but they are still populated by the current game's top players. And those players don't stop at just playing the game.
Sunday's main game was preceded by a lengthy song and dance routine, which culminated in Shaquille O'Neil centre of a white mask clad breakdance troupe. No matter how cynical you may be about American sport, surely you cannot deny that if the country's top footballers met in a North vs South fixture, opened by Peter Crouch robot-ing it up, mimicked by a surrounding dance-troupe of hand-picked cheerleaders, you would not be glued to your television. Thought not.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Seven Month Itch
If you had to name a football club in crisis right now then you would have to have a pretty narrow-minded view of the game to pluck for Chelsea. However, that is exactly how much of the tabloids have chosen to label the Stamford Bridge side's current plight. Luton Town may be attempting to recover a minus thirty point starting point, Rotherham may have had to find a temporary home in another town at which to claw back their own seventeen point penalty, but that's nothing. Chelsea, poor Chelsea are in the last sixteen of the FA Cup and Champions League and fourth in the Premier League. The question remains... has anyone contacted the UN?
The problem with the Premier League is that as a result of the hyperbolic tone of those who regularly report on it, it now has an over inflated sense of it's own importance. This is after all 'the best league in the world' and so if you have set yourself up as one of the main challengers for that title, then you need to be effectively challenging. The old saying that 'its a marathon not a sprint' has no place in modern football, Chelsea are seven points behind the league leaders with three months still to play, surely that's to be expected in a manger's first season. Alas, tabloid coverage and one crudely made supporters banner suggests otherwise and owner Roman Abramovich follows suit with the Etch-a-Sketch approach to managerial appointments. "I tire of him, send him to the lions and bring me someone new."
You cannot but help feel sorry for 'Big' Phil Scolari, deemed not big enough to be allowed any sort of transitional period at his new club. Think of all the money wasted on English language crash courses. A home draw with Hull City is seemingly beneath the expectations of Chelsea fans with no allowance given for the key fact that this is the most competitive Premier League season in a decade. Patience is no longer a virtue when it comes to football management, fans have increasingly unrealistic demands for instant results, and this phenomenon is not confined to the Premier League. When my club Doncaster appointed Sean O'Driscoll in September 2006, he was on the receiving end of audible O'Driscoll Out chants before the month was out.
The moral of this tale? If you want job security in the coming years, stay away from football management and instead open up an English Language School in the London area and introduce yourself to football agents.
The problem with the Premier League is that as a result of the hyperbolic tone of those who regularly report on it, it now has an over inflated sense of it's own importance. This is after all 'the best league in the world' and so if you have set yourself up as one of the main challengers for that title, then you need to be effectively challenging. The old saying that 'its a marathon not a sprint' has no place in modern football, Chelsea are seven points behind the league leaders with three months still to play, surely that's to be expected in a manger's first season. Alas, tabloid coverage and one crudely made supporters banner suggests otherwise and owner Roman Abramovich follows suit with the Etch-a-Sketch approach to managerial appointments. "I tire of him, send him to the lions and bring me someone new."
You cannot but help feel sorry for 'Big' Phil Scolari, deemed not big enough to be allowed any sort of transitional period at his new club. Think of all the money wasted on English language crash courses. A home draw with Hull City is seemingly beneath the expectations of Chelsea fans with no allowance given for the key fact that this is the most competitive Premier League season in a decade. Patience is no longer a virtue when it comes to football management, fans have increasingly unrealistic demands for instant results, and this phenomenon is not confined to the Premier League. When my club Doncaster appointed Sean O'Driscoll in September 2006, he was on the receiving end of audible O'Driscoll Out chants before the month was out.
The moral of this tale? If you want job security in the coming years, stay away from football management and instead open up an English Language School in the London area and introduce yourself to football agents.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Adams Parked
Those of you frequent these pages often will be aware that I'm prone to lament the lack of time afforded football managers in the modern era. However, there is an exception to this rule, and so I was genuinely glad to hear that Portsmouth have decided to sack Tony Adams. I have nothing against Adams, nor for that matter Portsmouth, and I am not usually prone to these sort of moments of schadenfreude, unless of course they involve John Terry. No, I am please if only because it seems that at last Tony Adams will be put out of his misery.
Has anyone ever looked more unhappy in their job than Tony Adams? If he were a shop assistant or an office assistant he would have been phoning in sick within weeks of taking on his new job; by now he would have run out of fake family member funerals to attend and would have mastered the art of forging his doctor's signature. In a reign so short it has been referred to by its length in days rather than months by some media today Adams never looked comfortable, and seemed to be heading towards being sacked, or a personal breakdown from the moment they changed the name on the manager's office door.
Less than a month into his new role Adams was quoted as saying; "I don't actually like people. I'm a loner and if I had my way I'd just walk my dogs every day, never talk to anyone then die." A frighteningly bleak statement, made even more chilling by the fact that Adams does not own a dog. OK, I made the last bit up, but just weeks into his tenure Adams had made it clear to the watching world that he was not a happy man. He didn't want to be there, in front of the sponsors logo each week attempting to answer inane questions about another defeat, so why was he ever put in that position?
There is no denying Adams was a great player, his England caps and domestic honours testify that, but what managerial form he had was barely worth adding to his CV. Adams took charge of Wycombe in 2003 and steered them to the foot of League One and into League Two, winning just twelve matches, one for every month he was in charge at Adams Park; safe to say the ground was named long before Tony's legacy. With that in mind promoting Adams to the role of manager at Portsmouth was akin to putting the manager of Boo.com in charge of Nike.
Yes, Adams did a poor job at Portsmouth, but the poor bloke should never have been entrusted with the job in the first place. Having a great playing career is never a definate indication that you will become a great manager, as any supporter who has seen a suited Brian Robson hold aloft his club's scarf for a gaggle of photographers will certainly testify
Has anyone ever looked more unhappy in their job than Tony Adams? If he were a shop assistant or an office assistant he would have been phoning in sick within weeks of taking on his new job; by now he would have run out of fake family member funerals to attend and would have mastered the art of forging his doctor's signature. In a reign so short it has been referred to by its length in days rather than months by some media today Adams never looked comfortable, and seemed to be heading towards being sacked, or a personal breakdown from the moment they changed the name on the manager's office door.
Less than a month into his new role Adams was quoted as saying; "I don't actually like people. I'm a loner and if I had my way I'd just walk my dogs every day, never talk to anyone then die." A frighteningly bleak statement, made even more chilling by the fact that Adams does not own a dog. OK, I made the last bit up, but just weeks into his tenure Adams had made it clear to the watching world that he was not a happy man. He didn't want to be there, in front of the sponsors logo each week attempting to answer inane questions about another defeat, so why was he ever put in that position?
There is no denying Adams was a great player, his England caps and domestic honours testify that, but what managerial form he had was barely worth adding to his CV. Adams took charge of Wycombe in 2003 and steered them to the foot of League One and into League Two, winning just twelve matches, one for every month he was in charge at Adams Park; safe to say the ground was named long before Tony's legacy. With that in mind promoting Adams to the role of manager at Portsmouth was akin to putting the manager of Boo.com in charge of Nike.
Yes, Adams did a poor job at Portsmouth, but the poor bloke should never have been entrusted with the job in the first place. Having a great playing career is never a definate indication that you will become a great manager, as any supporter who has seen a suited Brian Robson hold aloft his club's scarf for a gaggle of photographers will certainly testify
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Hammer the Stumps
caught the Indian Premier League auction on television the other day, although it was another day and a half before I realised what I'd actually seen. I'm not normally this intuitively slow, I mean I kind of understand Lost, and I find Frasier much funnier than My Family, as we all should, but nothing I saw on the screen intrinsically linked with sport in my mind. A room of circular tables populated by suited gentlemen politely clapping as a man talked on a microphone; for all I knew I had just watched a man's act bombing on the Asian version of Last Comic Standing.
But no this polite scene was not a Businessmans' dinner, nor a charity auction of any sort, it was actually the player auction for the coming IPL cricket season. These men, were casually shelling out thousands, and in a couple of cases millions, of dollars on the world's top cricketing talent. This was clearly a big deal, both in terms of the size of the bids being tabled, and also in the role of such an auction in world sport. Although, the most disappointing aspect of this multi-million pound auction was not the distinctly capitalist approach to sport, but the actual quality of the footage; poorly lit, unsteady camera work, Homes Under the Hammer may be the televisual equivalent of staring at a beige wall, but at least those guys now how to knock together good auction footage.
Sadly, as television demands and sofa-bound spectator interests prevail, this may be the future of many sports. The top players no longer possessing club loyalty of any kind, but instead wandering from place to place, hanging round for a season, not fussed who they are attached to, just so long as they are wanted (or paid) enough, like that dog from the Littlest Hobo, or Abi Titmus. Yes, gradually, sport is becoming similar to the cartoon series the Hurricanes; so when you next see Andrew Flintoff ambling into bat for a club side, don't be surprised if he is doing so in a hollowed out volcano.
But no this polite scene was not a Businessmans' dinner, nor a charity auction of any sort, it was actually the player auction for the coming IPL cricket season. These men, were casually shelling out thousands, and in a couple of cases millions, of dollars on the world's top cricketing talent. This was clearly a big deal, both in terms of the size of the bids being tabled, and also in the role of such an auction in world sport. Although, the most disappointing aspect of this multi-million pound auction was not the distinctly capitalist approach to sport, but the actual quality of the footage; poorly lit, unsteady camera work, Homes Under the Hammer may be the televisual equivalent of staring at a beige wall, but at least those guys now how to knock together good auction footage.
Sadly, as television demands and sofa-bound spectator interests prevail, this may be the future of many sports. The top players no longer possessing club loyalty of any kind, but instead wandering from place to place, hanging round for a season, not fussed who they are attached to, just so long as they are wanted (or paid) enough, like that dog from the Littlest Hobo, or Abi Titmus. Yes, gradually, sport is becoming similar to the cartoon series the Hurricanes; so when you next see Andrew Flintoff ambling into bat for a club side, don't be surprised if he is doing so in a hollowed out volcano.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Blank-et Coverage
Regular readers of these blogs, which statistics suggest numbers a bakers dozen, will be well of Final Third's disapproval of ITV's football coverage, and whilst I would love to pen a blog on another subject unfortunately the nation's third channel just keeps throwing balls up in the air, and subsequently I'm afraid just have to hit them. You see ITV began hammering nails into their football coverage coffin at the turn of the Millennium. Given a chance to show what they could do with the rights to Premiership highlights they went all giddy with power. They stuck their main programme in the coveted Blind Date slot, wedged Andy Townsend in a horse box full of monitors and gave the cockney Irish buffoon free reign to bully Ugo Ehiogu with slow motion replays.
Having shown they could not be trusted when left alone with anything the majority of the nation's football fans wanted to see ITV were suitably punished and banished to seven years hard labour covering matches that either had financially and commercially less significance (the Football League), or ones which were already so heavily glossed in hyperbole that they were beyond even ITV's hegemonic corporate football leanings (the Champions League). And everything was fine with the world; yes ITV's coverage and editing process was still disappointing when it came to football, but at least it bothered less people.
Unfortunately Setanta Sports rode into town to fight the good fight against Sky Sports blanket coverage, but when they needed to select a free-to-air channel to partner them in their FA Cup coverage, they chose the bumbling clueless deputy sheriff of ITV to join their side. Channel Five may have spent much of its formative years working as a showgirl in the local saloon, but at least they've proved capable of simple and decent sports coverage now they've put their knickers back on. Anyway, Setanta chose ITV and the rest as they say is a seemingly constant stream of poor editing, ill thought out match choices, tedious punditry and dissatisfied football fans. In short, when you find yourself pining for Gary Lineker and Alan Hansen's club house in-joke banter something must be terribly wrong.
Last night ITV sealed their own fate with a monumentous error, the type, as Dennis Norden would invariably remind us, "for which the term cock-up was invented". After barely acknowledging the 3rd round's key results in their highlights programme and apparently filming Swansea's victory over holders Portsmouth on a cheap pitch-level camcorder, they manage to top, or rather bottom, those acheivements spectacularly during their live 4th round replay.
With two hours of inconsequential football and a sending off failing to separate Everton and Liverpool the match at Goodison Park looked destined for a penalty shoot-out. So destined in fact that as the home side mounted one last attack someone on the ITV gallery got all trigger happy with ad-break button. And so millions of viewers were detached from the coverage and instead shown an advert from E-on, which with unwitting irony boasted of how they and ITV were bringing families closer to football. A terrible cock-up, still things would be OK if ITV could just restore the pictures before anything significant happens... there... done it... hang on whats all that noise? ...why are all those Everton players piling on top of that other lad? Oh for the love of God! After screening one hundred and twenty minutes of football ITV managed to cut away and miss the game's only goal.
It didn't get much better for ITV post match either as they came back from a genuine ad-break this time straight into the midst of an already begun interview with the scorer of the unseen goal Dan Gosling. And then as Steve Ryder offered empty apology after empty apology like an uncovered love rat ("its the first time its happened I swear", "I was thinking of you the whole time we were off air") ITV's world went blank, replaced by a black screen and a ticking clock as presumably the fight taking place in the production gallery ended with a slain broadcast trainee slumping against the wall and inadvertently knocking out the plug.
At the end of their later highlights show ITV's Matt Smith went out of his way to plug The Big Match Revisited, which for the uninitiated is basically a re-run of a thirty year old football highlights show. Smith encouraged Manchester City fans to tune in and relive a 3-0 win over Tottenham, although he would probably have been better off encouraging his colleagues turn to ITV4 and take notes on simplistic and effective football coverage. ITV have a key lesson to learn; the FA Cup does not need to be over hyped, but if you must big up your coverage then you need to be able to back up your boasts as there are few people less forgiving than a football fan scorned.
Having shown they could not be trusted when left alone with anything the majority of the nation's football fans wanted to see ITV were suitably punished and banished to seven years hard labour covering matches that either had financially and commercially less significance (the Football League), or ones which were already so heavily glossed in hyperbole that they were beyond even ITV's hegemonic corporate football leanings (the Champions League). And everything was fine with the world; yes ITV's coverage and editing process was still disappointing when it came to football, but at least it bothered less people.
Unfortunately Setanta Sports rode into town to fight the good fight against Sky Sports blanket coverage, but when they needed to select a free-to-air channel to partner them in their FA Cup coverage, they chose the bumbling clueless deputy sheriff of ITV to join their side. Channel Five may have spent much of its formative years working as a showgirl in the local saloon, but at least they've proved capable of simple and decent sports coverage now they've put their knickers back on. Anyway, Setanta chose ITV and the rest as they say is a seemingly constant stream of poor editing, ill thought out match choices, tedious punditry and dissatisfied football fans. In short, when you find yourself pining for Gary Lineker and Alan Hansen's club house in-joke banter something must be terribly wrong.
Last night ITV sealed their own fate with a monumentous error, the type, as Dennis Norden would invariably remind us, "for which the term cock-up was invented". After barely acknowledging the 3rd round's key results in their highlights programme and apparently filming Swansea's victory over holders Portsmouth on a cheap pitch-level camcorder, they manage to top, or rather bottom, those acheivements spectacularly during their live 4th round replay.
With two hours of inconsequential football and a sending off failing to separate Everton and Liverpool the match at Goodison Park looked destined for a penalty shoot-out. So destined in fact that as the home side mounted one last attack someone on the ITV gallery got all trigger happy with ad-break button. And so millions of viewers were detached from the coverage and instead shown an advert from E-on, which with unwitting irony boasted of how they and ITV were bringing families closer to football. A terrible cock-up, still things would be OK if ITV could just restore the pictures before anything significant happens... there... done it... hang on whats all that noise? ...why are all those Everton players piling on top of that other lad? Oh for the love of God! After screening one hundred and twenty minutes of football ITV managed to cut away and miss the game's only goal.
It didn't get much better for ITV post match either as they came back from a genuine ad-break this time straight into the midst of an already begun interview with the scorer of the unseen goal Dan Gosling. And then as Steve Ryder offered empty apology after empty apology like an uncovered love rat ("its the first time its happened I swear", "I was thinking of you the whole time we were off air") ITV's world went blank, replaced by a black screen and a ticking clock as presumably the fight taking place in the production gallery ended with a slain broadcast trainee slumping against the wall and inadvertently knocking out the plug.
At the end of their later highlights show ITV's Matt Smith went out of his way to plug The Big Match Revisited, which for the uninitiated is basically a re-run of a thirty year old football highlights show. Smith encouraged Manchester City fans to tune in and relive a 3-0 win over Tottenham, although he would probably have been better off encouraging his colleagues turn to ITV4 and take notes on simplistic and effective football coverage. ITV have a key lesson to learn; the FA Cup does not need to be over hyped, but if you must big up your coverage then you need to be able to back up your boasts as there are few people less forgiving than a football fan scorned.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Desperation Deadline
I've just been down the ground to collect some tickets and saw a sports car with registration LC91 5HU, looks like we're set to sign Lee Hughes," was just one of many speculative and unsubstantiated transfer based posts to appear on an unofficial Doncaster Rovers messageboard, thankfully a fellow fan of mine stepped in with the timely reply; "Just been and checked, it looks like his, its parked upside down in a hedge". The transfer window does this to people you see, it ends any sense of reason and patience and replaces it with wild fantasist speculation; "I've just seen Andre Arshavin in the Greggs in Hull's Princes Quay Shopping Centre", "My sister works at the local school and some French bloke rang up to ask if they had any places, looks like Zinedine Zidane is on his way to Stockport" and so forth.
Fans of course are always susceptible to spreading rumour; what the added hype of the transfer window has done has seemingly given the media license to do the same. Those who say there is no smoke without fire have never witnessed the tabloids' transfer rumour reporters in full flow. For example, according to the press seven different teams had put in offers for Doncaster midfielder Brian Stock, the Rovers' manager Sean O'Driscoll confirmed the actual number of offers received to be a total of zero. Of course whilst the press can spout daily rumours, the 24 hour rolling news channels can up the anti even further, counting down to the closure of the transfer window as if it were the shutting of some sort of time portal to a past world.
Anyone tuning into Setanta Sports News would be forgiven for thinking that they had tuned into some sort of live endurance Dogging marathon as the network flicked back and forth to a succession of reporters holding court in some of the nation's top car-parks. Spare a thought for these people, as whilst it's hard enough to report on nothing from the safety of a studio, its even more of a chore when you're doing so from the brunt of a national cold snap. One reporter stationed outside a North London hospital for a reason which was never explained even had to conduct his links to camera whilst under attack from a particularly vicious drive-by snowballing.
Back in the sanctity of the Setanta studio, as an onscreen clock ticked down toward seeming televisual oblivion, things were becoming increasingly desperate. Dave Bassett had been hauled into the studio, but seemed only capable of giving answers constructed from the same words used in the questions put to him; "Dave, we're seeing a lot of loan moves particularly amongst clubs in the lower divisions, would you say that's due to the economic climate?" "Well, due to the economic climate we are going to see a lot of loan moves amongst clubs, particularly in the lower divisions". So anti-climactic were things by this stage that the news of Charles N'zogbia's transfer to Wigan was touted as some sort of Roy of the Rovers-esque dream move.
Setanta's deadline day coverage was not just limited to the newsdesk and the nation's car-parks though, as they'd gone all out and hired a studio as well. In this studio they had assembled replica shirt clad fans of Premier League clubs and their intellectual equal; the expertise of Steve Claridge to react to the news as it happened. Alas of course, actual news remained thin on the ground, and when it did break it was hard to know what to make of it; pity the poor West Brom fan interviewed about his club's signing of Juan Carlos Menseguez from San Lorenzo; "Erm, I've never heard of him, so, er, I think he will bring something to the team". Steve Claridge's expert view; "I think you'll be OK you know". Sometimes no news is good news.
Fans of course are always susceptible to spreading rumour; what the added hype of the transfer window has done has seemingly given the media license to do the same. Those who say there is no smoke without fire have never witnessed the tabloids' transfer rumour reporters in full flow. For example, according to the press seven different teams had put in offers for Doncaster midfielder Brian Stock, the Rovers' manager Sean O'Driscoll confirmed the actual number of offers received to be a total of zero. Of course whilst the press can spout daily rumours, the 24 hour rolling news channels can up the anti even further, counting down to the closure of the transfer window as if it were the shutting of some sort of time portal to a past world.
Anyone tuning into Setanta Sports News would be forgiven for thinking that they had tuned into some sort of live endurance Dogging marathon as the network flicked back and forth to a succession of reporters holding court in some of the nation's top car-parks. Spare a thought for these people, as whilst it's hard enough to report on nothing from the safety of a studio, its even more of a chore when you're doing so from the brunt of a national cold snap. One reporter stationed outside a North London hospital for a reason which was never explained even had to conduct his links to camera whilst under attack from a particularly vicious drive-by snowballing.
Back in the sanctity of the Setanta studio, as an onscreen clock ticked down toward seeming televisual oblivion, things were becoming increasingly desperate. Dave Bassett had been hauled into the studio, but seemed only capable of giving answers constructed from the same words used in the questions put to him; "Dave, we're seeing a lot of loan moves particularly amongst clubs in the lower divisions, would you say that's due to the economic climate?" "Well, due to the economic climate we are going to see a lot of loan moves amongst clubs, particularly in the lower divisions". So anti-climactic were things by this stage that the news of Charles N'zogbia's transfer to Wigan was touted as some sort of Roy of the Rovers-esque dream move.
Setanta's deadline day coverage was not just limited to the newsdesk and the nation's car-parks though, as they'd gone all out and hired a studio as well. In this studio they had assembled replica shirt clad fans of Premier League clubs and their intellectual equal; the expertise of Steve Claridge to react to the news as it happened. Alas of course, actual news remained thin on the ground, and when it did break it was hard to know what to make of it; pity the poor West Brom fan interviewed about his club's signing of Juan Carlos Menseguez from San Lorenzo; "Erm, I've never heard of him, so, er, I think he will bring something to the team". Steve Claridge's expert view; "I think you'll be OK you know". Sometimes no news is good news.
Super Doopa Bowl
Let me begin with a straight out, people seated in a circle, flip chart in the corner, tea and biscuits on a side table, stand up and introduce yourself, confession. I am in effect a sporting traditionalist. I dislike the way money and tabloid rumour mongering distracts from the true essence of any sport, I am disappointed when teams or whole sports feel the need to dabble into gimmicks and 'marketing appeal'. Don't get me wrong I'm all for sports and their natural progression, and to that end welcome the initiatives of say Twenty-twenty cricket, but the fact that it can be contested between the Northampton Steelbacks and the Derbyshire Phantoms makes me cringe. So with this in mind it is perhaps out of character for me to say; I bloody love the Superbowl.
It is easy for British sports fans to dislike the Superbowl, because it is effectively the antithesis of our own sporting traditions. Whilst we place a proud significance on the history of our sports, as can be seen in thesepia tinged montages opening title sequence to live sporting event, particularly any screened by the institutional BBC, American Football is unashamedly, well, American. Brash, bright, modern, convenient, in your face and as tacky as treading on chewing gum in a treacle factory. However, if you loosen your stiff upper lip and throw yourself into it, the Superbowl, or American Football in general is a great spectacle.
This year's Superbowl between the Arizona Cardinals and the Pittsburgh Steelers was particularly epic. It may have been dragged out for four hours and punctuated with televisual challenges, ad-breaks, oh and a Bruce Springsteen concert, but it remained a brilliant sporting drama. The Steelers, favourites for victory, had amassed a 20-7 lead thanks in part to the longest play in Superbowl history, a 100 yard interception run from linebacker Jason Harrison. However, the Cardinals fought back to snatch the lead with just three minutes of play remaining. As the clock ticked down, the Steelers had one last chance and they took it; a touchdown with just 35 seconds remaining to clinch their sixth Superbowl.
If you're still not convinced about the spectacle of American Football consider it's merits as one of world sports last great socialist triumphs. American sport may be mocked for its franchised approach, a trait which allows teams to move home in search of fans, indeed the Cardinals themselves have migrated steadily south to make Arizona their third base after previous lives in Chicago and St Louis. However, the beauty of American sport is that it is yet to be monopolised in the way that top level British sport has been. In the Premiership the 'big four', aided by prize money and television revenue just keep getting richer and are subsequently able to buy up the best talent to maintain their place in the sports hierarchy. In American Football, income, from sponsorship, television and merchandise is distributed evenly, and the best players are drafted by effectively the worst teams to help balance out the playing rosters. The result; fifteen different finalists in the last ten years, a variety rarely entertained on these shores.
Yes, on the surface its as gawdy, showy and crass as Jodie Marsh attending a premiere, but deep down it remains a fantastic sporting event. The hype and the razzmatazz help mark the occassion, but even on its own, once you are willing to embrace it American Football's show-piece game is one of the most open and compelling sporting finals you are likely to witness in this modern sporting age. And for that we should all toast a giant bucket of Gatorade, woop and chest bump those nearest to us.
It is easy for British sports fans to dislike the Superbowl, because it is effectively the antithesis of our own sporting traditions. Whilst we place a proud significance on the history of our sports, as can be seen in thesepia tinged montages opening title sequence to live sporting event, particularly any screened by the institutional BBC, American Football is unashamedly, well, American. Brash, bright, modern, convenient, in your face and as tacky as treading on chewing gum in a treacle factory. However, if you loosen your stiff upper lip and throw yourself into it, the Superbowl, or American Football in general is a great spectacle.
This year's Superbowl between the Arizona Cardinals and the Pittsburgh Steelers was particularly epic. It may have been dragged out for four hours and punctuated with televisual challenges, ad-breaks, oh and a Bruce Springsteen concert, but it remained a brilliant sporting drama. The Steelers, favourites for victory, had amassed a 20-7 lead thanks in part to the longest play in Superbowl history, a 100 yard interception run from linebacker Jason Harrison. However, the Cardinals fought back to snatch the lead with just three minutes of play remaining. As the clock ticked down, the Steelers had one last chance and they took it; a touchdown with just 35 seconds remaining to clinch their sixth Superbowl.
If you're still not convinced about the spectacle of American Football consider it's merits as one of world sports last great socialist triumphs. American sport may be mocked for its franchised approach, a trait which allows teams to move home in search of fans, indeed the Cardinals themselves have migrated steadily south to make Arizona their third base after previous lives in Chicago and St Louis. However, the beauty of American sport is that it is yet to be monopolised in the way that top level British sport has been. In the Premiership the 'big four', aided by prize money and television revenue just keep getting richer and are subsequently able to buy up the best talent to maintain their place in the sports hierarchy. In American Football, income, from sponsorship, television and merchandise is distributed evenly, and the best players are drafted by effectively the worst teams to help balance out the playing rosters. The result; fifteen different finalists in the last ten years, a variety rarely entertained on these shores.
Yes, on the surface its as gawdy, showy and crass as Jodie Marsh attending a premiere, but deep down it remains a fantastic sporting event. The hype and the razzmatazz help mark the occassion, but even on its own, once you are willing to embrace it American Football's show-piece game is one of the most open and compelling sporting finals you are likely to witness in this modern sporting age. And for that we should all toast a giant bucket of Gatorade, woop and chest bump those nearest to us.
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