Just noticed this on the BBC about the race for countries wanting to host the 2018 Football World Cup. I have one main concern with the proposed host nations. Who?
It's encouraging - very encouraging - that smaller nations are striving to host such a major event. Ambitious building projects bring in capital, the country improves etc. etc. Basically, hosting the World Cup energises the country in exactly the way hosting the Olympics does not.
However, it seems to be getting less about the football.
Eyebrows were raised when the USA hosted the global tournament in 1994 because their chances of passing the group stages were slim, effectively killing any local atmosphere for the more interesting knockout stages (it also didn't help when an unnamed American expert said 'soccer' was the fourth-most popular sport in the country after baseball, basketball, American football and ice hockey - add that one up). To be fair, the USA got to the last 16 - i.e. the second round - before losing only 1-0 to eventual winners Brazil, but fans the world over were still far from convinced with the country's supposed love for the sport.
Eyebrows were raised yet further, somewhere into the fringe, when the 2002 World Cup was offered to South Korea and Japan, but again a surprise was in store: joint hosts South Korea reached the semi-finals, beating Portugal, Spain and Italy on the way. Fair play - but two goals in five and a half hours of football in the knockout stages showed their lack of real talent. Sorry, but that's the way it is.
Still people remain unconvinced by smaller footballing nations hosting the World Cup and yes, I am in that category (uh, in that I'm unconvinced, not a small footballing nation).
Now we have Qatar and Indonesia wanting to host the 2018 World Cup. Neither has competed in the tournament ever before, although Indonesia technically did in 1938 when they were the classed as the Dutch East Indies. A rich footballing history there, then.
Qatar, meanwhile, has a population of only 1.3 million and will struggle to persuade players to play in a sweltering Arab desert in the middle of summer. Even the proposed underground stadium - an admittedly cool idea (pardon the pun) - will only host 11,000 fans. That's just not feasible.
(Khalifa Stadium's nice though.)
And yes, Japan, South Korea and the USA are all bidding again. God help us.
Of course it would be short-sighted to suggest only the best of the best footballing nations should host the World Cup. It is important to give these smaller teams the chance to improve their sporting prowess as well as their infrastucture (look at the Italian rugby team improving since the Six Nations). But surely one prerequisite should be that they're good at football. What's the point letting Indonesia host the tournament if they're just going to be humiliated in every match?
It is no longer about the football. It's about the money. Good for a country's infrastructure and development, yes, but not so much for fans all over the world.
I must apologise for some naughty words appearing in this post. Such are the dangers of talking about professional football. Rest assured, though, that it's not me providing the swearing – it's the managers. Irresponsible bastards.
The blog's also a bit truncated – i.e. short – this week. After a hefty analysis of the first Obama vs. McCain debate last week, I thought it might be best for me to give American politics a rest this time round, even with the Palin/Biden showdown having taken place this week. So this is more lightweight, in focus and pounds of virtual paper.
Finally, you may have noticed a new section to the blog, available on the wall to the top-right of the page, as promised in my last post. There's nothing on it yet, but it'll happen, and it'll be about online journalism (well, I find it interesting). You may choose to ignore it or you may choose to read it. Obviously I'd prefer it if you did read it but just so you know: it won't be my opinions on the week that passed, as this is. It's not really affiliated with Huw Davies' Week Spot. Well, it is, because it's me writing it. But it's not the same blog. It's not the same sphere. It's not the same Huw Davies.
It's blogging, Jim, but not as we know it.
And now: normal service resumes.
Chancer of the Exchequer Churchill vs. The Daleks FuKinnear
Chancer of the Exchequer
The BBC reports that Alistair Darling, Chancellor of the Exchequer, has said he is willing to take "some pretty big steps" to stabilise British banking and the economy.
GOOD.
I'm not saying he should, necessarily, because I don't understand economics enough to suggest whether interference would be appropriate or not, and whether taking steps would be better than waiting it out. But I'm certainly glad to hear he is willing to take pretty big steps. You'd hope so. Otherwise, what is the point in government?
He also said he was looking at "a range of proposals". That is not convincing. Apart from the fact that every politician in the history of the world ever has said that exact sentence – or at least, none that I know of has said, "We are not looking at a range of proposals" – it's disconcerting to hear it from the Chancellor of the Exchequer because it doesn't tell us anything.
It is not news. Or rather, it shouldn't be. I'd hope that we are confident enough in our government to know they would take the steps necessary to bring this country out of a hole. We should be. We shouldn't, however, have to be reassured they would.
The fact is that people want something more concrete than that. Back in the day it was good enough to hear "Hey everybody, it's gonna be OK" when the economy was hitting the fan, but now, when people are completely, horribly terrified of losing their money, they want to know the Government has a plan – not that it will find one, but that it has one. Until then, words are not enough. And, as Obama and McCain's failure to immediately convince the majority about their plans for the economy proved (sorry, that's the last I say about America), people are happy – well, not happy, but prepared – to learn a bit more about financial politics than they previously were. That's the level of trust we have in our politicians now. And given that Darling thinks we can still be placated by vague promises, it's justified and probably necessary.
Sad, innit?
Churchill vs. The Daleks
It was Magazine Week all last week (or this week, if anyone reads this as soon as I post it), and to celebrate, Borders booksellers offered a buy-one-get-one-half-price deal on magazines and magazine subscriptions. Huzzah! Reason at last for me to buy The Oldie without feeling I should spend the money on pretending to be young.
There was also a poll, sponsored by the Periodical Publishers Association (PPA), to find Britain's favourite magazine cover. I know what you're thinking: what kind of sad bastard remembers their favourite front cover to a magazine? So to help us all out, a team of industry experts nominated some and whittled them down to a 'best of the best' shortlist of 16. Here they all are.
As those of you who have just looked at that link know, the Radio Times Dalek cover won. I'm not disappointed as such; more indifferent. I mean, it's an all right cover, I suppose. I'm not overwhelmed, but I'm not underwhelmed either. I'm 'whelmed'. It's a striking image to put on a front cover, but the 'Vote Dalek' slogan doesn't actually make any sense – it's just a very tenuous tie-in to the General Election that was happening at the time (if anything, it probably gained some votes from people taking the slogan as an order). So it's not all that clever, or clever at all in fact. Still, it doesn't need to be, and that's why it won. It's simple and it grabs your attention – and that's the point. Still, it'd be a downright lie to deny that a lot of those votes were members of the public thinking, "Ooh, Daleks!"
I honestly thought the NME's Beth Ditto cover would win, but I just as honestly hoped that Time Out would. It takes some balls to stick it to Winston Churchill – look how badly Hitler fared – but to do it on the anniversary of his death in the midst of some serious Churchillmania is about the bravest thing you can do as the editor of a magazine. Not only that but it's an amazing, attention-grabbing front cover; not to mention beautifully ironic in using Churchill's own 'V' sign as a 'fuck you' to the man himself.
It's a shame that Time Out is purely just a 'What's On' read now because we need some more political ferocity in our magazines, but maybe a guide to London isn't the best vessel for that. Still, we need something – before we all start voting Dalek.
FuKinnear
I'm sure you've all heard by now about Joe Kinnear's verbal tirade against certain members of the media in his first official press conference as Newcastle manager. If not, here it is in its full glory. I love The Guardian for printing this, but in all honesty it's hard not to when, as a journalist, you hear, "Write what you like. Makes no difference to me."
Choosing the best bit of this fantastic rant – please read all of it – is hard, but my personal favourites are the start –
"Which one is Simon Bird?"
"Me."
"You're a cunt."
- and the end:
"Enjoyed getting back in the swing of things?"
"Absolutely. I've loved every moment of it."
I actually don't have much to say about Kinnear's outburst except that I would love it to happen in football more often – love it. It's great to see a football manager wearing his heart on his sleeve and holding his career with invisible tongs. And it's not as if it was a one-off: brilliantly, Kinnear had to watch his first game in charge of Newcastle from the stands because he never finished serving a touchline ban at Nottingham Forest four years ago.
He was, of course, wrong to have such a go at the press. They reported the truth: that he had taken a day off from training on his first day of work, and they merely cast aspersions to tensions at the club – which, when you're in the relegation zone with allegedly one of the strongest squads in the country (uh... ), is likely to be the case. And as manager, however temporarily, of a team in difficulties, Kinnear should be trying to calm the waters, not rock the boat.
But I can't judge someone who provides me with that much entertainment. And thanks to Everton's wavering concentration before and after the half-time break, Newcastle grabbed a 2-2 draw today. Maybe there's life in the old Toon yet.
It's surprisingly easy to get the news in Madeira. I know I shouldn't be surprised - Funchal is a popular tourist spot on an island off the coast of Portugal, not a windswept rock in the middle of a cultural black hole - but given that all I'd be able to understand in a Portuguese paper would be 'Obrigado' and 'Cristiano Ronaldo', and considering how difficult it can be to get foreign-language papers in the UK, I find myself delerious with delight at seeing an English newspaper, even if it is The Mail.
Truth is, there's a newsagent's on practically every corner offering an impressive range of English rags. They're printed in Europe and imported as soon as they can be, generally being ready to buy around lunchtime. They're also quite expensive: a Guardian costs me €3.90 (about £3.25), which I personally think is a bit cheeky. Still, it's worth it to keep up-to-date and free hotel internet access makes a happy Huw.
And, you may be asking, why aren't I off enjoying my holiday instead of lying in the sun beside a rooftop swimming pool, admiring a spectacular view, drinking a cool beer and writing what I think about the world?
Well, I'm committed, 'tis all.
(So committed, in fact, that I got a bit carried away with these stories and they turned from blog posts into epic blog posts into full-blown articles. Sorry about that.)
The price of progress The appealing's Mutu-al Flogging a dead horse (then rigorously washing my hands)
The price of progress
So, A-Level results time once again. And once again, it's a record-breaking year, with the pass rate topping 97% for the first time and more As being awarded than ever before.
Shit! Disaster! Continuing success! A-Levels must be getting easier. If seven-year-old twins can get a D in an AS-Level Maths paper, how hard can it be? Void the results. Better still, scrap the entire system. When one in four results are As and one in ten pupils are getting three of them – and when my old school comes first in the national league tables (schwing!) – something must be wrong. Right?
Or maybe – just maybe – schools are getting better, pupils are getting cleverer and those twins are just geniii. Maybe this reaction to A-Level results is the wrong kind of euphoria. I know it's terribly British to fail and everything, but when the Government is discussing plans to reduce the number of happy, successful pupils, it makes you wonder what they want from them.
To be fair, some changes in the A-Level system may be required. 5000 pupils who went on to get three As were turned away by Oxford last year, and that number is expected to have increased this year. Pupils are doing so well that it is becoming harder to distinguish the best of the best. But that's not their fault, and I resent the automatically negative response towards them, as if they have chosen an easier ride; as if they have taken advantage of the system; as if they have cheated in some way. No, their results are not meaningless. Regardless of how easy to attain good results may or may not be, most pupils have worked bloody hard for them and we can't – or shouldn't – take that away from them.
But while hard-working, intelligent pupils are missing out on university places because others are doing just as well (again, no one's fault), Something Must Be Done – but to help them out, not set them back. There needs to be a better way of setting apart pupils with similar results, even if that does mean more work for them. It's fairer on them in the long run.
So what's to be done? Here are a few suggestions off the top of my head, and off the tops of the heads of others (i.e. I've stolen them from existing plans).
--- Drop General Studies. It's pointless, nobody takes it seriously (least of all universities) and even if you don't revise for it, it takes up lesson time and exam period time that could be spent revising for real subjects.
--- Encourage universities to demand four A-Levels from a student instead of three. More results = a greater chance of differentiation. I'm not sure about this one, because although there's room in a student's timetable for a fourth subject (seeing as most drop one after AS-Level) it would increase workload and resultant stress to potentially harmful levels. Admittedly this would separate the men from the boys – statistically, the girls would probably be fine – but three A-Levels are stressful enough (in fact, pupils' stress levels are apparently higher than ever before). Still, one to think about.
--- One Government plan is a university-style dissertation to be taken alongside A-Levels, in the form of an extended project. I think this would be good. It's more suited to Higher Education, helping students to prepare for the intellectual rigours of university and helping universities to gauge who the more promising applicants are. It would also encourage A-Level pupils to show a bit of initiative, accustomed as they are to the highly specific narrow-field approach to learning, with practice papers and mark schemes telling them exactly what to write (though plans are afoot to change this). A pilot of the dissertation scheme saw pupils discussing global warming and voting ages (danger: General Studies!) but another approach could be to incorporate the longer study into a subject. This would avoid too much added workload (see above), though the current plans are for the projects to be worth half an A-Level, not a whole one.
--- Introduce an A* grade. This is probably going to happen in 2010 and provided it's hard enough to get one, it should help significantly. Incredibly, some big universities have said they'll ignore the A* system because it will favour better-prepared, better-educated students from more affluent areas. What the hell?
--- Interview more students. Whatever happened to the university interview anyway? If you have two or more students of precisely the same academic calibre, it only makes sense to compare their performances in an interview.
--- Leave the International Baccalaureate well alone. It's crap. Just say no, kids.
--- Most importantly, leave the poor sods alone. They've done what they were told, worked hard and achieved some good grades. What benefit is there in telling them they're worthless?
The appealing's Mutu-al
Sport often welcomes greed – just look at Michael Phelps' diet, guaranteed to get kids begging their parents for the right to eat handfuls of crap all day – but Chelsea FC really rolls out the red carpet. That's the common perception, anyway, and it's hard not to agree when the club tries to fine an individual nearly £14 million for an indiscretion four years previously.
And, to the probable indifference of Roman '£12 billion' Abramovic, it has succeeded. Adrian Mutu will have to pay the London club £13.8 million in damages
(depending which paper he reads – some reckon it's actually £13.68 million). Mutu, now at Fiorentina, was a bit of a scamp in his Chelsea days and in October 2004 was caught red-handed and white-nosed chin-deep in trough full of cocaine. All right, that's a slight exaggeration: he tested positive for cocaine after Chelsea got suspicious he was up to something, having put in some lacklustre training performances (not surprising: if you're being paid five-figure sums of money a week for doing very little you should at least look like you give a shit). Mutu was sacked by the club, banned from football for seven months and had to pay a £20,000 fine. Such is the price of coke these days.
And now Chelsea want £13.8 million from him in compensation. For what, though? What did Chelsea suffer as a result of Mutu's shenanigans that justifies demanding that amount of money from him?
Reputation is the first thing to spring to mind. Employing cocaine junkies isn't exactly keeping up appearances. But when you consider they're not exactly beloved by all anyway, how much did Chelsea's reputation really suffer from the bust? Not much. Not at all, really. Mutu got the flak, and rightly so. The PFA (Professional Footballers' Association) accused Chelsea of failing in its “duty of care” towards their players in sacking Mutu; after all, he'd committed himself to rehab and was having a difficult time of it, what with his wife and kids having left him (the reason he'd fallen into drugs in the first place). But Chelsea received almost universal support for their decision, because it made professional sense – they bought Mutu to play football and he got himself banned from the game for seven months. It doesn't matter that he would have spent most of that time on the bench. Harsh as it was, Chelsea made the right decision, and people knew it. And how cares what the PFA thinks anyway?
The real issue, of course, is that Chelsea want their money back. They feel a bit short-changed from the £15.8 million they gave Parma for Mutu's services (in 2003!), and want the player to reimburse them. But, come on, guys... really? Water under the bridge, man, water under Stamford Bridge. Besides, in the world of professional football faulty purchases don't have a warranty. You can't seek compensation for a signing that went awry. If you could, you'd think Chelsea would want some money back from the £10 million they paid for Chris '28 appearances, 1 goal' Sutton in 1999.
What it comes down to is that Chelsea want Mutu to pay for showing them up. That's pretty unreasonable in my eyes – and £13.8 million? That's just plain greedy (especially when you consider it was originally £9.6 million and Chelsea appealed to make it more).
Mutu is expected to appeal. Damn right. He's got himself clean – time to wipe the slate clean as well.
Flogging a dead horse (then rigorously washing my hands)
Blimey.
An article I wrote on obsessive-compulsive disorder that some of you may have read recently got snapped up by that excellent purveyor of high-quality journalism The Guardian and was in G2 last Monday (the 11th). Obviously I´m very proud, and not above plugging it wherever possible. But given that this blog is me commenting on what I read in the papers, I thought I'd share my views.
On the whole, the piece was fairly well-written and not too painful to read, but I would have appreciated more information on OCD rather than one individual's relatively minor battle with it. This, I understand, was in its original publication in Cardiff University's award-winning newspaper gair rhydd, but giving the readers what they want demanded a more personal approach, I hear. Never mind - it was interesting to read about the chap's issues. He clearly needs to get out more.
The holidays are nearly upon us. It seems that only yesterday, it was the middle of summer and now Thanksgiving is only a week away. Time truly does fly by! Life has been keeping me very busy of late. My work commitments seem to multiply by the hour. Of course, spending time with my wife and kids is a high-priority. I'm embarrassed to admit that I have not watched a single football game this year from start to finish. And it's week 11. What kind of fan am I?? Oh well, thank god for my DVR.
On top of all that, I'm starting to ramp my training in preparation for Oceanside, which is only about 20 weeks away! The map above is my ride from this past Saturday... right on 5 hours in the saddle. Good stuff. As the saying goes, 'cycling is a blue-collar sport, you have to do the work.' So, I'm doing the work and doing my best to log lots of quality miles now and over the next several weeks. It will pay off in April.
You could say I'm burning the candle at both ends right now. That's ok, sleep is over-rated anyways. :-)
In all seriousness, balancing these multiple commitments without short-changing any one of them is my biggest life challenge at the moment. Indeed, it is a problem facing every age-group triathlete.
Some of the small things I try to focus on when things are getting hectic.
Stay present and in the moment - i.e. avoid multi-tasking and the risk of being preoccupied. Put down the Blackberry at night when I'm with my family. For me, this means no computer, email or text messaging from around 5:30-8:30 pm every weeknight and very limited computer use on the weekends.
Be flexible with my training - Life with young kids precludes any sort of rigid schedules. That's part of the adventure. I build some 'overage' in my weekly training program. While I have a full seven day schedule of workouts, inevitably one day becomes an off day due to some unforeseen circumstance. So one missed day, no big deal. Now two days in a row, that's a different story.
Go to bed early. Or Don't. - I'm a natural night owl... so I'll often choose to hop on the trainer at 9:30 pm rather than get up at 4am. As long as it gets done, its all good.
At the end of the day, its all about having fun and seeking challenges.
What a week of European football. Controversial goals, controversial free kicks, controversial controversy. Also, inside sources reveal some English bloke played for Milan against Manchester United, but goodness knows why they think that’s important.
Nope, it’s the Premier League that’s really intriguing me, and specifically the chat about a fourth-place play-off for that final Champions League spot. Is it a good idea?
In short, no. Shorter, N. The only way I could making this even briefer would be to punch the original exponent of the idea in the face.
Putting aside the argument that 38 games should be enough to decide the standings without the need for a play-off, it’s utterly ridiculous that a team finishing seventh, potentially some 20 points behind fourth, could play in the damn CHAMPIONS LEAGUE. It’s absurd enough that a team finishing fourth can. At least change the name of the tournament to ‘The Also-Rans Midweek Kickabout’ or something.
The play-off idea really might happen. For it to go any further, 14 of the league’s 20 teams need to back the idea, which is interesting considering 14 of the league’s 20 teams won’t be in any way affected. Predictably, those in favour include Martin O’Neill (Aston Villa are seventh) and those against include Rafa Benitez and Arsene Wenger (Liverpool fifth; Arsenal third).
It seems almost too obvious that the final spot shouldn’t go to fourth at all but the FA Cup winners, opening the race for a Champions League place wider than a play-off would and giving the tournament more importance. Hell, play tiddlywinks for the spot if you have to. Just don’t give it to fourth.
None of the contenders even want fourth, it seems. The best teams drop points now and then, but even as a fan you have to ask the question: based on this season, do any of Liverpool, Manchester City, Spurs or Aston Villa really deserve to rank alongside Europe’s league champions? Really?
Final nominations for the PFA Players' Player of the Year have been announced, and there are two things I feel should be noted.
One: anyone who keeps banging on about the foreign invasion of the Premiership (which, admittedly, is sometimes me) needs to see how three of the six players shortlisted are British, and how five of the six shortlisted for Young Player of the Year - Ashley Young, Gabriel Agbonlahor, Stephen Ireland, Jonny Evans, Aaron Lennon; basically everyone bar Rafael - are English or Irish as well. British football ain't dead yet, boyos.
Two... well, read on. There's a bit of a theme with the players' players of the year this year.
And the nominees are:
Steven Gerrard (Liverpool) Cristiano Ronaldo (Manchester United) Nemanja Vidic (Manchester United) Ryan Giggs (Manchester United) Edwin Van Der Sar (Manchester United) Rio Ferdinand (Manchester United)
Yup, Man Utd pretty much have it in the bag. They have been good this year, and their defence in particular has been annoyingly phenomenal, but they’ve not been so good that 18 teams should just be forgotten in the annual awards. Where are the lesser-knowns, who have had great seasons for clubs that aren’t in the Big Four? The Gardners; the Jagielkas; the Robinhos (ahem, perhaps not). It’s not all about the title race, guys.
Besuited bigwigs aren’t to blame, of course; this is the Players’ Player award we’re talking about. It’s not surprising Manchester United players feature heavily because they’re the best team in the Premiership, and it’s Premiership footballers voting. Naturally, they know who the real threats are. Still, it’s a bit dull.
The bookies are favouring Vidic, perhaps surprisingly. “Why’s that a surprise?” you ask. “He’s been one of the most consistently solid players in the league this year.” Perfectly true – but he’s not very interesting, and the Players’ Player of the Year awards do tend to favour the obvious. Ronaldo’s won it for the last two years, and before Gerrard and Terry, there were consecutive awards for Thierry Henry. I’m surprised to see no out-and-out strikers in this year’s line-up, but as United and Liverpool have found this year, when you have Ronaldo, Giggs and Gerrard, you don’t need strikers (actually, that’s a lie – Liverpool do need Torres).
My workmates, who, working for FourFourTwo, are actually allowed to be considered professional pundits in my eyes, are backing Ryan Giggs, simply because he’s old and people can’t believe he’s still going. I’d like to see it happen myself, but I’m not convinced. Not unconvinced, but not convinced either.
But before you accuse me of getting all comfy on this fence, I will tell you that I’ve been looking at the odds and some intrigue me.
For example, Blue Square is offering 33-1 on either Ferdinand or Van Der Sar, and I’m definitely tempted to put a pound on the latter – again, because it’s obvious. Goalkeepers don’t win this award – the last one to do it was Peter Shilton in 1977-8 – but if they’re ever going to, breaking the record for consecutive clean sheets will do it. Van Der Sar’s definitely worth a cheeky punt.
So too is Ronaldo: a predictable choice, but at 12-1 on Blue Square, a potentially lucrative one. Those are inexplicably long odds for a man looking to be the first player to win the award three times – and in a bloody row as well.
But even after all this, I want the bookies’ joint-favourite Gerrard to win. I bloody hate Man Utd.
I'd have written more, but I'm afraid the BNP might lynch me.
[Disclaimer: to my knowledge, Jeff Stelling is not a Nazi.]
The BNP's 'little list' comes to light The Sun drops the ball on Hitler Countdown to oblivion
The BNP's 'little list' comes to light
One of the funnier news stories this week has been the online publication of the BNP's members list. Everyone in the UK who is a member of the British National Party has had their names, addresses, phone numbers and in some cases e-mail addresses, professions and hobbies (racism!) broadcast to the world via the internet, and unsurprisingly, perhaps, most of them are now cowering in fear. What happened to the BNP being loud and proud?
OK, I'll be nice: it is understandable that these people are worried about having their membership and details leaked. After all, the BNP is a divisive party that has attracted its fair share of opposition.
Having your personal details made available for all to see is a bad experience for anyone (don't forget this is a pretty big invasion of privacy) but when you're hated by a lot of people, it's very dangerous. I know it'd worry me if people on the internet knew my home address, and I'm not on a vendetta against half of the country. And think how much worse it must be for these BNP members. In their minds, any violence or crime in the country is committed by immigrants, and now these Untermenschen know where they live. To the bunkers! Child, get my gun! The blacks want their revenge!
But again, I shouldn't laugh at the fact that BNP members, however detestable, have their details on display because guess what – the backlash has already begun. And when you add to these personal threats the potential for identity fraud and violence, you can see why the list should probably be taken down.
Still, it's funny, isn't it? And it is at least good for them to feel how they make so many others feel: threatened. Even if their details are removed from the internet tomorrow (and regrettably, they should be), they have had just under a week of discomfort, anxiety or even terror. That is definitely worth it.
It's just a shame that members have, in fact, been threatened, because it only contributes to their feeling of victimhood. Whenever anyone calls the BNP rubbish they claim we're denying the truth (look at their response to Hazel Blears' recent accusation) and whenever we stop them spreading their racial hatred they claim we're denying their right to free speech, which only helps their cause. So for humanity's sake, we need to stay above their level. I only hope no one uses the publication of its members' details to start some actual violence against the BNP.
If you're interested and/or suspicious of anyone, here is the list at the imaginatively-titled www.bnpmemberslist.co.uk. Speaking of moral responsibility, I'm not sure how mature the e-mail responses made by the site's creator are, but I did laugh at the line, "I realise it must be tough for you during these times of free speech, democracy and gangster rap", followed by, "I hope you enjoyed the US election."
Fine, I'm a child.
The Sun drops the ball on Hitler
If there's ever been a story to have tabloid editors wetting themselves in delight, it's this one. It's official: Hitler had only one ball. Let the mocking, singing and football hooliganism commence.
What I want to know is: where did The Sun find that absolutely perfect photo? Still, it's good of the newspaper not to launch a campaign against Johan Jambor, claiming he should have killed Hitler when he had the chance. There's actually a surprisingly small amount of anti-Germanic feeling in the whole article. Good on you, boys.
But then that's the The Sun for you: occasionally, they show evidence of having ethical standards in their paper. Now never mind the bollocks – here's the sex pictures.
Countdown to oblivion
Oh God.
The daytime TV staple for tax-dodging students and coffin-dodging geriatrics everywhere, Countdown, has announced its new presenter and sidekick combo. The new Carol Vorderman is to be Rachel Riley, which is one hell of a graduate job for the 22-year-old and hopefully one that won't lead to her demanding huge salaries and repossessing people's homes through dodgy debt consolidation agencies, and the new Richard Whiteley/Des Lynam/Des O'Connor is to be Sky Sports presenter Jeff Stelling. Jeff Stelling! Wowzers!
For those of you who don't know, Jeff Stelling is the presenter of Soccer Saturday, and one of the most annoying men on television. Have a look at the man in action. He's insane.
Stelling is quite famous for doing crazy stuff such as this, but look beyond the James Brown bit into the way he actually speaks – like he's desperately trying not to go to the toilet and keeps being prodded in the back at unspecified intervals. He just keeps shouting random words for no reason. He's going to be bloody awful presenting Countdown "A SEVEN, eh, GORDON? That's NOT BAD but it's not a 9-LETTER WORD, IS IT? SUSIE! What have YOU GOT over there in Dictionary CORNER?" They'd be better off with Brian Blessed.
Ronaldo to Real, eh? And Kaka too. Not to mention Manchester City signing Gareth Barry. But did you hear about Burnley snapping up Tyrone Mears from Derby?
Watching the big-money buying antics of Real Madrid certainly provides some entertainment for the long summer football-less months, but the fun is short-lived. The real fascination comes in watching the teams without silly money scrape together their back-of-the-sofa coppers to buy Aberdeen's reserve left-back. Why? Because these teams need value for money, and there's a great game to be had, both for the clubs and for those of us watching, in predicting who can provide it; the player who not only helps the club to win matches, but at a cut-price rate.
Which is why it's most interesting at the moment to watch Burnley, Birmingham and Wolves – those teams newly promoted to the Premier League. Even though we're some 37 days (and impatiently counting) from the opening weekend, you can tell a lot from the way a club will go about its top-flight adventure by its close-season purchases.
Look at Derby two years ago, for example. With a notably weak squad, they hardly ventured beyond the High Street, with perpetual Welsh disappointment Robbie Earnshaw the only major signing. There was never any ambition. Famously, the Rams were relegated as early as March, and finished the season with a League record low of 11 points.
At the same time, Sunderland sought to reaffirm their place in the top flight with a spending spree, including Craig Gordon (£9 million), Michael Chopra (£5m) and Kenwyne Jones (£6m plus Stern John on an exchange deal). The Black Cats survived the drop.
But despite Sunderland's successful dealings that year, it's not all about spending a lot of money; it's about spending wisely. Hull went bargain basement this time last year, getting players on loan and free transfers, and enjoyed an incredible start to the season – and even if it did go a bit pear-shaped after that, they still stayed up.
So which of our new teams this year are shaping up well in the transfer market? Let's take a look at their chequebook stubs.
BURNLEY
Preparing for their first outing in the Premier League, the Clarets have been relatively quiet in the market to date. Only three players have made their way to Turf Moor so far this summer, as manager Owen Coyle chooses to keep faith with the team that won the Championship play-offs.
Burnley have, however, paid a club record transfer fee to bring Scottish striker Steven Fletcher from Hibernian for £3m.
Potential bargain: David Edgar. The 22-year-old Canadian defender was sent off on the last day of the season as Newcastle succumbed to relegation, but he received praise from Kevin Keegan and Glenn Roeder and was named man of the match in a 2-2 draw against Manchester United.
Potential turkey: Steven Fletcher. Can Fletcher live up to the pressure of being Burnley's most expensive ever signing? Hibs legend Keith Wright openly questioning whether he is ready for the best league in the world won't help his confidence.
WOLVES
Last year's second-flight champions have been very busy, signing six players. Most promisingly, they've broken the bank on Kevin Doyle, paying Reading, who bought him for just £78,000 four years ago, a reported £6m for his services – a Wolves club record. Reading team mate Marcus Hahnemann has also arrived on a free.
Potential bargain: Nenad Milijaš. Voted Most Valuable Player in the Serbian Superliga last year after 37 goals in 97 appearances for Red Star Belgrade, Milijaš has also scored twice in ten matches for Serbia. And he's a midfielder.
Potential turkey: Ronald Zubar. The former France Under-21 and Guadeloupe international incurred the wrath of Marseille fans after some costly defensive errors. Three million Euros may be too big a fee.
BIRMINGHAM
With more money to spend than their promotion buddies, Birmingham have sought to shore up their defence with some big-name Championship purchases. Roger Johnson, Cardiff player of the year for two years running, has arrived at St Andrews for £5m, joined by 22-year-old Coventry captain Scott Dann for a reported £3.5m, rising to £4m.
Potential bargain: Joe Hart. One of England's best 'keepers on a season-long loan? Yes please.
Potential turkey: Lee Bowyer. Bowyer came on a free transfer, so at least he won't be an expensive letdown, but is he still good enough to play at this level? The jury's out on that one.
So then, this is the 25th (kinda) and last Week Spot blog post as you know it. From next week, it will be updated as and when something in the news catches my eye - as, indeed, a blog should be.
Maybe I'll do a weekly round-up again, but I doubt it. So until that day does or doesn't come, here's a bumper final edition of strange stories for you.
And everything's changing, mainly to do with people being removed from the public eye. OJ Simpson's been locked up, Diana Vickers has been voted off X-Factor and Darren Anderton's retired from professional football.
I think that's good, good or bad and bad news respectively, but I'd appreciate your input on that. What do you think?
OJ loses common sense, freedom The British public loses another Diana Official: left-handers plagued by statistics Andy Fordham hits the maximum in weightloss The Discman makes a comeback Sicknote Anderton hangs up his boots
OJ loses common sense, freedom
Dear oh dear. Opinion still seems to be divided over whether OJ Simpson murdered Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman, of whose deaths he was found innocent in 'the trial of the century' in 1995, but we can all agree on something – he's stupid.
Surely OJ should have known for more than a decade now that every move he makes would be watched like a hawk by people aggrieved with the 'not guilty' murder verdict, the authorities and conspiracy theorists. He should have been wary of picking his nose in case it turned out to be holding evidence against him.
So with this in mind, his reaction to the supposed theft of some memorabilia was, well, a bit special. For a start, it's not like he was actually robbed. Two people were trying to sell memorabilia from OJ's footballing days and he claimed it still
belonged to him. Now, what do you do in that situation? Get legal on their arses? Let them peddle the useless wares? Or kidnap them at gunpoint and force them to give the stuff back? The latter, apparently. I think he's started to confuse his life with the movies he's been in.
Yet OJ claims, "I did not know that I was doing anything illegal." Uh... really? What part of it did you think was nice and legal, OJ? Was it the kidnapping or the armed robbery? Honestly, it's like he thinks he can get away with murder or something.
And so this time he's been sent down – down for 33 years (though it'll more likely be nine, when his parole is heard). Interesting. What's yet more interesting is that he was found guilty of this charge 13 years to the day after being acquitted in the murder trial. Some will call this justice; I just think it's the most beautiful irony.
Still, he's got only himself to blame. Silly boy.
The British public loses another Diana
So, Diana has been voted off X-Factor just one round before the grand final. I hear Mattel are desperate to get her voice into a range of Barbie dolls (complete with claw-like hands) to capitalise on the publicity. And the reaction of the rest of us is... conflicting, to say the least.
I haven't been watching X-Factor at all – I've drying paint that needs monitoring – but like many sceptics, I've been dragged in a bit by the drama. From the couple of performances I've seen, I know that some of them can sing, some of them can't, and Diana Vickers is definitely memorable.
That is to say, I don't know if I like her or hate her. She somehow manages to sound bloody awful and absolutely amazing at the same time – something not done since Bob Dylan, albeit in a very different way. I think yesterday's show proved that faster, louder songs don't suit her, which may well be why she was voted out (well, that and she annoys people), but she can belt out a ballad in at least a distinctive way. Put it this way: I don't know if I like it or not, but I still have her version of Coldplay's Yellow in my head. And since the winner is going to sing Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah and you know no one's going to do it better than Jeff Buckley, at least hers would be different from the norm.
The winners are generally dull. Leon? What's happened to him? At least he could sing, I think, which sets him apart from Ray Quinn, who is without a doubt one of the worst singers I have ever heard, and yet he came second a couple of years ago. Listen to him sometime. He doesn't sing any consonants.
Anyway, like her princess namesake, Diana's gone now – cast aside like the proverbial rag doll she physically resembles. As if it matters – she'll get a record contract and, like her 16-year-old rival and potential squeeze Eoghan, will add to the list of people more than 5 years younger than me (she's 17) and phenomenally more successful than I am.
Bastards.
Official: left-handers plagued by statistics
More useless education statistics emerged recently. After the classic that was 'pupils born later in the year do worse in exams' (I've already written an article on that one), we're now told left-handed students don't test as well as their right-handed counterparts. Oh good, so we'll just make sure our children are right-handed, shall we? I'm sure a return to the 19th century will do us good, and make sure we all grow up in a right-handed utopia. But just to make sure, let's move back in time and culture completely and burn lefties at the stake for being witches.
This goes out to the BBC and educational researchers: STOP SPREADING ALARMISM. Non-stories of non-studies like this just lead idiots to worry, and they don't need the persuasion.
I'm not left-handed. But 7-10% of the population are, and please, just leave them alone. Five of the last seven Presidents of the USA – Ford, Reagen, Bush Snr., Clinton and Obama (and McCain as well) – have been left-handed. No one talks about that. Actually, that's probably for the best: the rednecks have enough to go on without our telling them the world is not only in the hands of a black guy, but a left-handed black guy.
I wonder if they've had to move the red button on his desk.
Andy Fordham hits the maximum in weightloss
What the hell has happened to Andy Fordham? I am really, really glad he has decided to kick the drink (seriously, 23 bottles of lager a day?) and lose some weight but he looks emaciated. I mean, I suppose that's what losing 17 stone does to you, but I genuinely don't recognise him. I think it's an actor.
Oh well, good for him, I suppose. But he does look terrifying.
So the lesson here, kids, is if you want to avoid inevitable surgery, don't play darts.
The Discman makes a comeback
And yet I can't find N64 controllers anywhere.
Sicknote Anderton hangs up his boots
So. Farewell Then Darren Anderton.
You have played Your last game. 599. You Scored a volley in the dying minutes to grab a dramatic win for Bournemouth.
Well done.
Sicknote. That Was your name. People called you that Because you were always Injured.
Roll up, roll up, everything must go, etc. It's the sale of the century and you're all invited to take home a West Ham player of your very own.
I've not held back before in saying that Messrs Gold and Sullivan, owners of West Ham United football club, should keep their noses out of the direct running of the team, including transfers and contracts, and concentrate on keeping the club solvent and wearing purple velvet suits (they really, really do).
I won't hold back now either: they still need to shut up. The Cockney double act's most recent announcement is that, despite surviving the drop and the exodus of players that naturally follows, they will still readily sell any player except midfield talisman Scott Parker.
And the same debt-ridden club has bid £4m for Graham Dorrans of newly-promoted West Brom. O... K.
That's Gold; where's Sullivan?
I could go on again about their clumsy announcements, or the folly in keeping Scott Parker but allowing three England internationals to go, but what I find more interesting here is which clubs could benefit from this West Ham summer sale. My surmisings follow.
Clearly these are not all very likely, and I'd be very surprised if a dozen players leave Upton Park anyway, but certainly some big Premier League names should think about dusting down their chequebooks.
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ROBERT GREEN TO ARSENAL
Perfect opportunity for Wenger, this.
If the Gunners are as cash-strapped as their fans repeatedly profess them to be, they'll need to think small for that much-needed 'keeper (oh, come on, you know Almunia and Fabianski are utter balls).
Green would be a superb signing. Always involved in England's pass-the-parcel approach to the no1 jersey, the 30-year-old has an excellent pair of hands, a decent Premier League pedigree and is more reliable than most England 'keepers (*cough* JamesRobinsonCarson *cough*).
There's longevity to be had too: he may be into his fourth decade now, but 'keepers hang around forever so another shotstopper wouldn't be required for some time.
(Annoyingly, the Metro has now noted this potential move, but I thought of it first, damn it.)
Alternatively: FULHAM. Mark Schwarzer is a top, top 'keeper but he's 37 now and his understudy, Pascal Zuberbuhler, is 39. The Cottagers would love someone a little more, uh, evergreen (sorry).
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CARLTON COLE TO LIVERPOOL
Bear with me here.
I know what you're thinking:
"Really, that carthorse to a Big Four (snigger) club? What are you smoking, where can I get it and does it come with its own 'Amsterdam or Bust' lighter?"
But let's not forget that Carlton Cole, while not the most fashionable of footballers, is a top-quality striker and not far from Fabio Capello's thoughts. I'm a big fan of the ex-Chelsea man, and God knows Liverpool could do with him in their squad.
First up, he's a strong lad who holds the ball up well - the perfect support for Fernando 'Why am I still here?' Torres.
Secondly, even at 26 he has the top-flight experience to counter many of the Reds' younger players' collective lack of nouse.
Thirdly, he can score goals. Without Torres and Gerrard, Liverpool don't find the net easy to... well, find.
Fourthly, he'd be available for under £10 mill, and when you bear in mind Liverpool are apparently without much in the way of transfer funds (something I attribute to spending £35m on Johnson and Aquilani), he'd be a bargain buy.
Lastly, and most importantly, he's better than David bloomin' Ngog.
Alternatively: ASTON VILLA. Because Cole does the same thing Heskey does but he's capable of scoring goals - and Villa's tally this season is some 18 lower than Top Four rivals Manchester City.
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DANNY GABBIDON TO WIGAN
There's no two ways about it: Wigan need to perform better next season or they're getting relegated.
Magical victories over Chelsea, Liverpool and most recently a self-destructing Arsenal can't, and doesn't, take the edge off the fact that the Latics have been poor.
And the first thing to look at there is their defence. Losing 9-1 to Spurs, 4-0 to relegation battlers Portsmouth and Bolton (not to mention 4-1 to Championship side Blackpool in the Carling Cup) and 5-0 to Manchester United TWICE happens for a reason.
Gabbidon might not be of the same calibre of Matthew Upson, at least in terms of media coverage, but he is a sound defender and would be available on the cheap.
Alternatively: BOLTON (see below).
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MATTHEW UPSON TO BOLTON
Shit team, shit defence.
Many will say Upson could go to a bigger club - Arsenal are rumoured - but having survived this season, Owen Coyle will be looking to take Bolton to mid-table next season. An Upson-Cahill centre-back pairing would be a great foundation - all they'd need then is, y'know, a striker.
Also, whisper it quietly, but I don't think Matthew Upson is very good. A bigger club could do much better.
Alternatively: ARSENAL, apparently. Wouldn't mind playing against a team with Sol Campbell and Upson as centre-backs.
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JULIEN FAUBERT TO WOLVES
Faubert has been good this year, and as a former Real Madrid player (seriously, how did that happen?) he'll be ambitious at staying in the Premier League.
Wolves are currently playing Ronald Zubar at right-back.
That is all.
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JONATHAN SPECTOR TO NOTTINGHAM FOREST
Moving into the newcomers, Forest are favourites to win the Championship play-offs and if they do so, they'll want to add to that infamously small squad. Spector, who can play in any position across the back line and in midfield (he used to play up front too) would add useful versatility.
So would Kieran Dyer, but... well...
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BENNI McCARTHY TO SWANSEA
Oh, shut up. It's not inconceivable that Swansea could be in the Premiership next year, and given that their scoring rate - 40 goals in 45 games - is akin to that of a dying leper in a disco, they'd love a striker with some top-flight experience. McCarthy could give them just that for a season or two.
Today is my birthday, which means two things for this blog: it'll be shorter and less cynical than usual. Gone are the diatribes of Homeric proportions on the horrible financial state we're all in and gone are the complaints about how bad parts of the national press are (though they are). No, for this week, I am going to bright, breezy and brief.
Which means, yes, there may be some silliness. Sorry.
To that end, I have just opened one of my birthday presents, which is a collection of crap jokes. So, in the spirit of silliness: where was the Declaration of Independence signed? At the bottom. Boom boom.
No, I don't know what happened to this blog either.
D-I-V-O-R-C-E Dollocaust Is Manchester United the ugliest football team in the world?
D-I-V-O-R-C-E
So clearly the biggest news this week is the impending divorce between 75-year-old lingerie model and Joan Rivers impressionist Madonna and her lovable cockney geezer of a husband, Guy 'cor blimey guvnor' Ritchie. Apparently this split has been a long time coming. Apparently bears defecate in heavily wooded areas.
It's interesting that the announcement supposedly came earlier than planned: the couple had wanted to keep up appearances until the end of Madonna's new tour (I imagine this was her idea, not Guy's). Maybe it's just me believing too much of the little celebrity gossip I read, but I was under the impression that everyone knew they've been growing apart over the last few years, so they can't have done brilliantly in the 'keeping up appearances' part of things. Still, waiting until the end of your tour to announce your divorce? Isn't that a little cynical? Call me naïve, but even the end of a marriage should have its priorities, rather than being "highly stage-managed", "announced when it [is] convenient" for one of the two people involved. Madonna "didn't want the distraction while she is trying to concentrate on her tour," The Sun reveals. With a thought process like that, how has she has the nerve to question Ritchie's emotional capabilities?
With this in mind, I also find it very interesting that the announcement came from Madonna and not the couple, as usually happens. Even soon-to-be-divorcees usually manage to be in the same room as each other for one more press conference, for old time's sake, perhaps. But, although Ritchie's representative co-signed the statement, the news was revealed by Madonna's cohort. Maybe it was seen as her responsibility as the more famous party, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's quite happy to take the reins with the press on this one.
She has, after all, been more vocal about the divorce than Ritchie. The other night at a concert in Boston – her first after announcing the divorce – Madonna gave Ritchie lock, stock and two smoking barrels, introducing the song Miles Away with the words, "This song is for the emotionally retarded. Maybe you know some people who fall into that category. I know I do." She then powered through her set like a true rock 'n' rolla, although it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to notice that in those clothes you can very clearly see her snatch.
Apologies for the appalling punnery and quite crude (but accurate) observation that for the millions of dollars she spends on her stage show, Madonna still dresses like a cheap whore. We shouldn't be too surprised by this sort of behaviour from someone who has released singles called Bad Girl, Hanky Panky and the less-than-subtle Erotica in the past, but she's 50 now. Apart from anything else, she could at least start saving some money for retirement. Allegedly her new tour, called 'Sticky and Sweet' – the woman has no shame – involves £1 million of jewellery, 3,500 individual wardrobe elements, 100 pairs of fishnet stockings and 69 guitars. Strangely, it's the last of these statistics that concerns me. Even The Clash, at the height of their instrument-smashing mayhem, didn't get through that many.
Anyway, back to the divorce, just briefly. One final piece of interest, for me at least, is Guy and Ritchie bringing out the old privacy chestnut, requesting that the media "maintain respect for their family at this difficult time."
Optimistic, I feel.
Dollocaust
A line of Fisher Price dolls has been withdrawn from sale at a number of toy stores in America after parents complained they were spouting such questionable messages as "Satan is king" and "Islam is the light".
Americans? Paranoid? Nah.
I'm pretty sure this could only happen in the Bible Belt of America (in this case, Oklahoma). Not only is it a hotbed for insane Christians hitting pro-choicers with bricks, it's a hotbed for insane Christians insisting that everyone in the world apart from them is a heathen/Islamic fundamentalist/the Devil/all three. Add a dash of 9/11, a whiff of Jerry Springer: The Opera and a soupcon of 'Holy shit, there's a black man running for President' and you get full-scale terror.
Listen to the clip attached at the top of this link and tell me that gurgling, babbling baby doll is saying "Islam is the light". It's not. If anything, it's saying "Me ears are alight" in an obscure reference to a Maxell advert. Equally weird, but probably less terrifying to Americans. Still, I expect somewhere in the Palestinian Bible Belt – the Qur'an Colony? – there are families complaining that an evil Western doll is saying, "Ooh ooh, the Israelites."
Or maybe they're more understanding than crazy American bible-bashers.
Is Manchester United the ugliest football team in the world?
It's been discussed before, this, but watching their match against West Brom made me realise once more that United's players are uglier than Route 1.
This is a team that has produced and since released such Elephant Man cast-offs as Luke Chadwick and Phil Neville, and yet they still keep up an impressive ugly quotient. Maybe it's part of Cristiano Ronaldo's contract. Maybe it's an obscure EU law. Whatever the reason, it's slightly eerie. If you don't believe me, look for yourself at this full XI of hideous United players (in a 4-3-3 formation, notice). To be fair to them, a lot of these pictures have been taken with the players at the very height of gormlessness, but I don't care – they're funny.
For those caring less about England's friendly with Brazil and more about a game that actually matters, the eyes will presumably be swivelling towards the first leg of Europe's final World Cup qualifiers, and specifically Ireland vs France. Can the Irish overcome the former world champions to reach the finals in South Africa? Was it right for the play-offs to be seeded so they had such a tough game? And is there any basis of truth in this exchange at all?
Elsewhere in Europe, Ronaldo's Portugal have a tricky encounter against Bosnia-Herzegovina, erstwhile European champs Greece look to restore some pride against the Ukraine and Russia take on Slovenia.
But to be honest, I don't care. Because tomorrow, World Cup history could be made in a completely different part of the world. So does anyone know a pub anywhere in the UK that will be showing Togo vs Gabon?
After an epic two-year tournament, the African qualifying stages come to an end tomorrow with a flurry of teams trying to book a last-minute berth. Some of the big names are through (Ghana; Cote d'Ivoire); some are not (Nigeria and Egypt both need to win and hope results go their way).
The biggest fixtures, though, come in Group A - the Group Of Death.
Only one of the group's four teams can make the World Cup Finals, and three qualify for the African Cup of Nations. So when Gabon, a medium-sized west African country with around a million and a half inhabitants, none of whom have played in the World Cup Finals before, drew in their group Cameroon (featuring Samuel Eto'o, traditionally Africa's best team), Tunisia (regular qualifiers) and Togo (uh, Emmanuel Adebayor), it's fair to say they had the shortest odds on making neither tournament.
But amazingly, Gabon have a real chance. A chance to stop the likes of Samuel Eto'o and Alexandre Song playing on the world's biggest stage. A chance to stop Morocco even playing in the relatively minor African Cup of Nations.
A chance for this group of amateurs and semi-pros, whose most well-known player is probably Daniel Cousins of Hull, to play in the World Cup Finals for the very first time.
All the Black Panthers need to do is to beat Togo - which they did 3-0 at home - and hope Cameroon manage only a draw away to a Morocco team they couldn't beat on home turf. Gabon may need a result to go their way, but success is within their grasp.
So if you see me in a pub in Portsmouth tomorrow only keeping an idle eye on the England or Ireland game while frantically refreshing my phone's internet browser, you'll know why. I'll be keeping tabs on a team on the brink of making history.
Look, I'm sorry. I am. I really am. But what with jobbing, blogging once or twice a week over here and moving house and indeed city, I'm struggling to find the time to visit this dusty corner of the web.
It's a shitter, really. There's so much I want to comment about in all areas of the news, but it inevitably ends up instead on my Twitter account, sandwiched between football ramblings and rants at Neighbours.
Today: the Budget. I'd love to talk about it in more detail, but I've become so innured to 140 characters that -
Sorry. Old joke. The Budget was fascinating, but more for students of politics than of economics. The main talking point, really, is Alistair Darling's decision to axe Stamp Duty on first-time home buyers spending less than £250,000 on their property. Seeing as it's currently 1% of the property value, it'll probably save them around £2,000. Good stuff. Not quite as good, obviously, for the owners of million-pound homes, who are seeing their Stamp Duty rise 5%.
That'll be 5%, please It's a move that sees Labour move to their traditionalist roots... oh, come on, we know that's bollocks. It's an appeal to their core voters, that's all, but what did you expect in a pre-election Budget? It's interesting, though, that penalising well-off southerners in the commuter belt whose homes have ballooned in value through no fault of their own may cost Labour as many votes as they win through helping first-time homeowners - who, by the way, won't be as poor as all that, since the move affects properties worth between £125,000 and £250,000. Basically, mummy and daddy's mansion tax pays for their first step towards their own mansion. What's that song? We are all bourgeois now?
Still, this Stamp Duty move will probably end up a votewinner rather than a voteloser, which is more than you can say for David Cameron's efforts with Gay Times. If you wanted proof the only principle this man has is that he should win the election, there you go. "What's my stance on gay people again? Wait, I know this one. Turn the camera off, let me get my crib sheet... "
Cameron: direct (well, not really) So in conclusion, I'm rubbish, Cameron's rubbish, the Budget happened and if you are reading this, thanks for sticking with me. Now I'm settled, almost unpacked and actually have the internet at home, I can start blogging on here a bit more often than once every Twilight film.
I'm back, I promise, and I'll start... oh, next week sometime.
OK, so last week Huw Davies' Week Spot became Huw Davies' Weak Spot as I failed to post, well, anything of note. But hey, that's in the past now! So let's get back on track with a fresh look at the week that is now, uh, in the past.
I knew there was a flaw in this somewhere.
(By the way, the title 'No. 10' refers not just to the focus on Downing Street in the first article, but that this is also the 10th Week Spot post. Thanks for sticking with me through the rough patches.)
Move along, nothing to see here Tsvangirai ready to dance with the devil In defence of Andy Murray One small step for reality TV; one giant leap for mankind
Move along, nothing to see here
Divisions in the Government mean it's to the bunkers again as The Sunday Telegraph proclaims 'LABOUR IN CIVIL WAR'. It'd be enough to get you worried if it wasn't for the fact that this is probably the fourth time they've declared a civil war in the Government in the last few weeks. When did it start exactly?
Anyway, rifts do seem to be rife – but leadership challengers AWOL. It seems that many Labour MPs have nothing better to do than shout for a new leader, but when it comes to suggesting one they mutter, grumble and draw cartoons of Gordon Brown with an arrow through his head.
Brown needs a good autumn and a better winter. It doesn't look as though he is going to deposed now, because no one seems ready to take his place (alternatively, this makes interesting reading). This is why the timing of the Glenrothes by-election is crucial. If Brown waits and waits, toughing it all out all the while,
rides out the storm to emerge the other side and somehow wins that by-election, he's right back on track. But if he waits and loses, he is done for. If he holds the by-election now and loses (which he almost certainly will), he might just get away with it. Is it right to lose a seat to save the PM? Sometimes a pawn must be sacrificed for a king. But then I was never any good at chess.
The point is this: no one is coming forth to lead the country, so Gordon Brown is safer than he may seem. The Labour Party is not. They are at a crossroads and they need to take one of two paths (uh, maybe more of a fork in the road, then). Either unite and resolve to force a leadership challenge or shut up, show some genuine party unity and get behind Brown.
And yes, some of this is up to Brown himself. By carrot or by stick, he needs to regain control of his party. The party needs to either let this happen, or find someone else to take control instead. This is government, for goodness' sake – the country needs a leader with his own people behind him, not behind him with a dagger at the ready.
Decisions, decisions. Someone's got to make one.
Tsvangirai ready to dance with the devil
Forget 'WORLD WAR 3 BREAKS OUT'. Forget 'McCAIN WINS AMERICAN ELECTION'. This may well be the most terrifying headline I can ever imagine.
'MORGAN TSVANGIRAI: "I WILL HAVE TO TRUST MUGABE"'
That sends a shiver down my spine. I don't pretend to understand African politics all that well, but I do know that Robert Mugabe is one of the most evil men alive – stop me when I get too emotionally involved – and that trusting him may be a risky strategy. Apologies for succumbing to Godwin's Law, but Chamberlain trusted Hitler and look where that got us. He invaded Britain, won the war and now we all speak German (wait, what?).
Sorry. I don't want to make a mockery of what is a seriously tragic situation in Zimbabwe. And to be fair, I don't think Tsvangirai wants to trust Mugabe. He just realises he may have to. But this is why the power-sharing solution isn't a solution at all: Tsvangirai's MDC will only ever be a junior partner to Mugabe's Zanu-PF, they will struggle to exert any influence over him and atrocities will continue.
But then, I suppose, what else could Tsvangirai do? Not a lot. It's still up to other nations to intervene in some way, and I worry that this new development involving a sharing of power will only delay that, while governments naïvely think they can stop worrying about this troublesome country for a while. More positively, they may be giving the new system time to work, and I suppose this has to happen – but surely, a few months should be enough to see if there is at least any movement towards change. And again, I'm not confident, because Mugabe is not some repentant sinner looking o right his wrongs. He never saw his crimes as wrongs, and sees no reason to change the status quo.
Tsvangirai told The Independent on Sunday, "When you negotiate, you ought to have faith and confidence in each other. Otherwise, there is no point in negotiating, because you are bound to fail. I am therefore giving [Mugabe] the benefit of the doubt." Except of course, in this case there WAS point in negotiating without having faith and confidence in your partner, and that's that there was no way Tsvangirai was going to win through the ballot box. Hell, he did, and he still didn't prise Mugabe from power. This is not a man to whom you give the benefit of the doubt.
I know he's been pressured into this, and that it's not ideal circumstances for him. But I just hope Tsvangirai knows what lies in store. Because mark my words: this is not the beginning of democracy in Zimbabwe. I hope and pray it is, but I'm a man of lesser faith than its new co-leader.
In defence of Andy Murray
So on Sunday 7th/Monday 8th September (depending where you live), Andy Murray played Roger Federer in the US Open final, and lost. It was a sad day for him and a predictable day for everyone. All in all, it was probably a lovely birthday present for Tim Henman, who turned 34 the day before the final: for all his proclamations of support, confidence and hope for Murray, the fact remains that it's hard to like anyone doing your job better than you, especially when that job is entertaining the British crowd as well as looking like you might win something, neither of which Henman could do.
But 'Tiger Tim' can sleep easily at night knowing that, inexplicably, he's still more popular than Andy Murray. For some reason, soon to be discussed, everyone – or at least everyone I've met – hates the talented young Scot.
And I think the reasons lie in those three words: "talented young Scot". The first two are an unhappy couple in jealous armchair sports fanatics: it's hard not to feel a bit useless when you're watching someone achieve so much more than you ever could at the same age you finished university (and I'm not just talking about myself here, although I am struggling to come to terms with being older than two of the top four tennis players in the world – Murray and Djokovic – and only four months younger than one of the others, Rafael Nadal). So Murray's young and talented, and finally, he's Scottish. And therein lies the hatred. Good old-fashioned racism.
To be fair to Murray-haters, they probably aren't racists and I doubt most hold anything against the Scottish apart from perhaps a mild xenophobia. It may be the same general mistrust that a lot of people – not least the idiot Kelvin MacKenzie – love showing towards Gordon Brown now the 'mean, Scottish, money-grabbing Chancellor' has become the 'mean, Scottish, money-grabbing Prime Minister'. It may be that English tennis fans don't like the idea of a Scotsman representing the UK ahead of anyone else. It may just be that they don't like the premise of a Monty Python sketch being ruined (do your own research for that one). It may be any of these things, but it seems that regardless of how well he does, Murray is in for a hard time from his own compatriots. Still, he's only got himself to blame. Because it can all be traced back to this comment:
"I'll be supporting anyone but England."
These words, spoken in reference to the 2006 Football World Cup, consigned him to a lifetime of antipathy in the views of many, many English people. It doesn't matter that he has no reason to support England; it doesn't matter that he was joking. It's too late now. He spat in the eyes of English sports fans, and they don't want their beams messed with, thank you very much, but by the way, you've got a mote in yours.
Obviously not everyone feels this way about Murray, or at least claim they don't. But the other arguments for disliking him do seem pretty thin. Most say it's because he's arrogant. Really? The man who told everyone not to get carried away when he first burst onto the scene? The man who readily admits to having faults in his game and confessed to not having prepared enough for the Olympics? The man who, after his recent defeat to Federer, was self-effacing, had only praise for his opponent and avoided making excuses such as a lack of time to prepare? Sorry, where's the fault there?
Is it all the emotions he pours out in a game? Yes, he does look like a bit of a tit. He's practically demonic in this photo, with the rectangular mouth and all. But why should we hate him for wearing his heart on his sleeve? He's showing a bit of fire; that he cares, and after following in the footsteps of a British no1 who looked like farting was just too much effort, he should be applauded for it.
Or is it that he does well? Deny it all you like: the British love a gallant loser. But as a sporting nation, we're starting to thrive. Look at the Olympics! Look at the Paralympics! Look at the Champions' League! It's OK, we can win things now!
So we're back to the racism card again, which wasn't an issue until he said he wouldn't support the English football team. I don't expect you to agree with me, but I think that's what it boils down to. Sorry.
One small step for reality TV; one giant leap for mankind
My next and last subject matter may surprise some of you, since a) it relates to something that happened a while ago and b) I hate reality TV. But I've heard a lot of talk about it this week, making it suitable for a 'week spot', and it means I get to include 'Gossip' as a topic tag now.
So, as I understand it, there's a once-popular programme every year on Channel 4, T4, E4, More4, EvenMore4, YetMore4, SurelyThereCanBeNoMore4, YourFour, MyFour, OurFour, TheirFour, Channel 4 + 1, E4 + 1, More 4 + 1, More 4 + 2 = 6, 4OD, 4COD, 4ADHD, ScoreFour, BoreFour, ChoreFour, PoorFour, HardcoreFour, Softcore4, IntermediatecoreFour, ForeplayFour, WhoreFour, SoreFour, LawFour, WarFour, I Can't Believe It's Not Four, I Can't Believe It's Not Four + 1 and certain frequencies of Al-Jazeera that's called Big Brother. And, as I understand it, someone called Rachel won this year (?). Finally, I am led to understand that she's incredibly boring and may have spelt the death of reality television.
Give the woman an MBE.
But yes, she won, did she? And she beat some bloke who was really nasty? Called Rex? Is that right? And Rachel winning when she's, like, sooooo boring is bad for the programme?
But good for humanity, surely. The British public chose someone nice over a complete and utter bastard (American election voters, take note). That's very encouraging. What with Jade Goody's illness turning people into monsters who think she's somehow faking cancer or if not that she deserves it – I mean, I hate Jade Goody but I wouldn't wish cancer on her... maybe that she stubbed her toe one morning – it's good to know there might still be some hope for humanity yet.
And when you're drawing that conclusion from reality TV, you know you're in trouble.
Once again, it was time to move my feet before I ate... a short 5K race (2 actually), then a Thanksgiving with family, football, and, of course, plenty of turkey and all the fixings.
The Oceanside Turkey Trot is a relatively new event, this is the 2nd year... and already it is developing quite a following. There is both a 'locals only' race for Oceanside residents only as well as a 'open' race for everyone else and this year, over 2000 people participated.
I decided beforehand to run in the 'open' race for time, then run the 'locals' race as a cool down.
Well, it was a short race... hence a short report.
Pretty standard warmup. 2 miles easy jog in warmup pants and sweatshirt to get a sweat going. Stretch for 10 minutes, focused on calves and hamstrings... then 5 x 100 strides before shedding the extra clothes and making my way to the start line. It was pretty cool out, a shade under 50 degrees at the race start.
The gun went off right on time at 7:15. The first mile was a little hot... 5:32, as I got sucked into a fast front group. It became clear pretty quick that I couldn't hold that pace, so I backed off the throttle a bit and watched the fast guys leave me behind. I really concentrated on maintaining good form, with a nice arm swing and staying relaxed through the 2nd mile. Mile 2 split - 5:52. Oops, a little too relaxed... a little more of a drop-off than I planned.. The route turned downhill and onto the Strand (the sidewalk on the beach) and the finish line appeared in the distance. Started to catch some guys and hammered it all the way home. Mile 3 split - 5:43. Got into a little sprint at the finish... won this time, unlike last year when I got smoked.
Final time 17:45, 3rd in my AG, 24th Overall.
A 47 second PR... so I'm stoked. Got some water, a banana and made my way back to the start to run the local's race. A nice easy cool-down pace... roughly 7:30/mile for a finish time of 23:15.
All in all, a good day's effort and it was rewarded with a great day with my family and lots and lots of turkey.
