Bad hair day(s)

I am horrified by the bad reputation that Culture and Sports Secretary Jeremy Hunt and his former advisor Adam Smith are giving spiky quiffs.  David Cameron vacillates in everything apart from his support for his human shield Hunt, who is living up to the spoonerism of his surname.  Maybe sacking a minister responsible for sports so close to the Olympics isn’t wise, but to keep on someone like Hunt with zero credibility (to prefix his name with Right Honourable is oxymoronic) and a laughing stock, it makes even less sense.  As someone says on the blogosphere, he’s so full of holes, the bullets are going straight through him. That means the projectiles are impacting on Cameron and it’s therefore pointless to maintain association with Hunt.

To return to my original point though, it’s a pretty poor state of affairs when a star of a reality show like The Apprentice has to make the case for spiky quiffs.  This hasn’t been said in a long time but its Ricky Martin to the rescue.

No great loss

So Vladimir Putin is to boycott the London 2012 Olympics, sending his robotic crony, Dmitry Medvedev, in his place.  This is actually for the best because it would be uncomfortable, indeed unsuitable, to have at such a global celebration, a person who holds out against the world (witness the overwhelming vote condemning Syria from the UN General Assembly), a man who, no less, sponsors and protects child killers, taking the Syrian regime line that this was the work of rebels.  As it says in Proverbs, Chapter 17, Verse 15 (King James version) “He that justifieth the wicked, and he that condemneth the just, even they both are abomination to the Lord.”  Says it all really.

Let’s do the timewarp again

In the aftermath of the Eurovision embarrassment for Royaume-Uni as Englebert Humperdinck limped home with 12 points, people are divided about making another effort to try and snaffle a high-profile star for next year or just quitting the competition altogether.  The UK is one of the five favoured countries (along with France, Germany, Spain and Italy) that always qualifies, no matter how lowly its ranking, because it provides a substantial swathe of funding. 

Second to last is not good enough for a country that has more world-renowned song-writing and singing capability and heritage than, say, the highly placed Albania.  At least Norway kept Britain off the absolute bottom (losing 1-0 to England on Saturday made it a thoroughly rotten weekend for the Norwegians).  Being the first to play in the contest was not good, given that 41 more entrants must play before voting can begin.  An unremarkable melody of a first track of an unfamiliar album of 12 songs or so after only listening to it once would be starting to fade by the end, let alone a playlist of 42, which is more than a double album.  This is part of the reason why you have political voting, since if the choice is mind-boggling you go for songs with common cultural resonance i.e. that of your neighbours.  If the competition was drastically pruned to 20 songs, it would reduce geopolitical bias, (a) for there would be fewer neighbours in the competition to whom to give the vote and (b) people would have half a chance of remembering all the songs.  It would alos make Eurovision a far better show.  Politicking won’t be entirely eliminated for not only did Greece give Cyprus the maximum 12 points (and receive it in return, although is that a good thing, for the last thing it would want would be emerge top and forced to pay to host it next year), it pointedly didn’t award any marks to Germany, though threatened Eurozone countries, Ireland, Spain, Portugal and Italy all did in trying to curry favour with the Teutonic piggybank.

It usually is the case that the best (or most outlandish) song does win out, with the neighbourly love-in affecting only the middle-ranking (and, honestly, who cares about that).  Sweden won a crushing victory.  The tune ‘euphoria’ didn’t really prompt that in me though.  It was okay but not a patch on Abba’s Waterloo, which wasn’t even the foursome’s best song – they were the first to win it for their country and the nation has triumphed roughly once a decade thereafter, drawing level this year with the UK in overall wins.  I do believe that if you had something akin to the early Beatles’ alchemy e.g. I Want to Hold Your Hand, it would sweep the board, even accounting for political bias and all other things being equal.  After all, Eurovision brand of music is retro-kitsch, that is, stuck in the past.

Cutting off the head of the serpent

With Moscow as intransigent as Damascus in the wake of the Houla massacre, the Russian foreign minister going as far to indict western countries as responsible for the bloodshed when he knows full well his government is up to its ankles in that flowing from the dying innocent, diplomacy has hit a brick wall.  To send troops into Syria though is not only politically impossible for the west, with a looming US presidential election and penury at home, but unwise, since the intervening troops will be blamed by both sides for every misstep they make.  The only solution that I can see available to stop or at least mitigate the number of atrocities is targeted assassinations.

I’m not in favour of capital punishment for I find it expensive, prone to miscarriages of justice and, most importantly, reduces us to the barbaric nature of those being executed since the motive is a heedless thirst for vengeance.  Deterrence is nowhere.  Yet, in the case of Syria, pre-emptive extrajudicial killings of the elite would hamper its ability to murderously prosecute its own civilians.  Take out Bashar al-Assad, his brother Maher and several hardline generals and watch the government descend into chaos, maybe even a power struggle between those left at the top.  I am convinced many lives would be saved by this strategy.  It could be done covertly by Navy SEALS or the CIA and then a rebel Syrian faction could be persuaded to take the credit, the truth emerging only 50 years later.  Maybe some intrepid divers could attach limpet mines to Russian warships or arms supply ships in the port of Tartus for good measure.

High Seas Hi-jinks

The Pirates!  In an Adventure with Scientists is from the creators of Wallace and Gromit and larded with the kind of absurd humour that Monty Python used to make its own. A star-studded cast is led by Hugh Grant as the diffident Pirate Captain, an amiable buccaneer on a quest to become Pirate of the Year (think Britain’s Got Talent with plunder).  Set at the start of the reign of Queen Victoria (a ferocious Imelda Staunton), anachronisms abound (e.g. more of the world map painted red than should be at the time) but when that is a meta-theme of the narrative it seems churlish to criticise.  The film is dotted with sight gags on every part of the screen, such as a London pub with a sign proclaiming ‘Live Sports Here: Urchin-chucking; Cockney-baiting’.  It is also refreshing to see a film that takes a light-hearted (as opposed to po-faced) approach to Charles Darwin (David Tennant in a quicksilver portrayal) and his legacy.  Some of the set-pieces are simultaneously hilarious and impressive.  Once again, Aardman Animations have fashioned an enjoyable story that has the balance correct between adults and children.  Four out of Five.

Double jeopardy

When the residents of Dale Farm ‘Travellers’ camp in Essex was experiencing eviction from the part of the land on which they had built illegally, a separate case arose in Leighton Buzzard, Bedfordshire of a Gypsy family abducting homeless men with false promises, then imprisoning them and treating their victims like slaves in the work they forced to carry out and the conditions they had to endure.  I knew that a roused right-winger would rally to attack those who used moral arguments to defend (with words) the Dale Farm inhabitants by deploying a case that had no relation other than an ethnic connection.  And sure enough at least one of these tosspots crawled out of the woodwork after co-habiting with the death watch beetle.  To draw parallels and say that the actions of a small set of people are indicative of the whole mass of their compatriots is cheap, blinkered and obtuse.  To say it of an ethnic minority could be construed as racist.  It’s like a foreign person saying that the English are all football hooligans - a grievous slander.

This week a country club owner and a former master of the hunt were convicted of serious offences – the former was given a 28-day jail sentence, suspended for two years, after breaking a restraining order, using threatening and intimidating behaviour to his victim and making false statements to the court throughout the process, the latter was jailed for four years for raping a married woman.  Yet we don’t hear the rabid representatives of the right casting dire aspersions about how nefarious are all country club owners or all huntsmasters.  I wouldn’t be surprised if pleas were made for out of character were the actions of both men, even after conviction.  Yet double standards come easy when one’s judgement is polluted with narrow-minded ideology and snobbery.

Not the 1812 but the 2012 Overture

To follow an incredible denouement to the Premier League comes an amazing conclusion to European club football for 2011-12.  Chelsea have finally won the UEFA Champions League and provided extra political security to Roman Abramovich in his Russian dealings.  It was all set for Bayern Munich – at their own stadium, to win it for the fifth time and thus keep the trophy permanently as Real Madrid, AC Milan and Liverpool have done before them – but, with such pressure, they choked, skewing wide or weakly shot after shot.  When they finally did burst the Chelsea net, it was a scruffy goal and Chelsea replied with an equaliser almost instantaneously.

Instead, Chelsea become the first London team to win the European Cup, with it being the last chance for many members in this squad.  Indeed, how much longer would Abramovich have continued to support the west London outfit had they failed this time (conversely, now they have fulfilled his dream, the former governor of Chukotia could now depart)?  It had to be Drogba who was at the heart of much of the action.  He scored the late, late goal to draw Chelsea level after Bayern’s late strike; he conceded the penalty in extra time (that Petr Cech saved); and his was the spot-kick in the penalty shoot-out that was the coup de grace.  It was how Patrick Viera finished his Arsenal career by being the final of five penalty-takers and scoring to win the 2005 FA Cup for Arsenal.  Ominously for the Stamford Bridge lot, the Gunners haven’t won a trophy since.

Commiserations to Bayern then and to Tottenham Hotspur who have had their Champions League place for next season gazumped by the Blues, despite finishing five points and two places above them domestically.  This could see the break-up of the White Hart Lane crew – it remains to be seen whether the achievement of fourth place is a sufficient inducement to the star players, alluding to the possibility of future glory as it does.

There are some interesting parallels with last night’s final and other games.  In 2005, Sporting Lisbon had a once-in-a-lifetime chance to lift the UEFA Cup (the predecessor to the second-tier Europa League) at their own ground, but, despite going ahead, fluffed it and lost to CSKA Moscow.  Also, now the last three English victories in the Champions League final have come on penalty shoot-outs and Manchester United’s triumph over Bayern in 1999 was sealed only in the dying minutes of the game in normal time.  As Chelsea coach Roberto di Matteo had the nous to mention, this result is also important for England’s co-efficient – UEFA’s ranking of club football in the country, helping with seeding and places available for the Champions League.  Since 2002, when England have been permitted the maximum four teams, clubs from this land have stormed Europe every three to four years (2005, 2008, 2012) – a good hit rate.

I’m very happy for di Matteo, one of football’s good guys.  He’ll probably get at least a one-year contract prior to maybe Pep Guardiola taking over after a year’s sabbatical.  Frank Lampard can show his medals to Wayne Rooney and Steven Gerrard now at England meetings at international level.  It was slightly queasy seeing John Terry lift the trophy, but that shouldn’t mean others who were also suspended should have been prevented from doing so.  This was a last hurrah for some such as Florent Malouda and it could be said for them, they saved the best till last in their career.

Starlight launch

In The Apprentice, the tasks that most enthuse myself are the advertising campaigns because of the creative energies they can unleash.  Of course, a lot of these end in mediocrity on the show because the candidates are focused primarily on selling or other business aspects and don’t have that side to them.  Sometimes, it can go too much the other way and they lose sight of what they are to be promoting.

Tissues, pet meals and kitchen cleaners have all featured, but it is the new cereal campaign that sticks most in the mind, particularly of the dearth of ideas in the minds there that they have to had come up with the lamentable Pantsman (to adopt the Geordie argot of its promoter, it was pants, man).  I could come up with a character easily, by inventing scenarios focusing on the medieval world, the Wild West or a whole host of other realms.  But space would have been my particular pick of my imagination and to create a character from that would be relatively easy.

In the latest edition, last night, they had to bring greater awareness of English sparkling wine.  One advert was dull and the other was trashy.  I’d have gone for something a bit humorous but not in the way the losing team tried (and failed).  With a brand name of Royal Grape, the tag line “Way to the future” and a quasi-futuristic background to the website (whilst not losing focus on the fact that we boosting wine).  The advert would open with the fist bars of the original Star Trek.  “Taste – the final frontier. [a bottle of Royal Grape hoves slowly into view] These are the adventures of the sparkling wine Royal Grape, its English mission to stay true to its roots, to seek out new palettes and accompanying meals, to boldy go where no sparking wine has gone before.  [The fast music kicks in and a few salient, bite-size facts zip up on the screen, in place of the opening credits, staying for a period long enough to read them. An attractive man and woman in futuristic clothing appear with two full glasses, looking at themselves, then the camera].  Lightyears ahead of other competitors and out of this world, English sparkling wine, the enterprising choice.  Make Royal Grape your Number One – it’s the way to the future. [ the couple raise their glasses upwards, as if a rocket launch].”  I conceived all this half an hour after The Apprentice ended.

If questioned on the basis that it was flippant, I would say that most alcoholic beverage companies deploy funny ads or iconic ads and that the latter only come along once every blue moon (certainly not created in two days).  I was confident that the easy familiarity of the Star Trek theme mixed with a laconic style would fix itself in people’s minds and go viral.

Simples!

Gotcha!

The charging of Rebekah Brooks (née Wade) and her husband (right) Charlie on perverting the course of justice (no mention of her perverting the horse of justice by allowing David Cameron to ride it) is a bit like arresting Al Capone on tax evasion charges.  But bringing them to book is proof that no-one is above the law.  Journalists talk crap about ‘speaking truth to power’, but News International became the overarching secular power in the UK, Rupert Murdoch regularly being rated as the most influential man in Britain.

I feel the police are holding back the trial of Andy Coulson on authorising phone hacking and perjury for some time closer to the general election in 2015, so it will blow up in the face of the Conservative leadership.  This would be in revenge for cuts to pay, perks and numbers in the police forces.

In the spirit of the newspapers she used to edit, there should be no open or day prison for her, her husband or her confidantes.  Brooks herself has previous in a cell after assaulting her then boyfriend, Ross Kemp.  It should be maximum security detention, 23 hours behind bars in solitary confinement.  Bringing back the death penalty is probably a little too harsh though.  Lock them up and throw away the key, for they are a menace to society.

Last day round-up

This football season in the Premier League, there has been a visceral decline in my enjoyment of the sport, with its Wild West regulation and arrogant charlatans aplenty.  The glut of games has contributed to this perceptible feeling but the obsession with TV money above the ordinary fans make points on the board a little meaningless.  The FA Cup’s rescheduling for 5.15 p.m. was a case in point, stymieing the return travel plans of Liverpool fans and the day wasn’t even entirely cleared, with the Premier League leaving a dribble of spite with an early kick-off between Arsenal and Norwich.  If the FA had any integrity it would ensure that the traditions of the FA Cup are upheld and it being the last game of the season, yet it is hopelessly compromised by having Premier League chairmen on its board (one less after today – bye bye Phil Gartside), men who find it more convenient to their schedules to mess around with it.

Today was a case in point.  It was a 3 p.m. starting time for all of the final Premier League matches, but that just reinforced the memory that such games were played on a Saturday at this hour, not a Sunday.  I guess the reasoning is that fewer people work on a Sunday, here, in Europe and in Americas and will be able to tap into the late-night audience in East Asia.  It reminds me though of what we have lost.

Gripes aside, this was a thrilling climax to the top-flight season.  The drama was spectacular even if the quality of football played was not.  For Manchester City to win the title for the first time in 44 years in the dying seconds of the game, after staring down the barrel of defeat in the game to QPR and in the season as a whole, is astounding.  To take it away from Manchester United like that and leave them with nothing must make it all the more sweeter for the blue half of Manchester.  When QPR were stonewalling City, I thought it would make a great show were City to score late to win it by one goal and as it turned out that was the case.  Edin Dzeko scored in injury time with three minutes remaining and remembering other games that changed in time added on (Southampton 2, Middlesbrough 2 and Charlton Athletic 3 Blackburn Rovers 2) I knew that it was doable for another goal to be scored.  And then Sergio Agüero capped a remarkable turn of events with his late, late goal.

QPR escaped relegation at the expense of Bolton Wanderers, who join Blackburn Rovers (making it a hard season for much of Lancashire) and Wolverhampton Wanderers.  At least Owen Coyle can rekindle an association with Burnley, from whom he jumped ship to join Bolton.  St Totterings’ day strikes again on the last day (cf. 2006) – when will Tottenham Hotspur finish above Arsenal?  It’s been a tough season to mark David Moyes’ ten years in charge but there was the consolation of being higher placed than Liverpool.  King Kenny was touted as being able to challenge for the title by some sycophantic journalists but, as when in charge of Newcastle United in the late ‘90s, a strong finish as caretaker manager was followed by unabated mediocrity in his subsequent full season.  Glenn Roeder did a similar trick with the Magpies in 2006 but no-one talked up his title credentials (just as well as it turned out).  Fenway Sports Group will be more sensible in forcing Kenny Dalglish out in the summer period, instead of sacking him a few games into the new season as Freddy Shepherd did.  Being below Newcastle United (13 points behind!) must be painful for the turncoats Andy Carroll and José Enrique – where could Newcastle not challenge for again Enrique?  Ah yes, the top six – where you are not.

For the Toon, this season has petered out in anti-climatic fashion, with losses in their last two games, but that should not overshadow what has been a brilliant season in many respects.  I was hoping for a top-ten finish and a positive goal difference – well that was certainly achieved.   The same total of goals as last season – 56 – has been scored and with only half a dozen fewer conceded, but United have been more strategic in when they score goals, suffering big ricks in a few games to damage the goals against total.  This has led to the jump from 12^th to 5^th with 19 more points.  65 points is the best return for nine years and is nine better than was scraped together in Sir Bobby Robson’s last full season (it was always uncomfortable when he never qualified how he finished fifth in 2004).  A trip to the Champions League would have been amazing but the Europa League isn’t so bad as it would allow Newcastle to build up its UEFA ranking after five years away from European competition.  Just so long as it did not have a detrimental effect on the league form.  Highlights have been some of the goals scored, especially by Papiss Demba Cissé, Ryan Taylor, Demba Ba (remember him?) and Hatem ben Arfa; going on a six-game winning run; taking four points off Manchester United for the first time in decades; beating Man Utd for the first time in eleven years; righting last season’s wrongs at the likes of Bolton, Stoke City and West Bromwich Albion; beating Chelsea at Stamford Bridge for the first time in more than a quarter of a century; ending ahead of the team from the dark place is always welcome; and a general style of play that is easy on the eye.  Some of the squad may depart in the close period, making the scouting of Graham Carr ever more vital and Alan Pardew, the official Premier League manager of the season, will have to work on Newcastle winning games in which they fall behind – under his tutelage, they have only managed draws, not victories and that would be a key part in pushing on.  Though my fascination in much of top-flight football is on the wane, there are very interesting times ahead for Newcastle United.

Friday in Hawaii

Being at the centre of time, even on British Summer Time, can be useful for anniversaries.  Somewhere in the world it is still Friday 11^th (just).  There has been big commemorations such as the 200^th birthday of Charles Dickens and the centenary of the sinking of the Titanic.  But as to the assassination of Spencer Perceval, the only British Prime Minister to suffer that fate, two centuries ago, barely a squeak.  One Telegraph blogger did a little rumination and that was it.  I added a couple of lines for an In Memoriam on the Telegraph Announcements (gratis, of course) to at least register something to note it.  There is an air of the ridiculous, that the inquest into his death was held in the Cat and Bagpipes pub at the corner of Downing Street that is so British but that should not distract from his uniqueness.

In 2013, it will be the fiftieth year since John F Kennedy was killed and exactly half a thousand days later, it will be 150 years since Abraham Lincoln bit the bullet.  Given the propensity of Americans to try to murder their presidents, you would think coverage would be limited but I think there will be a cultural explosion, a veritable welter of articles, novels, biographies, etc.  Leaving aside the assassination attempts, the other two chief executives to fall victim to blood lust aren’t so well known - James Garfield and William McKinley (though the latter presaged the glorious era of Teddy Roosevelt).  In the deluge of feverish media activity in the wake of the September 11^th East Coast air attacks, poor old McKinley’s fatal centenary was forgotten altogether.  But Lincoln and Kennedy are big beasts – one oversaw victory in the American Civil War, the other faced down the Russians successfully without starting World War Three in the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Yet Spencer Perceval led the only superpower of its day (French overseas possessions being largely liquidated by 1812) and in one of its darkest hours, comparable to 1588, 1805 and 1940.  Bogged down in the Peninsular War, tensions rising with the young USA that would culminate in conflict, Luddite industrial unrest spreading across the country and Napoleon Bonaparte’s Continental System blockade wreaking such damage on British finances, public and private, that the noted economists David Ricardo begged the government to sue for peace with France.  And, in the midst of all this, the prime minister is struck down.  It must have seemed like very dire times, fully justifying the saying that the night is at its blackest before the dawn.

Well, Perceval, King’s Council, here is one person who has not forgotten you and would have done this log a lot earlier had I not had a stonking headache yesterday.   Will you get your due on 300 years?

To serve, not to Lord it over us

There is a good case that for much of the last few months, the Government has been focused on areas primarily of concern to the bogeyman of the ‘metropolitan elite’ but of the issues that often get bundled together, House of Lords reform is actually a very pressing matter for anyone with an interest in democracy.  Of course, plans to table bills for economic growth are important and for people who never vote but are interested in how they put food on their family’s plates, political reform is not worth the breath with which it is uttered.  But these are straw man arguments.  Would opponents of making the Lords more accountable really wreck budget bills jut to hold up the reform process (surely hastening their exit from a position of power) and, if people are constantly treated with cynicism, how will they re-engage with the ballot box?

Around the world in mature democracies, the antediluvian upper house is a laughing stock, run along the same lines as the Vatican City and taking both chambers into account not so different from Burma/Myanmar – how embarrassing.  Yet, of course, there is a certain streak of politicians who have no shame – for them the taste of power is all.  When Julian Brazier, Conservative MP for Canterbury, dismisses the reform as a side issue that should be dropped, at one fell swoop he is trying to not dilute his prerogative and also feathering his bed, hoping no doubt to be on the gravy train of political appointment to the House of Lords.
Peter Oborne, usually so sagacious, is contemptuous of changes to the Lords, deriding such a prospect as pointless.  He stated that, “Its structure may be irrational and quaint, but this unelected institution has done far more for British liberty than the House of Commons over the past two decades.”  Again, we return to South-East Asia, as the same could be said over the last two years by the civilian crony government under the Burmese generals.  How can we lecture Thein Sein on democracy with our own ridiculous constitutional arrangements?  The reign of King John resulted in the Magna Carta, so why not return to the divine right of kings?  His argument is more rotten than any borough.

I thought David Cameron was very clever after the Queen’s Speech in appealing to all parties in driving through changes to the Lords.  If Labour joins with dissenting Tories in either House, the process will stall and the prime minister can point out that the Labour party are violating their own manifesto promise for political point-scoring.  Ed Miliband might be cheered by his MPs but he would suffer a big reputational hit among progressives who might vote Green for the future in protest.

Talk of putting it to a referendum are by those who hope to kill it off.  The failure of the AV plebiscite and the general rejection of having mayors are proof that referendums are inevitably affected by other concerns other than that on the ballot paper.  It is not just confined to the UK.  When France voted to reject the European Constitution in 2005, a large part of the negativity was to give Jacques Chirac a good kicking (as Nick Clegg was to suffer with AV).  I’m sure in ancient Greece when people put a stone into one vase or the other, on their minds were other ideas rather than focusing on the proposal at hand.  Such dishonesty would have exercised Plato as he fulminated against the system that forced his mentor, Socrates, to death, yet if Socrates was never brought to trial, would Plato have cared about the iniquities of democracy?

A fully elected (and smaller than the Commons) upper chamber would be preferable.  French and American political scientists must be astonished, as they learn in their university days that bishops (the Lords Spiritual) are allowed a direct part in political decision-making in Britain.  However, an 80% elected chamber is better than nothing (and create an inertia towards 100% of members being elected).  The chatter that this will lose valuable experience is nonsense if vested interests can be defeated.  Proportional representation on party lists will allow the ‘experience’ of the Lords to be largely retained.  It would also permit ex-members of the Commons to receive political patronage as well.  Changing the name to the Senate House or Senate is gratuitous gimmicky – it makes us different to retain the name of both our upper chamber and those who populate it.

As to a democratic upper chamber conflicting with the House of Commons, there is already a fair amount of resistance to Coalition proposals, such as the Health and Social Welfare Bill.  The battles fought over that were of World War One-attrition levels and left the Health Secretary badly damaged.  Also, other bicameral parliaments in mature democracies don’t seem to have too much of a problem apart from where extremists have captured one of the chambers (I’m thinking of the Tea Party who have no interest in governing, just blocking with bile and hatred).  Of those who argue this, they really have no clue outside their parochial mindsets of how democracy can be organised.

There will always be people who oppose such change just as there are luddites in football who are against the introduction of at least goal-line technology.  They stick to what they know for they perceive some sort of advantage to their cause.  History leaves them behind in the dust to bite it.

How to conceal oneself

Steven Spielberg is – unfairly – much derided by university film classes and student of film, his easy populism, with typical focus on an ending that satisfies the audience, grating to those who consider themselves serious auteurs.  Even the harrowing, brilliant Schindler’s List, that largely eschewed the frequent charge of sentimentalism, had a chink of light that burned away until the darkness was vanquished – hope and goodness outlasting the evil, if at terrible cost.

Spielberg’s heyday was the late ‘70s to the mid-‘90s but then he succumbed to the same disease of mediocrity that had rendered lame Francis Ford Coppola and George Lucas (though nowhere near as debilitating).  From worthy dramas such as the solid Amistad to fun capers like the overlong Catch Me If You Can, Spielberg never really recaptured his previous flair.  When the script wasn’t up to scratch, this could result in The Terminal – which was – and the pitiful fourth movie starring Indiana Jones.  Even his latest, involving Tin-Tin, which many said was a character born to be taken to the silver screen by Spielberg, was so-so when if finally arrived. Each slip made those languishing in obscurity more smug.

The chief criticism of being entertaining but not thought-provoking much irritate Spielberg.  Schindler’s List and Amistad did not silence the barking fully.  So we come to Munich in 2005, recalling the killing of the Palestinian terrorists in the Black September group in reciprocity for their murdering of many of the Israeli sports team during the 1972 Munich Olympics.  Given Spielberg’s background, this was a subject close to his heart.  On TV, I missed the first half-hour, yet was gripped by the remainder from the moment I tuned in to BBC2.  There was a heavyweight cast.  Eric Bana, Ciarán Hinds, Daniel Craig (who’s done a similar role to this in the World War Two drama Defiance), Mathieu Kassowitz, Valeria Bruni Tedeschi and Geoffrey Rush.  Past and future Bond villain actors Michael Lonsdale and Mathieu Amalric feature as shadowy fulcrums, with a barbed father-son relationship thrown in to boot.  The 1970s decade was well re-created in all the locations of where they went.  I cannot speak from personal experience yet it looked convincing.

Some directors/producers would have done the film as a Jewish Death Wish but Spielberg handles the caveats and contentions in a considered way.  The irony is hard to miss that the three people on the hit squad who begin to have reservations about killing in cold blood (even though the victims have terrorist backgrounds of connections), all die from forces as mysterious as themselves.  Though Israeli people applaud them, there is little glory in the execution of their missions, the violence being messy, gruesome (at one point a wrenched arm, separated from the disintegrated body hangs from what is left of the ceiling) and chaotic, endangering or killing those who are not in Black September.  Each death damages their humanity a bit more, until the main protagonist, Avner (Bana) becomes extremely paranoid, fearing he will be taken out as he has taken out.  When informed that their destruction of the Black September leadership might have been counter-productive by elevating more extremist, unhinged figures to position of authority within the organisation, it eats away at them.  Not so the Mossad chief Ephraim (Rush), who shrugs, “Should I not cut my fingernails if they grow back?”

There is one unintentionally parodic moment when Avner has intercourse with his wife, as he does so recalling the botched rescue attempt of the Israeli Olympic hostages, flinging copious amounts of sweat off him as if he was a killer whale breaching the pool surface at Seaworld. Sex produces sweat but not sluicing out of yourself as if you were Old Faithful blowing your top in Yellowstone Park.  Take away the flashbacks and it’s like The Comic Strip Presents…

Two questions are the heart of the movie is ‘how do you react to terrorism’ and ‘ how do you deal with terrorists’.  There is talk of arresting the Palestinians and trying them in court as happened with Adolf Eichmann.  Robert (Kassowitz) argues that because one has been hated for 2,000 years (though I would advance that total by a further 500 annum) doesn’t justify any action of yours.  How do avoid becoming that what you hate, in substance if not specifics, is mooted.  Carl (Hinds) brings up the fact, in a roundabout manner, that the creation of Israel was accelerated by Jewish terrorism.  He is said to sound like a double-agent by the blinkered, fanatical Steve (Craig). 

The picture ends on a shot of the New York skyline with the then recently completed Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, asking us what would we do; what action would we support?  With the first anniversary of the assassination of Osama bin Laden just past, that is a message that resonates even more powerfully.  Munich is constructed in a fashion that it does not seem like a Spielberg movie and maybe that was exactly Spielberg’s intention.

Adam Yauch, your passing is mourned by many around the world. You were struck down not by self-inflicted rock-and-roll excess but by the silent, remorseless killer that is cancer. A life cut short at 47, when you had still much to give. Thank you for sharing your talent with the world - your memory will live on through the music of the Beastie Boys.

Shockingly named

Spectacularly ill-judged title for Channel 4’s overview of the disabled athletes at the Olympics.  The call it That Paralympic Show hovers dangerously close to other notions of ‘show’ such as ‘freak show’ and to preface it with ‘that’ just compounds the damage.  Couldn't their 'creatives' come up with anything better than that?  Given Channel 4’s penchant for poking fun at the marginalised in society (e.g. The Undateables is an opportunity for people to gawp at those less fortunate in their romantic lives), maybe it is just a sick, sick joke.

History in the making

It has been a long time since Newcastle United beat Chelsea in the league – 1986 to be precise.  Yet, if there ever a chance to end that barren run it was last night.  Central defenders Gary Cahill and David Luiz were both injured, with no cover, needing a utility man to step into the breach.  Also, while this would be the Magpies’ third game in 21 days, Chelsea were facing their sixth in 18 days.  It was opportune that this would be the occasion that I would visit Stamford Bridge for the first time, to witness in the flesh the Toon victory.

Contrary to the commonly held perceptions about Chelsea, the ticketing wasn’t exorbitant for a one-off.  I secured a seat for £23.50.  The sightlines were slightly obscured in one corner but a giant TV remedied any action that was blocked out.  As I travelled along the District Line Tube, then trying to accelerate, the exasperated driver came over the speaker system to ask people to refrain from leaning against the doors, apparently the source of the bumps slowing the train. When compliance was slow in coming, he iterated that there were two services no more than a few minutes behind for both.  To cap it all, he said “there were a lot of Chelsea fans on this train,” as if that would spark an exodus from those not associated with the club.  Nice to know Chelsea supporters still retain an unsavoury reputation.  That was the case on the way home by Tube, when a woman enquired about the score – “Oh Chelsea, lost 2-0. Good!” – before suddenly realising that she was surrounded by the fans of that club filing in through the doors.  She sat in her seat with her mouth over her hand for a full minute.

Stamford Bridge is a fantastic stadium.  I got there early to take in the surroundings from my vantage point in the Matthew Harding Stand.  Not as good as St James’ Park, but second to no others that I have visited.  The Blues’ cosmopolitan support was indicated by the numerous banners from around the world – Malta, Singapore, East Cornwall.  Yes, that’s right, East Cornwall.  Well, the Cornish do like to see themselves as a separate ethnic entity.  The banners ranged from the exotic – plus those named, Slovenia, Cyprus, Hungary, Sweden, the UAE and parts of the USA had their own fliers – to the fairly local such as from Lincolnshire and the East Midlands (because there are no big teams in these areas of the country, are there, some might carp.  I certainly can’t).  Behind me, a set of fans from across the Channel exhorted Chelsea in French throughout the whole match.

The Stamford faithful are the most passionate London supporters I’ve come across.  Years of glory have not dulled their edge and there was no occasion at which the away support could deride the home section’s commitment to their team.  Though there were moans and groans as the game progressed with misplaced passes and sweet United interplay, visceral exhortations of the name ‘Chelsea’ were soon again on the lips of all around me.  There were also ditties from the ‘Que sera sera’ selection, focusing more on going to Germany than Wembley, though trips to both await.

Noticing the big guns such as Frank Lampard, Ashley Cole, Didier Drogba and Juan Mata were on the bench gave me further hope for this evening, in full knowledge that three of those big guns would come on were the night turning against Roberto di Matteo’s side.  After a vigorous start to the match by the Blues, Newcastle gradually grew into the game and when Papiss Demba Cissé’s first of the night was rifled into the net, it was not against the run of play.  With the goal providing a spring in the step, the black-and-whites (thankfully dispensing with the garish orange away strip for this fixture) starting to make the Blues’ players look like mugs.  Demba Ba also rattled the crossbar.  One frustrated Chelsea shouted “Terry, sort it f***ing out” as the captain was the only one performing in his team.  Promptly, Terry lost the ball easily.

They obviously got a rollicking at half-time for they come out early, Mata joining the party, ominously reminding of when Fulham did the same earlier in the season after a sub-par first half from the home team.  That went very badly.  There was some sustained pressure but Newcastle were doing to Chelsea what Chelsea did to Barcelona.  There was poor penetration and wasteful finishing, as Newcastle gave almost everything to the cause to prevent a Blue resurgence.  This was exemplified by Cheick Tiote.  He suffered a crack on the head with a massive gash.  At the time, this was unknown apart from he was lying on the floor with a host of medical officials surrounding him.  He was kicking his feet but it was hard to know if that was spasm or not.  A group of Chelsea fans did a chant of “Let him die, let him die, let him die” which was not only disgusting but on the night when Fabrice Muamba was returning to Bolton Wanderers’ ground to watch the other match taking place since his heart attack, it was particularly vile.  However, when Tiote was stretchered off, the entire ground rose to their feet to give him an ovation – the decency of the majority over a few idiots.

Newcastle never regained their fluency after the injury, though Tiote’s replacement, Ryan Taylor, is an able player in his own right.  In the last fifteen minutes, Chelsea applied some ferocious sustained force on the Newcastle goal but when they did beat goalkeeper Tim Krul, Davide Santon was on the line to head it away.  Then, in a Magpie breakaway came Cissé’s wonder goal, midway through the ten minutes of injury time.  From the other end of the ground, it was virtually in slow motion.  Can it be in?  Can it be in?  It’s in!  Game over.  In real time, it can a little difficult to fully appreciate a goal’s craft.  Usually, it’s ‘bam’, and before you’ve truly taken it in, the ball is nestling in the net.  Yet this was outstanding.  On the surface, I was poker face, yet inwardly I was brimming with joy, just as I was wearing a Newcastle Utd replica shirt under my office clothes (I came straight from work).  I did a little neutral bodily movement as well as it was hard to contain myself.  Watching the replays on YouTube, Cissé’s goals get better and better with every viewing.

The squad had taken their eye off the ball at Wigan, thinking of this match rather than the one they were playing last Saturday.  Well, at least that didn’t go to waste.  A clean sheet was an added bonus.  Even after the second goal, Chelsea didn’t give up, even with snatching a draw forlorn – anything to give their fans something to cheer.  But Krul dealt with it efficiently.  He was booked for time wasting and the referee added it on at the end of the game anyway but unlike at Arsenal it did not come back to haunt us.  What personally concerned Krul more than a yellow card was another shutout and from a Newcastle perspective, that is always welcome.  This win kept the Toon’s Champion League challenge alive, only one point off third, while effectively ending that of Chelsea’s (via the Premier League at least).  I think the League Cup triumph at Stamford Bridge in October 2010 was vital in ending doom and gloom about coming to this part of west London for the players.  Those still on the wage list could imbue with confidence the newcomers that it is possible to do something here. That was evident in the 2-2 draw last season.  The man who scored the winning goal that day, Shola Ameobi, made a cameo for the last twenty minutes of the game.  First win at Chelsea in the top-flight league football for more than a quarter of a century, first ever in the Premier League.  I was there for this historic, brilliant night.

From the Albion to England

Well, they didn’t say which manager they were going to pick.  If everyone thought it would be Harry Redknapp, more fool them.  Woy Hodgson was always part of the selection process as was Arséne Wenger, not just Redknapp and the latter not landing the job has led to red faces amongst sports journalists (and bookies), probably accounting for some of the vitriol towards Hodgson, much as royal correspondents were (temporarily) humiliated after saying Prince William and Kate Middleton were a certainty to get married, only for Wills to dump his ultimately future bride for a few weeks.  The FA were spot-on, not revealing their hand to avoid providing a distraction to the squad of the victorious manager and West Bromwich Albion have achieved Premier League safety.  If Spurs have collapsed, what is that to the FA?

Everyone has had so much to say about the appointment that I am only mentioning the salient points that I haven’t read or heard yet.  Hodgson teams tend to be organised and hard to break down and England will probably grind their way to a quarter-finals at both the Euros and the World Cup before going out on penalties.  It is said that the FA were taking the long view, that Hodgson will oversee a unifying process in English football trying to at least continental expertise at all levels of the game.  But that wasn’t a long view back.  England haven’t won a major tournament in 46 years and if they were to go down, at least England should be entertaining and Redknapp’s buccaneering style would have given us that.

With what I take issue is the saying that Hodgson can’t handle the pressure of a big club because of his tenure at Liverpool.  Inter Milan are hardly European minnows though and he did all right with them, taking Inter to a UEFA Cup final (which they should have won), as he did with Fulham. 

Crucially, over Redknapp he actually has tournament experience with Switzerland (who, incredibly, he guided at one point to third best national team in the world) and the United Arab Emirates.  That is invaluable.

Plus he was free in securing his services, something not to be overlooked in these thrifty times and it was from a club with (a form of) England in their title.  So that he was at a mid-table side and he tended to find relative success at such kinds of clubs; England are no more than the equivalent of that in international football.

Triumph of the Shrill

How could Nicolas Sarkozy make himself seem even smaller than usual – holding a rally with the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower looming over him is a sure-fire way to ram home his stature.  Despite his gigantic ego, his pint-sized height is appropriate as he scrabbles around in the dirt for National Front voters to align with his UMP supporters.  The choreographed political exercise today possibly aims to impress the French far-right with Leni Riefenstahl-grandeur but is, essentially, pip-squeak Sarkozy squawking “May Day! May Day! Help me someone, anyone.”