Bouncing off (padded) walls

Following the rejection of his request to be declared sane and move to an ordinary prison where he can starve himself  to death (as opposed to now where as a mental health patient he is force-fed), it may have cost £250,000 but that is a price worth paying to make sure Ian Brady endures agonies to the end of his natural days, rather than being allowed to kill himself (where art thou sting, death penalty?).  It was an entirely right judgement for the sake of justice as well as anyone who derived "existential" pleasure from killing children is clearly more than average disturbed.
The situation made me think of a bad taste joke.  Marriage is like Ian Brady because you are committed for life (or at least should be).

Squaddies in a quandary

Today, the Queen marked the end of the British Army's connection with Canterbury, dating back to the 1790s and the French Revolutionary Wars, as part of the budget cuts that will reduce the armed forces to 82,000.  So much was made about the loss of tradition and so on, until the news report came to their contribution "to the local economy" which made me chuckle.  What will The Works/ Bar-bars/ whatever-it-calls-itself-these-days nightclub (Canterbury's only genuine non-campus nightclub) do without such regular clientele, propping up their bars and hitting on floozies, student and local alike?  That part of Canterbury near the East train station was already run down without the withdrawal of MoD indirect funding.  As for the soldiers, will they really pull as many girls when permanently in civvies as opposed to their nights-off?  These cuts can bite deep.

English football 2012-13

The quality of the Premier League declined in 2012-13, breaking its promise of improving English players who learn from the best in the world, having systematically undermined the England team in every other way in the pursuit of money (something that, as Arsenal fans will tell you, isn't all there is).  The price of everything and the value of nothing comes to mind. This was coupled with a title campaign that Manchesters United and City killed off between them (United's virtuosity, City's lack of hunger) by February, making it as uninspired as the heading to this piece.

The fall in class  reflects badly on Newcastle United, who had a precipitous drop from fifth top last season to fifth bottom this (but at least finished above the Great Unwashed of their neighbours).  All talk of a five-year plan is out of the window.  After exceeding expectations in finishing fifth when tenth was the target and then drastically missing the target of eighth this season, sixth should have been the aim for 2013-14.  But no, tenth is acceptable again.  Given that West Bromwich Albion concluded their campaign on a miserly 49 points – still, their best Premier League points total and position – in normal circumstances a top ten place should be eminently achievable (appointing boorish football directors is not normal).  With the bumper television deal, all the other clubs will be wanting the same thing.

It is incredible that the top three English sides all changed manager at the season’s close.  José Mourinho’s marriage of convenience with Roman Abramovich, which was on the cards since December was I think the tilt factor for Sir Alex Ferguson (although officially he left for family reasons), prompting him to say that Mourinho would win the league if he returned before he had divulged his own retirement plans.  To remember a caustic banner from 1989, “Ta ra Fergie.”  Roberto Mancini was sacked for his customary failure in Europe and inability to defend the Premier League.  Not meeting these pre-agreed aims meant that his (hidden from public sight) abrasive personality, like Mourinho at Madrid, made his position untenable.  Everton also had a vacancy, having lost David Moyes to Man Utd (how glad Moyes must be that Spurs turned him down last year).  As a result, top tier watchers will see the return of the immaculate tailoring and less than immaculate morals of Roberto Martinez. .Massadio Haidara still waiting for the promised apology from Wigan Athletic for the horror tackle by Callum McManaman that could have ended the French Magpie’s career.  The brass neck of Wigan meant, instead of punishing their wayward charge (who had forced another player off on a stretcher in pre-season) sung his praises, condemned a ‘witch hunt’  and played him all the games he should have been banned (with him scoring the second goal in the FA Cup semi-final).  I don’t believe in Karma but Wigan’s relegation and Callum McManaman’s ankle injury ruling him out for several months on the day he had been selected for his first England Under-21 cap speaks to poetic justice.  Back to the internally shabby Martinez, finishing above Liverpool for a third time would be a tall order, giving that to do so twice consecutively was not achieved by Everton since the 1930s.  Liverpool will come strong next season as Brendan Rogers is combining quality with a siege mentality, albeit the latter wrong-headed over the legitimate punishment meted out to their number 10 and his cannibalistic proclivities.  As a city, Liverpool has had some historic injustices handed to it in the 1980s, with the Hillsborough conspiracy lasting more than twenty years.  But the persecution complex of the club has reached proportions where they no longer can tell wrong from right.  They have forfeited the honour of being the neutrals’ favourite club.

Repeating the trick of 2012, Arsenal have overhauled a considerable points deficit  to their derby rivals Tottenham Hotspur to finish above them again.  Given their disappointment last season, it was surprising to hear Spurs fans counting their chickens.

I had badly misjudged West Brom.  Steve Clarke wasn’t the born number two I imagined.  Retaining the organisation of the Hodgson reign and adding the goals of Romelu Lukaku made them the best of the rest though they sagged badly (as did Swansea) with nothing left to play for with seven or eight games remaining.

West Ham and Southampton did better than I expected, Aston Villa and QPR worse, though Reading failed to defy my prediction of relegation (their run from mid-table to win the Championship was a feat that could not be replicated at a higher level to save them from the drop).  I was glad of Norwich’s safety though they left it late.  Fulham’s conclusion to the season might leave them treading water the next.  Stoke City’s sacking of Tony Pulis was a shock but I remember reading a preview a few seasons back that commented that Stoke were in a race against time, each year their one-dimensionality increasingly found out by opponents.  A change of manager to herald a change of directions was the board’s antidote – handing Mark Hughes a chance to rebuild his reputation after QPR could be inspired or disastrous.

The elevation of Cardiff City to the Premier League for the first time and Hull City’s return should make things interesting but not as much as Ian Holloway.  I am delighted at Crystal Palace’s play-off victory (“I was told that I had lost the dressing room.  I’d never lost it.  It’s down the corridor on the left..”), not just for Holloway, with him putting icecubes down the vest of terror and like, but also having been an occasional guest at Selhurst Park in the last few seasons.  I am joyful for my friends’ joy.

Fed-Ex

The bigger they are they harder they fall.  First Nadal, then Azarenka, then Sharapova, now Federer, plus a host of injuries afflicting those with incidental fame.  The draw may look like a home run to the final for Andy Murray but still the colossus of Novak Djokovic endures and he was always going to be Murray's most dangerous opponent. 
Given the workrate of the slayer of the king, it seems many sportswriters have missed a punning trick due to their ignorance of inter-war Soviet history for Sergiy Stakhovsky.  His performance wasn't Stakhanovite, for the Ukrainian's achiecvement was all his own personal work, it was Stakhovonite.  I'm allowed that given that his favourite writer is Mikhail Bulgakov and he married (the unrelated) Russian model Anfisa Bulgakova.

Continental cantering

I could make up some reason for pootering around before writing an end of season review, like waiting to see if Bayern Munich would do a Treble by winning the German Cup (they did) to go with the Bundesliga title and European Cup but the simple fact is I’ve had the Internet when I haven’t had the time (packing for Mongolia, getting two rooms ready for renovation, being back at work) and haven’t had the Internet when I have had the time (being in Mongolian countryside).  I’ve done a few updates since returning from Mongolia to keep my hand in and following will be a few write-ups I did on paper whilst out there.

To start with the continental action, Bayern may be loathed as Hollywood FC in their own country; however, I preferred them to win it in the battle of the Bundesliga at Wembley (the absence of an English side the perfect riposte to Premier League bombast and undermining of the national side yet don’t expect humility).  Borussia had already won the Cup With Big Ears (© José Mourinho) in 1997, whereas Bayern were going for the five that would allow them to keep the trophy permanently (as do Liverpool, AC Milan and Real Madrid with their own versions).  Also, Jupp Heynckes, who had not hoisted a trophy since winning the European Cup with Real Madrid in 1998 was retiring and this was turning out to be the ultimate send-off.  After last year’s disappointment, it was the nearest thing to a defence of the Cup since the changeover to a Champions League format.  It may seem strange for Heynckes to have claimed (prior to the match) that this Bayern squad was better than the one that triumphed in the competition for three consecutive seasons in the 1970s (1973-76), given that this latter-day side had just been runners-up twice over the preceding three years (2010, 2012).  The Champions League though is a different proposition to the old editions, where, after a modification, a clubs plays more matches and faces the European elite rather than a straight knock-out against winners of national leagues of varying quality.  If it had been the old format Sir Alex Ferguson might have been expected to snaffle a couple more trophies.

All the chattering hubris Chelsea had about being the first holders to defend the title was obliterated as they conducted the worst defence of any winner, going out in the group.  Given how they had ridden their luck to victory, to a neutral it seemed unlikely in the extreme to succeed where higher achievers have fallen.  Ironically, this humiliation proved to be a source of glory, as where they fell short in the Champions League, they were well capable of winning its little brother, the Europa League and did so.  Their opponents, Benfica, carped (though they were lucky to prevail against Newcastle United) but their criticisms weren’t etched on the trophy, rather the name of Chelsea, who can join an illustrious rollcall of Real Madrid, Bayern Munich, Liverpool, Internazionale, Juventus, Porto, Ajax, Feyenoord and PSV Eindhoven in winning Europe’s two primary competitions.  UEFA, after staunchly arguing that both contests were of equal value, even to the extent of giving them equal coefficient ratings, has submitted to the reality of the lesser nature of the Europa League (as well as its more draining schedule, where, if discounting qualifiers, a winner plays two more games than a Champions League champion) by dangling the exciting prize of qualification upstairs to the cream of the crop, effectively relegating the Europa League officially to secondary status below the Champions League.

No, Chancellor

In a moment of parliamentary farce reminiscent of Yes, Minister, in responding to a plea for reassurances from the chairman of the Treasury Committee (after hearing Sir Mervyn King complain of pressure exercised by politicians on regulators to be more powder-puff in their approach to the banks), George Osborne spoke in a circular manner not once but twice - "If there's unacceptable pressure, I absolutely say that is not acceptable," he said. "The PRA is completely independent and it's made its independent dceisions on capital in our banks."  You would have got more sense out of the speaking clock.  Swift would have lapped up that menaingless tautology.

Also, egg on the faces of all those carping journalists who decried Rafa Nadal being seeded fifth for Wimbledon behind his compatriot David Ferrer.  If anything, Wimbledon was too generous on the two-time Wimbledon winner who was knocked out in the first round yesterday.  Nadal has now only won one Wimbledon match in two years, after losing in the second round last year.  A period of hush would be appreciated from these know-nothing hacks in equal proportion to garrulous eloquence from Osborne explaining clearly his role in being the banks' consigliere.

Joke in’ere*

*Thanks to NUFC.com

When one gets out of the habit of blogging, it sometimes gets a little hard to restart the thread.  The world goes on as normal and it becomes a touch hard to see the point of regular updates.  As a way of letting off steam without sheets of A4 paper cluttering up the house.  I had a few reviews of the football season scribbled down but all those have been superseded by the clown that is Joe Kinnear being appointed director of football of Newcastle United.  You might just as well have appointed the Chuckle Brothers as directors of football.

Mike Ashley has been itching to re-install the role since Dennis Wise (another ludicrous appointment) was ejected from the role as the price of securing Alan Shearer’s services.  Shearer’s coaching record was poor but eternal thanks should be his for getting Wise out of Barrack Road.  There was talk of bringing back the job last season but Alan Pardew’s stewardship of the club to fifth place (narrowly missing out on Champions League qualification on the last day) made rocking the boat unlikely.  Yet Pardew’s credit is exhausted after barely escaping relegation last season and he was in no position to push back against it, other than walking out (and with seven years left on his contract, he would be forsaking a lot of money by doing so).

Right, bring in a director of football so your friends at Spurs won’t look down on you as some sort of footballing bumpkin.  Who do Spurs bring in to fill their role?  Franco Baldini, respected around Europe.  Given that Ashley has confessed to knowing nothing about football, who does he get for his club?  A man who has spent much of the last decade out of football, bar an ill-starred few months managing at Newcastle.  Sorry Mike, but your buddies at White Hart Lane are still going to look down their noses at you.  Hear that laughter?  That’s them behind your back.

It is almost churlish to say why have a director of football when you appoint a Kinnear in the first place.  Did David Moyes help Everton punch above their weight with someone looking over his shoulder?  Does he need someone to keep things ticking over at Manchester United.    It’s interesting to note that the two people Kinnear cites as being on the phone with, week-in, week-out, Sir Alex Ferguson has retired, Arsène Wenger has consistently kept Arsenal in the top four on a shoestring and both did not feel the need for a director of football.  By contrast, such a set-up at Manchester City and Chelsea have undermined their Premier League campaigns with rampant backroom instability.

Ultimately, a director of football is supposed to guarantee the direction of travel for a club no matter who is in charge of the team, for head coaches come and go.  But while Pardew is part-way through an eight-year contract, Kinnear was given only three years perversely, if one follows the logic of the role.  Graham Carr, sharing an eight-year contract with Pardew, was so influential as to be de facto director of football and that position could easily have been made official for Carr.  Now he might even leave the club.

Already Kinnear’s malign influence has been brought to bear, vetoing a free transfer for the defender Douglas because he – incredibly – has never heard of him, a player who has graced the Champions League and who Carr would have had an extensive dossier to hand, after cultivating him for a year.  Douglas is allegedly heart-broken; I’m pretty shook up as well, by losing a potentially excellent player (had Kinnear been around in 2010, he probably knot of heard of Cheick Tiote, also hailing from FC Twente).  In light of this, it’s just as well that Moussa Sissoko was snapped up in January.  In one stroke, Derek Llambias’s summer work of trying to recruit Douglas on a free transfer had gone up in smoke; having erroneously said by Kinnear to have resigned as director of football (as well as having his name mispronounced as Lambezi, as if some he were some African river), this was his cue to resign for real as managing director.  Nice work, Ashley – chickens already coming home to roost.

As for Kinnear saying that he was under more threat than Pardew, that doesn’t follow as Kinnear alone has the ear of Ashley and is he going to fall on his sword when he push Pardew onto it?  Do me a favour.  It all smacks of trying to build a case against constructive dismissal before Pardew is even out of the door.

I’m glad Pardew is staying (for now), as any continuity is essential.  However, where I was thinking of a comfortable mid-table finish for next season, bare survival is the fact of the matter with the chaos that Kinnear has wrought and will wreak.  I’d take 17^th place now.  Let’s see Kinnear say he’s responsible for that, when sanctioning only players that (with Tony Pulis’ departure) not even Stoke want anymore.  The heart aches.

There’s also the small matter of the Premier League, whose promise to the Football Association to allow a breakaway was it would improve the national team, proving once again that only mammon is in the hearts of their executives.  Richard Scudamore would sell his own mother if he thought he would gain extra broadcasting rights.  Not content with making the League a place where less than one third of the players in it qualify for the national side and persistently blocking a winter break because it makes a killing when other leagues have theirs, it has scheduled high-profile matches before crucial England qualifiers.  Ukraine may have done England a favour thrashing Montenegro at the home of the Balkan country but that only counts if England win their remaining games and there is a very real chance that England might not even make the play-offs.  Unwilling to offend their paymasters at BT and Sky, the League flat out refused to cooperate, as if the Joseph Bonaparte of the FA asked for some more power in governing Spain and his brother Napoleon  of the Premier League snubbing him.  Rolling over in the face of such selfishness has been as successful as Tony Blair’s attempts to ingratiate himself with the American neo-cons to win some influence for Britain (“here you go, get killed in Basra.  Act on Israel-Palestine?  You must be joking”).  Hopefully Greg Dyke will stick it to them where they don’t like it once he has properly got his feet under the table.

Singing in heaven

Goodbye James Gandolfini.  He had given so much and had so much to give.  51 is too young an age at which to die.  Many will identify him with Tony Soprano - his breakthrough role - but I will also see him as the conflicted general in In The Loop.  As Richard Beckinsale proved, a heart attack can strike at any time, though his girth, whcih was so much of what he was in so many ways, suggested heavy cholesterol intake.  As one of the presenters on the Today programme said, many Hollywood figures will be checking out the condition of their hearts in the coming days - if some lives are saved because of that, at least some good has come out of this tragedy.  He died on holiday in Rome, so I hope he went out happy.

Mongolia in brief

The past three weeks I have spent in Mongolia or recovering from it.  Admittedly, the time absent from the Internet really began on 23^rd May, as parts of the house were to be done up while we were away, so not only did suitcases needed to be packed (or even bought), significant transfers of room property had to be reconfigured in other parts of the house like a Tetris puzzle.  Still the proposed work is not done but that was to be expected.

While largely away from the Internet in Mongolia, the opportunity to free myself from the tyranny of 24 hour news availed itself and nothing of any real consequence occurred (apart from the commemoration of the Queen’s coronation).  I once checked in idly and the top story was that people entering hospital were more likely to die on a Friday than a Monday or something.  Yawn!  Only since I have returned in the last few days have anything of significance occurred, namely, the USA’s assertion that Syria has crossed a red line (through use of chemical weapons), prompting America to directly arm the rebels and also Iran’s general election to elect a figurehead president.

The eleven hour flight from Gatwick to Beijing was interminable.  Already struggling from a lack of sleep prior to leaving (we were up very late Friday and Saturday, trying to fix the house ready for the builders), Kimberley slept very little.  She is fascinated by other children (even up to the age of 12, with an aunt of that description) and a five-year old Anglo-Chinese girl (her mother was clearly Chinese but her daughter displayed more European facial characteristics and possessed excellent English for someone so young) across the aisle was loving Kimberley’s reactions to her playing and just made Kimberley even more hyperactive and excited – not conducive to sleep at all.

Having been to Mongolia five times before, this occasion was no great shakes for me.  In Ulaanbaatar the first few days, we stayed in the apartment near the city centre rented by my sister and my sister-in-law.  The sofa bed was a joy to stretch out and clear out the jet lag and stiff legs, though Kimberley had to sleep between myself and Altaa.  On our first evening (27^th May), it snowed heavily though I decided against going outside, fearing it might perk me up when I needed sleep.  It would still be there in the morning I reasoned.  That it was but in lesser quantity than would have been the case in the night and it did not snow again thereafter.  We did get a chance to play in it an hour’s drive out of the city as we left for the place of Altaa’s parents deep in the northern countryside.

We spent ten days on their farm.  The weather could be changeable – torrential rain in the morning, boiling heat in the afternoon.  A mini-Naadam in the area where young children would ride and race horses was both a wash-out and a dust-up – strong winds scouring the open landscape and whipping it in our eyes and mouths, while in the distance some unidentifiable riders crossed a finishing line; peak of sporting excitement it was not.  Popping down to the river with its pure water (and wading across to nearby islands) was a delight.  I also got time with the mayor to interview him as part of my dissertation.

Then we returned to the cities (an afternoon stopover in Darhan, then a few days in Ulaanbaatar).  Time whizzed so fast that it was 72 hours later that an opportunity to used an Internet cafe emerged.  I wasn’t motivated to blog – just check out emails.  Then I left ultimately to return to the UK, the home and the office.  Given the state of the weather, I must have been away for longer than I realised, leaving in May and returning in October.