Tag: soccer

7 Reasons to be Glad That The Transfer Window Has Closed

Hurrah! It’s finally over! And here are seven reasons to be glad that it is.

1. There’ll Be More News. The 24 hour rolling football will finally stop and news stations and channels will carry actual news: Proper news; vital news; weighty news of great import, historical gravity and epoch-defining momentousness. For all we know, Beyonce could be pregnant and because of the transfer deadline day absolutely no one in the world will have heard about it. Also, Colonel Gaddafi could still be hiding in a tunnel somewhere, possibly in Libya. Literally anything could be happening out there and we wouldn’t know because of the seemingly endless saga of will he/won’t he buy him, will he/won’t he join them and David Ngog? Hahahahahahaha!!!! Let’s find out what’s happening in the world.

2. There’ll Be Less Bullshit, Rumour, Bullshit, Bullshit and Bullshit. There’s a saying in motor sport: When the flag drops, the bullshit stops, but there isn’t enough fabric in the world to make enough flags to stop all of the falsity, mendacity and unabashed calumny that makes up the speculation on transfer deadline day. And even if there were, there wouldn’t be enough seamstresses to sew them, poles to fly them from and this analogy stops here as it’s making the writing part of my head hurt. It seems that absolutely anyone can say absolutely anything and get it reported by ordinarily sensible yet temporarily scoop-frenzied news organisations (and Sky) on transfer deadline day. You would think there would be a limited number of Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terrys that could possibly be at an airport terminal or a motorway service station to witness Sol Campbell (who by my reckoning is now at least eight thousand years old) heading off to one training ground or another, but apparently there aren’t. Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terry achieves absolute omnipresence on transfer deadline day as does Yossi Benayoun who, according to Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terry has now signed for at least six clubs and consumed twelve different flavours of Ginsters pasties at various motorway service stations across the land. And every word of this gets reported in every medium by every organisation reporting on the looming transfer deadline. Benjamin Disraeli said that there are“…lies, damned lies, and statistics”, but he never experienced a transfer deadline day. On transfer deadline day there are no statistics.

3. Arsenal Fans Will Seem Less Mad. If you’re of the opinion that Arsene Wenger has lost the plot in recent months with his bizarre refusal to sign any football player that is both over the age of twenty and has a spine, you could be seen to have a valid point. But Wenger’s reluctance to spend his football club’s money buying football players for their football team has made such blubbering wrecks of the supporters that Mr Wenger himself seems like the sanest man in the world (except David Dimbleby) in comparison to them. I’ve experienced this myself as, while I don’t support a Premier League club, I think that a strong and competitive Arsenal team is a lovely thing to watch and makes the Premier League competition far more exciting. Today I’ve frequently found myself foaming at the mouth and bellowing “Buy him! Buy him! Buy him!” This happens whenever Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terry spots any footballer with at least one and a half working legs and the ability to grow even the sparsest of beards within a hundred mile radius of North London. The combination of Arsene Wenger’s parsimony and transfer deadline day have contrived to turn me into a babbling idiot (even more so than usual). It must be so much worse for those that actually care: Those poor people also have to bellow “Sell him! Sell him! Sell him!” whenever Nicklas Bendtner’s name is mentioned. It must be hell for them.

4. We’ll Rediscover Words. How often do you hear your own name said out loud? A couple of times a day? Ten times a day? It might be more if you’re gregarious or popular, I wouldn’t know. One thing I do know though, is that if your name is Scott Parker you’ll have heard it said out loud more often than anyone else in the entire history of humanity. Anyone that has watched a sport bulletin between May and September (that period we refer to ironically as “the summer”) this year will have heard the words Scott and Parker more times than they’ll have heard the words if, it, bit, but, the, a, dog and salamander combined. Oh, and and. Craig David has heard his name said out loud fewer times than Scott Parker has and he spends his entire life singing it at people.

5. We’ll Be Less Baffled. My wife knows less about football than I know about the female orgasm. Of the sea otter. And when she turned to me today and wearily asked “Why do they always leave it until the last minute?” I loftily dismissed her amateur enquiry and, in a knowledgeable and not un-patronising tone replied, “It’s because…”. That’s as far as I got. Because when the transfer window is open from the end of the previous season until the end of August, it’s absolutely barmy to be trying to buy a player (that the selling club usually need to replace) minutes before the window shuts. The buying club won’t find a bargain as the seller will be far more reluctant to sell them at that time and they won’t get a pre-season to help them settle into the squad. There is no level on which leaving buying a footballer until the last minute makes any sense. Unless it’s the same level on which Jedward are entertaining and Nando’s is a desirable place to go for dinner, in which case it makes all the sense in the world. More probably. All of the sense everywhere. Even the sense in the cupboard under the stairs and the sense that has dropped out of your trouser pockets and fallen down the back of the sofa. Am I still making sense? No? There, that’s how much sense leaving it until the last minute makes.

6. We Will All Be Safe. It’s okay. Really, it’s alright now. We can all breathe a deep sigh of relief and relax as we’re all perfectly safe now. Though it does seem that their strategy is to buy absolutely everyone in the world, there are rules and regulations to deal with that sort of thing and if you haven’t already been purchased by Manchester City (something that is worth checking), you won’t have to worry until January. I’ve spent much of the last month absolutely terrified that I’m going to get signed and dragged off to Manchester to play football in the rain, but I seem to have escaped. My five month old son (who can nearly stand up unaided) seems to have slipped the net too. We got off lightly, as it seems that they’ve even resorted to raiding hospitals to find players to sign.

7. Football Will Be About Football. Remember when football was about football? That wondrous, gilded, golden-age when football wasn’t about finance, negotiation, and acquisition? When it was about sport and not business? Now that the window’s slammed firmly shut, those of us that want to see business (and who amongst us doesn’t find watching a meeting utterly thrilling?*) can watch Dragon’s Den or The Apprentice and those of us that like football can watch football which is a sport, not a bunch of self-centred prima-donnas making utter cocks of themselves for our entertainment. Oh, it turns out that it is. Still, it’ll be nice change from all of the business. Until it all starts again in three months. Bugger.

*Yes, it’s me.

August 31, 2011
7 Reasons That Seven Is Called Seven (probably)

Okay, people. You can’t have failed to have noticed that David and Victoria Beckham have had a daughter and that they’ve named her Harper Seven Beckham (unless you get your news from the News of the World, in which case time stopped yesterday). Now, we all understand why the Beckhams have named their daughter Harper; it’s because they’re aficionados that have been inspired by the American literary canon (and who amongst us wouldn’t rate Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird as a seminal work), but most people have been a bit nonplussed by their selection of the second-name Seven. As of yet, there’s been no official word on what the fuck they were thinking how they selected their newborn’s middle moniker so, in the best traditions of 7 Reasons (.org), we’re going to flail around and speculate wildly. Here are seven reasons that Seven is called Seven (probably).

1. They’re Big Fans! Well, we had no idea and frankly we’re a little overwhelmed and very flattered. You see, we have a number of American readers, though we know very little about them, we just know that we are read regularly in America. So, it’s possible that David and Victoria love our website and have named their daughter after us. After all, it’s easily possible that homesick Brits abroad would love to keep up with what’s going on at home and why wouldn’t the Beckhams want to know when one of the team gets stuck in a revolving door or the other one buys a new laundry bin? There’s no reason that they wouldn’t want to know that. None at all. Of course they’ve named their daughter after us.

2. Conception. The Beckhams are noted for naming their children for the place where they were conceived: Brooklyn was conceived in Brooklyn; Romeo was conceived in the back of an Alfa Romeo; Cruz was conceived on a cruise (spelling apparently isn’t their strong suit) and it’s easily possible that their latest child was conceived in hotel room number 7 somewhere, or (in a variation on the theme) at seven o’clock, or while watching Channel 7 (Australia). Or perhaps she was conceived near the River Severn. Whatever it is, it could be about the conception.

3. Dwarves. I know a bit about newborn babies – being the curator of one myself – and one of the most striking things about them is that they are tiny. Really, really little. Perhaps, as the Beckhams held their wee bundle in their arms, they looked at her and thought isn’t she small? Let’s call her Small. No, we can’t call her small, that would be silly. People will make fun. We’re going to have to take a more sophisticated approach than that. Let’s be clever. Let’s take the concept of small and be a little more oblique. What else is small? Dwarves! Let’s call her Sleepy! Or Dopey! No, we can’t call her that; it spoils a potential nickname. Let’s be a tad circumlocutory when we reference the dwarves. Got it! We’ll call her Seven.

4. Keeping Track. In the manner of farmers painting numbers on the sides of their cows (which is essentially a rural version of tagging perpetrated by ruddy-faced tweed-wearers in fields), it’s quite important to keep track of your herd. With the addition of Harper Seven Beckham, there will now be six members of the Beckham household. But thumbs are complex things, and when you’re counting to seven, it’s easy to make a mistake, right? After all, thumbs are only half the size of your fingers. Who wouldn’t find that confusing? Oh yes. Them.

5. Seinfeld. Okay, so maybe the Beckhams aren’t fans of our site: That would explain why the limited edition diamond encrusted version of our Blowers t-shirt remains unsold. But perhaps they are fans of Seinfeld. After all, George Costanza’s ideal name for a boy (or a girl) was Seven. Obviously, Jerry objected, but as he was the least funny thing in his own sitcom so it’s possible that the Beckhams ignored him. We have too. George is right.

6. Numerology. In 2011, the number seven is tremendously significant. We’ve done actual research and have discovered that, for numerologists, the number seven represents all manner of important stuff that we sort of skim-read. To our untrained eyes, it might appear somewhat similar to every other number and year, but to experts (and who’s to say that the latest celebrity craze isn’t Scientology or Kabbalah and that Posh and Becks aren’t, in fact, Grand High Poobahs of Numerology or Akelas or something ), it’s probably quite meaningful and important. And interesting. And had we looked at it closely, it might have seemed profound.

7. It’s Not The Worst Name They Could Think Of. I learned today of a worse baby name than Seven: also worse than Superman; and worse than Adolf. I discovered that a baby at my son’s baby group is called…Ian. That’s right, a baby called Ian. The boy Ian. Ian the baby. A name that’s only appropriate for a man in his 50s (or Ian Bell) has been given to tiny child. What sort of monster would name their child Ian? Never mind speculating about the name Seven, that’s a question we all need an answer to.

*The 7 Reasons team would like to congratulate the Beckhams on the occasion of the birth of their daughter, Harper Seven Beckham. Though we may have derived some humour from their choice of name (we are humourists, after all), we have nothing but admiration for their conduct as parents which, in an age where parenting skills often seem to be lacking amongst such a large section of the population, are an exemplary example to us all. Congratulations! But Seven? Really?

July 12, 2011
7 Reasons That It’s Right To Allow The Use Of the Elbow In Football

Great news, psychopaths. As of today, elbowing people in the head is now acceptable in football, thanks to referee Mark Clattenberg’s new and liberal interpretation of what constitutes acceptable behaviour on the field of play. We’d like to applaud Clattenberg for his bold and innovative stance and suggest that allowing the use of the elbow to the head will improve the game greatly. Here are seven reasons that it will.

1. There Will Be Less Emphasis Placed On Skill And Application. Let’s look at Carlos Tevez (not too closely though, you may want to sleep again). He’s an amazing, mesmeric player that simultaneously terrifies the opposing team’s defence, midfield, and young supporters in the stands. Most teams find him almost unplayable and it seems almost impossible for opposing managers to concoct a tactic to negate his influence on the game. With the new relaxation on the rules governing assault occasioning actual bodily harm on the football pitch, however, there’ll finally be a way to stop him. You can have as much talent as you like, you can’t play through concussion.

2. Or Maybe You Can. We’ll see way more incidents of concussion in the game now that players can cranially assault each other on the pitch. And concussion, in some cases might actually improve players. Who can forget what (then Partick Thistle manager) John Lambie said on being told that one of his strikers was concussed? He said, “That’s great, tell him he’s Pele and get him back on.” Obviously concussion won’t always lead to improvement; most of my team’s squad seem to have been concussed since December and we – if our home stadium was called the Paper Bag Arena – would be there today, still playing out our Christmas fixtures. Still, seeing them elbowed in the head would make me feel better about things so it’s still a win.

3. It’ll Be More Popular. Now that players can elbow each other in the chops football’s popularity could be further increased. Look at the rise in popularity of cage-fighting, a sport with a laissez-faire to the rules of etiquette. It’s growing far faster than its more traditional, staid and rule-bound cousin, boxing, and football attendance could increase similarly with the relaxation of the tiresome convention of not being allowed to inflict brain damage on your opponent with your elbow. It could bring some of the excitement that we associate with the gladiators of ancient Rome to the sport. In fact, I’ve seen Gladiator and it’ll be great: There’ll be blood; there’ll be whooshing and crunching noises; there’ll be names like Roonicus Maximus, Torresicus Uselecus, Carrollicus Howmuchicus and Coleicus Twaticus; there might be lions. How cool will that be?

4. It’s Civilising. Allowing the elbow may well actually make football more civilised. This might seem somewhat counter-intuitive, but it could work. Look at the touching way that Mark Clattenberg put his arm around Wayne Rooney after Saturday’s elbowing incident. It made a lovely change to see a player and a referee getting on so famously, because usually when players are interacting with the referee they’re barracking and abusing him*, so if allowing players to half-kill each other on the pitch brings more touching and harmonious moments like this it can only be a good thing: Practitioners of football will finally become the role-models that we always hoped they would be; setting a good example of decorous, respectful and appropriate behaviour for children. And they’ll get to see them belt the living shit out of each other too! Brilliant.

5. It Benefits The United Kingdom. Elbowing another person in the head is not merely the simple, uncomplicated act of thuggery that you might suppose, as there are some fundamental laws of physics that cannot be overcome. The act of elbowing someone in the head requires the elbower (or defendant, as non-F.A. types have traditionally referred to them) to be able to reach the elbowee(victim)’s head with their elbow. This means that Shaun Wright-Phillips (5’4”) would have little chance of elbowing Peter Crouch (9’3”) in the head. So taller players will have a natural advantage. And this, in international football, will benefit teams from the United Kingdom, as we’re the twenty-second tallest nation in the world (and Luxembourg, Iceland and Estonia are ahead of us on that list and we should be able to beat them using old-fashioned skill**). U.K. teams will, therefore, have a greater chance of winning the world cup than they do presently. So there you go, in the future, when elbowing opponents in the head is a legitimate tactic, England will be improved by not selecting Shaun Wright-Phillips. What a revelation.

6. It Uses Existing Skill. The new relaxation of the rules will tap into the existing skill-sets of football players and will allow them to practice on the field what they often practice as amateur-hobbyists off it. Assaulting people. And while it will be somewhat of a change from the traditional practice of punching people in nightclubs and takeaways – or shooting people at the training ground – it will be something that they won’t require too much additional training to adapt to. And it would make nightclubs safer places for the rest of us to conduct the activities traditionally associated with them. Mostly vomiting and being sexually/physically assaulted (delete as appropriate) by middle-aged men in short sleeved shirts.

7. It Puts Football Back At The Cutting Edge. By allowing elbowing, football is flying in the face of convention and bucking tradition. And, on a day when the sport is being overshadowed by a cricketer coming out and revealing that he is gay, it’s important that football is seen to be embracing new ideas. After all, cricket is merely blazing a trail today by embracing very old ideas, which means that – with its new attitude toward our silly, outdated notions of what constitutes assault – football is doing something far newer and more libertarian. So move over cricket, football is now the unparalleled bastion of cutting edge liberalism in sport. How truly enlightening.

*I would include female referees in this, but I quite fancy a career in radio.

**This may be fanciful.

February 28, 2011
Guest Post: 7 Reasons That American Football is Better Than Soccer

It’s the first weekend of the Six Nations, so who better to hand the 7 Reasons sofa to than blogger, occasional 7 Reasons guest poster and sports nut, Richard O’Hagan. And what more appropriate subject for him to write about than…oh…the Super Bowl? Which is also happening this weekend. Apparently.

It’s Super Bowl weekend. What do you mean you hadn’t noticed? How could you not notice? It’s the biggest single sporting event in the world. No other event makes an entire country grind to a halt like the first Sunday in February does in America. You want to know how special it is? It’s one of only three days in the year when Americans actually manage to eat MORE than usual – no matter how impossible that might be to imagine.

Yes, all over America, football fans will be doing their best Mr Creosote impressions, barbecuing as if their very lives depended upon it and convincing themselves that they have room for just one more giant pretzel, before settling down in front of the television for the sporting event of the year. Meanwhile, people like me attempt to stay awake until stupid o’clock in the morning, because despite all of the above the Yanks haven’t yet worked out that there are people elsewhere in the world who like to watch the game, too, so they start the game at somewhere near midnight UK time.

And why do I put myself through this every year? Simple. American Football knocks just about every winter game into, if not a cocked hat, then a football helmet. And that particularly includes what Americans call soccer, because:

1. Fat People Can Play This Game, Too. Come on, when was the last time you saw a fat guy playing what, to avoid confusion, we shall also call ‘soccer’? A really fat person, the sort of guy who would make the 1980s Jan Molby look anorexic. I’ll tell you. Never. Even William ‘Fatty’ Foulkes, the fattest man ever to play professional football, was only average size for an American footballer. It’s an all-inclusive sport, you see, and for some positions on the field being 300lb-plus is a minimum requirement. And it is not just being over 300lbs that counts, because every one of those guys can run 40 yards in less than 6 seconds, and most of them do it in close to 5. Go and try that for yourself. Most of you won’t even come close.

2. And The Players Are Educated, Too. There’s one unbreakable rule in American Football, and that’s the one that says that you can’t play it professionally unless you have been to university for at least three years. Proper university. No going to the Mail Order University of Chipping Sodbury. And no studying nonsense degrees such as ‘The History of Popular Music Since the Spice Girls’. There are guys playing football with degrees from Harvard, from Yale and all of the other elite US universities. Compare that to a sport where Frank Lampard is regarded as educated because he has more than one GCSE.

3. Cheerleaders. Yes, I know that some soccer clubs have tried this, but frankly they are rubbish and wouldn’t even make a high school cheerleading team in the States. Football teams have proper cheerleaders, most of whom have also gone to university to train as cheerleaders. When it comes to grinning inanely, clenching your butt cheeks and waving pom-poms, you have to say that football is the best.

4. Lingerie. Sepp Blatter famously wanted female soccer players to wear skimpier kits. Americans have already embraced that idea and the women’s football is played indoors in little more than lingerie and protective pads. Google ‘Lingerie League’ and you’ll see what I mean. You might think it wrong and you might think it demeaning, but it gets a heck of a lot more television than the women’s premier league does and pays better, too.

5. Adverts. One of the biggest whinges about Football is the number of ad breaks, but in fact you hardly notice them (and see reason number six anyway). But look at the players’ kit. Notice anything? Takes you back, doesn’t it? Back to the era before every soccer team sullied their shirts with advertising. Every kit is pure and unadulterated and you can wear your team’s shirt without in some way providing your own endorsement for some evil corporate monolith and their tax-dodgy, peasant-exploiting ways.

6. Beer. You can drink alcohol at football matches. In most stadia they even bring it to your seat. You can’t do that at a soccer match. And even if you don’t have in-seat service you still need something to do during the ad breaks, and what better to do than getting another beer?

7. Hardness. Every time I see a soccer player lying sobbing on the pitch because an opponent breathed on him, I reach for the sick bag. You want to see proper hard men, watch the US game. And do it without whinging about the helmets and padding, because that just proves that you don’t know why they are worn (the explanation is too long for here). Instead, think of someone like kicker Nate Kaeding, who in 2008 played three games without realising he had a broken leg. That’s ‘leg’, not ‘fingernail’, soccer fan.

So go on, give the game a try. Take Monday off work, stock up on pretzels, doughnuts and tasteless beer, and settle down for some American action. It’s better than football.

February 5, 2011
7 Reasons The Darren Bent Transfer Rumours Are…er… Just A Bit Strange

1. They’re Memorable. Wait. What. Huh? Never mind people remembering where they were when they heard that Kennedy had been shot by Lee Harvey Oswald/spooks on the grassy knoll/a Wisconsin bear hunter’s epic and unfortunate ricochet. Never mind people remembering where they were when Diana had been killed in a traffic accident/sinister Prince Philip-backed plot/returning of his angel to heaven by Jesus. Those events have now been overshadowed by our own epoch-defining memorable moment. Henceforth, we will all remember where we were when we heard the rumour that Darren Bent was leaving Sunderland for Aston Villa for £18 million.

2. They’re Shocking. ”Eighteen million pounds!”, I exclaimed as I spat my morning espresso at my laptop. “Darren Bent!”. “Eighteen million pounds!”. And suddenly my previously sleeping cat appeared by my side, staring at me, with a curious expression on his face and his ears pricked. And then it dawned on me. The shock of the news had caused me to say “Eighteen million pounds” in a voice so high that it shocked my cat. A voice so high that out of the two of us, only he could hear it. A voice so high that Keith Richards on the seventh day of a bender in an opium den would have to gaze upward to see it. Using a telescope.

3. They’re Incomprehensible. After a bit of a lie down, during which my voice fell back down to Earth from the upper ionosphere and my cat got on with some urgent dozing, I tried to digest the news. Nope. It doesn’t compute. There is nothing about this news that isn’t baffling and incomprehensible, and I’m married to a woman and live in Yorkshire, so I’m one of the world’s foremost authorities on baffling and incomprehensible.

4. The Money. Eighteen million pounds, to be exact (I may have already mentioned this). Now eighteen million pounds isn’t what it used to be. Time was when eighteen million pounds could probably buy you a Premier League winning squad, but those days are gone and with Manchester City paying silly money for every world-class player out there, transfer fees are currently sky-high. But Darren Bent isn’t a world-class player, and Man City aren’t trying to buy him (they already have Jo) so how in all the name of all that is holy can anyone justify paying eighteen million pounds for Darren Bent? Darren Bent! He was overpriced at sixteen and a half million when he signed for Spurs four years ago and he looked a better player back then with more potential. How is he one and a half million pounds better now? We’ve all seen the sitter he famously missed against Portsmouth and yes, Sandra Redknapp could have scored it. With her eyes closed. How can a club that didn’t back its previous manager with transfer funds at the start of the season now justify spending eighteen million pounds now. On Darren Bent? Rafael van der Vaart has been the best signing in the Premier League this season and he only cost eight million. Is Darren Bent ten better than van der Vaart? Really?

5. It’s Aston Villa. Last season, a move to Villa would have looked like a step-up for Darren Bent. But this season Steve Bruce has got Sunderland playing fantastic football (except against Newcastle) and they’re an improving squad in the hunt to get European football next year. And Darren Bent is an integral part of the first team. Villa, on the other hand, are hovering alarmingly above the relegation zone and are fielding a team half full of old men and children every match; it’s a bit like the home team in Berlin in 1945, except that they’re managed by Gerard Houllier. Why would anyone want to change to that side?

Is this a logical move?

6. It’s Greedy. The only thing that can possibly be motivating this move from the top of the Premier League to the bottom is money. It can’t be to improve his game by working with Houllier and it doesn’t seem likely that he wants to return to the Championship, so it must be solely for the money. But it’s not as if he’s earning a pauper’s wage, he’s a Premier League football player! How much more money can he possibly need? There can’t have been avarice on this scale since…well, okay…it happens every day, but outside of banking and parliament, there can’t have been such a naked example of greed since the dawn of time. Or perhaps earlier.

7. Breaking News. As I’ve been writing this the fee has changed. Now it’s twenty four million pounds! It’s gone up. Now he’s three times better than van der Vaart. In fact, Fernando Torres only cost Liverpool twenty million. So Darren Bent is now better than Fernando Torres. I give up! This can’t be real, I’m just going to assume that it’s all some sort of strange dream and hope that when I wake up this whole story isn’t here. There’s no place like home…There’s no place like home…

January 18, 2011
7 Reasons August Is Too Early For The Football Season To Start

If you think that’s a slightly odd title – hopefully only for timing reasons – then we certainly understand why. This post was one of three that were originally going to appear in Esquire magazine. Due to space and content issues though, it wasn’t meant to be. We’re delighted to say however, that we can now show you what you would have read on the newsstands. If it makes you feel better, please buy a copy of Esquire, print this page and stick it in. If that wouldn’t make you feel better, just read as you normally would. The two other Esquire pieces will appear over the next two days. Exciting, huh? So here are, 7 Reasons August Is Too Early For The Football Season To Start.

1. Food & Merchandise. In August, the sales of these will just about be non-existent. No one wants a hot-dog or a pie in thirty degree heat. Neither does anyone want to buy a scarf. With clubs fighting for their financial lives at the moment, you’d have thought they’d want to cram December full of fixtures. It’s simple economics.

2. Sir Alex Ferguson. He’s red enough at the best of times. Making him watch football in August is just cruel. Both to him and to viewers of Match Of The Day.

3. Transfer Rumours. With the season starting in August, July will be full of unsubstantiated rumour. Such and such a player was just spotted at the services on the M1. This must mean he’s going off to sign for Manchester United. Yes, or more likely, he’s off visiting his best friend’s wife and needed petrol. And condoms.

4. Too Hot. August is predominantly a hot, sunny month in the UK. Hot, sunny weather affects the way football is played. Either we’ll develop a slower-paced continental game to cope with the conditions or we’ll carry on playing the traditional full-tilt English game and risk killing ginger people. Surely we could just wait for September? That would be the humane thing to do.

5. Rain. As a consequence of being hot and sunny, August is also one of the driest months of the year. At least during the week, when we are at work. At the weekend though, when we have things to do, the rain comes and plans are ruined. Cricket, barbecues, days at the beach. Whatever it is, they are ruined. And quite rightly too. That is what summer is all about. What can’t rain ruin? Football. Logic dictates, therefore, that it’s out of place in August.

6. Weddings. The school holidays run through August, as does the wedding season. And weddings are planned by women who do not care – or possibly even know – that you have something better to do at 3pm on Saturday afternoons in August; something that doesn’t involve dancing around the vol-au-vents. Basically, football ruins what should be the best day of people’s lives because the groom is sulking.

7. The World Cup. It’s just finished. The World Cup Final was on July 11th. And, England won and I still need time to let it sink in/England lost on penalties and I haven’t finished being depressed yet/England went out in the group stage and the sight of a football just makes me angry. (Delete as appropriate). It’s just too soon! I need more time!

September 7, 2010
7 Reasons That It’s Over Between Us, Colin

Dear John, (well, Colin)

It saddens me to have to say this, but I’ve been considering this for a while now, and something doesn’t feel quite right any more, and it looks like it’s over for us. I can only imagine how hurt and upset you’ll be when you find this letter, so I’d like to soften the blow by saying that it isn’t you, it’s me. This isn’t true, however, it definitely is you, and here are 7 reasons why.

1. You’ve Changed. We used to have such fun times together, Colin. You were an assured, engaging and charismatic man who could readily pique my interest. When you made jokes we laughed heartily, Colin. Oh, how we laughed. But then, I began to notice a change in you. I can’t say exactly when this change occurred, but I do know that it happened at some point between the end of BBC Radio 5Live’s Fighting Talk at noon on Saturday and 10pm on Sunday, when you presented Match Of The Day 2. Because during those thirty-four hours you turned from a warm, funny, confident lover…er…presenter, (I mean presenter) into a man I barely recognised.

2. You Always Say The Wrong Thing. You always knew how to turn on the charm, Colin. Even on the rare occasion when words let you down, you were able to twinkle your eyes or smile an easy smile. But last night Colin, I saw that all that had changed. From the moment the title sequence ended, you looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, and bulgy-eyed anxiety is not something I find attractive in a presenter, Colin. Nor is grimacing. Nor are halting, stuttering sentences and…

3. You Couldn’t Even Look Me In The Eye. I just wanted to see a glimpse of the man I thought I knew, Colin; how I longed for you to gaze into my eyes. If you’d done that, I might have been reassured. I might have seen that you still needed and wanted me and that what we had together was worth saving. But you couldn’t even look me in the eyes, could you Colin? And it wouldn’t have been too much trouble to go to, would it? All you had to do was look into the camera that had its light on. But you didn’t. You were looking at every camera other than mine. And I can’t begin to tell you how much that hurt.

4. Your Immaturity. It used to be that I was bowled over by your boyishness, Colin (I’m surprisingly boyish myself). It made you seem fun, irreverent and eager. But, last night, what I saw wasn’t boyish, or charming. It was childish and immature. Now you can get away with a lot of childish whimsy if you do it with wit, Colin. But the animations I saw weren’t funny, or even clever (they were big, but only because I was close to the television). They were cringe-worthy, crap and embarrassing. They made me wish that I was somewhere else. But that was nothing when compared to…

5. Your Climax. Now, I’m sure no man likes to have his performance compared to that of his current partner’s ex-presenters. But whereas Adrian steadily built my excitement throughout the show and brought me assuredly to a climax with 2 Good 2 Bad, you did nothing, Colin. Nothing. There I was, waiting, yearning, expectantly for more and things just sort of withered away, leaving me feeling empty and unfulfilled. I never thought anything would make Adrian seem attractive, but the lack of a climax with you made me pine for him. I know that isn’t entirely your fault, Colin. I also blame…

6. Your Mates. They say that you can judge a man by the company he keeps, and the company you keep is frankly creepy. I don’t like your orange friend Phil who seems to be labouring under the illusion that he’s being head-hunted for every top job going, and as for Martin, I think he may be the single most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen (and I once dreamed that I was being chased around Basingstoke by a fire-breathing baboon with wings and an angle grinder). It’s no wonder you had trouble reaching a climax with those two looking on.

7. I’m Disappointed In You. It used to be so good, Colin. I used to fondly imagine we’d grow old together and, in the Autumn of our lives, we’d be able to look wistfully back on all of the good times we’d had together: The time that you seemed to be on Radio 5Live for eighteen hours per day; the time that you “sang” on Celebrity Fame Academy; the time that you said something so funny on Fighting Talk that tea came out of my right eyelid (and I wasn’t even drinking tea). But all that’s ruined now, Colin. It’s time to face facts. It’s over between us. I’ve moved out, to another channel, because you’re just not the man I thought you were. I wish you all the best for the future. Lots of love,

The Viewer. x

August 30, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Americans Call Football Soccer

After a brief stopover in England last week, the sofa is back on its tour of the USA. This Saturday we have wound up in…er…we’re not sure (we forgot to bring a compass and our map seems to have been printed upside-down). Literally thousands of people raced from their homes to see what the fuss was about, but it was Breana Orland who won the place on the 7 Reasons chaise longue. And it’s a good job she did because she’s going to explain to us one of life’s mysteries. Just why do Americans call football, soccer.

Breana Orland is a writer for Student Grants. She also gives advice on the pursuit of higher education and career options for young adults.

Leave it to the bloody yanks to bastardize the world’s sport by giving it a different name and, refusing so thoroughly to recognize its real name, that we assign it to a completely dissimilar sport. As per our usual custom, Americans have to do everything on their own terms. First we separated from England. Then we said no to the metric system (forget the liter, I need a gallon of milk!) and driving on the wrong side of the road (if we drive on the right side, then yours must be wrong). And finally, we took the most beloved sport in the world, football, and applied the name to a sport that should by all rights be called handball. And we named football, soccer. But if you ever wondered what caused Americans to raise the ire of football fans everywhere by giving it a new name, here are a few things you may want to consider.

1. We Already Have A Sport With That Name. Football may be THE international sport (played with feet), but here in America, football is a game that is played on Sunday by enormous men in spandex and padding that line up facing each other like they’re reenacting a pre-revolutionary battlefield. It is a sport played mainly with hands on the ball, but for some reason, we call it football.

2. Because Of The Soc? No, not the funny socks they wear. Apparently, soccer was a slang term derived from “soc” in the original name “associated football”, and since we gave the name football to the gridiron sport, the international sport of the same name got the short end of the soc.

3. We’re contrary! Deal with it! There’s a reason everyone thinks Americans are, um, jerks. We kind of are. You wanna go?!

4. New language Is Our Bag, Baby. Sure we inherited our national tongue from the British, but you don’t hear us running around shouting “Bollocks!” or “Pip, pip, cheerio!” In keeping our image as the kid who ran away from Mommy and Daddy, we have adopted our own accents and colloquialisms and set to making up words. If you don’t believe me, just consider the fact that “truthiness”, a fake word made popular by The Colbert Report’s Stephen Colbert, was actually added to the dictionary.

5. Soccer Is America’s Sport. That’s right; we jacked the world’s sport and gave it our own name. Then we stole England’s soccer legend (but Becks, wouldn’t you really rather live in Los Angeles?). Then we embarrassed them at the World Cup (okay, they embarrassed themselves). And still, it is the least recognized sport in our country. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

6. We did it our way. At least, according to Frank Sinatra. And the Chairman of the Board is never wrong. Americans always have to do things their own way, even if it means that we’re going against the entire world and firmly established facts or traditions.

7. We’re idiots. At least, according to the rest of the world. Apparently we just don’t get it and we never will. Maybe if you called it soccer…

July 31, 2010
7 Reasons That The World Cup Final Was A Disappointment

The World Cup final. Perhaps the ultimate sporting event. It was such a let down though. Can we have Sunday night back?

7 Reasons That The World Cup Final Was A Disappointment

July 13, 2010
7 (+3) Reasons Why Spain Will Win The World Cup

1. Gerd Muller. German World Cup Winner in 1974. He looked like a girl.

2. Mario Kempes. Argentine World Cup Winner in 1978. He looked like a girl who didn’t care. She probably had hairy armpits too.

3. Bruno Conti. Italian World Cup Winner in 1982. He looked like a butch girl and someone had just stolen her skipping rope.

4. Maradona. Argentine World Cup Winner in 1986. He looked like a petulant girl intrigued by her very first waft of something illegal.

5. Rudi Voller. German World Cup Winner in 1990. He looked like a girl who had just sat on a pile of marbles and was beginning to like it.

6. Branco. Brazilian World Cup Winner in 1994. He looked like a girl who may well once have been a boy. And quite possibly a murderer.

7. Emmanuel Petit. French World Cup Winner in 1998. He looked like a girl who had just caught her reflection in a window and realised her ginger moustache was catching the sun a bit too much.

8. Ronaldinho. Brazilian World Cup Winner in 2002. He looked like a girl who was struggling to get the hang of her straighteners.

9. Andrea Pirlo. Italian World Cup Winner in 2006. He looked like a girl who had accidentally come across a car park full of doggers and just couldn’t take his eyes off it.

10. Carles Puyol. Spanish World Cup Winner in 2010. He looks like the kind of girl who just doesn’t want to be left out.

July 8, 2010