Tag: soccer

7 Reasons That The Netherlands Will Win The World Cup.

1. Un-likeability. Almost every successful World Cup team contains at least one thoroughly un-likeable character: Maradona, Rudi Voller, Gerd Muller and Marco Materazzi are all World Cup winners and in their squad the Netherlands have diving, whinging, sour-faced git Arjen Robben (the only thoroughly un-likeable Dutch person), so they’re bound to succeed. How we’ll all loathe him when he lifts the World Cup aloft on Saturday. But, there’s always one.

2. The War. The two nations that will be involved in the World Cup final have history and, when the Netherlands walk out to play, they’ll do so thinking about the war and bearing a grudge. They’ll take to the field having been fired-up in the build-up to the final by reminders of their historical enmity with their opponents. The Dutch revolt and the Eighty Years War will be on their minds and they’ll want to beat the Spaniards. That’s right, Spain. We know they’ll be playing Spain, because Paul the octopus said so.

3. Harmony. The Dutch always fall out with each other during the World Cup; internecine squabbling has undermined their performances at football tournaments time after time. At this World Cup though, they haven’t fallen out. Their whole squad seems united and with common purpose (perhaps disliking Arjen Robben is a common bond for them). Whatever it is, they seem to be getting on like a house on fire. And fire, remember, is orange.

4. Colour. The Dutch team play in orange, and if there’s one thing I know about Orange, it’s that their customer service is excellent. The customers of the Dutch team (their supporters) can enjoy the match safe in the knowledge that their team will go the extra mile to satisfy them. Also like Orange, their coverage is very good too, with Dirk Kuyt working hard and popping up in all areas of the pitch to tackle people and to shoot at the corner flag. I know that’s two things I know about Orange but I got carried away. And while I’m on the subject, as a special bonus fact for you, my wife has just told me that nothing rhymes with orange.*

5. Germany. The best team by a long way in the tournament has been Germany but, as the octopus has predicted that they won’t be in the final, this means that Spain will have knocked them out. This will probably take a lot of effort (perhaps even extra time) and, with a day less rest than the Netherlands, an already out of sorts looking Fernando Torres, and an injured Cesc Fabregas, Spain will not be effective opponents in the final against the Dutch. They’ll have worn themselves out chasing Özil. Or trying to find him on the pitch even. He seems able to disappear and reappear somewhere entirely different unnoticed by opponents.

6. Their name. Part of the motivation for the players will undoubtedly be national pride. After all, the Netherlands is a country which has produced countless gifted teams but has never won anything at the World Cup. Ah, just like Spain, I hear you say. The difference with the Netherlands though, is that at least everyone knows that Spain is called España. Most people seem to think that the Netherlands is called Holland, which is actually the name of a couple of provinces. It’s like calling the United Kingdom Wales. They’ll want to go out there and ensure that we get their name right in future.

7. Spain. It’s summer in Spain, and this means that a substantial part of their population currently consists of Britons. And look how well our teams fared at the World Cup. They don’t have a hope.**

*This doesn’t seem quite right to me, nothing rhymes better with puffin.

**Though at 7 Reasons, we haven’t been right about anything at all during this World Cup, so perhaps they do.

July 7, 2010
7 Reasons I Shouldn’t Do A Mexican Wave In My Living Room

Ever wondered what would happen if you started a Mexican wave in your own living room? I did. I thought it through during the Brazil vs. Chile match last night. I won’t be starting one.

I love this picture!

1. I’ll look foolish. My wife won’t join in. As I enthusiastically stand up and raise my arms aloft, she’ll gaze disdainfully over her knitting at me while rooted to the spot. I’ll look like a fool.

2. She’ll look foolish. My wife joins in. As – in response to me – she enthusiastically stands, raises her arms aloft, and jubilantly hurls her knitting ceiling-ward, I’ll gaze at her contemptuously at her thinking why is she joining in? She looks like a fool.

3. We’ll both look foolish. Our cat won’t join in. He will gaze, apparently aghast, at the cretinous behaviour of the simpletons on the other sofa. Why are they not paying me any attention? What the hell are they doing? They look like fools.

4. The cat will look foolish. The cat joins in. My wife and I will gaze, slack-jawed, at the astonishing behaviour of the creature on the other sofa. The useless animal can’t even catch birds. Why is his only talent the Mexican wave? Wow! Okay, it’s quite cool though.

5. Our neighbour will look foolish. He won’t join in. He will, however, stare incredulously as he glimpses our Mexican wave through his living room window. When he says, as an aside, to his wife, “Have you seen what the weird couple from across the street are up to now…Good lord! Is that a cat performing a Mexican wave?” He’ll look like a fool. His wife will wonder whether to ration his port.

6. Our neighbour’s wife will feel foolish. She won’t join in. She will, however, glance furtively for the remainder of the World Cup – at her vociferously adamant husband’s insistence – to glimpse the Mexican waving cat through our living room window *. Having invested a substantial amount of time dubiously looking for something so incredible and unlikely, she’ll feel like a fool. What am I doing? I’m trying to see a cat do a Mexican wave. Is this how it started with Aunt Hilda?

7. South America will feel foolish. After all, if Brazil had played with a bit more flair, and Chile had more of a cutting edge in attack I wouldn’t even have been considering doing a Mexican wave in my own living room. I’d have been fixated on the football. Like I was during Mexico vs. Argentina. Or most of the other matches. Is this the most convoluted way of saying “dull match” ever?

*Our cat absolutely, categorically does not join in with Mexican waves. Please stay away from our windows during the World Cup. There is nothing to see here. Except for a man eating crisps, a woman knitting and a dozing cat.

June 29, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Watching Slovakia vs Italia Was An Education

After an eventful week – in which we concentrated mainly on football, John McEnroe’s hair and lots of funny codes doing lots of unfunny things and destroying the internet in the process – we are taking the day off. Slipping onto the sofa for the very first time is Gina Boiradi. Over to you Gina.

I’m going to start with a rather controversial statement. I hate football. I am a 16-year-old female and I follow Rugby Union and Cricket with all my heart, but I can’t stand watching football – in part due to the awful diving and injury-faking. Nevertheless, I cannot help but watch every single World Cup game. Being English with an Italian father, I watch England and Italy with the same nervousness and delight. After the glorious England game against Slovenia, I tuned into Italy vs Slovakia with the same optimism. Oh dear. Anyway, at least it was an education. Here are the reasons why.

1. Commentators. They are very annoying. They come out with such ridiculous phrases and it makes me very frustated. “Fabio Cannavaro disappears, perhaps forever!” Um, news flash – he’s not dead. Nor has he been ushered away by a mysterious Sicilian bloke making him an offer he can’t refuse.

2. Mucho Do About Nothing. If you are a Slovakian goalkeeper, then you should all consider careers as actors. Seriously. Mucho was diving all over the bloody place with such melodrama, Dame Helen Mirren would be proud. I can see an Oscar nomination and an appearance in “The Bill” coming up right away.

3. Referees. Not all English referees are as hopeless as Graham Poll. Howard Webb did grand trying to contain the players. Diving, falling, tripping, fighting. It was a referee’s nightmare, yet he soldiered on. Even adding additional time onto the additional time because of Slovakia’s obvious time wasting. Good on him.

4. Papa’s Army. There is such a thing as too old a squad. Approximately 79% of the Italian squad were over 65*. I was ever so worried one of them may pop their hip out, or some other stereotypical pensioner ailment. Four years ago, that Italian team were in their prime (obviously, as they won) but now they are old. Bless ’em.

5. Iaquinto. He scares me silly. He is a man I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark, Italian alley. Or any other alley for that matter. But also seems like a right lovely bloke. Also, he adds some needed eye candy for us female viewers. Even if his nose is like a vuvuzela.

6. Pretty Boys. Posing, oiled-up in your undies is very good for your World Cup playing abilities. Beckham did it and, even though he’s not playing, England are doing well (Come On England!). The Portuguese captain I refuse to mention by name since last World Cup’s winking incident (I shall call him “The Winker” from now on) did it, and Portugal are also through. The Italian team did it 4 four years ago and they won. I’m getting distracted by images of oily Italians in undies. I shall move on.

7. It’s All In the Name. Bringing on substitutes with extraordinarily long names will do wonders when you are struggling. Quagliarella was brought on and scored a goal that got the ball rolling again (no pun intended) and provided the kick up the backside (again, no pun intended) needed by Italy – but sadly, too little, too late. England need a few subsitutes called “Hamilton-Wilkins” or “Mandeville-Brown” or something.

*Disclaimer: may not be true.

June 26, 2010
7 Reasons to be Glad We’re Playing Germany (Again)

It’s been a fraught week at 7 Reasons (.org). First we upgraded the website, then we redesigned the website, then we had a catastrophic failure of the website which left us offline for a day and then we fixed it, and are still tinkering with it to make it more stable. This caused confusion. We didn’t know whose turn it was to post yesterday. So, being diligent, conscientious humourists, we both wrote one. Sadly, we found our inspiration in the same subject. Fortunately though, we both said completely different things so, with apologies to readers in Australia, South Africa and Greece, we’re writing about England versus Germany again today. And possibly on Monday too (we’re a bit excited by it all).

1. The Great Escape. As comedy genius Bob Mills has observed, playing The Great Escape theme at England matches is pointless and out of context. On Sunday though, it could be in context. If we win, we will liberate ourselves from decades of World Cup tyranny at the hands of Germany. It actually could be a great escape. This may be the first match at which hearing The Great Escape played atonally on a trumpet will be meaningful, rather than just primal-scream-inducingly irritating. Then, perhaps, we won’t have to hear it again.

2. 5-1. The spectre of their ignominious defeat will loom large in the German consciousness. When we beat Germany 5-1 in Munich in 2001, Steven Gerrard was the architect of a lot that was good about our performance. And now he’s our captain! That should put the fear of God into them. Also, they can’t be unaware of the popular refrain, “5-1, even Heskey scored”, and Heskey’s in the squad too, so the Germans are at a psychological disadvantage before the game even starts. “Nein nein nein, es ist das Ziel Maschine, Heskey” will be the fearful reaction of the Germans upon his introduction to the game. Gerrard seems really up for it too. On Wednesday he said of the Germany game, “Bring it on!” . Well, he said “Brincchhh ii on”, in a voice so high that it startled dogs – I’ve had it translated.

3. Tyldesley. In commentary on Germany versus Ghana, Clive Tyldesley said, “…it’s a different Germany than we’ve seen in past tournaments”. This is excellent news. If Clive is right – and anyone who’s met a man named Clive will know that Clives are never wrong – this can only be good for us. After all, in past tournaments (except the one where the Russian linesman helped out), the Germany that we’ve seen have knocked us out (often on penalties). Bring on the different Germany!

Fabio Capello: Pictured outside a Little Chef.

4. Beer. Fabio Capello is coming to terms with the new challenges of managing at international tournament level. When we played well in the match against Slovenia…Slovakia?…no, almost certainly Slovenia, Fabio Capello attributed our much improved performance to permitting the England squad to drink beer on the night before the game. Germans, as we know, consume most of their beer in October so their team won’t realise its performance potential until November, by which time the match will definitely be over. It’s not tennis, after all. Is that match still going?

5. Common Bond. Germany and England have so much in common: They eat sausages, we eat sausages; they drink beer, we drink beer; they drive BMWs, we drive BMWs; they dress up in braces and leather hotpants and put a feather in their hatbands and slap each other’s bottoms, we…er…well…we don’t. Because it’s weird. But I doubt that lederhosen is what makes them good at penalties and, sooner or later, given that they’re so similar a nation to us, they’ll cock them up. After all, if the match goes to penalties Germany will have the pressure of expectation weighing on their shoulders. England certainly won’t.

6. Confidence. England had an uncertain start to World Cup 2010 but, on the evidence of Wednesday’s performance, we seem to be growing in confidence. We don’t have the self-possessed surety that the Brazil and Argentina teams seem to be imbued with, but there’s a way that we can attain that: By beating Germany. If we beat them on Sunday, our team will get the monkey off our back and will feel that they can take anyone on. The traditional obstacle to England’s progression in world cup tournaments will have been removed and we’ll believe we can accomplish anything. Except a Heskey goal, obviously, no one (except Germany) expects that.

7. Defences. The German defence looks suspect. Ghana created – and spurned – countless opportunities against them. The most notable of these occurred after thirteen minutes when Germany were totally undone by a fluid passing move at the right hand side of their penalty area. Sound familiar? Correct. That’s the same area that all of the brilliant creative interplay between Gerrard and Rooney took place in the England versus Slovenia match. They won’t be able to defend against it. “Take that, Mertesacker!” will be a particularly enjoyable thing to exclaim during the match when we score against them.

Our defence will be able to contain them. Most of the good attacking German play in this World Cup has occurred on the wings. And we have two fantastic fullbacks with Gerrard and Milner in front of them who’ll track back too. I don’t know what we’ll exclaim when we prevent them from scoring against us. “Blimey”, probably, or “crumbs”. But that’s what’s going to happen. We can win this. Be glad that we’re playing Germany on Sunday. Well…at least until kick-off. Then feel anxious as usual.

June 25, 2010
7 Reasons England Will Beat Ze Germans

1. Ze German Edlines. The German hacks are primed to write such classics as So Klose, But So Far. Although obviously they’ll write it in German. So it’ll be something like Zo Klose, But Zo Var. Basically, Miroslav Klose is going to take a shot from 50-yards which ricochets off the crossbar, flies up the other end of the pitch and finds the net. Net result England 1-0 Germany. German hacks have their headlines.

2. Ze Tactics. I am sure you have been wondering why Capello continues to play Gerrard on the left. It took me a while to work it out too. But finally I have. It’s all about balance. And ultimately making the opposition cock-up. Glen Johnson can’t defend for toffee (which is annoying because he loves the stuff). Anyway, the opposition think they should try and take advantage of this and attack down the left flank. However, because Gerrard tends to move away from his position on the left, the opposition see the gap on the right flank and wonder whether they should attack on that side. All this confusion results in them trying to compromise. And compromising means attacking straight down the middle. Right into Barry, Terry and Upson. It’s classic mind game stuff and the reason Capello is the genius that he is.

3. Ze Names. The Germans are named after lagers. A pint of Mertesacker. A pint of Schweinsteiger. A pint of Trochowski. The English are named after musicians. (David) James and (Gareth) Barry White. Oh, and there’s (John) Terry’s Chocolate Orange. You’re going to perform so much better if you listen to James and Barry White while munching on one of Terry’s Chocolate Oranges pre-game, than if you are downing three pints of lager.

4. Ze Beckenbauer. Franz said we have reverted to ‘kick and rush’ in this World Cup. How dare he! We don’t rush. We hang back and hope. Karma is a bitch and Beckenbauer will be summoned by Angela Merkel to explain why he gave the English such a great pep talk.

5. Ze 27 June. It’s Sieben Schlagfertig in Germany. Which is a day basically celebrated by muppets. If it rains on this day, it will apparently rain for the next seven weeks. I like the idea of raining on Germany’s parade and then continuously beating the Germans for seven weeks.

6. Ze Missing Of Ze Goals. Gerrard’s goal against the USA was missed by many because ITV decided to show an advert. Defoe’s goal against Slovenia was missed by many because the work experience boy at EDF Energy pressed the off button. England didn’t score against Algeria because everyone was watching. The simple conclusion to make is that I need to buy 10 million extension leads and forty million kettles. If I do that and press the on switch at 2:59pm on Sunday, I reckon I might just be able to blow a fuse somewhere on the National Grid and cause absolute chaos. We’ll all miss the game, but England will win 4-0. Don’t thank me, thank the nice people at Argos who are about to get a very big order.

7. Ze Zeven Reasons. I have drafts of 7 Reasons England Will Beat Argentina, 7 Reasons England Will Beat Portugal and 7 Reasons Why It’s Second Time Lucky For England And They Will Beat The USA ready to go. You can’t buy this kind of motivation. The England boys want to read my work. They are in a win-to-read position now. Which is so much more impressive than a boring win-t0-be-MBEs position.

June 24, 2010
7 Reasons To Love French Football

Sometimes, words are not enough. But that’s okay, we can always fall back on music and pictures.

7 Reasons To Love French Football

June 21, 2010
7 Reasons That Vuvuzelas Are Annoying

1. The Obsession. The nation is obsessed with the vuvuzela. It’s impossible to read a newspaper, listen to the radio, watch the television, go to the pub, or read an internet humour site without someone bleating on about vuvuzelas. But I think that this focus on the vuvuzela is causing us to miss out on other World Cup stories. We’re just not getting enough ill-informed conjecture about problems with the ball: Is it that it’s too round? Is it the altitude? Does it fly too straight? Doesn’t it fly straight enough? Does it look too much like a fly?

It's a fly!

All of the coverage of the vuvuzelas is preventing us from having what we really want. 24 hour per day coverage of the ball. And more Robbie Savage.

2. The Name. The English language is a fusion of many languages from around the world and a lot of our words come from other countries. We get bungalow from India, sepia from Italy, mammoth from Russia and surrender from France (rather unsurprisingly). Yet it’s safe to say that our language wasn’t aided in its evolution by anyone who had been involved in professional football as, in the past week – from various players and former-players – I’ve heard “vuvulas”, “vuvuslas”, “the horns” and from Sir Geoff Hurst, no less, “uvuvezlas”. The awful mangling of the word vuvuzela is possibly the only thing that’s more grating than the sound of the instrument itself.

3. Stadium Atmosphere. The din of the vuvuzelas drowns out everything else occurring in the stadiums. This isn’t always a bad thing, as it drowned out the sound of happy Germans on Sunday, but it drowned everything else out too. The crowd reaction, singing, cheering, chanting, abuse; in fact, just about all of the things that reflect the partisan nature of football. The drone of massed vuvuzelas is a relentless unremitting cacophany that doesn’t abuse the referee, ask Fabio to dance, play the theme from The Great Escape (sorry, poor argument); doesn’t do anything fun or interesting at all. It’s just noise. An incessant racket that drowns out everything good about the stadium atmosphere. Everything.

4. Domestic Atmosphere. The vuvuzela operates at a similar pitch and tone to the human voice which means that, when you’re viewing the World Cup at home, you’re trying to filter out the frequency that other people in the room are speaking at. Thanks to the vuvuzela, if my wife turned to me during a match and said, “Would you like a beer?” or “Jennifer Aniston’s at the door, she wants to know if you can come out to play,” I probably wouldn’t hear her. Experience tells me that she’s unlikely to say either of those things, but what if she did and I missed it? Catastrophe. I hate going to the fridge.

5. Envy. It’s substantial, straight and three feet long, and I must say that I’m quite jealous, as there’s no way I could take anything like that to a football match in England. I’d probably be fed to a police-horse or charged with possession of a vuva vovos avuvuvu…“I’ll let you off with a caution this time sonny, now on your way”. We don’t even get trusted with bottled water over here.

6. Sound. The sound of massed vuvuzelas is like the sound of a swarm of angry wasps, but deeper. Usually, the larger an animal is, the deeper the sound that they make – so it’s giant angry wasps that we’ll hear the sound of all summer. Giant angry wasps! Well I certainly won’t be falling asleep during a match, or at any time at all during the summer. Except when Andy Townsend’s “analysing” the action, that is.

7. We’re Stuck With Them. There is only one thing that would be worse than enduring the sound of the vuvuzela: That would be banning the vuvuzela. Just because we Europeans have our own expectations of how a football match should be viewed, it doesn’t mean that they should be forced on the rest of the world. This is South Africa’s World Cup, and god knows they’ve earned it. World Cup 2010 should be a uniquely African spectacle and, much to my annoyance, this includes that giant dung beetle thing from the opening ceremony and the bloody vuvuzelas. But we shouldn’t be downhearted about this; sometimes the most memorable parts of World Cups are the unique things that the host nations bring to them. Mexico ’86’s wave, Argentina ’78’s ticker-tape, Italia ’90’s Three Tenors and USA ’94’s blank incomprehension about some sort of soccer-ball tournament going on. Long after many of the matches and incidents are forgotten, these are the memories that remain. And so it will be with the vuvuzela. We will have to suffer it for a month or so, but in time it’ll be the thing that the tournament is remembered for. We may even feel nostalgia for it. Eventually.

June 15, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Write 7 Reasons While Watching The Football

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Ghana v Serbia, one of those games that I’m not desperate to see, but because it’s the World Cup I feel I should. So I did in the knowledge that it would also give me 90 minutes (plus half time) to write 7 Reasons. Easy.

1. The Girlfriend (Part A). She knows I’m watching the football whilst trying to write 7 Reasons. She asks me what the topic is. I say, ‘Darling, it’s 7 Reasons you shouldn’t write 7 reasons while watching the football’. She muses for a second, then replies, ‘Multitasking. Men can’t multitask’. I look around. She’s on the kitchen floor, watching the football, talking to me and cleaning a barbecue grill with a toothbrush. I feel admiration for my girlfriend. She can multitask with the best of them. But now I feel challenged. I must finish my 7 Reasons piece before Ghana finish Serbia. I don’t like the pressure.

2. Spelling. I spend more time concentrating on the football than on the page in front of me. This is dangerous, as when I don’t concentrate I have a habit of miss-spelling ‘tootbrush’, writing the incorrect version of ‘peace’ and adding multiple erroneous apostrophes. I also spell ‘eronous’ incorrectly.

3. Clive Tyldesley. Nothing is really happening in the game. Ghana have a throw-in just inside their own half. If I am ever going to get a chance to write something while watching the football, this is it. I look down. But as soon as I do Clive gets excited. I can only assume this is coincidence. I look up. Nothing is happening. Serbia have a goal-kick. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. I feel my neck. It’s beginning to hurt.

4. Immaturity. I see a player called ‘Panstil’. This amuses me. I spend ten minutes desperately trying to think of a joke that involves the word pants. I finally think of one. All I need is for Panstil to make a sliding tackle and lose his shorts. If he does I can say, ‘Lucky he’s still got his panstil’. I then realise this isn’t very funny. I note I still have a lot of growing up to do.

5. The Girlfriend (Part B). We are into the second half-time. The score-line reads Reasons Done 3 – Reasons Still To Go 4. My girlfriend – now attacking the grill with a brillo pad – asks what I’ve got so far. I read them to her. I wait for the laughter. It comes. Eventually. But then, so does, ‘You have a very strange brain’. I would have preferred her to compliment my shorts. I am wearing nice shorts. Clive gets excited. I look up.

6. Other Sport. Watching the football means I am missing all the other sport that’s on. I still am not sure which position Jenson Button is on the grid – and the F1 coverage has started on the other side. Nor, by watching the football, am I keeping up to date with the domestic cricket scene. I stop writing reasons for a minute. I also stop watching the football. I check cricket scores on my iPhone. I look around. My girlfriend is looking at me. I realise I am not doing much in the way of multitasking. Clive gets excited. I turn back to the screen. Nothing is happening. I have fifteen minutes to think of a final reason.

7. The Girlfriend (Part C). I am struggling to think of a seventh. My girlfriend asks me how I am getting on. I say, ‘Darling, I am struggling to think of a seventh’. She replies, ‘Well if you manage to think of a seventh I know that you can multitask. So next time the football is on you can peel some potatoes too.’ I am conflicted. She has just given me the seventh reason I shouldn’t have written this while the football was on. I have done it. I have proved men can multitask. But I have also proved why men shouldn’t multitask. Clive gets excited. It’s full-time. Ghana have won. And so has The Girlfriend.

June 14, 2010
7 Reasons That The Panini World Cup 2010 Sticker Album Is Frustrating

The World Cup starts today, and so does my 2010 World Cup Panini sticker album, and it’s fair to say that I’m rather excited by both events. Somehow though, the Panini album isn’t quite as much fun as I remember them being in my childhood.

1. Cost. Traditionally, Panini sticker albums are very expensive to complete, but I’ve found ten packets of stickers on Amazon for £4.52, and I only need 638 stickers to complete the pack. So potentially, I could complete my collection for as little as £60 (approximately). But that won’t happen, obviously. I’ll probably end up spending a fortune trying to find An Chol-Hyok or Haminu Dramani. As John Cleese said, “I can take the despair, it’s the hope I can’t stand.”

2. Duplicates. Nine Peter Crouches. I know I’m going to end up with nine Peter Crouches. Obviously, when buying packs of stickers I’ll check that there are no feet protruding from the bottom of them, but I just know that – despite my precautions – I’ll end up with nine of him. And what the hell can I swap eight Peter Crouches for?

3. Social Media. Swapping stickers isn’t the challenge that it used to be. It would be a matter of ease to use the Twitter hashtag #panini to find other people to swap with; there’s also a Facebook group to swap World Cup stickers in. Where’s the difficulty there? Obviously it’s preferable to having grown-men turn up at their local school playgrounds looking for swapsies but still, it does take some of the challenge out of it.

4. It’s Out Of Date. Panini obviously had to put the albums together before the final World Cup squads were announced. My first six stickers (free with the album) were; Steven Pienaar, Javier Mascherano, Rio Ferdinand, Michael Essien, Didier Drogba and Fernando Torres, yet only 67% of those players are going to be at the World Cup. And Drogba’s fitness is still a bit of a question-mark. In the Panini England squad, there’s no Jamie Carragher or Joe Cole, but Theo Walcott and David Beckham are there. Sadly, Bobby Moore isn’t.

5. Cheating. You can now order the missing stickers that you need to complete your album from Panini online. That’s outrageous. It would feel like cheating. When did they start doing that? The potential of failing to complete the album is one of the most important parts of the sticker-album experience: It makes the investment in stickers a gamble. And it’s important to teach children to gamble because…um…okay, perhaps it isn’t. But it is important to teach them that sometimes life is hard, and that desire and effort alone often aren’t enough to succeed. We need to beat the hope out of them while they’re still young. Never mind mollycoddling them with the certainty of a complete album. Bastards!

6. Referees. There aren’t any referees in the album. But I’m supporting Howard Webb this World Cup; I think he can go all the way to the final. I’ve never complained about the lack of a picture of a former policeman from Rotherham before – possibly no one has – but why aren’t there any refs? Surely if there’s room for players that aren’t playing, there should be room for officials?

7. The Customary Descent Into Panini Madness. My birthday occurs during the World Cup. What do you think I’ve asked for? Clothes? Furniture? A bicycle? Beer? No, eschewing all sorts of cool and interesting presents, I’ve asked for stickers. Lots of stickers. Because I want to complete my Panini album (without resorting to cheating) more than I want anything in the world. In fact, I’d probably get more satisfaction from completing it than I would from an England World Cup victory. It’s only day one, and already my Panini album has caused me to lose all sense of proportion. Where will it end?

June 11, 2010
7 Reasons to Support The Referee

Well, that’s it, another domestic football season is over and now we’ve got the World Cup to look forward to. Next season, however, we should do things a little differently than we usually do. We should stop supporting our football teams and support the ref. Now that might seem like a strange and unusual thing to do, but if you consider it carefully, it’s quite logical really. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Colours. When you support your team you only get the choice of home and away kits to wear. When you support the ref, you get a veritable rainbow of shirts and scarves to choose from. Do you know what colour the ref’s going to be wearing this week, or next? You could justify donning a technicolour dreamcoat to support the referee and who wouldn’t want to wear one of those?

2. See More Teams. I need a football team to use as an example so if you could imagine that you support Bury FC, that would be a great help. Don’t worry, this will just be for a moment and you should be able to forget about it later, perhaps with therapy. As a Bury supporter next season, you would have to go to Gigg Lane every other week and watch Bury play League Two football. And then, should you wish to attend away matches too, you’d have to travel all over the country, at great expense, to watch Bury play League Two football. Your life would be dominated by League Two, and by Bury, and you wouldn’t really want that. If you supported a referee though, you wouldn’t have to see Bury-plus-other every week, you’d see two different teams. And if you chose a Premier League referee, you wouldn’t have to watch League Two football at all. You’d get to visit a lovely, well-appointed stadium for most matches, and you’d get to watch football played to a terrific standard every time. Brilliant. You may stop supporting Bury now.

3. Chants And Songs. When you’re a supporter of a popular club, you view matches amongst thousands upon thousands of other people, and it’s hard to express yourself. Most of the songs and chants have already been written. When you support the referee though, you can compose your own: “A rope! A tree! Enshrine the referee!”, “Who needs Mourinho? We’ve got D’Urso”. “He’s tough, but fair, he hasn’t any hair…Steve Bennett. Steve Bennett.” You can sing anything you like, you’re autonomous and creatively free.

4. Save Money. Now, you might be thinking that supporting the referee will cost you more than supporting a team, and you’d be correct. But you could offset some of the extra cost by supporting a local ref – one that lives near you. Then you’d be able to car-share with him because, after all, most refs drive to matches, and it’s not like they’ve got any friends to take up space in their car. They’ll probably be glad of the company.

5. Fair Play. Fed up of watching overpaid prima donnas fall over when an opponent is within three feet of them? Tired of watching aggressive gangs of players surrounding the man in the middle attempting to bully him? I know I am. You can register your protest against it by supporting the ref. Cheer as he pulls out his cards; spell the player’s name out for him as he writes it in his notebook, it’s usually “D-A-V-I-E-S”; shout “exemplary decision, Lino!” as the linesman makes a good call; praise the fourth official for his fabulous grasp of timekeeping. You’ll be sending out a message to sulky, petulant players and managers and you’ll feel good about it. The whole atmosphere that the game is played in will be improved and I’m certain that everyone will thank you.*

6. Heckling. Football, by its very nature, is an immensely partisan affair. Often when following your team, you find yourself allied with – and even supporting – people that you usually wouldn’t have anything to do with. If you’re at the Chelsea vs Newcastle fixture next season, you’re liable to be a supporter of one of those teams. Which means that you’re going to be cheering-on the Chelsea players, or the Newcastle players. If you support the ref though, you’re aloof from all of the partisanship and you can do what any reasonable, right-thinking individual would do. You can shout abuse at both Joey Barton and Ashley Cole.

7. Be An Individual. Everyone with a passing interest in football supports a team, usually it’s Manchester United. If you support the ref though, you’re not one of the herd, you’re an individual. You’re your own boss, blazing a new trail, setting your own rules of behaviour and taking a novel approach to your sporting involvement. You don’t even have to wait until next season. You can adopt a ref during the World Cup. I’m supporting Howard Webb: He may well be England’s best chance of reaching the final. Who’s with me?

*7 Reasons bears no legal responsibility for fans of the referee.

June 1, 2010