The Round-Up September 2014

- Double Denim

(above: A typically well attended Serie A game in which
the overzealous Carabinieri rival the fans in numbers)

It's undeniable; Italian football was more entertaining in the 1990's - by which I mean it was enjoyable in the 90s. The stadia had a splattering of fans (upwards of 10 for a derby game), the world's premier players were flocking to the league's cash rich clubs and the likes of Juventus and the two Milan giants were perennial contenders on the European stage. 

If that wasn't enough, James Richardson hosted a suarve cafe based show for Channel 4 called "Football Italia" which focused primarily on Roberto Baggio or the latest misdemeanor by one of the Brits abroad (Gascoigne, Platt, Ince et al). Not only was the show effortlessly cool, it also spawned the undisputed king of intros - complete with playground phenomena "Golaccio!"... which everyone assumed was "Goooooooooooal Lazio". Hey ho.

None of the aforementioned moderately 'interesting' things about Serie A are ever likely to make a return - insert sad-face emoticon - but that hasn't stopped a teary and nostalgic Napoli trying their best to do a Cher ("Turn Back Time"). I mean, what's more 90's than wearing blue denim on the bottom half - and wait for it - blue denim on the top half as well? ...[Apart from Liam Gallagher's hair do] absolutely nothing! Well, behold this symphony of double denim...

It's like Britney and Justin, Robbie Williams, Jean-Claude Van Damme and a neo-post-Neighbours Kylie all rolling into one! And who wouldn't want that!? (everybody aside). 

In a further ode to bygone days the city of Naples has made itself home to 1000's of battered up Fiat Cinquecento's, organised crime (Camorra) and Rafael Benitez - the latter is unforgivable.  

- Manchester United Goal of the Month

Ignoring the fact that a yard is an imperial measurement of length as opposed to unit of speed, Wayne Rooney has lost a yard of pace - having started with approximately a yard of a pace - and faced hefty criticism from some quarters as a result. 

But the rum Liverpudlian has had the last laugh - and not because he's watched Rio's World Cup Wind-Ups again. No, Manchester United's number 10 collected the club's highly coveted goal of the month award for an eminently stoppable non-aerial overhead kick from within the 6 yard box against Swansea (see picture below). This forgettable strike pipped Mata's tap-in at the Stadium of Light in what turned out to be a close two-horse race... two-horse because the Red Devils only mustered two goals in total. 

Nonetheless, congratulations Wayne you've really shown them! (Though for the record, Mata's goal was more impressive and you have subsequently been sent off).  

(Above: manutd.com reporting Rooney's inevitable "accolade")

- Life After Football

At this time of year there's always reports of recently retired players "missing the game" - some even get so fidgety they retire from retirement in order to sign up with Solva AFC in Pembrokeshire League Division Two (Simon Davies) or Market Drayton Town in Northern Premier League Division One South (Pascal Chimbonda 2013).

I've heard many a former player discuss the difficulty in adapting to life 'outside the dressing-room', as if they've been institutionalised. They talk of the changing-room tomfoolery ('da bants') and become misty-eyed as they recite the first time the 'Archbishop of Banterbury' or the 'Bantersaurus Rex' defecated in their kit bag. Smiles spread across their faces as - with the comic timing of a dyslexic Chubby Brown impersonator -  they weave an anecdote about how the club captain used to have a pop at the trainee players' mothers [knowing sigh].

After such obvious hilarity how can you expect a wealthy father deep into his 30s and married to a beauty therapist to settle back into 'normal' society. It's the equivalent of going cold-turkey after 20 years chasing the dragon! 

I propose therefore that wives need to be the proverbial Methadone... slowly coaxing their partners off the 'Banter-bus'.

Perhaps during the Community Shield weekend the respective WAG could let off some fireworks in the en-suite at 3am or shave a Millwall badge into the dog (that's not a euphemism)..? Just to ease the player's anxiety and make him feel like 'one of the boys' again. Then as time progresses and heals, the given player may be able to cope with a small daily wee on his Sugar Puffs or even just having his Ferrari ruined by air-rifle pellets. Then when he's ready, he may go free into the world and do something meaningful with his 50 years of retirement and limitless wealth.

Who knows, perhaps the former player concerned won't feel such an overwhelming urge to butcher the English language on my overpriced satellite subscription or open another football themed public house!?

God-speed WAGS everywhere!

- Ian Wronged, Wronged, Wronged

Whilst Ian Wright was earning megabucks sunning himself on Copacabana beach for ITV, some rapscallion was ransacking his home in London! A truly sickening act of a collaboration of cowards and degenerates ( http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/ian-wright-burgled-knifewielding-robbers-stole-pundits-mbe-9551089.html ).

Sadly, not only did these individuals cause great distress to Wright and his family they also stole a number of Wright's prized possessions; including his MBE! 

The former Arsenal man has since vowed not to let the perpetrators "get away with it".

In true police style, a spokesperson from Scotland Yard followed up with, "This whole affair is an absolute mystery... how did Ian Wright get awarded an MBE?"  

 - Dave Hockaday Football Manager

("The manager you say!?")

This summer saw the - lets say - "surprising" appointment of former Cirencester Town right-back and Forest Green Rovers boss, David Hockaday, as Leeds United manager on a 2-year deal. Given the enormity of the job at Leeds and the relative stature of the new man in comparison, I feel it would be fascinating to keep abreast of his progress. As a result, I intend to make this a regular segment on ITHGI. 

Hockaday has been sacked.

Much to the surprise of literally no one, Hockaday was sacked by the 'fit and proper' owner of Leeds United on 28 August after a whopping 4 league games in charge - clearly ample time to prove himself.

Here ends this regular feature. 

(*discussions are underway about creating a similar column for Alan Irvine or Billy McKinlay)

@BobbyCowsill
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Shock! England Exit on Penalties...

(Rooney portraying his performance through mime)

I proceeded into the glorious British summer laden with scepticism over the prospect of sharing my damp drizzly days with a familiar, yet seductive partner; a partner who has historically either torn my heart from my chest, or simply bored me into apathy. 

This inherent uncertainty paled into insignificance early in June however, as my passion whisked me away on a whirlwind of excitement and even joy; the draw against the French, and Welbeck’s back heel winner; two important milestones on this journey. I even began to believe that this relationship could develop and possibly flourish into something that could last; maybe the prior disappointment serving as the catalyst...

Well no... As is invariably the case, the honeymoon period ended, and the same displeasing aesthetics, and eventually, the same intolerable habits returned to the forefront. As I watched on Sunday evening, the hope and excitement was slowly displaced by the familiar wave of frustration and irritation. England having tantalised in earlier games were now just the sorry sight that I had predicted prior to the Euros commencement (about the only correct prediction I’ve made). The Italian players cherished the ball in the way they do their bearded grandmothers, whilst their English counterparts were utterly terrified of it. L’Oreal model, Pirlo, epitomised the difference in class - always calm on the ball, he habitually turned into space and seldom failed to find a blue shirt; even when producing cutting passes in the final 3^rd. In fact had it not been for average finishing from his lesser team mates, Pirlo’s artistry would have seen Italy home long before the final whistle - the idiosyncratic Balotelli, and the bizarrely attired De Rossi, the main culprits.

The poor finishing; resolute defending from Cole, Lescott, and Terry; and a star performance from Lady Luck; conspired to restrict Italy’s goal column to nil throughout all 120 minutes. Thus sending the game into the dreaded penalties.

Apart from the penalty shoot-outs England have faced in virtually every tournament in my life time (1990, 1996, 1998, 2004 & 2006), this would be their first attempt... or at least that’s what we wanted our players to believe. With every failure, pressure is ramped up another notch, thus the simple act of kicking a small spherical object between an 8’ x 24’ frame, becomes the footballing equivalent of sitting through 'Everybody Loves Raymond' without concreting your ear canal and tearing your retina out. The catch 22 needs to be broken!

The thought amongst the sloping forehead, knuckles scraping along the ground, beer for breakfast English folk of my local, was that this was that time. After all, Italy have been almost as futile in shoot-out situations as England have (bar a World Cup final); and just maybe the luck had turned in England's favour (see Ukraine, and the charmed existence of the England goal against Italy).

England even led the shootout after 4 strikes... Montolivo presumably missing deliberately; not for illegal betting reasons I’m hastened to add, but to ensure that even England’s biggest sceptics would be enveloped by the malicious little thing known as ‘hope’. This was encouraged further when, the disappointing (diplomatic)/ dreadful (honest), Wayne Rooney, managed to convert his opportunity.

But, losing time and time again, isn’t because England are unlucky, it’s because they’ve got the emotional control of a pubescent teenage girl. Whether it’s the history, the expectation, or the acute awareness of environment, the English seem always to fail where their counterparts don’t. Andrea Pirlo’s sumptuous penalty epitomizing this; dinking the ball ‘Penenka’ style over the premature lunge of Joe Hart.

This show of confidence may have unsettled England as what followed was all too familiar...

Ashley Young, having been absent throughout the duration of the tournament, was the first, and least surprising, England casualty - begging the question, "could you not have remained absent for 10 more minutes?". Having walked all the way to the penalty spot without taking his eyes off the turf, Young proceeded to charge at the ball and club it against the cross bar (he was fortunate it finished that close given he’d not checked where the goal was). Still, given the velocity of Young’s effort, it did stand a chance. The same can not be said of Cashley Cole’s back pass...  So poor was the strike that the camera man was able to film both Cole’s Bambi-esque run up, and Buffon’s subsequent save, from behind each respective party.

(Not even this chaps wedding vegetables could deny Italy..
Top marks for trying though.. your OBE awaits)

The misses turned the tide, and Di Canio wannabe Diamanti confirmed England’s fate with the Italian’s 4^th successful spot kick; despite distraction (see right).

Returning to my tired metaphor - Having witnessed shoot-out failure AGAIN, the betrayal, and associated break-up embarrassment returned – How did I let England get under my skin again? Everyone told me this would happen! etc etc. Afterall, I knew myself, and even chose to tell my reader(s)...

It can’t be denied however, that England deserved their exit from Euro 2012. In fact, as the game wore on it became increasingly apparent that facing our fear, and holding on for penalties, would be our only chance of success.

 It certainly wasn’t like times gone by, where half-cut bleached individuals of legendary status miss open nets; or commanding centre-backs have perfectly valid goals chalked off in extra time... In the words of the great Irish philosopher Mr Murphy, “I’m not bitter”.

Still, who’d have thought the 1990’s would be recalled as the glory years!?

By way of reminder, here's a timeline of England's tournament finals since my birth: -

World Cup 1986 - Maradona's 'hand of God'
Euro 1988 - embarrassed in Group B (see Ray Houghton)
World Cup 1990 - defeat on penalties to West Germany
Euro 1992 - knocked out by Brolin (the subject of Dolly Parton's 1974 hit)
Euro 1996 - defeat on penalties to Germany - also see 'Sick-note' & Gazza misses
World Cup 1998 - defeat on penalties to Argentina - also see Sol Campbell disallowed goal
Euro 2000 - knocked out of Group A following Phil Neville's clumsy challenge (FYI we beat Germany and they finished bottom of the group)
World Cup 2002 - Ronaldinho flukes a free-kick over Seaman
Euro 2004 - defeat on penalties to Portugal - also see Sol Campbell disallowed goal
World Cup 2006 - defeat on penalties to Portugal
World Cup 2010 - defeat to Germany - also see Lampard's goal
Euro 2012 - defeat on penalties to Italy

p.s. as promised : -

Bender Watch

As a side issue to the events of Sunday evening, and to continue the somber tone of this text, I will update you on the progress of Britain’s adopted player of the tournament, Lars Bender.

After an explosive start to this segment last week, sadly there is little to report this. Unfortunately, Bender did not partake in Germany catapulting Greece out of the Euro(s); overseen by Frau Merkel naturally. Bender was instead last observed perusing the Discotheques of Gdansk.

BC
@BobbyCowsill
facebook group - 'if that had gone in it would have been a goal'

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GROUP C - Croatia/Italy/Rep of Ireland/Spain

These snap shots of the various Euro groups are written, in part, as a reminder to those of us who have consumed one too many ‘soft drinks’ in the interval between the early and late kick offs. I think perhaps it’s fitting (stereotyping) then, that we save the Republic of Ireland’s group until last.

The Irish allegedly have the best fans at the tournament this year, but sadly I’ve not heard any allegations of them having the best team. In their 2 outings, they have conceded 7 goals and managed only 1 in return; making them not only the leakiest defence, but also the co-most impotent attack at the Euros. These stats do paint a picture, and unfortunately that picture doesn’t lie; but you have to bear in mind the calibre of their opposition.

The Irish opened their campaign in Poznan (named after a Manchester City goal celebration), against a Slaven Bilic prepared Croatian team; complete with Premiership stars Luka Modric, and Nikica Jelavic.

And they fell behind early; very early! I believe it was about 1659 hrs BST; presumably the 7^th official in the crowd had blown for kick off early. ‘Super Mario III’ (following Balotelli and Gomez) Mandzukic heading the first of a fine pair.

Sandwiched between these strikes, Sean St. Ledger headed Ireland’s only goal of the tournament so far; the defence appearing to hesitate as the 7^th official in the crowd, again, helpfully blasted his/her whistle. 

Everton’s January purchase from ostentatious Rangers, Nikica Jelavic, restored the Croatian’s lead on the brink of half time, poking the ball past the on-rushing Shay Given.

 There was only ever going to be one winner from here, and Mandzukic’s 2^ndearly in the second half, was tangible proof; the ball ricocheting off the post and the goalkeeper before nestling in the Irish net. Shay Given’s reaction to the whole affair (shown right) summed it up; the chalk on his face as he took to his feet, presumably masking the egg. 

Earlier in the evening, European Champions, World Champions, and likely Intergalactic Champions, Spain, took their brand of ticky-tacky football to Gdansk to meet the always formidable, Italians. Despite their off pitch crises, the Italians must not be written off, especially given their World Cup success in 2006 on the back of a similar scandal. And it was the Italians that initially led against the striker-less Spaniards; Di Natale, on for (too many jokes) Balotelli, latching onto a deft pass and cleverly lifting the ball beyond Casillas.

 The lead was short lived though, lasting a mere 3 minutes, before ‘false 9’ (because he’s wearing #10), Cesc Fabregas, ran onto David Silva’s masterful through ball, and slid the ball past Buffon.

Spain did have their chances to snatch the points, but lacked any purpose in the final 3^rd. Vicente Del Bosque identified this issue and introduced Fernando Torres as a replacement for Cesc Fabrgeas. The former striker did add some extra dynamism, and amusement, spurning a hat-trick of golden opportunities. 1 each it remained then - points shared.

The Italians next opponents were the Irish heartbreakers from game 2, Croatia. Billed as a potentially tight affair, it proved to be exactly that. In fact, the game’s opening goal coming from the perpetual Andrea Pirlo, as he voided the capabilities of the Croatian defence by flighting a fabulous free kick past Pletikosa.

Croatia were more adventurous in the second half, switching their formation in an attempt to free up the virtually absent Modric. This modification did have a modicum of success; but soon the Italians were creating again, Balotelli passing up an excellent opportunity to put the game to bed.

With the all too familiar scoreline of one nil to Italy looming, and the Azzurri sitting behind the ball, it was something of a surprise when Croatia levelled proceedings. Having hardly put a foot wrong at the back, Chiellini misjudged a speculative cross from the left and Mario Mandzukic slid in to score his 3^rd of the tournament.

Howard Webb called the event to a close after the customary 90 minutes, no Fergie time required.
1 – 1 the final score.

 For Ireland's second game, the mass ranks of support headed for Gdansk in the hope of good craic and 3 points. Regrettably for the emerald army though, they left with nothing more than dented pride, following a football lesson from the best in the business.

Ireland, to their credit, did manage to hold out for a full 4 minutes; Fernando Torres eventually breaking his international duck against the same goalkeeper he ended his 6 month Premiership barren spell in March.

Despite a number of chances, even a rare opening for Keith Andrews, the first half concluded with the Spaniards only a goal in front.

Alas the second half was an all together more galling spectacle. First, Manchester City’s David Silva snaffling up the rebound from Andres Iniesta’s initial shot to double the advantage; before Torres and Fabregas rounded off the torrid night.

4 nil the final score, and the old adage, ‘they were lucky to get none’, never truer. Irish captain Robbie Keane admitting, "For the majority of the game we were chasing shadows".

Team	Pld	W	D	L	GF	GA	GD	Pts
Spain	2	1	1	0	5	1	+4	4
Croatia	2	1	1	0	4	2	+2	4
Italy	2	0	2	0	2	2	0	2
Republic of Ireland	2	0	0	2	1	7	−6	0

 The group has been well contested, but the stand-out performers have been the reigning champions. It’s their form that will likely see Croatia exit and the Italians progress. I understand many are backing Italy not just for qualification from the group, but also to progress into the latter stages, and even reach the final... before an unusual own goal, four sendings off (all in minutes ending in 6), and a sliced penalty deny them.

The Republic of Ireland fans are already preparing their return journey; however given that they have reported Poland is, “full of beautiful women, superb (and strong) beer and vodka, delicious food and excellent hotels (even with a TV in the toilet!)” (http://uk.eurosport.yahoo.com/news/lord-gdansk-irish-solace-polish-133517801.html), it may take them a while to disperse. Any volunteers to aid them?

BC
@BobbyCowsill