Support, encouragement and understanding. Not foot-stamping belligerence.

As well as casting his critical ear over albums and gigs, Bobbysix's Rob Townsend also writes a weekly column about football, for newspaper The Argus. This week's column, the first of the season, was vetoed by the editor for being a bit controversial, so you'll read something much more bland - penned in about ten minutes flat by a very stressed Mr Townsend - in this Friday's paper. However, we ain't afraid of no football fans here at Bobbysix.com, so here is the banned editorial, in all its glory. It will only appeal/make sense to football lovers really. Normal music/fashion/culture service to be resumed at Bobbysix.com later today:

This is surely the most anticipated season ever for fans of Brighton and Hove Albion Football Club as, after 14 nomadic years, the club moves into its brand new £100m state-of-the-art stadium. So it's a shame that I feel obliged to use my first column of the campaign to speak about something genuinely disappointing.

I've been lending a hand behind the scenes at The American Express Community Stadium over the summer as the club frantically prepares for the first league game there on Saturday. The hard work and long hours are, of course, worthwhile, as we are all building towards something special. Sadly though, the excitement and positivity felt by many of Albion's workforce has long-since been eroded as the club has been bombarded by a barrage of aggression and negativity from a minority of supporters.

It's been the busiest pre-season I've ever known at Brighton and Hove Albion and, inevitably, there have been teething problems with the big move, yet the lack of understanding from certain sections of Albion's support – both long-term followers and newbies – is bewildering. I'm all in favour of constructive criticism, but the vitriol with which a number of people have aired their views is something that I genuinely haven't heard since the darkest days.

As we all settle into our new home, Albion fans need to be at their most understanding and tolerant. There have been, and will continue to be, glitches over ticketing, swipe cards, phone-lines, catering, parking and so on, but these things will steadily iron themselves out. In the meantime, the moaners need to see the bigger picture. The club has gained 15,000 new season ticket holders and has gone from having one corporate portakabin to a host of swanky lounges. I understand that everybody wants their Amex experience to be just perfect - we've waited so long for it after all - but anyone who thought such a massive upgrade in facilities would be a smooth and easy transition is kidding themselves.

What the club requires right now is support, encouragement and understanding. What doesn't help is the kind of foot-stamping belligerence that was displayed at the recent fans forum. Nor does it need people shouting and swearing down the phones or sending angry emails about the pies being too hot or the fact that Tottenham were a terrible choice of friendly opponent because of Harry Redknapp's Pompey and Saints connections (those were both actual complaints).

Rest assured the Albion staff aren't deliberately trying to ruin your season, nor are they a bunch of hopeless incompetents. They love the Albion just as much as you and are simply tired, stressed and close to breaking point as they work really, really hard to complete this massive task.

So, if the ticketing website is playing up, if you have to queue to get through on the phone, if the food kiosk runs out of pies (or if they're too hot), if your top-up doesn't work or if your email doesn't get answered immediately, don't get angry. Things will run smoothly soon enough and the club will do their very best to deal with your concerns. In the meantime, forget the teething troubles and give yourself a reality check by basking in the glory of our beautiful new home. It's a universe away from Withdean, so why tarnish the experience with petty concerns? Enjoy the game and let's all pull together and turn The Amex into the cauldron of noise we could only dream of at Withdean.

UPDATE:
So, since I posted the above, I have had nothing but positive feedback, from the man in the street, to Albion staff to the bigwigs at American Express. Thank you everyone. To celebrate, here is a little video montage I made of one of the most magical afternoons of my life:

Rooney illustrates football's lack of respect

Rob Townsend's recent article in English newspaper, The Argus, caused a bit of a stir. Here is the gist: 

Everybody has seen Wayne Rooney's down-the-camera effing and everyone has their opinion on it. Here is mine. I think Wayne Rooney is an idiot.

Let’s look at the evidence. Rooney emerges a few years ago as a teenage star. He is embraced by the nation, who forgive him his ridiculous indiscretions with grandmothers, a red card in the 2006 World Cup and more off-field dramas. He hits the form of his life as England prepare to head to South Africa. Amid a stinker of a tournament, he looks down the barrel of the camera to berate fans for their disloyalty when they have the nerve to voice their displeasure at the tepid 0-0 draw with Algeria.

This season, as Britain struggles against the credit crunch, Rooney threatens to walk out on United, before changing his mind when offered a frankly obscene pay rise. The country is, understandably, disgusted. Even United fans are aggrieved at the way their hero seemed to hold the club to ransom. Still, even though he isn’t having the best season, they forgive him.

Does he show humility? Keep his head down and try and regain the nation’s affection? No, he looks into the camera again and swears at every single one of us with an aggressive demeanour more suited to a yob that's just about to punch your face in outside some small-town nightclub than one of the world’s supreme athletes. He is a role model to countless kids and yet abuses his position so openly. I have not an ounce of respect for the man.

And that is the key word. Respect. If Rooney needs to take a long hard look at the way he behaves, then so does the whole of the football community. At the moment we’re in a Catch 22 situation. Players act arrogantly because fans spend 90 minutes swearing at them and fans spend 90 minutes swearing at over-paid and ill-behaved players because they resent their arrogance and egos. Sadly I can't see any way that the never-ending cycle of mindless abuse and disrespect will end. From Premier League to Sunday League, the good nature and humour of the beautiful game is being steadily replaced with nasty aggression and anger.

Still, we don’t have to be a part of it. Let's enjoy our sport with dignity and with smiles on our faces and leave the thugs to try and out-moron each other. We may be in the minority, but that doesn't stop us being right.

Words by Rob Townsend.

Let’s beat the beautiful game into submission with a copy of Tony Pulis’ Big Book of Tactics.

Fans of Rob Townsend's weekly column in English newspaper The Argus will notice there is nothing from him this Thursday. Normal service will be resumed next week but, for now, here is a web-only special, exclusive to BobbySix.com:

Steve Claridge's comments on his video blog on the BBC football website really seem to get on people's nerves, don't they? Recently he waxed lyrical about how Brighton and Hove Albion's style of Total Football wouldn't work if the club competes in the Championship next season because teams would be fitter and better equipped to close down their passing game. I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life. Sure, the quality of opposition is going to be better - it is a higher division after all - but what does he propose they do? Start lumping it up to centre forward Glenn Murray? Hit the ball into the corners and try to score from set pieces and throw-ins? Good idea Steve. Let’s beat the beautiful game into submission with a copy of Tony Pulis’ Big Book of Tactics.

Aren't Swansea and QPR flying high in The Championship by playing fluid, passing football? Didn’t Brighton beat Watford and Portsmouth recently? I don’t think anyone expects a team like Brighton to march straight to the Premier League, but surely, with a few signings, they could hold their own and remain playing aesthetically pleasing stuff.

To be honest, football followers shouldn't be concerned about the rubbish Steve Claridge spouts. If you read the comments sections below his - quite awful - videos, he is berated pretty much universally by fans from all divisions. I have never been a fan of his viewpoint. On the BBC he pontificates with such arrogance that you would think he was the ultimate authority on football. In reality he is just another former player trying to make a buck.

In fairness though, while the words that tumble out of Claridge's mouth really grate on me, he is just a small fish in a massive pond of pointless punditry that blights my enjoyment of football. The problem is that there is just so much media coverage now that we are subjected to countless former players giving their ill-informed views just to fill air time and column inches. I fail to understand why Sky's live coverage starts an hour before kick-off. Do we really care what Scott Minto (for example) has to say? Not really. The pundits who are on constant rotation don't have an all-seeing knowledge of every team they cover, so it is little wonder they sometimes get things completely wrong.

I have no problem listening to pundits talk about things they are expert in. Alan Hanson's analysis of defending is genuinely interesting and I love listening to Guardian journalists discussing issues on the newspaper's excellent football podcast. I just can't be doing with the half-baked opinions of the likes of Claridge, who seem to talk purely for the sake of talking. If you don’t know what you’re going on about, how about just keeping your mouth shut?

"Thanks very much and let's have coffee,"

There isn’t much room in football for fairytales anymore. Inter park the bus in front of the Nou Camp goal in the semis and then out-defend Bayern to win the Champions League. Europe apathetically half-watches while secretly wishing that Messi was banging in a hat-trick at Real’s home ground, or that Arsenal had somehow chanced their way to glory. Fulham march to within a whisker of Europa League silverware but come a cropper to a side that got to the final by drawing the vast majority of their games in the tournament. Real and Barca play in a league so two-sided it makes the SPL look competitive. Meanwhile, The Premier League is supposed to be the most exciting competition in the world, but I can’t think of a time when it has been more staid. People got worked up about Tottenham knocking Liverpool out of fourth place. Why? It’s not like they didn’t spend decent sums of money to do so. Is it really such an achievement to finish higher than a club descending down a slippery slope and a Manchester City team who, if you gave them Mourinho’s bus, would probably end up accidentally parking it behind the goal instead of in front of it?

Tottenham’s sense of triumph at reaching the Champions League qualifiers is indicative what is wrong with the Premier League. How long have we had the notion of The Big Four? Why do we have it? Why should ‘breaking the top four’ be lauded in such a way? The Premier League has now reached such a level of predictability that teams like Spurs and Everton set their sights on fourth place as the very best they can achieve. Tottenham’s top four finish was in no way, as some are suggesting, a fairytale. This will inevitably be proved when they are bundled out of the Champions League at the first hurdle before next season has even got going.

Not much has been said about it, but I think Wolves deserve a lot of credit for staying up. However, even they, by driving the streets of Wolverhampton and rounding up a bunch of strangers to make up their eleven at Old Trafford, highlighted just how the Premier League playing field is less level than Wembley’s.

Wolves' starting line-up at Old Trafford.

Thank God then, in a season when teams field the reserves against a side from the same division, because they know their best eleven has no chance either, for Ian Holloway’s Blackpool. The only footballing fairytale of the 2009/2010 season (so close, Ross County, so close). Playing in a three-sided ground in front of League One sized crowds, they were tipped by many for relegation at the start of the campaign. Marvellous then, that a late burst took them into the play offs. Even more marvellous that they went and got promoted. And the best thing about it? That they did so playing really exciting, attacking football. Their devil-may-care approach was best summed up by the final against Cardiff. You scored two? Okay, we’ll have to score three. Blackpool’s attacking style is a breath of fresh air and, as full backs rampage forward, leaving open spaces behind them with gay abandon, one can’t help get the feeling that this is the way football should be played. If Mourinho gave them his bus, chances are they’d all pile in it and drive it straight at the opposition goal.

So, well done Blackpool for giving football romantics a little slither of joy at the end of a dull season. And, when the critics are handing out plaudits, they should look no further than the man with more classic quotes than Karl Pilkington (see clip below) - manager Ian Holloway. By achieving the unthinkable with mere pennies at his disposal, he is surely the manager of the year. Mourinho might be the name on everyone’s lips as he takes over the hot-seat in Madrid, but I’d like to see him come to Blackpool and do what Holloway’s done on the same budget.

Slinging things at Craig Bellamy's head

The state of football at the moment is pretty depressing, and I feel increasingly distanced from the game with every news headline I read.

I've been doing my best to avoid the whole John Terry circus, but I find it amazing, considering how many negative stories he has been at the centre of over the years, that it has taken people until 2010 to question his character. I understand the argument that a player's personal life and their career should be allowed to remain separate, but I wholeheartedly agree with the decision to strip the England captaincy from him. While he didn't break any laws with his infidelity, captaining a nation should be held in reverence by somebody prepared to be a role model and ambassador. I'm not sure whether Rio Ferdinand quite suits that description but, if England win the World Cup this year and Terry still had the armband, it would have left a seriously bad taste in my mouth. I only mentioned a couple of months ago how I wasn't sure I even wanted England to win it, as the thought of Ashley Cole becoming an MBE makes me want to vomit, and this latest Terry incident has only further fuelled my negativity.

It's not just players that have been failing to shroud themselves in glory either. Certain supporters have been doing their bit to drag the game down too of late by throwing objects from the stands. There can't be many people who haven't wanted to sling something at Craig Bellamy's head at some stage or other, but, even in an emotionally charged situation, very few of us would ever actually do it.

Elsewhere, governing bodies and clubs are adding to the miserable climate. In international football, the decision to ban Togo from the next two African Cups of Nations was mind-blowingly heartless and ill-judged, while, back home, Pompey are in all kinds of trouble and even the mighty Manchester United are in a mess and are the subject of protests from their usually subservient fans. If the biggest club in the world can't get its finances right, what hope is there for anyone else?

It's almost enough to make a person want to give up on football altogether, but then something happens that reminds you why you fell in love with the game in the first place. For me, it was seeing the greatest assist of all time by Real Madrid's Guti recently. It was a magnificent piece of artistry and, with the simple act of backheeling a football, this player made me realise why I bother with the sport. Because, at its purest, it is still the beautiful game, even if it is rife with idiots.

Henry’s juggling sparks plenty of debate...

Thierry Henry’s bit of juggling last week certainly sparked plenty of debate. The Irish, poor souls, are in uproar, the French are as embarrassed as they are relieved, and everyone else seems to be chipping in with their opinion. I find it interesting that morality, in this instance, seems largely to depend on which team your sympathy lies with.

Had Robbie Keane handled the ball to give Ireland the win, would there have been such a fuss, or would we merely have labelled him ‘cheeky’? Rather than focusing on this one indiscretion, we’d more likely have hailed Ireland for being wily enough to squeeze past France.

As a Brighton supporter, I can recall a couple of instances when my team were guilty of some rule-breaking. I have a vague memory of full-back Johnny Crumplin slapping the ball in with his palm at Cambridge one time. Everyone, including Crumplin, looked at the ref and waited for a free-kick and a yellow card, but, amazingly, a goal was awarded. At Withdean, striker Gary Hart punched one in with his fist in the last minute against Southend. Did you find Brighton fans suggesting the game should be replayed? No, they laughed all the way home, delighted with the three points.

Calls from the Irish Football Association for the France game to be replayed were frankly ridiculous and possibly the greatest ever example of clutching at straws. If a game were to be replayed every time a ref missed a key decision, teams would end up playing every day of the week. Every time Manchester United lost, Sir Alex would be straight on the phone to the FA demanding the match be voided because the linesman got a throw-in decision wrong in the first half.

In his distinctive, brilliantly angry way, Roy Keane put it best during a press conference. “France are going to the world cup. Get over it,” he shrugged. Okay, maybe he was a bit harsh, but he made a good point about how, earlier in the campaign, Ireland won a game which saw them score from a dodgy penalty, and there were no offers to replay that game.

People are labelling Henry a cheat, but he is no more a cheat than any winger who dives or any centre-half who grabs a handful of a striker’s shirt. It was an instinctive reaction to use his hand, and people who say he ought to have owned up should put themselves in his boots, in a game of such importance (remembering that this world cup might be his last) and ask themselves whether, honestly, they would have told the ref to disallow the goal. I’m not sure I would.

Regardless of this incident, I’ll always think of Henry as one of the greatest players I’ve ever had the privilege of watching. He transforms football into an art form, and outraged moralists should forgive him this one blemish and instead focus on the sheer beauty he has brought to the game. After all, even though Diego Maradona ruined my summer in 1986, I still regard him as the greatest footballer that has ever lived.

We all know that instant TV replays are a good idea but until they come in, we just have to accept that sometimes, no matter how heartbreaking it can be, you’re going to be stitched up by bad officiating or plain bad luck.

Another case of footballers making the news for the wrong reason

So, recently, English Premier League footballer Marlon King went and got himself banged up for 18-months for a sex assault. It's not the first time he has been in trouble with the law either.

This is yet another, albeit more extreme than usual, example of the kind of story that crops up every now and again in the newspapers, as footballers seem to be as much on the front pages for being involved either as the perpetrator or the victim of a fracas in the early hours as they are on the back pages for scoring goals.

Even though he intends to appeal, King is clearly a troubled person, but, when considering some of the slightly more trivial cases, I suppose it must be hard to go out on the town if you’re a footballer. I’ve had the occasional night out with groups of players and, sure, it’s nice to walk straight to the front of the queue and to be looked after by proprietors, but there are downsides too. There are inevitably supporters who want to sing your name or bend your ear about tactics when all you want to do is hang out with your mates, and then there are the opposition fans who, fuelled by too much booze, want to tell you exactly what they think of you. And if you’re Stephen Gerrard, a bit of a row about the music in a club ends up with you appearing in court.

I suppose the simple solution is that if footballers don’t want unwelcome attention, they shouldn’t go to places where they are most likely to get it. Harry Redknapp even went so far as to ban his Tottenham players from nightclubs after another King, this time Ledley, ended up in the local police station after a few too many. “I don't want players going out to nightclubs, getting drunk and misbehaving,” Redknapp said. “If you look at the problems, they nearly all come when people get drunk. I don't understand it; they're so well paid, so well looked after.” I think Redknapp echoed the opinions of millions of hard-working football fans with that vox-pop. Oh, and, incidentally, the alleged quote from Ledley King when he found himself dishevelled in a police station in the early hours of the morning was: "Boss man, boss man, I don't deserve to be here - I'm rich." Classic.

Footballers are young and vivacious, so telling them not to go clubbing is futile, but it does seem to be a very British thing to drink your bodyweight after a game. I remember hearing a story about an Arsenal party where the English players were throwing booze down their necks while the foreign stars like Henry sat in the corner nursing their orange juices and wondering why their team mates were abusing their bodies so badly. It’s not often you see hammered overseas players being snapped by the paps as they stagger out of nightclubs having just been involved in a dust up. Can you imagine Tierry Henry downing pints or doing shots of tequila in a dentist chair?

Of course, it’s none of our business how and where players unwind but, if having to miss out on going to a few of the rowdier clubs in town is the price they pay for all the other rewards being a footballer brings, then it doesn’t seem like a bad deal to me.

And, as far as Marlon King goes, the depressing thing is that another club will snap him up with no questions asked when he gets out. Okay, if he does his time then he is perfectly entitled to get back to playing football, but it just seems unfair that the likes of him and Joey Barton, yes, this Joey Barton, the one who is always in trouble, can live the wonderful lives of footballers and bank the pay-cheques.

A mercenary industry where cold hard cash supersedes loyalty

This week, my football column in The Argus focuses on Manchester City and on what money is doing to the game:
Even to people who have no real love for the English Premier League, a game to keep an eye on this weekend is Arsenal’s visit to Manchester City, as the juxtaposition between the two clubs is really interesting. One has a manager who, rather than spending the big bucks, likes to bring unknown players through the ranks, while the other is football’s equivalent of a Lotto winner going on a spending spree. It’ll be intriguing to see what happens and I’m probably not alone when I say that I’d really like Arsenal’s lovingly nurtured team to take City to the cleaners.

To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about Manchester City. On the one hand, I want them to fail miserably. The way they are cherry-picking players by throwing silly money around is indicative of just what is wrong with the game nowadays. Money is a disease that is eating football from the inside out. It is creating a mercenary industry where cold hard cash supersedes loyalty and success must be attained immediately or the manager is given the sack (with a tasty golden handshake) at the first opportunity. All the while fans are finding themselves progressively more alienated. How much longer can we be expected to love a game played by petulant millionaires while we struggle to afford the ever increasing ticket prices? To see City pay £24m for Jolene Lescott, who is probably worth less than half that, shows just how distorted things are becoming.

On the other hand though, I certainly don’t begrudge Manchester City fans the newfound excitement that all these signings has brought them. It can’t be easy living in the shadow of Manchester United, and it would be nice if the top four’s monopoly was compromised. I suppose though, that the reason I’m not sure how I feel about Manchester City is because I realise that my problems with their wealth are born largely out of jealousy. In truth, it’s hard to be too resentful when I know, in my heart of hearts, that if an insanely rich Sheikh threw a gazillion pounds at my team, my outlook would be very much different. We’d all love it if success was achieved organically; if our club climbed the leagues through hard work and a sensible business model while retaining a sense of community, but if a place among football’s elite could be fast-tracked by an Arab with more dosh than sense, would you hear me moralising about how money is ruining the game? Of course not, I’d be too busy deciding which of our new superstar signings’ names I was going to have printed on the back of my replica shirt.

A Phoenix finally rising from the ashes

My weekly column has started up again for the football season. This year, it's in The Argus on a Thursday, not a Saturday. The wordcount is up to 550 now. Ooh. Here is this week's:I’m lucky enough to have seen some beautiful sights in recent years. I’ve watched the sunset turn Ayers Rock the deepest orange. I’ve gazed in marvel from an aeroplane window at illuminated streets flowing like lava through the blackness of the New York night. I’ve stood in the Colosseum, surrounded by the aura of ghosts from its brutal Roman history. I’ve been dwarfed by the steel magnificence of the Eiffel Tower in Paris and strolled the gothic backstreets of Barcelona. However, last week I saw a sight during my humdrum daily routine in familiar old East Sussex that topped anything I have ever seen before.

I was on the train from Brighton to Eastbourne when I noticed something that made my stomach turn somersaults and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It was a fleeting moment, yet one so perfect that I will always remember it. I was staring vacantly out of the window as the train chugged past Falmer station when I noticed, poking up from behind some trees, the tiniest glimpse of a metal structure. This may not seem like much to get excited about but, of course, this skeletal framework represented so much more than the sum of its parts. To me, and to all supporters of Brighton & Hove Albion Football Club, it is a Phoenix finally rising from the ashes, an embryonic vision of what will soon be Albion’s shiny new home.

Earlier this year I was at the Olympiastadion in Berlin. After a quick wander around to take in its history (it was there that black athlete, Jesse Owens, famously won four Olympic gold medals while Adolf Hitler watched on), I sat in the stand and breathed in my surroundings. Being a stadium nerd, this magnificent theatre of sport had me drooling, with its 3,500 ton roof and bright blue running track, and it made me think about how amazing it will be to finally get to Falmer. However, at the time, the idea of sitting in a comfortable ground, with decent acoustics and a roof over my head every fortnight seemed, somehow, still so far-fetched. Sure, as I was pondering this, work on the Falmer site had started, but it hadn’t amounted to much more than a few diggers churning through some fields. I had always said that, because the quest for Brighton's stadium had been going on for so long, I’d half-resigned myself to it never actually being built, and that I wouldn’t believe it was really going to happen until I saw the first brick being laid. Well, with a simple peek over the trees from the train window, I have now, finally, seen it with my own two eyes. It looked more like the picture above then the one below (which is what it will eventually become), but was still beautiful.If you haven’t already done so, then check out the stadium gallery on the Albion’s website. With photographs showing how it is taking shape remarkably quickly, it’s the best thing I’ve seen on the internet since I typed ‘lion reunion’ into youtube.

Regardless of whether I’m spending ages online, looking at photos of what is surely the most exciting construction site ever, or catching a real life glance out of a train window, I can finally now allow myself to really believe, with no degree of uncertainty whatsoever, that the Falmer stadium is on its way. And what a great feeling that is.

Passion, noise and excitement?

Every Saturday i have my own column in English newspaper, The Argus. here is today's:
I gave my Australian girlfriend her first taste of English football last week. Being an integral part of the super trendy Sydney fashion scene, she is far more interested in high-waisted trousers and vintage dresses than watching 22 men with Toni & Guy haircuts chase a piece of leather around some grass, but, knowing what a big part of my life football is, she was happy to come and see what gets me so happy/angry/frustrated/depressed on a Saturday. Bearing in mind the only other sporting occasion she has ever attended was an Aussie Rules game played at Melbourne’s world-famous MCG in front of about 90,000 fervent fans, I had to try to choose a match that would equal that occasion for atmosphere and thrills. So, with that in mind, the most obvious thing to do would have been to take her to England’s important World Cup qualifier at Wembley on Wednesday night. I didn’t do that though. Oh no. I decided to give her her first sample of English football in a place that is perhaps least representative of its passion, noise and excitement. That’s right, we went to Withdean to watch a goalless draw between Brighton & Hove Albion and Tranmere Rovers.

We sat in the north stand and I did my best to explain what was happening on the pitch (“The Brighton player is kicking the ball to another Brighton player… oh, he’s kicked it straight at the Tranmere player.”). She seemed to take it all in, although, as Brighton's Dean Cox almost scored a cracking volley, I noticed her absently reading the list of ingredients on the back of her drink bottle. Later, as Tranmere fired in a corner, she was instead focusing on pulling a loose thread from her jumper. I’m sure we can all sympathise with the fact that her attention wandered at regular intervals and, for the most part, she actually rather enjoyed the game, even though she didn‘t get to see any goals. While she may not have sampled English football in its most indicative environment (like at a ground where the stands aren‘t a million miles from the pitch), she did at least get the full Withdean experience in just one afternoon. She got to see how the warmth of the sun can create a typically lethargic atmosphere, and how the inevitable rain causes everyone to reach for their ponchos. She saw fairly poor football punctuated by some decent moments, heard an equal amount of wit, moaning and expletives from fans, and got to join in with the occasional chant of ‘Albion’. Oh, and at least Brighton didn’t lose. I suppose, actually, in that respect, it wasn’t quite the full Withdean experience after all.

A tribute to Andy Sibson

In my weekly newpaper column, I recently paid tribute to a former teacher of mine, who died earlier this year. I was out of the country when a tribute was held at my old school, but I was touched to discover the other day that my words were read out on the evening. Here is what I said, which made up part of a longer piece about Leicester City:...While we are on the subject of Leicester, I would just like to finish by giving a mention to Andy Sibson, a massive Leicester fan and deputy head-teacher of Cavendish School in Eastbourne, who passed away a couple of weeks ago after suffering a heart attack playing football. He taught me PE for five years and was one of the most positive, friendly and genuine people you could ever wish to meet. Whenever Leicester beat the Albion (which was pretty often in those days) he would send little mocking notes to me in the register, and such banter was one of the few enjoyable things about my school life. I know his death at just 51 years of age has deeply affected a lot of people, and Cavendish School and Sussex sport in general will be a sadder place without him. An all-round good bloke.

The transfer window - a false, cornered market?

Every Saturday I write a column about football in English newspaper, The Argus. Here is an excerpt from my musings this week:Hull City manager Phil Brown recently brought up some interesting points about the transfer window, saying agents and players have created a false, cornered market that is unfairly weighed in favour of the seller. This prompted Manchester City boss Mark Hughes to bemoan the inflated prices and heightened expectations that come about because of the limited time clubs have to conduct their transfers.

It’s hardly surprising Hughes has got the hump, as surely any club that he approaches will stick a few million quid on any player’s asking price in the knowledge that Manchester City are swimming in cash since their takeover. A case in point was the Shay Given transfer. Newcastle boss Joe Kinnear described City’s original bid of £5m as “insulting.” This translates as, “Do me a favour. If you could afford to offer a hundred million for Kaka, you can at least throw us another £3m.”

I think the transfer window favours the big clubs who can afford to start the season with a massive squad. While everyone else suffers because of injuries and suspensions, the likes of Manchester United have players such as Tevez chomping at the bit to get a game. Mark Hughes stated in a recent interview that he couldn’t remember why the transfer window was brought in, and neither can I. Presumably it was for the benefit of the game, but how can such a melee where silly money is spent in a state of panic be anything but detrimental to football? Sure, it’s a fun spectacle for fans, but in these worrying economic times, shouldn’t more measured financial decisions be encouraged, rather than clubs desperately throwing money around and hoping some of it will stick?

Narcissism and Greed: the Premier League's plan to go global

In this week's Argus column, I couldn't resist venting my anger at the latest money-making scheme by the powers that be in English football:I have been a lover of the beautiful game all my life, yet because I currently live in Australia, every weekend at the moment is a weekend free from live English football; although this might change if the Premier League has its way.

Of course I’m talking about the proposal that every Premier League team should play an additional match each season in another country. This contrived and ugly idea stinks of top clubs finding new ways to line their pockets and, while chairmen are seeing dollar signs, I’m pleased that this suggestion has been greeted with scorn by the vast majority of supporters.

Football clubs’ genuine identities have been diminishing for a while now in favour of corporate branding and profit forecasts. The sport which used to be all about loyalty and a sense of community is now just a cash cow for foreign businessmen who care not that the common man is no longer able to afford to watch the team he has supported all his life.

I’m not naïve enough to suggest that we shouldn’t embrace the fact that the Premier League is admired the world over, but simply bolting another game haphazardly into the middle of the season in order to bully our way into foreign markets and earn more TV money is surely a lazy way to do it, and it brings with it the possibility of unfairly affecting the final league table through the capriciousness of the pairings for this extra round of matches.

Sure, the chance to see Arsenal play Tottenham in Sydney would be very appealing to someone like me who only has the substandard Australian A-League for entertainment, but what if the luck of the draw decided that two less glamorous teams were pitted together? I’m not sure the residents of somewhere like New York would be queuing round the block to watch Middlesbrough take on Aston Villa. And, without being disrespectful, if Blackburn were playing Bolton in my lounge, I’d probably stay in my bedroom.

Depressingly, while fat cats rub their hands together at the prospect of an extra few million quid falling at their feet, poor old Bournemouth – a lovely, family club - has gone into administration over an amount of money that wouldn’t buy the left leg of a Premier League player. Where did football go so horribly wrong?

The level of greed and narcissism in the Premier League is now so high that half of me hopes this proposal goes ahead and is an abject failure. Maybe it would take English football imploding on itself to finally give the people that run the game a sense of perspective.

An undeniable stench of pompousness and gluttony

The second half of last week’s Brighton vs Carlisle game offered some of the most entertaining football I’ve witnessed for a long time. The guile and determination shown by the both League One sides was the complete opposite of what was on display at Wembley a few days earlier when the England players pathetically blew the opportunity to qualify for Euro 2008 even though it had been handed to them on a plate.

I never thought Steve McClaren was the right man for the job. He made some dismal decisions and didn’t get anywhere near the best out of players like Gerrard, who would walk into almost every international team, but it is all too easy to lay the blame for England’s failure solely at his door. Similarly, while the players must shoulder their share of the blame, it would be foolhardy to simply make scapegoats of Scott Carson, Wayne Bridge et al and then blindly hope that they will play better under a new manager. To get to the very heart of the matter, English football needs to take a long, hard look in the mirror.

Okay, so considering that we’ve only won one major trophy (nearly half a century ago), maybe we should accept that England isn’t as great a footballing force as we imagine it to be, but when supporters are asked to pay extortionate amounts for tickets while players take home a hundred grand a week and a hopeless manager can pocket a £2.5m pay off, is it any wonder that the country is fuming at a team that can’t even beat the likes of Macedonia?

The feeling of disillusionment will continue until the English game learns a little humility. In a culture where Premiership players seem to be celebrities first and footballers second, English football is eating itself from within. The Premiership is certainly pretty to watch, yet it carries with it an undeniable stench of pompousness and gluttony.

I don’t completely buy the popular notion that foreigners are ruining the English game (I’m sure that playing with and against the likes of Dennis Bergkamp for all those years can only have been of benefit to England’s players), but it is worrying that, according to FA Director of Football Development, Trevor Brooking, the academies aren’t bringing through much home-grown talent. Will we do any better when trying to qualify for the next world cup?

It will take a cleverer person than me to come up with a solution to England’s woes, but if the FA is keen to appease a disgruntled nation, it’s going to take more than just a new manager. English football needs a complete overhaul - from the very top down to its grass roots.

Enjoy this? Check out my rant about Wayne Rooney here.

Inane and out of touch...

My Sports Argus column is well under way (complete with new photo - below, taken by talented Sydney photographer Daniel Boud), and my intention to grind people’s gears a little this season is already having effect. Last week, someone wrote a letter to complain that my writing was “inane” and “out of touch”. This was the column that offended them so:This Saturday saw my first trip to Withdean since Sheffield Wednesday put the nail in our relegation coffin at the end of the season before last. It was odd spending a whole year away from the club (I was overseas), and I am pleased to be back, sampling the electric atmosphere of Withdean.

The fact that the visit of Northampton was my first appearance at Withdean this season means I didn’t make it to either of the two home pre-season games. To be honest, I deliberately avoided both of these matches, even though they were against Premiership opposition.

I have absolutely no idea why anyone would want to attend a friendly match unless the opponents were one of the big boys, like Manchester United or Liverpool. The thought of Messrs Rooney or Gerrard treading the Withdean turf would certainly have been enough to draw me through the turnstiles, but my mouth hardly watered at the thought of Fulham visiting our home town. Friendlies are obviously invaluable to managers and players, but what do they offer supporters, other than making our wallets a bit lighter for the benefit of watching a disjointed, dull game of football? We’ll all see enough of them during the season anyway.

Similarly, the game against Reading was something I had little interest in. I wouldn’t have minded seeing the legends stretching their tired old legs, but testimonials are something that I don’t necessarily agree with. Don’t get me wrong, I think Kerry is a top bloke and has been a great servant to the Albion, and the same can be said for Gary Hart, but the idea that professional footballers in this day and age should be given an extra payout at our expense just doesn’t sit well with me.

I’m sure many will disagree with my opinion, but footballers earn a lot more than us, even at the Albion’s level, and so I feel reluctant to throw any more of my money at them. Where are the testimonials for the members of staff who give many more years of service for a fraction of the wages that the players earn? For me, testimonial matches belong back in the days when footballers earned a relative pittance and had to scrape a living once their playing days were done. Okay, so it’s nice to pay tribute to players we respect like Kerry and Harty, but with footballers earning big bucks while fans are paying ridiculously inflated prices for tickets, surely testimonials are an unnecessary and slightly insulting anachronism? Lots of us give years of service in our jobs, or are forced to change careers in our 30s, but you don’t see us getting a tasty pay-out.

While we are on the subject of The Argus, check this out, it was a piece in the paper about a charity pancake race I did a few years back (below). Get a load of that Peter Andre hair. What was I thinking? (click the picture to see it in all its glory).