Showing posts with label Scotland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scotland. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sneak Preview...
...of the Scotland squad for the 2018 World Cup in Russia, courtesy of my current Football Manager 12 adventure.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Rangers
I grew up a Rangers fan but I stopped going to Rangers games regularly when the SPL was formed and it became glaringly obvious that TV money and the influx of rubbish foreigners had ruined it as a sport.
Up until then, there was a faint belief that other clubs could challenge for titles – in the nine-in-a-row years, Celtic only finished second twice. But when it descended into “who can beat Dunfermline by the biggest margin?”, I rapidly lost interest. (That period also coincided with me starting university, so I had the women, gigs and pubs of Edinburgh to think about instead.)
I’ve heard others say that they just got sick of all the FTP/IRA crap, and didn’t want to take their kids into that kind of atmosphere. It’s something I’d be thinking seriously about over the next few years as well. £50 plus travel, food, programmes and all that gubbins to take my daughter to Ibrox, then have to explain who Bobby Sands was?
Or take her to Montrose on a free season ticket from her school and explain that while I don’t advocate her using the term “Smokey bastards” we do indeed hate Arbroath and she’s never to spend any time with boys from that tinky wee fishing village?
There will be some who have already turned their back on Rangers as this shitstorm has escalated, and while I don’t want to see Rangers die, it would do Scottish football good if some of the busloads of folk from all over Scotland just walked down the road to their local ground.
Right now I’m hoping that:
The SFA/SPL/SFL has been handed a once in a generation chance to fix Scottish football. The onus now is on them not to fuck it up.
Up until then, there was a faint belief that other clubs could challenge for titles – in the nine-in-a-row years, Celtic only finished second twice. But when it descended into “who can beat Dunfermline by the biggest margin?”, I rapidly lost interest. (That period also coincided with me starting university, so I had the women, gigs and pubs of Edinburgh to think about instead.)
I’ve heard others say that they just got sick of all the FTP/IRA crap, and didn’t want to take their kids into that kind of atmosphere. It’s something I’d be thinking seriously about over the next few years as well. £50 plus travel, food, programmes and all that gubbins to take my daughter to Ibrox, then have to explain who Bobby Sands was?
Or take her to Montrose on a free season ticket from her school and explain that while I don’t advocate her using the term “Smokey bastards” we do indeed hate Arbroath and she’s never to spend any time with boys from that tinky wee fishing village?
There will be some who have already turned their back on Rangers as this shitstorm has escalated, and while I don’t want to see Rangers die, it would do Scottish football good if some of the busloads of folk from all over Scotland just walked down the road to their local ground.
Right now I’m hoping that:
- Rangers are demoted to Division Three. Celtic fans can bleat on about it not being the same club, that the titles are revoked, whatever. It’ll always be the same club to me, and the titles I saw them win when I was a boy were won legally (so far as anyone knows). Rangers spent far more than the other clubs, but that’s no different to what Chelsea, Man City and PSG are doing elsewhere.
- If the SFA wants punishments to carry over to the new club, so be it. Take everything that is coming. If it’s 30-point deductions, transfer bans, whatever. Suck it up. You cheat, you run the risk of getting caught, you pay the price. Suck it up, do the time, come back with a clear conscience and build a good reputation.
- Rangers fans stop worrying about what Celtic are doing. They’ll win the league for the next 10 or 20 years. Bully for them. Their fans can whoop it up all they like, but surely they’ll all realise how hollow the victories are.
- The TV deal collapses. Good. Scottish football existed before TV, before live football on TV, before Sky. It’ll still exist if Sky walks away. If it means 11 young Scots booting fuck out of each other on the park because they want to play for the jersey, I’m all for it. I’ve got a Sky subscription, and I hardly ever watch Scottish football on it, because the quality is so poor and there’s clearly no real passion.
The SFA/SPL/SFL has been handed a once in a generation chance to fix Scottish football. The onus now is on them not to fuck it up.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Monday, June 14, 2010
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Friday, February 26, 2010
Flaming Eck
On this evening's STV news bulletin, Alex Salmond said "I can think of nothing more exciting than living in the North East of Scotland."
I'm willing to test that theory. If anyone has a wad of cash they're not needing, I'll buy a boat and sail it across the Atlantic with Salmond towed behind in an inflatable dinghy.
Arriving in the US, I'll make my way to the next space shuttle launch, attach Eck to the outside of the shuttle with a combination of superglue and staples, paint him in sugar and release a swarm of hornets.
As an added bonus, I'll also set his testicles on fire.
I wonder if he'll be able to imagine anything more exciting than a life in Fraserburgh after that?
I'm willing to test that theory. If anyone has a wad of cash they're not needing, I'll buy a boat and sail it across the Atlantic with Salmond towed behind in an inflatable dinghy.
Arriving in the US, I'll make my way to the next space shuttle launch, attach Eck to the outside of the shuttle with a combination of superglue and staples, paint him in sugar and release a swarm of hornets.
As an added bonus, I'll also set his testicles on fire.
I wonder if he'll be able to imagine anything more exciting than a life in Fraserburgh after that?
Monday, September 07, 2009
Keep On Walking
Fantastic commercial for Johnnie Walker starring Robert Carlyle.
As seen on another blog that I would link to if it wasn't open to invited guests only.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Down and Out?
With Mrs Wife visiting a friend in Inverness this afternoon, I'm home alone to watch the Scotland v Macedonia match.It's a must-win match - and even a win is no guarantee that we can finish second in a fairly average group.
The team selection hardly fills me with confidence - Stephen McManus hasn't played a game this season, Davie Weir is 39, Graham Alexander isn't international class, Kenny Miller is pish.
There's a lot of responsibility on the shoulders of Messrs McFadden and D Fletcher. Whether they can reach the top of their respective games today - wildly exciting attacking play and solid midfield combatism - remains to be seen, but for Scotland to win will require a determined performance from all of the (so far) misfiring team.
Then we just have to beat Holland....
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Fuel Economy
A recent study conducted by Aberdeen University found that the average Scotsman walks about 900 miles a year.
Another study by the Scottish Medical Association found that Scotsmen drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year.
This means, on average, Scotsmen get about 41 miles to the gallon.
Another study by the Scottish Medical Association found that Scotsmen drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year.
This means, on average, Scotsmen get about 41 miles to the gallon.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Whae's Like Us? Revisited
A good while back, I posted a great Scottish put-down that I'd received by email.
Today, I received another big pile of them from a friend, and felt that the Blogosphere should be allowed to share them - these are not for the easily offended.
She had a fanny like a stab wound in a gorilla's back
Look's like she's been dooking for apples in a chip pan
Had more hands up her than Sooty
She's got a face like a dog lickin' pish affa nettle
It looks like she's been set on fire and put out with a golf club
She's got a face that could make an onion cry
I wouldn't ride her into battle
Everyone has a right to be ugly, but she abuses the privilege
Mair chins than a Chinese phone book
She smells like an alkies carpet
She has seen more japseyes than an oriental optician
It's like shaggin a pail of water
It's like shaggin the sleeve off a wizard's cloak
She's killed more cocks than a fowl butcher
Fanny like a ripped out fireplace
Face like a sand blasted tomato
Arse like a bag of washing
She sweats like a dog in a Chinese restaurant
She's seen more helmets than Hitler
Face like a stuntman's knee
She's got a fanny like a badly packed kebab
Like opening the window and shagging the night
She's seen more cockends than weekends
I left her with a face like a painter's radio
Fanny like a clown's pocket
Fanny like a hippo's yawn
Fanny like a burst couch
She's that ugly not even a sniper would take her out
More pricks than a second hand dartboard
Face like a blind joiner's thumb
She's done more lengths than Duncan Goodhew
She's been shot over more times than Sarajevo
Even the tide wouldn't take her out
Got more finger prints on her than Scotland Yard
Handled more balls than Dino Zoff
Pish flaps like John Wayne's saddle bags
She had a pair of flaps on her like a gutted trout
A face like she's been ram raiding on a scooter
She's had more seamen than Saltcoats
She's seen more stiffs than Quincy
Cocked more times than Elmer Fudd's shotgun
Today, I received another big pile of them from a friend, and felt that the Blogosphere should be allowed to share them - these are not for the easily offended.
She had a fanny like a stab wound in a gorilla's back
Look's like she's been dooking for apples in a chip pan
Had more hands up her than Sooty
She's got a face like a dog lickin' pish affa nettle
It looks like she's been set on fire and put out with a golf club
She's got a face that could make an onion cry
I wouldn't ride her into battle
Everyone has a right to be ugly, but she abuses the privilege
Mair chins than a Chinese phone book
She smells like an alkies carpet
She has seen more japseyes than an oriental optician
It's like shaggin a pail of water
It's like shaggin the sleeve off a wizard's cloak
She's killed more cocks than a fowl butcher
Fanny like a ripped out fireplace
Face like a sand blasted tomato
Arse like a bag of washing
She sweats like a dog in a Chinese restaurant
She's seen more helmets than Hitler
Face like a stuntman's knee
She's got a fanny like a badly packed kebab
Like opening the window and shagging the night
She's seen more cockends than weekends
I left her with a face like a painter's radio
Fanny like a clown's pocket
Fanny like a hippo's yawn
Fanny like a burst couch
She's that ugly not even a sniper would take her out
More pricks than a second hand dartboard
Face like a blind joiner's thumb
She's done more lengths than Duncan Goodhew
She's been shot over more times than Sarajevo
Even the tide wouldn't take her out
Got more finger prints on her than Scotland Yard
Handled more balls than Dino Zoff
Pish flaps like John Wayne's saddle bags
She had a pair of flaps on her like a gutted trout
A face like she's been ram raiding on a scooter
She's had more seamen than Saltcoats
She's seen more stiffs than Quincy
Cocked more times than Elmer Fudd's shotgun
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Music, Sweet Music, I Wish I Could Caress
Well, hi peeps. I’m Erica, and I’ll just come right out and say it: I am a very, very, very bad guest poster, who has been absolutely yanking her hair out from their follicular roots, trying to figure out what to write while Mark is yukking it up with Mrs. Wife in Shanghai.
Anyhow, I was sitting here at my job thinking to myself, “I really gotta put a post up — but what??,” even though, to channel Langston Hughes, my own blog is beginning to “crust and sugar over — like a syrupy sweet,” but still…no excuses. I need to figure out what to write.
And then, it came to me.
Mark — who I was “introduced” to by Eric, and who is also a fellow newspaper peep (I work for a chain of local weeklies here in Brooklyn, USA) — has the unusual distinction of being only one of two or three other bloggers on my blogroll who are younger than me, and a fine blogger he is, and yet, we both count ourselves among the throngs of young music listeners around the world who deem The Fab Four a favorite music group.
I refer not, of course, to Pete, Roger, John and Keith, the respective members of The Who, my favorite group growing up, nor John and Michelle Phillips, Denny Doherty, and Cass Elliot of The Mamas and the Papas (I have it on good authority that John Phillips was a total dooshbag), but rather I speak of John, Paul, George and Ringo, The Beatles.
And so, sitting here on a rainy deadline day, banging out my myriad mess of photo captions and press announcements for our Southern Brooklyn papers, and trying to keep my sleepyhead from inadvertently slamming down onto the keyboard with a mighty thwack, I try to get through it all by listening to Pandora Radio, “an automated music recommendation and Internet radio service created by the Music Genome Project.”
The entry continues (this figures prominently in my tale): “Users enter a song or artist that they enjoy, and the service responds by playing selections that are musically similar. Users provide feedback on the individual song choices — approval or disapproval — which Pandora takes into account for future selections.”
So say, even if I enter, as an example, “Franz Josef Haydn” into the search box, Pandora will probably play me some early Mozart symphony, and maybe even a little pre-Romantic Beethoven, which is musically somewhat reminiscent of Mozart.
But back to The Fab Four. After having gone on a somewhat lengthy hiatus from them, we’re talking years and years, suddenly I craved The Beatles, which I typed into the “create a new station” search box, and not only have I been able to satisfactorily scratch my niggling Beatles itch, with Pandora providing me with a plethora of awesome classic rock tunage, but I also got to hear lots of other “musically similar” songs, such as John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy,” Led Zeppelin’s “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp,” and a buncha stuff by The Hollies, a very cool band; this is one of my favorites from them, though the video is a mite creepy.
As I hinged nearer and nearer to a comatose state at work, barely able to focus, it occurred to me in a rather abrupt, yet lucid, moment, that of all the Beatles songs Pandora has gifted me with over the past few weeks, including “A Day In The Life,” “Golden Slumbers / Carry That Weight” (the first song[s] I ever got stoned to, back when that was a thing I used to do), and “Paperback Writer,” the one song I have not yet heard — the Holy Grail of Beatles love songs, the modest little ditty which somehow slipped through the cracks of being queued amongst the mélange of other classic rock tunes — was “In My Life.”
WTF? How can such a travesty even be?
I know what you’re thinking: “Geeeeeez, so what?? Get to the friggin’ point already!!” And I will, no need to be tetchy, but anyways, here’s the point to my loooong story, which I thought was really weird and kind of even a little magical: The minute I thought to myself, while listening to “Wild Horses” by The Stones, “Why don’t they ever play ‘In My Life?,’ right after “Wild Horses” ended, guess what song came on? I scheisse youse not.
And since I’m the only person who could A) hear my inner thoughts, and B) hear what’s playing on my headphones, although I am told by coworkers to turn the volume down every once in a while, especially when AC/DC (another of Mark’s faves) or Metallica comes on, I couldn’t exactly SHARE my special private moment with anybody else in the room, ya dig? I mean, yes…technically, I could have, but I could have just as easily made the whole thing up, even though, honest injun I didn’t, but also…would anyone really have cared?
Probably not.
Yannow what, though? I never met Mark, but I have met the aforelinkedto Eric, and they two are good buds (I’m sure the AC/DC video Eric posted, right after he came back from Scotland, had somewhat to do with his falling under Mark’s influence), and one thing us thirty-somethings have in common (wait, Mark…are you even 30 yet? Or did you just turn 29?) is that we take our music very seriously, and I just know Mark would have cared.
And that, children, is only part of why I am a loyal reader of Groanin’ Jock. The other reason being, I just fancy the way the guy looks in a kilt.
Anyhow, I was sitting here at my job thinking to myself, “I really gotta put a post up — but what??,” even though, to channel Langston Hughes, my own blog is beginning to “crust and sugar over — like a syrupy sweet,” but still…no excuses. I need to figure out what to write.
And then, it came to me.
Mark — who I was “introduced” to by Eric, and who is also a fellow newspaper peep (I work for a chain of local weeklies here in Brooklyn, USA) — has the unusual distinction of being only one of two or three other bloggers on my blogroll who are younger than me, and a fine blogger he is, and yet, we both count ourselves among the throngs of young music listeners around the world who deem The Fab Four a favorite music group.
I refer not, of course, to Pete, Roger, John and Keith, the respective members of The Who, my favorite group growing up, nor John and Michelle Phillips, Denny Doherty, and Cass Elliot of The Mamas and the Papas (I have it on good authority that John Phillips was a total dooshbag), but rather I speak of John, Paul, George and Ringo, The Beatles.
And so, sitting here on a rainy deadline day, banging out my myriad mess of photo captions and press announcements for our Southern Brooklyn papers, and trying to keep my sleepyhead from inadvertently slamming down onto the keyboard with a mighty thwack, I try to get through it all by listening to Pandora Radio, “an automated music recommendation and Internet radio service created by the Music Genome Project.”
The entry continues (this figures prominently in my tale): “Users enter a song or artist that they enjoy, and the service responds by playing selections that are musically similar. Users provide feedback on the individual song choices — approval or disapproval — which Pandora takes into account for future selections.”
So say, even if I enter, as an example, “Franz Josef Haydn” into the search box, Pandora will probably play me some early Mozart symphony, and maybe even a little pre-Romantic Beethoven, which is musically somewhat reminiscent of Mozart.
But back to The Fab Four. After having gone on a somewhat lengthy hiatus from them, we’re talking years and years, suddenly I craved The Beatles, which I typed into the “create a new station” search box, and not only have I been able to satisfactorily scratch my niggling Beatles itch, with Pandora providing me with a plethora of awesome classic rock tunage, but I also got to hear lots of other “musically similar” songs, such as John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy,” Led Zeppelin’s “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp,” and a buncha stuff by The Hollies, a very cool band; this is one of my favorites from them, though the video is a mite creepy.
As I hinged nearer and nearer to a comatose state at work, barely able to focus, it occurred to me in a rather abrupt, yet lucid, moment, that of all the Beatles songs Pandora has gifted me with over the past few weeks, including “A Day In The Life,” “Golden Slumbers / Carry That Weight” (the first song[s] I ever got stoned to, back when that was a thing I used to do), and “Paperback Writer,” the one song I have not yet heard — the Holy Grail of Beatles love songs, the modest little ditty which somehow slipped through the cracks of being queued amongst the mélange of other classic rock tunes — was “In My Life.”
WTF? How can such a travesty even be?
I know what you’re thinking: “Geeeeeez, so what?? Get to the friggin’ point already!!” And I will, no need to be tetchy, but anyways, here’s the point to my loooong story, which I thought was really weird and kind of even a little magical: The minute I thought to myself, while listening to “Wild Horses” by The Stones, “Why don’t they ever play ‘In My Life?,’ right after “Wild Horses” ended, guess what song came on? I scheisse youse not.
And since I’m the only person who could A) hear my inner thoughts, and B) hear what’s playing on my headphones, although I am told by coworkers to turn the volume down every once in a while, especially when AC/DC (another of Mark’s faves) or Metallica comes on, I couldn’t exactly SHARE my special private moment with anybody else in the room, ya dig? I mean, yes…technically, I could have, but I could have just as easily made the whole thing up, even though, honest injun I didn’t, but also…would anyone really have cared?
Probably not.
Yannow what, though? I never met Mark, but I have met the aforelinkedto Eric, and they two are good buds (I’m sure the AC/DC video Eric posted, right after he came back from Scotland, had somewhat to do with his falling under Mark’s influence), and one thing us thirty-somethings have in common (wait, Mark…are you even 30 yet? Or did you just turn 29?) is that we take our music very seriously, and I just know Mark would have cared.
And that, children, is only part of why I am a loyal reader of Groanin’ Jock. The other reason being, I just fancy the way the guy looks in a kilt.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Nedtivity
Today is Xmas party day at the office, starting at 3pm with Secret Santa. To get you all in the festive spirit, here's Glasgow's very own Nedtivity:
Monday, November 26, 2007
Cold Days and Classic Movies
There's a nasty nip in the air today (no Pearl Harbour jokes please) here on the east coast of Scotland, and it's clear that winter is most definitely either here or on the way.
When Mrs Wife and I made the decision almost a year ago to move east, we did so knowing full well that the weather would be drier, but most certainly colder. But I'd forgotten just how bitterly cold it can be over on this side of the country.
The heating in my office didn't seem to be working too effectively this morning, and hopefully this won't be an indication of things to come, as the days will certainly get colder as we reach mid winter.
And this evening, I am left to my own devices, rabbit-sitting duties aside, as Mrs Wife is in Edinburgh for training. Last night, faced with the prospect of a free evening, I decided to watch the The Shawshank Redemption for the first time.
I don't know how I'd managed not to see the movie before, but I'd heard a lot about it - with several friends placing it amongst the greatest movies ever.
And my verdict - yeah, it's good, but I don't think it's quite deserving of the legendary status bestowed on it by some people.
Certainly not a patch on Star Wars.....
When Mrs Wife and I made the decision almost a year ago to move east, we did so knowing full well that the weather would be drier, but most certainly colder. But I'd forgotten just how bitterly cold it can be over on this side of the country.
The heating in my office didn't seem to be working too effectively this morning, and hopefully this won't be an indication of things to come, as the days will certainly get colder as we reach mid winter.
And this evening, I am left to my own devices, rabbit-sitting duties aside, as Mrs Wife is in Edinburgh for training. Last night, faced with the prospect of a free evening, I decided to watch the The Shawshank Redemption for the first time.
I don't know how I'd managed not to see the movie before, but I'd heard a lot about it - with several friends placing it amongst the greatest movies ever.
And my verdict - yeah, it's good, but I don't think it's quite deserving of the legendary status bestowed on it by some people.
Certainly not a patch on Star Wars.....
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Schadenfreude
Schadenfreude
Pronunciation: Sha-den-froy-da
Function: Noun
Usage: Often capitalized
Etymology: German, from Schaden (damage) and Freude (joy)
Date: 1895
Definition: Enjoyment obtained from the troubles of others.
Greety pus
Pronunciation: Gree-tee pusssss
Function: Noun
Usage: Colloquial
Etymology: Scottish, from greet (cry) and pus (face)
Date: Late 20th century
Definition: A face that looks as though the wearer is struggling to hold back tears.
Never in my life have I been so determined to see a football team from a country I've never visited record a victory as was the case last night.
Due to my participation in a football match with my own team, I missed the first 15 minutes of England's humbling at Croatian hands (or feet) last night, turning on the television just as John Motson picked over the bones of the visiting side's second goal.
I watched in barely-controlled glee as half-time arrived with Croatia's lead in tact, and laughed out loud repeatedly during the half-time analysis, where you would have been hard pushed to find four better greety puses than those worn by Messrs Lineker, Hansen (traitor), Shearer and (especially) Wright. Wright's defence of his stepson Shaun Wright-Phillips' performance would have been heartbreaking, had it not been so amusing.
During this analysis, Hansen said words to the effect of "We've all [ie the pundits] played in massive games when things have gone wrong."
Well, Wright certainly has - he was a member of the last England squad to fail in its bid to reach a major championships, scoring four as England recovered from conceding a goal inside nine seconds to beat mighty San Marino 7-1 in 1993.
And so the second half got underway with Beckham taking up his customary positionin front of the cameras on the right. I then watched in horror as England were awarded a definite penalty and a lip-licking Lampard struck it into the net.
This horror escalated as Beckham delivered a perfect cross to Crouch, whose finish under pressure in slippery conditions was magnificent (it's REALLY easy to talk up England's players when you know the final outcome, isn't it?)
Thankfully, Mladen Petric saved the rest of Europe from the ordeal of seeing England flounder at yet another major championship. And Scotland rejoiced.
Maybe it's small minded to take such pleasure from England's misfortune. I don't care. To misquote Renton from Trainspotting, I truly haven't felt this good about a football match since James McFadden scored against France.
One of the real highlights was the increasing desperation that crept into John Motson's commentary as the final whistle drew closer, culminating in a final, helpless "Pleeeeease" as Beckham delivered a final ineffective corner. And with the match finished and Croatia celebrating an historic win, suddenly Motson and Lawrenson seized on an ingenious escape route - Andorra, who had lost their previous 28 internationals, might just find an equaliser against Russia with three minutes remaining!
As I write this, the inevitable has happened - Steve McLaren has been made the fall guy for the FA's haplessness and his players' hopelessness. Already, names such as O'Neill, Scolari, Allardyce and Capello are being bandied about. At the moment, I don't care. It's just great to know that England's "Golden Generation" is going to achieve exactly the same on the international stage as their gifted forebears Carlton Palmer and Tony Daley - absolutely hee-haw.
The end of England's qualifying dream could also spell the end of a few of the players' international careers. Beckham may struggle to find favour with a new manager. Robinson and Carson will have to work hard to rebuild their reputations. David James is surely yesterday's man. But big decisions on the futures of Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard will almost certainly be shirked. Gerrard looked pedestrian last night, whilst Lampard, despite inexplicably being named man of the match last night, has struggled for England in recent years.
As for the proposed return of the Home Nations tournament - will England fancy it now that Scotland are immense and they are so patently weak? In fact, I'd be prepared to put money on both Scotland and Norn Iron having a right good go at England if the tournament was resurrected.
Bring it on.
Pronunciation: Sha-den-froy-da
Function: Noun
Usage: Often capitalized
Etymology: German, from Schaden (damage) and Freude (joy)
Date: 1895
Definition: Enjoyment obtained from the troubles of others.
Greety pus
Pronunciation: Gree-tee pusssss
Function: Noun
Usage: Colloquial
Etymology: Scottish, from greet (cry) and pus (face)
Date: Late 20th century
Definition: A face that looks as though the wearer is struggling to hold back tears.
Never in my life have I been so determined to see a football team from a country I've never visited record a victory as was the case last night.
Due to my participation in a football match with my own team, I missed the first 15 minutes of England's humbling at Croatian hands (or feet) last night, turning on the television just as John Motson picked over the bones of the visiting side's second goal.
I watched in barely-controlled glee as half-time arrived with Croatia's lead in tact, and laughed out loud repeatedly during the half-time analysis, where you would have been hard pushed to find four better greety puses than those worn by Messrs Lineker, Hansen (traitor), Shearer and (especially) Wright. Wright's defence of his stepson Shaun Wright-Phillips' performance would have been heartbreaking, had it not been so amusing.
During this analysis, Hansen said words to the effect of "We've all [ie the pundits] played in massive games when things have gone wrong."
Well, Wright certainly has - he was a member of the last England squad to fail in its bid to reach a major championships, scoring four as England recovered from conceding a goal inside nine seconds to beat mighty San Marino 7-1 in 1993.
And so the second half got underway with Beckham taking up his customary position
This horror escalated as Beckham delivered a perfect cross to Crouch, whose finish under pressure in slippery conditions was magnificent (it's REALLY easy to talk up England's players when you know the final outcome, isn't it?)
Thankfully, Mladen Petric saved the rest of Europe from the ordeal of seeing England flounder at yet another major championship. And Scotland rejoiced.
Maybe it's small minded to take such pleasure from England's misfortune. I don't care. To misquote Renton from Trainspotting, I truly haven't felt this good about a football match since James McFadden scored against France.
One of the real highlights was the increasing desperation that crept into John Motson's commentary as the final whistle drew closer, culminating in a final, helpless "Pleeeeease" as Beckham delivered a final ineffective corner. And with the match finished and Croatia celebrating an historic win, suddenly Motson and Lawrenson seized on an ingenious escape route - Andorra, who had lost their previous 28 internationals, might just find an equaliser against Russia with three minutes remaining!
As I write this, the inevitable has happened - Steve McLaren has been made the fall guy for the FA's haplessness and his players' hopelessness. Already, names such as O'Neill, Scolari, Allardyce and Capello are being bandied about. At the moment, I don't care. It's just great to know that England's "Golden Generation" is going to achieve exactly the same on the international stage as their gifted forebears Carlton Palmer and Tony Daley - absolutely hee-haw.
The end of England's qualifying dream could also spell the end of a few of the players' international careers. Beckham may struggle to find favour with a new manager. Robinson and Carson will have to work hard to rebuild their reputations. David James is surely yesterday's man. But big decisions on the futures of Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard will almost certainly be shirked. Gerrard looked pedestrian last night, whilst Lampard, despite inexplicably being named man of the match last night, has struggled for England in recent years.
As for the proposed return of the Home Nations tournament - will England fancy it now that Scotland are immense and they are so patently weak? In fact, I'd be prepared to put money on both Scotland and Norn Iron having a right good go at England if the tournament was resurrected.
Bring it on.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Forza Caledonia
Expect nothing of sense from me in the next few days - tomorrow Scotland face world champions Italy in a do-or-stay-at-home-watching-the-games-on-the-telly-next-summer match.
Regardless of the outcome tomorrow, everyone associated with the squad can hold their heads high at their achievements in still being in with a chance of qualifying at the final round of matches. Anyone who predicted that would be the case when the draw was made is, quite simply, a liar.
LET'S GET STUCK INTAE THEM!!
As seen at Big Rab's and about 20 emails over the past week.......
Regardless of the outcome tomorrow, everyone associated with the squad can hold their heads high at their achievements in still being in with a chance of qualifying at the final round of matches. Anyone who predicted that would be the case when the draw was made is, quite simply, a liar.
LET'S GET STUCK INTAE THEM!!
As seen at Big Rab's and about 20 emails over the past week.......
Friday, November 09, 2007
Commonwealth Games
With Glasgow having been announced as the host city for the 2014 Commonwealth Games, the competition itineraray has been published:
OPENING CEREMONY: The Commonwealth flame will be ignited by a petrol bomb thrown into the arena by a native of the Easterhouse area of the city, wearing the traditional costume of balaclava and shell suit.
THE EVENTS: Glasgae's previous competitors have not been particularly successful. In order to redress the balance some of the events have been altered slightly to the advantage of the local athletes...
100 METRES SPRINT: Competitors will have to hold a video recorder and a microwave oven (one under each arm) and on the sound of a starting pistol a police dog will be released 10 metres behind the athletes.
110 METRES HURDLES: As above but with added obstacles, ie car bonnets, hedges, gardens, fences, walls etc.
HAMMER: The competitors will be allowed to make a choice of hammer (claw, sledge, etc.). The winner will be the one who can cause the most grievous bodily harm to members of the public within their allotted time.
WEIGHTLIFTING: From a standing position, competitors will have various electronic goods placed in their arms. In order to complete a lift, these must then be taken through the shop door and placed in a mate's van.
FENCING: Entrants will be asked to dispose of as much stolen jewellery as possible within five minutes.
SHOOTING: A series of targets will be set up to establish the competitor's ability over a range of disciplines. The targets to be as follows:- 1 - A moving police van. 2 - A Post Office clerk. 3 - A bank teller or Securicor driver. 4 - Their next door neighbour's youngest child. NB - This target to be followed by the ritual cry of 'I thought he was a Bizzy' or 'He pulled a knife on me'.
BOXING: Entry to be restricted to husband and wife teams. Competition will take place on every Friday and Saturday night of the games.The husband will be given 15 pints of Stella, and the wife will be told not to make him any tea when he gets home. The bout will then commence.
CYCLING TIME TRIALS: Competitors will be asked to break into the Glasgae University bike shed and take an expensive mountain bike, owned by some mummy's boy from the country on his first trip away from home. Against the clock.
CYCLING PURSUIT: As above, however this time the break-in must occur at a police station and must be witnessed by an officer.
TIME TRIAL: The competitor who can waste the most of the court's valuable time before being found guilty will be adjudged the winner.
MODERN PENTATHLON: Amended to include mugging, breaking & entering, flashing, joyriding and arson.
THE MARATHON: A safe route has yet to be decided, but the competitors will be issued with sharp sticks and bags with which to pick up dog shit, crisp packets and used hypodermic syringes on their way round.
MEN'S 50Km WALK:
Q - Why does the Clyde run through Glasgae? A - Because if it walked it would get mugged.
Therefore for safety reasons this event has been cancelled.
RELAY: Each of four competitors to remove an appliance of their choice from a house in Kilbride and get it back to Glasgae using at least four different stolen cars.
ARCHERY: Each competitor will be given three needles, the winner will be the person who gets nearest to three different main veins in their own body.
DISCUS: Will be decided by which contestant can get a hubcap off a car and throw it to his mate the fastest.
In addition the following 'exhibition event' designed at promoting the local culture will be introduced:
PILLOW EATING: The contestant who can get the most pillow in their mouth after their 18 stone cellmate takes a shine to them will be adjudged the winner.
OPENING CEREMONY: The Commonwealth flame will be ignited by a petrol bomb thrown into the arena by a native of the Easterhouse area of the city, wearing the traditional costume of balaclava and shell suit.
THE EVENTS: Glasgae's previous competitors have not been particularly successful. In order to redress the balance some of the events have been altered slightly to the advantage of the local athletes...
100 METRES SPRINT: Competitors will have to hold a video recorder and a microwave oven (one under each arm) and on the sound of a starting pistol a police dog will be released 10 metres behind the athletes.
110 METRES HURDLES: As above but with added obstacles, ie car bonnets, hedges, gardens, fences, walls etc.
HAMMER: The competitors will be allowed to make a choice of hammer (claw, sledge, etc.). The winner will be the one who can cause the most grievous bodily harm to members of the public within their allotted time.
WEIGHTLIFTING: From a standing position, competitors will have various electronic goods placed in their arms. In order to complete a lift, these must then be taken through the shop door and placed in a mate's van.
FENCING: Entrants will be asked to dispose of as much stolen jewellery as possible within five minutes.
SHOOTING: A series of targets will be set up to establish the competitor's ability over a range of disciplines. The targets to be as follows:- 1 - A moving police van. 2 - A Post Office clerk. 3 - A bank teller or Securicor driver. 4 - Their next door neighbour's youngest child. NB - This target to be followed by the ritual cry of 'I thought he was a Bizzy' or 'He pulled a knife on me'.
BOXING: Entry to be restricted to husband and wife teams. Competition will take place on every Friday and Saturday night of the games.The husband will be given 15 pints of Stella, and the wife will be told not to make him any tea when he gets home. The bout will then commence.
CYCLING TIME TRIALS: Competitors will be asked to break into the Glasgae University bike shed and take an expensive mountain bike, owned by some mummy's boy from the country on his first trip away from home. Against the clock.
CYCLING PURSUIT: As above, however this time the break-in must occur at a police station and must be witnessed by an officer.
TIME TRIAL: The competitor who can waste the most of the court's valuable time before being found guilty will be adjudged the winner.
MODERN PENTATHLON: Amended to include mugging, breaking & entering, flashing, joyriding and arson.
THE MARATHON: A safe route has yet to be decided, but the competitors will be issued with sharp sticks and bags with which to pick up dog shit, crisp packets and used hypodermic syringes on their way round.
MEN'S 50Km WALK:
Q - Why does the Clyde run through Glasgae? A - Because if it walked it would get mugged.
Therefore for safety reasons this event has been cancelled.
RELAY: Each of four competitors to remove an appliance of their choice from a house in Kilbride and get it back to Glasgae using at least four different stolen cars.
ARCHERY: Each competitor will be given three needles, the winner will be the person who gets nearest to three different main veins in their own body.
DISCUS: Will be decided by which contestant can get a hubcap off a car and throw it to his mate the fastest.
In addition the following 'exhibition event' designed at promoting the local culture will be introduced:
PILLOW EATING: The contestant who can get the most pillow in their mouth after their 18 stone cellmate takes a shine to them will be adjudged the winner.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Don and Dusted
Rangers have seen off the French and German champion, Celtic have beaten the European Champions (and one of their "fans" has taken a girly swing at the goalkeeper) and our national side is riding high above the World and European Champions.
Yep, Scottish football has forgotten it's supposed to be pish. Obviously a 3-0 away win against Kings of Lyon is more impressive than a last-gasp home win over lowly AC Milan, but I'll eschew any gloating - it's been a good month to be a Scottish football fan.
So can the dandy Dons complete a hat-trick tonight? In footballing terms, an away win over Dnipro would be great. But I hope they don't - I've got money on the Ukrainians, as it's a great way to wind up the hordes of Dons fans in my office.
At the time I place the bet, it seemed like an easy way to win money. Just wish I'd had the balls to bet on Rangers to beat Lyon in France....
Yep, Scottish football has forgotten it's supposed to be pish. Obviously a 3-0 away win against Kings of Lyon is more impressive than a last-gasp home win over lowly AC Milan, but I'll eschew any gloating - it's been a good month to be a Scottish football fan.
So can the dandy Dons complete a hat-trick tonight? In footballing terms, an away win over Dnipro would be great. But I hope they don't - I've got money on the Ukrainians, as it's a great way to wind up the hordes of Dons fans in my office.
At the time I place the bet, it seemed like an easy way to win money. Just wish I'd had the balls to bet on Rangers to beat Lyon in France....
Monday, October 01, 2007
Return of The Mark
I'm back. Not only back, but holidayed out. I swear, I'm more tired now that I'm back at work than I was before I headed off on holiday.
Anyway, what did I get up to? Played football a couple of times, including featuring in my company's debut in the Aberdeen Oil and Gas League at the local five-a-side centre. We've joined at the end of the season to replace a side that dropped out. That is the first excuse for our 22-0 defeat. Others include the fact that we've never played together as a team before, the team we played are about to be crowned champions for the fifth time in six years, our goalkeeper was missing and we played an injured non-goalkeeper in goals. The fact of the matter is that we were "only" 3-0 down at half-time, which in five-a-side terms is a pretty slender margin. And we conceded what felt like an atomic fuckload of goals in the last five minutes as we desperately chased a strike of our own. But yeah, 22-0 is a pretty horrific debut.
Prior to that, Mrs Wife and I visited the central belt to catch up with some friends, visit Stirling Castle and venture down to the Falkirk Wheel for the first time. The wheel is pretty special, another triumph of Scottish engineering, designed to lift boats from one level of a canal to another. The sun shone and we enjoyed an hour-long boat ride, so a good day was had by all.
We entertained Mrs Wife's parents in the latter part of the week, allowing them to sample the hospitality at Dungroanin' for the first time.
And on Friday night we attended a comedy night in Montrose, where we were thoroughly entertained by Patrick Rollink, Des McLean, Joe Heenan and Des Clarke, all stars of the Scottish comedy circuit. A slight over-indulgence on alcoholic beverages during the performance left me in a fragile condition come Saturday, so I've spent the time since then recuperating and preparing for a return to work.
Apologies to my fellow inhabitants of the blogosphere, as I've not been able to keep up with your sites as well as I would like. Whilst I was away, Ian over at Or So I Thought kindly presented me with the Awesome Dude Blogger award, which is given out to those of us who can tick the boxes beside "Blogger", "Awesome" and "Y Chromosome".
I'm extremely grateful to have received the award, especially from Ian, whose blog is one of the best I've encountered - an incredibly informative and entertaining site written with a great deal of skill and knowledge.
In this spirit of dudeness, I should really pass the award on, so I'll pick out three awesome dudes from my own blogroll: Eric (the Straight White Guy who is also my blogfather); Elisson and The Tomahawk Kid. May you venture forwards and enjoy their sites.
Anyway, what did I get up to? Played football a couple of times, including featuring in my company's debut in the Aberdeen Oil and Gas League at the local five-a-side centre. We've joined at the end of the season to replace a side that dropped out. That is the first excuse for our 22-0 defeat. Others include the fact that we've never played together as a team before, the team we played are about to be crowned champions for the fifth time in six years, our goalkeeper was missing and we played an injured non-goalkeeper in goals. The fact of the matter is that we were "only" 3-0 down at half-time, which in five-a-side terms is a pretty slender margin. And we conceded what felt like an atomic fuckload of goals in the last five minutes as we desperately chased a strike of our own. But yeah, 22-0 is a pretty horrific debut.
Prior to that, Mrs Wife and I visited the central belt to catch up with some friends, visit Stirling Castle and venture down to the Falkirk Wheel for the first time. The wheel is pretty special, another triumph of Scottish engineering, designed to lift boats from one level of a canal to another. The sun shone and we enjoyed an hour-long boat ride, so a good day was had by all.
We entertained Mrs Wife's parents in the latter part of the week, allowing them to sample the hospitality at Dungroanin' for the first time.
And on Friday night we attended a comedy night in Montrose, where we were thoroughly entertained by Patrick Rollink, Des McLean, Joe Heenan and Des Clarke, all stars of the Scottish comedy circuit. A slight over-indulgence on alcoholic beverages during the performance left me in a fragile condition come Saturday, so I've spent the time since then recuperating and preparing for a return to work.
Apologies to my fellow inhabitants of the blogosphere, as I've not been able to keep up with your sites as well as I would like. Whilst I was away, Ian over at Or So I Thought kindly presented me with the Awesome Dude Blogger award, which is given out to those of us who can tick the boxes beside "Blogger", "Awesome" and "Y Chromosome".
I'm extremely grateful to have received the award, especially from Ian, whose blog is one of the best I've encountered - an incredibly informative and entertaining site written with a great deal of skill and knowledge.
In this spirit of dudeness, I should really pass the award on, so I'll pick out three awesome dudes from my own blogroll: Eric (the Straight White Guy who is also my blogfather); Elisson and The Tomahawk Kid. May you venture forwards and enjoy their sites.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
C'est Magnifique
I know I said that no further comment on last night's events was necessary, but I couldn't resist it:
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Eight Things About Me
As seen over at Blog d'Elisson and at Blissful Bedlam - Eight Random Facts About Me.
The useless knowledge is listed below, but first we'd better keep things proper by explaining the rools:
Write a post enumerating eight facts/habits about yourself. Include the rules at the beginning of the post.
Tag eight people, posting their names and links to their sites. (I'm not going to do that - if anyone wants to play, feel free. If you don't, don't.)
Leave comments at the sites you’ve tagged, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.
So here we go - eight things you didn't need (or want) to know about me:
1. I've never had an operation under general anaesthetic. In fact, I can count my hospital visits on the fingers of one hand: the first was to get a piece of grit removed from my eye as a teenager, the second was to see how badly I'd damaged my ankle playing football (it turned out to be a strained ligament), the third was to see whether I'd broken my nose playing football (notice a theme here? I hadn't, just burst it open quite spectacularly), the fourth was to see if I'd broken my ribs playing football (I hadn't, they were just bruised) and the fifth was when I had my toenail removed by a doctor who gave me a single local anaesthetic injection. Please note that I was touching wood and crossing my fingers whilst I wrote that answer.
2. The longest I've lived in one house is seven years, when my parents and I (and for three of those years Baby Brother) lived in a small cottage in the countryside near Montrose. I took a drive down there on the way home from work a couple of weeks ago and it hasn't changed at all in the intervening 20 years.
3. The most keepie-uppies I have ever done with a football without it bouncing on the ground is 120. At the end of the session, my legs were exhausted and I'd moved about 10 metres in the time it took, which was probably about five minutes. So I can't begin to fathom how Martinho Eduardo Orige managed to keep a ball in the air for 19-and-a-half hours.
4. I've visited seven of the eight Australian States and Territories, including the Australian Capital Territory and Tasmania. Mrs Wife (then known as Miss Girlfriend) and I didn't make it to the Northern Territory because of an unfortunate incident with an exploding car engine that cost us $2,500 to fix.
5. I can lick my nose and wiggle my ears. But not at the same time.
6. Whilst at university I worked as a security guard, a kitchen porter and as a journalist for a Premier League football team.
7. My favourite alcoholic drink is Cointreau, lime and lemonade. Which is probably the least masculine drink that one can order at any bar in Scotland.
8. I'm allergic to cats and have a phobia of birds. Apart from that, I like animals.
The useless knowledge is listed below, but first we'd better keep things proper by explaining the rools:
Write a post enumerating eight facts/habits about yourself. Include the rules at the beginning of the post.
Tag eight people, posting their names and links to their sites. (I'm not going to do that - if anyone wants to play, feel free. If you don't, don't.)
Leave comments at the sites you’ve tagged, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.
So here we go - eight things you didn't need (or want) to know about me:
1. I've never had an operation under general anaesthetic. In fact, I can count my hospital visits on the fingers of one hand: the first was to get a piece of grit removed from my eye as a teenager, the second was to see how badly I'd damaged my ankle playing football (it turned out to be a strained ligament), the third was to see whether I'd broken my nose playing football (notice a theme here? I hadn't, just burst it open quite spectacularly), the fourth was to see if I'd broken my ribs playing football (I hadn't, they were just bruised) and the fifth was when I had my toenail removed by a doctor who gave me a single local anaesthetic injection. Please note that I was touching wood and crossing my fingers whilst I wrote that answer.
2. The longest I've lived in one house is seven years, when my parents and I (and for three of those years Baby Brother) lived in a small cottage in the countryside near Montrose. I took a drive down there on the way home from work a couple of weeks ago and it hasn't changed at all in the intervening 20 years.
3. The most keepie-uppies I have ever done with a football without it bouncing on the ground is 120. At the end of the session, my legs were exhausted and I'd moved about 10 metres in the time it took, which was probably about five minutes. So I can't begin to fathom how Martinho Eduardo Orige managed to keep a ball in the air for 19-and-a-half hours.
4. I've visited seven of the eight Australian States and Territories, including the Australian Capital Territory and Tasmania. Mrs Wife (then known as Miss Girlfriend) and I didn't make it to the Northern Territory because of an unfortunate incident with an exploding car engine that cost us $2,500 to fix.
5. I can lick my nose and wiggle my ears. But not at the same time.
6. Whilst at university I worked as a security guard, a kitchen porter and as a journalist for a Premier League football team.
7. My favourite alcoholic drink is Cointreau, lime and lemonade. Which is probably the least masculine drink that one can order at any bar in Scotland.
8. I'm allergic to cats and have a phobia of birds. Apart from that, I like animals.
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