I teamed up with Ciaran Bourne to produce a short Podcast which, just like this blog, discusses everything football.
In this first episode, we spoke about Arsenal’s Champions League exit, the Europa League, Premier League relegation and the romance between a fan and his football club.
Oh how we all hate the Europa League. We chuckle at its infantile role in world football and condemn its lack of attraction. Clubs don’t want to play in it, managers don’t want to be seen in it. I’m looking at you, Harry Redknapp.
It’s a laugh, you see, when your team faces the embarrassment of Thursday nights on Channel Five. You enter the lower rung of the competitive European environment and are labelled, not as worthy English representatives, but as Champions League no-hopers, playing in the shadows.
That’s true – maybe, sometimes, the teams that qualify for this secondary competition are not Champions League grade. Stoke City certainly aren’t. Fulham aren’t. Newcastle United aren’t.
But when those that are worthy, as they say, get knocked down into the Europa pits - the likes of Manchester United and Chelsea over the last few years – they seem unable to cope.
We’d like to think it’s through fatigue or some other, ludicrous non-truth that we can band about to protect our jewels. Yet, when Manchester United were knocked out by a Fernando Llorente inspired Athletic Bilbao by five goals to three last season, it wasn’t down to a lack of sharpness or a loss of fitness.
Bilbao were too good. Their squad brimmed with talent. Their manager, Marcelo Biesla, exuded confidence, both outwardly and in his tactics. He knew his side could beat United and they did so with something of a swagger.
It was as much a statement of the worth of Europa League football and the quality it possesses as it was the demise of the British standing in the world game.
And now Tottenham Hotspur, encouraged in no small way by the burgeoning talent and form of Gareth Bale, are marching a trail to the final and, seemingly, don’t consider Inter Milan to be a particularly worrying inconvenience.
They have just defeated the Italian giants by three goals to nil and to say it looked easy would not be unfair. Spurs have proved to be the last morsel of hope for British football on the European stage, much like Fulham were three years ago.
Is this a bad thing? No, not really. It is of course concerning that our elite have suffered so alarmingly over the last few seasons as to reach a crescendo without what is likely to be a single representative in the Champions League Quarter Finals.
But we still have the Europa League, our chastised friend. It sits there in the corner of the room, not saying a word as people, finally, begin to sit up and take notice. It’s elder brother is still basking in the attention of a feverous footballing world but, in the meantime, little Europa is providing the art.
It’s churning out love stories and Andre Villas-Boas may soon have one of the best ones to tell. It’s producing terrific football and many teams can be thanked for that.
But most of all, and this is what is always overlooked, it provides an outlet for the aspirer who is not quite at the head of the table.
It’s an adventure for the likes of Stoke City, Fulham, Newcastle and Bilbao – who were seventh in La Liga at the time they defeated United.
You see, the Europa League is no waste of space. If anything, it is under rated.
Robert Enke was a tremendously gifted goalkeeper. He had eight German caps to his name and had established himself as one of Europe’s most reliable, most talented players.
He was a splendid human being as well; caring, kind-hearted, thoughtful. But, as Ronald Reng shows in this remarkable piece of biographical writing, clinical depression can take whoever it wants and Enke was one of its unfortunate victims.
Reng, a journalist and friend of Enke, had begun work on this book before the goalkeeper’s suicide and with such a troubled life story to tell, he continued to write it after the footballer’s death. And we’re all the better for it.
A Life Too Short: The Tragedy of Robert Enke is a fine piece of work and, justifiably, it was winner of the William Hill Sports Book of the Year in 2011. Reng wonderfully balances Enke’s personal woes with his professional highs and lows and, more pertinently, he highlights with staggering honesty the way the two intertwine.
For Enke was a man afraid of his own success. He feared failure to an extent beyond comprehension for anybody who has not suffered depression themselves. That fear, that all-encompassing fear, led Enke to step in front of a passing train on 10th November 2009, leaving his wife, Teresa, and adopted daughter, Leila, behind.
Reng styles his writing sensibly and places significant emphasis on Enke’s most harrowing moments, one of which being a 3-2 defeat as Barcelona ‘keeper against FC Novelda, a Spanish Third Division side. His hesitance off the line was, in part, the fault that led to Novelda’s winning goal.
For most, it could be forgotten in weeks. But not for Enke.
His story, so well encapsulated here, transcends so much further than football, for depression is an illness that can affect anyone. It plays on your mind and for Enke, it made his thoughts dark and his days long, bleak and tiresome.
Reng, as a writer, cannot simply throw you into Enke’s mindset but he comes as close as is humanly possible and, as this life story reaches its nigh, you can’t help but feel saddened.
What is worth noting, though, is that while emotion proves to be the focal point of this biography, it also enriches you and open your eyes. When we talk of football, or sport, we usually talk of scandal, of competition, of victory and of defeat.
But the lives within it often carry the best tales. This story brings to the fore the terror and the heartache that depression can bring on families and on individuals.
Enke’s life, it’s meandering intricacies and relationships, is beautifully told by Reng. It’s harrowing in its substance but poetic nonetheless and is accessible to all.
RIP Robert Enke.
As a child, socialising wasn’t really my thing. I had friends, don’t get me wrong, but the idea of swinging from a tree in my after-school hours didn’t really appeal to me.
It wasn’t that I hated people, or hated fresh air. I just loved Championship Manager 01/02 a little too much. It was devotion to the extent of absurdity but, looking back, the game was so nice to me that really, I feel it earned my consistent attention.
The love wasn’t instant. A friend lived down my road and owned the game while my family couldn’t even boast a computer. I regularly visited his house and learned the various techniques that practically ensured success.
Visiting became so regular that it seemed appropriate to start my own team on his laptop and my virginity was broken with Walsall. They were a pretty awful side but that’s how I wanted them to be. I wanted to work from the bottom upwards and though the First Division – now the Championship, of course – was hardly the doldrums, it still felt ambitious to me.
I did everything right. 4-1-3-2; that was the tactic that always worked for my friend. Same signings; Dionisis Chiotis in goal, Teddy Lucic at right back, To Madeira up front. Everything was set up perfectly but I did a terrible job.
Regardless, love is not broken so easily. A neighbour gave me their old laptop after a fancy upgrade and it seemed the right time to buy the game for myself. Heaven knows what my first side was in my own home but there were enough success stories to make me pine for my childhood to this very day.
I had a remarkable Montrose side who, without my normal influx of foreign imports, still conquered Scotland at a canter. Rushden & Diamonds regularly caught my eye with their enormous transfer budget but only on one occasion did our relationship flourish. We won the Champions League with Emile Mpenza topping the scoring charts by a considerable distance.
I achieved a similar feat with Millwall though, of course, Cherno Samba was my main man. My biggest investment, though, came with Dagenham & Redbridge, Conference part-timers. Successive promotions thanks to my usual Conference candidates – David Town, Daryl Clare and Dexter Blackstock – ended with four Premier League titles and two Champions Leagues.
I had the best academy around, churning out characters by the name of Peter Woodside – and excellent defender who became England captain – and Simon Petty, my eventual top scorer. Such success left me feeling unfathomably untouchable.
But, with time and age, me and Champ Man became detached. I eventually broke the CD and, despite purchasing a new one off of eBay a couple of years back, I haven’t gone near a retro 01/02 side for around five years now.
Oh how I’d love to, though. Oh how I’d love to be buying Eldar Hadzemehmedovic for £230,000. Oh how I’d love to be persuading Taribo West to sign on a free.
But, alas, I’m not. I’m writing this blog post instead.
We all know that Rafa Benitez isn’t enjoying the most vociferous support right now at Chelsea. So, being the kind, warm-hearted man that I am, I’ve drawn up a list of things the Spaniard could try in order to get the fans on his side.
1: Build a commemorative Jose Mourinho statue outside Stamford Bridge
2: Do the Harlem Shake
3: Take over at Manchester United and make a hash of it
4: Grow his hair like David Luiz
5: Morph into Roberto Di Matteo
6: Win a lot of games
7: Claim he hated Liverpool, really
8: Resign.
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone” claimed Arsene Wenger, in full Terminator-mode. It was as much an admittance of the peril he and his side now find themselves in as it was a statement of self worth.
His outburst came in an unduly heated press conference, hot off the back of Arsenal’s FA Cup exit at the hands of Blackburn Rovers. Wenger argued with the gathering journalists and looked, quite simply, like an angry man scrapping for his life.
He labelled the media response to his side’s defeat as an “unbelievable storm” but, perhaps what is most unbelievable, and most worrying, is Wenger’s enduring belief that all is fine at Arsenal and all will continue to be.
It isn’t and, on current form, it won’t. The trophy drought is now approaching its eight year anniversary which, no matter which way you spin the successive qualifications for the Champions League, is appalling.
And for all Wenger’s protestations that his side enjoyed the better of the FA Cup tie, it’s worth taking note that shots on goal don’t really apply, unless they go in. And possession isn’t all that important, unless it’s used effectively. He can, with his economics degree and his astounding knack for nurturing some quite wonderful footballers, chuck numbers and statistics at us and hope we won’t notice.
But we all see the rut and only results will improve it. Will they come with Wenger at the helm? Possibly, if he has the audacity to actually step away from his steadfast beliefs and embrace something new at the Emirates but, in truth, that isn’t likely.
And, as such, maybe Arsenal should begin drawing up their shortlist right now because, if this club continues in the same direction, an eight year trophy drought will be the least of their worries.
It was dubbed the ‘El Creekio’ and in some, unfamiliar ways, it matched up to its somewhat more prestigious Spanish counterpart. This was no top-of-the-table clash, whichever way you twisted either side’s recent form, and the weather was certainly no comparison to what you’d find in Madrid or Barcelona.
But, in entertainment value at the very least, this local, Creekside derby had a lot to offer. Seven goals, some heated tackles and some worryingly feeble defending.
Though the scoreline would suggest so, Fareham weren’t hugely domineering in their display. They threaded through some decent passes and had control of the midfield but, ultimately, some naive Portchester defending made way for an emphatic result.
Fareham began the half shooting towards the netted end of the Wicor Recreation Ground, a cosy, if not elaborate non-league setting, and found themselves on the front foot immediately.
Matt Burt, the towering Fareham central midfielder, connected with a well placed corner in the opening minutes but saw his effort sail over the bar. A string of crosses and set pieces followed but nothing ended up troubling the Portchester goalkeeper.
The early pressure, then, wasn’t telling and the home side soon came into the game. But, despite making their presence felt, Portchester were soon behind. Bryn McKie who, up to this point, had looked off the pace, curled an effort in from the edge of the area. It really should have been saved but, regardless, the away support – who were particularly vociferous – had the early bragging rights.
It wasn’t long before Kieron Lewis added the second with a beautifully timed volley. A minor scramble in the area allowed the ball to sit up perfectly for the defender and he struck the ball home without hesitance. It all seemed over already.
Therefore, it was no surprise when, two minutes later, Fareham had a three goal advantage. Some brilliant work on the right wing from a lively Gary Austin resulted in a tempting ball into the box. So tempting, in fact, that Dale Clarke turned the ball into his own net.
Moments before half time, though, the home side won themselves a lifeline after Blu Boam knocked home from a free-kick.
With their tales up, you would’ve thought Portchester would come out in search for another goal but, in truth, they were only soaking up more Fareham pressure. There were a myriad of through balls, all of which the home defence seemingly couldn’t cope with, and only some dismal finishing was keeping the scoreline at 3-1.
Not that Portchester weren’t creating chances. Two goalmouth scrambles were eventually cleared – one from the line and one off of the post – as Portchester showed that, for all their dismal defending, they were an offensive threat.
But Fareham were, ultimately, showing the home side how it was done and it wasn’t ong before a fourth was added. Mig Dark drove a shot at goal and Tom Winzar, who had come off the bench, reacted quickly to slip the ball through the ‘keeper’s legs.
Portchester showed some style with their second, though, having hit Fareham on a tremendous counter attack. The right wing was seemingly their territory, as captain, George Way, steamed up the pitch. Substitute Jay Ripner finished the move well but it was Fareham who ended up leaving an indelible mark on the match.
After another hefty Portchester challenge, McKie lined up a free kick from outside the area and nestled it perfectly into the top left corner.
5-2 to Fareham, and another feisty Creekside derby to go before the season ends.
