The online equivalent of shouting down a well

35. Poop Du Monde


And so the world game’s showpiece occasion is over. Despite Sky’s blanket coverage of the world game, meaning that the air of mystery surrounding a lot of the more exotic nations has been stripped away (wasn’t it just more fun when people like Socrates were rare unexposed commodities, like tiny shorted unicorns in the summer sun, only visible every four years?) the 2014 tournament produced its usual mix of sublime skill, lurid headlines, blossoming talents, beautiful Italian kits and tracksuits, diving, cheating, epic shithousing, and English embarrassment.

Players have gone back to their clubs, the lucky ones who were at the big show allowed an extra week off to recover before the grind of pointless five mile runs and pretending to feel some kind of connection with a twelve year old kid from Kuala Lumpur on a tour set up to sell mugs and key rings to subsidise their wages.

Some of these players are genuine superstars, giants of the game and part of every highlight reel worth its salt.

We’re interested in the others.

You’ve seen them, mainly in England but occasionally not. Fucking carthorses wheezing their way around club football making a holy show of themselves. Next thing you know you’re staring slack jawed and astonished as they line up for the anthems, and you’re left grumbling at the injustice of the world which sees them representing their country at the biggest single sport event in the world, while you’re limited to fitting an angry wank in between the 9 o’clock and 11 o’clock games. (Don’t lie to me, we both know…)

And so, without further ado here is the definitive What The Fuck Were They Doing At The World Cup? XI, and is of course dedicated to the likes of Gareth Bale….


 Stipe Pletikosa (Country: Your Nan’s Tablecloth)

 A player so bad he couldn’t compete for a place at Spurs when Gomes was chucking every other shot in his own fucking net. Retired after the tournament, presumably out of embarrassment.


 Sergio Ramos (Tippy Tappy Shite)

 *sigh* Look, I know I’m going to be alone in this, but here goes. I don’t care that he’s won the lot for club and country, and has over 100 caps. He’s a two bob walking red card Hackney Marshes cunt. There, I said it.

   Seriously, can we at least do the toss first?

Philippe Senderos (Bank Account? What Bank Account?)

 Swiss cheese turns quicker than this donkey. You marvelled at how terrible he was, then added to the mirth by remembering he was shown the door by the footballing powerhouse of Fulham.

 Sebastian Coates (Monty Video)

 A defender so poor even Brendan Rodgers caught on and shipped him out. And kept Sakho.

 Mamadou Sakho (We Take August Off)

 Well will you look at that! A man with the positional sense and passing ability of a robot hoover, he is to building from the back what Lady Gaga is to speedway. If Liverpool don’t replace Suarez properly you will be hearing a lot more about this chap…


 Lukas Podolski (No, YOU Bombed OUR Chip Shops)

 Until we witnessed his embarrassing celebrations having done fuck all at the end of the final we all thought David May had set an impossibly high bar in that treble winning season. Put it this way, Ozil was shit all tournament and they still barely gave this cunt a kick. Selfie taking shitcunt.

 Fuck you, my grandkids won't know will they?

Victor Moses (Fuck Football; Where Are Those Girls?)

 Charged about like a dog chasing a balloon for Palace. Then won the footballers’ lottery by being paid to do the same for Chelsea and Liverpool. He is so poor a player that he beat out Shola Ameobi, Peter Odemwinge, and John Obi Mikel as I can only have one player per country. Yeah.

 Marouane Fellaini (Um Bongo Um Bongo We Used To Run The Congo)

 With their midfield there really was no excuse to even take him. A one trick pony, and no one wants to see the trick any more. How bad? He beat Nacer Chadli to this spot. Indeed.


 Danny Welbeck (A Triumph Of Nostalgia And A Cloud Of Bullshit Over Actual Ability)

 Every Man United fan remembers that iconic moment when Robin van Persie flew through the air and scored the headed goal of the tournament, culminating in a celebration that incorporated a low five with his club boss to be, Louis van Gaal. Sadly for them they also have to remember the crushing sense o0f dread they felt when they worked out that that pair of Dutch masters would have to work with this fucking useless lump. Strode about the world stage embarrassingly, like Emile Heskey in a Kid And Play wig. Absolute fucking toilet. Will win fifty caps.

 Georgios Samaras (We Invented Being Gay)

 Atrocious for City before they struck oil, has spent several seasons at Celtic winning trophies, which is like Stephen Hawking winning The Quiet Game in a power cut. Does have nice hair mind you…

Fred (Hipster Mecca)

 Booed off by his adoring fans after perfecting his impression of that Make A Wish kid who played for Seattle the other day. Has since retired from international football to go back to his first love, playing rhythm guitar for Daryl Hall.

No, we won't be playing in Brazil any time soon...

Honourable Mentions

Respect must be paid to the towering football talents only good enough for the bench too. Arguably these are even shitter I suppose….

Alex Song (Nenge Mboko XI)

Martin Demichelis (They’re Called The Malvinas)

Saloman Kalou (We Speak French Because Of Colonialism, Not Because We’re Cool)

Jozy Altidore (We’ve Bombed Everybody’s Chip Shops)

Leroy Fer (She’s In The Attic)

So that’s it, a festival to bring the world together, and celebrate people’s differences and embrace them. Next up, 2018 and 2022 in illegal-to-be-gay Russia and Qatar.

See you then….

We could gel in Russia Steven. We just need time. Get fucked Frank; give it up eh?



34. Sheikh Your Moneymaker

Well well well, the biter bit.

Mazher Mahmood, scourge of the wrong doers, self-proclaimed moral guardian of the tabloid classes, has had his pants pulled down in Southwark Crown Court. Some would say not before time. The general tenor of the reaction to the collapse of the trial of Tulisa Contostavlos, a woman who the red tops have been desperate to put ‘back in her place’ for years for having the gall to be ambitious (albeit talentless) working class and upwardly mobile (a common tabloid tactic) for an £800 coke deal has varied.

Joe Public, via social media, has reacted by essentially painting the singer* as a Robin Hood figure, and Mahmood as pond scum. An understandable reaction, if a little facile given that her co-defendant Mike GLC (who names themselves after a council for fuck’s sake? Ok, Paul Merton, but who else? OK, Michael Bolton I’m getting lost here aren’t I?) pled guilty to supplying the drugs.

"looks like I'm not the only one who's blown it"

“looks like I’m not the only one who’s blown it”

Media types, who perhaps know more about Mahmood and his practices than the rest of us, have been a bit more circumspect. Roy Greenslade, an old school hack (you’d think after Milly Dowler they’d give themselves another nickname don’t you?) was hinting at various misdemeanours and stitch ups, even going so far as to hint that he left swiftly from the Sunday Times under a cloud earlier in his career.

You see Mahmood operates in the shady hinterland of the undercover reporter, and sometimes, it is alleged, he goes beyond the bounds of what’s ethical to get people to either reveal secrets to him, or either commit or offer to commit criminal acts. One of his favourite methods is to entice his mark with the promise of untold wealth or career advancement or both if they’ll just do this little thing for him….

Contostavlos insisted throughout the duration of this case that she had been entrapped and only pretended an interest in drugs to play up to a “bad girl” image seemingly sought by the producers for the role in the ‘major Hollywood production’ that Mahmood’s ‘Bollywood producer’ was dangling in front of her.

(If she deserves to go to prison for anything it’s thinking there’s any universe where she’s more suitable for a film role than Kate Winslet and Keira Knightley. No wonder his scams work. How blinded by greed and ambition was she to swallow that?)

He’s done this before of course. Several trials resulting from his “investigations” have collapsed, including the prosecutions of five men he alleged to have plotted to kidnap Victoria Beckham in 2000; his story claiming three men were trying to build a “dirty bomb” in 2004; and the quashing of a conviction in 2010 of an Albanian immigrant for supplying drugs.

The Hardwicke trial in 1999, where he got the Earl convicted of drug dealing was notable for the fact that the jury sent a note to the judge explaining that they had convicted the man with great reluctance because Mahmood had used “extreme provocation” to induce Hardwicke to supply cocaine. The judge agreed and passed a suspended sentence.

Any good he did by exposing the Pakistani match fixing allegation is sadly eclipsed by the tsunami of complaints from victims of his schemes that he has lied. He difference here is that Tulisa was able to prove it. Now he’s on thin ice at The Sun, and from what I can work out not many will mourn his career as an investigative reporter if it’s over.

I certainly won’t. Print media is knackered as it is, and while good writing will always find a home this kind of nonsense will simply give supporters of Leveson succour, despite the fact that blindly bringing in its recommendations will throw the baby out with the bathwater. (For example, a lot of the evidence used to make you really angry at your MP for fiddling his expenses was gained using various dark arts. Do we outlaw that because no celebrities were involved? Where’s the line?)

Finally, consider this. Mahmood doesn’t operate a scattergun approach. He doesn’t go to these lengths to work on someone without having some reliable intelligence. He set up a sting to entrap Tulisa because he ‘knew’ she was involved in coke dealing. Unfortunately ‘knowing’ isn’t enough in a court of law, and he came unstuck trying to manipulate the facts to fit the story he wanted to tell, and did it so badly that a guilty plea had to be overturned, and for that he can fuck off and join Captain Cash in the bargain bin of tabloid history.

*ok, a bit of licence there; work with me.

33. Everyone’s A Critic

The Slippery Slope To Conformity

So, Jezza has been read the riot act.
Hardly surprising really. After last week’s ‘slope’ controversy the BBC had to be seen to act given the rapidity with which this new storm has brewed. This despite the fact that Top Gear earns them bundles round the world (there must be hundreds of millions of boring wankers who like nothing more than to drone on about cars all day and take pot-shots at the French), and that the mumbled nursery rhyme was never actually broadcast. I have several issues with this.
Firstly, if you were the subject of two exposes, days apart, painting you as a massive racist would you not wonder what it was you’d done to upset certain sections of the media? After all, Clarkson said neither of these things recently, and the N-word video is over a year old. That’s a mighty long time for someone to be sitting on a piece of video, restraining their indignation until (purely coincidentally) their temper snaps just after he is reported for another racial slur and they simply have to leak it to the papers. A more cynical mind than mine might conclude that they were out to get them.
Secondly, Clarkson has made currency of his anti PC stance. He and his legion of fans maintain that you should be able to say anything you like if it’s a joke, and if people don’t have a sense of humour then fuck them. Which is fine I suppose, as long as you do it from the safety of a tv studio or behind a keyboard, or are really good at fighting.
The trouble is when you set yourself up as a rebel being slapped down by your employers is even more humiliating. He either said the word or he didn’t (I’ve seen the video; it’s nigger all day long*) and a few days ago he was denying it, issuing forth with bluster and self-righteous indignation. Now suddenly he is being carpeted and forced to produce a humiliating selfie video apologising for the fact that, in his words, it might sound like he used the word but he loathes it.
Hmm, well I loathe many many racial epithets, and that’s why I never say them, whether embedded in a nursery rhyme or not. Plus the PC version of it is ‘catch a tiger by the toe’ and if he really loathed the word that’s the version he’d use. Plus he says he did everything in his power to make sure that the word wasn’t broadcast.
Everything except not saying it in the first place of course.
The fact is that this has left his libertarian freedom of speech hard man persona in tatters. A real believer that you can say what you like wouldn’t apologise. Either he didn’t say it, in which case why say sorry when you haven’t done anything? Or he did say it and so what? It was a joke; lighten up you PC bores.
He’s bowed down to his bosses and the media, leaving his gang bereft of leadership. Who will they evoke when listening to Talksport, or supping from the tankard they have kept behind the bar at their local? When they do a Paki* or poofter* joke who will they use to justify their boorish outdated attitudes?
Because now that Jeremy has apologised he’s just like all the rest.

And Why Not?

Release Date: 3rd May 2014
(Previewed at Odeon West End, Leicester Square, 16th April 2014)
Directed By: Nicholas Stoller
Screenplay By: Andrew J Cohen, Brendan O’Brien
Starring: Seth Rogen, Zac Efron, Rose Byrne
Dave Franco, Jake Johnson, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Lisa Kudrow, Craig Roberts, Ike Barinholtz, Hannibal Buress, Halston Sage
BBFC: 15 – Contains very strong language, drug use, strong sex, crude sex references, nudity
You could be tempted to dismiss this as another Hollywood by numbers crude comedy, an Animal house for the corporate globalised homogenised world. You would be wrong. Yes, it won’t change your life or win any Oscars, but it does have one thing in its favour that you need in your life.
It delivers more laughs than you’ve any right to expect from a film.
Here Rogen has taken his familiar slightly bemused twenty something Jewish slacker character, and aged him a few years. Now Mac is married to Kelly (Byrne, giving her natural Aussie accent an airing) and they have a young daughter. They are settling into their new house, gladdened by the fact that a gay couple are viewing the house next door (this seems to guarantee them peace and quiet), but their happiness is about to be rudely disturbed.
To their dismay a fraternity end up moving in next door. Teddy (Efron making the step from on screen teenager to young adult he started in That Awkward moment recently) is the president of Delta Psi; it’s implied that he’s not a studier, and this is his last year, so as his college time winds down he is determined to write his name into the fraternity’s folklore with some epic pranks, parties and escapades. At his side is Pete (Dave Franco, James’s brother, late of Superbad and soon to be seen in 22 Jump Street).
Things seem to start well; Kelly and Mac introduce themselves, and like thirtysomethings the world over try a bit too hard to be cool in the face of youth. As the inevitable partying begins they try the Nice Guys approach to noise management, politely asking for the noise to be kept down and even accepting an invitation to party with the students. It doesn’t work, inevitably, and the resort to calling the police to get a nights’ sleep.
Unfortunately for them when Officer Watkins (Burress, fresh from tearing up the small screen on the brilliant Broad City) arrives he immediately fingers them as the originators of the nuisance call. Teddy and the boys are not amused.
That’s when things turn nasty.
Each ensuing prank and stunt provokes a more intense (and hilarious) response, the pace begins to pick up at this point. We’ve had the preamble, and now we’re into the meat of the piece. Already on thin ice with the university the Dean (played brilliantly by Kudrow) places them on probation after Kelly and Mac produce a move plucked straight from the plot of Othello, and they are forced to respond.
The mayhem ratchets up and up, Stoller, miraculously unscarred by two projects with Russell Brand (Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Get Him to the Greek), deals out gut punch after gut punch of laugh out loud moments. This is the least intellectual you will feel all year, but you WILL love the DeNiro party and the dildo sale, and the airbag sequence will leave you gasping for breath. There’s even, to misquote Oasis, sex in the bushes.
The ending is fairly predictable, but the second half of the film is a technical delight. Music that helps the story pick up speed without intruding, wonderfully lit and photographed scenes, particularly the party set pieces, and a script that is so polished there is no more room for more jokes than you see.
Efron has picked well in his attempt to transition to more grown up (in age anyway) roles. This isn’t his film to carry alone, and he revels in not being under pressure. His comedic skills need honing but are definitely there. He will still struggle to escape his tween/gay fantasy status for a while yet. I overheard some people debating where to sit at the screening. One of the men decided he wanted to sit at the front, to be “close enough to get a good look at his abs” *sigh*.
Byrne is wonderful. Most of her screen time is obviously with Rogen, and it would be easy to just let him drive every scene, but she matches him toe to toe all through the film. She’s occasionally demure (wheedling help from the Dean in a meeting) and often throws out barbed taunts (“You Jews and your mothers!”) and wields her power over Mac like some kind of Bondi Lady Macbeth to get her own way.
Rogen himself is right at home as the lovable screw-up trying to do the right thing but getting completely overtaken by events. His perpetually bemused facial expressions as his world caves in are a joy. He can do this kind of thing in his sleep, but you find yourself loving watching him do it.
The other thing this film has got so spectacularly right is the cameos. As in The Lego Movie the audience is given no chance to rest on their laurels before another familiar face from the world of US sitcom or stand-up rides into view to either maintain or improve the momentum. Christopher Mintz-Plasse (McLovin’ from Superbad) makes an appearance, and just as you’re enjoying that Ike Barinholtz (who steals almost every scene in The Mindy Project) pops up as Jimmy, the gross, borderline sex pest best friend. This just goes on throughout the movie, until you realise that a generational shift has happened, and people who were considered underground are now invading the mainstream of American show business (never a bad thing).
As these people are the standard bearers for this film’s target audience their presence, plus the star power at the top of the bill should ensure this film cleans up at the box office. Judging by the post screening buzz and the general tenor of other critics’ impressions it will be well written up too, and it deserves to be. Multiplexes up and down the country will be doubled over as Teddy and Pete brilliantly profess their (man)love for each other with variations on ‘Bros Before Hos’…
Hang on, you’re thinking, he’s going crazy for it but he’s only given it 4 stars. Well, for a start while the usually cynical Hollywood casting and production system has got so much of this wonderfully right there is one sequence that grates. Towards the end there’s a scene outside Abercrombie and Fitch that seems, well, wrong. It’s not necessary to the plot and frankly looks tacked on hurriedly in post-production. It only seems to exist because it features Efron without a shirt on. It’s as if early test audiences asked for more shirtless Zac, and the eager to please executives ordered an extra scene. It really doesn’t work, and it really jars.
In reality it’s a minor quibble though. Essentially if you’re a fan of laughing a lot in an hour and a half, and can handle seeing Seth Rogen’s hairy back, you will be richly rewarded. It’s perfect post pub Kebab Movie fodder too.
To summarise, go, enjoy. It’s wonderful.

#32 – Old Time Religion

OK, cards on the table. I’m not what you’d call a religious person, although if pressed I’d be happy to accept some manner of spiritual being’s existence. Having said that I don’t subscribe to the view that because you believe in one thing everyone who believes in something else, or doesn’t at all, is either evil or in need of evangelism so they can see the light. The way I look at it if your God’s so great he doesn’t need a sales force. In almost all circumstances I’m quite happy to leave religions to get on with it.

Sadly they don’t seem to get that live and let live has to have its limits.

The brother of one of the killers of Lee Rigby (you know, those lovable misunderstood nice to their mum scamps who ran him over and virtually hacked his head off in broad daylight supposedly in the name of their God) has been giving interviews.

Now let’s just set aside the fact that we’re a bit sickened by the fact he’s been given any airtime and media attention at all for a moment to find out what he wants to say. He believes that the reason his brother (I don’t know which one, but that’s because I can’t be arsed to look it up, not some kind of Andre Marriner tribute) has been given a whole life tariff to his sentence is because he’s a Muslim. His counter argument runs that another convicted murderer got a 40 year tariff and made plain his desire to start a race war.

Hmm, where to start? Well let’s see. They murdered a man for committing the heinous crime of being a soldier in a built up area. Is it possible, and I accept some of you might recoil from this description, that he got a whole life tariff because by his twisted logic he was doing the right thing, and he had melded his evident psychoses to his choice of spiritual calling?

Maybe his version of Islam (not shared by 99%) of others) led him to dehumanise a young father so much that he became a mere tool in his quest for some kind of revenge against those he sees as being bent on wiping out his fellow believers? And perhaps the judge recognised this and decided that he was an irredeemably evil cunt who should never walk the streets again?

The reason people who aren’t religious recoil from events like this is because they are generally mired in backward third world shit which civilised people have no time for. Any religion that thinks this is acceptable behaviour, or while we’re about it the subjugation of women, stoning, persecution and worse of gay people, and the belief that the world will only survive if everyone believes the same as they do is a load of old shit and frankly can fuck off. All round the world religions are being observed by normal, non spittle flecked swivel eyed nutjobs who just want to do a bit of a pray and enjoy life.

Sadly every faith is being riddled with scummy little pricks who think they can hijack people’s beliefs to push their warped agendas.

Think about it this way. If you were a predatory paedophile would you try and worm your way into working at an old people’s home or as a priest at a catholic school where the victims are right there? Is that the Catholic church’s fault or the sick fucks who like to touch kids? I’m pretty sure when the Muslim faith was in its infancy people didn’t sit around and think ‘so the endgame is to send our kids into streets with Semtex round their waists and blow a load of people to Kingdom Come yes?’

Go to sub Saharan Africa. See the church preaching against condoms, and watch a whole generation wiped out by rampant HIV/AIDS simply because they’re being denied access to proper reproductive education and have absolute trust that what comes from the pulpit simply cannot be wrong.

Female genital mutilation. What the absolute fuck?

That’s not an evil religion; that’s evil people using a religion to further their ends. Huge difference,

The trouble is if you listen to the noise all around you it’s easy to slip into paranoia; soon not only can you not tell the good guys from the bad, you stop trying. Every time you see an imam or a priest you’re conditioned to feel a certain way, and that causes a whole other set of problems.

Maybe this time we won’t fall for this ‘poor me’ whining. Maybe we’ll choose to remember what was done, and make our moral judgments based on that and nothing else.

Let’s hope so.


Fresh on the heels of Grant Schapps’ majestically bad bingo and beer graphic, designed to prove how in touch the Tories are with the working man but universally derided by anyone who knows that hardly anyone plays bingo anymore and 50 pubs are shutting a week, comes a new high on the Letthemeatcakeometer. Just when you think they can’t pour any more stupid on the fire Cllr Liam Marshall-Ascough has sped us towards Easter with a heartwarming message of hope for the people of Surrey looking for those green shoots of recovery. The council commissioned a study by the wonderfully named Deprivation Scrutiny Panel.  They suggested a food bank be set up at the town hall.  Conservatives in Crawley decided to ignore these findings with a piece of beautifully ignorant logic.

The councillor took his own life, his own I’ve got a job and I can afford stuff therefore everyone else can can’t they? life, and said that because the local restaurants are busy that means no one is going hungry, and therefore it’s evidence that his borough doesn’t need another food bank. I quote:

“People aren’t in poverty in terms of going without food. You try booking a restaurant in Crawley on a Friday or Saturday night. You can’t do it.”

This will of course come as a huge relief to all the people at the other end of the scale living locally who, if they are like the rest of the country’s poor who are being hit by welfare reforms, are running up on average £52 more debt every week. Surf and turf all round?

Now look, I’m not telling you how to vote. You wouldn’t listen to me and frankly I’m not convinced by any of them. But really people, really?

Next general election is next year. I’m just saying…….

And finally…

In common with a lot of my friends I’ve been through the wringer a bit in the last fortnight. I won’t go into it here (although for those who’ll get it in a spooky coincidence this is Blog 32) but I must just acknowledge Max Clifford’s cock, as whenever I’ve been feeling particularly low has inadvertently cheered me up no end. MAZELTOV!

There you are; a knob gag to end. Who says the classics are dead?

Until next time….

#31 Red Hot Soccer Chat

Man Nuts Man In Newcastle. This Is News Apparently.
People like to rewrite history, especially when it involves making themselves look good. Any football fan paying attention to the anodyne Pol Pot Year One mutterings from the FA and media can’t have helped but be impressed by their brass neck this weekend as Alan Pardew was fined for putting the nut on some no mark from Hull.
Let’s have it right, it was great.
Having been on the end of a tongue lashing by a certain follically challenged ex Spurs winger myself I can tell you that being assaulted by a football person, verbally or otherwise, is not any different to being assaulted by anyone else. The only difference is in the reaction from other people.
In my own case I was inundated with offers of help to formulate police charges against him, or write to the club to get him fined, banned, sacked, arrested, or some combination of all of them. I declined every one. Why? Because they were bullshit; hysterical overreactions of people whose only goal in life is to be outraged on other people’s behalf. I had a pop, he had a pop. We both moved on, simple.
I had to chuckle at the treatment of Pardew though. he spends six days a week being told he’s part of a Cockney mafia running the wonderful institution that is Newcastle United. On the one day he shows that whatever his shortcomings as a manager and a Londoner he really really cares about Newcastle winning he gets called a disgrace, hit with a £100,000 fine and reminded of his responsibilities as a role model to the people of the Geordie nation.
That’s the same club who recently saw one of their own sent to jail for chinning a police horse. I think the role model ship has sailed.
But apparently he better watch out, because there are impressionable youths about, and they want them being busy being impressionable enough to pester their parents to shell out for multiple replica shirts, and any other tat they can stick a club crest on and flog in the club shop. Pardew reminding them why football in this country is so popular around the world is not to be allowed.
For let’s be honest here, English football sells around the world because it’s chaotic, mistake ridden, tribal shite.
Let’s be honest, if you can watch Lionel Messi and the rest of Barcelona putting on a masterclass in the tippy tappy shite why would you pay £60 a pop to watch Charlie Adam do it nowhere near as well? Our football doesn’t win you anything on the world stage, but we love it. Where else in the world does a fixture the equivalent of the Bristol or South Wales derby provoke the white heat that it does here? Go and find me a game at the same level that has the spite and tension of Nottingham Forest v Derby?
You won’t, because our game has evolved in such a way that aggression and passion put bums on seats and headlines in papers. Sadly, occasionally it means that people go across the arbitrary lines that the media like to create when an incident occurs. These are the same people who look back wistfully on the old days when degenerate alcoholics lolloped around creating mayhem and pine for more characters in the game. Then when they find one immediately leap on him for not setting a good example. (It would have been interesting to note how they would have viewed Tony Adams if his ‘characterful’ drunk driving had led to the death of a pedestrian).
Of course the biggest part of this hypocrisy is that if you have to rely on the likes of Alan Pardew to set the example for your children then you really don’t have any business being a parent, and should drop your offspring at the nearest foster family.

12 (well 11 actually) Years A Slave?

Speaking of football and hypocrisy, Sol Campbell has a book out. In it he details his gripe about playing for England 73 times and only being captain for 3 of them. He claims it’s because he’s black. I claim it’s because he’s a selfish duplicitous blame shifting cunt.
There are people who will tell you that there is something to this. They are people who don’t get Sol Campbell. When you decide, as we have in England, that captaincy is imbued with a certain mysticism that only certain people are capable of harnessing and using to improve the side, then you start to look for these qualities in the candidates for the job. You ignore that in most countries the captaincy at club and international level is simply given to the person with the most appearances, trusting that his experience will allow him to transmit calm and authority to the rest of the side simply by his mere presence on the field. You begin to examine how a player carries himself, both on and off the pitch, and his relationships with fans and other figures in the game, particularly the players he aspires to lead. So let’s do it.
Sol Campbell got into the Spurs side at a young age, and was given the captaincy once it became apparent he was the best player in the side at that time. Can you remember a single Churchillian moment of breast beating oratory or onfield motivation that got the over the line in a tight game? you could argue that Michael Dawson does more leading of the side than he ever did, and you wouldn’t have him leading a side on Championship Manager, let alone the World Cup.
Captains, even if not vocally evident, have to show in some form a mental toughness that allows them to keep up their standards and try and haul their side through a truly bad performance. Picture Roy Keane, yellow carded against Juventus meaning he’d miss the European Cup final, slogging his guts out for a game he’d never play in, and being astonished when praised about it by Sir Alex Ferguson in his book as if there would ever be a game in which he wouldn’t put up that level of performance, or at least try to. Watch Sol Campbell having a fucking shocker of a half against West Ham, shipping two, and fucking off on holiday before the second half started. Yeah, real mental toughness there.
A fan must feel that a captain is with them. They don’t expect them to get the bus to the ground with them anymore, but they do like to think that they feel the same about their team, and their enemies. So here’s your candidate (in his own head) for the England captaincy demonstrating his unique bond with the fans by sneaking off to their biggest rivals on a free transfer. Further, he showed off his unique brand of self-awareness by asking Les Ferdinand ‘it’s not that big a deal is it?’ as another derby rolled around and the abuse became so vitriolic it made him pass the ball into touch the first time he got it with no Spurs player near him (there’s that legendary mental toughness again).
Let’s add in the selfless nature of a captain, often playing out of position or slightly injured to show the side that they are all in it together and that the cause, not personal comfort, is what counts. It’s telling then that David Pleat will happily recount the fact that he would never play for Spurs unless he was 100% fit, or at least felt that way. As if any player spends much of a season not carrying a bump or knock. By that rationale he would have only played about 15 times for England.
Finally, picture Paul Ince (black) charging around the midfield giving it all in a white shirt, proudly wearing the armband and leading his nation. Oddly enough Ince never alleged racism on the part of the football establishment, at least not until he was exposed as a bang average manager.
Was there a big groundswell of opinion on this subject at the time? Did the media or other players and managers put his name forward? If he had a testimonial how many Spurs or Arsenal fans do you think would turn up, of any colour? Do you think Arsenal fans love him, apart from the fact he screwed Tottenham over?
Why is it that this legend of the game (in his own head) has had, until the serialisation of his book, nothing to say on his lack of captaincy opportunities?
It’s baffling isn’t it? It’s almost as if everyone sussed he was a good player but a bottling selfish wanker, and didn’t give it another thought.
I’ll leave you with a picture that seems to sum up how Sol sees the England team.

"Hmm, it IS moreish isn't it?"

“Hmm, it IS moreish isn’t it?”

Next time, more rubbish, and maybe the racing stuff I promised. Or maybe not…..

#30 Who’s Next?

The Kids Are Alright. Just

It was a different time in the seventies.
Parenting was a much simpler affair for a start. Rather than leaving your kids home alone and going down the pub or to Marbella or whatever you simply invited your friends round and got mangled in your front room while they slept on the pile of coats in the back bedroom.
People came to those affairs armed with a Party Seven, a massive can of seven pints of warm flat beer. This was considered the height of sophistication.
Facial hair wasn’t ironic.
In hindsight it appears to have been against the law not to be some kind of sex pest and work at the BBC.
In this light the developments regarding Harriet Harman, the dish faced humourless harridan who has somehow risen to be a chicken bone away from being leader of a major political party, and the artist formerly known as The National Council For Civil Liberties look a bit more explicable. But only a bit.
The problem with all this isn’t the Daily Mail’s gloriously evidence free yet innuendo heavy articles alleging guilt by association with a vile organisation with no place in any kind of society. It’s not with their monstrous hypocrisy for attacking her refusal to apologise for the links given their historical love of Hitler and the Blackshirts. It’s with a fact (pointed out to me by a correspondent yesterday) that should immediately disqualify her and anyone else who was part of what is now known as Liberty in those days from holding any kind of public office, or even be allowed a driving licence or the vote.
All these great minds, that have turned out to be high profile responsible public figures, didn’t spot a problem with an organisation called the Paedophile Information Exchange.
An organisation that was upfront about its mission to see the age of consent lowered to 10.
You can argue all you like about not being directly involved, but I’m pretty certain that if the National Front had tried to pay an affiliation fee it would have been given straight back. What’s the difference? Well to me it’s rank incompetence, and Patricia Hewitt has this week apologised for it.
But, as the Saville revelations have proved, it was a different time in the seventies…

Mama’s Got A Squeezed Box

Apparently the goodie bag at the Oscars this weekend includes a $2,700 voucher for vaginal rejuvenation. I don’t have any more on this; I just wanted you to know that I aborted about ten frankly disgusting punchlines. I’m sure you can imagine…..

Won’t Get Fooled Again. Again

On the 25th of September 1983 one of Europe’s biggest mass jailbreaks occurred in the Maze prison in Northern Ireland (or Long Kesh in old money). It held the famous H Blocks surrounded by 18 foot walls topped with barbed wire, and with its 15 foot fences and the fact it held people convicted of paramilitary violence during the troubles it was considered to be one of the most escape proof prisons in Europe.
In a coordinated action it took 20 minutes to take control of block H7, involving stabbings and shots from firearms smuggled in. Almost 40 prisoners managed to get out.
The fallout exposed complacency and incompetence from the prison guards, government, and was a massive propaganda coup for the IRA, being seen as not only a daring escape, but easy too. You’d think they’d have learned…
In this light it came as quite a surprise to hear that John Downey, a suspect for the Hyde Park bombing in 1982 had heard that he was wanted for questioning and as part of the Good Friday agreement had written to the Police Service Of Northern Ireland for written confirmation that he wasn’t wanted for something. In a wonderful show of how not to administer they then firstly sent him a letter telling him, no, he was in the clear and wasn’t going to be arrested or questioned for anything, despite the Met being quite anxious to talk about a few things with him. Then, having found out that the letter was a mistake they decided not to do anything about it.
As a consequence Downey, who denies any involvement in the terrorist action, walked free and is doubtless still laughing and nursing a wicked hangover now.
The unionists have complained and threatened to derail devolution by walking out of Stormont. Assurances that this trick won’t work again have kept them onside. Given the lessons of recent history I wouldn’t unpack all my stuff just yet if I were them…..

I’m Free (except in matters of sexuality and reproductive control)

Ah America, I do enjoy you so. With your hot dogs and blue jeans and profusion of right wing nutcases.
Latest off the rank this week are a couple of instances of barely concealed spite designed to make you wonder what happened to freedom of choice. Than realise it never really existed at all.
Firstly, in Iowa a law is being pushed through that allows women to sue their doctor up to ten years after an abortion; not because they have suffered some kind of physical trauma during the procedure, but because they experienced regret. Yes, regret. Greg Heartsill (male, Republican, but you’d probably guessed this) is suggesting that malpractice lawsuits for “pain and suffering” be allowed even if the patient has signed a release form.
Again, there do not have to be any medical issues surrounding the abortion. The woman only has to have second thoughts almost a decade later and a perfectly satisfactory procedure could land a competent doctor with a huge fine or even prison.
Put aside the notion that poor dumb women don’t know their own minds. Ignore the implied assertion that in a crucial moment of a woman’s life a stranger has more grasp of her mental state than her. Concentrate on what you think will happen as doctors start to refuse to perform abortions, not on moral grounds, but because the risk of regret lawsuits down the line is too great.
Once you make it harder or more expensive for women to control their reproductive choices they will often turn to less scrupulous and as a result more dangerous methods of abortion. Failing that the other ill effects for women of a law that bullies doctors into performing fewer abortions include: the burden of unwanted pregnancy, the dangers of childbirth (which by far exceed those of a kosher abortion), the emotional stress of adoption, and the lacerating responsibility of raising a kid you don’t want.
Let’s hope some sense prevails here eh?

And then in Arizona, a place so boring, dry and dusty that people have nothing better to do than shoot rattlesnakes and dream up bonkers laws a bill allowing people to refuse to serve gay people in shops, hotels and restaurants almost got signed into law, until the corporate world informed the Governor that pushing it through would result in a boycott that would cause the local economy to implode. Luckily she relented and for now naked bigotry isn’t enshrined in legislation.
Best comment I’ve read was from Bill Maher, who tweeted that it was ironic Arizona ruled gay men can shop without discrimination, because if you ever shopped with a gay man, they’re the ones in most shops who ARE discriminating.

And finally….
Here is a photo of a posh bloke stood in sewage water in Clapham.

"My pink cords are nearly bally wet"

“My pink cords are nearly bally wet”

He’s very angry about the sewer pipe bursting. He’s more angry about not being able to afford to live in a posh area north of the river where other people’s shit hasn’t run down the fucking streets since the middle ages.
South London. Shithole.

Next time, possibly a bit about horse racing……..

#29 – L M R. When The Girl Says No, Molest Her

First of all apologies, I’ve been a bit remiss with this for reasons I can’t currently go into. (I know, mysterious). Anyway, you’ve missed reading it and I’ve missed writing it, so let’s kick off with a State Of The Union piece on a pet subject for male feminists everywhere…

Imagine for a moment that you run a huge company which specialises in selling goods online. You started off with books, and quickly branched out into various other articles, such as music, films, and DVDs. Picture for a moment a submission of a book to be stocked in your warehouse; a book so odious, so fundamentally wrong that at first you think it’s some manner of cruel joke that it was even passed to you for consideration.
Astonishingly, despite the fact that by virtue of simply refusing to pay tax you legally owe in the UK you are clearing millions a year in profit you’re so blinded by greed, arrogance, and a simple disregard of, and contempt for, any kind of social responsibility your internal checks and balances (such as they are) allow this piece of filth to get through and be offered for sale.
It’s a manual on how to turn a woman’s ‘no’ into a ‘yes’.
You know the scenario. You’ve stumped up for Nandos and a trip to Vue. You’re in the Focus driving her home. You’ve done the one about the butcher and the bacon slicer (which always KILLS with your mates) and she’s laughed. YOU ARE IN. Time to seal the deal.
Pull up at her place, go to get out and be invited in. DISASTER! She’s mumbling something about an early start tomorrow and she’s had a good time and she’ll call you sometime. This isn’t right. You’ve done everything you’re supposed to. You’re ENTITLED.
If only there were some kind of manual, a How To which can turn a peck on the cheek and an awkward walk back to the car into the kind of sweaty, urgent, tearful lovemaking you feel you’ve earned.
Step forward LMR Exposed: How To Overcome Her Last Minute Resistance To Sex, Turn ‘No’ Into ‘Yes’ And Get The Lay! [Kindle Edition] by the profoundly wise and clearly suave Vincent Vinturi.
I think the title tells you all you need to know yes?
Sounds like a joke right? I’m clearly winding you up because of course no company of any profile, let alone a world-wide one, would touch it with a barge pole. Apart from the fact that only the mentally ill would buy it the internet outrage it would prompt would be damaging to your brand in the extreme.
Well it’s not. On January 31st Amazon were forced to remove it from stock. People actually had to complain about it before they did. Yeah.
Not outraged enough yet? Here’s the blurb I lifted direct from the site. This is what they were using as an enticement to buy this trash.
Product Description
Are you sick of getting a hot girl back to your place, excited at the prospect of fucking her, only to come up against last minute resistance when you go to make your moves…?
Maybe you go to kiss her but she pulls away. Maybe you reach to undo her bra, but she pushes your hand away…
Maybe you’re already naked and all she has on are some thin lace panties soaked with her pussy juices. And yet for some reason, when you go to take off this paper-thin barrier between her wet pussy and your eager dick, she STILL stops you! Over and over again…
You get frustrated and think “what the fuck is this girl’s problem!?” And no matter what you do or how you try, you just can’t overcome her resistance. So quite naturally, you get annoyed and give up. Maybe you even go to sleep with this hottie laying right next to you.
It’s almost like the universe is mocking you by making you lay right next to the girl you want to fuck so badly but can’t. One sleepless night later, you haven’t made love and you’re left feeling drained, defeated and — let’s be real — like a bit of a loser…
She walks out the door and you’ll never see her again. What a waste. After all, you did ALL that work to get a girl alone in the first place and then you couldn’t seal the deal. It stings the ego and it’s torture for your sore dick and aching balls. But believe it or not, this situation happens to countless guys just like you all the time. Guys who are actually pretty good with women but still haven’t mastered the art of “closing”…
Believe me, I know all too well how irritating and embarrassing this is. This frustrating scenario used to plague me, too. And it has cost me sex more times than I care to admit. But these days I rarely run into this dreaded Last Minute Resistance, or “LMR” for short. And in the rare cases that I do encounter it, I cut through it like a hot knife cuts through creamy, yellow butter.
And I’m about to show you how you can do it too…
In this detailed eBook and collection of real life case studies that are years in the making, I share the little-known mindsets and techniques that I and other extreme players have found to be consistently effective at breaking through a girl’s last minute resistance to sex AND preventing it!
Here’s just a taste of what you’ll learn:
How to drastically cut down LMR before you ever get back to your place by ‘setting the sexual frame’…
Exactly what to do (and what NOT to do) when a girl is physically resisting you, yet seems to want to stay…

…and so on. Essentially it’s Date Rape 101, and based around the premise that sexual violence committed by men is to a large extent rooted in ideologies of male sexual entitlement. In other words, take it, you deserve it.
Firstly, if your wooing technique and general self-esteem are so woefully lacking so as to be invisible to the naked eye, and you feel that investing in 159 pages of half-baked psychobabble designed to see you end up in Court No. 1 of the Old Bailey then you really shouldn’t be breeding.
Secondly, despite the fact that deep down I think there may well be an author chuckling to himself about the enormous practical joke he’s pulled (for the sake of my sanity if nothing else), I still have to wonder what the fuck is going on at Amazon that this nonsense can be allowed on their website. Maybe the whole company is an enormous piece of Banksy performance art, avoiding tax and allowing books like this and How To Train A Child (google it; you’ll go mental) to be sold until the virtual world implodes with disgust and anger?
Or, and I have to consider this, they’re too busy shovelling money down their gullets to give a tuppenny fuck about anything pesky like morals or decency. My money’s on this one.

That’s it. Not very cheery but there you go. Next time, more jokes, less rape, promise.