Mick McCarthy: Legend.

Wolverhamption Wanderers conceded an own-goal barely two minutes into their top of the table clash with Reading on Tuesday. Wolves manager Mick McCarthy was asked for his thoughts concerning the incident, after eventually losing the match 1 goal to nil. His response?

"Fooking abysmal, that was what I fooking thought of it. C'mon, let's get to it, I'm trying my best here. What did I make of it? I thought it was the best bit of fooking football I've seen in a long time. Do me a favour. It was a crap start to a game. There you have it, can you print all that? Fooking rubbish, absolute tosh. Drivel. Shite. Bullshit. That's what I thought of it. Did that help? I'm quite pleased, apart from the fact that's given them the poxy result, I'm fooking livid about it - of course I am. So, there you have it"

I don't give a toss what Roy Keane scribbled on the bathroom wall, Mick McCarthy is a legend.

Interesting Photo...

Not that I'm overly shocked or anything but still, this is an interesting photograph. A bloke I look up to apparently listening to my main writing influence. How cool is that? Well, probably MASSIVELY uncool if you happen to be some rightwing reactionary fascistic jackboot bastard... Then again, you'd have no business peering at this page then, would ya?

ANYway, I'm going to 'revisit' Highway 61 myself right now and have it reinforced to me that 'the sun's not yellow, it's chicken'. Cheers.

Sugar Dilutes a Storm... and some other bollocks.

What an evening. Just a load of bollocks and lairy behaviour. And of course, I wouldn't have had it any other way. I've little patience for anything else these days.

The fight. It was a farce. There WAS no fight. It was Shane Mosley battering Antonio Margarito into submission. Well impressive, that was. Shocking the world and me along with it. Good for Shane too. Regardless of his so-called 'troubles' out of the ring (and by the way, which fighter doesn't have any?) he's been a class act all the way through. He's won battles with grace and took his losses like a man. Massive respect to Shane Mosley.



I just got home and seen that News of the World is reporting that Arsenal are preparing to 'make a raid' on Micah Richards, he of Man City. Now, I don't know when the hell football clubs became marauding gangs of bandits, but I gotta say....(long pause) Micah Richards! Fuckin' hell! I've only been wishing they'd made that move two years ago! Hopefully that will put all this Arshavin tedium to rest, but fuck knows I'm not trusting News of the World. Still and all, it'd be brilliant... Micah Richards. He could play centre-half or a holding mid-field position. OR he could free up Kolo Touré for similar shifts. Micah Richards... I'm chuffed at the prospect!

ANYway, the rest of the evening/night was the same time-honored tradition of getting well pissed. One day it's bound to get unbearably boring, isn't it? We shall see...

Arshavin? My Arse.

So in 24 hours (or less), we Gooners will be able to let out an elongated breath as this Andrei Arshavin ordeal comes to an end. And seriously, that's all I want at this point, for this horsepiss tedious drama to end.

Do I care whether Zenit St Petersburg takes the £15 million Arsenal's offered for this bloke? Not in the least. In fact, I'd prefer if they saved that money. I honestly don't think he's worth even HALF that amount. £15 mil for a 27 year old who's played his entire career in Russia? I think fucking not. If he was that good he'd have been at Arsenal 8 years ago. End of.

I don't think it's gonna happen. He's not gonna be transferred and I don't give a toss. I think the squad is coming together, showing a grim determination in the face of adversity as they have the last two matches... They're growing and Arsene knows, Arsene Wenger knows. That's why he spent the early part of the week bigging up 8 year old Aaron Ramsey, saying how far ahead of normal progression he is. Oh, and we'll be getting Eduardo back from that horrid leg-break as well.

So, do we really need a player who I've seen 3 times in my entire life? Of course, I'm not the one calling the shots in the boardroom. Shame, that. I'd have told the Zenit lads and Arshavin's agent to fuck right off to Spurs a month ago. Besides, do you think I really want to see THIS face in an Arsenal kit?


My short answer is- Hell fucking no.

The New PC and an Old Story.

I finally took the plunge recently and got hold of a new computer. I'm not going to go into nerdish details about which kind and other various technical terms, because, quite simply, I know fuck all about it. I'll just say this, it's fast and I haven't had any problems with it (so far). I haven't gone into massive strops or sat in a simmering homicidal rage as the machine crawled and sometimes froze while I was in the middle of something, whether important or not. No, that shit is over and done with... Miraculously, I might add.

That famous final metaphorical straw was the inability to listen to a radio broadcast over the 'internets'. It was truly beyond me that such a simple thing could prove to be so complicated and downright impossible. I took a few deep breaths and decided that THAT was that.

I harbored fantasies of destroying the old PC with my bare hands (and I still may do). I had that machine for almost 9 years and never once updated it. I know, I know, it's failure to perform menial tasks was likely my own damn fault. I'm fully aware of that. I don't give a toss though. It was time for a new piece of equipment... and soon to be known as a 'piece of shit', if it causes me ANY issues.

So, I'm looking forward to watching football matches and rugby union and maybe even a little cricket, so I can figure out WTF with THAT game. We shall see...

Silliness From a While Back

So, it was a Friday night. I was invited to this place by a pal whose cousin plays in a band who was 'opening' for some ska band that it was assumed I liked. I mean, they were Ok. I apprecicate a good effort no matter what, and they gave one. I wasn't about to buy anyone drinks though, you know?

Anyway, even though I've been accused of being a fashionista, and falsely, I might add, I'll still give a quick run-down of the gear (and this is all relevant to the point I'm gonna make, it's not just me being self-absorbed, well... not entirely). I was wearing -deep breath- an off white dress shirt, black slacks, and two-tone wing-tips... no homburg and no jacket cos it was well warm and humid here that night. Was I over-dressed? Very. I thought since it was a ska band that there would be this whole rude-boy vibe and all. No chance. I couldn't make out if it was goth or emo those in attendance were trying to emulate.

So, a couple of the ska band fellas came over to the bar, which I stayed close to since I was looking just a little bit out of place. I nod nicely and one kid says (and have you ever experienced such a thing?) 'Hey, I know you.' and for a fleeting moment it flashes through my head irrationally- 'I'm famous'. And then of course, it fades... and it's replaced by equally irrational suspicion.

So I'm there, 'Yeah?', and wondering, 'From where, you bastard?'. And he's there, 'Do you know Paul MUMBLE-JUMBLE?' (I say MUMBLE-JUMBLE cos he said some Eastern European name that I'd clearly NEVER heard before). Of course I have to say no, right? Then he asks if I used to be in SOMETHING Street Killers (SOMETHING, cos now I realize he has some speech impediment... and MUMBLE-JUMBLE might well have been a name like Jones or Smith for all I know). So, I'm thinking this is gang, yeah? Something Street Killers? And I realize it's a band...and THEN I realize he's genuinely hoping I was in the Something Street Killers.... and I say, 'Nah, bruv, not me.' And I wished I HAD played an instrument and only been in that band... cos he looked a little disappointed.

Mmmmmm... Well, point is, he likely wouldn't have mistaken me for someone else if I had been dressed like everyone else. Does that make ANY sense?

The Love of My Life.... A Long-Winded Analysis

So things were vaguely back to normal on the Arsenal front today. Back to league action, this time home to Bolton Wanderers, a club that a few years ago could raise my ire like no other, well... other than Man U, Chelsea, and of course, the scum (aka Tottenham Hotspur). I realized that no more do I harbor ill will towards the Trotters, and that the negativity stemmed from the presence of former manager Sam Allardyce, he of the headset and the 'innovative ideas' and the disgusting habit of smacking his chewing gum (with open mouth) for any available flavor that might be left over. Oh, he was/is a smug sort. Big Sam, or BS as I prefer to call him, was an annoying man, though much of the annoyance, for me, was due to the fact that he had a knack of making Arsenal look quite shite. If we had a bogey team, they were it.

Well, today was looking like more of the same. It was a twitchy affair and one in which I noticed the Arsenal finally looking like a team. They stayed patient and maintained focus and took the points late. Of course, Bolton had the bus and a jet airliner parked in front of goal and to exaggerate even more clichés, they had all 11, no 12... shit, they had the subs, the physio and yes, the tea lady all behind the ball. Ah, enough of those lame phrases! Even though I damn well used them, right?

Anyway, Bacary Sagna and Gael Clichy, who, by the way, are as fine a tandem of fullbacks to be found in the Prem, were firmly situated in the Bolton half throughout the first period... and on into the second period. It was striking. And of course, our fowards were not. Emmanuel Adebayor missed a sitter, or rather had one taken off his foot by a valiant Bolton defender and Robin van Persie struck the post. Kolo Touré had an effort from distance easily saved and things were looking rather bleak as we were ten minutes from the death and still stalled at nil-nil.

Nicklas Bendtner came on as a substitute and made an impression within seconds, rising high above the fray to nod a ball down, though right to Bolton keeper Jussi Jaskalainen's awaiting hands. (Obviously, I can't write about this bloke without mentioning his boots. This time the pink ones were stashed and he came out wearing a puke green pair. Thank you for the adjective, Renatta!.)



Another chance would come within minutes as a ball played deep into the area on the left by Clichy was met by van Persie who struck the ball first-touch, sending a low arching drive across the front of goal to the outstretched Bendtner who slid and met the ball firmly from about 3 yards out. It was a tight angle but Bendtner's aim was true and that was that. Three points in the bag after what was looking like another utterly dismaying performance.

Carlos Vela also came off the bench to provide some spark and it looks like he's developing nicely. The team seems to be gelling now. There really seems to be a certain cohesion. I considered whether many of the players, especially the younger ones, were getting carried away with the whole 'pretty football' thing. The idea of playing attractive football, which we all appreciate, might have been a sort of... added pressure. Like it's not enough to just win, you have to do it with style and perhaps when these players would find themselves against a club that was content to play for a scoreless draw and stifle proceedings, frustration would creep in, then desperation would set in as full-time approached. They seem patient now. There's a sense of determination in their demeanor, which is all the more striking as they displayed this with captain Cesc Fábregas out with injury. Oh, I still don't think we'll win the league, but this sure goes a long way to convincing me that we're on the right track for the future.

There's only one person to blame for it...

So, I always wanted to write, right? I had the yearning to express, to tell a tale, and to grab someone's imagination like mine had been so many times as I'd read a book or a story.

When I was 12 or 13, I used to write little adventures that my best mate used to read. They were serialized accounts of Old West shenanigans. They were inspired by my afternoon routine of watching old re-runs of 'Kung Fu', and influenced by my having recently read 'Roots' by Alex Haley. The general theme was freedom, as I look back. It wasn't political though. Hell no. It was a very general sense of getting out and being free. Maybe it seeped into my political views later, but at the time it was all about the open range, jail breaks, and adventure.

Later, I tried to write mysteries or tension-filled thrillers but I never had the patience or discipline to see them through. Not to mention that I had no idea where any of these tales were going! I'd introduce characters and then grow bored of them sharpish.

About 2 years ago, 'he' seemed to seek me out. It was on one of those late nights which I returned from a session with just enough of a buzz that it was absolutely imperative I not waste it by going to sleep. I scoff at that idea. It's not on as far as I'M concerned. Sleep? I can do that on a night when I'm sober. So, there I was sipping a bottle of Ken, headphones on, wanting to ease into a mellow state.... and there 'he' was, introducing me to another avenue, another way, another manner of expression, free, like the themes I wrote of in my youth... yeah... Free... of restraint or rules or restrictions on what was possible. I could get my point across any way I felt. Felt. Feeling... It was about feeling, what one felt. For the first time in my life, I realized that writing, as I learnt it, was not something to be guided by some handbook on how to force out some dire and tedious research paper. Writing was, and always has been, expression. It is art. Bob Dylan convinced me that my writing could very well qualify me as an artist.

That was scary as hell too. I wasn't sure what to make of it all. The pretention in the mere idea was enough to make me wary... of myself. It took a few days, but one afternoon, I grabbed a pen and a notepad and started riffing. Iraq, Cheney, Bush, this, that, ambiguous references and things I wasn't even sure I knew of. I ripped off his style on that first piece, and I let myself go, let my ideas and thoughts run wild, just as he had once done. I felt my way through, and whilst the result was dodgy at best, it was a start.

See? I knew, and still know, fuck all about poetry. And I am NOT a poet by any stretch. I refuse to use that label for myself now, and I never will in future. However, it slowly dawned on me that a lot of the literary devices that I deeply appreciated, like metaphor and ESPECIALLY allegory, were all firm components of this poetry thing that I was cautiously flirting with. It was welcoming me after our informal introduction by Dylan. And I, being raised with impeccable manners and a subtle, natural hospitality, did my best to accomodate and further work with this new aspect of my life. It took me a while to embrace it, and even still, I do so warily. So whenever I write a piece based on poetic principles or some random expression vaguely resembling what some might loosely call poetry, there's only one person to blame for it...

This guy...

Rancid and Odalys... Two words only I could combine in one blog

Sometimes a day drifts by with no identity. I've had more than a few of those. When I'm toiling and swearing to myself, I notice the hours look blandly identical. I yearn for new pastures on which to graze lazily... and on which to drink heartily, of course. I can't avoid that as much as I try, FFS. Regardless, there are always moments aren't there? I had a few earlier...

I had a re-acquaintance with one of my favorite CDs of all fuckin' time, 'Let's Go' by the Bay Area-based neo-old school punk band Rancid. What a companion for cheap beer THAT material is! Each track two minutes of sheer adrenaline... and yet each track maintaining an identity, as I return to a theme! Pretty amazing stuff, really. In this day and age when half-ass bands with some guitars are passed off as 'edgy', it's nice to know that a band like Rancid are still out there.

And then I was inspired by the mere and very brief view of Odalys García. I don't mean to sound sexist, but she is seriously something to behold and to be holding... Oh. My. God. The dimensions of her build almost bring tears to my eyes. And I don't toss remarks like that around loosely either. She has EARNED those dizzy moments I experience when I happen to gaze upon her... I don't even know if it's sexual anymore. Well, I mean, it IS, but I'm well past having simple dirty thoughts, innit? I'm to the point where I'm in complete awe. I'm left with little else but the opportunity to admire. In short, I ONLY fancy her, don't I?!

I'd write songs for her...

Fuckin' hell... I got carried away.

Touré, Gallas, and Other Majorly Distressing Issues

The big news for me on the Arsenal front was the rumor running rampant that 'King' Kolo Touré submitted a transfer request that was subsequently denied by our (yes, OUR) chairman, Peter Hill-Wood (PHW). The story goes that Kolo can't stand William Gallas and that Gallas can't stand him. Fair enough. I don't expect them to hang out and smoke cigarrettes together behind the equipment shed at the training facility, so the fact that they openly despise one another doesn't bother me at all either. They can still work together towards a common goal, which should be winning matches in the service of Arsenal Football Club. However, the confusing bit holds that Gallas has been bitching to Arsene Wenger (our manager) and apparently has AW's ear. Now, THIS I don't believe. Or at least I don't WANT to believe it. It makes little sense, especially after AW recently stripped Gallas of the captainship (captainship? is that a word?). My club is turning into a soap opera... and a poor one at that.

In regards to Gallas, I have mixed feelings towards him... always have, in fact. I was chuffed when he joined in exchange for Ashley Cole and rallied behind him even as the scurrilous accusations from Chelsea contended that he (Gallas) had threatened to score own goals until he was transferred. It made Chelsea, as a club, go down even FURTHER in my estimation and as such, made me welcome Gallas defiantly. Oh sure, he went into a strop at Birmingham and his leadership qualities were dodgy at best, however, he DID have some fine moments and scored some major goals against the likes of Liverpool and Man U. Having said that, I don't think he should EVER have been made captain and said so at the time. The armband should have been handed to Gilberto after Thierry Henry's departure and I've been adamant about that.

In viewing the wider picture and not going into hysterics week in and week out, I have to admit that Gallas has taken more than his share of the blame for the club's misfortunes. He's become a convenient scapegoat in my opinion. Should he move on in the January transfer window though? That's probably the most important aspect of it all at this point in time, and I think that yes, he should.

It's also been reported that Wenger has been offered upwards of 25 million Euro (I can't find the effing symbol for that currency!) to manage that scummy club, Real Madrid. I don't see any sense in taking that post. I doubt he'll have the sort of clout that he wields, and deserves, at Arsenal, and they'll probably sack him after a year like they do with everyone they hire. It would be unthinkable for me to have to deal with him moving over to that particular club. Disappointing would only scratch the surface.