Book Review: Rhapsody in Blue – How I Fell in Love with the Great Chelsea Team of the Early Seventies by Neil Fitzsimon

Chelsea Football Club were founded in 1905 playing their homes games at Stamford Bridge, which they still do, to this day. Up to the First World War, The Blues were very much a yo-yo club, as they bounced between the First and Second Division, but did make an FA Cup Final appearance in 1914/15 losing 3-0 at Old Trafford to Sheffield United. After the war and the resumption of football and up to the start of the Second World War, Chelsea continued to drift between the two divisions, leaving their best performances for the FA Cup as they appeared in a number of Semi-Finals.

It wasn’t until 1954/55 that the club made its mark in the English game, when they won the First Division title for the first time. However, it was not a success that The Blues built on and in 1961/62 they suffered relegation back to the Second Division, only to bounce straight back up the following season under Manager Tommy Docherty. It was to see the club have up to that period its best years, with players coming through the youth set-up and the League Cup won in 1964/65 after a 3-2 aggregate win over Leicester City. The club then also made it through to the 1966/67 FA Cup Final against Spurs, going down 2-1 to their London rivals. Docherty was sacked in 1967 heralding the start of the era under Dave Sexton, with Chelsea at the centre of the ‘swinging sixties’ with celebrity fans and the bars and clubs of the Kings Road the places to be.

Neil Fitzsimon’s book, Rhapsody in Blue – How I Fell in Love with the Great Chelsea Team of the Early Seventies, picks up the story of the Stamford Bridge club, as the author attends his first games in SW6 during the 1968/69 campaign and charts the success of the early 70s. In that period Chelsea won the FA Cup in 1969/70 after a replay against Leeds United and in the following season picked up the (now defunct) European Cup Winners Cup, also after a replay against Spanish giants, Real Madrid. The Blues made it to a third cup final in 1971/72 only to lose 2-1 to unfancied Stoke City in the League Cup. As the author details and believes, from that point the club suffered a decline that was only halted in the 1990s with the advent of the Premier League and the financial backing of Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich, that has subsequently brought unparalleled success to Chelsea.

Fitzsimon’s focus though is not only of that four or five year period back in the late 60s and early 70s at the Bridge and the stereotypical view of grim northern teams, but also of his formative years growing up into a young adult and the nostalgic days of playing football in the streets and on local pitches, Subbuteo football tournaments and of travelling to games with his mates. This is undoubtedly a tale of a time never to be repeated as money and the media has changed the professional game and the matchday ‘experience’ beyond recognition and for Fitzsimon’s the loss of the innocence of youth.

Stylistically, it is written in a very conversational and at time laddish manner, with vignettes of varying length covering from a football perspective, the highs and lows of the cup triumphs at Old Trafford, Athens and Wembley, other memorable games Fitzsimon attended, as well as his observations and memories of homelife, friendship and growing-up. There is a passion in the text that demonstrates and captures the love that fans have for their club, whether in the biased admiration of their own team or the sometimes illogical dislike of opposition teams. For those of a similar age to the author, so much of the book will ring true with their own experiences of the time and for younger readers it will give a view into a life and a sport that was different in so many ways to that of the current generation.

As an aside, is there a story behind the choice of title Rhapsody in Blue? The Oxford Dictionary definition states: a popular musical work for piano and orchestra by George Gershwin. It combines jazz and classical music and was first performed in 1924 by the band of Paul Whiteman, with Gershwin at the piano. The film ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ (1945) was about Gershwin’s life. Much is made that of the fact that football in the 70s was very physical, with every successful club having its ‘hardmen’, with Leeds United having, Norman Hunter, Peter Storey at Arsenal and Tommy Smith at Liverpool. Chelsea though were seen as a flare team, with Alan Hudson, and Peter Osgood, but the reality was that they had their share of those who could dish it out such as Ron ‘Chopper’ Harris and David Webb. The Blues were in fact a combination of the two styles of the 70s, as with the musical Rhapsody in Blue was described as a combination of jazz and classical. Coincidence? Given Fitzsimon’s background as a songwriter maybe it isn’t.

 

(Pitch Publishing Ltd. April 2020. Paperback 224pp)

 

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2019/20: An Incredible Journey. Match Day 8 – Saturday 31 August 2019: Scunthorpe United v Carlisle United

Matchday programme cover

The final Saturday in August sees me in Lincoln to visit my Mum for the weekend. Football wise, Sincil Bank, the home of Lincoln City is a ground I’ve been to umpteen times, in fact it is my second most visited stadium behind the Bridge. Just up the road from Lincoln is Scunthorpe, and the Sands Venue Stadium, (I have always known it as Glanford Park) the home of Scunthorpe United and it is the destination for my eighth match of this season. With Carlisle United the visitors it will be the second time in four days I have seen the Blues on the road – a hardcore Cumbrian fan!

I have a soft spot for Scunthorpe United. I’ve mentioned in earlier articles my dad’s trials at Chelsea and Arsenal, but whilst he was signed on for Arsenal, he was still in the Air Force and stationed in Lincolnshire. He signed part time terms with Scunthorpe United – I wish my dad had spoken more about his football career, too modest I suppose. I can’t find any evidence of him playing for the Iron but one of his stories was about the time he got called back to play full time for Arsenal, but he decided to stay in the Air Force as it paid better in those days. If he had played for Scunthorpe, he would have run out at the Old Showground, their previous home from 1860. As for Scunthorpe’s current ground (since 1988), it’s a nice touch, as with a number of new grounds, that its address is named after a former player, in this case Jack Brownsword, the Iron’s all-time appearance record holder, who played between 1947 and 1965 and would have been at the club the same time as my dad.

The Iron mascot – Scunny Bunny

Safely in my seat opposite from the main stand ahead of kick-off and with the teams warming up, the brilliantly named Iron mascot, Scunny Bunny, goes through its pre-match routine. Soon the teams are out with Scunthorpe in claret and light blue – apparently the design and colours are a tribute to when Sir Ian Botham played for the club – and Carlisle, who as in midweek, are in their change strip of, what their kit manufacturer Errea describe as After Eight – whatever has had happened to kit colours!

Iron pressure on the Carlisle goal

When the game gets underway, the Iron make the early running with good chances in the opening fifteen minutes. First, Yann Songo’o, has a header which is cleared off the line, and is quickly followed by a chance for Matthew Lund, but his shot ends up well over the bar. Abo Eisa then has a header which goes narrowly wide. Scunthorpe continue to dominate the first-half but can’t turn the pressure into goals, as decent chances come and go for George Miller, Andy Butler and Regan Slater. And as a result, at the break the game is goalless. The Iron were to rue their missed chances when on the hour mark, Ryan Loft, who had come on at the start of the second-half as a substitute for Carlisle finds himself with time and space to fire home at the near post. Scunthorpe though dig in and go in search of an equaliser but are susceptible to Carlisle on the counter-attack and are grateful to ‘keeper Rory Watson who is out quickly to thwart Harry McKirdy as he burst through midway through the second period. As the game goes on, Scunthorpe continue to push and think they have levelled from a Matty Lund goal-bound header, only for Adam Collin to produce a spectacular save. The Iron continue to hammer away at the visitors goal, but at the whistle it is the visitors Carlisle who take the points with a 1-0 win.

 

Saturday 31 August 2019

Sky Bet League Two

Scunthorpe United 0 Carlisle United 1 (Loft 60’)

Venue: Sands Venue Stadium

Attendance: 3,359

Scunthorpe United: Watson, Clarke, Lund, Songo’o, Butler (McGahey 63’), Gilliead (Colclough 73’), McArdle, Slater (McAtee 85’), Brown, Miller, Eisa

Unused Substitutes: Eastwood, van Veen, O’Malley, McAtee, Dawson.

Carlisle United: Collin, Elliott, Iredale, Carroll (Sagaf 56’), Thomas, Jones, McKirdy (Hope 79’), Webster, Bridge, Knight-Percival, Sorensen (Loft 45’)

Unused Substitutes: Gray, Mellish, Charters, Branthwaite.

 

Steve Blightom

2019/20: An Incredible Journey. Match Day 1 – Wednesday 24th July 2019: Hearts v Stenhousemuir

Cover of match programme

I have always been a Chelsea fan since that fateful day in August 1969 when I saw my first ‘live’ game, although previous to that I had occasionally seen them on the tv, but back in the day there weren’t the limitless channels showing football from around the globe. Match of the Day was well past my bedtime, so it was the Big Match on a Sunday afternoon for me, and fortunately we lived down south which tended to have a southern First Division match as the featured game, so often giving me my fix of watching my beloved Blues.

With my Dad being in the Air Force we moved around a bit, so I have always followed the teams local to where he was stationed. As a result, I have a soft spot for the Italian club Napoli, from when we lived there in the mid to late 1960s and my Dad used to go to watch Gli Azzurri from time to time. Half of our family were Chelsea fans and the other half were Fulham fans, and we used to go to alternate matches from time to time – if Chelsea were at home, Fulham were away and vice versa. So Fulham are another team I have a soft spot for too, despite the West London clubs being viewed as rivals. I also lived in Lincoln for 10 years and went to watch the Imps regularly in my teens, and now my home is Huddersfield, so have adopted the Terriers too. So these are “my” teams and I was determined to see each of these this season.

If you’re around my age you will probably have a Scottish team as well as your own team, unless of course your first team is Scottish and then you’ll probably have an English team! Whilst I was at school everybody chose either Celtic or Rangers, however, always wanting to be different I looked at the Scottish league tables and right down the bottom were Stenhousemuir, nicknamed Stenny or the Warriors – interesting name I thought. I read up about them a bit and their history, when without the luxury of the internet, research was done down at the local library and so Stenny became my Scottish team.

Why this story? Well, during my summer holidays in 2019 with my daughter we were up in Scotland, doing a bit of a tour and we ended up near Edinburgh and fortunately Stenhousemuir were in town too at Hearts. So we did a bit of shopping and sightseeing in Edinburgh during the day and made our way to Tynecastle for the evening kick off. On our way to the ground we got talking to a couple of young brothers who were also going to the game and had a really good chat about Scottish football in general, and discovered they also watched Edinburgh City who play in the lower echelons of the Scottish pyramid.

View towards Roseburn Stand and Stenny fans.

The ground wasn’t fully open, as it was a Wednesday night in July and a group game in the early stages of the Scottish League Cup, so hardly one to pull in the punters. Our seats were perched on high in the Gorgie Family Stand with the 100 diehard Stenny fans stationed at the opposite end of the ground. As you’d expect between a top tier and fourth tier team, Hearts were dominant from the start. However, incredibly Stenny made it to half-time with the game goalless. Into the second-half and it was more of the same pressure from Hearts with the Stenhousemuir ‘keeper, Graeme Smith, proving to be the Man of the Match. At one point he pulled off a stunning triple point blank save in the second period to thwart the Hearts attackers. The game was played entirely in the Stenny half, and more dangerously in an around the box. But wait….the Warriors breakaway and Mark McGuigan scores with just thirteen minutes remaining in the game, Hearts of Midlothian 0 Stenhousemuir 1. It was now sitting on hands time as there are a lot of very irate Hearts fans around us, but it was easy to spot the Stenny fan in the stand! Was a cup upset on the cards?

Sun sets as cup upset fades

It wasn’t to be, and Hearts eventually broke the Warriors rear-guard action levelling on eighty-two minutes from Craig Halkett. With Stenny hanging on, disaster struck as with just three minutes remaining, Halkett got his and Hearts second to clinch a 2-1 win for the home team.

Despite the result it was a decent game, Stenny had battled hard, and having seen them on a number of occasions previously, the final result wasn’t a surprise. No complaints though, but a good game to start the season off.

Wednesday 24th July 2019

Betfred Cup Section A

Hearts of Midlothian 2 (Halkett 82’, 87’) Stenhousemuir 1 (McGuigan 77’)

Venue: Tynecastle Park

Attendance: 7,299

Hearts: Zlamal, M.Smith, Souttar, Bozanic, Clare; Washington (Keena 59), Walker, MacLean (Ikpeazu 55′), McDonald (Mulraney 55′), Halkett, Hickey

Unused substitutes: Doyle. White, Dikamona, Irving

Stenhousemuir: G.Smith, McIlduff, McKernon (Watters 83′), Marsh, McGuigan, Hopkirk, Cook, McLaughlin. M Munro (Halleran 63′), Scullion (Andreson 90′). A Munro

Unused substitutes: Marley, Luke, Daramola

 

Steve Blighton

2019/20: An Incredible Journey – In the beginning by Steve Blighton

Saturday 16th August 1969, my Dad, Uncle Jim, and me walking down the Kings Road – the 6 year old me staring agog at the huge amounts of men and boys around me all moving in one direction.

The smell of fried onions and a hint of burgers fills the air as I rush to keep up with my Dad and Uncle that Saturday afternoon around 2.30pm, after walking from my Nan’s house along Lots Road, stopping off for a coke en-route in a smoke filled pub.

Chelsea versus Ipswich Town, the first home game of the 1969/70 First Division campaign, started my football journey that season beginning at Stamford Bridge and culminated nine months later, being allowed to stay up late to watch what has since become billed as ‘the most brutal game of football’. Wednesday night 29th April 1970, Chelsea versus Leeds United in the FA Cup final replay at Old Trafford – they don’t make them like that anymore. And then after the brutality came the beauty of the 1970 World Cup and that amazing Brazil team. I was now hooked on the game!

Like most boys, and pretty much throughout their lives, their Dad is their hero, and my Dad was mine. He had taken me to my first ever game of football and would continue to do so on many occasions. I loved going to football with my Dad which we did throughout my life, and my last memory of him was watching Chelsea demolish Tottenham Hotspur 4-0 on Sunday 8th March 2014 – 4 days later he died in his sleep.

Some of dad’s medals (front view)
Some of dad’s medals (back view)

My Dad was quite a good footballer himself. He had trials at Chelsea, which I only ever found out after he died. He was rejected by the Blues because his heading was weak. However, he got signed by Arsenal but decided to stay part-time and remain in the Air Force. He was stationed in Lincolnshire and spent some time at Scunthorpe United and was good enough to play Representative football for the Air Force. During that time he was dedicated enough to change his preferred foot. He was a right-half and his competition at the time was an amateur international, so he taught himself to kick with his left foot and a new career as a left-half was born.

So in honour of his memory I decided I would attempt to get to 50 games during the 2019/20 season – homage to my first game with my dad fifty years ago. My original criteria was that I would go to games at grounds of teams that had either been a full member of the Football League (or phoenix club) or had won the FA Cup. However, as the season progressed, I revised my criteria as it was obvious, I wouldn’t reach my goal that way, so I lowered the net to include games as far down the football pyramid as Step 10. For those unfamiliar with the pyramid, the Premier League is Step 1, the Championship is Step 2 and so on. Step 10 is the North West Counties League Division One North and is where AFC Darwen ply their trade. I got to see Darwen on my journey, who are the current incarnation of the club that played in the Football League from 1891 to 1899, with the original Darwen FC featured recently in the excellent Netflix series, The English Game.

However, the story of that trip to Lancashire and the wonderfully named, Anchor Ground, is for another time. So let’s go back to where this all started with the match details of that Saturday in August 1969.

First Division

Chelsea 1 (Hutchinson 74’) Ipswich Town 0

Venue: Stamford Bridge

Attendance: 29,613

Chelsea: Bonetti, Dempsey, Houston, McCreadie, Hinton, Cooke, Hollins, Houseman, Hutchinson, Baldwin (Osgood), Tambling

Ipswich Town: Best, Carroll, Mills, Morris, Baxter, Jefferson, Woods, Viljoen, Wigg, O’Rourke, Brogan. Substitute: McNeil

So the journey begins

Love you Dad x

Book Review: Clive Allen – Up Front with James Olley

A career in football is hard enough to achieve on your own, but when you are from a football family, then the pressure must be immense. For Clive Allen, that must have been monumental, with his father, Les, part of the Tottenham Hotspur’s team that did the ‘double’ in winning the First Division title and FA Cup in 1960/61, and a younger brother, Bradley and two cousins, Martin and Paul, who also went on to have professional careers in the game.

Clive though played for 17 years at home and abroad, scoring 49 goals in all competitions during the 1986/87 campaign and as a result claimed both the Professional Footballers’ Association Men’s Players’ Player of the Year and Football Writers’ Association Footballer of the Year, earned five senior caps for England and finished with a scoring ratio of a goal in every two games.

And in Up Front, the majority of the book looks at this journey from his professional playing days as a teenager at QPR, chronologically following his career, including his Million Pound transfer to Arsenal (where he failed to make a first-team appearance), taking in his time at Crystal Palace, a second spell at QPR, Spurs, Bordeaux, Manchester City, Chelsea, West Ham United, Millwall and Carlisle United. Also, included is his time coaching at Spurs and stepping in as caretaker manager at White Hart Lane in both 2007 and 2008, his media career and his single season as a kicker in American Football (NFL Europe) for the London Monarchs in 1997. As such these are fairly traditional biographical content, but make interesting reading, nonetheless, with some honest opinions of certain situations and characters he came across in his football life.

Indeed, the title Up Front seems an apt choice working as it does on two levels. Firstly reflecting Clive Allen’s playing position, leading the line as a forward, and secondly in the phrases definition of someone who is ‘up front’ in being, bold, honest, and frank.

These qualities come to the fore and where the book shows real insight is with respect to Allen’s relationship with his famous father Les. Indeed, the book begins and ends with the pair being presented to the Spurs faithful as part of the celebrations to mark the final fixture at the ‘old’ White Hart Lane and leaves the reader in no doubt as to the significance of Clive’s view of his father, “I’m grateful for his guidance but pained by his parenting.” This seems to pervade the book, with the regret and the damage their uneasy relationship has caused, always appearing to be there under the surface. Further, James Olley who worked with Allen on this book, is able to extract a real sense of the much-travelled ex-strikers character, a man who hated losing, typified by the bust-up Allen had with Arsene Wenger and which appears not to have been resolved to this day, and despite all his success, still wonders ‘what might have been’ if he had scored on his England debut. In some ways the book is an interesting for what it implies and doesn’t say, as that which it does.

(deCoubertin Books, October 2019. Hardcover 300pp)

 

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Book Review: Red Card Roy: Sex, booze and early baths – the life of Britain’s wildest-ever footballer by Roy McDonough with Bernie Friend

If ever there was a book which delivered based on its title, then this is it. As the Ronseal advert of the 1990’s famously proclaimed, “it does what it says on the tin.”

This rumbustious roller-caster of a story is without doubt a page turner and details the career of Roy McDonough who was good enough to score in the top-flight for Birmingham City, but then found himself careering around the lower professional ranks with clubs including Cambridge United, Colchester United, Exeter City, Southend United and Walsall.

One of the overriding observations as a reader and which McDonough discusses in the Epilogue, is how different his career could have been, with a number of key incidents shaping the eventual path of his years in the game.

At sixteen and on the books of Aston Villa, McDonough received a six month ban from the game after assaulting the referee, effectively ending his association with the Villa Park club. However, he was taken on by Birmingham City and after signing professionally made a couple of appearances at the end of the 1976/77 season, scoring in the final day of the campaign at QPR. His expected progression into a first-team regular in the following season never materialised and frustrated by the lack of opportunities moves onto Walsall, just as the striking pair at Birmingham are injured which would have seen McDonough back playing in the First Division.

The growing resentment and frustration at having missed out on playing in the top-flight and an unhappy season at Chelsea after leaving Walsall, saw McDonough increasingly seek comfort in ‘booze and birds’ and characterised his playing career as he had spells with Southend United (twice), Colchester United (twice), Exeter City and Cambridge United. Despite the excesses of his social life, McDonough comes across as a player who gave nothing less than 100% when crossing the white line, gaining cult status at Roots Hall and Layer Road and indeed had success earning promotions with Walsall and Southend United as a player and promotion and an FA Trophy win at Wembley with Colchester United as player-manager.

McDonough was undoubtedly a centre-forward and occasional centre-half in the old style of somebody who put themselves about and his physical approach to the game led to his record number of 22 red cards. As on the pitch, this book pulls no punches and reputations of some of the biggest names in football are scattered to the winds. For example, in his career McDonough was managed by Sir Alf Ramsey (at Birmingham City), Sir Geoff Hurst (at Chelsea) and Bobby Moore (at Southend United), yet it is only the England skipper Moore who emerges with any real respect.

This is a book written in the language of the dressing room so if you are looking for a read that is PC then this particular story isn’t for you. Ultimately, it is a tale of a player and a game from a different era and is about as far away from the sanitised product that is the Premier League as you can get.

 

 

 

 

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Book Review: Written In The Stars by Richard Stokoe

Every now and again a book comes along which wonderfully describes the idiosyncrasies and experiences associated with being a football fan – Written In The Stars by Richard Stokoe fits into that category.

From the moment the reader learns that the five-year old Stokoe became a Manchester United fan based on the fact he possessed a Subbuteo team featuring the colours of the Old Trafford club, you know this is going to be one enjoyable yet eccentric journey.

Stokoe uses a diary style format covering the period from 1975 to 2012 to look at his attachment to the game of football in general and in particular his relationship with three clubs – Manchester United, Chelsea and Wimbledon FC/AFC Wimbledon.

Whilst the book does follow a chronological timeline, Stokoe also on occasions drifts back and forwards in time in a cinematic manner. In essence this device is used to provide a sequence of events and outcomes that meets the authors desire to find a ‘happy ending’ to key games, rather than reality.

Indeed the filmic theme is extended to the clubs’ in Stokoe’s life, with Chelsea, cast as “the faithful, enigmatic wife”, Manchester United, “the jilted ex-lover” and Wimbledon FC/AFC Wimbledon, “the quirky down-trodden mistress”. This is translated in the book by Stokoe’s narrative on his early following of United, which is broken by a visit to Stamford Bridge in September 1984 and thereby starting his love affair with Chelsea that to this day survives, despite his brief flirtations with The Dons.

What is interesting is that Stokoe is open from the start in stating that despite not being a fan who attends games week-in, week-out at Stamford Bridge, he is one of many, “who are still adversely affected by the outcome of a game that they’ve chosen to avoid.” It is a fair point, since today satellite television, clubs’ own channels and the written and social media allow fans to watch and consume everything about their team without ever setting foot in the ground. This globalisation of the sport through modern technology has changed the fan experience and Stokoe successfully makes a case in this book that this new way to connect is still an emotionally engaging and demanding experience.

Overall, the book effectively captures so much of what it is to be football fan – positive and negative – whether this be match-day habits and superstitions, the feeling of dread at watching our team or the inevitability and fatalistic outcomes brought on by certain games and opponents. This idea of fate is reinforced through the title of the book, taken from Gary Neville’s commentary during the Second-leg of Chelsea’s Champions League Semi-final against Barcelona in 2012, and the destiny that sometimes besets our football experience as fans.

For all that is presented and maybe perceived as irrational thinking, behaviour or reaction by Stokoe the fan, the book itself is wonderfully and logically constructed, with links to relevant events and circumstances providing a strong connection throughout, with a good dose of humour thrown in for good measure.

Undoubtedly this book will appeal to Chelsea fans, but in reality has as a wider attraction for football fans in general, and in addition those who don’t follow or understand the game, yet have to endure the ups and downs of friends and family who do.

 

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Book Review: Jose Mourinho – Fifty Defining Fixtures by Tony Matthews

Defining: decisive; critically important

Why have I started with a definition of defining? Well, because that is what the book through its title is setting out to achieve and therefore should deliver to the reader.

So does this book detail the fifty critically important fixtures of Jose Mourinho’s career to date?

You could argue that to make any such selection is always going to be difficult, since it is highly subjective and therefore open to debate. However, Tony Matthews doesn’t help himself on a number of counts.

You can accept that selecting games where trophies are won and lost as being decisive, but there are a number of others included which are curious to say the least. Amongst these are a routine 4-0 win over West Bromwich Albion in the Premier League at the start of the 2004/05 season and a charity game in which Mourinho managed a Rest of the World XI of ex-players and celebrities.

Even for those games which can be seen as significant, Matthews fails to provide any real detail or reasoning as to why the game was defining in the career of Mourinho and therefore included in this book. Instead, the reader gets a series of match summaries which are okay as far as they go.

It was strange too that the three seasons “The Special One” spent in Spain are afforded just three games, given the controversy Mourinho created during his spell in charge at Real Madrid.

A final disappointing aspect of this book is that Mourinho’s record and quotes are included straight after England XI v Rest of the World XI report, rather than placed as an appendix.

Throw in a typo on page 132 which details an aggregate score for a Premier League fixture and this is a disappointing read, which doesn’t deliver on any level.

 

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FIFA World Cup 2014 – Wednesday 25 June 2014

The morning after the night before…

Should we just ignore it? Should we not bring anymore focus on the incident? It’s happened, so let’s move on…

If only it was that simple.

As a parent, I would have been mortified if my son had bitten another child at nursery school and I would have made sure it only happened the once. When a 27 year old man does it for a third time, there is something pretty seriously wrong and it can’t be ignored.

For those not familiar with the other incidents, here goes:

  1. November 2010: Whilst playing for Ajax Suarez bites PSV’s Otman Bakkal on the shoulder and is subsequently banned for seven games.
  2. April 2013: During the Liverpool v Chelsea game Suarez bites Branislav Ivanovic and receives a ten game ban.

Throw-in the racist incident with Patrice Evra and his penchant for diving and the character assassination is complete.

What would I like to see happen? Well for a start Suarez needs to seek some professional help as he has some behavioural issues. FIFA should ban him for a season and Uruguay should lose the points from the victory over Italy. In addition, Liverpool should terminate his contract.

But this is football we are talking about which is as morally corrupt as the organisation that runs it.

What has been an enjoyable World Cup so far, has been marred.

2011/12: FA Cup Final – Liverpool v Chelsea

It’s difficult to know what to make of the game on Saturday. As I sat watching the action at Wembley at home, my head said ‘yes, it’s the FA Cup Final’, but my heart said ‘it’s just another game’. The sheer volume of live football and the fact that I simply tuned in just 10 minutes before kick-off, meant there was nothing ‘special’ about watching the game. Where has the magic gone? Are those memories of Cup Finals past clouded by nostalgia? My take on the reasons for this are detailed in my other pieces about the Final, but as the game started, I was distinctly underwhelmed by the whole occasion.

Of the action. Well, Liverpool gave a damn fine impression of a dormouse for an hour, as Chelsea rarely seemed to need to get out of first gear. However, that was still enough to give the Londoners a 2-0 lead early in the second half. Ramires fired Chelsea ahead on 11 minutes, as Pepe Reina gambled on the path of the shot and was made to look silly as he watched the ball beat him at the post. On 52 minutes the Blues doubled their advantage as Didier Drogba scored a record breaking fourth FA Cup Final goal, squeezing a shot across Reina. Kenny Dalglish responded by bringing on Andy Carroll on 55 minutes and at last Liverpool woke from their slumber. The ex-Newcastle striker finished powerfully on 64 minutes and suddenly there was some urgency in the game. The last half hour definitely belonged to the Reds, but for all their possession, they only created one real chance of note. With 82 minutes on the clock, Carroll headed goal-ward, however Chelsea custodian Cech produced a stunning save, clawing the ball up onto the crossbar and out. Liverpool claimed a goal, but it wasn’t given, with television replays showing the whole ball had not crossed the line. Time-added on came and went and Chelsea had claimed victory. Gabriel Clarke tried manfully to breath some life into the post-match interviews in asking the protagonists about whether it was a goal or not, and was greeted by the expected responses according to whether the player was Red or Blue. And before the confetti had even chance to settle on the Wembley turf, the commentary team was busy telling the viewers about the upcoming Champions League Final.

Whilst ITV was quick to try and pack away this seasons Cup Final, I then remembered that first FA Cup tie for me at Hemsworth back in August last year. Funny how football throws up some little coincidences. It was 2-1 that day too, but I know which I enjoyed more…