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21.03.2014, admin  
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The eve of an international tournament and England fans, pundits and pretty much anyone who watched last night and cares is pondering the Midfield Problem™. If there’s one thing England football is head and shoulders above the rest of the world in, it’s failing to learn from previous mistakes. Having been genuinely excited about England’s prospects in Euro 2016 (I know, but I’m not a football fan because I like the sober dissemination of sport, I’m a football fan because it’s the one area of my life I’m allowed to be irrational and partisan) I’m now feeling the dull weight of inevitability making itself comfortable on my chest for the next three or four weeks. I was accused of having an agenda when I tweeted that I felt England’s performance lifted when Wayne was brought off. The Football Ramble is one of the UK’s most-loved football podcasts and releases a new show every Tuesday. They’re the people who play FIFA 16 on Legend setting and can do more than six kick ups without looking like Raheem Sterling on a treadmill.
Last Friday, Nike very generously invited most of the Ramble Man Crush: Vintage Edition targets to an exhibition in Milan to celebrate the release of their latest Mercurial Boot. It’s a story that has been dramatised to the point where, through sheer repetition of first hand observations alone, images of sunny skies and green, green grass, of hope, excitement and expectation, can feel like tropes. In ‘And the Sun Shines Now’ though, those details bind together to emulate the disquiet and rising panic felt by the fans as the minutes to kick off ticked by and their hearts struggled to beat in the gradually dwindling spaces that were their chests. At one point, during Adrian Tempany’s visceral, vivid description of what it felt like to be in the Leppings Lane pens, I realised I was holding my breath. This book, which the author explains was pitched in 2011 but postponed until the second inquest returned its findings, seeks to add color and shape to the period leading up to 15th April 1989 and the aftermath, via personal experience and interviews with those closely involved. What happened at Hillsborough wasn’t the result of an isolated series of events but a mentality that pervaded every corner of Great Britain during the Thatcher era, and Tempany uses these conceits and failings as materials to paint an ugly picture of this country’s history which leaves the reader in no doubt that the deaths of 96 people were more to do with politics than they ever were with sport. If you love football, if you like it, or have ever been in a pub while an England game was on, read this book.
Not the version of history written by the winners, the authorities or the rich who love the financial potential of the football industry and have somehow confused that with a love of the game. We owe it to them, and all the other people in this country who have lost lives or loved ones because the people tasked with protecting them not only failed to do their jobs, but lied to protect themselves afterwards. But this is the Ramble and within fifteen minutes of the Most Lucrative Game in the World kicking off, I was already questioning the wisdom of relying on slightly inebriated, highly nervous Sheffield Wednesday fan Fuzz Caminski, who watching the game in the Worksop branch of Hungry Horse.
Then Mohamed Diame scored in the 72nd minute, Fuzz went AWOL (or OWL, if you prefer), Steve Bruce got as close to Alan Pardew’s touchline dance as a man of his build can and it was over. A big congratulations to Barnsley, whose promotion would have gathered a lot more attention had Leicester City not hoovered up all the headlines. As you would have heard on the Ramble episode Beep Alan beep Pardew, listeners now have a chance to listen to The Football Ramble without adverts, by paying ?1.99 per month through the acast app and selecting acast+.
Head over to the iTunes store (or equivalent) and download acast and for that monthly sum, with no minimum term (meaning you can cancel at any time), by upgrading to acast+ you’ll never hear another advert on a new Football Ramble show again. In the future, acast+ listeners will generally receive access to the specials first, but we’ll endeavour to get them up in good time, every month, on iTunes and Paypal also. They wheeled a Real Madrid emblazoned chariot up behind the Cibeles fountain in Madrid and made it look like Sergio Ramos was being carried into town upon it like some glorious conqueror. We thought the worst that could happen was Fernando would cry and we’d be ‘treated’ to another look at Cristiano’s beautifully turned oak abs. There’s far too much money at the top level of football for celebratory options to be restricted in such a miserly manner. And yet while Atletico are by no means poverty stricken, virtually every neutral was rooting for Simeone to lead his band of unpolished diamonds to a glorious victory, with just enough revenge stirred in to make it spicy.

Congratulations to Jose Mourinho, who has been confirmed as the new manager of Manchester United this morning. It’s a dream come true for Mourinho, who has reportedly been lobbying for the position since Sir Alex Ferguson retired back in May 2013. According to publicly available documents on the Companies House website, Mou was appointed director of Crimson Dream Ltd on 1st July 2013; a month after he returned to Chelsea. It’s that time of year when television companies set about distracting us from the quality of their punditry using graphics. Check out his player biographies and tell me your viewing experience wouldn’t be enhanced by seeing players hold up bits of paper with these career summaries scrawled on them. With the bleak prospect of several weeks sans domestic football stretching out ahead of us, I made it my business to watch as much as possible over the weekend.
A reasonably entertaining game concluding with a lovely winner from a Warrington lad, a shirt removal and a sacking was the best we could expect from a Cup Final prior to Twitter.
Now we all watch it with our phones in our hands, discussion points are not limited on pitch activity. If only Hibs fans had confined their joy and merriment to the festooned corridors of social media, eh? As if to offer hope for survival over the summer, England popped their heads over the parapet on Sunday for a warm-up vs. They’re outlandishly expensive, utterly useless in a Sunday league combat situation and liable to get you beaten up if you deviate into the high collar pink zone. And yet, somehow, a small proportion of the general public get inappropriately excited every time an extremely wealthy sportswear manufacturer drops a new iteration of plastic foot cover.
Although the Premier League is the Most Envied league in the world, it turns out that other, inferior leagues, do brilliant things that we ought to steal.
This includes (but is in no way limited to) the annual post season washing of the Bronze Horseman statue in St Petersburg, which this year was given a bit of a rinse by former Spurs and Chelsea manager Andre Villas-Boas this week. The European City of Culture Award is but a misunderstanding over a Sports Direct logo away.
Our friends over at Copa 90 have made this video of Real Gothic; the football team comprised entirely of Goths that emerges from the Whitby Goth Weekend twice a year to terrorise the neighbourhood with flagrant breaches of eyeliner law. If you know anything about Goths (I used to be one, Level Three Crushed Velvet) and their predilections for scuttling beneath shop awnings to avoid sunlight and winkle pickers, you might be surprised to see them running round a field doing sport, but as this video shows, they’re as capable of a cheeky half volley from outside the penalty area as the next gang of Sunday League incompetents. After a season spent challenging the mighty Cheltenham Town (hometown club, yo) for automatic promotion, Forest Green Rovers lost the National League play-off to Grimsby on Sunday and, according to local news reports, are consoling themselves with Greggs pasties. This alone would be sufficient to attract our attention, but there’s a picture of Ramble Hall of Famer Big Jon Parkin tucking into a hefty pastry based snack outside a branch of the aforementioned snack food emporium. Are we destined to forever be burdened with this wearisome conversation; the players faces changing but the ineptitude with which they carry out their duties in unfamiliar roles dully predictable?
We can blame Roy Hodgson for the turgid display that unfolded during the first seventy minutes of England vs. When does the habit of playing top class footballers out of position and seeing them fail stop being a conceit of a particular regime and start being a malaise that filters down through generations of players like some depressing, disabling genetic condition? For the first time in years we have a squad capable of magic, but yet again, I’m sitting here, eight days ahead of a competitive international tournament kick-off and feeling depressed because the possibility of getting out of the group seems less certain than ever. The hopes and dreams it represents, as you realise the rare golden trine of tournament football is almost upon you once more: three games a day, every day. It needs to be accessible for filling in the scores, so newbies, please bear this in mind because if your writing in the first round is poor, you’ll have to get another wallchart (see steps 1 and 3).

Fill in the results carefully, ensuring you use a pen that doesn’t bleed, tear the paper or otherwise compromise the integrity of the wallchart. Either because your national team are rubs yet again or because you simply can’t be bothered to do the maths when it gets complicated. Elliot Quince has made and illustrated his own wall chart and you can get one for just ten quid plus postage, with all proceeds going to Luton and Dunstable Hospital Neonatal and Intensive Care Unit.
Telly on, sofa snack set up complete, correspondent preparing to report live from the second best place to watch the game (his words, not mine).
Hull City dominated the first hour of the game to such an extent that I was able to focus my tight, incisive game commentary to observations about an inflatable ray being waved by the Sheffield Wednesday fans. Whether he’ll have the strength and motivation to fight for promotion again next season after this crushing blow remains uncertain. Bottom of League One in December, the Tykes are unbeaten since 9th April and carried out their play off promotions duties with relative ease on the day, defeating Neil Harris’s team comfortably.
That for weeks, wildly overworked employees of the Real Madrid organisation have been making phone calls to trade suppliers, craftsmen and town planning officials, enquiring about the costs and requirements of building a Real Madrid sponsored chariot, transportation on a tight schedule and what the potential fines would be should the notoriously ham fisted Ramos drop the trophy and accidentally smash the nose off the Phrygian goddess after which the fountain is named. Choice is for losers, and so we are treated to the full works, culminating in an undignified glimpse into what happens when people and organisations have too much money and a coterie of eager facilitators just standing around waiting to fulfil their every sordid whim.
Real Madrid have their Unadecima, a British player has just picked up his second Champions League trophy in three years and one of the greatest players the world has ever seen led them to it.
Rooting for Fernando Torres to score the winner in extra time, despite having barely had a passing acquaintance with the ball all game. And as I stare at The Ramos, grinning gormlessly at me from his prefabricated cart, so am I.
This is how Alan Pardew ended up trending above Jesse Lingard, despite the latter’s 110th minute heroics.
Having set the precedent for horse bothering some time ago, Newcastle are the best placed to spend the next twelve months erecting a statue of the horse it punched, then get promoted and have Rafa winched up to give it a wash.
Which could lead to all manner of joyful misunderstandings were Pards to take a trip up the M1. Portugal (he made that much easier for us by remaining stubbornly positive throughout Gabriel Clarke’s post match interview) but what’s the point when the same problem has been manifesting itself since the halcyon days of Sven?
The creativity and willingness to make something of second balls, to run at players, to counter using the club connections honed and perfected over an incredible PL season. By the people who lived through the moments that were a catalyst for the dramatic transformation of football that resulted in the cash rich, inaccessible spectacle it is today. Each of these is worthy of wild applause on its own, but put that together with the honour of watching Cristiano perform in his pomp week in week out and we should consider ourselves blessed to be alive to witness it. Is there any possibility we can get football reduced to a theoretical state, thus minimising the possibility of embarrassment for everyone?
Who were able, by blind luck, serendipity or sheer force of will to escape first the cages of the Leppings Lane end, only to be immediately confined in different ones marked ‘scum’ ‘hooligan’ and ‘drunk’ for the next 27 years.

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