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Author: admin, 04.10.2014. Category: Small Goals 2016

Captain Bill Smith sent this photo to the office recently, of what he said was a Stanford White home in the Village of Dering Harbor. Linda Springer was the first to call in, identifying both coaches as Bill McGonegal on the left and Southold teacher Frank Arnold on the right.
Jenn McGonegal Wissemann didn’t have any trouble recognizing her dad, Bill McGonegal, and her “little brother Larry — now 34 years old, married with two boys and a stockbroker in Manhattan,” who is third from the left in front. Eileen Oehl had some answers about this photo last week but we also heard from John Evans — too late for that week’s Reporter.  He thinks the second little girl from the left was Claire Evans, not Ursula Liff’s sister. Yes, they were defensive and, at times, aggressive in the tackle, but Hannes Halldorsson alone deserves huge praise for his efforts in goal, while the forward players made as much of the possibilities they created as could reasonably be expected. The Football Ramble is one of the UK’s most-loved football podcasts and releases a new show every Tuesday. Are you a) more likely to go and see Jeff Goldblum in Independence Day: Resurgence after sitting through this hideous and ill advised ad, or b) contemplating the life choices that led you to the point where you just watched it? Let’s acknowledge the former because we have to while lauding the latter because we want to, yeah? Having recovered from an opening ceremony designed to lull the viewer into believing they were about to be immersed in foam and hugged tightly by a dribbling man, the hosts kicked off the tournament and spent the next hour struggling to translate their fluency onto the pitch. The sheer weight of talent in the front line weighed heavy on the likes of Pogba, Griezmann and Kante and Romania were quick to respond when Giroud eventually bundled in from Dimitri Payet’s cross. After Gareth Bale scored the opener in this game, I posited on Twitter (I was a bit overexcited, but still) that no one would be talking about his attempts to redeploy his hair in different positions to cover a possible bald patch. I was obviously wrong, but am going to retain the higher ground on behalf of football joy by claiming that the above picture is still the best thing I’ve seen in the tournament so far.
We moan a lot here in England, some of us are open to the offer a punch up and there are always pundits and papers willing to take an oppositional stance to stand out from the crowd.
While we’re on the subject of national pride and inclusivity, as anyone heard from Alexander Gauland since Jerome Boateng did this?
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.
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. It was a beautiful black house that always had many pots and window boxes of red geraniums on its patios, decks, etc.” He believes that it became the site of Rachel Carpenter’s pool hall on the Mostly Hall estate and is now a new owner’s guest house.
Brian Springer is the serious fellow, third from the left in the back row, and the tall All Star in the very back is Cori Cass.
Jenn said her dad was very active in CYO and Little League in Southold — “He loved volunteering his time with the kids,” she said. The serious girl on the white horse was not a Hampshire Farms rider, he said, but maybe from Sagaponack or the North Fork, taking part in an off-Island show about 20 years ago..
And even if it was, his muscle mass and flexibility on the pitch imply he’d be more than capable of making it.
It’s odd to me how someone so acutely aware of his public image, an athlete so obviously in control of every single aspect of his training, diet and lifestyle, should be so classless. Could Crisps’ dismissal of Iceland possibly be a tactic to deflect attention from his own laboured, and at times average, performance? From what I know of the man, he’d take that any day over criticism of his performance.
Who’d have thunk that would have been a legitimate sentence after the Portugal game?! Something that frequently gets buried beneath cynicism and ignorance is our willingness to throw ourselves behind our team when they show the kind of desire they did on the pitch in Marseille.
Not the exclusion, fear of difference, paranoia and aggression that certain sections of this country parade on Twitter in the mistaken belief that they’re defenders of our nation. But then, everyone in Germany is too busy trying to find Boateng’s house on Google Maps so they can go pay homage to what will inevitably be one of the most outstanding defensive performances this tournament will see. 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. Or contact Jo-Ann Robotti at 749-1000, extension 12, or email her at [email protected].
While it must be frustrating to play in a team so far below the standard of that you are used to, with players who aren’t capable of providing the service you need to excel, Iceland deserved better than to be dismissed with a contemptuous flick of the tongue. I don’t know, you can read anything into anything these days with all nonsense floating about, but no one’s talking about his misses this morning, are they? That ball drifting just out of reach will be on a loop in his head for the rest of the tournament.
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. 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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