Ping-Pong coming home? According to Boris Johnson it is, his speech at the Olympic handover party in Beijing was superb, he pointed out that Britain had invented and codified every sport there is and to further strengthen his argument he said "Ping-Pong was invented on the dining tables of England, or wiff-waff as we called it, this is what sets us apart from other nations, where the French saw a dining table they saw the opportunity to have dinner, we looked at a dining table and saw an opportunity to play wiff-waff". "I say to the Chinese People, I say to the world....Ping-Pong is coming home".
With Lord Coe almost in tears and Colin Moynihan behind him barely able to breathe due to hysterical laughter this was exactly what the occasion needed, not some serious speech about funding winners by a politician all too eager to associated himself with our triumphant athletes and surf the wave of goodwill generated by our gold medal winners.
Boris is not the buffoon that some parts of the media portray, he is a highly intelligent, witty and downright straight talking person who knows how to play an audience, lost in admiration for Team GB, Boris mourned the passing of ancient Olympic events such as "The Pancrateon, whose finest exponent was Milo of Kroton, his signature performance was to carry an ox the length of the arena before killing it with his bare hands and devouring it in a single day, I will be asking Lord Coe to bring this event back for 2012".
Maybe that won't be on the 2012 list of events but Badminton will be, did you know that the code of laws and rules of Badminton was drawn up in Southsea? a quite interesting fact, also we all know that Association Football was invented here in England but why can't we have a British football team in the Olympics? With four seperate Football Associations in Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland and England there are some barriers to us entering a Great Britain football side.
Lets hope it all gets sorted out and hopefully the team will be managed by a character like Harry Redknapp instead of the gum chewing incoherent Alex Ferguson, did you hear his comment when his United team arrived at Fratton Park last night, mumble mumble "rabbit hutch" he said as he walked down to the dressing rooms, sorry Sir Alex not every team has the wealth behind them that a club like United has, Pompey don't have over a hundred million people worldwide and in Surrey claiming to be supporters and all helping to boost the coffers and create a stadium that holds seventy-six thousand people.
The chant of the season so far goes to the Fratton End, last night they silenced the "travelling" United fans with "we support, we support, we support our local team".
Wit and ingenuity.
you can see Boris's speech in full here http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7580165.stm
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
Monday, 18 August 2008
Gold Rush
I am enjoying the Olympics on BBC and thanks to the red button I can get to see everything, although some sports on offer are not exactly my cup of tea I've watched them anyway.
I'm not sure mens beach volleyball has a place on the small screen, ladies yes, it seems quite correct to my one track male mind. What I do object to is dressage, now I've never been an equestrian fan apart from horse racing, you know where you are with racing, start point, finish point, winner and places. But dressage? The commentators, at every opportunity talk about "expression", a horse jigging from one foot to another is deemed to be “expressive”. What, exactly, is being "expressed"? I've logged an hour or so viewing dressage now and I still havn't reached a conclusion.
Rob Walker of the BBC commentary team continues to be a source of pleasure and amusement, he absolutely oozes enthusiasm and eagerness sitting in a tiny rubber dinghy smiling and gripping his microphone as he gets tossed into the air by the swell of the sea as Ben Ainsley streaks by on his way to another gold.
The amount of gold medals we've won has re-ignited my Britishness and to see us winning more gold than Australia is extremely gratifying.
More medals today for Great Britain to follow on from the successes in the cycling, rowing and sailing as well as Lewis Smiths fantastic performance on the pommel horse to get a bronze medal in a gymnastic event, the first in eighty years. I'm hoping maybe we can get some success on the track, Judgment Day is almost here for Christine Ohuruogu. Tomorrow the British runner will line up against the American, Sanya Richards in the 400m, Sarah Claxton runs in the 100m hurdles also Tasha Danvers has got herself in the 400m hurdles final. For the men Marlon Devonish and Christian Malcolm are in the 200m final with Usain Bolt, good luck lads.
A big disappointment has to be Paula Radcliffe, her twenty-third place in the marathon just goes to show that you can't come back a couple of weeks after a stress fracture and expect to win the ultimate Olympic event. But if we were disappointed with lame Paula spare a thought for the Chinese people who are in a state of shock, disbelief and mourning that their golden boy Liu Xiang is out of the games.
He seemed to suffer an injury in his 110m hurdle heat, pulling up almost as he set off. The injury is said to be a ruptured tendon in the foot, he must be a tough cookie, he went back out to the track and took a couple of hurdles and his face showed the pain his frustration overflowed as he kicked his injured foot into a wall inside the stadium. I felt for Liu Xiang, I am currently in plaster myself after rupturing my achilles tendon playing football, if I put any weight on my bad ankle you can hear the scream for miles, this guy must be some kind of superhuman to try and continue in his event.
Xiang won't get another shot at a gold medal until London in 2012 but it seems that Michael Phelps can win medals on a daily basis, therefore I cannot classify him as the greatest ever olympian, I reserve that for Carl Lewis or our own Steven Redgrave.
Hugh Porter the cycling commentator is clearly enjoying himself in the velodrome but a warning for all BBC interviewers here, Rebecca Romero our gold medal winning cyclist was asked for her thoughts after beating fellow Brit Wendy Houvenaghel in the individual pursuit. A four minute slightly cringeworthy rhetoric then ensued where Rebecca talked about demons and the dark side and how she was new to cycling and has such a drive to succeed "I would have been absolutely crushed to have won silver again,” Romero said. “To have medals in two different sports — I’m so proud of myself. It’s been my goal to be a great athlete, to be a great champion".............“If I hadn’t done it today, I don’t know where I would be,” she said. “Probably on the floor, dead somewhere. It’s been so hard, I can’t explain. I was totally believing in myself, but it’s the ultimate.”
glad you asked?
I'm not sure mens beach volleyball has a place on the small screen, ladies yes, it seems quite correct to my one track male mind. What I do object to is dressage, now I've never been an equestrian fan apart from horse racing, you know where you are with racing, start point, finish point, winner and places. But dressage? The commentators, at every opportunity talk about "expression", a horse jigging from one foot to another is deemed to be “expressive”. What, exactly, is being "expressed"? I've logged an hour or so viewing dressage now and I still havn't reached a conclusion.
Rob Walker of the BBC commentary team continues to be a source of pleasure and amusement, he absolutely oozes enthusiasm and eagerness sitting in a tiny rubber dinghy smiling and gripping his microphone as he gets tossed into the air by the swell of the sea as Ben Ainsley streaks by on his way to another gold.
The amount of gold medals we've won has re-ignited my Britishness and to see us winning more gold than Australia is extremely gratifying.
More medals today for Great Britain to follow on from the successes in the cycling, rowing and sailing as well as Lewis Smiths fantastic performance on the pommel horse to get a bronze medal in a gymnastic event, the first in eighty years. I'm hoping maybe we can get some success on the track, Judgment Day is almost here for Christine Ohuruogu. Tomorrow the British runner will line up against the American, Sanya Richards in the 400m, Sarah Claxton runs in the 100m hurdles also Tasha Danvers has got herself in the 400m hurdles final. For the men Marlon Devonish and Christian Malcolm are in the 200m final with Usain Bolt, good luck lads.
A big disappointment has to be Paula Radcliffe, her twenty-third place in the marathon just goes to show that you can't come back a couple of weeks after a stress fracture and expect to win the ultimate Olympic event. But if we were disappointed with lame Paula spare a thought for the Chinese people who are in a state of shock, disbelief and mourning that their golden boy Liu Xiang is out of the games.
He seemed to suffer an injury in his 110m hurdle heat, pulling up almost as he set off. The injury is said to be a ruptured tendon in the foot, he must be a tough cookie, he went back out to the track and took a couple of hurdles and his face showed the pain his frustration overflowed as he kicked his injured foot into a wall inside the stadium. I felt for Liu Xiang, I am currently in plaster myself after rupturing my achilles tendon playing football, if I put any weight on my bad ankle you can hear the scream for miles, this guy must be some kind of superhuman to try and continue in his event.
Xiang won't get another shot at a gold medal until London in 2012 but it seems that Michael Phelps can win medals on a daily basis, therefore I cannot classify him as the greatest ever olympian, I reserve that for Carl Lewis or our own Steven Redgrave.
Hugh Porter the cycling commentator is clearly enjoying himself in the velodrome but a warning for all BBC interviewers here, Rebecca Romero our gold medal winning cyclist was asked for her thoughts after beating fellow Brit Wendy Houvenaghel in the individual pursuit. A four minute slightly cringeworthy rhetoric then ensued where Rebecca talked about demons and the dark side and how she was new to cycling and has such a drive to succeed "I would have been absolutely crushed to have won silver again,” Romero said. “To have medals in two different sports — I’m so proud of myself. It’s been my goal to be a great athlete, to be a great champion".............“If I hadn’t done it today, I don’t know where I would be,” she said. “Probably on the floor, dead somewhere. It’s been so hard, I can’t explain. I was totally believing in myself, but it’s the ultimate.”
glad you asked?
Madeira, Cake and Beer
Following quickly on from walking Hadrians Wall which got our knees into hill mode we took ourselves off to Madeira, the intention of dividing the break into a few days walking and the rest loafing around in the sun drinking ice cold cerveza por favor.
Madeira sits to the north of the Canary Islands in the Atlantic and despite being created by a volcano is lush and beautiful with a vast array of flowers growing practically everywhere. You'll need strong knees and a head for heights on some on the paths that run alongside the levadas but the views will be a fair reward for the effort. A levada is a small channel sometimes made of concrete or in older levadas hewn straight out of the rock, these water channels bring water from the wetter northern part of the island to the drier sunny south where it's used to irrigate the banana plantations among other crops. These channels run for miles all over the island, providing water for hydro-electric plants as well as the other types of edible and floral plants.
If you are staying in Funchal where most of the hotels are situated it's possible to take the yellow town buses and get up pretty high, the buses are frequent and don't worry about missing your stop, when there are no locals left on board it's the end of the line and time to get off.
A good idea is to take along the "Sunflower" Madeira walking book by John and Pat Underwood, this has walks, maps local important advice and essential bus information, it's all you need to get yourself out into this beautiful islands most stunning areas.
You could hire a car but this is quite pricy on Madeira, buses are freely available as are taxis and with this mode you don't have to worry about getting back to where you left the hire car after your days walk.
There are several firms on the island which specialise in walking tours on Madeira and they will collect you from your hotel and take you in a mini bus to your start point and pick you up when you've finished, an experienced guide will take you on some breathtaking walks hopefully without a group of over-excited Americans.
We set off on our own for our first walk from Romeiros to Camacha, the route took us along the Levada dos Tornos passing two tea-houses on the way, my tip is to go for the Hortensia Tea Rooms where the cake is fantastic and a must have energy boost when walking all day. If you get time on this route use it to stop off at the beautiful gardens at Palheiro Ferreiro.
Along the way you'll pass wild geraniums, agapanthus, mimosa and eucalyptus trees among loads of other plants. The islanders make use of every bit of space for growing crops, you'll see runner beans, peas, cabbages, garlic and by one small house an enterprising local had left a bowl of ice filled with bottles of the excellent island beer "Coral", a bottle opener and a tin for the money, most welcome on a dry hot day. As far as equipment goes, you'll need your boots, day pack and a waterproof jacket as it can get a bit damp on top of the mountains and on the plateau. Leave your vertigo behind but you'll need to take a torch for walking on Madeira as a few of the levadas cut straight through the mountains and some tunnels can take ten minutes to walk through.
If you want to get further inland and higher up then one of the guided walk options is a good idea, the Pico Grande and Pico Ruivo are the highest points but some of the valleys are extremely beautiful and the walk from Rabacal (1500m) to the twenty-five fountains and back through the Curral Valley is especially nice although you will need a head for heights here as the path is only a foot wide in places. The fountains are morelike mountain springs but it's a lovely spot for a picnic and if you're lucky a chaffinch will help you eat it.The authorities have now gone a bit "health & safety" mad and all the dangerous areas have a grab wire alongside the path. You find yourself walking along paths which have so much vegetation alongside you don't even realise there is a sheer drop just metres away, you appreciate this when a viewpoint opens out and a sheer cliff is visible where you have just walked from on the other side of the mountain with a valley 100s of metres deep below your feet.
Madeira is a relatively safe place to holiday, the only danger being the odd insane taxi driver and as it has no beach or clubbing culture it's free from the lager lout element, in fact it's more "Saga Lout" with gangs of retired Brits and Germans in their uniform of beige and sky blue roaming the main strip looking for a meal deal or a bar with tv and football. Madeira is a fantastic place for a walking holiday but equally good if you just fancy lazing by the pool, beaches are not plentiful as this is a rocky volcanic island but lush gardens are, the Jardin Botanico above Funchal is a must see and if you make your way up to Monte the Tropical Garden at the Monte Palace is delightful. Along the coast from Funchal is Calheta which has a manufactured beach with golden sands shipped in from the Sahara but the best thing about Madeira for me is the mountains and the lazy levadas where you can walk for miles in total tranquility.
Madeira sits to the north of the Canary Islands in the Atlantic and despite being created by a volcano is lush and beautiful with a vast array of flowers growing practically everywhere. You'll need strong knees and a head for heights on some on the paths that run alongside the levadas but the views will be a fair reward for the effort. A levada is a small channel sometimes made of concrete or in older levadas hewn straight out of the rock, these water channels bring water from the wetter northern part of the island to the drier sunny south where it's used to irrigate the banana plantations among other crops. These channels run for miles all over the island, providing water for hydro-electric plants as well as the other types of edible and floral plants.
If you are staying in Funchal where most of the hotels are situated it's possible to take the yellow town buses and get up pretty high, the buses are frequent and don't worry about missing your stop, when there are no locals left on board it's the end of the line and time to get off.
A good idea is to take along the "Sunflower" Madeira walking book by John and Pat Underwood, this has walks, maps local important advice and essential bus information, it's all you need to get yourself out into this beautiful islands most stunning areas.
You could hire a car but this is quite pricy on Madeira, buses are freely available as are taxis and with this mode you don't have to worry about getting back to where you left the hire car after your days walk.
There are several firms on the island which specialise in walking tours on Madeira and they will collect you from your hotel and take you in a mini bus to your start point and pick you up when you've finished, an experienced guide will take you on some breathtaking walks hopefully without a group of over-excited Americans.
We set off on our own for our first walk from Romeiros to Camacha, the route took us along the Levada dos Tornos passing two tea-houses on the way, my tip is to go for the Hortensia Tea Rooms where the cake is fantastic and a must have energy boost when walking all day. If you get time on this route use it to stop off at the beautiful gardens at Palheiro Ferreiro.
Along the way you'll pass wild geraniums, agapanthus, mimosa and eucalyptus trees among loads of other plants. The islanders make use of every bit of space for growing crops, you'll see runner beans, peas, cabbages, garlic and by one small house an enterprising local had left a bowl of ice filled with bottles of the excellent island beer "Coral", a bottle opener and a tin for the money, most welcome on a dry hot day. As far as equipment goes, you'll need your boots, day pack and a waterproof jacket as it can get a bit damp on top of the mountains and on the plateau. Leave your vertigo behind but you'll need to take a torch for walking on Madeira as a few of the levadas cut straight through the mountains and some tunnels can take ten minutes to walk through.
If you want to get further inland and higher up then one of the guided walk options is a good idea, the Pico Grande and Pico Ruivo are the highest points but some of the valleys are extremely beautiful and the walk from Rabacal (1500m) to the twenty-five fountains and back through the Curral Valley is especially nice although you will need a head for heights here as the path is only a foot wide in places. The fountains are morelike mountain springs but it's a lovely spot for a picnic and if you're lucky a chaffinch will help you eat it.The authorities have now gone a bit "health & safety" mad and all the dangerous areas have a grab wire alongside the path. You find yourself walking along paths which have so much vegetation alongside you don't even realise there is a sheer drop just metres away, you appreciate this when a viewpoint opens out and a sheer cliff is visible where you have just walked from on the other side of the mountain with a valley 100s of metres deep below your feet.
Madeira is a relatively safe place to holiday, the only danger being the odd insane taxi driver and as it has no beach or clubbing culture it's free from the lager lout element, in fact it's more "Saga Lout" with gangs of retired Brits and Germans in their uniform of beige and sky blue roaming the main strip looking for a meal deal or a bar with tv and football. Madeira is a fantastic place for a walking holiday but equally good if you just fancy lazing by the pool, beaches are not plentiful as this is a rocky volcanic island but lush gardens are, the Jardin Botanico above Funchal is a must see and if you make your way up to Monte the Tropical Garden at the Monte Palace is delightful. Along the coast from Funchal is Calheta which has a manufactured beach with golden sands shipped in from the Sahara but the best thing about Madeira for me is the mountains and the lazy levadas where you can walk for miles in total tranquility.
Saturday, 28 June 2008
One of those days
We've all had them, one of those days when not everything goes wrong but pretty close to it. Major things occur during the day that seem like the end of the world, things that could cause your blood pressure to rise and your chest pump with rage, unless like me you can learn to cope with these unexpected occurances that are out of your control.
Okay so that last bit isn't quite true, I am probably the least tolerant and most unable person to cope with the unexpected. If a plane, train or bus is scheduled to leave at a certain time then to my mind there is no reason for it not to do so. How can it be so difficult?
Having had a fantastic week on the island of Madeira we had breakfast in the hotel and checked out after refusing to pay €14.60 for phone calls we hadn't made and found our taxi driver was waiting to take us on the twenty-five minute ride to Funchal airport. His yellow Mercedes was draped in Benfica flags and a minor shrine to the Blessed Virgin on the dashboard. This portly moustache wielding latter day highwayman then set off into the Madeiran rush hour only using his brakes as a last resort. The speed we hit on the busy expressway was now getting serious, the needle hit 150kmh (an unhealthy 95mph) and exiting a tunnel onto a high level viaduct the car suddenly started weaving and snaking at high speed, "senor...SENOR, por favor SLOW DOWN", he did but only for a couple of kilometres, and my next utterance (after much swearing) was "he's got no chance of a tip".
Thankfully the Virgin Mary was looking after us and we got to the airport alive, SuperMario went off to get us a trolley which we didn't need "he's still not getting a tip" and then asked for €32.30. Now then, I'd booked it and the agreed price was €30, I know it's only €2.30 difference but stay with me here, it's the principle of the thing. I did a deal for thirty bucks which is more than enough for what proved to be a ten minute ride, you can hire a cab for half a day for forty euros! So me and this big moustache argued over who was right and when I called a policeman to my assistance he quickly weighed it up, on one hand a taxi driver sporting a giant rug on his top lip and an extremely irate soon to be departing tourist. His response was to ignore the whole incident and walk away, cheers mate thanks a bunch, so in my worst Portuguese I told the driver my thoughts of him and waited for my seventy cents change.
I was in a fit of rage, my girlfriend all the time telling me to forget it and calm down, wise words but I wasn't listening I was so incensed I forgot that he'd nearly killed us. Moving into the airport the next thing I see is our flight is no longer 1115 but 1225, "oh well, lets check in anyway" but oh no, easyjet have other ideas, so an hour later we get checked in and find that the flight is now set to leave at 1300. At last we're going to board the plane but at quarter past two we're on but being told to get off and wait in the lounge in the terminal while a gang of moustachios sort out a technical problem. Oh well, I didn't want to see the Turkey v Germany game anyway.
Needless to say I took this in my stride and calmly left the aircraft for the terminal, I had a great seat too, would I get the legroom I craved when we reboard? if we reboard. Being held in a limbo world between duty free and the aircraft my frayed nerves had to contend with screaming children and those who hold "speedy boarding" tickets. If you want a better class of travel you don't fly easyjet, if you want to get somewhere sunny for £80 return you do fly easyjet and take all the scrummaging that goes with it Those mugs who pay the extra just to get on first so that they can read their Daily Mails by the window, remember this, I always get on pretty early, get the most legroom and don't pay a penny more than when I bought the ticket.
So after cruising up and down Funchals runway to see if the new landing gear circuit board from the local Tandy shop is working the plane finally got away and back to Gatwick, a train journey back to Fratton and rushing over the footbridge to Smiffys Sports Bar on Goldsmith Avenue we ordered beer but they only had Fosters and settled in to watch the rest of Turkey v Germany.
All was not well, no picture which thankfully meant no Motson but the radio was on which meant Alan Green, just how bad could this day get? Soon answered, Germany go 2-1 ahead, pictures return and we see Turkey come back to two each but even as I was cheering the Turks and looking forward to extra time the Germans joined in the conspiracy and scored a third to book their place in the final of 2008s European Championship.
Never mind, I've learnt from the experiences of that day and whatever happens to you in "one of those days", you'll look back and think it wasn't that bad after all, nobody died and remember, there's always someone worse off than yourself, the awful scenes on the news from Zimbabwe reminded me of that.
Okay so that last bit isn't quite true, I am probably the least tolerant and most unable person to cope with the unexpected. If a plane, train or bus is scheduled to leave at a certain time then to my mind there is no reason for it not to do so. How can it be so difficult?
Having had a fantastic week on the island of Madeira we had breakfast in the hotel and checked out after refusing to pay €14.60 for phone calls we hadn't made and found our taxi driver was waiting to take us on the twenty-five minute ride to Funchal airport. His yellow Mercedes was draped in Benfica flags and a minor shrine to the Blessed Virgin on the dashboard. This portly moustache wielding latter day highwayman then set off into the Madeiran rush hour only using his brakes as a last resort. The speed we hit on the busy expressway was now getting serious, the needle hit 150kmh (an unhealthy 95mph) and exiting a tunnel onto a high level viaduct the car suddenly started weaving and snaking at high speed, "senor...SENOR, por favor SLOW DOWN", he did but only for a couple of kilometres, and my next utterance (after much swearing) was "he's got no chance of a tip".
Thankfully the Virgin Mary was looking after us and we got to the airport alive, SuperMario went off to get us a trolley which we didn't need "he's still not getting a tip" and then asked for €32.30. Now then, I'd booked it and the agreed price was €30, I know it's only €2.30 difference but stay with me here, it's the principle of the thing. I did a deal for thirty bucks which is more than enough for what proved to be a ten minute ride, you can hire a cab for half a day for forty euros! So me and this big moustache argued over who was right and when I called a policeman to my assistance he quickly weighed it up, on one hand a taxi driver sporting a giant rug on his top lip and an extremely irate soon to be departing tourist. His response was to ignore the whole incident and walk away, cheers mate thanks a bunch, so in my worst Portuguese I told the driver my thoughts of him and waited for my seventy cents change.
I was in a fit of rage, my girlfriend all the time telling me to forget it and calm down, wise words but I wasn't listening I was so incensed I forgot that he'd nearly killed us. Moving into the airport the next thing I see is our flight is no longer 1115 but 1225, "oh well, lets check in anyway" but oh no, easyjet have other ideas, so an hour later we get checked in and find that the flight is now set to leave at 1300. At last we're going to board the plane but at quarter past two we're on but being told to get off and wait in the lounge in the terminal while a gang of moustachios sort out a technical problem. Oh well, I didn't want to see the Turkey v Germany game anyway.
Needless to say I took this in my stride and calmly left the aircraft for the terminal, I had a great seat too, would I get the legroom I craved when we reboard? if we reboard. Being held in a limbo world between duty free and the aircraft my frayed nerves had to contend with screaming children and those who hold "speedy boarding" tickets. If you want a better class of travel you don't fly easyjet, if you want to get somewhere sunny for £80 return you do fly easyjet and take all the scrummaging that goes with it Those mugs who pay the extra just to get on first so that they can read their Daily Mails by the window, remember this, I always get on pretty early, get the most legroom and don't pay a penny more than when I bought the ticket.
So after cruising up and down Funchals runway to see if the new landing gear circuit board from the local Tandy shop is working the plane finally got away and back to Gatwick, a train journey back to Fratton and rushing over the footbridge to Smiffys Sports Bar on Goldsmith Avenue we ordered beer but they only had Fosters and settled in to watch the rest of Turkey v Germany.
All was not well, no picture which thankfully meant no Motson but the radio was on which meant Alan Green, just how bad could this day get? Soon answered, Germany go 2-1 ahead, pictures return and we see Turkey come back to two each but even as I was cheering the Turks and looking forward to extra time the Germans joined in the conspiracy and scored a third to book their place in the final of 2008s European Championship.
Never mind, I've learnt from the experiences of that day and whatever happens to you in "one of those days", you'll look back and think it wasn't that bad after all, nobody died and remember, there's always someone worse off than yourself, the awful scenes on the news from Zimbabwe reminded me of that.
Monday, 2 June 2008
The Greatest Day of My Life..........So Far
It's been a couple of weeks since the FA Cup final and I've been enjoying, no, wallowing in the glory. I never thought I'd see Pompey win the cup, especially when the sixth round draw was announced, I was on Beachy Head, not the best place to be when you hear the draw is Manchester United away.
I did say at the time "well thats it then, of all the teams to get drawn against, why not Barnsley or Middlesbrough? **** it".
In fact I said "**** it" a lot that afternoon, I thought about that moment while I was driving up the M3 for the cup final, a smile on my face as I passed the stretch limos and coaches covered in Blue and white flags and scarves, how on earth did Pompey win at Old Trafford? Surely the name on the cup would be Portsmouth, all the luck was with us, last gasp own goal versus Preston, a penalty not given against Ipswich, and just how did Distin stop Carrick from getting the ball over the line? Pompey rode their luck like a surfer on the crest of a wave.
The moment I really felt confident of victory was on the train at Richmond, group of Cardiff fans joined us in the carriage, a lady started chatting to us and in a gorgeous Welsh accent said "how old is that Karnooo? he says he's thirty-two, is that right?". Laughter filled the train then she added "we know we're going to get beat but we'll have a lovely day and it's so nice to see you boys all looking so worried".
That relaxed me and at Willesden Junction meeting my brother and his son who is in the joyous situation of being a Pompey fan for a few years now and at thirteen years old he's yet to see Pompey lose. I became more confident, my first Pompey match I was eleven years of age and got a dismal 2-0 defeat at home to Orient, my nephew has seen wins and draws in the premier league and wins in the semi and the final at Wembley, a lucky mascot indeed. I have grown up watching cup finals and becoming part of it, the night before on ITV we'd watch "Who'll Win The Cup?" chaired by Brian Moore with a few hand picked guests. Then Saturday morning, watching the build-up and jealously seeing fans walking up Wembley Way, that's always something I wanted to do. I refrained at the semi-final, it wouldn't have been right to walk that route unless it was the FA Cup Final. So on the 17th May 2008 I realised an ambition, not much of an ambition you may say, but to me it was something special, a missing piece of a jigsaw. The fans were in awesome voice, the Pompey Chimes rang out loud along that walkway and then the sight I'll never forget, Bobby Moores' statue draped in St George and Pompey flags, his bronze image fervently guarded by Portsmouth fans.
The game went by in a flash, ninety minutes never ticked by so quickly until the final three minutes when the clock seemed to stop, the most vivid memory of the game I have is David James rushing out and clearing the danger in about the third minute of the match. I remember the celebrations and seeing the cup carried aloft by so many Pompey heroes and then Barry Harris found himself alone with the FA Cup, he looked around him for a Pompey player to hand the cup to but he saw no-one near him and to his great credit he milked the moment, in front of the fans, his face was a picture of pure joy. I have to admit and I'm not ashamed to say I shed a tear or two when the FA Cup was collected by Sol Campbell, I looked around and many blokes of my age were doing the same. I doubt if winning the FA Cup has meant so much to a group of fans in recent times, it really meant something special.
I met up with an old friend at Wembley station, when we got on the train he looked stunned, stunned but happy but there was something else there too, a lifting of the suffering, we reminisced of journeys to far flung fourth and third division grounds, years of second division campaigns which became like trench warfare, losing the semi final to Liverpool, failing in the play-off semi final against Leicester. An ironic smile at this as we pondered Milan Mandaric and how Pompey prospered and slumped under him, we chatted away while we changed platforms at Willesden, then talked of the evening celebrations, he was heading straight back to Pompey but I was heading to Richmond and a quick sprint down the M3 to Bournemouth, at that point my friend realised he was on the wrong train. His comment "we were making good time too".
Which brings me back to the greatest day of my life, I saw Pompey lift the FA Cup in the afternoon and in the evening saw Paul Weller at his best in the Opera House in Boscombe, I met up with my girlfriend who'd got the train to Bournemouth and having my first cup winning celebration beer in the Opera House bar a couple walked past and I overheard him say to his girl "lets just get champagne eh?" I stopped him and said "are you Pompey?" He was indeed and he was so excited, I thought he was going to burst when I showed him my camera phone pictures of the day. Weller was awesome and really sealed the day for me, a fantastic day and a truly memorable Sunday to follow.
I did say at the time "well thats it then, of all the teams to get drawn against, why not Barnsley or Middlesbrough? **** it".
In fact I said "**** it" a lot that afternoon, I thought about that moment while I was driving up the M3 for the cup final, a smile on my face as I passed the stretch limos and coaches covered in Blue and white flags and scarves, how on earth did Pompey win at Old Trafford? Surely the name on the cup would be Portsmouth, all the luck was with us, last gasp own goal versus Preston, a penalty not given against Ipswich, and just how did Distin stop Carrick from getting the ball over the line? Pompey rode their luck like a surfer on the crest of a wave.
The moment I really felt confident of victory was on the train at Richmond, group of Cardiff fans joined us in the carriage, a lady started chatting to us and in a gorgeous Welsh accent said "how old is that Karnooo? he says he's thirty-two, is that right?". Laughter filled the train then she added "we know we're going to get beat but we'll have a lovely day and it's so nice to see you boys all looking so worried".
That relaxed me and at Willesden Junction meeting my brother and his son who is in the joyous situation of being a Pompey fan for a few years now and at thirteen years old he's yet to see Pompey lose. I became more confident, my first Pompey match I was eleven years of age and got a dismal 2-0 defeat at home to Orient, my nephew has seen wins and draws in the premier league and wins in the semi and the final at Wembley, a lucky mascot indeed. I have grown up watching cup finals and becoming part of it, the night before on ITV we'd watch "Who'll Win The Cup?" chaired by Brian Moore with a few hand picked guests. Then Saturday morning, watching the build-up and jealously seeing fans walking up Wembley Way, that's always something I wanted to do. I refrained at the semi-final, it wouldn't have been right to walk that route unless it was the FA Cup Final. So on the 17th May 2008 I realised an ambition, not much of an ambition you may say, but to me it was something special, a missing piece of a jigsaw. The fans were in awesome voice, the Pompey Chimes rang out loud along that walkway and then the sight I'll never forget, Bobby Moores' statue draped in St George and Pompey flags, his bronze image fervently guarded by Portsmouth fans.
The game went by in a flash, ninety minutes never ticked by so quickly until the final three minutes when the clock seemed to stop, the most vivid memory of the game I have is David James rushing out and clearing the danger in about the third minute of the match. I remember the celebrations and seeing the cup carried aloft by so many Pompey heroes and then Barry Harris found himself alone with the FA Cup, he looked around him for a Pompey player to hand the cup to but he saw no-one near him and to his great credit he milked the moment, in front of the fans, his face was a picture of pure joy. I have to admit and I'm not ashamed to say I shed a tear or two when the FA Cup was collected by Sol Campbell, I looked around and many blokes of my age were doing the same. I doubt if winning the FA Cup has meant so much to a group of fans in recent times, it really meant something special.
I met up with an old friend at Wembley station, when we got on the train he looked stunned, stunned but happy but there was something else there too, a lifting of the suffering, we reminisced of journeys to far flung fourth and third division grounds, years of second division campaigns which became like trench warfare, losing the semi final to Liverpool, failing in the play-off semi final against Leicester. An ironic smile at this as we pondered Milan Mandaric and how Pompey prospered and slumped under him, we chatted away while we changed platforms at Willesden, then talked of the evening celebrations, he was heading straight back to Pompey but I was heading to Richmond and a quick sprint down the M3 to Bournemouth, at that point my friend realised he was on the wrong train. His comment "we were making good time too".
Which brings me back to the greatest day of my life, I saw Pompey lift the FA Cup in the afternoon and in the evening saw Paul Weller at his best in the Opera House in Boscombe, I met up with my girlfriend who'd got the train to Bournemouth and having my first cup winning celebration beer in the Opera House bar a couple walked past and I overheard him say to his girl "lets just get champagne eh?" I stopped him and said "are you Pompey?" He was indeed and he was so excited, I thought he was going to burst when I showed him my camera phone pictures of the day. Weller was awesome and really sealed the day for me, a fantastic day and a truly memorable Sunday to follow.
Friday, 18 April 2008
Red White & Blue
After the euphoria of the FA Cup semi-final for such a serial defeatist as myself coming to terms with Pompey actually being in the cup final having finally realised it's not just a dream, the joy has been dampened somewhat by the news that Portsmouth are to wear all blue in the final.
"The players are superstitious" is the official line from the club, I can understand that, I play cricket in the summer months and I'm a batsman, nobody is more superstitious than a cricketer, I've been putting my left pad on before my right for more years than I can remember but it doesn't guarantee any runs. I also play rugby and have lucky pants, socks, you name it, I follow the same routine but it never made any difference, if you're going to win you will.
Please Pompey boys, try and understand it won't affect the outcome of the match. I once wore a replica France rugby shirt the day before France v England in Paris, England won so the following fortnight I tried it again but we were playing Scotland or Ireland (my memory fails me) and England lost. I tried it again before the Wales game this year and it didn't work so the point is it doesn't matter. What you wear won't adversely effect the outcome of the game.
The Pompey players should be so full of confidence that they don't need superstitions, spare a thought for the fans and the watching world. Pompey very proudly play in blue white & red and apart from a brief dalliance with a pretentious white with blue twin stripe continental look in the seventies they have done for years.
This occasion belongs as much if not more to the long suffering fans as the players and I'm pretty sure that in a vote the fans would say wear the blue shirt white shorts and red socks. If superstition held any credibilty I'd be a millionaire, I do the same superstitious bets every week, the same superstitious lottery numbers, I back the same superstitious jockeys colours and here I am still working for a living instead of relaxing on the earnings of my superstitions.
Come on Pompey boys, do the supporters the club the city and yourselves proud, wear the club colours at Wembley, show the world you're above superstition and that what you wear isn't going to influence how you perform on the pitch, give us our day at Wembley in the red white & blue.
"The players are superstitious" is the official line from the club, I can understand that, I play cricket in the summer months and I'm a batsman, nobody is more superstitious than a cricketer, I've been putting my left pad on before my right for more years than I can remember but it doesn't guarantee any runs. I also play rugby and have lucky pants, socks, you name it, I follow the same routine but it never made any difference, if you're going to win you will.
Please Pompey boys, try and understand it won't affect the outcome of the match. I once wore a replica France rugby shirt the day before France v England in Paris, England won so the following fortnight I tried it again but we were playing Scotland or Ireland (my memory fails me) and England lost. I tried it again before the Wales game this year and it didn't work so the point is it doesn't matter. What you wear won't adversely effect the outcome of the game.
The Pompey players should be so full of confidence that they don't need superstitions, spare a thought for the fans and the watching world. Pompey very proudly play in blue white & red and apart from a brief dalliance with a pretentious white with blue twin stripe continental look in the seventies they have done for years.
This occasion belongs as much if not more to the long suffering fans as the players and I'm pretty sure that in a vote the fans would say wear the blue shirt white shorts and red socks. If superstition held any credibilty I'd be a millionaire, I do the same superstitious bets every week, the same superstitious lottery numbers, I back the same superstitious jockeys colours and here I am still working for a living instead of relaxing on the earnings of my superstitions.
Come on Pompey boys, do the supporters the club the city and yourselves proud, wear the club colours at Wembley, show the world you're above superstition and that what you wear isn't going to influence how you perform on the pitch, give us our day at Wembley in the red white & blue.
Sunday, 6 April 2008
Journey to Wembley
I had vowed to myself that I would only go to the new Wembley Stadium if Portsmouth were in the cup final, my strong feelings that millions of pounds have been wasted in the building of the complex made my resolve not to attend all the more. However what do you do when the club you first saw in 1976 on a wet Tuesday night in April get to a Wembley semi-final?
Of course, I'm going, all my principles were going out of the window and I was going to be there.
The whole city had been buzzing with excitement and it seemed everyone I knew who wanted to go had a ticket, this was going to be the trip of a lifetime. The track maintenance planned between Woking and Waterloo wasn't going to spoil it either, I got myself to the Harbour station at 05.45 to find I wasn't the only one with intentions of beating the later rush, at Horsham the train had four carriages added to the eight original ones such was the swell of people on board, getting off the train at Clapham I met my London based brother and his young son, I only hope my nephew knows how lucky he is to be seeing Pompey at Wembley at such an early stage in his Pompey fan career, I've seen plenty of ups and downs with Portsmouth, in fact more downs probably. On that wet Tuesday in 1976 when my journey began, Pompey were already relegated to the third division before they lost to Orient, so I had already made myself acquainted with a team that would regularly disappoint, following quickly was relegation the fourth division in 1978.
The journeys in those dark days were long, a trek to Rochdale in an Austin 1100 I remember only too well, around 2000 Pompey fans went to Lancashire that day and we cleaned them out of programs by 1pm. This was a typical Division four away game in those days and climbing out of the fourth division at the second attempt by the skin of their teeth was my first taste of success followed by the Division 3 Championship a couple of years later. Years of Division two football then ensued, seeing the likes of Chelsea and Newcastle come and go, Blackburn were always a big rival so too were Barnsley and Huddersfield. There was joy at Mark Hateleys two hat-tricks in a week and seeing him make his England debut as a Pompey player v USSR at Wembley. Then at the end of the 80s a brief flirtation with the top division, when the late Alan Ball guided Pompey up in 1987 only to come straight back down.
So you can see how Pompey fans have suffered over the years and surely nobody can begrudge them a bit of success in a competition so dominated by the rich four in recent times. In fact the victory at Old Trafford however lucky it may or may not have been is reason enough to suggest that Pompey can go all the way. The semi-final was not a great game but they very rarely are, so much is at stake that the professional will to win overrides any thought of showboating or individual skill. The atmosphere in the second half was incredible, deafening choruses of Play Up Pompey echoed around Wembley, I'm sure the Baggies were cheering too but we could only hear ourselves.
The New Wembley is a fantastic stadium but in the wrong place, the transport infrastructure is inadequate and there simply isn't enough access to and from it. I would have liked the semi-final to have been at a neutral ground, I believe that Wembley is part of the prize of the FA Cup but whatever, it's happened now and we all had a brilliant day out and stories to tell for generations.
At the ground I met old friends, people I hadn't seen in years and some new, a friend of a friend who is American and has become a Pompey fan after being dragged along to the quarter final at Old Trafford and one man who I have the utmost regard for. Father Pat a retired priest who was present at the 1939 cup final when of course Pompey won the cup and kept it safe throughout the war. After the game Pat was honest enough to say Portsmouth were poor and that West Brom had played a good game, he stopped and chatted to many groups of Baggies fans after the game and told them how well their team had played and that Pompey were lucky to win, I wonder how many others are still alive today that can say "I was there" in 1939?
The spirit between the two clubs support is very good natured, remember that last day of the premier league season when Southampton went down? Well West Brom played their part in full that day, so a kind of affinity exists between the two sets of fans, good luck to The Albion and I hope they get promoted.
Of course, I'm going, all my principles were going out of the window and I was going to be there.
The whole city had been buzzing with excitement and it seemed everyone I knew who wanted to go had a ticket, this was going to be the trip of a lifetime. The track maintenance planned between Woking and Waterloo wasn't going to spoil it either, I got myself to the Harbour station at 05.45 to find I wasn't the only one with intentions of beating the later rush, at Horsham the train had four carriages added to the eight original ones such was the swell of people on board, getting off the train at Clapham I met my London based brother and his young son, I only hope my nephew knows how lucky he is to be seeing Pompey at Wembley at such an early stage in his Pompey fan career, I've seen plenty of ups and downs with Portsmouth, in fact more downs probably. On that wet Tuesday in 1976 when my journey began, Pompey were already relegated to the third division before they lost to Orient, so I had already made myself acquainted with a team that would regularly disappoint, following quickly was relegation the fourth division in 1978.
The journeys in those dark days were long, a trek to Rochdale in an Austin 1100 I remember only too well, around 2000 Pompey fans went to Lancashire that day and we cleaned them out of programs by 1pm. This was a typical Division four away game in those days and climbing out of the fourth division at the second attempt by the skin of their teeth was my first taste of success followed by the Division 3 Championship a couple of years later. Years of Division two football then ensued, seeing the likes of Chelsea and Newcastle come and go, Blackburn were always a big rival so too were Barnsley and Huddersfield. There was joy at Mark Hateleys two hat-tricks in a week and seeing him make his England debut as a Pompey player v USSR at Wembley. Then at the end of the 80s a brief flirtation with the top division, when the late Alan Ball guided Pompey up in 1987 only to come straight back down.
So you can see how Pompey fans have suffered over the years and surely nobody can begrudge them a bit of success in a competition so dominated by the rich four in recent times. In fact the victory at Old Trafford however lucky it may or may not have been is reason enough to suggest that Pompey can go all the way. The semi-final was not a great game but they very rarely are, so much is at stake that the professional will to win overrides any thought of showboating or individual skill. The atmosphere in the second half was incredible, deafening choruses of Play Up Pompey echoed around Wembley, I'm sure the Baggies were cheering too but we could only hear ourselves.
The New Wembley is a fantastic stadium but in the wrong place, the transport infrastructure is inadequate and there simply isn't enough access to and from it. I would have liked the semi-final to have been at a neutral ground, I believe that Wembley is part of the prize of the FA Cup but whatever, it's happened now and we all had a brilliant day out and stories to tell for generations.
At the ground I met old friends, people I hadn't seen in years and some new, a friend of a friend who is American and has become a Pompey fan after being dragged along to the quarter final at Old Trafford and one man who I have the utmost regard for. Father Pat a retired priest who was present at the 1939 cup final when of course Pompey won the cup and kept it safe throughout the war. After the game Pat was honest enough to say Portsmouth were poor and that West Brom had played a good game, he stopped and chatted to many groups of Baggies fans after the game and told them how well their team had played and that Pompey were lucky to win, I wonder how many others are still alive today that can say "I was there" in 1939?
The spirit between the two clubs support is very good natured, remember that last day of the premier league season when Southampton went down? Well West Brom played their part in full that day, so a kind of affinity exists between the two sets of fans, good luck to The Albion and I hope they get promoted.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
