Portsmouths plight has been worsened by the late winner for a mediocre Stoke City at Fratton this evening, the hopes that have been raised by the news of an impending salvation from a new buyout were dashed by yet another defeat that leaves Pompey well adrift of the rest of the strugglers in Englands top division.
What is really upsetting is the way many people in the game have turned on the club and in speaking out have turned against the fans and the city which is so proud of a famous English club. A club that won successive league championships, provided international players to England and many other nations. A football club is the beating heart of a city and community, Portsmouth FC is no different, it is a huge part of Portsmouth and it's people.
Quite why some of the media and football people are crying out for Portsmouth to be destroyed is beyond me. Would they be calling for Chelsea or Manchester United to be liquidated if their benefactors pulled the plug and left them in the lurch? No of course not. Has Portsmouth FC offended anyone so much that the football team should cease to be? I think not, the fact is Pompey have lived beyond their means and we readily admit it (shame that nobody in the media admits Redknapp is in any way responsible) but look at Liverpool, Chelsea, Manchester United and they all live beyond their means. United have recently issued a £500m bond to solve the cashflow problems that was sold out in hours and is not performing too well, is that responsible?
So to all the pundits, journalists, managers and so called football fans who are wishing Portsmouth Football Club to be wound up and finished, put yourselves in the shoes of a Pompey fan and then think on, what you believe should happen to a great historic club....would you want that to happen to your team?
It's not the fault of Portsmouth FC as an entity or the fans that it's in this disgraceful and embarrassing position and don't think for one minute it should be resolved by destroying the football league status of what has been and is an institution in a great and proud city.
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Another Day Another Drama
More dramatic news from Fratton Park as it's revealed Balram Chanrai is to become Portsmouth latest owner. He has taken over invisible Arab Ali al Farajs 90% stake, Chanrai and his associates have lent the money which has kept Portsmouth FC afloat in recent months and the failure of the Faraj company Falcondrone to repay any of it has led to Pompey changing hands yet again.
With two big battles looming next week, one versus HMRC in the High Court and the not insignicant FA Cup fifth round tie with nearest rivals Southampton what Pompey really need is someone to steady the ship which has been recently plundered by former manager Harry Redknapp.
What I find strange is that with all the transfers out to Spurs no money has been seen coming Pompey's way, Crouch, Defoe, Krancjar, Kaboul all gone and Pompey sliding ever closer to oblivion. If Chanrai can placate the taxman next Wednesday then the club will be on a more even keel but the revenue do seem to be targetting football clubs just lately, Crystal Palace and Notts County to name but two have been hit with winding-up orders and Palace failed to stave it off incurring a ten point penalty as a result.
If Portsmouth were to enter administration the nine point deduction would only confirm what is probably going to be relegation from the Premier League but is the top flight that desirable for a club of Pompey's size? Even in a good season the best a club can realistically hope for is a top ten finish in a league that is so top heavy a one nil defeat against Chelsea is considered a good result. Qualification to the new format EUFA Cup, the Europa League brings the added challenge of a possible nineteen extra games, qualify from the group stages and you're rewarded with all the teams not good enough for the final stages of the Champions League joining you.
The massive spending and wages in the Premier League has to bring the house of cards crashing down at some time and Portsmouth could be well off out of it sitting in the Championship competing on a level playing field virtually debt free.
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
Don't You Just Love The FA Cup?
Portsmouth find themselves in the fifth round of the greatest club competition in world football, their lowly league position has no doubt forced some fans into voting with their wallets as to whether they attend a cup tie. Two embarrassing attendances of eleven and ten thousand for the games against Coventry and Sunderland have lent their next opponents some ammunition to fire in the weeks approaching the game versus local rivals Southampton. Pompey won the cup in 2008 barely two years ago but we all know whats happened since then, three different managers, the squad scattered to the winds (mostly to Tottenham) and now the club teetering on the brink of financial oblivion.
The Portsmouth News website has had a mini invasion of Southampton fans on the comments boards all eager to point out that they are getting bigger attendances than Pompey and although it's sad it is nonetheless true. Where are all those tens of thousands of fans that thronged the streets and packed the common to welcome home the cup winning heroes? All gone it seems, I know there is a recession and times are hard but for less than ten thousand fans (the visitors brought six or seven hundred) at home for a cup tie is shockingly poor for a city of the size of Portsmouth.
The Battle of Hampshire at St Marys will have around four thousand Pompey fans there and I hope that the tickets are offered first to those who bothered to attend the previous two rounds and especially a priority for those who travelled to Coventry for the replay. Those who sat through the dire first match and sang their hearts out at the Ricoh Stadium deserve it. Likewise the fans who got behind their team against Sunderland when all too predictably they went one nil behind but witnessed an inspired second half performance. Whether the players kick started the fans or vice versa I'm not sure but a corner seemed to have been turned.
Local derbies are few and far between these days, the atmosphere is electric and even though it's a lunchtime kick-off this will be no different. I really miss the Pompey Southampton games and I'm really looking forward to this one, it could go either way. It really is too close to call, Portsmouth are the Premier League side but to be truthful they lack players of true quality and Saints are already on a run in the FA Cup and looking for more cup success are just ninety minutes from Wembley in the Johnstone's Paints Trophy.
If I were a betting man (which I am) I'd lump my cash on it being a draw which is something that Hampshire Constabulary will not want to see and neither will the residents of Fratton who well remember the scenes of violence the last time the sides met in Portsmouth. The historic facts are that Portsmouth have never beaten Saints in the FA Cup in four meetings but the cash boost of more than £400,000 from The FA and television will be handy for Pompey in these cash strapped times where they have a credit rating worse than Zimbabwe.
The Portsmouth News website has had a mini invasion of Southampton fans on the comments boards all eager to point out that they are getting bigger attendances than Pompey and although it's sad it is nonetheless true. Where are all those tens of thousands of fans that thronged the streets and packed the common to welcome home the cup winning heroes? All gone it seems, I know there is a recession and times are hard but for less than ten thousand fans (the visitors brought six or seven hundred) at home for a cup tie is shockingly poor for a city of the size of Portsmouth.
The Battle of Hampshire at St Marys will have around four thousand Pompey fans there and I hope that the tickets are offered first to those who bothered to attend the previous two rounds and especially a priority for those who travelled to Coventry for the replay. Those who sat through the dire first match and sang their hearts out at the Ricoh Stadium deserve it. Likewise the fans who got behind their team against Sunderland when all too predictably they went one nil behind but witnessed an inspired second half performance. Whether the players kick started the fans or vice versa I'm not sure but a corner seemed to have been turned.
Local derbies are few and far between these days, the atmosphere is electric and even though it's a lunchtime kick-off this will be no different. I really miss the Pompey Southampton games and I'm really looking forward to this one, it could go either way. It really is too close to call, Portsmouth are the Premier League side but to be truthful they lack players of true quality and Saints are already on a run in the FA Cup and looking for more cup success are just ninety minutes from Wembley in the Johnstone's Paints Trophy.
If I were a betting man (which I am) I'd lump my cash on it being a draw which is something that Hampshire Constabulary will not want to see and neither will the residents of Fratton who well remember the scenes of violence the last time the sides met in Portsmouth. The historic facts are that Portsmouth have never beaten Saints in the FA Cup in four meetings but the cash boost of more than £400,000 from The FA and television will be handy for Pompey in these cash strapped times where they have a credit rating worse than Zimbabwe.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Amir Khan: ‘I’d be a superstar if I was white’
I'm not a boxing fan but it seems to me that boxers are only in the public eye and in the media when they are building up to a fight. Boxing is a minority sport, a true star will shine through but between bouts the average spectator is not interested in the boxer.
In truth very few boxers can mix celebrity and their sport, the greatest character the sport ever produced is obviously Muhammed Ali but Frank Bruno hit the heights of fame and stardom in Britain and if I'm not mistaken Frank isn't white.
If Amir Khan was an interesting character with something to offer the masses on a weekly basis then maybe he would be a celebrity. Offering nothing but a couple of weeks of hype each year and nothing tangible in between isn't going to make him a superstar.
In truth very few boxers can mix celebrity and their sport, the greatest character the sport ever produced is obviously Muhammed Ali but Frank Bruno hit the heights of fame and stardom in Britain and if I'm not mistaken Frank isn't white.
If Amir Khan was an interesting character with something to offer the masses on a weekly basis then maybe he would be a celebrity. Offering nothing but a couple of weeks of hype each year and nothing tangible in between isn't going to make him a superstar.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Can We Please Drag Football Into The 21st Century?
Time for Sepp Blatter to go, if he seriously thinks another pair of eyes behind each goal will work better than a match official watching the tv coverage then he is deluded.
Association Football needs a real makeover and we can start by using tv replays for exactly the sort of thing that happened against Eire.
Also the timing of the game needs to be taken out of the referees hands, it's so simple for a timekeeper to control the time on a game using the stadium clock. If the referee spots that a lengthy stoppage is about to happen, for example a Rory Delap throw-in then he can use his earpiece microphone to say "time off" and "time on". Then we'll get a match of ninety minutes duration not one where an arbitrary one minute is added at the end of the first half and then some wild guess at the end of the second period of play that usually benefits the home side resulting in a "mini match" of between four and eight minutes.
Sepp Blatter obviously wields too much power in football and the seeding of Portugal and France in the play-offs just shows that the current regime will use that power to get exactly what they want.
Association Football needs a real makeover and we can start by using tv replays for exactly the sort of thing that happened against Eire.
Also the timing of the game needs to be taken out of the referees hands, it's so simple for a timekeeper to control the time on a game using the stadium clock. If the referee spots that a lengthy stoppage is about to happen, for example a Rory Delap throw-in then he can use his earpiece microphone to say "time off" and "time on". Then we'll get a match of ninety minutes duration not one where an arbitrary one minute is added at the end of the first half and then some wild guess at the end of the second period of play that usually benefits the home side resulting in a "mini match" of between four and eight minutes.
Sepp Blatter obviously wields too much power in football and the seeding of Portugal and France in the play-offs just shows that the current regime will use that power to get exactly what they want.
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
For The Fallen by Laurence Binyon
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Paul Weller...it's all about him not you
Saturday night at Westonbirt Arboretum near Tetbury was the venue for my second Paul Weller gig this year, an open air concert in conjunction with the Forestry Commission. Westonbirt was riding high on the success of the previous night when McFly took the stage but not a sell out so it was no surprise to me when the traffic marshalls and gate staff were unprepared for the 7,000 who swarmed on down from the fields now hastily turned over to car parks.
We are old hands at Weller gigs be it small theatres or big outdoor arenas and once the car park picnic of ham, pork pies, potato and onion tortilla with a dessert of homegrown strawberries were demolished washed down with Portuguese rose we entered the arena and got ourselves into a good spot.
A 'good spot' for a five foot ten bloke with a girlfriend considerably shorter than that is not behind tall people. So finding an ideal location can be tricky, about seven bodies back from the front is just about perfect, any closer and you'll be in that 'mosh-pit' nonsense where total strangers push, pull and fling each other around like they've been mates since nursery school.
The moshing area is also not ideal for someone who is still recovering from a ruptured achilles tendon, so mid-stage seven bodies back is good for me.
The excitement builds, the support band do their set and pretty good too they were too. Twisted Wheel three lads from Oldham, look out for them, the raw energy of their obvious Clash and Jam inspired music will be hitting out nationwide after this summers gigs, they play Glastonbury this Sunday on the John Peel stage. If you watch the festival highlights on telly Twisted Wheel should feature on there.
Support act finished now and we're still there just about seven bodies from the front awaiting the Modfather, more tension builds, pissed people are having to go to the toilets making space but more people arrive in our 'seven bodies from the front' exclusion zone. Oh no, no no no no you can't stand there mate, you're eight feet tall and got a rucksack on your back, go on get off out of it. Bugger, we now have to make a tactical move to the left, but hold on yes, nice one the group of blokes next to us need more beer, one is despatched to the bars and we slide along unnoticed and the freak of nature is no longer in the eyeline.
Suddenly Weller is on, the man we've come to see and hear and what a fantastic view, no giants in my line of sight and away we go, Peacock Suit, Changin' Man but hang on..what's occured here then? lots of upper class voices and blonde hair pile into my space, my area, my jurisdiction that I've been guarding faithfully for two hours. I know I know, it's a gig, it's a free country and people have paid their money but I'm now suffering this young female idiot screaming 'woooooo Wellerrrrr wooooooooooo' holding her camera phone in the air constantly while the other hand clutches a pint of white wine.
My upper limbs start to act of their accord, and every time the over-priviledged Barbie bangs into me my elbow goes into her ribs. I'm not giving an inch of ground to the young bitch no way. I saw The Jam before she was even conceived and been a fan of Paul Wellers' music long before she was even at her boarding school. But then........then she lights up a cigarette and we become wreathed in her vile smoke. In these days of non smoking workplaces and public buildings we've all become so more aware of cigarette smoke around us, in a word to a non-smoker it's 'intolerable' and my girlfriend asked her politely to please put it out. Barbies response was mono-syllabic.........'NO'.
An uneasy stand-off then ensued and the girl who thought the whole evening was all about her suddenly got a huge surprise, Weller launched into 'From The Floorboards Up' and immediately a surge came from behind us. Just like the random surges you used to get at football before the days of all seater stadia and the European Runners-Up League. But this was no random surge, this was die-hard Paul Weller fans who wanted to get to the front, right in among those mosh-heads and dance and leap around like a demented gazebo, I stepped to the side and grabbed my girl while these three blokes with linked arms and drunken grins on their faces flew past us taking everyone in front of them including the phone clutching, wine drinking, fag smoking spoilt brat into the 'Pit of Mosh'.
Well now, this was great, now we all had loads of room, no elbowing and a clear view of the stage with all the chaos going on in front of us which had just gone completely mental with bodies flying back and forth arms flailing as 'Eton Rifles' blasted out and a few thousand forty-somethings sang out 'hello hooray, what a nice day' then the mosh area soothed a bit as Weller calmed it down with 'Sea Spray' and what do we see staggering out of the mass of bodies? yes indeed, Barbie, not screeching 'wooooo' anymore but looking somewhat dishevelled no longer clutching her wine glass and mobile phone but forlornly making her way out of the mass of people and indeed right out of the gig still desperately flicking her hair as if nothing had happened while looking to all the world like she's just about to burst into tears. Ironically.....there's a price to pay for the Eton Rifles.
What goes around comes around, treat others as you would like to be treated and we'll get along great but if you behave in life as though you are the only person in the world who matters then somewhere along the way you'll take a fall.
We are old hands at Weller gigs be it small theatres or big outdoor arenas and once the car park picnic of ham, pork pies, potato and onion tortilla with a dessert of homegrown strawberries were demolished washed down with Portuguese rose we entered the arena and got ourselves into a good spot.
A 'good spot' for a five foot ten bloke with a girlfriend considerably shorter than that is not behind tall people. So finding an ideal location can be tricky, about seven bodies back from the front is just about perfect, any closer and you'll be in that 'mosh-pit' nonsense where total strangers push, pull and fling each other around like they've been mates since nursery school.
The moshing area is also not ideal for someone who is still recovering from a ruptured achilles tendon, so mid-stage seven bodies back is good for me.
The excitement builds, the support band do their set and pretty good too they were too. Twisted Wheel three lads from Oldham, look out for them, the raw energy of their obvious Clash and Jam inspired music will be hitting out nationwide after this summers gigs, they play Glastonbury this Sunday on the John Peel stage. If you watch the festival highlights on telly Twisted Wheel should feature on there.
Support act finished now and we're still there just about seven bodies from the front awaiting the Modfather, more tension builds, pissed people are having to go to the toilets making space but more people arrive in our 'seven bodies from the front' exclusion zone. Oh no, no no no no you can't stand there mate, you're eight feet tall and got a rucksack on your back, go on get off out of it. Bugger, we now have to make a tactical move to the left, but hold on yes, nice one the group of blokes next to us need more beer, one is despatched to the bars and we slide along unnoticed and the freak of nature is no longer in the eyeline.
Suddenly Weller is on, the man we've come to see and hear and what a fantastic view, no giants in my line of sight and away we go, Peacock Suit, Changin' Man but hang on..what's occured here then? lots of upper class voices and blonde hair pile into my space, my area, my jurisdiction that I've been guarding faithfully for two hours. I know I know, it's a gig, it's a free country and people have paid their money but I'm now suffering this young female idiot screaming 'woooooo Wellerrrrr wooooooooooo' holding her camera phone in the air constantly while the other hand clutches a pint of white wine.
My upper limbs start to act of their accord, and every time the over-priviledged Barbie bangs into me my elbow goes into her ribs. I'm not giving an inch of ground to the young bitch no way. I saw The Jam before she was even conceived and been a fan of Paul Wellers' music long before she was even at her boarding school. But then........then she lights up a cigarette and we become wreathed in her vile smoke. In these days of non smoking workplaces and public buildings we've all become so more aware of cigarette smoke around us, in a word to a non-smoker it's 'intolerable' and my girlfriend asked her politely to please put it out. Barbies response was mono-syllabic.........'NO'.
An uneasy stand-off then ensued and the girl who thought the whole evening was all about her suddenly got a huge surprise, Weller launched into 'From The Floorboards Up' and immediately a surge came from behind us. Just like the random surges you used to get at football before the days of all seater stadia and the European Runners-Up League. But this was no random surge, this was die-hard Paul Weller fans who wanted to get to the front, right in among those mosh-heads and dance and leap around like a demented gazebo, I stepped to the side and grabbed my girl while these three blokes with linked arms and drunken grins on their faces flew past us taking everyone in front of them including the phone clutching, wine drinking, fag smoking spoilt brat into the 'Pit of Mosh'.
Well now, this was great, now we all had loads of room, no elbowing and a clear view of the stage with all the chaos going on in front of us which had just gone completely mental with bodies flying back and forth arms flailing as 'Eton Rifles' blasted out and a few thousand forty-somethings sang out 'hello hooray, what a nice day' then the mosh area soothed a bit as Weller calmed it down with 'Sea Spray' and what do we see staggering out of the mass of bodies? yes indeed, Barbie, not screeching 'wooooo' anymore but looking somewhat dishevelled no longer clutching her wine glass and mobile phone but forlornly making her way out of the mass of people and indeed right out of the gig still desperately flicking her hair as if nothing had happened while looking to all the world like she's just about to burst into tears. Ironically.....there's a price to pay for the Eton Rifles.
What goes around comes around, treat others as you would like to be treated and we'll get along great but if you behave in life as though you are the only person in the world who matters then somewhere along the way you'll take a fall.
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