Football

It’s been a long, hot, soccerless holiday. There has been football about — the women’s European Championship, for example, and various age-group tournaments, all of which England departed with undue haste — but not the proper stuff. There hasn’t been a tournament where players can ‘put themselves in the shop window’ or prove that they have what it takes ‘at the highest level’ for any club with a fat chequebook and a friendly press. Youth football, even women’s, is all very well but it doesn’t pay the bills. Men’s professional football is, sadly, the big kid in the playground of sport. When it’s not there we miss it and make

There are many Scotlands and they’re all dreadful. That at any rate seems to be the message from the Scottish government’s anti-sectarianism ‘taskforce’. We’re all in denial about sectarianism and the shadow it casts over Scottish society. Of course it’s hardly surprising that those people who spend their lives ferreting for evidence of sectarian behaviour conclude that sectarianism is both more broadly found and more deeply ingrained in Scottish society than your own experience may suggest. What do you know anyway? Conveniently, of course, such conclusions also demand that more public money be spent educating the poor, bigoted, people of Scotland to change the way they think and act. Then

Lords laid on a nifty do the other day for the British Sports Book Awards, which was a great reminder of the quality of so much sports writing here. The best books duly won — Gideon Haigh’s perfectly pitched On Warne (Simon and Schuster), and the Sunday Times journalist David Walsh’s biblical Seven Deadly Sins: My Pursuit of Lance Armstrong (Walsh must by now have an Armstrong-themed trophy cabinet the size of Sir Alex Ferguson’s). But if you want a tip for next year, keep an eye on my former colleague Jon Henderson’s staggeringly well-researched life of Stanley Matthews, The Wizard (Yellow Jersey Press). It’s the first unauthorised biography of

‘We hate Tottenham!’ If they had shouted it once they had shouted it 100 times. I wasn’t sure why, as we were watching Chelsea v. Basel. But I knew enough about a girl’s place at a football match not to turn to my male companion and ask what would no doubt turn out to be a stupid question. I love going to Stamford Bridge, just every now and then, you understand. I know nothing about any of it. I have never claimed to understand the offside rule. But every so often, when a male friend invites me, I dust off my Chelsea shirt. I find the action on and off

Over the next few days, we’ll all have to swallow gallons of journalistic effluvium about the great Alex Ferguson, who announced his resignation this morning. We will be told about the legendary gum-chewing manager who transformed humble, working-class Manchester United into a world-topping global brand. We should, however, be expressing relief that a man who has done so much damage to English football is at last quitting. First off, we now have the cheering possibility that Manchester United’s boring dominance of top-flight football will finally end. This year they won the Premier League without at any stage playing all that well. Other teams just couldn’t get their act together. This

I shall be ringing the Crown Prosecution Service later today to insist that they bring a prosecution against the footballer Rio Ferdinand for having concurred with a tweeted suggestion that his colleague Ashley Cole was a ‘choc ice’. The term is deeply racist and offensive, given to mean that the person is black on the outside and white on the inside. Similar terms are, I believe, Oreo and coconut. Rio, perhaps realizing his transgression, has since insisted that he meant that Ashley was a ‘fake’; but I think we should let the courts decide that one, shouldn’t we? I can’t see any semantic link between choc ice and fake, unless

I’ve always rather taken the George Best line on David Beckham’s footballing abilities:  ‘He cannot kick with his left foot, he cannot head a ball, he cannot tackle and he doesn’t score many goals. Apart from that he’s all right.’ But you have to say nonetheless – Beckham’s a thoroughly likeable and decent bloke and I wish, after all the work he’s put in, he’d been awarded a place in the British Olympic © football team. The England coach Stuart Pearce seems to be under the profoundly mistaken illusion that anyone in the country gives a monkey’s about our Olympic football team. We’ve had enough of the hubris of football,

Past experience demonstrates that Rangers supporters won’t find anything funny about this: As I say, Rangers fans are immune, even at this late stage, to even gallows’ humour. Everyone else? Well, not so much. After all: If this – and sending Rangers into the stygian depths of Scottish football – constitutes success in the corporate restructuring world one scarcely dares contemplate the horrors of failure. [Thanks to JPT]

If England had won that penalty shoot out against Italy it would have been a travesty. The press has been very kind to the national team this morning, partly because — as we kept being told — ‘expectations were low’ and partly because everyone still likes (with some justification) Roy Hodgson. But from the middle of the first half onwards, England performed as poorly as I have ever seen them, and it wasn’t simply down to the might of the opposition. Indeed, the Italian defence is ponderous and porous, as we shall see when they play a team which dares, from time to time, to attack. England’s problems were partly