Brighty's Vested Interest

And here we were thinking we could go on holiday. If you haven’t read this latest piece of tripe by Mark Bright, please take a moment to do so while Magic Spongers cracks its collective knuckles and prepares for a bit of Brighty-panning, the nation’s new favourite sport.

While we never went quite as far as assuming that Brighty had an on/off switch, this latest offering, combined with his general inability to form coherent sentences while commentating on the match between Cardiff and QPR, made us think that someone at the Metro is either trying to stitch him up big time or is so in his thrall that they will print whatever piece of buffoonery comes out of the man’s mouth.

Arsene Around

Let’s start with an analogy. It’s May. The sun periodically breaks rank from the accompanying cloud, illuminating a quaint Yorkshire village in a radiant glow. It is the spring fete: the children are enjoying the rides and games and the adults are gorging on food and ale. Each year, there is one tradition that has been the centrepiece of the fete for generations. A game of skill, not to mention a little chance, which can turn humble men into folk heroes. It is called the Apple Lob. Simply, competitors must stand some 20 yards away from a target, armed with succulent apples they have spent the past year lovingly preparing for this moment. And then they must hit the centre of the target, scoring points in the process. Three points are gained for hitting the smallest target in the very centre of the board. One point is awarded for hitting the larger target circling that.

FC Barcelona. Not Arrogant. Just Quite Arrogant

"ARGH! How dare you twat my ideological superiority?"

Sid Lowe’s interview with Xavi earlier this year got us thinking, and not only because the outpouring of emotion on Twitter made us wonder if Sid had died (at the very least mind you, his back must be black and blue after all the slaps it received). In fact, it was that for all Xavi’s joyful enthusiasm, there was a sneaking hint of something else. A creeping sense that the line between admitting the clear fact that Barcelona are superb, and then being all arrogant and self-righteous about it, was getting a bit blurry.

Pragmatic Latic

"Don't agree with me? GO AND STAND OVER THERE"

Ahead of a MASSIVE game for Wigan this weekend, friend of Magic Spongers – and a man who likes his pies – Martin Dearden makes his debut...

The first time my Dad took me to Wigan was October 1993. We sat in the Phoenix Stand at Springfield Park and watched the Latics stuff the now defunct Chester City 6-3. There was a young winger on loan from Man Utd who scored two and even managed to get booked for netting a cheeky chip after an offside whistle – but at least he hit the target, Mr Van Persie. It was a great introduction to watching my local team. Growing up closer to St Helens than Wigan with a rugby-mad Granddad, it shouldn’t really have happened, but after a rare highlight in a poor season I was hooked, begging my Dad to take me back.

El Clasi-coach

Amid the almost plaintive geeing up from the stands at White Hart Lane, Real Madrid fans at one end of the ground could be heard bellowing Jose Mourinho’s name. Forget that 5-0 humbling, forget the eight point gap at the top of the league. Forget that Mourinho’s proud unbeaten record at home (nine years incorporating 150 matches) was demolished by a team currently 11th in La Liga. Forget that four clasicos now await us in the space of 18 days. Madrid fans now believe that a team so comprehensively battered by Barcelona can become its superior in Europe.

This is unquestionably Mourinho’s favourite time of the year. This is also his favourite way of operating. While we all get carried away with the prospect of seeing four matches involving Spain’s top pair, the likelihood is that the Portuguese will see only two.

Creepy Crawley

Time to fill out that expenses form...

The weekend just gone saw the first side across England’s top five divisions promoted. Yes, I said five divisions, because I’m a York City fan and I like to feel relevant. Crawley Town made it to the promised land of the Football League, leaving the other 23 Conference sides to scrap over the one remaining promotion place. And if you think I’m going to doff my cap in recognition of Crawley’s achievement, then you have another thing coming.

Going For A Barton

"I can LITERALLY punch you with either of these babies"

One unfortunate truth about the nature of these fair pages is that it doesn’t take a lot for us to dislike someone in football. An ill-considered ‘coup’ at the World Cup, allegedly sleeping with other players’ exes and being tremendously brave have all brought the Magic Spongers’ wrath raining down on John Terry, who in turn has responded by actually playing quite well, much to our chagrin.

But no amount of Bushby praying at the shrine of Jamie Redknapp he’s erected in his cupboard in the hope of a ‘literally’ slip-up, or Rob repeatedly trying to solicit statues of you from Mohamed Al-Fayed, can mask the fact that when you speak the truth – or at least attempt to – Magic Spongers is inclined to give you some credit. Or at least maybe consider comparing you with an apple.

Roodimentary Language: A Star On The Wayne?

Apologies for the week-long hiatus on these fair pages. We’ve been busy searching out living rooms full of families and then going right up to the window and shouting “fuck off” into them. Which leads us nicely to Wayne Rooney of course.

This isn’t going to be a meditation on the rights and wrongs of using a bit of blue language. It would be hypocritical of us in the extreme to pass judgment on Rooney’s bad language having hurled far worse at the referee when Nemanja Vidic managed to avoid a red card for a professional foul for the 1,295th time of his career, and when our own editorial policy runs something along the lines of ‘Copious Unprofessional Nasty Terminology’ (CUNT).