Die Another (Match of the) Day

Balls

An open letter to the new Director General of the BBC by Mr Daniel Forman.

Dear George,

Congratulations on your appointment and hope you've enjoyed your first few weeks in the job. You don't strike me as much of a football fan and you don't seem to have had much to do with sport in your long career at the BBC but I hope I'm wrong about that as I have something quite important to tell you: Match of the Day is about to die.

Is Anybody Still Enjoying This?

'[Insert bad things here].'

The darker side of football has been rearing its ugly head for so long now that its neck must be in real trouble. Diving? ‘Rar!’, football roars. Incorrect and costly offside decisions? Rarrrrr! Dubious red cards and insulting language from the officials? Raarrrrrrrrr! Pelting players with coins? RAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR!

The problem with this weekend was that it felt like one omnishambles (see also: ‘clusterfuck’) too far. Firstly, a procession of all things wryly considered to be the worst and most controversial aspects of the game occurred in front of our very eyes, as usual, and secondly, Ed Chamberlin’s eyes lit up like a fat lad at a hog roast as yet another chance arose to eschew analysing the actual football in favour of ‘great talking points’. As usual. And thirdly, an increasingly irrelevant Match of the Day 2 barely gave any analysis of anything. AS USUAL. A great advert for the Premier League, indeed. Well done, everyone.

On Gary Neville and Forgiveness

Gary Neville kisses a badge and the world shits itself

Adam Bushby hates Gary Neville. Or does he?

Let me make something absolutely clear. I am not seeking the forgiveness of Gary Neville. If anything, this piece is about applying some fundamental rules of the New Testament to football and, perhaps more specifically, how these rules relate to someone who I once hated. ‘Hated’ of course in the ‘footballing sense’, which is to say ‘dislike severely’, but not ‘to wish sudden death upon’. Hate in a vacuum, if you will. With the hatred dissipating Monday Night Football by Monday Night Football, something curious happened in December 2011. I learned to forgive Gary Neville.

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.

Great Expectations By Charles Dickheads

“Fifty million quid means that you are not entitled to much in the way of allowances,” asserted the Guardian’s Richard Williams, a day after the £50m Fernando Torres made a debut to forget. And he’s right. But after one game – 66 minutes to be precise – Williams likened Torres to Chris Sutton. Specifically, the Chelsea-brand Chris Sutton. The one Premier League goal in 29 appearances Chris Sutton. Still, he’s not entitled to much in the way of allowances, eh Mr Williams?