A (Sort Of) Brave (Sort Of) New Dawn

David Bernstein kicks a ball at a child (presumably), yesterday

As half of the universe was hanging on the future of potentially the most significant export to come out of Belgium since waffles, waffle makers and confusing instances at Magic Spongers HQ when realising the difference between ‘Belgian’ and ‘Birds Eye’, something else was going on in the bowels of England’s national stadium.

The FA announced yesterday that the ‘shareholders’ (the county football associations) had voted to bring in “a new player pathway for football” with an 87% majority. After doubtless asking ‘what?’, the likelihood is that you’ve joined our initial response on these fair pages which was – quite reasonably – to ask the FA what the FUCK took so long?

They'll Do What They Want

NOT SO FAST SUNSHINE

What better way to prepare for a return to the blogging arena by opening with a piece written by someone else? No better way, that's what. Particularly when said piece includes two of our favourite things: made-up quotes and a jibe at Adam Bushby's physical attractiveness. Here's the brilliant Dan Forman (go follow):

As I write, I don't know if Roberto Di Matteo is still Chelsea manager or will be at the start of next season. But I am pretty sure of one thing: If Arjen Robben had kept his composure and Chelsea had lost the Champions League final he wouldn't be.

Shedloads of Money, Shedloads of Problems

So now we know. A player CAN be bigger than the manager in Manchester. Sir Alex Ferguson has spent the best part of a quarter of a century arguing to the contrary, shipping off your David Beckhams, your Jaap Stams and your Roy Keanes at the faintest sign of dissent, but Roberto Mancini, hand forced or not, last night flew in the face of such folly, swapping a principled stand for a pragmatic one. That Carlos Tevez would have a huge hand in the winning goal with a delightful slide rule assist to Samir Nasri was almost a given; the scriptwriters have been in fine form at Eastlands this season.

Winning At A Cantera

"We're not bad, us"

Athletic Bilbao are a delight. ATHLETIC Bilbao, lest we forget. Seeds sown in the shipyards of Sunderland were reaped in the Basque country; a cantera policy that places the onus squarely on grass roots development within the reinforced framework of local identity. Though darlings of the anti-federalists, Athletic Bilbao were also set apart from their peers due to a proud adherence to la manera Inglesa (the English way), which became a sort of euphemism for a suspicion of flair, best evidenced under the stewardship of Javier Clemente. An altogether different proposition from the likes of Real Madrid then, this.

Marcelo Bielsa, though, is no aficionado of the anti-flair brigade. A different beast altogether, the Argentine might be known as El Loco, but in his madness there is ample method. At times last night during the Europa League win at Old Trafford, we were watching an old-fashioned schooling. A shoeing. A 3-2 thrashing.

Why England’s Brave John Terry Is The Perfect Man For The Chelsea Job Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love SEO

Says it all really doesn't it

Not since the abbreviation LOL was created by a tosser have three consecutive letters riled me as much as A, followed by V, ended by B. Towards the end of his reign, more people were actually laughing out loud when saying “AVB” than “LOL”. In fact, Andre Villas-Boas himself was busy LOLing by the end as he sat back, moaned, thought of the severance package he was about to get his hands on, and then moaned some more.

With Villas-Boas consigned to the Abramovich scrap heap of Big Names that can’t win Big Cups, the search is now on for someone to buck the trend. But, of course, when winning the club a league title for the first time in 50 years isn’t enough (Jose Mourinho), indeed, winning the domestic double isn’t either (Carlo Ancelotti), you’d need to be either a mercenary (Sven-Goran Eriksson), or have been out of England so long you’d forgotten what people are actually like (Rafa Benitez), to want the Chelsea job. Or maybe you’d need to be something else entirely...

Pearce. And Quiet

"How the hell did they find out about 'Bevington's Bollock Cabinet'?"

At the moment, the English national football team has no manager, no (full-time) captain and no Wayne Rooney. And the FA, thus far – perhaps wary of capacity issues in the ‘Bevington Bollock Cabinet’, the cupboard in Adrian Bevington’s office where all the previously dropped bollocks have been stored since sweeping them under the carpet got impractical and not a little messy – has offered no resolution.

Without the governing body to harangue, attention has turned largely to dismissing Stuart Pearce’s tenure as England manager as temporary, like some kind of Fabio Capello residue that needs a quick power-hosing off after this prearranged commitment at Wembley. Inevitable though it seems that he will be stripped of the job, the wilful carte blanche being applied to England’s performance at Euro 2012 could endanger Capello’s permanent successor as much as the perceived lack of pressure (relatively, of course) could benefit the squad’s performance.

Fair Play At A Price

Since time immemorial, Uefa’s financial fair play rules have been skulking around in the shadows of polite chat in football circles. It was Arsenal’s Herbert Chapman who first busied himself snaffling the brightest and best from across the country – Alex James, Cliff Bastin, Eddie Hapgood, Herbie Roberts and David Jack – in the late 1920s in a bid to thwart Michel Platini jr jr jr and the other suits at Europe’s governing body as he pre-empted said regulations*. From Chapman to latter day incarnations, managers have always attempted to prize as much filthy lucre from their chairman’s cold hands as possible. And after a quiet January transfer window for once, following the batshit mentalness of last year, bracing oneself for an equally capricious summer of transfer activity would be a sound idea.