The End is Nigh. Match preview: Leicester City v Atletico Madrid

"10% possession lads. That's all"

It’s not very often that Life throws us a bone here at Spongers HQ, probably because if that hateful bastard did decide to throw one at us it’d somehow break all our windows just as we’d agreed to sell Spongers HQ based on its incredible windows. That’s the kind of relationship we have – Life is generally only interested in building us up to tear us down.

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.

The Runs #1: York City 2003-4

Chris Brass presumably enjoying the first four games of the season

We have a confession to make, Rob and I. We've got lazier in our old age so series are easier to do than write proper articles. So, true to form, here is Spongers' own Adam Bushby kicking off our new series with a quite remarkable winless streak. 

The 2003/4 season in England is best remembered for Arsenal’s ‘Invincibles’. Thirty-eight games unbeaten and a Premier League title. Twenty six wins and 12 draws. Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s impressive, if in an obvious way. But I tell you what is more impressive. Gaining just 16 points between November 22 and the end of the season. Sixteen points. (Clamouring from soapbox) SIXTEEN. From 27 games, between end-November and May. I tell you what is more impressive even than that. Not winning a game from January 10 to the end of the season. NOT ONE. And these things happened that very season at the other end of the pyramid.

Reflections On The First Day Of The Season: Part 1

It's taken us almost a week to respond to the fact that the season is now up and running but we've woken up from our slumber. Adam Bushby gives his thoughts on a stolen afternoon in Kent. 

I remember the date vividly. Probably because it was less than a week ago and my short-term memory is pretty much fit for purpose. August 13. And I can tell you exactly where I was. I was stood towards the corner flag, in the away end of the Stonebridge Road ground eating a burger. I heard a booming Yorkshire voice, spliced with bile bellow: “And you can take your fucking chewing gum out an all linesman. Take your fucking gum out and start doing your fucking job.” After I heard this abuse, I smiled. ‘Why is this bloke so bothered about the linesman’s chewing gum?’, I pondered. I was watching York City v Ebbsfleet in the Blue Square Premier League, it was 15 minutes in, and I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. A new season has started. And I’m hooked.

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.

You Are Not A Loan

We’ve all heard the myth. That deep in an underground bunker, somewhere beneath Richard Keys’s house, Sky took a timeless sport, the most popular sport on the planet, covered it in bells and whistles and whooshing logos and created football in 1992. They made Sundays ‘Super’ too.

Obsessed as they are with the concept of ‘breaking news’, it came as no surprise that the Sky behemoth has been all over transfer deadline day since its inception in 2002-03 like a fly around the proverbial. Which leads me to what we think about the transfer window.

The Cup of Good Hope

'What's up?'

'Bloody Burnley away son, that's what's up'

In Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, we can find Harrison Ford’s most profound/cheesy/tediously predictable moment in film. Faced with choosing the sweet apple of the Holy Grail from a line-up mainly featuring gaudy onions festooned with jewels and bling, beckoning him with their shiny little cubic zirconia ring-adorned bastard fingers, Indy picks a small wooden cup. A symbol of humble hopes and dreams. A cup neither unblemished by symbols of the greed of man, nor blighted by the accessibility only great wealth can facilitate.

O Come All Ye Platefuls

Like people in all walks of life, footballers come in different shapes and sizes. If you wanted to classify them into types, you can normally stretch to something amounting to ‘nippy winger’, ‘commanding centre-back’, ‘powerful striker’ and ‘midfield terrier’. All are valid classifications. One other type though, is a bit more cult than all the others, inspiring affection and comedy in equal degree. At this festive time of indulgence, and given the evisceration of Levante’s Sergio Ballesteros on Twitter, we tip our caps to the ‘fat lad’ – a man who in Magic Spongers terms, is just as much brilliant shiny apples as he is stupid smelly onions.

The Sacking Of York

At first glance, my club, York City, are the same as many others at the more unglamorous reaches of the football pyramid. Money, as ever, is tight – to be expected when your average attendance is 2,386 and you’re in the conference. But the finances at Bootham Crescent (‘Crescent’ no longer preceded by Kit Kat, thankfully) are not as clear cut as one might imagine.

Travel Sickness Afflicts York

When York City fans take their seats at Wembley on Sunday for the Conference play off final they will be outnumbered roughly four-to-one by their counterparts from Oxford. Now, the former Milk Cup winners were always going to sell more tickets than the Minstermen but Sky’s hijacking of the kick off time has resulted in a completely unnecessary 5pm commencement. Had the game been on Saturday, this wouldn’t have proved an obstacle but of course it is the FA Cup final and by shunting it backwards 24 hours, this later kick off has led to swathes of York fans shunning the club’s biggest game since 1993’s old Third Division playoff against Crewe. Anecdotal evidence points to the fact that, to many fans, £100+ is simply too high a price to pay (roughly £60 for a return train fare, £35 plus booking fee for the cheapest Wembley seat, not to mention the famously expensive burgers), regardless of the prize at stake. At the time of writing the respective ticket sales were roughly Oxford – 29,000, York – 8,000.

There are other options that make far more sense. Firstly, make the game an earlier kick off so that the York fans are not heading back up north late on a school night – families are turning their back on the showpiece in their droves as a result. York’s official coach firm York Pullman is sending its fleet out at 8am on the Sunday, with fans not expected to arrive back in the motherland until just before midnight. One can only suppose that the Blue Square Premier powers that be fully expected an Oxford/Luton pairing to justify the 5pm kick off as both their sets of supporters wouldn’t have far to travel.

Also, considering that Wembley is going to be less than half full, would a venue half way between the two cities not be a better option? Villa Park leaps out as a suitable compromise. Old Trafford or Eastlands would both have been attractive propositions too. These grounds would have been fuller as a result of their location and pose a more democratic venue to host a clash between a northern side and a southern one.

Finally, no-one I have spoken to seems to see the logic in buying tickets to the final from a third party firm. See Tickets is the firm vested with the power of ticket distribution for the final and has duly helped itself to just under a 10% booking fee and a couple of quid postage and packaging, angering many fans of both clubs. Where was the problem with the clubs selling the tickets themselves through their ticket office? That York took 13,000 to Wembley for the FA Trophy final last year against Stevenage, but will take almost 5,000 fewer to this vastly more important game, highlights the unfairness of the system. Although it seems a sea of yellow will vastly outnumber that of red in the stands come Sunday, this need not overly concern City’s supporters. Adversity and York City go hand in hand – just ask Luton Town’s lovely fans. On second thoughts… Adam Bushby