“This is a form of training I cordially approve of.”

Presented by Dave Bowler

The best way to train a footballer so that he reaches the peak of physical perfection has long been a matter of debate, with many differing schools of thought.

In this article from “The Book Of Football”, published back in 1905, the great Billy Bassett, England hero of the 19th century, set out some pretty forthright views on how players were being trained at the dawn of the 20th century, and just where he thought the game was going wrong…

The average man has but a dim and imperfect idea of the way in which a professional footballer fits himself for his work. He has a suspicion that he fills in his time at the ground but he has little knowledge of the routine through which the expert footballer goes. Training has reached lengths of which we old footballers never dreamed. I want the reader of this article to carefully note that I am not writing this as a director of West Bromwich Albion Football Club. I do not want that club to think I am referring to them and their methods. I am not. I am dealing with the whole question of football training from my own point of view.

Personally, I do not mind admitting that I am no believer in this organised system of training. I believe the man plays football best who works for his living in the ordinary way. Take the case of that great centre-half of years ago, Charles Perry. He always worked but was there a fitter man in the kingdom? No. But conditions have changed. Men are receiving £4 per week for football now, and there is no necessity for them to work. You cannot blame a man who is in receipt of such an income for refraining from tying himself down in any way. He is a free agent and, with few exceptions, he elects not to work. So be it. I am not finding fault with him. But allow me to say that all this special training is solely for the benefit of the man who does not work; the other man merely wants a little special exercise – say three nights per week – to keep him fit.

Time hangs heavily on the paid footballer’s hands, and club directors know to their cost that a programme of exercise has to be mapped out for him, otherwise he would soon become fat and sleek and well disposed towards everyone, but scarcely a deadly opponent. There you have the sum and substance of the why and wherefore of this special training which has become such a big business. But you must not tell me that the man who practically lives on a football ground is going to enjoy his football, or look forward to it with such keenness as the men of old did. I say it is a practical impossibility for these men to be as enthusiastic as we were; and this constant attendance at the ground is, in my opinion, the cause of all the stereotyped, listless and automatic play we get. But I am not here to moralise; my mission is to give you a typical day’s work at a football ground.

Our learned author,the great Billy Bassett.

The bulk of the trainers vary in their methods, but I will endeavour s far as possible to let the reader know what a normal day’s work is. Monday is often a dies non. Many clubs allow the men to do as they like on that day providing there is no midweek engagement. They do not report themselves for special training on Monday. On the Tuesday morning, they get to the ground at ten o’clock, and the trainer takes them for a good walk in the country. They probably cover five or six miles and do it at a fair pace. There is no racing, but there is no sauntering about. This is form of training I cordially approve of. Not only do the men get what I regard as the best exercise in the world, but they also get plenty of good fresh air. There was a time when walking was overdone. There was n individual connected with Wolverhampton Wanderers in the old days who used to walk the men off their feet. He would take them ten or twelve miles at a fast pace day after day. The result was that he leg muscles got too hard; the men were jaded; and a trifling accident was likely to result in a complete breakdown.  Plenty of good, sound walking is highly beneficial, but it is possible to overdo even the most legitimate form of exercise.

Should the morning not be conducive to pleasant walking, then the trainer orders alternative exercise. But here there is an attempt made to treat the individual according to his special requirements. One will be set to skip vigorously for half an hour, and even longer. Skipping is a grand exercise. One of the greatest full-backs of the day is in the habit of skipping every morning; practically he does little else and he is always in the pink of condition. The exercise affects every muscle of the body. It makes for increased agility, it improves the wind, and it renders the muscles pliable and elastic. It would make the ordinary man smile – and I am not sure that he might not sneer – to see these grown men skipping for an hour. Oftentimes, the great back I have mentioned will do a thousand revolutions at a time; but it is good training and half an hour of it every day would do good to the man who is not a footballer.

Many of our leading clubs have a well equipped gymnasium on the ground for the use of the players on days when exercise cannot legitimately be taken in the open air. Another player will have a long turn with the Indian clubs, and others will punch the ball for an hour. Now, ball-punching is one of the finest and also one of the most interesting exercises ever devised. There is something very attractive to the individual in ball-punching, and there is also a measure of skill to be acquired in the art. If you have never seen a clever American ball-puncher, see one at the first opportunity. A man like Tucker is well worth watching. Some of our leading pugilists are very fine ball-punchers. There is no exercise like it for a goalkeeper; but it gives stamina to everyone. It teaches a man to be quick on his feet, and it is particularly good for improving the wind.

“For Goodness’ sake Albert be quick! It’s jolly cold in here!”

Then there is running exercise. Most of the players will run around the ground a few times or man, according to the amount of exercise each is deemed to require. This was the only real training that I ever did. I used to have a brisk walk several times a week, and a few spells of running; this is to improve the wind, and also to give lasting power to the player. Then there is sprinting exercise; this is to improve the pace. The men indulge in short bursts at top speed, and most of them are all the better for this class of work. Very few players possess the speed they might have if they trained properly; but there is always a danger of overdoing this kind of training. Men who indulge in it much are liable to sudden breakdowns. Men of Templeton’s type and build are much given to indulging in sprinting practice, and they are somewhat prone to get the muscles too rigid, and then a breakdown is liable to follow. Personally, I never used to do sprinting practice. I was fast enough for all requirements and, therefore, I deemed it best to husband all my strength. My favourite practice was running with the ball and centring when going at top speed.

But, I fancy I hear the reader ask, what about learning to play football? This may all be very well, but when do the men learn new tricks with the ball? When do they practise dribbling and shooting? Well, remember that I am not telling you what I should do with men; I am not a trainer. I am simply telling you what they do. One a week, and once a week only, the men have ball practice. So far as I have been able to see, the men simply kick in. The goalkeeper gets in position, two men play back, eight or nine others kick in. You can see them dribbling deliberately, passing deliberately; they stop the ball dead and then they shoot. That is to say they do precisely what they would never do in the course of actual football.

Now, I cannot see that this is beneficial. The backs and goalkeepers might get good practice, but I don’t see where it’s going to improve the other men’s play. Personally, I would much rather see sides formed. Then the men could please themselves whether they dribbled excessively; but I really do not see why they should not practise dribbling and practice racing off at top speed and centring on the run. It would be infinitely more interesting and infinitely better practice than the stereotyped methods now in vogue. My own opinion is that men get nothing like as much actual work with the ball as they need. When I was playing, I always made a practice of doing plenty of work with the ball and I never went out to our ground to practice without devoting special attention to taking the corner kick.

When the hard work is over you get the baths. Most important clubs have hot and cold baths available while many leading organisations have all the latest steam and douche baths that human ingenuity has contrived. In some of the excellent illustrations by that practical footballer, Albert Wilkes of Aston Villa, you will see many well known footballers in the act of taking baths. I may tell you that poor Garraty who has been induced to go into the big plunge bath that Aston Villa have for the purpose of the photograph is saying pitifully: “For Goodness’ sake Albert be quick! It’s jolly cold in here!” But all this is strictly in confidence.

A hot bath is a great luxury, but as I am writing with the pictures of these well favoured footballers before me, my mind reverts back to the early League matches at the old Pike’s Lane Ground, Bolton, where you could see a crowd of practically naked Albion and Bolton footballers splashing themselves in the mud round a great water butt. There were no such elaborate baths in those days as the reader can see so excellently depicted in these photographs. The large plunge baths are not to be found everywhere, but they are very handy; and a tour round the dressing room quarters of a famous football club would lead the ordinary man to have some slight idea where the money goes.

When the baths have been used, then the player submits himself to the attentions of the trainer. He is rubbed down vigorously, and you feel a fine glow of health after a vigorous rubbing down following a good bath. I do not think there is anything in the world to equal it. Special massage is given of course in the case of any weak muscle or seat of injury, and this is also beneficial.

The doctor is in constant demand by those responsible for the keeping of a football team in first-class condition. In the old days it was only deemed necessary to call a doctor in the case of serious injury; but a different policy is pursued now. Footballers have not yet adopted the Japanese policy of paying a doctor when they are well and depriving him of his fee when they are ill, but there is just a suggestion of that principle about their methods. The men are periodically overhauled by the doctor who gives special advice for special cases. Of course, in the case of serious injury, unremitting attention is given by the medical man; but he also exercises a kind of general supervision quite apart from any urgent call made upon him. This is necessary, as prevention is better than cure in regard to these matters. One of the illustrations is a capital picture showing a doctor examining a damaged leg in the presence of the trainer.

In some of the excellent illustrations by that practical footballer, Albert Wilkes of Aston Villa, you will see many well known footballers in the act of taking baths.

I have merely given you here a typical day; of course when a team are in training for an important Cup tie different methods obtain. Possibly they go away to some seaside hydro and there, up to a point, much benefit is likely to accrue. Change of air is naturally beneficial; but I have often found that the tendency is for players to get out of their usual routine and, probably, find the fare too good for them. Then, even if the team do not go away, they make special visits to health resorts such as Droitwich, for the purposes of having brine baths. These are excellent tonics and are highly favoured by footballers. But you want a great deal of discretion in regard to these matters.

Granting that all this training is necessary, mainly because of the fact that men have so much time hanging heavily on their hands, which, if it were not artificially taken up would probably be devoted to purposes which would not be conducive to good football later in the week, I cannot see that sufficient is done to improve the quality of football. But there again, one would scarcely think it necessary for anybody but the individual footballer to trouble about that. It should be a matter for the personal ambition of each player. One would think that for his own sake he would make himself as expert in every department of the game as possible. But I do not see that he does and I am quite sure that directors would be wise if they encouraged the men to indulge in more actual game practice. There is something altogether too artificial about football training to my mind. I may be heterodox in my ideas but they are my ideas and there the matter ends. I admit that we get teams who can last the game out well; there is no doubt on that point and to that extent the training justifies itself. But I think it should be more educational and less artificial.

My old friend, Mr. McGregor, has made a valuable suggestion in regard to football training. He advises the men to go in for golf and cites the views of Dr Charles Robertson, an expert Rugby footballer, and one of the greatest golfers in the Midlands, in support of his contention. On the general principle I agree with Mr. McGregor cordially, but I am afraid there are difficulties in the way. To begin with, golf clubs are generally somewhat exclusive. One might almost say this is natural; it is a game the upkeep of which is expensive. It is played by the wealthy class and, naturally, they like to keep their links pretty much to themselves. That is to say, they like to restrict the membership to persons of their own social circle. At any rate, if all the professional footballers in a team were to make application to a club for admission, I do not think they would get in. The only way out of the difficulty would be to provide municipal golf links everywhere, and I am afraid this is still only a dream. Still, municipal golf links are coming, and when they are universal, perhaps the professional will include the game in his regular day’s routine.

You feel a fine glow of health after a vigorous rubbing down following a good bath.

Anything which can be done intelligently, if I may put it so, is far more valuable than anything which is more or less mechanical and stereotyped. But whatever is done, I am quite sure that the men ought to be induced to take more personal interest in perfecting themselves in the art and science of the game than they do. They seem to me to go from week to week without trying to add to their accomplishments. Now, I do not see how a man is to be a great player if from the time he gets into a professional football team he never troubles about the pastime except when engaged in an actual match. Match practice is the best practice I admit, but then a man does not get sufficient match practice in the course of a season to turn him from a moderate player into a high class one. This is quite apart from training and it ought to be sufficient to draw attention to the matter and leave each footballer to work out his own improvement. I am afraid some of them think they have nothing to learn in which case they will learn nothing. But they are not all like that, and the rest would do well to lose no single opportunity they may obtain of perfecting themselves in all the methods which go to make up the sound footballer.

Football is a very exact science; there is far more in it than the average player is disposed to think. There are many good players today – there will be always be many good players – but there is a great deal of slovenly football. Many men play moderately who, if they gave the game the attention it deserves, might improve their football markedly. It is a game worth studying; in fact men who adopt it as a profession ought to study it. No man should try to skip through a profession. There is a great demand for good players, and even if there is no chance of earning fancy wages which men used to earn years ago, £4 per week all the year round is not a bad wage for the average man who plays football.

Besides, if a man gets out of the ruck and proves himself to be a really good player, his name is remembered and that recognition may be of use to him in after life.

There is one thing which is going to tell in football more than it has ever told before, although tendency has all along been in the direction of the good. Character is going to tell. Let young players note that and note it carefully. There used to be a lot of wild doings in the old days and they make very interesting reminiscences. No one delights to hear them chatted about more than I do. I don’t suppose that the footballers of the future will ever have quite such riotous fun as their predecessors had. But they may not be much the worse off for that. After all, it is easy to overdo the wild Bohemianism that characterised some of the footballers of the old school; and it must not be forgotten that there are often sore heads after a night out. There is every encouragement given today for the formation of character. There is a daily increasing tendency for clubs to look askance at men who have not a clean record. Clubs have begun to learn – nay, they have learned! – that it does not take many black sheep to lead the whole flock astray.

So long as I am connected with football, I shall never sanction the admission into a team of any man who has not a clean record. It is all very well to be a fine footballer; but the man who can play good football and is occasionally unfit to do so is of doubtful value to a side.

I have even gone to the length of seriously advising players to pay some regard to their personal appearance. This may appear to some as a rather small matter, but personally I regard it as a somewhat important one.

I do not like to see footballers getting £4 a week – or even £3 if you like – slouching about in mufflers and dispensing with collars. It brings the game into contempt with the very class we want to draw to our matches.

There is no reason why footballers should not always look neat and trim; they will be doing good to the pastime if they are reasonably careful as to their personal appearance.

By Cesar Benoit

The second half of the La Liga season officially got under way this past weekend. But is the league already over?

Perhaps we’re jumping the gun, but Real Madrid’s lead over Barcelona is now seven points and it’s hard to see that being overturned.

Real Madrid extended their lead courtesy of a 3-1 come-from-behind victory over cellar dwellers Real Zaragoza.

Jose Mourinho’s side, who were knocked out of the Copa del Rey by their eternal rivals last week despite a dramatic 2-2 draw at the Nou Camp, went behind to Angel Lafita’s 11th-minute opener.

However, goals from Kaka, Cristiano Ronaldo and Mehmet Ozil saw them past Spain’s worst club.

Barcelona were humbled in a goalless draw at relegation-threatened Villarreal.

The Catalans were particularly poor in the first half, during which the Yellow Submarine could have even taken the lead, while the second period saw them denied by a stout defensive performance and some good saves from Diego Lopez.

The Barcelona newspapers were full of examples of similar leads being blown by Madrid this week. But that was a long time ago. Never before have the margins been so fine or the total number of points so high.

Even if Barcelona were to win every single game between now and the end of the season, Madrid would still need to drop seven points. That’s just one point fewer than they have dropped so far. Barcelona may be better than Madrid but Madrid are a very good team.

Barcelona look more likely to drop points over the next few weeks. They’ve dropped points away in Villarreal, Valencia, Bilbao, Cornella, Getafe, and San Sebastian. They have only 15 first-team players available, thanks to injuries. Plus they have a Copa del Rey semi-final to play against Valencia, who they drew 1-1 in a hard-fought first leg at the Mestalla Wednesday night which saw a rare penalty miss by Lionel Messi.. Besides that,  there’s a weariness and lethargy surrounding the club these days.

They have Osasuna and Atletico to come away in the next month, plus Valencia at home. Madrid face Getafe, Rayo and Betis away. The title is Madrid’s to lose. The question is how will Madrid feel if they win the league losing twice to Barcelona? Mourinho’s response? “I feel fine.”

Speaking of the Special One, online reports suggest he’s in the running to become England manager if he quits Real Madrid in the summer.

I always fancied him coach of Manchester United after Sir Alex Ferguson retired. But Fergie is showing no signs of leaving and with the increased media scrutiny at the Bernabeu, the time could be right for a return to England.

The story of the season is occurring in the Copa del Rey, where Segunda B club Mirandes reached the semifinals against Athletic Bilbao after defeating Espanyol last week.

Mirandes has already eliminated Villarreal, Racing Santander and Espanyol to become only the third team below the second division to reach the last four.

“We’re filled with hope, and a lot of desire because we know we’re just one step away from the final,’’ said daytime banker and forward Pablo Infante, who leads the competition with six goals, “Let’s see what we’re capable of.’’

Unfortunately, Bilbao beat Mirandes 2-1 in the first leg of their semifinal on Tuesday, two Fernando Llorente goals silencing the 8,000 in attendance at Mirandes’ Anduva stadium. Bilbao conceded a stoppage-time goal to give the hosts some hope ahead next week.

“We’re going to have to play the match of our lives,’’ Mirandes coach Carlos Pouso said of next Tuesday’s return at the San Mames stadium. First Levante, now Mirandes. Who said Spain’s just about the Big Two?

By Tim Hall

This has been one of those “best of times, worst of times” weeks for the beautiful game in America, specifically when it comes to the women’s game. On the positive, the US Women’s National Team qualified for the Olympics in London this summer. Now, that was completely expected, and in all honesty it wasn’t the biggest challenge the team will ever face. In five games, the US went undefeated and undrawn, beating their opponents by a total of 38-0, including a 14-0 drubbing of Dominican Republic and a 13-0 beating laid on Guatemala. Still, mustn’t take these things for granted, it is the Olympics, and congratulations are in order for the Lady Stars-And-Stripes.

(Sidebar: I am calling on all lovers of soccer here in the United States to come together come up with a cool nickname for our national team. Black Stars, Reggae Boys, La Albiceleste, all great, but how do we not have a nickname our own? Worse yet, US Rugby already took the obvious choice of “The Eagles” as well as a very cool secondary choice in “The Tomahawks” for the rugby league side. Two years until the next World Cup, America, let’s get it together. Heck, I’ll start – “The Free.”)

On the other side of the coin came the bad news that, sadly, has felt inevitable for some time: Women’s Professional Soccer – commonly, WPS – announced that they will not be having a 2012 season.

It’s the latest unfortunate news in the last twelve years of trying to get a viable, if not successful women’s league off the ground here in the United States. The first was the WUSA, which began play in 2001 in an attempt to build off of the national team winning the Women’s World Cup two years prior. Or maybe they were just building off of one of the most iconic sports photographs in the last 50 years. You know the one: Brandi Chastain, black sports bra, clinched fists, yeah, that one. It seemed like that photo was featured on every magazine cover and parodied on every late night talk show in the country before Chastain even made it back to the locker room that day.

With that tournament and that moment as a base, combined with the at least fledgling success of Major League Soccer at the time, the environment seemed right. The US Women, in the forms of Chastain, Mia Hamm, Julie Foudy and the like, could give the league some ready star power, and then, hopefully, off to the races. Unfortunately it was not meant to be, and WUSA folded after three years.

WPS started much the same way, opening play in 2009 with the hopes of continuing the momentum from the previous year’s Olympic games and the World Cup the year before that, all the while trying to still keep at least the most basic connection to that 1999 team, going so far as to add Mia Hamm (although in silhouette form) to the league’s logo. Unfortunately, WPS wasn’t as pitch perfect from the outset on all aspects. When they unveiled their kits for the debut season, the marketing geniuses at Puma had thoughtfully decided to pander to the lowest common denominator on all fronts and fitted these world-class athletes with “wraps.” What is a wrap, I imagine you asking? It’s a skirt. Yes, it was meant to be worn over the shorts, and yes, it was only part of the uniform for four of the original eight teams, and yes, it was optional. Puma and WPS even said that the “wraps” were optional and not meant for on-field play, but, it was a moment for headslapping all the way around and certainly not the best foot forward.

I enjoyed going to WPS games. The local offering, Sky Blue FC, played at Rutgers University, and parking was so close to the field that a shot over the bar could end up in your trunk if you left it open. And is there a greater joy than sitting in a field on a Sunday afternoon having a beer and a bit of a kickaround? Thought not. Plus the play ranged from tolerable to great. WPS brought incredible individual work and amazing tactical play almost as a given. Watching Sky Blue games was the first time I’ve ever seen an offside trap worked successfully from 40 yards out when no long ball is being played, and as a fan of the game, that was enough to stand and applaud, even as the parents behind me yelled obscenities.

But that’s gone now, leaving many of the US players who just qualified for the Olympics at best scrambling to latch on somewhere else, and at worst not playing until this summer. WPS, to their credit, is publicly holding out hope of returning in 2013, but despite what we’ve all learned from books, movies and religions, raising the dead is no small feat.

Many intelligent people have already weighed in, offering obituaries, assigning blame, questioning business practices, and the usual “what might have been” nonsense that must be said in these situations. However, allow me to offer a plan for the future.

Let us assume WPS is dead, but that some other group of investors will eventually appear on the horizon in a few years to resurrect the idea of a women’s soccer league in America. That league will need a marketable star like the Mia Hamms and Brandi Chastains of yesteryear. Right now, there’s only one megastar on the USWNT team that qualifies: Hope Solo. The American goalkeeper dazzled at the most recent World Cup and wore Bedazzled dresses as a recent contestant on Dancing With The Stars.

If you’re an MLS team with questions at the goalkeeper position, why not bring Hope Solo in for a tryout?

Is it a gimmick? Is it pandering? Lord yes. If nothing else, it is good press for the club that does it, and for the US women’s soccer when it’s needed most. And maybe, just maybe, Hope lands a spot with the team. Perhaps even as a starter. Why couldn’t Hope Solo start in MLS? While I don’t want to make the women’s game a sideshow, it would sell tickets. Plus, she’s better than some keepers I’ve seen in MLS, and given the way referees protect goalies nowadays, she’d be safe from most of the brutal challenges. I mean, we’re not talking a field player like my delicate flower Megan Rapinoe, who if any male player tackled would force me to storm the field and forcibly remove his trachea (Megan, please return my calls).

Think about it: Keeping our #1 goalkeeper in form. Keeping women’s soccer in the forefront. Increasing MLS ticket sales throughout the league. Increasing exposure on ESPN.

Hope Solo for MLS goalkeeper. Why not? It works.

By Billy Williamson

You need a degree in accountancy to be a Rangers fan these days.

On Tuesday, the Daily Record broke the story that Rangers’ owner Craig Whyte sold four years’ worth of Rangers season ticket sales to fund his takeover of the Govan club. Later that same day, Whyte released a statement admitting the deal happened but denied this was what funded his purchase. His statement also confirmed that the club’s top scorer had been sold to a mediocre English Premiership team – to pay other bills, including wages for the rest of the season, according to rangerstaxcase.com, a Celtic-minded blog dedicated to reporting on Rangers’ long-running dispute with the Inland Revenue.

You might need a degree in accountancy to unravel all of this, but to really understand what’s happening on Edmiston Drive you should study another subject: psychology. Because understanding Craig Whyte is the key to divining the future of Rangers.

The Rangers chairman is a man of mystery. Despite the BBC’s best efforts, not much is publicly known about how much money he has or how he made it. His cards aren’t so much as held close to his chest as glued to his rib cage, so we can only guess what type of man is running Rangers.

Optimistically for the blue side of Glasgow, he could be “Alright Whyte” – a Rangers fan who finds himself in the lucky position of managing the club he loves. He thinks he can win the tax case but for tactical reasons he’s minimising his short-term investment in the club, so if he loses there’s less for the taxman to take. Information is power, so he’s withholding as much of it as he can. And like many Rangers fans, he’s prepared to sacrifice a league title if it’s for the long-term benefit of the Ibrox institution – so Jelavic hasn’t been replaced.

I want to believe this is the man we have in charge, but I’m worried it’s not.

I’m worried that we have Whyte the Shite: a monumental chancer who, despite assertions to the contrary, hasn’t put a penny of his own cash into the club. He’s mortgaged future season ticket sales to pay back his initial investment, he sold our star player to pay wages for the others, and he’s not publishing any financial information because it would reveal his house of cards. He’ll hold off the taxman for as long as he can, sell a few more players, and pay himself and his buddies a few million in salaries and “management fees” before disappearing on a private jet to Monaco.

I hope this isn’t the case, and I don’t think it is. First of all, he said he didn’t pay for his investment with future income, and the chairman of a public limited company can’t lie about this without serious consequences. But more importantly, where’s the upside for him in this? He’ll be vilified by half of Scotland, it will ruin any business reputation he has, and with creditors lining up at the doors of Ibrox every day there isn’t much room to extract cash from the club – and there are precious few assets that can be quietly stripped.

Alternatively, he could be “Canny Craig”, a savvy businessman who has made a rational investment in Rangers. If he wins the tax case, he’ll have acquired a major business for a good price and increased his profile in the process. If he loses, well, he’ll have structured the deal in a way that he minimises his losses. With the club in administration he can either walk away having rolled the die and lost, or attempt to salvage the assets of the club to take “New Rangers” forward – if it’s profitable for him to do so.

Only Craig Whyte himself knows which of these men is running Rangers. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to themselves, and lying to you.

Oi! Oi!

Luis Suarez must be watching the John Terry situation unfold with a wry smile on his face. Terry’s court case will now be heard after the European Championships are out of the way, thus dragging the whole sorry saga out even longer.

I do not for one moment buy into any of the conspiracy theories which allude to the authorities protecting the England captain and his team.

Far from it.

I believe this delay will, if anything, cause even more aggro for England and the quest for Euro 2012 glory.

If the authorities really were trying to do Terry and England a favour they would get the case heard tomorrow. If guilty he could rummage down the back of the leopard skin sofa for loose unwanted shrapnel, pay the 2500 quid, lose the armband, and keep his place in the team.

His wee pal Ashley would tell Rio to tell Anton to chill over a glass of bubbly down in Soho, surrounded by a posse of scantily clad wannabe WAGS. Then everyone back to the suite at the Savoy for sex, captured on camera phones so Cheryl can be tweeted later to let her know where she stands. Sorted.

Aggro seems to follow Terry around and my, how his sponsors love it. You must have all seen the Umbro advert used to launch the latest England away shirt.

It has Terry stood screaming and snarling in a “come on then, if you want some” pose. The background is awash with flames, bodies, and flags. Written in huge bold lettering is one word: AWAY.

It is a clear nod to hooliganism. It’s a challenge and a statement.

We’re coming over there to sort your top boys out. Your birds too. This is our leader… he does this to his pals… imagine what he’ll do to his enemies.

Bobby Moore must be turning in his grave.

Innit.

Albion have had their share of great goalscorers down the ages, men like Fred Morris, WG Richardson, Ronnie Allen, Derek Kevan, His Holiness Tony Brown, Cyrille Regis, Bob Taylor and beyond, but not a single one of them has made the same impact on this club, on its culture, on the Black Country as Jeff Astle.
It is Astle who welcomes everyone to The Hawthorns, the gates erected in his name representing the portal into the Holy Land, through which each pilgrim must pass. Astle whose image, arms spread in triumph on those gates, personifies this football club, Astle whose celebration of that goal in that FA Cup Final is one of our enduring images like Glidden in 1931, Bomber at Oldham, Sanders refusing to watch the penalty in 1954. But more than any of those, even his mate Tony Brown who in reality did – still does – even more for the Throstles, Astle was loved by the crowd.
It’s a very rare thing that a player should be taken to the very heart of the hoards in that way, perhaps it’s something that is lost forever now when so many channels of communication give us such fractured views of every individual footballer that it is almost impossible for such blanket consensus to emerge. Even back then, even the real heroes would often be challenged by a dissenting voice or two in the crowd, but not Jeff Astle. From the moment the King had got his Albion career under way with two goals on his Hawthorns debut in a 5-1 trouncing of Wolverhampton, there would barely ever be a word said against him in or out of the ground. Even after the nation turned on him following his actually inconsequential miss against the Brazilians in the 1970 World Cup, the Albion support simply drew ever closer around him, gave him yet more backing, yet more love and pulled him through it all.
In the timeless words of Mr. Todd Rundgren – ask your dad – love is the answer. We’ve made much in these pages this season of the way in which football has superseded religion as the centre of so many lives. If the aliens came down on a Saturday, then they would surely think that our football grounds are our places of worship, unless television has completely knackered the fixture list and everybody’s playing on Sunday instead. But you get the gist. Be you a believer, an agnostic, an atheist, the deep seated human needs seem to be a drive to participate in an act of worship, to be part of a communal setting, to love and be loved. That’s what you get here, at Old Trafford, at the Bescot, Bramall Lane, the Riverside and all the rest. Communion.
At the centre of our communion, the flesh and blood, was Astle. Instantly, there was a connection between player and supporters and of course, the success that Astle helped bring to West Bromwich was central to that. But why should it have been Astle that the crowd selected for their particular devotion? Why not His Holiness Tony Brown, Sir Robert Hope, John Kaye, Clive Clark, wonderful footballers all, the equal, perhaps even better than Jeff himself?
Because Astle had that indefinable quality, something we used to call the X factor before that particular term was irrevocably debased by Simon Cowell and his cohorts. It’s stardust, a particular magnetism, charisma, call it what you will. Astle had it in bucket loads, enabling him to tap into that crowd and be engulfed in wave after wave of love from them, feeding on it, scoring more goals, creating a virtuous circle that endured through ten years on the field and which lives on some forty years past his playing prime.
He was very much a man of his times was Astle, morphing through the 1960s as the decade unfolded and exploded, his look and his approach fitting in seamlessly as the nation shook away a lot of the old formalities, embraced a new familiarity, looked to working class heroes to blow away the staid, stilted austerity of post-war Britain. Politically the likes of Conservative Prime Minister Alec Douglas-Home looked a relic of another age against the chippy Harold Wilson who had the wit and the wisdom to portray himself as a man of the people in an age when the people had had enough of the old ways. It was the rock’n’roll decade and at The Hawthorns, Jeff Astle chimed in perfectly with the times. Our King loved the other king, Elvis, and if his music was swiftly overtaken by the Beatles and the Stones, his image lived on, an image Astle cultivated for himself. Tall, powerful, imposing, Jeff looked the part every time he walked onto the field, he looked as if he ought to be a great player and sometimes, that’s half the battle.
But he had the chops to back it up as well. Astle could play, make no mistake he could play. Sometimes caricatured as a one dimensional battering ram, he was much more than that. Of course his ability in the air was quite extraordinary, having learnt the art at the feet of the pore-war master Tommy Lawton when he was at Notts County. Lawton made his reputation for simply exploding through the ball whenever it came his way and Jeff took on those lessons and applied them every bit as well. Tony Brown still says he’s never seen anyone better in the air than Astle was, and after a lifetime of watching football, that’s some assertion. But it stands up. The power that Jeff could generate through his shoulders and neck muscles was genuinely awe inspiring, an Astle header flashing past a goalkeeper and rippling against the back of the net with all the intent and the venom that most men could put into a volley.

Even today, there is no more exciting sight in the game than the ball going out wide, a decent cross being flashed into the box and a centre-forward piling forward, hunger and determination etched in every feature, beating the defender to the ball and crashing a header past a goalkeeper rooted to the spot – just look again at Wayne Rooney’s first goal for Manchester United against Manchester City if you need any further proof of that. Through the 1960s, that was Albion’s modus operandi, Clive Clark hurtling down the flank, slinging in a cross on the run and Astle just launching himself at the ball which would suddenly change its direction, a flash of colour flying through a crowded penalty area and into the top corner. Then the simple raised arms of celebration in front of the Brummie or the Smethwick, the flock going berserk in celebration, in supplication, a moment of consummation. Then that huge, beaming smile, echoed through the thousands on the terraces and in the stands, a moment of shared understanding, a moment of peculiar intimacy between total strangers suddenly connected by the electric charge of recognition, and if that’s not the definition of religious ecstasy, it ought to be.
For the Throstles through the 1960s, Jeff was the supreme being. He was the man we vested all our hopes in, the one who would always prevail when we needed him most. And in 1968, all that we had wished for came true, for it was Astle who took us into the Promised Land.
The third round against Colchester. Astle scores twice in the replay. Round four against Southampton, Astle scores twice in the replay on the south coast. The fifth round against Portsmouth, Astle gets the only goal of the game on the south coast. Round six, Shankly’s Liverpool. Astle scores in the replay at Anfield. Astle scores in the second replay at Maine Road. The semi-final at Villa Park. Astle scores against Birmingham City.
And so to Wembley Stadium, the old twin towers rising up like an Astle celebration in the background. To the final proof that Albion’s number nine really could play, to the peak of the career, the defining moment. To extra time and a powerful shot towards the Everton goal with the right boot. Smacking into a defender, the ball flies straight back from whence it came. Deftly changing feet in the blink of an eye, Astle strikes the return as clean as a whistle, this time with the left boot. As though drawn by a magnet, the ball sears across the penalty area and whacks into the far corner, the Everton goalkeeper as much a bystander as if he was standing in a bus queue.
Astle runs a few yards to the edge of the pitch, the arms upraised and takes the adulation, basks in the moment, gives us our moment of iconography, a pose that will ever endure, the way that, in truth, all Albion goals still ought to be celebrated to this day in an appropriate act of homage. It’s all over in the blink of an eye and it lasts for 43 years and eight months and counting.
There were further peaks, there were further troughs, but triumph and disaster, it all came the same to Jeff Astle. This was a personality so boundless that it could attract George Best, out of the game and out of shape, to play in his testimonial game. This was a man of such humility that hanging up the boots and taking to a cleaning business didn’t bother him a jot. A man who had thousands in the palm of his hand suddenly had a bucket and washcloth in them instead, but it was all the same to Astle, all part of life, all part of the bigger picture.
That was why he was adored because we all knew that he was one of us, that there genuinely was no difference between the greatest player at the Albion and the bloke standing in the Smethwick smoking his pipe with his son on his shoulders, or the chap in the posh seats in his best suit, or the tearaways at the back of the Brummie. Jeff Astle was everyman and we all wanted to be Jeff Astle.
Once the game is over, it can never be quite the same again. Injury took away his ability to operate on the big stage and his days at The Hawthorns were numbered. But he never forgot us and we never forgot him. Whether he was giving interviews on the radio, talking about the past or the present, simply sitting in the Halfords watching the games unfold in front of him on his pitch, Jeff Astle remained one of us through and through.
In the end, when the dread news came through that he had passed away, it was somehow right that it did as the Albion nation was preparing for a game that day, against Walsall, a game set up for television. Jeff’s passing must have put thousands on the gate, for there was a need for Throstles of all ages to be at the Shrine and to pay appropriate homage. A minute of silence of unbearable intensity passed to perfection, something for which we should again thank the Walsall supporters, and then a deep throated roar of appreciation was followed by chants, hymns, sung in the King’s name.It was an afternoon of the most exquisite agony, all the emotions you could ever experience tumbling out one after another. The team did their bit, winning 1-0, Jason Roberts making the supreme gesture by doing what Jeff would have done – grabbing the goal – and then revealing a shirt with Astle’s face on it, an act for which Roberts should be forever lauded by the Albion support.
Many of those supporters attended the funeral, simply to be there, to pay their respects, to return the love. The poet laureate of Throstles, John Homer, the Archbishop of Gornal, summed up it up as Albion supporters stood on a slight incline beyond the church’s doors in the pouring rain, watching the family and friends troop inside. “It’s as it should be. Standing on the bonk in the rain wi’ the common mon, watching Jeff Astle”. Amen to that brothers and sisters.Days before, we had played an FA Cup tie at The Hawthorns, the competition that he bestrode, Albion up against Leicester City of the top flight. Before the game, over the PA wafted the unforgettable strains of cup final commentary, of Astle’s goal, of the joy of ’68.
Gone, never to be forgotten, Jeff Astle has not left the building. He never will.

Women’s Professional Soccer (WPS) announced today that its Board of Governors has voted to suspend the 2012 season to permit the League to focus on the resolution of certain pending legal issues and the challenges that now face the League as a result of its ongoing dispute with a former owner.

“We are proud of what the League has accomplished in the first three seasons, but we do recognize the necessity to resolve our existing legal and operational issues so that we can continue to support and grow WPS the right way,” said Sky Blue FC Owner Thomas Hofstetter. “This was a very difficult decision, but one we as owners feel is the best business decision for the League at this time.”

The Board voted on Monday morning to suspend the 2012 season. Over the last year the league has faced significant challenges, including a lengthy and expensive legal battle with a former owner. The litigation has diverted resources from investment in the league and has forced the Board to take action, suspending the 2012 season in order to address the legal issues head-on before moving forward with competition.

“We firmly believe there is a place in the global sports landscape for Women’s Professional Soccer,” said WPS CEO Jennifer O’Sullivan. “Making the decision to suspend the 2012 season was a difficult and painful one, but it is necessary to take the time to address current issues and solidify our business in order to provide appropriate support needed to achieve the League’s long-term goals. Those that take part in our League – players, partners and fans – deserve the best, and that is what we are taking the time to ensure we deliver when we resume play in 2013 and beyond.”

WPS has established its plans to return to play in 2013, and all five owners of the League’s existing teams – Atlanta Beat, Boston Breakers, Philadelphia Independence, Sky Blue FC and Western New York Flash – will remain active with the CEO, Jennifer O’Sullivan, in the governance of WPS throughout the current year.

“We are deeply grateful to our fans and partners for the tremendous support they have shown for WPS, our players and the sport,” added O’Sullivan. “With our supporters and athletes in mind, we are committed to complete the hard work necessary to resume play in 2013 and reestablish WPS as the premiere women’s professional soccer league in the world.”

By Lorna Evio

A wise man once said “You may change girlfriends, home cities or even underwear every day but you never change your football club.”

This is a quote that Terje Brattelid could relate to upon moving to New York from Bergen, Norway. It was 2004 when his local football club, SK Brann or Brann for short, found themselves in the final of the Norwegian Cup. The only way Terje could access this game was by listening to the live commentary over the internet. Brann ended up winning the final, defeating FC Lyn Oslo 4-1. Terje was ecstatic, as the last time they had won this competition was in 1982. He went outside to celebrate and in doing so found himself, “standing on my own at 7 in the morning in the streets of Manhattan.”

There was no one to celebrate with, and more disturbingly none of the rush hour commuters would understand why this strange figure clad in red was leaping around noisily at such an early hour. That’s when the idea to create an SK Brann supporters club was born.

Brann may be a small club in comparison to the more popular European ones, but for the city of Bergen, Norway it is their number one team. They play in the top division of the Norwegian Premier League where their erratic performances yield mixed results.

The last time Brann won the Norwegian Premier League was in 2007. Prior to that you’d have to go all the way back to 1963 to find a victorious Brann side. Being based in the second largest city of Norway, a country with a strong and vocal supporters club culture, has contributed to the attention this club draws in it’s homeland – and now New York City.

Terje went about his mission by building a web site to attract fellow Brann fans living in the New York area, and so with his small band of about six committed Brann supporters the next challenge for Terje was to find a place willing to host their live matches, some of which were played on a Monday morning! – no easy task.  This is where Jack Keane of the football factory came in.

“Jack had no problem taking on what many people would call a small team in a small league,” says an obviously grateful Terje.

The size of the club was never an issue for Jack who welcomed Brann into the fold and dutifully went to work on the roof, pointing his satellite dishes in the general direction of Scandanavia. That dedication was rewarded last November when the Brann supporters broke the attendance record for a crowd watching a Norwegian club match in America. Over thirty of them came out of the shadows to watch the Norwegian cup final, which Brann ended up losing 1-2 to Aalesund FK.

Today, Brann supporters are able to watch all their matches at Legends Bar (directly  opposite the Empire State Building on 33rd Street) although during a weekday game there are usually no more than six regulars in attendance. However, many Norwegian tourists and students have stopped by for the odd match and subsequently signed up  to the supporters club. Terje has been contacted by US based fans from  California to Florida, and he hopes that this season will see the turn out increase to double figures for every game!

There are many followers of “smaller” teams in New York who think they need a large group to start a supporters club. Look to Terje for some inspiration and you’ll find that it only takes one man’s love for his club to create something special. Before you know it, you will not have to celebrate those great moments alone.

Contact: www.brann.us

Follow Lorna Evio on twitter at twitter.com/herrightboot

See The Complete List of Supporters Clubs Of New York

RED BULL CONNECTION. Did you know? Red Bulls General Manager Erik Soler played for Brann 1986 and 1987 and current Red Bulls player Jan Gunnar Solli played for Brann 2007-2010., winning the league title with them in 2007.

Everton v Blackpool 0r Sheff Wed

Chelsea v Birmingham C

Crawley T v Stoke City

Stevenage v Spurs

Norwich C v Leicester C

Sunderland or Middlesboro v Arsenal

Millwall or Southampton v Bolton W

Thursday February 2nd
Graffiti Monsters- Big Snow.
Break Science- Brooklyn Bowl.
Visuals- Cake Shop.
Weird Owl- Cameo Gallery.
Woodsman- Death by Audio.
Young Heel- Glasslands.
The Big Sleep- Knitting Factory.
Jenny Owen Youngs- Maxwells.
Snowtime- Pianos.
Kaiser Cartel- Rockwood Music Hall.
Classixx- Santos.
Space Camp- The Bowery Electric.
The Death Set- The Delancey.
Tall Tall Trees- The Rock Shop.

Friday February 3rd
Class Actress- 285 Kent Ave.
Fergus & Geronimo- Cake Shop.
Howth- Cameo Gallery.
Hospitality- Glasslands.
Thurston Moore- Maxwell’s.
Quintus- Mercury Lounge.
Bjork- N.Y Hall of Science.
Tropics of Pisces- Pianos.
Spank Rock- Roselands.
Bad Rabbits- Santos.
Jogyo- Union Pool.

Saturday February 4th.
Ceremony- Le Poisson Rouge.
Zammuto- 92YTribeca.
Strange Shapes- Big Snow.
F. Strokes- B.A.M.
Anorack- Brooklyn Bowl.
Dive- Cake Shop.
The Darkness- Irving Plaza.
Suckers- Knitting Factory.
La Big Vic- Mercury Lounge.
Dead Leaf Echo- Spike Hill.
Skrillex- Terminal 5.
Die Hard- The Gutter.
Crazy and The Brain- The Studio.
Bezoar- Union Pool.
The Rapture- Yotel.

Sunday February 5th.
Allison Weiss- Big Snow.
Narc- Cameo Gallery.
Edie Sedgwick- Death by Audio.
Young Unknowns- Glasslands.
Nicolas Jaar- P.S 1
Fred Armisen- Union Pool.

Monday February 6th.
Gotye- Bowery Ballroom.
Thieving Irons- Cake Shop.
Jay-Z- Carnegie Hall.
Mirah- Glasslands.
Francois K- Cielo.
The Darkness- Irving Plaza.
Summer Camp- Mercury Lounge.
Bjork- N.Y Hall of Science.

Tuesday February 7th.
Mark Lanegan Band- Bowery Ballroom.
Jay-Z- Carnegie Hall.
Royal Baths- Death by Audio.
Summer Camp- Glasslands.
Chamberlin- Mercury Lounge.
Dum Dum Girls- Music Hall of Williamsburg.
Savoir Adore- Pianos.
Megan Reilly- Zebulon.

Wednesday February 8th.
Howlin’ Rain- Brooklyn Bowl.
Old Monk- Cake Shop.
JEFF The Brotherhood- Death by Audio.
Jeremy Jay- Glasslands.
Lymbyc System- Knitting Factory.
Auditorium- Mercury Lounge.
Primus- Music Hall of Williamsburg.
Bell- Pianos.
Kishi Bashi- Spike Hill.

The New York Red Bulls announced today that the club has signed goalkeeper Jeremy Vuolo. The 25-year-old spent 2011 with Finnish side AC Oulu after a standout career at Syracuse University. Vuolo will be added to the team’s roster pending receipt of his International Transfer Certificate. Per league rules, terms of the deal were not disclosed.

The Downingtown, PA native began his professional career in 2011 with then Finnish First Division (Ykkönen) side, AC Oulu. Vuolo played in 24 matches for the club, earning 11 clean sheets while helping the team to a third place finish.

“After doing extensive scouting, we believe that Jeremy has a very bright future ahead of him and can compete at the MLS level,” said Red Bulls General Manager and Sporting Director Erik Soler. “He had a very good year playing professionally in Finland and brings many great attributes to the table. We expect that he will compete for a starting spot this year.”

At the collegiate level, Vuolu spent his senior season of at Syracuse University after three successful years at Hartwick College. As a senior in 2010 for Syracuse, Vuolo started 15 games and was named as a finalist for the LOWE’s Senior Class Award for the nation’s most outstanding student-athlete. He was named the team’s Most Valuable Player after ranking fourth in the Big East Conference in saves and saves per game.

Vuolo spent his first three college seasons at Hartwick College, starting 53 of a possible 55 matches. As a junior in 2009, he had a breakout season in which he compiled a 10-4-4 record and a 0.84 goals against average with seven shutouts.  His excellent play in 2009 earned him the All-Mid American Goalkeeper of the Year award as well as First Team All-MAC honors, and he was named the team’s Most Valuable Player.

Before college, Vuolo was a standout at Downingtown West High School while also appearing at the club level for FC Delco, Spirit United Club and the Reading Rage of the PDL.

We live in a social networking world these days, it’s the first great mass movement of the 21st century. It moves so quickly that we’ve already seen the rise and fall of My Space, while even the ubiquitous Facebook is having its supremacy challenged by the increasing preference for communication via twitter. Football in particular seems to be particularly in thrall to those 140 characters that it offers per message, perhaps because nobody in the game, not even Joey Barton has got anything more to say than that. Perish the thought.

Twitter does seem to fill a particular niche. It’s not going to surprise anybody when we point out that the link between footballers and their paying public is not what it was. Fifty or 60 years ago, supporters and players, even at the very top clubs, might travel to games together on the same bus. Thirty years ago, they might still live in the same community, take their kids to the same schools, drink a swift half in the same watering holes.

Those days are largely gone, certainly amongst players who operate in the top divisions. Nowadays, the financial realities of the game mean that a player can clamber into his BMW, head for his nicely appointed home in a posh suburb and only occasionally come across the supporters, perhaps when heading into the local shopping centre. There’s no finger pointing in that, no saying that it’s right or wrong, merely an acknowledgment that life, and football, has changed.

That change comes at a particularly strange time culturally though. For at a time when the gap between players and fans is demonstrably greater than it’s ever been, the appetite for bits of celebrity information, for at least the illusion of proximity to the inside line on the lifestyles of the rich and famous, gets more voracious by the day. And so we have the twitter explosion, whereby a footballer only needs to open up an account to find himself being stalked by thousands of followers.

So far, so harmless. But something else has happened in those intervening years since we lived cheek by jowl with the local centre-forward. Way back when, support for your team was almost always uncritical. You never conceded a goal that wasn’t offside, if you lost a game it was because the referee had cheated you. There would be dissenting voices, there might even be around of boos after a particularly bad game, but by and large, it was your side, right or wrong.

Decades of radio phone-ins, followed by pushing towards 20 years of internet message boards, chat rooms and blogs and you come to a very different situation where it seems as if supporters often hate their own clubs just as much, if not more than their rivals. Certainly there’s no shortage of fans ready to voice their opinions very vociferously and not even the like of Arsene Wenger and Sir Alex Ferguson are immune, while there doesn’t seem to be a footballer in the land who isn’t the target of stick from some quarter for some supposed misdemeanour.

So what we have is a situation whereby players are opening themselves up to direct contact from all kinds of fans. Same as it ever was, the vast majority are perfectly respectful, decent people who might want to ask a simple question, pass on a few good wishes or just read the words of wisdom that trip from twitter.

And then you have the rest. These are the people who seem to think that just because the player isn’t standing in front of them, they can say what they like. We’ve seen twitter used for everything from simple comments about a player’s lack of effort, phrased in the original Anglo Saxon, to some pretty nasty racist filth which, thankfully, is increasingly ending up in the courts. The supposed anonymity of a computer screen makes all too many think they’re the big man who can say and do anything they want. Truly the internet, for all its benefits, is the emporium of cowardice. I have no idea why high profile people would choose to open themselves up to this, because I sure as hell wouldn’t. The old saw that “sticks and stones might break my bones but names will never hurt me” is one way of dealing with it, but when you look at some of the abuse dished out, those names can be pretty wounding too.

Then you have the opposite side of the coin – a footballer’s ability to understand what he should and shouldn’t say on twitter. Maybe, as a “normal” person, you’re on twitter. If you are, you might have 50, 60, 100 followers. Most of them you will know personally, and you’ll talk to them accordingly, using that tone, maybe saying a few things that are the kind of risqué or off colour stuff that most of us have been known to spout between mates who understand where you’re coming from. No harm done, no offence taken. As long as nobody else is eavesdropping on your conversation.

Footballers, as we know, adore “the banter”. Dressing rooms, let it be known, are very funny places, and they are also pretty savage at times, because that banter often gets very near the knuckle, and often slightly past the elbow. Again, within that inner sanctum, who cares really as long as it doesn’t descend into bullying as it has in a few cases. But take that banter onto twitter and you have to be a pretty shrewd judge of when to stay quiet, when to tweet and what to tweet. Because it’s not 18 mates that are having a laugh. It’s 1800 followers hanging on every word, plenty of them journalists.

Because there is a new kind of problem out there. There are a gaggle of “opinion formers” who are essentially paid to take offence and cause a media storm with it. Once upon a time, the pronouncements of sports stars were taken with a pinch of salt. For instance, in 1973, before England took on Poland in a key World Cup qualifier, Brian Clough called the Polish ‘keeper a clown. If he’d done that today, there’d have been a “Top Gear” style international incident. Muhammad Ali were he tweeting in his prime, would have hardly ever got in the ring because he’d have spent all his time suspended for comments that were, yes, at times inflammatory, but mostly good natured and usually genuinely funny. The world used to just shrug at this stuff and move on. There were more important things to worry about.

In spite of the apocalyptic nature of current world events, it seems there is no longer anything more important than the 140 characters that might drip from Joey Barton’s iPhone or Rio Ferdinand’s Blackberry (other smartphones are available). Whatever they say to us, often in the heat of the moment, gets blown out of all proportion and, ultimately, that can only lead to one thing – players self censoring or even departing from the twitterati altogether. Both would simply increase the gap between players and supporters and would be a great shame.

So let’s make a bit of a pact here. Supporters, if you must tweet in the direction of a player, don’t say anything you wouldn’t say to his face – and picture Nemanja Vidic while you’re thinking.

Footballers, just have a moment’s pause before you press tweet on every waking thought.

And all of us, most particularly the news media – don’t take it so damn seriously eh? It’s just a bunch of young men acting like we all acted / are acting as young men. Daft. It’s no big deal is it?

By Cesar Benoit

Barcelona emerged victorious from yet another enthralling El Clasico showdown on Wednesday, advancing to the semi final of the Copa Del Rey after a 2-2 draw at the Camp Nou.

Following Real Madrid’s 4-1 victory over Athletic Bilbao last weekend, many believed they’d be primed and ready for this 2nd leg quarter final encounter against their arch-rivals  – and they weren’t wrong.

Sure Madrid were down 2-1 from the first leg, but the nine-time European champions could come from behind, no? Yes and no.

Madrid played a different style in Barcelona than the previous week’s encounter.  Gone was the defensive acumen of Pepe in the midfield. This time, the hand-stamping Portuguese was in his natural defensive position.

Madrid started offensively with Higuain in front of a transferable Kaka and a fresh Ozil.  They came out strong and although they hadn’t won in the Nou Camp since 2007 they seemed to have no trouble exposing spaces in the Barca defense. Cristiano Ronaldo ran in lanes. Gonzalo Higuain trotted through the defense with ease. All was well, but still the goals wouldn’t come.

No one should underestimate Barca. Having been under pressure for most of the first half, Pedro put them ahead in the 43rd minute before Dani Alves doubled the lead with a wicked screamer just before the break.

Game over, most would have thought.

But this is Spain, land of drama, land of duende and land of the classical comeback.  Madrid wasn’t done. The French striker Karim Benzema came on and gave the Merengues a width they hadn’t previously enjoyed.

Cristiano Ronaldo finally found the net for Madrid in the 68th minute and Benzema tied the match four minutes later. Barca looked shaky for the rest of the game, despite Madrid going down to ten men when Sergio Ramos picked up a second yellow card, but Madrid failed to come up with the winning goal that would see them advance.

It has been seven matches since Madrid has beaten Barca at the Camp Nou, a 1-0 scoreline courtesy of Jose Baptisa. Unfortunately, tonight they fell just short of breaking that spell. But their elimination from the Copa del Rey could be a turning point in Madrid’s season.  Yes, they were humiliated again at the hands of their eternal rivals, but they held them at their home, came back against them and managed to come out unscathed.

The league at the halfway point sees Madrid leading Barca by five points, despite their failure to figure out how to beat them – much like most of Europe’s clubs.

What makes Barca so special?  Their passing acumen, their amazing ability to hold the ball in key situations, and their magisterial Argentinian Lionel Messi all contribute. They are indeed a special team, but Madrid have fashioned themselves as the spear in Barca’s side. They’re the complete antithesis to the goody two-shoes Barca club that everyone likes – the ball-holding, pass-happy team that’s now so familiar to the world’s soccer fans.

What is in store for the rest of the La Liga season?

Andres Iniesta was injured in the match, which could be a major factor going forward.  Can Barca survive that injury? Probably. But Madrids five point advantage means they could conceivably lose to Barca  at the Nou Camp (as they did, at home 3-1 in November), yet still win the league.  How satisfying that would be for Mourinho, despite not having defeated  their Catalan rivals in either a league or Cup match?

The Special One’s tenure at Madrid is currently in question. He’s fought with the  press  this week, after apparently questioning his defender Sergio Ramos over marking the wrong player during last week’s first leg.

Things have been smoothed over. But will they ever be the same? Are they ever normal in these circumstances?

La Liga. Enjoy.

U.S. midfielder Graham Zusi scored his first career goal in only his second appearance to give the U.S. an early lead, allowing the U.S. Men’s National Team to overcome a second-half red card and record a 1-0 victory against Panama at Estadio Rommel Fernandez in Panama City, Panama.

The victory marks the first time the U.S. has opened the year with back-to-back shutout victories since 1998. The U.S. defeated Venezuela by the same 1-0 score on Saturday at University of Phoenix Stadium in Glendale, Ariz. In 1998, the U.S. opened the year with a 1-0 win against Sweden on Jan. 24 and a 3-0 victory on Feb. 1 against Cuba.

The U.S. improved to 8-1-2 against Panama and 2-0-1 on Panamanian soil. The previous 10 meetings between the two countries had been in either the CONCACAF Gold Cup or FIFA World Cup qualifying.

The victory is also the team’s third straight dating back to last year’s 3-2 win against Slovenia on Nov. 15, 2011, in Ljubljana. U.S. head coach Jurgen Klinsmann improves to 4-4-1 since he took over the U.S. MNT in July of 2011.

Next up for the U.S. is a Feb. 29 match against four-time World Cup champion Italy at Stadio Luigi Ferraris in Genoa. Kickoff is at 8:30 p.m. local (2:30 p.m. ET), and the match will be broadcast live on ESPN2 and ESPN3. Fans can follow the game live on ussoccer.com’s MatchTracker and Twitter @ussoccer.

“I think we saw a very close game, a very tight game which we luckily won because Panama didn’t finish off the chances that they had,” said Klinsmann. “Our team had a very hard three weeks, and they had tired legs today and you could see that. After the red card, we couldn’t pressure enough anymore to create more chances. Overall, I think it really paid off doing this, not only playing a game in the U.S., but coming down here. A lot of the young players learned their lesson today.”

“Our goal with these two games was very simple,” he continued. “We wanted to introduce the players to those difficult games in different environments, especially away from home outside of their comfort zone. We wanted them to come here and experience this atmosphere and a different way of doing things. I think they did very well with all that.”

The game’s lone goal came in the eighth minute from Zusi, who once again started on the right side of midfield. Left back Zach Loyd opened the sequence with a cross from the left flank, getting the ball to the middle of the box where Teal Bunbury was lurking. Bunbury deflected the ball behind him to Zusi, who then rocketed a shot dead center into the net underneath Panama goalkeeper Luis Mejia’s glove to hand the U.S. a 1-0 lead.

U.S. goalkeeper and Budweiser Man of the Match Nick Rimando earned his sixth career cap and his first since he split time with Sean Johnson during a 1-1 draw Jan. 22, 2011 against Chile. Rimando made several key saves in the first half to keep Panama off the scoreboard in the first 45 minutes.

Rimando came up with a big save to deny Panama’s Gabriel Gomez in the 26th minute. Gomez, who will play for the Philadelphia Union in MLS, split the U.S. defense and received the ball in an onside position with only Rimando to beat and no U.S. defender within 10 yards. Gomez struck his shot low and Rimando dove to his right to get his right glove on the ball. With the ball squirting behind him, Rimando then had to scramble to bat the ball over the end line and concede a corner kick.

Not to be outdone, Mejia made two huge saves for Panama in the 30th minute to keep his side within a goal. U.S. midfielder Jermaine Jones, wearing the captain’s armband for the second straight match, had a vicious long-distance shot that Mejia batted up in the air. U.S. forward Chris Wondolowski alertly followed up with a header that was bound for the inside of the near right post, but Mejia reacted quickly to deny the forward’s attempt, keeping the match close.

Panama had the bulk of the offensive scoring chances in the opening half, attacking from a variety of angles either through the middle of the defense or swinging the ball in from the flanks. Rimando had to make multiple key interceptions, on several occasions with his feet.

Similar to last year’s draw against Chile, Johnson got the start in place of Rimando to open the second half and earn his second career cap. Along with the shutout for Bill Hamid against Venezuela, all three U.S. goalkeepers in camp were part of shutout victories.

A pivotal moment of the match came in the 52nd minute when U.S. center back Geoff Cameron, making his third appearance, was issued a red card by referee Francisco Chacon. Panama sent the ball ahead toward forward Blas Perez, and he did not have a strong first touch on the ball as he raced towards goal. Cameron tried to step in front of Perez and separate him from the ball and made contact with the forward at the top of the area. Perez toppled to the ground, and Chacon didn’t hesitate to reach in his back pockets and issue the red card.

Klinsmann was forced to change up his game plan immediately, bringing on defender Jeff Parke for Wondolowski. For the 29-year-old Parke, it was his first cap with the U.S. MNT. Shortly thereafter, Brad Evans and Jeff Larentowicz were brought in for Zusi and Ricardo Clark, respectively, in the 66th minute. From there, the United States improved its possession for several stretches and deliberately slowed the game down.

Panama did find a couple of scoring moments in the final 15 minutes. In the 78th minute, Panama swung the ball in from the right side to Perez, who headed the ball just wide left of the goal frame. Four minutes from time, Panama had a superb scoring opportunity to equalize. Manuel Mosquera had a close shot in the box that was blocked by Parke. On the rebound, Perez had plenty of space to shoot on frame, but he hooked his shot wide left of the net.

Photo by Rulian Estivalletti

The New York Red Bulls announced today that Major League Soccer and English Premiership side, Bolton Wanderers FC, have agreed to a transfer fee for Red Bulls defender and United States National Team international Tim Ream. Ream has agreed to personal contract terms with Bolton, earned United Kingdom visa approval and passed a physical. The transfer terms were not disclosed.

“We are extremely happy for Tim. He has worked very hard since he joined Major League Soccer and became a Red Bull and we firmly believe that this opportunity will be beneficial to him and the Red Bulls. This was a difficult decision for us as a club, but at the end of the day, we could not turn down this opportunity to help Tim’s development as a player. He has become a mature professional during his time here and we will fully support him as he moves to Bolton. He will always be welcome at Red Bull Arena,” said Red Bulls General Manager and Sporting Director Erik Soler.

“While we will miss Tim and his contributions both on and off the field, this deal also presents us with a significant amount of financial flexibility heading into the 2012 MLS season. We are confident that we will be able to add quality players that will strengthen the squad to help us towards our goal of winning MLS Cup this year.”

“I want to thank the Red Bulls and their fans for their tremendous support over the past two years. The club gave me an unbelievable opportunity to play in Major League Soccer and I would not have been in this position without the team and league’s backing. I will always cherish my memories playing for New York,” Ream said. “This was a hard decision for me considering the fact that I enjoyed playing for the Red Bulls and was looking forward to the upcoming MLS season. However, after consulting with those closest to me, I decided that this was a once in a lifetime chance that I could not pass up.”

Ream recently completed his second season for the Red Bulls. The St. Louis, MO native started 28 games, only missing time because of international commitments with the U.S. National Team. His play in 2011 was recognized as he was named to the MLS All-Star Team for the first time in his career. His sophomore season in professional soccer followed a terrific first year for the 24-year-old in 2010, as Ream was a finalist for MLS Rookie of the Year. Ream played every minute of the team’s 30 regular season games, helping the club to a single-season franchise record of 13 shutouts.

New York acquired Ream after drafting him in the second round (18^th overall) in the 2010 MLS SuperDraft out of Saint Louis University. He played four seasons at Saint Louis and was named the 2009 Atlantic 10 Conference Defensive Player of the Year. On the international level, Ream has earned seven caps for the U.S., making his senior team debut when he started in a 1-0 win over South Africa on Nov. 17, 2010 in Cape Town.

There is a growing problem in the United Kingdom that is evident to everyone, yet no one wants to talk about. It can be seen at Fulham, where Clint Dempsey continues to find space on the field and in the record books. It can be seen at Everton, where, despite his somewhat comical camouflage shirt, Tim Howard remains entrenched as the man between the pipes. He has been joined there, for the second time, by Landon Donovan, who the Toffees faithful and front office can’t seem to get enough of. It can even be seen at Bolton, who are simply waiting for the ink to dry on a deal for New York’s Tim Ream.

It is even on full display at Aston Villa and Arsenal, where Robbie Keane and Thierry Henry have shown that there’s plenty of fuel left in the tank for a bit of high drama. But how? Weren’t these men washed up and sent overseas to the colonies to rot? Why the sudden change of heart, England?

Ah, but there’s the rub. That’s right, the elephant in the room that no one wants to talk about is the Americanization of English football.

Every now and then, a British writer hard up for a story will take it upon themselves to write a warning letter to their countrymen about how something – the Internet, rap music, whatever – is slowly ruining the Queen’s English and turning it into something less refined and more, gasp, American. But it’s not really the language you’re worried about, is it? English has always been an amorphous thing, and words like ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ that were once a necessary part of life died ages ago.

No no, come clean now, England. You’re just using the language bit to cover up for what you’re really afraid of but dare not speak it’s name. You’re terrified that the game, YOUR game, is being slowly but surely taken over by the Yanks.

Now, England, you know we’re your best friends, and as your best friends there’s something you need to hear. You won’t like it, but it’s better you hear it from us than anyone else, and as friends, we feel we should be 100% honest with you: You should be afraid, because America is just better than you.

The first stage of acceptance is denial, so it’s natural for you to feel the way you do right now, but it’s true, and I’ll even prove it to you. Remember USA vs England in 2010 at the World Cup? The one in South Africa? Say, didn’t you own South Africa at one point? That makes it more or less a home game for you guys, no? So, since we drew, and a tie on the road is like a win, that makes the US better than you. Sorry you had to hear it from us.

It’s OK. Hey, we’re still friends! We can still do brunch on Saturdays! And what about Iran? The Strait of Hormuz? Come on, you always love it when we go to war together! We got those matching “Coalition of the Willing” t-shirts, remember?

It’s only natural to be resistant to change, England. In fact, a majority of your history has been spent resisting change, usually with cannons and rifles. And I hear all of the logical arguments against English soccer being Americanized. A player from the streets of the north overcoming odds and making it to the Prem is just about all of a “British Dream” you dare have. There’s still one or two teams in the FA that don’t have a Sir Bobby on their all-time roster. And, while you’d never admit it in mixed company, some of you have your reservations about your football being overrun by American… hmm, how to put this gently… “urban youths.”

But nay, I say embrace it! Adopt some wacky playoff structure! Who doesn’t like the idea of a ‘wild card’? It is, by definition, wild, and trust me, Britannia, you could do with a bit more wild in your lives. Hey, imagine what you lot could do with the sports bar concept! Show every game live in high definition, attendance be damned! And what in the world is with these second-rate songs? Who wants to spend time memorizing the lyrics of the Champions League anthem? Show some patriotism and sing your own anthem! While you’re at it, slap a nice Union Jack patch on the sleeve of your jerseys, really let ‘em know where you’re from!

The truth is, you have to embrace it, because you created this situation. You were the ones who started the ‘gun for hire’ situation that leaves everyone up in arms about the commercialization of the game. You are the ones who constantly raid the youth systems of the lower level teams. And it’s you who trip over yourselves to throw appalling amounts of money trying to find the next big American thing. I mean, roughly $4 million for Tim Ream? I can point to at least five examples from Tim’s second season here in New York to prove that’s a bad idea.

But, you are a proud nation. I know for a fact that you won’t go down without a fight, and that you’ll probably try to capture Francis Scott Key at some point during that fight. That’s the plucky, noble British spirit that we all know and love, with notable exceptions in Africa, subcontinental Asia, and pockets of Canada. So rather than make a list of demands, I come to you with a compromise. Think of it as a modern Treaty of Ghent.

It turns out that 2012 is an Olympic year, and you’re the hosts. (Congrats on that, by the way, I’m sure that process was completely free of bribery and graft.) Some events, namely basketball, no amount of help will do. We’re Americans, not miracle workers, though I can see how you might get the two confused.

Instead, I’m interested in the soccer portion of the 30th Olympiad. You’ve come up with this incredible concept of “Team Great Britain.” How brilliant! The very place where the game was invented has decided, for only this event, that they need to draw in extra players from such far-flung places as Cardiff and Belfast. Truly inspired decision making, that.

Well, England, I have spoken to some high level people – off the record, of course – at both US Soccer and the Olympic Committee who would be more than willing to allow the United States to join you on your little “defiling the entire point of the Olympics” mission. Think about it, instead of Team GB, how about Team US/GB? Team King George III!

I mean, if you’re hell bent on selling the beautiful game down the river for a buck or two, you might as well let us help, right?

Denis Law was on a golf course when England won the World Cup in 1966.

We Scots complain bitterly each and every time an English commentator mentions it. In fact we offer odds on how many seconds into the live broadcast of Ivory Coast v Australia will tick by before Martin Tyler talks about Bobby Moore and his pals. Hypocrisy in it’s most extreme form given we never shut up about that poxy single victory in 1967. My English pals rarely, if ever, mention 1966.

Let me go on record to state that had Scotland  ever won the trophy (and indeed
we were promised it in 1978), then I would have spent the rest of my entire life
raising a glass to celebrate the fact. I’d have talked about it from the moment I
pissed the bed in the morning to the moment I fell asleep on the kitchen floor at
night.

It’s time we Scots rid ourselves of this foul envy. I wish I could tell you that I pen
this poetic catharsis on Burns Night with a wee drop of amber magic an arms
length away but no, I guzzle coffee as bitter as my fellow countrymen, taken
black as a result of spilt milk and tears .However I have found a way to bury the
jealous ghost. Face your fears the experts tell you, so I finally watched the bloody
game. And what a game it was.

Do you remember the hysterical build up to England’s clash with Argentina in
1998? Memories of the Falkland’s War were still fresh enough despite having
already met in 1986. Back in 1966 it was England v West Germany only 21 years
after WW2. Many of the  players would have been born during that conflict and
the luckier ones would have seen their fathers come home from the fighting.
Imagine what todays press would do with those ingredients during the build up?

The scene was set for an epic. Who had the upper hand? Well the English
had home advantage. The Germans though were wearing their favoured white
jerseys. English spirits must have risen watching the band from the Royal
Marines march around the pitch only to be dampened upon hearing that a guy
called Gottfried Diest would be the referee!

The game itself was, from start to finish, unadulterated drama. I had no idea of
the pure theatre which had unfolded. I’m betting many of you reading this are
also about to learn of the magic for the first time. Certainly none of my English
pals have ever regaled me with any detailed stories of exactly what happened.
Or perhaps they tried and were met with ignorant indifference.

The weather on the day was spellbinding. Bright summer sunshine one minute
and then squalling rainstorms the next. It produced a surface perfect for the slick
passing game so many of the players on show were capable of. The heaving
stands, which held just under 100,000 spectators, were a sea of Union Jacks
interspersed with the red, black and yellow of Germany.

The match itself had everything. Villains and heroes. Elation and despair. The
physical sacrifices needed for 2 hours of battle on a heavy pitch left many on
their hands and knees at the end. Today’s pampered goalkeeping fraternity
would howl in despair watching the German goalkeeper, Tilkowski, knocked
clean out after only 8 minutes. He woke up and carried on of course.

It was in the details I discovered the real drama. Of course I knew that the game
had gone into extra time and that England finally triumphed 4-2. What I didn’t
know was that they were 2-1 up with 15 seconds of normal time remaining.15
bloody seconds! Christ that has Scotland written all over it. Not only that but the
painful German equaliser right at the death came from a free kick which shouldn’t
have been given. In addition, when it came flying into the English penalty area
there was a German hand which touched the ball before it nestled itself in the
back of the net. Daylight robbery!

I never hear the English whine about that. All that is ever debated is the goal
off the bar to make it 3-2. I am riddled with guilt. For years I had so much to say
about Russian linesmen and perceived injustices. I want the records to now show
that I firmly believe England’s third was well over the goal line.

The drama was far from over at that point and I don’t mean England’s 4th goal
which gave birth to Kenneth Wolstenholme’s now famous piece of commentary.
Indeed what was infinitely more breathtaking for me was the build up. You
know that magical feeling towards the end of a great cowboy or super hero film
where the good guy arrives to rid the world of pain? Well cue the late great Sir
Bobby Moore. Just as it looks like the Germans are about to do it again with a
last second equalizer, he glides into the scene and chests the ball cool as you
like into the safe hands of Gordon Banks. Banks rolls it back to him and he then
beats anyone who has the temerity to attempt a tackle, plays a wee one-two with

Alan Ball and sends Hurst down the road to history.

Goosebumps.

To all my English friends my sincerest apologies for years of indifference to this
glorious achievement but before you think I have gone completely soft, let me
just add that I hope you get well and truly pumped in Euro 2012 .

1 –  Who scored Liverpool’s goal in the 1977 FA Cup final against Man U?

2 – Who scored Man Utd’s winner in the 1996 FA Cup Final vs Liverpool?

3 – Which Scottish full back scored the winning goal for United against Liverpool in the 1980-81 season?

4 – Which English Center-half scored twice at Anfield in the 96 -97 league fixture?

5 – Who were the first team to play Man Utd at Old Trafford in a league fixture?

ANSWERS

Serie A

By Michael Ottolenghi

Half a season gone and there is everything still to play for at the top of Serie A. Juventus, with a 2-0 away win against Atalanta last weekend, secured the title of winter champions. But with half the season still to go, the title race is still wide open, with Milan one point behind the league leaders, Udinese a further two points behind and Inter six behind Juventus. A little further afield, Lazio, Napoli and Roma all lurk menacingly in the fight for the top three spots.

So what are the verdicts of the first half of this Serie A season? Here are 4 of the major developments of the Serie A season so far.

1. Juventus are back. Former Juventus captain Antonio Conte has so far excelled in his first season as Juventus manager. His team plays with a high tempo, a cohesive spirit and the tactical flexibility to switch between systems of play (be it 4-2-4 or a modified 4-3-3). Summer signings Arturo Vidal and Mirko Vucinic have made an immediate impact, but the most important addition to the squad has been Andrea Pirlo, who has brought a dose of much-needed intelligence and creativity to the midfield.

Juventus have, of course, been “back” before since their relegation in 2006, only to crumble spectacularly under previous managers. Conte has many issues to resolve before he can convincingly dispel the danger of another poor finish to the season. These include an inability to close out matches (as seen in the recent draws against Cagliari and Roma), a high number of unsettled players who are starting to be disruptive (Fabio Grosso, Milos Krasic, Eljero Elia and Fabio Quagliarella) and, perhaps most importantly, questions marks over how long the team can continue to play at the high tempo required by Conte’s tactics.

2. Udinese are the (non-Barcellona) team of 2011. As the Premier League emerges from its (always) doomed love affair with Tottenham, Udinese continue to prove that it is Francesco Guidolin’s team that are the best “little” team in Europe. For while Spurs failed to finish in the top four last season and subsequently splashed out in the transfer market, Udinese finished fourth and then, despite losing their three best players in the off season (including Alexis Sanchez to Barcellona), have continued to impress in Serie A. Much credit is due to star forward Antonio Di Natale, who leads the scoring table with 14 goals, having finished as top scorer in Serie A for the past two seasons. But beyond Di Natale’s brilliance, Guidolin has created a system that does not depend on a single player. Most neutrals in Italy will be hoping Udinese can continue their impressive form.

3. The Milanese teams have no long term plan. Milan are in second place and Inter have managed seven consecutive league wins to bring them to fourth place in the table, but neither club seems to know where they are heading. Milan are in the better position, as their dependence on Zlatan Ibrahimovic will likely allow them to compete domestically (although the Swede’s continued inability to perform in big games is a concern). But the club’s transfer activity continues to be chaotic, with no plan to remedy the problems posed by their ageing squad (particularly in defense and midfield). Similarly, Inter have refused to face the reality of a set of sated and slow players, and continue to muddle through with minor tinkering. Both clubs risk being outpaced in Serie A by the more long term thinking of clubs like Juventus, Napoli, Roma and Udinese.

4. 35 is the new 20. The top performers in Serie A are way past their 30^th birthday, but continue to provide the spark for their teams. Top scorer Di Natale (34), resurgent Roma captain Francesco Totti (35), Milan defender Alessandro Nesta (34), Inter captain and best performer Javier Zanetti (38) and Juventus playmaker Andrea Pirlo (32) prove both that class is ageless and that Serie A continues to be unable to nurture youth effectively.

The second half of the season starts with an exciting top of the table clash between Juventus and Udinese this weekend. Let the drama continue.