Barton: Nasty piece of work

Resisting the temptation to write a ‘humourous’ quip about a beach ball, and how everyone in Liverpool is looking for a young man with a blurred-out face, I have instead decided to share with you my dislike for Premier League (now Championship) ‘bad-boy’ Joey Barton.

The thing is, I don’t actually have a problem with the idea of the ‘bad-boy’ footballer. Players such as Cantona, Ince, Keane, Vieira and co. were always towing the line between what is acceptable on the field, and what is not. And when they occasionally did cross the line, they were punished for it.

However, with the exception of Keane’s horror-tackle on Alf Inge Haaland, Vieira’s penchant for gobbing, and Cantona’s kung-fu kick (which I bloody loved!) these were the guys that set the example for the rest of the team to look up to. They were characters. Hated losing. Their motto appeared to be ‘Win at all costs, and if you get the odd red card along the way, that’s just a sacrifice you have to make’.

Like I said, I’m fine with that. I think the main problem Joey Barton has is that he desperately wants people to respect him in the same way that the aforementioned players were respected, but he appears to have missed the crucial point. Those players were all fantastic footballers first, and ‘hardman’ characters second. Joey Barton just wants to be a hardman.

He isn’t hard though. Earlier I read through all of the incidents that he has been involved in during his career, and they all read like a rap sheet of a scared little boy – stabbing a cigar out in someone’s face at a party, kicking a team-mate in the head in training, attacking a 16 year old boy whilst on tour with Man City, and  then viciously attacking another 16 year old boy on a night out in Liverpool.

Add to that his complete disrespect for the majority of authority figures at his various clubs, and basically you have just one aggressive and very nasty overgrown brat. The attack on the Liverpool teenager, that earned him a six month jail sentence, can be seen below. It’s so incredibly mindless, it may as well have been lifted from depressing satellite TV show ‘Booze Britain’.

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I don’t buy into the sob stories either, the people that say ‘oh, but he came from a rough council estate in Liverpool’. So did Wayne Rooney. However, Rooney learned very quickly from the advice given to him by his manager that he could channel all that aggression to his boots, and just look where that has got him. Rage channelled into his boots is certainly behind the best goal of his Manchester United career. Barton’s problem is that he just doesn’t want to listen. He’s convinced himself that everyone else is wrong, and he is right. The world is against him, and he’s going to fight it.

It’s pathetic. He’s had the chance that thousands of kids with similar backgrounds would love. An opportunity that can positively change your life, and the lives of everyone else around you. At this point I’d say that he needs to grow up and start smelling reality. However, the reality is that he needed to grow up three years ago. Now, he’s like the boy who cried wolf, no-one believes that he wants to change his ways. He’s made the claim far too many times.

I don’t think anyone out there can argue that Barton needs a big smack around his pea-brained little head. In fact, I’m abandoning the Lee Bowyer Smackablomator this week, and have instead rated his smackability myself. This is for Jamie Tandy, Ousmane Dabo, Dickson Etuhu, Gabriel Agbonlahor, Alan Shearer, the two boys he assaulted, and pretty much everyone else he’s attacked or offended in such a heinously cowardly fashion over the years.

Joey Barton. Please take your smacking, and go away. For good.

Written by Eddie: Eddie’s Football Blog

Meg Predicts: "Sunderland three, Liverpool twoooooo"

Premier League predicitions aren’t that hard to write. Ask Mark Lawrenson. The basic rule is that if it’s a game between two teams quite evenly matched, it’ll either be a 2-1 win to the home side or some form of relatively low-scoring draw (e.g. 1-1. Although I imagine that providing you with an example of a low-scoring draw is fairly unnecessary). If you have a strong side against a weak side, it’s 3 or 4-0 if the strong side is at home, and 0-2 if they are playing away on a cart-track of a pitch in Wigan. Throw in one nil-nil bore each week, and you’re done.

Oh. Wait. The only other rule is that, if you’re Mark Lawrenson (if, on looking in the mirror, this does appear to be the case, please seek medical attention), you MUST at all costs write an undescribably biased prediction in favour of Liverpool.

Right, so the rules out of the way with, let’s have a look at what we’ve got in store for us this weekend:

Arsenal vs Birmingham

In their last game, Arsenal gave Blackburn the sort of beating that may potentially have forced Big Sam into reconsidering the ‘play a centre-half up front, and lump it long’ approach. That can only be good for the Premier League. Birmingham should expect to endure the same treatment from The Gunners this weekend too.

Paddy Power are already taking bets on the exact minute that Alex McLeish loses his voice from shouting at his players too much. You can also put a wager on the exact shade of red produced by the capillaries on the face of the hapless Scotsman, as he flails his arms about in his technical area in an attempt to get Barry Ferguson to track Cesc Fabregas, instead of making rude gestures behind the referee’s back.

Verdict: 4-0

Aston Villa vs Chelsea

Carlo Ancelotti this week did two things. He got a lap dance on Italian television, and then he compared John Terry to Paulo Maldini. I can see what he means. Both are loyal to their clubs, both are fighters on the pitch, both are defenders, and both are captains (or have been). That’s where Ancelotti’s comparison stops though.

You see, where Maldini has the quintessential character of the Italian footballer – intelligent, softly spoken, stylish, and good looking, Terry, by contrast, is guts-and-glory, loud, stupid, and has a face that wouldn’t be out of place in a Wheterspoons on a Saturday night. Surely I haven’t just described the quintessential English footballer? Oh… right.

Maybe Ancelotti had a point after all. All I know is that, come Saturday, points are not what Villa will be getting.

Verdict: 0-2

Everton vs Wolves

The thing is, Everton vs Wolves is not a very interesting game to talk about. If Everton were going to play against a pack of 11 wolves, all dressed up in football kits and little boots for their paws, then trust me I’d be all over the review of this game like beans on toast. The reality of it all though is that there will be no wolves. No stopping to bay at the moon. No targeting of the smallest Everton player and feasting on him at half time. Nothing.

All there will be is 11 men in gold shirts playing 11 men in blue shirts. The men in blue shirts will procede to score three goals, with the men in gold scoring none. Barring a mild attack of tourettes from Toffees goalkeeper Tim Howard, nothing exciting will happen. However if, like me, you would like English football to be as speicies-diverse as it is ethnically diverse, then how about we all write a stern letter to the Premier League? Word on the street is that Sheffield Wednesday are also interested in the idea.

Verdict: 3-0

Manchester United vs Bolton

He’s just like Dom Joly, that Fergie, isn’t he? Dom Joly, just without the oversized props.

Not content with angering the referee’s governing body last week, with his comments about podgy lard-ass Alan Wiley, professional prankster Sir Alex Ferguson has used the international break to try to wind-up Belgian club Standard Liege. Whilst everyone else’s postman was down the pub enjoying a good old strike, it seems that the United manager’s postie crossed the picket line, because Belgian wonderkid Steven Defour recieved a letter from the Scot this week.

At the letter’s heart Sir Alex expressed his best wishes to the injured playmaker, and reminded the boy that he was in his thoughts. I’m not sure how i’d feel if an old Scottish man wrote me a letter to tell me that I was ‘in his thoughts’, but Defour was supposedly delighted. Whether his club feel the same is another thing.

Verdict: 3-0

Portsmouth vs Tottenham

It’s impossible to write this one without asking the following question. Why did Harry Redknapp conduct a football-based interview in an aquarium on Wednesday afternoon? I think I have the answer.

As we all know, Baron Silas Greenback is now in one of the comfy boardroom chairs at Portsmouth. Greenback would clearly like to start his career as Pompey Director of Football with a win, so what does he do? Instead of sending exploding custard to every single one of the Tottenham players on the morning of the game, he decides to invite the manager of the opposition (rumoured to be partial to a backhander) into his secret evil lair. All secret evil lairs are based in locations largely covered by water, that’s just a fact, so what better place to conduct your business than a secret room in Portsmouth’s famous Blue Reef aquarium. Did Harry take the bung though?

Funnily enough, he did seem to talk awfully highly of his old club in the interview…

Verdict: 2-1

Stoke vs West Ham

This one’s the nil-nil.

Verdict: 0-0

Sunderland vs Liverpool

Sunderland gave Manchester United a real scare last time out. In fact it was Ben Foster who probably gave United the bigger scare, but I digress. The Mackems are on good form and, for Darren Bent, comparisons with Harry Redknapp’s wife Sandra have well and truly been consigned to his Twitter history. One problem I still have with Bent though, and I’ve mentioned this before, is the following… why does he have to wear headphones all the time, even when he’s being interviewed post-match? My only assumption is that he must be learning a language. If so, good luck to you Darren. Sorry, I mean ‘buena suerte’ (if in fact you are learning Spanish, or even reading this at all).

Liverpool have lost their last couple of games, and now have an injury to Steven Gerrard to cope with. Yossi Benayoun will feature for the reds, but is unlikely to have become any easier on the eye during the international break.

Verdict: 3-2

Blackburn vs Burnley

One game. Every weekend in the Premier League we get one of these. The sort of game that is less of a game, and more of an example of how to have a fight within the rules of football. So, lots of shoulder charging, slide tackling, clashes of heads, that sort of thing. There won’t be any football played. It’ll be an absolutely horrible spectacle. However, after 8 pints this game is the footballing equivalent of the girl accross the bar that suddenly got attractive, even though she definitely wasn’t when you sat down five hours ago.

Abnormaly appealing.

Verdict: 1-1

Wigan vs Man City

Alan Wiley is back. Having spent the international break punching dead cow carcasses, running up steps, doing push-ups in the snow, and generally finding obscure ‘Rocky’ influenced techniques to get himself into top conditon in such a short period of time, will he now be able to out-sprint Craig Bellamy? Probably not.

In fact, I don’t think anyone can out-sprint Craig Bellamy at the moment. In the sort of form the Welshman is in, I can see his pace being the difference between the two sides. Expect his unique ability to get on everyone’s nerves will be another difference between the two sides.

Verdict: 1-2

Fulham vs Hull

Family club vs Family club, taking place in the only stadium in the Premier League to have a section for ‘neutral fans’. There are probably still some tickets available, why not buy a couple? Take the kids. Buy some candy floss. Play poo-sticks on Putney Bridge, and have a jolly nice Monday evening. The football won’t be great, but a giant badger wearing a Fulham shirt will do something funny at half time. The kids will like that.

Verdict: 1-1

Written by Eddie: Eddie’s Football Blog.

Trying to write an article about a 0-1 defeat in the Ukraine is easy.

The press, perpetuating the theory that they exist only to make a mountain out of a molehill (quite literally when referring to Paul Robinson’s experience in Zagreb), will undoubtedly aim to point the finger at a someone. Generally, this player/referee/manager won’t deserve the level criticism aimed at them, but the airwaves of Talk Sport will still be rammed full of supporters reacting with true Daily Mail style outrage.

Turn it on now. I’m willing to bet you that an angry man from Dagenham is struggling to get his point across about why Rio Ferdinand should be dropped. Jason Cundy will then inexplicably agree with him.

Lennon: That's my boy!

However, I’m not one to stoke the fire. In fact, I want to talk about something completely unrelated to yesterday’s result because, yesterday, a funny thing happened. I found myself losing interest in the game after 15 minutes. Why? Not because we had gone down to 10 men. No, I lost interest because the one player representing my club had left the field of play.

Maybe it’s different for the fans of Manchester United and Chelsea who have a number of their players regularly making the starting line-up at international level, or maybe they feel it too. All I know is that, as a Spurs fan, whenever one of our players takes to the field in the white of my country, I suddenly become the proud father-figure standing on the touchline, nudging my neighbour and exclaiming “That’s my boy!”.

When Aaron Lennon bamboozled the Croatians, and turned in a Man Of The Match perfomace in England’s recent 5-1 victory at Wembley, I wasn’t sure if I was proud of my club for having the best player on the pitch, or just proud of my country’s achievement. That night I think it was a mixture of the two, but yesterday’s match probably proved to me that, in meaningless international games, my eye is more on the individuals than on the team as a whole.

This of course opens up a wider Club vs Country debate. Do I love Spurs more than I love England? In a game that mean nothing, yes, I probably do. The neutral would undoubtedly claim that this is terribly unpatriotic, and that I should be hung, drawn and quartered for such treason. However, the neutral doesn’t have engrained within them the 9 month turmoil of the loyal football supporter and, in an era when player loyalty is at an all-time low, Premier League fans (certainly of clubs outside of the top four) want to cling on to every moment their stars have in the limelight. They don’t tend to last long if you have a player of real quality, as Spurs fans only know too well.

I think that we can safely say that Eriksson tarnished the integrity of England friendlies for us all and, let’s face it, World Cup qualifiers when you’ve already qualified are basically the same thing. It’s just another annoying little break, when all you really want to do is have a pie in your hand, a spring in your step, and be ready to get behind your club’s players once more. However, if one of your boys has broken into the national team and proudly pulled on the shirt of your country, it becomes a different ball-game entirely. Suddenly a meaningless game has meaning.

On Saturday, when our Postman Pat lookalike was forced into taking my boy off after 15 minutes, and I suddenly found myself on BBC One watching a re-run of Diagnosis Murder, I could hear those Premier League neutrals sharpening their guillotines for my heresy.

Tell me though, fellow Premier League fans, am I the only one who is committing this crime?

Written by Eddie: Eddie’s Football Blog.

It’s pretty well established that Marco Materazzi is an irritant. When the best player in the world would prefer to deck you than stay on the pitch to try to win a World Cup Final, you’ve got to have a pretty special talent for rubbing people up the wrong way. I’ve only ever watched him play in televised matches, but quite how the screen of my aeging Grundig gogglebox has survived the various items I’ve launched at the Italian, I really don’t know. The absence of a plie of bricks next to my sofa perhaps?

Anyway, why is he so annoying? Last week Didier Drogba threw himself theatrically into this series, along with a smorgasbord of expressions likely to get even the calmest of Anglican vicars reaching for their crucafix of wrath. That said though, whilst Drogba is undoubtedly a five star toss-pot, he is a very good footballer, and therefore I’m happy to allow him a small percentage of his sizeable arrogance. The problem we all have with Materazzi is that no-one ever really finishes a rant about him with ‘…but he is one hell of a player’.

Because he isn’t. Actually, it’s common knowledge that if you took away the Italian’s skills as a wind up merchant, and a level of aggression only similar to the rage-monkeys in 28 Days Later, he’d be, well, a bit rubbish. Ok, he’s useful at set-pieces, but so was Ramon Vega.

There are times when he even gets under the skin of his team mates. Zlatan Ibrahimovich, when asked why Inter lost to Liverpool in the Champions League a couple of seasons ago brilliantly replied, ‘Why did we lose? Why don’t you ask Materazzi’. The reporter didn’t need to bother, that said it all.

The level of regard with which he appears to hold himself is therefore unfounded, and therein lies the bugbear most of us share when it comes to Marco Materazzi. He prances about the pitch on the wind-up for 90 minutes, putting in the sort of career-ending mis-timed tackles that would make even Roy Keane wince, and then he has the sheer cheek to go and pick up a World Cup winners medal. It really makes you want to hurt him.

I mean, just look at some of these tackles (Advisory Warning: Mute the video to avoid the crappy Euro-Pop soundtrack the creator of this compilation has inexplicably chosen!)…

Anyway, I’d like to continue this rather therapeutic release of pent-up rage, as it has been far more useful (and less expensive) than throwing bricks at my television. However, I feel that I’ve wandered again into the realms of missing the point of my angry warbling. How smackable is his face? I have fed an image of his mug through the ever-reliable ‘Lee Bowyer Smackablomator’, and it has spat out the following result. I feel it’s let him off lightly. What do you think?

Written by Eddie: eddies football blog

I’ll admit it, whilst trying to think of something witty to open an article about Baron Silas Greenback’s (aka Avram Grant) return to English football, I got a bit lost in the statistics of the Danger Mouse villain’s record as manager at Chelsea. This is why we’ve ended up with a) a rubbish title to the article, and b) an opening paragraph explaining why it isn’t making you laugh. I can only apologise for this.

Grant: Back in the big-time

The thing is though, after trawling through various statistics about wins, losses, draws and other stuff that people with no interest in football would rather burn their eyeballs than bare witness to, it appears that Greenback wasn’t actually a bad gaffer. In fact, he was quite good.

In the 32 Premier League games which Abramovich allowed him to sit in the hot-seat (whilst stroking his fluffy white caterpillar, and trying to find the exact post-box on Baker Street that his arch-nemesis had set up camp in) his record was as follows; 23 wins, 7 draws, and only 2 losses. That translates as 76 Premier League points, which is certainly a very good haul to ask your evil crow-henchman to gather up and put in your dungeon.

In fact, if you take his average points per game (at this point I’m aware that I will have lost a few of you who don’t care much for statistics. I expected this, which is why I put a picture on the left to distract you), and multiply it by the 38 games that he would’ve had at his disposal, had Chelsea decided to fire Mourinho before the start of the season, The Blues would’ve collected over 90 points that season.

Manchester United won the league with 87 points so, yes, I am essientially saying that The Baron would’ve won the Premier League at his first attempt. Factor in a Carling Cup Final (stop sarcastically saying “ooooooh!” back there!), and being a penalty-competent centre-half’s width away from winning his Russian owner’s very own holy grail, the Champions League, and future historians will be scratching their heads as to why this man was given his P45. Especially when he’s been balancing football management with world domintation. It’s a tough juggling act to one minute have to send tins of exploding custard to every address on the planet, and then the next have to face the media after a 1-1 draw with Birmingham. Very tough indeed.

That was the problem with Greenback though. Like most evil super-villians, he was media shy, and he also looked like a super-villain should look. All toady and green, with a wheezy little laugh. Those very same historians will soon understand the reason for his dismissal when they see a picture of him. They’ll realise that he never stood a chance because Joe Public is never going to want an evil toad-creature as manager of his club.

Greenback: Hell-bent on world domination

Evil toad-creatures are simply not cool or funny enough when interviewed by Garth Crooks on Match Of The Day. As a result, these fans will put completely unrealistic performace expectations onto the manager’s shoulders. So will his chairman. Expectations so high, that all of the achievements stated above will simply not be good enough. If Greenback had been a man with nicely combed hair, who answered every question from Garth with a witty quip about a man walking into a bar, I’m sure those acheivements would at least have earnt him another season at the helm.

His demise was inevitable though, and is probably what drove him to steal a growth serum to create giant chickens that could take over the world. Probably.

Thankfully though, The Baron will have to reign in all that harebrained plotting now, as on Wednesday afternoon he accepted the Director Of Football role at Portsmouth. Just like his last job, this appears to be an interim position. On this occasion, however, it’s an interim position in the boardroom, and it looks very much like it’ll be Paul Hart who will end up biting the bullet. This should pave the way for Greenback, ironically for a super-villain, to step in and save the day.

Pompey fans, if it does happen, and you switch on the TV to see Greenback stroking his caterpillar whilst giving monosyllabic answers to Geoff Shreeves, in a press conference that he has rigged to interrupt every channel in the world, don’t dispair. He may not be pretty, and may occasionally be side-tracked by plans to destroy all the world’s signposts, but you can’t argue with his record during his last stint in the Premier League.

Plus, he looks like a cartoon character. So just think of all the songs you could make up.

Written by Eddie: Eddie’s Football Blog.