Premier League 2013/14 - What we've learnt so far

As the football world hurtles head-on toward the tedium of an international break, it has given us poor Premier League fans the opportunity to take stock of the opening fixtures of a season which has already provided a number of surprises and talking-points.

With that in mind, here is my ten-point analysis of the season so far. This analysis may stretch to twelve points if something comes to me midway through, or I may struggle to get past eight points if I get hungry and leave it. (Edit this paragraph - it's a little crap)

1. Manchester United have no midfield

OK, that may be a little misleading...many of us have known this for a little while. So far, I have had the pleasure of watching United's thrilling 0-0 draw with Chelsea and a rollercoaster 1-0 loss to Liverpool this season and each match led to the above conclusion.

For vast swathes (yes, swathes) of each match, the United midfield was about as populated as a comedy night in Berlin. Other than the excellent Michael Carrick, there is not much else. Tom Cleverley is willing but limited, yet remains the second best central midfielder available. Ryan Giggs is 39, Anderson has got really fat, really fast and Darren Fletcher is feeling a little poorly. A friend of mine recently said that in many ways, the fate of a billion pound company rests upon the bowel movements of a Scotsman, which is precarious at best.

Why this midfield malaise remains untreated, I have no idea. I can only assume that either United are insisting upon a tactical revolution - the 4-1-5 formation - or David Moyes was once both attacked by a malevolent, evil playmaker, leading him to vow never to play one for United.

Either that, or Shinji Kagawa has slept with his wife.

2. Jose Mourinho is still Jose Mourinho

Upon his return to England, Jose Mourinho - he of the self-appointed nickname - gave himself the moniker  'The Happy One', citing a change in his outlook on football, causing every journalist in England to moan in orgasmic delight. Would this mean a change in Mourinho's tactical view of the game?

No. Even three years managing Cristiano Ronaldo, Mesut Ozil and Xabi Alonso have not altered the attention-seeking one's approach. Chelsea's game against United went some way to proving this, with Mourinho insisting upon a formation with neither a striker nor Juan Mata. He also arrived in West London not satisfied with the number of attacking midfielders at his disposal, so he bought a few more...and there is still no flair in that side.

Not that I'm being 'the moany one', give me a 1-0 win over a 4-4 draw any day...but while you're at it Jose, perhaps you could spot us one of your 7 playmakers?

3. Arsenal went from being the worst team in England to the best in two weeks.

It's been quite a transformation for Arsenal since that dire 3-1 home loss to Aston Villa on the opening day. They have gone on to record a staggering four wins in a row since that match, which had prompted many an Arsenal fan to react in typically level-headed, balanced fashion.

The signing of Mesut Ozil and a win over Tottenham has seen them confident of this at last being their year to win a trophy. Ozil in particular looks like a great signing. If there was one thing Arsenal needed, it was a midfielder who could pick a pass, keep possession and not track back.

Again, please do not read too much into my sarcasm Arsenal fans. Ultimately, your team are placed higher than mine in the table, and you bought Mesut Ozil, a player I would consider getting a proper job for.

4. LIVERPOOL ARE BACK!

Well, kinda. They sit top of the Premier League after three games and look set to go on a rampaging march to the Premier League title, inspired solely by Daniel Sturridge winners in 1-0 victories.

The absence of Luis Suarez has not hindered Liverpool one bit, and in some ways, it is not difficult to see why. Suarez, for all his abundant quality, became a big fish in a small pond at Liverpool and actually ended up diluting the qualities of Lucas and Henderson, which is unthinkable.

Add into the mix the Uruguayan's fondness for controversy and the taste of human flesh, and the team have actually seemed more focused in his absence. Coutinho and 'Renault' Aspas have been outstanding behind Sturridge and although their luck is bound to run out at some point, Liverpool could be contenders to go all the way to the final of the Top Four Cup.

5. Tottenham without Gareth Bale are...

Other than really, really rich? A little dull to be honest. I do not doubt the assertion of many Spurs fans that the team may actually benefit without Bale, but they are certainly less fun to watch. One could argue that Tottenham are not only a better XI without the Welshman, but an actual XI, given Bale Hostpur's performances last year.This is likely to be a good thing...eleven players are usually better than one.

The signings of Soldado, Paulinho and Eriksen in particular look like brilliant buys, and don't be surprised to see Spurs challenge for the title. Until about February. When it all falls apart. And Arsenal pip them at the end. Again.

6. Manchester City are still hopeless away from home

When I was about six years old, I asked my Dad why Man United had beaten Southampton so easily at home but been beaten at The Dell.

He went on to explain that, quite simply, away games are harder than home games, for a number of reasons too dull to write down but too important to totally overlook. In spite of this, City still don't seem to have learnt this lesson. Their title 'defence' - for want of a better word - last season was undermined by shocking away form, and they have already lost to newly-promoted Cardiff in Wales. It's all well and good panelling teams at home, but victories only ever get you three points, no matter where or how comfortably they are obtained.

That's my advice City, you can thank me later

7. Paolo Di Canio is actually pretty useless
Of course, if this particular blog goes viral, Di Canio is likely to hunt me down and murder me, the bloody psycho. But not racist psycho. Fascist psycho. There's a difference apparently.

It goes to show that yelling at your players and scaring the shit out of them is a pretty good tactic in League One and for over-zealous parents in Little League, but at the top level, some tactical nous is required. Example: England at Euro 2012. Example: England at World Cup 2010. Example: England not at Euro 2008.

Di Canio just about managed to frighten his players to safety last season, but they look in trouble already this year, in spite of the 39 players the Italian brought in, possibly to compensate for the fines, bans and beatings he is likely to impose over the next nine months.

8. Joe Kinnear is more useless

Seriously, what is the point of him? Is he part of some plan between the North East clubs to see who can humiliate themselves more?

The guy who was brought in to aid transfer business...didn't. That's basically it. He had ONE job and has gone about pursuing an obviously unknown remit, which I suspect is seeing how many Geordies he can wind up before he is booted out of the city for good.

9. Premier League teams are really rich

Premier League teams spent £630m this summer, which is enough to give everyone in England a tenner, or £200m more than the GDP of Tonga.

How did they get so much money? Well, firstly through TV deals and secondly through their ability to milk fans dry. Nothing will be done about either of these while the marketing is so good - it is the best league in the world after all - and the football is so frustratingly and compellingly average. There will come a time when the bubble bursts but, like my attitude towards toasters and knives, until something catastrophic happens, no action will be taken.

10. The Premier League is still pretty exciting

As the most nervous football fan in the world, I spent most of the summer actually enjoying the Premier League's absence. Why? Not because I find the league dull, but because I find it gut-wrenchingly (apparently that isn't a word) gripping. The drama, the twists and - in the nicest way - the gradually declining quality makes for unpredictable, enchanting viewing, which I can do without most of the time, both for the sake of my health and my relationships with the people who I care about. After all, nobody wants to see a loved one crying their eyes out or with fingernails sharp enough to cut steak.

But, I'm afraid it's going to be this way until May, so we may as well enjoy it for what it is.

Premier League, welcome back.

The Manchester Derby: Nothing to pay for?

Hello again everyone, two things have given me the impetus to write tonight's blog.

1) I don't think enough people are covering tonight's match between Manchester United and Manchester City

2) Justin Bieber has 37 million more Twitter followers than me, and that has to be addressed sometime, what does he have that I don't? For what it's worth, Bieber has more followers than fellow countrymen. Spooky.

Oh yeah, 3) My girlfriend might start a blog soon and I find it of huge importance that I reassert my dominance in the literary stakes, particularly after we don't play '4 words 1 pic' anymore. As my profile picture suggests, I don't bring the looks, I bring the books.

Anyway, much to the chagrin of the nation's media, tonight's match will be more of demonstration derby than a demolition derby, not that I as a United fan am too bothered. Hell, City may even win, and I won't be too upset, it will be the footballing equivalent of Nick Clegg beating David Cameron in a race to the trousers shop. Now that I have made a mediocre attempt at political satire, let's talk sports.

A few weeks ago, this game was scheduled for that hotbed of footballing activity - Monday night at 8pm - in the hope of driving fans to incontinence from the high stakes, tension and significance. Of course, the hoped pivotal nature of the game in the title race would drive 'The Three H's' of football broadcasting: hype, hype and hype. If you want a more pertinent example of this, see this year's Battle Royale for that most coveted of sporting glories - Fourth Place.

But the championship battle hasn't turned out that way. Unfortunately for the broadcasters, City's form has stuttered while United have been imperious, stretching an already worrying advantage into an almost certainly decisive one. So the media have zoned in on the other subplot - the 'local' significance. But is there really any of that? In United's case, fans from all over the world will tune into the game at crazy hours to watch their team play, while all over Lancashire, City's fans will do the same at, admittedly, a still crazy hour.

It is no more a regional battle, football has changed. I mean, I support United and as I am constantly reminded, I am from London. Indeed, do you know the statistic that at any time in London, you are no more than five metres from a rat? You are probably only four metres away from a United fan. No comparisons please.

The contest

Anyway, the game. United can take an 18 point lead with victory and ensure that the title can be won as early as next Wednesday. However, at the end of a season which once promised so much, the expectation upon the champions-elect to secure the seemingly inevitable may affect their performance. Alternatively, the United players may see the game as a coronation; an opportunity to justify their commanding lead and to remind City of the improvement required to reclaim the crown. And that means doing a little more than signing Scott Sinclair.

As for City, an imminent FA Cup semi-final aside, their season has been relatively poor. In spite of a tough group, they were woeful in the Champions League and the defence of their title has been more pathetic than my current attempt to look busy - I'm actually at work right now. However, the game may present a chance to return to the old days, when the derby was like a cup final, when the opportunity to scupper or derail a United title charge was one to be taken with both hands.

I personally think the game will be low-key and cagey, with United perhaps less concerned with grasping the opportunity than, more importantly, not blowing it. On the other hand, City appear unsure of whether to look forward or back and an uncertainty has seemed to pervade through the club for most of the season. Most City fans will probably agree, they as fans are simply not yet used to success, perhaps the same goes for the players

It is probably my defeatism which leads me to predict a rather dour game, but I would not be surprised if it takes the complexion of a relegation dogfight, but with Samir Nasri thrown in. But don't take my word for it, I'm so nervous and pessimistic that I punched the air in relief at safely getting into bed last night, I'm hopeful I will be wrong.

The context

I still remember the corresponding fixture from last season when City tore United apart - mostly in stoppage time and with the handy deployment of 'the sweaty goal' - to record a 6-1 victory which still gives me sleepless nights. Perhaps of greater significance was City's win at the Etihad Stadium six months later, claiming a 1-0 victory on their way to a first championship since 1754. If the 6-1 defeat gives me selective insomnia, don't get me started on the manner in which City actually won the title...

Ok, I got started. While the nation's commentators were doing their best impressions of the male orgasm to accompany Sergio Aguero's goal, I was checking my phone for confirmation of the horrible truth, hoping that throwing it at a wall would make it all Ok. It didn't, and I remain emotionally scarred and without a fully functioning phone. In Salford and 'red' Manchester, there will forever be 'anomalies' in the sales figures of anti-depressants for May 2012. Meanwhile in China, there was probably a puzzling and dramatic increase in the number of Manchester United shirts with 'Aguero' on the back.

Looking forward, for us United fans, winning tonight would give us a brief sense of calm in a storm of uncertainty brought about by City's sudden rise to prominence. We all pretend to not be concerned by City's financial power, saying that Financial Fair Play will put paid (pun intended) to that (will it f**k) or that their position as current champions, is likely to be brief. But in reality, I'm sure most of us feel the same as me, lying awake at night in the foetal position and crying softly, waiting for that day when last May's demons can be exorcised, at least in the short-term. It matters a lot more than most of us care to admit.

I may have gone full circle in the space of one short article, but yes, tonight's match does matter. To a natural pessimist like myself - and thus my opinion is essentially void - it isn't over until it's over, but even to the realist, the sooner the day that red - and not blue - ribbons are on the Premier League trophy, the better. Those bragging rights I mentioned earlier may not be at stake, but the smug satisfaction - currently in the ownership of those at the Etihad - is. I need that false sense of superiority and achievement (derived from my own inability to do something for myself) to help me enjoy the summer.

With the weather finally perking up recently, starting tonight, hopefully that summer starts early.

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By the way, if you are coming here from BBC Sport after my epic spamming, thanks for reading and I hope I didn't waste your time! Additionally, from that same page, please watch the interview with Owen Hargreaves, how strange is his accent?!

Flappy paddles and Vanity panels

Ahhh Formula One, we have missed you. It has only been two months since Jenson Button limped over the line at the end of a brilliant Brazilian Grand Prix and 2012 season, but it seems like so much longer.

In that time, us Formula One fans have lived a hollow existence, absentmindedly walking the streets early on Sunday mornings, making vaguely 'F1ish' noises, or shouting "LIGHTS OUT, AWAY WE GO" when the microwave gets to zero.

In fact, on my walk to work, I now employ a 'racing line' to get to the train station as quickly as possible and throw my hands in the air when slowed by a back-marker (pensioner). I even try to be the first to react when the lights flash on the train doors to let me off that sweaty, angst-filled metal tube...much like a Formula One car.

This time last year, I wrote a pretty decent piece proclaiming Felipe Massa to be the man to beat in 2012 and the master of the universe in general. My thoughts have changed slightly for the 2013 season, for three main reasons: Sebastian Vettel and Red Bull are just too bloody good, Felipe Massa isn't actually the master of the universe and I used up all my best jokes in that article. Yes, THAT was the peak of my powers.

So, what can we realistically expect from 2013? Here's my take on it, strap yourself in for a hilarious* preview of the year ahead.

* Probably mildly amusing at best, like when someone says 'lol' via digital communication or Russell Brand.

I should just say at this point that if you want a detailed analysis and genuinely worthwhile predictions from someone who knows what they are talking about, please go elsewhere. Here is my team-by-team guide.

Red Bull
Quite simply the antithesis of funniness. How on earth am I meant to blog about the unpredictable, amusing nature of Formula One when this team keeps bloody winning everything. And this team is Austrian. Name me one funny thing that has been influenced by Austria, other than Arnold Schwarzenegger's hilarious performance as Mr Freeze in 'Batman & Robin'. Exactly, nothing.

With three straight victories in the Driver and Constructors Championships, it is difficult to see beyond Red Bull making it number four. Unless Mark Webber does what we all know he yearns to do and takes Sebastian Vettel out in at least two of the races. And even then it'll be close.

With a multitude of tracks suiting the characteristics of the 'typical' Red Bull car, there should be enough opportunities to secure maximum points on any given weekend, making your painful early morning rise utterly fruitless. In fact, the team are even pushing for a re-introduction to the calendar of the AUSTRIAN Grand Prix...AT THE 'RED BULL RING' FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!

Ferrari
I honestly don't know what to expect from Ferrari this year. With Fernando Alonso guaranteed to have said the word 'maximum' at least 638 times over the winter, there is no doubt the team will have tried to provide a car which isn't...you know, hopeless. Not that this really matters to Mr Alonso, who could probably drive my dad's Toyota Avensis to a string of podiums if given the chance. The problem is the man I once deemed indestructible - Felipe Massa. Once again, the Brazilian appeared to turn the corner (the minimum requirement of a Formula One driver) at the end of last season. The problem is, knowing Massa, he probably turned that corner, only to go terribly wide at the next.

Unlikely to produce two poor cars in a row, the team should be near the top and if they are within half a second of Red Bull's pace, expect Alonso to really push Vettel (and Webber, at his customary two solid races) to the limit. That if is bigger than Alonso's eyebrows though.

McLaren
Once again, the Woking team appear to have produced a very strong car to start the season, but that was only good enough for third place overall last year. With the absence of Lewis Hamilton likely to affect the overall performance of the team, it will be interesting season for McLaren. With Jenson Button and Sergio Perez likely to battle over who can make the least pit-stops, it could be that if the car is gentle enough on its tyres, McLaren could challenge at circuits which are typically demanding on the rubber (no sex jokes please), like Canada and China.

Even people who are qualified to make predictions will struggle to call McLaren's season, so I ought to have no chance, but I see them having a really strong year, particularly if the team can get the car working to the precise conditions Button demands. That said, they had thirteen years to get used to Lewis' favourite settings, and instead provided cars that often fell apart or had gearboxes made of clay.

Lotus
The team have talked the talk by aiming for a top-three finish, and who is to say they can't do it? Well, me. I personally think the aforementioned teams will be too strong, particularly if Romain Grosjean hasn't got over his penchant for hitting more sidepods than apexes. With Kimi Raikkonen showing remarkable consistency last year, he could be in line for another strong season. With a year under his belt after his comeback, he may shed the caution which often cost the Finn more points. Usually kind on their tyres, it could be a strong year for Lotus, but I just can't see it, at least not yet.

Mercedes
Ahh Mercedes, what do we think? In my opinion, more of the same really. Lewis Hamilton arrives from McLaren and may be able to add a few tenths to boost the team, but it is more likely to only mean the difference between seventh and fourth than anything else. The British driver may be able to deliver the odd podium and victory which ought to be beyond his Silver Arrow, but a championship challenge appears unlikely, which probably means more testy post-race interviews and the return of that famous scowl.

Of course, we are forgetting Nico Rosberg, who is an outstanding driver and has the intelligence to ensure the team stay on his side if necessary. If Rosberg was only able to extract one win from this car last season, I find it difficult to imagine Lewis working miracles, although many of my fellow Hamilton 'fanboys' will argue differently.

Some of my 'contacts' (one person I spoke to once) thinks Hamilton could be the difference - and more - between mediocrity and consistent challenges for victories. I disagree, but I do see a season a little better than last for Mercedes, perhaps fighting Lotus for fourth place in the championship. I think their focus is on 2014, when loads of complicated rules come in and prevents us fans from really knowing what exactly is going on.

The midfield
Because I know you are all bored of reading this now, I'm going to make this brief. To be honest, I'm getting bored of writing it! By midfield, I mean Sauber, Force India, Williams and Toro Rosso, and none of them appear too capable of building on what were encouraging seasons last year.

Sauber, thanks mostly to the outgoing Perez, had a great season last year. Although Nico Hulkenberg is also a very good driver, can he continue that level of performance? Time will tell. Esteban Gutierrez looks promising too, but I think with regulations stable for this season, Sauber are unlikely to have the same impact they had last season, when Perez secured three podiums for the team.

Force India were very consistent last season, with Paul Di Resta driving well for the first half of the year, before allowing Nico Hulkenberg to dominate him in the second. With Hulkenberg gone, as a Scot, I will be hoping Di Resta can take his chance as team leader and deliver more strong results, although his teammate is yet to be decided. I think, I don't research much.

Williams scored their first victory since 2004 with Pastor Maldonado - that loveable chap - taking the win in Spain, before their performances tailed off and they ended up in eighth place in the Constructor's Championship, thanks in part to Maldonado's carelessness as well as his occasional brilliance. With Bruno Senna replaced by Valtteri Bottas...I don't know who that is or where I'm going with that point, so I will leave that sentence there.

And then we have Toro Rosso, who I think will finish ninth again. I know, how profound.

The new teams
Who aren't new anymore. I think the excuses now have to stop for Marussia and Caterham, who are going to have to step up or step away. With HRT going bust - before a legion of fans kicked them out themselves - we are left with eleven teams, which should actually help the quality of the racing...slightly.

I think - again - that Caterham can finally secure a point, while I see another season of struggle for Marussia. Max Chilton makes his debut in the Marussia this year, and it will be interesting to see how he gets on, but what is likely to be a slow car may limit his opportunities to impress. As I said, the excuses have to stop now and the points have to start coming in, or these teams will be long forgotten.

So there we have it, Formula One is back, and I am back with it, hurrah!

I honestly think we could have a great season on our hands, and it is genuinely difficult to predict the next few months. But as I have shown, predictions are useless - thanks Felipe.

Let the racing begin.


OH BY THE WAY, I also wrote a little piece towards the end of last year, concerning the business side of the sport. It's got interviews, columns from actual experts, some nice pictures and some serious F1 chat from yours truly. I don't even make that many snide comments in brackets or hit and miss jokes.

If you like that kind of thing (and why wouldn't you?) then click here.

Window of inopportunity (is that even a word?)

Ahhh February 1st, the footballing equivalent of New Year's Day or the day after your birthday.

Have you ever woken up with the cold light of day piercing the curtains, bringing to an abrupt end a fitful, uncomfortable sleep, with more questions than answers, and a dreadful combination of random lucidity, realisation and fear filling your every thought? "What did I do last night?" "How much did I spend?" Or, in Harry Redknapp's case, "What the hell is Jermaine Jenas doing here?"

On those awful, awful mornings, you spend the next few hours tramping about the house scratching your head, wondering if it is too late to right the wrongs of yesterday, but the evidence soon appears and you are left to scramble hopelessly around, stuck in damage-limitation mode. If we're going to continue this tenuous analogy which has gone way too far already, let me please ask this: how much did Peter Odemwingie have to drink last night?!

I am of course talking about transfer deadline day and, like most things in life, it turned out to be dreadfully predictable. Arsenal once again ignored their obvious need for an extra player or two until long after everyone had cared, signing Nacho Monreal from Malaga. By the way, Monreal looks like a strange mix of Peter Crouch and Luka Modric, which I find incredibly disturbing. The injury sustained by Kieran Gibbs in midweek meant that Arsenal were left without a recognised left-back for at least three weeks. I understand that Andre Santos occasionally tries to find his way to left-back, but the key word is 'recognised'...and I don't recognise Mr Santos as a footballer, let alone a specialist in a position.

By contrast, QPR had a very busy day. Knowing that heroic defender Ryan Nelsen was on his way to the MLS to teach soccerball, the Premier League's bottom club were keen to add a defender or six. Christopher  Samba duly arrived after a turbulent spell at that Russian club with the long name, while Jenas and Andros Townsend came later in the day. Incidentally, Harry Redknapp appeared nonplussed when asked about his association with transfer deadline day, but the man spends so much time leaning out of his car in front of a camera, answering benign questions, he should be made a spokesman for his local McDonald's Drive-Thru.

But seriously? QPR signed three average players and nearly signed two others? Am I the only one who finds transfer deadline day incredibly self-serving and tedious? Much like the Premier League itself, it is an opportunity to maximise interest and revenues in a declining entity. Remember when deadline day was exciting? Me neither, except a few times when a couple of billionaires went mental and bought everything in sight. The main excitement from yesterday was Odemwingie NOT signing for someone. Yes, the West Brom striker will now be left with a situation more awkward than Lance Armstrong playing 'truth or dare' and I can understand that that is vaguely amusing for a minute or two. However, gossiping about how people will have to deal with their workmates is not the domain of the football fan, we seem to prefer hypocrisy and beating the crap out of each other instead. Thanks again Millwall by the way.

Forgive me for making a political/economic point, but in difficult financial times, with a triple-dip recession looming, how can we justify a system which allows Mr Samba - a decent, but hardly world-class defender - to earn £100,000 a week? It is not Samba's fault, but such a vast inflation of his perceived talents are surely thanks in no small part to this ridiculous, over-rated, disappointing day. What the transfer window provides is a licence for men with more money than sense to take vast, unjustified gambles to promote their own image, at the inevitable expense of their club. QPR may have yesterday's activity to thank if they avoid relegation, but what if they don't? What if they are left with these expensive trophies which seemed so attractive the night before? What if, going back to the case of 'the morning after', the club are left with the awkward situation of getting them to leave without giving too much away and not looking like a prick?

In Arsenal's case, why did they have to rush to buy Monreal in the first place? Because they were left with Andre Santos. Why? Because of the deadline day of Autumn 2011, when Arsenal bought five (I think) players in a desperate bid to halt an alarming early-season slide. How many of those signings have proved to be worthwhile? Per Mertesacker still has the jury out, albeit in no rush to deliver a verdict, much like how Per is never in a rush...ever. Yossi Benayoun and Park Chu-Young have since moved on, leaving Mikel Arteta as the only success from that day...and he hasn't exactly set the world alight, has he?

Anyway, that's quite enough from me. I can't believe how many serious points I've made in this post, this is not what I want to do. That said, perhaps I am maturing into a more rounded, context-driven and focused sport writer. Maybe this the new me. Maybe this marks a change in the direction of this blog.

On the other hand, boobs.

Sport in 2013: One year on from my first spam.

I remember starting this blog exactly one year ago with a mission: set up humorous, provocative and generally fun collection of my musings and ramblings about the finest sporting events around the world, as often as possible. When I say the finest sports, I basically mean the ones I like, and when I say around the world, I invariably mean within the United Kingdom and when I say as often as possible, I of course mean whenever I can be bothered which, since July, has been about twice.

What has changed? Well, I still find growing a beard difficult and despite numerous (one) attempt(s), I remain incredibly thin and geeky. I decided I needed to take a sabbatical from the stressful world of stress-free blogging and took some time out to really find myself, spending long afternoons standing at the top of hills, staring wistfully into the distance with a solitary tear rolling down my cheek.*

* - Lying in bed thinking "I might do a blog today...nah, Everybody Loves Raymond is on"

Unfortunately, the beginning of my internship and employment related laziness coincided with the most remarkable period of British sport of my lifetime. Still bearing the scars of Andy Murray's Wimbledon defeat and Manchester United's incredible sacrifice of the Premier League title, I resigned myself to a 2012 full of heartache and despair.

Which of course was wrong.

Still, 2013 is a new year and - more importantly - February is a new month, so it is time to get that New Year/Month/Week's resolution sorted.

I'm unemployed again, so welcome back.

Ahhh hello old friends, I am glad to give you the chance to venture back into my incoherent, babbling thoughts.

Regarding the title, I don't know if you can call an unpaid internship "employment", but it's the best I had to work with, and it made me feel special. I will miss the glum stares of commuters begging for the sweet embrace of death on cold Wednesday mornings and the opportunity to dress in jeans on 'casual Friday', like a complete maniac, but things had to change, so I stormed out of there last week with my head held high, deciding enough was enough*.

* - patiently waited until the last minute, subtly begged for a job and meekly acknowledged the inevitable end of my contract.

So, with the year approaching its end and my promises of regular blogs as broke three members of Take That, I would like to offer the writing equivalent of the deathbed repentance. After all, the world is supposedly ending on Friday if you believe a long-dead collection of people which ran out of time, resources and calendars. No, not Woolworths, the Mayans.

I am sorry to have abandoned you all once again, but my tenacity and unwavering desire to chase my dreams meant that I had to prioritise a little. (When I say tenacity, I mean apathy, when I say dreams, I mean unpaid internship and when I say prioritise, I mean that getting home late gave me little option but to cry myself to sleep in preparation for the next day.)

Today I will try to write a few reviews of the past twelve months. 2012 has been pretty quiet year, so it shouldn't take me long. Happy reading.

Das Finger strikes again as Alonso falters

Warning: the following blog was written by someone suffering from severe man-flu and about to celebrate an incredibly low-key birthday.

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Ahhh Formula One 2012, what are we going to do with you ey?

You couldn't just be all boring and predictable, like Ed Miliband, snooker or Alan Shearer could you?

I am of course talking about the season as a whole, this weekend's race at Suzuka was more dull than a Kimi Raikkonen speech about geology. Am I the only one who thinks that? Suzuka normally provides great racing but, after the first corner, I was quite underwhelmed by the action.

Anyway, the sport is still set for it's most thrilling finale in...well...two years. This year, the glory looks set to go either to Fernando Alonso or Sebastian Vettel...or maybe Lewis Hamilton or maybe Kimi Raikkonen. In fact, I was tempted to name this post "two and a half men" on that basis, but then most people would avoid it on the grounds that the blog would involve Charlie Sheen hanging out with a ten-year-old boy.

Once again, I tried to avoid both qualifying and race results, but once again, my irrational addiction to BBC Sport meant that I gave away both before I could hang on for the highlights shows. Anyway, just like at the Bahrain Grand Prix earlier this year, I was given the terrifying feeling that I had been taken back in time to 2011, with Seb dominating a race and everyone being far too polite to put up a fuss. As a result, I won't spend too much time talking about how the German cruised to pole position, got to the first corner first and subsequently dominated the race, holding off the challenge of the brilliant Felipe Massa.

Behind him, there was more of a race, with Romain Grosjean again doing his best to annoy the whole paddock. Grosjean to me is like Donkey Kong in Mario Kart, he can be quick, but is incredibly clumsy. After a decent getaway, he collided with Mark Webber after what he said was an over-zealous attempt to not hit anyone. Say what? That's like saying "but love, I was trying so hard not to kiss her, I ended up shagging her"...isn't it? However, Romain wasn't the only Lotus causing trouble in the first corner; Raikkonen himself was caught up in his own incident, in his case with championship leader Alonso, causing him to spin out and as a result, making this year's title battle tighter than (note: come back to crap sex metaphor later).

Kamui Kobayashi drove a splendid race in front of his home fans to take the final podium position, despite a late push from Jenson Button who, sadly, wasn't able to apply more pressure than he did, which was about as much as a kitten in a vacuum. That said, Button drove a strong race in difficult circumstances at a track he often excels at. How he copes with the demands of being McLaren's apparent number one driver will be interesting with the talented Sergio Perez making life difficult. The young Mexican remains enigmatic to me; after three podium finishes this season, two of them in second place, you would have expected him to have amassed many points than he has. You want to know why? I'm going to tell you, gather round.

The reason he hasn't is his inconsistency, which surfaced again this weekend. After a stunning overtaking move on the unusually circumspect Hamilton, he attempted a similar manouvre later in the race, only to get it totally wrong, and in the manner of a drunk man falling over in a puddle, only at 100mph. Then again, the Sauber wouldn't be the first thing with a Chelsea logo stamped on it's body to do something reckless and stupid.

Are we done talking about the race now? Yes? Good, let's look ahead.

Four of the next five races were not on the calendar in 2008, when Lewis Hamilton took the world title. I was going to go somewhere with that statistic, but it actually doesn't really mean anything, so I may just leave you in awe of my knowledge.

I can't see past Vettel winning a third consecutive title, which would be something of a shame. I don't think Vettel has driven particularly well this year, while Alonso and - to a lesser extent - Hamilton have been excellent and consistent. Of course, my prediction means Vettel won't win the title, but the Red Bull looks so strong after a a raft of new upgrades. That said the next four circuits should in theory suit the McLaren, due to the huge straights at these tracks, tracks which follow the tried-and-tested formula from track designing extraordinaire Herman Tilke (long straight, hairpin, long straight, loads of twisty shit in the middle, with run-off about the size of New Zealand, then back to the long straight). To make the season interesting, one of Raikkonen or Hamilton has to win in Korea.

McLaren will of course say they will not use Button to help Hamilton, but failure to do so would be stupid, and McLaren are too well run and too strategically strong to...oh wait. Anyway, if Button fails to comply, Hamilton will do what he does best: get on Twitter and moan about it.

I do love back-to-back races, providing as they do a great opportunity to make sex jokes about Formula One on consecutive weekends. I hope you enjoyed my return to Formula One, if not, the link to that Felipe Massa piece will remind you of when I used to be funny.

I will report back to you in a week, when hopefully I will be able to leave my bed.

Peace.

Orgies, Bin Laden and Lazarus...you'll see.

The last time I made a blog post, Andy Murray appeared to be doomed to failure in all Grand Slam finals, the Olympics hadn't happened yet, and if someone asked me to "Gangnam style", I would think I was being invited to some crazy orgy.

A lot has changed; I have graduated from university, finished a position at Total Football Magazine and have taken a new position elsewhere, making the big bucks (travel expenses) like an actual journalist, not some spotty, itchy twenty-something desperately seeking an employer with more money than sense. Since I stopped blogging, we in Britain have witnessed a truly remarkable summer of sport, and I take a lot of responsibility for that. So, with the sporting drama of the next few months guaranteed to be as dry as a Panda in a convent, I will return with my shining wit (or an anagram of it), for your entertainment. You know, until I get bored and stop again.

Anyway, my last blog was about Andy Murray's heartbreaking Wimbledon final loss. As I predicted, the naysayers and "haters" quickly resumed liking the "Scot" when he became a "Brit" again at this Summer's Olympics, where he not just beat Roger Federer, but inflicted a defeat more embarrassing than Steve Kean doing a press conference...naked. Oh, Steve Kean has been sacked? My God, it has been a while.

I will return to Andy Murray later, but I think the Olympics needs to be discussed beforehand. Last time I wrote here, Britain was about to be swamped by 791 million foreign spectators, and our tube systems would be more cramped and over-worked than Wayne Rooney at a nursing home. Our security would be so bad that Osama Bin Laden would actually come back from the dead, travel to Stratford, win a few gold medals, give the Queen a wedgie and then destroy the Olympic Park.

As it happened, we were treated to a truly remarkable Games. I still have no idea what the opening ceremony was about, but it was a truly spectacular display of what it means to be British, without the political-correctness, whining and bad food. When the flags came out, I was overwhelmed by how many countries actually wanted to send people to East London, but that's what the Games are all about, triumph over adversity*. After Wiggins, Hoy and co blew us away on their bikes, there came an evening so dramatic and so triumphant that the whole nation collectively squealed in orgasmic delight. And not just because everyone seems to have a crush on Jessica Ennis.

* - sorry cockneys, please don't hurt me.

The first Saturday of the Games included a 45 minute period where Britain won three gold medals...in athletics. Not on bikes or on boats, but actually running and stuff. From then on, something magical happened. We started being nice to each other. Train and tube journeys would be accompanied by smiles, manners and conversations. Of course, we have since regressed into our old selves, where any attempt to talk to a stranger on the train is met by either a glare or prayers that one won't get stabbed. Ahhh London.

I was lucky enough to watch the Beach Volleyball at Horse Guards Parade, but to those of you thinking I'm a jammy sod, half of the time was spent up in the Gods, in the middle of a storm, looking at big Latvian men diving around in the sand, playing with balls. Not so lucky now am I?

I told you I would get back to Andy Murray. After his Olympic triumph, Murray took New York by storm, displaying determination, ruthlessness and throaty roars not seen since Godzilla in the 1998 movie...Godzilla.
Once again, as soon as people got a feeling Murray could win, their attitudes began to change towards him. A fifth Grand Slam Final followed and a meeting with Novak Djokovic would test whether Murray really had grown stronger mentally. After winning two titanic sets, it appeared the 76 year wait for a British male Grand Slam winner would be continue for no more than an hour. Murray, sensing I now had a job to get up for early the next morning, decided to screw with my mind and lose the next two sets. However, he hung on to take a victory which was never in doubt. My Facebook statuses - accompanied by constant swearing and anti-Scottish sentiment - were just a joke.

What else happened? Oh yeah, the Formula One hasn't been too bad. Fernando Alonso, being Dick Dastardly himself, managed to take a huge lead in the World Championship almost without anyone noticing, until Lewis Hamilton and Sebastian Vettel said "hang on a minute,what the hell?" Victories in Hungary and Italy helped Lewis close the gap on the Spaniard, before a gearbox more brittle than Michael Owen's hamstrings gave way in Singapore, allowing Vettel to take advantage.

Hamilton has since moved to Mercedes, a transfer shocking for one simple reason: it proved Eddie Jordan right. Have I really been gone so long that Eddie Jordan is now some kind of bright shirt-wearing, goatee-sporting, future-predicting genius? Or did he just get the two teams mixed up, like the time he called Paul McCartney "George"? I'm sure I will address this issue in my upcoming blog about the Japanese Grand Prix, where I will make grovelling apologies to my Formula One readers, who are a dedicated bunch and strange for the simple fact that they find me funny. The move doesn't make much sense to me, but then Lewis earns slightly more than me, so he can do what he wants.

The football has started again, but nothing has really happened there, except that Mark Hughes is still rubbish, Manchester United's midfield is still awful and we still don't know if John Terry is a racist. More football blogs will of course follow, but this summer's epicness, combined with Rio Ferdinand's ineptitude, has left me with a sense of apathy towards what is still my favourite sport.

Finally, I have even started to like golf. Last Sunday's Ryder Cup win for Europe was so dramatic and emotional, I ended up bouncing around, on my bed, in my boxers at eleven o'clock at night, something which probably caused local dog-walkers to wonder who I was enjoying my Sunday night with. Europe's comeback was so good, I will now refer to Lazarus' little story as a comeback of 'Lazabal* proportions.

* - sorry.

A shit pun in relation to a momentous comeback. It's always nice when blog posts come around full circle. I apologise for being away so long, but I'm sure you found the strength to live without my irrelevant musings about sport, the one thing that distracts from just how shit life can really be.

I look forward to annoying you all again this weekend. Toodles.

I'm 21 years, 8 months and 29 days old.

And I wanted to cry my eyes out about half an hour ago. In Andy Murray's words "this is not going to be easy".

But I'm gonna try. I'm probably going to get really defensive at bigoted people or end up sounding like Andy's PR manager, but I'm gonna try.

For the last two days... OK two weeks... OK seven years, Andy Murray has had to deal with questions about when he would win a first Grand Slam title. "It's a matter of time" said all the pundits. "I'm still improving" said Murray. "Stop asking me about Andy bloody Murray" said the other members of tennis' big three-and-a-half. The weight of expectation for the best part of a decade has been on Andy's Scottish (coz he lost) shoulders and to forge a career as successful as he has is nothing short of amazing.

Yes, he has forged a successful career. Ten Grand Slam semi-finals, four Grand Slam finals, beaten in all only by three of the best players ever to play the game. How Andy must wish his parents had had a little too much vodka one night a few years earlier, then he would be battling Juan Carlos Ferrero and Gaston Gaudio instead of Novak Djokovic and Roger Federer. And Rafael Nadal. And Joe-Wilfried Tsonga.

Instead, Andy was baptised into the cruel world of British sporting expectation a little late, while it was left to Tim Henman to battle players from tennis' Hall of Meh. Life isn't fair.

People often don't like Murray because he is dour, serious and...well, Scottish. "Give me Tim Henman any day of the week" they say behind their copy of The Daily Mail, a replica England flag sticking out of a tweed hat as they intertwine their barely disguised disdain for their country's best player with their dissatisfaction with Council Tax, immigrants, the Labour party and Holly Willoughby. These same people are those who burnt David Beckham in effigy in 1998 and don't "get" Lewis Hamilton.

Only in this country could we reject our finest sporting products. If the Chinese turned their back on their finest products, there would be NOTHING IN OUR BLOODY HOUSES. Roger Federer is a likeable enough guy but sometimes fails to cross the line between arrogance and magnanimous...ness. Do the Swiss hate him? No. Why? Because the Swiss get stuff done. In their eyes, personality and background are immaterial when the results are taken into account. Only in Britain could we ask for just a little bit more. "Sure, he's good and sure, he plays for us, but would it kill him to smile a little more?" With all due respect; fuck off. This guy was around when sixteen children were killed at his school, a happy-go-lucky attitude probably went with them. Joe-Wilfried Tsonga is a chipper character and has a great name. One Grand Slam final. And was beaten by Murray.

Bear in mind, these same people who slag off our best tennis player may well be the first to support him when he dons Olympics clothing in just under a month's time. "Always liked him" they'll say. "I hope he wins" will say others. "Leave me alone" will say the rest.

Besides, Andy Murray's runner-up speech was heart-warming if nothing else. People criticise him for being stoic, apathetic and downright grumpy. So what if he is? Today, he showed a passion and a commitment to his sport which if a few more of us did to our jobs (I'm still unemployed but shhh), our economy would be a whole lot better. Here was a guy who had had his arse kicked for nearly four hours, but had the grace to applaud the man who deservedly beat him and the gratitude to thank those who share a country with him, even if some (the minority) turn their back on him.

Andy Murray is like a Scottish (coz he lost) Jesus, people didn't like him when he was doing his thing, but maybe two thousand years from now, huge churches will be erected with massive stained windows of Murray's face contorted in a mixture of rage, frustration and passion. A necklace of Murray pointing at a ball boy for a towel wouldn't look great though.

Even after defeat, and my own witty use of brackets, I wonder if our country and our media will finally accept that Andy Murray is British. The man lives in England, has some English blood and nearly kills himself for the "foreign" people who support him. Whisper it, he may even be becoming slightly more likeable.

A brief word about the match because, you know, there was a match before I decided to yell at people who dislike Andy Murray, even if they do have their own reasons and right to dislike the guy.

Murray made the better start. So often in the big matches, he is slow out of the blocks and cedes a momentum which becomes too forceful to overcome. After breaking early, he was pegged back on serve early in the first set. However, he staved off the Federer threat and eventually broke and then went on to win the first set. So often Murray is accused of being defensive or overwhelmed by the occasion. Others use that most ambiguous, convenient, self-serving and pointless of sporting phrases: "he bottled it". Not in that first set he didn't, he went full pelt and deservedly took his early lead. Hell, he even played so well, he made Roger Federer look his thirty years. Federer almost broke sweat.

But like that bit when your dream is getting good, some bastard wakes you up. Halfway through the second set, Murray was arguably playing the better tennis and had points to break the Swiss players serve. And then Federer showed up, playing unbelievable tennis to hold serve and then even better stuff to force the break which gave him the set. It was all too good to be true, like when you're doing an exam and the first ten questions are easy, then someone asks you to work out the square root of the meaning of life.

As Murray contemplated his now level footing with tennis' best ever player, he struggled to stay in touch until, in a moment of sporting pathetic fallacy, it began to rain.  A collective breather was almost audible under Centre court's closing roof as the players took a break which one sensed Murray needed.

As it turned out, Federer wasn't fussed. Momentum? Pah! Home hero? Whatever. Federer came out under the 1,000 ton roof and proceeded to dump that same weight of pressure on the Murray serve which, if you were nit-picking, was his main weakness. Federer broke midway through set three and then midway through set four to set up his grand victory, a victory Murray made sure was not inevitable until an attempted passing shot on Federer's second match point was 90% of its way to the tramlines. Those were the margins. Murray was incredible, Federer was just a bit better. The bastard.

What now for Murray? He's come back from this sort of adversity before and I think we can all agree that he is one of the best players in the world. He will continue to get chances and he will continue to improve, something he has done (at least mentally) with the instalment of Ivan Lendl as his coach. Lendl himself, you will be bored to tears hearing, lost his first four Grand Slam finals too. But then, he played in a slightly more favourable era too. Murray should win one of these dam things soon, but this country is amazing at producing nearly men. Which is one of the few things we do with as much consistency as a Roger Federer drop shot.

It wasn't easy to write that, but I did it anyway. The last few months have sucked for me as a sports fan. To fill you in, I support Manchester United, Lewis Hamilton, the Scotland rugby team, Surrey country cricket club and other teams which have this year been so close to victory, before being pipped by someone slightly better.

Sporting Gods, why have you forsaken me?

For the next few weeks, I may give a lot of money to charity, do more of the washing up and even buy gifts for people. Things have got to turn around.

And they will. This was not Murray's time but, as I write, the sun has just come out. Maybe it will for Britain's (coz he's still a winner) Andy Murray one day.

Euro 2012 over, productivity levels rise

Stupid blog won't let me add stupid pictures, I hope your concentration holds!

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For 23 days, I have been stuck in a blissful state of football related comatose. I woke up this morning feeling as if I’ve aged three years in three weeks.

The skies are grey again, as if the football Gods themselves are preparing for their impending exit from the spotlight. Euro 2012 is over, which means that for the more dedicated of us, a seemingly endless trawl through football’s transfer gossip is depressingly likely.

Fortunately, I like tennis and, as I’m not yet a taxpayer, I like the Olympics. I essentially get the next month of sport-induced procrastination for free, which probably means continued unemployment, but a sort of permanent weary smile. So I think we know who wins there.

Anyway, this is a Euro 2012 article, so I thought it would be pertinent to do a review of a truly, wonderfully, excitingly adequate tournament. Enjoy.

After 30 games, a few exciting debates, a few moronic ones, 72 goals (I think), the brilliance of Andrea Pirlo, the ineptitude of England and much, much more, we had a final.

Most people predicted a Germany v Spain showpiece, while the more ambitious (stupid) of us thought the Netherlands would go all the way.

After a few big teams and names fell by the wayside, it was Italy who stood up to Spain to mark the end of the tournament.

The build up to the game centred on three main themes:

Are Spain boring?

I was thinking the same thing after painfully precise victories over France and Portugal. Efficiency? Clinical football? Winning on penalties? It suddenly seemed like Spain were turning into Germany.

Unfortunately for Ms Merkel and co, this sudden likeness is with regard to their football, not with their economy, but that’s a debate for people who have more of an idea of how economics works.

For all their possession, Spain were really struggling to break teams down, which led many casual (geeky) observers to question whether opposition teams had already figured out a way to cope with Spain’s control of possession.  This ball retention was becoming so monopolised that one expected Xavi to pull out a big cane and fake moustache, before turning the pitch into a grid which he endlessly circled in a tiny silver car. Just me?

Last night, the Spanish finally played at their best. It turns out that if your players play 60 odd games a season, they get tired. It turns out that if you are shorn of your record goal scorer, you’ll struggle to…score goals. It turns out that if you have Alvaro Arbeloa at right back, you can’t afford to be too gung ho. Last night, Spain were anything but boring; they beat Italy into submission until they stopped twitching.

Is Andrea Pirlo the best player in the universe?

It turns out that controlling England’s midfield is easier than reciting the words to the Spanish national anthem (there are none). Pirlo was outstanding against England, but last night he was almost peripheral as a lack of possession and space ensured that Italy never seriously threatened Iker Casillas’ goal.

Let’s talk about Mario Balotelli some more.

“Are we going to get super Mario, or stupid Mario?” “You never know what you’re going to get with Balotelli.” “He could score or he could get sent off.” I think the robotic BBC pundits have got stuck, as they keep saying the same things over.

As a football writer, I should love Balotelli for his headlines and tendency to do something stupid, but I don’t buy into the hype.

He worked hard last night, but was a frustrated figure and, his performance against Germany aside, remains a player who lacks the consistency to keep worrying defences. Stupidly, I’ve talked about him for 100 words.

So, Spain were excellent. Surprise. Apparently they only had 50% of ball possession but, as those aforementioned pundits love to tell us, “it’s what you do with it that matters.”

A goal of real quality from Jordi Alba answered the critics regarding Spain’s lack of penetration, an attribute I will not make a tenuous metaphor for.

The other three goals came from David Silva, Fernando Torres and even Juan Mata, which is likely to prompt further claims that the Premier League is to thank for Spain’s dominance.

Before I wrap up, here are a few of my highlights of Euro 2012.

Goal of the tournament – Cesc Fabregas vs Italy
Didn’t expect that did you?! It wasn’t going to be this goal, but I didn’t want to spell the name of the Polish captain again. This goal encapsulated what Spain can do when they are at their best and forced to attack. Minutes after falling behind, Spain struck when first Andres Iniesta found a path through Italy’s midfield, before a wonderful reverse pass from David Silva gave Fabregas the chance to score. An admirable mention for Theo Walcott’s deflected-but-not-deflected shot against Sweden.

Player of the tournament – Jordi Alba
This is so easy. Not Pirlo, not Gomez, not Milner. No, those titans of international football have been slain by the hitherto relatively unknown left back. A goal in the final was just reward for a fine tournament in which he constantly provided width to a sometimes pedestrian attack, contributed to five consecutive clean sheets and much more. Besides, he was top scorer in fantasy football.

Game of the tournament – England 3-2 Sweden
It may surprise you, but I did not pick this game for the thrilling technical brilliance on display. Olof Mellberg’s first goal was a finish of real quality, but although the standard of both teams was outstanding, it was the drama and entertainment which makes it stand head and shoulders above the rest.

So there you have it, the tournament is finished and so am I. I better find something to do now. I may even eat an apple. Football fans, stay strong, there’s only six or so weeks left to go till we can do nothing again!

Now get back to work.

By Doug Elder