Second Ashes Test preview

Sorry for the underwhelming title, but the fact is I've been stewing over a headline for over three hours, and I had to just get something written down, so there it is.

A little over eight days ago, I woke up to see that England had been unceremoniously beaten, bruised and bullied. In fact, the humiliation would only have been worse if Mitchell Johnson had put his finger in his mouth and placed it in the England batsmen's ears, before giving them all atomic wedgies. Of course, comparing Mr Johnson to a school bully is rather ironic considering that, throughout the First Test, he sported a moustache which screamed 'do not trust me with children'. 

So how do England fight back? Graham Gooch, the England batting coach suggests that the game plan is to simply 'play better', but they will have to do so without Jonathan Trott, who has had to return home due to a stress-related illness. That said, how much England will miss Trott is open to debate, given that his form was worse than mine during a bench press attempt. The same goes for most of England's top order, of whom only Ian Bell is in anything like decent touch.

In Brisbane, England's problems centred around their inability to cope with the pace and bounce of Johnson and Ryan Harris, while Peter Siddle snarled a lot. However, given that the pitch in Adelaide is expected to be slower than a Gary Barlow sentence, Australia's pace attack ought to be blunted, giving England's beleaguered batsmen a chance to score a run or two. However, everyone said the pitch in Brisbane was flat, but England's batsmen ended up resembling the John Fisher Under 12 B team, the school XI for whom I batted at number four. And I once walked out with a chest pad and an arm guard...but without a bat.

Three years ago, England ran out comfortable winners here (I say 'here', I'm actually in an air-conditioned office in West London, not a swanky hotel in South Australia) thanks to a double-hundred from Kevin Pietersen and a first morning collapse from the Australians on a pitch flatter than Kate Moss. England will need similar bursts of inspiration if they are to overcome the hosts this time around, although given their batting displays of the last twelve months, that seems unlikely.

On balance, England's first XI is, to a man, better than Australia's, but the hosts seem to have stumbled upon a winning strategy on the field, coupled with a strong siege mentality and all the paranoia of Andre Villas-Boas in an Amsterdam cafe off it. When in form, England's batsmen and spinner are far better than what Australia can offer, while the Aussies have a better pace attack and are better at swearing at people.

 Not sure why I added this, it just seemed funny.

All of which brings me onto my next point: sledging. Sledging is the politically correct way of saying 'being a twat', much in the same way that Rugby players define sexually outrageous acts on team mates as 'banter'. Of course, while Australia were shit over the last couple of years, sledging took a back seat while they quietly took their beatings, with the crowds staying away for fear of having to support their team through a difficult spell. Now that the team is half-decent, the crowds have returned and so have the verbal blows.

Not that I'm complaining. If Australia gain an advantage from hurling abuse at the opposition, then fair play to them. I think it's time England fought back with some aggression of their own, either through some witty put-downs or just by straight up punching Mitchell Johnson in his irritating rat face.

Too often you hear pundits say banal nonsense like "let's just hope there isn't any ill feeling or controversy". Bollocks. I want to see both teams going at each other from the outset. I want to see a total breakdown in diplomatic relations between England and Australia. In fact, I want to see both sets of players in a jungle in a Hunger Games/Battle Royale type scenario. That said, given that Peter Siddle is terrifying as it is and eats nothing but bananas, he would probably emerge victorious, parading a smiling Joe Root's head on a spike.


Peter Siddle in 'sex face' mode

I guess what I'm trying to say between hypotheticals is that the edge that Australia have brought to this series is what has made it such a fascinating contest. Without it, Australia would be having to rely on talent alone. Therefore, England have a choice of either turning the other cheek in a delightfully English way and playing some bloody fine cricket on the field, or going toe-to-toe in the sledging stakes.

As for personnel, Australia are likely to stick with the same side which did the damage at the Gabba, while England will need to make at least one change, given Trott's absence. They are likely to go with Jonny Bairstow, that guy who batted well against South Africa once. As for the bowlers, James Anderson and Stuart Broad will be hoping to be joined by a third seamer capable of actually...you know...getting people out. England's bowling attack of the last few months has been a bit like the Sugababes; constantly changing personnel but unable to find the right formula. Leaving that crap analogy behind, expect Chris Tremlett - picked because he was tall - to be replaced by either the returning Tim Bresnan or Peter Crouch.

In two days time, we will see what England have in their locker. If Australia continue where they left off in Brisbane, then a 2-0 lead - and thus the prospect of me simultaneously crying and vomiting into my cereal - is extremely likely. I still feel England will get back into the contest and are still slight favourites to retain the Ashes. Indeed, the hallmark of the current side is to respond well to crushing defeats, and they will have to do the same in Adelaide, or Johnson and co will streak away to an Ashes victory.

And that's just not cricket.

The Qatar's out of the bag now

A terrible pun, whatever will I write next? Bad jokes and little asides in brackets?

I digress. Gather round everyone, I was going to talk about the Manchester Derby and spurt about two thousands words of nonsense in your direction, but I won't. Why?

Because the World Cup in 2022 is going to be held in Qatar. That's why.

The above sentence makes me think three things:
1. That's bloody ridiculous
2. Why aren't more people satirising this?
3. I must satirise this!

Of course, this Qatar thing has been known for about three years now, but today it appears that Europe's top leagues and clubs have consented to allow the world's biggest summer competition to be held in winter.

Before - like a fat kid rolling down a hill - I start this post/rant and then find it difficult to stop, I will acknowledge a few mitigating factors:

Yes, to hold the World Cup in the same two continents over and over again is detrimental to the world game, and new countries in less 'traditional' football continents should be allowed to host this most prestigious competition. This hasn't happened enough in recent years, except when USA hosted the competition in 1994...and Japan and Korea did in 2002...and South Africa did in 2010. To give the competition to an entirely new country is an idea to be commended, but what was wrong with Australia's bid?

OK, so there's only one mitigating factor.


Without sounding like a right-wing leaning, tabloid-consuming, prejudice-spurting idiot, there is no way a country like Qatar should be hosting this tournament.

Even if you forget the political tension in the Middle-East at the moment, forget the country's views on alcohol consumption and homosexual relations, and the billion degree heat, there are still more holes in the organisation of this tournament than a paper condom, with half the effectiveness.

And do you know what? It's not even Qatar's fault.

Qatar invested a lot of time and money into this bid and are currently embarking on a very ambitious project to 'get their country on the map' through bids for major sporting events, including a (failed) bid for the 2020 Olympics. It's a bit like Manchester City trying to buy the Premier League, only with greater implications. They are well within their rights to do whatever they want. Which is where FIFA come in.

Now, this is not typically English whinging because we didn't get the 2018 World Cup. This isn't being wise after the event with Captain Hindsight levels of "I told you so". Besides, I'm mostly Scottish. Now, while that technically doesn't mean I am qualified to talk about football, it does mean that I'm not being...well, English.

Forgive my suspicion, but isn't it strange that a very ambitious bid from a group of men with a lot of money and influence won the right to host this tournament? Particularly when said country has very little football pedigree (go on, name one Qatari footballer), has a climate which makes summer football impossible and a current lack of top-class football stadia. It's almost like FIFA were persuaded by another factor. Almost.

Unfortunately, money does play a big role in modern football. Look at the Premier League's wealth and it's arguably detrimental effect on English football. Look at Portsmouth and Rangers, who spent so much money just to compete and ended up like the sporting equivalent of Kerry Katona. It's not really about the game anymore, it's about business now. It's not just the clubs who are now concerned with the 'bottom-line' either, it appears the organisations are too.

Why men who are supposedly much smarter than you and I couldn't predict this scenario is staggering. I remember the day that it was announced Qatar would host the World Cup. I actually forgot Qatar were bidding for the tournament. I thought they were the token rubbish attempt to make up the numbers, a bit like Great Britain at the European Song Contest or Lukasz Fabianski. When I found out they had won, I walked slowly upstairs and punched my pillow for about three days. That anger then turned to incredulity and then curiosity as to how this would all work. The truth is, nobody even knows now, in spite of the apparently inevitable conclusion.

So, it appears that the World Cup will be moved to the northern hemisphere's winter. In the simplest terms, that is not a problem. Indeed, why should Europe dictate the state of the world game? Why should smaller countries not be given the chance to represent themselves on the world stage?

But then, why did Australia not propose a winter World Cup? Why do we have a summer World Cup in the first place? Why should the five or six most powerful leagues in the world now have to radically overhaul their schedule to accommodate one tournament, then radically overhaul them again when it is over? Doesn't make sense does it?

The whole episode feels like a teenager who has not done his coursework despite having had months to do so. It's a bit like said teenager realised his work was flimsy, so added a load of pretty fonts and pictures to distract attention from the utter shambles which has been submitted. Luckily, like that teenager, there is time to turn this around, but it looks like it will take the mother of all all-nighters and waffling conclusions to make it work.

Anyway, that is my rant over. The bad thing is, this a giant mess caused by a giant organisation. The good thing is, we have a giant organisation trying to sort it out.

Good luck with that.

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.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.