Agreed on Speed?

So Wales has a new manager after weeks of speculation. There's been twists and turns, not to mention the Swede throwing his hat into the ring (should we be thankful Sven was in Leicestershire?), but it's been announced that Gary Speed will be hoping to make Euro 2012 after a nightmare start to the qualifying campaign.

I am pleased? Not sure really. I think more than anything I'm shocked and a little bit underwhelmed. After interviewing a number of candidates, the FAW approached the former Wales captain and he was more than happy to leave his post at Bramall Lane 'when his county came calling'. It seems that the right man for the job was the one which didn't show initial interest, in fact I'm sure I read at some point he wasn't interested at all.

What bothers me is that Wales now have a manager who doesn't really ticks the boxes the other candidates did. If you wanted international experience, Lars Lagerback surely would have fitted the bill. To bring in the crowds and embody the Welsh passion, you look no further than Giggsy or Big John Hartson. If you wanted a mix of both nationality and managerial experience, you have ex Fulham and Real Sociedad boss Chris Coleman. Then to top it off, you have Brian Flynn working wonders with the Youth set up, so he has an eye for noticing and nurturing potential - albeit his stint as caretaker coach didn't go so well against Bulgaria and Switzerland. But alas none of them good enough for the job.

Instead the FAW have apparently 'broken the bank' to compensate Sheffield United for a manager with a win ratio of 33.33% from games played at Championship level. Speed was initially barred from talking to Swansea City when they enquired about him becoming their new manager, but it seems United weren't so protective of their manager at a time when the Blades hover nervously over the relegation trap door. It has to be said that Speed was a great player and his is undoubtedly a legend in his own right to Welsh football, but other than that I can't really think of an outstanding attribute which warrants his appointment, plus good players don't always make good managers (especially at international level).

I know what you're thinking: Sparky. Is your memory of Welsh football really that bad, Joe? Not at all. Mark Hughes was a rookie and fresh into management but he proved to be a good choice as Welsh boss. His attacking style of football was great to watch, the crowds were back as we beat the Azzurri and we were achingly close to qualifying. However times have changed; Hughes had a host of Premiership players at his disposal - Davies, Delaney, Savage - whilst Speed will have a largely young squad. The tabloid reports of Speed's 'open door' to invite the Toshack exiles and early retirements back into the fold shows he already aware of that fact.  

Before Toshack became Wales boss he was famous for his harsh words about the Hughes regime as a BBC pundit. Now we have yet another former pundit, but at least Speed wasn't as critical whilst working in the Sky studio. His comments on the whole showed he does have a very acute tactical understanding of the game  - but let's hope he leaves the long ball in Sheffield before his first game against the Irish in February.

In a Row

In a row
a single science whispers
but speaks stories screaming bold
breathless as sunlight gleams
on the stones leaving shadows
staring tales and traditions.

In a row
standing naked over teeming streets
proud looking at God's sanctuary
there, a presence, a footprint
on a scarred beautiful battleground
owing to no-one, but to all shared.

In a row
an inward growing tree struggles
sprouting sour nectar whilst small
single noises weigh heavy on terra starved
pointing strokes of stemmed mistakes
on a canvas of best laid intentions.

In a row
bitter cold these seeds we sow
future sons and saints will smile and stand
with gifts and germs in either hand
forgotten souls lie in tombs we know
Familar failures of loved land we plough.

Spotify song-hopping

OK new game. 

In an attempt to try out new songs and uncover tunes of old, I thought it would be an idea to play some Spotify song-hopping. This involves queuing a song from an artist of choice, then going to the related artists bit at the top right and picking one of them at random. Then pick any song there by that artist, then go to the related artists bit again, pick another at random, then repeat and repeat. 

I guess if you really want you could try to go full circle with one particular artist (i.e. five degrees of separation/Kevin Bacon), but try it by entering a number of genres first; for example start with Muse and go through indie, rap, hop hop, rock and some how come back to Muse.  

Anyway this was the result of my song-hopping tonight. I started with Van Halen's Panama, and after getting stuck in rap for a while plus getting one dance track in Aerodynamic, I soon found myself getting back to some Ain't Talking about Love.  Interesting route if you ask me.

Van Halen - Panama

Ozzy Ozbourne - Crazy Train

Tenacious D - Dio

System of A Down - Mr Jack

Limp Bizkit - Pollution

Eminem - Guilty Conscience

50 Cent - In da Club

Snopp Dogg (feat Johny Cash) - I Walk the Line (remix)

Cypress Hill - Trouble Seeker

Dr Dre - The Next Episode

The Notorious BIG - Hypnotise

Jay Z - 99 Problems

Kanye West - Gold Digger

Daft Punk - Aerodynamic

Muse - Citizen Erased

Foo Fighters - Everlong

Pearl Jam - Light Years

Nirvana - Lithium

Guns N Roses - November Rain

Kiss - Rock and Roll All Nite

Van Halen - Aint Talkin about Love

  

So what makes a good football manager these days?

As Roy Hodgson becomes the new manager of Liverpool Football Club, the fanfare hasn't really followed - which begs the question, does England really want a English manager after all?

I remember playing Championship Manager 1997-98 like it was yesterday. Back then Cardiff were languishing in the old Division Three, so it always a challenge to get them promoted to the Premier League; which I'm sure many of you reading this post may well have attempted. However putting my Welsh interests aside and when I didn't fancy playing at Gay Meadow or the Baseball Ground, I often played as Liverpool  - which put Roy Evans to pasture as I revelled in Kop glory.  It was then I came across Blackburn manager Roy Hodgson: manager mysterioso. I mean who was he? One day he was in the Premier League, then he got sacked and just kind of fell into football obscurity.

Truth was that Roy was plying his trade across Europe and beyond in a managerial blitzkrieg. His nomadic ways would make even Dean Saunders and Nicolas 'Le Sulk' Anelka blush, managing in Sweden, Switzerland, Italy, Denmark, Norway and even the Middle East.  Now he is in charge of one of the top four football teams in England; one which arguably boats the richest and most successful history of teams in England. Liverpool FC, stooped in a financial mire and made to accept second tier European football for the next season, have chosen Roy Hodgson to weather the storm.

I thought this was good news for Liverpool. Yet what was the response from the fans? Well. Erm. Good? The tone of slightly pleased, but cautious Scousers on radio phone-ins seem to paint the picture. "Could have been worse I guess". "But is he a glamour manager?" "Will he get Torres and Gerrard to stay?" "So what has he won?" "Is he a big manager?" "We need someone competent to see us through these bad times". The latter of these is paraphrased from what Jason McAteer said when asked on 5 Live, who seemed less than impressed with the appointment. Shame that the response was so muted - especially when Roy could be regarded as one of the possible replacements for the England job. And yes, he was born in Croydon.

So why the disappointment? Who did you want instead? Capello? Pellegrini? Mourinho? Scolari? I find it hard to swallow that whilst the England team apparently needs an Englishman to take it on is that fans in England can't embrace a manager of their own on their own doorstep. Is it a question of quality that Hodgson doesn't float your boat? Or is it because he has managed Fulham and has a name you can easily pronounce?

We have to go back to CM 97-98 to find out when Liverpool last had an English manager. In fact, you have to go back then to find when any of the Big Four had a full time English manager. Fergie's been there since the Eighties, whilst Wenger has been at the Arsenal helm since 1996. Except from caretaker stints from Ray Wilkins and Graham Rix, Chelsea too can't boast an English manager. Admittedly the Big Four became more relevant in the 21st century, but this highlights how the summit is devoid of English managers. To this day no English manager has ever won the Premier League - could this be a significant factor in why England seem to 'fail' at international tournaments?

Perhaps - but does the Premier League give enough chance for English managers to thrive? No. Do the fans give enough support for English managers to succeed? Evidently not either.

Worshipping the Sun

It is pure religion after the day is done
To travel 10,000 miles to worship the sun
Brazed glowing skin is proof of the creed
And bibles of Collins, Cornwell and King to read
Hands to the sky to salute the circular lord
Only after bitter-blood-red wine is poured
Sun kissed beaches amongst the world's most prized
And a tale of a local tradition's demise
If happiness is a state of mind -
Euphoria is a wet dream in winter from a God being most kind.

This is Legend

For anyone who has seen I am Legend and was raging fury because it was nothing like the book, feast your eyes. Don't worry I won't offer any spoilers, but you'll know what I mean have both read the book and seen the film - the book was WAY better. To this day anyone who brings up the fact makes me want to pull out my hair with sheer frustration as Hollywood continues to butcher pure narrative gold.

This video is an alternate ending to the film - apparently available on the DVD as an extra. It is a lot closer to the book's general concept (something completely lost in the film version) and in my honest opinion would have made it a lot better. 

Nev-ille is a moron

He really is.

You know what to do - just substitute Gordon for Gary. It's easy!

Elementary, really

I really thought it would bomb. I mean seriously, I thought it would be a right stinker.

I was convinced that Sherlock Holmes would be a terrible film, mainly because Guy Ritchie was at the helm. Don't get me wrong; I enjoyed Lock Stock and Snatch (the latter of which still has me in stitches) but he has really lost the plot in recent efforts such as RockNrolla and Revolver. To me, this looked like a disaster waiting to happen. In the trailers I would cringe when I saw Downey Jr. in those 'Jim West' style glasses, which I'm sure had the intention of looking risqué or cool, but failed miserably.

Much to my relief, it was a really good film. It actually gave me hope for big budget cinema this year and of course, gave me renewed faith in geeza fella Ritchie. It also filled me with glee to find that BBC film buff Mark Kermode felt the same way and now all is forgiven.

The black stuff is ruining my life

It is everywhere; like some kind of alien fungi emerging to litter my carpets, dirty my car seats and if world domination isn't enough, somehow it will get onto every piece of clothing I own. 

These small black pellets sent directly from hell are the unwanted passengers brought home with me after each trip to the Gol football centre. If you aren't familiar with Gol, you will definitely not know the pain of the crumbly, rubber pieces which make up the playing surface to give a "better feel to the game". It truly is state of the art stuff which offers a better experience than the conventional astroturf or concrete playing pitches than have been the norm for years. However as described in my opening sentence, their spread knows no bounds. I have always joked that I could start up my own football pitch with the amount of the stuff which accumulates on my bedroom floor.  

Sorry for those who instantly thought I was suffering from too much Guinness, but I was so incensed by my day overcoming the black menace (please, please, please don't take that out of context) I thought I would blog. There's no New Year's Resolution about blogging this year, as is often customary for me every January 1st, for obvious reasons (if you know how often I blog even after threatening to do so, you will know why these are idle threats).

As my Facebook status has recently proclaimed, my New Year's Resolution is simply the following: be a wedding-planning homeowner. That means 2010 is going to be a big year because it means I have to grow up, pretty fast! Not to steal the Torchwood tagline too much about the 21st Century, but I know full well that 2010 will be the year where everything changes. But luckily for me, it will be in a good way. Plus - don't tell this to Jen - I am very slowly coming round to the idea of having a dog once we get a place.  Before we met the idea of getting one was absolutely remote. Now it is just, well.... less remote. 

Or you gonna do what they told ya?

Well a new X Factor champion was crowned and now the whole of the UK can finally come off the edge of their seats. My Sunday night will now won't be the same for another 8-9 months - I'm going to miss those incredibly passionate Facebook updates claiming injustice (Fix, fix, fix!), racism (that Simon Cowell don't like us Welsh) or absolute disgust over whose who do or don't stay in.

As you can gather, I'm not a fan. However I did watch it a little bit and try to feign some interest, just to know what everyone was going on about (I was convinced Jedward was some place by Newcastle at first). In fact, I've just started my mini-protest by joining another bandwagon - the bid to make Rage Against The Machine the Christmas Number one single. The campaign on Facebook has been going for weeks and has had some good media coverage (I heard from NME). It has been the strongest of some sister campaigns (there's also a Journey - Don't Stop Believin' for No.1 Facebook group somewhere) and now it is believed that the bookies are sweating. Odds have been slashed from 100-1 to 3-1 after the publicity it has gathered. But the bookies aren't the only one whose sweating - Cowell has been on the defensive, branding the campaign as 'stupid'. So tonight I've just bought my copy of Killing in the Name from iTunes. Take that Cowell and Co! You like that? You want some more? I'll just buy another from a different IP address! Hah!



Before I carry on with the Cowell bashing, I have to take a step back and fully realise what I'm actually doing. I already own Killing in the Name from the RATM Album, so I've effectively just paid 99p for another copy of a song I already have. Why? To hope that I and the 700,000+ others will actually effect the Christmas Number 1 by buying copying of the song, to outsell the X Factor single (really, a Miley Cyrus cover?) which has now been released after the result.

It does seem a bit silly. There are some commentators who say this is a waste of time for many reasons. For one, Cowell probably isn't sweating in reality, because RATM are signed up to Sony and he is likely to benefit from the sales just as much as Geordie Joe. Therefore you probably not taking two fingers up to him financially by buying a copy. Secondly, it isn't a true reflection of Christmas and Killing In The Name is a song from the ninties (although that didn't stop that awful Mad World taking it - yeah that's right, I hated that song). Lastly, surely this campaign can't win? The Christmas number one is truly monopolised these days and it will take more than a bunch of Raged Facebookers to turn the tide when you consider the sheer weight of the X Factor brand.       

When it comes down to it, I played along and invested my hard-earned 99p not just for a bit of fun, but it is just one giant experiment to truly test the power of social networking on a annual tradition which has completely changed over the years. With the decline of the CD single and the rise of digital downloads, it meant the floodgates had opened. This means that songs from any era that people buy could be counted towards the music chart. Remember that song by Black Sabbath you always liked but never had? Well now you can own it if it's available online and if a helluva lot of people feel the same way, you can actually influence the weekly chart.  But with that, you have to consider the musical zeitgeist of the day on the habits of people's downloading. For example, when Michael Jackson died, it was inevitable that the charts would be flooded with Thriller, Beat It, Bille Jean and so on. If a new Rockband/Guitar Hero game is out of a particular band e.g. The Beatles, it would be no suprise that Hey Jude would sit top of the pile. The campaign of viral messages, Twitter posts and Facebook groups are proven effective communication tools. But could it shape future Christmas number ones?

For me, the Christmas number one stopped being the Christmas number one when the X Factor bullied and assumed the right to it a few years back. Maybe I don't know what the perfect Crimbo song sounds like, but for a start I'd like it to be... well, Christmassy! Stick some bells in there, with a choir or something! But now the whole thing is a sham, with absolute predictability and zero Crimbo content. I mean c'mon, at least Killing in the Name has some cow bell....

The Blurst of Times

It is the blurst of times. The word 'meh' is perhaps the best way to describe it.
 

This week's TTFE-L game has given me some real food for thought. To summarise, we conceded against the run of play, then went 3 goals down, strewn chance after chance and were humbled by a side we beat 12-2 in a reverse fixture. Losing 3-1, it was a match which could have unearthed as many footballing cliches as a Mick McCarthy post match interview, but above all we just didn't take our chances.

Games like these should make it think that some teams, maybe all, just have a bad day at the office. But maybe I delude myself in thinking that we are often better than we are, or perhaps, I am better than what I am. We all make mistakes - but I often think I don't learn from them enough and that is what is most important (great, another cliche).

Were we bad? Perhaps. We should be playing better with a full squad against a bare five side and now we've had a while to gel, teething problems are no excuse. It was a far cry from last week, summed up nicely by Riv (and honestly, it isn't because of the kudos I got). Is it OTT to say this result was a backward step?

I think above all, games like these often make me think about the performance too much. When I go on a gut feeling and strip the result from the equation, the lads put in a good shift. The thoughts after the game seemed to sum up just that. I just can't decide whether the result was good or bad really, avoiding the obvious nature of a loss denoting some kind of negativity. It's just meh.

Kind of the way I feel about Copenhagen too which starts tomorrow. I really can't get excited about it, nor think of it as some kind of lost cause just yet. It certainly has relevance for raising the issue of climate change, in fact it should actually do something about it. But I just can't muster the enthusaism to think it will actually do anything at all useful. It feels almost like the last roll of the dice on a global scale and I hope it wont be just another giant white elephant gesture just like Kyoto. Meh. 

Happy?

An empty thought
A niggle but a hole
A tarnish on a perfect weekend
I am rich in so many ways
But not enough to fill the void
A CD rack in A to Z
A pointy finger
A drop in the ocean
A toy camel made in Africa
Nestles proudly on my desk
Like my own plastic Arabia.
But I had to have it
Camels are essential
They enrich the soul
Make me culturally aware
And looks nice next to the phone
It makes me happy.
But I need another one
Cos Arabia never stood still
And accepted grey sand.
If we all accepted sand, maybe, just maybe
There would be no reason to fill,
To Spill,
To Kill.
We'd all be happy.

"Kiss more babies"

I've returned. But for how long? Only time will tell. I decided that the old blog needed some loving and so here you go - One Man One Struggle in all its glory.

To kick off proceedings, I guess I better I blow off some of the cobwebs. So here, for the first time for your pleasure, is an draft of a post-in-progress from over 8 months ago. Enjoy!

Easter's been a hoot. Four days off to recharge the ole' batteries, four days to actually chill out for a change! Not to mention the new episodes of Red Dwarf, Doctor Who and huge helpings of The Wire to catch up on recorded on the Sky+ box. Therefore you can probably deduce that the majority of my Easter has been spent inside and not in this glorious weather that we're having!

But that isn't to say I have been cooped up all the time. I did manage to see some Blues Brothers impersonators at the Lyndon club last night who could have sharpened up their act a bit, but they did belt out the regular hits like 'Everybody Needs Somebody to Love' and 'Gimme Some Lovin'. The moves were pretty flash, but they didn't give the late John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd any real justice.

I also went to the City game today where the Bluebirds emerged 3-1 winners over fellow play-off rivals Burnley. They played much better after the break, which is really fortunate because they were crashing the gears in the first half - but now it looks like I get to see my last City game at Ninian Park and thankfully it was a win to remember! I'm looking forward to the new stadium now but I really hope that it can grab some of that hostility that the Ninian created - like today's 19-odd thousand demonstrated to our Northern opponents. Although it's an neccesity to have a new all seater stadium for a Premiership-chasing club, I fear we could lose the cauldron effect that made our home 'Fortress Ninian'. I guess it's up to the fans to turn up en masse and keep singing.

On the subject of singing and songs in general, I turn to my love for Spotify, which is the fab new online stream music player that has made me feel like the proverbial 'kid in a candy store'. Spotify is great because it allows you lots of freedom in listening to online-streamed music by searching a sizable database for your fave songs which rarely disappoints. Of course you don't own the music - but it's free and you can save the songs on playlists.

As you can guess.. I never got around to finishing it... story of my life.

Racist Fruit

Back from the dead

If I like blogging so much, I guess I would do it more often. These words resonate through my mind most days when I feel like blogging, but I can't be bothered to start writing. So for once I'm using a free window of time to actually get something down and hopefully by reading this it means I actually finished a post! In my absence, they also said that blogging is dead. So let's call this a resurrection.

I do warn you though since my last proper post, I have evolved into something a bit more embittered and well... let's say cranky. Lately I have found even more reason to moan about modern life and everything in it, so I apologise now if this post suddenly mutates into a Max Goldman memoir.

My latest escapade comes from a jolly jaunt in my local neighbourhood, Grangetown CF. When waiting for my car to be fixed, I decided to have a look around the place of my birth, childhood and current residence. I was quite surprised with what I saw, as for the first time I started to see the area as a community of thriving local shops and interesting people instead of the place whee I rest my head at night. After walking up and down Penarth Road (which was coincidentally covered in a radio programme today) I decided to use the facilities at the newly-built library.

As I looked up to the bright, artificial lights of this medicinal-smelling 'sanctuary', I tried to remember with difficulty what libraries used to be like. Children squabbling over five minutes grace on a PC, only to play on some desktop game which requires hefty amounts of excessive clicking; a book checking in-and-out machine which the majority of its users can barely operate ('is this working'?, 'Do I need my card?', 'It's just flashing at me'); whilst works by Kant and Rousseau are deemed 'religious' in a broad array of subjects. But what really wrestles with my memories - for the reason I was wrestling with my book - is the fact that libraries are just not quiet anymore.

If I was 10 years old again, this observation would weigh like a feather on my mind. But now this revelation is earth shattering to me, like rocking an age-old institution. No-one would dream of talking at anything above a whisper. To do so would incur the wrath of the frighteningly efficient and stern-looking librarian, whose silence dictated the law of the library. And for those who were so foolish to speak over a certain decibel level, the librarian would simply become a man of action - brandishing his own justice to preserve the peace of his palace. Now whilst I get to grips with George Monbiot's latest book, I get the full details of librarian's ham and cheese sandwich for lunch, whilst her colleague boasts with enthusiasm (and volume) about the time off he's about to get. Where did it all go wrong? Why have libraries descended into this?

Appeal. Coffee shops, fancy computers, creches - the essential things that 21st century people 'want' or 'need'. The desperate attempts to give the library a more universal appeal. But it fails to consider the very things that libraries should stand for - being able to enjoy a good book in peace and tranquility. In the 21st century hustle and bustle, many facets of society have been busied, modernised, technologicalised and made to keep up the pace with our 24/7 lifestyle.

But the humble library, the embodiment of a social sanctuary outside the realms of pub and home, should remain the place that stays at the slow of a crawl. And quiet too.

Mr Dresden

Laden with pomp,
Mr Dresden is on a mission in Aisle Five.
He asks not of trifled affairs,
mindless piffle
or prattling gossip.

The weekly shop isn't the time for such cares,
as loaves aren't as cheap when he was a lad.
Mr Dresden speaks not of the weather,
he 'glides' past the macs and hats like he 'always' had
soon in awe of the rain as an art form.

Trilby-topped lies? Perhaps
Mr Dresden is no Mr Jones
But his mishaps in petty consumerism
thrusting broadsheets in tabloid faces
and calling red apples scarlet cherubs
Wins no friends in high or low places.

Mr Dresden, in his tattered Saville Row
Let down his basket like banking accounts
Worldly capital feeds itself another day
now he eats corn flakes in plastic dishes
Declares the world is most beautiful
and wishes it wasn't any other way.

Turd Ferguson

Genius.

Nations - Serj Tankian

Standing in Leckwith

It could be anywhere in the world. But for many Cardiffians, this giant metal structure is most definitely the building site which sits at Leckwith. The new stadium, which will host Cardiff City FC football matches and Cardiff Blues rugby games from next season, is the coming along quite nicely - even if the surrounding road network is being completely recovered in layer upon layer of asphalt, causing commuters to dive through traffic cones every morning and night.

By looking at it properly today and actually being within 100m of what could be the ground's away fan section, it is finally becoming a reality after all the political infighting, financial wrangling and pie-in-the-skyism we City fans had to endure. As you can probably tell I was standing in what will be the retail park; the necessity which provided the start up capital for the stadium. To my surprise, I was curious to see that one store is already up and running - Costco.

Ah Costco. As I entered the sliding doors for the first time and witnessed the gargantuan open space of hoverboats, jacuzzis and other seemingly exclusive stuff, I was told that after an initial tour around 90% of people sign up as Costco members immediately. Oooh I thought - I guess I could have even signed up on behalf of my organisation (my 5-a-side football team of course). But after the golden tour of personal wandering, maybe the credit crunch was seriously affecting the wholesale price of Edam cheese or Wychwood beer, because I certainly didn't feel compelled to sign. This was one time where my curiosity could have been fine tuned to find something a bit more interesting.

It soon occurred to me that there was something else which bothered me about the place. Mainly the fact that it looked like thousands of square feet upon square feet of captured Manifest Destiny, complete with Chicago's Finest Beef Hot Dogs and specialist department signs which cry out to be spelt 'Center'. I wouldn't be surprised if a guy in an Uncle Sam suit wanted 'me' to try out some new Aunt Dixie's apple pie, to which the feeling of Americana would then be complete. As I walked passed the 'Photo Centre', I was reminded of the Walmart I went to in Mexico last year. Despite the jaw-dropping price deals and excellent variety of choice, Walmart has a certain quality which makes it seem extremely cold and alien - that it is distinctively American, no matter where it appears on Planet Earth. But then again I could be wrong - after all, it is a wholesale store designed purely for businesses not families on their weekly shop.

As a City fan I am overjoyed that the stadium shell stands proudly over the Leckwith wasteland. Yet I ask myself as retail park after retail park is being erected, can it be done any other way?

Shut up, Grammatic Oil!

God how I miss TV Offal.