Of Old Friends and New Grounds

"Men kick friendship around like a football, but it doesn't seem to crack. Women treat it like glass and it goes to pieces"

Anne Morrow Lindbergh (U.S. author, aviator, and wife of fellow aviator Charles)

The Football Pharaoh brings you a highly personal double-whammy from The Championship, this week. Hot on the heels of having somehow failed to beat Brighton at The Amex Stadium, Fulham FC hosted high-flyers Reading at The Cottage, with hopes of a different and better outcome. It was the perfect fixture for me to catch up with a couple of football fanatics and former work colleagues, from Warburtons. Two of my party were “Royals” followers; and perhaps they still are? The fourth member of the group was an ex-Pat Celtic fan who still gets to more than 20 of The Bhoys’ games each season and also takes in ‘missionary work’ and a few crumbs of soccer comfort at various London grounds, as a ‘neutral’, in-between times. Ex-pat Pat, incidentally, also recently lent me his copy of Richard Ford’s seminal 1986 novel, “The Sportswriter”, which perhaps gives some sense of just what a bunch of highly cultured and committed sports fans I normally associate with. The following weekend would see me catching up with another football fan and former work colleague, a long-time Wolves sufferer, from Westmill … and yes, before you ask, I HAVE also worked for companies whose names DON’T start with a “W”.

The Amex was recently the 10^th of the current 24 Championship grounds I had ticked off my ‘bucket list’ of to-do’s; Molineux would be the 11^th. I might never make it past 12; but I’ll live with that. It’s not what I go to football matches for. I am not a Collector; although, as you may have noticed, I am something of an analyst. Before my Wolves odyssey, however, there was first the small matter of yet another trip to see one more old friend: the first professional football venue I had ever visited (and now something of a spiritual second home) Craven Cottage; the abode of London’s oldest professional football club. As Alf Garnett once famously  said, unintentionally endearingly, in reference to (Sir) Bobby Moore’s ‘early retirement’ to The Cottage, in 1974: “they do play a more elderly style of football, at Fulham” … and, over the years, it has been hard to disagree with that assessment, at times.

Fulham vs. Reading - 3pm k-o

Saturday 3rd December, 2016

The English Football League Championship

"The Joy of Six Five"

… In fact, only four of us went along (me, Pat, Stuart and Stuart’s wife, Paula). In prospect was a visit to possibly the quietest football stand in Christendom (“The Riverside”, sitting proudly opposite the finest and oldest remaining stand in the entire Football League - The “Johnny Haynes” / Stevenage Road Stand) to watch a more elderly style of football. Remind me, how did I end up here? Oh yes, it was via some imported German Ales, wurst, and chicken & chips at the Little Bavaria which is The Octoberfest pub, on the Fulham Road. Whose main disadvantage is the long-ish walk it leaves, to the ground.

I normally default to sitting in the Riverside, when I take along mates who support opposing teams, because it’s where a lot of the corporate guests and the more up-market Fulham fans go. On the upside, there’s normally no hassle; on the downside, there’s not really much atmosphere, either. Although it’s very nice to hear other Fulham fans enjoying themselves on two other sides of the ground; and, of course, the smaller number of travelling fans (most of whom normally haven’t travelled very far at all) often out-singing the home support … except in the rare event of Fulham taking an early lead.

The Johnny Haynes Stand, viewed from The Riverside. 

Unusually, that was exactly what happened at this game. Once the salutary minute’s silence had been observed for those Brazilian club footballers who had tragically died in a plane crash in Colombia earlier in the week, Fulham started the match brightly, immediately taking an offensive game to the visitors. After a rush of blood to the head, Reading’s skipper and central defender, Paul McShane, was booked for totally unnecessary dissent, as early as the second minute. This would hamper his ability to intervene ‘robustly’ for the rest of the game. Fulham’s deserved breakthrough arrived after just a quarter of an hour. Fredericks’ run down the Fulham right was rewarded with a well-weighted pass from Tom Cairney and ended with a speculative, low cross into the centre of the Reading area. Here Chris Gunter, seemingly disoriented by the low, late afternoon sunshine coming through the gap between the Riverside and the Putney End stands, got his head down to nod the innocuous-looking ball effortlessly into his own net. Silence suddenly ensued at the away end, behind the visitors’ goal; and the tone was set for the afternoon. To be fair, Stuart had already observed that his side’s manager, Jaap Stam (yes, THAT Jaap Stam!) had made a strange tactical choice in featuring the returning van den Berg in his starting line-up in a sort of #10 position, to which it soon became clear that he was unaccustomed and ill-suited. It was a decision Stam probably went on to regret. Van den Berg was more or less ineffective throughout the match; and was booked after 57 minutes, though not substituted. Perhaps it was a Dutch loyalty thing?!

For all their superiority of possession and territory the hosts struggled to take full control of the game and stretch their lead. That was, at least, until early in the second half. After 49 minutes, Fulham ‘keeper David Button played a long ‘route one’ pass down the middle, which the visitors' central defender Blackett seemed to flick backwards, inadvertently into the path of the onrushing Chris Martin. Left in far too much space by a reticent Reading rear guard, the ‘Scotsman’ doubled that previously fragile-looking lead with a right-footed shot from outside the box. Fulham were finally looking comfortable. And that sense was only enhanced when Reading were reduced to 10 men by the slightly questionable sending off of Danny Williams for “violent conduct” after 54 minutes. It was an innocuous-looking incident, with two players tangled in a heap after the ball had gone out of play. The errant camera work featured in the TV highlights package aired that evening failed to shed any additional light on the incident. Perhaps there were some “afters”. Certainly Stefan Johansen stayed down, after appearing to barge into the Reading player; and he was able to point later to some interesting stud marks on his torso. If Fulham hadn’t already been two goals up, it might have proved a turning point.

Fulham (in white) in full flow in front of an enthralled Johnny Haynes stand crowd, during the second-half action.

You can read all the rest of the gory details here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/football/38113358. Suffice it to say that, after reorganising and surviving that sending off until the 68^th minute, indeed having had several chances to score a goal of their own, the visitors finally capitulated somewhat in the last half hour or so. Sone Aluko was briefly a Rangers player; and briefly prolific in front of goal for them. He initiated Fulham’s second wind with the third goal, after bursting between two defenders on a powerful run in from the right wing. The goal was only confirmed after some comedy officiating, which saw a delay in proceedings and an extended conflab between the ref and his assistant over whether the off-side Chris Martin had actually touched Aluko’s driven shot and thus ‘interfered with play’.

Br-Exit discussions continue, near the corner flag ... 'In', or 'Out'?

After inordinate prevarication, the final decision eventually left our green-and-white contingent less than impressed. The linesman's flag was over-ruled - and the goal stood. They can really bear a grudge, though, these Glasgow Bhoys! Fulham's third was soon followed by a goal for former Celtic man Johansen, which cheered up ‘neutral’ Pat no end. Cancelling out (as it appeared) that earlier "Rangers" goal. The fourth was a sublime volley driven in with a strike of the outside of his left foot across the ball, sending it low and very curvingly around the ‘keeper to the right, from the centre of the box, after a neat pass from Floyd Ayité. It was a thing of sublime beauty; and we were lucky to be sitting directly behind the flight of the ball, to admire it fully.

Despite more-or-less total dominance for the rest of the game, it looked as though Fulham’s hopes of increasing their 4-0 lead would be frustrated. That was until the 90^th minute, when Martin finally scored his second and Fulham’s 5^th of the game; with a sweetly struck free-kick from just outside the centre of the Reading area. Al-Habsi could have done better; but it hardly mattered. Although, with 5 added minutes of time still to play, the buoyant home fans now started chanting “We want six – we want six!” They were to be disappointed. As were the rapidly departing Reading fans. Stuart has asked me to point out that, as usual, he made a point of staying until the (very) bitter end. It took nerves of steel!

Now you see them ... now you don't. Disappearing away fans.

It was described on the Fulham club website as “a rampant display”; and it was hard to argue with that, despite the generosity of the visitors. Five nil wins are normally very rare beasts; though not at The Cottage, this season. This was our second in our latest three home matches. The Joy of Five, indeed! Just over a month earlier, we had destroyed high-fliers Huddersfield Town by the same margin. I could get used to Fulham’s current scoring frenzy. After this game, Fulham manager Slavisa Jokanovic said "Normally I am never satisfied; but today I am satisfied” … but he wasn’t, really. He added: “we can still do better than that". His team would have the chance to prove him right the next weekend.

And so, without further ado, let's get on to that second featured game ...


Wolverhampton Wanderers vs Fulham - 3pm k-o

Saturday 10th December, 2016

The English Football League Championship

A Wet Wednesday Saturday in Wolverhampton's Wild West

In all honesty, it was more than a little difficult for me to match up to my prior commitment to Paul, the following Saturday. Which, perversely, is precisely why it was important to ensure that I did just that. The December day dawned with a steady drizzle over dull Enfield; and I soon dimly remembered that I had a more than 260-mile round-trip ahead of me, and six hours in a car, much of it forecast to be in driving rain - if I was to make it three Fulham games in a row - AND tick Molineux off that ‘bucket list’ of mine. She is, after all, one of the grand old names of English football; although the stadium has been through many changes in recent years. I have been to the town numerous times; but never on a match-day. So I had little historical context in which to set my damp football pilgrimage. Luckily, BBC Radio 4’s “I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue” team recently paid a visit to the Grand Theatre in Wolverhampton for a show. So I was armed with plenty of (slightly suspect) local knowledge: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b08497d1.

As some attentive readers may remember, Wolves were Fulham's opponents for my first attendance at a professional game (see programme cover, above). There were some fairly famous names turning out for both sides on that day. Worthy of so much more than a 0-0 draw in the second tier; but it was enough to start my 40-year journey 'to hell and back'. We would have little of such stardust (nor of such warm, sunny, September weather) on this occasion.

Graphic Design: "My how things have changed, Grandma!" Stylish concept work on the programme cover; only slightly spoiled by rain damage on the rear.

Fulham would go into the game as one of the highest-scoring sides in the Championship; Wolves would do so as a side flirting with the league’s drop-zone. I joked in an e-mail, before setting off for Paul’s house, that it could easily rain goals, in the expected slippery conditions. Many a true word, they say, is spoken in jest. Geoffrey Chaucer put it more pithily in his Canterbury story “The Cook's Tale”: "Ful ofte in game a sooth I have herd saye!". While James Joyce coined the more succinct equivalent Latin phrase “in risu veritas”, in Chapter four of “Ulysses”.

It is normally considered polite, before a game, to engage in banter with friendly opposition fans about what a tight contest the day should offer; how a good game is in prospect; how it could go either way … but in one’s heart of hearts, partisan favouritism for one’s own team is always paramount. Or, as Gandalf might defiantly offer: “They shall not paaaaass!”

Famous Old Boy: Billy Wright's statue; not far from  the Q Inn Chippy.

After the normal match-day ritual of a wet drive, including delays on the M6 and on the roads into Wolverhampton, we arrived in Paul’s normal match-day parking area, about an hour before kick-off. It was noticeable, he told me, that we were able to park considerably closer to the ground than he had expected. A sign, we suspected that the ground would be less than full. Parked up, we made our way to the Q Inn Chippy, on the Newhampton Rd East and dived inside, out of the fast-developing downpour. Welcome to Wolverhampton! Again we were surprised to find the nearest chip shop to the ground completely devoid of match-day customers. This was match-day, wasn’t it, we enquired. The bearded owner seemed as mystified as we were. He desperately needed custom to pick up fast, he confided. It is football punks, after all, that make his day.

A great view from the "Billy Quiet" Stand.

... And sometimes, even The Great Man had something to be quiet about. On 25th November 1953, the best goal of a very famous international game was scored by Ferenc Puskas, of Hungary, at Wembley, having received the ball from Czibor on the right, near England's six-yard box. When the hosts' captain went towards him for the tackle, Puskas drew the ball back as Wright charged past. He was famously described by distinguished English football writer, Geoffrey Green: "like a fire engine going to the wrong fire" - and leaving the Hungarian captain free to score with his powerful left-foot. Having died from pancreatic cancer on 3rd September 1994, aged 70, Billy Wright was cremated and his ashes were scattered on the Molineux.pitch.
Paul & I queued up for tickets and pretty much had our pick of seats in the Billy Wright stand. We soon found out why. Wiki tells me that Molineux has a crowd capacity of 31,700. She also tells me that the record attendance stands at 61,315. A figure unlikely to be surpassed this century; but today’s gate would be a mere 19,020. Oddly, that official attendance figure was exactly 60% of capacity. Inside the ground, we ordered cups of warming tea; and I added a side-order of cold and ludicrously over-priced Banks’s Amber Ale. We didn't bother to take up our allocated seats. There was plenty of choice amongst the half-empty stand; so we grabbed a couple of seats half-way back and near the half-way line. With me firmly ensconced in the “wrong” end (AND in the wrong seat!) there was eventually a fairly well-filled visitors’ area; but, as expected, the home fans were soon questioning “is that all you take away?” Apparently it was; but frankly, on a soaking wet December day, when even red-blooded, die-hard football fans could have been forgiven for remembering they had important Christmas shopping to attend to (rather than leaving it all until Xmas Eve, as usual) the "Wulfrunians" were lucky to have that many Londoners to whom they could sing their funny little song. It will be interesting to see just how many make the reverse trip, to The Cottage, in March. In fact, there seemed to be a local rule that only home fans in the Sir Jack Hayward Stand, in fact, were allowed to sing at all. I was then informed that the Billy Wright stand is also known locally as the Billy Quiet stand – so it is not entirely unlike the ‘library’ that is Craven Cottage’s Riverside stand, after all. Does every club have such an area? To be fair, the Billy Quiet stand housed a lot of folk who appeared to be Waiting for Godot - and were presumably, therefore, saving their energies.

The North Bank Stand

Not a moment too soon, the game was under way; and a pattern of play was quickly established. The visitors would be required to play with finesse; while the home side were to play the role of energetic, youthful strivers. That was fine with me. Paul and I concurred that the best players on the pitch were to be found amongst those wearing a natty Man. Utd. look-alike strip of red shirts, white shorts and black socks: the Fulham away kit. Former Wolves player Kevin McDonald and (in particular) Tom Cairney stood out in the middle; but Fulham’s two wingers (Sone Aluko and Floyd Ayité) were not far behind. So it will come as no surprise to regular readers to hear that it was Wolves who took the lead, slightly against the run of play, in the 22^nd minute; and nearly doubled that lead just a few moments later. To be fair, they could very easily have already scored four by then; and so too could have Fulham. Both defences were looking fragile and edgy. Careless back-passes seemed to be very much the order of the day, on a surface whose pace looked difficult to judge.

Q. Is that all you take a-way? A. (from the lower tier) Is that all you get at home?

Fulham were only behind for ten minutes, though. Stefan Johansen hit an excellent right footed shot from the centre of the Wolves area, high into the top left corner. He then proceeded to celebrate by goading the home crowd and punching their very attractive corner flag. The residents of the Jack Hayward Stand were highly amused. Not! A proper end-to-end game then swung firmly in Fulham’s favour. In the space of three minutes before half-time, Fulham went 1-3 ahead. First, after 39 minutes, Ayité headed a Ryan Fredericks cross back across the goalie, from inside the six yard box to the centre of the goal. London accents were finally heard, above the noise of heavy rainfall: “How bad must you be? We’re winning away!” Then Tom Cairney let fly with a superb left footed volley from outside the box in a training ground move set up by Johansen. It was Fulham's third goal in the space of 10 minutes; and the excitement was all too much for the locals, who now headed en masse for the bars and food areas. Soon, the players followed them off the pitch, too.

The ball heads towards Tom Cairney (out of picture, left) just before his sublime volley.

I was now dreaming of yet another 5-goal score-line for Fulham; and Paul was clearly concerned that the goal floodgates might well open up fully in the second half. He was not wrong – and yet his fears were not entirely well-founded, either. Paul Lambert had earned his managerial crust with a half-time team-talk of mammoth proportions; and soon Wolves were back in the game, hunting as a pack, within desire in their eyes and in their hearts. Their 19-year-old replacement ‘keeper made a fine double-save early in the second period; and, finally, belief began to course through Wolverhampton veins. Just after the hour mark, Matt Doherty had a simple tap in from very close range, as he hurtled onto a loose ball from a driven Nouha Dicko cross. It was 2-3; and it was very much “game-on”. You can read more details in a match report here:  http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/football/38192220; but suffice it to say that the end-to-end excitement continued unabated for the remaining half hour – though with considerably more success for the home side. It had been a long drive; but we were to be well rewarded. Amidst a mass of yellow cards and substitutions, Ivan Cavaleiro brought the scores level for Wolves less than 10 minutes later, with a deft finish after a powerful, buccaneering run with the ball. “Three-one … and you messed it up” (almost) the locals sang to the miserable, wet, away following; and they were not wrong. Things got worse for the visitors in the final minute of normal time, when David Edwards rumbustious run ended with a scintillating, if speculative, finish through two defenders and the flailing Fulham ‘keeper, from an almost impossibly narrow angle on the right. This was not the goal feast I had been envisaging at half-time. Oh no! I had that sinking feeling that only the demoralised and defeated away fan with a dismal, damp, three-hour drive ahead of them can fully appreciate.

The Sir Jack Hayward Stand. Very nearly full; and very noisy.

But hark! What twist of Shakespearean fate was this? Four festive minutes into added time, after a downward header from Tomas Kalas,.the diminutive Ayité stooped low at the far post to unwrap an early ‘Christmas present’ and score his second header of the game, to bring the scores level at 4-4. And now there was only one team looking like they had the momentum to tie up all three (away) points. But the fickle fingers of Fate’s time-piece were against Fulham, on this occasion. As Mr. Darren Bond blew his whistle for the final time that day, honours (and eight goals) were to be wetly and equally shared; though the moral victory was probably more with the home side. Fulham had enjoyed 63% of possession away from home; and more on-target efforts – but we had failed familiarly, once again, to make the most of our dominance. It made for a less awkward journey home, though, that neither Paul nor I were the proud owners of three (very luckily earned) points. In the ten-minute walk back to his car, we were thoroughly soaked. It had rained goals, as predicted; it had rained torrents of water, too. We were both, ultimately, happy with the way things had turned out. A pre-Christmas treat for us both. We could be, in equal parts, both ‘gutted’ (like fish on the slab) - but happy, too (like pigs in sh … erry? Or in blankets?). Heaven forbid that we might kick our friendship around like a football,only to find that it goes to pieces.

And, with that thought hanging poignantly in the air, it was time "to get out of Dodge" and head back to The Beautiful South. The home of (comparative) warmth and dryness. With my eleventh Championship ground damply secured in my football pocket.

Memories of a First Ever Football Fixture

Before we take this week's 'constitutional' around The Pyramid, the Football Pharaoh has a special request to make. A favour to ask. I am, sometimes, somewhat concerned that - of the many people who read this blog page all over the world, apparently, according to the stats - few have ever bothered to contribute their own thoughts or reflections, in response. Yet it would be great to hear them; wherever you are in the world, or in football's Pyramid.

I was comparatively relieved recently, though, to see that I am not alone in finding the cosmos eerily silent. Even the BBC has 'expert pages' that get zero contributions, though it is made crystal clear that they would be most welcome. Although, to be fair, the BBC page in question ("Light: Wave-Particle Duality - one of the most confusing concepts in physics, unlike anything we see in the ordinary world" by OU Professor Andrew Norton, of the Department of Physical Sciences) might be even more niche than this little offering of mine. If that were possible. [http://www.open.edu/openlearn/science-maths-technology/science/physics-and-astronomy/physics/light-wave-particle-duality?in_menu=160716]

A dialogue is so much better than a monologue, don't you think?! And you don't even have to talk or "Walk Like an Egyptian". All Real Football fans should have their voices heard. So come and shout yours from the top of The Pharaoh's Football Pyramid. And now, back to the real business of the day. Although, of course, we'd all prefer to hear from YOU...


Brighton & Hove Albion vs Fulham - 3pm k-o

Saturday 26th November, 2016

The English Football League Championship

This weekend offered me the lure of a new football ground. Now I’m not a ground-hopper; the type who aims to “collect” the home venues of all 92 football clubs in the top 4 tiers of the English league ‘pyramid’. Although such dedicated folk do, indeed, exist. The urge can become addictive, apparently; and, if that’s an itch you are keen to scratch, there are nearly 5,300 clubs in leagues within the English men's football structure, whose grounds you can begin to choose from; though you’ll need a lot of spare weekends.

But no, I don’t specifically target ‘new’ grounds – although there’s certainly a perceptible added frisson of excitement in the experience of visiting a new venue, when you’re following your own beloved football team away, “on the road”. A sense of venturing into the partially unknown. I doubt if I’ve visited more than a third of England’s professional league clubs’ home venues. Fulham (8th in the table) were playing away, at 2nd-placed Brighton. So the "American Express Community Stadium", Falmer (you've got to love the poetry of stadium sponsorship, haven't you?) would become only my 10^th, for instance, of the 24 club grounds currently featuring in the Championship. Although I do also, by pure coincidence, plan to add my 11^th in just a couple of weekend’s time; when I’m scheduled to travel to Wolverhampton Wanderers’ Molineux stadium, with a Wolves fan and former work colleague, Paul. Because that’s what football often represents for me: a chance to catch up with old friends in a well-worn, established rhythm of football banter, beers, burgers and bold bravado – however self-deprecating some of that might sometimes be.

This weekend’s rhythm was to be a very different one, though; featuring, as it did, a particularly close “friend”. Because I would be taking my 19-year-old daughter along to watch her first professional football match. OK, it's Fulham at Brighton; so let's just say "semi-pro". There would be banter, beers and burgers; but perhaps less of the usual bold bravado. She’s a second-year Drama student at the University of Sussex, whose campus is just across the road from Brighton’s latest ground. She's very used to attending interesting and engaging, professional performances in purpose-built venues; but rarely in the open air - and rarely along with 29,443 other paying punters. Having never shown an interest in watching sport of any kind, it was surprisingly easy to convince her that this was a good (and relatively undemanding) opportunity to break her football 'duck'. 

Outside: a new stadium for both of us.

I set off in glorious, cool, morning sunshine; like a bat out of North London. Following the M25, crossing the river, heading past Gatwick and across the Downs, towards the South Coast, I had soon left that welcome winter sunlight well behind me, alas. Although, from the top of the Downs, one could still see sunshine glinting off the distant sea, beyond a veil of low cloud.

Emerging, like gladiators, into the away end: "We who are about to 'die' ..."

Incidentally, there was a good Fulham-related reason for getting along to this fixture. According to Wiki (and my mate, Ed) the largest attendance at Brighton's old Goldstone Ground was 36,747 ... when The Albion played Fulham, on 27th December, 1958. I wonder whether many fee-paying tourists ever visited that old ground. Like most sports businesses these days, Brighton & Hove Albion F.C. Ltd. offer interested fans a tour of their new stadium. No, really; they do! These are, I think, strictly for dedicated club fans only. Apparently this one “lasts approximately 1 hour 45 minutes”. It’s difficult to know quite how – unless the tour involves walking around the grim exterior of the ground. Something that shepherded, visiting fans must endure on match-days.

OK, a touch corny; but an acknowledgement of the away fans' round trip effort (mine was longer); plus a touch of 1978 nostalgia.

Like most new sports stadia these days, match-day travel logistics appear to have been almost entirely absent from the planning process and choice of location at The Amex. Away fans are seated in the South stand; as far as possible (of course) away from all public transport links and the main pedestrian approaches to the stadium. Hindsight also tells us that relying on Southern Rail for a quick redistribution of tens of thousands of people is not a winning formula. Let me say that The Amex really is a very good new-build stadium; it's mostly just the location that lets it down. A stout pair of walking shoes is highly recommended. .

As is a car; despite all the negative environmental impacts that causes. Although it later took us some time to exit the campus car park and join the stationary traffic on the Lewes Road, heading back into the town centre, we were at least glad to be able to sit warmly inside a vehicle, listening smugly to the radio as we (so very slowly) passed glum, envious crowds massed at the under-serviced bus stops around the ground. (High) Ticket prices include use of 'free' local public transport, you see. Which would be a great idea, if only 'the authorities' actually thought about the scale of transport requirements and laid on facilities for an additional 29 thousand people; but, of course, they don't appear to add any extra services than the normal, non-match-day suburban Saturday afternoon. Gliding disdainfully, in slow-motion, past so may unhappy faces, it was impossible to tell whose side had won and which had lost; but you can find out here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/football/38035226

Inside: a new stadium for both of us.

My own highly partisan view of the game, from behind the centre of the goal, was a relatively simple one. It was also from closer up than (and vastly different from) the brief summary provided in 90 seconds of coverage on Channel 5’s football highlights package. Fulham’s game-plan was to smother the home side’s creative efforts. In defence, early on, they “pressed” hard, closed quickly and allowed very little threat to develop; while regularly breaking with speed on the counter-attack, themselves. Channel 5's fantasy commentary (presumably provided by someone who wasn't even there?) referred to a non-existent fluency in the hosts' play that was sadly lacking at the actual game itself. 

These well-worn away team tactics allowed the hosts just one on-target effort of note in the first half. They also paid dividends at the other end, as early as the 18^th minute. Former Fulham ‘keeper Stockdale inexplicably lost his footing, unimpeded, at a corner from his left. This allowed Fulham’s tall, but unmarked, defensive midfielder Kevin McDonald to slot home relatively easily; low, from close range beyond the far post, from an acute angle. The ball was cleared out of the Brighton goal; but even assistant referees “at this level” could not be fooled by a defender standing deep beyond his own goal-line, claiming to have saved the effort. Fulham's fans serenaded their former hero with "Stockdale - Is a Fulham Fan" and a 0-1 lead was no less than we had deserved. Fulham grew even more into the game as the first-half progressed; playing attractive, flowing, passing football to give Brighton plenty more problems. Only a strong and acrobatic save by Stockdale (making up for his earlier error) from a powerful, deflected, long-range Floyd Ayite volley, prevented the home side going into the break 0-2 down. He was also forced into another good save by the visitors' left-back, Scott Malone, before the break. The Fulham man really should have done better.

Meanwhile, Fulham’s current goalie, Button, had little to do; a testament to the nullifying effect of his colleagues’ defensive efforts. Across the whole game, Fulham dominated (with 59%) possession, enjoyed more efforts on goal, had more on-target attempts and had more than twice as many corners. As can happen in this Beautiful (but oft-times cruel) Game of ours, however, the result was, ultimately, decided by other factors. In this case, by two fine second-half strikes; one from each of Brighton’s dangerous forward pairing of Baldock and Murray. The Seagulls had averaged two goals per game at home this season; and carried on with the same ratio, despite having mostly much the worse of this encounter. For the second goal, Fulham’s defensive concentration suffered its one glaring glitch of the day; as Malone went walk-about with his arm up in the air, Tony Adams-stylie circa 1998, for the benefit of the referee … and the now-unmarked Glenn Murray. A flattering 2-1 score-line finally brought the Brighton fans belatedly to life; and they enjoyed their remaining 11 minutes (plus 5 added minutes) of supremacy. They had been noticeably missing for most of the game; as Fulham’s two thousand-plus travelling fans were very quick to point out: “Your - Su - pport - is F**- king Sh*t!” they sang. With some justification. They might later have added: “and your logistics planning is frankly awful”, as they began to freeze in long, unsegregated queues, awaiting the almost non-existent "free" public transport links.

In response, the Brighton faithful (who, ironically, regularly complain about homophobic chanting aimed at them) could only muster a desultory "Does - Your - Boy- Friend - Know - You're - Here?" How we larrfed!

The final whistle; and now it dawns on all those present (whether won, lost or drawn) that the worst is yet to come.

Goal-scorer McDonald later said “a couple of their boys ... said to me, ‘you’re the best team we’ve played so far, you absolutely dominated us, I don’t know how we’ve won this game,’ and stuff like that... at the end of the day we came away with no points, but we showed that we can compete with the best”. This game truly is a cruel, cruel mistress, Kevin!

On the plus side - and despite the defeat - my daughter was surprised by just how much she’d enjoyed her first game. She was delighted and impressed by the physicality, agility and power on display. Earlier in the week, she had thought about picking up a Brighton scarf in a local Pound Shop, just to try and annoy me. By the end she was able to say, unprompted, and with no hint of irony or sarcasm (one match was not, after all, enough to infect her with the world-weary cynicism of the career football fan) “The referee isn’t being very fair, is he?” She was not wrong, either. By George, I think she's got it!*

There is some dispute over whether the referee actually was James Linington (Isle of Wight Plumber and self-delusionist) as stated on the programme back page, see above. Or Keith Stroud, as credited on the BBC Sports webpage, but originally scheduled to be only the Fourth Official (a title which always reminds me of a Graham Greene or John Le Carre novel). I just assumed it WAS Mr. Linington, because the second-half refereeing performance was so totally abysmal - and Fulham have had recent experience of his inept match-day tyranny, elsewhere. He has PLENTY of form. See http://www.football-lineups.com/referee/1112/blog/ - where Linington's previous reviews say: "not good enough to ref in the pub league" and "frightened to upset a large home crowd. Has a reputation as a home referee and should be demoted" - both of which descriptions rang true and accurate for me in this game, whoever the referee actually was.

Linington features in an earlier rant on this page, in my Fulham-Norwich report, from just a few weeks ago. Amongst plenty of poor referees "at this level", he really is a REMARKABLY bad official - with delusional aspirations of making the FIFA list. He played to perfection his traditional role of “Homer” official. Which has nothing to do with either "The Simpsons" or "The Odyssey". Despite leading the foul count, Brighton picked up just 3 yellow cards to Fulham’s six. Yes SIX! In a game that had barely a bad foul to mention; although McDonald did, admittedly, ‘take one for the team’, in the 76^th minute. Foiling the hosts as they tried to launch a swift counter-attack, following yet another failed Fulham corner and breakdown. But let me not rave on any more about Linington all over again, here. I just hope he's a better plumber than he is a referee. Leave him, Des - he's not worth it!

It's famously something of a tradition amongst "Real Football" fans (an unwritten rule, if you will) that you can never change your first club allegiance. You are simply stuck with the team which your father, brother, mother, uncle, grand-parent or other friend or family member condescends to take you along to watch, first. I am stuck, therefore, with London’s oldest professional club, 'thanks' to my brother Kevin; after having seen them play out a second-tier 0-0 draw, against Wolves, one warm and sunny September afternoon back in 1976, in my own first game. It was a match that featured Wolves' recently relegated roster of super-stars; plus a little Fulham stardust, too; in the shape of George Best, Bobby Moore and Rodney Marsh. Just a little over 40 years later, I could finally and belatedly get to tick off the home ground of that day’s first ever opponents from my hit list, in just a few days' time. I hope it won't be another no-score draw. I'm sure we will not be dazzled by anything like that level of playing talent, from 40 years ago. My daughter is now, similarly, stuck with a Hobson’s Choice of Fulham. Or, I suppose - if she’s feeling particularly contrary - "The Seagulls" of Brighton and Hove Albion.

To illustrate this "first club" rule, I once heard a gentleman of “a certain age” call a local radio ‘phone-in show (Robert Elms on “BBC Radio London”). As a young boy, just after the war, he said, his father had promised to take him along to his first game at White Hart Lane, so the pair could bond over the delights of a life-time spent watching Spurs. Boxing Day had been identified as the perfect opportunity to initiate these rites. A bit hazy about the dimly-remembered details, perhaps understandably, he thought the scheduled visitors might have been West Ham. Fate and the weather gods were to play a big hand, however. As seasonal snow-fall played havoc with the Christmas holiday fixtures, White Hart Lane was deemed unplayable. ‘Phoning around friends and family to establish where in London there might still be a playable surface, his dad finally identified a game that probably WAS still going ahead. So, although they couldn’t be 100% sure of seeing a game, they still set off manfully through the North London snow. He ended his story poignantly: “And, Robert, as a result, I’ve been a Leyton Orient fan all my life.” Poor, fella! … Trapped by the unwritten rule of the Real Football fan.

Jem's older brother went along to his first game at the age of six. That was also an away Fulham fixture; and, curiously enough, also in the city where HE would later attend University. On the warm, August Bank Holiday Monday of the year 2000, he saw Norwich City succumb 0–1 to the mighty, mighty Whites. That was also in a second-tier fixture, as The Cottagers made their royal progress towards 13 years of Premier League football. Ever since then, of course, as a result, my son’s been a  …

Spurs fan. Great job, Dad! But I suppose it's better than having a Gooner in the family. So, between the three of us, we've now racked up a win, a draw and a defeat, in our respective first (Fulham) fixtures; all in the second tier.

How well do you remember attending YOUR first (professional) football fixture? Do let us know. If there were any other new fans attending their own first game at the Amex on Saturday, they will probably now be plagued for life by nightmare memories of the post-match transport logistics fiasco. As one Fulham fan, Mr. John Clarke, observed later that evening on FaceBook: “Gutted to lose. Not aided by the utter ball-ache of getting away from the ground. Fortunately the match programme helpfully suggests an easier route (home)”. He refers, here, to an image featured across pages 4 & 5; and shared below. We really do just have a better class of stoical, reflective, thoughtful and funny fan at Fulham, don't we? They could probably do with some of those 'smarts' in Brighton's town and transport planning teams.

Transports of Delight: Laugh? We nearly cried.


Culture Vulture Reference:
* Professor 'Enry 'Iggins in director George Cukor's "My Fair Lady" (1964)

Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November …

Brentwood Town vs Brightlingsea Regent - 3pm k-o

Saturday 5th November, 2016

Ryman Isthmian League, Division One North

Yes, it was very definitely November 5^th: with misty tendrils of smoke stretching up into the glowering sky; an intense, infernal incense of the pyrotechnicist’s ‘black powder’ and sulphur; the live-wire fire-crackling of incendiary rockets; the colourful booming of star-bursts in the air - and that was just what was emanating from both teams’ changing rooms at half-time. There was a lot for both sides' managers to … errrm, “discuss” with their players. Thank heavens I wasn’t there on Hallowe’en night. That could have been even scarier! But I am getting ahead of myself. [Incidentally, there is an old pub on South London’s Nunhead Green, not far from where I grew up, called The Pyrotechnist's Arms. When I was young(er) it was, I’m fairly sure, called “The Pyrotechnicist's Arms”; but try saying all seven of those tongue-twisting syllables to a cabbie, after having already been suitably refreshed elsewhere, beforehand. The pub is built on the former site of a firework factory; and one suspects there may yet be occasional ‘fireworks’ going off inside, after a long session of serving the locals’ needs … but I digress.]

Let me start from earlier in the day. I recently teamed up with Bill Lawrance, one of Radio Colne’s very best sports presenters, he of “Bryn & Bill Football Radio” fame, to cover what would for me be a ‘neutral’ fixture. Confidently leaving Enfield Town to combat their visitors, Worthing, without me (and having seen Fulham dismiss their local rivals and hosts, Brentford, the night before, 0-2) I lowered myself confidently down one level of the English Football Pyramid, to check out Brentwood Town’s game against Brightlingsea Regent.

There is no doubting that the winter clocks have gone backwards in the UK, and elsewhere, recently: politically, economically, socially and literally. Truly, “Now IS the winter of our discontent”.* When I climbed into my car, on my way to meet with Bill, the clock on the dashboard was still an hour ‘fast’ – having not been reset, last week. As a result, my sense of timing was, subconsciously, completely confused; and I raced to join Bill before kick-off. He was scheduled to interview Brightlingsea’s manager before the match; and I had been invited along to offer moral support – which would have been difficult, if I was already an hour behind schedule.

Fortunately, the M25 was uncharacteristically kind to me, on my 45-mile round-trip; as were the A1023 and the Brentwood Centre car park. I was able to avoid the orange-faced “TOWIE” crowd, intent as they were on their Xmas shopping raids into Brentwood’s town centre, with some cunning guess-work, coupled with a light hand (not to mention some slick sleight of hand) on the steering wheel. My advice to others in a similar situation? Do NOT follow the yellow-brick road of the High Street, into town!

On the same day that Hereford-based Westfields played their first ever match in the FA Cup “proper”, representing tier 9, it seemed somehow right and fitting to be attending a match in Brentwood. Why so? Because an earlier Brentwood Football Club (established in the 19th century) reached the quarter-finals of that prestigious old tournament, back in 1885–86; when they were beaten 3–1 by the eventual winners, Blackburn Rovers. [Westfields have already won six matches in the FA Cup’s preliminary rounds, this season. If a Premier League side were to win as many games as Westfields already have, they would lift the trophy. It's no wonder these lower-ranked teams declare the early rounds of the tournament to be "our cup final".]

I, by contrast, was here to see a fixture in The Ryman Isthmian League, Division One North; one level below Enfield Town. Where 15^th place hosted 2^nd in a tie whose result was a tougher one to call than those respective tier 8 table positions might imply. Going into the game, Regent had not lost since 1^st October. They arrived on the back of a string of 9 wins and a draw, in a hectic schedule of fixtures. Brentwood’s own recent form, meanwhile, belied their lowly league position. True, their league games at the Brentwood Centre this season had produced 4 wins and 4 defeats so far (no draws!); but they were unbeaten at home since the 8^th October; although they’d played far fewer games, lately, than their opponents. A stat that was of great interest to Bill & me was the fact that, prior to this game, Brightlingsea were sitting pretty in the highest league position in the club’s history: 2^nd in the eighth tier, with a real prospect of fighting for a promotion place. Whether that would be via the automatic or the play-off route (or not all) might be decided, to some extent, by the result of this very game. All very exciting!

Brentwood’s average home crowd of 88 is well below that of their guests today. Regent can boast an average home gate of 99 (possibly with a chocolate flake sticking out of the top?). They have played their away games this season in front of an average of 124 fans, which puts them 4^th in the Division’s travelling attendance table. It was no surprise, then, that Brightlingsea’s travelling contingent had boosted today’s crowd above the hosts’ average to a massive … 90. Bill and I being the two extra attendees.

We met with a very accommodating selection of the visitors’ management team, well before kick-off, to try and get some sense of their hopes and fears – beyond the outcome of the US Presidential election.  Manager James Webster, despite being sponsored by “Olly's Mobile Bar” (no, really; he is) looks to have lost some weight recently; certainly compared to his profile pic on the club website. Especially when he donned his spectacles; which gave him a slightly academic, Wenger-esque air. James was a very calm presence. Happy to try and give a couple of “reporters” some access to his inner thoughts; but equally keen not to let that access disrupt his normal match-day routines. We caught up with him before the warm up and, later, in the Away changing room, preparing his team sheets and stirring pre-match speech. He acknowledged that his squad were in a very positive frame of mind. Rather, he thought one of his key considerations for the game was to avoid the complacency that can set in after a successful run of results. He was setting up his side in a 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 formation (should that be called teh Countdown Conundrum?) to combat what his researches suggested would be a Brentwood outfit playing 4 – 2 – 3 – 1 shape. Was there much to deduce from that subtle numerical difference between the sides’ expected shapes? He gave an enigmatic smile. Clearly we would have to wait and see.

Bill (left, in headgear) gives Management Assistant Chris Smith a pre-match, journalistic roasting in the Away dressing room. (photo: DH)

We also managed to spend more time with one of Regent’s coaches, Management Assistant Chris Smith. Chris was a particularly useful man to have in the dug-out today (not that he isn’t always, I’m sure!) having previously spent nearly 8 years with today’s hosts; and having helped Town, in his role as Assistant First Team Manager, to gain promotion to The Ryman Premier League, just a couple of seasons ago.

As a neutral, I was particularly going to be on the look-out for some entertaining forward play from both sides. Not only would Tom Richardson be turning out as Regent’s #9, against his old club (and we all know about the curse of the returning striker, don’t we?); but the game also boasted the two top-scoring players in the league: Brentwood’s Lamar Reynolds (playing at #11, with 13 goals so far); and Brightlingsea Regent’s Aaron Condon  (also playing at #11, with 12 goals to his name). Tally Ho, indeed!

Should Have Gone to Specsavers

Regent had a bright (lingsea?) opening 5 minutes; but then quietened down dramatically, as the hosts increasingly took control of possession and of a scrappy game. Was this simply the latest incarnation of von Moltke’s famous military maxim: that “No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy”?  Certainly, the undulating playing surface was as reminiscent of a battle field as it was a football field. There were even what looked like machine gun nests in the raised, sandy patches in front of the goal nets at each end. Alas, rather than the titanic 90-minute war of attrition, or the quality of the action in front of goal, one of the main talking points of the game would turn out to be the match referee. It is a cause of great consternation, across the nation, that so little appears to be being done by our footballing authorities, so little incremental investment being made, to improve the standard of officiating in this Beautiful Game of ours. Much of the mass media’s post-match attention – and that of the meagre crowd - was taken up with the questionable standard of refereeing in this fixture. Step forward one Andy Gray (no, not THAT Andy Gray – self-destroying controversialist, sexist and bigot, of female assistant referee-disrespecting infamy). I refer here to Mr. Andrew Gray of Suffolk, promoted to the Contributory League Referees list only this summer. It turns out his performance as match referee was being assessed on the day; and it turned out to be a tough gig. The assessor’s report might make for interesting reading.

Sian Massey at Cardiff City, inspecting ... well, I think you can see what she's inspecting.

Within the first half hour, Bill & I were nudging each other, raising the odd eyebrow and discussing the state of refereeing in general, prompted by some of Gray’s decisions and his officiating style. Unsurprisingly, those “idiosyncratic” decisions started to be questioned by the players themselves very quickly; and soon his authority was being questioned and undermined, too, by regular back-chat and banter. One player in particular, Brentwood’s shaven-headed  #10, Matt Hall, seemed to be increasingly “taking the law into his own hands” and “putting himself about a bit”. Matt has, apparently, been round the block, including some time as a Leyton Orient junior. So perhaps he can scent a weak referee. He can certainly smell where the goal net is; because, after 35 minutes, he opened the scoring, to put the hosts ahead 1-0. Regent’s right wing-back, #2 Nicky Griggs, was out of his defensive position as his side’s push forwards broke down. Brentwood’s own #2, Ben Sampayo, took full advantage. Sprinting with the ball into the left-wing position, he drove in a low cross for Hall, who turned it neatly past the Brightlingsea ‘keeper, Dan Beeson.

... and it had all started so very amicably.

Luckily for the visitors, Brentwood’s opener was the signal to finally put their Plan A into play. Just two minutes after the opener, the curse of the returning striker struck in earnest. Richardson advanced on goal with the ball from the right and, almost out of nothing, struck a venomous, swirling pile-driver “like a rocket” (appropriately enough, given the day’s date) between the despairing, diving goalie, Joe Taylor, and the top right-hand corner joint of the goal frame. With the score at 1-1, Regent remember remembered that they were the form team and second in the table, as they slowly took control of a game that had seemed to mostly pass them by, so far. Now all the fireworks were coming from the visitors. Well, to be honest, that should probably read “all but one of the fireworks…”

A perfect sunset backdrop for the "fireworks".

On the stroke of half-time, the “influential” Hall produced arguably the key talking point of the game. He put in what might euphemistically be called “a full-blooded challenge” that produced for him a straight red card and an early bath. Brightlingsea’s big #4, Connor Witherspoon, was simultaneously shown a yellow card, probably for his reaction to the initial challenge; but the debacle on the pitch took some time for Mr. Gray to control and resolve - delaying our return to the warm clubhouse. His performance so far may itself have been primarily the cause of his own problems; but he now had a real job on his hands to keep any semblance of authority or control, for the remainder of the game.

If there were any doubts as to whether the red card had really been a deserved punishment, the travelling Brightlingsea match photographer later confided that he had captured the incident on film; showing Hall off the ground, coming through his opposite number studs first. Pretty much an open-and-shut X-rated case, then. Perhaps wisely, they are not a sequence of photo’s that Regent chose to feature on their web-site, after the match. Unfortunately, the ref had already lost the confidence of the crowd and the players long before; and his deliberations in reaction to this incident were not going to win it back for him. Certainly not among the home supporters or players, anyway.

After those half-time, changing-room fireworks already referenced, above, it was the visitors who (unsurprisingly) dominated their 10-man opponents, for most of the remainder of the game. Perhaps they would have done so anyway, without their extra man advantage. We will never know. It could still have turned out so very differently, though. The first meaningful action of the second half saw Beeson scramble the culmination of a threatening, low, Brentwood effort up and just over his cross-bar; possibly more by luck than judgment. Although it is often said that you make your own luck, in this game.

It took time for Regent to make their advantage really count; but, as the additional second-half effort required started to take its toll on the 10 men of Brentwood, Richardson scored his second goal, just after the 70-minute mark (that curse of the returning striker, again; writ large). A clumsy penalty was then conceded (to a howling chorus of derision and disapproval from the home fans, for Mr. Gray). Club top-scorer, Condon, stepped up to confidently convert the spot-kick and go joint-top in Ryman League goal-scorers’ table. He now shares that top-scoring spot with Brentwood’s Lamar Reynolds; but the latter is unlikely to be adding to his tally any time soon.

Top-scorer Condon confidently slots home the visitors' 3rd, from the spot, under barely adequate floodlighting.

After Shamido Pedulu had scored a fourth for the visitors, three minutes from the end of normal time, a rare Brentwood foray up to the edge of Regent’s penalty area saw Reynolds take a heavy fall on Brentwood’s left, deep into added time, under pressure from a visiting defender. He required prolonged treatment on the pitch; and was eventually substituted and led away by the medical team. One of the walking wounded, gingerly holding what looked like a badly damaged right arm. A foul was duly awarded; and that was probably all the incident merited; but Brentwood’s enraged fans were, by now, loudly challenging every decision (as were a number of their team) scenting referee blood. They were demanding red cards, bonfires and flaming torches of their own. No prizes for guessing who was their prime candidate for “Guy” - hanging, it turns out, presumably being too good for him, after all. Yet those home fans should be careful what they wish for. In the absence of sufficient "trickle down" funding from the feast-laden banquet table of the Premier League (see comment piece, below) we are stuck with the referees that we do have. Without even a poor referee in charge, there would be no game to watch at all, poor or otherwise. As "The Guardian" reported recently, and as other non-league fans discovered to their cost and annoyance:
"Referee abandons game after 13 minutes, in response to moaning fan"

• Non-league game between Holmer Green and Edgware Town abandoned
• Referee had confronted Edgware fan who disagreed with several decisions

https://www.theguardian.com/football/2016/oct/31/referee-abandons-game-moaning-fan-holmer-green-edgware?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other

Bill & Des (far right, NOT playing) await the hanging of the referee with great anticipation, beneath the gallows erected expressly for that purpose.

After most Premier League matches, a good deal of punditry time is given over to a post mortem on the performance of the referees and their assistants. Such forensic analysis on this game at Brentwood, would take up most of Saturday night. The final whistle at Brentwood, when it eventually came, was a heart-gladdening sound. Everyone had just about had enough. Still, some home fans vented their frustrated spleen on Twitter, after the game, shared below. It's difficult to blame them; I have done similar myself, elsewhere in this blog:

1) Yet again, the treatment or lack of protection for Lamar continues. Disgusting. The lad is now getting an x-ray. That ref needs to go

2) The referee had a poor game

3) Ref ruined the game today - shocking.

4) What was going on with the ref today? - does “shocking” cover it?

Whatever the merits (or otherwise) of Mr. Gray, Brightlingsea Regent now sit atop the Divisional form table, based on the last 6 results; though only on superior GD from their main rivals, table-topping Maldon & Tiptree. While, despite the day’s set-back, Brentwood Town still lie 6^th in that table, themselves. The loss of a pair of influential players will not help their cause or their season much, though.

Now, maybe if I go and reset the clock on my dashboard to the correct time, perhaps I will be less stressed on my next car journey – and maybe, just maybe - I can turn back time to reverse some of these recent footballing events, avoiding much unpleasantness and that nasty, late injury; as well as the odd famous political landslides. Or maybe not.

For those interested, Enfield Town did manage to beat Worthing, 2-1, without me, after all; and, following yet another slow start to a season, now sit comfortably in 7th place in the  Ryman Football League, Premier Division: The Promised Land, for Brightlingsea Regent.

Comment: "Lessons in Love Maths"* – a Rant from The Pharaoh’s Soap Box (pyramid-shaped, of course!)

Take screenwriter William Goldman’s advice (from his “All The President's Men”) and "follow the money"! Premier League income has risen exponentially to record levels, in recent years. In fact, Wiki ranks the Premier League the world’s 4th biggest sports business, behind those three even more huge US sports franchises:  the NFL, the MLB and the NBA. Even  England's 2nd tier (the Football League Championship) was ranked the 13th largest business, globally. While Football League Divisions One & Two were ranked 37th & 49th, respectively.

Amazingly, Premier League profits have actually fallen. Could that be anything to do with the fact that player salaries alone accounting for almost 60% of revenue? Not of profit, mind; but of revenue. Add in eye-watering transfer fees plus the many legal and illegal leeches who suck the game dry (from agents and lawyers to corrupt officials) and you have a business model which finds itself strangely unable and unwilling to invest in the grass roots structures and facilities that should be the foundation of the English game's strength. It is no wonder most of the Pyramid has no decent referees or football pitches. Nor that England have never featured significantly in those bi-annual international soccer-fests so beloved of FIFA and UEFA, except when, very rarely, hosting the tournaments. I barely need to remind anybody here that England's last meaningful international tournament victory is now more than 50 years ago; and even then arguably only arose from home advantage. But, on the bright side, Pogba and his flunkies can all continue to make out like millionaire bandits, with their snouts in the trough of the gravy train (to mix a few non-footballing metaphors and clichés) able to maintain a seemingly unending supply of status watches, fast cars, fast women, and fast, Italian suits. Which can only be good news for the fans and players of Brentwood Town and Brightlingsea Regent, right?

In May 1981, I endured my very last formal lesson in Maths at school. That might be just as well; since the numbers I learned about back then no longer appear to behave in the same familiar way that they once used to; at least in English football's top flight. You don’t have to go peering too deeply into the astronomical numbers of Premier League football’s seedy under-belly to notice a pattern emerging; as an accountancy qualification becomes an increasingly important element of modern football. Sports headlines should very quickly give you all the flavour you need as to why football now has me learning maths lessons again. Albeit now rather more informal  ones than of yore: “Premier League revenues hit a new high but profits fall” (Bill Wilson BBC News Business reporter, 15th April 2016). This title broke the news that the Premier League football clubs saw their combined revenues increase by 3% in 2014-15 to £3.4bn (a new record, according to business group Deloitte) but their combined pre-tax profits fall (DH: yes, “fall”!) to £120m - from £190m the year before.

"Whoa! Slow down there, Hoss." Two things should jump out at us immediately as we ponder those numbers:
1) According to the IMF, that level of income would make the Premier League the 160^th largest ‘nation’ on the planet – not bad for a bunch of blokes kicking a sack of air around a field, I think; BUT

2) Unless they are deliberately ‘cooking the books’ (surely not!) that amounts to a profit margin (“PoR”) of just 3.5% per annum; making the most widely followed domestic soccer league on the planet one of the least profitable large scale business models on the planet.

It was only the second time in their history that the Premier League clubs had collectively managed even to deliver for themselves two consecutive seasons of any profit at all. Am I missing something? You’d get a better return on your investment in stocks and shares, London property, or peanut trading. The leaders of Mexican drugs cartels wouldn’t even consider getting out of bed for that measly level of return; and three clubs still didn’t manage to deliver any profit at all. Who runs THOSE clubs? Sir Phillip Green?

Of course, that was all before the beginning of the revised TV rights deal, agreed "for the next broadcast cycle”, i.e. starting this current season. The clubs’ combined wage costs rose by 6% in 2014-15, to an eye-watering total of £2bn; a record spend on salaries. Yes, you read the number right. That wages-to-revenue ratio really is 60%. During that season, first-team average salaries PER PLAYER were around £1.7 million per year. While the average basic pay in the Championship was “just” £324,250 per player, per year. I think I may be in the wrong job! Equivalent figures for Leagues One and Two are £69,500 and £40,350, respectively. With Manchester United's wage bill almost 100 times bigger than Shrewsbury Town's. Last season alone, the total attendance at PL matches was 13,851,698. For the Championship, the figure was 9,705,635 although, of course, there are four extra teams and eight extra league fixtures per year in the 2^nd tier (League One was 3,884,414 and League Two 2,582,719).

Sadly, the lower regions of English Football's Pyramid must continue merely to dream of what they could do with just a small percentage of all that cash, made available to be wisely re-invested in grass roots and community football; in essential supporting elements, such as the recruitment, training and retention of an ample supply of highly experienced, effective and efficient referees.

OK, so I have rather indulged myself with that mind-numbing raft of figures. If my match report on the above example of The Beautiful Game, from tier 8, is anything to go by, however, significant action steps are urgently required to ensure a far greater degree of trickle down investment from the infamous prawn sandwich brigade; and, more importantly, the couch potato Sky TV worshippers.

Perhaps, after all, there is a major, secret plan afoot to invest in importing hundreds of ‘foreign’ referees into our national game, to match the vast influx of over-paid, international playing talent?

No, I don’t think so, either. Is it really any surprise, then, that so many people increasingly declare themselves to be “Against Modern Football”? Lamar Reynolds may well have just added himself to that growing number. As Level 42 also found out, the hard way: “the truth is hard to take; I felt sure we had enough”.

For those interested, and still reading, Enfield Town did manage to beat Worthing, 2-1; and so, after another slow start to their season, now sit 7^th in the  Ryman Premier League. Meanwhile, Ninth-tier Westfields FC, who were just nine minutes away from winning their original FA Cup tie, succumbed 1-3 away to Curzon Ashton in the replay. As a result of that result, Curzon earned themselves the lucrative reward of hosting league opposition in the second round: another "Phoenix" club with (very recent) non-league roots, AFC Wimbledon. So yes, we can still all dream... and do!


Today's photo credits go to Tony Osborne & others.

Culture Vulture References:

* ACT I, SCENE I, Line 1: “London. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER, solus” – from “The Life and Death of Richard the Third”, by William Shakespeare

**Helmuth Karl Bernhard Graf von Moltke (26 October 1800 – 24 April 1891) known as Helmuth von Moltke the Elder: as quoted in "Donnybrook : The Battle of Bull Run, 1861" (2005) by David Detzer, pg. 233.

*** With apologies to Wally Badarou, Mark King, Rowland Charles Gould and Level 42 … the catchy bass-driven chorus of their 1986 hit is coursing through my veins as I type and reflect upon the match action.