Just past the 3 minute mark Carlton Cole capitalised on the uncertainty of a new centre back pairing for Birmingham, and swept the ball across the keeper and into the corner of the net. I celebrated with one of my most muted 'West Ham have scored' moments ever. I was glad and all, and happy for Carlton to score not just a conventional, but also an attractive looking goal.
Why the apathy then?
This is probably the least I've been able to see the Hammers (mid 80s TV blackout aside) since I was at college and as a student household we couldn't scrape together enough money for Sky Sports. Not to mention that back in the early 90s, Sky Sports wasn't the all consuming monster it is now, and we were hardly showered with a choice of games to watch. Anyway, I've digressed. Why the apathy? Simply that this West Ham side looks alien to me. I've watched us, for a whole 90 minutes, on just 4 occasions this season. There's nothing particularly familiar about them to me, and the same can be said for the way we play now. It just all looks a bit wrong, and unfamiliar. That the goal came from a ball launched forward by Green, a flick on, and then via Cole's foot could be used as ammunition against Big Sam's perceived predilection for route 1 football. Having seen us a scant number of times, I couldn't comment, and the game against Derby showed that we do have more in our tactics locker.
The only thing that looked familiar, beyond the faces from seasons past, was Danny Potts who looks very much like his dad. Not that we offered anything down the left hand side, and on the occasion that we did, neither the attacking Faubert or the referee spotted the glaring handball that took Julien's header off-target. Faubert was himself busy down the right flank, at least for the opening 30 odd minutes.To say we controlled or owned the opening 2/3 of the game would be rather generous, as Birmingham didn't really offer anything in opposition. Then, only as West Ham can, we handed the initiative over to the home side by virtue of a wearying number of balls lofted forward from the back. That they very rarely found a claret and blue shirt, head, foot or even arse meant that Birmingham suddenly found themselves with a lot of possession. Chris Hughton bellowed from the sidelines ably, and Birmingham turned that possession into attacking threats. Having said that, Green was only seriously tested from a free kick, that he pushed relatively comfortably around the post.
Had we had more brains, we wouldn't have handed the initiative back. But clearly no-one thought to step forward from the bench to say "hold on to the ruddy ball" or "keep it on the floor". Perhaps Big Sam had no inclination to encourage us to keep it on the floor, I just know that the last 15 minutes of the first half had my eyes rolling like I was enduring an epileptic fit. It was poor, and the aimless lumps up field should have been snuffed out from the sidelines via some instructions.
Diop, Tomkins, Faubert and Cole stood out in the opening 45, perhaps purely because the rest of the action was so rooted in mediocrity.
The 2nd half got underway with no clear indication that Sam had addressed any of the problems that had emerged over the duration of the 1st. Birmingham looked the more threatening, and their pressure was only momentarily punctuated as Piquionne attempted to latch onto another booming punt up the park from Green. A good tackle, or Piquionne's standard leaden footed running meant that attack came to nothing, and shortly afterwards the frighteningly unthreatening Piquionne was removed as Sam decided to shore up the midfield with Lansbury. By this time Birmingham had introduced Zigic, who so haunted us last season. It was Lansbury's introduction that was most potent as he produced a rasping shot around the 65 minute mark that Myhill failed to hold on to. Faubert could have followed up, if not for the fact that he was offside, and looking in completely the wrong direction, contemplating his dinner perhaps.
Other entertainment was provided by the comically rotund Beausejour skinning the desperately slow O'Brien down the right hand side. If one moment illustrated how much we need a right back who isn't O'Brien, then that was it.
Another penalty shout was overlooked as another Birmingham hand connected with the ball inside the box, but again the long balls rained forward and Birmingham continued to be the most likely to score, and most likely to score via the busy Chris Burke. Moments after the introduction of Carew as the game entered the last 20 minutes, a goal mouth fiasco had Tomkins slicing the ball into the stratosphere, over a scrambling Green's head, and heading back towards the net. Zigic obligingly handled it. The telling Birmingham pressure, combined with our inability to do anything remotely creative or productive inevitably lead to an equaliser on 80 minutes, with a Murphy header from a corner. Who'd have thought that the 'hit it aimless and long, while wasting time whenever possible' tactics would bite us on the arse?
Sam decided we might need a 2nd goal after the equaliser, which was a shame as many would have no doubt felt a 2nd would have been handy at any point in the preceding 80 minutes. Lightning quick, he introduced Sears for Faubert, and then juggled the midfield around to make it look like he'd been paying attention to the game. To add insult to injury, Big Sam's obsession with time wasting ensured that 5 extra minutes were tagged on to ensure Birmingham had a chance to grab all 3 points.
Had I not sat and watched this dispiriting, lacklustre, rudderless performance, I'd no doubt be arguing that a point away, where Birmingham have been so strong, would be a good result. Sadly only our increasingly lethargic and clueless performance made Birmingham look good. A dull game, devoid of any real excitement, and with only Birmingham providing moments of creativity. It ended 1-1 and I couldn't help thinking a snooze would have benefitted me more.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Football is Dead: Long Live Football! Brighton Away.
The Brighton game was not one for the football purist. Hell, it wasn't even one for somebody who'll watch any football, just for the sake of watching football. The Hammer's performance has been labelled 'battling' by those most desperate to attach some kind of positivity to a display that was in large portions dire, apart from in the moments when it dipped to execrable.
Am I glad we got the 3 points? Hell yes, of course I am. Am I happy to watch that kind of game in the pursuit of a return to the Premiership? Ummm, not sure. Suggesting that we 'battled' for those 3 points infers that Brighton threw everything at us, wave after wave of attacking, and that only our brave boys throwing their lives on the line in treacherous conditions preserved our goal lead. Brighton didn't throw everything at us. They threw very little at us, and when they did attack we were lucky on both occasions for sharp reactions from Almunia. Aside from those moments, our defence coped comfortably enough with Brighton's occasional forays into our area.
Presumably the 'battling' tag also echoed the weather in which the game was played. Some rain. I don't recall precipitation instantly precluding a game from being entertaining, or even just plain competent. When Brighton did come forward it was mostly by way of one of a myriad of misplaced passes from a spluttering, labouring midfield. I don't recall seeing so many passes going astray, and so little possession from a line-up that packed out the midfield with 5 very able players. Yes, we're missing players, but that is still a team that 'should' shine in the Championship. Last night I'm not even sure someone flicked the 'on switch' let alone allowing us to shine. We looked barely able to produce the basics with any level of competency, and not at any point did we display any class or style.
Nolan took his goal well, and while what originally looked like a piledriver actually ended up being a firmly hit shot that Harper misjudged, it still ended up looking like it belonged to a different game, a better game, a game in which we weren't totally without a plan. There's winning 'ugly' and then there's 'contriving to win despite yourselves'. Make no mistake, last night WAS ugly although devoid of the long ball mentality that we've shown earlier in this campaign. We kept the ball on the floor. It didn't actually make any difference, as the result tended to be the same as an aimless punt up field, with the ball ending up at the feet of an opposition player.
Whether by accident, or design while we wait for Matty Taylor to be fit again, we played without any width whatsoever. Frustrating, bearing in mind it was a 5 man midfield. What we got instead was congestion, and endless attempts to thread the ball through the middle to an out of sorts looking Carew. Eventually we stopped bothering to thread the ball anywhere, and shrunk deeper and deeper back into our own half, only alleviated when Sears showed some desire to get forward when introduced later in the second half.
Highlights? Diop looked solid and broke up an awful lot of play before succumbing to a dead leg. Reid and McCartney did a lot of important work at the back. Noble put himself about, to little reward it has to be said, but soldiered on after discovering a new angle at which to display his thumb. Ouch. Almunia was largely untroubled, but stayed alert to produce two able, and important saves. Sears showed enthusiasm and much needed pace, and of course Nolan provided the goal in the 18th minute. Other than that, it was a painful 90 minutes of football to endure. Yes it resulted in 3 points, but such a lack of visible composure and competency is worrying, given that this team is bursting with talent and has a manager who at the very least gets his teams well drilled in doing the basics well.
We looked no better than the last time I saw us play for a full 90 minutes. I was expecting gritty, but not scrappy. I wanted 3 points, but not really like that. We offered nothing. Not a thing. Following the goal, which came after some decent signs that we might overwhelm Brighton with our attacking intent, we never looked like threatening them again. I'll take the clean sheet. I'll take the away win, but I reserve the right to moan about a performance that was largely shambolic and without any semblance of tactics, simply because it doesn't bode well for the future. I have a nasty worry that we'll forget how to play attractive stuff, or even just okay stuff.
Am I glad we got the 3 points? Hell yes, of course I am. Am I happy to watch that kind of game in the pursuit of a return to the Premiership? Ummm, not sure. Suggesting that we 'battled' for those 3 points infers that Brighton threw everything at us, wave after wave of attacking, and that only our brave boys throwing their lives on the line in treacherous conditions preserved our goal lead. Brighton didn't throw everything at us. They threw very little at us, and when they did attack we were lucky on both occasions for sharp reactions from Almunia. Aside from those moments, our defence coped comfortably enough with Brighton's occasional forays into our area.
Presumably the 'battling' tag also echoed the weather in which the game was played. Some rain. I don't recall precipitation instantly precluding a game from being entertaining, or even just plain competent. When Brighton did come forward it was mostly by way of one of a myriad of misplaced passes from a spluttering, labouring midfield. I don't recall seeing so many passes going astray, and so little possession from a line-up that packed out the midfield with 5 very able players. Yes, we're missing players, but that is still a team that 'should' shine in the Championship. Last night I'm not even sure someone flicked the 'on switch' let alone allowing us to shine. We looked barely able to produce the basics with any level of competency, and not at any point did we display any class or style.
Nolan took his goal well, and while what originally looked like a piledriver actually ended up being a firmly hit shot that Harper misjudged, it still ended up looking like it belonged to a different game, a better game, a game in which we weren't totally without a plan. There's winning 'ugly' and then there's 'contriving to win despite yourselves'. Make no mistake, last night WAS ugly although devoid of the long ball mentality that we've shown earlier in this campaign. We kept the ball on the floor. It didn't actually make any difference, as the result tended to be the same as an aimless punt up field, with the ball ending up at the feet of an opposition player.
Whether by accident, or design while we wait for Matty Taylor to be fit again, we played without any width whatsoever. Frustrating, bearing in mind it was a 5 man midfield. What we got instead was congestion, and endless attempts to thread the ball through the middle to an out of sorts looking Carew. Eventually we stopped bothering to thread the ball anywhere, and shrunk deeper and deeper back into our own half, only alleviated when Sears showed some desire to get forward when introduced later in the second half.
Highlights? Diop looked solid and broke up an awful lot of play before succumbing to a dead leg. Reid and McCartney did a lot of important work at the back. Noble put himself about, to little reward it has to be said, but soldiered on after discovering a new angle at which to display his thumb. Ouch. Almunia was largely untroubled, but stayed alert to produce two able, and important saves. Sears showed enthusiasm and much needed pace, and of course Nolan provided the goal in the 18th minute. Other than that, it was a painful 90 minutes of football to endure. Yes it resulted in 3 points, but such a lack of visible composure and competency is worrying, given that this team is bursting with talent and has a manager who at the very least gets his teams well drilled in doing the basics well.
We looked no better than the last time I saw us play for a full 90 minutes. I was expecting gritty, but not scrappy. I wanted 3 points, but not really like that. We offered nothing. Not a thing. Following the goal, which came after some decent signs that we might overwhelm Brighton with our attacking intent, we never looked like threatening them again. I'll take the clean sheet. I'll take the away win, but I reserve the right to moan about a performance that was largely shambolic and without any semblance of tactics, simply because it doesn't bode well for the future. I have a nasty worry that we'll forget how to play attractive stuff, or even just okay stuff.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Disappointed, For Sure. Score Draw.
The sole commentator on my Fox Soccer Plus presentation of the West Ham / Leeds game couldn't stop remarking on what an exciting game it was. Not terribly sure I concur with that. I thought it was a pretty poor spectacle. Scrappy, bitty, uneven, stop and go, and save for 10 minutes at the start and a 5 to 10 minute period after Carew's introduction, we were barely in the game, and certainly never looked like deserving all 3 points. All things considered, I'm very grateful we escaped with 1 point. The lively Gradel could have converted that penalty, and while we could have been awarded two ourselves, we produced so little attacking threat that 3 points would have been embarrassing.
The game wasn't entirely devoid of positive things. Despite the attempts of the press to suggest Parker isn't happy, he looked every bit as committed a player as the one who has sweated blood for us in every season he's belonged to the club. Credit to Leeds though, and their non-stop pressing, that our midfield as a whole never really got going, finding time and space to be a rare commodity.
Cole looked more 'up for it' than he has for a while, and got into better positions than we've seen of late. Carew came on though to show that his control, touch and hold up play is in a different league to Coles, and when match fit, I find it very hard to believe that Carlton will command a starting berth if we persist with Sam's 4-5-1, masquerading as a 4-3-3. Carew looked pleasingly lively, and will be a handful for opposition defences.
Perhaps the most pleasing aspect of the largely turgid performance was how threatening we look from the dead ball. We've already seen how dangerous Taylor is from free kicks, but today and for the first time in what feels like a decade, we looked like we could score from every corner. Tomkins seemed to be in the thick of it from every corner, and had a basketful of efforts on target.
Cons? Well, for 35 minutes of the first half we looked like we had no answer to Leeds' frantic closing down, and their rather direct brand of football. While it rarely produced a shot on goal, it was worrying that we weren't able to adapt or change systems to nullify their threat. The same went for the second half until we had a brief period of possession and energy around the 70 minute mark, with Faubert's dangerous low ball prompting the error that put us rather generously back in front. Nolan drifted in and out the game, and for large periods I wasn't even aware he was playing. Cole looked increasingly isolated as the game wore on too. I fear for Ilunga's place, as there's only so many times your left back can loft the ball aimlessly up the park, only to see it come straight back. His distribution was frustratingly 1 dimensional and I hope that McCartney can a) get fit soon, and then more importantly b) rediscover his form from a good few seasons back.
The equaliser had an inevitability about it, and Leeds deserved it over the course of those 95 minutes. Yes, we had those penalty shouts, but with a hand on the heart we just weren't at the races today and should feel lucky we escaped with a draw. There were some good, or perhaps 'gritty' performers on the park for us today, but overall the performance was flat, and unable to contend, in either half, with the way Leeds set themselves up. Too often we were harrassed and hurried into losing the ball, and never really found a solution. So, disappointed in the performance, but relieved at the draw.
The game wasn't entirely devoid of positive things. Despite the attempts of the press to suggest Parker isn't happy, he looked every bit as committed a player as the one who has sweated blood for us in every season he's belonged to the club. Credit to Leeds though, and their non-stop pressing, that our midfield as a whole never really got going, finding time and space to be a rare commodity.
Cole looked more 'up for it' than he has for a while, and got into better positions than we've seen of late. Carew came on though to show that his control, touch and hold up play is in a different league to Coles, and when match fit, I find it very hard to believe that Carlton will command a starting berth if we persist with Sam's 4-5-1, masquerading as a 4-3-3. Carew looked pleasingly lively, and will be a handful for opposition defences.
Perhaps the most pleasing aspect of the largely turgid performance was how threatening we look from the dead ball. We've already seen how dangerous Taylor is from free kicks, but today and for the first time in what feels like a decade, we looked like we could score from every corner. Tomkins seemed to be in the thick of it from every corner, and had a basketful of efforts on target.
Cons? Well, for 35 minutes of the first half we looked like we had no answer to Leeds' frantic closing down, and their rather direct brand of football. While it rarely produced a shot on goal, it was worrying that we weren't able to adapt or change systems to nullify their threat. The same went for the second half until we had a brief period of possession and energy around the 70 minute mark, with Faubert's dangerous low ball prompting the error that put us rather generously back in front. Nolan drifted in and out the game, and for large periods I wasn't even aware he was playing. Cole looked increasingly isolated as the game wore on too. I fear for Ilunga's place, as there's only so many times your left back can loft the ball aimlessly up the park, only to see it come straight back. His distribution was frustratingly 1 dimensional and I hope that McCartney can a) get fit soon, and then more importantly b) rediscover his form from a good few seasons back.
The equaliser had an inevitability about it, and Leeds deserved it over the course of those 95 minutes. Yes, we had those penalty shouts, but with a hand on the heart we just weren't at the races today and should feel lucky we escaped with a draw. There were some good, or perhaps 'gritty' performers on the park for us today, but overall the performance was flat, and unable to contend, in either half, with the way Leeds set themselves up. Too often we were harrassed and hurried into losing the ball, and never really found a solution. So, disappointed in the performance, but relieved at the draw.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Stoke. Shag, Marry, Smother with a Pillow?
Sometimes, I'm a little concerned that my absolute loathing of Stoke is founded on a cliche based on a cliche with a little FA Cup Quarter Final exit resentment mixed in. I watched them play Chelsea, on the opening weekend, and can confirm that no, my absolute loathing of Stoke is fully justified.
Some part of the Stoke story should appeal to me. Once great club, back in the top flight after decades away. Mixing it with the big boys but on a budget. Triumph of grit and determination over style. Those things should appeal to the underdog lover in me. But, then I go and spoil it all by doing something stupid like watching them...again.
'Anti-football' is now an oft used phrase, applied pretty much exclusively to Stoke, unless you're Arsene Wenger and then it's deployed in scatter gun fashion. Andre Villas-Boas wasn't slow in coming forward with his view of the Stoke tactics after his first chance to see them in action. I say 'tactics' but I'm not sure it really deserves to be plural. It could all be summed up in 'don't concede and we'll get a set-piece sooner or later. When we do, hurl the ball into the box, elbow anyone who gets near it, and if the keeper catches it, kick him into the back of the net'. Obviously that's the 'Pulis way' broken down into it's most basic form, but there's very little dressing and garnish to be applied to that tactic.
There were exceedingly brief passages of play where Stoke moved the ball around with a pleasing fluidity. They were overly reliant on Etherington to take it down the wing and get a cross in, and the same with Pennant, except, anyone with any sense knows that's asking a lot of Pennant. When Etherington withdrew with an injury, any hopes for anything remotely resembling football vanished. It had been pretty scarce beforehand, but then, almost inconceivably, Stoke became even more unpleasant to watch.
Left with no outlet on the wing, other than the ponderous Pennant on the right, Stoke continued to try and muscle the ball through the middle. Remember 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks'? The football game? That. That's Stoke that is. Except, they mixed up forcing the ball down the middle with a succession of long aimless punts up field, whether in possession of defending. The only time any creativity was on display was when they were showcasing their new levels of thuggery in the box at corners, throw-ins and free kicks. I wouldn't bat an eyelid at ear biting or eye gouging as a prelude to a Rory Delap throw arriving in a crammed penalty area. Pushing, shoving and pulling is hardly an alien concept in the modern game where set-pieces are concerned, but Stoke do need credit for taking it to new more tiresome heights.
They offer nothing beyond physicality. Not one thing. It's a survival instinct for sure, and one that has seen them safely mid table for 4 seasons now, but you'd kind of like a club to evolve wouldn't you? I can't imagine being a supporter, watching that week in and week out, which is a strange statement considering Stoke play Premiership football while West Ham sit a division down. Chances are we'll be playing a less expansive, attractive brand of football in a bid to guarantee clean sheets and a return to the top flight, but the day it becomes a physical, muscular, war of attrition is the day I stop watching. It's not cricket. It's not football either.
Some part of the Stoke story should appeal to me. Once great club, back in the top flight after decades away. Mixing it with the big boys but on a budget. Triumph of grit and determination over style. Those things should appeal to the underdog lover in me. But, then I go and spoil it all by doing something stupid like watching them...again.
'Anti-football' is now an oft used phrase, applied pretty much exclusively to Stoke, unless you're Arsene Wenger and then it's deployed in scatter gun fashion. Andre Villas-Boas wasn't slow in coming forward with his view of the Stoke tactics after his first chance to see them in action. I say 'tactics' but I'm not sure it really deserves to be plural. It could all be summed up in 'don't concede and we'll get a set-piece sooner or later. When we do, hurl the ball into the box, elbow anyone who gets near it, and if the keeper catches it, kick him into the back of the net'. Obviously that's the 'Pulis way' broken down into it's most basic form, but there's very little dressing and garnish to be applied to that tactic.
There were exceedingly brief passages of play where Stoke moved the ball around with a pleasing fluidity. They were overly reliant on Etherington to take it down the wing and get a cross in, and the same with Pennant, except, anyone with any sense knows that's asking a lot of Pennant. When Etherington withdrew with an injury, any hopes for anything remotely resembling football vanished. It had been pretty scarce beforehand, but then, almost inconceivably, Stoke became even more unpleasant to watch.
Left with no outlet on the wing, other than the ponderous Pennant on the right, Stoke continued to try and muscle the ball through the middle. Remember 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks'? The football game? That. That's Stoke that is. Except, they mixed up forcing the ball down the middle with a succession of long aimless punts up field, whether in possession of defending. The only time any creativity was on display was when they were showcasing their new levels of thuggery in the box at corners, throw-ins and free kicks. I wouldn't bat an eyelid at ear biting or eye gouging as a prelude to a Rory Delap throw arriving in a crammed penalty area. Pushing, shoving and pulling is hardly an alien concept in the modern game where set-pieces are concerned, but Stoke do need credit for taking it to new more tiresome heights.
They offer nothing beyond physicality. Not one thing. It's a survival instinct for sure, and one that has seen them safely mid table for 4 seasons now, but you'd kind of like a club to evolve wouldn't you? I can't imagine being a supporter, watching that week in and week out, which is a strange statement considering Stoke play Premiership football while West Ham sit a division down. Chances are we'll be playing a less expansive, attractive brand of football in a bid to guarantee clean sheets and a return to the top flight, but the day it becomes a physical, muscular, war of attrition is the day I stop watching. It's not cricket. It's not football either.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Race Memory & Title Hopes
Earlier, over on that them there Twitter, somebody asked me for my prediction on West Ham's final league position, and without even a pause I already had us missing out on automatic promotion and coming back up via the play-offs. Looking at the Championship a bit more carefully, it's only decades of constant disappointment that formed that opinion. While I freely admit I was horrified by the prospect of Sam as our manager back in January, as a Championship appointment, I think he's pretty much the best we could have got.
Close season signings, albeit rather Bolton flavoured, have caused me to have even more optimism for the upcoming campaign. I'd have bitten anyone's hand off to land Nolan, and that we got him as a club in the second tier is cause to congratulate Sam and, begrudgingly, the Board. Matty Taylor, Abdoulaye Faye, Joey O'Brien are all good acquisitions and somehow we find ourselves entering the opening weekend with Green between the sticks, and with Parker, Cole, Piquionne, and two...ermmm....'international' full back's names available for the team sheet. Barrera, Collison, Noble and Tomkins all remain in place too. The Championship and hours upon hours of Pro-zone could be the making of Barrera.
None of the above paragraph spells fourth place and the play-offs. Yes, the transfer window remains open for another knuckle-whitening three weeks, and then there's January to fret about, but really, we should go screaming back up shouldn't we? It's only those decades upon decades of heartbreaking failure, dismal failure and abject failure making me think otherwise surely?
The Championship has proven itself to be notoriously unpredictable over the last handful of seasons, with the mighty falling, and the minnows prospering. Whether we instantly adapt to the league or not is a complete unknown. We famously like to struggle against lower opposition, and now we're surrounded by lower opposition, all eyeing us as a scalp. I've heard that we'll be everybody's FA Cup. They'll undoubtedly give 110% against us too. But really, take a look at the table, and pick two teams that could potentially pip us for automatic promotion. Leicester is your first one right?
C'mon then. Who's next?
As I write this, Blackpool have snatched a late winner at Hull. I'd consider Blackpool as a shoe-in for the play-offs. Then there's Forest. Under McCLaren. Or is there? Who knows. Boro with Mowbray. Cardiff, shorn of strikers, managed by the only man on planet Earth slower than Matthew Upson. Leeds? Ipswich? Dare I suggest Millwall? Could Southampton be a surprise package? I just keep on tossing names into the ring because I'm damned if I know who is capable of what in this division. Teams will dominate and then choke, others will languish for months on end at the bottom before late, all-conquering climbs into the play-offs. All I'm sure of when I look at the table is that, aside from Leicester, there is no-one that looks like you'd stick your house on them coming up. Other than us. And for reasons I'm still not sure of, I'm convinced we'll be fourth. It's got to be instinct. Race memory. An unshakeable feeling that we'll always bugger it up somehow.
Close season signings, albeit rather Bolton flavoured, have caused me to have even more optimism for the upcoming campaign. I'd have bitten anyone's hand off to land Nolan, and that we got him as a club in the second tier is cause to congratulate Sam and, begrudgingly, the Board. Matty Taylor, Abdoulaye Faye, Joey O'Brien are all good acquisitions and somehow we find ourselves entering the opening weekend with Green between the sticks, and with Parker, Cole, Piquionne, and two...ermmm....'international' full back's names available for the team sheet. Barrera, Collison, Noble and Tomkins all remain in place too. The Championship and hours upon hours of Pro-zone could be the making of Barrera.
None of the above paragraph spells fourth place and the play-offs. Yes, the transfer window remains open for another knuckle-whitening three weeks, and then there's January to fret about, but really, we should go screaming back up shouldn't we? It's only those decades upon decades of heartbreaking failure, dismal failure and abject failure making me think otherwise surely?
The Championship has proven itself to be notoriously unpredictable over the last handful of seasons, with the mighty falling, and the minnows prospering. Whether we instantly adapt to the league or not is a complete unknown. We famously like to struggle against lower opposition, and now we're surrounded by lower opposition, all eyeing us as a scalp. I've heard that we'll be everybody's FA Cup. They'll undoubtedly give 110% against us too. But really, take a look at the table, and pick two teams that could potentially pip us for automatic promotion. Leicester is your first one right?
C'mon then. Who's next?
As I write this, Blackpool have snatched a late winner at Hull. I'd consider Blackpool as a shoe-in for the play-offs. Then there's Forest. Under McCLaren. Or is there? Who knows. Boro with Mowbray. Cardiff, shorn of strikers, managed by the only man on planet Earth slower than Matthew Upson. Leeds? Ipswich? Dare I suggest Millwall? Could Southampton be a surprise package? I just keep on tossing names into the ring because I'm damned if I know who is capable of what in this division. Teams will dominate and then choke, others will languish for months on end at the bottom before late, all-conquering climbs into the play-offs. All I'm sure of when I look at the table is that, aside from Leicester, there is no-one that looks like you'd stick your house on them coming up. Other than us. And for reasons I'm still not sure of, I'm convinced we'll be fourth. It's got to be instinct. Race memory. An unshakeable feeling that we'll always bugger it up somehow.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The Hows and Whys and Whens
The perennial football question, other than "how old is Herita Ilunga?" is generally: "how did you end up supporting (insert club here)?". There are traditionally three answers, with the first being "everyone else in the family supported them". The second is that you "lived at 442 (insert club here)" and they were "right on the doorstep". The third is "I didn't know any better" which applies to Manchester United supporters, and me.
I was born slap bang in the middle of 4 clubs. To the west there was Oxford United, while east lay Watford. South there was Wycombe Wanderers, and north east was Luton Town. The Boleyn Ground was a whole 41 miles away. West Ham was neither in my blood, or on the doorstep. Then again, growing up, football wasn't really in my blood either. My Dad wasn't around as I grew up, and had he been I'd likely have been following the claret and blue of Burnley these days. My grandfather should have been the one to inspire a love of football in me. He'd been on the books of Cardiff, Coventry and Plymouth Argyle (although research has suggested the last one was a bloody great fib) but was a rather intimidating and remote chap, and I never did pluck up the courage to ask him anything, about anything, ever. My uncle was the one who took it upon himself to sort me out. I think he took it as a matter of great concern that I'd managed to get to the age of 8 without the slightest indication that I liked any sport.
He was wrong. I liked rugby. Football was a bunch of men with curly hair, falling over a lot and then kissing each other when they bundled a ball into a net. I just thought association football was a bit girly, which is now somewhat rich coming from a man whose sole mission in life is the acquisition of shoes. I couldn't tell my uncle that I thought football was girly and just a bunch of curly haired men faffing around, as he had a tight curly perm and played football, and probably faffed around too.
One day he came to see me, clutching a tonne of posters. Nothing unusual in that, helicopters were my thing at age 8. He'd bring helicopter posters up from his work, and I'd stick them to my walls, in the same way I would with cars a couple of years later, and with Sarah Cracknell and Shirley Manson a lot of years later. Hidden among this particular batch though, were some football posters, and he "couldn't imagine how they'd got there", must have "picked them up by mistake" and I could "just throw them away if I wanted". That's how it began. As simply as that. Among the helicopter posters were folded, dog-eared posters of David Cross, Frank Lampard and Billy Bonds. I looked at them, awe inspired, and thought "these guys look as hard as nails, I bet they don't fall over much". Or something to that effect. Bearded, long haired, plastered in mud, snarling, socks around the ankles, these three chaps looked like they might belong to a sport I could like.
It was pure luck that the posters were of Hammers. My uncle was a Manchester United fan, and he'd clearly just picked these up from work without a second thought, but that's where my West Ham days started. I was the only one at school who supported them, in fact the only person anywhere it seemed like at age 8. Everybody thought I was mad, and that I should be thinking about Liverpool. Liverpool didn't have Cross, Lampard and Bonds. The more I learnt, the better it got, and soon Devonshire's name was a reason why I'd never consider supporting anyone else either. Then Brooking. Then Parkes. The list grew longer, and before I knew it, I even had foggy notions about where they played on the pitch. My granddad sealed the deal in one of the rare moments that he wasn't barking at somebody in a rage, when he told me "You'll be alright with yer actual West Ham. They play the game the right way."
So, that's how you end up an Iron, born the wrong side of London by a good distance, not even interested in football, and even then surrounded by perfectly good alternatives for clubs to support. There were times under Grant that I wondered whether perhaps Wycombe would've been the better choice, but I only ever wondered.
I was born slap bang in the middle of 4 clubs. To the west there was Oxford United, while east lay Watford. South there was Wycombe Wanderers, and north east was Luton Town. The Boleyn Ground was a whole 41 miles away. West Ham was neither in my blood, or on the doorstep. Then again, growing up, football wasn't really in my blood either. My Dad wasn't around as I grew up, and had he been I'd likely have been following the claret and blue of Burnley these days. My grandfather should have been the one to inspire a love of football in me. He'd been on the books of Cardiff, Coventry and Plymouth Argyle (although research has suggested the last one was a bloody great fib) but was a rather intimidating and remote chap, and I never did pluck up the courage to ask him anything, about anything, ever. My uncle was the one who took it upon himself to sort me out. I think he took it as a matter of great concern that I'd managed to get to the age of 8 without the slightest indication that I liked any sport.
He was wrong. I liked rugby. Football was a bunch of men with curly hair, falling over a lot and then kissing each other when they bundled a ball into a net. I just thought association football was a bit girly, which is now somewhat rich coming from a man whose sole mission in life is the acquisition of shoes. I couldn't tell my uncle that I thought football was girly and just a bunch of curly haired men faffing around, as he had a tight curly perm and played football, and probably faffed around too.
One day he came to see me, clutching a tonne of posters. Nothing unusual in that, helicopters were my thing at age 8. He'd bring helicopter posters up from his work, and I'd stick them to my walls, in the same way I would with cars a couple of years later, and with Sarah Cracknell and Shirley Manson a lot of years later. Hidden among this particular batch though, were some football posters, and he "couldn't imagine how they'd got there", must have "picked them up by mistake" and I could "just throw them away if I wanted". That's how it began. As simply as that. Among the helicopter posters were folded, dog-eared posters of David Cross, Frank Lampard and Billy Bonds. I looked at them, awe inspired, and thought "these guys look as hard as nails, I bet they don't fall over much". Or something to that effect. Bearded, long haired, plastered in mud, snarling, socks around the ankles, these three chaps looked like they might belong to a sport I could like.
It was pure luck that the posters were of Hammers. My uncle was a Manchester United fan, and he'd clearly just picked these up from work without a second thought, but that's where my West Ham days started. I was the only one at school who supported them, in fact the only person anywhere it seemed like at age 8. Everybody thought I was mad, and that I should be thinking about Liverpool. Liverpool didn't have Cross, Lampard and Bonds. The more I learnt, the better it got, and soon Devonshire's name was a reason why I'd never consider supporting anyone else either. Then Brooking. Then Parkes. The list grew longer, and before I knew it, I even had foggy notions about where they played on the pitch. My granddad sealed the deal in one of the rare moments that he wasn't barking at somebody in a rage, when he told me "You'll be alright with yer actual West Ham. They play the game the right way."
So, that's how you end up an Iron, born the wrong side of London by a good distance, not even interested in football, and even then surrounded by perfectly good alternatives for clubs to support. There were times under Grant that I wondered whether perhaps Wycombe would've been the better choice, but I only ever wondered.
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