Filed under In the news

Torres and Carroll

Torres: Boom or bust for ChelseaJust realised I’ve neglected to post an opinion on the big transfer deadline news this week. To have a blog is to offer an opinion and I have one on this subject. It would therefore be neglectful of me not to post it.

It’ll be brief though. Partly because few people give a toss what I think but also because I’m trying to watch Fulham vs Newcastle.

Torres: A pretty high price for a player who has looked decidedly out of sorts in the last 12 months. It’s possible he’s sulked his way out of Anfield and is waiting to unleash his usually barnstorming form at Stamford Bridge, therefore this Abramovich-inspired transfer is the one to watch of the two. Oh, and I’d imagine those in blue shirts won’t see Drogba for dust in the summer.

Carroll: £35m? His worth to Newcastle fans, yes, possibly, but in reality? No. Another stark example of just how far football’s head is up its own arse and how much the game has lost touch with reality. On this basis, I’ve got to be worth a couple of grand. And I’m a little disappointed Kenny didn’t come knocking after this display of manic panic buying.

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Any excuse would have done, Sky

Eventually, it took a bit of male chauvinist banter. An off-guard comment. Pub talk between two members of a generation which isn’t quite as forgotten as people clearly believe it is.

Whatever. Andy Gray will no longer be presenting football on Sky Sports and that can only be a good thing.

Yes, it was a daft thing to say. Unfair, too, in what is a society desperately trying to make equality a thing of reality. Although, as a friend on Facebook rightly pointed out, such a society is a bit of a con when you’ve got male-bashing/ridiculing garbage such as Loose Women and Take Me Out on the box.

So, I won’t be praising the sensationalist headlines we’ll see tomorrow, nor will I comment any further on the reason Sky Sports’ face of football will forever be absent from future Super Sundays. No, I’ll simply be glad to see the back of him.

Regularly occupying more audio space than the commentator, he sensationalised every minor display of skill and invented new words for free kicks sent successfully goalwards. It was needless and dull beyond belief. I would often pray for just a few seconds of silence. Enough to hear the THUCK of boot meeting turf and ball. Maybe a crowd chant or two. But no, this guy could silence the Kop.

And, if we hadn’t already had enough of him during the game, he continued to bore and patronised us all to death with his increasingly complex touch screens and match analysis technofoolery (who’ll get to use that now? Is there even an instruction manual?).

His style had changed little since the early 90s but his massive air of self importance had grown every season. He WAS Sky Sports. I’m sure he thought he WAS football, too.

In reality, he was dead wood. The type of old furniture you find intrinsically woven into the upper echelons of any organisation.

Bye, Andy. Don’t bother taking a bow.

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Just what do you spend an HMV voucher on?

 

HMV

HMV: Top Dog no longer.

I woke this morning to the news that HMV is closing 60 stores throughout the UK after a significant slump in sales (more).

 

I should have foreseen this, as it was only a week ago I trudged into my local HMV, clutching the £10 voucher someone bought me for my birthday. Which was last October.

This was my second visit to the music/game/you-name-it-we-got-it store and I was met with the exact same problem. What do you buy at HMV these days?

Music? No, iTunes exists.

A book? No, Amazon and iBooks exist.

A DVD? No, Play.com exists.

A computer game? No, Game Station exists.

A JLS calendar? No. Just, no.

Suffice to say, I walked out empty handed, again. There is a very real chance the voucher will spend the rest of its sorry life nestled in my wallet behind the dog-eared National Insurance card.

As someone I follow on Twitter eloquently put it this morning: “…what I most miss about buying cds and records is the artwork, reading the credits, etc. Music is so fucking disposable now…”.

And it is. What a shame.

…anyone want to buy a £10 HMV voucher?

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Trevor Horn – An easily overlooked yet deserved CBE recipient

Trevor Horn

Trevor Horn - Ignited my passion for making music

While browsing the New Year Honours list, one name in particular stood out – record producer Tervor Horn. He has been awarded a CBE for his services to music.

About time, and rightly so.

The list of records he’s worked on is staggering (viewable here) and always springs a few surprises. For example, I had no idea he worked on Jeff Beck’s recent Emotion and Commotion album, although now I know, it’s obvious his unique polish is present on that record.

And therein lies the problem. He whistles by most of our ears unnoticed, with only a few gear headed geeks like me aware of his omnipresence in and continuing influence on popular music. I’m sure a lot of people will only have a vague recollection of his name and its tie with The Buggles’ famous MTV opener Video Killed The Radio Star. That’s a great shame.

Anyone who knows how hard it is to write, record and produce catchy, memorable music will know just how enviable Horn’s talent is.

More importantly, this guy ignited a passion in me for making music, which still captivates me to this very day. As a young boy, on first hearing Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s Relax, I was instantly addicted to its thumping kick drum/slap bass rhythm and explosive synth sounds (alas, I was far too young to understand quite what both the lyrics and aforementioned sounds were referencing).

Innuendos and bans on radio play aside, Relax inspired me to sit at my Dad’s Atari ST for hours on end, surrounding myself with midi cables, GM sounds, Steinberg’s Cubase and straining sound modules to within an inch of their lives, endlessly trying to reproduce that sound, which I would hear again on countless Horn-produced tracks including most notably Yes’ Owner of a Lonely Heart. Sampled drum breaks and double-tracked acoustic guitars? On the same record? Mega, as I’d probably have said back then.

I’m yet to find that sound, but I continue to make music. Trevor Horn is up there with my dad in terms of inspiration; two men I’m immensely jealous of in terms of how they fill their working day.

I won’t delve into his other work, as there’s a great BBC article which recalls it perfectly, but I will conclude by saying that in this world of overhyped fly-by-night talent, those pioneers who have shaped the sound we hear emanating from every radio and music tv station are so easily overlooked. Rather than mourn yet another year without notable mention of Mr Forsyth, I suggest we celebrate the inclusion of one of the best producers of all time. A man worthy of mention alongside the great Quincy Jones.

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Fancy a Game of 5-a-Side, Wayne?

Wayne Rooney

Image via Wikipedia

More than most of us would earn in a year… Some, in a lifetime… Obscene… Unfathomable… Other worldly… Ridiculous… The figures bandied about last week justified the resulting headlines, aggravated coffee-table discussions and lengthened trips to the water cooler. Depending on which newspaper pops through your letterbox, Rooney’s estimated earning potential if he moved to arch rivals Manchester City ranged anywhere from £200,000 to £500,000. Per week.

Such news is not as immediately shocking as it would have been ten years ago. Not in an age where we see players like Yaya Toure joining Manchester City for a reported £220,000 per week, or John Terry leisurely picking up £150K pay for a week nursing a bad back and fiddling with his co-worker’s girlfriends. No, we’re used to these figures. They’re dangerously close to becoming the norm. Indeed, I was surprised to hear Andy Carroll’s Newcastle wage rose to ‘only’ £30,000 per week after signing his new contract. I even felt a little bit sorry for the Tyneside front man.

Back to Rooney. Last week’s debacle left me under no doubt that my suspicions surrounding Wayne and his management team were entirely reasonable.

They’re as thick as two short planks. The lot of them.

Rooney’s agent, Paul Stretford, was hailed by a few to be a ‘genius’ after week-long discussions with Man Utd ended with their prized asset signing a new five-year deal worth, if you do some very rudimentary sums, around £40m.

I’m not sure how people came to that conclusion. Genius? If we apply that to his method of making money, yes. Fair enough. I’m sure he chewed on a very fat cigar last Friday.

PR genius? Er, no.

His first mistake was allowing any of this to go public. Footballers survive on one thing – fan loyalty. Once you lose the fans, you’re as good as gone. Therefore, relations between fan and player must be protected. Fans are the only constant in football and they’re the hardest to please; threatening the thin thread by which that relationship hangs is lunacy.

By arguing out such a vile contract dispute in full earshot of the entire world – one that is facing global economic problems – was distasteful, needless and downright stupid. Doing it during the week of the most important UK spending review in the last twenty years amounts to quite simply the most ignorant, insensitive, childish piece of PR I’ve ever witnessed. It wouldn’t compound the ill feeling, would it, Paul? Nah, ‘course not.

His second mistake was to encourage Rooney to insist his reasons for wanting to leave were down to a lack of club ambition. Doing so when you’ve hit rock bottom form-wise does nothing other than demonstrate how few brain cells you have limping around your vacuous cavern of a skull. Rooney hasn’t played well for months and, regardless of the reason behind it, is in no position to start demanding anything – least of all commitment – from a club he seems to have no problem distancing himself from the instant they refuse to  succumb to his wage demands.

And what about his fellow professionals? In one sweeping statement, he essentially labelled them all not-fit-for-purpose. That explains the flailing hand gestures whenever a pass or cross intended for him went awry (an irritating habit of Rooney’s which spilled into his England game and contributed in no small part to the subsequent dropping of Walcott from the World Cup squad).

There’s no doubting Rooney is potentially one of the best players this country has produced. But he is also one of the most petulant and displays a staggering inability to cope with being in the limelight.

If, as we keep being told, he simply wants to play football, I have a solution for him. Radical, but by far the safest for the already frail sanity of English football.

Quit. Live off your riches and play non-league football. Actually, why not five-a-side on Thursday nights for the local pub team? That way, Wayne gets his football fix and is free of the traps of the modern game.

And before you scoff at what sounds like a pointless, unworkable solution, just think: would we miss him? England wouldn’t. He’s been consistently the worst international performer for a long time and adds nothing to our team (I’m still waiting for someone to convince me otherwise). Would Utd miss him? On Sunday’s showing at Stoke, possibly not.

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Brown ‘Bigot Gaffe’ is Boring

Gordon Brown

Brown. Who'd be a politician?

As often as I watch it, I freely admit I’m not a fan of Sky News. Their insistence on making mountains out of molehills is teeth grindingly irritating and, quite often, toe curlingly embarrassing; particularly when they partake in the grilling of news subjects who have clearly said all they need to say. Just shut up, Kay Burley. Move on.

Maybe that makes me two faced. If it does, I’m with you, Gordon Brown.

Today, he called a 66-year-old woman from Rochdale a bigot having just engaged in what looked like a somewhat frustrating conversation with her. Mrs Duffy (how often will we hear that name over the next few months/years?) was a straight-talking, honest woman with very clear views, and there’s nothing wrong with that. She was a handful and the conversation she struck up with the PM ended up being a very one-sided affair.

The resulting ‘insult’ was uttered off-the-cuff, in the back of the PM’s car as he departed the housing estate. It was mildly amusing, but certainly nothing to lose sleep over. It won’t sway my vote either way.

The lady in question, while clearly not a bigoted racist, wasn’t without fault herself. As someone I follow on Twitter quite accurately summed up:

The “bigot” complains her grandchildren might have to pay to go to uni, then at the end says they’ve just come back from Australia…

But, of course, no one’s interested in analyzing her comments. Everyone is now interested in one word – ‘bigot’.

It’s not Brown’s fault, I’m afraid. In my opinion, the reason for the endless, tedious replays of the incident in question lies squarely at the feet of the media. They will run this story into the ground, drag in every no-mark ‘expert’ or columnist to provide their take on it. They’ll constantly say ‘we’ve received lots of Tweets and emails about this’ before reading out the most damning. And they will do this for the rest of the week, regardless of what else happens in the world.

There is more of a hint of bias about Sky News’ coverage in particular, with every sentence uttered by their reporters seemingly intent on painting the PM as a nasty bit of work.

I don’t think he is. Throughout this election campaign, I’ve warmed to him (and this comes from someone who has written some pretty disparaging thing about him on this very website). I like the fact he freely admits he isn’t comfortable in certain situations and I actually like the way he deals with the regular gaffes he makes. The footage of his apology on Radio 2 showed a man completely and utterly knackered and fed up with it all. He’s quintessentially British and part of me admires that.

Yes, he’s made a mess of things, but who would want his job? In any position of power or management, you have to make decisions and say things that aren’t popular with everyone. Whoever ends up as our new PM next week will have the exact same problem and I refuse to believe that we won’t be talking about them with the same disregard six months down the line.

By far the most insulting thing I’ve heard today is Adam Boulton’s surmise of the woman at the centre of this controversy; ‘Mrs Duffy, while clearly not the most literate of people…’ If ever there was a more insulting, sweeping generalisation of the very people who help pay Boulton’s wages – the people of this great nation – that’s it and it was far, far worse than Brown’s comments today.

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Capello Misses a Trick

Fabio Capello

Capello: 12 minutes. Done.

So, after exactly a week of every Tom, Dick and Harry lending their press-influenced views on the most boring scandal ever to grace football, it took Fabio Capello just 12 minutes to deliver the bad news to John Terry.

The Chelsea skipper will captain the England team no more.

I’m disappointed. Not in Capello (well, not entirely – read on to hear why); he did the only thing he could after the relentless media-led pressure we’ve witnessed over the last seven days. It didn’t matter how many people – like me – failed to see the connection between a footballer’s extra marital relations and his ability to captain the national team; there was simply no way Terry could continue to be captain with such a black cloud hanging over him. Capello did the right thing.

Incidentally, it wouldn’t surprise me if we’ve all actually forgotten what the offence was, exactly – it seems so irrelevant now.

I’m continually impressed by an England manager who clearly doesn’t mess about. While pressure undoubtedly led him to this decision, you can be sure he made it confidently, quickly and without a second thought of what anyone else might think. He wants to win the World Cup and doesn’t give a toss who he upsets on the way. I like that.

I don’t like his decision to simply realign the captaincy, though. Ferdinand? Really? He may have been second in line but has hardly played all season. When he was playing, he was hardly at the top of his game. Yes, he’s had a chequered past, too, but this isn’t the root cause of my dismay today.

If anything, Capello should be assessing whether or not Ferdinand is fit for a place in the World Cup squad at all, let alone lead it.

He’s missed a trick here, Capello. Gerrard should have taken Terry’s place. No?

I’m willing to be proved wrong though, Fabio. Please don’t let this uncharacteristically weak decision make a mockery of my praise for you above…

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John Terry: Sensationalism Gone Mad.

John Terry

John Terry: Enough Already

Yesterday, I drove roughly 350 miles. Along the majority of those congestion-strewn roads, I listened to Talksport. I usually do this while out on the road and it isn’t typically a problem. Yesterday, however, it was.

For a total of around 6 hours I was treated to one long, continuous debate about John Terry, his extra-marital relations and whether or not he should still be England captain.

Every DJ on the station (and not in the least Stan Collymore who I think may have been playing with himself whilst endlessly spurting pointless superlatives about the supposed forthcoming meeting between Terry and Capello; “Capello is a greatly morale man and will not at all be concerned with what John Terry does behind closed doors away from the big lights and spectacle of the beautiful game”) simply repeated their views again and again. As did the callers. And the guests. When all was said and done, there were only about 3 different views; they were simply regurgitated, modified and drawn out each time they were expressed. I literally had a headache as I finally turned into my street at the end of the day.

I’m not going to embellish on this massively boring subject too much further, but I will give my opinion.

What John Terry does off the pitch is his business and his business only. I find all the debate over the affair hugely uncomfortable. It’s clear us Brits have a massive problem with sex (more so than the US, I’d say) and are so easily appalled by anything relating to it that it is invariably made a big deal of when something like this happens.

He’s a great defender and a very good captain. What he does away from the pitch is totally irrelevant. End of story. The only reason this has been made front page news is because the way in which everything is sensationalised these days.

Whenever we approach a big tournament like the World Cup, the press in this country reach for their knives and start their level best to completely screw up any chance England have of doing well. Why wouldn’t they? We love wallowing in our own misery in this country; if England go out in the group stages they’ll sell lots more papers.

Finally, are footballers role models? No, of course they’re not. They swear, spit, fight, cheat and spunk their ridiculous earnings up the wall. Any notion that the are to be held on a pedestal by anyone is daft. Yes, kids admire them and want to be them, but that’s life, I’m afraid. I’m sure they want to be film stars, too, but how many parents would want their child to turn into Lindsey Lohan?

There we go. 463 words and I’m done.

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Sick of Thumb-Sucking Strikers

Strike Photo

Strikers. Boring.

Two huge, public-facing companies are facing strike action as I write: Eurostar and British Airways. Of the two, the latter is obviously the most concerning for the one million people expecting to hop on a plane this Christmas, but both companies have been well and truly let down by their employees.

I have little interest in unions. While they undoubtedly have their benefits, they only seem to cause misery both to the economy and the general public. I can’t think of a strike in the last ten years that I’ve agreed with. They are nearly all futile, irritating and massively disrupting affairs.

We all know the basics of the BA strike action, so I won’t bore you with it again here, but I will give you my opinion.

At some stage in our working lives, we’ve all been in a position where we feel hard done by. Underpaid, over-stretched, bullied by management, forced to accept unfair changes to working conditions or practices … the list can go on. I for one, however, have never considered walking out. I’ve always strived to make the most of the situation or take it up objectively with those above me. And it’s always worked.

Striking, in most cases, is akin to sticking your thumb in your mouth and locking yourself in your bedroom. It’s is immeasurably childish. I used to do it on a regular basis as a kid if my mum asked me to do something outside of my remit; i.e. something productive, not involving Transformers.

Those BA staff that voted for the strike should be ashamed of themselves. Needless to say, the 12 days of Christmas they’re hoping for are going to not only ruin their customers’ already dented opinion of BA but, more importantly, cause massive financial heartache for the already cash strapped company. Reports suggest it could lose around £30m a day if the strikes go ahead. Some of the biggest banks in the world have already proved that there isn’t a business in the land that is immune from going bust … need I say any more?

I stand firmly on the side of the unfortunately named Willie Walsh, on this one and hope that the hopefull travellers bashing the F5 refresh key in the hope of some good news get just that.

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Better, Connected? Well, That Would Be Nice.

It’s 2010. I’m sitting on a train desperately trying to reconnect my Vodafone 3G dongle to some kind of network. I don’t particularly care what, but having to constantly reconnect to my work VPN, wait for Exchange to shake hands and then hit ‘send/receive’ – only for the internet connection to disappear as we pass through yet another part of the UK that has next to no data coverage – is proving rather tiring.

It’s not as though I’m travelling out in the sticks, or through Wales, either. No, I’m taking the rather popular route from London Euston to Northampton.

I’m not Simon Cowell or Richard Branson, therefore cannot afford to travel everywhere first class on trains that have WIFI connections. Nor am I asking for much in an age when Mr Branson is planning to offer weekends away in space.

There was yet another news story on the BBC this morning about the UK lagging behind the rest of the world in the internet race. I can’t remember what exactly the report centred around, but I can wholeheartedly agree, regardless. The internet should be everywhere, whether you’re moving or stood still. I don’t care how much people would prefer to be able to get away from the connected world, because I rely on it on an almost daily basis, regardless of where I am. Responding to emails speedily is a key driver for any business. You’ll get left behind if you’re not quick enough.

Rather than ploughing money into pointless climate-changing hare-brained schemes, the Government should ensure that 3G is available everywhere and that internet access is provided to all homes free of charge. The majority of companies supplying web connectivity are no doubt heavily subsidised by the other services they offer, and I refuse to believe it would dent their profits much if they allowed us all to connect to the information highway for little more than an agreement to pay for satellite TV, or a telephone line.

We shouldn’t have to pay quite so much abroad, either. When I was in Thailand last year, O2 wanted to charge me around £8 per megabyte for data access on my iPhone. Eight quid for barely more than a couple of emails?? Suffice to say, I’d rather place my testicles in a bowl of boiling water (I think I did during that holiday, although that was probably part of a massage).

Today has only provided one counter argument to the above, and one I’m happy to stand by. Whenever I travel the congested, sweaty, smelly London Underground, I never fail to find solace in the fact that there is not a single suited oik barking orders into their mobile phone. There shouldn’t ever be any kind of signal down there; its the only safe haven left when it comes to avoiding the terminally irritating yuppie mobile users.

But, the internet. Come on, Gordon.

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