CCFC 2 v 1 WATFORD

CCFC V WATFORD

THE PREAMBLE RAMBLE

So, as we prepare to entertain the Hornets we’re five homes games in and on the back of a record-equalling run of victories the controversy over the rebranding has been forgotten. We’re all happy playing in red (in fact we’re yet to drop a point so it must be a lucky colour) and promoting our Malaysian cousins. Yes? Well, actually, no. Now that the dust has settled and the close season row can be placed in context, any relief and even gratitude that our owners have not walked away (with anything other than our heritage) has dissipated and been replaced with heartfelt and justified indignation. For me the enormity of the Asian felony finally smacked my outraged gob when after 10 minutes of the Birmingham game it dawned on me that I was instinctively following the fortunes of the team playing in blue, or as we must now refer to them, the ‘opposition’. It’s just WRONG!

Perhaps we can take some comfort in the realisation that we are not alone in our new status as a franchised cash cow, to be milked, fattened up and sent to market for corporate slaughter. As we, the compliant bashful blushing milk-maids sit astride our 3-legged stools and carry out our master’s bidding squeezing the engorged teet of avarice and organised greed we may baulk at displaying ‘Malaysia’ on our red breasts (covering up the underlying malaise here) but imagine how the Geordies must feel at the St James Park Sports Direct Asian Sweatshop Exploitation Arena. The few that don’t go through the winter months baring their pot-bellies must be flabby-gasted  witnessing  the name of institutionalised pay-day loan sharks ‘Wonga’ emblazoned on the thieving Magpies’ chests.

There can be no greater indictment of our inglorious Con-Dem Nation with its we’re-all-in-this-together Big Society guff than the hypocrisy of squillionaire footballers (the beneficiaries of a recent tax cut remember) promoting the virtues of 4,214% APR legalised extortion.

A recent BBC Sport Price of Football survey actually reveals that a visit to Newcastle is the cheapest day out in the Premier League at £23 for a ticket, programme, cup of tea and obligatory pie. For a family of four that’s around £100 which is comparatively good value. But how’s a hard-pressed Geordie going to pay for his day out? ‘Lose your shirt with wonga.com’

Martin Lewis, the moneysavingexpert has calculated that borrowing £100 from Wonga would (if the rules allowed) after 7 years, assuming no repayments make you liable for £23.5 trillion. Which is greater than the U.S. national debt!  Similarly, my research reveals that Wonga could fund the complete acquisition of the Magpies from that one family’s day out after approx 3 ½ years.

“And how the poverty of these unfortunates, among whom even thieves find nothing to steal, is exploited by the property-holding class in lawful ways.” – Frederick Engels, ‘The Condition of the Working Class in England’.

And so to tonight’s opposition. Watford, managed by all round nice guy (as opposed to goodfella) Gianfranco Zola, the Michael Palin of Italian football, and owned by the Pozzo Family who do sound like Goodfellas and also own Udinese, have a cosmopolitan squad that includes assorted Brazilians, Ghanains, Swiss, Swedes, Jamaicans, Cameroons, Czechs, Scots, Irish, Welsh, the occasional English player and no fewer than ten Udinese loanees. As well as two from Grenada in Spain the Pozzo family’s other club. They currently languish in 13^th, some eleven places below the mighty Bluebirds. Once they all master a common language - Italian, English, Esperanto or Galactic Basic perhaps - they may start to close the Watford gap.

The evening began with a minute’s silence in recognition of the dire events in Leckwith and Ely last Friday. It was observed with absolute respect and total silence.

Malky made some necessary changes following the 1-3 reversal against Forest on Saturday. At the back Turner was brought in to partner Hudson with Connolly moving to right back and McNaughton relegated to the bench. Bellamy returned from injury and Noone was brought back, replacing Conway.

We made a promising start with lots of good movement early on. Noone in particular was running spaghetti hoops around former Italian international full back Vito Antipasti who eventually lost patience and was the first to go into the Maitre D’s book. Although we were dominating we were struggling to break down a very well organised Watford defence marshalled by veteran centre back One Size (Fitz Hall).

Watford looked dangerous on the break and looked capable of getting the better of Hudson & Turner. Both sides were keeping the ball well without really threatening when after 27 minutes from a poorly defended near post corner Marshall was left isolated saving well but the ball fell at the feet of Tony Soprano who pulled the trigger and fired into the back of the net from 5 yards out. 0-1.

City pushed forward but despite showing plenty of enterprise with Noone and Smith constantly swapping wings and Whittingham getting into advanced positions, lots of neat inter-play rarely threatened to produce the equaliser. Bellamy went down heavily in the box, his face contorting with pain as he clutched his dodgy knees but he managed to see the half out. It was no surprise however when he didn’t reappear for the second 45.

At half time Ali announced the passing of Charlie Rutter who played through the 1950’s and was a member of the team that won promotion to Division One in 1959, the last season to began with 5 straight home wins. On retirement he opened a pet shop in the Central Market which he ran for 45 years. I wonder what retirement plans today’s pros have. The Craig Bellamy Second Hand Vinyl Exchange anyone...?

The second half continued where the first left off - a lively and evenly-balanced encounter with no real hints as to the eventual outcome. On the hour one fairly innocuous exchange between Noone and the Hornetto’s full back Luca Tagliatelle concluded with the Watford man being shown a straight red for following his manager Zola’s instructions ‘ You gotta get close like this and, bada-bing!’

In truth, Noone wasn’t too bothered by the challenge which happened on the touchline right in front of us, until the Linesman flagged. Then as the Ref walked up Noone, acting like a little schoolboy snitch pointed to his chin and looked up him as if to say ‘Sir, Sir, the big boy hit me Sir!’ It was risible. Shameful. But it was to turn the game in our favour.

On 70 minutes we were awarded a penalty – a hand-to-ball?/ ball-to-hand? close call – which Whitts dispatched past former Gooner Almunia. 1-1. Suddenly everything was going our way. And then some. Within 5 minutes the opposition were down to nine men after young Sonny Corleone petulantly kicked the ball away for a second yellow and the Ref made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

We were now totally dominant and but for some woeful final balls into the box should have had the game sewn up long before the injury time winner. Gunnarsson, who had replaced the tireless but hamstrung Smith met a Taylor-made cross head on to win the game right at the death.

Up in the grandstand Vincent Tan, his party and his special guest, announced as the Sultan of somewhere, or something – it wasn’t made clear (but apparently he ‘don’t give a damn about any trumpet-playing band’) danced with delight.

Pitch-side the mood around the opposition dug-out was dark with Zola heard to be muttering ‘Look how they massacred my boys, look how they massacred my boys...’ and wondering how he was going to break the news to his bosses because ‘Mr Pozzo is a man who insists on hearing bad news immediately’.

Six straight home wins is an impressive start to the season. But records are made to be broken. Let’s hope this one only lasts as long as Saturday when we welcome free-scoring Burnley.

CCFC 2 v 1 BIRMINGHAM

ONE GIANT STEP FOR TAN

The preamble ramble

Tonight Wales’ first city takes on England’s second city in football’s official Battle of the Sleeping Giants. True, Brum have occasionally been stirred from their slumbers, had a stretch, stifled a yawn and perked up just long enough to smell the coffee (we’ve only recently opened one eye and had a brief look around before returning to our preferred state of second-tier hibernation) but surely the good times are just around the corner for both sets of long-suffering fans.

The two perennial under-achievers are linked by a common history of mismanagement set against a back story that has all the elements of a conspiracy thriller with a list of characters including Tinkers, Tailors, Soldiers & Spies.

I

n the 1980’s Birmingham were owned by the Kumars, not the jovial eccentric family of British Asians from Number 49 (goodness gracious me no) rather the clothing chain owners of the extended Kumar clan who unfortunately chose to put their financial affairs in the hands of BCCI and went into receivership following the liquidation of the Pakistan-based bank whose clients included Saddam Hussein, the Afghan Mujahadeen, the CIA and Oliver North’s Nicaraguan Contra insurgents.

In 1993 The Blues were rescued by those sleazy Black Knights of adult entertainment Old Penarthian Porn Peddler David Sullivan and David ‘all that glitters is not’ Gold. When they finally left Birmingham around the time that Sullivan and the Sorcerer’s Apprentice Karren Brady were arrested by the City of London Police on suspicion of conspiracy to defraud and false accounting (unproven) Sullivan expressed a desire to invest in The Bluebirds and allegedly had meetings with Sam Hammam (minutes unavailable but use your imagination!)

In the meantime between 1995-99 the Kumar brothers had of course resurfaced. Where? Ninian Park. It came as no surprise that despite their connections in the trade the Emperors had no clothes and in 2000 the club passed into the hands of Sam Hammam, the littleTinker!

Back at St Andrews, in 2010 ownership passed into the hands of Birmingham International Holdings, a firm owned by Hong Kong-based businessman Carson Yeung and registered in the Cayman Islands. In June 2011 Yeung was arrested for money laundering (I think we’ve been here before).

We must consider ourselves extremely fortunate to be owned by our current benefactors. Imagine the consternation if our club was placed in the hands of a mysterious Asian backer whose motives were unknown, with no previous history in the sport. I mean, you wouldn’t sleep at night would you...?

CCFC 2 v 1 BIRMINGHAM

Tonight’s game held open the tantalising prospect of matching the record-breaking 5 straight wins at the start of the 1946-47 season. Birmingham’s recent form, a 0-5 reversal at home to Barnsley followed by Saturday’s unexpected 1-0 victory at league leaders Brighton put concerns about our own occasional inconsistencies into the shade and meant that it was difficult to know what to expect. However, after Saturday’s convincing best-of-the-season performance against Blackpool there was every reason to be optimistic.

It was clear from the start that our tails were up as our free-flowing football had the Brummies chasing theirs. The left flank in particular looked threatening with Taylor getting forward and allowing Noone and Bellamy to dominate play early on. Only the inability of the increasingly superfluous Helguson to anticipate the openings offered by the wily wingmen prevented the Bluebirds from capitalising on their early dominance.

The failure to take advantage of the early supremacy saw the game deteriorate, along with the weather (forcing those of us in the semi-protected cheap seats to again question the wisdom of our thrifty instincts). A soggy half-time stalemate seemed inevitable as behind my sodden specs the game took on all the clarity of a dreamy abstract watercolour in the rain. Then on 39 minutes I spotted a clear gap between the top of my glasses and the hood of my coat that a splodgy number 7 ran into, threading an incisive through ball to a smudgy number 5 in an unlikely advanced position who played a first time ball into the path of a streaky number 39, a Whitts-Hudson-Bellamy combination producing a goal of ethereal simplicity. 1-0 at the break.

Birmingham seemed the more revitalised by the rest and pushed us back in the search for an early equaliser. On 54 minutes after a rare foray into enemy territory Hudson, chasing back, hauled down on-loan Swansea man Leroy Lita on the edge of the box and was shown a well merited yellow card. Burke caught out a hesitant Cardiff defence placing the ball beyond the wall for Lita to run onto and fire past Marshall. It was a poorly defended goal but a deserved break for the resurgent Blues.

Fortunately Hudson was able to make amends for his lapse within 3 minutes as following a swinging Whitts corner and some confusion in the Brum defence he made a typically predatory strike latching onto a loose ball to fire past Butland. 2-1.

Back in control of the game we had a number of chances to increase the lead with Bellamy bullying the opposition and the tricksy Noone and Mason always looking a threat. Bellers, soon after being booked for an uncharacteristic rant at the Ref(?) after being denied an obvious penalty left the field in some discomfort with 10 minutes left. Up in the grandstand the visiting Vincent Tan stood in supplicatory silence, hands held as if in prayer as his prized asset left the field. (Interestingly Tan stood for the entire game and looked fully engaged, as enthralled by the contest as any other, well, fan).

We held on to our advantage with some comfort to complete a record-equalling victory and as the players left the field to the news that Brighton had again messed up at home to lowly opposition and we had replaced them as Championship top-dogs, Tan appeared pitch-side in a warm (but manful) embrace with his manager. The cynic in me says he was pleased at witnessing the rise and rise of his stock; the fan in me recognises someone bitten by the footie bug.

Are the days of intrigue, behind the scenes plotting and scheming finally behind us? Who is this enigmatic Oriental, a character straight out of central casting with his Clark Gable pencil moustache and an inscrutable air? Is he the man to help us finally realise our unlikely dreams? The plot thickens...

CCFC 1 v 0 LEEDS

The visit of the Damned United always brings with it a little extra frisson, a tingle of expectation and, let’s face it, an unattractive but unavoidable tendency towards mockery and smugness. After all, a fans’ history of Cardiff City would inevitably include a chapter entitled ‘Leeds United – My Part In Its Downfall’.

I make no apology for beginning with another gratuitous reference to the events of 7th January 2002 when the Bluebirds, whose short term ambitions at the time were restricted to getting out of League 1 faced a Leeds team riding high at the top of the Premier League and, having been in a Champions League semi-final the previous season, looking to consolidate their position amongst Europe’s elite.

History records a magnificent 2-1 victory by The Bluebirds, an utterly euphoric occasion, marred only slightly by some ugly scenes at the end as Cardiff fans sought to rip any remaining feathery pride out of the Peacocks until they were completely plucked. Much of the blame for the confrontation was blamed on the provocative actions of Sam Hammam as he took to walking around the pitch in front of the Leeds fans accompanied by his minder doing The Ayatollah. Hammam at the time was busy propagating a personality cult, his every appearance provoking a ‘Sam Hammam My Lord’ chant to the tune of ‘Kumbya’ from the deluded fawning masses believing that their saviour had come to deliver them unto The Promised Land.

Leeds of course had their own false idol in the ground, a man who ultimately was to finish the job that we like to think we started. One Peter Ridsdale who led them to financial ruin by mortgaging their future against a Champions League success that was to be cruelly denied them as a result of a meltdown directly attributable to having the stuffing knocked out of them by our magnificent victory that day. Or so we would like to think.

Irony of ironies that just a few years down the line it was the same Peter Ridsdale who was called upon to dig us out of our own financial hole. Imagine Ian Brady being asked to take the local Sunday School on an outing to Saddleworth Moor and you’ll have some idea about how uneasy most of us felt. As it was, he was allowed to employ a variation on the discredited strategy that sank his own club at Ninian Park, taking the club to the brink, the fans to the cleaners and a few million notes for himself.

Football clubs are of course always vulnerable to megalomaniac businessmen looking for somewhere to park their huge egos and even bigger debts. This is nothing new; in the early days clubs were run like local fiefdoms by businessmen who had the final say in all matters, often interfering directly in team selection and arranging for players to be sold behind the manager’s back. They also notoriously kept a cap on players’ wages ensuring that their authority could not be challenged. But at least they tended to have the best interests of the club and the community at heart.

Today (mostly) foreign owners, alerted to rich pickings and driven by an unhealthy obsession of extravagance and delusions of grandeur, generally have no such charitable intentions. Fortunately for us, early indications suggest that Vincent Tan, although clearly enjoying the kudos that comes with owning a football club, sees us as a long term investment, as a commercially viable proposition, not something with which to massage and sooth a flaky ego. And for that we should at least be grateful.

Comical Ali our infamous master of ceremonies slipped in John Cooper Clarke’s ‘I Don’t Want To Be Nice’ amongst the pre-match discs, the line ‘we’re far from perfect strangers and let’s keep it that way’ neatly summing up the mutual antipathy amongst fans.

The game was delayed for 5 minutes to allow for a tribute to local Policeman Simon Israel who died recently. I don’t know the extent of his association with the club and I’m sure he was worthy of a fine accolade but I did find it incongruous that the passing of former manager Jimmy Andrews who served the club for over four years was given scant regard, consigned to a brief half-time announcement to a half empty arena. A poor show.

Neil Warnock has a reputation for stamping his personality on his teams. A complex man, prone to neurotic outbursts, short of fuse and sharp of tongue, a candidate for The Most Annoying Man In Football, his teams tend to reflect these qualities. Leeds didn’t allow us to play in the first half, not giving us any time on the ball and not averse to deploying the less reputable weapons in the footballers’ armoury - knees, elbows, shirt-tugs - in pursuit of an unfair advantage.

Our response to this unwanted close attention was hurried and unsophisticated with too many rushed clearances out of defence and a general failure to stamp our authority on the game. Leeds failed to create much and when they did get forward the excellent Hudson snuffed out any threat. So a 0-0 stalemate as the teams drifted off into the tunnel to fairly muted applause. However, a look at the substitutes knocking up during the half time interval gave huge encouragement. Bellamy, Bo-Kyung, Gunnarsson, Mason – all players capable of turning a game around.

Warnock has had a number of spats with players, managers and officials over the years. One of the most notorious was with the hateful El Hadji Diouf, whom he once described as ‘a nasty little person’ drawing an unfavourable comparison with ‘a sewer rat’. The Senegalese Spittle Assassin responded with a typically measured ‘he is a little s**t’ which clearly passes as a term of endearment in Yorkshire as Diouf duly took his place up front for the second half.

We began the second 45 brightly, moving play out to the wings and getting forward at pace. Noone had been moved out to the right wing during the first half and continued in that role in the second with increasing success. It was a surprise then that it was decided that he, rather than the disappointing Helguson, should make way for Bellamy after an hour’s play. Bellars took to the field to rapturous applause from the City faithful and had an immediate impact. A free kick some 25 yards out saw him and Whittingham standing over the ball salivating at the prospect of a tasty dipper over the Leeds wall. In the event Bellars pulled rank, firing an absolute screamer into the top corner. 1-0.

Within 5 minutes is was Whitts’ turn to find the back of the net, sending Paddy Kenny the wrong way from the penalty spot after the hard-working Maynard had been pulled down in the box. 2-0. Game over? Well almost.

We continued to dominate and had a number of chances, the excellent Tommy Smith placing a couple of defence splitting diagonal passes into the box but the experienced Kenny was on top form to deny Maynard and others. Danny Gabbidon doppelganger Austin pulled an unlikely goal back as a free kick from distance somehow evaded the wall and a ponderous Marshall to give the travelling fans some hope, but we saw the game out fairly comfortably.

It’s a fair old trek from west Yorkshire and the Leeds fans swelled the crowd to a very creditable 23,836. I could applaud them for their committed and very vocal support, thank them for contributing to a marvellous afternoon’s entertainment and wish them well for a safe journey home. But I Don’t Want To Be Nice.