"Snooker isn't a sport!" said one of my students, when I told her I wanted to rush home to see the world championship final in the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield, on television yesterday.
"Ah, but it is," I replied. "At least in English. In most other languages, sport is about physical exercise, which to some even implies going to the gym. But in the English language, it means competition, skill and fair play." Therefore darts, golf and even chess could be considered sports. And if anyone had watched the final on TV last night, they would have said it could also provide us with just as much excitement as rugby, football and tennis. In the latter's case, a LOT more, but that's just my personal view.
Let me set the scene: this is the longest-running single event to take place in the same location in the world. Eighteen days in total. The Tour de France is the only other event which goes on longer, although it's not in the same location, unless you include the whole of France as a venue. During the rounds, many big names fell early on, except for John Higgins, winner once before, and Mark Selby, a 23-year-old rookie who needed to play qualifying rounds in non-descript box rooms at a holiday camp just to get to the televised stages. He defeated Stephen Lee, Peter Ebdon and Ali Carter to get to the semi final. Once there, he was not in front for any part of the match until the very last frame, where he won with a 64 clearance. He did it with style, humour and character, three words which have not always appeared together in sportspeople's descriptions.
Getting to the final in his first year must have already made him proud. But after the first day, he was 12-4 down, and needing a miracle to reach the 18-frame winning mark. He battled his way back in the afternoon session on the last day, taking all six frames, and at one stage was only one frame behind. His choice of shots was breathtaking, his communication with the crowd heart-warming and his strategy play impeccable. One frame lasted almost an hour. Where most people would have called it a night and headed off to bed, that one frame provided us with the greatest advert for the game. I doubt many viewers switched over. I had to get up this morning, but even I couldn't go to bed, despite knowing that if it went the full distance I would be there until possibly 4 in the morning.
However, just at the moment when he could have levelled the match at 14 each, he made what seemed a terrific safety shot. John Higgins could only reach one ball, and he was hampered by the edge of the table. But he managed to pot it and with it took the frame. Higgins went on to win 16-13, and although I was relieved I would get at least seven hours' sleep, I was quite disappointed the match finished the way it did.
During the ensuing interviews, John Higgins admitted he had to play the best snooker of his life. The winner on the night was snooker, and Mark Selby will have gained a lot of friends over the course of the tournament. When you're one mistake away from losing the final and you try a four-ball plant, you have guts. Selby's nickname is the "Jester from Leicester", but on that evidence he's the best thing to happen to snooker since the late Paul Hunter, and a welcome addition to the great characters which have graced the sport: Alex Higgins, Jimmy White, John Virgo to name a few. I wish him all the best and I hope he goes on to win snooker's most prestigious event in the near future.
The problem with people's criticisms of a lot of sports, especially snooker and cricket, is that they don't know the rules, nor do they know any of the history or events surrounding them. Before people claim a sport is boring or too complicated, I would just mention that many require not only those playing, but also the viewers, to have a good concentration span. Sports like curling are tremendous fun to watch when you realise that not all sports are about end-to-end action. I remember the 2002 Olympic women's curling final between Great Britain and Canada in Salt Lake City. It was the middle of the night, but millions stayed up to watch it. If only the detractors would see the wonder of the moment and not seek to take the romance out of it.
Tuesday, 8 May 2007
Monday, 7 May 2007
Do they think I'm rich?
This last quarter, I have been inundated with bills. Not any old bills for gas, electricity and the like - I can manage them. But bills whose legitimacy I wonder about. One is called a "schuldzaldoverzekering". Yes, blind me with science if you want, but what in the name of Wolfowitz is that? Apparently, I have to pay it to the bank as an insurance against the house I sold in December. It amounts to about 500 euro.
Along with that, I have been sent a bill to insure my house against fire and another against robbery. OK, I'll pay them even though I don't own the house where I live. I decided to sell and rent for a while until the right house came along, because the last one definitely wasn't. I had so many costs, mainly for renovation, that along with the bills it just got out of hand.
On top of those, which amount to about 170 euro, there is the social security, which I need to pay myself as a freelancer. This comes to approximately 600 euro, payable every quarter. So let's say 200 a month. However, as a freelancer, it means I can't claim unemployment benefit and my state pension is lower than others because according to the government I'm stinking rich and able to afford it.
Like my plumber. I had a blocked kitchen sink and after pouring every conceivable liquid into it, putting balls on string in there until there was a noise, all types of efforts, nothing surfaced, only the dirty water, which drained away almost glacially down the hole. He came, poured some of his own product (imported from Italy, priceless stuff apparently) into the pipe and sent me his bill of 145 euro for 15 minutes' chat and 3 minutes' work. Yes, this type of pricing is surely why the government thinks I can afford to contribute so heavily to the economy as well as sacrifice my pension to fill a hole in society so some workshy couch potato can put an extra bet on the horses and buy bottled Stella instead of canned.
So far, the amount has reached 1270 euro. Now we turn to the little matter of the insurance claim by the bus company, who thinks I owe them 245 euro worth of paint for an accident where a stick of about 50cm long and made of MDF was catapulted out of the container I was throwing stuff onto, hitting the... wait for it... WINDOW of the bus. If they had sent me a bill for broken glass, I would have paid immediately, but as it was for paint I've replied rather unrepentantly on a few occasions to their threatening literature. In a few days' time, apparently, I'm going to receive a court summons.
My household bills add up to about 1300 euro (rent, cable TV, Visa, energy), so that brings the total up to 2815 euro. And I'm supposed to pay to travel to work each day, buy lunch there, invest in clothes; oh yes, and buy food for the rest of the daily meals. So we're looking at a further 330 euro approximately. We've hit the three-thousand mark and gone above it and landed at 3145 euro.
Fortunately, I'm not tempted by the consumer ads which try to persuade me to buy any number of things which I might need one day, like electric blankets, garden gnomes, clocks which tell you the date, temperature and current weather conditions (look outside your window, stoopid!), Xboxes, MP3 players (burn them!) and sunglasses whose shades automatically darken when you turn into the sun. Because if I were, I'd be making plans to auction off this computer to subsidise my retail obsession.
Along with that, I have been sent a bill to insure my house against fire and another against robbery. OK, I'll pay them even though I don't own the house where I live. I decided to sell and rent for a while until the right house came along, because the last one definitely wasn't. I had so many costs, mainly for renovation, that along with the bills it just got out of hand.
On top of those, which amount to about 170 euro, there is the social security, which I need to pay myself as a freelancer. This comes to approximately 600 euro, payable every quarter. So let's say 200 a month. However, as a freelancer, it means I can't claim unemployment benefit and my state pension is lower than others because according to the government I'm stinking rich and able to afford it.
Like my plumber. I had a blocked kitchen sink and after pouring every conceivable liquid into it, putting balls on string in there until there was a noise, all types of efforts, nothing surfaced, only the dirty water, which drained away almost glacially down the hole. He came, poured some of his own product (imported from Italy, priceless stuff apparently) into the pipe and sent me his bill of 145 euro for 15 minutes' chat and 3 minutes' work. Yes, this type of pricing is surely why the government thinks I can afford to contribute so heavily to the economy as well as sacrifice my pension to fill a hole in society so some workshy couch potato can put an extra bet on the horses and buy bottled Stella instead of canned.
So far, the amount has reached 1270 euro. Now we turn to the little matter of the insurance claim by the bus company, who thinks I owe them 245 euro worth of paint for an accident where a stick of about 50cm long and made of MDF was catapulted out of the container I was throwing stuff onto, hitting the... wait for it... WINDOW of the bus. If they had sent me a bill for broken glass, I would have paid immediately, but as it was for paint I've replied rather unrepentantly on a few occasions to their threatening literature. In a few days' time, apparently, I'm going to receive a court summons.
My household bills add up to about 1300 euro (rent, cable TV, Visa, energy), so that brings the total up to 2815 euro. And I'm supposed to pay to travel to work each day, buy lunch there, invest in clothes; oh yes, and buy food for the rest of the daily meals. So we're looking at a further 330 euro approximately. We've hit the three-thousand mark and gone above it and landed at 3145 euro.
Fortunately, I'm not tempted by the consumer ads which try to persuade me to buy any number of things which I might need one day, like electric blankets, garden gnomes, clocks which tell you the date, temperature and current weather conditions (look outside your window, stoopid!), Xboxes, MP3 players (burn them!) and sunglasses whose shades automatically darken when you turn into the sun. Because if I were, I'd be making plans to auction off this computer to subsidise my retail obsession.
By the way, I received a tax bill of 5300 euro, because apparently I can afford it. So if any of you reading this who know me wonder why I haven't seen you for a while, it's because it's expensive when you're presumed to be rich...
Saturday, 5 May 2007
A short advert for parental education
Education and upbringing just isn't what it used to be. People don't have respect for one another, don't seem to care about the community spirit of past generations. The solidarity of the social states has given way to materialism, selfishness and decadence. Although most remain good mannered people at heart, there is a tendency towards the attitude that it's not worth being too helpful, because you're sure you wouldn't get it back.
There are several layers of this social inertia - on one hand whilst some smile or say hello to you, half of the time you don't receive a greeting back. On another hand this is minor compared to the following, which is my pet hate and, I honestly believe, the root of our social ills today:
MP3 players on public transport. I hate them. I despise everything about people who feel the need to let the rest of the bus hear the "music" these individuals need to listen to in order to feel like they're still at the weekend's party and looking forward to the next one. I feel nothing but contempt for those who destroy the peace. I can't concentrate on reading my book when I hear these noise machines blasting out their satanic messages. Can't these people find something else to do? Read a book, for example. Although by the look of them I'm not sure they have a concentration span long enough to manage. But we can tie other anti-social, or even aggressive, acts in with this: feet on the opposite seat, talking loudly on the mobile phone, putting bags on the seat beside, talking loudly to others, refusing to get up for an old person or pregnant woman, spitting chewing gum on the floor, etc. If you do one of these things, you'll probably do the others.
And why? It came to my attention on the number 44 tram the other day - a woman of about 30 was occupying a four-seat section with her 9 or 10-year-old child next to her. The tram was quite empty to begin with but the amount of passengers built up gradually. Nothing unusual yet. Until you note that she allowed her daughter to put her feet on the chair opposite her and she kept her handbag on the seat next to her, thus occupying three of the four seats. If the parents don't say anything, the children think it's OK to carry on doing these things.
Another time I witnessed a family of four out for lunch - but that quickly became three when the youngest, no older than 6, got up to run off his half-eaten sausage and chips. The mother called the child back to finish off his "meal" but was ignored. So she got out a sweet and said he could have it if he sat down again. Nope. The boy carried on running. The plates were taken away and
the little shyster carried on annoying people. Mum and dad continued their chat as though everything was all right. That was, until one of the clients got up to complain to the parents.
He told the mother that the child was really disturbing him and the others around him by staring at them and every now and again shouting, running away in that heavy-footed way kids like to make noise. The mother was so astounded at this unusual and daring act that she even raised her voice to the child. But still she didn't get up. It took the little blighter to have an accident with the waiter carrying empty cups back to the bar for her to motivate herself. The child was unhurt, the waiter only unbalanced, but the cups had made a heavy landing on the concrete. Now he was seated, he began to clap his hands, put his fingers in his warm and gasless fanta drink and make monosyllabic outbursts but the parents did not tell him to be quiet. I then wondered why potential stepparents are unable to adopt children without the most rigorous of tests, but anyone with the right sexual organs can just make their own.
A third event took place last week when I was in Germany. I was at a village celebration where they set fire to a load of wood to commemorate the arrival of spring. They had set up a bar in an open tent and tables and chairs were placed outside to sit and have a good drink and chat. I noticed that all the adults were sitting or standing around getting slowly unconscious on alcohol while the kids were running about the field, playing with the fire and putting drinks down each other's shirts. I remembered one of the children from a previous visit and had got chatting to her - her friends were interested in the arrival of a foreigner so we all had a chat in the dusk light. Some of the questions were typical of kids to try and embarrass you, but I handled it fairly well, considering German is one of my weaker languages. When I said goodbye to them and headed back to the house I was staying in, two of the less-than-vertical fathers shouted at me to stop where I was. One asked, "what have you been doing with our children?" I didn't quite understand the nature of the question and felt quite threatened, so I asked the spokesman to repeat it. He said he didn't like strangers hanging round the kids and wondered what I was doing with them. If he had looked up from his glass, he would have seen. I told them what happened and they went away.
However, I felt like saying, "and what did you do with them?" Because it was plain to see that they just parked their kids on the grass while they went off to get drunk. Saves on the babysitting costs.
But I didn't, because we don't, do we? We don't correct others because it's not our responsibility. We are too shy to interfere in the lives of others for fear of upsetting them, or even worse, being the victims of violence. And the only thing the police would do is tell you to keep your nose out.
[That reminds me of the ultimate keep-your-nose-out example: not so long ago, in Brussels, a family called the police because the television had been on in the house next door all night for the past two weeks, and there was a terrible smell of rubbish. What they found was horrific. The old man who lived there had been dead for two weeks at least and had obviously passed away while watching the television. God help us if that is the way of the future. I think we need to make subtle inquiries into the health, wellbeing and stability of those around us. If we carry on getting more and more insular, we will end up all in a dysfunctional society, with relationships and families where we barely communicate to each other.]
Parents have great responsibilities to society as a whole - they need to pass on the social and moral ethics which allow our society to function. But many don't, or cannot. Many are far too lenient. In the case of the child in the restaurant, if that had been me as a boy, I'd have got a slap. Oh damn, we can't punish physically any more because some researchers told us it could psychologically damage you in later years. It didn't damage me. It didn't damage my father, who had it far worse. In fact, out of all the people I know who were punished as children, they have turned out far more balanced than those who grew up without it. Bullying damages you, punishment does not. It puts you in your place. Having a sense of justice helps, but these days, teachers are losing control of the classrooms, parents need to work all day because they can't live off one salary and so friends, computer games, DVDs, TV and the Internet take over the role of chief educator and kids create their own Lord-of-the-Flies view of the world.
I am not a traditionalist, but I firmly believe that a return to stay-at-home parents is a must for the future, but it is not important which parent stays at home. The main obstacle is the lack of policy to bring this about. I believe that the unemployment figures can be dramatically reduced and the amount of parents bringing up their children at home can be raised in one go by creating a partnership between the government and the business world where companies who offer an employee whose spouse quits work to look after their children a significant rise in salary. The companies taking part are offered tax breaks of the equivalent amount or more to compensate. This not only places the family at the heart of government policy, it also creates space for another potential employee who would be otherwise unemployed. This could have knock-on benefits, for example an incentive to produce more children, thus an upturn in population figures setting off the aging population.
This will not happen though, because governments of our day are only interested in offering cheap, temporary and diluted policies. They need to continue filling big business with tax incentives and helping reduce expenditure. The age of the benevolent government is over, stand by for the end of society.
There are several layers of this social inertia - on one hand whilst some smile or say hello to you, half of the time you don't receive a greeting back. On another hand this is minor compared to the following, which is my pet hate and, I honestly believe, the root of our social ills today:
MP3 players on public transport. I hate them. I despise everything about people who feel the need to let the rest of the bus hear the "music" these individuals need to listen to in order to feel like they're still at the weekend's party and looking forward to the next one. I feel nothing but contempt for those who destroy the peace. I can't concentrate on reading my book when I hear these noise machines blasting out their satanic messages. Can't these people find something else to do? Read a book, for example. Although by the look of them I'm not sure they have a concentration span long enough to manage. But we can tie other anti-social, or even aggressive, acts in with this: feet on the opposite seat, talking loudly on the mobile phone, putting bags on the seat beside, talking loudly to others, refusing to get up for an old person or pregnant woman, spitting chewing gum on the floor, etc. If you do one of these things, you'll probably do the others.
And why? It came to my attention on the number 44 tram the other day - a woman of about 30 was occupying a four-seat section with her 9 or 10-year-old child next to her. The tram was quite empty to begin with but the amount of passengers built up gradually. Nothing unusual yet. Until you note that she allowed her daughter to put her feet on the chair opposite her and she kept her handbag on the seat next to her, thus occupying three of the four seats. If the parents don't say anything, the children think it's OK to carry on doing these things.
Another time I witnessed a family of four out for lunch - but that quickly became three when the youngest, no older than 6, got up to run off his half-eaten sausage and chips. The mother called the child back to finish off his "meal" but was ignored. So she got out a sweet and said he could have it if he sat down again. Nope. The boy carried on running. The plates were taken away and
the little shyster carried on annoying people. Mum and dad continued their chat as though everything was all right. That was, until one of the clients got up to complain to the parents.
He told the mother that the child was really disturbing him and the others around him by staring at them and every now and again shouting, running away in that heavy-footed way kids like to make noise. The mother was so astounded at this unusual and daring act that she even raised her voice to the child. But still she didn't get up. It took the little blighter to have an accident with the waiter carrying empty cups back to the bar for her to motivate herself. The child was unhurt, the waiter only unbalanced, but the cups had made a heavy landing on the concrete. Now he was seated, he began to clap his hands, put his fingers in his warm and gasless fanta drink and make monosyllabic outbursts but the parents did not tell him to be quiet. I then wondered why potential stepparents are unable to adopt children without the most rigorous of tests, but anyone with the right sexual organs can just make their own.
A third event took place last week when I was in Germany. I was at a village celebration where they set fire to a load of wood to commemorate the arrival of spring. They had set up a bar in an open tent and tables and chairs were placed outside to sit and have a good drink and chat. I noticed that all the adults were sitting or standing around getting slowly unconscious on alcohol while the kids were running about the field, playing with the fire and putting drinks down each other's shirts. I remembered one of the children from a previous visit and had got chatting to her - her friends were interested in the arrival of a foreigner so we all had a chat in the dusk light. Some of the questions were typical of kids to try and embarrass you, but I handled it fairly well, considering German is one of my weaker languages. When I said goodbye to them and headed back to the house I was staying in, two of the less-than-vertical fathers shouted at me to stop where I was. One asked, "what have you been doing with our children?" I didn't quite understand the nature of the question and felt quite threatened, so I asked the spokesman to repeat it. He said he didn't like strangers hanging round the kids and wondered what I was doing with them. If he had looked up from his glass, he would have seen. I told them what happened and they went away.
However, I felt like saying, "and what did you do with them?" Because it was plain to see that they just parked their kids on the grass while they went off to get drunk. Saves on the babysitting costs.
But I didn't, because we don't, do we? We don't correct others because it's not our responsibility. We are too shy to interfere in the lives of others for fear of upsetting them, or even worse, being the victims of violence. And the only thing the police would do is tell you to keep your nose out.
[That reminds me of the ultimate keep-your-nose-out example: not so long ago, in Brussels, a family called the police because the television had been on in the house next door all night for the past two weeks, and there was a terrible smell of rubbish. What they found was horrific. The old man who lived there had been dead for two weeks at least and had obviously passed away while watching the television. God help us if that is the way of the future. I think we need to make subtle inquiries into the health, wellbeing and stability of those around us. If we carry on getting more and more insular, we will end up all in a dysfunctional society, with relationships and families where we barely communicate to each other.]
Parents have great responsibilities to society as a whole - they need to pass on the social and moral ethics which allow our society to function. But many don't, or cannot. Many are far too lenient. In the case of the child in the restaurant, if that had been me as a boy, I'd have got a slap. Oh damn, we can't punish physically any more because some researchers told us it could psychologically damage you in later years. It didn't damage me. It didn't damage my father, who had it far worse. In fact, out of all the people I know who were punished as children, they have turned out far more balanced than those who grew up without it. Bullying damages you, punishment does not. It puts you in your place. Having a sense of justice helps, but these days, teachers are losing control of the classrooms, parents need to work all day because they can't live off one salary and so friends, computer games, DVDs, TV and the Internet take over the role of chief educator and kids create their own Lord-of-the-Flies view of the world.
I am not a traditionalist, but I firmly believe that a return to stay-at-home parents is a must for the future, but it is not important which parent stays at home. The main obstacle is the lack of policy to bring this about. I believe that the unemployment figures can be dramatically reduced and the amount of parents bringing up their children at home can be raised in one go by creating a partnership between the government and the business world where companies who offer an employee whose spouse quits work to look after their children a significant rise in salary. The companies taking part are offered tax breaks of the equivalent amount or more to compensate. This not only places the family at the heart of government policy, it also creates space for another potential employee who would be otherwise unemployed. This could have knock-on benefits, for example an incentive to produce more children, thus an upturn in population figures setting off the aging population.
This will not happen though, because governments of our day are only interested in offering cheap, temporary and diluted policies. They need to continue filling big business with tax incentives and helping reduce expenditure. The age of the benevolent government is over, stand by for the end of society.
Friday, 4 May 2007
Perfidious Alba - biting the hand that feeds it
More politics today, I'm afraid. It seems that quite a lot of people in Scotland, on the fringes of the European continental shelf, have voted for the Scottish National Party, known as the SNP. Well, let them go. I mean, for 300 years they've grumbled, moaned, patronised and suffered their way through that Union, claiming they're under-represented, they don't get heard, feel that they're living in the shadow of Big Brother England. So let their leader, Alex Salmond, have his way in government. Let him steer the Scottish ship out of the British harbour. And then stand back and wait for the bang.
Because that is what will happen. I don't think he's thought it out properly. On a recent BBC programme on the Scottish election, old fishface Salmond said he'd retain the pound as the main currency of Scotland. Well pardon me Al old boy, but you're missing the point here. Scottish independence means you get your own currency, set your own foreign policy and trade with other nations alone. How ideal would that be for him? It seems he wants his own little domain without the unpopular drawbacks economic policy would bring to his door. Let London take the blame. Is it because even he realises Scotland would have the economic power of Latvia if he set his own currency up?
Scots, like the Irish and the Welsh, have continually gone in for some hard England-bashing. They seem to find it fun to mock those south of the border, preferably those in the south east corner, the ones with the wrong accent who subsidise their free university education while those in England pay thousands to send their offspring off to get degrees.
Of the £8680 of tax money most earners pay on middle-income salaries that was spent by UK central government in the year 2006, £1120 get put towards the health service (fair enough); £763 will go to local government (to help towards services such as police and education); £440 on education; £343 on defence; £135 on Northern Ireland; only £75 on international development and £4200 are left over for fluctuating expenditure like social security and infrastructure. But a massive £520 gets put aside on regional expenditure in Scotland and Wales. That means if the UK let Scotland go its own way, the English would all have a rebate which would certainly add to the Christmas present fund or a little extra pocketmoney for the summer holidays.
So this also means Alex Salmond wants English tax to carry on subsidising his little fiefdom up there, because if he did get full independence, Scottish income tax would make Belgium and Sweden look like Monaco. You've certainly done the maths, Al. After trying to negotiate independence his way, England would basically be paying for him and his little Scotlanders to carry on feeling sorry for themselves and congratulating each other on being able to continue ranting at the English at their expense.
I mean, what would an independent Scotland bring to the world? Let's look into it:
Because that is what will happen. I don't think he's thought it out properly. On a recent BBC programme on the Scottish election, old fishface Salmond said he'd retain the pound as the main currency of Scotland. Well pardon me Al old boy, but you're missing the point here. Scottish independence means you get your own currency, set your own foreign policy and trade with other nations alone. How ideal would that be for him? It seems he wants his own little domain without the unpopular drawbacks economic policy would bring to his door. Let London take the blame. Is it because even he realises Scotland would have the economic power of Latvia if he set his own currency up?
Scots, like the Irish and the Welsh, have continually gone in for some hard England-bashing. They seem to find it fun to mock those south of the border, preferably those in the south east corner, the ones with the wrong accent who subsidise their free university education while those in England pay thousands to send their offspring off to get degrees.
Of the £8680 of tax money most earners pay on middle-income salaries that was spent by UK central government in the year 2006, £1120 get put towards the health service (fair enough); £763 will go to local government (to help towards services such as police and education); £440 on education; £343 on defence; £135 on Northern Ireland; only £75 on international development and £4200 are left over for fluctuating expenditure like social security and infrastructure. But a massive £520 gets put aside on regional expenditure in Scotland and Wales. That means if the UK let Scotland go its own way, the English would all have a rebate which would certainly add to the Christmas present fund or a little extra pocketmoney for the summer holidays.
So this also means Alex Salmond wants English tax to carry on subsidising his little fiefdom up there, because if he did get full independence, Scottish income tax would make Belgium and Sweden look like Monaco. You've certainly done the maths, Al. After trying to negotiate independence his way, England would basically be paying for him and his little Scotlanders to carry on feeling sorry for themselves and congratulating each other on being able to continue ranting at the English at their expense.
I mean, what would an independent Scotland bring to the world? Let's look into it:
- Another Eurovision entry: whilst re-applying for membership of the EU, which when considering the queue in front of them (Croatia, Macedonia, etc.), might take a while, they can get fast-track membership of the EBU and possibly get just as badly blown away by voters' bias as the others. As long as they get more points than England, it doesn't matter, eh?
- Another EU Commissioner: what portfolio would they get? They were hard-pushed to find one for the Romanian Commissioner Leonard Orban - eventually, Multilingualism was scraped off the bottom of the barrel for him. So let's give the Scots control of a Complaints department. They'd be good at that.
- Exporting quality TV: once the BBC is broken up into the SBC, EBC and so on, they can try and raise enough money to put together some interesting shows and documentaries that other countries would want to buy. If not, there's always YouTube.
Excuse my chagrin in this matter, but I feel I'm losing my identity because some starry-eyed utopians want to turn the north of the UK into a huge kibbutz. I am British. My surname is Goslitski. My Polish grandfather was involved in the D-Day landings. My family's other side is mainly Irish, but the point is here that I am NOT happy being called English. For in order to feel English I would need Anglo-Saxon or Norman blood, which I have precious little of. The British Jamaicans, Nigerians, Australians, Zimbabweans, Indians, Pakistanis and Bangladeshis in the UK may also know what I mean. "British" is a universal word, an all-encompassing pair of syllables which give us that little bit of freedom to feel what we are. Why do some Scots feel so put out by it?
When I was younger, I remember the Scottish, Welsh and sometimes even the Northern Irish qualifying for the European Football Championships or the World Cup. The consensus in most of England was to share out the support for the "Home Nations". Yet up in Scotland, many made the opponents of England teams, whether cricket, rugby or football, honorary Scots for the day. It used to be meaningless banter, but recently it has become more personal, and many English people I know have withdrawn any support they would have offered them. Trivial example, I know, but it shows you the ill-feeling flowing through the land.
Do I detect a bit of historical retardedness? Some little Englanders still revel in Germany-bashing or Argentina-baiting, which I find quite petty, but at least the events related to their behaviour are not too far back. The Scots have been roasting the English since Bannockburn in 1314. Isn't it time to bury the past? Who do these people think they are? And why do they insist on hlding grudges over things their ancestors, now definitely dead, might have done to them through the ages? Are we going to write to the city council of Rome and ask them for compensation because they once ruled over England 1600 years ago? Or for that matter, do you think we should lobby the UN to bring sanctions on France for all the battles over the centuries? No. Because we're past that now. It has nothing to do with people alive today. In the same way I find it vulgar that many English until recently used to bang on about the Second World War, I find it even more repulsive that some Celts of whichever denomination keep pounding the English, laughable even, considering how far in the past it was. The Union works well NOW. Doesn't that count for anything?
The UK is not London-centric. In fact, it heavily favours the Scots and Welsh: their Members of Parliament can vote on English matters, which the English ones cannot. The Scots get free university education. They have their own newspapers, can print their own money and get preferential treatment in many other issues. Many of them still want more. For example, when London's candidature was put forward for the 2012 Olympic Games, many outside the capital, including some English, claimed London bias. Why not Glasgow, or Edinburgh? Because those cities are not anywhere near equipped enough to deal with such an enormous event. The UK applied before with Manchester and Birmingham. The French tried with Lille. The Germans with Leipzig. The Japanese with Osaka. But the IOC stated that only large cities with the correct infrastructure would have any chance. In Europe only Barcelona, Munich, St Petersburg and Milan would have any chance of defeating capital cities and two of them have had the Games already. London won and the other cities didn't.
I am not anti-Scottish, but I can't stand it when people stereotype a whole nation as evil bad guys. These people can't see a successful marriage: the United Kingdom has a lot going for it. Together, it punches above its weight in international affairs, it shares equality with France, Germany and Italy in the EU, it has greater credibility in this globalised world. "British" has long been a word to inspire, has been a symbol of a quality product, has for centuries turned "me" into "us". Why should this be different now?
But if the Scots want to go, let them. And in 10 years, when their foreign debts become too high, when their infrastructure needs repair and there isn't enough money, when their main source of income is wind energy (and we all know you need a lot of those expensive propellors to even charge up a phone battery), when their population ages but their pensions are minute, when their citizens are queuing at banks to withdraw their savings before the crash, let those of us who still believed in the Union say with one voice, "we told you so".
Thursday, 3 May 2007
Mrs Blair vs Mr Thatcher: the French presidential candidates
So the French elections are entering their final episode, when the proud people of that nation cast off the 5th Republic's statuesque leadership and finally enter into the political world of the 20th century. They have been waiting for this moment since the massive strikes of the nineties. France is no longer the place it used to be: people accept the need to make their country relevant outside Europe. They also know they have some problems internally. But do they?
Let's look at the facts:
France has one of the best health services in the world
It is one of the leading tourist destinations, battling Spain and the United States for supremacy
It has a reputation for fine wines and aesthetic food
It has the highest amount of people taking part in sport in Europe
The architecture and infrastructure of most of its towns are very nicely organised
This means a high standard of living
It has a world-class working ethic, balancing family and profession
But:
It has a high ethnic minority population which feels disenfranchised from the "real France"
It suffers from high unemployment and a flagging industry sector
It subsidises agriculture to the point where it is no longer to produce food, but to keep angry militant farmers in jobs
It props up all types of meaningless traditions, jobs and ways of life to stop its members revolting
It boldly tries to form an alternative to the "American Way", and would have great success, but for nobody taking it seriously enough
And this is where the problem lies: France doesn't really have anything to worry about, none of its problems can be solved overnight, but not all of them are incurable. Its people are just suffering from a temporary inferiority complex brought about by the realisation that they are no longer major players in Europe or the world at large. This realisation came in two waves. Firstly, in its drop from on high:
- When London won the bid for the 2012 Olympic Games, France understandably went into a period of inward-looking self-pity, thinking that the "Anglo-Saxon" (as some of the detractors like to call the UK and the US) hegemony was dangerously extending into deep-seated French creations like the modern Olympic movement. I seriously believe London won simply because its final presentation focused on the Games themselves, not on the smiling faces of its inhabitants in the videos which accompanied them. Paris was a gimme until that final moment.
- Another was its loss of linguistic and political power in the European Union. Until the arrival of the 10 newcomers, France and the French language were in control of most of the European debate. With the arrival of countries like Estonia, Slovakia, Cyprus and Malta, where French has few learners, let alone speakers, the shift eastwards meant English was now the only realistic working language of business and politics in Europe. More importantly, it also meant the European monetary mentality and political mindset had shifted from social state to market economy.
Its second realisation was waking up to find its young people, its unemployed but most of all its minorities feeling threatened and intimidated. The future of France, excluded from the workplaces and ignored in discussions on its direction, left outside of any meaningful roles to play. Cities quaked with fear as cars were set on fire, shops looted and what were communal areas became empty by day and fraught with lawlessness by night. The French way of life was taking a battering. Those with jobs knew they had a job for life no matter what, as long as they didn't rock the boat or challenge their bosses. The hierarchy ruled and those below waited until a place became free to move up. The rest just stood in line catching the leftovers thrown from those on the ladder of employment.
These two factors have pushed France to accept it needs to change, but nobody has a plan yet. Ideas are abundant, opinions everywhere, but actions are not forthcoming.
Enter the two candidates:
Mrs Blair, alias Ségolène Royal
Mr Thatcher, alias Nicolas Sarkozy
Ms Royal has so far shown she is a listener and a sympathetic mother-figure who wants to reform the country but she has not set out any policies in stone yet. She has attacked Mr Sarkozy for his immorality and bloodthirsty ambitiousness but she has tried to copy Mr Blair's image-conscious election campaigns and vague election promises. Mr Sarkozy on the other hand has shown his hand and nailed his flag to the mast. He seems to have some draconian views on France's problems and his popularity has risen, Thatcheresque, by his controversial views and hard-line reform packages. Like Mrs Thatcher, he has gained further popularity by his sheer bloody-minded insensitivity to what people think of him.
If France is to change, it is going to have to put up with a lot of pain. It seems the country is bent on re-invention but this may just come with a change of leader and the rest will take care of itself. Alternatively, the new leader may seek to curry favour with the whole population and continue to give in to the unreasonable demands of its more militant inhabitants. I think it will depend on who gets his/her message across better when in power. Sarkozy is likely to be blunt, forthright and obstreperous in his pursuit of overhauling the system. Royal will probably be explanatory in her vision yet vague in the way she wants to do it, in order to persuade the population to adopt her methods.
Mr Sarkozy's main downside is himself. If he can get through the message that he is serious about his policies, some (like his reduction of tax, which seems unrealistic at this juncture) which curry favour with the honest worker and some (no Turkey in the EU) which further disenfranchise the minorities, there could be some turbulence ahead.
Ms Royal's main problem is her much-too-benevolent ideas ("consolidate" the 35-hour week, raise the minimum wage by 250 euro) which seem to just make a mockery of France's need for reform.
Whoever wins in the early hours of Monday morning, one thing is for certain: both will be accused of u-turns and lies to win the Elysée. For Royal to further subsidise the poor and for Sarkozy to maintain tax levels to support his agenda, I fear nobody is fooled by the insincerity and idealism. They will both have a shock when they see the small budget they have to carry out their plans.
Let's look at the facts:
France has one of the best health services in the world
It is one of the leading tourist destinations, battling Spain and the United States for supremacy
It has a reputation for fine wines and aesthetic food
It has the highest amount of people taking part in sport in Europe
The architecture and infrastructure of most of its towns are very nicely organised
This means a high standard of living
It has a world-class working ethic, balancing family and profession
But:
It has a high ethnic minority population which feels disenfranchised from the "real France"
It suffers from high unemployment and a flagging industry sector
It subsidises agriculture to the point where it is no longer to produce food, but to keep angry militant farmers in jobs
It props up all types of meaningless traditions, jobs and ways of life to stop its members revolting
It boldly tries to form an alternative to the "American Way", and would have great success, but for nobody taking it seriously enough
And this is where the problem lies: France doesn't really have anything to worry about, none of its problems can be solved overnight, but not all of them are incurable. Its people are just suffering from a temporary inferiority complex brought about by the realisation that they are no longer major players in Europe or the world at large. This realisation came in two waves. Firstly, in its drop from on high:
- When London won the bid for the 2012 Olympic Games, France understandably went into a period of inward-looking self-pity, thinking that the "Anglo-Saxon" (as some of the detractors like to call the UK and the US) hegemony was dangerously extending into deep-seated French creations like the modern Olympic movement. I seriously believe London won simply because its final presentation focused on the Games themselves, not on the smiling faces of its inhabitants in the videos which accompanied them. Paris was a gimme until that final moment.
- Another was its loss of linguistic and political power in the European Union. Until the arrival of the 10 newcomers, France and the French language were in control of most of the European debate. With the arrival of countries like Estonia, Slovakia, Cyprus and Malta, where French has few learners, let alone speakers, the shift eastwards meant English was now the only realistic working language of business and politics in Europe. More importantly, it also meant the European monetary mentality and political mindset had shifted from social state to market economy.
Its second realisation was waking up to find its young people, its unemployed but most of all its minorities feeling threatened and intimidated. The future of France, excluded from the workplaces and ignored in discussions on its direction, left outside of any meaningful roles to play. Cities quaked with fear as cars were set on fire, shops looted and what were communal areas became empty by day and fraught with lawlessness by night. The French way of life was taking a battering. Those with jobs knew they had a job for life no matter what, as long as they didn't rock the boat or challenge their bosses. The hierarchy ruled and those below waited until a place became free to move up. The rest just stood in line catching the leftovers thrown from those on the ladder of employment.
These two factors have pushed France to accept it needs to change, but nobody has a plan yet. Ideas are abundant, opinions everywhere, but actions are not forthcoming.
Enter the two candidates:
Mrs Blair, alias Ségolène Royal
Mr Thatcher, alias Nicolas Sarkozy
Ms Royal has so far shown she is a listener and a sympathetic mother-figure who wants to reform the country but she has not set out any policies in stone yet. She has attacked Mr Sarkozy for his immorality and bloodthirsty ambitiousness but she has tried to copy Mr Blair's image-conscious election campaigns and vague election promises. Mr Sarkozy on the other hand has shown his hand and nailed his flag to the mast. He seems to have some draconian views on France's problems and his popularity has risen, Thatcheresque, by his controversial views and hard-line reform packages. Like Mrs Thatcher, he has gained further popularity by his sheer bloody-minded insensitivity to what people think of him.
If France is to change, it is going to have to put up with a lot of pain. It seems the country is bent on re-invention but this may just come with a change of leader and the rest will take care of itself. Alternatively, the new leader may seek to curry favour with the whole population and continue to give in to the unreasonable demands of its more militant inhabitants. I think it will depend on who gets his/her message across better when in power. Sarkozy is likely to be blunt, forthright and obstreperous in his pursuit of overhauling the system. Royal will probably be explanatory in her vision yet vague in the way she wants to do it, in order to persuade the population to adopt her methods.
Mr Sarkozy's main downside is himself. If he can get through the message that he is serious about his policies, some (like his reduction of tax, which seems unrealistic at this juncture) which curry favour with the honest worker and some (no Turkey in the EU) which further disenfranchise the minorities, there could be some turbulence ahead.
Ms Royal's main problem is her much-too-benevolent ideas ("consolidate" the 35-hour week, raise the minimum wage by 250 euro) which seem to just make a mockery of France's need for reform.
Whoever wins in the early hours of Monday morning, one thing is for certain: both will be accused of u-turns and lies to win the Elysée. For Royal to further subsidise the poor and for Sarkozy to maintain tax levels to support his agenda, I fear nobody is fooled by the insincerity and idealism. They will both have a shock when they see the small budget they have to carry out their plans.
Wednesday, 2 May 2007
How life changes...
Did you know I used to cut grass to earn some extra pocket money? Not when I was a teenager, but after university, even after my first full-time job at a pharmeceutical research company. I was unemployed for over a year and fed up with sitting at home. It was not for the want of trying either. I sent 40 application letters and received two reject letters. The rest couldn't be bothered. I realise now I had taken the wrong course of action: in our Brave New World we have to rely on ourselves, not on the grace of others. When I finally did get a break, I really enjoyed my job, working on a multilingual helpdesk where I met some of my most long-standing friends.
Relying on myself became a principle I have tried so hard to enforce in my everyday life, but it is often difficult to avoid the help of friends and colleagues. Upon moving up the ladder to the City, where I worked in a foreign bank, I realised I was not going in the right direction. I was hired as a multilingual internet banking interface (or something like that) but I spoke only English at work and when I actually did my multilingual interface role, it was for only five minutes of the day, and even then the client insisted on trying out his/her English. So I contacted the human resources department, told them I was unhappy with my position and I wanted a transfer, and went on holiday. Upon my return, the papers were ready to sign. An effective way to conjure up your own dismissal.
I had by then learned from my awful mistakes the first time round and had saved up a little nestegg, which I used to get something more fitting. Speaking several languages and only speaking your own in your job can be a mighty cold shower when you spent years learning them. I found myself in Prague over New Year 2001, listening to a jazz band and drinking glühwein in the Old Town Square, when my phone rang. It was the head of unit for an official European organisation involved in the control of air traffic, seeking a multilingual contact point for central and eastern Europe. The wages were astronomical, almost unrealistic, and the working hours so unlike anything forced upon you in workaholic London.
I accepted there and then on the phone in Prague, oh and by the way, could I start in 11 days? Naturally! And that's how I ended up in Belgium. I ended up in Leuven, not Brussels, through an old university friend from the Netherlands, who had settled here with his Spanish wife. In 1999 I had taken an EU Institutions exam in Brussels and had followed them back to Leuven for dinner after the gruelling 6-hour tests. I really liked the place from first view and vowed to live here in the future if I ever got a job which permitted me to do so. The European organisation was on the Leuven-Brussels railway line, and without hesitation I arrived, on a rainy 14th January 2001 at the hotel opposite the station while I sorted out an apartment.
It doesn't end there... This was 2001, the year of The Event in the aircraft industry and so when the panic set in, changes were made and excuses were found to shove the newcomers out onto the streets. I had a lot of adjusting to do: going from earning in 4 days what most earned in a month to not earning anything at all meant I needed to move out of my marble-floored, two-bathroomed semi-penthouse with balcony overlooking the historic centre into a clumsy duplex two-roomed shoebox on a thoroughfare opposite the prison, next to a hotel, a hospital, a bordello, and round the corner from a school. Needless to say I was kept awake by the delivery vans, buses, patients, schoolkids, police escorts, ambulances and visitors to the ladies of the night (whom I never saw, of course).
I started to panic when I was down to my last 300 euro and the rent needed paying, so I went back to what I know best - language training. I love it. There's nothing nicer than giving people who are interested the benefit of your knowledge. It all began as a sort of cottage industry: in Belgium, due to the high number of people requiring language skills, most trainers are independent, not employees. Language training is also VAT-free, unlike translation, which while more profitable, is also a damn sight more boring. Relying on myself seemed surely the right way to go after being let down by so many others. I got my break through Marc Smekens, a jolly, charismatic and hard-working self-made Christian rock singer with his own language training company. Originally giving lessons for his outfit, I gradually picked up my own speed until I ended up on the 22nd floor of the second highest tower in Brussels, that of Belgacom, Belgium's monopolistic telecommunications company.
I didn't think it would all explode in my face, until the day I was accused of something which in fact my students had requested. I showed them my photographic website - one of them was going to Slovakia and wanted to see some photos of the place. But because there are photos of models on another section of my website, the potential catastrophe of them catching a glimpse of a scantily clad young lady whilst working drove the training department to pull the plug on me. So I decided to rely on myself once more and get my own clients. Having built up a nice little empire, master of my own domain, I spotted a call for trainers at the European Institutions, only requirement, a degree in languages. There was to be a seminar on the procedures and structures of the Institutions which I found to be quite daunting but within two months I was propelled into the European Commission's training department. I remained there for two and a half years before diversifying to the European Parliament and the Commission's interpretation centre.
I meet people from every country in the EU, who do all kinds of tasks from political advisers to European budget regulators, from MEPs to ushers, from conference interpreters to extra-governmental trainees from outside the EU. I give them all kinds of training from giving presentations and speeches to negotiating in English, from dealing with high-level correspondence to simple grammar courses. No day is ever the same. No semester is ever the same. I have been blessed (so far) with a happy and interesting course in life, which I hope will remain for as long as the contract is renewed.
Relying on myself became a principle I have tried so hard to enforce in my everyday life, but it is often difficult to avoid the help of friends and colleagues. Upon moving up the ladder to the City, where I worked in a foreign bank, I realised I was not going in the right direction. I was hired as a multilingual internet banking interface (or something like that) but I spoke only English at work and when I actually did my multilingual interface role, it was for only five minutes of the day, and even then the client insisted on trying out his/her English. So I contacted the human resources department, told them I was unhappy with my position and I wanted a transfer, and went on holiday. Upon my return, the papers were ready to sign. An effective way to conjure up your own dismissal.
I had by then learned from my awful mistakes the first time round and had saved up a little nestegg, which I used to get something more fitting. Speaking several languages and only speaking your own in your job can be a mighty cold shower when you spent years learning them. I found myself in Prague over New Year 2001, listening to a jazz band and drinking glühwein in the Old Town Square, when my phone rang. It was the head of unit for an official European organisation involved in the control of air traffic, seeking a multilingual contact point for central and eastern Europe. The wages were astronomical, almost unrealistic, and the working hours so unlike anything forced upon you in workaholic London.
I accepted there and then on the phone in Prague, oh and by the way, could I start in 11 days? Naturally! And that's how I ended up in Belgium. I ended up in Leuven, not Brussels, through an old university friend from the Netherlands, who had settled here with his Spanish wife. In 1999 I had taken an EU Institutions exam in Brussels and had followed them back to Leuven for dinner after the gruelling 6-hour tests. I really liked the place from first view and vowed to live here in the future if I ever got a job which permitted me to do so. The European organisation was on the Leuven-Brussels railway line, and without hesitation I arrived, on a rainy 14th January 2001 at the hotel opposite the station while I sorted out an apartment.
It doesn't end there... This was 2001, the year of The Event in the aircraft industry and so when the panic set in, changes were made and excuses were found to shove the newcomers out onto the streets. I had a lot of adjusting to do: going from earning in 4 days what most earned in a month to not earning anything at all meant I needed to move out of my marble-floored, two-bathroomed semi-penthouse with balcony overlooking the historic centre into a clumsy duplex two-roomed shoebox on a thoroughfare opposite the prison, next to a hotel, a hospital, a bordello, and round the corner from a school. Needless to say I was kept awake by the delivery vans, buses, patients, schoolkids, police escorts, ambulances and visitors to the ladies of the night (whom I never saw, of course).
I started to panic when I was down to my last 300 euro and the rent needed paying, so I went back to what I know best - language training. I love it. There's nothing nicer than giving people who are interested the benefit of your knowledge. It all began as a sort of cottage industry: in Belgium, due to the high number of people requiring language skills, most trainers are independent, not employees. Language training is also VAT-free, unlike translation, which while more profitable, is also a damn sight more boring. Relying on myself seemed surely the right way to go after being let down by so many others. I got my break through Marc Smekens, a jolly, charismatic and hard-working self-made Christian rock singer with his own language training company. Originally giving lessons for his outfit, I gradually picked up my own speed until I ended up on the 22nd floor of the second highest tower in Brussels, that of Belgacom, Belgium's monopolistic telecommunications company.
I didn't think it would all explode in my face, until the day I was accused of something which in fact my students had requested. I showed them my photographic website - one of them was going to Slovakia and wanted to see some photos of the place. But because there are photos of models on another section of my website, the potential catastrophe of them catching a glimpse of a scantily clad young lady whilst working drove the training department to pull the plug on me. So I decided to rely on myself once more and get my own clients. Having built up a nice little empire, master of my own domain, I spotted a call for trainers at the European Institutions, only requirement, a degree in languages. There was to be a seminar on the procedures and structures of the Institutions which I found to be quite daunting but within two months I was propelled into the European Commission's training department. I remained there for two and a half years before diversifying to the European Parliament and the Commission's interpretation centre.
I meet people from every country in the EU, who do all kinds of tasks from political advisers to European budget regulators, from MEPs to ushers, from conference interpreters to extra-governmental trainees from outside the EU. I give them all kinds of training from giving presentations and speeches to negotiating in English, from dealing with high-level correspondence to simple grammar courses. No day is ever the same. No semester is ever the same. I have been blessed (so far) with a happy and interesting course in life, which I hope will remain for as long as the contract is renewed.
Liverpool FC: history, tradition and reputation
This will not be a long blog, as I've just come back from Brandenburg in Germany, trying to beat the traffic in order to watch the Champions League semi-final. Olaf, my German friend in the driver's seat, managed an average speed of 150 km/h including breaks: for me that's not driving fast, but flying low...
Anyway, what a match it was: the build-up was nasty, with José Mourinho and Rafa Benítez giving each other some stick: "Liverpool are favourites because in the year 2007, we've played 27 matches and Liverpool play three or four," being the Special One's cue for a verbal pie-throwing competition.
Let us not take anything away from José Mourinho - he's the best thing to happen to Premiership football in a long time, and long may he remain in his job - but Rafa brings something to the European table that all that Russian money can't buy: the best fans in the world, who sing the most recognisable footballing anthem "You'll Never Walk Alone", the most stable régime in the game (Man Utd apart) but most of all they bring their reputations. Chelsea plays strategically, Man United with flair, Arsenal with... euhm... something anyway, but Liverpool play with their hearts and their supporters assure us of an incomparable atmosphere only matched by the Celtic faithful.
In the 1977 European Cup final, their supporters travelled en masse to Rome for the match. It might as well have been a home game. According to one of the players that day, the team was overwhelmed by the mass of red in the stadium. Their opponents, Borussia Mönchengladbach, were outplayed but also outsung by the Liverpool faithful, losing 3-1 on the night. Since then, they have won four more European Cups. Real Madrid, with nine, is the only team that has won more, but since 1966 only three, making Liverpool FC the most decorated European club in the last 30 years.
Looking through some of the names past and present makes impressive reading: Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley, Emlyn Hughes, Graeme Souness, Bruce Grobbelaar, Steven Gerrard, Kenny Dalglish, Alan Hansen... The list goes on. But what stands out most for me is the kit. That all-red strip which strikes fear into many opponents in European football. It was, in fact, born in the mid-sixties when Bill Shankly tried out red shorts on one of his players. They were white before then. It was suggested to change the white socks to red and that sealed it. They went out to face Anderlecht dressed for the first time in that renowned outfit.
Despite their reputation in the competition, Liverpool FC might not win the Champions League this year as I've always fancied the winners of Milan and Man Utd to go on to lift the trophy no matter who won the match tonight, but I'm delighted that Liverpool made it there. Although I hope I'm wrong about my prediction! Chelsea is a very defensive team and their supporters pretty subdued. The Reds getting to the final in Athens will mean that at least the atmosphere will be tip top and it should be a much more open game.
I cannot finish this article without a short word about some of the players in the current team: Steven Gerrard is by far superior to Frank Lampard and should always take precedence over him in England matches - he has been their hero on numerous occasions and his never-give-up attitude exemplary. José Reina is one of the top goalkeepers in Europe right now, but with Jamie Carragher in defence, you know the backup is first class. For me, he is the player of the tournament. He has risked injury to clear dangerous balls. He has attempted to defend his goal with military precision and he is not afraid of the odd foot in the face. If he goes down, it's because he really is injured.
So, whoever wins the other semi-final, we are guaranteed a superb final: if Man United get there, the flair of Ronaldo and Rooney will make a photogenic display; if Milan are successful, the skills of Kaká and the sheer doggedness of Gattuso will give us a memorable night. All-in-all, if Liverpool do win the final, it will prove their greatness once and for all.
Anyway, what a match it was: the build-up was nasty, with José Mourinho and Rafa Benítez giving each other some stick: "Liverpool are favourites because in the year 2007, we've played 27 matches and Liverpool play three or four," being the Special One's cue for a verbal pie-throwing competition.
Let us not take anything away from José Mourinho - he's the best thing to happen to Premiership football in a long time, and long may he remain in his job - but Rafa brings something to the European table that all that Russian money can't buy: the best fans in the world, who sing the most recognisable footballing anthem "You'll Never Walk Alone", the most stable régime in the game (Man Utd apart) but most of all they bring their reputations. Chelsea plays strategically, Man United with flair, Arsenal with... euhm... something anyway, but Liverpool play with their hearts and their supporters assure us of an incomparable atmosphere only matched by the Celtic faithful.
In the 1977 European Cup final, their supporters travelled en masse to Rome for the match. It might as well have been a home game. According to one of the players that day, the team was overwhelmed by the mass of red in the stadium. Their opponents, Borussia Mönchengladbach, were outplayed but also outsung by the Liverpool faithful, losing 3-1 on the night. Since then, they have won four more European Cups. Real Madrid, with nine, is the only team that has won more, but since 1966 only three, making Liverpool FC the most decorated European club in the last 30 years.
Looking through some of the names past and present makes impressive reading: Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley, Emlyn Hughes, Graeme Souness, Bruce Grobbelaar, Steven Gerrard, Kenny Dalglish, Alan Hansen... The list goes on. But what stands out most for me is the kit. That all-red strip which strikes fear into many opponents in European football. It was, in fact, born in the mid-sixties when Bill Shankly tried out red shorts on one of his players. They were white before then. It was suggested to change the white socks to red and that sealed it. They went out to face Anderlecht dressed for the first time in that renowned outfit.
Despite their reputation in the competition, Liverpool FC might not win the Champions League this year as I've always fancied the winners of Milan and Man Utd to go on to lift the trophy no matter who won the match tonight, but I'm delighted that Liverpool made it there. Although I hope I'm wrong about my prediction! Chelsea is a very defensive team and their supporters pretty subdued. The Reds getting to the final in Athens will mean that at least the atmosphere will be tip top and it should be a much more open game.
I cannot finish this article without a short word about some of the players in the current team: Steven Gerrard is by far superior to Frank Lampard and should always take precedence over him in England matches - he has been their hero on numerous occasions and his never-give-up attitude exemplary. José Reina is one of the top goalkeepers in Europe right now, but with Jamie Carragher in defence, you know the backup is first class. For me, he is the player of the tournament. He has risked injury to clear dangerous balls. He has attempted to defend his goal with military precision and he is not afraid of the odd foot in the face. If he goes down, it's because he really is injured.
So, whoever wins the other semi-final, we are guaranteed a superb final: if Man United get there, the flair of Ronaldo and Rooney will make a photogenic display; if Milan are successful, the skills of Kaká and the sheer doggedness of Gattuso will give us a memorable night. All-in-all, if Liverpool do win the final, it will prove their greatness once and for all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)