Apologies
for the delay in getting this missive out to you. Over the past couple of weeks,
the arrogant and contemptuous refusal of the unelected, money and ideology
driven demagogues with their hands firmly grasped round the reins of power, to
adequately explain and take responsibility for their palpably illegal actions,
has meant that while every single day I’ve thought about sharing my thoughts
with you, the sands of obfuscatory disinformation have shifted once again,
meaning my opinions would have been rendered anachronistic.
You
probably expected me to mention Dominic Cummings, or even do an article on the
layers of ludicrous lies heaped on his trip to Durham. Equally, the sickening
murder of George Floyd and the nauseating, lying response by the racist US
state apparatus should be written large in blood red capitals by a better
author than I. However, I decided that
debating such topics would be a pointless act; firstly, because I didn’t feel
equipped to adequately encapsulate the extent of the misfeasance at the heart
of the current British and American governments and secondly, because John
Crace of The Guardian says everything that needs to be said in his daily
column, which I implore you to read.
Moving
back to football, I had hoped to start on this piece on Sunday 24th
May, as it was eleven years to the day that Newcastle United were relegated
from the Premier League for the first time which, as national footballing
authorities had been supposed to submit detailed plans for the future of the
domestic game in their country to UEFA by 25th May, seemed to be
appropriate in several ways, including the hinted conclusion of the glacially
paced takeover by the amoral butchers from the House of Saud, blowsy nicotine
addict Amanda Staveley and the elusive philanthropic billionaires, the Reuben
Brothers. However, the Premier League’s admirable refusal to provide assent for
this sordid gang of ne’er-do-wells to assume control of NUFC, albeit for
completely the wrong reasons, means that the whole deal appears almost certain
to fail, which has caused a pandemic of cognitive dissonance among the entire
NUFC Twitterati, who have declared a cyber pogrom on Hatice Cengiz,
whose appeal for justice for her murdered fiancé have been met with contemptuous
abuse at every turn. It is sickening behaviour and, as must be pointed out at
every turn, certainly not her fault that arguments over broadcasting rights of
Premier League games have holed the pirate ship PIF below the waterline.
A
perhaps surprising side effect of the vacuum created by the derailed and
discredited attempted takeover has been the emergence from underneath rocks of
the usual suspects from leafy Ouston and arid Dubai, in a so far unsuccessful
attempt to rehabilitate their ruined reputations by getting their gnarled grids
and tawdry timepieces all over a series of demotic publicity shots with a
startled and slightly revolted Chris Mort, like it’s Baha Beach in 2007 all
over again. Instead, the unlikeable lads are emerging, tentatively and
shamelessly by turns, from a year of peer-imposed social media lockdown, by means
of a regular drip feed of widely-ignored and otherwise derided populist
articles and podcasts, claiming the future for NUFC is so radiant as to be
indistinguishable from a paradisal afterlife. Somebody needs to show these lads some love
and understanding soon, or they’ll explode from being ignored. Perhaps a few
pairs of comfort socks might help.
On
Thursday 26th May, the Premier League finally announced that the season would
recommence in exactly three weeks, on Thursday 17th June. Fair play to our very
own Adonis Brooooth mind; the fella who looks like he lives on fishcake and
chips four times a day has expressed his reservations as to whether elite
professional athletes will be back in the correct shape in time. I think that’s
a question best answered by Jack Grealish, Kyle Walker, Callum Hudson-Odoi,
Alexandre Lacazette, Moise Kean, Phil Foden and all the other moneyed
transgressors who broke COVIS-19 lockdown laws this past while. However,
Broooth’s compassion does stand in sharp relief to the deeply distressing tales
of nice guy Rafa endlessly bullying Craig Bellamy, for instance.
Of
course, during the long period of silent uncertainty when we didn’t know if
English football would embark upon the tortuous processes related to Project
Restart, there was the soporific sight of German football effortlessly gliding
back into place, albeit with grounds devoid of spectators, stripping the games
of any atmosphere. This minor detail wasn’t enough to cool the burning ardour
of the Brownshirt Bupastadt Brits: Der Stanabteilung mit Schwein und Hund who
tweeted endless moist gusset shots of their unseemly excitement and hazy
comprehension of ihre Unzureichendemannschaft until die Kulturellenaneigner endured
a four goal chasing second time out and they went back to self-mythologization
as their default pastime: ich war kein Bergmann, ich war kein Maurer, ich
habe nicht auf Baustellen gearbeitet nach dem Krieg…
Being
serious, despite several positive tests and Troy Deeney slipping his ankle tag
to avoid training, the Premier League seems to be heading forwards with the
minimum of fuss, the occasional positive test result notwithstanding. Don’t get
me wrong; I’d rather they play these two previously postponed PL games, then
call the table on a PPG basis, as well as handing the FA Cup to the side who’ve
scored the most goals in the competition, in recognition of Newcastle’s superb
commitment to attacking football in the first part of the season, but in the
elite strata of the game there’s no room for selfishness or sentimentality;
sport rules the waves. The dates and times for all games are now in the public
domain and the participating clubs have given their assent. Oh, if only this
were the case among the professional plankton in the lower depths of the game.
It’s
no secret that my Scottish team is Hibernian, but it is a less well known fact
that I have more than a passing affection for both Bradford City and Port Vale,
who are the two sides I follow in League 2. In the case of Bradford, it was and
affection caused by regularly attending games at Valley Parade when I was a
student at Leeds University, while Port Vale is more difficult to quantify; I
suppose simply enjoying my visits to Burslem where I saw Newcastle win on both
occasions, was enough, especially as it contrasts with memories of near death
experiences at nearby Stoke City in the League Cup back in 1995. Not only do
they both have my affection, they have my total respect after they selflessly
abandoned hopes of a play off place by voting to curtail the League 2 season,
rather than imperilling the continued existence of their rivals by embarking
upon a fiscally ruinous course of events by playing out the rest of the season
behind closed doors. It is an example of the kind of sense of responsibility
for the sport as a whole that is sadly lacking in League 1.
The
top of the table in the third tier is fascinating to behold; while Coventry and
Rotherham are rightly being regarded as over the hills and far away, the play
off places are incredibly tight. Currently, there is only a single point
separating Oxford in third from Wycombe in eighth, with Peterborough holding
onto the last play off spot on goal difference from Sunderland and Wycombe.
There is, of course, a crucial ace in the pack that Wycombe are delighted to
lay down; if PPG is applied to the table, the Chair Boys have a crucial game in
hand, which moves them to third and bumps Peterborough out of the play offs
entirely. The Mackems, it should be noted, have played 1 more game than their
rivals, which means they drop to eighth on that basis.
Remembering
the events of early 1998 in the FA Cup, I have little to no sympathy for
Stevenage and their imminent relegation from League 2, enabling the infamous
radgies of Barrow to return to the Football League after a 48-year hiatus. I
have even fewer fellow feelings for Donald Stewart’s mob. If natural justice is
applied, they must endure a third successive season in the third tier and
Peterborough, though my memory of one wonderful trip to London Road in
September 1992 remains undimmed, must sadly accompany them.
For
the overwhelming majority of League 1 clubs, including Sunderland if truth be
told, the expense of holding games behind closed doors, removing the major
income stream of matchday income, is an impossible burden. Cancelling or
curtailing the campaign is the only realistic way forward. We’ve come too far
to entertain the first option, so the second must be embraced and PPG is the
only possible fair way to compile a final table. The sheer length of time it
has taken to come to a decision means that it is totally unfeasible to try and
schedule up to 10 rounds of ordinary league fixtures and then the play-offs, if
we want the season finished before the clocks go back. As a result, the teams
in the play-off places should continue the season to a natural conclusion,
albeit without fans to see it. Donald Stewart, up to his oxters in debt and
sinking fast, has admitted, like so many from Wearside before him, that taking
the matter to court without support from Legal Aid is a complete non-starter,
though Peterborough’s wannabe DNS Howyeh owner Darragh MacAnthony,
always keen to reinforce his Love\Hate persona, has muttered dark
thoughts about stepping the argument up to Hutch–Kinahan levels of
debate. We shall see, after the EFL constituent divisions hold definitive
meetings in the week beginning 8th June.
Mind
if you think Peterborough, Stevenage and Sunderland are behaving like spoilt
brats, you should see the sickening and selfish plans being tabled by the
frighteningly scarified Ann Budge, owner of Heart of Midlothian, for Scottish
league reconstruction. For the past 7 seasons, the Scottish game has bumbled
along as usual under the current structure of 4 divisions of 12-10-10-10, with
Celtic winning it every year of course. Having last kicked a ball in mid-March,
the SPFL came together to vote on the season’s end. After a tortuous process
blighted by the arrogant selfishness of Rangers FC, who are only 1 year older
than the SPFL it should be remembered, the bottom 3 leagues were curtailed,
with some important modifications. Firstly, Brechin City were spared the
indignity of every previous wooden spoonist by not having to play off against
either Kelty Hearts or Brora Rangers to keep a spot in League 2. Secondly, Cove
Rangers swapped places with Stranraer and Raith Rovers with poor old Partick
Thistle. Thirdly, Dundee United were declared Champions of the Championship,
but their replacements weren’t immediately confirmed, as the Premier League
went into suspended animation.
Throughout
their 8-year existence, Rangers have always adopted the default position that
whatever inconveniences Celtic must be ruthlessly pursued. They screamed and
cried like bairns with colic to try and prevent Celtic getting their hands on 9
in a row, demanding Neil Doncaster be suspended and hinting at the existence of
a weighty dossier of corporate misfeasance that turned into the square root of
jack shit in the clear light of day. Consequently, the Premier League was
called, the Huns took the huff and Hearts took the tumble to the Championship,
finishing four points adrift at the foot of the table, having only won four
games all season; two of those against Hibs, I am ashamed to admit…
Being
dispassionate, Hearts deserve to be relegated on merit. They are palpably and
demonstrably the worst side in the division over a period of 30 games and seven
months and nothing can hide that fact. Unfortunately, to the universal derision
of Scottish football, other than followers of Partick Thistle, Rangers and
possibly the mighty Stranraer, the Grandmother of King William, Worshipful
Sister Budge, simply won’t let it go. In the Crazy World of Annie Budge, the
restoration of the natural order isn’t the fault of Craig Levein, Austin
McPhee, Daniel Stendal or two dozen unmotivated, underperforming players in
maroon, it’s all the fault of SPFL that COVID-19 wrecked the season. In the
Gorgie dreamworld, the only way to solve all the problems in Scottish football
is to reconstruct the league set up in a way that benefits Hearts. Budge’s proposals are for three divisions of 14,
or possibly 16 in the bottom tier if Kelty and Brora are invited on board.
Incidentally, that bottom tier will include Stranraer, so quite how Hearts have
salvaged the souls of the Stair Park stalwarts isn’t immediately apparent.
Partick Thistle seem keen though and that’s about all the positives to be taken
from this proposal.
Early
indications are that the proposals are doomed to failure; there is absolutely
no chance of 15 lower division clubs voting for this farce. For instance, why
would Cove Rangers deny themselves promotion? And yet, never rule out the
possibility of corruption masquerading as compromise in Scottish football
administration, with Neil Doncaster moving the goalposts, by changing the
question top flight clubs are being asked. Instead of saying will you agree
to a 14-club top division for 2 years? Doncaster has asked the far more
nebulous, what will it take you to accept a 14-team top division for,
possibly, the next 5 seasons?
In
my eyes, it appears Doncaster is angling for a 14-10-10-10 structure, with
Brora and Kelty given seats around the campfire. A cynic would suggest that at
least a division’s worth of teams will go to the wall, if they’re required to
play behind closed doors from 1st August, so any reconstruction will
embrace the salient principles of Social Darwinism. However, one thing Budge
has done is persuade billionaire philanthropist James Anderson (not the Burnley
Lara, incidentally) to have a rake around the back of his sofa and come up with
a £2m donation to be spread out equally among all 42 (or perhaps 44) member
clubs. Nigh on fifty grand may not even pay for Leigh Griffiths’s latest hair
weave, but for the likes of Annan Athletic it’s probably enough to keep their
heads above water for the next while, until such time as their average 200
crowds come banging on the door again.
Certainly,
were such a state of events to come to pass, I’d regard it as a price worth
paying for the devious machinations of the maroon Machiavellis. As regards
League 1, there’s no chance I could ever support anything other than PPG as a
means to ending the season.
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