We've already had the discussion – well, my excuses – about why this blog sometimes reaches extreme length, so I won't go into it again. Suffice to say that it's fairly long again today. But I did find, in writing the opening piece about Tory sleaze, that sometimes you don't need to say much to convey a point. Readers are generally bright enough to work out a lot for themselves. I will have to bear this in mind in future. It'll save us all a bit of time.
Same Old (S)Tory
Strictly Come Goosestepping
'Arry Spurs on Tottenham
The leopard changes his spots
Police warned of race concerns
Same Old (S)Tory
Some things never change in politics. At this stage of a post I would normally say that the fall-out of the situation involving George Osborne and Russian businessmen has been interesting, but it hasn't, really, because we've seen it all before.
i) Accusations of Tory sleaze
ii) Labour attacking them for said accusations of Tory sleaze, with appropriate response
iii) The Tories swiftly changing the subject (and, in a fitting tribute to the everlasting stasis of British politics, changing it to the matter of bureaucracy and excess in the civil service – Yes Minister lives on)
iv) A question of right-wing media bias (why would The Daily Telegraph print and drag out this complete non-story of Osborne using a budget airline other than to make him look better?)
v) The public calling for the offender's head...
vi) ...and only getting a piece of it
Stop me if you've heard this one before.
Strictly Come Goosestepping
The BBC has been 'rocked' by complaints from, uh, people on its messageboard saying that Strictly Come Dancing's public vote is racist.
It's PC gone mad, I tell ye!*
The BBC claims it has not received any formal complaints about the programme, but the Olympic sprinter (and part-time spokesman for the black community, it would seem) John Regis has spoken out after Heather Small, singer in M People, and Don Warrington, star of Rising Damp and a personal hero of mine, came bottom in the vote, and Warrington was voted off the programme. "It is not like sport, when it's down to performance," said Regis. "Other factors come into play. Strictly is a middle-class kind of show and that possibly could be the area where racism still festers. I feel sorry for Don" (but not Heather Small, apparently – maybe she just really can't dance).
I personally have the impression that Don Warrington would be an excellent ballroom dancer, if only because he has that aristocratic air about him in his acting. Say what you like about actors – they do have natural rhythm.
Whether most of the kind of people who vote on Strictly Come Dancing are racist is a matter known only to God and themselves (and, worryingly, usually not even themselves). One thing is for sure, though: the claim made by John Regis and others is possibly the hardest thing in the world to prove. People's motives aren't questioned on phone-in votes, and if they were I don't think it would help. It's hard enough to get right-wing Texan hillbillies to admit they hate Barack Obama because he's black; try getting an admission of racism from middle-class coffin-dodgers with a paranoid sense of victimhood.
Also, there are no analytical means of measuring this wrongful dismissal, such as it is. Supposedly the show's judges decided Warrington and Small's separate performances were better than those of the three white celebrities competing against them, but is that really enough to accuse the public of racism? Colin Jackson was runner-up a few years ago, and last year's winner Alesha Dixon is mixed-race. This vote could just be a coincidence, or a crap idea of what constitutes good dancing. Who knows? And given that it's Strictly Come Dancing, who even cares?
Actually, I care. Racism is bad. But good luck proving this is an example of it.
*Please, please realise I'm joking. I would never use this phrase with any kind of sincerity.
'Arry Spurs on Tottenham
So, Juande Ramos is gone – and Gus Poyet, and Marcos Alvarez, and Damien Comolli – and Harry Redknapp is in charge of Tottenham Hotspur FC. It's perhaps a bit late for his wheeler-dealer antics to be of much help now, at least until the transfer window reopens, but Spurs will be desperate for anything at the moment, and in 'Arry, they've not gone far wrong.
His appointment's worked already, with Spurs claiming a 2-0 victory over Bolton – their first win of the season, and one that brings the team more points than they
got from the past eight games. Admittedly this wasn't really anything directly to do with Redknapp, since the team was picked by development squad coach Clive Allen, but the catalyst was there for a team knowing now that there's a future. That goes for the fans, too: Redknapp received a fantastic reception.
Tottenham's decline has been nothing short of incredible. Just look at the change in forwards. It takes some effort to move in a couple of years from a choice of Berbatov, Defoe, Robbie Keane and an on-form Mido to having a tired and unsettled Pavlyuchenko, 21-year-old Fraizer Campbell on loan from Manchester United as compensation for the Berbatov transfer (appalling business sense from Spurs) and, well, Darren Bent. It's been tragedy for the fans; comedy for everyone else.
Even so, though, I wasn't sure about The Guardian's coverage of the club's decline – printing an entire page of jokes at Spurs' expense. One or two in a box, maybe, or even a mini-feature in a side bar, but a whole page on Page 3 of the Sport section dedicated to jokes? A tad lazy in my view.
The Redknapp era should bring prosperity for Tottenham, but the task for now is clearly to avoid relegation. I think it will happen, and with a degree of ease (I predict 15th). But I am left wondering why he took the job on. He has said it's an opportunity to manage a big club before retirement, but Portsmouth are a big club – thanks to him. He's taken Pompey from the old Division 1 to being regular candidates for the top 6 and FA Cup winners. Why go to Spurs?
I guess he needs a new challenge. He's definitely found one.
The leopard changes his spots
People are often surprised by my opposition towards tattoos – not towards people having them, but the idea of having one myself. I don't know why they're surprised: maybe with my long hair and beard, I look like the kind of guy who should have questionable life codes inked into his arm. But I don't, and, like many, I simply do not understand what would bring someone to do this to him- or herself. What is wrong with these people?
Anyway, bottom on that list is the Leopard Man of Skye, previously the most tattooed man in the world, and he's moving house. No big story there, you might feel, but this is a man who hasn't really lived in a house for quite some time. He has spent the last 20 years living in a makeshift cabin with plastic sheeting for a roof, no electricity or furniture and requiring a three-mile canoe trip for his shopping. But at the age of 73, he has decided he is "getting too old for that kind of life" and has moved into a one-bed house.
Clearly he's not THAT much of a nutter then. But it is interesting that he has managed to afford this house. He must have had money stashed away during his days of being a hermit
A solution to surviving the recession, perhaps?
Police warned of race concerns
...and the Award for the Most Misleading Headline of the Week, which I should really make a regular feature, goes to the BBC. When I read the above headline, and found it was one of the most popular stories on the news site, I was expecting it to have more to do with accusations of racism levelled against Ian Blair or whoever his successor is.
But no, it's about the Original Mountain Marathon in the Lake District, which saw hundreds of people stranded by flooding and torrential rain. Which is a completely different story. Never mind.
(If you're wondering, the best misleading headline ever was in The Metro just last month. When Helen Mirren admitted to having done drugs in the past, the London paper led with THE QUEEN: I DID COCAINE. Now, that's just not true, is it? Attention-grabbing, though, I must admit.)
Sunday, 26 October 2008
Tories, Tottenham, Tattoos and TV
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Birthday blogging: goss, goblins and gobby dolls
Today is my birthday, which means two things for this blog: it'll be shorter and less cynical than usual. Gone are the diatribes of Homeric proportions on the horrible financial state we're all in and gone are the complaints about how bad parts of the national press are (though they are). No, for this week, I am going to bright, breezy and brief.
Which means, yes, there may be some silliness. Sorry.
To that end, I have just opened one of my birthday presents, which is a collection of crap jokes. So, in the spirit of silliness: where was the Declaration of Independence signed? At the bottom. Boom boom.
No, I don't know what happened to this blog either.
D-I-V-O-R-C-E
Dollocaust
Is Manchester United the ugliest football team in the world?
D-I-V-O-R-C-E
So clearly the biggest news this week is the impending divorce between 75-year-old lingerie model and Joan Rivers impressionist Madonna and her lovable cockney geezer of a husband, Guy 'cor blimey guvnor' Ritchie. Apparently this split has been a long time coming. Apparently bears defecate in heavily wooded areas.
It's interesting that the announcement supposedly came earlier than planned: the couple had wanted to keep up appearances until the end of Madonna's new tour (I imagine this was her idea, not Guy's). Maybe it's just me believing too much of the little celebrity gossip I read, but I was under the impression that everyone knew they've been growing apart over the last few years, so they can't have done brilliantly in the 'keeping up appearances' part of things. Still, waiting until the end of your tour to announce your divorce? Isn't that a little cynical? Call me naïve, but even the end of a marriage should have its priorities, rather than being "highly stage-managed", "announced when it [is] convenient" for one of the two people involved. Madonna "didn't want the distraction while she is trying to concentrate on her tour," The Sun reveals. With a thought process like that, how has she has the nerve to question Ritchie's emotional capabilities?
With this in mind, I also find it very interesting that the announcement came from Madonna and not the couple, as usually happens. Even soon-to-be-divorcees usually manage to be in the same room as each other for one more press conference, for old time's sake, perhaps. But, although Ritchie's representative co-signed the statement, the news was revealed by Madonna's cohort. Maybe it was seen as her responsibility as the more famous party, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's quite happy to take the reins with the press on this one.
She has, after all, been more vocal about the divorce than Ritchie. The other night at a concert in Boston – her first after announcing the divorce – Madonna gave Ritchie lock, stock and two smoking barrels, introducing the song Miles Away with the words, "This song is for the emotionally retarded. Maybe you know some people who fall into that category. I know I do." She then powered through her set like a true rock 'n' rolla, although it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to notice that in those clothes you can very clearly see her snatch.
Apologies for the appalling punnery and quite crude (but accurate) observation that for the millions of dollars she spends on her stage show, Madonna still dresses like a cheap whore. We shouldn't be too surprised by this sort of behaviour from someone who has released singles called Bad Girl, Hanky Panky and the less-than-subtle Erotica in the past, but she's 50 now. Apart from anything else, she could at least start saving some money for retirement. Allegedly her new tour, called 'Sticky and Sweet' – the woman has no shame – involves £1 million of jewellery, 3,500 individual wardrobe elements, 100 pairs of fishnet stockings and 69 guitars. Strangely, it's the last of these statistics that concerns me. Even The Clash, at the height of their instrument-smashing mayhem, didn't get through that many.
Anyway, back to the divorce, just briefly. One final piece of interest, for me at least, is Guy and Ritchie bringing out the old privacy chestnut, requesting that the media "maintain respect for their family at this difficult time."
Optimistic, I feel.
Dollocaust
A line of Fisher Price dolls has been withdrawn from sale at a number of toy stores in America after parents complained they were spouting such questionable messages as "Satan is king" and "Islam is the light".
Americans? Paranoid? Nah.
I'm pretty sure this could only happen in the Bible Belt of America (in this case, Oklahoma). Not only is it a hotbed for insane Christians hitting pro-choicers with bricks, it's a hotbed for insane Christians insisting that everyone in the world apart from them is a heathen/Islamic fundamentalist/the Devil/all three. Add a dash of 9/11, a whiff of Jerry Springer: The Opera and a soupcon of 'Holy shit, there's a black man running for President' and you get full-scale terror.
Listen to the clip attached at the top of this link and tell me that gurgling, babbling baby doll is saying "Islam is the light". It's not. If anything, it's saying "Me ears are alight" in an obscure reference to a Maxell advert. Equally weird, but probably less terrifying to Americans. Still, I expect somewhere in the Palestinian Bible Belt – the Qur'an Colony? – there are families complaining that an evil Western doll is saying, "Ooh ooh, the Israelites."
Or maybe they're more understanding than crazy American bible-bashers.
Is Manchester United the ugliest football team in the world?
It's been discussed before, this, but watching their match against West Brom made me realise once more that United's players are uglier than Route 1.
This is a team that has produced and since released such Elephant Man cast-offs as Luke Chadwick and Phil Neville, and yet they still keep up an impressive ugly quotient. Maybe it's part of Cristiano Ronaldo's contract. Maybe it's an obscure EU law. Whatever the reason, it's slightly eerie. If you don't believe me, look for yourself at this full XI of hideous United players (in a 4-3-3 formation, notice). To be fair to them, a lot of these pictures have been taken with the players at the very height of gormlessness, but I don't care – they're funny.









Sunday, 12 October 2008
Apocalypse When?
News has been singularly...singular this week, focusing on very little more than the fact we're all going to die. Sorry, I meant in relation to the credit crunch. Money isn't everything, people will tell you, but you can guarantee those people don't have investments in Iceland. People are justifiably terrified. And so it is that everyone equates losing their money with ultimate doom, on a personal as well as a global scale.
And no more so than the media, which has used this financial meltdown to give a masterclass in epic reporting – epic not just in the apparently apocalyptic situation, but in the sheer amount of space devoted to reporting it ("Read our coverage on pages 1-9!"). It's impressive, it's arguably necessary and it's definitely an opportunity worth taking if you're an editor, but the dramatic approaches taken by tabloids and broadsheets alike have made the mayor of New Orleans, clearly auditioning for a role in a disaster movie, look positively small-town.
I mean, I'd expect it from The Independent: if the Indy's front page isn't telling us we're all going to die it's because it's telling us to stop killing all the other species first. But The Guardian leading with the headline 'Staring into the abyss' was unexpected, especially when it came after a potentially encouraging bail-out proposal from the Government. They could have presented that very, very differently. Still, as much as people want to hear good news it's bad news that sells papers and at the moment, bad news is one of the few currencies in good stock. Even in the crunch, newspaper sales are booming. As far as the media's concerned, this is the Golden Age.
Banks not waving but drowning
Mugabe in 'Bastard' shocker
To Boo or Not To Boo
Square Pegg Round Hollywood
Banjo surgery
Banks not waving but drowning
Due to the nature of this once-a-week blog, it's actually incredibly difficult to comment on the current economic crisis because it develops far too quickly. Even during the course of a Government meeting people were losing money. There's not a lot I can add that will remain new by the time this goes live – but I do find it interesting that as I write, four major British banks have just asked the Government for up to £50 billion of taxpayers' money. With what I said above in mind, I look forward to Monday's headlines.
With an announcement being planned before the markets open on Monday, I won't attempt to predict nor evaluate the Government's response. The request itself intrigues me. It's highly unlikely RBS, HBOS, Lloyds TSB and Barclays would try to pull a fast one and capitalise on capitalism's crisis because the risk is just too great if the public ever finds out these banks were being charlatans with their hard-earned money. So they must actually need this money urgently. Nevertheless, you do wonder what they were expecting to have to do in return. Money doesn't grow on trees, even for the biggest branches.
Dear God, that was awful.
The Government is expecting to demand something back from these banks such as a curb on executive pay, although the terms will be decided individually. This is likely to have been predicted by the banks; either that or someone has made a monumental cock-up in the ideas department on the 17th floor. "Look, the Government's giving out freebies – let's get it in on this." "We heard back, and they said they'll give us the money, but you have to give up your bonuses." "Ah. Bugger."
It's more likely, though, that the banks saw this coming and still asked for the money, suggesting that they are, indeed, in trouble, or at least in need of a little shoring up (not that that is any more comforting to their customers). Such is the danger of getting loans from American banks in questionable financial situations. As a great Allied Dunbar ad once said, there may be trouble ahead for customers of RBS, Lloyds TSB, HBOS and Barclays. Not that it mentioned those banks specifically, 'cos, y'know, that's libellous.
There's also a danger that the Lloyds TSB-HBOS acronymic nightmare of a takeover might fall through, because Lloyds TSB wants to pay less now that HBOS managed to raise £12bn for the buy-out (more here). Sorry, guys. Read The Small Print. Try Before You Buy. Don't Save A Drowning Man If He'll Make You Drown Too. Look Both Ways Before You Cross The Road. Maybe not the last one. But yes, if they want to pay less money now because circumstances have changed then they should be told 'bad luck but that's life'. You'd think they'd know that right now.
Still, the Government might swing their way – and the ways of Barclays, and HBOS, and RBS. It'll be interesting to see what happens.
Disclaimer: I may or may not know anything about economics. And if you're wondering if I'm personally concerned about what's going on, don't worry – I'm fine. My money's with IceSave.
Mugabe in 'Bastard' shocker
A few weeks ago I expressed my concern over Morgan Tsvangirai, Prime Minister of Zimbabwe, admitting he would just "have to trust" co-leader President Robert Mugabe. Obviously Tsvangirai's not an idiot, and knew of what was in store when he agreed to share power with one of the most evil men to walk this earth (excuse the bias). Just a month later, however, the man Zimbabwe is relying upon has threatened to pull out of. It's all very well to mutter the words 'can't', 'stand', 'heat' and 'kitchen', but Mugabe's not just pulling funny faces – he wants to choose what government ministries his Zanu-PF party can control.
Were it a lesser offence you could claim, probably inaccurately, that Tsvangirai is just throwing his toys out the pram, but this negotiation over the division of ministries is one of the most important, and deadly serious, parts of the power-sharing deal. Mugabe is demanding that Zanu-PF is responsible for 14 of the 30 ministries, the main MDC 13 seats and the splinter faction of MDC, led by Arthur Mutambara, 3. Not so bad, you might think, but what ministries does Mugabe want? Defence, the media (i.e. Zanu-PF propaganda), foreign affairs (including aid) and, most terrifyingly of all, 'justice'. It would be funny were it not so tragic.
Tsvangirai, whose jurisdiction as leader of the MDC would include sport, the arts and the largely redundant ministry of constitutional affairs (the power!), has, thankfully, opposed this, but sadly he is not in a position to do much more than threaten resignation. This would effectively make governing Zimbabwe impossible, throwing quite a large spanner in the works, but it is worrying that he has to resort to this: threats to leave government himself, rather than threats to force Mugabe out. He is still very weak in this supposedly equal power-share, and although this is clearly a better situation than it was, it's not going to be enough for Tsvangirai to threaten a walk-out every time Mugabe tries his usual tricks, because he'll just keep doing it.
In short, if it's going to be a case of two steps forward, three steps back, then some sort of intervention is still needed.
(As a side note, has anyone noticed that Tsvangirai looks a bit like Guy Goma, the bloke mistakenly interviewed live by the BBC when they got the wrong man? Just me then.)

To Boo or Not To Boo
As much as I hate to sound like someone writing into Newsround, I think it's very sad that Ashley Cole was booed after his mistake led to a Kazakhstani goal in England's 5-1 victory at Wembley. I don't like the guy either – he cheated on Sheryl Crow! – but this was just one of those things. Everyone makes mistakes, and ultimately, it didn't matter. Picking out an individual player to harass because of one error when the entire team has spent the first half playing like lemons is a bit harsh, even if he is crap.
Square Pegg Round Hollywood
Since Americans supposedly love nerdy British charm, it's no real surprise that übergeek Simon Pegg has been welcomed into Hollywood. His new film How To Lose Friends And Alienate People, based on the memoirs of journalist Toby Young, has been a hit despite being, well, rubbish, and he's playing Scotty in the next Star Trek film. And now he has himself a book deal.
A three-book, seven-figure book deal, no less. The first will be an autobiography on his career, and the second and third will be non-fiction also.
Fair play to him, I suppose. But none of this seems right somehow. I know he's got to move on from Spaced and the like, but I've not been impressed by some of his recent career decisions.
There is definitely going to be a final part of the Edgar Wright/Simon Pegg/Nick Frost/Nira Park film trilogy, which is fantastic news, but I wasn't impressed that he apparently turned down the role of Rorschach in the new Watchmen adaptation – a nihilistic straight role in which he could potentially brilliant – then he appeared in a woeful romcom version of a true story about someone that nobody likes. Maybe he liked the challenge of trying to make Toby Young popular, but I don't think it's his responsibility to do that. He also alienated his good friend and co-worker Jessica Hynes somewhat when he took the departure into films; according to an interview she gave a couple of months ago, she felt she lost a friend. The book deal just seems to confirm that he's becoming less interested in making exciting new films, which is a shame.
Still, who am I, his mother? I'm sure he'll come good. The man's a hero for squares everywhere.
Banjo surgery
Finally, this is interesting.
I've always said banjos have a great purpose in life.
Sunday, 5 October 2008
Parental Advisory: Explicit Content
I must apologise for some naughty words appearing in this post. Such are the dangers of talking about professional football. Rest assured, though, that it's not me providing the swearing – it's the managers. Irresponsible bastards.
The blog's also a bit truncated – i.e. short – this week. After a hefty analysis of the first Obama vs. McCain debate last week, I thought it might be best for me to give American politics a rest this time round, even with the Palin/Biden showdown having taken place this week. So this is more lightweight, in focus and pounds of virtual paper.
Finally, you may have noticed a new section to the blog, available on the wall to the top-right of the page, as promised in my last post. There's nothing on it yet, but it'll happen, and it'll be about online journalism (well, I find it interesting). You may choose to ignore it or you may choose to read it. Obviously I'd prefer it if you did read it but just so you know: it won't be my opinions on the week that passed, as this is. It's not really affiliated with Huw Davies' Week Spot. Well, it is, because it's me writing it. But it's not the same blog. It's not the same sphere. It's not the same Huw Davies.
It's blogging, Jim, but not as we know it.
And now: normal service resumes.
Chancer of the Exchequer
Churchill vs. The Daleks
FuKinnear
Chancer of the Exchequer
The BBC reports that Alistair Darling, Chancellor of the Exchequer, has said he is willing to take "some pretty big steps" to stabilise British banking and the economy.
GOOD.
I'm not saying he should, necessarily, because I don't understand economics enough to suggest whether interference would be appropriate or not, and whether taking steps would be better than waiting it out. But I'm certainly glad to hear he is willing to take pretty big steps. You'd hope so. Otherwise, what is the point in government?
He also said he was looking at "a range of proposals". That is not convincing. Apart from the fact that every politician in the history of the world ever has said that exact sentence – or at least, none that I know of has said, "We are not looking at a range of proposals" – it's disconcerting to hear it from the Chancellor of the Exchequer because it doesn't tell us anything.
It is not news. Or rather, it shouldn't be. I'd hope that we are confident enough in our government to know they would take the steps necessary to bring this country out of a hole. We should be. We shouldn't, however, have to be reassured they would.
The fact is that people want something more concrete than that. Back in the day it was good enough to hear "Hey everybody, it's gonna be OK" when the economy was hitting the fan, but now, when people are completely, horribly terrified of losing their money, they want to know the Government has a plan – not that it will find one, but that it has one. Until then, words are not enough. And, as Obama and McCain's failure to immediately convince the majority about their plans for the economy proved (sorry, that's the last I say about America), people are happy – well, not happy, but prepared – to learn a bit more about financial politics than they previously were. That's the level of trust we have in our politicians now. And given that Darling thinks we can still be placated by vague promises, it's justified and probably necessary.
Sad, innit?
Churchill vs. The Daleks
It was Magazine Week all last week (or this week, if anyone reads this as soon as I post it), and to celebrate, Borders booksellers offered a buy-one-get-one-half-price deal on magazines and magazine subscriptions. Huzzah! Reason at last for me to buy The Oldie without feeling I should spend the money on pretending to be young.
There was also a poll, sponsored by the Periodical Publishers Association (PPA), to find Britain's favourite magazine cover. I know what you're thinking: what kind of sad bastard remembers their favourite front cover to a magazine? So to help us all out, a team of industry experts nominated some and whittled them down to a 'best of the best' shortlist of 16. Here they all are.
As those of you who have just looked at that link know, the Radio Times Dalek cover won. I'm not disappointed as such; more indifferent. I mean, it's an all right cover, I suppose. I'm not overwhelmed, but I'm not underwhelmed either. I'm 'whelmed'. It's a striking image to put on a front cover, but the 'Vote Dalek' slogan doesn't actually make any sense – it's just a very tenuous tie-in to the General Election that was happening at the time (if anything, it probably gained some votes from people taking the slogan as an order). So it's not all that clever, or clever at all in fact. Still, it doesn't need to be, and that's why it won. It's simple and it grabs your attention – and that's the point. Still, it'd be a downright lie to deny that a lot of those votes were members of the public thinking, "Ooh, Daleks!"
I honestly thought the NME's Beth Ditto cover would win, but I just as honestly hoped that Time Out would. It takes some balls to stick it to Winston Churchill – look how badly Hitler fared – but to do it on the anniversary of his death in the midst of some serious Churchillmania is about the bravest thing you can do as the editor of a magazine. Not only that but it's an amazing, attention-grabbing front cover; not to mention beautifully ironic in using Churchill's own 'V' sign as a 'fuck you' to the man himself.
It's a shame that Time Out is purely just a 'What's On' read now because we need some more political ferocity in our magazines, but maybe a guide to London isn't the best vessel for that. Still, we need something – before we all start voting Dalek.
FuKinnear
I'm sure you've all heard by now about Joe Kinnear's verbal tirade against certain members of the media in his first official press conference as Newcastle manager. If not, here it is in its full glory. I love The Guardian for printing this, but in all honesty it's hard not to when, as a journalist, you hear, "Write what you like. Makes no difference to me."
Choosing the best bit of this fantastic rant – please read all of it – is hard, but my personal favourites are the start –"Which one is Simon Bird?"
"Me."
"You're a cunt."
- and the end: "Enjoyed getting back in the swing of things?"
"Absolutely. I've loved every moment of it."
I actually don't have much to say about Kinnear's outburst except that I would love it to happen in football more often – love it. It's great to see a football manager wearing his heart on his sleeve and holding his career with invisible tongs. And it's not as if it was a one-off: brilliantly, Kinnear had to watch his first game in charge of Newcastle from the stands because he never finished serving a touchline ban at Nottingham Forest four years ago.
He was, of course, wrong to have such a go at the press. They reported the truth: that he had taken a day off from training on his first day of work, and they merely cast aspersions to tensions at the club – which, when you're in the relegation zone with allegedly one of the strongest squads in the country (uh...), is likely to be the case. And as manager, however temporarily, of a team in difficulties, Kinnear should be trying to calm the waters, not rock the boat.
But I can't judge someone who provides me with that much entertainment. And thanks to Everton's wavering concentration before and after the half-time break, Newcastle grabbed a 2-2 draw today. Maybe there's life in the old Toon yet.
Perhaps not for Spurs though.

