Sydney Miscellany

The last few days have begged the question: what is there for an invalid to do in winter in Sydney? The answer seems to be: get better quick, because Jonny certainly won’t be slowing down his walking pace for you. As a result, I’ve battled through calf twinges and knee tautness, thigh stiffness and ankle aches and I can now, just about, stay within two streets of him.

Fortunately at the weekend H was with us too as we strode through Sydney’s streets. She’s got shorter legs, so she’s at about my pace. We had a few good chats this way, and it was nice to catch up, although not, of course, with Jonny.

My “walko” has been discarded for about five days now. Although it’s good to be getting better so rapidly, there is a downside: I’ll now have to do a very pronounced limp if I expect anyone to give up their seat for me on a bus or train. Fortunately, there has always been just about enough room for me to sit down so far, but the public transport of Sydney is full of hidden dangers for a recovering knee ligament reconstructionist such as myself. A couple of days ago, a very large teenage boy almost fell on top of my knee as it was protruding into the aisle of the bus when the driver came to a completely unnecessarily jerky stop. Actually, that’s something I’ve noticed about drivers of buses the world over: they have no sensitivity in their feet at all, because they certainly can’t judge the pressure required to brake gently. They must numb them in ice before they start their shift or something. There must be a universal job description which says: “Whenever braking or accelerating, you must be able to make passengers feel as if they are lottery balls in Lancelot” and “After picking passengers up, always drive off aggressively before any passenger has had the chance to hold onto a rail, let alone sit down.”

Having said that, if I was a bus driver, I’d probably be so bored that I’d want to see how many passengers I could make fall over in a day. Ten points for a recovering knee ligament reconstructionist etc. While I’m on the subject, every day on my way to work I walk past security guards with machine guns (don’t ask) whose job it is to stand there for 12 hours a day with their finger on the trigger. I don’t know how they can resist not occasionally spraying the street with a few bullets, or taking a pop-shot at a car tyre, or even aiming the odd volley at someone’s leg or something. I was the same with computer games, unable to resist shooting people who are on my side, unable to resist turning my goalkeeper around and scoring stupid own goals, unable to resist running myself out, unable to resist getting onto the green in two only to putt with a one wood, unable to resist causing thirty-bike pile-ups. That’s why I don’t play them anymore. At least I didn’t, until I got here and Jonny and I started our Pro-Evo competition. It’s 27 games t0 25 to me at the moment. Very tense.

I’m not capturing my experiences of Sydney particularly well today, am I…?

The weekend was very relaxing. We had a walk round Manly’s shops on Saturday and I bought myself some cold-weather clothes which I probably won’t use again until I return to England in 2008, but boy, am I using them now. I was shown some Sydney pubs. These are great, because they’re proper pubs rather than the wine bars that proliferate Singapore, and you can’t beat a proper pub. You even have to queue at the bar for a drink here rather than have some waiter come round to your table. Quality. We went to Darling Harbour and watched the sunset which was very pleasant. It’s a beautiful area of the city – bright lights and water: a great combination.



I’ve also had my first look at the world famous Bondi Beach, which is actually rather small. It’s in a corking setting, but I prefer Manly where H and J are living because it has a longer, equally beautiful, but quieter beach with beach volleyball courts.

Judge for yourself. Here's Bondi:



And here's Manly:



Mind you, anyone who actually goes onto the beach, or worse still gets into the sea, in this weather is a loony. Isn’t that right, Jonny.

In this photo of me at Bondi you can see that the anticipation of going to my first Aussie Rules Football game is getting the better of me and I’m already doing the referee’s signal that a goal has been scored. Yes, I did feel stupid doing it and no, I don’t know why I did it. I’m already thinking about getting a Sydney Swans team shirt. Aussie Rules shirts, as you may already know, are vests. I’ll be the height of fashion back in Bristol in August.



Sadly, because I did the referee’s pose once, I’m now required to do it in every photo. Jonny won't take no for an answer. It's as if I'd tear some essential fabric in the universe if I stopped doing it now. Over on his blog, you can see that, amongst other places, I’ve been captured on the train doing it and in King’s Cross where we had a meal in another proper pub last night. King’s Cross is, I suppose, what you might call a seedier area of town, and it attracts a lot of backpackers and heroin addicts. I liked it – it was lively, full of neon and the women standing outside the shops seemed extremely hospitable.

Before we went to King’s Cross, we went to the Orbit Bar, which is 47 storeys up in the centre of Sydney. The bar revolves (according to Statto Jonny, one revolution takes an hour and a quarter) and has magnificent views. Night had fallen, so the photos I took of the city were, in fact, photos of blurred lights. Despite the fact that I knew once I’d taken the first shot that any subsequent photos would be more of the same, I carried on taking pics until my batteries ran out. Fortunately, Jonny’s hadn’t, so he was able to take a shot of me doing the referee’s signal for a goal.

Anyway, that’s more than enough for now. Next time I might try to write something a bit more descriptive of Sydney. Every time I think about it now, though, all I can think of describing is the perpetual cold.

In Sydney

My first few days visiting Jonny and H in Sydney have been superb. It’s great to see them again and it’s like we saw each other last only yesterday rather than a year ago. Even the excruciatingly cold weather is reminding me of times we’ve spent together in England. Temperatures of 16 degrees in the day time, and much lower at night, have resulted in me having to wear three layers at least at all times and I’m constantly going on about wanting to buy a hat and scarf. 16 degrees is about half the temperature I’m used to in Singers. So that’s the weather. I might mention it again, being English and all that.

Jonny and H have been excellent hosts. Their flat, as I’m sure you’re not tired of reading over on Jonny’s blog, overlooks the ocean, and over the three or four days I’ve been here, the sea has gradually gone from being what’s-all-the-fuss-about very calm to you-wouldn’t-catch-me-going-in-there-with-a-plank-of-wood semi-tempestuous. A couple of days ago the surf was just right for Jonny to "take to the waves", or to "ride the tubes" or whatever surf-bums say, and he got me to go out and film him in the hope that somehow I’d end up with another Point Break (as if we need another) after fifteen minutes of him "dropping on a fat one". I didn’t see him fall over once. Indeed, I only managed to capture his first graceful scoot to the shore (standing up on his board all the way) before I lost him amongst all the other surfers in the glare of the brilliant (but ever so cold) sunlight reflecting off the ocean. When we watched the footage back later, we were all amazed to see that I’d managed to film some dolphins swimming about 15 yards away from Jonny. Neither of us had noticed them at the time. Ripper!

As well as watching Jonny "catch the breaks", I’ve also been over on the ferry to Sydney’s CBD. Jonny’s shown me around (poor H is at work) and we’ve wandered underneath the famous bridge, taking lots of photos, and had a gander at the Opera House close-up, taking lots of photos. In fact, you may have already seen some of Jonny’s photos on his blog. These two icons look great in the sunlight – it’s amazing how much difference the sunlight makes, actually. On a cloudy day the Opera House looks rather forlorn and the bridge looks a bit menacing, but when the sun comes out they both look majestic. Honest. I’ve read it in a guide book. I’ve seen countless photos of the opera house, of course, but until I got up close to it I could never conceptualise it; could never work out how it all fitted together. It always looked so convoluted and different from every angle. I was interested to discover that it’s actually a few separate structures rather than one solid structure and that it’s supposed to resemble sails. Whatever. Each time I see these two structures on the ferry from Manly, where H and J live, to the CBD area, where the structures live, they become more and more impressive. Deadly!

While I’m here I had to see something at the Opera House, and H and J have never been, so we got tickets to see some Shostakovich next weekend (no idea what that’ll be like, but we decided we’d prefer classical music to opera or Darren Hayes). We also got tickets to the Aussie Rules football for the following night. From the sublime to the ridiculous. Although ridiculous doesn’t go anywhere near to describing Aussie Rules Football. We saw some on telly last night and it is going to be awesome. Zidane's assault on Materazzi the other day is nothing compared to the legal acts that go on during a game of Aussie Rules. It’s the only sport I can think of where the referees are my favourite things, for so many reasons. More on this, I’m sure, after I’ve been to the game. Bonza!

In case anyone who hasn’t seen Jonny’s comical photos is wondering how I’m getting on with my knee, I’m not particularly mobile, but instead of waddling around on one crutch, I purchased a collapsible walking stick (which only collapses when I want it to, fortunately). I used this for a couple of days or so. Walking a kilometre in a day, with lots of breaks, really took it out of my legs, the muscles of which seem to have atrophied or something. However, every day I also feel more confident on my feet and yesterday I discarded the walking stick. Of course, I might have to dig the crutches out when I get to the airport to fly home in the hope that this time it yields an upgrade instead of a poxy aisle seat behind some jerk who wanted to recline his chair the whole 8 hours between Singapore and Sydney, despite my repeated shaking of his seat.

As well as seeing sights and all that, we’ve had some very nice relaxing times sitting in J and H’s lounge, listening to music and watching the ocean or a movie perhaps. We’ve chatted a bit about home and stuff, we’ve watched some video footage of our friends back home and listened to some music that reminds us of them. Despite the fact that the three of us have made a conscious decision to get a long way away from home, none of us want to be as far away as we are from our family and friends. H and I both have nieces we’ve never met, which is tough. It’s good to talk about these things with each other.

Finally, when Ella and I went to the Northern Territories at Christmas we found ourselves unable to stop speaking to each other in Aussie accents. There must be something about the Australian accent, because Jonny and I have been doing the same thing. We’re also inventing Australian-type terms for things (abbreviate everything but add an –o or an –ie). So I’ve been hobbling around on my “walko”, we’ve started a tournament of “Pro-Evo” on the playstation (Pro-Evolution Soccer) and we’re about to have some “breko”. We’ve visited the “bridge-o” and the “Op-o” and have been having bizarre conversations about “Cristiano-o Ronaldo-o”. Of course, this is annoying H no end – by the time she gets home from work we’ve been talking bad Australian all day and there really is no stopping us. Immediately after she tells us to stop, we’ll reply with “Sorry darl” or “No worries, Sheils” or something, without even realising we’re doing it. Today I woke up determined to give it a rest. I’ve been up for an hour and still haven’t said a word in my normal accent. Trouble ahead… Daggy...


Bridge in menacing mode.


People going for a pleasant stroll on top of the bridge.


Jonny looks after my crutch.


"Off for a surfo!"


Oprah's House


Close To Oprah's House.


Scrap.


Cheese.

Down In Instalments: World Cup Double-Standards

From the first moments, when Henry went down in agony, to the last penalty, scored by the superb Grosso, it was a gripping World Cup Final. It wasn’t a great game, but, as they say, it had the lot.

Zidane’s extraordinary assault on Materazzi will be the stand-out image of this World Cup Final. No doubt, every four years, we’ll see endless replays of the moment of impact. I’ve only managed to find one photograph of that actual moment, though.


I have to say I was very glad when Materazzi cancelled out Zidane’s penalty. It would have been galling (forgive the pun) for France to have won their third game in the knock-out stages as a direct result of free-kicks or penalties won through playacting (the games against Spain and Portugal being the others). Malouda’s fall in the box is described as “theatrical” by the BBC whereas my commentator suggested it was "Stanislovski-ist". While the world goes crazy in its scapegoating of Cristiano Ronaldo for diving, the fact that everyone else is doing it too (much more effectively) seems to have passed everyone by.

The 3rd place playoff coverage was characterised by slow motion replays of Ronaldo every time he went down. It was no surprise to see that he was diving. Of course he was. There’s been much less fuss made about Henry’s playacting (although he was much better in the Final: perhaps that collision with Cannavaro early doors concussed him into thinking he was playing for Arsenal again). There’s been no fuss made about Klose, who got Lucic sent off in the second round due to a glorious swan-dive. There was very little fuss made about Pauleta, Ronaldo’s team-mate, who went down more in hope than expectation in the semi-final looking for a penalty. Del Piero played dead in the last moments of extra time in the Final and no one’s talking about that.

The worst diver in the final? Zidane. He went down three times when he wasn’t touched in the first half. Twice the ref waved play on (without brandishing a yellow card). The third time Zidane was given a free kick. There was only one replay which showed that Zidane clearly dived, but it wasn’t repeated four times as Ronaldo’s dives had been against Germany, nor was it slowed down so that every movement of muscle in his face could be seen contorting in agony.

"Get Ronaldo" has become a witch-hunt that everyone’s joining: fans from England, France and Germany have wolf-whistled his every touch since the quarter final; vandals have smashed windows of his Manchester home; even the German director of the TV coverage has ensured there has been intense close-up scrutiny of every connection made between Ronaldo’s backside and the turf. I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it. He’s a cheat. I’m just saying that he’s by no means the worst offender, and that if he deserves it, so do all the others.

His other offence, “getting Rooney sent off”, was replicated in the final by Buffon running over to the linesman when Zidane assaulted Materazzi. Buffon accompanied his protest with comical “you need glasses, mate” gestures. Lippi, the Italian coach, joined in by making equally comical (and anachronistic) gestures: Lippi was suggesting the officials look at a replay by miming the use of a camera from what looked like the silent movie era. Is there any difference between what they did and what Ronaldo did? Should Buffon’s house be vandalised by angry Frenchmen? Should Lippi be taken out of the running for the Coach of the Tournament award (if it existed) as Ronaldo was denied his chance of winning the Young Player of the Tournament award?

In the second half, of course, the French should have been given a penalty when Malouda went down (again) under the challenge of Zambrotta. The ref didn’t give it. This is the crux of the problem. There’s no way that refs can make the right decision every time if players are falling over at nothing most of the time. At the start of the tournament, FIFA were banging on about how they would cut out diving by ensuring that the refs gave yellow cards for it and that the players would be fined each time they were given a card. There were only two cautions for diving in the whole tournament: Robben and Adriano. The refs seemed scared to give cards for it. Ronaldo should have been booked lots of times. Zidane, as I say, should have been sent off for two dives in the first half of the final.

So, how has this happened? How has it come to pass that Ronaldo has become the face on the dart board of every fan, journalist and pundit at these Finals? Is it because he did it against England? No, I don't think so. As I've said, FIFA has criticised him and the German TV coverage was out to get him too. The whole world hates him, not just the English.

Is it because he was the worst offender? It depends what criteria you use, I suppose. He was only involved in one sending off - that of Rooney - and he didn't take a dive for that. His dives didn't result in goals scored, unlike the dives of certain French geniuses.

Did he dive more than anyone else or did we just see more replays of him diving than anyone else? Has Ronaldo been a victim of lazy, jump-on-the-bandwagon journalism which has gone out of control? Yes, to an extent, but that isn't the real reason.

The real reason why Ronaldo has become the pariah is that the World Cup needs a villain, just as much as it needs heroes. The carnivalesque nature of football demands it. Ronaldo started off by playing Iago, pretending to be Rooney’s friend while exposing his weakness, casting sly winks as he did it. Unfortunately for him, he’s ended up playing Malvolio, forced to leave his home as a scapegoat, stripped of his position, treated as a pariah.



Is Ronaldo begging for forgiveness here?

Here Comes The Sun

As I said the other day, when LB sent me his CD from the ST Shuffleathon, he also included some reading material from Blighty. There was an NME which I haven’t read for ages and it seems to have gone all weekly and glossy. It featured lots of bands I’ve never heard of.

The other thing he sent me was a copy of The Sun. I’ve long wondered whether The Sun is serious, or whether it’s social satire. I was very entertained by it, but it seems to be becoming more and more like Viz than ever. Either that or it’s a parody of itself. Whatever that means. Anyway, two “articles” particularly caught my eye.

One article was about the newspaper's search for members of the public with the same name as members of the England football squad. Michael Owen is the most popular name: they found 1006 of them. John Terry is next, with 358. There are even 18 David Beckhams. The headline, though, was “There’s only one Theo Walcott” because they couldn’t find any. He seemed to be rather elusive on the sub’s bench in Germany, too.

What I particularly liked about the article, though, were the sometimes asinine, sometimes inane comments from the members of the public who had the same name as the England football squad. For example, Gary Neville, 54, from Croydon, said, “I’m more of a Formula 1 fan. I wish I was on Gary’s money, though.” Joe Cole, 19, from Loughborough, said, “I don’t exactly look like Joe.” Why would you, Joe? You only have the same name. Sol Campbell is a 75 year old Grandad from Sheffield. Rather unnecessarily, he said, “there’s no chance of me replacing him in the World Cup – my legs are past it.”

There was also a name-a-like Wayne Rooney, 32, from Sutton Coldfield. He said, “He’s got a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp. The wife thinks I’m much better looking.” He added, “My dad’s name is Mickey, so you can imagine the stick we get.”

Theo Walcott wasn't quoted, but probably would have said, "If only I'd been picked in the Sun's squad instead."

The other article that caught my eye was headlined “Adolf Kitler”. This “news item” revealed that there’s a website devoted to cats that look like Hitler. That’s right, cats that look like Hitler. The Sun takes advantage of the situation to create some puns: “Doubtless Hitler’s old cronies Hermann Purring and Joseph Furballs would approve.” Finally, the article ends with an appeal for photos, which is worded, astonishingly: “does your pet look like a tyrant?”

People are writing in to the site to express their views. Some people find it funny and a bit of gentle fun, while others are outraged or find it insensitive, disgraceful or disrespectful. I don’t really know what I think, other than that it’s a very strange idea. Some of the photos on the site are extraordinary.

Anyway, thanks again to LB for a very entertaining read.

Ug Ug

Longsuffering readers may remember me writing about the frustration I feel when I walk through the streets because other people don’t look where they’re going. They have no awareness of their own body space. I wrote about it way back in November 2004 and it provoked a comments frenzy (14 comments!) the like of which I rarely see these days as everyone’s stopped reading or something. Still, I’ll bat on. People are still getting under my feet and it still makes me feel edgy.

Imagine my surprise: recently I’ve discovered that the situation is just as bad now I’m on crutches. I’ve gone from feeling edgy to murderous, though. On the 4 occasions I’ve been back to my doctor, I’ve had to go through the entrance and exit doors 8 times (4x2=8, you see). Only once has someone held the door open for me. Sometimes people go through the door without looking behind them, so they didn’t know I was coming. This is almost excusable, but still thoughtless. Surely looking round to see if someone else is coming through the door is one of the first things we’re taught about manners?

Worse still are the occasions when people are going through the doors and look around and see me approaching on my crutches. You can almost see them running through the calculations in their minds. “Man with crutches five paces away. He’ll take about three seconds to get here. I can’t wait that long. Besides, by the time he’s got the door open on his own, I’ll be too far away for him to catch me up and hit me for being such an ignorant Neanderthal.”

Last time it happened I shouted something at the person anyway, even though they were too far away to hear. The receptionist no doubt thought that I had an appointment with the Tourette’s Syndrome clinic.

Walking along the street is just as bad. Astonishingly, people don’t give me any room. They keep walking in a straight line, expecting me to get out of their way. What’s even more astonishing is that these people who seem determined to walk into me, or force me to change direction, are staring at me. They stare because I’m on crutches, I suppose, and they’re trying to work out why. Despite the fact that they’re looking at my legs and the crutches, they don’t change their course.

Neither do I. I think a few people have some nasty bruises on their shins from my flailing crutches already.

Ella says I’d make a very good grumpy old man. I can manage on just one crutch for short distances now and I want a walking stick instead.

The Mystery Of Terry Henry

After a career of being a fair player, Henry suddenly seems to have decided to start whinging as in the Champions' League Final, and diving as in the World Cup 2nd round and semi-final.

Why's that then?


"That really hurt my chest, but I've forgotten where it is."

Back In Action

I went back to the doctor yesterday.
“I’m going to take your stitches out today. How are you with pain?” he asked, casually. “Er… not brilliant,” I replied limply.
“Well, you’ve got a choice between a shot of Glenfiddich, or you could clamp my hockey stick between your teeth.”
“Er… I’ll be ok…” I replied.

He removed the stitches and I didn’t feel a thing. What a swine.

Here are the latest photos of my knee, in case you're interested.





You can see that it’s considerably smaller than it was here. I asked the doctor what each hole was for. The biggest gash at the bottom is where he went in to pull the hamstring out. I was surprised that he went in at the front because I thought hamstrings were at the back, but there you go. I’m sure he knew what he was doing. This was also where he drilled up through the bone to get up to the ligament area.

Nice.

One of the two smaller scars is where he inserted the arthroscope so that he could see what he was doing. The other smaller scar was made to help him connect the new ligament. To pull it through and stuff.

He told me I could go back to work today, so I did. It’s funny, isn’t it, how one day you can spend the day avoiding walking as much as possible, lying down with your knee up and on ice, whereas the next you’re back at work fending off paper aeroplanes and saying, “Bueller… Buelller… Bueller…”

It went ok. I was on crutches, of course, and that immediately meant that lots of people asked me what was wrong or how I was. This meant that every time I got up to go somewhere, I had to stay on my feet for longer than I would have liked. As a result, by the end of the day my bruise had bizarrely slipped down to my foot. Despite all this, it was nice to get out of the house.

England's World Cup: Some Final Thoughts

I felt very sorry for Beckham when I read he’d resigned as England captain. He’s done the job with dignity and pride and has played consistently well for a talented England squad with so many underperformers. Beckham has led by tireless example. I’m not just talking about that game against Greece in 2001, which is the best individual performance I’ve ever seen by any player. In this World Cup he made or scored 3 of our 5 goals. He was up and down the pitch, getting stuck in and trying his heart out. The calls for him to be dropped were confusing, to say the least. Lampard or Gerrard should have made way before Beckham if form was the guide. The only game he didn’t really play well in was the game against Portugal where he didn’t see much of the ball.

Gerrard and Lampard were by far the biggest disappointments. Gerrard scored two goals but did nothing much else and that’s typical Gerrard, to be honest. He’s often out of the game completely, but then will pop up from out of nowhere and score a wonder goal. That’s fine if you’re a striker, but a central midfielder needs to be involved in the game all the time. Perhaps making him captain will make him play as well as he does for Liverpool. Too often, though, even for Liverpool, his passing is wayward, particularly his long passes. Even when he was set free by the introduction of Hargreaves as the holding player, he was anonymous against Portugal. Choosing him as a penalty-taker was a mistake. There’s a reason why he doesn’t take Liverpool’s penalties any more: he misses too often. If the captaincy is now between Gerrard and Terry, for me, John Terry is the only choice because, unlike Gerrard, he plays consistently well for England. Terry deserves it.

Lampard was lacklustre, but at least he was getting into the right positions to dribble those shots into the arms of the keeper. He has been the most consistent midfielder in the country for a few years now. What a shame he lost his form at the wrong time. Once again, I was bemused by the decision to have him as our first penalty-taker. I know he’s our official penalty-taker, but was I the only one who was convinced he would miss because of his low confidence?

Having said that about Gerrard and Lampard taking penalties, who else was there? Some of those really cool customers in the back four, maybe? Even Robinson, perhaps? I’d have felt more confident with them striding up to take one, to be honest. Certainly not Crouch, though…

The Germans are astonishing at this penalty taking lark. Even when they were up against Argentina, who aren’t so bad at penalties themselves, there was only ever going to be one winner. You could see on their faces something more than determination as they strode up to take their penalties. It was belief. Not for one second did they look as if they were thinking about the possibility of missing. They were all superb spot kicks: not only did they blast them, but they blasted them into the corner. Just like Alan Shearer used to do.

It was no surprise, then, that Hargreaves, our token German, was the only player to score his penalty. I am currently eating a massive slice of humble pie about Hargreaves. He was everywhere against Portugal; indeed, his performance reminded me a little bit of Beckham’s against Greece in 2001. He was easily the best player in the squad at this World Cup. This alone causes me to question whether Sven had a clue what he was doing. Hargreaves was regularly in the squad during the qualifiers, but never made it into the team. Sometimes he wasn't even named as a substitute. He came on from time to time with ten minutes or less left. Why, all of a sudden, did Sven decide that Hargreaves was such a key player? He did this in the last World Cup, too. All of a sudden, Hargreaves was the answer on the left side of midfield. If we were going to play with Hargreaves as the holding player all along, surely it would have been an idea to practise that before the tournament? Of course, Sven didn't know all along that Hargreaves would play. It just kind of happened.

Sven’s idiocy in only choosing four strikers has been well-documented. I had a feeling that Rooney would get himself suspended at some point during the tournament, making him a double risk that had to be backed up with more strikers. I wouldn’t have relished a World Cup semi-final with Crouch ploughing a lonely furrow up front. Of course, we had Walcott too, but Sven obviously didn’t like what he saw of him in training or something. I doubt he would have made his debut at the World Cup in the semi-final. His decision to take only three strikers he was willing to play contributed massively to England’s downfall. Wouldn’t it have been great to have brought Defoe or Andy Johnson or Bent on against Portugal instead of Crouch? Someone who could have held the ball up instead of falling over his own limbs? Someone with pace and strength? Crouch was pretty good by his standards when he came on, and he was trying his heart out, but he needs someone up there with him to give the ball to before it gets tangled up in his legs.

On the subject of Rooney, I’m still bemused by the red card. The stamp didn’t look intentional to me. The push of Ronaldo was no different to Ronaldo barging him out of the way to bleat to the ref. Crazy decision.

I’d be quite interested to read how Rooney’s sending off is being viewed by the British press. Is he being vilified as Beckham was? Having looked at The Sun’s website, which always sets the tone for this kind of thing, it seems that Ronaldo is the one who had better pack his bags and leave the country. No effigies of Rooney then? Are Portuguese restaurants being smashed up? Or have the English managed to cope with defeat with dignity?

I know everyone hates Ronaldo at the moment, and after Rooney’s sending off I was calling him a few choice names every time I saw him running like a horse down the touchline. Someone I was watching the game with shouted “break his legs” and I can’t remember arguing against that tactic with any vociferousness. After a day or so to reflect, though, I have to admit that Ronaldo was pretty shrewd. He knows all about Rooney’s temperament problems and he exposed that weakness. I wondered why Rooney had reacted so badly to Ronaldo getting involved after the incident with Carvalho, but got my answer today from The Sun’s website (so it must be true). Apparently, before the game, Ronaldo had told Rooney that he was going to get him sent off. That planted the seed which made Rooney shove him. Rooney was incensed to see Ronaldo actually doing what he said he was going to do, so he shoved him. The ref said he was going to send him off for the “stamp”, but I’ve seen the replay a few times and he’d not made a move for a card. Instead, he was pointing in the direction of England’s goal as if it would just have been a free kick. Ronaldo should change his name to Iago, perhaps, because his whisperings worked. It’s not exactly gentlemanly play, but nor is falling over to win your side a penalty, which is a real strength of Michael Owen’s game. Either it’s all cheating and we shouldn’t whinge about someone else cheating just because it’s different to the way we cheat, or it’s all part of the game and we should put up with it.

Of course, I still hope Rooney sticks one on him in training if Ronaldo is foolish enough to set foot on English soil again.

Against Portugal, I was hoping that we wouldn’t score the first goal, because that would have revealed the other tactical flaw in Sven’s “plan”, which is sitting back and defending a one goal lead. I would have fancied our chances more if we'd had to come out and attack. Of course, we didn't score the first goal, but sadly, neither did Portugal. Anyway, my point is that shutting up shop is a very risky tactic, but it's one that Sven employed extremely frequently. In fact, in the last World Cup, Sven got a bit confused and shut up shop against Brazil when we were losing 2-1 by bringing Phil Neville on to shore up the defence a bit. Just in case we lost 3-1, or something. The only time I can remember this tactic working against a good quality team was against Argentina in the last World Cup. If the odds are this bad, it's time to change the tactic.

Hopefully, with McClaren in charge, we’ll go 2 or 3 down and come back to win as that seemed to be his approach with Middlesbrough in Europe this year. I’ve got a nasty feeling that it’ll be more of the same, though.

Finally, this time around, I managed to avoid the bitter disappointment and misery I usually feel when England are knocked out of major tournaments. I’d filled in a World Cup predictor at work where I had to predict the result of every game. I considered a few permutations, but always had England losing in the quarter final. There was no way under Sven that we would play the right attacking, fast-paced, English football that would harass and rattle a good team. Having this defeatist attitude certainly numbs the pain a bit. Look at the way the Germans came out all guns blazing against Argentina. A few crisp tackles early doors and, even though Argentina took the lead, they never really got into their stride because the aggression of the Germans knocked them off it. That’s how we should have started every game. Sven didn't learn anything from his tenure as coach of England. And England didn't make any progress.

Swiss Toni's Shuffleathon

The incomparable Swiss Toni organised a Shuffleathon recently: lots of volunteers were to make CDs of songs that were important to them and send them to someone else, drawn out of Swiss' hat. Once we get our CD we have to write a review. I received my CD yesterday. Funnily enough, it came from Lord Bargain, who is the only other person I link to that Swiss links to at the moment. I can't tell you what was on my CD yet because I haven't sent it... can't walk, you see, and people keep forgetting to buy me padded envelopes when I ask them to.

Anyway, here's my review of Lord Bargain's CD. As usual, where I could have used a few words, I've used a lot. The CD arrived without a tracklisting, so I wrote the review before I knew who some of the artists were. He emailed me the tracklisting on request, which is how I know who they all are.

“A Little Respect” – Erasure.
This is a great pop song. It manages to have a verse that’s as catchy as the chorus, which is rare. However, it always conjures up the uncomfortable image of Andy Bell in a tight-fitting, extremely revealing leotard. The song often worms its way into my head, actually, so I’ve had to come up with a strategy to stop the image from appearing too. In my head, I slow the song right down and imagine that Morrissey sings it. Not only does it get Bell out of my head, but it makes the song more melancholy and possibly even slightly better. Try it! Great start to the CD.

Track 2 - Sounds like “High and Dry” by Radiohead sung by Enrique Igleasias with a poppier edge and less obscure lyrics. This is catchy, melancholy and pleasant.
I later discovered that it was “Say Something” by Haven.

Track 3 – No idea what this is. Sounds like something from a film starring Michael J Fox or Bruce Willis. Also sounds a bit like Phil Collins, so I suppose it could be Genesis. I recognise the chorus, which seems to go “All I Neeeeeeeeed!”, because it's been remixed into a great house record. Very heavy reverb on the vocals and cheesy stabs of synthesized brass with some superb flams. Perfect 80s pop.
I later discovered that this was “Valerie” by Steve Winwood.

Track 4 – Starts with piano… I’m expecting some Keane, knowing that LB is a big fan. This isn’t Keane. It’s a love song claiming that love moves in mysterious ways. More reverb turned up to 11. Plaintive, yearning, sincere. Peaceful verses with dynamic choruses introduced by a snare that sounds like it’s being played in a cathedral. Nice dynamics, in other words. There’s even a key change. I can imagine the video for this: wind blowing through the singer’s hair as she clutches at air, closes her eyes and gently cries, so dumbfounded is she by love’s way of moving mysteriously. She’s in a red dress and has an unforgettably massive perm. I like this song in the same way that I like “Alone” by Heart.
I later discover that it’s Julia Fordham’s “Love Moves In Mysterious Ways”.

Track 5 – Great start. Sounds a bit harder, this one. It’s very familiar. Could be Embrace or someone? Singalong chorus. Finishes with a sustained high note reminiscent of John Travolta’s at the end of “Summer Nights”. The singer can’t hold the note and sounds as if he’s falling out of an aeroplane. They really should have re-recorded that. I like this song. It’s a feelgood winner.
I later discover that it’s “You Can Talk To Me” by The Seahorses. That’s John Squire et al, isn’t it? Did they do anything else that was this good?

Track 6 - Sounds like it might be Gene? Great tune and inventive guitar work. Like the voice too… you can hear the pain of loss in it. “Is there a country just for the lonely?” he asks. It’s an interesting question: there should be, of course. It’s an even more interesting concept, which could have been developed further by the lyrics, I think. What would such a country be like? Everyone would know how everyone else felt and would be able to genuinely say, “I know how you feel”. If it was full of lonely people, there’d be no need to be lonely anymore, because they could all visit each other easily or even share a house etc. Then the song wouldn’t need to exist anymore either, which would be a shame, because it’s lovely.
I was right, it is Gene with “Somewhere In The World”. I liked Gene without ever really listening to much of their stuff. Perhaps I should raid their back catalogue too?

Track 7 – What have I done to deserve this? No, that’s not my response to this CD. That’s the name of the song. Ha ha. This starts with what sounds like someone banging pipes or doing some plumbing in the background. It turns out to be part of the rhythm. And here we are with the unmistakeable voice of Neil Tennant. It’s the Pet Shop Boys, of course. I like them. I bought one of their albums once. But I don’t like it when he talks instead of singing. Other than that, this is top of the pops.
I later discovered it’s Dusty Springfield too. I like her voice.

Track 8 – Another rockier song with some lovely strings. Is this a man or a woman singing? Or both? I don’t mean a hermaphrodite. I mean two singers. Could it be that awful Darren Hayes bloke who sung with that Savage Garden rabble? It’s too rocky for him. And it sounds a lot better than anything I ever heard Savage Garden do. Soothing strings, big chorus and interesting lyrics about mattresses, window-seats and chess. It’s probably about the end of a relationship. It’s another cracker, actually, which is growing on me with each listen.
It’s Tranquilizer by Geneva.

Track 9 – The chorus says “Love changes everything”, but it’s not Michael Ball. This is a more upbeat, less operatic song, with chinky, reverbed guitars. It’s very 80s. It has a meandering melody; I don’t know if I would be able to sing it even if I’d heard it dozens of times, because it doesn’t go where I expect it to.
I’m just listening to the CD again as I edit my comments and this song is suddenly “proper bo”. It’s the “Do do do do do do” in the chorus. Pure, unadulterated, cheesy class. I get the feeling I should know this song already, but I don’t. This is almost as good as “Easy Lover” by Collins and Bailey, which I also disliked the first time I heard it, then grew to love.
I later discovered I had been listening to Love Changes (Everything) by Climie Fisher. I love a song title which makes use of brackets. After looking on the internet I discovered that Climie Fisher are in fact two different people. Climie and Fisher are their surnames. Well I never did.

Track 10 – Starts with a piano, but it’s still not Keane. Here come some great guitar power chords, which is always the best way to start a song, and there’s some nice syncopated timing. This is hands-in-the-air pop-rawk. They keep saying “together” and other words ending in “-er” and sound very Bristolian when they do it. But it’s not The Wurzels. I recognise this song and can sing the chorus, but don’t know who it is. This song wins the “best guitar solo on CD” award – good for air guitar, although the solo is slightly too brief for my tastes. I would only have got through my first windmill by the time it finishes. Big, classic, singalong anthem. Absolutely perfect for a wedding.
It’s REO Speedwagon – “Keep On Loving You”.

Track 11 – I know this one. Savage Garden – “Truly Madly Deeply”. Er… sorry about those comments I made in Track 8… it’s just that I can’t listen to Savage Garden without feeling slightly nauseous. Wins the “Worst lyrics on the CD” award without any question. I think I’ll just move on to the next one. Shudder.

Track 12 – Here they are! It’s Keane. I’m not a massive fan, but they’re very pleasant to listen to. It’s “Everybody’s Changing”, which is a bit of a surprise, as I thought, when I saw the CD was from LB, that “This is the last time” would be a dead cert. Best production on the CD: this is very professional, very crisp music and he has a lovely voice.

Overall, it was great to get a CD with so much stuff on it that I didn’t know. Each time I’ve listened to it, it’s grown on me. I liked the 80s and early 90s stuff - it's always good to be introduced to music I missed out on at the time because I was doing my homework or watching Open All Hours or something instead. The track that keeps worming its way back into my head at present, though, is the Seahorses one.Thanks LB.

Lord Bargain knew that I’ve been holed up at home, so he also very kindly sent me some choice reading material. I’ll be picking out a couple of my personal highlights from Britain's Favourite Newspaper tomorrow. I’m very grateful for the CD and his thoughtfulness in sending me the other stuff.

Thanks to Swiss Toni too for, you know, the shuffleathon. Right, I'm off to practise my air guitar.

Another Reminder

Don't forget to play this during the England game today.