Social Items

TPQ
Showing posts with label Soccer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Soccer. Show all posts
Anthony McIntyre ⚽ After the abysmal midweek performance by Liverpool's millionaires, it was revitalising to yesterday evening watch Drogheda United's part timers play with pride and passion.


None of those players pretend they are worth almost half a million a year, never mind a week, while refusing to deliver anything close to what would justify such a colossal payout. The combined team would not make half a million in a month, yet they give their all.  Unlike the nouveau riche poseurs in Liverpool red, they wear the claret and blue out of passion and not a sense of entitlement. 

There is a case to be made in top drawer soccer for Cash On Delivery.

If you don't deliver you don't get paid. Your wages can go to homeless shelters or soup kitchens. Some fans will at least have a place to put their head down on a full belly after watching the dismal displays you serve up.

My perennial pal for soccer matches was absent last night. Paddy was in sunnier climes but I texted him the scores during the game. My companion last night was my son. It was his first game of the season but he seemed to enjoy it even more than I did.


I get more enjoyment from watching Drogheda United play, win or lose, than I do from Liverpool. I can relax during a Drogs game but never when Liverpool are playing. My wife says I am not just as emotionally involved in the Drogheda thing. That's true. I can never forget the 97 fans from Hillsborough, unlawfully killed by South Yorkshire Police. It leads to a feeling that if you want to turn out in a shirt for Liverpool, then step up to the plate with a professional determination to win. If in the course of a soccer game fans can die, players can at least try. Trying is always easier than dying.

Last night was a beautiful sunny evening, great for watching soccer. I had a hip flask of Jack Daniels, the last droplet imbibed in the final minute of the game. When the Drogs and the Bit O'Red meet, the fans tend to get value for money.

Last time I watched these sides battle it out was a couple of months ago in the Showgrounds with my friend Alfie. Sligo emerged 3-1 winners despite the Drogs putting up spirited resistance. That result was flipped last night at Weavers Park with the home side claiming all three points in a hard fought clash.

We had barely time to settle in our seats before our hopes took an early nosedive when Sligo snatched the lead after only six minutes with a finely taken Will Fitzgerald goal. That was followed by a few wayward Drogheda efforts which earned them my howls of Nunez, Salah, while my son smiled, seemingly looking around for an exit to enable him to get away from his embarrassment of a da.

On the 24 minute mark all that changed with a wonderfully executed Darragh Markey strike. But it took another 45 minutes for the Drogs to go in front. Frantz Pierrot, who always looked menacing and aggressive in his pursuit of the ball neatly converted from the penalty spot, following a clumsy challenge by the Sligo captain. 

Drogheda did well to survive a sustained period of pressure immediately after half time. But once they broke the siege they were always in with a fighting chance. And fight is exactly what they did. Victory was sealed with a great individual effort from Aaron McNally who drifted through the Sligo defence before placing his ball beyond the keeper. Rapture Day had arrived.


This is only the second victory of the season for the home side. It leaves Drogheda United still second from bottom, only local Louth rivals Dundalk beneath them. The Drogs are not that far off the five clubs above them. Given poor away performances, the Kevin Doherty's men  will need to rely on home fixtures to ensure they play Premiership football next year. At the bottom end of the table it is not crucial to run fast, just faster than the team behind. If the Drogs can leapfrog above one more side and hold their position, leaving Dundalk for the devil and his hindmost, relegation can be avoided. 

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Drogs ⚽ Sligo ⚽ No Salah

Anthony McIntyre ⚽ There was only one team from the city of Liverpool that turned up for last night's Merseyside derby.

It played in blue and the inhabitants of the much deprived and maligned city can be proud of it.

As we sat down to watch the game, brandy perched at my side, I told my son Everton would take the three points. He did not demur. It was just a matter of time before the first goal was conceded. The moment came to pass, making last night's game the 16th of the championship race in which Liverpool have conceded first.

I no longer roar at the television, having switched tack to merely laughing with derision at Liverpool's spurned chances and conceded goals. I had long given up on them as serious championship contenders. The moment of grim realisation came with that hapless Quansa pass at Old Trafford. That told us here was a team falling apart. They might yet end up finishing fourth in a three horse race. 

Contrast their challenge for the title with that of Arsenal who put five past Chelsea. The Gunners, serious about their title ambitions, upped their game when it mattered, their players not content to lift their pay check without delivering the goods.

At Goodison, Everton taught their city rivals a lesson in winning tackles, not giving the ball away needlessly, and coming out top in aerial clashes. The Toffees allowed Liverpool to have most of the possession, but crucially recapturing the ball in break up play when vital to do so. Sean Dyche's strategic approach seemed to be let Liverpool play keep-ball as long as they like. They will be unable to do anything with it.

Liverpool failed in every area of the park other than goalkeeping. Atrocious aerial defending compounded by a lacklustre midfield playing behind a toothless attack. If there is a more perfect recipe for soccer failure I can't think of it.

The logic that attackers need to hit the target has led to Darwin Nunez believing that the target is the keeper. His squandered opportunities in front of goal are the stuff of legend. Had he been capable of precision shooting Liverpool might have won the title. He lacks the surgical ability of Erling Haaland who looks before he lashes the ball goalward. Both came to the EPL at the same time. Only once, after the Community Shield clash when both players were a showpiece display by their respective teams, was there any debate about which team got the better value for money. Since then Nunes has not been in the running. 

Salah is simply not at the races. His mind seems to be elsewhere, the Saudi money mill perhaps. Better that he pursues his millionaire lifestyle draining the sheiks of their lolly rather than Liverpudlians of their much more meagre financial resources. Mo being an abbreviation of Money, not Mohammed, he should not be part of any Liverpool side for the remainder of the season.

Of the forward line, Diogo Jota alone has impressed but is too frequently injured to make an appreciable difference. Yet he contributes as much to Liverpool from the sidelines as Salah and Nunes do from the field. In seven games both have a combined total of three goals. 

A tired Klopp had simply ran out of fairy dust. The mojo and the magic is no longer there. The King vacates his throne at the season's end without his clothes. The life of the genius he once possessed has been pronounced extinct. Now they are talking about bringing in some plonker from the Dutch league to replace him. Has one baldy bastard from the Netherlands not proved useless enough in the EPL without Liverpool seeking another? As some wit suggested, he should secure Anfield a tenth position league finish. 

Both Merseyside teams needed the points last night. Everton to avoid the drop, Liverpool to continue with the deception that they were a serious contender in the title race. The authentic team won.

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

The Team That Fell Apart

Peter Anderson ⚽ Much too often these days VAR is having a mare. 

The latest installment saw the VAR at the Coventry v Man U FA Cup semi-final destroy one of the greatest moments in FA Cup history. I was late home on Sunday afternoon and ran in to watch the end of the Liege-Bastoyne-Liege cycling classic. I checked my phone to see the score in the semi-final and saw that Man U were 3-0 up. Game over thought I. 

After the end of the cycling I switched over to catch the end of the footy, just in time to see the ref pointing to the Man U spot. I looked at the score to see it was now 3-2 to Man U and Coventry had a penalty, which they dispatched. Extra time beckoned. And with the teams running out of energy and the game into the final minute of E.T., Coventry did the impossible and found the energy to bag the winner. But wait, VAR was checking for offside. And when the image came back the Coventry player's toe was offside. No goal. One of the greatest comebacks in modern FA Cup history was overturned because of a toe being offside.

This is not what football is about. No advantage was gained by the attacker. The game went to pens which Man U duly won. This can't go on. Something needs done. To add insult to injury, social media is awash with images of Man U's £70m flop, Anthony, goading the Coventry players when the winning pen went in. Classless in the extreme. A symptom of the depths to which the once great Red Devils have fallen.

Also, in FA Cup news, we heard that there will no longer be replays.

Personally I am happy. There are too many games and for the sake of the players the replays need to go. Don't blame the players or the clubs, blame the authorities, who have increased the number of Champions League games, World Cup games and Euro Cup games. The season is too long and there are too many games. The big losers are the small clubs, but this should be compensated by more money being taken from the big clubs and given to the small. I'm all in favour of the fair distribution of wealth, but I won't hold my breath.

Peter Anderson is a Unionist with a keen interest in sports

VAR . . . Again

Anthony McIntyre ⚽ Having twice reneged on my promise of last week not to watch Liverpool for the remainder of this season, it was pleasing for the fans to see a victory over Fulham this afternoon. 

I confess to feeling pretty indifferent to it all. When Liverpool scored I didn't get excited. When they conceded, I didn't feel deflated. My attitude mirrored the team's performances of late - flat. 

My abstinence didn't even last one match, having flailed at the first attempt, opting to watch the dispiriting midweek game against Atalanta. Willpower, like much else that comes with age, seems to wilt. Not that today's was a game I rushed home to see. I walked the dog for about two hours along the Boyne, thinking if I make it home on time I make it. And If I fall asleep don't wake me up, 

Planted in front of the box with a glass of red wine - they don't deserve whiskey - I watched two stunning goals followed by a good one despite it being a close offside call. The 3-1 victory, on paper anyway, keeps Liverpool in the title race.

Not that I think they will do it. Since the terrible Quansah pass at Old Trafford, the team has been in freefall. Its midweek victory against Atalanta is best described as Pyrrhic. The stand out moment from open play in that clash was Salah missing the target when gifted an opportunity. A perennial problem with this Liverpool side. Superb chances followed by sloppy finishing. 

Something underscored when Nunez came off the bench. He started as he meant to go on, blasting his shot into the side netting. A popular player, his conversion rate of around 20% of excellent goal scoring opportunities is simply not good enough. He repeated his side netting trick later in the game. A rough diamond who seems determined to evade all attempts to polish his performance. 

When Fulham cancelled Trent Alexander Arnold's great free kick just on the stroke of half time, I sensed there would be a repeat of the collapse against Palace last week. In some ways I felt it would be a welcome end to the misery and would call time on conning the fans that they were still a serious title contender. Had they succumbed today I anticipated that Klopp might as well give the kids a run out for the rest of the season. While that will not happen because it is still theoretically possible for them to win the EPL, something is needed to combat the staleness that has set in.

There remains the possibility that both the Gunners and Manchester City will slip up, but the odds are against both of them doing it. But even if they do who would bet on Liverpool not folding against Wolves in the last game of the season and the final match under Klopp? Betting on them would be like putting money in a collection plate pushed under your nose by an evangelical preacher. 

And Merseyside rivals Everton will not be in the mood to do the old enemy any favours in the upcoming midweek clash. How they would love to spoil the party and exercise bragging rights, claiming credit for denying Liverpool a title. Truth is the decline came well before the derby. 

As soon as the game was over I listened to Mazzy Star. At least there is some Hope there. 

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Hope In Mazzy Star

Caoimhin O’Muraile ☭ When I was a lad football made the world go round. 

Throughout working-class areas of England, Scotland, and Wales (the six-counties were a different scenario, a war was raging) various cultures from Pigeon Racing, Greyhound racing and training, to keeping and breeding whippets and bare-knuckled fights were present in many areas but the overarching meaning of life was football.

As the late great Bill Shankly, our nemesis but well respected, once remarked, ”football is more than a game, it is a matter of life and death.” Very true Bill because that was literally the case! All we lived for were Saturday afternoon and Tuesday or Wednesday nights if we had a game. Missing a match, come what may, was not an option. All that mattered in life for me was Manchester United FC, and all which went with following them. School and later work came secondary to the match and we had no time for those middle-class irks who claimed to support a team but never took the trouble to go to games, “part time supporters” of the highest order in our view were these despicable souls. It didn’t matter who the team was and where the fan or fans may have lived as long as they attended games was all that counted.

For example, a couple of lads from Aberdeen, Scotland, travelled regularly down to watch York City play, a fourth division side, now that was dedication! Standing on the terraces and being part of the culture as the atmosphere built up created by the fans themselves was almost as important as the game itself. My team, as mentioned, is Manchester United and back in those days I would be at every game, home, away and abroad, even friendlies, plus occasional reserve and junior games. On our travels, we would often get into altercations with the supporters of Liverpool, West Ham, Leeds etc, it was all part of the ‘awayday’. 

The London based Man Utd fans, the Cockney Reds who were a law unto themselves, would regularly be fighting at Euston station on their way to Manchester because invariably one of the London clubs would be playing up north. Chelsea or Tottenham could be playing away at Everton or Sheffield for example so for them the day started before boarding the 7.45 to Manchester. The girls were as fanatical as were the lads, though in those days they were a minority, but those who did go were as barmy as their male counterparts. The packed terraces often provided an opportunity for sexual encounters between the lads and lasses as the terraces of the Stretford End at Old Trafford, the Kippax at Maine Road, the Kop at Anfield I dare say and the Gwladys Street End at Goodison provided perfect cover for a quick shag!! Urinating at half time was often done on the terraces as getting out to the toilet (bog, or trap stones) was easier said than done. Great days, great times.

Football was also a means of keeping fit. We all had local teams and played on the local green or in the street. Traffic was not as busy in the sixties and seventies as today and playing football in the street was a regular pastime. ‘Gratey’ was another version of football we played, involving two players and, as the name suggests, a grate or drain at the side of the road built into the kerb acted as goals and the ball was either a stone or a tennis ball. The tennis ball was the right circumference to stick in the grate if a player scored. Scrubbed knees were regular wounds suffered but crying to mammy was not allowed. We were all in our junior years in those days. I can still hear various mother’s voices, including mine, calling out, “get your arse in its school tomorrow” on those summer nights when we were playing football. Nobody took any notice of the first call but eventually a hand would grab the back of the neck and being dragged physically homeward was always the net result. 

There were five-a-side games played indoors and the ball could not go above head height. These were often on TV. A midweek sports programme called ‘Sports Night with Coleman’ was aired and presented by a great commentator of his day, David Coleman on BBC1. I can remember back in the early seventies Manchester United being on in the five-a-side final at the Empire Pool, Wembley. United fans caught the authorities off guard as about two thousand turned up. This was unprecedented at these games, usually watched by local neutrals. Not on this occasion, it was like a mini-Old Trafford indoors and as United had a shite season this tournament became a magnet for United fans. These were great days and a great culture ruined by the murderous aims of big business greed in modern times.

The nineteen-sixties and seventies could be described as the age when modernism came to the younger generation of the times. On the beaches of Southern English seaside towns in the early sixties mods and rockers would fight it out, often ruining people’s holidays. Another culture, or sub-culture, was also developing and that was the football fan of the times. Skinhead gangs (in those days multi cultured and mixed raced, unlike the gangs of the eighties) in the sixties were just beginning to appear on the streets along with a sub-division called Boot Boys and these gangs were replacing the immediate post-war Teddy Boys. Most of these new gangs were football fans and introduced something to the terraces, the terrace chant. Singing at matches had gone on long before but not in the coordinated way these newcomers mastered on the terraces. Hitherto most songs were sung by individuals in public houses, now they were brought to the terraces. 

The old school cloth cap brigade of the forties and fifties was slowly and, I might add, reluctantly making way for the teenage revolution. At the 1963 FA Cup Final played out between Manchester United and Leicester City, United winning 3-1 with two goals from David Herd and one from new signing Denis Law, the British national anthem was played for the last time after the game. From then on, the anthem would be played before the FA Cup Final kick off. The reason for this was the United fans celebrating their team’s victory, five years after the Munich tragedy, would not keep quiet and just kept singing in chorus their own anthems which had fuck all to do with the monarchy, apart from Denis Law being King! This was also the first game to be played under an all-covered Wembley Stadium so the roof acted as an amplifier thus giving the vocalists, thousands massed on the terraces, great acoustics. This was also the age of the wall art, or graffiti as some of our detractors wished to call it, the spray painting of whose team ruled and whose end was the ‘hardest’ began appearing on walls and buildings around large inner cities. On one estate in the early seventies on the wall surrounding a working-class enclave in Manchester was written; MUFC LOYAL SUPPORTERS WE RULE thus advising any visitor this was a United fans estate. Other club’s supporters did similar in their areas, Bootle for example in Liverpool, or Wallsend in Newcastle.

Songs on the terraces of the sixties and seventies were, in many cases, works of lyrical art. The imagination and changing of words to the airs of many chart-topping hits of the day were something which the bourgeois elements who attend football grounds today could only marvel at! It was very much a working-class cultural thing of the times. Teenagers would often spend their school hours writing a song for Saturday's game, handing out their finished work at the Stretford End at Old Trafford or the Kop at Anfield turnstiles for consideration during the game. Some caught on, others did not. Whether the person's work was used or not, there can be no doubt a lot of imagination was used in composing them. An example of such imagination would be a remake of Max Boyce’s Welsh Rugby Song: Singing for the Songs Arias, our version Singing for the Munich Martyrs would go along these lines:

Down to Arsenal we did go for our annual trip
a weekend out in London Town without a bit of kip, 
two seats reserved for beer by the boys from Wythenshawe,
and it was beer, pontoon, crisps and fags and the King is Denis Law. (Chorus) 

And we were singing, for the Munich Martyrs, of Man Utd the Busby Babes. 

Into Euston we did roll with an empty crate of ale, 
Ron had lost at cards again and flogged his Daily mail, 
but he still looked very happy, and we all knew what for,
he’d swapped a photo of his wife for a picture of Denis Law (chorus). 

There were many more verses but the reader will get the level of imagination and this was only one of many Manchester United supporter’s songs of that era.

Many of the songs which reverberated from the terraces at Old Trafford and, I understand Anfield, were composed by the fans themselves. Many a school hour was spent writing songs for Saturdays game at the educational establishments of both Manchester and Merseyside. Liverpool fans tended to look to the very popular Merseybeat during the sixties for their inspiration, and many an altered version of popular songs could be heard on the Kop each Saturday.

At Old Trafford United fans tended to use any music, not least Irish republican songs such as “We’re off to Dublin in the Green, in the green” was altered in 1968 to “We’re off to Europe in the Red, in the Red, Denis Law will dazzle in the sun," to compose their songs around. Another one was Mary Hopkin’s 1968 hit “Those were the Days my Friend” which I understand was after a trip to Leeds who had just opened their new impressive Kop behind one goal, the Gelderd End, which Man Utd fans got on in 1968, repeated the following season 1969, “Those were the days my friend, we took the Gelderd End" became an altered version for many Reds something Leeds fans still have not forgot. It was altered again many times to accommodate a team’s end United fans took. 

It was a cultural pastime away from home, taking the host teams fans territory. At the Etihad, modern home of Manchester City, the song Blue Moon adopted by the Kippax Blues back in the day, Man City’s huge popular terrace at Maine Road is now sang by another very expensive PR man working for a company employed by the club. United fans list of songs in those days was limitless. After Arsenals FA Cup Final victory at Wembley over Liverpool in 1971, winning 2-1 (and the league FA Cup domestic double) in extra time with a blistering shot from Charlie George. The Arsenal fans made up a song, “he shot, he scored, and all the North Bank roared Charlie George, Charlie George, he shot, he scored….”

Today in the soulless stadia which were once our homes, full time PR companies are employed by the club owners like the Glazers to create an artificial atmosphere once created by the fans ourselves. At Old Trafford some burke sings Glory, Glory Man Utd and encourages fans to join in, what a fucking joke, who is this comedian nicking our songs and regurgitating them for supporters to sing along to? At Anfield many of us may have seen the flags on the stand which was once the Spion Kop before the game. These flags do not belong to the fans but the PR company who give them out to supporters sat in strategic places to maximise effects on TV. Once kick off has been blown these flags are taken back into storage for the next opportunity. Watch closely the next time a Liverpool night game is televised live as stewards can be seen taking these flags away. When Liverpool score at the one-time Kop End there are no flags, just scarves and they are less in number than the days of yore. All the scenery before the game, once genuine, are phoney. 

At Old Trafford singing anti-Glazer songs are banned, not that it makes much difference, and wearing anti-Glazer scarves is not allowed. One employee was dismissed for wearing the green and yellow scarf, which is the old colours of Newton Heath, Manchester United’s former name, because it was seen as being anti-Glazer. The once mighty and feared Stretford End is now becoming a joke, as is the Kop at Liverpool, the Gwladys Street at Everton, in fact all the old popular working-class cultural havens across the game. The end of an era as today’s game and atmosphere at any of the once mighty grounds is no match for the sixties, seventies and eighties.

Caoimhin O’Muraile is Independent Socialist Republican and Marxist.

Death of a Culture 👥 Murder by High Finance 🎬 Act Ⅰ

Anthony McIntyre ⚽ Another very poor performance by Liverpool this afternoon saw them put the seal on yet another failed attempt to win the English Premier League. 

That failure more or less took place last week in a pretty woeful performance against Manchester United. Crystal Palace were today merely issuing the death certificate, confirming what fans deep down already knew. Champions get up when they know they can't. The losers of Liverpool stayed on the canvas and heard themselves counted out. 

This is a dead team and there is no point in trying to give the kiss of life to a corpse. 

Today, having conceded the obligatory early goal they were too jaded to make one of their much vaunted recoveries. While disappointed, I am not going to feign surprise. I felt a defeat would be the outcome, even having suggested as much to my friend Paddy during the Drogheda United game on Friday evening. This Anfield side had simply run out of puff, lacking the stamina to sustain a successful run in all four competitions they were reckoned by some pundits to be in with a chance of winning.

What makes it all the more galling is that they wore the black armband in memory of those who died at Hillsborough in April 1989. The 35th anniversary of that mass unlawful killing by South Yorkshire Police occurs tomorrow.  We might be forgiven for thinking that those who turned out in the armbands would at least have put in a serious performance in sombre tribute to the dead fans alone. Not a bit of it. They played dead for the occasion. We were served up a mishap and misfire in front of goal. Even Andy Robertson's great goal-line intervention to prevent Palace going a further goal ahead did nothing to inspire this most uninspiring lot. 

I have no intention of watching them again this season. There is no joy to be derived from their underwhelming performances. It merely puts me in a bad mood for the rest of the day and irritability hangs around for days after. Not worth it. I don't have a gluttonous appetite for for the punishment meted out by this pack of underachievers. 

Mo Salah should pack his bags. Why Nunez should be taken off but not Salah was confirmation that Klopp had given up the ghost, a feeling reinforced when Gakpo came on. I simply fail to see what the Dutch international does for this Liverpool side. When he was in the starting line up against Atalanta on Thursday evening, I winced. It seemed such a clear statement of intent by Klopp that he was not serious about winning the Europa league.

Not that Nunez, who was substituted today, has been great either. An exciting player, he misses far too many chances, exuding the appearance of the busy fool. As Michael Owen suggests he needs to be able to go around players, rather than simply blast everything off the keeper or the woodwork. 

This year's EPL champions will, I think, be Manchester City. They are better finishers than Arsenal whose unfamiliarity with being so close to the title last year created the jitters that would eventually deprive them of the crown. 

The one good thing about today's result is that it puts the fans out of their misery. This side was never going to win the title. Had they not blown it by now they would most certainly have done so by the last game of the season against Wolves. No point in prolonging the agony. It ended today. The Wolvers fixture was a game I had intended going to the pub for with my son, and some of our friends. Not now. Better to go to the pub and watch glasses being washed than view mediocrity from the Mersey.

Tomorrow I will remember those killed at Hillsborough while trying best to forget this inept title-losing side. 

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Liverpoor

Anthony McIntyre ⚽ Having watched an abysmal Liverpool performance the previous evening, it was refreshing to see Drogheda United put up a spirited display against Derry City.


The North West outfit, while still second in the championship race, were denied their first to back wins of the current campaign.

No millionaires amongst those who turned out for the Drogs but they at least respected the claret and blue colours they played in. As the game approached its concluding minutes it seemed as if the Drogs would go down fighting, having conceded two soft first half goals. In the end they didn't go down at all but secured a draw courtesy of a delightful Frantz Pierrot strike masterfully curled in from the edge of the box. There was nothing lucky about it. Pure skill from the Haitian international. 

Pierrot had not scored since the Leinster Cup clash against Bohemians Under 20s back in January, a spot kick. When he eventually broke his duck from open play it was a moment well worth waiting for. 

Myself, Paddy and his son had arrived about 45 minutes before the game to claim our usual seats on the halfway line.


It was a bright, mild evening, the heavy coat I had purchased for winter games left unbuttoned. In the carpark I predicted a draw while Paddy was slightly more hopeful. The ever present hip flask accompanying me, I had barely consumed the first swig before Drogheda found the back of the net, a neat Warren Davis finish signalling advantage Weavers.  Three minutes in, and the already noisy fans broke the decibel bank. Paddy suggested if the Drogs bag another they could afford to sit back as they have something to defend. 

By half time that had gone awry. The Drogs were trailing. We were apprehensive approaching the end of the first half, knowing too well that the Weavers men can experience a lack of concentration, a feeling compounded by two first half substitutions. Nobody in the Drogs midfield or centre back line closed down the approaching Will Patching who took what Paddy described as a training ground shot. A good goal but defensive frailty allowed it to get through. A No 6 has to block, not act like a Garda on traffic duty waving through whatever comes his way.

Across Weavers Park the Derry contingent were exercising their bragging rights throughout the second half. It is always good to see a sizeable travelling fan base. Says something about the health of local soccer. Paddy commented to me that our Ultras had messed up with the geolocator on their phones. The Brandywell side were being taunted as Orange bastards and we were invited to clap our hands if we agreed. We declined, obviously, but before some pontificator from the Wokerati goes off on one, it was soccer fans chanting, not hate speech. Ribald and raucous, performative rather than poisonous.  

Our side of the park grew more animated as the clock ran down. There were frequent outbursts at the referee who did seem to make a number of poor decisions. I wondered if he too would become an Orange bastard.   

We came away relieved that the Drogs avoided defeat.


At the same time, second from bottom and on eight points the position is precarious. Next week's game is away to Bohs who are not on their game this season. Three points would be wonderful but a draw is much better than a defeat.

As we left the ground in the darkness we were pleased not to have out path lit up by flares which blighted last week's game when a Shels fan thought he would set the place alight.  Flares are an unwelcome feature of the local game, posing a risk too great to allow for nonchalance. The sight of a sightless eye caused by a careless flare is simple not worth the candle. 

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Drogs ⚽ Derry ⚽ Flare-Free

Anthony McIntyre ⚽ It is difficult to recall a performance as terrible as last night's. 

Not because they haven't occurred but memory like the rest of me is no longer robust and ruddy. Like the dog at the bottom of the stairs, uncertain if it has just come down or is about to go up, it is difficult to remember Saturday's match never mind the rest.

This was as an abysmal display of football from a Klopp side that we are ever likely to see. Having effectively thrown the league title on Sunday, they have now all but guaranteed that Klopp will not get the Swansong he deserved at the Aviva in May. Klopp had earlier commented that to play in Dublin would be like playing at home. I told Paddy, my regular match-going companion, that I was cancelling my application for final tickets. His response was to stick with it - any final regardless of who would be in it would be worth the day out in Dublin.

That's true but Liverpool are most unlikely to be there given the deficit they need to turnaround. And if we allow for conceding the customary obligatory early goal, for Liverpool to break even they would need to secure a 4-1 win in Italy. What chance that with a defence that is fast becoming a charity due to the amount of goals it donates to the opposition!

Up front things are not much better. Tere is no shortage of chances created but the conversion rate is woefully inadequate. Supposedly top drawer attackers flapping around making absolutely nothing happen. And to think of the wage demands Salah was making to stay at the club. He certainly has not earned them.

This has been hailed as a great Liverpool side. Far from it. This is the third worst defeat in Klopp's 483 games in charge. Only Manchester City and Aston Villa have secured larger victory margins over any of his teams

Last night's game was painful to watch. It never showed any sign of coming together for Liverpool. At the end of the first half I opted to go to bed rather than suffer in anything but silence. My wife and son have to endure a lot of ranting at the television, especially if the whiskey glass is in my hand. But like the moth to the flame I returned to my chair just to make sure I got well and truly burned in the second half before storming off to bed, teeth left unbrushed despite being at the dentist earlier in the day. I did manage to put the mouth guard in before going to sleep otherwise the weeping and gnashing of teeth would have taken their toll. My wife reminded me to take cough medicine to which, after a glance at the bottle, I simply said fuck it.

Every player on the pitch last night should donate what they earned for the game to charities in Liverpool. They can be as charitable to the impoverished and disadvantaged as they were to Atalanta. They can not claim the right to have earned those wages. If they have a conscience they will not swindle the fans. If other less well paid professionals such as doctors or pilots performed so poorly there would be multiple casualties. The casualties of last night's debacle are the fans. At the very least they should be given their money back.

At the end of the season should the failures mount up, as I expect they shall, supplicating for understanding with outstretched hands on the grounds that they took the title race to the wire, pushed the eventual champions all the way, does not deserve to pass muster. They had victory in their grasp but blew it and and have risked sending the coach down unfairly in cultural memory as Jurgen Flop. 

A more sober assessment is that they rather than he flopped: the team that snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Flapperpool

Peter Anderson ⚽ Watching Arsenal against Porto in the Champions League a few weeks ago brought up a few bad memories. 

There in the Porto defence at the age of 41 was a certain Pepe. Probably the most despicable player to have played the game in the modern era. Gawd, even the look of him makes my skin crawl. For me, he epitomises everything that is wrong with the modern play acting of so called professionals.

I first came across him while living in Madrid. He was playing for Real (not a good start) and he was a dirty player. In the big pressure games he would lose control and fly into potentially career ending tackles. When the ref wasn't looking he would stamp on a prone player's hand or ankle. And he was constantly over reacting to any touch from an opponent to try to get them sent off. They were usually comic dives. Once a player flicked his wrist and he dramatically fell to the ground, rolling around clutching his wrist. It was utterly pathetic.

But he finally made it into the big league in 2009 with his outrageous assault on Getafe player, Javier Casquero. Getafe were winning 1-2 at the Bernabeú with minutes remaining. Guti equalised for Real. Then Casquero got free and ran into the Real box where Pepe pushed him over. The ref blew for a pen and Pepe completely lost it and ran over and kicked a prone Casquero two times with extreme violence and then stamped on him. It was shocking. The guy was completely unhinged. He had to be dragged off the pitch and was banned for 10 games, if memory serves.

Fast forward to Saturday's visit by Arsenal to Brighton. During the game Estupiñian and Ben White had words in passing. The Brighton player then tried to push White and lightly touched his throat. To my surprise and disgust, White went over like he had been hit by a sniper, clutching his throat. Really? Is this behaviour still acceptable in the Premier League? For me it is unbecoming of the professional game, never mind from title contenders. White is English so we can't blame Johnny Foreigner.

This behaviour needs stamped out. It is infuriating. And don't get me started on players going down holding their heads knowing that the ref must stop the game. This law was brought in to the game to protect players from concussion events, given the prevalence of dementia among ex-pros. Now the pros are using it to game the system. For me the clubs need to stamp this out. We need the managers and chairmen to tell the players that enough is enough. We can't rely on the authorities to end this nonsense, it must come from within.

Unfortunately, the sort of pathetic behaviour, perfected by Pepe during his long career, is still prevalent in today's game.

Peter Anderson is a Unionist with a keen interest in sports

Pepe Pig

Anthony McIntyre ⚽ If I am candid, I didn't expect much else going into today's game. 

As much as I admire Jurgen Klopp as a coach, his Liverpool teams have never been able to shed themselves of a frailty that has consistently derailed their potential.

When the going gets tough the tough get going but it just doesn't seem to apply to this Liverpool side, who constantly flatter to deceive.

At one point during the match commentary, today's game against Manchester United was described as Liverpool's easiest of the run in. It should have been but they fluffed it. When Quansah, asleep to the danger around him, was selling the pass with sloppiness Fernandes was breaching the gap with sublime intelligence and accuracy. And they have Spurs yet to come.

In underperforming as they did, the Anfield men have given as much fire power to the Gunners as Joe Biden has been doing for the Israelis. How many chances can a side miss before concluding it is time to change the line-up? 

Mo Salah is simply not doing the business. If there is such an illness as Squandrapobia, he has been successfully inoculated against it as he never squanders a chance to squander a goal scoring opportunity. It is about three years since he went past an opposing player. Darwin Nunez takes a lot of flak for some profligate inaccuracy in front of goal but Salah is no better. Unless MacAllister gifts him a tap in, or he is fortunate enough to take a penalty, he is not the player of old, perhaps having stayed a season longer than his sell by date.

It is symptomatic of Klopp's sides all too often refusing to convert their dominance into victory. There seems to be a pay check mentality at play - as long as the millionaires can pick up their dosh at the end of the game, the result doesn't really matter that much. But it does to the poor of Liverpool, those who have to sit either at home or in a pub sipping the only pint they can afford in the hope that it lasts the ninety minutes, harder to do these days when dollops of added time are ladled out. Fans not footballers die in the terraces. They have a right to be treated with something better than a pay check mentality. 

I would never support a Liverpool side for the players in it. I have zilch loyalty to the team. All of it goes to the people of Liverpool who have suffered so much at the hands of successive British governments over the decades. No sniveling to monarchy there. Liverpool is the best republican city in the geographic area known as the British Isles. The British monarchy might be welcome in Belfast, Derry and Dublin but in Liverpool the people tell it where to go. 

If things continue as they are this season might be remembered not as Klopp's successful swansong but as United's rapacious revenge for the 7-0 drubbing they took last season. Erik ten Haag has already stopped Liverpool's FA Cup run and today seriously dented their title ambitions.  

The fans can make the short journey back to Liverpool this evening knowing they didn't let the side down.. They were let down by it. 

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Squanderpool

Anthony McIntyre ⚽ The Drogs went into this game knowing they had to salvage something from it. 


Not an easy task with Shelbourne cruising in the points atmosphere considerably above, but still within touching distance of the rest. If in the unlikely event the Drogs could arrest the forward momentum of their rivals everybody but Shels would stand to benefit.

Languishing second from bottom with only one win to their credit all season, glimpses of the dark clouds of relegation are beginning to make their presence fell over Weaver, even though the season has not reached the quarter way mark. 

I arrived at the game, wholly unconvinced that Kevin Doherty's men would get at anything other than a respectable defeat, at best. The side can put up a gusty fight, it can fly with so much promise but it's flight is so often a false dawn, Once in front of goal the flying stops and the flapping starts. Paddy had a different take. He sensed that there was something that could be got from this game. Hope dies last was the thought that struck me upon hearing that.


As things turned out, Paddy had it right. The Drogs mounted fierce opposition, captain Gary Deegan - with a hair cut that would not look out of place in a Soviet penal colony mug shot - leading from the front and making the precision timed tackles which, if they are misjudged, can lead to a straight red. After two scoreless draws, first against Pats followed by a second at Oriel Park, where the the forward line didn't do much for confidence, it was uplifting to have bagged a goal even if in time honoured fashion the defence decided to have sympathy for their rivals. Kevin Doherty had spotted the problem and changed his forward line, leaving out Zishim Bawa and Frantz Pierrot. That initiative was rewarded with a first half payout. The feeling of being short changed, however, set in on the cusp of half time when poor defending allowed the visitors to pull level.

Down but not out, the Drogs came out after the break, revitalised. A deflected free kick had them in front, a lead they held until the dying minutes of the game. I had said to Paddy that once we reached the 40 minute mark we could dare to hope. It had the hex effect. Shortly after taking that sigh of relief a sucker punch knocked the wind clean out of us. Again, poor Drogheda defending allowed for a soft goal, leaving the home fans deflated, a mood of despondency mirrored on the pitch by the forlorn Drogheda players. The Shels are not top of the league because they can't spot vulnerability. They sensed that as each half was drawing to a close the Weaver Wizards were losing their magic, the will to win not matched by their concentration levels. In the 94th minute, Shels pounced.

Then came the flare up. Shels were awarded a free kick just outside the penalty area. As they prepared to take it, a match official was hit by a flare. The game was postponed for fifteen minutes, stripping it of all rhythm and fluency.. When play resumed, the status quo remained and both teams left the pitch points shared. The Drogs would have gladly settled for a point prior to the game but by the final whistle they knew it was theirs for the taking, two points dropped rather than one gained.

That is the second Drogheda game I have attended where flares have caused play to be halted and the players escorted from the field.  On each occasion the Drogheda fans were not responsible. Last year's cup final was also disrupted for a short time as a result of flares. The search procedure on the way into the ground, thankfully not being intrusive, nevertheless fails to stop the flares getting through. Whether we like it or not flares are a feature of the fan culture in the Irish game which is not going to be easy to eradicate. Some fans try to use them responsibly while others, as demonstrated last evening, weaponise them. 

Perhaps soccer management might come to an arrangement with the ultras of each club whereby flares can be purchased via the club by those with a Garda and club issued licence for doing so.  Anybody else in possession of them could be treated the same as someone bringing a knife into a ground. The understanding would be that their usage mush never extend to them becoming projectiles and hurled onto the pitch. Hand held use only. The principle of buyer beware might apply - be careful who you distribute them to. Because once you purchase responsibility is yours. 

Flares are dangerous and should ultimately be phased out of the game much like indoor smoking has. But while they continue to be part of a fan culture they should not be allowed to become an offensive weapon. We should not have to wait on a blinded child for that awareness to sink in.

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Drogs ⚽ Shels ⚽ Flare-Up

Peter Anderson ⚽ Sunday was a day of nerves. 

I felt like praying for Liverpool to drop points. It is the sort of frivolous ballix that god might grant.

Ending child hunger in Africa, not so much. Dropped points would have reduced the jeopardy for City and Arsenal, but it was not to be. In the end the Scousers got the job done. 30 shots, just 2 goals, as is the new normal for Liverpool, was enough to take all 3 points.

So, a defeat for City against Arsenal would put City 4 points behind Liverpool with 9 to play. I wasn't confident. City are on the wane; Arsenal on the rise. I should have been more confident because Arsenal came and parked the bus. I guess Arteta wanted to avoid defeat more than make a statement of intent. I was surprised. I thought now was the time for the pupil to come to the Etihad and take the old master's crown. Instead a double decker was well and truly parked. City couldn't get through. Indeed, couldn't even get into the box such was the tightness of the Gunner's defence. Gabriel and Saliba were imperious. Job done.

Arsenal threatened a few times, but the intent was just not there. I always feared a sucker punch after City had dominated possession, but the game felt very comfortable. I was expecting Arsenal to go on the rampage. They have won every game since their winter break in the Emirates. And they have won most of those games by scoring a lot of goals. But Arteta, probably with good reason, feared being picked off.

A defeat may have derailed their bid, so a cautious approach was what he chose. It was a disappointing game for the neutral, but it keeps the distance between the top 3 to 3 points.

April sees the top 3 play 2 games per week. Liverpool have 4 tough away games against Man U, Everton, Fulham and the Hammers. City face Villa on Wednesday then have an easier run, on paper. Arsenal end the month against Villa, Wolves, Chelsea and Spurs. The Sky pundits think it could go any way. I tend to agree.

Peter Anderson is a Unionist with a keen interest in sports

Day Of Nerves

Peter Anderson ⚽ Well what a weekend of sport that was.

It all kicked off on Saturday morning with the first FA Cup quarter-final between Coventry and Wolves. With the score at 2-1 to Wolves, and into injury time, Coventry surprised the big boys and scored 2. It was a classic cup game and a great start to the proceedings.

Next up was the first cycling monument of the season and the one that always provides the best finish, Milano-Sanremo. It can be won by sprinters, climbers or classics specialists as it depends on who still has the legs to get over the final little hill after 300 kms. This year it was a sprinter who reached the line first. Needless to say that it isn't necessary to watch the first 280 kms as it all kicks off on the run in to Sanremo.

Third on Saturday's list was the rugby. And on Paddy's weekend the men in green won their second championship in two years by beating a stubborn Scotland in Dublin. It is a crying shame that they could make it a grand slam, having lost to England last week. But it is always great to see Ireland play so well after many years of mediocrity.

And finally, Man City became the first ever team to get to 6 FA Cup semi-finals in a row by dispatching Newcastle at the Etihad. It was a pretty routine game from City's point of view. The most surprising thing was they managed to keep a clean sheet.

On to Sunday and I watched Chelsea struggle past Leicester. Despite being 2-0 up, on top for long periods and having a load of chances, they failed to close the game out and nearly paid the price as Leicester leveled the score. Then Leicester had a man sent off and Chelsea manged to stumble over the line with 2 late goals.

But in a classic weekend of top notch sport the best was reserved for last. England's two biggest clubs went head to head to see who was going to reach the FA Cup semis. It was a modern classic. Man U came flying out of the traps and put Liverpool under huge pressure. They got their just rewards and went 1-nil up. Then Liverpool steadied the ship and my immediate thought was that Man U needed to score again, preferably 2 and soon. One thing that we see repeated throughout history is clubs failing to make hay while the sun shines. Man City have been particularly guilty of it this season. The standard is so high these days at the top of the English game that you need a 3 goal lead to feel anywhere near safe. Man U didn't score a second and paid the price. Liverpool worked out that if they could get beyond the press there were acres of free space behind the midfield. Time and again, the Reds were running unopposed at United's back line. It was all a matter of time and the half ended with Liverpool 1-2 up. The second half was the reverse of the first half with Liverpool failing to capitalise on their chances against a now rapidly weakening United.

Despite bossing the second period it was 2-2 at full time.

And so to extra time. Liverpool regained the lead, 2-3. Then on a quick counter-attack Liverpool faced a 5 on 3 situation. A goal here would seal it. Elliot was on the right side and called for the ball.

Nuñez, instead of slipping him the ball tried to tee up a shot for himself, and a United player nipped in and took the ball. A massive match winning chance was missed. Klopp was furious. Just one minte later and Nuñez found himself with the ball in a defensive situation and tried a difficult pass forward, got it all wrong, gave the ball away and United were in. 3-3. With penalties looming, it was Man U that held their nerve and in one final counter-attck snatched the winner in a raucous Old Trafford.

Liverpool fans and pro-scouse pundits are quick to sing the priases of Nuñez. I just don't rate him. He is Liverpool's Raheem Sterling.

Sterling has a wonderful record at City, scoring over 130 goals and nearly 50 assists. But considering how many wonderful situations he found hiself in that produced nothing, he quickly became City's most frustrating player. If he was just 5% better he would have been a wonder player. Unfortunately for him, his final pass or finish was woeful so many times, or he was caught offside when he could see across the back line. And I see Nuñez in a similar light. Like Sterling, I think he will make a great substitute, but if he wants to be the main man he will need to go to an inferior club. Just like Sterling.

And now an international break. God, I hate international breaks, though I may actually have time to talk to my wife!

Peter Anderson is a Unionist with a keen interest in sports

Top Notch Sporting Weekend

Anthony McIntyre ⚽Which defeat to write about was the only decision to be made on tonight's piece.


Initially, I felt I'd blog the usual post-match summary of the Drogheda game up in Sligo which I attended with my friend Alfie. The Drogs put up a spirited fight but went down 3-1 to a much rejuvenated Sligo who have had quite the success against Louth opposition in recent weeks.  On the return journey to Dublin my daughter rang and asked if I would like to join her and her boyfriend in Cusack's on the North Strand Road for a Patrick's Day drink. Normally I find Patrick's Day too rowdy and tend not to go out on the swally.  But as Liverpool were playing Manchester United in the FA Cup I told her I'd head over to her from Connolly Station and watch the second half of the game.

So that was what decided tonight's post. The fate of the Drogs will have to wait until later in the week. 

The bar was full with a mixture of Patrick's Day revellers, swollen by the presence of Manchester United and Liverpool fans.  It was twenty minutes before my daughter managed to find a stool for me to plant myself on, one that swivelled. Most comfortable bar stool I have sat on in yonks. Liverpool were 2-1 up as they emerged for the second half. For most of it they seemed the better side but a failure to clear their lines allowed Manchester United to draw level, sending the game into extra time. Each set of supporters cheered when their team scored but there was no in-your-face bragging rights. Two woeful blunders in extra time allowed the Manchester men to steal a march on Liverpool by emulating the Scousers' penchant for scoring late winners. Now Liverpool are out of the cup. The quadruple has gone but I never seriously considered it as a realistic prospect. Still to lose a game they should comfortably have won left a bad taste in the mouth made no less acrid by Guinness and Jameson.

When the game was 3-3 courtesy of a careless pass from a weary Darwin Nunez I had flashbacks to the 1990 semi final in the same competition which saw Liverpool knocked out, going down 4-3 to Crystal Palace. And so it turned out. Harvey Elliot who came on as a sub and put the Merseyside men in front in extra time blundered after a corner kick, leading to a quick United counter attack which sealed Liverpool's fate. 

It is disappointing that Klopp will leave his post at the season's end without this trophy under his belt but ten Hag needed the victory more than the German. This victory gives him some breathing space. 

While it was a game for Liverpool to win there can be no churlishness shown towards United who did what they had to do and never gave up. The Liverpool boss summed it up:

Our decision making was not great. You have to accept the result. They deserve to go to the next round. It was a period in the second half when we should have finished it but we didn't and we know they could come back.

On the train journey home a Dundalk woman sat in the seat beside me. She had been on the beer in Dublin for Patrick's Day and told me all abut it! The one consolation was that she didn't like sport so both of us were spared a inquest-cum-rant on Liverpool's misfortune. Worse ways, I guess, to conclude a disappointing sporting weekend. 

⏩Follow on Twitter @AnthonyMcIntyre.

Blunderpool

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)