No one cares about the FA cup any more. As nice a change as it was, there is no way Cardiff and Portsmouth (twice) should have reached the FA Cup Final; nor, in all honesty, should Stoke. Manchester United haven't won it since 2004, and suffer regular giant killings. Even the small clubs don't seem to treat it with much respect, often fielding weak teams in order to prop up their domestic campaign.
The FA Cup is branded as The World's Oldest Cup Competition. Who gives a rat's ass? The Premier League and the Champion's League both dominate the club scene. History doesn't matter if the present doesn't matter. It needs a re-branding.
Instead of the The World's Oldest Cup Competition, the FA Cup should re-position itself as The World's Second Best Club Competition. The former branding draws attention only to its increasing irrelevance; the latter draws attention to the fact that the FA Cup has a very generous serving of the European club pie. Manchester United, Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool - each an elder statesmen the European scene and precious scalp for whoever knocks them out (usually Barcelona or one of the other three) - and latterly Manchester City and Tottenham. This lineup is stronger than the Europa League, the Copa del Rey, the Copa Libertadores and the Club World Cup. These are big teams, with big stadia and strong support. Add Barcelona, Madrid, Bayern Munich and Inter and you've got the last-eight in the CL. Add to that an appearance at Wembley, one of the best stadiums in the world, and you've got yourself something worth fighting for.
Of course it wont solve the entire problem. Bragging rights don't compare to a place in the the First Best Club Cup Competition in the World, so ideally a berth in the qualifying rounds or group stage would be on offer. But it's a start at least, I think.
Saturday, 27 August 2011
Thursday, 25 August 2011
Edinburgh Fringe
Until my trip up to Edinburgh with the family last week, I didn't really understand what the Edinburgh Fringe Festival was all about. I knew it as a stomping ground for up-and-coming comedians like Russel Kane and Daniel Sloss, and as a place for lesser-comedians to remain performing forever in front of tiny crowds, but I wasn't expecting the sheer abundance of energy, talent and diversity on show. It's not just comedians, not at all, in fact the best shows I saw were all leaning towards theatre, although humour is to be found in abundance.
Days are hectic - much more than the two full days we had there would have rapidly become too much - but so much fun. Most shows are an hour long, so it's possible to cram in five, or six if you're really well organised (not to mention tough), into a day. A good outline for the day is pick two things that really interest you, then spend the rest of the day spontaneously going to see whatever the endless leafleteers foist upon you. It might sound guaranteed to clog your day up with drivel, but such is the talent on show that the chances are you won't be too disappointed. There are bound to be bad shows, fortunately I only came across one awful one, but you will be surprised by the quality of the small companies.
Because I might as well, and because I've never reviews live performance before, I'm going to review the nine shows I saw.
The Spectacular Tales of Grinburrell - Southampton University Theatre Group
I'll freely admit, I only went to see this because my housemate is in it. However, after about fifteen minutes her presence was no longer the important thing: this is a really, really good show. It's a story about a theatre troupe, lead by the aging Mr. Grinburrell, a wheelchair-bound old man directing his last show, who has is performers act out a series of fairy tales, each of them wonderful in their own way, underpinned by the narrative of the performers themselves who fall in love, squabble, and compete for the role of troupe director.
It's energetic and charming, and the cast prove versatile in playing characters who in turn play other characters, something that always impresses me. It's funny, engaging and at times quite poignant, and although it doesn't try to break new ground, Grinburrell is a whole-hearted success.
Damion Larkin - Cuddly Dreamer
My first spur-of-the-moment choice, and my trepidation wasn't eased as we made our way down increasingly dank flights of stone stairways into a room that felt like a dungeon. Damion Larkin is 42 years old, chubby, and his life has been on a steady decline since he was 19, and the entire show is based around those three facts. I'm not very good at revelling in other peoples' misery, so I found this show a bit of a struggle. He started by reeling of a litany of illnesses, injuries and problems that he suffers from - how many are genuine I don't know - and it only gets worse. Damion used to be a stockbroker which while boring, won him a good living, a Porsche and a beautiful girlfriend (to make sure we believed him he had a slideshow, a proper analogue one with actual slides, of said house, car and girlfriend), only to be made redundant, the big step in his decline.
There's self-depreciating humour, and then there's trying to turn a sob-story into comedy. It wasn't unfunny, but hearing a man declare that he wished he'd taken the decision to jump into the Tyne rather than end up where he is now is a bit much at 4pm on a Monday.
The Improvised Musical - No Shoes Theatre
Six actors, one hour, and absolutely no idea what they are going to be made to perform: that's the basis of this absolutely brilliant show. Before it starts, the audience is invited to give any random items they have to the cast to be used as props, to suggest names of songs, to suggest the name of the show, and to use flashback, spotlight and song cards at any point in the show, if it weren't already difficult enough.
It really is 100% improvised; the actors set no parameters themselves so there is no script, no pre-planned jokes, and no learnt song lyrics. It's astounding how good it is. For the performance I saw, they were challenged to make a song called 'Aaaaaaaa', basically just a strangled vowel sound, and I'm sure I wasn't alone in not having any idea how they could build that into a song. And yet they managed it; in one song about losing control of a spaceship (the play was titled My Rusty Spaceship) the chorus was crying out for direction, and just as the moment looked to have failed one girl reappropriated the 'aaaaaaa' into a shit we're going to crash! sound. The rest of the cast immediately caught up and began harmonising, and a moment of tension was just so wonderfully resolved the crowd immediately broke out into rapturous applause.
There are of course bumps and imperfections, but frankly I think I'll give them that. Unless you have a heart of stone, the whole performance was so hard to fault. I can't recommend this enough, it was the best thing I saw at the festival, and going on reviews of the other shows, it seems like they somehow maintain this high level of quality.
Ali Cook - Pieces of Strange
Ali Cook's brand of magic is a modest one. None of the tricks were lavishly dressed up, or partiularly mind-blowing. However, it was solidly done, and he has a good rapport with the audience, but I was expecting something a bit more dramatic. The high-point for me was a trick that supposedly foiled Harry Houdini; he could, supposedly without movement, return a card inserted into the middle of the deck to the top. This he did, and I can't even hazard a guess at how. Then he turned the deck from blue-backed to red-, again without movement. Now, that was impressive.
I can't massively recommend this one; it was good without being consistently amazing; it was funny without being uproarious, but the overriding feeling was one of mild apathy.
You Last Breath - Curious Directives
Your Last Breath is a clever piece of serious theatre, there are no laughs here, tightly plotted with a storyline that flits between four interconnected storylines spanning 140 years that all centre on the icy Norwegian landscape. It's something like a theatrical David Mitchell novel in that respect. There's the English cartographer from 1896, charged with mapping the frozen reaches of Norway; there's the girl in 2011 who travels to Norway to bury her recently deceased father's ashes; in 2034 there's the young scientist who has perfected the process of deeply cooling a human body for medical reasons; and there's the downhill skier around who the story is hung, plunged into a river in a skiiing accident in 1991 she was nearly frozen to death, but miraculously made a full recovery.
The pacing is very well controlled, with none of the strands outstaying its welcome at any point, but nor do any feel under-developed. The skiier gets the least screen-time (what's the theatre version of screen time?) by far and isn't a narrative as such, but underpins the other storylines, popping up in the background occasionally, representing though dance the path of the downhill skier. All the actors are either very good or excellent, with the cartographer and Norwegian guide to our intrepid Englishwoman being the standout performers.
It was set design, props and music that elevate this show into really-rather-good territory. The music, performed live by an unseen musician, took the shape a melody intrinsically Norwegian (apparently) and varied it according to setting and timeline. Projections on to the back wall were also astutely planned, but best of all was a physical representation of the longitude and latitude lines that the cartographer would be using to plot his map; several strands were strung across the stage and were manipulated to form mountains and rivers, before being incorporated in a dance. They all felt like good ideas, and they helped the narrative without ever feeling gimmicky.
Nick Helm - Dream A Dream
GOOD AFTERNOON COCKSUCKERS!
...AND GENTLEMEN,
LET'S FUCK THIS PUPPY! LET'S KICK THIS IN THE DIIIICCCKKKKKKK!
Not the subtlest of starts, then. As far as I know, this is an entirely new brand of humour. Helm doesn't seem to have any jokes (though bizarrely he won the Best Joke award. I don't even remember heard that one(sorry for linking to the Daily Mail)), he just loudly berates his audience until they start laughing. Or walk out, as two people did. I found myself laughing out of fear. He has the mannerisms of a rock-star, all hoarse, raspy delivery through a loud sound-system, and had us fist-pumping along to a motivational song or something.
Once things simmered down a bit, he was actually less entertaining. There was an okay songs, and he made a very uncomfortable man lie on a mattress for half the show, eventually stripping down to his y-fronts and snuggling up with the unfortunate audience member. It was a small mattress, and Helm was very sweaty by this point. Probably the best part of his act was his two down-trodden backing musicians, who took the mountains of shit flung at them with cowed dignity.
With a good deal of largely forgettable material, this is an average show at best.
Theseus Is Dead - The Effort
Theseus Is Dead is the worst thing I've ever seen. Stuck with nothing to do at 6pm on our last day, we take a risk and get punched really hard in the part of the brain marked 'boredom'. It's got a good title, the flyer made it sound somewhat interesting, and it kept us warm for an hour. The positives stop there.
The plot has something to do with the rumoured death of Theseus, and the fallout that such an event caused, but it was incomprehensible. The entire cast spent the whole time in this increasingly unsettling state of hysteria; every line was delivered as if in the middle of a catastrophic nervous breakdown. They didn't calm down for the entire hour; I can't imagine how the characters could live constantly so highly-strung. The dialogue was the standard archaic babble. It aims for the highest heights but has absolutely no substance behind it. Many sentences sound cleverly worded, but make no mistake, it was always an unremarkable sentiment smothered in layer-upon-layer of fossilised bullshit.
I'm unfamiliar with Greek theatre, it may be at times excellent, but this does its reputation absolutely no good whatsoever.
The Pajama Men
What a show to end my stay on. I don't really know how to describe this. Two guys, dressed in pyjamas (pajamas - another new Americianism to annoy me) act out bizarre scenarios involving fantastical characters and anthropomorphic animals. These are two guys absolutely confident in their routine, it's so odd, and yet so brilliant. The two frequently started laughing during a sketch as if they couldn't themselves believe the ridiculousness of their show.
Look them up on YouTube. Bit of a lame way to end this post, but I don't know what to about them, other than that they are just sublimely entertaining.
Days are hectic - much more than the two full days we had there would have rapidly become too much - but so much fun. Most shows are an hour long, so it's possible to cram in five, or six if you're really well organised (not to mention tough), into a day. A good outline for the day is pick two things that really interest you, then spend the rest of the day spontaneously going to see whatever the endless leafleteers foist upon you. It might sound guaranteed to clog your day up with drivel, but such is the talent on show that the chances are you won't be too disappointed. There are bound to be bad shows, fortunately I only came across one awful one, but you will be surprised by the quality of the small companies.
Because I might as well, and because I've never reviews live performance before, I'm going to review the nine shows I saw.
The Spectacular Tales of Grinburrell - Southampton University Theatre Group
I'll freely admit, I only went to see this because my housemate is in it. However, after about fifteen minutes her presence was no longer the important thing: this is a really, really good show. It's a story about a theatre troupe, lead by the aging Mr. Grinburrell, a wheelchair-bound old man directing his last show, who has is performers act out a series of fairy tales, each of them wonderful in their own way, underpinned by the narrative of the performers themselves who fall in love, squabble, and compete for the role of troupe director.
It's energetic and charming, and the cast prove versatile in playing characters who in turn play other characters, something that always impresses me. It's funny, engaging and at times quite poignant, and although it doesn't try to break new ground, Grinburrell is a whole-hearted success.
Damion Larkin - Cuddly Dreamer
My first spur-of-the-moment choice, and my trepidation wasn't eased as we made our way down increasingly dank flights of stone stairways into a room that felt like a dungeon. Damion Larkin is 42 years old, chubby, and his life has been on a steady decline since he was 19, and the entire show is based around those three facts. I'm not very good at revelling in other peoples' misery, so I found this show a bit of a struggle. He started by reeling of a litany of illnesses, injuries and problems that he suffers from - how many are genuine I don't know - and it only gets worse. Damion used to be a stockbroker which while boring, won him a good living, a Porsche and a beautiful girlfriend (to make sure we believed him he had a slideshow, a proper analogue one with actual slides, of said house, car and girlfriend), only to be made redundant, the big step in his decline.
There's self-depreciating humour, and then there's trying to turn a sob-story into comedy. It wasn't unfunny, but hearing a man declare that he wished he'd taken the decision to jump into the Tyne rather than end up where he is now is a bit much at 4pm on a Monday.
The Improvised Musical - No Shoes Theatre
Six actors, one hour, and absolutely no idea what they are going to be made to perform: that's the basis of this absolutely brilliant show. Before it starts, the audience is invited to give any random items they have to the cast to be used as props, to suggest names of songs, to suggest the name of the show, and to use flashback, spotlight and song cards at any point in the show, if it weren't already difficult enough.
It really is 100% improvised; the actors set no parameters themselves so there is no script, no pre-planned jokes, and no learnt song lyrics. It's astounding how good it is. For the performance I saw, they were challenged to make a song called 'Aaaaaaaa', basically just a strangled vowel sound, and I'm sure I wasn't alone in not having any idea how they could build that into a song. And yet they managed it; in one song about losing control of a spaceship (the play was titled My Rusty Spaceship) the chorus was crying out for direction, and just as the moment looked to have failed one girl reappropriated the 'aaaaaaa' into a shit we're going to crash! sound. The rest of the cast immediately caught up and began harmonising, and a moment of tension was just so wonderfully resolved the crowd immediately broke out into rapturous applause.
There are of course bumps and imperfections, but frankly I think I'll give them that. Unless you have a heart of stone, the whole performance was so hard to fault. I can't recommend this enough, it was the best thing I saw at the festival, and going on reviews of the other shows, it seems like they somehow maintain this high level of quality.
Ali Cook - Pieces of Strange
Ali Cook's brand of magic is a modest one. None of the tricks were lavishly dressed up, or partiularly mind-blowing. However, it was solidly done, and he has a good rapport with the audience, but I was expecting something a bit more dramatic. The high-point for me was a trick that supposedly foiled Harry Houdini; he could, supposedly without movement, return a card inserted into the middle of the deck to the top. This he did, and I can't even hazard a guess at how. Then he turned the deck from blue-backed to red-, again without movement. Now, that was impressive.
I can't massively recommend this one; it was good without being consistently amazing; it was funny without being uproarious, but the overriding feeling was one of mild apathy.
You Last Breath - Curious Directives
Your Last Breath is a clever piece of serious theatre, there are no laughs here, tightly plotted with a storyline that flits between four interconnected storylines spanning 140 years that all centre on the icy Norwegian landscape. It's something like a theatrical David Mitchell novel in that respect. There's the English cartographer from 1896, charged with mapping the frozen reaches of Norway; there's the girl in 2011 who travels to Norway to bury her recently deceased father's ashes; in 2034 there's the young scientist who has perfected the process of deeply cooling a human body for medical reasons; and there's the downhill skier around who the story is hung, plunged into a river in a skiiing accident in 1991 she was nearly frozen to death, but miraculously made a full recovery.
The pacing is very well controlled, with none of the strands outstaying its welcome at any point, but nor do any feel under-developed. The skiier gets the least screen-time (what's the theatre version of screen time?) by far and isn't a narrative as such, but underpins the other storylines, popping up in the background occasionally, representing though dance the path of the downhill skier. All the actors are either very good or excellent, with the cartographer and Norwegian guide to our intrepid Englishwoman being the standout performers.
It was set design, props and music that elevate this show into really-rather-good territory. The music, performed live by an unseen musician, took the shape a melody intrinsically Norwegian (apparently) and varied it according to setting and timeline. Projections on to the back wall were also astutely planned, but best of all was a physical representation of the longitude and latitude lines that the cartographer would be using to plot his map; several strands were strung across the stage and were manipulated to form mountains and rivers, before being incorporated in a dance. They all felt like good ideas, and they helped the narrative without ever feeling gimmicky.
Nick Helm - Dream A Dream
GOOD AFTERNOON COCKSUCKERS!
...AND GENTLEMEN,
LET'S FUCK THIS PUPPY! LET'S KICK THIS IN THE DIIIICCCKKKKKKK!
Not the subtlest of starts, then. As far as I know, this is an entirely new brand of humour. Helm doesn't seem to have any jokes (though bizarrely he won the Best Joke award. I don't even remember heard that one(sorry for linking to the Daily Mail)), he just loudly berates his audience until they start laughing. Or walk out, as two people did. I found myself laughing out of fear. He has the mannerisms of a rock-star, all hoarse, raspy delivery through a loud sound-system, and had us fist-pumping along to a motivational song or something.
Once things simmered down a bit, he was actually less entertaining. There was an okay songs, and he made a very uncomfortable man lie on a mattress for half the show, eventually stripping down to his y-fronts and snuggling up with the unfortunate audience member. It was a small mattress, and Helm was very sweaty by this point. Probably the best part of his act was his two down-trodden backing musicians, who took the mountains of shit flung at them with cowed dignity.
With a good deal of largely forgettable material, this is an average show at best.
Theseus Is Dead - The Effort
Theseus Is Dead is the worst thing I've ever seen. Stuck with nothing to do at 6pm on our last day, we take a risk and get punched really hard in the part of the brain marked 'boredom'. It's got a good title, the flyer made it sound somewhat interesting, and it kept us warm for an hour. The positives stop there.
The plot has something to do with the rumoured death of Theseus, and the fallout that such an event caused, but it was incomprehensible. The entire cast spent the whole time in this increasingly unsettling state of hysteria; every line was delivered as if in the middle of a catastrophic nervous breakdown. They didn't calm down for the entire hour; I can't imagine how the characters could live constantly so highly-strung. The dialogue was the standard archaic babble. It aims for the highest heights but has absolutely no substance behind it. Many sentences sound cleverly worded, but make no mistake, it was always an unremarkable sentiment smothered in layer-upon-layer of fossilised bullshit.
I'm unfamiliar with Greek theatre, it may be at times excellent, but this does its reputation absolutely no good whatsoever.
The Pajama Men
What a show to end my stay on. I don't really know how to describe this. Two guys, dressed in pyjamas (pajamas - another new Americianism to annoy me) act out bizarre scenarios involving fantastical characters and anthropomorphic animals. These are two guys absolutely confident in their routine, it's so odd, and yet so brilliant. The two frequently started laughing during a sketch as if they couldn't themselves believe the ridiculousness of their show.
Look them up on YouTube. Bit of a lame way to end this post, but I don't know what to about them, other than that they are just sublimely entertaining.
Saturday, 9 July 2011
Star Wars:The Continuing Cultural Juggernaught
Forty four years after the release of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope and the series’ cultural ubiquity continues unabated. The abysmal prequel trilogy has been brushed aside by the combined might of Episodes IV, V and VI, with Star Wars themed merchandise penetrating into every corner of our lives. Product designers have pillaged the Star Wars Universe for ideas: a lightsaber umbrella? Absolutely. An R2D2 projector? Sure! Darth Vader, stormtroopers and lightsabers are apparently limitless wells of inspiration. The desire of every male (and surely most females, right girls?) to wield a lightsaber and the Force has driven game sales for decades. An upcoming Kinect title tries to almost literally put on in your hand. The Lego Star Wars series combined – wait for it – Lego, and Star Wars, instantly breathing new life into the series on that platform.
But I’m not here to talk about the design aspect of Star Wars. The thing that’s really kept the flame burning during the last decade is the internet. The internet has facilitated the enormous outpouring of love for the trilogy; before the internet the affection for it was equal but isolated. There was no YouTube to delight in the many idiosyncrasies, mistakes and blemishes. The latter two may sound like derogatory terms, but they are not. The stormtrooper that bangs his head; Han Solo’s awful manoeuvres; everything picked up on in Family Guy’s Blue Harvest (1 & 2, and plenty more on YouTube); these are all what Robin Williams’ character in Good Will Hunting would call his wife’s night-time flatulence. They are the ‘good bits, the juicy bits’. Some skilful editing can invert the tone of the film, like this great clip of Darth Vader being reduced from one of the great dark, iconic and complex villains in film history to an irritating child. Or, in the case of this clip from Episode I, emphasise the absolutely tragic acting and dialogue. Live-action parodies are a risky business, but this one centred on the inability of stormtroopers to survive an laser-blast whatsoever is pretty decent.
It is doubtful that there are any other films that could stand up to such scrutiny as Star Wars has undergone, but it testament to its artistic integrity that these YouTube moments don’t damage its reputation, but enhance it. The internet has given Star Wars a personality beyond that present in the films. It is this territory that makes film the medium of the 21st century. This global ransacking and good-natured piss-taking is impossible with a book. A book is extremely personal; each book is unique to each reader. It is internal, and sharing your own vision of the world in a book with someone else can spoil the illusion. The opposite is true for film. It is external; everyone sees the exact same thing. Thus it can be modified, shared and put on YouTube and, to misuse an expression, everyone will be reading from the same page. Parodies of books are difficult due to the time required to type the damn thing out. Gems like Pride & Prejudice & Zombies (a definite improvement) are extremely rare. Internet parodies just require a video editor, creating simple brilliance as in this video, where the voice actor for Darth Vader, James Earl Jones, has lines from his other films spliced into Star Wars.
The music has become similarly iconic. Most obvious is the Imperial March, which, in the entirety of music history most easily denotes the presence of a bad guy, even ahead of the Jaws theme. By far the best use of the Imperial March I've ever come across is this daring use by none other than the Welsh Guards in protest against a state visit by the Saudi Arabian Sheikh, King Abdullah. Top-notch banter, boys, and love that Queen 'Liz has the misfortune of being cast as the Emperor.
But a more niche example is the rise to fame of the wonderful Cantina Band music. Blue Harvest obviously has something to say about this, but my favourite, and probably the thing that made me write this post, is an incredible mash-up (so nearly an oxymoron) of the Cantina Band music and We No Speak Americano: We No Speak Cantina. It just works so unbelievably well.
I think you'll agree it's an impressive oeuvre. In terms of cultural ubiquity, Star Wars is unparalleled in the arts. It succeeds in being a triumph of mainstream cinema and of geek culture simultaneously. The prequel trilogy may have been a colossal let-down, but it hadn't a chance in hell of replicating the feat of A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, and The Return of the Jedi.
P.S - If you know of any more, and I'm sure there are, send them my way!
P.P.S - If you only watch one clip watch the James Earl Jones one. It's sublime.
Malc x
P.S - If you know of any more, and I'm sure there are, send them my way!
P.P.S - If you only watch one clip watch the James Earl Jones one. It's sublime.
Malc x
Friday, 17 June 2011
Wayne Routledge for Goal of the Season
Bit late with this but whatevs
The Guardian and my beloved www.101greatgoals.com (and probably many other sports websites) have made lists of the greatest goals of the past 12 months. There have been a huge number of unbelievable goals - there always is - and because we all like to watch spectacular goals I'll link a few.
Some Greeks scored a goal that would have you celebrating for hours had you put it in on FIFA, a frankly outrageous rabona-bicycle kick combo. Absolute pure fantasy.
Mattie Burrows from little Glentoran made himself an over-night sensation with this ridiculous back-heel volley.
Paul Scholes looks a bit lame in comparison with this Hamit Altintop effort.
Obviously we have to have a few from Spurs, so tek a boo Gareth Bale and Tom Huddlestone. There's something unerring about that Huddleston strike; it just seems to stay hit.
This massively underrated Daniel Sturridge goal wasn't featured on either list. For shame, Guardian and 101gg. It's far from the most stunning goal, but look again. He has two defenders within a metre of him. He is stationary. He gets minimal backlift. And yet somehow he curls it into the far corner. From nothing: a goal. Remember that outrageous Ronaldinho vs. Chelsea goal a few years back where he scored from the edge of the 18-yard-box while stationary? It's like that, but better.
Now we come to, in my opinion, the best goal scored in the past year. Step forward former Spurs boys Adel Taarabt and Wayne Routledge. As with the Sturridge effort above this isn't anything like the fantasy football of them Greek boys from earlier (though the outside of the boot curled pass isn't bad); no, this is normal football executed to the highest possible degree. There's no sense of either going 'Oh fuck it, may as well', they both knew exactly what the needed to do to score, and they did it. Lots of commenters feel the pass is the best part of the goal, but it isn't, it's Routledge's first touch. Running at full speed with the keeper bearing down, Routledge still controlled it perfectly - and I mean perfectly, it could not have been any better - before slotting it home. There is absolutely no room for improvement. It might be unfair to say goals of the quality of those above could be better, but it's true. That bicycle kick hit the ground before going in - amateur! The same can't be said for Taarabt/Routledge. Absolute perfection.
The Guardian and my beloved www.101greatgoals.com (and probably many other sports websites) have made lists of the greatest goals of the past 12 months. There have been a huge number of unbelievable goals - there always is - and because we all like to watch spectacular goals I'll link a few.
Some Greeks scored a goal that would have you celebrating for hours had you put it in on FIFA, a frankly outrageous rabona-bicycle kick combo. Absolute pure fantasy.
Mattie Burrows from little Glentoran made himself an over-night sensation with this ridiculous back-heel volley.
Paul Scholes looks a bit lame in comparison with this Hamit Altintop effort.
Obviously we have to have a few from Spurs, so tek a boo Gareth Bale and Tom Huddlestone. There's something unerring about that Huddleston strike; it just seems to stay hit.
This massively underrated Daniel Sturridge goal wasn't featured on either list. For shame, Guardian and 101gg. It's far from the most stunning goal, but look again. He has two defenders within a metre of him. He is stationary. He gets minimal backlift. And yet somehow he curls it into the far corner. From nothing: a goal. Remember that outrageous Ronaldinho vs. Chelsea goal a few years back where he scored from the edge of the 18-yard-box while stationary? It's like that, but better.
Now we come to, in my opinion, the best goal scored in the past year. Step forward former Spurs boys Adel Taarabt and Wayne Routledge. As with the Sturridge effort above this isn't anything like the fantasy football of them Greek boys from earlier (though the outside of the boot curled pass isn't bad); no, this is normal football executed to the highest possible degree. There's no sense of either going 'Oh fuck it, may as well', they both knew exactly what the needed to do to score, and they did it. Lots of commenters feel the pass is the best part of the goal, but it isn't, it's Routledge's first touch. Running at full speed with the keeper bearing down, Routledge still controlled it perfectly - and I mean perfectly, it could not have been any better - before slotting it home. There is absolutely no room for improvement. It might be unfair to say goals of the quality of those above could be better, but it's true. That bicycle kick hit the ground before going in - amateur! The same can't be said for Taarabt/Routledge. Absolute perfection.
Sunday, 12 June 2011
Road Cycling is Far More Interesting Than You Might Assume.
With the Tour de France fast approaching and Bradley Wiggins winning in the Dauphine Libéré, road cycling is back once again as my favourite sport. There aren’t many sports that polarise the public as much as cycling; it’s hard to be a casual fan. Many see it as long-distance running on two wheels, nothing ever happens, right? Those that do know cycling know that such a train of thought couldn’t be more wrong. I am going to try and provide a crash-course in road cycling, and what makes it great television.
Aerodynamics
I’ll concede, it doesn’t sound like a promising start. However, this is arguably the most important factor in providing drama. Aerodynamics is what separates road cycling from, to use it again, distance running. Runners don’t go very fast so the benefits from running in someone’s slipstream are minimal. Cyclists average 40+km/h on flat stages, and at that sort of speed you are shifting serious amounts of air. Consequently it is much easier to ride in someone’s slipstream than take the brunt of air resistance.
The first effect this has is turning road cycling into a team sport. It really genuinely is as much of a team sport as football; the team works together to get their lead rider victories, who would severely struggle without them. The theory is this: the domestiques (servant to the leader) spread the bulk of the 100+ miles between them, until the leader – be he a climber or sprinter – is in a position to make his bid for victory. A domestique is not an easy thing to be. They often find themselves spent still a long way from to finish, meaning they have a tortuous time getting back by themselves, or in a small group of domestiques from other teams. They get little glory, but are still vital.
The most visible incarnation of this phenomenon is the sprint train. Teams look to stretch the peloton (the seething mass that contains the bulk of the riders) by lining up single-file, and putting the hammer down. Sounds easy enough? Not when there are ten other teams all looking to do the exact same thing; it becomes a highly organised mess. Briton Mark Cavendish is currently the best sprinter in the world by some margin, but his team is also brutal. Watch this clip from the final stage of the 2009 TdF for a great example; Cav’s team is was so strong in 2009 that his lead-out man, Mark Renshaw, came second (awesome demonstration of how fast they go at 5:05). Watch how Cavendish stays behind Renshaw as late as possible in order to make full use of the slipstream. The sprints themselves are brilliant. Riders can hit 70 km/h on the flat, all the while veering wildly across the road attempting to dislodge anyone from their back wheel. Unlike the 100m dash, cyclists don’t start in a line; once it starts it’s every man for himself. A glorious scrap.
Aerodynamics also forms the peloton. The peloton is something of a beast. It moves far faster (when it feels like it) than any cyclist riding alone can; even small breakaway groups are usually caught. It’s not infallible, though. Mountains, through a combination of far-tougher racing conditions and drop in the advantage of slipstreaming, decimate the peloton in minutes. Even strong cross-winds can throw it into disarray.
Variety
A stage race essentially has three types of stage: flat(ish) stages likely to end in a sprint finish; mountainous stages; and time trials. The flat stages determine the winner of the sprint competition, and the mountainous stages and time trials determines the King of the Mountains classification as well as the General Classification. However, each even within each category stages are far from being the same. The organisers are fiendishly clever when it comes to devising the route each year. In the 2010 Tour de France one of the flat stages early in the race turned out to be one of the most decisive of all. It went over the cobbled roads of Belgium which are brutal to ride on, which, in combination with numerous crashes and strong cross-winds, splintered the peloton and caused the big names to either seize the opportunity and go as hard as they could, or commit to the chase. It was carnage.
Then they hit the mountains and everything changes. Everyone gets ripped to pieces, but some get ripped to pieces less than others. Riders that aren't so great at time-trialling know that the mountains are their only chance of getting any time back, so they launch outrageous attacks off the front, causing everyone to attempt to scramble back to their wheel. Last year we got one of the best ever, with Andy Schleck attacking from an insane 60kms from the finish. (If you've got an hour, watch it here). It's not often in sport where you get people throwing everything on the line, but in cycling it happens quite regularly, and it's awesome.
The Characters
Cycling is a sport that demands masochistic levels of endurance from its athletes, so it's no surprise that you get a load of nut-jobs. Take, for instance, Djamolodine Abdujaparov, the Tashkent Terror. The man is insane and who's suicidal approach to sprinting resulted in one especially famous moment. Then there are men like Jens Voight who can shrug off crashes that would leave lesser men on crutches for a week. Even though he took a battering, he was just happy that he didn't crash on his face. This is quite a common thing; Jonny Hoogerland was launched into barbed wire by a support car last year, and despite suffering a lacerated backside, he finished the stage, and the tour. People like to compare rugby players' get-on-with-it attitude favourably to footballers', but cycling has them all beat, no contest.
There are also the spectators. Firstly, there are millions of them. It is the most watched live sporting event by miles, with each 140km stage lined with spectators. On the mountain stages, a million people can line the roads. Seriously. And they're also a little bit mental, like this guy, who turns up every year.
Variety
A stage race essentially has three types of stage: flat(ish) stages likely to end in a sprint finish; mountainous stages; and time trials. The flat stages determine the winner of the sprint competition, and the mountainous stages and time trials determines the King of the Mountains classification as well as the General Classification. However, each even within each category stages are far from being the same. The organisers are fiendishly clever when it comes to devising the route each year. In the 2010 Tour de France one of the flat stages early in the race turned out to be one of the most decisive of all. It went over the cobbled roads of Belgium which are brutal to ride on, which, in combination with numerous crashes and strong cross-winds, splintered the peloton and caused the big names to either seize the opportunity and go as hard as they could, or commit to the chase. It was carnage.
Then they hit the mountains and everything changes. Everyone gets ripped to pieces, but some get ripped to pieces less than others. Riders that aren't so great at time-trialling know that the mountains are their only chance of getting any time back, so they launch outrageous attacks off the front, causing everyone to attempt to scramble back to their wheel. Last year we got one of the best ever, with Andy Schleck attacking from an insane 60kms from the finish. (If you've got an hour, watch it here). It's not often in sport where you get people throwing everything on the line, but in cycling it happens quite regularly, and it's awesome.
The Characters
Cycling is a sport that demands masochistic levels of endurance from its athletes, so it's no surprise that you get a load of nut-jobs. Take, for instance, Djamolodine Abdujaparov, the Tashkent Terror. The man is insane and who's suicidal approach to sprinting resulted in one especially famous moment. Then there are men like Jens Voight who can shrug off crashes that would leave lesser men on crutches for a week. Even though he took a battering, he was just happy that he didn't crash on his face. This is quite a common thing; Jonny Hoogerland was launched into barbed wire by a support car last year, and despite suffering a lacerated backside, he finished the stage, and the tour. People like to compare rugby players' get-on-with-it attitude favourably to footballers', but cycling has them all beat, no contest.
There are also the spectators. Firstly, there are millions of them. It is the most watched live sporting event by miles, with each 140km stage lined with spectators. On the mountain stages, a million people can line the roads. Seriously. And they're also a little bit mental, like this guy, who turns up every year.
Scenery
No football or Olympic stadium can compare to the Alps or the Pyrenees. The mountains are a great backdrop, but the mountains don’t just make the race look nice, but dictate it. It’s man vs. man vs. mountain. The only word that feels appropriate to describe such passes as l’Alp d’Huez, Mont Ventoux, the Stelvio Pass and Alto de l’Angliru is epic. The mountains dwarf the race. They define it. Races are won and lost in the mountains. Savagely steep, they separate the wheat from the chaff, but such is the difficulty of not just making it to the top, but the effort of actually trying to beat other supremely fit men (cyclists have amongst the highest VO2 maxes of any sportsmen) means that even the best are vulnerable. A few difficult days can mean that the favourites can explode unexpectedly. It is a tense wait for the first attack to come, and who will be able to cope.
Once they get to the top, they have to come down (unless it’s a mountain top-finish). Speeds frequently top 60 mph, on thin tyres, with plentiful hair-pins thrown in for good measure. It is incredibly dangerous, and lives have been lost. In 2010, Wouter Weylandt, a Belgian rider crashed and died. These men know the risks they take, but do it anyway. Even on flat stages crashes are common, but they just get on with it.
Highlights
Races last five hours, but no one is asking you to watch the whole thing. That is pretty boring. Happily, ITV broadcast the Tour de France in highlights in an hour, which is the best way to watch it. Not much more to add here; only the most dedicated watch the peloton rolling through the countryside with few developments for hours at a time.
Thursday, 9 June 2011
The Darkness - Shepherd's Bush Empire June 8th 2011
The Darkness, creators of what is probably my favourite album ever, Permission To Land, have finally returned after a four year hiatus. Last night they played Shepherd's Bush Empire, their third in a series of small warm-up gigs before they play Download this summer, and I was there.
Would the four years out, the drugs, the booze, the success have taken their toll? Had they been out too long? Or had they not been out long enough? Most bands reform after at least a decade, which gives fans plenty of time to move on before rekindling their love. The answer to all these questions, of course, is no. They just did their Darkness thing, no rust, no hitches, no ego, just brilliance.
Justin's got a new moustache. It curls at the end and looks very swarthy. Frankie Poullaine is also back after quitting in 2005. And they brought some new songs.
Yes, there is a new album coming out. Not sure when, but the two tracks they did play are pretty decent. Lessons from the second album appear to have been heeded; gone is the outrageous high-camp of One Way Ticket (as if they weren't alread camp enough), replaced instead by a return to their roots of guitar dominated riff-rock.
Would the four years out, the drugs, the booze, the success have taken their toll? Had they been out too long? Or had they not been out long enough? Most bands reform after at least a decade, which gives fans plenty of time to move on before rekindling their love. The answer to all these questions, of course, is no. They just did their Darkness thing, no rust, no hitches, no ego, just brilliance.
Justin's got a new moustache. It curls at the end and looks very swarthy. Frankie Poullaine is also back after quitting in 2005. And they brought some new songs.
Yes, there is a new album coming out. Not sure when, but the two tracks they did play are pretty decent. Lessons from the second album appear to have been heeded; gone is the outrageous high-camp of One Way Ticket (as if they weren't alread camp enough), replaced instead by a return to their roots of guitar dominated riff-rock.
Sunday, 5 June 2011
Critical Wankery Listed
Critics love to be pretentious, but some fields bring out this tendency more than others. In descending order:
7. Games Critics
6. Film critics
5. Literary Critics (as in book reviews, not literary theory)
4. Theatre Critics
3. Food Critics
2. Music Critics
1. Wine Critics
Observations:
1. The harder something is to be objective about, the more douchey the critics become.
There have been various studies where professional wine critics have failed to discern between cheap plonk and pricier bottles. It's not completely nonsense, but there is a lot of bullshit. Similarly, music criticism seems to be writers trying to justify why their opinion is right. This isn't always the case; some music journalists do know what they're talking about, but quite often, they don't. Perhaps the main problem is that music is just incredibly difficult to describe. We haven't developed a true vocabulary to describe music, instead borrowing from other senses. Take 'dazzling' for instance. It describes visual phenomena, but is frequently shoehorned into music reviews. It doesn't help at all. That's not to say we don't have the words to describe sound, obviously, but those words came into being long before musicians began making entirely new sounds through first, distortion, reverb, and feedback; and second computerised synthetic sounds. The only way around this is to reference other acts, but this quickly becomes a willy-waving contest to see who can pack in the most obscure references (Q Magazine I'm looking at you). The casual reader will likely miss this wanky esoterica, so the reviewers just sound like bell-ends.
We're not really that great at describing taste, either. 'Fruity', 'Tangy', 'Crisp', 'Smoky' and 'Oaky' are popular adjectives, but they all suck, basically. (How does anyone know what oak tastes like!?) Winos may be able to identify different notes (another wine word I loathe) but can't accurately describe them. Consequently they either get it wrong or sound like tossers.
A good contrast is with film criticism. Film is a visual medium, made up of real-world images. We have developed a deep lexis to describe it; thus it is easier to write about. You do get a few critics who write like arseholes, but it isn't usually needed to reference a range of films that no-one's seen.
2. The wider the market, the less pretentious the critic.
There could be two reasons for this. Either, the masses have an innate ability to discern between high-art and pop culture; or the critics recognise the breadth of their audience so write in a style accordingly. Games critics are very un-pretentious. Maybe there isn't much to be pretentious about; games (at the moment) are focussed on being fun and engrossing. Few try to aim to be high art, or to convey deep themes. There really aren't many like this to choose from, but Shadow of the Colossus is the leading candidate for "art" gaming (half a decade after release).The big outlier is music, for the reasons above.
7. Games Critics
6. Film critics
5. Literary Critics (as in book reviews, not literary theory)
4. Theatre Critics
3. Food Critics
2. Music Critics
1. Wine Critics
Observations:
1. The harder something is to be objective about, the more douchey the critics become.
There have been various studies where professional wine critics have failed to discern between cheap plonk and pricier bottles. It's not completely nonsense, but there is a lot of bullshit. Similarly, music criticism seems to be writers trying to justify why their opinion is right. This isn't always the case; some music journalists do know what they're talking about, but quite often, they don't. Perhaps the main problem is that music is just incredibly difficult to describe. We haven't developed a true vocabulary to describe music, instead borrowing from other senses. Take 'dazzling' for instance. It describes visual phenomena, but is frequently shoehorned into music reviews. It doesn't help at all. That's not to say we don't have the words to describe sound, obviously, but those words came into being long before musicians began making entirely new sounds through first, distortion, reverb, and feedback; and second computerised synthetic sounds. The only way around this is to reference other acts, but this quickly becomes a willy-waving contest to see who can pack in the most obscure references (Q Magazine I'm looking at you). The casual reader will likely miss this wanky esoterica, so the reviewers just sound like bell-ends.
We're not really that great at describing taste, either. 'Fruity', 'Tangy', 'Crisp', 'Smoky' and 'Oaky' are popular adjectives, but they all suck, basically. (How does anyone know what oak tastes like!?) Winos may be able to identify different notes (another wine word I loathe) but can't accurately describe them. Consequently they either get it wrong or sound like tossers.
A good contrast is with film criticism. Film is a visual medium, made up of real-world images. We have developed a deep lexis to describe it; thus it is easier to write about. You do get a few critics who write like arseholes, but it isn't usually needed to reference a range of films that no-one's seen.
2. The wider the market, the less pretentious the critic.
There could be two reasons for this. Either, the masses have an innate ability to discern between high-art and pop culture; or the critics recognise the breadth of their audience so write in a style accordingly. Games critics are very un-pretentious. Maybe there isn't much to be pretentious about; games (at the moment) are focussed on being fun and engrossing. Few try to aim to be high art, or to convey deep themes. There really aren't many like this to choose from, but Shadow of the Colossus is the leading candidate for "art" gaming (half a decade after release).The big outlier is music, for the reasons above.
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