Not only is the whole idea of playing the Olympic football in cities with nothing to do with the games, let alone different countries quite bizarre, but was that the strangest line up you have ever seen at one of these events.  Quite what Ronaldo thought of it all I do not know.  Did he, for just one spilt second think Savage was a girl and was going to invite him to one of his “parties”?  And Gallagher?  Was he simply called up at the last-minute because someone glamorous dropped out?

But for all the *cough* razzmataz, the draw brought home the reality that we will be seeming lots of games during the competition in half empty (at best) stadiums.  I may ultimately be wrong, but with hundreds of thousands of tickets still unsold for the event I think the brain wave of taking the Olympics to other parts of the British Isle will end in embarrassment for the LOGOC.

I have not been shy in stating my opinion on this.  Before the draw I threw the question out there as to why would you average man in Glasgow feel the need to go to a game at Hampden Park.  Would he really feel like he was part of the Olympics?  An Olympic games that is being hosted in another country – one that you have a more than friendly rivalry with.  But now, do you think he is more or less likely to snap up one of the thousands of tickets left unsold for the delights of Honduras v Morocco or Egypt v Belarus, And what will the organising committee do when faced with banks of empty seats facing the TV cameras?

On Monday night at the City of Coventry Stadium (note: no mention of the Ricoh word allowed otherwise the Olympic Branding police will be on you) the final qualifying game took place between Senegal and Oman.  The ever reliable Dagenham Dan went to the game and reckoned there was about 10,000 there.  Not bad actually, considering the little attention it received in the national press.  Ticket pricing at £10 was sensible and offers were done to attract local schools.

Park and ride from the city centre worked like clockwork but the major issue was the installation of “airport-style” security.  That word has crept into our language since the awful events of 9/11.  Today to get into a nightclub you have to pass through “airport-style” security.  To board the Eurostar, you have to pass through “airport-style” security.  At the Houses of Commons, you have to pass through “airport-style” security.  All well and good, but add in tens of thousands of football fans arriving 5 minutes before kick off and you have carnage.

Last night thousands of fans missed kick off, the first corner, the first shot on goal and the first third of the game because they were standing outside with their valuables in a see-through plastic bag.  Organisers state that this is necessary for security reasons but the cynical side of me also wonders if it is a way to stop spectators bringing in items that are on the “banned brand list” – items that are produced by non-Olympic “partners”.

During the “London Prepares” events I saw this security in operation at the Beach Volleyball and Basketball.  It didn’t cause any issues or delays, but mainly because they weren’t football crowds, and so fans got into the venues with plenty of time to spare.  But that simply wont happen in the football.  Fans will always turn up at the last minute.

So back to the games themselves.  Wouldn’t it have been better to have used some smaller venues closer to the heart of the games?  The Valley (in the Olympic Borough of Greenwich), The Matchroom Stadium, even Upton Park.  All within 15 minutes of the Olympic Park.  All with more modest capacities than Old Trafford, Hampden Park and St James’ Park.  20,000 spectators looks better at The Valley than at the Millennium Stadium I will suggest.

Will the fact that Team GB will be playing in Cardiff in that opening match also influence Pearce’s team selection?  Will he be publically “encouraged” to pick Welsh players for this game to try to bring more fans in?  Only time will tell, but I do not expect there to be a huge surge in demand for tickets for 75% of the games when eventually they go back on sale.  Despite the fact it is a once in a lifetime experience for most of us, I simply cannot get excited by South Korea versus Gabon at Wembley Stadium on my wedding anniversary.

I have a small confession to make: I don’t drive. The closest I have ever come to driving is sitting in a hydraulically operated Outrun simulator, imagining I was Don Johnson in all his pastel infused glory. In my head I was smooth and smoulderingly attractive; to the casual observer I was a chronically inadequate 35 year old man who should really give the other children a turn on the arcade game. It is a cross I gladly bear. Despite the social stigma of being ‘without car’ – most women look at me like I am Timothy Lumsden when the conversation crops up – there is a glorious upside to this conundrum. Having no car, means relying on public transport, and for longer journeys this invariably means the train (I draw the line at coaches – there are few more hellish scenarios than being stuck in a traffic jam outside Daventry listening to the driver’s personal collection of Daniel O’Donnell). Although train journeys have been historically synonymous with feelings of destitution, they do allow for one of the more peculiar obsessions of football culture to be lived out: the cult of Groundspotting.

Groundspotting, in lay terms, is the spotting of football grounds whilst travelling. Etymologically, Groundspotting would appear to be a hybrid of Trainspotting and Groundhopping, which sets all sorts of social alarm bells ringing. In truth it is a million miles from such a yolk stained, carrier bag fondling world. For a start, most people don’t have a preset agenda with Groundspotting. It is highly unlikely someone will deliberately drive down the M1, or pop on the London to Brighton line on the off chance they might spot a ground. The beauty of Groundspotting is stumbling across the unknown at the least expected moment, or waiting in anticipation as your route passes through a town you know has a football team.

Groundspotting is popular by car, particularly as you can take diversions to drive by a ground. Obviously this is a more deliberate strategy and reduces the surprise element. However on longer journeys, the car has severe limitations. Dual carriageways and motorways were designed to bypass much of the built environment, whereas railways tend to have the historic advantage of cutting right through the centre of many urban and rural conurbations. As a seasoned train traveller and blagger of lifts, the train always delivers the more satisfying experience.

The phenomenon of Groundspotting has gone as far to catch the media’s attention. In 2009, a Guardian Article discussed the greatest number of league grounds that can be seen on a single train trip in Great Britain. The Plymouth to Aberdeen route came out top with twenty stadiums, beginning at Home Park, Plymouth and ending at Montrose’s Links Park. The same paper then set off on a mission to map all league stadiums in Britain which can be seen from a train. During this project, a few insouciant readers suggested non-league grounds shouldn’t be so quickly dismissed. These sentiments were echoed on a variety of other blogs: if you only get excited by grounds in the professional leagues, the joys of Groundspotting will be far more restricted.

Whilst everyone likes to bask in the architectural splendour of Wembley or The Emirates, there is very little mystery in it. Once you’ve seen it a couple of times – plus countless occasions on TV – it loses a degree of mystique. By contrast, non-league stadiums are far more esoteric. One of the real joys of Groundspotting is discovering a ground and having no idea who it belongs to. I experienced this on my regular commute from London to Sheffield when passing a small ground on the outskirts of Leicester. For years I had no idea who played there, until a member of a non-league forum recognised my sketchy description and revealed it to be Friar Lane & Epworth of the Leicestershire Senior League.

Groundspotting also require a significant degree of luck. Who knows what delights you can miss going to the toilet on the East Coast Mainline, or passing a Barley Sugar to someone who’s about to vomit on the back seat of the car? There are also those grounds you might struggle to find due to factors beyond your control. QPR’s Loftus Road can be seen from one of the West London branch lines if you know which part of the haystack the needle is in, but trying doing that on a smoggy summer’s day. Similarly, you can get a distant view of Oxford United’s roof when the train is passing through Radley a few miles south of Oxford, but only in the winter when there’s less greenery in the surrounding countryside. Other grounds are a little more obvious. Dorchester Town, Totton & Eling and Moneyfields practically back on to the rail tracks, with the latter using a safety net to stop stray balls going on the line. There are literally hundreds of other examples, but Worcester Park’s ground in the Combined Counties League gets a special mention for sitting directly behind the station platform.

Perhaps the biggest single change to the football landscape in recent years – and one that has left its mark on the Groundspotting fraternity – is the decreasing number of floodlights in stadiums. Aside from making grounds harder to find, it is also a cultural tragedy. If seeing a distant stadium is football porn, then floodlights are the money shot. Sometimes just catching sight of them and nothing else gets the pulse racing, like a Victorian lady flashing a piece of ankle. Floodlights are totemic in football culture; they symbolise not only a place of worship but act like an urban lighthouse. In extreme cases, the sight of floodlights on a train depot or industrial estate can cause faint arousal, like a dog salivating at the sound of a tin opener. And this, above all, is why Groundspotting is an infatuation I have little control over.

A football fan once described seeing a new ground from a car or train like a form of orgasm (slightly different to former French manager Claude Le Roy who once described football as “a permanent orgasm” – surely no man could hold a face that stupid for so long?). It is a feeling of intense pleasure and fixation that makes you stop everything and stare uncontrollably until the rapidly shifting vista has moved beyond the natural craning of one’s neck. In truth, the feeling is indescribable, as it is for so many of life’s phenomena. You could have two liberally oiled women fornicating in the seats opposite, but show me a football ground flash by the Virgin Voyager and I am lost in a hypnotic trance.

Despite appearing a very English fetish, it would be hard to imagine our counterparts around the globe being any different. Groundspotting is a mere extension of the unfathomable depths to which our addiction – and I use that word carefully – takes us. Yet final word should probably go to the fans of Arezzo in Italy who took the concept to a whole new level. In response to authorities banning them from Figline Valdarno’s ground, it was reported Arezzo’s supporters decided to watch the entire game from a train stationed behind one of Figline’s terraces. Given the frequency with which stock breaks down in England, it can only be a matter of time before a similar feat is achieved over here.

Game two became game one and just forty five minutes after leaving the TBIR Northern HQ in Lincoln I was pulling up outside the Keepmoat Stadium in Doncaster at 3pm.  In fact I appeared to be one of the only cars there, and if it wasn’t for the sight of the London Skolars coach I would assume it was wrong place at the wrong time.

Doncaster is a football town.  However, the opening of the Keepmoat stadium five years ago has breathed life into the rugby league team and they are now proudly trying to work their way up the Rugby League ladder, playing this season in the National Championship 1.  The club have had an emotional life, which has seen numerous name changes, grounds, owners and flirtations with mergers, bankruptcy and the odd promotion.  But today it is about steady progress and playing at an excellent venue such as the Keepmoat certainly helps.

The Skolars history by comparison to Doncaster’s has been sedate to say the least.  They were formed in 1995 as a club for graduating students who still wanted to play the game. They have made steady progress up the leagues, and whilst they will always live in the shadow of London’s other rugby league side, the Broncos, they continue to play the game in the right spirit.

Unfortunately, the Skolars found Doncaster in a rampant mood.  Five tries from Tom Hudson among a total of eleven tries saw Doncaster well out of sight by half time, although the Londoners did score three of their own in a 58-16 win. After a stop at Barnsley for the nPower Championship game with West Ham, it was on to Wakefield for the main attraction of the day.

Back in 1895 the Northern Rugby Football Union was formed with 22 clubs agreeing to form a breakaway league from the Rugby Football Union, unhappy with the Southern bias and lack of progress on issues of professionalism.  Included in the original list of clubs was Wakefield Trinity who could trace their roots back to 1873 when they were formed by members of the Holy Trinity Church.  In 1879 they moved to a spot of land on the outskirts of the town, which due to its relative rural surroundings was called Belle Vue.  Some 123 years later the club, now a member of the 21st century money driven Stobards Super League are still proudly running out at the ground.

However, with more money being poured into the game, the league started to put stricter criteria on the grounds that are used.  Some clubs such as Wigan Warriors have benefited from their close association with Wigan Athletic and share the DW Stadium.  Others have invested in new purpose built stadiums such as the new St Helens and Salford City Reds Stadium.  And then there is Belle Vue.

Back in 1962 the ground was the film set for This Sporting Life, reflecting the life in the town and the place at the heart of the community the Rugby League club played.  Since then, very little has been added to the stadium. The club have tried to bring the subject of a new stadium on the local council’s agenda but as of yet nothing has been agreed on.

The Super League is not totally a meritocracy.  You have to be given a licence before you can start playing and competing.  There is promotion and relegation, but a club can lose its licence if facilities are not up to scratch.  And that was the danger that lurked overhead for Wakefield in the last year.  With a review of the “franchises” in 2008 the club were able to sigh a huge sigh of relief when they were awarded an extension until 2012.  However, in February 2011 the club were forced into administration with debts of over £300,000 but that didn’t seem to matter too much as they were again awarded a licence until 2014 when Widnes Vikings were awarded one at the expense of the Celtic Crusaders.

But here we are today, with the club still fighting for survival both on and off the pitch.  It is derby day, and fierce rivals Castleford Tigers had made the short trip to Belle Vue for a Friday night encounter.  Coming into the game both teams had won just two of their opening nine (eight in Wakefield’s case) games, and left them at the bottom of the table with Widnes and London Broncos. What better way to end my Good Friday extravaganza than to sample some Yorkshire hospitality, a few Citra Golden Ales, some Parkin and the blood and thunder of a local derby.

Wakefield Trinity Wildcats 16 Castleford Tigers 34 – Belle Vue – Friday 6th April 2012
The drive from Barnsley took less than 20 minutes.  I was guided into Wakefield by the towering floodlights, drawing me in like a moth.  As I got almost within touching distance I could hear the crowd being whipped up into a frenzy.  Time to park I thought.  Sorted, a space in a safe spot and just a short walk from the ground.  That was apart from the huge wall in my way.  It appeared that despite the ground being so close, it was a fifteen minute trot away, with the rows of terrace housing forming an impregnable barrier to the ground.

Finally I got in the ground, just in time to see Castleford take the lead.  Richard Owen scythed through the Wakefield defence in the sixth minute to put the first points on the board.  The huge crowd standing behind the goal seemed to rise as one to celebrate and berate – friends standing shoulder to shoulder on the old-fashion stand.

Taking stock of the ground you can see why the club have tried to explore the options to move.  One end is taken up by a block of Executive Boxes which looked completely out of place.  The old main stand, with its paddock in front was something that hasn’t been seen in football for decades, but to show the difference between the two games, kids were allowed to sit on the pitch-side wall without any fear of over zealous stewards.

The home fans around me were families. Men, women, children, parents and grandparents.  They all knew the players, they all shouted and screamed for their community.  Unfortunately for the locals after Fox(ie) levelled the try count after twenty minutes,  it was the Tigers that were the more rampant in the first half as Castleford scored additional tries through Owen again and then Millington.  The performance of the Wildcat Dolls was uplifting for the home fans and temporarily took my mind off the score.

Half time saw various activities on the pitch ranging from the Dolls dancing, giving their all to the delight of the crowd, to a Sumo up and under competition – all good fun and showing that Rugby League is trying to put Customer Experience at the heart of its game.

The second half started much the same as the first with Castleford scoring two quick tries through Ferres and Snitch which effectively ended the contest.  The drizzle continued to fall yet not one person left the ground as the blood and thunder of the tackling never let up.  Castleford were out of sight by the time that Wood touched down in the final few minutes, meaning the bragging rights would be heading down the M62 for a while.

You cannot ever fail to enjoy a Rugby League game.  But add in the spice of a local derby, the magic of the floodlights and the history of a ground like Belle Vue and you can understand why this game is still so important to towns like Wakefield and Castleford.

Questions were immediately asked about what could be done to stop such incidents ever re-occurring.  A screening programme for professional players was suggested to detect such issues, which can only be a good thing.  But there is a deeper issue here.  Football is played in this country by tens of thousands of people every week.  However, it is only the clubs at the top of the pyramid who can afford such screening as well as other suggested measures that should be introduced.

An email sent to Non League clubs earlier this week encouraged them to purchase a defibrillator which could be used should an incident similar to Muamba’s occur during a game.  Whilst it is hard to put a price on anyone’s life, a cost of over £1,000 for just the equipment (add in the necessary training) is simply too much for most clubs who sit below the Football League structure.

At the Ryman Premier League level a £1,000 cost is the same that is paid to an average player IN A MONTH.  Compare that to an average Premier League player – that same £1,000 is around 40 minutes work.  £1,000 is the revenue a club gets from around 100 people coming through the gate.  In the Premier League that number can be as low as 10 people depending on the ground.  I have long advocated the need for professional clubs to play more of a role in their local areas in terms of ensuring that their local non league teams can survive in their shadows.  I am not for one minute suggesting that professional clubs should be handing over wads of cash but there are certain things they could do to help.

As many of you know I spend a lot of time travelling around Scandinavia.  The sight of defibrilators in public buildings, sports clubs and essentially any public place has been common for many years now.  As part of the First Aid training in these organisations the use of the equipment is included.  For the most part this equipment is provided to the organisations free of charge by the local authorities.

Our Football Association, like most people within the game, came out and expressed concern and then offered best wishes for Muamba and his recovery.  But perhaps they could help prevent incidents where unfortunately there isn’t the skills or equipment at hand.  With thousands of organisations right the way from Fleetwood Town at the top of the Blue Square Bet Premier to your local Sunday League side, surely there is the opportunity for some negotiation on a much cheaper deal based on economies of scale or even a funding exercise to provide this equipment for the clubs.

99% of football clubs in the United Kingdom live hand to mouth, from one day to the next.  Any spare cash will go to playing players, fixing facilities or trying to arrange travel.  The opportunity cost of spending £1,000 on medical equipment can mean the difference between promotion or relegation, and that unfortunately means that football is a matter of life and death to these clubs.

People who buy these deals (and can jump through the respective hoops to actually use the voucher) do so because they are being offered something at a bargain price. They are rarely for things that you would normally pay full price for – hence why the retailers turn to GroupOn to fill capacity. Deals such as hotel breaks for 50% off (or more) become good deals, but few, if any, people would think that the deal/hotel was that good that they would return and pay full price. That is the fundamental issue with the whole concept. GroupOn (and other sites such as LivingSocial.com) are great for a one-off, but building loyalty is another issue.

I am used to seeing Fulham and Crystal Palace appearing on my GroupOn offers timeline. £10 tickets for Palace on a Friday night (“limit: 100 per person”) have made me smirk in the past. Few, if any people would take up the offer and return for future games paying full price (otherwise why wouldn’t they have bought for this game?). I would have thought that there are other ways to market tickets to niche sectors without having to resource to such drastic price cutting measures.

But today I was very surprised. West Ham were the “deal of the day” and before anyone says it, yes it was a slow new offer day. Tickets for West Ham v Watford (7th March 2012) were £40 for two (and £60 for 3, £80 for 4). As if that wasn’t enough to entice you in, the highlights included the fact it was “Close to Upton Park tube”. I am aware of the offers the club has been involved with so far in 2012 – discounted tickets for buying pizza in Dartford and leaflet drops in Charlton Athletic and Millwall supporter areas to name just two. But is this the right move for the club? And what are the issues of going down this route? To me it is three-fold.

1. The impact on the fans – Tickets for this fixture went on sale to Members back in December starting from £32. As with the game against Nottingham Forest where significant last-minute marketing was carried out to “boost” attendance, it wasn’t directed at the membership database. So one of the perks of membership is the ability to purchase tickets in advance of the general sale. It used to be the case that members also got a discount, but that privilege was removed last season. For this game (as it was for the game v Forest), members will have been penalised for buying early – a somewhat lopsided business model in terms of yield management.  The impact on members in future is that they may delay buying their tickets because there could be offers like this.  The impact of this for the club is that cashflow is delayed, meaning potential short-term pain.

2. The impact on the future – West Ham, under Sullivan/Gold/Brady, have become a club with grand ambitions. There is nothing wrong with that. You do not want your team to be content with just being also-ran all of the time. The whole Olympic Stadium debate was always (and still is) about them and their image, not the fans. In fact the fans have never been properly asked if they want to move. There has always been an assumption it was a given. Perhaps the original motives were simply to stop Spurs getting it, but I have never been able to understand the logic that says a club with a core support base of 35,000 need to move to a 60,000 stadium, let alone one where every seat offers a worse position than Upton Park. This is underlined by the fact the club is needing to resort to using GroupOn to sell tickets to fill the stadium. If you look at attendances this season you will see some near capacity crowd – such as Barnsley and Burnley or the game on Saturday against Crystal Palace, where as games where full price ticketing has been held up such as Leeds United, Ipswich Town or Portsmouth have averages down by 7,000 on capacity. Is it any coincidence that the games were attendances have been high have also had special promotions in terms of ticket prices? Kids for £1, kids go free, family tickets for four for less than £50.

This season the average attendance at Upton Park is 29,446, the biggest in the division.  Last season it was 4,000 higher in the Premier League.  Sure, there is the argument that away support is smaller, demand for the Championship product is less than the Premier League, and the police have played a part in limiting away attendees for the games versus Cardiff City and Millwall, but actually do clubs like Burnley, Coventry City or Bristol City bring less fans than Wigan Athletic, Bolton Wanderers and Fulham? This means one of two things – either the average price is too expensive for the product on offer, or the core fan base is dropping.

The second point is an interesting one. Discounts for kids are a great idea. West Ham should be applauded for the continued use of this tactic which they were one of the first clubs to introduce over a decade ago. But the issue is they tend to be the exception rather than the norm. Other games (such as the one versus Coventry City) have seen kids tickets rise to £19, the consequence being crowds dropping to around the 25,000 mark.  Charlton Athletic frequently give tickets away to local schools – in an age where football clubs are trying to become the centre of the community what better way for the club to boost its image than encouraging locals to come to games.  West Ham are one of the biggest employers in Tower Hamlets, which is one of the poorest regions in England.  The vast percentage of West Ham’s supporter base is from outside of their local area – what better way to engage with them.  Interestingly enough these “new fans” would be more likely to return to the club simply based on the proximity of the club.

Finally, it is worth noting that as a member (and also having a lapsed membership on my email address) the club hasn’t marketed to me about the deal – surely a starting point from their database is fans who have bought tickets this season but haven’t for this particular game?  Isn’t that marketing 101?

3. The impact on the club – When you use GroupOn, only 50% of the revenue is pocketed by the “retailer” (the rest is kept by GroupOn).  So a £20 ticket will see only £10 reach West Ham.  Yet the club has an “active” Social Media strategy right?  Nearly 40,000 followers on Twitter and a Facebook page with thousands of “likes” is surely a good place to start with these offers if they are going to do it.  That way the club will at least keep the full wallet.  Why is this important?  Because I want the club to get whatever money I pay for my ticket, which I hope they will re-invest in the infrastructure or the team.  I do not want to see that cash go to an US company.  As I mentioned above, I would rather the club invested into the local community, local schools, local groups where there is an opportunity to build a strategy for encouraging new fans.

So on one hand I should applaud the club for trying something new and embracing a social media channel to market.  But it cannot be denied that their continued use of shotgun style marketing offers is antagonising the existing fan base.  Perhaps the plan is to build up this new base in preparation for the move to Stratford.  However, in a recent interview with political blogger and avid West Ham fan, Ian Dale, David Sullivan has started to question whether a move to the stadium and sharing it with other codes is actually a good more for the club (read the whole interview here). So for now I hope that those GroupOn purchasers enjoy their night out at Upton Park and I hope they come back, but somehow, like the vast majority of all GroupOn deals, it will be just for the night.

Sunday 22 January 2012

Tweet from Steve: “Are you watching any football over there? Chance to see Kezman.”

Thursday 26 January 2012

I get my chance to see Mateja Kezman. He’s live on Hong Kong’s NOW TV. His South China side have just lost their Asian Challenge Cup 3rd place play-off 3-1 on penalties to China’s Guangzhou. Kezman, having humped the deciding penalty high into the night sky and off down Caroline Hill Road, now stands on the halfway line. Wearing an ‘I Heart Hong Kong’ t-shirt, pausing to allow for Cantonese translation by a television presenter in a garish lime green jacket, and with a consoling red furry arm around him from the tournament mascot the former European Golden Boot winner duly announces his retirement from football, age 32. I’m sure he always envisaged it would end this way.

Saturday 28 January 2012
“Can I go through here to get to the football match?” I ask.

“Football match? …Football? …Hong Kong FC versus Tai Chung?”

“Yes”

“Ah yes, through reception, down corridor and turn right at the end for stadium. And can I ask you please turn your phone off before going in sir. Club rules.”

That exchange alone should illustrate how HKFC stand apart from the rest of Hong Kong football. But if further proof were needed I was talking to the doorman. By some distance the oldest club in Hong Kong, HKFC played their first Rugby match in February 1886, their first football match a month later. A Private Members Club with predominantly ‘Western’ membership HKFC has a last bastion of the Empire feel about it; as a comment on one of their YouTube videos succinctly puts it “Hong Kong FC?! Where are the Chinese players?!”

Beyond the doorman and an elaborate entrance of glass and granite HKFC’s sports complex sprawls out beside, beneath and within Happy Valley racecourse. The corridor I’m directed down goes beneath the track itself and is decked with trophy cabinets and team photos. Groups of Post-War white faces in hockey, rugby and football kits line the walls, judging me as I pass. For each sport and each sex a veneer honours board details club captains from the past sixty years in gold calligraphy. This isn’t football as I know it. We’re not in Kansas anymore. I’m not even sure I’m in Hong Kong.

Eventually I emerge into HKFC’s modest stadium. The two all-seater stands which run the length of the touchlines hold just over 2,500, but the ground’s real appeal is its location at the heart of the city. Backed by the hills of Tai Tam on one side and the skyscrapers of Wan Chai on the other, the shadows of the high rise apartments of Leighton Hill loom over the ground in the morning while the silhouettes of the Racecourse’s own grand stadia take the evening shift. For a night game such as this the lights of apartments and offices dominate the sky high above the floodlights, glowing squares stretching up beyond comprehension.

I count the crowd; 45. A minute later the girls’ hockey team who had been sat near half-way up and leave whilst three other men rise from their seats, shuffle the foam pitchside hoardings about then disappear into a maintenance cupboard causing my original figure to be revised to 25. However, throw in the Club members getting set to watch Manchester United versus Liverpool in the open-air bar at West end of the ground and the attendance is a healthier 200. Add on all those in the surrounding neighbourhood who can currently see the teams warming up and you’re looking at 140,000. Not bad for the second tier.

These teams ended last season adrift in the 1st Division relegation places; coming in to this game the league table suggests HKFC are most likely of the two to make a return. Currently third, the only side to beat them in their last eight matches is local rivals Wanchai who play their home games on the pitch behind the Main Stand; a distance of about twenty feet away. Local rivals don’t really come any more local than that. The main advantage HKFC boast over other sides at this level is this ground; few other sides in the second tier have a regular home of their own and so are allocated pitches on a game by game basis. So far Tai Chung have had five ‘home’ grounds this season, and they’ve two more to integrate themselves with before the season is out. A touch of familiarity born of three consecutive games at Ma On Shan in the New Territories appears to have benefitted them though and they arrive here off the back of an encouraging 3-2 win over Double Flower.

Both sides were already out warming up on the artificial turf as I arrived. HKFC, wearing all white, are notably bigger than their opponents and look destined to dominate corners and set-pieces… and goal-kicks… and probably the toss too. Tai Chung in comparison look alarmingly young, their number 8 seemingly barely into his teens. An electronic board on the Main Stand says its 18°C, in front of me one of the Tai Chung players is wearing under armour and gloves.

Of those in the stadium 92% are here to cheer on HKFC. Two people are here to cheer on Tai Chung; one is the girlfriend of a central midfielder. The other is me. Neutrality had been firmly in mind when I stepped off the MTR, but then Tai Chung donned a set of red and white hooped shirts and my head was duly turned like a Jane Austen character who’s just glimpsed her first epaulette and sideburn combo. What’s a Doncaster Rovers fan to do?

The referee and his assistants emerge in smart Adidas attire and a collective range of haircuts which suggests they’ve stopped off to raid the bargain bin at Tony & Guy en route. The teams don’t bother going back inside post warm-up. The substitutes clamber into the seats of the stand on either side of the field and we’re ready to go. Almost. Kick-off is delayed. Possibly owing to a slight kit clash. I have no idea. A large Hong Kong FA branded puffer jacket is summoned from the stands and floats onto the field, somewhere beneath it is an FA representative clutching a clipboard. After much shrugging and pointing and tapping of said clipboard the whistle goes for kick-off and the HKFA puffer jacket blends back into the night like a super-villain.

The home side, keeping up the feeling of Empirical nostalgia, appear to be playing 4-2-4; Tai Chung a 4-5-1 with the tall long-limbed Ling Fung Li proving an effective isolated target man. Li has already come close scoring before Tai Chung take a surprise 7th minute lead. The fantastically named Robson Augusto Ka Hei Leung stepping up to curl an excellent free kick into the corner of the net from twenty-five yards. I give a cheer. The Tai Chung substitutes seated in front of me pause from their own elation to turn as one and give me a perplexed stare.

Within three minutes HKFC are level, a lofted ball into the right channel taken on and swept home by Jason Tack. The game is, as two goals in the opening ten minutes suggests, very open. HKFC’s keenness to press from the front combined with Tai Chung’s determination to play the ball out from the back no matter what is in front of them makes for entertaining viewing for me, but not so much for the visitors’ coach who is currently having a breakdown on the touchline in front of me, his assistant translating his anguished yells and mimicking his every move with unintentional hilarity.

Up the other end, whenever the ball is within thirty yards of goal the HKFC ‘keeper emits a blood-curdling yell causing several dozen gin-slings to stain chinos in the Club Bar and noodles to be sent flying cross the dining tables of around 70,000 Happy Valley apartments. Thankfully for all concerned his first half involvement is minimal. Tai Chung’s suicidal back-line – featuring two meandering full-backs and a centre-half playing so deep he’s inadvertently created ‘the false 5’ position – continues to give HKFC opportunities and midway through the half they take advantage with two quick goals. Firstly Tack slaloms his way through the hoops before slotting home, then two minutes later a Allan Freser spots the keeper off his line to lob in the home side’s third.

Things aren’t going Tai Chung’s way. In midfield one of their players offers a hand of acknowledgement to HKFC’s Yiu Hung Lo as the two lie entangled on the turf after an innocuous challenge and promptly receives a set of studs firmly in his calf for his trouble. The Tai Chung coaching duo in front of me see the incident as clearly as I do, the assistant referee stood next to them claims, dubiously, to have seen nothing. Lo pleads innocence, avoids so much as a yellow card, and within a minute HKFC have scored again; Freser rounding the ‘keeper for his second of the game. But even at 4-1 the game is still anyone’s and just before half-time the visitors are awarded a penalty for handball. Set piece specialist Ka Hei Leung duly despatches the spot-kick for his second of the game in front of the disinterested club members on the terrace, their gaze remaining fixed on the screens as the penalty hits the net ten yards over their shoulder.

Tellingly, despite six first-half goals the largest cheer of the night comes during half-time as Manchester United equalise. The ground has been eerily quiet throughout. In close proximity to tens of thousands of people, yet beyond the low hum of traffic on the Aberdeen Expressway and Guy Mowbray’s commentary drifting out from the bar it’s just the players’ yells and the thump of boot on ball echoing into the cityscape.

For the second half I switch to the Main Stand which had hitherto served as a 1,500 seat dugout to the HKFC team. Every so often the HKFC manager spots something he dislikes. He rises from his perch four rows back, charges down the steps, and then bellows something innocuous from the sideline “Allen! More left!” After which he’ll traipse back up to his seat and explain the complexities of the tactical nous he’s just delivered to a man in a hat.

I had expected to like HKFC, their ground and resolutely amateur status appealed to me, but they possess a cynicism, characterised by Lo’s earlier unpunished stamp, which has extinguished that initial flame of intrigue. Midfielder John Casey yells “Get up!” at a player who’s clearly been caught in a challenge, only to go down screaming himself from a faint brush of hips two minutes later. Full-back Gergely Gheczy hurls himself to the turf whenever a player closes down his clearance. Goalkeeper Issey Maholo wastes time banging his boots on the post before a goal-kick. It’s an artificial pitch.

And so with all that in mind, I couldn’t help but yell “Get in!” as Tai Chung pull it back to 4-3. The pre-pubescent number 8 Cheuk Hong Chow capitalising on a defensive error and slotting the ball beyond Maholo. The goal had been coming. Tai Chung had started the second half confidently, successfully exposing the space behind home full-back Ka Ming Poon they were having joy down the left. Unfortunately they were set to experience anguish on the right; HKFC’s Egyptian winger Amro Abbas breaking down that flank before delivering a low cross which Freser sweeps in for his hat-trick.

Tai Chung are not out of it though, not whilst Li remains up front as a focal point of their attack. Twenty minutes from time Li is pole-axed by a crunching challenge from the anti-Weeble Gheczy and has to be helped from the field. Tai Chung are now out of it. They still move the ball about but with no fulcrum to work their attacks from their threat is significantly nullified, and their body language suggests they know it.

With ten minutes to go HKFC add a sixth and final goal; a cross into the box won by Frederick Schipper is poked over the line by Abbas right in front of the HKFC members who celebrate by continuing their conversations. At full-time the scoreboard is turned off before the referee has reached the third blast on his whistle, and I leave just as promptly. I bid goodnight to the Doorman and step back out into the noise and neon of Saturday night in the city

Sunday 29 January 2012

On the gates of Yuen Po Street Bird Market there’s a sign that says “No Hawking”. I don’t know the ins-and-outs of bird selling, but to me it seems unfairly discriminatory. Perhaps they’ve watched Kes and sensed the prospect of disharmony falconry brings. The Bird Market sits beneath the floodlights of the renovated Mong Kok Stadium, the newly erected scoreboard all that stands between an ill-timed clearance and a terrible songbird slaughter.

Standing beneath Yuen Po’s various ornamental cages looking along Flower Market Road the street is neatly divided in two. On the left hand side crowds of couples and women pick their way through the long stretch of flower shops and stalls, winding between crocuses and discarded carts. On the right men file in through the gates of the beautifully refurbished Mong Kok Stadium. All white render and bright seats, able to hold just under 7,000 it is a genuinely fantastic ground. Had it not retained it’s ‘stadium’ moniker I could have quite easily fallen in love, I mean which football fan wouldn’t go weak at the knees at the prospect of watching their matches from the Bird Market End at Flower Market Road from here until eternity.

The stream of men entering the stadium is steady. This is the weekend’s big game in Hong Kong. The home side Sunray Cave JC Sun Hei sit fourth in the 1st Division, three points behind their opponents, second place Kitchee the reigning Hong Kong champions. Outside the gates a girl stands distributing the nearest thing I’ve seen to a programme. I take one. It turns out to be a fan’s publication produced by supporters of Kitchee. It is a glossy four page production written solely in Cantonese. It looks much better than most of the fanzines I have produced, and arguably easier to read too.

A disinterested security steward half glances inside my bag, and I’m directed to a ticket booth. $60HK for adults is the flat fee for all top flight matches in Hong Kong. It’s just over a fiver. The stadium is all-seater; two covered stands down each touchline, with larger uncovered stands behind each goal. Its newness glows on this dull afternoon. Kitchee’s travelling ‘ultras’ have draped the end two sections of the far stand in various sky-blue hued banners. One of their number is already beating a huge Chinese drum. Their Sun Hei counterparts occupy the next blocks along, although I don’t realise this until I take a seat on the back row. Two bags of bright orange shirts are produced and scattered amongst the rows in front of me, whilst flags featuring Sun Hei’s crest (more than a slight copyright infringement on the logo for France ’98) are tied to the railings and a huge drum is hoisted onto the steps at the front. I’m a sucker for the underdog, and so I join in their beaten chant of “Sun Hei” as the teams come out.

Kitchee look the stronger side early on, their Spanish duo of Jorge and Yago combining well with Kwan Yee Lo in attack. The Kitchee ‘ultras’ appear to have used up all their imagination in their banner making; the opening ten minutes of play backed by the stubbornly monotonous drumming of their sole chant. The visitors’ determination to play out from the back looks as danger-laden as it did for Tai Chung the previous night, but fortunately for the Kitchee back-line, which includes debutant Zesh Rehman, Sun Hei forward Mamadou Barry is as ineffective as he is tall.

Talented Sun Hei midfielder Siu Wai Cheng looks good on the ball and he and the nippy Michael Chi Ho Luk help bring the hosts into the game. Playing in the hole Luk is an effective foil for Barry, or at least he would be if Barry were any good. Having clumsily missed a couple of through balls Barry moves out to the left in an effort to have more influence on the game, and he duly succeeds, by being offside twice in quick succession. With Sun Hei’s attacks floundering in the gravitational pull of Barry’s woefulness Kitchee press themselves and only a perfectly timed challenge by Cristiano Cordeiro prevents Ka Wai Lam from getting in one-on-one.

Midway through the half the opening goal arrives, and inevitably, given the nature of my last paragraph, it is scored by Barry. The Guinean brings down a high ball, holds off his man on the edge of the box, turns and fires an unstoppable half-volley into the bottom corner. The reaction from myself and the three young lads next to me is chiefly made up of laughter, suggesting I’m not the only one to deem this out of character. Barry trots alone over to the Sun Hei supporters, arm raised in acknowledgement of the waving flags and beating drum, as if the previous twenty minutes were all part of a grand plan to make Kitchee decide he wasn’t worth marking. After three seasons spent watching Leo Fortune-West the whole scenario is satisfyingly familiar.

Presumably out of embarrassment as much as disappointment at going behind Kitchee look for an immediate reply as Zicheng Liang gets onto Lo’s excellent slide-rule pass, but the flag is raised for offside before he can round the keeper. Within minutes though Kitchee are level; breaking forward quickly Jorge feeds Lam on the right and bursts onto the return ball to somehow beat the keeper at his near post with a superb angled finish. As the ball hits the net I realise that Kitchee’s fan-base far exceeds the bright blue dressed hordes to my right, as around half the 2,026 in attendance leap up and applaud.

In the following ten minutes both sides lose players through innocuous fifty-fifty challenges. Sun Hei have to go without the impressive Luk who is stretchered off, whilst Kitchee lose captain Siu Kei Chu. Whilst the latter being treated all around me goes oddly music hall. A Kitchee fan yells something. The crowd laugh. A Sun Hei fan yells something in return. The crowd laugh more. It’s like the resolute closing scene in an Ealing Comedy. The bloke in front of me is quite the comedian. Apparently. He gets light applause for his follow-up comment and duly stands and takes a bow. Sadly, by this time Chu has hobbled off and the match is back underway so I couldn’t thumb through my Cantonese phrase-book quick enough to be able to regale you with the wit of the man in Row K.

A minute before half-time Kitchee go in front, and like their first goal it comes through neat interplay on the deck. Jorge this times turn provider as he’s played into the right-channel, squaring for his compatriot Yago to turn the ball home from close range. The visitors celebrate in front of their support, now a Sky-Blue blur of waved flags and fists. Half-time, and having watched a man two rows in front shovel an odd black gelatinous substance into his face for much of the previous forty-five minutes I pass on the refreshment queue and instead take advantage of the warming temperature, moving away from the drums for a seat behind the goal Sun Hei will be attacking.

It appears a shrewd switch early in the second half as the home side look the more threatening; a low drive from Roberto Affonso Junior forcing Kitchee’s Zhenpeng Wang to save at the base of his post. Minutes later they have an even better opportunity as Barry somehow creeps unnoticed into the box despite possessing all the subtlety of Lady Gaga’s wardrobe. However, rather than shoot he tries to cushion the high cross back across goal toward Jia Pan and Kitchee hoof the ball clear.

Though I’ve warmed greatly to Barry, my favourite man out on the field is by far the portly referee; jogging about with a smile on his face, but loath to take any crap. In the first half Kitchee’s Yang Huang had made a meal of a soft foul. The referee gave the free-kick, but not before he had greatly admonished Huang for exaggerating the contact. He irons out some hostility on the sideline by bringing the two managers together and making them shake hands, giving a ‘see was that so difficult?’ shrug to the pair before restarting the game. Most entertaining though is the sub-plot developing between the official and Daniel Cancela. The Kitchee full-back has continuously hurled himself to the turf throughout the game; the referee has continuously not bought it. On one occasion he makes a point of waiting for Cancela to look his way before shaking his head with a smile and jogging cheerfully onwards.

Though Sun Hei are boasting more possession they miss the creative Luk; his replacement Ayala is skilful, but sluggish with it, and several attacks break down between his fifth and sixth step-overs allowing Kitchee to break. On the hour mark substitute Quankun Lu comes close to securing victory for the visitors in memorable style; the winger making it from his own area to the opposite end of the field, hurdling three challenges and sidestepping two attempts on his life en route before ending his eighty-yard run with a ball across goal that sadly eludes both a team-mate and the bottom corner

One facet of the Hong Kong crowd which fascinates me is the tendency to take greater delight in failure than in skill. The most telling example of this comes as Liang breaks forward for Kitchee. He picks up the ball (murmur of excitement), he shrugs off a challenge with a clever side-step (small cheer), and then shanks his shot off toward the Bird Market (huge roar). It’s not the only odd nuance of spectator behaviour either. Late in the game the ball is hoofed out of play and drops squarely onto the head of middle-aged man making his way along the front of the stand. Not only does no-one in the ground laugh, but the old man himself doesn’t even flinch. He just walks resolutely onward, not even breaking stride.

Anyway, back on the field Sun Hei are stepping up their pursuit of an equaliser; Ayala nobly forgoing his usual step-over or four to rattle the post with a first-time strike from an acute angle. A set-piece is hoisted into the area and met by Barry, but his downward header is again well-saved by Wang. It’ll take more than late pressure and frantic chances to deter the referee and Cancela from their mini-drama though, this time the official not only insists Cancela get up off the turf, but also hands him the ball as he does so and makes him go and take the throw-in he’s just awarded.

With time running out Sun Hei force one last corner, goalkeeper Yu Hou trots up to add his lanky frame to the mix. It’s a good ball in. It skims the head of Hou at the near post, is met by Barry at the back post, but the forward’s header is straight at Wang. The Kitchee ‘keeper holds on. Barry turns and tears off his own shirt in frustration as the referee brings the game to a close. The Kitchee players make their way over to acknowledge their drum-banging, flag-waving, horn-toting support, the 2-1 victory has taken them back to the summit of Hong Kong’s top flight. I edge my way out the stadium. A group of elderly men study a poster pinned to the gates detailing upcoming matches. Beyond them the Flower Market continues, bird song from Yuen Po drifting down the street.

Wednesday 1 February 2012 (and onwards)

“Did you watch any football out there? What was it like?”

It was like watching football is the short answer. On the pitch sides tried to play on the floor a bit more, there was less reliance on the long ball, but as HKFC showed all leagues have their problems with diving “foreigners”. Yes the play was inevitably of a lower standard than the comparative levels in England, but refreshingly cheap as a result. Beneath the top division football is poorly supported, and clubs dropping down from the top flight are finding it increasingly hard to make their way back up, whilst all teams struggle to win the battle against the lure of watching the Premier League on TV. In the stands fans were fans; old men bemoaned and berated, younger fans tried to whip up an atmosphere that was delightfully tension free; celebration rather than derision. When new sides are formed almost annually it is presumably hard to maintain the sort of irrational grudges that form between rivals in Europe. It was football, without the self-importance. It was a relief.

However, last Sunday whilst watching the Super Bowl I was made aware of exactly how tactical the game can be.  Picture the scene.  This is the biggest game in American Football, second biggest game in the world behind the World Cup final.  The TV audience in the US alone is over 100 million people.  There is 59 seconds left on the clock.  The New York Giants are at the Patriots six yard line.  The Giants are down by two points.  Now in every other sport there would be an urgency to get on with the game and score.  A touchdown would give them 6 points (plus an almost guaranteed one extra point from the kick); a Field Goal from this distance would give them an almost certain three points.  Either way they take the lead.  BUT by doing so they give the ball to the Patriots who would have a chance to go down the other end of the pitch and score themselves.

Ian Ayres, from the fantastic blog, Freakonomics has picked up on this story.  ”One of the amazing things about the Super Bowl game this past weekend was that both coaches understood that the Patriots would be better off if the Giants scored a touchdown late in the game and reportedly instructed their teams accordingly. To my mind, this represents a high point in the prevalence of strategic thinking.” The likes of Ayres and Levitt are on a different plain to us mortals yet this was a question I asked at the time.

Do I score or not?

So what happened next was that the Patriots let the Giants score.  But the Giants player Bradshaw who was given the ball to run with was unsure whether to score or not.  In replays you can see him run unopposed through the Patriots defence, then pausing on the goal line, turning away to face his team and almost beg for instructions before falling gracefully backwards to score.

Ayres tried to summise the situation in Economic terms:-

“Here’s a strategic way to approach the question. If you were the Giants, which would you prefer:

A six-point lead — and kicking to the Patriots with 60 seconds remaining, or
A four-point lead — and kicking to the Patriots with 60 – N seconds remaining

What would be the “N” that would make you indifferent between these two outcomes? What would be the “N” that would make you indifferent, taking into account that two-point conversions are only successful about half the time?

There has to be some “N” at which the four-point lead is preferable.”

A tactical genius? But which one?

Heavy stuff I am sure you will agree, but it had me thinking.  What other sports would strategy play such a major part.  Cricket, for certain, is a game of real life chess.  Field placements are made by the captain and the bowler, based on certain inside knowledge – i.e what the batsmen was likely to do against a certain type of ball.  But Football?  Really?  Do we have such deep thinkers that they would have run through every scenario in their brains and know what to do and when.  Sometimes a substitute is brought on and he scores.  ”An inspired substitution” the commentator will often say – but is it inspired or just a manager doing the job he is paid to do – recognising when a change in strategy is required and intervening.

Certain types of spot betting are illegal in the US.  Nevertheless, the amount of money that went onto some markets in that last 57 seconds of the Super Bowl would probably top the GDP of some small African nations.  It reminded me of the ad I saw a few months ago – Are you currently looking for some of the best Betting Tips and betting odds all in one place? Make sure you come to betfair to check out theirs, you won’t be sorry!  Just how many people would be sorry after Sunday thanks to Bradshaw’s touchdown?  In hindsight he can claim to have scored the winning points in a Super Bowl – something only a few players can ever say they have done.  But did he do it at the detriment of his career for breaking team orders?  Only time will tell.

Now correct me if I am wrong here but there seemed to be some inaccuracies in the list. We all know that many Americans have yet to travel further than their own state yet alone across its borders, but after the United Kingdom came Uruguay, then Vietnam, Yemen and finally bizarrely Israel. Hang on what happened to Zambia? Zimbabwe to an extent I could understand. I’m not getting all political here but many countries foreign policy of “if we pretend they don’t exist, nothing bad will happen” means they ignore the Mugabe regime, and it seemed that is exactly what Philadelphia had done.

But Zambia? What had they done to offend the home town of Will Smith, Grace Kelly and Teller (of the Penn variety ironically)? Why were they denied a flag? I was outraged at the injustice so I tweeted the mayor Michael Nutter (@Michael_nutter). He didn’t reply, so every day this week I have tweeted him and asked him why the flag has not been given it’s right of place. Zambia, a country now thanks to its exploits in the African cup of nations on everybody’s lips.

At the start if the tournament you would have got at least 40-1 on the Chipolopolo winning the tournament, but that is just what they did, beating Ivory Coast on penalties. Currently ranked 71 in the world the team had overcome one of the greatest ever football disasters in 1993 when a plane carrying the team to Senegal crashed and the whole squad was killed. To come from utter destruction to being the continent’s top nation in just nine years is nothing short of staggering. And that is why I feel that the city of brotherly love is bang out-of-order for ignoring the Zambian flag.

The intricate details of the tournament have been covered by greater men than me, but I do have one little further snippet of information up my sleeve.  Let me take you back to March 2004.  At the time I was in a job that basically allowed me to spent my employees money on sponsoring football at the lower reaches of the Football League.  I liked working with certain clubs, and in return they got my “favours”.  One such club was Cambridge United.  Voted Best Football Food club in 2003 thanks to their fantastic bacon rolls, they had a brilliant commercial team headed up by a young lady called Lucie Benn.  Off the field they were doing so much to try to get things working.  On the field it was a different story.  As of the end of February the club had only picked up nine wins and were flirting far too close with the drop zone to Non League football.

In what can only be described as a coup-and-a-half, The U’s managed to tempt internationally renown manager Claude Le Roy to the club.  The Frenchman had coached domestically and been an advisor at AC Milan before leading Cameroon in the 1998 World Cup.  He also had managed Senegal and Malaysia.  He arrived, as he said at the time, as a favour to his long-term mentor, Hervé Renard, who was to become first team coach.  Renard had worked with Le Roy in France as well as in China with Shanghai COSCO.

On his arrival at the Abbey Stadium, all of the talk was of how handsome he was (well, on the phone calls I had with Lucie anyway) and how he would break some hearts in the city centre.  Sod the fact he had come with a job to do to save the club from relegation!  Initial form showed something had changed though in the club as the U’s picked up points from their first home game against Cheltenham Town.

Two weeks later, on a very chilly Good Friday night I arrived (along with CMF and Football Jo – obviously more interested in the new coach than the football) for the game against York City.  We were sponsoring the game and prior to kick off we got to meet and have a cup of tea with Claude Le Roy.  A charming man, studious in his looks with his scarf, floppy hair and John Lennon-style glasses, he spoke at length about fitness in the English game and the culture of not taking care of diet.  He explained that his role here was as an advisor to Renard, that he thought the team were good enough and finally asked where I bought my tie from as he really liked it.

The game saw a fired up Cambridge team easily outplay the visitors York City, winning two nil.  After the game as is the privilege of being a sponsor we had a picture with the ball, Le Roy and a shy Renard.  I unfortunately did not get an opportunity to speak to him, but cougar-in-the-waiting Football Jo did and assured me he was a “proper man”, whatever that means from a 30 second conversation.

Le Roy left at the end of the season, having saved Cambridge from the drop, going on to take the helm in the Democratic Republic of Congo.  Renard stayed in the hot seat until December before he was dismissed, teaming up again with Le Roy in Ghana in 2007.  Just a year later Le Roy advised him to apply for the vacant position in Zambia where he led them to the quarter finals of the 2010 African Cup of Nations.  Despite a brief spell in club football and as head coach of Angola he was back in the Zambian hot seat in early 2011 and the rest, as they say, is history.

So Mr Nutter, elected mayor of Philadelphia, give some respect to a small African country who defied odds of 40-1 to win a tournament with a young French coach at the helm.  You can tweet Mayor Nutter here.

I cannot believe that people do not know I went there last year. After all I do not like to talk about it. This year there was no visit to the best adult theme park in the world but it was still going to be an enjoyable trip, albeit very very busy. First up was a trip up the Pacific Highway to San Francisco, then a few days and nights in Santa Monica before a flight back eastwards to New York City. There, I would divert across to New Jersey, down to Philadelphia before finally returning to TBIR Towers and the welcome bosom of CMF.

Sounds like hard work doesn’t it? But mixed in there was a bit of fun as well. First up would a trip to see the legendary LA Lakers play, followed by a second NBA game in New Jersey and finally we would be experiencing a real Super Bowl party, in New York, amongst the New York Giants fans who would be competing in a replay of the 2008 final against the New England Patriots in Indianapolis.

LA Lakers 106 Charlotte Bobcats 73 – The Staples Center – Tuesday 31st January 2012 7.30pm
It isn’t long ago since the Lakers were the biggest brand in US sports. having won 16 NBA Championships and worth a staggering $643m according to Forbes magazine. They are also one of the oldest franchises in the NBA having “moved” to LA in 1960 after starting life as the Minneapolis Lakers (Minneapolis is the “land of a 10,000 lakes” – hence the name). They have been able to field some of the most famous names in basketball during their history, including Shaq O’Neil, Magic Johnson and more recently Kobe Bryant who still captains the team today. Also in the roster is Ronald William Artest Junior, or as he is better known as today, Metta World Peace.

“Changing my name was meant to inspire and bring youth together all around the world,” World Peace said in a statement released after the name change court hearing…right.

How times have changed in LA. A few years ago you would be laughed at if you said you were a Clippers fan. The “other” NBA team in the city hadn’t really done anything since their inception. Yet today it is all about the money and the Clippers have lots, the Lakers not so much. In the cab on the way over to Downtown LA with its gridlocked traffic, the driver kept his cool until I mentioned the C word and then he went off on one, talking about how he wants to be president just so he can “fuck ‘em over”. Passions run deep in franchise sport.

I had a quick look at the odds for this one and quite fancied the Lakers to win with a -20 handicap so I placed £10 on it (I am sure my conscience aka Patrick will now tell me that it is illegal as I hold a directorship with a Non League English football club). Ticket collected it was time for food (one foot long hot dog if you please) and a pint of decent (ish) beer – a Heineken if you will although it was a bargain at $11.25.

You can’t fault the Americans for getting the pre-match hype so well executed. With no away fans (at most sports) it was all about the home team. The Bobcats could have been introduced by a small child for the volume the announcer made, yet when it came to the turn of the Lakers, it was a different story, as the 18,997 people in attendance were whipped up into a state of frenzy as you will see below.

Lakers

You don’t really want to know about the game though do you? Charlotte scored first, but then LA raced into a 30-18 lead by the end of the first quarter with Kobe Bryant scoring 18 of them. The second period was more of the same apparently – I nodded off and only woke up when a small child starting throwing popcorn at me. Half-time and it was 60-36 – exactly the same performance in Q2 as it was in Q1. Impressive stuff. Despite their awful run coming into the game (3 wins, 19 defeats), Charlotte gave it a go in Q3 and brought the difference back to just 15 but in the end the Lakers just powered on, winning very handsomely by 106 to 73. And I had won a handsome £60, which I invested straight away in a taxi back to Santa Monica, which is as much in Los Angeles is as Dartford is to being in London.

Two days after the game I was lucky enough to be invited to a private party at the Peterson Automotive Museum. Sounds fun right? Well, not really. But then I saw the invite was a “Plus 1″…so when in LA it is only good and proper that you find a celebrity to go with. So I called up my good friend Natalia Velez, one of the US’s top models and star of the forthcoming Go Daddy Super Bowl ad. She was free, and would love to come with me, as the picture to the right shows. CMF didn’t mind – after all as the chaps on the Hangover say, you cannot be unfaithful if you are in different time zones (not that I was you understand but just in case you thought I was).

Why would anyone swap 28 degrees and cloudless skies for 8 degrees and rain? Another game of course. On any given Saturday (good name for a film?) I would try and get in a couple of games so why would I be different in the US? So I hopped on a flight to New York. My limited knowledge of US distances meant that as opposed to the flight being a short hop of an hour and a half, as most places in Europe are, it was a five hour trip. Add to that the three hour time zone and it was 3am by the time I hit the pillow in New York City.

New Jersey Nets 105 Minnesota Timberwolves 108 – Prudential Center – Friday 3rd February 2012 – 7.30pm
So after a day of work in NYC it was time for some play. And what better place than New Jersey. Yes, I was leaving one of the greatest cities on earth for a night in the homelands of such cultural greats as Jon Bon Jovi, Gloria Gaynor and Frank Sinatra. Even better is the fact we were heading for Newark, NJ. Newark has a place in my heart as CMF was born there. Not Newark NJ but Newark Notts. Would it be similar, I wondered? Would there be a Ritzy’s Nightclub? Would Poundland be the height of retail sophistication? Would every bar be full of thirteen year olds? Who knows, but we were going to find out.

We? Indeed we. Not only had Mr Luge Pravda stuck his hand up for this one, but Super Bowl tourists Lucie J Allen and Ross the Scot flown over especially to watch West Ham v Millwall in the Football Factory at 7.30am on Saturday and were thus at a loose end for the evening. And who wouldn’t want to go to New Jersey given half the chance. It would be like a real episode of Jersey Shores – basically the Only Way is Essex but with more trailer parks (we can them Caravan sites in England), random gun crime and less fake tan and no vajazzles. Shame really as that was the reason why Ross had agreed to come.

We were on the other side of the Hudson to see the mighty New Jersey Nets. This was to be a historic season for the Nets as at the end of the season they would be swapping New Jersey for Brooklyn as their new home. In fact they would be neighbours with Luge Pravda in the TBIR US office (well as close as you can be as neighbours in the US which means at least a 10 minute cab ride away). The new Barclays Center is nearing completion in Brooklyn and will welcome the team with open arms, with a new logo, a new colour scheme and of course, in true American franchise style, a new set of “hardcore” fans to support the new team name – The Brooklyn Nets. Sod the people who support them in New Jersey some 20 miles and about 3 hours away by public transport. The Nets are dead, long live the Nets.

It is not as if this is something new for the Nets. They started off life as the New York Americans, based in New Jersey. A few years later the hopped back over the Hudson to Long Island and became the New York Nets. But that didn’t last long as legal wrangles with the New York Knicks forced them back on the train to New Jersey in 1977 where they have remained ever since.

Success took a while to arrive, but when it did under the guidance of Bryan Scott and Lawrence Frank the franchise dominated NBA for a short period. Divisional Champions in 2002, 2003, 2004 and 2006 were mixed with a shot at the ultimate prize in 2002 and 2003 when they faced (and lost) the LA Lakers and the San Antonio Spurs respectively.

We pitched up just in time for kick off after having one too many in the Ye Olde Rose and Crowne (“Complete with authentic English ashtrays” – but you can’t use them of course) and headed straight away for the Beers from Newark stand. Well, why wouldn’t you? I never knew that Bud, Bud Lite and Coors Lite came from Newark. In fact when I asked the serving lady (after she had asked for my ID and told me it was against the law to buy more than 2 beers at a time) she had no idea where Budweiser was brewed, or that any beer was actually made in New Jersey, let alone Newark.

It wasn’t actually full in the arena. Let me give you a little secret (Ticketmaster look away now). We had $60 almost court side tickets….but we paid $9 each for them (Thanks StubHub.com), as too did the row in front of us. It seems people aren’t too keen with supporting a team today who tomorrow will fuck off over the Hudson river.

The game itself?  A close run thing with both teams swapping the lead.  New Jersey have the smallest mascot in the world – debate was whether this was a child or a “small person”; we saw a women eat her won body weight in fried food and then need physical lifting out of her seat and apparently Kim Karadashian’s ex-husband was playing – because that means a lot to me.  The Timberwolves won by three points in the end with a last second shot if you were interested.

Within thirty minutes of the end of the game we were back in Ye Olde Kings Head, planning for a massive day ahead in the morning – West Ham v Millwall followed by a trip to the Rocky Steps in Philadelphia.

New England Patriots 17 New York Giants 21 – Lucas Field – Sunday 5th February 2012
The greatest show on earth?  Not sure about that but perhaps it was the greatest party on earth.  At 6:29pm EST (not that sports are dictated by TV schedules at all in the US) I was bedecked in a Giants shirt, with face paint and a cup of Bud Lite.  I was as American as Dolly Parton.  I yelped, cheered, jeered, ate way too much food and drank way to much pop during the next FOUR HOURS as this game sat on a knife edge.  After the in comparison quiet game we had watched in the Football Factory at 11am as Chelsea threw away any title ambitions against Manchester United, we had lunched (Cuban if you must know), Drunk (a cheeky Blue Moon with a wedge of orange in it) and then travelled north into New York State suburbia to the town of White Plains.

We arrived at the “Frat House”…It might as well have been called Delta Pie Gamma or the like.  Huge (and I mean 72 inch huge) TV, everyone decked out in Giants clothes, food coming out of every crevice.  The house even had its own bar downstairs, and one bedroom was accessed via a secret bookcase.  This was the ultimate man’s house.  Every gizmo and gadget could be found, and even the pets (a dog and a one-eyed hairless cat) had dressed up for the Super Bowl.

And so to the game itself.  The first period was a cagey affair.  DEfenses ruled (emphasis there on the defence) and it took awhile before the first score was on the board, which happened to be a strange one.  Patriots Quarterback Tom Brady was caught in possession (“sacked”) and as he was hit he threw the ball low to the ground.  Because no-one was nearby it was deemed he deliberately threw the ball away and a “safety” was awarded, meaning the Giants gained 2 points.  Six minutes later the Giants got their first touchdown as Manning threw to Cruz and he danced into the end zone – the joy from the watching room was plain to see below.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_w50jlW_IU&list=UU67vKEMmUTIzo71HofTzQig&index=2&feature=plcp]

By now we were getting right into it.  Being one of three Brits in the room, the girls gravitated towards us.  Yes, we knew Hugh Grant.  Yes, we lived in thatched cottages.  Yes, we often entertain the Beckhams.  Why wouldn’t you if you were in the same position.  We also took part in drinking games – a strange one where if the cap from the beer keg was put in your drink you had to chug it.  Silly game that one so I called time on it by hiding the beer keg cap.

Half time and the Patriots were back in it, scoring with the last play.  I got a bit excited at this point as I had an end of quarter score of 9-9 in the sweepstake and stood to make a dollar or two.  But I had forgotten about the ridiculous “Extra Point” – the kick they take from in front of the posts that has a success rate of 99.99999999999% Why bother?  Or at least make it like our Rugby Union conversion with it being taken in line with where the touchdown was scored.

Warpaint now on for the second half it was time to get serious.  Out came the “Mac and cheese” and the pulled pork.  For a brief moment the room’s attention was distracted.  But their attention was soon returned as the Patriots scored another touchdown to make it 17-9.  At this rate there was going to be some sore heads in the office in the morning.

But this story had a happy ending.  New York rallied, scoring two field goals in the third quarter to make it 17-15.  Fifteen minutes would decide a season’s work.  Fifteen minutes became one minute.  Sixty four seconds remained to be precise when Bradshaw went through the middle of the pack to score to give the Giants the lead.  Instead of the single point they went for two – which would have meant the Patriots needed a touchdown to win.  They missed the rush and everyone sat hands over their eyes as the leagues best Quarterback launched one last hail mary into the Giants end zone with two seconds left.  Three players jumped for it.  A Patriot hand seemed to reach the ball, but it was Hernandez which blocked it and the ball was dead.  The Giants had won – the emotion is clear to see below.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQdlsqiC-vQ]

Relief turned to joy.  The Giants were Super Bowl champions again.  We had been blessed to have been here and shared the emotions with the fans.  Champagne corks opened and all through out the city (and beyond) parties cranked up a gear.  For us we ended the evening with a game of Beer Pong (don’t ask) before being whisked back to the city.  It had been 8 days since our last game of proper football but this more than made up for it.  Whilst London froze, New York sizzled.  Until next year…