Premier League expansion
'Every club knows they will have an equal chance of being treated unfairly.'
Quote from Richard Scudamore (Chief Executive Premier League)
The proposal is for an additional competitive Premier League fixture to be played around the world. Although the top 5 clubs will be seeded, this still allows for the possibility of United drawing Derby at home (in Beijing) while Arsenal visit Liverpool (in Los Angeles).
England v Switzerland
Last night, I took Norman Junior III to visit the new, improved Wembley stadium last night to see England play Switzerland in a friendly. After paying homage to Sherlock Holmes, we changed at a packed Baker Street for the fast Metropolitan line to Wembley Park. We stood on the platform as one train departed and I was just contemplating whether we should 'go for it' when the next train arrived or step aside and wait for the next one. A well dressed lady was complaining to a London Transport official: 'Listen - I've been here for 25 minutes and I just can't get on any train.' 'Well I'm awfully sorry madam but we currently have 90,000 football fans going to Wembley.' 'I can see that but I do need to get home. It's an absolute disgrace. What about all the ordinary people ?' Thankfully, my dithering indecision was abruptly removed by the late arrival of some shaven headed Ing-er-land fans who charged up the steps, ran towards the closing doors and whisked us both up and onto the underground train into a packed carriage. Well, to be fair it was positively spacious compared with the Waterloo & City line on a weekday morning. Three Swiss lads were then subjected to a deep probing English inquisition from curious Ing-er-land fans. 'Hey mate, what language do you speak then ?' 'In Switzerland, we speak Swiss-German.' 'Hey mate, what's the capital of Switzerland then ?' 'Zurich' A brief lull and respite for the Swiss visitors before a final burst of alcohol fuelled inspiration: 'Hey mate, can you sort a bank account out for me ?' Cue uproarious laughter all round - well from those passengers who were able to move their ribcages. Walked down Wembley Way watching day trippers taking photos and entered the stadium. Wondered what qualifications are needed to be an 'Escalator Steward' and took our seats high up in the South stand with an excellent view. Much to my surprise, the minute's silence for Munich was observed by the vast majority of supporters. England appeared in yet another away kit (available from all good sports outfitters in March). The decision to play in the away strip for a home fixture was puzzling but it transpired that Capello ordered this after hearing that Ashley Cole 'preferred playing away'. At least, we were both cheering a team in Red with Rooney, Ferdinand and Brown (or rather Wes Orange). The game got underway, Brown endured a nightmare opening 45 minutes and Matthew Upson is undoubtedly the most one-footed player ever to don an England shirt. Switzerland were neat and tidy and comfortable on the ball without really threatening the goal. England were playing 4-1-4-1 and looked nervous. For the first 40 minutes I don't think I have seen so many sideways and backwards passes since Ray Wilkins played for United. While I didn't hear any booing, there was the occasional Beckham chant and increasing unrest in the unpadded seats as half-time approached. Suddenly, unexpectedly, something happened - Joe Cole remembered he was an attacker, took a defender on and Jermaine Jenas gratefully scored the first goal under Fabio Capello's regime. After an overpriced drink, we were staggered to head the announcer proclaim 'Please welcome the teams back for the second half - Here they are, protecting their 1-0 lead - England !' The Italian influence already seems to be pervasive. The second half improved markedly until the Swiss had the temerity to score with a well taken goal. The Swiss contingent rang their cow-bells and chanted 'La Suisse'. Ing-er-land fans responded with 'We know you speak Swiss-German and Zurich is your capital city.' The hard working England captain, Stevie Gerrrraaaarrrrd, got to the dead ball line and crossed for substitute Sean Wright-Phillips for another tap-in. Peter Crouch came on, Cashley Cole went off to a solitary shout of 'Where's your Cheryl gone ?' and Wayne Rooney dropped a little deeper. In fact, he was so deep he was playing at left back, conceding corners and passing balls down the line to Wayne Bridge. England continued to press for another goal and an otherwise impressive David James made his inevitable token error, flapping at a high cross. Die hard, loyal fans who apparently are 'Ing-er-land till I die' decided to avoid the queues at Wembley Park and streamed out of the stadium. When the full-time whistle blew, the stadium was half-full. Part time supporters. The game ended 2-1 for England. The remaining Ing-er-land fans were happy and we started the long journey home via Wembley Central herded together like cattle on the station approach with a £6 program for company.
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Since accumulating 9 penalty points, Norma has been very worried about the possible consequences of my irresponsible actions and dangerous driving. A driving ban would have severe, wide reaching consequences for my glamorous job in IT consultancy, affect our busy social life not to mention the logistics of ferrying the kids to all their hobbies. After lodging an appeal with Surrey Traffic Police, I gleefully accepted a place on a half-day 'Speed Awareness Workshop'. Attendance at the workshop cost £95 but was in lieu of the proposed 3 point penalty so was well worth the money. Plus the instructor was an attractive lady. After registration, coffee and friendly introductions, we all swapped amusing anecdotes of our various speeding offences, recounted hard luck stories and were tested on stopping distances in the rain. After lunch (lovely sandwiches and volavons), we all looked at some horrific photographs of mangled car wreckage, listened to victims of car accidents and, worse of all, watched the instructor viscously smash a peach on the table with a claw hammer. As I wiped peach juice off my face, I cunningly positioned myself next to the instructor for the grand finale which was an evangelical type experience where we all hugged each other and proclaimed in a single, united and very loud voice: 'In the name of the Father, the Son and Surrey Traffic Police we hereby pledge, that we will never exceed the speed limit ever again'. The only problem was that the roads were really empty on my route back home and the weather conditions were dry with excellent visibility. I was a little late for my evening meal (Chicken Kiev on Tuesday night), Manchester United were playing live on TV and so I promptly picked up another £60 fine and the very 3 penalty points, I had spent the afternoon avoiding. Norma was not pleased. Since then, I have been accompanied on every single trip by a new backseat driver. A voice from the passenger seat who keeps piping up:'Speed camera, 500 yards. Limit - 40 miles per hour''Yes, yes OK, I know this road and I am doing 42 mph and they never do you for that.'
'Speed camera. Limit - 40 miles per hour. Reduce speed.''All right. All right. Just shut up will you ? I am down to 39.5 mph now.' When the danger has passed, the backseat driver gives a distinctive 3 toned whistle and is silent until she spots the next possible hazard. Once again, my irritating back seat driver pipes up in that dull, monotone voice
'Possible mobile camera site ahead. Limit - 50 miles per hour.'We all frantically scan the landscape for police hiding in the bushes wielding a hand held radar gun and wait for the triumphant 3 tone whistle that means 'OK - put your foot down.' Sometimes I am sorely tempted to go for a crafty drive on my own without my back seat driver in attendance. Sometimes, I am tempted to ask the back seat driver to shut up and just let me drive. Sometimes, I am tempted to silence the back seat driver by cutting her communcation cord. Sometimes, I am tempted to grab the back seat driver by the neck and shove her back in the glove box. But I can't because the back seat driver is my friend.