Cold War Kits

Did somebody say a new cold war?

Surely the rising Russian and Western tensions are nothing compared to the standoffs which we’ve all had to endure this summer.

The transfer sagas involving Ronaldo to Madrid, Lampard to Inter Milan, Berbabtov to Manchester United, Barry to Liverpool and Robinho to Chelsea at one point were exciting but now are as dull as an episode of Big Brother.

The war of attrition has been in full flow. There have been lots of propaganda in the press, telling tales of hypocrisy to FIFA and probably lots of behind the scenes slanging matches to rival that of Ken and Deirdre’s in Corrie the other week.

Come on Ken…we all know you’re better than old vein neck.

So the new iron curtain affectionately known as the transfer window slams firmly shut on Monday night.

And of the “big five” deals mentioned only two seem to have any life in them.

Ronaldo’s injury and Fergie’s hairdryer seems to have stalled any move to Madrid.

Frank Lampard’s probably swimming in his ducktales style money vault by now after signing his new deal at the Bridge.

And Gareth Barry… I think everyone feel asleep during the first three days of that one.

But this is football now. Transfer rumour and speculation is no longer fun.

Any deals that do happen are like a McCartney divorce…they become long drawn out bitter feuds, where in the end an over inflated twenty million gets paid out to keep a one legged donkey in flash cars and big houses.

So will Robinho arrive at Chelsea? Will the bottom lip of Dimitar Berbatov extend all the way up to Manchester?

I for one certainly hope so, just to prove that the tabloid press haven’t had our balls cupped in their sweaty, greasy palms all summer long.

SB

A Kick in the Balearics

Its back and don’t we just know it.

The eternal optimism that builds with the approach of every football season is easily shattered.

In my case it took about 13 seconds when Sheffield Wednesday scored their first of four against Burnley at Hillsborough on opening day...

…that’s even less time than it takes to shatter my sex life.

So with a four one defeat on opening day it was time for a holiday.

A week in Ibiza is quite similar to the football season. The excitement builds and builds, then as you go on, finding the energy to enjoy yourself often becomes a strain with the constant battering our bodies take during the whole process.

The only difference is; Ibiza does it physically, Football does it emotionally.

While away on the Sunshine Island there was of course a game. It felt strange to miss a home game at the turf, especially the first of the season. Fortunately the only decent action that was missed was a bloke from the red devils falling onto the roof of one of the stands.

The subsequent fifty minute hold up was perhaps just delaying the inevitable. Despite a reported bright start against Ipswich, once again three soft goals were leaked as we cemented our place at the bottom of the table.

It seems at the moment our defence is worse than Gary Glitter’s.

But surely things can only get better?!

Well maybe…

We roll onto game number three away to Neil Warnock’s Palace. A side that haven’t had the best of starts either. With a solitary point and no goals ol’ big ego will have his team fired up for what could be a rather open interesting encounter.

Or just another pasting?!

Moving on to other bits and pieces; and is it still ok to talk about England? Or has everyone given up?

Wednesday’s disjointed friendly showed us play good football for a good ten minutes…things are on the up!

I just hope Fabio’s decision not to start England’s best player Joe Cole is not a permanent one.

The boy oozes class and has constantly been our star man for years now. While Gerrard, Beckham, Lampard and Rooney are hit and miss Joe has been a constant threat.

At the moment the team seems to be too slow in the middle…Beckham, despite his fabulous delivery just doesn’t have the legs, a midfield pairing of Lampard and Barry looked sluggish and almost crying out for the combative nature of Gerrard and Hargreaves.

The defence is also a cause for concern. Is Wes Brown really England’s best right back? Is John Terry performances on the pitch for his country really worthy of captain? And for that matter is Rio’s? Or anyone’s for that matter?

It’s still all one big mess…albeit slightly less of a big mess than under Steve Van Der MacLaren.

After wowing the world with his Dutch accent, maybe rent a tan isn't the great big tit we thought he was.

I’ve head a rumour he’s in line to take over from Alistair McGowan and host “Steve MacLaren’s Big Impression” on the BBC…

…after all that was the best Martin Jol impression I’ve ever heard. And apparently there’s alot more in his locker.

You should see his impersonation of a rubbish manager… uncanny.

SB