1860 Around the World

Have been meaning to get round to this post for ages, as both myself and Sprocket have continued to spread the 1860 word around the globe. I will add them to the on-line gallery, that can be accessed in the top left hand corner, but have decided to add a few on here. Above we can see Der Mighty Lowen on the pull in Columbus zoo, as he tries to some lazy tart too fetch his tea. But seeing as it was a zoo, and she was in a cage, a chunk of raw antelope never materialised.


Can you see it yet? The W-band plays hide and seek in the Beer Cave in Tiffin, Ohio. Strange things are afoot down the Circle K, to paraphrase a famous-ish movie. Things were chilly in the walk in fridge.
In this shot, Castlefords favourite 1860 fan has the Greek port of Thessaloniki as his back drop. This port town is Greece's second largest city, and quite frankly, judging by this snap looks a bit of a dump. And I know dumps, having to cross Bradford City centre on numerous occasions.


Sticking with an aquatic theme, this is a shot that should have been posted a while back, as the W-band catches some rays by the banks of the Rhine, during our Volcano interrupted jaunt to Dusseldorf. For some reason, this is the only photo during this sojourn. May have something to do with the vast amount of ale consumed.


Has the law finally won? Is this the end of Euro? Is my arse to become the property of a psychotic criminal with a foot longer? Thankfully none of the above. No this is me in the cell used for the film Shawshank Redemption. It was was filmed at the old Ohio State Reformatory in Mansfield. A most spooky place.


We have here two for the price of one, both taken on Sprockets recent Summer holiday. He killed two birds with one stone, catching the ferry from Fuerteventura, pictured in the bottom frame, to Playa Blanca on Lanzarote, in the frame on top. This about sums him up, as he was too tight to fly back for a separate jaunt to capture a different picture. Ten out of ten, though, for remembering to pack it in the first place.


Finally, what better way to wrap up a post documenting the actions of a couple of clowns, than with the most famous one in the world, good ol' Ronald McDonald himself. Who would have thought the Red headed jester would have heart that's blau? This statue (can you use that description for something made out of plastic?) guards the food court at Schipol Airport near Amsterdam.

We should have more to post, but Geevers forgot to pack his when he went for a break on the Yorkshire coast, and Shouty has lost his. Again. If anybody is passing through Bavaria and spies one for sale, can they please purchase one for the Right Honourable, who will gladly put it through expenses. I am off to the Lake District this weekend and will hopefully get some scenic snaps, and we are still hoping to get to the Brussels Beer festival in September. Of course you don't need to travel anywhere to join in the gospel, as anything stupid, daft or weird will be considered for publishing.

African Post Mortem

Whimpers instead of roars, as yet again the Three Lions succumbed tamely in the face of what appeared, on paper to be an inferior opponent. Instead of Sven or Steve, it was Fabio's turn to stand forlornly on the touchline, as the best footballers of our nation played like a bunch of Sunday Leaguers, who had drunk far too much the night before, and staggered around as if in the grip of an almighty hangover. Que sera, sera. But where do we go from here? As I have intimated all ready, we could be coached by the Son of God, the one and only Jesus Christ our Saviour and Lord, and I still suspect our defence would play as if burdened with lead boots. And all this, over the last eight years at least, while we have been blessed with the greatest crop of players since the late 1960's. Now I am old enough to remember when we were the perennial under dogs at major tournaments, and to be fair we usually exited at about the same stage of World Cups/European Championships, but apart from Germany in 1988, it was always with spirit and rank bad luck that our hopes dashed. So where did it all go wrong?

My theory is that there are probably too many good players in our side. Think about it. Stevie G is the main man at Liverpool. Wazza carries Man United, at the moment, almost alone. And the current Premier League champions have based their team of the last decade around John Terry and Frank Lampard. Add to this mix the considerable egos of the Cole boys, Ashley and Joe, and you have a team that to my mind, and eyes, is staffed by players who can't but help play for themselves. How many times over the last few weeks have we seen one go for glory instead of playing the obvious pass? Or bomb forward, jettisoning any defensive responsibility? A lot, is the unfortunate answer. And yesterday afternoon, we were found out by a team that was well coached, had a game plan, and played for each other. To be quite brutal, we were given a lesson in how to play at this level, in a game of this importance. One word of caution to the Krauts mind. It was only nine years ago since we did the same to you, and look what we won. Just wait till all your bright young things start to make astronomical amounts of money, sign for big clubs, and start to believe all the things that their hanger-ons tell them about how great they are. My suspicion is that this could their one and only shot before avarice and hubris take a grip of these young men.

But that is for our Teutonic cousins too worry about, not us. Our problems seem to be a bit deeper, as apart from Rooney, and possibly Milner and Glen Johnson, our current starting XI is starting to look more than a little long in the tooth. John Terry looked way out of his depth against the younger mobile German forward line (Klose excepted) and after his fling with a team mates bird, his outburst against the management and general loathsomeness, needs to thanked for his service and put out to pasture. The Gerrard/Lapard question needs answering. And the solution is simple. Frank you are 31, and let's be honest, never looked like you do in a Chelsea shirt for us, so thanks, you've been a right laugh, and good bye. That is unless good old Stevie G finally fesses up, that he doesn't much care for England any more and does a Paul Scholes. Who could blame him? The best central midfielder we have had since Bryan Robson, and three succesive managers play him out on the left. James, Barry, Heskey, Defoe, King, Carrager, Wright-Phillips. Come in. Your time is up.

So that leaves Rooney. How can a man who shreds the best defences in European club football and was the second highest goal scorer in qualification throughout the Continent, become Barry Conlon? He just didn't seem to enjoy one second of the tournament, and was a passenger in every game. He is a massive talent, and we should start by building a team to his strengths, as he provides our best hope over the next four years. Surround him with young hungry players, who actually want to pull on that shirt and play for each other. Let's take a chance on the next Euro's by picking a squad that may fail, but should peak in time for Brazil in 2014. With players such as Adam Johnson, Jack's Rodwell and Wilkshire, Joe Hart, Michael Dawson and Theo Walcott. If you could convince Gerrard too hang around, we might actually be able too look forward at last, instead of just regurgitating the same formation, players and most importantly results that we have suffered through since that night in Munich nine years ago. And the first person to say we need to recall Michael Owen gets a poke in the eye.

As for Fabio, the jury is out. He must shoulder a portion of the blame, but this squad is, for the most part, the same one that did for his predecessors. My gut instinct is that he is not the man for the job. After seeing his side fail so miserably, I can't believe he would want to tarnish his legacy with yet more failure, and would bottle out of taking the tough decisions needed to rebuild not only this teams reputation, but it's fragile confidence as well. So, nice work if you can get it, here is a big massive wodge of cash, and off you go. As for his successor, I am not convinced by Harry Redknapp, whose wheeler dealer image is appealing, but I fear he would err on the side of caution, and stick too the core of the side which has let us down time and again. No I would like to see Roy Hodgson take the job on. He has managed big club and all the egos that go with it at Inter Milan, but more importantly has also got tournament experience, having taken Switzerland too the world cup last 16 in 1994, and qualified them for the Euros two years later. Apart from these two, I wouldn't touch an Englishmen with a ten foot barge pole. And for anyone who thinks Beck's is the man for the job, poke yourself in the eye.

So, those are my views on what went wrong, and how, hopefully it can be rectified. I may well be talking out of my hat, but as the cliche goes, "It's a game of opinions" and those are mine. But let's not be too down beat. It could always be worse. You could be Italian or French.......

PS
I am hoping for a Argentina-Holland final with the Argies lifting the trophy. I know I should hate the cheating little git, but I am a sucker for a scoundrel, and Diego may well be the biggest one on the face of the planet.

Crunch Time

Fifteen hours remain till kick off, and it is hard to comprehend that England could be out before the serious shit gets started. Can they pull off the victory that will see them advance? I am the eternal optimist, but even I am full of trepidation after the inept performance of last Friday night. Play like that again, and forget it. But, and it is a big but, I think if they do manage to slip out of this group, they could go far. Unless the get the Germans in the next round, which seems unlikely as if they both both prevail tomorrow they will win their groups, the draw opens up till the semi-finals. A last 16 game against either Serbia or Ghana, followed by a quarter final, against either South Korea or Uruguay does not fill one with fear. So for the record, I am predicting a cagey 2-1 win tomorrow, and a run to last four at a minimum. Please.

One good thing about the Slovenia game though is the fact that the BBC are showing it. Shouty thinks it is a lucky omen, and for all I know he may be right, but it will be great not to have to listen to that muppet Chiles crack a bunch of unfunny jokes to a panel of "experts" who then look at him like he is an idiot. And let's not forget Clive Tildsley, quite possibly the worst commentator in the world. Ever. He commentates like he has a pineapple stuck up his arse. Most off putting. I know the Beeb has Alan Shearer, whose total lack of charisma, and ability to say absolutely nothing of wit and/or imagination, is quite frankly remarkable, but they leave the commercial channels coverage dead in the water.

COME ON ENGLAND!!!!!!

Summer Stupidity

The sun has finally come out, and as the temperature goes up, so follows the idiocy. Firstly a catch up from FA Cup final day. Not a lot went down, but Helmet earned himself three points for losing £70 on the bus on the way into town. He had too wait outside Spoons for me to arrive, and for his missus to fetch him some replacement dosh, of which she was not impressed. I also reaped a point for failing to grasp Helmets inept "May the Fourth be with you" joke.

Fast forward to England's first game of the World Cup. After sinking a load of lager, we decided to chase them down with a load of Jaegermeisters. This resulted in me doing something that I have not done in decades. I went home and pissed all over the landing. The Elster was not impressed, let me tell you, and the only thing that stops me scoring the maximum points was that it wasn't in my wardrobe, bed or even worse, our lasses hair. I fully accept the six points that have been agreed. These can combined with the couple of points I earned for purchasing a pack of boxer shorts, that were on sale, with out checking the labels, or colour. I got them home, to find I had bought a pair of lime green, spandex shorts, that as the picture below reveal, are not very flattering. Another point. This got me worried, that with the demise of the usual suspects, that I may yet catch Trigger, and have to award myself the Maillott Jaune of 2010. But more stupidity was afoot, that was not yet known, but has since been brought to my attention.












The Favelas of Rio. The townships of Soweto. The projects of the Bronx. These well documented crime zones are joined in infamy with the wild borough of Gilstead. Why? According to the Child Catcher, it was here that he was mugged by a ribald gang of ragamuffins, who relieved him of his wallet, phone, and keys, and left him nursing a few bruises. Well that is his side of the tale, so anything may well have happened, as he was too arsed to remember exactly what happened. Queso thought this may have been worthy of a perfect "10" but considering what he did next, it was agreed that seven was to be awarded. "What Happened next?" I hear you wonder. Well the young fella and Queso went down to Birmingham on some business, and after a hard days graft decided to let down their hair. After several sherberts, Charlie staggered up to the bar, and ordered the largest cocktail that they served, and slopped it all over his shirt. This meant, combined with being inebriated, he was refused entry to the night club they were after visiting. Figuring he needed to sort himself out, he went in search of a "livener" and approached the first chap of colour he came across. This chap told him he could sort him out with what he wanted, and the Catcher handed over a crisp £20 note to this complete stranger, who proceeded to place cash in his pocket, and scarper off down the road, at a rapid rate of knots. This alone may not have scored him the max, but the fact he tried to palm some of the blame off onto Queso earns him "dix points." Perhaps the title is not a forgone conclusion after all....

Updated Buffoon Standings

1. Trigger 50 points
2. Child Catcher 28 points
3. Euro Bri 23 points
   
4. El Grande Queso 14 points
5. Crespo 13 points
6. Gareeeeeee 4 points
7. Tony Helmet 4 points
   
8. Sprocket 3 points
9. Dr Shotgun 3 points
   
10. Mikey D 3 Points
11. John the Don 3 points
12. Shouty 3 points
13. Dessi 2 points
    
14. San 1 Point
15. Major 1 point

Buffoon Update

I was hoping to do an update on the race for Le Maillot Jaune 2010, which is heating up nicely by the way, but I have just clocked the time, and do not have enough time to get it caught up. I am finishing work early tomorrow, and will catch up on all the nonsense, of which there is a bit, then.

Stateside Shenanigans

Now that I am finally turned around, sleep wise anyway, I have decided to to write up a brief-ish post about my recent jaunt Stateside. most of my trip was family orientated, it was my Grandmothers 90th birthday, but I did manage to escape on an occasion or two too get out on the lash. Big Franks favourite watering hole was the American Veterans club (Am-Vets as it is locally known) which was very nice. Cheap beer, and plenty of TV's too watch sports. The only down side was the proliferation of Sabre Tooth Tigers in the place. "The what?" I hear you cry. These creatures are like Cougars, but in their sixties. Which is quite frightening for a young 40 something such as myself. They were all very nice ladies, but being chatted up by a pissed up granny is to be quite frank, a bit creepy. I even had to take the Elster down one night, just so I could drink in peace. Other nights out down the Clover Club (probably Tiffins best bar) and McGowans were far tamer. by comparison. Thankfully I managed to keep the Buffoonery to a minimum (see above) and managed not to nearly kill my self in the local swimming pool. Saying that, I was over whelmed by a gang of punk ass kids down the local watering hole (as in swimming not drinking) when I tried to lounge in a massive inner tube. The little swines kept tipping it over, and eventually I had to concede defeat. and head for shore.

We did a few a day trips, all in Ohio. Columbus, the state capital, looks like it could be worth a more prolonged stay. Amish Country was full of women who wore bonnets and blokes with beards. I didn't get it. But I did enjoy the couple of hours tour round the old Ohio Sate Reformatory, which has a claim to fame as the place where the Shawshank Redemption was filmed. It is on the whole a spooky place, that has fallen into disrepair, and over looks the modern facility that replaced it. My daughter, who has decided she now wants to be known as G Doggy Dog, or G-Dog for short, decided to wave at the inmates who were out sunning themselves, and promptly pooped her pants when started waving back, whilst removing his shirt. I also took the Elster to her first Baseball game, the Cleveland Indians versus the Chicago White Sox. It left her bamboozled, but she did enjoy perusing the numerous shops in the stadium, so it wasn't all bad. For those of you who are interested, I have posted a short gallery here.
The Elster had hold of the camera for most of the trip, so there is a lack of stupid photos, although there are a few that I will post on the Buffoon update post.

Lets Go

The World Cup finally seems to be sparking into life, as teams start shaking off the shackles, and going for victory. This week has seen plenty of upsets, todays German result, although not a massive one, shows that nothing can be taken for granted. All this just before we take on the Might of Algeria. A banana skin? Or an opportunity to play into some form? Please God let it be the later, as an early exit would be more than just a bit depressing. A good win, and the last 16 beckons.....

JMF Ploy Foiled

Sorry about the delay, I fell asleep on the sofa again last night. The game on Wednesday saw yet more skulduggery from the MoFo, as only Queen Bee Jamon showed up. The rest of the team was youngsters such as One Scoop and Nab Wood Guy (drafted in at the last second, a passing employee who filled in for King Dave, whom nobody told me was not playing). Apart from the afore mentioned leader of the MoFo, the average age of the rest of the team was about 21. Perhaps even younger. So it looked like curtains for the grizzled veterans of the Righteous Elite, and the infants of the JMF started out a right old lick. Alas, for them, they weren't all that keen on defending, and the old boys wasted no time in exploiting this fatal flaw. Again and again. The lads rolled back the years, and myself, Clogs, Two Scoops, the Mercenary and even Big Phil made hay. An eight goal drubbing no less. So, combined with the results of my three week absence means we stand exactly as we did when I left. Down by a game. There is no contest next week, the England world cup game takes precedent, but because I was not around, the court wasn't cancelled in time, and we now have to cough up for not playing. Great.

JMF- Nab Wood Guy, One Scoop, Greeny, Young Gaz and Jamon

EURO E- Euro Bri, Clogs, The Mercenary, Big Phil and Two Scoops

2010 Season

JMF wins - 12

Euro Elite - 11


Draws - 0

Jet Lag

Sorry I have not been keeping up to date on the old blog, but my sleep patterns are still all over the place. Combine this with the insipid matches that have been served up during the World Cup, and I have been out cold on the sofa every night by nine o'clock. I have no immediate plans this weekend, and aim to get caught up. There has been some plenty of buffoonery to report, particularly from two members, who at this rate, may well yet catch up to run away leader Trigger. All shall be revealed. I will also bore you with some of my American antics, and post a galley on the smug mug site. Last but not least, there are some "Wristband Around the World" shots to upload, and I am also going to try an set up mobile blogging, so I can post things as they happen, instead of trying to remember everything a couple of days down the line. I aim to start tonight by updating all the doings that have transpired down "The Wood" whilst I have been on my travels.

Glass Half Full!

Any body would think we had lost! I have purposely left my musings on the England performance till now, as I suspected that they would not be the only favourites to struggle in the first games. I know the Germans kicked some Aussie arse (don't you just love watching our Antipodean cousins get drubbed0 but the rest of the teams performed just as abysmally as the the Three Lions. First up Brazil. Don't you just hate the way all the commentators and pundits fawn all over every move they make? If we had only beaten the lowest ranked team in the tournament via a gaol keeping mistake there would have been Hell on. But no, instead it was a magical piece of Samba skill. My arse, the dog munching goalkeeper should have had his near post covered. And letting a team score, that ranks below the likes of Jordan, Qatar, Uzbekistan and Wales. But at least they won, I suppose. Unlike the World Champions of Italy, held by Paraguay, who only qualify for the finals because they play all there home qualifiers at an altitude that cause opponents to bleed from their ears. The Dagos were hopeless, and if England are as pedestrian as the so called experts would have us believe, the Azurri resemble a gang of Gastropods. Last but not least of course, everybodys favourites, who according to all and sundry, this a competition was supposed to be some kind of coronation, as the swept to an inevitable first title. Until the Swiss beat them one nil. Yes, it is all very pretty, the little triangles and such that they weave, but just ask an Arsenal fan what this counts for when they hand out trophies. Not much. (I fear they might yet suffer from the curse of being Sandros predicament, a la France 2002)

So lets put Englands first outing into some kind of perspective. No it was not good. But do you really want your team to be giving their best showing straight off the bat? If not for the keeper we would have three points, and the fact that the Americans are a far better side that both the North Koreans and Paraguay, and a least the equal of Switzerland. Lets just wait and see how things stand come the end of next week. Hopefully by then I will be able too tune back in to TalkSport, and not have to listen to Crespo bang on that we stand no chance.

Come on England

At last the 2010 World Cup has commenced. As usual I am backing the boys in White, although I fear the Spaniards are a cut above the rest. Still, I'd rather be optimistic, than pessimistic, unlike the plethora of knob heads who call in on the radio saying we will be lucky to get past the last 16. Who are these wankers? Rooney isn't World Class, Capello has lost the plot, the Team is too old, the team is too young...... the list of whiners is endless. I can't bring myself to listen to TalkSport at the moment, as it seems to be a touch point for these joyless knobs. I could understand it if they had Scottish, Welsh or even Irish accents, but to a man they hail from this green and pleasant land. From now on I shall be greeting these harbingers of doom with a polite "Shut the fuck up."

So my predictions? Spain to beat England in the final. We will break our penalty voodoo in the semis against Brazil, but second half streaker in the final will break John Terry's concentration for a split second, allowing some effeminate long haired Spaniard to sneak in the decisive score. My outside bet for the semis is Serbia. First up though is my homeland, the good ol' US of A. 3-1 to the three lions, as Rooney gets off to a flyer with a brace.

Back in Blighty

Well here i am back in the UK, and everything is broken, or refusing to work. I finally got my PC back up and running, hence the lateness of posting, but my new mobile is not working, and my provider seems clueless, and I got cut off on all my cable services, because some fuck wit didn't pay me in time, and I missed a payment. Just what I needed. Combine this with jet lag, and straight back to work, and it has left my chasing my arse the last couple of days. Welcome home indeed.

Still Baking

Hello from the sunny mid-west, still warm and still drinking loads of beer. Only five more days left, and then back to Blighty. At least the World Cup awaits, and my beer tolerance is currently at peak levels, although I am not ready to challenge the drinking champion of Europe. My next post will more than likely be on my return. Till then, adios.