Premiership Opening Day 2012

It looked set to be a nearly perfect opening day. And it so very nearly was. QPR were getting hammered at home, perfectly demonstrating how shocking their defending and performance can be; Liverpool were embarrassing in defeat, Suarez’s missed chance tally almost into double figures; Arsenal couldn’t find the net either (despite actually looking quite good…) and Stoke were cruising at 1-0, a debut goal from Michael Kightly. Really, the only disappointment for me was that West Ham were leading.

I should probably explain my opinions on certain teams. As a Stoke fan, I think it is fairly acceptable to dislike Arsenal purely for the way the Arsene Wenger has labelled us, even though his team’s disciplinary record has been worse than ours for a few seasons. However, my real dislike for Arsenal goes back to a third round FA Cup tie in 2003. Wayne Thomas had given us the lead, but Arsenal clawed us back thanks to a couple of set pieces from very debatable refereeing decisions. Reyes, Pires and Ljunberg were all extremely capable of throwing themselves to the ground for free kicks and that’s exactly what they did. Even Wenger admitted that the decisions had been harsh.

West Ham are another team that I have despised for a few years. This is largely due to the behaviour of their fans. Large portions of their supporters seem more intent on winding up the opposition fans, rather than watching the game. Of course, every club’s fans enjoy doing that, but I have never see nit to such an extent as at Upton Park. The other thing that really riles me about them is their belief that they belong in the top flight. They have been relegated enough times with decent players and management to be entirely undeserving of this ridiculous belief.

I was devastated on the final day of last season, as I’m sure football fans, neutrals and foreigners alike were, because QPR had managed to avoid relegation. Now that they have plenty of money to dish out, they seem to feel that they too have a right to be in the Premiership. It is infuriating to see them buying so many players, but unbelievably satisfying when these players fail to perform. I can only hope that all their spending doesn’t save them from the drop this season. I have a real problem with Mark Hughes. I remember when the rumours began that he might take over from Neil Warnock. My dad said to me the day before he arrived: “Hughes will only go to QPR if they give him at least £30M to spend.” We were both in agreement that he is a hopeless manager without funds. And sure enough, he was given £30M. He is an embarrassment to their team and to the Premiership in my humble opinion.

Of course, my most hated team continues to be Chelsea. I have always lived near Chelsea, so I am unfortunate enough to be friends with several Chelsea fans, although many more surprisingly emerged in 2004…. As the vast majority of the universe would agree, John Terry deserves to be transported away and never allowed to return. It’s a shame because there are many Chelsea players that I really like, but all I can do is despise them while Terry continues to be a part of the club. I was disappointed to see them win the Champions League, but have to respect that tactically they rose to the challenge. Failure for Chelsea this season would please me greatly.

And so, it was almost a perfect day, until Reading’s 90^th minute equaliser. I am confused as to why the referee gave the penalty after playing an advantage for Reading, but I suppose you can’t win them all. Here’s to another cracking season.

UK Road Trip

Since my return from far away lands almost a year ago, this travel blog has shrivelled to a stagnant, literary mess, serving only to voice occasional sporting views and other largely irrelevant opinions. And yet, it would seem that I once again have the opportunity to describe some form of travel experience. Yesterday, I embarked upon my greatest, personal, driving challenge, all the way from Wimbledon, to Derby, Coventry and Birmingham. My chosen route may not be as glamorous as previous expeditions through Germany’s Rhine Valley, Bolivia’s breathtaking salt flats, or Siberia’s vast, harsh plains, to name but a few; it has however been similarly enlightening and educational.

A mere 25 minutes into our journey, Abigail and I encountered the dangers of London driving, as our travel vehicle, the quaint Volkswagen Polo, was attacked by soaps, sprays and brushes in Brent Cross. Despite our alarm, we stayed strong in the face of adversity, or in this case, several Eastern European windscreen washer women. Shaken, we soldiered on, shortly enjoying the delights of the M1. I love traffic. There is nothing more satisfying than sitting in a slow moving, unexplained queue in a stuffy car, with the stench of manure seeping through the temperamental air conditioning unit. You can imagine my delight as wave after wave of traffic continued to slap us in the face, with the audacity to proffer no explanation as to its cause; no nonsensical lane reduction, not even the occasional burning HGV.

Eventually, we arrived at Derby’s rush hour traffic, the city’s “in bloom” campaign providing us with great entertainment. Indeed, the monotony of midlands traffic was certainly nullified by a few hedgerows decorated with flowers and repeatedly spelling out the word “Derby”. In actual fact, I cheekily used the queues to work on my German skills, which, alas, remain fairly limited. But having wriggled out of the city centre, we were rewarded with smooth, undulating roads, devoid of stray cars.

I dropped my charge at her destination and continued winding my way through Derbyshire’s countryside, now heading South, following signs to Lichfield. The road was enjoyable, the scenery pleasant, but I was plagued with doubt as to the future of my chariot. The petrol was depleting rapidly; it was as if the untouched, rolling fields were mocking me as they continually refused to provide me with fuel to feed my transportation. The A515 was one thing, but when the M6 Toll, M6 and M42 failed as well, I began to worry. My spirits were lifted as I stuttered along the A45 to Coventry; I had spied the high roof of a petrol station. Imagine my despair upon discovering that it was merely a car wash. An amiable gentleman informed me that I could refuel two miles down the road. His estimation was dangerously optimistic, but I did manage to survive for long enough.

The petrol fiasco had cost me bags of time. I was now running late for my appointment at Coventry Rugby Club. I was briefly thrown by the lack of signage and confusing one-way systems. I still managed to see the bulk of the game, a friendly between Coventry and Nuneaton. Coventry ran out comfortable winners, as was expected of a side, two divisions Nuneaton’s senior. My friend, James, played well, with a great assist for Coventry’s opening try. At the end, there was a feeling of expectation; perhaps Coventry’s rugby side could bring sporting success to the city after their football club’s relegation to League 1.

The final leg of my journey was short and sweet as I retraced my tracks down the A45, sweeping below the city and into South West Birmingham. I was treated to my first ever Birmingham Balti by my hosts. My choice of chicken pakora and chicken dopiaza were superb, but I was most impressed by the sheer size of the table naan presented to us. I had reached the end of my journey for the day and was eventually able to rest my head.

As I’m sure you’ve gathered, my experiences were not ground-breaking; they were not exceptional, and yet, they were new. The M1 may be a terrible road to drive on, but I needed to find that out for myself first. I enjoyed my exploration that took me through over 200 miles of Midlands countryside. I had ups and downs, traffic then freedom, hopes and fears. It truly was an epic journey. 

An Olympic Farewell

After Sunday's Olympic closing ceremony, I feel that I must comment again on our Olympic effort. It seems that I was perhaps a little hasty in describing the games as a success from start to finish. Don't get me wrong, the closing ceremony was a fabulous spectacle, but I disagreed with some performances. The commentators made a point of telling the viewers that music is Britain's greatest export, and who could argue with the likes of The Beatles, Queen and The Spice Girls to name but a few acts that performed at either of the ceremonies. We, as a musical nation, have produced such extraordinary talents that I imagine the organisers had a tough time of deciding who would get to perform at all. Surely, they could barely scratch the surface of Britain's remarkable plethora of musical expertise in just two concerts? Many bands and artists would surely have to be left out, with only a select few lucky enough to perform for the world. And yet, this wasn't quite the case. During the closing ceremony, the popular British hit "Our House" was performed not once, but twice, all in the space of about twenty minutes!! And the decision to allow Emeli Sande to perform three times over the two concerts was utter Madness.  Don't get me wrong, she is a fantastic singer, but I wonder if she quite has the calibre to get a slot in either ceremony, let alone both! I felt that the first half an hour of the closing ceremony was really a celebration of Emeli Sande's one song. It was well sung on the second occasion and the accompanying video was heartfelt and inspiring, but I can not understand the decision to open the ceremony with her slow, moving song, when what was really in order was something extravagant, a little panache. In short, I thought it was a shame to end on an Emeli Sande dominated ceremony, when we have so much to offer.

A Superb Olympic Games

The Olympics have been a success from start to finish. Britain has impressed the world both in terms of its athletic prowess and dedicated support. On every level, we have delivered. For me, everything has been superb. The opening ceremony was perfect. It was a celebration of both Britain and the Olympic Games, a spectacle that pleased me especially as I thought of some foreigners attempting to work out exactly what was going on. The James Bond moment was obviously a highlight as was Rowan Atkinson's cameo appearance, but my personal favourite was Bradley Wiggins' appearance at the very beginning. He is the embodiment of cool. The Wiggo-mania that has been sweeping the country is testament to this. His sideburns, his relaxed manner and, most importantly, his belief that he can say whatever he likes, whenever he likes are inspiring. After winning his gold medal in the time trial, he continued in this fashion, conducting the crowd singing the national anthem and behaving in a way that a man of his stature should. All I could do was applaud the television.

Of course, I must mention some of our other medal winners. Mo Farah provided the greatest moment in British athletics history last night as he stormed to double-olympic distance gold. I screamed myself hoarse at the television on this occasion, in a state of disbelief at Mo's excellence. Last Saturday was an incredible night, with Ennis and Rutherford winning as well. I feel that Britain's lack of success in athletics in recent olympics makes these achievements even more phenomenal. Rutherford, in particular, had escaped all the hype, but dominated the long jump competition to take gold.

Rowing and cycling, proved once again to be our best disciplines. Sir Chris Hoy demonstrated his amazing speed for an historic sixth time, but I was more impressed by the performance of Laura Trott. Her stunning victory in the women's omnium had me cartwheeling around our living room and I sincerely hope that she can maintain her form for Rio in 2016, where hopefully I will be in attendance. I was also delighted for Jason Kenny who delivered in the men's sprint. If he had failed to win gold, criticism would have been directed at the British selectors for not choosing Hoy to ride the event, when in fact, one should really blame the authorities for imposing such a ridiculous rule.

An event that has really grown on me during these Olympics has been the gymnastics. I have never really appreciated exactly what a spectacle it is. The same can be said for the diving and Tom Daley's magnificent achievement to come third in one of the most high-scoring competitions of all time.

I am glad to say that I can't mention every medallist for Britain because there have simply been far too many. As a nation, we have over-performed to an outrageous extent. More so than ever, I am extremely proud to be British.