Sweet Nothings

In this first post-Fergie season, it wasn’t terribly surprising that Manchester United continued to dominate the headlines, albeit not in the manner to which they were accustomed. Although in some ways a shame that they didn’t put up a great fight to defend their crown, it’s so often the case in sport that great champions don’t just slowly fade away, their declines instead being sudden (check) and total (which now rather depends on Mr van Gaal). It’s interesting that journalists chose David Moyes’s clearout of the club’s backroom staff as one of the biggest sticks to beat him with. After all, most managers bring their own people with them to new clubs. Either the likes of Mike Phelan and future-ex-Fulham-boss Rene Meulensteen were gods amongst men, or United are a textbook example of all that’s gone wrong with football - a toxic bubble where Fergie was God, and players and fans alike are bloated with self-important, preconceived notions of the club’s ‘way’. Moyes was th

Another article now appearing in Late Tackle magazine : To the unconverted, American team sports might as well be from another planet – fiendishly complex and stat-obsessed, yet simultaneously ultra-tedious, with adverts every other minute to ensure games last for aeons. But although some of those accusations are hard to deny, the NFL – now the granddaddy of US sports – is ultra-competitive and genuinely unpredictable. Remember the heady days when the unfancied likes of Aston Villa and Nottingham Forest could win the old first division (yes kids, football did exist before the Premier League)? Such tales still happen, only in a different sort of ‘football’, played across the pond, on a field named after a type of grill and in full body armour, which can best be described as rugby with huge shiny knobs on. Here are some reasons why. Any of the below are even less likely to happen here than a witty bon mot from Michael Owen, but one can certainly dream. The draft A

Ok, I know I’m not meant to flaunting my ignorance by highlighting Asian place names, but Hong Kong has a district called Mong Kok. Mong Kok. Apparently it’s the most densely populated part of what is the most sardine tin-like place on earth, and you can certainly believe that as you come out of the metro station onto a narrow main road packed with shops and pedestrians and surrounded by overpasses and subways. Walk up a few blocks to the various markets and you feel a little less claustrophobic, but this is a relative term in this vertical city-state, where our hotel’s reception was on the 5 th floor due to lack of surface space and where giant hills lurk beyond any mid-skyscraper gaps. View from the Peak   Said markets, by the way, are technically rows of themed shops. The flower market is pretty standard stuff; the fish one less so, most of its wares being bulging bags of goldfish (considered lucky by the Chinese) plus the odd tank to put them in; the bird one though

We didn’t actually do a lot in Phuket, other than get pathetically sunburnt in typical Englander-abroad style while lounging around beach/poolside at a hotel that in truth was far too swank for the likes of me. But here are a few pictures for you to cast envious glances at, and some general observations on our time on the island. Apologies in advance for banging on about how nice our hotel package was, but it really makes a difference to be welcomed at the airport by a driver waving a card with your name on it. The roads in Phuket aren’t quite as chaotic as Bangkok’s, but lane changing still triggered involuntary buttock-clenching and the number of helmetless youngsters on motorbikes was worryingly high. Once we got to our base in Kata, the roads became hilly, twisty and pavementless but still the bikes kept coming, many ridden by white folks. I could not think of anything less fun than hiring an exposed vehicle to zoom around foreign roads governed by a rudimentary highway