Ben (Benglorious):

What a week, eh?  Finally got confirmation about my new flat and also going to save one whole pence off every pint I don’t buy.  Oh, and United somehow remembered that they were United and well and truly spanked those Greeks to earn a clash against some no-mark German team in the next round of the Champions League.

Today we visit Upton Park, named after Billy Joel’s classic 80’s hit Tell Her about It.  The ‘ammers have been in fine form this season under Sam Allardyce’s shrewd stewardship, banging in goals left, right, up, down and diagonally, whilst barely concedi… Sorry.  Can’t keep that up.  They’re one of those teams that aren’t really worth writing or caring about, even though they are the closest Premiership team to where I live.  Apart from Norwich.  The only notable thing abut them is that they play in Villa’s kit, probably because some Cockney nutjob back in the day stole a job lot whilst waving about a shoo’er, guv.

Key players to watch out for are Jürgen Klinsmann,  Franz Beckenbauer and Karl-Heinz Rummenigge, although that may be West Germany I’m thinking of.  I don’t really care.  I think I mentioned the not caring before, you’ll have to read back and check as I can’t be bothered.

Prediction:  “Demis Roussos… Prince Philip… Poseidon… Socrates (the Greek one)… You boys tooka helluva beating!”  was the main part of my phone call to my local taverna after Wednesday night’s match, which wasn’t taken in the humour it was intended as the restaurant is actually owned by Clive from Southend.  Anyway, still buoyant from our final victory in Europe this season, I’m in a double, super-positive mood even with the loss of Robin for a few weeks.  Moyes will have the chance to try out a new forward line, so I’m seeing a goal a piece for Adnan and Danny, with Mata chipping in (literally) a third, all whilst Rooney bangs in the greatest hat-trick the world has ever seen.  The Irons won’t know what’s f*cking hit ‘em!!  1-0 West Ham.

About the author:  I really DO know @tom_mcghee in real life.  Yes, he really IS a massive b*ll.

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Brett:

I could take a loss at this point – abject disappointment has become a good friend of mine over the course of the season *abject disappointment whispers ‘I hate you’* – if it meant we didn’t have to sit through the physical embodiment of banter that is Kevin Nolan’s goal celebration sponsored by #LADS.

I’m a goal celebration lover make no mistake, cut me and I bleed knee-slides: Goal Celebrations, United, Wife, Kids – in that order. But that one … oh, and the golf swing one. Come to think of it, the pointing at the name on the shirt is a bit meh these days. The baby cradling’s had its day – when Bebeto did it. And while we’re here those alleged racist ones are a bit very racist for my liking. Almost forgot about the pointing upwards one; I know where the sky is, thanks all the same. Lifting up your shirt to reveal a ‘Keep Calm…’ message; sorry Berba. That Robbie Keane one. That one Chandler off of Friends did that time. The punch in the eyes that is the Daniel Sturridge thing. Not to mention the myriad affected ones. And how could we forget the one I got my team to do as a protest against fox hunting, where we played out a whole scene, with the fox emerging victorious. Actually, that one was pretty good. Are there any celebrations left?

You think you know yourself.

Prediction: 2 – 3. Danny with his customary two (nice to have that back, like a warm hug). *A meat gag on account of the name Ham, with the punchline the stakes are too high (but steaks cos of the written/spoken thing)*

Oh, bugger.

The 1990 World Cup: a significant tournament in the bookmarking of some of England’s enduring imagery. Penalties, tears and John Barnes rap aside, one incident inparticular, during the semi-final against Germany, has, I think, been the one to have cast the darkest and spindliest of shadows over subsequent national players. But, oh how we larfed, until we cried; and then we were just crying.

Andreas Brehme was tired of being pigeon-holed as a “free-kick specialist”, he was much more than that he thought to himself, and so decided to just petulantly hoof the ball at one of the England players for lols. He didn’t want the ensuing scrap to ruffle his beautiful hair (GHDs weren’t invented back then), so he picked out Paul Parker, the littlest player on the pitch and took aim. Veteran, Peter Shilton (ever the opportunist), chose this moment to trial part of his stand-up routine, and more specifically, his walking down the comedy stairs backwards and drunk, gag. The ball looped in. A nation hung it’s head. A curse was birthed?!

(*huddle-in* Some people trace this “curse” back much further, to a Peter Bonetti error in 1970.  I suppose in some way claiming the “curse” had been laying dormant since then; maybe in a pair of discarded gloves, or in nail clippings down the plug hole at Wembley perhaps, waiting to lay claim to it’s next victim. However, that kind of nonsense can only get you in the loony bin.  If we’re really seriously talking about me talking about “curses” in the mainstream, you have to let me do it my way. I need to place them in a context a bit more plausible … namely, psychology *fall-back*)

Since the Shilton bomb dropped, we have witnessed a succession of England Number Ones apparently paralysed on the bigger stages by this hand-me-down trauma. David Seaman was the only one that almost got away with it. Despite having serial cutlery-molester, Uri Gellar watching his back (he who moved the ball from the penalty spot against Scotland at Euro 96 with his mind), eventually he succumed, against Brazil, during the 2002 World Cup, when he was already well on the way to retirement. His “mistake” almost echoing Shilton’s. The psychosis gathered pace and before long was ruthlessly dispatching Paul Robinson, Rob Green and Scott Carson from the England set up. Whether we can really count David James as one of those apparently mugged of  his international ambitions by this virulent “catatonia” is questionable, he was more than capable of doing that all by himself, he was certainly a host.

What a…

Enter Joe Hart. Who doesn’t love Joe Hart? You? At the back there? *releases the hounds* What is there not to like? Okay, he plays for THEM, I’ll give you that, and yeah he quite obviously waxes his eye-brows, but let’s not let the superficial cloud our appreciation of one of the best players to happen to the England team in yonks. He SHOULD be captain. What Joe Hart’s talent makes patently clear is this: our goalkeeping crises of the recent past haven’t been ones of hex and hoodoo, they’ve been ones of a basic lack of real quality. The better goalkeepers we’ve had relatively recently, Seaman and Shilton, have been maintained in goal for much longer than they should have because there was no one considered good enough to replace them; no-one with the mental strength to match the physical requirements – and we’ve paid a heavy price.

Goalkeepers have it pretty tough. They will make BIG mistakes. If they make a mistake, the ramifications are generally much more severe than those of their team mates. They don’t simply surrender possession, or give away a cheap free kick; they give away a goal or a penalty. The footballs that make fools of goalkeepers are designed by scientists who supply parts for NASA. Their job is literally a constant battle with Rocket Science. Peter Cech has to wear a head brace just to stop his mind boggling every time he is faced with a shot from distance.

Joe Hart may well fumble one into his own net, or misjudge a cross that could cost us in this tournament.  He could do the same in the World Cup qualifiers, or in the next World Cup. It’s something he will have to deal with. The difference is, his mistakes will be exceptions, not rules. You get a strong sense with Joe Hart that he has the strength of character and capacity to move on. Only when Joe Hart is considering hanging up his gloves, and we’re still expecting him to be our Number One, do we need to start worrying about anything like “curses” again.

Check out those brows!

(Before you start, I at no stage promised I was behind any of that curse nonsense.)