Alan Nixon says so, 25/12/10 to 31/12/10

swoop

A quick round up of the made up bullshit of everyone's favourite tabloid chubster. For those new to Nixon watch, we round up all the fat prick's transfer 'scoops' and manager moves then, when the transfer window closes, we'll see how many the turd actually gets right. 
These are only the ones I've seen so if I've missed any please add in comments below. On with the show - you'll notice virtually all his shite goes in two papers.
From the Mirror: Sam Allardyce to be the next Burnley manager (joint byline with David Anderson). Owen Coyle (Bolton) 'to one of English football`s major powers'. Nixon mentions Liverpool.
Eidur Gudjohnsen (Stoke) wants out, to anywhere. Stephen Ireland and Richard Dunne (Aston Villa) to Celtic (probably loans). Also Villa-bound in Alan world will be Blackburn's Chris Samba (super) for a cool £6m-plus. 
Wayne Bridge from Manchester City to West Ham (loan or full transfer) where he'll be joined by 'Hoffenheim’s £6million-rated Senegal striker Demba Ba'. 
David Luiz (Benfica) to Chelsea or City for £35m. Kevin Wilson (Forest) to Celtic. Apparently he's due to sign a pre contract to join for nowt in summer but Celtic want him now dammit.
From the People: Steve 'Roy's' Kean (Blackburn) to 'swoop' for Barcelona's Oriol Romeu, but he faces a battle (!) with Villa. They should nipple it out, Houllier and Kean, live on Sky. Bare chested, hands tied behind backs, no butting aloud - all you've got is your nipples. Also 'another Barcelona youngster, Sergio Roberto, is wanted by Chelsea'. Course he is, dickhead. Elsewhere Leicester want Emile Heskey on loan from Villa but he only wants a permanent move. 
Doncaster manager 'Sean O'Driscoll will snub Sheffield United – because he is the red-hot favourite to step in at Nottingham Forest.' In place of Billy Davies and his sword that spits fire. Meanwhile Neil Sullivan - who is well hunky (my opinion, not Nixon's, as far as I know) could be the new Doncaster boss.

Kopites thrashing in a river of shit

The horror!

It's rare the whole country gets behind something but I'll wager Liverpool's current travails in shitsville are uniting the nation in a way normally reserved for a good old paedo hunt.
Let's have it right, kopites - you've had this coming for years. My lot - Everton - are no better but it doesn't make the shitness of Liverpool any less enjoyable because of the way the 'faithful' are responding to it.
The absolute disbelief and feeling of it being just massively unfair - we had this years ago. Everton were one of the prime movers behind the formation of the Premier League and in terms of timing, their descent from 'big five' (ask your dads, kiddywinks) status to relegation battles and all round crudness, couldnt have been worse. But at the time football coverage was sparser, although growing, so in terms of supporter buffoonery, it was less of a public spectacle. Although there were a few ace phone-ins on Radio Merseyside about what was to be done about Everton, with one woman demanding the players be physically beaten to learn them.
Back then - say, early to mid 1990s - it was still a novelty to see supporters in the ground long after the final whistle, staring in desolation at a pitch long since deserted except for ground staff forking idly at the turf. Now it's compulsory - because people JUST CARE SO MUCH! You can tell they have more of an understanding of football than the rest of us by the way they refer to 'Liverpool Football Club' rather than just Liverpool, which helps us in case we're confused and think they're talking about the chamber of commerce, architecture or shops.
Then of course there's supporters' message boards and radio phone ins but there you generally find it's the proper cranks making the most noise, so as a barometer of supporter opinion they're worthless.
When papers report what's going on in these outlets as being in any way representative of what supporters think, they're way off. While these sites and shows have grown massively in popularity it's still a minority that use them. There's a good story on a similar theme at the excellent Mudhutter website - and they're Wigan supporters so if you kopites or whoever think you know shit they can probably put you right.
Much of the ho-ha about Liverpool seems to be around Roy Hodgson not being up to, or 'big enough for', the job. That's a matter of debate but his record bears scrutiny, and as for the suggestion he's only done well at smaller clubs, would it be naughty of me to suggest he's now at a mid-table club who need a manager who can work on a budget?
Because if reports of the new owners at Anfield are even slightly accurate, and John Henry is a keen advocate of Billy Beane's methods in baseball with the Oakland Athletics, then Liverpool's 'resurrection', if it comes, will be slow and under fairly rigid budget restraints (wot, no Aquilanis?).
All of which means more kopites whining and, hopefully, a lot more of this.

happy festivus!

Last night's nerd togger - chums

Friends

I've started on the 'career' mode of Fifa 11 so havent' been online nerding as much, although as you can see from my correspondence, I've made some firm friends.
On the manager mode I can't sign any players or score any goal. I've started as Southend United which doesn't help, but man it's difficult.
Anyway last night I decided to have one dabble as nerd Everton against nerd Liverpool. And as wins go this was about as straightforward as it gets.
But don't be fooled by the impressive tackle count (20/3 in Ev favour) into thinking this was some 'dogs of war' battle. This was nerding at its liquid best.
Nerd Liverpool, like their real (but still nerdy) counterparts, really only have two players (Gerrard and Torres), and Gerrard's not that good.
Heitinga and Jerjelka were impressive at the back, never allowing Torres a sniff, while just in front Fellaini loped about, greedily snaffling then liberally sprinkling possession.
The Blues went ahead after Fellaini found Yakubu - playing just behind Saha - who slipped Cahill in down the left. He nipped ahead of Carragher to square for Pienaar who smashed home.

Dominance

Nerd Liverpool just couldn't get a touch and my opponent tried booting his way to a draw. There's something grimly satisfying in seeing a tiny Steven Gerrard flailing on the ground after a pixelated Leighton Baines knocks the ball past him before collecting with ease. The spoiling didn't work and 10 minutes into the second half Saha skipped away down the left before crossing deep into the box.
Cahill, immense throughout in a deeper role than usual, powered into the box before cutting in front of the defender to head home from close range. Kop end too.

Hats off to... Everybody Loves Raymond

Ray Romano

Up until this week when Channel 4 INSANELY binned it off in favour of the lamentable According to Jim, one of the most consistently ace US comedies of recent years filled the channel's coveted 7.45am spot. 
Everybody Loves Raymond, from David Letterman's Worldwide Pants production company, ran from 1996 to 2005 and starred Ray Romano, a stand-up of some repute, in the title role. 
He plays a sports writer who lives in Long Island with his wife Deborah (Patricia Heaton - phwoar!) and kids. Over the road is Ray's mum and dad, Marie (Doris Roberts) and Frank (Peter Boyle), and Ray's older brother - the real star of the show - Robert, played by Brad Garrett, also a successful stand up. He's the less successful son who resents how easy his brother has it. 
Garrett is a superb comic actor, as seen when he played the demented mechanic in Seinfeld. He has that hangdog look but also he's massive, and his timing is dead on. In the last two series Robert marries Amy (Monica Horan) and I think moves out of his parents' gaff, although it's difficult to remember. Hey this is free, I'm not checking). 
The situations are apparently based on the real life experiences of Barone, co-creator/producer Philip Rosenthal and the writing staff, with the other characters loosely based on family members of Barone and Rosenthal. 
Like Seinfeld, the main character is often the one around which the real humour revolves, with the other characters often getting the bigger laughs. And also like Seinfeld it's the dialogue and delivery that makes it a cut above. 
When you see this and compare it to almost any British comedy of the last 10 or so years, maybe The Office and Peep Show excepted, there's no comparison. Even something like The Trip, which has been good and got ace reviews, is hugely lacking on laughs compared to the good American stuff.
Most of Raymond takes place in his house, a lot of it in his kitchen, but it doesn't seem claustrophobic. There are a few episodes where they branch out - the trips to Italy and the Superbowl - but unlike, say, Friends with their abysmal London/Vegas episodes, Raymond can make the jump.
To give it the gist, Ray loafs about, Deborah gets on at him, Marie makes digs at Deborah's domestic skills, Frank abuses everyone, but mainly Marie, and unfortunate things happen to Robert, who splits up with Amy every so often. And that's about it.   
What sets it apart slightly is that it's pretty family-friendly stuff but doesn't seem twee. There are some ace lines:


Frank: 'What's for brunch, Marie?'
Marie: 'Ham. 
Frank: 'Excellent. I shall put on my ham pants.'


But also real moments of affection between characters who are always at each other's throats, yet it doesn't seem schmaltzy, which some Yank sitcoms do. Yes, YOU, Scrubs ('I guess deep down we all want to be loved.' Of fuck off, wanksplat.) 
There are also some good recurring characters too: Amy's parents, Hank and Pat MacDougal (the superb Fred Willard, scene stealer from lots of Christopher Guest films, and Georgia Engel) and their weird nerdy son Peter (the also ace Chris Elliott) are particularly good. Doug and Carrie Heffernan (Kevin James and Leah Remini - phwoar!) from King of Queens occasionally feature as well. 
So that's it. Get it watched, you puff.


Previously:
Eric Cantona
Stacey Solomon
Jim Broadbent

Alan Nixon says so, 19/12/10 - 24/12/10

Rate increase

Week two of bollocks watch with fatty Nixon and it's more plausible well-researched stuff. Starting in the People: Daniel Sturridge from Chelsea to Liverpool (initial loan then maybe a £5m deal). Jay Bothroyd (Cardiff) will fill Sturridge's place on the Chelsea bench. Zolton Gera from Fulham to Wolfsburg (joint byline with Dave Kidd). Ivan Rakitic (Schalke) to Fulham on a free in the summer.
The Mirror: Blackpool's Charlie Adam to Blackburn Rovers (who could name Steve Kean as manager). Stoke City are also interested in Adam.
Steve Sidwell (Villa) to West Ham. Steven Ireland also leaving Villa for a loan spell at Celtic. Dieumerci Mbokani from Monaco to West Ham.
Not transfer shite but Nixon also has England as ready to step in and host the 2014 World Cup if those useless foreigners Brazil can't manage it. 
Nixon is also worried that a rate increase isn't enough to make a good start on saving for a new sewage treatment plant and new solid waste facilities in Vancouver. Although that might be a different Alan Nixon.

Apprentice final - it's Stella, but what a ride

I've been there!

The final chapter begins with Stella and Chris heading off to the Langham hotel in London - I've been there! (It's very choice, but you can normally nip in and use the lav without being hassled) - but do they have to take two cars?
I wonder if they'll get the rest of them back to help. Oh they do. I'd forgotten what an ugly bunch they are. Quite hideous. Ha! The Australian one gets picked last - stitch that. Oh how she squirms like the fat kid at football who one team gets stuck with. Well look at me now!
They have to create a new drink and advertising campaign, then pitch it to industry types, and all in three days.
As the man says, giggidy-giggidy-goo.
Both Chris and Stella lie and say it's good to see the other idiots back. It isn't, they're horrible.
Anyway the mightiest minds get together and come up with...
Pomegranete rum? That's what Chris is going for - the idiot! Stella seems to want to go for a blue drink - equally stupid as the booze experts tell her.
But will her urban bourbon (Urbon) do the trick? Well it looks better than the pink goo Liz has got for Chris. So to speak.
Chris, Jamie and that one who looks like Penfold are the stupidest looking crew you can get and their advert idea that some lad gets a girl leathered on their drink so he gets his end away gets smashed down by the ad people.
The bottles turn up and Chris's looks like a metronome - how the fart do you pour it? - but he and his dimwits seem made up with it. Oh yes, it's called Prism. At least Stella's is recognisably a bottle of booze.
At the ad shoot Chris has a bartender scooping pomegranete into a glass - it looks moronic - while Stella's sussed that getting women asking for the drink in her ad is the way to go, and she seems to be miles ahead.
Chris's ad looks awful - a load of hoorays being tits - where did he get the idea from? And this is the difference between the two finalists - Stella's streetwise and smart whereas Chris is just businesslike. She's been the clear winner for weeks now and if she hadn't won there would have been a stewards'.
When it comes to the pitches, before a crowd of booze execs or something, Chris declares he's after people who drink at home or when they're out. Brilliant. As he blathers on about the public's demand for more rum-based cocktails, one consumer sips it and looks like he's tasted chilled vomit. The ad is awful, it doesn't show anyone drinking the thing until it's nearly over, but Chris handles the audience's questions well, so it's not a total disaster.
'Urbon, the new way of drinking bourbon,' is Stella's line. But it sounds like someone going 'bubbleubbleubbleubble'. Which could be a problem.
And so they're off to the boardroom for the last time with Stella declaring 'I'm the winner' possibly somewhat prematurely. It might be the editing or maybe that she's so close to the end but she seems more of a shit in this episode.
Sugar is surprised Stella delegated the tasting of her filthy muck, and he's right. For Chris, the colour of his drink got bashed because it was pink, despite Chris asking for clear. His ad is panned but the idea of the drink is clever whereas Stella's bottle of vinegar trips her up, although the booze itself went down well.
Chris and Stella make their final pleas and Chris looks like he's kicked for home at just the right time. It's an impressive performance - delivered while Stella sits there like she's balancing a turd on her top lip - but is it enough?
'Everything I want I always get,' Stella insists but it's the first time in the series she's looked worried. She needn't be as, just as it looked Chris had done it, Stella gets the nod. Leaving Chris sobbing into his best Next suit.
Then it's on to the You're Hired programme which this week is hosted by Morph wearing Dara O'Brien's suit.

Previously:
Fuck off Stuart
From the future
Fliam flam
Touch of drudge
So long Sandeesh!
Fuck off Alex
Episode 5-fear-and-loathing in M17

Apprentice semi final - fuck off Stuart (again)

Phwoar, it's Sugar tower! It’s almost the end of the cunt of the year show and it’s down to Stuart, Jamie, Joanna, Chris and Stella. Once again it’s an early-morning call - the sight of Stuart in bed is made even weirder by his Darth Vader breathing - and they’re off to Sugar’s Viglen offices for the interviews.  Before they leave Joanna rips in to Jamie’s attire – rightly, red tie? – and away we go. She’s an odd one, Joanna, when she talks to people she adopts a half Mr Burns/half Lizard Queen pose. Sugar addresses them from up a staircase, leaving them gawping up in awe at their god. And then they toddle off to have selection of Sugar’s henchpeople - including one who looks like a Noel Edmonds tribute act, and the ace Margaret Mountford - rip into them like fat backward kids on a chocolate bosom. Joanna looks like she’s going to shit herself at any moment and she fucks up royally when she can’t really explain what Viglen does or what companies Sugar has. The fella asks her and... (one of the first things they learn you at journalism school is, if there’s a silence, the other person will invariably fill it. So let it hang. Sugar’s ball-breakers do not fill that silence and are clearly happy for it to sit there indefinitely)... Oh man, that was a long silence! Margaret goes through their CVs and Chris’s claim that he’s ‘revered’ among theologians doesn’t stand up. ‘People in my school held me in awed respect,’ he splutters. And his half year studying law clearly doesn’t impress interrogator Claude who labels him a quitter. Chris denies this but goes bright red in the process.   Correctly, none of the candidates is coming clean to the others about how their interviews have gone. So despite Jamie getting absolutely hammered for his Cyprus property company being shit, he bounds down the stairs to the bukkake pit which doubles as the waiting area trilling ‘good interview!’ Stuart reckons Sugar saying he sees a little bit of himself in the Baggs is a complement. Maybe Sugar just recognises he can be a bit of a prick though. Either way you can’t knock his optimism but he’s the one who comes off worst in the interviews because he’s got no self awareness, although he sussed that Claude had him marked as a nobhead. The problem with Claude though is he’s just a nark and a bit of a cartoon bully. He isn’t intimidating, he’s just a bullet-headed tit. Like that nobhead PE teacher at everyone’s school who hates his job but always seemed to be knocking around with a fit bird. It’s ace to see Stuart squirm when he’s sussed on his blagging. Henchperson Gordon is having none of it and manages to restrain from dragging the little shit over the desk when Stuart asks, ‘sorry, what’s your name?’ But there’s something about him, when he says he’ll make Sugar a load of bread, it doesn't sound like absolute shite. It’s shite, but not absolute shite. Stella once again looks the business. She’s relaxed and confident, even sticking it to the nob who says she’s a glorified PA. With the interviews over it’s on to the boardroom. The interviewers run through the candidates before Sugar gets stuck into them. Chris gets stick for being boring but they all think he’s smart. Joanna comes out quite well, Jamie gets mild stick from them all, but it’s Stella that causes the most debate, with opinion split as to whether she’s an admin queen or a real go-getter.  The five candidates come into the boardroom and Sugar starts chipping away at the holes which have appeared in them over the weeks like Stella's rigid approach, Jamie's 'wasn't me' defence. Then it's Stuart's bollocks-chat ('you're full of shit,' Sugar tells him), and the reason Gordon kept on about his 'telecoms license' became clear. He lied, Sugar aint having it and - BLAMMO! - Stuart is fired. The other four put forward their pleas and it's more of the same corporate bollocks-speak before the shitty stick of doom prods Joanna (who starts crying) and Jamie, leaving Stella and Chris to fight it out in the final. All in all, pretty underwhelming really. And it's got to be Stella, hasn't it?

Alan Nixon says so

Nixon and Presley - sit on it!

For no other reason than this fat fuck gets on my wick with his clearly made up transfer bollocks I'm going to start charting all of mega sports hack Alan 'sources' Nixon's 'scoops' and see how they stand up to actual events.
There's loads of shite you can find on the internet that this bell's supposedly had 'the nod' about off one of his agent chums, but I can't be arsed going back so I'll start things off with last weekend's efforts. 
I'll update at the end of each week then at the end of each month we'll see how many the fat get has got right. 
This is only stuff with his byline on, so doesn't include any shite he may contribute un-named to the Mirror's bollocks Football Spy, or similar shite in other papers. Or stuff other papers rehash - ie today the Mail repeat the Leighton Baines one below. This is purely about Nixon name-on bullshit. I wonder if he still wears that meffy leather jacket? Anyway, if I've missed any let us know on the comments please.


11/12/10-18/12/10:
From the Mirror: Blackpool's Charlie Adam to Blackburn Rovers for £3 million. Bolton to sign Swansea’s Darren Pratley (free in the summer). Diego Maradona to be next Blackburn Rovers manager (he quotes an 'insider'. Again.). Sam Allardyce to 'the Middle East' - telly and managing.
Alan Shearer to manage Blackburn (joint byline with David Anderson) 'only if he gets assurances from Venky's' - sounds like a malt shop off Happy Days. 


From the People: Everton's Leighton Baines to Bayern Munich for £10 million. Martin Jol or Chris Hughton to West Ham (joint byline with Alan Oliver), if Hughton gets it, Joey Barton and goalkeeping coach Paul Barron to West Ham.

Last night's nerd togger - rEVERlation! (Massive nerd content)

Rat

I've cracked it - after ceaseless toiling when Mrs Biff has been at work I've finally sussed the best of way of playing Fifa 11 X-Box as Everton.
But it took a few smashings to get there, including one where I went nerd Ev and this lad, could be a girl as Mrs Biff is always keen to point out, went nerd Liverpool.
Started off pretty even and a close first half was shaded by me as we went in at half time one up. At which point it dawned on me, I'd never heard of any of this lad's team - he was playing his reserves! And he STILL equalised straight after half time, then brought Torres and Gerrard on as if to mock me further.
He eventually went 3-1 up at which point I pulled the plug, which brought an inbound message of 'don't you just love it?!' which I countered with 'have you told your mum?' So one each on the messages.
Anyway, to The Truth. The default set up for Everton is a sort of 4-5-1 with Cahill behind a striker but I have tweaked it thus: Howard in goal, back four from the right, Neville, Jerjelka, Heitinga, Baines. Midfield pair of Fellaini and Cahill, Pienaar the treacherous dog on the left, Arteta on the right, with Yakubu just behind Saha. The switch here is Cahill playing deep and Yakubu playing not quite up front - both these two are murder to get off the ball, which helps in those positions.
The trick is you have to take your time getting forward as it takes Cahill and Arteta a-g-e-s to get up there. But the extra man in the middle makes it difficult for other teams to get through, while there's usually a pass on in the middle from attack or defence, which thus far has led to me getting fouled a lot. This line up also works if you play the Manchester City default formation as well (4-2-3-1).
I beat Bayern, Manchester United and Seville playing like this - all comfortable wins after fairly slow nerd Ev starts. Unfortunately some teams just have better players, like nerd Arsenal, who I was BATTERING 2-1. Then they got one back after half time before I continued playing the ball round them.
Then the lad twigged the long ball and just kept smashing it up and relying on Van Persie being stronger than that SHITHOUSE Heitinga. Howard saved his shot but the ball hit Baines and went in - 2-2. More Everton pressure before another long ball so Heitinga fall over and Fabgregas bundle one in off his snidey little rat-face. Then the game crashed.

Diary of a squad player, part 8

Waxy

Thursday, 9 December
It was the club's chrimbo do last night - that's 'normal' staff, the players have our own - but the boss made us all go! It was a nightmare. You should see how some of them dress - like they've been given the keys to TK Maxx.
They had it laid out so there were three of us on each table, with about eight of 'them'. Me, Mucker and Johnno were together but they spread us out so we had to mix with the staff. I got stuck between the woman from payroll and a lad who works in the ticket office. I had Julie from reception opposite me - the mouth on her.
To be fair once I'd had a few drinks it wasn't too bad. They're nice enough people but they're so different to us. Talking to the lad from the ticket office - Tony, I think - he was saying how he's just finished university and is looking for a 'proper' job. He's got an interview for somewhere or other next week. I've never had a job interview - he couldn't believe it when I told him. The only reason I own a suit is the club supply us with them for matchdays.
We only had to stay until the meal ended so we chucked them a round in and got a taxi home as soon as we could. The boss never showed.


Friday, 10 December
Day off so stayed in bed. Watched Ghostbusters II on telly. Had the best hangover wank ever. Thank you, a young Sigourney Weaver.


Saturday, 11 December
Wasn't in the squad so I’ll probably be playing for the stiffs on Monday. It’s shit because we play in the afternoon in midweek so there’s absolutely no one watching. At least if it’s a night game like at some clubs you get a few faces in. You can hear each other fart when we play. 
If you're not in the first-team matchday squad you still have to come to the match and watch it. We drew 1-1 and it was fucking grim. No one stays for the whole match - I left with about 20 minutes to go.
Watched the X-Factor. Didn't vote. Still fuming at Mary 'feel the' Byrne getting binned - an absolute fucking scandal.


Sunday, 12 December
Had a call from me agent. Reckons there's a couple of clubs interested. Meeting him tomorrow but unless they're paying big money I can't be arsed moving. I've still not unpacked all me stuff from last time. Got a whole box of watches just sitting there. 
Watched Spurs v Chelsea on the telly. Good game but Glenn Hoddle looks like he's got a disease that turns skin to wax. A disease no one else has ever had so they have to name it after him.


Previously:
Part 7
Part 6
Part 5
Part 4
Part 3 
Part 2
Part 1

Diary of a squad player, part 7

Wounded in action

Monday, 6 December
Late for training so stayed on a bit to practice free kicks. Bit pointless really as the boss wasn't looking so I won't get credit for it.
Went town in the afternoon and bought some ace new trainers. Had fish fingers, chips and beans for tea, then a quick wank before bed. Only a quick one - mood wasn't right for 'the special'.

Tuesday, 7 December
Went out with Ribbsy and his bird so I could run the rule over her mate, who had been brought along for my approval.
Met in town at some gaff for dinner - she was alright but loud. Not just talking, her breathing, her shoes when she walked to the bog, everything.
Really weird laugh too, like at the beginning of that Wipeout song. Didn't matter how funny something was, that was her reaction. And she found everything funny - it was exhausting just sitting next to her. I think she's mental. Poked her but she threw up over the side of the bed when I give her the old 'twist'. Had to mop it up with a t-shirt and washing-up liquid. Sent her to clean her teeth before we finished off.

Wednesday, 8 December
Bought that X-Box kinnect thing. It's good but if anyone's watching you must look like a right nob waggling a pretend steering wheel at the telly.
Day off tomorrow so watched snidey Arsenal in the pub with Mucker, Davo and Rog. Davo's obsessed with sambuca - he had us on it all night. The barman lines them up and sets fire to them - Rog only burns his fringe! He looks like that bloke out of Slade.
Mucker almost lost it when he spilt some down his new Evisu jeans. Gutted for him, horrible when a pair of pulling kecks takes a bullet like that. So now he's looking for some new ones - Davo suggested Uniqlo. I thought there was going to be a fight! No need for that sort of talk, not when a man is hurting.

Previously:
Part 6
Part 5
Part 4
Part 3 
Part 2
Part 1

Apprentice episode 10 - from the future!

A graffiti

Cripes! I'm out tonight (Wednesday) so I'm having a stab at reviewing tonight's episode using only teasers from the BBC's website and guesswork.
This week the teams are doing good old cockernee tours of olde Landahn taahhhhnnn. And it's got to be said, Stuart has really found his look in the red blazer, peaked hat combo - a Blakey for the iPad generation.
And he's boxing proper dirty this week, announcing to Liz that they can 'neutralise' any customers the other lot get by nicking them on the way to the bus. Oooh, he's a rotter!
Okay so that's the previews out the way, so what happened? Well, Jamie takes a massive group on a murder tour, which after several wrong turns ends up in Clapton. He's forced to offer Joanne as a gift to the village elders to ensure safe passage.
Meanwhile Stella draws a massive cock 'n' balls (like this one) to calm an angry crowd after she can't find enough 'Banksys and that' on her graffiti tour. The strange hypnotic strokes of her aerosol can have the desired effect - with the added bonus of distracting irate commuters as another bus refuses to stop. And lo a new art movement is born! Liz continues to flit about turning all who gaze on her to jelly. Chris's pied piper attempts with the bassoon fail miserably.
So it's to the boardroom where Sugar turns his guns squarely on 21-year-old bed wetting warm-milk-and-shreddies-fan Stuart.
'Admit it, you're a cunt!' he bellows, pounding his fists again and again on the glass table as Karen Brady tries to hold him back. 'Let him get it out of his system,' Nick urges, by simply bowing his head half a degree.
'I'm here to win!' Stuart roars back, ignoring the question. 'You need me! If I go you're left with two estate agents, and the potential for a hugely lopsided lesbian adventure!'
Sugar turns to Jamie. He spits full in his face. Jamie just takes it, the gob dripping in his eye, down over his lips. He can't speak. Chris offers a hanky but pulls it away at the last second, leaving Jamie exposed and alone. 'Wanker,' he cries under his breath.
Karen is sobbing uncontrollably now, she looks in to the camera. 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry - Birmingham City, please take me back! Carson! Carson! I can change! The Davids made me do this! The Davids! The Davids!'
Nick slaps her across the face before turning to Sugar. The turmoil etched across his expertly whittled features. Sugar looks at them both. 'What have we become?' he hisses.
Stella stands up. 'You have no right...' she starts, but Chris pulls her back down. A struggle ensues, they kiss. Joanna bellows at Nick. 'I want a sausage, I want a curry and I want paprika!' she screams, again and again as The Apprentice 'dum de dum de dum de dum' tune blares through the room. 
Sugar stands - he's wearing 'juicy couture' tracky kecks! He looks at Stu.'You're fired!' he shouts. Then the rest of them.'You're fired!' Again. 'You're fired!' Again and again. Chris and Stella are still kissing. 
Security come and drag Sugar out of there and baton charge the contestants, who are led into the people carrier for debriefing. Karen lies in the corner, whispering 'The Davids,' over and over again.

Best bit:
The gobbing. Defo

Last night's Corrie - tram-tacular

Trouble a'brew'n

What the bloody hell was all that? A double bill of massive weirdness, like Hunter S Thompson and William Burroughs had been drafted in to produce at the last second and done a mad cut and paste job on the script. Welcome to day one of Corrie's week of 'we're still going! celebrations.
Was the first one the live episode? Because it was especially odd viewing, as the John Stape and Molly, Kev and Tyrone stories trundled to their sort-of conclusions.
There seemed to be two main thrusts - Peter and Leanne's respective stag and hen dos, and Molly, Tyrone, Kev and the 'baybeh', with John Stape ably supporting by hammering that Tweeny in the back of the head.
And of course lurking in the background was the much trumpeted tram crash - I knew that tram would be trouble. As soon as they added it to the new CGI credits I said to Mrs Biff: 'That tram'll be trouble.'
As usual with Corrie's Monday efforts the first episode was mainly the set up to the second's punchlines and there was clearly a real effort to keep up the who'llgetit? angle. Various characters were doing odd things - there was more than a hint of Who shot Mr Burns? about proceedings - as the end of the broadcast approached (what they deuce was Rita up to?), all designed to keep us guessing.
Except it didn't with me - and I love Corrie - because I just wasn't arsed who got it. I'd like Rita to be okay because she's a good character and Barbara Knox has got ace comic timing, but there aren't too many others that I'd really hope are okay.
I think that's because the show's lost its way a bit lately, with the Tyrone/Stape storylines a prime example - does anyone really care? And now they have this - all rather EastEnder-ish - tram crash/cull. This isn't what Coronation Street does best, it doesn't need this sort of showiness.
Corrie's at its greatest when good actors are working with great scripts and direction - when it looks effortless: Bet and Alex, Steve and Caron, Tyrone and Kirk, Rita and Norris.
That's not what we got last night, as Nick and Leanne's bar blew up (I must have missed something there - how did that happen?) and everyone on the street rushed out, understandably, to see what the hoo-ha was. Something must be up when I'm actually willing death on some of them. Especially Stape, who was dialling 999 when the show's climax of death hit, then stopped. So presumably he's going to drag the body over and dump it with the rest. He's the angel of death with a set-square fringe that one.
Then came the coup-de-grace with the tram hurtling towards the bridge, which had been damaged by the blast. As the camera zoomed in on the driver as his tram smashed down on to the street it looked like some awful offcut from the old Dr Who.
Presumably Corrie don't have the budget to have made it look better, but if that's the case, don't bother. This is one of the best television programmes ever - it's not a shoot-em-up video game and doesn't need to try and be one.
Hopefully it got some more viewers, which I supposed is the point of all this (as well as celebrating 50 years of 't Street). But if that's what they want maybe ITV could try keeping it on at regular times and stop shifting it for shite football matches in the Champions League group fucking stages.
In other news I'd say, pre-smash, Leanne looked much better than normal in her glad rags - that big massive forehead bone wasn't as prominent as usual and the gozzyness appeared to be minimal.
All in all, a solid 6.5/10 for this viewer (the double bill not Leanne).

And for those who can't tell reality from fiction, there's this

Diary of a squad player, part 6

An unwanted, if spiffy, tractor

Tuesday, 30 November
Tonight's match is off because of the snow. The pitch is fine but the roads around the ground are murder, so we get double training instead. Magic.
Stayed in and flicked between I'm a Celebrity... and watching United get their arses handed to them by West Ham. Voted for Kayla.

Wednesday, 1 December
Training cancelled because the pitches are frozen. Had another go at Black Ops online but I just can't do it. As soon as I start there's hundreds of wankers shooting me while I'm looking at the controller working out which button to press. Tried the Batman game again but stopped to watch Loose Women - wonder how old Andrea is.
Ribbsy says one of the youth team players' cousins has been kidnapped. Gang related apparently.
If we're going to New York for the weekend we need our Saturday match called off tomorrow or Friday morning at the latest - possible as it's a long trip for the away team - and the airport open for Friday. We'll pay through the nose for tickets but fuck it.
Mucker turned up late on with a bottle of Jagermeister. Finished it and went on ebay.

Thursday, 2 December
Trying to weasel out of paying for a tractor.

Friday, 3 December
Tomorrow's match is on so the New York trip is off for now. Ribbsy suggested going to Brighton after the game but that's not really cutting it for me.
Can't believe Russia got the World Cup. All the papers reckon it's down to that Panorama thing - didn't watch it so can't say - but I think they should look at who we sent. A running lord, a prince who looks like an erection would kill him, David Beckham and David Cameron.
What does that say about this country? It says were a bunch of nobs, according to me dad. He reckons all foreigners - when they're not sneaking into the country to steal prescriptions which they probably sell to earn money which they use to bring more of their relatives into the country which is why there's so many of them in his local - think we live in some kind of Harry Potter or Mr Bean film. All bungling idiots or slaying dragons - and I didn't see any dragons in Zurich.
And Qatar? That's never a country.

Saturday, 4 December
Apparently Qatar is a country, although officially known as an emirate, in the Middle East, occupying the small Qatar Peninsula on the northeasterly coast of the much larger Arabian Peninsula.
You live, you learn.

Sunday, 5 December
Played the last two minutes of yesterday's 3-1 win. Pisses me off a bit getting on right at the end - do you have a shower or what? Have you really done enough in those few minutes to need a shower? If it's 20 minutes fair enough, but two?
Watched Antiques Roadshow - mmm, Fiona Bruce. Stevo came round late (we're off tomorrow) so we had a few drinks and flicked round the channels. That Sarah Palin was on CNN  - Stevo's face! Like me, he's a fan of the older but bolder lady. But he was frothing at the mouth with this one, we'd had a few beers like. He was saying: 'I want to do her on a bed of leather, zips and Nazi memorabilia.' Then he disappeared to the bathroom. He was gone a while. 

Previously:
Part 5
Part 4
Part 3 
Part 2
Part 1

Hats off to... Eric Cantona (may contain inaccuracies)

Cantona, two minutes after full time

There are some footballers who are so ace they transcend the tribal rivalries of club support - or there were, I can't think of any of the current lot who I wouldn't cheerfully pummel in the face with a lit bag of horse shit.
One such fellow is Eric Cantona, the magnificent French bastard who thumbed his nose at a trial for Sheffield Wednesday, helped Leeds United to their first Championship in yonks, and then defected in the deal of, arguably forever, across t'Pennines to Manchester United, whom he also helped to their first Championship in yonks, for fifty quid and a bag of bibs.
I remember the day Cantona joined the Salford wretches. I jumped the bus to town for slurpage, where I met me mates who said United had just signed someone and I would never guess who it was.
I rattled through a load of names before arriving, inevitably, lips trembling at the mere mention of my hero of the time. 'Not Beardsley?' I whimpered.
'Non!' came the reply and they revealed Cantona's arrival for a pitiful £1.2m.
I couldn't believe it - he was so good for Leeds, he seemed such a perfect fit - surely they'd never let him go? But famously they did during season 1992/93 - the dawn of time, according to Sky - and the rest, as they say...
Everything Cantona did dripped with self-belief. He was better than everyone else and he knew it, but more than that, they knew it too.
I can't stand United - I hate their nobhead supporters and their total lack of self awareness. Their horror at the corporate cock their club sucked for so long eventually spunking on them. But they have been something else to watch for a long time now, and there's been some fine players in there but none matched Cantona.
I think maybe it's because I was much younger then, in my early/mid 20s, a time when death seemed like something that happened to other people. I was playing in a group (getting nowhere but enjoying it) and doing a shit job, but going out and going the match, it was a carefree time. And while I'm happier now than I've ever been, there's something about the past that's magic - maybe because we write it ourselves.
At that time Cantona seemed to represent everything I wanted to be - a strutting, moves-at-his-own-pace king - where I was more shambling and hurried, and going nowhere. Slowly.
There's too many ace goals to go through but if any one piece of footage sums Cantona up, it's this (you already know which one it is before clicking). Brian McClair, a superb player himself, looks almost embarrassed to congratulate him. Even Cantona looks momentarily surprised.
When he walked out at Middlesbrough (I think he was captain) to clinch the 1995/96 title, chest puffed, the contempt for those who would dare to try and stop him etched across his being, you knew United would win. What a feeling that must be - to step out needing a win (or draw, whatever) and knowing, absolutely, that you would do it.
I wonder how many players at the top really appreciate how blessed they are - virtually none it seems. Because we attach ourselves to, and in some cases live through, our clubs, we're impotent. We can have an at best tangential impact, in terms of atmosphere, but our vicarious glory is all down to them. I think Cantona probably does know how lucky he was. He certainly played as if it meant something to him.
During one of Everton's routine bummings at the hands of United a long ball was hoisted into the Everton box. Keeper Paul Gerrard (I think) leapt to intercept as Cantona lurked at his shoulder. The next thing you know, Gerrard's in a heap on the floor and the ball's in the back of the net. Only on seeing a replay did it become clear - the keeper had mis-judged and leapt under the ball (again!), allowing Cantona to stroke home from about two yards. He did this, of course, without breaking his stride.
The night he bashed that Palace nobhead up I was round at a mate's house and he had the match on the radio. Even without pictures it didn't look good. And so it proved. He was out for eight months, which meant he missed the FA Cup final, thus allowing Everton to triumph 1-0 and gain some revenge for the 1985 defeat courtesy of Norman Whiteside's (admittedly ace) extra-time winner.
He can ponce about reading poetry and making films all he likes, but for those of us of a certain age, he was as close to genius as football gets. Except for Leeds, Liverpool and Sheff Wed supporters, who all think he's a wanker.

Previously:
Stacey Solomon
Jim Broadbent

Apprentice episode 9 - the flim-flam

Taxi!

By eck, we're down to the last seven as The Apprentice attempts to stick a bit of heat under a show that's gone a bit tepid of late. I've switched over from I'm a Celebrity... for this and Stacey was doing the trial and there was definite boob jiggling. I'm taping it like so it's okay, but still, this better be good.
In the Apprentice batcave the phone goes at 5.30am - a time which works best in theory - and they're told to be ready in 30 minutes.
No way did they have time for showering, getting dressed and brekky - so who missed what? Stuart defo swerves a shower as a matter of course. Although lads do sweat less when their balls haven't dropped yet so that's not too awful. Bet he doesn't wipe his arse properly if he hears Working Lunch starting though, and that is not cool.
Anyway this week they have to buy 10 items in 10 hours, whoever spends least wins. It's lads versus lasses and we're off!
Jamie's in charge of the chaps. My word he's got kissable lips. Not sure who's in charge of the women because I was watching this after it was linked on Twitter. It's probably Stella. Oh no, it's Liz.
First stop for the girls is a cabby training gaff for a blue book, which is something to do with the knowledge. Liz and Joanna get it for £50.You know what? This is a really stupid quest and I'm not writing any more until they get to the boardroom...
... And we're back. The lads get back on time after a bit of a run which leaves Stuart panting like an asthmatic having a wank in a bin bag. Liz and Joanna get back late but get all 10 items. Between them the lads got seven. So is Jamie, who only got two, going home? Nope, incredibly and despite being 'fined' for the three they never got, the lads still came out on top.
The girls were a bit cocky here, and now one of them's getting it up the arse. So to speak. In a change, Sugar sends them home to reflect on their abject failure. Possibly in a great big lez-bath.
The next day the catfight begins. Or rather it doesn't as once again things don't ignite, but Joanna skates so it's Laura, Stella and Liz up for the chop. It can't be the project manager again, can it?
Christ Laura's horrible, she says things like 'if I'm honest' and 'I'm just saying' - when 'erm' or silence will do. There's nothing to choose between these three, but Stella and Liz seem to be slightly stronger.
Stella's 'corporate' reputation goes against her a bit and it looks like she's for the chop. But Sugar sells a HORRENDOUS dummy when he points the gun at Stella before switching to Laura.
 'I don't know whether I need corporate-style people, and for that reason...' he says to Stella, who closes her eyes waiting for the inevitable. Before Sugar continues '...I'm going to move on to you Laura. On balance I think we're at the end of the road.' She pleads for one more chance in a slightly pathetic final roll of the dice, but it's too late.
If ever you needed proof that this is just a telly programme and not, as Karen Brady says, about finding someone to work for Sugar this was it. It was horrendously staged, clumsy and more than a little ridiculous.

Best bit:
Laura: 'I'm bored of talking about the truffles.'

Previously:
Touch of drudge
So long Sandeesh!
Fuck off Alex
Episode 5-fear-and-loathing in M17

Essential tunes

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Last night's nerd togger - a new dawn?

Th'Allianz Arena (pic courtesy of Richard Bartz)

I've been nerding on and off for a few years now and I thought I'd seen it all. Well not all but some.
Occasionally though something comes along and - BLAMMO - it stops you dead.
Last night's first two nerd-offs were the usual blend of swearing and disproportionate upset, but the third was different.
It started off much as any other game, my nerd Everton were getting a bit of a chasing off someone else's nerd Bayern. They'd had much more of the ball but I was threatening and, at 0-0, it could have gone either way Brian.
Then it happened, at half time a message flashed up on my screen. It read simply: '##### wants to be your friend'.
I was stunned.
Here were two gladiators locked in to-the-nerd-death combat and yet - and yet - my foe was reaching out to me, as if to say 'when all this is over...' I took a mighly slurp from my presumptuously-opened victory beer to steady myself.
Six simple words, cast almost nonchalantly in my direction, but they represented so much more. Are we not men? (Are we Devo) - had I been so blinded by nerd blood lust all these years?
Had I lost sight of what makes online nerding great -  the sense of community? The feeling of belonging, of family, of the cosmic interconnectedness of all things (nerd)?
I shook my head a little, a wry smile playing on these full, kissable lips, and gasped at life's ability to surprise. The teams were back out. The game resumed.
Second half - beat his brains out 3-0, refused the request and sent my customary 'ha ha ha!' victory message. Because that's how I roll baby. Proper.

Previously:
Middle ground
A day of days
Up yours, Spurs and Bayern

Fridge

A right royal bumming

A grim tale

Have that Fritz

No name

It begins 

Diary of a squad player, 5

Press day. 'Very much so.'

Monday, 29 November
Training was murder today, no ball work just running and weights (separately) because we're all 'streaks of piss' apparently.
Atmosphere was a bit low, even Stibbo sitting in a plate of pasta after Mucker put it on his chair didn't get much of a laugh. Rog tried to lighten the mood with one of his big bertha farts but no one was interested. He's such a trouper.
Press day ahead of tomorrow's match but no one turned up again. If it's not the Premier League the nationals aren't interested and the locals all go to press on Wednesday, so it was just the boss and Phil, the press officer, sat there looking at each other. They have to give it 10 minutes before giving up so they just sit there. It's painful to watch.
Then Phil has to interview the gaffer for the club website. Phil's a nice bloke but the gaffer keeps calling him Pete. And he's been doing it too long for Phil to say anything now. When you watch the vidos you've got the boss, when he isn't saying 'the football club' every 20 seconds, calling this bloke by the wrong name while he just takes it.
Jegger's birthday today and he's going round everyone to see if they fancy doing anything. Sure enough he ends up at me. I say I fancy staying in but he says just come round and play Fifa. He's only just moved here so it must be hard not knowing anyone, probably just doesn't want to be alone on his birthday.
Weather forecast is for snow tomorrow - if it keeps up and Saturday's match is off, Mucker, Ribbsy and Johnno are on about going to New York for the weekend. I fancy it but I'm a bit skint - do hospitals still buy sperm?
I haven't had a shit in three days.

Previously:
Part 4
Part 3 
Part 2
Part 1