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When the thin red line of Shelbourne players file out of the Dalymount Park tunnel before they face neighbours Bohemians in an FAI Cup tie this evening, it will evoke a time when cash slushed around domestic football.

Bohs’ future was tied up, like a lot of things here during the boom, in property.

The bottom ultimately fell out of their dreams and the club faces seasons of austerity ahead.

Across the Tolka, Shelbourne speculated on shooting for the stars too. The then-chairman Ollie Byrne felt the warm breath of Champions League football on his neck but Europe’s big league ultimately remained tantalisingly outside the club’s grasp.

Sadly, the charismatic Byrne died. The famous club almost imploded. But it lives on, still.

Now Shelbourne enjoys a vital role in the community. Its youth teams are performing well and the senior side plays honest football which will no doubt see them retake a seat at the top table sooner rather than later.

And if the days characterised by long, liquid lunches in silver-service Stephen’s Green eateries, queues for €500,000 house purchases in Navan and day trips to New York’s shopping malls are now alien to the club, so too Oscar Sibanda knows a very different Ireland.

Recent Shels signing Sibanda will sit on the bench tonight, if he doesn’t actually make his senior debut, on the famous piece of football real estate in Phibsboro.

On each occasion that the 22-year-old winger tugs on a Shels jersey he knows that it could be his last outing for the famous Airtricity League First Division side.

The Zimbabwean is facing deportation at any time after a three-year battle to seek asylum.

Sibanda fled Zimbabwe to join his mother and siblings in Ireland. They had left Zimbabwe because their mother was a member of the opposition party and feared persecution at the hands of Robert Mugabe’s regime.

Despite working as hard as his team-mates in red, Sibanda cannot be paid by the club. Like all asylum seekers here, he is only entitled to €19.10 a week.

A number of former players and managers including former Ireland boss Brian Kerr have signed a petition urging the Irish authorities to grant Sibanda asylum. So far their pleas have failed.

While he can visit his mother, two sisters and one brother who all live legally in Drogheda, Sibanda is living his life in time added on.

Ken McCue, founder of Sport Against Racism, insists Sabinda’s cause is pockmarked with injustices.

“He’s living in Hatch Hall hostel now in Earlsfort Terrace and he’s playing away with Shels now. He lived in Mosney for some time but he was removed recently with about 100 others and put in Hatch Hall. The next stop is deportation,” says McCue.

“There’s a good chance he’ll be deported in the next few weeks. There’s a whole series of mistakes in the asylum process he went through. The final one is the refugee appeals in which they determined he was from South Africa.

“He speaks in Ndebele, which is the same across the border in parts of South Africa but it’s like the Donegal gaeltacht version of Irish compared to someone from Waterford or something.

“And they made up their mind based on that but if they had looked at his mother’s file, they’d know. We are using the channel of the Minister for Equality – Mary White – to put pressure on the justice ministry but she hasn’t responded at all,” he adds.

While in Mosney, Sibanda organised and trained the kids in the asylym seekers’ centre into a football team named after the South African Albert Johanneson who once played for Leeds United.

The side took their place amongst local sides. Now however, they face having to withdraw as Sibanda can’t afford the transport costs to Co Meath from Dublin city centre and so the teams have lost a trainer.

“They had entered into the Drogheda and District League and it was great for the kids. The arts and sport have been proven and internationally recognised that it’s the best way to integrate. And now that a lot of workplaces are gone and people have more time for recreation, sport is even more important. He can’t get down – especially on €19 a week – so the team are struggling.”

If he does get on the pitch tonight, Sibanda will hug the touchline and hope to show Dublin’s soccer fans a frightening turn of pace that he first showcased with SARI’s own side.

“He’s a winger, he’s very fast and is a great attacking midfielder really,” says McCue who helps organise the organisations football sides.

“He was in our academy and he played some great stuff.

“We call our football African-flavoured, we play on a Saturday morning in Ongar in a place where we’re squatting really, I don’t know how long we’ll be there.”

Neither does Sibanda. But Shels fans will hopefully see him play on regardless.

adrian.russell@examiner.ie Twitter: @adrianrussell

This story appeared in the printed version of the Irish Examiner Friday, August 27, 2010

In Abba’s under-rated song The Day Before You Came*, Agnetha references the print media twice in one three-minute, melancholic song.

She reads the editorial in the morning newspaper (possibly the Irish Examiner), while on her train commute to work.

Later, on the way home from the office she picks up the evening paper.

* I realise referencing the Swedish four-piece may be percieved as uncool – but this particular song came to my attention when included on the Pitchfork 500. I was also living (temporarily) in a loft in New York’s Chinatown at the time. So I’m still MOST CERTAINLY COOL OK? **

**I’m borrowing this asteriks and italics thing from Joe Posnanski’s excellent blog

Anyway, the point is that now they might also sing about the latest iPhone app as Agnetha fiddles with her smartphone on the Metro journey to the office every morning.

The top-flight English soccer season got underway on Saturday and as I was out and about I had to rely on my soccer Saturday app for info on how badly my Fantasy Football team were doing.

And, to paraphrase Carrie Bradshaw’s clunky sex-column writing: that got me thinking… what other sports apps are worth a download. Here’s the few I have installed and if you’ve any suggestions, do let me know.

For any Dublin fans *spit* looking for news on their doomed build-up to the All-Ireland semi-final this weekend or canny Cork fans *high-five* who want to view the Blue hype for themselves than the excellent new Hill16 app is a must.

I like a bit of baseball and the MLB at bat app, left, is pretty class – especially when the Yankees and Red Sox games are stretching to almost four hours these days.

When the GAA aren’t busy constructing an eight-foot tall fence in their underground lab, they’re creating a nifty little app. How can one organisation take so many backward steps and live in the past so often, and at the same time be the most progressive and forward-working organisations – preofessional or not – in the country? Anyway, it’s a good app.

I also use Livescore, RTÉ GAA news, ESPN and Sports Illustrated. Any other recommendations?

NOTE: I’d hoped to include screen grabs of all these but Flickr is absolutely wrecking my head. All of a sudden it won’t let me link an image through the URL onto WordPress. Embedding is still fine but then everything is centred. The one I did include is uploaded straight from the PC here. But Gavin Sheridan told me, when helping me set this blog up, to firstly not feed the Gremlins after midnight and secondly, use FLickr to upload pics or else a server in southern California will suddenly explode and kill many, many Apple fanboys. Is this correct?

I realise I’ve now pulled back the curtain, reader, and spoiled any mystique which surrounded the magical process of operating this little corner of the internet.

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Also could’ve headlined with:

1. What are you gonna do today, Napoleon?
2. You wanna play me?
3. Hey, Napoleon. What did you do last summer again?
4. Heck yes I did!

Whipped from this week’s Guardian gallery. Take a bow, son.

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With the smell of drying paint in my nostrils and freshly-laid grass under my feet, I giddily surveyed the new Lansdowne Road stadium when it swung open its just-hung doors recently.

The elegant structure floats above the capital’s skyline and is as impressive inside as out. There’s room for 50,000 sports fans – and space for 50,000 pairs of legs to stretch out towards the sideline in the wide, comfortable rows of British-racing green seats.

The Aviva – if you’re going to call it that – boasts better media facilities than Montrose, Shane MacGowan will no doubt write stanzas about the length of the bars and the pitch doesn’t look too bad either.

However, like Gaudi’s famous Sagrida Familia cathedral in the heart of Barcelona, it’s beautiful but is unfinished. Or seems (italics) unfinished, at least.

Like a Celtic Tiger imagining of Hill 16, one end offers a mere 3,000 spaces, which are framed by a glass-like wall behind. Many a drop kick or wayward Leon Best shot will bounce back onto the turf after hitting its transparent tiles.

Compelled to fold the new stadium into an existing patch of expensive real estate in Ballsbridge the architects cut their cloth to measure. But though the flow of the undulating structure is broken at one curva by the shallower end, at least the opposition will feel the warm breath of Ireland’s soccer and rugby fans on their necks when they visit Dublin’s southside.

I spoke with two economists this week who explained – very slowly – to me, research that which showed that referees officiating in stadia with running tracks around the pitch are less likely to give hometown decisions and play less added time when the home side is drawing or losing.

Croke Park is magnificent obviously. But when the tenants from D4 lined out in an area too big for their specific purposes, some of the atmosphere was lost. It was only – I’d suggest – the Italy and France games last autumn that saw the football crowd find their full voice at last in Drumcondra.

And as that immeasurable commodity – atmosphere – is leaked into the dark Dublin sky, so too the referee is less affected.

Last month, I wrote of research that Robbie Butler – a lecturer in the economics department of University College Cork – and his brother David, a commerce student in the college had presented to the FAI on the effect a child’s birth day has on participation rates in soccer. The response from readers was impressive.

So when Robbie offered to talk me though their work on so-called Fergie Time, we put on another pot of coffee.

When the Aviva hosts its first soccer game in less than two weeks’ time, Alex Ferguson will be patrolling the touchline. A meaningless friendly against a Damien Richardson-managed Airtricity League XI, the Manchester United boss is unlikely to spring from the bench after 90-odd minutes and point at his famous wrist watch. When he goes – for he must someday – surely the statue outside the Stretford End they’ll erect of him outside the Stretford End will be cast in a wrist-watch-tapping pose.

Nevertheless, it was this habit of constantly querying additional minutes – and United’s perceived talent for scoring late, late goals, in particular Federico Macheda’s vital winner against Aston Villa – that prompted Robbie to examine the economics of added time.

“What we did is collected data from the BBC website for the 2009-2010 Premier League season,” says Robbie, as he leafs through pages of datea he’s thrown on the table in front of us. “It’s all there. So that’s every match in the season, that’s the amount of goals in the game because we thought that was important. It’s all the home teams first — who was winning, drawing, losing on 90.

“What the score was at 90, the margin, the actual outcome, the amount of subs, the amount of added time.

“It took me a few weeks — I should’ve been doing my PHD maybe but I enjoy doing it,” he laughs.

The new Aviva Stadium at Lansdowne Road

And, after hours of slogging over a hot keyboard and collating data neatly and carefully, the results were instructive.

“What was very interesting was what we found if you look at the tale when the home team is winning; on average, there was four minutes, 22 seconds added. When they were losing there was four minutes, 27 seconds and when they were drawing there was four minutes, 30 seconds. And that’s what you’d hope to find — that suggests there’s no bias. They’re playing roughly the same amount of time whether you’re winning or drawing or losing. So we were really happy when we found that. The next step was asking do the big teams get a bias?”

Robbie and Spurs fan David’s ‘hunch’ is backed up by the stats. “You want to get more time when you’re drawing obviously and look at who we have,” he says pointing at one end of a bar graph, “Arsenal, Man City, United, Chelsea, Tottenham. They get over five minutes when they’re drawing.

“And then look at the graph for when they’re losing — Arsenal, Hull (they had Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink knocked unconscious for 10 minutes and Jimmy Bullard broke his leg – skewing the figures, interestingly), Spurs, Chelsea, Man City, and Liverpool. Again the bigger teams get more time when they’re losing.”

So the myth is true. Fergie time exists.

“Ferguson and (Arsene) Wenger are the ones unhappy with the situation regarding added time, amazingly, and the exact opposite should be true,” says Robbie. “Ferguson is beyond rules. He’s untouchable and to be fair to him, he’s created that himself. He once said ‘we don’t lose a game we just run out of time’.”

But it takes the sands in United’s hourglass that bit longer to run out, we now know for sure.

adrian.russell@examiner.ie Twitter: @adrianrussell

This column first appeared in the print version of the Irish Examiner newpaper

They say on the Semple Stadium turf you’re never a boy. Always a giant. So too perhaps in Thomond Park. On that particular piece of acreage in that particular corner of the province, it’s never a friendly. Always a battle.

But maybe not on Tuesday night. If the Munster crowd are famed for putting in as much as a shift as their famous front row, on this occasion they were off the clock.

The Shane Geoghegan Trust had brought the Premier League glitz of Sunderland to take on a selection from the region. The china was laid out. The best wine served first. Limerick was impressive.

Reds flanker David Wallace patrolled one corner of the pitch that was coned off for a mini rugby game between kids before the kick off. Nearby a little, thunder-and-lightning hurling tie was engrossing another section of the west stand. Black Cats striker Kenwyne Jones threw an O’Neill’s football back to a school kid after it rolled from their designated corner in amongst the Sunderland squad who were happy to warm up behind the goals.

When the players were sufficiently warm, I sat in the west stand of Thomond Park, watching Andy Reid feel his way into the first 45 minutes of his season – after a long interruption to his career with injury – I was reminded of that Billy Crystal film Mr Saturday Night, which I watched recently. The movie depicts a New York stand-up comedian’s rise to giddy fame – from working the clubs to TV stardom – until he shrugs on the cloak of comedy royalty.

Early in the film a lovely montage shows Crystal and his brother stand in front of the fireplace cracking wise, sharing gags and performing little histrionic sketches while the extended family on the couch roar their approval. Salty tears of laughter stain the living room carpet and peals of laughter fill the street outside.

Years later, when Crystal’s character is standing side-stage before another mega-watt weekend performance in front of a loyal and large audience, his now bitter brother – after backing out of a comedy club gig with his sibling years earlier due to nerves – grabs the star by the lapels and spits: this could’ve been me.

His brother’s response is cool: “You were funny, but you were sitting-room funny.”

Maybe Andy Reid is like that. He oozes class in the centre of the Limerick city turf. He drops back in front of Anton Ferdinand, demanding the ball, turns balletically after he receives it and toes it a foot in front of him before spraying a truly-struck pass 40 yards into the path of his winger. The kid is good. But is he big-time good?

He’s always been one of my favourites. When he was younger you could’ve taken his future to the bank. As a Nottingham Forest lad, settled in after a move from Cherry Orchard, he was a City Ground favourite.

I was at a live Last Word preview night of the Munster final in The Groves of Blackpool, in Cork last Friday night. It descended very quickly into arch parochialism; like when one attendee addressed the panel of Donal O’Grady, John Allen, Joe Deane and Dave Bennett thus: ‘Matt, can I ask you why you have two southsiders on your panel and no one from the northside?’

But before Leeside’s hurling fraternity cannibalised itself live on national radio in a haze of Glen Rovers/Na Piarsiagh needling, the room was almost united in criticism of some perceived slight a Kilkenny legend had inflicted on Cork’s players last season. One man took the mic with purpose and said: “Matt, will you tell Eddie Keher that, when he comes down here, he better check his change at the bar – because he might get an All-Ireland medal instead of a euro by mistake, there’s so many around.”

So too in Nottingham, a medium-sized provincial town — where they were used to walking into Brian Clough’s brother’s suburban newsagents and seeing Ol Big Head behind the till selling the local paper and the European Cup trophy on the counter. This town knows its footballers; and Reid was voted a Forest legend.

From there he went to Spurs, a sophisticated London club with a penchant for Hoddles and Gazzas. But as the writer Cyril Connolly said: whom the gods wish to destroy, they first call promising.

After a detour to Charlton, he’s now well-established in the north-east. He pulled back the curtain this time last year and re-introduced himself after a concerted fitness programme. Now after coming back from a long lay-off he looks more Weight Watchers than weighted pass, again. But he still has it.

During RTÉ’s World Cup coverage he appeared on one Aprés Match sketch, as ‘Brian Kerr’ tried to recruit the exiled Irish star for the Faroe Islands. “Would you be interested in coming to play up in the Fairies? You’re guaranteed your place, we’ve only got eight full-time players and three fish,” Kerr says.

After the game in the press conference room under the east stand, a 2-1 win in the bag, Steve Bruce sat back and blew his cheeks out when asked for the umpteenth time about Reid’s continued exclusion from the Ireland set-up.

“I don’t think it’s going to happen, do you?” he sighed.

No, probably not. But he deserves the chance to prove he’s Mr Wednesday night for Ireland, one more time.

This column first appeared in the print version of the Irish Examiner

Adrian.russell@examiner.ie Twitter: @adrianrussell

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The Golden Boots
What has eight legs and pretends to know about football before each big World Cup game? No, not the Match of the Day pundits – Paul the Oracle Octopus, of course. In every World Cup we witness a star emerge from the shadows; think Schillachi in 1990. This year the German mollusc has picked the correct winner in each of the Mannshaft’s games. When Jogi Low’s boys crashed out in the semi-finals – as his tentacles had earlier indicated – he received death threats and aquarium staff said he was exhausted. If you’d followed his betting advice you’d be squids in however.

R Keane award for dressing room pep talk
Step forward Nicholas Anelka, whose clinical offering to inept Le Bleus coach Raymond Domenech sparked a French revolution: “Go screw yourself you dirty son of a whore.” Quelle catastrophe – but, silver lining, it’s the most Nico has said in many, many years.

Best Headline
“See you on Sunday”. What’s the German for shadenfreude – German sub editors taunt their Dutch archrivals after the Oranje clinched their final spot, and hours before Spain eliminate Klose et al.

The golden vuvuzela for worst commentary
ITV’s Clive Tylesley can take a bow son, after his over enthusiastic comments on the English referee Howard Webb and his two linesmen. Clive peppered his thoughts on the actual football with praise for Webb’s whistling and the ‘great flags’ from the assistants. He then let his followers know htat he is more passionate about the trio in black than the three lions.

The Milla – In recognition of iconic goal celebration

After years of performing the Thomas Brolin-copyrighted twirl-and-punch combo after a one-foot tap-in, it’s time to mix it up I think. Landon Donovan signed a million endorsement cheques with his goal against Algeria but his enthusiastic slide into the corner had Jurgen Klinsmann spinning in his Cape Town hotel room. So, for originality it has to be David Villa’s matador-like flourish of the right arm. Good for tourism too.

The Silver Earplugs
Whatever you think, the drone of plastic has been the baseline to this World Cup’s beat. But don’t expect them to sweep the sports world. Bray Wanderers – as you’d expect – led the way and banned the horns from the Carlisle Grounds. Then Wimbledon, the rugby World Cup, the Ultimate Fighting Championship followed suit before the United Arab Emirates’ General Authority of Islamic Affairs and Endowments issued a fatwa against vuvuzelas if they exceed 100 decibels, which they usually do. Which reminds me of a Salman Rushdie joke… never mind.

The we told you so moment – to be presented by Paul McShane
Sepp Blatter mocked our desperate and eventually pathetic pleading after our Parisian trauma. So to see him have to sit, red-faced, as Frank Lampard was denied a perfectly good goal on the biggest stage had the Boys in Greens high-fiving on the couch. Afterwards the FIFA chief seemed to accept it’s time to stick in a few cameras.

The corner-flag award for mis-firing striker
Messi scored no goals but he was the driving force behind Argentina getting as far as they did. So for me it’s between old pals Ronaldo and Rooney. Ronaldo however has just revealed he’s a daddy – to Cristiano Jr – so we can’t accuse him of firing blanks. And he did score against North Korea (who didn’t). So step forward Sir Wayne – as you were depicted in hose Nike adverts – you’re the biggest flop.

The Uninvited Guest
More than 30 attractive young ladies turned up at the Netherlands’ opening match wearing orange mini-dresses emblazoned with the name of Dutch brewery Bavaria NV, which has made a habit of ambush marketing at the World Cup. Two were arrested, but they were sprung after Bavaria agreed to keep its clever marketing minds otherwise occupied until 2022 — unless, of course, Bavaria happens to shell out big bucks to be an official sponsor.
But surely the gong has to go to Pavlos Joseph, a disgruntled England fan who ended up in the team dressingroom after the Algeria game after he went in search of a toilet. He gave David Beckham a piece of his mind before confusing a naked Joe Cole with his presence. Football eh? Blood hell.

For the price of a cup of coffee one morning this week, I bought a glimpse into football’s future.

I met up with Robbie Butler, a lecturer in economics in University College Cork, and his brother David a final year Commerce student.

They’ve done some extremely interesting research on footballers’ birthdays which I’ve written a column about and will appear in tomorrow’s newspaper.

Over the course of the hour-long chat however we free-wheeled from related books (Superfreakanomics, Why England Lose and Outliers are three recommendations) to work Robbie had done on ‘Fergie Time’ – or the phenomenon of a top six side’s extra added time at home. It’s fascinating.

On the eve of another World Cup final however – and remembering how the last one ended in Berlin – I thought I’d share one proposal which they explained, slowly, to me on the format of penalty shoot-outs that I haven’t stopped thinking about since.

“We went to this conference in London – the International Conference of Football and Psychology,” says David. “We were in a debate on penalties before and after time; I don’t know if you’ve heard that argument?

Robbie picks up the story: “These Australian economists argued that after 90 minutes, you have the shoot-out, THEN, you play extra time and if its still level after 30 minutes, whoever wins the shoot-out wins the game. So essentially it gives the team that loses the shoot-out an incentive to go and attack and win the game in extra time.”

Wow. Now for FIFA – a conservative organisation that doesn’t seem to a DVD player – turning a game upside down does seem unlikely. But it’s worth thinking about right?

“You take John Terry, his career is defined by one kick almost,” Robbie explains, “Now imagine if he was able to dust himself off and went out and played the 30 minutes to try to win it.”

It’d be fairer, I suppose – but maybe arch-villain Terry is a poor example.

“Now there are some arguments against it, one being the warm-down issue. If you stop for 10 minutes and then try to go again there’s the potential for injury. But shoot-outs are so lax these days – timewise – they’d have to just blow the whistle and say ‘right, let’s go’. Straight turn over, let’s go,” says Robbie.

“We had one of the main criticisms of it which is if you had the shoot-out and then went to extra-time, what way do the away goals go?

“So imagine Ireland and France had been 0-0 in Croker last November. And it was then nil-all in Paris as well and France win the shoot-out. So then we go to extra time and it’s 1-1. Who wins, the shoot-out or the away goal?

“We argued it should be an away goal. But we would.”

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H/T Small Mammal House

So EL Diez is likely going to exit the top job in Argentina after that capitulation ot Germany.

My piece on chasing Diego around Glasgow ahead of his very first game in the position is here

And the same with Leo Messi around Kinsale. There’s a pattern here.

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George Costanza: What about being a sports commentator? You know how I always make those witty comments during a game?
Jerry Seinfeld: You do make good comments.
George Costanza: So?
Jerry: Well, they generally give those jobs to ex-ballplayers and people, you know, in broadcasting.
George Costanza: [pause] Well that’s really not fair.
Jerry: I know.

So this morning, after two days spent idly filling in wall charts and reviewing online betting accounts in the absence of any real action we’re back in business.

Like this column – an operation of such weighty intelligence which needs seasonal fallowness to allow genius to bloom once more – so too the World Cup requires to lay down by its bedside the spittle-specked vuvuzela for one or two days.

The tournament rest period is two days deaf to the sweet symphony of top-class international football – but so too, 48 hours rest from the blackboard-scraping racket of the inevitable punditry and commentary.

I spent the last World Cup rest period (I may have mentioned I was in Germany in 06, before) tucked in a sleeping bag on my rented palette, in a large wigwam in Dortmund. You realise the tournament is run by cowboys, now you know there’s wigwams for the injuns too.

There was plenty of other fans exhausted by two weeks of inter-railing from host city to wrong city and back again. We could buy plastic cups of beer for a euro or two in another communal ‘teepee’ and they re-played Germany’s games on a big screen during which the staff were happy to translate exactly what Gunter Netzer was saying. I missed Gilesy even then.

But never before in our natural history have so many men talked so much shite and in so many different revolving studios than this tournament. If England fans are searching their souls for the sin that brought upon their heads that inexplicable Lampard non-goal, let’s not look further then the jug-eared, pun-loving gurner, Gary Lineker.

Clarence Seedorf has been drafted in to represent the Dutch perspective on the BBC. He talks eloquently about interesting technical considerations – with an unashamed passion for the details – in stark contrast to the Bash Street Kids mentality of the MOTD sofa. Shearer almost sniggers from the back when one of the ‘show-offs’ actually knows the name of a player who doesn’t play in the Premier League.

Without sounding like the ever-parochial Lineker, on the other hand, RTE’s cast have excelled – in entertainment at least. They say satire died the day Henry Kissinger won a Nobel Peace Prize. So too parody – and the excellent Après Match – was surely rendered redundant when Billo, Giles, Dunphy and Brady chuckled (well, Chippy almost smiled) over a reference to being ‘a Brazilian outside the box’.

This superannuated lot are in the best form of their lives. Having that trio bicker, settle scores and lob in the odd hand grenade while trying to remain relatively polite and civilised in front of the foreign guests – Ossie and Didi – is TV gold.

So too of course, is Roy Keane – friend of the panel. This week we watched in giddy horror as yet another Sky Sports News reporter was eviscerated by the Corkman.

Keane scolded the journalist for presuming to know what went on inside the England camp, refused to draw any parallels with that mess and Ireland’s in 2002. After the trigger word ‘Saipan’ was alluded to, he quickly and clinically rattled through the shortcomings of half of Capello’s squad.

New York’s king of comedy Jerry Seinfeld got his chance to do better than TV experts this week too when he sat into the Citifield gantry for a 4 1/2 inning guest appearance with his hero Keith Hernandez during the Mets’ 5-0 win over the Tigers.

Seinfeld – or Seinfield if you’re Pat Kenny and the world’s richest funny man is standing behind you – included a Superman reference in every episode of his record-breaking sitcom in the 90s. But he also laced the scripts with allusions to his beloved baseball side.

He’s a regular caller to a popular fans phone call-in show on a small radio station in the city’s boroughs where he talks at length about the starting pitcher’s weak arm or the hot dogs in the new stadium – the new stadium, in which he bought a private box.

I happened to be watching Seinfeld’s debut in the gantry with the game’s greats. I waited for him to revert to his 80s comedy routine: hey, what’s up with crackerjack? There’s no cracker… and there’s no jack! But he was actually good.

Amongst other things, he joked about a recent run-in with a drunk Lady Gaga – after she gestured obscenely at the crowd while wearing little but a Yankees jersey and was then moved to Seinfeld’s vacant private area.

A mere quarrel over spilt prawn sandwiches, as Lineker would no doubt say.

But back to the action again. And now, let’s join your match commentators…

Adrian.russell@examiner.ie Twitter: @adrianrussell

Pictures, taken from the LA Times website with thanks, show Mike Penner, left, and Christine Daniels

In my three weeks travelling throughout Germany for this newspaper during the World Cup almost four years ago, I met a kaleidoscope of interesting characters.

None more so, I learned this week, than an American sportswriter who was once called Mike Penner. He died last November, aged just 52, having since worked under the byline, Christine Daniels.

Several of my visits to some of western Europe’s coolest cities — think watching a brass band in Hamburg’s famous Fishmarket on a Saturday morning or taking in Checkpoint Charlie on my way to the Olympic Stadium — were, unfortunately, as quick as a beery hiccup.

Recently on a train journey, reading a newspaper travel feature on the city of Leipzig, for example, I was embarrassed at how much I contrived to miss in my time there.

My Leipzig was not the renowned old Opera House or historic Augustusplatz. No, mine was the cramped basement of a 24-hour internet cafe where an entrepreneurial Turkish proprietor sold illicit bottled beers to myself and dozens of ticket-less Mexico and Argentina fans sitting on up-turned crates.

Hanover, though pleasant, was my least favourite destination. Predictably, I managed to alight on that particular platform more than any other. One evening after a game, I sat at a bar in an ‘Irish pub’ I had come to know, to pass the hours before the next train.

Watching the televised late match, nursing a cloudy German wheat beer I fell into conversation with the sports editor of the local newspaper. We talked football, the Sultans of Ping FC and match tickets. In the course of the evening, like a Harold Pinter play, two American reporters joined the chat. One, I’m sure, was Mike Penner.

Ultimately, after the grown-ups exchanged business cards (I didn’t have one obviously) I caught my intercity express to the next host city. Penner probably did the same. But, I now know, after Zinedine Zidane dotted a violent full-stop in the tournament with that famous headbutt on Marco Matteratzi in Berlin, the LA Times writer returned home to California.

Not long after, in 2007, his loyal readers were greeted with an unusual column — beautifully written and creaking with wit — headlined “Old Mike, New Christine”.

Prompted by a supportive editor, the normally-circumspect Penner wrote: “During my 23 years with The Times’ sports department, I have held a wide variety of roles and titles. Tennis writer. Angels beat reporter. Olympics writer. Essayist. Sports media critic. NFL columnist.

“Today I leave for a few weeks’ vacation, and when I return, I will come back in yet another incarnation. As Christine.

“I am a transsexual sportswriter. It has taken more than 40 years, a million tears and hundreds of hours of soul-wrenching therapy for me to work up the courage to type those words. I realise many readers and colleagues and friends will be shocked to read them.”

Within two weeks his wife — a colleague on the sportsdesk — had filed for divorce.

The well-known Sports Illustrated writer Rick Reilly (now ESPN) — whose famous bid to see every sport at the Barcelona Olympics on a budget of $2,000 inspired me on my 150-per-day quest to see every team in Germany — wrote of how he was surprised at a book signing by his old pal who turned up in a frock.

“I’d heard about the change of course,” Reilly wrote. “Everybody in sports had. Mike had announced it in an amazing column. And my first thought was, damn this guy is really hurting for a column idea. Gal, whatever.”

While she now clip-clopped into the Angels press box wearing high heels and elegant dresses, Daniels also endured the transformation from private citizen to instant celebrity. She gave speeches, was profiled in magazines and collected plaudits from an alphabet soup of acronymic transgender groups.

Fans of Penner’s writing may have missed his byline, but his stubble-sharp humour was still felt in Daniels’s offerings. His first professional outing in women’s garb was to witness David Beckham’s arrival at LA Galaxy’s Home Depot Arena. The former Man United star “arrived wearing a silver-gray Burberry suit, surrounded by a phalanx of assistants and yes-people,” she wrote. “I arrived wearing a golden-hued top from Ross, a multicoloured paisley skirt and a pair of open-toed tan heels, surrounded by nobody…”

And though once Becks took questions from the LA Times man in a newly-affected soft voice, soon his manly timbre addressed the city’s famous athletes again. In mid-October 2008, after a lengthy leave of absence, a familiar byline re-appeared in the sports pages and the Times newsroom welcomed back their colleague as a man.

At 5:45pm last November 27, Penner was found by neighbours, slumped in the front seat of his car in his building’s underground parking garage with a vacuum hose stretched from the exhaust into the passenger window.

I searched for his business card in an old shoe box full of ticket stubs and train tickets this week. I found the German guy’s but not Mike’s, sadly.

Not that it ever told me much of who he was at all.

Twitter: @adrianrussell Contact: adrian.russell@examiner.ie

This column first appeared in this monring’s Irish Examiner

beer1
(Cool World Ceer posters here)

So here’s the rest of the round one beer match ups. Here’s the idea explanation and here’s the first batch

Italy v New Zealand

Speight’s
Allan Prosser: This is a good honest beer – and I’d expect nothing less from New Zealand. This is the sort of beer that I would drink at the Middlesex sevens over ice on a long afternoon. This is the taste of the south island, where most of the beer comes from, and it’s very good.
Rory Bevan: A light lager ale. It has its ancestry very much in Britain. You’re back into the session beer — a very good drinking beer — very balanced — it’s not too light, not too heavy, bitter or sweet. This shows its English heritage — it’s a good, colonial beer.
Adrian Russell: Like the Kiwis, it is probably more suited to rugby. I can imagine getting through a lot of this in a New Zealand winter tour, but I don’t know how suited it is to football terraces. It tastes good and I like the quaint branding.

Peroni
AP: I feel, much like the Italian team, this is an old, predictable beer. I’m going to go with the basic honesty of the New Zealand beer against something that I think is passed its sell-by date. It’s a designer label that doesn’t live up to it.
RB: The Peroni is stylish but is lacking in substance. Speight’s is good old colonial honesty — if that’s not a contradiction in terms.
AR: I had this in Bari last season when Ireland nicked a draw with the Azzuri. Like the Serie A, this is solid and expertly crafted though not very exciting, admittedly. I love Italian football and Italy itself so this is a draw for me, despite the Kiwi’s brave offering.

Verdict: New Zealand 2 Italy 1
It’s All White on the night as the new world charm of New Zealand’s Speight’s edges out Marcello Lippi’s boys.

Portugal v North Korea

Superbock
AP: This is a nice beer, I think. Too many of these and you might fall down which is appropriate for the country that’s given us Ronaldo. I can imagine drinking this while the fish is cooking in the background. I think the Koreans will have to pull out a big performance to beat this one.
AR: It’s 5.2% which seems unusual for a light, barbeque-type beer. It promises much and is light and flighty a bit like the Golden Generation. Though i can imagine sipping a few of these fairly easily on the patio of a Lisbon cafe. Could be a dark horse.
RB: It’s quite reasonable – dry with our being over dry – and has drinkability. The predominant feature is its graininess and there’s nothing wrong with it at all. It has notes of your traditional Irish lager with the graininess and certainly has plenty of character.

Hite
AP: This is an okay beer too – it’s not the first time we’ve seen them this tournament and for me it’s consistent but lacks flair on the second outing. It drinks fine flat though and would probably complement a nice spicy meal. But Portugal take it for me this time.
AR: Yeah, I think we know a little too much about this formerly mysterious crowd. The beer is tangy and fairly flavoursome but I don’t think this will last much longer in South Africa. That’s a Portuguese win for me – despite another structurally sound display from the Dear Leader’s outfit.
RB:It has a sour character which is a good attribute in beer. That would be its predominant flavour. It’s a decent beer -being fruity and mellow. On its second outing it might suffer, I’d agree but I’d call this a draw. It’s just a preference thing – they’re both good beers.

Verdict: 2-0 to Portugal
Former United No 2 Carlos Queiroz may be more used to supping on Fergie’s post-match bollinger rather than a Superbock, but his Portugal side put their best beer forward with this one. The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea can hold their heads high despite this setback.

Argentina v Greece

Quillmes
AP: I’ve never seen this beer before – even in London. You can see that in the Hand of God, cant you? It’s probably the beer that drives Boca Juniors supporters mad. The greatest shame for Maradona is that he can’t stuff it up his nose. 1-0. I have this down as semi-finalists at the very least. It’s a fine beer; it moves around the palate like Messi on a good day.
AR: It’s a hot country beer and this is very good. Like El Diego today, it’s full bodied, enigmatic and lacking chemicals. The bottle is cool and i can imagine knocking back a couple of these during a Buenos Aires ticker tape parade.
RB: It’s understated – even the labelling is retro. I could see myself drinking this with a one kilo Argentine steak. It’s clean and lightly hopped; it’s certainly a contender. It’s again a light pilsner which is nicely balanced. It grows on you – which in anything – is a good quality.

Keo
AP: There’s nothing about it really though it’s fine. The Greek offering is decent if a little unmemorable and it’s not going to beat the Argies this time around. !-O to Maradona and the lads.
AR: This one — though brewed in Cyprus – qualifies under FIFA rules. It’s fairly airy, fairy and has nothing substantial to back it up really. Ideal for hot weather maybe but it will struggle today against the rough aristocrats from South America.
RB: Again, a warm country beer. Not much distinctive about it and no real redeeming features. The flavours don’t marry as well as the Argentina beer so i think this is a whitewash. Quillmes is certainly one to watch.

Verdict 3-0 Argentina
After a week and a half of beer tasting, things get Messi. Though the Greeks served a perfectly functional warm weather drink, they can have few complaints against a classy Argentine beer. Don’t be surprised if we see it later on in the tournament.

Australia v Serbia

Coopers Sparkling Ale
AP: it’s a loud beer a bit like those Aussie neighbours at a bbq – and the longer the day goes on the louder they get. But it tastes good and could go a long way.
AR:
It is quite brash and fun. A craft type ale designed for the educated beer drinker’s palate. But probably not for everyone. Their team could go walkabout early in South Africa but this beer may well go a bit further, I’d guess.
RB: It’s 5.8% so has quite a good kick to it and is bottle-conditioned which means there’s yeast left in the bottle which keeps it fresh and helps it retain its character and flavour – it’s a difficult process. It’s hoppy, bitter, and there’s caramel notes in there. A dry beer but it’s very nice. It’s probably a beer designed for the connoisseur beer drinker.

Jelen Pivo
AP: Given the choice between this and the aussie one at a BBQ, you might use Jeklen to douse the flames afterwards. The Australian beer is a much better presented bottle too – which is a factor.
AR: This is technically adept – I’d be quite happy ot be served that watching the last games of the group stafes. But against the more unusual, well crafted Coopers, it’s a bit of a is-match isn’t it. Plenty of eastern promise – but maybe this tournament came a few seasons too early for Jlen, if you’ll allow me to pour a cliché.
RB: it’s grainy, with plenty of body and fullness. It’s much hoppier and has a bitter aftertaste – which is an attribute of beer It’s s fine beer too but for me the Australian is better, though it’s a matter of tsaste.

Verdict: Australia win 3-0
This could be the first time an Australian could be described as tasteful, inoffensive and leaves you wanting more? We couldn’t possibly comment, but Coopers sparkles this time around anyway agasint the workmanlike, honest Serb offering.

Slovakia v Italy

Zlaty Bazant
AP: this is a professional beer. I’m rather put off by the emblem which reminds me of the Tottenham Hotspur crest – I’m tempted to mark it down for that reason. It strikes me as the kind of beer that it would a big mistake to switch to at 1am some night.
AR: It’s strong. As this is brewed in Slovakia – where Stephen Ireland killed off two grandmothers in one night – I’d call this a potential three-granny beer. But it’s full and flavoursome – you mightn’t get through too many.
RB: The Slovaks have a long tradition of brewing and this is certainly a good continental, fullsome lager. I find it a little bit heavy on the satiating – that is a heavy on drinkability. You wouldn’t want to be going to extra time on them. Nice branding too.

Birra Moretti

AP: This is lightweight in comparison. It’s the kind of beer that goes well with a good pair of sunglasses; it’s a fashioned beer. I’d be happy to drink this in the shadow of the Colliseam watching the girls go by on their mopeds.
AR: It is light, you could probably get the Vespa home after two of these. The golden peasant – which is what the Slovakian beer translates as – is probably for the more mature drinker to sip quietly, whereas the fashionable Italian lager would end up in the discotheque.
RB: This is typically Italian – clean and crisp; this beer has good tailoring. But they’re two different styles of beer – one is full and flavoursome, while the other is light, more like the frascati of beers. I think the Morreti – as a drinking beer – would slightly shade it for me. It’s about balance and for me the Italian has more drinkability.

Verdict: Italy 3-0
Despite a lovely, typically well-crafted Slovakian offering the Italians run out comprehensive winners. The world champions may be wobbling, but at least their fans are sipping a stylish, light, drinkable beer. Forza Azzurri.

Portugal v Brazil

Superbock
AP: This is a nice beer, I think. I’ve been to Portugal a few times on football trips and this is probably representative of the light, decent beer you’re served in Lisbon or Oporto. Depending on what they come up against, this could go a fair way in this tournament.
AR: We always expect so much from the stylish, technically gifted golden generation but this certainly delivers. The sports editor managed to sourced this one from the Portuguese tourist Board, and I could certainly see myself logging onto Ryanair in order to sip a few more beachside. Deceptively strong too at 5.2%.
RB: We’ve had this before of course and I think it went okay. I like it – it’s dry without being over dry – and has lots of drinkability. It’s nice and grainy which is a characteristic of beer. It has notes of your traditional Irish lager with the graininess and packs a punch, like Ronaldo I suppose.

Brahma
AP: This is not a good beer in my opinion. It’s insubstantial and insignificant. The Portuguese will likely conquer Brazil again. 1-0 to the Europeans.
AR: It’s another hot weather beer – suitable for a lazy barbecue rather than a night on the tiles I suppose. We spat it back in Dunga’s face the last time out but I think like the Selecao, it seems to be working its way into the tournament. Better on the second tasting – 1-1 for me.
RB:As I’ve always said – there are no bad beers, some are just better than others. This is light and flighty and would be fine served cold on a summer’s day. They’re not too dissimilar but the Superbock has a bit more body to it and is a bit more flavoursome on balance. And like football, brewing is all about balance.

Verdict: 2-1 to Portugal
We vote yes on Lisbon as the Portuguese lads edge out the Samba Boys with a full-bodied, powerful and tasty offering that might see them go a long way this year.

noelhunt1

Au revoir as they say in Waterford. H/T the excellent Balls.ie.

Incidentally, we have a great piece in tomorrow’s Examiner about Le Bleus’ meltdown by Philippe Auclair, author of Cantona: The Rebel who would be King. From the rave/class divisions to the FFF’s inertia to the political ramifications, it’s fascinating stuff.

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So… hiccup… our beer-tasting tournament has been running for a couple of weeks now. I sat down with Heineken master brewer Rory Bevan along with Irish Examiner columnist and Chelsea Shed Ender Allan Prosser before the kick off in South Africa to work our way through a drink from each of the participating countries.

The last game of the group stages – Portugal v Brazil or Superbock against Brahma as we call it – will round off an expensive call. We’ll chill out for the duration of the second round and come back, empty glasses in hand, for the quarter-finals I think. Everything in moderation.

The first week of panels is below, I’ll stick up the rest over the weekend at some stage. Read the rest of this entry »

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