Oxford University 1 Cambridge University 0

29mar09
125th Varsity Football Match
Craven Cottage, Fulham
att. 2,223

Benjamin Disraeli once told the House of Commons, “a University should be a place of light, of liberty, and of learning.” If he had gone into more detail he might also have mentioned the University halls of residence being a place for virginities to be disappointingly lost and the union bar being a place for the young Conservatives in the rugby 4th XV to drop their trousers whilst gargling the national anthem through a haphazardly downed pint.

Well, that’s how it seems to be in the former Poly’s anyway. How it all goes on in the more esteemed seats of learning my relatively modest education does not permit me to tell you, but I can’t imagine its so far removed that’s its all about taking freshers to tea, pipe smoking and sharing quarters with a bloke from Huntington called Cecil (who insists on pronouncing it Sea-sill rather than Seh-cill).

So who do these Oxbridge types think they are, with their boat race, their big venue annual showdowns and their Blues, thinking we, the people, might in any way be interested? Well, alright I might have turned out at Craven Cottage for this year’s pre-canoes football clash but, to show I wasn’t all that bothered, I only deigned to turn up after half an hour had been played. My own little protest there, my own little fanfare for the common man, and absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it was only after I’d got off the bus at Fulham Broadway that I’d remembered the clocks were supposed to have gone forward the night before. Yeah...well...well...I meant it. Don’t want them fackin’ stoodents finkin’ their special or anyfin’.

Tardy of me really though as this was a special occasion; the 125th Varsity football match, the first having taken place at the Oval in 1874. You might imagine Craven Cottage to be quite a prestigious venue for this event but Wembley was its home as recently as 1988 and has been played at most of the major grounds in London not to mention the Crystal Palace and Queen’s Club.

For the occasion I sat in the cheap seats in the Johnny Haynes Stand, the more expensive Riverside Stand seats being joint tickets with access to the terrace out the back so you could watch the boats hammer past later that afternoon. Needless to say the more boisterous elements of the partisan support for either side had also taken this option and I was a freshly creosoted fence of neutrality sat between their vocal mobs goading each other with, more often than not, language that would shame a dockyard welder, let alone Oxbridge’s best and brightest.

The intellectual gigantism of the Oxford mob was probably best encapsulated by their goading of Cambridge skipper Jamie Rutt (Trinity College, studying Economics) with a chime of “captain dickhead, dickhead captain.” The Oxford mob never let up their singing, directing a “we love you Howard we do” at referee Howard Webb, on loan from the Premiership for the day as well as an “old man, give us a wave” at a middle aged gentleman walking across the front of their section. Despite their noise the timid looking steward sat at the front kept nodding off, himself clearly having forgotten to allow for the hour being taken off him by the onset of British Summer Time.

Eventually, their braying caused a group of spotty Cambridge types to respond; “can you hear the Cambridge sing” being greeted with an agitated “F*** off Oxford!” Not that all the noises off were so base and universal; “C’mon Oxford, let’s show ‘em why we’ve won fewer Nobel peace prizes” being a rallying cry you could only really get at a game like this.

That the players should also be regarded as students like any other was made clear by the programme, a large part of which they had contributed themselves in the form of ‘Meet The Players’ pen pics and ‘season so far’ columns. Reading it I was able to learn that Cambridge’s Matt Amos (Queen’s College, studying Economics) is “your typical England centre-forward: brilliant in the air, a great target-man, loves a pint and is fat.” Elsewhere amongst his teammates, the pictures painted suggest the following; that Ali Hakimi (Darwin College, Natural Sciences) has “minge-like facial hair”, that Mike Stark (Selwyn College, Land Economy) “finds massaging fake tan into his immaculate calves very relaxing” and that Mark Baxter (Selwyn, Medicine) is a Jeffrey Archer fan and a racist. What larks.

For the other side “research into [Oxford’s] Toby Hodgson [St Peter’s College, Archaeology and Anthropology] has shown that there is officially a negative correlation between how posh you sound and how good your dress sense is.” I can’t mock too much though as I wrote loads of this in-jokey type stuff when I was ensconced in the Uni of Portsmouth union magazine squad. Yes, that’s right, I was a c*ck back then too – it’s all part of the fun of being one of the great unwashed. Deal with it, oafs. Winky emoticon, winky emoticon, smiley emoticon.

I had considered coming to the 124th game last year, having been at one of Cambridge’s warm up games, against the Territorial Army. In not doing so I missed an apparently scintillating 5-3 win for the lighter blues of Cambridge. In coming this year I saw a 1-0 Oxford win with the only goal scored, by Sam Hall (Trinity College, Jurisprudence) whilst I was still on the number 11 from Liverpool Street. I can pick ‘em, can’t I?

As it goes that goal was Oxford’s 197th in these matches, which means they now mirror Cambridge goal for goal as well as match for match, both sides having now won 49. Although I’m not sure I’ll bother coming back to see one or tuther forge ahead, think I’ll just sleep in properly next year.

Links
Oxford University Football
Cambridge University Football

Cambridge University Blues 4 Territorial Army 0

24feb08
Friendly
Grange Road, Cambridge
att. 10 (approx.)

Hobo in my pocket #26

To begin a theme of postings centred around the words Cambridge and University, a shot from last years Sunday morning friendly with the Territorial Army XI, a game played as a warm-up to the 124th Varsity clash at Craven Cottage.

Words and pictures from the 125th will appear here next week.

Previously, on dubSteps
24feb08: Cambridge University Blues 4 Territorial Army 0


from the Vanity Project archive

the first two Bearsuit albums, from issues #9 (April 2004) and #16 (October 2005) respectively

Bearsuit - Cat Spectacular (Fortuna Pop)
Like with all treats, this has been well worth waiting for. This LP is everything we could have expected and more. Last year's 'Jesus Will Spear You Through The Heart' EP, whilst very good, hinted that they might be starting to lose their precision in making ramshackle their friend in POP, instead creating a less intriguing, unholy mess of a sound. No need to fear as this LP sees them adopt a noticeably softer bent. Do not however be lulled into a false sense of security, as through the twee-pop undergrowth, they continue to lurk ready to pounce with their death metal elephant gun. Should you come across them, do not, repeat, do not be taken in by their cuteness of their countenance, they would not hesitate to garrotte you with your own sock. Should they take you hostage, I should warn that very few escape their clutches. Just go along with what they say. It's a lot easier.

Bearsuit – Team Ping Pong (Fantastic Plastic)
Finally righteousness is restored and the lost debut LP ‘In Charge Of Meats’ is in our eager mitts, retitled ‘Team Ping Pong’ but with the original cover print. Within it, Bearsuit collect their first EPs (along with more recent singlette ‘Chargr’) and show exactly what got punters (like this one) into such a rabid fit back in the summer of 2002. Rushing headlong into the murderous tantrum that is ‘Drinkink’ (incidently, the finest single ever made. Ever. Fact.), there is precious let-up thereafter from Bearsuit’s rosy-cheeked Jekkyl continually pirouetting through red-eyed Hyde. They occupy the saloon door space between the blood and teeth flying amongst a brawl and the 2 ponies chewing straw outside. FYI, they started the brawl, and stole the ponies (but looked after them and fed them everyday). Spanning cardiganed-twee through elbow-flailing sweaty hardcore, they invent, they squeal, they grow pigtails, they pull pigtails, and come up with concrete cyclone genius like ‘Busy Needles’. Gawd bless.

Leyton 2 Northwood 2

24mar09
Isthmian League Division One North
Leyton Stadium, Leyton
att. 40

Considering Leyton Orient have struggled to get the new demographic of the east end’s population, traditionally one of flux and transience, to get behind a side bouncing between League’s One and Two, what chance does their neighbouring non-League side, operating barely a mile north west of Brisbane Road, not to mention five divisions south. Given the choice between coming here and a local I’m-A-Celebrity-style Bushtucker testicle tasting fair, the Leyton community would choose the koala gonads jamboree every time.

Mind you, non-league clubs in the area as a whole struggle for bodies; Redbridge, Waltham Forest and Ilford being amongst, along with Leyton, the five most poorly supported in a division where 12 of the 22 teams have declared at least one sub-50 attendance this season. Redbridge currently take the wooden spoon with only 19 people watching their game with north-west London’s equally-light-on-numbers Hillingdon Borough.

Leyton, the second oldest club in London after Cray Wanderers, having been formed in 1868, have had more ups and downs than an obsessive compulsive trampolinist in their long history, flirting with extinction on several occasions, and certainly in the last few years. In the 1920’s the club won the strong FA Amateur Cup two years in a row, winning the London league thrice in succession at the same time. Their last Amateur Cup final came in 1952 going down to local rivals Walthamstow Avenue at Wembley in front of 100,000.

In 1975 financial troubles saw them merge with Wingate, before splitting again in 1992/3. Two years later a job lot of committee men and players upped sticks to Walthamstow Pennant changing their name to Leyton Pennant (prior to Leyton’s legal challenge). Leyton dropped into the Essex Intermediate League, but following an injection of cash under the chairmanship of Costas Sophocleous (who remains at the helm) saw them sail through the Essex Senior League all the way up to the Isthmian Premier Division in a matter of three seasons. Only a play-off defeat to Eastleigh prevented a fourth successive promotion to Conference South in 2005.

That was as good as it got though as after a couple of seasons of stagnation, the wheels came off last year with rock bottom placing that saw them finish 33 points behind second bottom Folkestone Invicta, a 1-11 home pounding at the hands of Hendon occurring en route. In October last year things took an even more worrying turn when rent arrears saw them locked out of their ground for a week. As a result, the following week, management team Steve Newing and Del Deanus resigned and took a great many of the team with them. Replacement Troy Townsend has been modelling his own team since then and by March the results had begun to come making sure that a further relegation back to the Essex Senior was not on the cards.

Despite its ramshackle appearance, with its wooden box stand and the scaffold effort with 1950’s seating on the other side of the turnstiles I like Leyton Stadium, or the Hare & Hounds to give it its traditional name. I like it for the proud plaque over that turnstile block which reveals they were bought from the old Wembley Stadium. I like it despite the fact the old disabled section was an inch high section of concrete tucked to the side of the tea-bar giving excellent views of a floodlight pylon. And the tea-bar. I like it despite the new disabled section, built into the new terrace behind one goal, offering good views if the wheelchair bound are able to ascend a ramp impeded by a couple of ladders. I also like it despite that terrace being taken up mostly by two full-sized sets of portable goal posts and its steps being so deep that if you sent a Slinky down them, it’d be requesting a full risk assessment before it went, and a parachute.

Another thing I enjoyed was the pre-match choice of tunes over the tannoy. Despite their being a limited audience to please, it was a selection that tried to please everyone, in attendance or otherwise. Some dub reggae drifted out as I entered, followed by some modern r&B which promised “sexual seduction”, then silence, as if to give us a moment to contemplate the words of this modern day Percy Bysshe Shelley, then some Oasis, Stan Getz’s The Girl From Ipanema and Dizzee Rascal featuring Calvin Harris. Now, just for fun, let me pull some names of musical artists from my memory banks for a stream-of-consciousness second: Tennessee Ernie Ford. Llwybr Llaethog. Beat Happening! The Reynolds Girls. The Princeton Reverbs Colonial. Gladys Knight & The Pips. Completely arbitrary but no more so than tonight’s DJ’s picks and for that eclecticism I salute them.

Northwood came to Leyton needing points to stave off Concord Rangers and Wingate & Finchley’s challenge for their current 5th place play-off berth and with them brought a fair proportion of the crowd of 40, a turnout which made the blank ‘For Your Notes/Autographs’ page in the programme seem, at best, a bit optimistic.

Gaps in the bottom of the net delayed the kick-off by ten minutes whilst a swarthy gentleman in a puffy overcoat instructed his runner to get the hammer and a hoop. As it was, it wasn’t that goal that was first troubled, Northwood scoring after ten minutes at the other end; Eugene Ofori gave it some eyebrows, the ball looping up slo-mo and spinning over the head of stranded Leyton keeper Elliot Justham.

At the tea bar, the young lady serving was interrupted by a scraggy middle-aged bloke, looking like Bill Bryson if he were a dustman in the 70’s, peering round the side door. “Do you want anything then?” she asked after the pleasantries. “Not unless you’ve got some sex for sale” was Binman Bill’s oily Sid James-esque lip-licking reply.

With ten minutes remaining in the first half, Northwood had another chance, Ryan Tackley’s curled free-kick being tipped over by Justham. “Let ‘em have it” cried Ofori on several occasions, his sole method of inspiring his team-mates to, frankly, be as good as him. I’d have enjoyed the odd “have at them” to mix it up but this phrasing might be a little unlikely in north east London in 2009 or indeed anywhere after about 1841.

Five minutes before the break, Leyton’s Junior Luke raced with crazy whirligig legs, Billy Whizzed to the inside corner of the box and unleashed a first time shot that dolloped handsomely into the corner like balled ice-cream on a hot crumble. A similar period after the break and the home side took the lead, Phil Kane getting put through on the by-line, taking a poke at the ball which somehow bobbled over keeper Mitch Swain and in from the tightest of angles.

This galvanised Northwood and they created a number of chances in the following quarter hour with Dwain Williams having a shot tipped over and Gary Senior wasting a golden opportunity. The equaliser came in the 68th minute, Ofori again showing his class, turning on a sixpence on the edge of the box and hammering the ball into the top corner.

Ofori almost completed his hat-trick with ten minutes remaining, meeting a sublime cross with a cushioned but firm header that hit the underside of the crossbar but bounced down in front of the goal-line.

Not that this kind of form appeared to keep Ofori in good spirits, changing his “let ‘em have it” patter towards the end of the game to more pointed remarks towards the opposition, informed one that he was going to “f***ing ram it up your f***ing bell-end.” Exactly what he was planning to persuade through a Leyton urethra was unclear, but his hunger for the vital victory was apparent. However, with Leyton holding off what had been mostly one-way traffic subsequent to taking the lead, those three points were to elude him.

Links
Leyton FC website
Northwood website

Wolverhampton Wanderers 3 Southampton 0

10apr09
Championship
Molineux, Wolverhampton
att. 24,636

I can’t help but like Mick McCarthy, juxtaposing his ageing matinee idol hair with a voice that should really be saying sentences like “’Eck, ee tha canary dead? Tha would best get thee aat” or “I thought she were passed calving, vet’in’ry.” I guess it’s because I like managers who don’t come out with the same old bland phrases, which is why I also like the fact Neil Warnock still gets work. Rather than being a firebrand though, Mick’s wit is so dry you could sand a shelf with it. I particularly like a couple of recent examples: after losing to Burnley, “If I’d put up the number 11 in the second half, they might have all come off” or, on getting another chance to manage in the Premiership, “Yes I’d love it – win four games before getting sacked at Christmas and then go on holiday.”

So after a mid-season period that saw them have the kind of elongated wobble you usually only get on a cheap dinghy in a rip-tide; where it looked as though their astonishing early season form (winning 15 of their first 19 games) would be for nowt, I couldn’t help but admire the ruthlessness with which they took apart the forlorn, stricken Southampton. Frankly it was like watching a hungry lion in a cage with a drowsy goat.

After only 38 seconds, Sam Vokes bundled in from a Dave Jones corner with his head. Five minutes later, Jody Craddock did much the same [see pic below]. Then, with only 18 minutes gone, Dave Edwards was felled in the box by Marek Saganowski, Jones crashing past Kelvin Davis from the spot. All this occurred with their main strike partnership of Chris Iwelumo and Sylvain Ebanks-Blake missing through injury. After this, the Wanderers decided to wander a little more languidly, saving themselves for the remainder of the run-in. Still, for all the quality on show, my admiration for Wolverhampton’s mercilessness felt a bit odd really as, between the ages of 8 and 20, I followed Southampton.

I only got to about 15 games at the Dell in that time, partly due to my age and partly due to the fact I lived in Havant. This being near Portsmouth did bring its own problems, but it was all down to the fact the eight year old me got into football during the 1986 World Cup, loved Peter Shilton (despite his fondness for a perm) and he played for Saints at that time. The fact that he sent me a signed photograph, when his Portsmouth counterpart Alan Knight did not, sealed the deal. A little ironic then that I’d later watch Alan Knight playing in goal, and then coaching keepers, at the club I would properly love.

Now although I took it very seriously at the time, so much so that the 11 year old me burst into tears after listening to the League Cup defeat to Oldham Athletic on Radio Solent in the 1989/90 season, it all seems a bit incompatible now that that was the same me, a wearer of red-and-white replica shirts as recently as 1999. Once I was hooked by Havant & Waterlooville though, it wasn’t a case of keeping Southampton as my ‘League team’; the disconnection was complete and instant.

At that stage it was certainly no protest against the greed and arrogance of top-flight football, even if I might feel a little bit like that now. I guess supporting a team in a city you only know through shopping trips with your parents and, latterly, evenings out with friends to see less celebrated touring bands at the Joiners Arms, was always going to be a bit flimsy. These days news of Southampton wins or defeats has no affect on me whatsoever. It’s a result I look for, but only in the same way that those of Leyton Orient, Montrose, Prescot Cables and Cammell Laird also are. On this evidence, the ability to care about a football club can indeed be switched on and off as easily as a desk lamp.

Perhaps a good example of this was the chap I was sat next to at Molineux. I say sat, I was in the Jack Harris stand with the Wanderers’ vocal hardcore, who stood when the player’s came out before kick-off and remained in that position until the final whistle. Clearly this is a battle the stewards conceded long ago. The young lad to my right noticed my note book and started chatting to me about who I supported and seemed pretty well informed about the H&W. This was probably because he was from Romsey in Hampshire.

“Why the Wolves then?” I asked him and he responded that Sam Vokes was his cousin and he’d got into it that way, having previously followed Bournemouth when his big cuz was there. Still, for someone following a player first and foremost, he was certainly keen to get amongst the singing, starting chants including a tune that suggests that one should “always shit on a Tesco carrier bag” referring, I assume, to rivals West Brom’s home shirt.

Some would spit at the suggestion one can easily change teams but me and my neighbour here would suggest otherwise. For me it was a case of discovering non-league football, following my home-town team and getting to know some hardcore fans so that there have always been plenty of folks to go with, home and away. For him it was clearly a family affair, possibly along these lines: “Well, I’m at the Wolves now, young ‘un, so support them or I’ll tell Auntie Jean, I mean yer Mum, about all the jazz mags you keep in that shoe-box.” “But…but…you gave them to me, Sam.” “Yeah, well, whose bed are they under? Now here’s your complimentary for the Preston game, make sure you start a song about me.”

So, despite my history, I was a genuine neutral for this game, and I couldn’t help but be impressed by the Wolves' noise off the field, and their play on it. “This better than watching Havant & Waterlooville?” asked Vokes the Younger, and I replied (partly offended, partly realistic) “this season, yes.” Of course, the standard of football will be better in the Championship than the Conference South but, as we all know, football will always be more exciting if you genuinely care who wins to the point where the outcome can ruin your trip home, and your subsequent working week.

Wolves fans will not know this kind of ruin for a while now as the following week they sealed their promotion back to the Premiership with a 1-0 win against QPR. Saints fans, however, may have to wait even longer for any semblance of joy to return with relegation to the third tier, their first visit there since 1960, and the possibility that their club might not exist at all if they cannot find someone to cover their vast and baffling debts.

Links
Wolverhampton Wanderers website
Southampton website