Que Sera, Sera - Whatever Will Be, Will Be - I've just completed number 11

I did it. Number 11 - done.

"Que Sera, Sera - Whatever Will Be, Will Be, I really wish I'd put this at number 23"

Instead - at number 11 on my '30 things to do before I'm 30 list' is watch a football match at Wembley. And last night, I did just that.

Wednesday 29th May 2013 will stay with me for a long time. England vs the Republic of Ireland - and I was there. Ok, the match had all the flair, excitement and atmosphere of a wake - but that aside, I managed to go to the world's most famous football stadium; something I've wanted to do since I was about 5.

As a footy-mad child, Wembley was the pinnacle. Games were rarely played there - it was something mystical. The FA Cup Final (which was played after the season finished and kicked-off at 3pm on a Saturday!), the (insert sponsor name depending on your age) League Cup and the odd England game were played there - and that was it. Now they seem to play every month and it seems to have lost its mystique.

My first Wembley memory is vivid. It was watching a VHS (that's the thing before DVDs for you younger readers) of England beating Czechoslovakia 4-2 - and two goals were scored by my hero: Wolves' Number 9, Steve Bull.

It was from 1990 - just before the Italia '90 World Cup. Gazza got all the plaudits for his pass (which was exquisite) but Bully's finish was pretty damn good too.

The old Wembley was of course iconic. It was where Sir Bobby Moore lifted the Jules Rimet trophy in '66. It's where we saw Rene Higuita's scorpion kick, Stuart Pearce's fist thumping penalty in Euro '96 and where the whole country cried as the Germans robbed us of what we all thought was our destiny in the Euro '96 semi-finals. It saw Wimbledon lift the FA Cup, Gazza's free-kick for Spurs in '91 - then his career defining injury in the final of that year against Notts Forest.

There's something about the new Wembley which feels like it will never recapture that glory - that passion. The iconic twin towers are gone - even the goalposts, which were themselves distinctive and unique, have been replaced by the usual standard variety. Where Bobby Robson and Sir Alf Ramsey once stood - we've had a wally with a brolly and a grumpy Italian. 

Was it how I'd always imagined it would be? No, not really. The new Wembley is a bit of an odd place. I wouldn't say it was soul-less, that would be unfair. But from the outside I really didn't get the wow factor I thought I'd feel. It's quite drab actually - too much concrete and despite only having opened in 2007, parts of it are looking pretty weathered already. But inside, when you climb the steps an enter the arena itself  - that's the wow factor. It's a splendid sight. I simply could never imagine what it must be like to step out on to that pitch in front of 85,000 fans.

But there's something about the new Wembley that symbolises what's wrong with the modern game. There's a feeling of everything being a bit too corporate. It's almost too nice. Bordy and I ordered a pint of lager and a pie. Aside from that fact it cost almost £10 each, we were then accosted by a lady collecting customer feedback about the service we'd received that day. 'Did they say welcome to Wembley?', 'Did they have sufficient knowledge of the product?' Sufficient knowledge of the product!! It took all my willpower not to reply - 'it's a pint of lager and a balti pie - what knowledge does she need?!' Perhaps a GCSE in pasties is called for? I'm normally one for good customer service - but quite frankly I'd rather pay £3 less and have some grumpy, spotty teen serve me a lukewarm, soggy-bottomed pie which has been kept warm for a fortnight...that's proper football.


Still, it was great to simply be there - at the home of the beautiful game. I had a great day out with my mate and it threw up a few pertinent questions in my mind:
 

1. Whatever happened to Des Lynam?
2. Has there ever been a footballer so universally disliked as Ashley Cole?
3. Can you ever buy a Cadbury's Boost without the caramel having already leaked and being welded to the wrapper?
4. Why don't they do FA Cup final songs anymore?

There were a few contenders for this outro - 'Ossie's Dream' from Tottenham Hotspur came a close second but this, for me, is bloody brilliant. Still not quite sure how they managed to get Barnes to rhyme with bananas though...

A public apology to Clive and why some things are best left in the past

I have to start this latest entry with a public apology to Clive. It's been a while since my last swimming update so just to re-fresh your memories: I'm 28, I can't swim so I've been taking lessons at Wombourne Leisure Centre. Clive, of course, is the friendly and exceptionally patient instructor.

I swam two lengths in New Zealand
but I haven't stepped foot in the pool since. Complacency?

The only problem is I haven't been in the pool since March! I've well and truly lost my swimming mojo. A combination of generally being really busy and (this is probably the crux of it) I'm really struggling to get motivated to get myself out of bed at 8am on a Sunday morning.

And it's not due to get any easier either - the next two weekends will be another write-off as I've already got plans to meet up with friends. I think in my head I know I've still got a year to master this so missing a few weeks here of there won't matter. Or at least that's how I'm subconsciously justifying my blatant failure to myself. I know I need to get my motivation back - anyone got any ideas??

Still, on a more positive note - my quest to go to at least ten live music/comedy gigs before I hit 30 is going pretty well. Last night I went to the Wolverhampton Grand Theatre to watch 'Made in Brum' with my dad, my brother and my mate Bordy. Hosted by Birmingham's most famous (only famous?) stand-up comic, Jasper Carrott, it was a showcase of the best of the '60s and '70s music Birmingham had to offer. Some may scoff at the very notion of it, but actually the West Midlands produced some great bands during that era: Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Slade and ELO to name but a few. But what dawned on me last night was that sometimes, some things are best left in the past.

We all like to reminisce. Music is emotive and can transport us back to a particular place in time; a relationship, a holiday; a special occasion - but sometimes you need to leave those memories safely tucked away.

Last night, albeit entertaining, was actually quite depressing. An audience with what Bordy described as an average age of 102, trying to turn back the clock and recapture the joys of years gone by. You know there's a generation gap when you get outside the show and the Ring & Ride pensioners' bus is parked up waiting to take people home.

But aside from the audience, it was sad, and a bit creepy, to see some of the acts on stage. I've never really clocked it before, but my Mom has always said it spooks her out when you've got ageing pop stars in their 60s and 70s singing about 'sweet sixteen' romances. She's actually spot on. Whilst the music will remain, sometimes those who perform it need to step back and say 'I'm done'. One act in particular murdered a Buddy Holly classic - whilst I cringed and prayed it would stop, if you listened very carefully, somewhere in Lubbock Texas you could hear Buddy's grave spinning.

That said, Jasper was on good form - his quip that Jagermeister tastes like 'Badger's p**s' in particular made me chuckle. I loved watching and listening to Jasper Carrott when I was growing up. He's a clever comic - not having to rely on bad language to get cheap laughs. Good, clean, clever observational comedy. But it has dated a bit now. I think I'll choose to remember Jasper from my childhood days and park last night's memory.

I think there's a lesson for us all in here somewhere. Memories should be cherished, of course they should, but spending too much time trying to recapture the past means you might miss all the great things that are happening right now. Like last night's show, some things just need to be fondly left in the past where they belong.

Let me leave with you with this - a great song from a great Black Country band who deserve more credit than simply being wheeled out for a 'top Xmas song countdown' every December...

Michael Ball, Sonia and an update on #22 on the list

So, in the midst of a crumbling European economy and the alarming rise of UKIP on the British political scene, tonight, all that is good and bad about Europe will be showcased for the entire continent (and Israel apparently?) to see - Eurovision.



'My Lovely Horse'
Father Ted and Dougal's 'Song for Europe'


Eurovision is, quite frankly, dreadful. But it's the tacky, camp extravaganza which makes it compulsive viewing. Well, I say compulsive viewing, I've never been bothered with the music - I just love watching the voting - it must be the politico in me.

Of course we Brits don't take it seriously. Terry Wogan's fittingly sarcastic commentary was often the highlight of what would normally be a dull, drawn-out affair with 20+ European languages saying "Ello Shtockholm from (insert random European city name) great show zish evening". Unfortunately the lag delay on the satellite system means it's normally lost in translation anyway.

But I have a soft spot for Eurovision. My earliest - and quite frankly, my fondest memory of Eurovision was staying at my nan and grandad's bungalow in Coven. It was 1992. I remember it was 1992 because of the wonders of Google and YouTube. It was the year I first heard Michael Ball. 'One Step Out of Time' was the UK's entry - and we stayed up all night (ok, until 10pm but I was 7 years old so it seemed really late). We watched the voting - I think we came second. It was my second experience of our cultural ability to embrace an heroic defeat - I was still recovering from the emotional trauma of Italia '90 and watching England lose on penalties to the Germans. But this time it was the Irish who pipped us to the post (and which inspired a very funny episode of Father Ted).

I then vaguely remember Sonia. She was 1993 - catchy song but of course it wasn't until Katrina & The Waves romped home to victory in 1997 that I saw UK glory in Europe. I'm still waiting for us to recapture those glorious heights.

Screeching 80's Welsh rocker Bonnie Tyler is the UK's entry this year. The song's not too bad - but we won't remember it in a few months. Inevitably we'll have the discussions tomorrow - as we do every year:

• "It's a fix"
• "the Eastern Europeans and Scandinavians always vote for each other"
• "We always get points off Malta" 

My personal favourite - "We didn't want to win anyway - it would cost too much to host next year".

There's an element of truth in all of these statements but the truth is the UK has produced a lot of dross since 1997. Jessica Garlick, Scooch, Engelbert Humperdink - and my personal favourite, because it's so bad - Daz Sampson.

For once, just for once, I'd really like us to have a decent song. Bring back Michael Ball, Sonia and Cheryl Baker - that's what I say. They couldn't do any worse...could they?

In any case, I shalln't be in Stockholm this evening so I can't class it as one of my 10 music/comedy gigs that I need to go to before I'm 30. But I am making progress on #22 on my list.

Since February I've seen The Darkness, Status Quo and Chas 'N' Dave. It's only when I write this down do I appreciate how bad that sounds. But hey - I enjoyed them, don't judge me. Blondie at Cannock Chase is next - I'm still on the look out for Akon to tour.

Good luck tonight Bonnie - we're all behind you - and if you lose, it's not your fault; it's all political and we don't want to win anyway, it'll cost too much to host it next year...

Let me leave with you this - take it away Daz...

They Think It's All Over - well my playing days probably are now - #19 on my list

They Think It's All Over - well my playing days probably are now - #19 on my list

Number 19 - my childhood dream. To step out on the pitch at Molineux - and score a goal.

I spent years as a kid wondering what it would be like. Literally dreaming sometimes of pulling on the famous old gold and black of my home city and scoring the winning goal in a cup final. But, alas, my talent was never quite enough to take me to that level - but I did score a few in my time (as well missing an awful lot too!).

But today - that was all going to change.

Today - I was going to step out on the pitch, flanked by my two big brothers, Ian and Alex - to play on the pitch that I've admired for more than twenty years (apart from that one season with Glenn Hoddle when it had some sort of fungal infection).

It was nice to have Mom and Dad there too. I'm sure they were quite proud to see their boys run out on the field of play together. Dad gave up hours of his time when we growing up to coach us and our friends - and Mom, well, our washing machine took a bit of a hammering over the years - and she was rather good at selling raffle tickets at half time in the lashing rain against Oldswinford and Trysull Tigers. Although mom's still have a way of embarassing you. One memory leaps to mind. A Sunday afternoon match at Windsor playing fields and I've just launched one of my trademark hoof balls down the other end of the pitch when I hear my mom shout "Jamie, why did you do that - you're shooting the wrong way". I then had to explain that at half time you swap ends. Oh well.

As for the match - I didn't feel I could pen an accurate reflection on my performance - so instead let me hand over to my first guest blogger - Adam Shakespeare:

"At 1pm on a fine Bank Holiday Monday, twenty-two strangers (mostly) emerged from the tunnel onto the finest pitch in League 1 football. Three of those men were the Angus brothers; united to play the beautiful game as a momentous occasion and for the youngest sibling, Jamie, to fulfil number 19 on his list of 30 things to do before he’s 30; score a goal at Molineux. Just like his namesake on his shirt, Maierhoffer, it seemed Jamie was unlikely to score at first, based on the warm-up. But we shall put that down to nerves. He took his place as left-back and it was fair to say, he was a very attacking player. He was this team’s Glen Johnson. Unfortunately the opposition took an early lead, and you got the impression this bunch of strangers were not as new to each other as our home side. Once he got his momentum however, Angus Jr was making some nice moves including a bone-crunching, efficient but fair tackle to close down an attack from the away side. In fact, all Angus brothers were squaring up to be pretty good defensive players. Half time came and the afternoon heat was already taking its toll (it was doing the same to the spectators too!) When the players emerged, fresh on tactics and energy, Jamie took position further up the field as “Wing Wizard”, as he liked to called himself, and was producing some quality runs and crosses from the left wing. As one spectator commented, “he takes a good corner”, and it was true. One of which almost went into the goal, had the keeper not tipped it over the bar. However, one of the many great corners led to the goal scored by the home side. If the quality up-front had met that of the support from the team as a whole, the home side’s striker would have scored at least 3 more goals and won the match. However, there were a couple sitters that should have been buried in the net, but fatigue had set in and alas, it was not meant to be.   The final whistle blew, our home side were unlucky, and number 19 had not been achieved. However, I did hear one person say, “it’s the best game here all season”, which was actually pretty plausible. But there was one thing left to do….

Angus is running up the left wing, switches to the right, the goal is in sight….. They think it’s all over, it is now."

 

*Irritatingly I can't embed the video - but here's proof that I did eventually achieve #19 on my list.

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside...sort of

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside...sort of

Well they do say blondes have more fun.

Well, I've just returned home from my very first trip to the seaside city of Brighton.

What we had hoped last July would be a celebratory trip, basking in the May Day Bank Holiday sunshine with Wolves reclaiming its rightful spot amongst England's footballing elite, turned out to be cold, drizzly and quite frankly miserable.

Football, like religion, is completely illogical. As an atheist, I can dismiss the latter - but for some unknown reason the faith and belief in the former is unwavering and defies logic. With the one I can dismiss it through lack of empirical evidence - yet despite years of soul searching, anguish and torment, my devout following of my football club remains steadfast. Years of evidence points to little but disappointment, angst and emotional dishrevellement ahead. But year after year, disappointment after disappointment, I turn up at the holy golden shrine week in week out.


You stupid boy.
One down - nine to go. Decent pie at the AMEX too

I - as with all Wolves fans, am stupid. For you see Einstein famously defined stupidity as "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Albert had clearly been to Molineux on a Tuesday night after a bore draw against Swindon Town.

Our season has been pitiful from start to finish. There's something toxic running through the heart of the club. The fans are bewildered and shellshocked. Twelve months ago today we were lining up to face Everton in the Premier League - by August we'll have pencilled in away trips to Crawley, Leyton Orient and Yeovil. Never in my living memory have we been in the third tier of English football.




I was honoured to meet Steve Morgan
and Jez Moxey prior to kick off

Much has been written about Wolves' demise - reality is I don't think anyone knows what's happened. The fans are split between blaming the owner, the Chief Executive, successive managers, the players - and dare I say this, we fans have probably played our own small part too. A whole catalogue of disastrous decisions has led to this - and where we go from here, I'm not sure anyone knows.

On the positive side - I got soaking wet and spent the coldest night of my life in a tent.

Yet despite the agony of a second successive relegation I witnessed something yesterday which gave me hope. Not particularly in Wolves - but in Brighton & Hove Albion.

What a wonderful club it is. A lovely new stadium, a good team and manager, and a club which has a real feel of the community about it. I really hope they reach the Premier League this year - it feels like a city which deserves it.

I read a really interesting article this week by the Secret Footballer. If Brighton secure top flight football this season perhaps the taboo subject of gay footballers will finally come to the fore. We're in 2013 and yet there are no professional footballers who are out. Of 92 football league clubs-  each with a squad of around 30 - statistics dictate that there must be a sizeable gay community. Yet, in the shadow of poor Justin Fashanu, footballers are still not ready to come out. Brighton is a city which appears to wear its reputation as the gay capital of the UK as a badge of honour. If they reach the top - perhaps the issue of homophobia in the game will finally be addressed. After a sad week as a Wolves fan - I was pleased that I didn't hear any homophobic abuse towards the Brighton crowd...gives me hope that our club isn't completely poisonous after all.

But all is not lost - I managed to visit a new football league ground - only 9 more to go until I complete #28 on my list.

So despite ruining my weekend (or indeed entire season), tomorrow I shall forgive them. In fact, I shall once again be in awe of that club. For tomorrow I shall attempt to achieve number 19 on my list: Score a goal on the pitch at Molineux.

At 1pm I'll set foot on the hallowed turf for the first ever time. I'll line up alongside my brothers, Ian and Alex, to play in a friendly match against a group of other fans. The cynic in me says it's the club's final chance to squeeze a few quid out of the fans before the season ends. But I'll park my cynicism for a moment - this could be my chance - my chance to step over those white lines and plant the ball high into the roof of the net. It will be a childhood dream come true. Ok - I won't have 28,000 home fans screaming my name in adulation as I jump over the advertising hoardings and into the South Bank, kissing the badge - but I'm sure my mom will be ever so proud.

However much pain and angst the club causes - and as a fan I've never felt so disconnected with my club as I do right now - I know that most will be forgiven as I set foot inside that famous ground tomorrow.

I'll let you know how it goes.

But in the meantime - I'll leave you with this - from Brighton's most famous musical export...

turned out to