onionbagblog
Home Banker
Is it right that Crystal Palace have transfer listed Shefki Kuqi for 'gesturing' to fans following the 2-0 home defeat against Wolves? The Selhurst striker has also been fined two weeks wages. It's all relative of course, but I reckon Shefki Kuqi would probably be on the receiving end of some 'hand gesturing' himself if the Eagle's fans ever found out what the Finnish footballer actually earns per fortnight.
The love affair between fans and footballers is close to reaching breaking point. Long gone are the days when Millwall were represented by eleven players originating from the Docks. Palace players are considered local to SE25 if they come from Scandinavia, whilst the Charlton team represents South East London in the same way that I can claim to represent the most eligible bachelors around London town.
The fickle nature of football fans means that this isn't an issue, as long as the team is winning. Neil Warnock's honeymoon period with the Palace fans is coming towards an end (and no, I didn't get to kiss the bride.) Charlton's 5-3 thumping up at Blackpool last week wouldn't have done much to help player / supporter bonding. Meanwhile down at Millwall, the gap between the club and the community is almost as wide as the gap between the Lion's current league placing and the promotion play-off place that was promised late last year.
Which all leads to a feeling of Them and Us as our South London teams take to the pitch each Saturday. It's hard enough supporting a football team that has seen better days. When the players take to 'gesturing' home supporters in the same way I gesture to cabbies that cut me up on my bike, then you have to start question your commitment to your club.
For a professional football team to field eleven players born within a three-mile radius of their South London base is just fantasy football. Fine sentiments, but do you really want to watch a team with eleven Dele Adebola clones every other week?
Reality kicks in at this level, and our clubs rightfully cast their nets abroad to find value for money. In return however, we expect our adopted South Londoners to at least make an effort. I don't expect to be sharing pie 'n mash down the Walworth Road with Julian Speroni each Saturday, but buying into the ethos of the club must be part of the package.
Neil Warnock may come across as your typical Northerner (he didn't exactly splash the cash around during the transfer window,) but at least he seems to have adopted the Selhurst spirit. He doesn't smile much, which is a start.
Shefki Kuqi meanwhile may as well have been playing for Pedigree Petfoods United, such was the lack of respect he gave to the Selhurst faithful. Still, at least the Finnish forward should be able to find his own way home. He's such an expert at hand gestures, he should be able to thumb a lift around the South Circular in the same amount of time it takes me to earn his fortnightly salary.
technorati: Shefki Kuqi
| Friday 29 February, 2008 |
Is it right that Crystal Palace have transfer listed Shefki Kuqi for 'gesturing' to fans following the 2-0 home defeat against Wolves? The Selhurst striker has also been fined two weeks wages. It's all relative of course, but I reckon Shefki Kuqi would probably be on the receiving end of some 'hand gesturing' himself if the Eagle's fans ever found out what the Finnish footballer actually earns per fortnight.
The love affair between fans and footballers is close to reaching breaking point. Long gone are the days when Millwall were represented by eleven players originating from the Docks. Palace players are considered local to SE25 if they come from Scandinavia, whilst the Charlton team represents South East London in the same way that I can claim to represent the most eligible bachelors around London town.
The fickle nature of football fans means that this isn't an issue, as long as the team is winning. Neil Warnock's honeymoon period with the Palace fans is coming towards an end (and no, I didn't get to kiss the bride.) Charlton's 5-3 thumping up at Blackpool last week wouldn't have done much to help player / supporter bonding. Meanwhile down at Millwall, the gap between the club and the community is almost as wide as the gap between the Lion's current league placing and the promotion play-off place that was promised late last year.
Which all leads to a feeling of Them and Us as our South London teams take to the pitch each Saturday. It's hard enough supporting a football team that has seen better days. When the players take to 'gesturing' home supporters in the same way I gesture to cabbies that cut me up on my bike, then you have to start question your commitment to your club.
For a professional football team to field eleven players born within a three-mile radius of their South London base is just fantasy football. Fine sentiments, but do you really want to watch a team with eleven Dele Adebola clones every other week?
Reality kicks in at this level, and our clubs rightfully cast their nets abroad to find value for money. In return however, we expect our adopted South Londoners to at least make an effort. I don't expect to be sharing pie 'n mash down the Walworth Road with Julian Speroni each Saturday, but buying into the ethos of the club must be part of the package.
Neil Warnock may come across as your typical Northerner (he didn't exactly splash the cash around during the transfer window,) but at least he seems to have adopted the Selhurst spirit. He doesn't smile much, which is a start.
Shefki Kuqi meanwhile may as well have been playing for Pedigree Petfoods United, such was the lack of respect he gave to the Selhurst faithful. Still, at least the Finnish forward should be able to find his own way home. He's such an expert at hand gestures, he should be able to thumb a lift around the South Circular in the same amount of time it takes me to earn his fortnightly salary.
technorati: Shefki Kuqi
| #permalink |
links for 2008-02-29*
It's behind you!
Yet more knobber mainstream whore reporting, this time from BBC London. The subject matter? Ah yes, bloody cyclists... And so here we have a Lollipop Lady in North London (which goes a long way in explaining the story) spreading moral panic about cyclists who fail to stop at zebra crossings. Can't argue with that, naughty behaviour, especially when kids are around. But Wait! What's this? Twenty seconds into the clip and a knobber moped boy speeds straight past poor Mrs Lollipop! She fails to wave her big stick at the fool, and the knobber mainstream media whore from the BBC forgets to mention it in his voiceover. Too busy counting cyclists no doubt.
Next!
Help Hodges
Not until King Knobber #1 pledges to help cyclists. And here lies the dilemma for the race for City Hall. Vote for the bike friendly Establishment buffoon (yeah, right) or back Ken as he backs himself into a corner. Sian Berry has some great ideas, but I reckon Ken needs support in order to keep out the buffoon. Anyone but Boris.
Up the Duff(y)
It's out on Monday and it's a bloody brilliant belter. Blimey - when was the last time you could say that about the artist occupying the No.1 position in the singles chart? And yes, Duffy's debut album is followed in my iTunes library by... Dusty. Does this mean I can finally put Back to Black back in the box?
*sorry to be a heartbreaker, but I have received a marriage proposal today, and nope - it wasn't from the fragrant mrs onionbagblogger
technorati: cycling, king knobber #1, boris the buffoon, ken, sian berry, duffy
It's behind you!Yet more knobber mainstream whore reporting, this time from BBC London. The subject matter? Ah yes, bloody cyclists... And so here we have a Lollipop Lady in North London (which goes a long way in explaining the story) spreading moral panic about cyclists who fail to stop at zebra crossings. Can't argue with that, naughty behaviour, especially when kids are around. But Wait! What's this? Twenty seconds into the clip and a knobber moped boy speeds straight past poor Mrs Lollipop! She fails to wave her big stick at the fool, and the knobber mainstream media whore from the BBC forgets to mention it in his voiceover. Too busy counting cyclists no doubt.
Next!
Help HodgesNot until King Knobber #1 pledges to help cyclists. And here lies the dilemma for the race for City Hall. Vote for the bike friendly Establishment buffoon (yeah, right) or back Ken as he backs himself into a corner. Sian Berry has some great ideas, but I reckon Ken needs support in order to keep out the buffoon. Anyone but Boris.
Up the Duff(y)It's out on Monday and it's a bloody brilliant belter. Blimey - when was the last time you could say that about the artist occupying the No.1 position in the singles chart? And yes, Duffy's debut album is followed in my iTunes library by... Dusty. Does this mean I can finally put Back to Black back in the box?
*sorry to be a heartbreaker, but I have received a marriage proposal today, and nope - it wasn't from the fragrant mrs onionbagblogger
technorati: cycling, king knobber #1, boris the buffoon, ken, sian berry, duffy
| #permalink |
On Yer Bike
Feel free to print and paint at your own leisure.
technorati: street art
| Thursday 28 February, 2008 |
Feel free to print and paint at your own leisure.
technorati: street art
| #permalink |
Lock Out
Don't go locking yer bike up outside the Grand Seat of the Liberal Elite should you *cough* occasionally be in gainful employment with the Love Me I'm a Liberal lot (not gonna link, but you know who...) You're likely to have it commandeered by the North London Nazi Bike Clampers if your fixie is left locked up where the liberal lot don't like it to be left.
It's bloody ridiculous. Bike provision for a newspaper that naturally attracts a high proportion of cycling staff is just pants. The bike shed is bursting by 9am. Not so great for shift workers who choose to start their day with a casual cycle in, rather than risk Circle Line hell.
But being the caring, sharing Liberal Elite, staff provision is all inclusive. We can't afford to upset the cyclists, or indeed the smokers. A smoking shed (of sorts) was erected (ho, hum) shortly after the Christmas break. Truth be told it's a piece of plastic and four wooden pillars. It keeps the chain smoking Liberal Elite away from the very public glare of the mean streets of Farringdon.
It also takes up valuable bike parking space, as I found out to my cost early Tuesday evening at chucking out time.
Sir Walter had been double-locked by the North London Nazi Bike Clampers. At least no one was going to take away my bike.
That included me.
'It an 'elf 'n safety issue, Guv,' puffed and panted Mr Not-Very-Helpful Security Man as he lit up another Superking within what use to be my bike lock up spot.
Ah, health and safety - of course. H&S for the smokers, but not for cyclists who are actually trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle and make a valid contribution to the urban transport issue.
Comment is Free? That's not the impression I got when I questioned the logic in locking up bikes at will.
For a paper that actually employs a Cycling Correspondent, this truly is pathetic. Anyone would think that the newspaper that regularly publishes self-smug cycling guides is not promoting cycling. They certainly don't include sections on how to deter your employees from taking up this sustainable transport option.
As an ex-smoker and an active cyclist then yes, I have the double whammy of smugness to the power of two. Mr Not-Very-Helpful Security Man helpfully suggested 'why don't you drive a faking car if you feel so angry about it?'
Cheers, Guv.
He fiddled around with his combination lock like a teenage kid fumbling around under the covers in the dark. Except it took him more than ten seconds to reach a satisfactory conclusion.
'You won't be doing that again, mate, will you?'
Um, yep. If you fail to provide sufficient parking provision for my fixie then I'll see you at the same time, same place tomorrow. You'll get bored long before I will. Still, you can always have a fag whilst you're unlocking my fixie.
On yer bike.
technorati: smug cyclists vs the health and safety knobbers
| Wednesday 27 February, 2008 |
Don't go locking yer bike up outside the Grand Seat of the Liberal Elite should you *cough* occasionally be in gainful employment with the Love Me I'm a Liberal lot (not gonna link, but you know who...) You're likely to have it commandeered by the North London Nazi Bike Clampers if your fixie is left locked up where the liberal lot don't like it to be left.
It's bloody ridiculous. Bike provision for a newspaper that naturally attracts a high proportion of cycling staff is just pants. The bike shed is bursting by 9am. Not so great for shift workers who choose to start their day with a casual cycle in, rather than risk Circle Line hell.
But being the caring, sharing Liberal Elite, staff provision is all inclusive. We can't afford to upset the cyclists, or indeed the smokers. A smoking shed (of sorts) was erected (ho, hum) shortly after the Christmas break. Truth be told it's a piece of plastic and four wooden pillars. It keeps the chain smoking Liberal Elite away from the very public glare of the mean streets of Farringdon.
It also takes up valuable bike parking space, as I found out to my cost early Tuesday evening at chucking out time.
Sir Walter had been double-locked by the North London Nazi Bike Clampers. At least no one was going to take away my bike.
That included me.
'It an 'elf 'n safety issue, Guv,' puffed and panted Mr Not-Very-Helpful Security Man as he lit up another Superking within what use to be my bike lock up spot.
Ah, health and safety - of course. H&S for the smokers, but not for cyclists who are actually trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle and make a valid contribution to the urban transport issue.
Comment is Free? That's not the impression I got when I questioned the logic in locking up bikes at will.
For a paper that actually employs a Cycling Correspondent, this truly is pathetic. Anyone would think that the newspaper that regularly publishes self-smug cycling guides is not promoting cycling. They certainly don't include sections on how to deter your employees from taking up this sustainable transport option.
As an ex-smoker and an active cyclist then yes, I have the double whammy of smugness to the power of two. Mr Not-Very-Helpful Security Man helpfully suggested 'why don't you drive a faking car if you feel so angry about it?'
Cheers, Guv.
He fiddled around with his combination lock like a teenage kid fumbling around under the covers in the dark. Except it took him more than ten seconds to reach a satisfactory conclusion.
'You won't be doing that again, mate, will you?'
Um, yep. If you fail to provide sufficient parking provision for my fixie then I'll see you at the same time, same place tomorrow. You'll get bored long before I will. Still, you can always have a fag whilst you're unlocking my fixie.
On yer bike.
technorati: smug cyclists vs the health and safety knobbers
| #permalink |
links for 2008-02-27
Bockheads
They still don't get it - local news coming from a national source has all the authenticity of the mainstream knobber media whores parachuting into your patch for their fifteen minutes. I do fear for the future of online news if EveryBlock ever makes it over here. You need local people who know and understand their patch, Telling It Like It Is. Remember the Great Metroknobbers War? OurAmerican English friends are still shite.
Blogging by numbers
It's just blogging for people that can't be bothered, isn't it? You bang together some half-arsed sentence, and then Zemanta (crazy name, crazy guys) 'aggregate' (aha!) your blog with related content. 'Cos like I'm sure when Mr Pepys sat down to pen his diary, he just did a few headings here and there, and then got the servants to fill in the gaps.
Buy! Sell!
'Fancy buying another flat?' asked the fragrant mrs onionbagblogger at the weekend.
'I'd rather buy a new MacBook,' I replied.
We looked at the flat, and then fell about laughing as the knobber estate agent spoke of 'an ideal investment opportunity.'
Bugger the Buy to Let - I'm off to the Apple Store to blow the budget on the lovely new MacBook.
technorati: everyblock, zemanta, metroknobbers, MacBook
BockheadsThey still don't get it - local news coming from a national source has all the authenticity of the mainstream knobber media whores parachuting into your patch for their fifteen minutes. I do fear for the future of online news if EveryBlock ever makes it over here. You need local people who know and understand their patch, Telling It Like It Is. Remember the Great Metroknobbers War? Our
Blogging by numbersIt's just blogging for people that can't be bothered, isn't it? You bang together some half-arsed sentence, and then Zemanta (crazy name, crazy guys) 'aggregate' (aha!) your blog with related content. 'Cos like I'm sure when Mr Pepys sat down to pen his diary, he just did a few headings here and there, and then got the servants to fill in the gaps.
Buy! Sell!'Fancy buying another flat?' asked the fragrant mrs onionbagblogger at the weekend.
'I'd rather buy a new MacBook,' I replied.
We looked at the flat, and then fell about laughing as the knobber estate agent spoke of 'an ideal investment opportunity.'
Bugger the Buy to Let - I'm off to the Apple Store to blow the budget on the lovely new MacBook.
technorati: everyblock, zemanta, metroknobbers, MacBook
| #permalink |
Meeting My Waterloo
Here's a selection of my Waterloo Bridge submissions for The Way We See It (a top ten site!) a few weeks back. It wasn't the best of days for what is ultimately one of London's most iconic locations. Blustery winds, driving rain and the lunchtime rush hour for the overpriced sandwich shops didn't make it a memorable photo shoot for me.
And so overlooking the images, the real story to be found here involves cycling. Don't forget: It's ALWAYS all about the bike.
Carrying my fixie down the South Bank stretch of steps at the end of Waterloo Bridge and I became a lawbreaker. I didn't kill anyone; I wasn't using profanities in public. I didn't even drop any litter.
Along the empty banks of the Thames I rode my bike at a pace that could best be described as pedestrian. I was even overtaken by a number of lunchtime joggers, sharing the same public space as me.
For more than fifty years, the stretch of bridleway between Waterloo Bridge and Blackfriars Bridge has been part of the Thames path for cyclists. There's a small stretch around the privately owned Oxo Tower where cyclists are asked to dismount. The majority of them do.
Southwark Council has ever so quietly ushered in plans to outlaw cycling along this stretch of the river, without so much of any form of public consultation or debate. ALL cyclists are a danger to ALL pedestrians of course. Search for figures for fatalities to pedestrians caused by cyclists in the UK and you'll draw a blank.
Yes, cycling along the river can be unsocial during the summer months. But then most cyclists have the common sense to police themselves, looking ahead and realising that there's little point in pedalling at full pace into a crowd of a hundred or so Sunday afternoon strollers.
Midweek, mid-morning when the path is clear, cycling makes perfect sense.
You'd almost think that Southwark Council wanted to send out the message that cycling is dangerous and push peddlers back on to those nasty roads amongst all the knobber Petrol Heads.
I made a point of cycling along the pathway, enjoying the riverside views and taking in the smell of the Thames. So much so that I turned around at Blackfriars Bridge and did it all again.
No one was injured, no harm done.
It was still wet and miserable when I reached Waterloo Bridge once again. I should have kept on cycling.
technorati: waterloo bridge
| Tuesday 26 February, 2008 |
Here's a selection of my Waterloo Bridge submissions for The Way We See It (a top ten site!) a few weeks back. It wasn't the best of days for what is ultimately one of London's most iconic locations. Blustery winds, driving rain and the lunchtime rush hour for the overpriced sandwich shops didn't make it a memorable photo shoot for me.
And so overlooking the images, the real story to be found here involves cycling. Don't forget: It's ALWAYS all about the bike.
Carrying my fixie down the South Bank stretch of steps at the end of Waterloo Bridge and I became a lawbreaker. I didn't kill anyone; I wasn't using profanities in public. I didn't even drop any litter.
Along the empty banks of the Thames I rode my bike at a pace that could best be described as pedestrian. I was even overtaken by a number of lunchtime joggers, sharing the same public space as me.
For more than fifty years, the stretch of bridleway between Waterloo Bridge and Blackfriars Bridge has been part of the Thames path for cyclists. There's a small stretch around the privately owned Oxo Tower where cyclists are asked to dismount. The majority of them do.
Southwark Council has ever so quietly ushered in plans to outlaw cycling along this stretch of the river, without so much of any form of public consultation or debate. ALL cyclists are a danger to ALL pedestrians of course. Search for figures for fatalities to pedestrians caused by cyclists in the UK and you'll draw a blank.
Yes, cycling along the river can be unsocial during the summer months. But then most cyclists have the common sense to police themselves, looking ahead and realising that there's little point in pedalling at full pace into a crowd of a hundred or so Sunday afternoon strollers.
Midweek, mid-morning when the path is clear, cycling makes perfect sense.
You'd almost think that Southwark Council wanted to send out the message that cycling is dangerous and push peddlers back on to those nasty roads amongst all the knobber Petrol Heads.
I made a point of cycling along the pathway, enjoying the riverside views and taking in the smell of the Thames. So much so that I turned around at Blackfriars Bridge and did it all again.
No one was injured, no harm done.
It was still wet and miserable when I reached Waterloo Bridge once again. I should have kept on cycling.
technorati: waterloo bridge
| #permalink |
links for 2008-02-26
Love / Hate relationship
You say potato, I say po-tar-to. Marriage is ACE! Hang on - nope, it's shite. Make your mind up time with the Liberal Elite.
Master Bater Blaster
Proof that Nicky Knobstick Campbell is but a comfortable cardigan away from becoming Partridge. I actually spluttered my Bran Flakes across the breakfast room floor yesterday morning when the knobber (Nicky, not Stevie) came out with this nonsense.
Lycra bashing
Just to demonstrate that there is sound editorial judgement on onionbagblog, here you are invited to 'hit the cyclist.' I justify this pointless piece of fun by hoping that knobber Petrol Heads will get hooked on the online version, and stop hitting me around the streets of South London.
And finally...
It's all about the bike (isn't it?)
Did you hear about the passionate South London cyclist, who when expressed an interest in 'transport issues' at a recent job interview, was then invited back to discuss editing theknobber Petrol Head Motoring section for a national newspaper? I'm not sure who was more embarrassed, the interviewer, or the interviewee. Still, daily headlines of 'Your Car is CRAP' would have made for compulsive reading.
technorati: marriage, nicky knobstick campbell, cycling, crap cars
Love / Hate relationshipYou say potato, I say po-tar-to. Marriage is ACE! Hang on - nope, it's shite. Make your mind up time with the Liberal Elite.
Master Proof that Nicky Knobstick Campbell is but a comfortable cardigan away from becoming Partridge. I actually spluttered my Bran Flakes across the breakfast room floor yesterday morning when the knobber (Nicky, not Stevie) came out with this nonsense.
Lycra bashingJust to demonstrate that there is sound editorial judgement on onionbagblog, here you are invited to 'hit the cyclist.' I justify this pointless piece of fun by hoping that knobber Petrol Heads will get hooked on the online version, and stop hitting me around the streets of South London.
And finally...
It's all about the bike (isn't it?)
Did you hear about the passionate South London cyclist, who when expressed an interest in 'transport issues' at a recent job interview, was then invited back to discuss editing the
technorati: marriage, nicky knobstick campbell, cycling, crap cars
| #permalink |
Crap Match Report
Brixton Topcats 80, London Towers 73
It's a mighty long way from Wembley Way to Brixton Rec. But that's exactly the basketball path trodden by the London Towers, all the way from the '90s glamour of the BBL, via Crystal Palace, and then finding themselves slipping all over the beer stained basketball court in SW9.
I was with the Towers during the fag end of the Crystal Palace hoop dreams. I was only there to lend my 'support' to the lovely Towers Dancers to be honest. With falling crowds unable to support a failing franchise, the Towers now play in the Division Three of English League, reduced to nothing more than a pub basketball team.
But it's not where you're from; it's where you're at. The home venue for the Towers is now a school in East Dulwich, and an all-girls school at that.
And so with my hoop dreams now a lot closer to home in SW9, Sunday evening saw the Towers take on the Topcats. The Towers Dancers have long since disappeared. In a move that seems to symbolise the basketball demise, I dragged along the fragrant mrs onionbagblogger.
I was also half an hour fashionably late, which for a game that consists only of sixty minutes of play, is a bit pants.
The Towers emerged out of a Brixton Rec broom cupboard (true!) after the halftime team talk. Crystal Palace was never that great anyway.
The Topcats were coach-less for the evening, but for a team that could talk the baggy basketball shorts off a bloody great big fat man, this really didn't matter.
I chose to cheer on the team that was winning as the players took to the court for the start of the third quarter. That will be my Brixton homeboys then, leading 39-38 at the break.
Come onTowers! Um, Topcats!
I think.
Effort replaced expertise; watching pub basketball on a beer stained court is like watching fish trying to swim in cement. The ref was also Dog and Duck standard, giving the Towers the points for a basket that missed the hoop, but at least it managed to nudge the netting on the way to being thrown out of court.
An over-zealous Brixton Rec member of staff made up for the lack of coaching from the Topcats bench:
'Pass it! Put it up! Pick up that crisp packet, mrs obb, less you want a lifetime ban from Brixton Rec!'
It was a ten point game with a quarter of play remaining. Towers were trailing 63-53. The gap soon became three and I was reminded why basketball is such a thrilling game to watch, whatever the level.
Home court advantage won the day for the Brixton boys, a final dunk ending with an 80-73 SW9 win. I celebrated with my own dunking of the celebrated crisp packet in the bin near courtside. I missed of course, and ended up with a lifetime ban from Brixton Rec.
Still, it could have be worse; I could have be banned from an East Dulwich all-girls school.
technorati: brixton topcats
| Monday 25 February, 2008 |
Brixton Topcats 80, London Towers 73
It's a mighty long way from Wembley Way to Brixton Rec. But that's exactly the basketball path trodden by the London Towers, all the way from the '90s glamour of the BBL, via Crystal Palace, and then finding themselves slipping all over the beer stained basketball court in SW9.
I was with the Towers during the fag end of the Crystal Palace hoop dreams. I was only there to lend my 'support' to the lovely Towers Dancers to be honest. With falling crowds unable to support a failing franchise, the Towers now play in the Division Three of English League, reduced to nothing more than a pub basketball team.
But it's not where you're from; it's where you're at. The home venue for the Towers is now a school in East Dulwich, and an all-girls school at that.
And so with my hoop dreams now a lot closer to home in SW9, Sunday evening saw the Towers take on the Topcats. The Towers Dancers have long since disappeared. In a move that seems to symbolise the basketball demise, I dragged along the fragrant mrs onionbagblogger.
I was also half an hour fashionably late, which for a game that consists only of sixty minutes of play, is a bit pants.
The Towers emerged out of a Brixton Rec broom cupboard (true!) after the halftime team talk. Crystal Palace was never that great anyway.
The Topcats were coach-less for the evening, but for a team that could talk the baggy basketball shorts off a bloody great big fat man, this really didn't matter.
I chose to cheer on the team that was winning as the players took to the court for the start of the third quarter. That will be my Brixton homeboys then, leading 39-38 at the break.
Come on
I think.
Effort replaced expertise; watching pub basketball on a beer stained court is like watching fish trying to swim in cement. The ref was also Dog and Duck standard, giving the Towers the points for a basket that missed the hoop, but at least it managed to nudge the netting on the way to being thrown out of court.
An over-zealous Brixton Rec member of staff made up for the lack of coaching from the Topcats bench:
'Pass it! Put it up! Pick up that crisp packet, mrs obb, less you want a lifetime ban from Brixton Rec!'
It was a ten point game with a quarter of play remaining. Towers were trailing 63-53. The gap soon became three and I was reminded why basketball is such a thrilling game to watch, whatever the level.
Home court advantage won the day for the Brixton boys, a final dunk ending with an 80-73 SW9 win. I celebrated with my own dunking of the celebrated crisp packet in the bin near courtside. I missed of course, and ended up with a lifetime ban from Brixton Rec.
Still, it could have be worse; I could have be banned from an East Dulwich all-girls school.
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technorati: brixton topcats
| #permalink |
Crap Match Report
Dulwich Hamlet 2, Whitstable Town 3, 23/02/08
'Welcome to Fisher Athletic,' was the greeting I received at Champion Hill, home of Dulwich Hamlet Football Club. Nice sentiments from our sitting tenants, but the new sign at the front of the ground wasn't what I wanted to see on Saturday afternoon. The pink 'n blue boys need to make their stomping ground Fortress SE22 (stop sniggering) with play-off points in desperate need if Dulwich are to get promoted. I could always go and watch Fisher if Dulwich fail yet again.
I was all set to switch my Southwark allegiances when Whitstable scored with their first (and only) attack of the first half after twenty-nine minutes. The one thing stopping me from becoming a fan of the Fish was my agoraphobia. I'd be like a fish out of water, what with our ground sharing Southwark fans being outnumbered by the players on the pitch.
'What a great time to score' is the usual nonsense spoken by mainstream knobber media whores whenever a team grabs a goal before the break. Yeah, 'cos like a goal after forty-four minutes counts as two under the mainstream knobber media whores Laws of the Game.
Dulwich's equaliser after forty-four minutes was the worst time to score. The home team was still celebrating when Whitstable grabbed another, just as the ref was about to blow for halftime.
'What a great time to score...' blah blah blah bollocks.
Bugger.
With the Dulwich kitty not stretching to floodlights after the break, my judgement on the second half was cloudier than the SE22 skies overhead. Leaving my specs at home didn't help, but at least I wasn't in need of a trip to Specsavers after the ball smashed into my face when a Dulwich shot at goal went a little wide (I was sitting up in the stand, on the halfway line.)
The fragrant mrs onionbagblogger had much more precision. She threw the ball back with all the power of a Romanian shot-putter (male,) which given her physique, I shouldn't really be too surprised. The Whitstable physio was caught short when the ball hit his, um, balls. A self-administered rub down, and everyone had a smile on their face.
Except the home fans. The coaching philosophy of non-league football seems to be 'he who shouts loudest is most likely to win.' You try telling thatnice knobber Dave Cameron.
The Dulwich bench shouted at the Dulwich players; the Dulwich players shouted at the Dulwich bench; mrs obb shouted at me for finishing off the flask of tea; I took out my frustration by shouting at the pigeon above my head. Unable to articulate his true feelings, the pigeon responded by leaving a mess on my bald patch.
And then just when I got so cold that I wanted to go home and cry, Dulwich sprung a surprise attack and scored a classic counter-attack goal on the break. I shouted out 'WHAT A GREAT TIME TO SCORE!' right in the face of mrs obb, and made a mental note to do the DIY whenever Fisher are playing at Champion Hill.
An even better time to score was in the 73rd minute with the light fading fast and the home team unable to respond as they were too tired after all that shouting.
'What a great time to score,' chirped the pigeon above my head. Pity him - he's got to suffer Fisher at 'home' next Saturday.
technorati: dulwich hamlet
| Sunday 24 February, 2008 |
Dulwich Hamlet 2, Whitstable Town 3, 23/02/08
'Welcome to Fisher Athletic,' was the greeting I received at Champion Hill, home of Dulwich Hamlet Football Club. Nice sentiments from our sitting tenants, but the new sign at the front of the ground wasn't what I wanted to see on Saturday afternoon. The pink 'n blue boys need to make their stomping ground Fortress SE22 (stop sniggering) with play-off points in desperate need if Dulwich are to get promoted. I could always go and watch Fisher if Dulwich fail yet again.
I was all set to switch my Southwark allegiances when Whitstable scored with their first (and only) attack of the first half after twenty-nine minutes. The one thing stopping me from becoming a fan of the Fish was my agoraphobia. I'd be like a fish out of water, what with our ground sharing Southwark fans being outnumbered by the players on the pitch.
'What a great time to score' is the usual nonsense spoken by mainstream knobber media whores whenever a team grabs a goal before the break. Yeah, 'cos like a goal after forty-four minutes counts as two under the mainstream knobber media whores Laws of the Game.
Dulwich's equaliser after forty-four minutes was the worst time to score. The home team was still celebrating when Whitstable grabbed another, just as the ref was about to blow for halftime.
'What a great time to score...' blah blah blah bollocks.
Bugger.
With the Dulwich kitty not stretching to floodlights after the break, my judgement on the second half was cloudier than the SE22 skies overhead. Leaving my specs at home didn't help, but at least I wasn't in need of a trip to Specsavers after the ball smashed into my face when a Dulwich shot at goal went a little wide (I was sitting up in the stand, on the halfway line.)
The fragrant mrs onionbagblogger had much more precision. She threw the ball back with all the power of a Romanian shot-putter (male,) which given her physique, I shouldn't really be too surprised. The Whitstable physio was caught short when the ball hit his, um, balls. A self-administered rub down, and everyone had a smile on their face.
Except the home fans. The coaching philosophy of non-league football seems to be 'he who shouts loudest is most likely to win.' You try telling that
The Dulwich bench shouted at the Dulwich players; the Dulwich players shouted at the Dulwich bench; mrs obb shouted at me for finishing off the flask of tea; I took out my frustration by shouting at the pigeon above my head. Unable to articulate his true feelings, the pigeon responded by leaving a mess on my bald patch.
And then just when I got so cold that I wanted to go home and cry, Dulwich sprung a surprise attack and scored a classic counter-attack goal on the break. I shouted out 'WHAT A GREAT TIME TO SCORE!' right in the face of mrs obb, and made a mental note to do the DIY whenever Fisher are playing at Champion Hill.
An even better time to score was in the 73rd minute with the light fading fast and the home team unable to respond as they were too tired after all that shouting.
'What a great time to score,' chirped the pigeon above my head. Pity him - he's got to suffer Fisher at 'home' next Saturday.
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