Funny looking brown envelope: The Woking manager (right) accepts the Bramble jersey at Friday’s transfer window
WOKING emerged from the transfer window in the unsavoury spotlight of the match fixing allegations sweeping Europe.
The struggling club’s truly lacklustre debut season left Europol with little doubt that an Asian betting syndicate must be involved.
Handed the Bramble jersey at Friday night’s transfer window for being last-placed in the Kenna League, the Woking manager insisted there was nothing fishy going on at the club.
“I’ve just been unlucky in the transfer market,” said the Woking boss, who only has Leighton Baines left from his original eleven in August. “Who are Europol anyway? They sound like something from a second-rate sci-fi movie. What are they doing to do? Come after me with Judge Dread and Commander Worf?”
However, the European Union’s law enforcement agency dropped the charges soon after discovering that, amongst other glaring examples of tactical shortsightedness, Shane Long had scored just hours after being ditched by the Woking manager.
Rob Wainwright, director of Europol, said: “Having investigated Woking in more detail we’ve come the conclusion that the manger’s ineptitude excuses him of any wrongdoing. He’s bought Stewart Downing, for crying out loud.”
Face off: Emanuel Pogatetz was booked 20 times in 2006
EMANUEL Pogatetz has snatched the spotlight ahead of tonight’s transfer window as competition for his signature reaches fever pitch.
As managers make the traditional preparations of a Cornish pasty and quick internet search before attending this evening’s auction at Trafalgar Square hot spot The Two Chairmen, pulses throb at the commitment and passion the Austrian defender, known as ‘Mad Dog’, can bring to any side.
Hairy Fadjeetas and Still Don’t Know Yet are both reported to be in the chase, with the manager of the latter team has jettisoned Gary O’Neil and Carl Jenkinson to make way for Pogatetz.
Quizzed by hacks outside the Undecided Road stadium about his decision to keep Turkey-bound defender Anton Ferdinand, as well as absentee goalkeeper Drusille Ngako, the Still Don’t Know Yet manager said through his rolled down car window: “Anton’s a mere detail. Do you think Napoleon focused on every individual soldier? No, he was looking at the big picture, and so am I.”
After the midweek games, the club slipped down the table to one place above the relegation zone (latest table below).
As for Emanuel Pogatetz, his Kenna credentials are beyond dispute. In the January 2008 he joined The Trinny Men (whose manager is now at Bala Rinas), helping the team to last.
Follow the action from tonight’s Kenna transfer window live on @jeffkennaleague
Free agents – headlines
Shane Long scored this week just hours after being released by Woking. The Irishman is likely to be starting every game now that Wandsworth Window Licker Peter Odemwingie is living in his 4×4 in west London.
PSV Mornington has chosen the magic of Mata over the boundless goal-scoring of Demba Ba.
Daniel Sturridge is back on the market after being released by Just Put Carles, who also scrapped Danny Welbeck.
Fernando Torres could go for a cut-price fee after being handed his P45 by the Newington Reds manager.
For full details of released players and available budgets for each team click here or check the The Rub (top right of this page).
Daniel Sturridge and Jordan Henderson having a ‘siesta off’ to prove their worth to the Just Put Carles manager.
The Sporting Lesbian boss interrupted with news of the fast approaching transfer window during a game of bowls on Plymouth Hoe dismissing concern with the words: “We have time to finish our game of bowls and defeat the Spanish.”
These are some of the things that could be happening this morning as managers rush to get their players released to Kenna HQ ahead of today’s noon deadline.
Come Friday night it’ll be game faces ‘on’ for the second and final transfer window of the season before clubs make their assault on the title / relegation survival / mid-table mediocrity (delete as appropriate).
Top-performing unsigned players, and a few new faces, are listed below. As everyone steels themselves ahead of Friday the question hanging in the air is: just who will walk away with Emmanuel Pogatetz?
Strikers
Hernandez (MUN, 89)
Le Fondre (REA, 87)
Benteke (AVL, 83)
Shaun Maloney (WIG, 64)
Di Santo (WIG, 62)
Happy ending: Half the teams in the Kenna have already progressed from the cup group stage (Photograph courtesy of Wet and Messy Photography)
CRYSTALLIZED at the bottom, breathless at the top and much jiggling around in the middle: in many ways the Kenna table resembles a fat man with gout and a carrier bag over his head in the final throes of rubbing one off in the shower.
So it’s fitting that the coming weekend sees the climax of the race to the cup knockout stage. Who will breathe a satisfying sigh of relief? Who will tumble through the shower curtain, sustain a fatal head injury on the sink and be found naked three days later by sniggering paramedics?
Going into the deciding week, each manager will be looking at his team for goals, the key to a successful cup campaign. Chances of progression to knockout stages are analysed below – starting with the most wide open.
The Lickers will be backing Peter Odemwingie (7 goals this season) and club top scorer Fellaini (11) to combat the recent upturn in form of Just Put Carles striker Daniel Sturridge (4). Lokomotiv Leeds will hope that Jonathan Walters (7) will score at the right end, while Piedmonte look to Lambert (10) and Lampard (7) – a draw will not guarantee survival for either club.
Sporting Lesbian trio Luis Suarez (18), Michu (14) and Sergio Aguero (8) will take some beating from Newington Reds, who rely on, oh dear, star striker Fernando Torres (7). A woeful goal difference means FC Testiculadew will have to keep out Spartak Mogadishu star Romelu Lukaku (9) to ensure safety.
No player at either Vasco De Beauvoir or Judean Peoples’ Front have found the net for two weeks, and being on equal goal difference survival may be decided on who ships the least in the final game. A 1-1 draw was played out between the clubs in December, so JPF carry the advantage having scored one more goal in the contest.
Form: Demba Ba and Juan Mata have both been in the points
BINOCULARS trained on the bedroom of next door’s saucy, late-30s divorcee can scarcely produce such a fascinating window as the dilemma facing one Kenna manager in the build up to 1 February’s transfer night.
Demba Ba’s move from the Big Market to Fulham Broadway leaves the PSV Mornington boss in the unenviable position of choosing between the goal hungry African or the twinkle-toed creativity of Juan Mata.
Under Kenna rules, no manager may have two players from the same Premier League club, and PSV must release either the Senegalese or the Spaniard come the 12pm deadline on Wednesday 30 January.
At the prospect of the coveted signature of either Ba or Mata to boost their campaign, Kenna managers will be monitoring the situation in the window more closely than a teenage boy surveilling a rough and ready tradesman’s visit to the neighbourhood cougar.
Faced with a similar quandary – albeit child’s play in comparison – between Daniel Sturridge and Jordan Henderson, and with no other Chelsea players in his side, fellow Catalan the Just Put Carles manager is a strong suitor.
If Demba Ba or Juan Mata joined JPC it would be a major coup for the manager after losing out in last season’s bitter midtable ‘Cat’-fight to his rival at PSV, and go someway towards closing the 39-point gap between the two clubs.
Step away from the party the popper: Celebrating goals is so 2012
A GARETH BALE goal was not enough to keep Bala Rinas from being dumped out of the Canesten Combi Cup.
Four hapless group game defeats left the side without a point, and with his team also struggling in the league the manager, yet to win a trophy in six years in Kenna, is under increasing pressure.
“People are saying that I’ve got no silverware, I can’t bring success to the club and I’ll never know the difference between riding the normal team coach and riding an open-top bus, but of course I knows the difference – one’s got a fcuking roof and one fcuking ‘asn’t,” sing songed the Welshman.
Bala Rinas weren’t the only ones not celebrating this week. Footballers are fashionable creatures, and a new craze has swept through the Kenna: not celebrating goals.
Cup results – 8 January 2013
In Group D, Daniel Sturridge found the net to help Just Put Carles to their first cup win and a chance at the next round, but ‘out of respect’ the England striker did not cheer after scoring against his former club Lokomotiv Leeds.
In the other Group C match there were remarkable scenes at FC Testiculadew’s ground, the Death Star, where no players celebrated any of the eight goals in Sporting Lesbian’s 7-1 destruction of the hosts.
Hairy Fadjeetas, on the end of five-goal thrashing by Headless Chickens, were the only side to have the decency to avoid any awkward embarrassment by not scoring any goals at all.
The final cup game will be played on 29 January, where the top four from each group will go through to the last 16 knockout draw.
Teams below in yellow have already qualified, teams in red are out.
Group A – 8 January 2013Group B – 8 January 2013Group C – 8 January 2013Group D – 8 January 2013
ONE QUESTION was only the start of it. How could we ride the new model number 38 bus?
It was accepted that the ‘hop-on, hop-off’ routemaster-style bus only runs around once an hour on one bus route – the number 38.
Despite its meandering path through the boroughs of Hackney, Islington, Camden and Westminster – taking in some of the most iconic sights in London – there was one problem: none of us ever used it.
All of a sudden the answer was clear: a number 38 bus route pub crawl.
The curious mix of order and chaos that happened on Saturday 20 October 2012 is chronicled below. Where applicable comments about the route, the pubs and learning points have been noted. It is hoped these will instruct, inform and entertain both the crawl aficionado and the casual drinker.
Talk to the pint
Photos are courtesy of World of Tim, and in some cases have been anonymised to mitigate backlash from AA sponsors. Maps have been pinched from the rather excellent Transport for London website.
The plan
A little research found that despite the best efforts of the valiant Bob fabled therein, the last recorded effort along the same route two years previously had mostly fizzled out around halfway along the seven-mile route.
We immediately determined to make the excursion as achievable, fun and damaging to the liver as possible. We had three considerations:
Number of pubs – Circle Line or Monopoly board pub crawls have two flaws, there are too many stops to take in surroundings, and everyone drink halves. We decided on visiting 10 pubs, so we could comfortably spend 38 minutes in each one.
Direction of travel – this was simple, start in north east London and travel south west to Victoria. No one wants to be without their wits in Clapton Pond on a Saturday night, an area on a stretch of road commonly referred to as ‘The Murder Mile’.
38 bus route pub crawl: Top right to bottom left (almost).
Pub locations – establishments should be chosen at even intervals along the route, and as much as possible on the same side of the road as convenient bus stops. This second point would prove invaluable in the later stages.
A Sunday morning bicycle ride two weeks beforehand identified a number of suitable boozers, rubber stamped by a kangaroo committee. The route would not be followed to its absolute end because, as any Londoner will tell you, there are no decent rub-a-dub-dubs in Victoria.
Here’s the list:
The Clapton Hart, Clapton Pond
The Cock Tavern, Hackney Central
The Duke of Wellington, Ball’s Pond Road
The George Orwell, Essex Road
The Old Queen’s Head, Islington
The Old Red Lion Theatre, Angel
The Exmouth Arms, Exmouth Market
The Old Crown, New Oxford Street
The Marquis of Granby, Cambridge Circus
Ye Grapes, Mayfair
The crawl
Each pub name links to it’s location on Google maps. The nearest bus stop is also included.
10-pub club: Only five crawlers (avec double chins) visited all the pubs.1. Clapton Pond
At 1pm a handful of intrepid souls, including Vicki the Bus Spotter, fat Peter Sutcliffe and the athletic frame of the Vasco De Beauvoir manager, met near the Lea Bridge Roundabout. The weather was overcast, but not inclement.
The Clapton Hart has an airy, pleasant feel with respectable staff, and for a moment the social depravity of the surrounding neighbourhood was forgotten, until a regular ambled in with a dog on a string.
Lunch was adequate, but had that fairtrade, made-of-recycled-principles taste about it and the cauliflower was purple. In hindsight, three pints was excessive.
A couple of new 38s idled in the middle of the Lea Bridge Roundabout, but the clock was ticking. There’d be plenty of time for that.
Trendy Cock: More pumps than you could shake a vintage cardigan at.2. Hackney Central Station
A few minutes ride on a boring old Wirght Gemini 2 and we discovered that Jesus was wrong: the meek did not inherit the earth. The meek grew up and moved to east London to work in digital marketing and stay up since last Thursday banging meow meow. A trio of such specimens scratching around the Cock early doors hinted at the clientele, but by thunder did the place stock ale.
After a quick beer we emerged to see… Not already? No, it couldn’t be? It was the new 38!
In a moment not unlike an episode of long-running ITV police drama series The Bill, we crashed along the pavement towards the bus stop, except instead of chasing drug dealers through a notorious Sun Hill housing estate, we were trying to take pictures of an arriving bus. And what a bus it was.
At the end of the route it took three bus drivers to get her off.
Decadent maroon soft furnishing tastefully intertwined with the luxuriant caramel glow of the hand rails. The step entrance was pristine, yellow trim shining, with not a drop of chewing gum, blood or urine tarnishing its surface. The ‘new car smell’ was yet to be overpowered by half-eaten boxes of fried chicken and old people.
For a few intense, heady minutes at the front of the top deck we sailed along Graham Road and over Dalston Junction. Then it was time for another drink.
Coked up: Some struggled to keep the pace on alcohol alone.3. Ball’s Pond Road
Charming island bar and abundance of natural light aside, the Duke always feels brittle, as though ordering a round of Jägerbombs for the whole pub would reduce it into a delicatessen. One notable feature is the former doorway turned into a cosy corner which still boasts the original floor mosaic bearing the pub’s name.
At this point latecomers – including Anders Breivik doppleganger the Judean Peoples’ Front manager – swelled our numbers and the throng dutifully moved onto pub number four. Vicki the Bus Spotter was beside herself: at the next bus stop we took another new 38.
Anders Breivik (left) and Peter Sutcliffe were overheard comparing atrocities.4. Essex Road
Orwell famously treatised of the perfect London pub where the punters were friendly, barmaids affable and beer well served. When visiting his namesake establishment in Canonbury the dream the author weaves, like Boxer the horse in Animal Farm, takes an ugly one in the knackers. Not quite Room 101, but a bit more Down and out than Moon Under Water.
More joined the ranks, with even a one-year-old child putting in a shift.
Whether the Old Queen’s Head is an accurate representation of what’s going on inside the monarch’s noggin is uncertain, but if years of wet paint fumes have finally got to the old girl then why not retro furniture, a slim fit crowd and a baby seeing off a pint of bitter?
Contrary to popular opinion, the outside-the-pub group photo didn’t get boring.6. St John Street
Middle-aged men in turtle neck sweaters using the shallow cover of literary drama to crack onto impressionable, young girls awkwardly asserting their creative independence having thrown off the shackles of a sheltered, suburban upbringing – is what you expect to find in a theatre pub. We found Norwich City Football Club fans. Loads of them.
A Canary army had descended on the Old Red Lion to watch their team play Arsenal in the dim red glow of the pub’s quasi ghost train decor. Some crawlers had something to eat. It could have been chips.
The Exmouth Arms: Peter Sutcliffe rips through a pint of bitter, Yorkshire style.7. Mount Pleasant
At the introduction of the 50p game in the Exmouth Arms events spiralled out of control. For the uninitiated, if a 50p piece is dropped into your glass while you’re holding it, you must immediately drink its contents. The coin is then yours with which to cause mischief.
Many of the unsuspecting crawl were seven pints to the good and, as it would go on to do a week later, the game caused no little degree of mayhem.
The Cambridge: So bad there’s only one answer.9. Cambridge Circus
Composure regained, we found the Marquis of Granby was shut – a common symptom of central London pubs on weekends. Panic spread through the camp, but it turned out there were lots of other pubs nearby and everyone realised they weren’t really that fussed anyway.
We went to the Cambridge. A horrendous place that only exists to convince thousands of tourists every year who know no better that they’ve been to a traditional English public house. The former Young Boys of Kilburn manager ordered a large glass of red wine thinking it would be exempt from the 50p game.
Ye Grapes: “10 pubs? Pathetic.”10. Green Park Station
Ye Grapes is also the last pub on the official Monopoly pub crawl, which meant they were used to people wandering in on the sharp end of 14 pints. This was fortunate, as through a consequence of bizarre, delayed trauma to having their childhood television memories recently besmirched in the media, some crawlers were singing the theme song to Jim’ll Fix It.
A fair amount of leering at the barmaid took place, people bought poppies and the Lokomotiv Leeds manager took it upon himself to neck pints with astonishing speed.
Bearded: The FCT manager’s public image suffered in 2012
DESPITE Luis Suarez and Sergio Aguero notching them up like John Terry’s bedpost, Sporting Lesbian go into the New Year with only a slender lead over the reigning champions.
FC Testiculadew shaved a point from the gap since Boxing Day morning with goals from Jonny Evans, Steven Pienaar and Dimitar Berbatov.
FCT enjoyed the added advantage of Danny Simpson missing Saturday evening’s game, while Lesbian Davide Santon had seven knocked past him and got booked.
Much maligned for the heinous crime of tactical Brambling during May’s Euros auction, the FCT boss hopes to regenerate his public profile in the New Year, as well as becoming the first manager to defend the league title.
“For some reason I’ve earned a bad reputation, but I hope that everyone can leave that unfortunate, summer misunderstanding in 2012 and see that behind the sinister facial hair I’m just a stand-up guy who can get the best from his team in all competitions,” said cad and bounder the FCT manager, while counting out 11 bullets into envelopes addressed to the Sporting Lesbian first team.
At the bottom, Bala Rinas climb out of the drop zone thanks to Gareth Bale and Daniel Agger. Wandsworth Window Lickers sink down most likely because their top scorer this week was Gabriel Obertan.
Looking into 2013, managers’ immediate focus will be on the cup ahead of this week’s fixtures, with every team in with a chance of progressing to the knockout stages.
Pie in the sky: Andy Carroll has pledged to his manager to score more goals
A KNOCK at the door announced the manager’s two o’clock meeting. Brief fumbling at the knob was followed by the entrance of the team’s star striker.
“Hello, Andy. Please take a seat. Have a mince pie,” said the Headless Chickens manager from behind his desk.
The lofty striker approached the chair eyeing the plate of Mr Kipling’s on the desk. Sitting down, he picked up one of the pies, sniffed it gingerly and wolfed it down.
“Andy, I’ve asked you in today to talk about your performances,” said the manager. “Remember at the start of the season…”
“Andy did a goal!” Interrupted the striker, banging his fists on the arm rests, wild excitement in his eyes.
“Yes, back at the start of the season Andy ‘did a goal'” conceded the Chickens manager. “But the problem is that Andy hasn’t scored many goals since then.”
The striker looked at the floor with sorrowful eyes and then meekly up at his manager.
“Well, we’re really here about a serious matter but…oh, alright then, but only because it’s Christmas,” the manager produced a banana from a drawer and threw it at the striker, who greedily unpeeled and ate it. The procedure demeaned them both, but the Chickens target man was always calmed by the yellow fruit and the manager had just had new carpets fitted.
“Now, Andy, remember those days when you first played in the Kenna?” said the manager.
“Andy did a goal! Andy did a goal! Andy did a goal!” Screamed the striker over and over again, jumping up and down on the chair and beating his fists on his chest.
After congratulating himself for not offering the glass of sherry the season’s custom had supplied his other visitors that day, the manager stood and tried to calm his player down, as always having to fall back on the usual ultimatum: “Look Andy, if you don’t stop this now, you’ll have to stay at Uncle Kevin’s house again!”
The effect was immediate. Andy stopped dry humping the cocktail cabinet and returned to his seat.
“Now Andy, unless you start producing the goods (no, put that away!) I’ve got no alternative than to put you on the transfer list for February’s window, and you know what that means.”
The striker nodded slowly. Everyone knew what it meant but the manager wanted to make his point.
“It means you’ll end up playing for some relegation-doomed outfit like Woking or Vasco De Beauvoir when everyone’s scratching around for players at the end of the transfer night. And do you think the managers there will give you bananas? So, you’re going to start ‘doing’ goals and you’re going to start ‘doing’ goals good.
“Now onto brighter things. It’s the club Christmas party tonight. By the way, what was your last club’s Christmas party like?”
In the grand scheme of things, $45US may seem like a drop in the ocean, but as the starting price for a counterfeit Mexican club football top it was high. Too damned high.
It was a Chivas shirt, red and white stripes with ‘Toyota’ across the shoulders and the irresistible logo of mass bakers ‘Bimbo’ on the front.
There was neither name nor number on the back, and in this regard it failed in any attempts to become a prized asset. An opening offer could be reckless, and introduced itself at five bucks.
Taking it as the usual jest of a holidaymaker haemorrhaging cash on Playa del Carmen’s main drag, the vender dropped to 42. When his customer stuck to five, the pidgin pleasantries ended.
“I don’t give these away for free! Especially to a cheapskate like you!” was, one thought, in poor taste considering the trifling wages of underage sweatshop workers I’d just pointed out.
For the casual reader wondering why the hell one would take such a bearding as this for a fake piece of polyester, it’s difficult to explain just how integral a part these tops are to the game’s culture.
Latin America’s landscape is just as much characterised by rich, tropical vegetation, breathtaking mountain panoramas and faded beer marketing as it is by a weatherbeaten campesino wearing a number 10 Carlos Valderama shirt.
Parallels with some tattooed chancer in Chelsea ‘home’ sounding off in a Surrey pub are soon forgotten in the heat, tinny salsa music and desperately-cheap rum cocktails.
Many tourists buy wooden masks or moody silver trinkets, but to take home a mid-90s Campos, a Club América Blanco or a River Plate Ariel Ortega is to have a much more tangible slice of a country’s aspirations, reverence and achievement. Advertising is also a lot more unrestrained and a lot less ethical than European counterparts.
Back in the tat shop on the Caribbean coast things were turning nasty.
“This shirt is professional. It’s good quality, not like this cheap crap that you wear,” said the Mexican sales assistant tugging at my t-shirt to a generous offer of $15US.
I forgave the slight to French Connection and soldiered on. I’d already been ejected from one shop in similar circumstances, but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for these guys. They wouldn’t last 10 minutes in Marrakech.
I tried to pick up the bits of good will smashed on the floor by going to twenty, just to give him a chance, but the train of overweight gringos thronging along Avenida Quinta had irrecoverably altered market conditions. I wouldn’t be held to ransom.
From Rome to Cartagena the equivalent of £15 was the most these things would ever be worth, and no one in their right mind would give even half of that for this Chivas disaster. I always thought there’d be plenty of other chances.
However, that was a week ago and despite having visited a good many more places on the Yucatán peninsula since there’s been a hearty lack of football shirts for sale.
Just two full days remain and it feels more and more unlikely that an opportunity will present itself on the current schedule, and as sure as eggs is eggs I’m sure not stooping to a Manchester United Chicharito effort.
