Making Noises

As usual, all the right noises are coming out of Carra and Colney. We’ve grown to accept it as normal, but it wasn’t too long ago that we were always told how unlucky we had been regardless of performance. Or how rubbish we were and how rubbish we, the fans, were.

But we’ve finally got someone who can do it right, even if repetition is a severe side effect tic. Then again things were a little different this week, we were told this week that our keeper’s ready for an England call up. More of a story would have been a player’s manager saying there is “no chance he’s good enough for a call-up”. Nevertheless, we’ve got yet another goalkeeper peering over the fence of England training to add to the England youth-teamers and our past numero unos. It’s fair to say fortune is aiding it, or fortunate retirements are anyway, but he’s been solid (enough).

We’ve also been told, along with how “brilliant they’ve been”, that our young guns have really stepped up. Again, the opposite would be more of a story, if worrying but it’s not just the young’uns that have stepped up, the squad has collectively. The sight of a calendar keeps this all in check, mind.

But anyway, onto the weekend. I’ve heard it’s a biggy, I guess it is inasmuch as they all are at this level. But daylight between us and them would go down a treat, as would a couple for Morison. He don’t half deserve it. A clean sheet would give that wheel another nudge toward an England cap too, and the defence in front of him deserves it. Especially RMart.

One game at a time and all that.

Out of Nowhere

Going into the last three games, we’d have all taken four points. Mission accomplished, if tinged with a hint of what could have been.

The patronising is even becoming bearable. Us coming away from with our hair being ruffled by the ‘Experts’ in the media is nothing if not tedious. On the other hand it would show we’re doing alright.

Up and Away?

Hark at us flying along?!

Three points against Swansea, or more importantly no points for Swansea, and we’re in the top half of the table, best of the new boys and above Arsenal. Heck, it’s only October but still, we can be excused for enjoying the moment a little.

You never know we may never have to leave this division if the ‘Foreign Owners’ get their way. It’s fantasy at the minute, but money talks. Penniless clubs scraping a living have redundant vocal chords, sheepishly following where the money may lie.

Even if we were still up in the Premier League when said hypothetical decision was made, I would want no part of it. While none of us would relish the thought of a relegation battle, we would quickly yearn for that stomach-knotting excitement.

Vested interests from the owners, them who pay the bills lest we forget, and they no doubt think they have our interests at heart an’all. Or they’ll tell you that. This won’t or shouldn’t, go through at anytime in anyone’s future but the mere mention of it leaves a bit of a bad taste.

Anyway, if we’re still knocking about for it to cut us off from those beneath us we’ll have plenty of seats to go around. Or we’ll have tickets that are available for more than an hour before selling out anyway.

Then, when the ‘Foreign Owner’s’ rules come in we’ll all fall out of love with football and slide away from visiting Carrow Road to watch stale, dried out football. This sort of thing wouldn’t happen to us, mind. Unlucky and Norwich don’t go hand in hand.

Split Loyalties?

The Chatham Welshman

International weekends. Who needs ‘em. From the looks of Twitter, more were watching Wales than England round our parts.

Club over country an’all that.

I was watching Spain v Chile because of some nasty Australian man. But anyway, the ‘Welsh’ of our squad was a stronger pull than the best English players in the land. Odd that, no?

Does this mean come Tuesday a one-nil win for Wales after Morison nets would be welcomed? Somehow I doubt it, but a 2-1 England win with Morison scoring? Now that would go down well.

If we had an English international, things would be different no doubt. Then again, we do have an English international. Actually, we have three in Crofts, Morison and RMart.

Say Croft and Morison both play Tuesday night; it must be an odd feeling. Both Londoners, they must have grown up watching England in (and not make it to) major tournaments, and now they’ll be playing in the same ground, on the same pitch as the team they would have dreamed of playing for as kids.

An odd scenario, and not one that has an obvious comparison.

It’s not like leaving your boyhood club, it’s bigger than that. Much bigger. But if you were never going to make it for your home country- and we aren’t, no matter what we tell ourselves- but another asked you to play, few would easily say no.

The chance is too big to turn down, and they’ve got their grandmothers to thank for being handed it.

As long as they come back without any niggles or strains, they can do their worst. Which may well end up being the best for us.

Too Much of a Good Thing

I love cricket. It is a truly fantastic sport, and while football is undeniably ‘the big one’ as far as I am concerned, cricket always followed soon after in my life. It is more than possible that at times I grew to enjoy it even more than ‘the beautiful game’, perhaps because unlike with football, I was actually half-decent at it.

This enjoyment of the sport had begun to wane however, primarily as a result of the excessive amount of cricket that is currently being played. It is absolutely true that ‘you can have too much of a good thing’, and modern-day cricket reflects this phrase perfectly.

I Swear

So they’ve gone and done it.

Rooney’s been charged because he said a naughty word.

Way to go, FA.

The reason being it is a bad influence on kids, especially because their only contact with the outside, grown-up world is on Sky Sports and Match of the Day every week. The fact that they hear these utterances of such offence and worse on a daily basis on public transport, or their siblings, or parents even is irrelevant.

Eng-Er-L-Oh Who Cares.

In case you’ve missed it, it’s international break weekend up next, you would be forgiven for forgetting, too. Normally, the buzz and hype of a home international Euro qualifier would be all-consuming starting from now. But not even the reinstating of JT could thrust it into our consciousness.

Sir Alan Sugar summed this whole shambles up in 140 glorious characters this week, How to become England captain: Adultery, Flog Hospitality tickets, Harass Americans while drunk, alleged charges of assault, insult referees. Perfection. Capello could have been the one to finally realise the potential of our so called Golden Generation, alas he’s crumbled to player power like the National team managers of recent memory.

But at least he’s picked some players on the merit of form. Few would begrudge Matt Jarvis an England call-up. And at least there’s no Bothroyd this time around.

I, along with most fans of a Championship club above tenth, would rather this whole charade wasn’t happening. As the Premier League race is stuttering along, close, but not particularly exciting, anything can still happen in the Championship. Well, except Norwich getting relegated now, wherever you are in the table as a Norwich fan there’s always a sneaky sigh of relief when that fact hits home. The bottle-necked top-half is stretching, Play-off positions are still up for grabs and the automatic places are by no means claimed.

And then there’s still the QPR debacle. “Sorted by the end of the season” is the word from the FA, and the solidity of their backbone will determine the size of their punishment. My hunch, it will be a suspended penalty and a fine that will in no way dent their purse. Maybe they should give the penalty to clubs like Plymouth. (I am in no way calling them a charity, but for the good of the game clubs need to be saved.)

Too Late, Too Late

With the Rugby World Cup starting in September, England could barely be in better form for it. Beating Australia in their backyard and then backing that up with a win at Twickers and so far looking very strong in the Six Nations seems to have put them well and truly in the frame.

Well not if you’re Sean Fitzpatrick.

He claims the rich vein of form is “too late” for them to accept the tag of serious contenders for the Webb Ellis trophy.

Well, let’s just stay at home then. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing, going all that way only to be told we didn’t submit our entry for “Winners” early enough.

Maybe he hasn’t heard of the playoffs. Squeeze into sixth on the last day of the season after being in trouble earlier in the season means you already have play-off success in the bag (I’m looking at you, Leicester City).

This is the most exciting England side since the nineties, playing heads-up rugby, expansive, aggressive and pragmatic at the same time. Most importantly though it is settled.

Never Thought This Would Happen…

It’s been a pretty strange few weeks of sport these last, erm, well, few weeks, topped off with Gary Neville giving everyone a little lift by announcing his retirement from football.

He’s been labeled the best right back in Premier League history (are we forgetting Thomas Helveg had a brief stint in the Prem at Fortress Carra??), been ridiculed for his ‘admiration’ for David Beckham and irritated everyone, I would say outside of the red half of Manchester but that wouldn’t work… and been, in my opinion, possibly one of the most cynical players to play football, up there with Muscat (Maybe that’s a bit harsh, even on the GNev).

He may not be very close to my Favourite Footballers XI- in fact he’s not even on the bench of my Players-Whose-Existence-In-Football-I-Acknowledge-Let-Alone-Appreciate reserve team- but I’ve developed, today, a begrudging respect for him.

Yep, that’s right.

He was one of the very, very few one-club players left in the modern game and I know that if he had donned the yella’n'green for the entirety of his career I would have the same affection for him as those United fans do. He’s one of those (cliche alert) love him if he’s on your side/hate him if he’s not. Not only that he was one of the best at it, Robbie Savage and Lee Bowyer pale in comparison. His heart takes up his whole sleeve, he’ll give you every drop for his side and there aren’t too many of them about nowadays.

So there it is. I won’t miss him, though.

No way.

His announcement was almost the antithesis to the chaotic events of Monday night.

Use Your Head

*Listening to Arcade Fire – Sprawl II (Mountains beyond Mountains)*

I’m getting so sick of this analogy that is spouted week in, week out. I’ll admit it’s harmless, no wars will be started from using it. But still.

Watching Northern Ireland struggle to get a point at the mighty Faroe Islands, it was every other uttered sentence.

“He’s good with the ball for a big man.” or something to that effect.

Like I said, harmless. But in the 23 years of Kyle Lafferty’s 6 foot 4 life I would expect him to be able to control his feet. It’s not as though at that height there would be some sort of lag resulting in his foot moving a split-second too late leaving him, and consequently all tall footballers quivering, crying, cursing their ill-luck in being too tall to play football.

It’s just standard motor skills. Head wants to move feet in a certain way, so feet do as told.