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Sign of the times: Disheartening erosion of Blackburn pub culture as thriving Adelaide hostelries roll out the welcome mat

Being English, the concept of the pub has always held a place close to my heart. Of course, pubs are also part of the social fabric of Australian life too. However, back in the homeland they virtually take on an extension to someone’s lounge room. Why go to a house when you have a ready-made meeting place that serves up an assortment of alcoholic beverages designed to put crowds in good heart? Perhaps the English notion of the pub is slightly more emphasised because of the role that the UK’s erratic weather plays. The front room of a pub is always a welcoming prospect if grey skies and squally showers suddenly invade a supposed summer’s day. The barbecue has never been a workable attraction to me back in Blighty. The climate is so fickle that usually the garage takes over as the venue rather than the pre-planned garden. As the Beatles ruefully opined on I am the Walrus: “Sitting in an English garden, waiting for the sun; If the sun don’t come you get a tan, from standing in the English rain.”

So the pub has always been a staple stand-by for me. But oddly, amid all the years of imbibing at various hostelries, I can’t recall too many of the staff. I suppose I just took them for granted. Some of the classic Blackburn pubs of yesteryear were too packed to stay mingling by the bar. Sadly those golden days are gone. The list of Blackburn pubs that are no longer with us is endless: the Vulcan, the Peel, the Courts, the Regent (complete with swing doors), the Harrisons (pre-Ewood afternoons and evenings), likewise the Commercial, both on Bolton Road. There are so many defunct pubs that crawls from Brownhill to the town centre and the famed Revidge Run no longer exist. There were even rural havens for partied imbibers. The Spring Mill in Langho rocked on Monday and Thursday evenings; the Wellsprings at the top of Pendle Hill was a known hot-spot and plenty of cars had “Follow me to the Tanners” stickers on their back windows. Alas, the Tanners Arms at Dinckley is also ancient history. And who could forget the legendary Lodestar, run by Maggie Grimshaw. The nightclub appeared as an illuminated oasis in the middle of the rolling pastures of the Ribble Valley. You could not make it up — it was almost like a picturesque version of the bridge scene from Apocalypse Now. As Mott the Hoople sang in the midst of this madcap, dizzy spell in 1974, “The golden age of rock and roll can never die…” Unfortunately the golden age of Blackburn pubs passed away long ago. Thank God I’m old. Imagine growing up there now. And in those days you could also tell the character of a pub by its jukebox. I used to wonder how the staff could even hear. It must have been on ordeal working behind the bar of the Peel when The Tubes’ White Punks on Dope was being belted out full-blast from the other side of the room. This could be followed by Shot by both sides by Magazine — and so it went on.

Strangely I remember John and Barbara, who ran the Knowles Arms in its Seventies heydays, plus Anita, who did likewise just a gentle stroll away, along Whalley New Road at the Wilpshire Hotel. But not many others remain in the memory. Well, there were Roy and Vi, who took over from Anita and virtually emptied the pub of its soul by barring the bulk of the regulars for spurious reasons. So much so that the ‘Red House’ became the “Dead House” in no time at all.

But in the years since moving to Australia I have noticed how friendly and welcoming the barstaff are, particularly in some of the hostelries that I frequent in the Norwood or inner city zones of Adelaide. In many instances, I can just stroll in and receive a welcoming greeting, be served with a Cooper’s pale (or stout in winter) and enjoy the craic via a barside chat. It’s not exactly being Norm in Cheers or one of the regulars in the wonderful English series set in Manchester, Early Doors. But it is a fine feeling. So I thought it would be a good idea to sing the praises of some of the unheralded people who do such a wonderful job behind the bars, serving us up beers, spirits and fine wines or other tipples that we may fancy.

Unlike Blackburn, Adelaide still has pubs a-plenty. So I will begin a roller-coaster tour of some of my favourite venues and give potential thirsty patrons some tips and directions for enjoyable times, with warm welcomes to match from various mine hosts who deserve your presence. As Sham 69 sang in 1978 as the chorus to Hurry Up Harry, “We’re going down the pub.” It doesn’t sound much but remember that the bulk of pop/rock lyrics are banal and mindless. Not everyone can be Morrissey or Mark E. Smith. So I reckon Jimmy Pursey’s chant is a noble sentiment. Raise your glasses and stay tuned to the Dave Rose column…

• The Dave Rose column has been revamped and given a new look. It now contains sporting news as well as occasional contributions from guest writers. To check things out and have your say, go to whoareya.net Please join the followers, like it on twitter and Facebook and tell your friends to like. Any written offerings gratefully taken on board. Get involved and let’s watch things snowball. It’s topical and irreverent. And there are plenty of back listings to pour over. For previous entries, spanning back to September 2013, go to thedaverosecolumn. Hope you can follow the column and enjoy the reading along the way. Cheers…

 

Musical diversity the perfect antidote to after-effects of English exits

Entering a musical maelstrom seems to be a fair way to end a momentous week of events. Jokes about England leaving Europe twice within a couple of days have abounded since the earth-shaking Britexit vote followed by the equally devastating 2-1 defeat to Iceland in Euro 2016. So what better way to float off into a parallel universe than sample a set by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard at the Governor of Hindmarsh Hotel on Thursday evening. The Melbourne psychedelic/garage rockers have caught my attention over the past few months with raucous, frantic tracks being aired on various radio channels — notably Radio Adelaide, 3D and Triple J. They seem a prolific bunch with the amount of the material they have released since 2010. So I took a punt on two recent albums — Paper Mâché Dream Balloon and Nonagon Infinity.

The sounds are definitely “off the wall” and both CDs, to my ear, sound radically different. There is so much flute on the Paper Mâché Dream Balloon effort that I thought Ian Anderson, of Jethro Tull fame, must have been involved in production proceedings. When buying the albums and also when purchasing my ticket from the Gov, I was told how amazing the band were. “They are playing a gig, you know,” I was informed. “I know, I’m going to be there,” was my reply. I just needed a crash course into some of the band’s back catalogue to be familiar with at least some of the breakneck-speed tunes that are going to be thrashed out.

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Then on Saturday, just to prove that not everything English has fallen off the cultural cliff completely, it’s away to the Last Night of the Proms at Adelaide’s Festival Hall. This in its own way should be completely off the dial. I have never been to see a live orchestra ever before so a bit of self-indulgence will be on the menu as the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra offers its own interpretations of such stirring anthems as Land of Hope and Glory, Rule Britannia plus Jerusalem. All that should put a smile back on some of the Anglophile faces, who have endured a turbulent few days.

But there is no escaping the fact that the English are peerless at dishing out sporting humiliation. The national football team have been doing it for years, though the Iceland debacle took things to another level. Mike Atherton’s England’s cricketing Test easybeats were perennial embarrassments and the ruggah buggahs’ efforts at the last rugby World Cup caused much mirth around the rest of the globe. Both those outfits seem to have put their houses back in order and are performing well. Maybe it’s because they have Australian coaches with Trevor Bayliss overseeing a cricket revival while Eddie Jones has just masterminded a 3-0 whitewash against his native land down under.

In contrast Roy Hodgson has cut a sorry figure as England’s football leader, floundering somewhere between coy and clueless. Remember Roy was in charge at Blackburn Rovers from 1997 for one full season. His was a curious stay. His initial season started off like a runaway train with Rovers having some amazing results and leading the Premiership table. Post-Christmas things turned  into almost relegation form before sixth spot was secured on the final day with a last minute Chris Sutton winner against Newcastle United. When the bad results continued in the 1998-99 season, it was not long before Roy was sacked. I have watched Roy’s career since and was never quite convinced he was the real deal.

Apart from Roy, there has been a heavy Rovers connection at Euro 2016. Wales coach Chris Coleman played under Roy at Ewood. While pundits for beIN Sport have included ex-boss Graeme Souness, who was scathing about England’s woeful efforts. And rightly so. But no doubt the pampered Premiership poodles will toddle off to their clubs and forget about it all in a few weeks when the obscene amount of earnings continue to come cascading in. Alongside Graeme on various panels have been ex-players Michel Salgardo, Andrew Cole and Jason McAteer. All of them a wistful reminder of better times at Ewood.

However, it seems Roy certainly wasn’t the right fit at the helm for England. But he is a highly educated man. Maybe he could get a job in politics. There are suddenly plenty of opportunities on both sides of the House of Commons after the Brexit vote. What a turn-up that was. Such a shame that every time a Leave supporter was trotted out on Oz television for a Vox Pop, they seemed to be totally as thick as the proverbial docker’s butty and even dumb to the extent that they didn’t really comprehend what they had voted for. Maybe there should be an intelligence test before folk are allowed to cast their votes. It’s Australia’s turn this weekend. A general election. And it’s compulsory. But before then… bring on King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard for some high octane escapism.

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Who? Where? When? Release of English football fixtures means it’s time to start planning ahead

This week heralded one of the most anticipated dates on the English sporting calendar — and there wasn’t even a single fixture played. Of course, I’m referring to the release of the football fixtures for the next season, which will come around in August. Every fan at each club, no matter what the disappointments of the previous campaign, will rush to see what hurdles lie ahead as a hoped for new dawn beckons in every respective case.

Usually, this will mean seeing who awaits on the opening day, when any derby clashes are scheduled, what’s in store on Boxing Day and who rounds things off on the final day — home or away when something important could be resting on the outcome. For Blackburn Rovers, the fixtures have bestowed an opening day home fixture against newly-relegated Norwich City. Boxing Day has delivered a trip to Barnsley which should make for fine trans-Pennine trek for those driving to South Yorkshire from Blackburn. New Year will see a first footing from a healthy contingent of Geordies with Newcastle United at Ewood on January 2. The season will sign off with an outing at the compact West London abode of Brentford,. This is always a popular destination thanks to the numerous pubs dotted about the vicinity of Griffin Park. There used to a pub on each corner of the ground. Not sure if one has disappeared now. And it’s all good fun to browse through the other fixtures and take dates in — even form 12,000 miles away.

In a new innovation, the cashed-up, hyped-up Premier League has already released its fixtures separately, a week earlier. That’s another sign of the EPL’s growing swagger and seemingly condescending outlook towards its cousins in the lower tiers. But there are some big names in the Championship. Clubs with real tradition and pedigree now that Aston Villa and Newcastle United have been forced to sample life at a level below their assumed station.

An amusing aside last week saw a Bristol City fan-related piece assessing the merits of various away trips for the coming season. Unfairly or not, they rated a visit to Huddersfield Town as the least attractive away day from their West Country starting point. My own recollections of visits to Huddersfield can only be based on two treks way back in the early 1970s. When Rovers enjoyed prolonged Premier League status, our paths did not cross often. Back in the days of yore the Terriers were based at their old Leeds Road ground. I recall a windy open end for the away fans and a couple of welcoming pubs pre-game. But that is all ancient history now with Town having been established since 1994 in their multi-purpose ground which seems to change its name to whoever the sponsor is. It is a venue I have never experienced. Huddersfield fans got their own back by suggesting the Bristol jibe might be a “kettle and pot black” situation and listed their five top grounds for the coming season. Surprise, surprise — Newcastle and Villa were included along with Leeds United, for a derby experience, Brentford (the clusters of nearby pubs) and Brighton.

Again, oddly at the end of last season the Newcastle fans’ forum The Mag had a dig at Villa fans for gloating at the Toon joining them in the Championship soon. “At least we have an attractive ground and city which visiting fans can enjoy,” was the claim. That’s true. The ground is virtually in the city which is packed with pubs which are packed with fans. The craic in Rosies before and after games with my Geordie chums Chris Baines, Ged Clarke, Simon Malia and Mick Ramsey used to be stirring occasions. The only drawbacks for me were twofold. In all my visits watching Rovers — both as fan or as reporter in the old press box — I have never seen us win. And the view from the elevated away section on the Leazes End means you may as well be watching from Everest. The players are the size of ants. On my last trip, another defeat, we tapped into Ivan Hickmott’s Tyneside links to procure a seat in the home ranks. Rovers did not give us much to shout about so me and Ivan were quite safe in our incognito status.

But the Toon publication’s slight on Villa Park is wide of the mark. The ground may not have a scenic approach, being in the shadow of Spaghetti Junction, but it is expansive and impressive from the away end when visiting fans were housed in the North Stand seats. And there is a hidden gem of a pub called the Bartons Arms about 15 minutes walk away near the A34 on High Street Aston. This hostelry was cannily discovered by Mick Eddleston, Ian Neville and their former away day group. It is positively ornate and spacious inside and has copious real ales on tap. Plus the kitchen serves wonderful Thai cuisine. I have experienced both wins and losses at Villa. Notable victories were the 4-0 rout featuring a Chris Sutton hat-trick in August 1997 and a 4-1 FA Cup romp with Matt Jansen briefly back on the scene in January 2003.

It looks like those two fallen giants will be high on every everyone’s wish-list to visit. But there are plenty of other enticing days out in a Division that houses some grand names from English football’s rich tapestry. And of course new kids on the block, Burton Albion. Happy travels to those fans back in Blighty.

Eddie Jones has revitalised England and helped to give rugby union overdue exposure

Rugby Union has never made any serious inroads into my sporting psyche. A strange mix of class and geography has left me immune down the years to the merits of a sport that thrills toffs and taffs (that’s posh people and the Welsh). I was never brought up on the intricate formulas of the game.

I may have visited 70-odd English football grounds, a cricket venue in every county except the homes of Glamorgan and Derbyshire, plus numerous racetracks ranging from Ascot to the dangerous Daily Telegraph day trips to York. But Twickenham, the spiritual home of rugby, has been off my radar. Well, I did go there once but that was for an REM concert for my sister Dianne’s birthday in August 2008. It was a good gig. Shame that Blackburn Rovers had to start the day off badly with a 4-1 defeat across the other side of London at West Ham.

Even when England won the World Cup against host nation Australia in November 2003 thanks to the boot of Jonny Wilkinson I was caught almost in a state of indifference as time ticked away. I did not want the game to last any longer than possible — I just wanted someone, anyone, to win. Gabs and me were watching the match in the hotel foyer of the Red Rose suite at the “real” Old Trafford, the Lancashire cricket ground. Why? Because Rovers were playing over the road against Manchester United. I just wanted to leave the bags and get to the Trafford pub on Chester Road to anesthetise myself with some pints of bitter ahead of our annual defeat at the den of Satan — the “other” Old Trafford. Eventually Wilkinson kicked the decisive drop goal in the dying seconds and I admit I did leap up and down. England had beaten Australia and I could head off for pre-game pints.

However, a sport that sees it as positive to lump the ball into the crowd to make progress and where the referee has the starring role, blowing his whistle for seemingly minor indiscretions, has never held any real fascination for me. This is not to knock the sport — it’s just a personal view. I do take a passing interest such as keeping an eye on England’s dismal World Cup early exit last year on home soil. Rugby League convert Sam Burgess seemed to be made the exclusive scapegoat for that. No wonder he’s now back at South Sydney, playing rugby league. From the debris of that doomed campaign ebullient Australian Eddie Jones took charge and immediately transformed England into worthy Six Nations champions. And so this week, for once, I have been following rugby union news with great fervour. The reason? Eddie Jones. Here is an Aussie coach in charge of the English team who is so full of vigour, good vibes and seems eminently quotable, that he just wins you over. He breezed back into his own native backyard ready for the ensuing flak, took it and gave it back via England’s win the first Test in Brisbane last week. No doubt my mate old Sydney Morning Herald mate Pete Brown would have loved it.

In the build-up to the Test, Eddie even evoked the spirit of cricket’s Bodyline, which is always assured of rousing Australians’ ire. Particularly when the English dish it up with a smile. In the words of the esteemed former journalist with The Times, Simon Barnes, Bodyline is “the greatest sporting whinge of all time.” So Eddie knew what he was doing when he stirred the pot. He almost comes across as rugby union’s version of Jose Mourinho, such is his maverick but confident demeanour. Eddie’s team certainly took it to the more fancied home side as the game unfolded in Brisbane. Bodyline-style, the bullies became the bullied. “They don’t like it up ‘em,” as Lance Corporal Jones, portrayed by Clive Dunn, used to say in the Dad’s Army television series of yesteryear. The result certainly made me sit up and take notice.

Now can Eddie and his resurgent squad carry this on  into the second Test in Melbourne on Saturday? The Australians are definitely rattled and coach Michael Cheika has been forced into changes. But they are also roused and ready for revenge. It will be no mean feat if England upset the odds again. Rugby sits some way down the sporting ladder, even in Australia, so in many ways the code should be grateful for Eddie’s England making such a bold impression. Now it’s on to Melbourne to see who will be making the headlines this weekend. For once, I will be glued to the action.

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Youthful England hoping to make big impression as Euro 2016 kicks off

Euro 2016 will probably mean more twilight football viewing for me as the competition unfolds from this weekend. And unlike cheesy Eurovision there will be no wild card entry for the Socceroos, so Australian fans will have to make of it what they will. It is hard to evaluate England’s chances as I have seen very few live games that they have been involved with of late. Suffice to say, I will not get over-excited. But to be fair to Roy Hodgson, he has given youth its fling after naming his squad so anything could happen. Indeed Geoff Hurst, the England hat-trick hero of the 1966 World Cup success this week said:”It’s the most exciting squad since ’66 ‑ people like Dele Alli have come in and been very refreshing.”

I thought England looked fine in the 2-1 win against the Socceroos in the recent friendly at Sunderland’s Stadium of Light. They had the precious asset of pace which made them look highly dangerous on the counter-attack and they created the far more promising openings on goal. This was contrary to the opinions of pro-Aussie commentator Andy Harper, who was seemingly watching a different game to me. Other recent friendly results have included a storming come-from-behind 3-2 win in Germany followed by a home defeat to the Netherlands and a fitful 2-1 success against Turkey at Manchester City’s Eastlands home.

So, it really looks hit or miss for the tournament. England have never won the Euros so if they can gain some early momentum it may give the folks back home something to take on board. Of course one of the best Euro memories is when football “came home” in the heady summer of 1996. Even looking back through rose-tinted glasses, it seemed to be a time when everything just came together — the football, the music, the craic within the general heady atmosphere around England.

I’m not too fond of David Baddiel and Frank Skinner but their anthemic Three Lions had the country singing along. England made a dithering start. I remember being on Sunday Times duty for the Switzerland game then watching in a Tufnell Park pub with Mark Fairhurst for the epic win against Scotland. And this is all so long ago that remember the striking talisman was someone who actually played for Blackburn Rovers at the time – a certain Alan Shearer. A whole nation worshipping a Rovers player. Jeez, it must have been a long time ago.

The high point came with the demolition of the Dutch at Wembley. Again, Shearer scored and this time I enjoyed it literally on home turf in the Knowles Arms, in Blackburn. Penalties saw off Spain and a semi-final meeting with Germany beckoned. Where to for this one? Believe it or not — Edinburgh to meet touring Aussie mates at that time Dave and Sarah Patching plus Gabs, with Blackburn folk Mick and Jean Charnley completing the entourage. Shearer duly scored after three minutes in a packed pub as we watched the box. Cue pandemonium — but only from mainly me. Not the rest of the pub. I could not believe that the Scots were backing Germany. The Krauts eventually equalised and that had the pub suddenly roaring. England’s usual exit on penalties seemed to cheer the Jocks up even more. I was not pleased leaving the pub that night. I have known copious Scots down the years but never realised they took their hatred of the English to such levels. After that I always watched Braveheart from a different viewpoint. His descendants were probably in that Edinburgh pub cheering for the Germans.

Amid all this feelgood vibes that summer was the Sex Pistols’ open air shindig at Finsbury Park when England players Stuart Pearce and Gareth Southgate were wheeled on stage to introduce John Lydon and co to the delight of the crowd. I was there with Mark Fairhurst (again) and Shaun Gill. A great afternoon. Even Iggy Pop popped up for a while. Heady days, but let’s fast forward to now. I have gained some kind of revenge in that the Scots are the only one of the British Isles nations missing out on France 2016. Northern Ireland, Republic of Ireland and even Wales are all there. So that’s some kind of karma retribution for Edinburgh 96. What happens from here who knows?

One of the sad aspects of the upcoming tournament is the heightened fears about terrorism, especially after occurrences in France in recent times. Alas, it’s part of the crazy world we live in with one possible miscreant already having his alleged schedule of mayhem interrupted by security forces and Police in Ukraine. Here’s hoping for some fine televised entertainment and a trouble-free event. Vive la France!

 

Venkys spring another unwelcome surprise by appointing Owen Coyle as Blackburn Rovers manager

 

For any football fan, the input to your chosen club involves emotion. You don’t mean to do it, but you do. I would love to rise above all the feelings and view every Blackburn Rovers game as a clued-up, detached pundit. And, even from 12,000 miles away, pretend I don’t really care. But I do. At present it’s close season in the Northern summer. I should be free of worry until August. But I’m not. In 2010 the lunatics, in the form of the Venky family, came out of nowhere to create a madhouse that now resides at Ewood Park. Since then it’s been one painful and depressing figurative blow to the head after another for the fans. And just as you thought the crackpot owners could not do anything more bafflingly deranged, they do. They appoint Owen Coyle as manager. At best, underwhelming for the browbeaten supporters. At worst, almost downright provocative. If you take away the emotion, you could ask Rovers fans to give the bloke a chance. So I will. But it’s a big call for all the loyalists back there, given his forever ingrained association with the Claret hillbillies from just the right side of the Yorkshire border. Yes, Burnley. And he has Bolton connections too. Plus dubious links to the carpetbagger influences that installed Steve Kean and started this whole crazy freefall into oblivion. The poor bloke Coyle doesn’t stand a chance. Even if he wins the first 10 games in charge there will be brooding onlookers in the stands waiting to have a gripe. I don’t know who is dafter — him for taking the job or the insane Indians for bringing him aboard. It’s like a bad, twisted dream. From the halcyon days of the Jack Walker regime when we were all in heaven and things could not get any better, to the equally unbelievable Venkys’ rag-tag regime of self-destruction. It’s been a barmy ride. Presently, it’s as if Masterspy and friend Zarin have got together with the cybermen, the daleks, all the Batman baddies and anyone evil in particular to create the Venkys. Mission: to ‘white ant’ the very foundations of Blackburn Rovers Football Club and send it into a bottomless black hole from which it can never return. I have to say the hapless, gormless, ignorant, arrogant, stubborn, deluded, self-indulgent, laughable, out-of-touch, gullible, odious, repugnant, reptilian, pig-headed Indians have done a great job at that. I have run out of words. Maybe John Cooper Clarke can take over. Even Doctor Who, and the incarnation of Matt Smith is actually a Rovers fan, can’t rescue us from here. We are doomed. Over to you Owen. I will try to take the feelings out of the equation and see what you have to offer. Give it a go, but don’t be surprised when the crowd — or what’s left of them down Ewood way — gets loud. And emotional.

 

England and Australia set to collide in football clash that could offer pointers to their futures

 

Any sporting contest featuring a duel between England and Australia should always be high on the agenda for fans’ attention. But so far the friendly football, or soccer as it is called in down under circles, clash set down for the weekend seems to have elicited a low-key build-up. But it may still be worth me getting out of bed at some unearthly hour Adelaide time to see what unfolds at Sunderland’s Stadium of Light. I have been slightly underwhelmed by English footballing efforts of recent times, nay spanning back a few decades now. But the Aussie-Anglo rivalry should add a touch of spice. It won’t reach the heights of an Ashes cricketing battle but the game is there to be won. The days of mocking Aussie soccer from afar and judging them on the obscure Aussie pools clubs of many a yesteryear in my childhood are long gone. This lot can play. Coach Ange Postecoglou will want to see what his lads have to offer before they embark on their next phase of the World Cup qualifiers for Russia 2018. England too, under the tutelage of Roy Hodgson, have Euro 2016 just around the corner. So there will be no time for a gentle end of season work-out for either team. Given the sporting rivalry, it is strange that the two counties’ paths have seldom crossed on the soccer stage. Indeed probably due to English footballing snobbery, the rivals didn’t meet at all until 1980 and since then there have only been six games. But the Aussies can be just as aloof — remember for many years it seemed that the rulers of Australian cricket thought they were too good to be bothered playing upstarts New Zealand in Test series. Even so, on the last two occasions it has been rather embarrassing for England. I attended the game at the Sydney Football Stadium in June 1991, as I was domiciled in that parish, when the Socceroos were still viewed as no-hopers on the international stage. So I was licking my lips at the thought of some overdue revenge to make up for the non-stop cricketing humiliations England seemed to suffer around that time. Nothing doing, I’m afraid. Our mob sneaked home 1-0 courtesy of an own goal by Ian Gray in a thoroughly unremarkable encounter. And to add to the anti-climax England fans, most of whom were expats, in those days were still tarred with the hooligan tag. As a result all the hostelries in Paddington were ordered by police to close for the evening. Over the top and a victory for the ‘no fun’ brigade. But after years of terrace mayhem, England’s fans had brought this on themselves. All in all, a sobering experience. By the time the teams met again in February 2003 the footballing landscape had changed. The Premier League had arrived and English fans had become gentrified. Also, Australia had a few promising players of their own. I was back in London by then but had forgotten to request the evening off from work when the sides clashed at West Ham’s Upton Park. Maybe it’s just as well I didn’t. I watched the telly from the sports desk of the Daily Telegraph as the Aussies dished out a major shock with a ground-breaking 3-1 win. True, England basically changed an entire line-up at half-time but the damage had been semi-inflicted by then. And the mercenary manager Sven-Goran Eriksson should have known better. Plus a team including such supposed luminaries as David Beckham, Frank Lampard, Michael Owen and Paul Scholes on paper should have been good enough to do the job. Instead goals from Tony Popovic, Harry Kewell and Brett Emerton, a Blackburn Rover at the time, meant joy for capital-dwelling backpackers. England’s sole reply came from Francis Jeffers. Remember him? He was another who passed through Ewood Park at one stage of his career. Full of potential but little end product. So this time around, who knows what will happen. Sunderland is a true football hotbed so there should be plenty of feeling. Since the club moved from the old Roker Park I have only made one visit — a 2-1 defeat for Sam Allardyce’s Rovers in August 2009. But one memory lingers… As Ivan Hickmott and myself approached the ground, we were trying to follow directions for the pre-match beer rendezvous with legendary Rovers fanatic John Pittard. We knew we were getting close and as the sun surprisingly shone down in the North-East, it seemed Mr Pittard had chosen well. Two young ladies in excellent health and clad in skimpy, revealing outfits with stockings, suspenders and high heels approached us offering free tickets for a loud downstairs venue. An enticing prospect, pre-game… Only at the last instant did Ivan realise that John’s meeting place was actually across the road in a rather less salubrious working men’s club. Ivan and I expressed our apologies to the smiling, nubile lasses and crossed the thoroughfare to meet John, Hayesey, Woody and co as agreed. I wonder what venue visiting Aussies will find on Wearside? It could be fun for them finding out…

Aston Villa and Newcastle United ready to sample life as second-class citizens

 

How the mighty have fallen… Newcastle United’s relegation from the English Premier League was confirmed when neighbours and bitter rivals Sunderland comfortably beat Everton to seal their own safety. How Big Sam Allardyce must be smiling. It means that the Magpies join another football powerhouse, Aston Villa, in sampling the cesspit of mediocrity known as the Championship. Norwich City have gone down too — the latest yo-yo team — but they don’t rank in the same pedigree. The second tier of the English soccer pyramid is seemingly awash with big name clubs who have fallen on hard times. Most of them feel they have spiralled from their rightful spot at the top table, but getting back there is easier said than done. Leeds United, Wolves, Nottingham Forest, QPR, Birmingham City and more are all clubs with recent Premier League qualifications and plentiful supporter bases who can trot out hard luck stories about their falls from grace. Alas, in this Division where everyone seems capable of beating everybody else an escape route back to the moneyed echelons of the elite is like trying to free yourself from a spider’s web. Now Newcastle and Villa are going to share this potentially galling experience of being second-class citizens. I have a special link with both clubs in that I have spent past years domiciled in their respective cities so I know how their fans will be feeling. In my student days, if I was not heading to Spaghetti Junction to thumb north or south via the M6 to watch Blackburn Rovers, I would take a neutral’s stance at one of the West Midlands grounds. In those days, the steep imposing standing terrace of the Holte End made for a good vantage point. No wonder the fans used to sing “Holte Enders in the sky.” It’s long since been all-seated but the ground still has a stately feel. Villa, along with Rovers and Everton, are the only three teams to have been founder members of the Football League in 1888 and the Premier League in 1992 so they are steeped in history. Next season may be a testing experience for them, especially as they have known their fate for several weeks. Newcastle too have been in the mire for a while and even the recent arrival of Rafa Benitez as manager could not save them. Now it will be a case of will he stay or will he go? It will be hard to take for my Geordie mates Ged Clarke, Simon Malia and Mick Ramsey. Ensconced in Jesmond in the early-Eighties, I covered the Toon’s fortunes for the Shields Gazette newspaper. So I know all about their passionate fans. Alas, Newcastle United is a never-ending soap opera. It seems the club just can’t do itself justice in terms of honours. Ged put out his brilliant book Newcastle United: Fifty Years of Hurt in 2006 to mark a half-century, not including promotions, without any major domestic honours. Now, make that 60 years. Since the FA Cup success of 1955, the silverware cupboard has been bare. Newcastle still had a tradition of links to the FA Cup when I arrived on Tyneside in late 1980. It didn’t take long for me to appreciate that. The Toon were in the second tier at the time and St James’s Park was ramshackle and run down with an open terraced Gallowgate End and the Leazes End that had been demolished but only partially restored. Nevertheless, a win over Sheffield Wednesday in the third round of the Cup led to joke lists being pinned up in the old Haymarket Hotel for coach trips to the final at Wembley. You can guess what happened next — Newcastle were bundled out 4-0 in a fourth round replay by Fourth Division Exeter City. When you think of some of the other less well credentialed clubs who have won titles and cups, it’s almost as if Newcastle are cursed. Yet, along with Villa, if these two giant clubs can’t make an instant surge towards the top from August, they will have plenty of time to stew about their situation. Rovers’ fans have been doing that for the past four lamentable instalments after our relegation, which was equally soul-destroying. The 2015-16 season mercifully came to an end for Rovers last weekend. And they signed off another miserable campaign with a typically inconsistent finishing statement. The totally insignificant 3-1 win at home to Reading also saw boss Paul Lambert walk out the door for the final occasion. Who strolls in next, who knows? It was only last November when he arrived in the latest upheaval by Venkys, the hapless, hopeless Indian owners. But for whatever reason, he has chosen to operate a get-out clause in his contract a mere few months after joining up. He hasn’t fully stated his reason but I’m not looking much further than the crackpot owners. Since the loathsome Indian chicken pluckers slithered onto the Ewood threshold they have presided over a continued decline that shows no signs of abating. They came, they saw, they sodded off back to India to implement a series of barmpot decisions from faraway that have put the club’s very existence in doubt. This deluded family seem to know as much about running a football club as I do about the chicken fast food industry. The debts have piled up, decent players have left and lately the team has featured a cast of loanees and free transfer rejects. Whoever the new manager is, he will have to work under Venky’s befuddled constraints. There seems not a hope in hell that we will be able to mount a promotion surge next season. In fact, we are more likely to emulate near neighbours Bolton Wanderers in a plummet towards the trapdoor, or even worse the coastal Lancastrians Blackpool, who seem to be locked on a crash course for oblivion. Any journalist wishing to interview the out-of-sync Venky matriarch Memsab Anuradha Desai would have an easy option for questions. You would only need to ask one — an open-ended why? Why would you to take a well-run, stable Premier League club and turn it into a Championship basket case? Lots of us want to know. With this non-communicative ice queen in charge, following Rovers is about as much fun as an enduring a never-ending winter in Narnia. To make things worse over the northern summer, Burnley, our Claret chums from Hillbilly Central, have wormed their way back into the Premier League. Things look so glum at Ewood that the supporters only have pre-Venky memories to hang on to. In a curious Geordie link it’s almost like the theme song to the classic English TV sitcom, Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads — “the only thing to look forward to is the past.” One thing seems certain. As Villa and Newcastle try to muscle their way to the summit of the Championship ladder next season, there is precious little chance of Rovers being anywhere near.

 

Leicester City have sealed a miracle title win ‑ now let’s see what happens next

Congratulations, Leicester City on achieving an improbable, highly unlikely even far-fetched coup of clinching the English Premier League title. The unsung, unheralded club from the East Midlands have somehow sneaked away with the honour while the moneyed monoliths of Chelsea, Manchester United, Liverpool, Arsenal  and Manchester City have had to miss out. Leicester should enjoy the moment, bask in their triumph and take it all in. Because the hard work starts now. The most unexpected of successes is probably even more astounding than when Blackburn Rovers saw off all the supposed ‘big boys’ to grab the Premiership title way back in 1995. It seems such a long time ago, but little ol’ Leicester could learn a lot from what happened when Kenny Dalglish’s team claimed English football’s greatest prize, despite a final day defeat at Liverpool. Or rather Leicester can look at the aftermath. It was such a shock to the system in 95 that Rovers were already on the slippery slope to being also-rans almost as soon as the victory lap of honour had been taken around Anfield. We just were not used to success. For the likes of Liverpool and Manchester United, this sort of thing happened all the time. As soon as such clubs won one trophy, they picked themselves up ready to do the same thing again. Success begets success it would seem. But Rovers somehow lost their way by not planning ahead, still wrapped up in the dizzying euphoria of what such a small-town club had achieved as the 1995-96 season kicked off. Don’t get me wrong ‑ the summer of 1995 to be walking round Blackburn on a sunny day had the same sort of feelgood vibe as it must have been to stroll through the streets of San Francisco in the hazy, crazy summer of love in 1967.’Cept in Blackburn at that time you did not need drugs — you just got high on the fact that we were league champions. So we got ready to do it all again  — or so we thought. But this time everybody was waiting for us. Every club wanted to beat the top dogs – us. In little over a week into the season two away defeats at Sheffield Wednesday and Bolton Wanderers came as a shuddering jolt to the champions. When arch-rivals of the time Manchester United (told you it was ages ago) walked away from Ewood Park with all three points in the next game, it was three defeats out of four and the title had been virtually surrendered. I don’t wanna be a party-pooper amid Leicester’s fun-filled jamboree but they should beware of what is around the corner. They should be planning ahead, making signings while they are at the top of the tree. Rovers had the chance to do likewise in 95 but missed the boat. As one piece in The Sun newspaper said at the time, Rovers made noises about signing Zinedane Zidane and Christophe Dugarry but settled for Matty Holmes and Graham Fenton. Dalglish had moved upstairs to become Director of Football and with Ray Harford in the managerial hot seat, it seemed to be a case of “If it aint broke don’t fix it”. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. It could all have been so different, even if in the end 1995-96 was a decent season with some real highlights including a 7-0 home and 5-1 away double over Nottingham Forest. And the god-like figure of Alan Shearer ended up with five hat-tricks before he upped sticks for his hometown club Newcastle United. So as Leicester City’s party moves into full swing, the fans will be in dreamland. And so they deserve to be. But just don’t dream for too long. For now, the rest of the footballing world will be looking on agog at the Foxes’ stunning achievement. It has imparted some much-needed romance into a pecking order which, for all the hype and television mega-cash, had become so predictable and elitist. Leicester somehow gatecrashed the cosy status quo. Again, well done. What happens next will be just as fascinating.