Taking Care of Business

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9TH September, 2015

 

A bit dubious watched the England V Switzerland game on TV last night. Dubious because, while I appreciate the amazing talents of the international-set players I have precious little time for the often too-casual, lacking in pride antics of these sometime prima-donna stars who subvert their skills with, well, frankly cheating (diving, moaning at the officials, protesting and general petulant behaviour). Why else would we be reduced to the referee needing to use a spray to mark the distance between free kick position and the defenders?

But there was a good chance that the match might see a record broken. Wayne Rooney, in the San Marino game scored his forty ninth England goal (to bring him level with Bobby (now Sir Bobby) Charlton’s long standing record) and could possibly become our all-time leading scorer in the game this evening.

Within minutes Febian Delph goes down: apparently having pulled a hamstring. Really? Did he not warm up enough? Was he carrying the injury anyway ? In which case why was he chosen? At this level – and I am sorry for the player – but this is just crazy. Harsh … and hey, what do I know?

But the remainder of the first half was dull. Switzerland looking good on occasions, England being very professional and cool. We have qualified for the final stages of this competition (Euro finals) in France next summer, so need not be frantic about it. But, a little bit of pride eh boys?

I almost decide to watch something else – anything else actually – but my mother is desperate to see Switzerland (yes, you read that correctly: Switzerland!) win. So we watch the second half. Because she is egging the cuckoo clock makers on I suddenly become extremely patriotic – and Harry Kane (Spurs striker who scored twenty for Tottenham last year but has not scored this time round for his club) neatly drills one into the net.

“Come on England!”

It is not just the goal, they are actually better in this second half. I become aware of the fact that, back when I started watching football leading clubs in the upper leagues (what was then the First Division – now the Premier league) had far different tactics to clubs like Walsall in the lower echelons we generally just lumped it up and hoped somebody would latch on to it, ride the tackles – and score.

No longer. England are playing the same way Walsall have done in every game so far this season: defenders passing carefully across the pitch, midfielders holding, passing back, tracking back, tackling back, keeping possession (I believe it is currently called “game management”) then spotting a longer opening-up pass. Different quality obviously, but essentially the same range of skills.

Rooney is playing a modest, dropping back role, not at all impatient to get that prestigious goal, but Sterling takes a tumble (no more in my eyes) and the ref blows up: penalty!

And the attention is all on Wayne Rooney. He looks steely, if not completely calm, short couple of steps … unleashes a corker that … flies into the back of the net …

… and we have a new record holder. Now I have no idea what the goal scoring records are for other nations, but this is a special moment. The celebrations are short lived but Rooney, now in his er more mature years and deservedly England captain is modesty personified. Short, humble speech in the dressing room. He has, like most of us do, grown from the cocky, brash youngster and is now, though it seems strange to be typing this on of the game’s elder statesmen. With this comes the responsibility of passing on his experience to those coming up through the ranks. He can do this now with the respect that being the all-time goal scorer for his country deserves: the old king is dead, long live the new one!

Speaking of which – and I will not be publishing this before 5.30 p.m. which is the Buckingham Palace calculated time at which Queen Elizabeth II will become our longest-ever reigning monarch. Since her great-grandmother Queen Victoria. As a child at primary school I remember having the Victorian Empire and the fact that she was our longest – and likely to be always so – reigning monarch pushed at me at, it seemed every possible opportunity … and now (or rather at 5.30 p.m.) that will all change and, if they get to be told anything at all in schools kids will have a new fact to toy with. Sixty three years, seven months and three days – and still counting!

   

She is the only queen that I – and so many others have ever known – so it seems normal and, while I went through a phase of complete disinterest in the whole question of monarchy: good or bad, I can now state that I am proud of the system that gives us the figurehead, the traditions and, not least the income drawing potential. Queen Elizabeth has come to represent stability and grasp change during her reign – in times when the world itself has progressed, not always easily and she has worked hard to meet, understand and serve the nation, the Commonwealth and the world on its way to now.

She will not make a big fuss during the day we are told, but will be business-as-usual in Edinburgh to open a railway service to the Scottish borders. Taking care of business? You bet!

Lapsed Already …

Saturday! 8^th August!

Hampton by Hilton Hotel, Luton.

Really it seemed like such a good idea at the time: a tour of the Houses of Parliament (eight hundred years after King John “Lackland” signed the Magna Carta that, arguably, started this whole democracy thing going here). It seemed like a bargain when we actually booked it: tour of said Houses, overnight in a hotel, breakfast and evening meal thrown in –and coach from Walsall bus station (moreorless) …

But then it cruelly transpires that it’s the first day of the football season. Worse saddlers are at home for that first game … and it seems eminently winnable (as per usual of course): unsettled Oldham Athletic. The local papers have been full of “this-is-the-season” talk, of Dean Smith or one of the “talking head” players coming out with how ell pre-season training has gone and the new signings (three, count ‘em; three) will bring great benefits to the inevitable promotion push. Sorry, I am a staunch supporter: loyal beyond the call …

… and anyway, sticking doggedly to the decision to see the Homes of Democracy, Constitution and Majesty, resign myself to missing an opening victory.

So many coach tours leaving from Walsall: to the O2, to London shows, to this place or that; and so many passengers waiting. It made me positively cheerful on a warm morning. We waited in the Victoria gardens adjacent to the impressive Houses of parliament and while we were snacking on our packed lunch observed, right next to us the result of thievery: some poor woman becoming hysterical because she had felt a bump, just after she had bought a guide book, thought nothing of it but now her purse (£120 pounds sterling and credit cards have disappeared). Eventually after standing and ignoring the extremely upset woman two policemen were encouraged by a French tourist to “help her” (she had refused our offers of help).

 

The crowds and babel of chatter seemed so much more threatening after that and I was glad to get into the building. But the audio tour, though informative failed to inspire. This is the real home of Western democracy; though we may get the word from Ancient Greece what we have here is very different in its breadth and inclusion. The Magna Carta forced the monarchy to recognise and grant certain rights to the already powerful en of the times, but successively more and more of the people have been given rights. Though exactly how Cromwell’s Commonwealth failed to finish off the crown is beyond me. The geography of the place is easier in my mind now, the rooms somewhat familiar from TV views are small, if not cramped and undoubtedly full of gravitas. I cannot help thinking however that the performance of MPs in debates appears like a poorly managed classroom: loud and lacking in intelligence.

But the magnificent history of the institution is lacking and the commentary is spoken without passion and pride.

We leave via the cramped café and necessary liquid refreshment and end up in Dean’s Court: a quiet oasis behind Westminster cathedral. Dean’s Court reminding me of dean’s Court Road, one time home ground of Premiership new boys: Bournemouth who, in 2008 were hopelessly deep in financial problems – and toady, with backing from the obligatory money-bagged Russian are playing against the big dogs of the Premier League. Proving that dreams can become reality (though money helps the process) … and, of course everything is to be won or lost.

At nine, after a poor meal (poor choice, no service and health and safety colder than permissible (at an intelligent guess) I am back in the room to watch Channel 5’s Football league Show: the first ever. Promising to show highlights of every football league game so Walsall will be on there somewhere. I remember predicting a 4 – 1 win and I still, as the programme “kicks off” have not heard the score line. There is some comedy; in one game a courteous back pass to the goalkeeper goes unexpectedly into the net, so the hmmm offending team literally let the opposition walk the ball into their own net as recompense. Wolves win away from home with gaol from a diving header that the striker actually cannot reach so propels into the net with his hand: blatantly. The look of embarrassed surprise on his face when the goal is given is priceless. What should he do at this point? Tell the referee that he handled the ball?

But the Walsall game has few sparse seconds. Sawyers scores after eight minutes, then close to the end Oldham equalise. Next please …

Shame I could have spent longer in the bland (diplomat speak for boring) dining room/bar wondering what the 3-D displays in the glass cases were. Hatboxes of course. Luton … Luton Town: the Hatters. Luton was famous for the hat making industry before Vauxhall Motors took over the town. And the hotel stands on land – next to the railway – that once was covered with popular cars and white vans on their way to successful markets all over Europe. But that was then and this is now and some visionaries have designs on the land again.

 

Ironically I also notice that the location of the football ground is only just squeezed into the corner of the free hotel courtesy map and I wonder whether Walsall hotels have maps that show the location of Bescot. I certainly hope so: not being “on the map” is surely one of the ways to obscurity.

Buckingham Palace tomorrow; if I can get some sleep.