The Best Program in Sports (Other Than the Title)

There are few things that the average British male enjoys more than settling down on the sofa on a Saturday evening to watch the BBC's Match of the Day. How this has become such a fixture of British life I'm not sure, because there are also few things the average British male enjoys more than settling down with a pint at his local pub at about the same time on a Saturday evening. Despite being mutually exclusive activities, both are institutions deeply ingrained in the national pop culture consciousness and will continue so for many years to come.

If you are American, like me, the title Match of the Day probably reminds you of ABC's classic Saturday afternoon baseball program, Game of the Week, which highlights a much anticipated, single match. You would probably think, 'Hey, this is a program that is going to show one really good match, the best one of the day!' You would think so, but you would be wrong. Match of the Day (or MotD) is actually a highlights program covering all Premiership matches played on a given day. You might think that this doesn't make sense, that the title of the program clearly indicates that there is a single match of the day that is going to be featured! Right?! I mean, am I wrong?! What happened to accuracy in broadcasting??! What is wrong with this country???!!!

Okay, I'm fine. I'm going to go lie down now.

I don't actually know why Match of the Day is called Match of the Day when it is really should be called Abridged Versions of All the Matches Played of the Day, but it is just one of those things you have to learn to accept. Besides, when the BBC covers England matches or FA Cup matches they call this Match of the Day as well, and on these occasions it is actually coverage for just the one single match (except it isn't highlights then, it is the complete game). Confused? Well, that's just the way it is here. There is an unspoken rule in the UK that as long as everybody understands what something actually is, the accuracy of its name is irrelevant.

By this point you might be thinking that MotD is a really rubbish show. I haven't really sold it so far. It is, in fact, totally brilliant. It is the best sports program I've ever seen. You may not believe me but let me explain it to you.

'Highlights' on American television are rarely more than a minute long and usually only show you a handful of key moments in a game. ESPN will regularly condense a two-and-a-half hour baseball game into a couple of double plays, a stolen base, a home run, the manager looking tense from the dugout, and a closer throwing the final pitch of the game. All the while the presenter uses the same cadence and tone of voice as the used car salesman. Baseball is a game of strategy, deception, concentration and skill, but if you only saw the ESPN highlights you might think it was a close relative of professional wrestling.

MotD is completely different. The most important difference is that MotD takes its time. It is usually about an hour and twenty minutes long and never covers more than seven matches. There is time to show a bit of context, and to show the full build up to the important moments. It is also edited very skilfully so that it is not obvious when a large section of play has been passed over. In fact, if you did not know the game well you would be forgiven for thinking that football matches were just five to ten minutes long. Another difference is the commentary. This is done by the regular match commentary team from Radio 5 Live. They cover the highlights as if they were a match in progress. They do not allude to the final score before it happens. They do not shout. They do not try to impress you with how clever they are. They treat you like an adult.

After the match highlights there are usually two or three dressing room interviews. These are rarely of any value, but that is not MotD's fault. British sportsmen suffer the same affection for pat cliches as their American counterparts. Usually the gist of it is either, 'we won because we scored more goals,' or, 'we lost because we scored fewer goals.' Thankfully the BBC put the match statistics on the screen while they are talking. The best strategy is to pay attention to the stats and ignore the interviews.

If you are still awake after the post-match interviews then you are in good shape because there is usually some very good analysis to come. This is led by the host, former England and Leicester City striker Gary Lineker. He is joined regularly by Alan Hansen (ex Liverpool), Lee Dixon (ex Arsenal), and Mark Lawrenson (also ex Liverpool). They all compete with each other to see who can strike the most relaxed pose possible on the studio furniture. They also, between them, usually managed to explain the key moments of a game in such a way that you know you will be able to speak credibly and knowledgeably with your colleagues at work the next morning. Lee Dixon, to my mind, is especially good at diagramming plays on the screen. All of this is done without shouting, sneering, or making overtly snide remarks, at least by American standards.

But the BEST thing about MotD is that the BBC is very careful not to reveal any results during the program before the highlights are shown. If you can manage to get through an entire Saturday without hearing any results (this is becoming increasingly difficult, but can be managed especially in some remote parts of Wales) then there is a real treat in store for you once the evening news is over. A whole day's Premiership action unfolds before you with as much intensity and excitement as if you had watched each match live as they happened.

In 2004 the BBC created a new program for Sunday evenings called Match of the Day 2 (right away we have another nomenclature problem, but I'm over that now so I'm going to pretend I haven't noticed). This show is even more relaxed than the Saturday version. This is because the show is hosted by the overexposed, but immensely likable Adrian Chiles. Although blessed with a face for radio, he manages to be amusing without bringing down the tone of the show. The best innovation of the show, however, is that rather than use just pundits there is usually a current player or manager sitting in on the panel. Listening to an active manager comment on other team's play is usually very enlightening. Amazingly, when they are not talking about their own performance they suddenly become thoughtful and interesting.

I know I am gushing a bit, but MotD is a wonderful institution. If you are reading this outside of the UK, make sure you find a way to see it soon. It is so wonderful, in fact, that it is no surprise the BBC have recently created another show to cover the lower divisions called The Football League Show.

Wait! Wait a minute! A show that covers the Football League (the lower three divisions of English football) called The Football League Show??!! Am I missing something, or has the BBC suddenly developed a liking for the straightforward and accurate?

Well, maybe. The truth is that The Football League Show is so dire I can't be bothered to get excited by the title. I'll tell you why soon.

Sing When You're Drawing!

Last week I posted a question on the Bath City forum: "how many points do we expect to get from the two upcoming bank-holiday weekend matches against Dorchester and Worcester City?" Twelve of the thirteen respondents predicted the full six points. As I rode with my friend Mark on the way to yesterday's match, though, City had already managed to drop two points away to Dorchester. Neither of us knew more than the score from that game. You would think that we would feel unqualified to make predictions about the second match without really knowing what happened in the first, but you would be wrong. After some discussion we determined that City should win, but that the attendance would be a disappointing sub-500 count.

One of the problems with following a team in the Blue Square South is that there is very little information about opposing teams. Unless you have seen a team play recently you can only guess how good they are. The non-league media, although much appreciated by its readership, doesn't have the financial muscle to follow many teams in depth. Until you reach the Blue Square Premier the only way most fans can size up the opposition is to look at the standings, read through a few forums, and take an educated guess.

As Worcester had yet to win any of their first six matches Mark and I came to the considered conclusion that City should thrash them soundly. That is, of course, unless they are one of those teams that has just had a bad start and are due for a win. Or unless they are one of those innumerable clubs that aren't actually any good but City still struggle to defeat anyway. In a nutshell, we didn't have a clue.

Once we arrived at sunny Twerton Park we settled into our match day routine: we bought programs from outside Charlie's Bar, I bought a '125 lottery' ticket, we paid our admission and squeezed through the claustrophobic, Victorian-era turnstiles, and moseyed over to the popular side for our pre-match cup of tea.

While sipping my tea I learned from a fellow fan that Mark Badman had been one of the scorers against Dorchester, but that he had also left the pitch with a groin strain. Chris 'Dutch' Holland and Richard Evans were still out with injuries as well. Add in the semi-permanent lack of a regular keeper, and City's squad was looking a bit threadbare. Because common sense takes a holiday when I enter Twerton Park, I took in this information and drew the exact opposite conclusion of what a sane person would. My reaction to the long list of walking wounded was that the team would receive a confidence boost from winning without so many key players. I suppose being realistic isn't what I come to football matches for, really.

The first half an hour yesterday's match will not make it into any end-of-season highlight reels. Neither team played with distinction. Although there was one incident that almost led to an own goal against City, Worcester never appeared on the verge of scoring on their own merit. City kept possession for long stretches of play and managed to keep the ball on the deck much of the time. Despite this, though, they somehow managed to play in a disjointed style. Perhaps it was the absence of the increasingly vital Mark Badman, but City appeared to be taking up the familiar role of the superior team that cant' score.

Midway through the half, though, something remarkable began to happen off the pitch. The City supporters opposite the Bristol end goal began to sing. I have heard the occasional chant in my time at Twerton, but it has never lasted more than a few seconds. This appeared to be different. This noise continued beyond brief passages of play. When a song finished sometimes a new song would be taken up. For the first time in my brief stint as a fan, Twerton Park sounded like the league grounds on television and radio.

I love almost everything about non-league football, but there is one thing where league supporters have us beaten cold. English football league crowd noise is one of my absolute favourite things to listen to. I often tune in to 5 Live football commentary even when I have no interest in the match at all - I just love hearing the atmosphere at the ground. It is one of the real jewels of British sport, and one that is mysteriously absent from most non-league matches. Some away fans sing (and City fans sing passionately when away), but the numbers are never large enough to have the desired impact. Perhaps it is the smaller crowds, or perhaps it is the sensibilities of the supporters (unlikely as we are hardly sensible), but I have yet to go to a non-league game with anything like a real league match atmosphere.....until yesterday!

As a relatively recent City fan, this was a great experience. I have heard that City matches in the past were always really noisy but that it had died off in the last few years. This happened, I'm told, after a group of the noisier fans called the 'bedsheet boys' had been given a lot of stick from other fans and stopped coming. I don't know why, but some of them had returned after a long absence. Personally, I don't think they could have returned too soon. It could have been a delusion on my part, but as the singing continued and grew more confident it appeared that the City players were responding and attacking the Worcester goal more aggressively.

Singing doesn't prevent defensive errors, we were to learn. A Worcester player managed to get control of the ball on the right side of the goal line and chip a looping cross over Steve Perrin to give another Worcester player the easiest of strikes. I don't mean to be unfair to Worcester, but it was a lucky goal. It is the sort of goal that City have been conceding regularly this season - against the run of play and preceded by awkward and hesitant defending.

That was depressing and you might think this dampened the crowd's spirits, but within moments of the goal going the impromptu choir began 'When the Stripes Go Marching In' for about the fifth time of the match. I won't lie and say that the singing made me feel okay about the goal - I felt pretty depressed. Still, there is nothing like a bit of defiant noise to take the edge off of emotional pain. At half time I found myself felling less glum than I might have otherwise. A bit anyway.

As I meandered around the terrace with Mark I decided that if I won the £100 prize from the '125' lottery half time draw I would still call it a good day. But I didn't, and I did not win the £25 second prize, or the bottle of wine either. Some day I'm bound to win it. I consoled myself with another cup of tea.

After the interval both City and the bedsheet boys switched sides, both concentrating their efforts on the Bath end. Typical to this season's form, the City players played with a passion and intensity, now that they were behind, that was marvelous to behold. Ironically, if you want an easy time against Bath City this season the last thing you want to do is take the lead. Once that happens all the players step up a gear and start playing for their lives. It is only after you concede the lead to City that their confidence really falters and the momentum shifts against them. I'm not sure what to make of it, but it could be worse.

You might wonder with all of my descriptions of aggressive, intelligent play how is it that City have not won every game? I ask myself this often, to be honest. Despite the welcome addition of Kaid Mohamed, City still appear to lack the ability to capitalise on their possession consistently. The mid-field is brilliant at getting the ball up to the penalty box, or deep into the opposition corners, but at that point the creativity usually falters. The fact that play has improved significantly but results are more or less the same as last season is a frustration to fans and players alike.

But the key thing here is that play has improved and City are a much more attractive team to watch, even when they are not playing their best. Early in the second half there was a good five minutes of play where Worcester were repeatedly unable to clear the ball out of their half. City got in position for cross after cross. The singing was at its most intense at this point as well - it felt like the crowd was pushing for the players to score and they were responding (again, this might be just what we like to think but its how it seemed). I really wanted to join in, but I was in a group of much quieter fans ten yards down from the noisier crowd. I couldn't quite manage the gumption to sing alone by myself, although I did manage a few bars of 'Come on City!' under my breath.

Worcester eventually did clear the ball, but only briefly. Sekani Simpson, one of the best ball control experts in the non-league game, snuck the ball deep into Worcester's right corner and around a defender. He managed a sharp, downward cross which was met equally sharply by Mike Perrotts extended right foot. It was one of the best volleys I've ever seen and the Worcester keeper, Ben Hinchliffe, had no chance whatsoever. The goal was so breathtaking I forgot for the first few minutes that City was no longer behind. Okay, it may not have been the most amazing goal in football history, but it was darn good and would have most league strikers envious. We were all happy, anyway.

Perrott nearly put us ahead a few minutes later. A well placed corner reached him in front of goal. He managed to head it on target and with a lot of power, but Hinchliffe managed a brilliant deflection over the bar. It is a good thing Hinchliffe can manage brilliant deflections, actually, because I've never seen a keeper so inept at kicking. I'm not exaggerating when I say most of his long kicks went straight out of bounds. Only two or three managed to reach a player on the pitch. With a foot like that you know he must be a pretty good shot blocker to earn his place.

City kept pressing ahead, but the mid-field began to falter. Both clubs settled in for a draw in the last five minutes (although I don't think City did this intentionally). Perrott hobbled off with a strained ankle a few minutes before time to a loud cheer from the crowd. Hopefully he won't be added to the growing list of walking wounded.

As the whistle blew full time I felt mixed emotions. It was good to see City battle hard for the point, but I also felt uneasy watching them struggle against a team who is at the bottom of the table. Considering the injuries, a draw may have been a good result. Having gone into the weekend expecting six points, though, a meagre two seemed cold comfort no matter what the circumstances were.

But the 'bedsheet boys' made up for much of my disappointment. That, and the higher than expected attendance of 620. We should be attracting closer to 800, to be honest, but City's gate has gone up every home match this season. I hope the trend continues. I also hope the singing will continue. I have determined, though, that there will, at least, be one more voice contributing at the next home match against Eastleigh on Tuesday.

Come on City!

Mrs Nedved Saves the Day

I have a lot of nice things to say about Wales, and not just because Mrs Nedved hails from a large Welsh family. We visit her relatives regularly, and there were few places better to be this rainy bank-holiday weekend than in Auntie and Uncle's farmhouse. It is in a valley so remote even some sheep need a map to find it. We arrived Friday afternoon and I spent Saturday playing with the children, going for walks in the hills, and (from 3 pm onwards) pretending that I was not desperate to find out how City was doing away to Dorchester. No one was really fooled by this, of course.

I was able to hold out for a long time, actually, because following the match at all was virtually impossible. Sean's City Updates website was not available to me because the Internet has not yet reached this particular valley. Even the phone lines are touch and go. That is because at one point the phone line runs across a field (on the ground, not on a pole) and if a sheep or cow steps on it then Auntie and Uncle won't be making any calls for a while. I'm not making this up. So, to sum up, the information super-highway hasn't built an exit there yet.

Thank goodness for satellites! Auntie and Uncle may not subscribe to Sky channels (if it is not on BBC One or Two they generally don't see it) but they do have a Sky box in order to be able to receive any television signal at all. At about 4:30 my resolve broke down and I barricaded myself in the sitting room in order to watch the BBC vidiprinter (a sort of soccer ticker tape that the BBC run). The vidiprinter is a wonderful invention, but Conference South matches only show up on it for half time and full time scores. Since full time was at least a half hour away I had no real justification for watching it. Regardless, I still felt compelled to sit alone in a dark room to wait while the family frolicked outside on the one sunny afternoon of the visit.

"Dorchester 2-2 Bath City" came through a few minutes before 5pm. I had been hoping for a victory, and three points, but it is hard to know with a scoreline like that if City had blown a lead of battled back bravely. No texts from friends were going to penetrate the communications black hole I was in. That was all the information I was going to get. I successfully managed to get back outside without gnawing on any furniture.

The next morning Mrs Nedved and I drove to the nearby town to do some grocery shopping. Sometimes the supermarket there carries the Non-League Paper, which would have carried a City match report, but alas, not that day. Feeling a distinct absence of football, I came up with a cunning plan. As we moved into the dairy section (where all cheese is MADE IN WALES and has a fierce looking red dragon on it), I decided to make my move.

We had been planning to drive home Monday evening - too late for me to attend the afternoon home match against Worcester City. Was it fair for me to go an entire four day weekend with no football? Of course not. The day before I had scoured the local press for anything interesting. I had found a listing in the local paper for a League of Wales match in Llanelli that I could go to that afternoon. Would Mrs Nedved think this was a good idea, or that her husband is just plain doolally? I decide to start with a feint, to draw attention to the fact that I will be missing the City match the next day.

"What time are we planning to set off tomorrow?" I asked.

Unexpectedly, she responded with, "I was thinking maybe we should leave early in the morning. As soon as we are up, really. It would be nice not to get back too late."

This undermined my cunning plan, but was amazingly good news! As I said, getting home in time enough to still make the City match had not been on my radar. I had to think fast, and after a split second analysis I decided the best plan was not to say anything at all. Being a very intelligent woman, though, Mrs Nedved was able to read me like a map.

"Is there a football match?" she asked.

I will spare you the rest of the small talk and marital maneuvering. I want to make it clear to everyone, though, that Mrs Nedved is the most fabulous, wonderful woman in the whole world. And not just because she let me tear through the misty Welsh countryside in the Nedvedmobile this morning, family in tow, to make it home in time for kick off. And not just because she was content to eat her packed lunch in the driveway of a dog obedience school outside Pontypridd (it was quicker than finding something more scenic). No, she is wonderful and fabulous for many, many reasons I cannot begin to list here for fear of boring everyone. Needless to say, though, a wife who will indulge her husband's sporting obsessions has worth far above rubies.

Atlanta Turns on the Cash Taps and Goes Soccer Crazy!

While I have been working on my account of my time in the Atlanta Attack front office (the eagerly awaited "The Soccerball Years, part 2") several prominent citizens of my home town have decided to throw caution (and a lot of cash) to the wind and invest heavily in new professional soccer franchises.

Investing in a professional soccer club in Atlanta is not for the weak of heart. I've recently described the first two incarnations of the Atlanta Chiefs (1967-1973 and 1979-1982 respectively). Since then the following clubs have come and gone: the Georgia Generals (1982), the Atlanta Attack (1989-1991), the Atlanta Express (1990-1992), the Atlanta Steamers/Quicksilver/Lightning (1990-1992), the Atlanta Magic (1991-1996), the Atlanta Silverbacks (1995-2008), and lastly our professional women's team, the Atlanta Beat (2001-2003). Attending a meeting of Atlanta soccer investors is therefore like going into a Las Vegas casino: don't take any money with you that you can't afford to lose.

You'd think that Atlanta might have run out of people willing to get their fingers burned on this, but you would be wrong. Check this out....




Yes, that's right, thanks to local resident T. Fitz Johnson and his expansive wallet, Atlanta will have its own WOMEN'S professional team next year. And no, that really scary sports presenter was not lying, the Beat did have a 'nice' following. Nice enough to be the best supported club in the ill fated Women's United Soccer Association, but not nice enough to be able to survive once the league had failed. Now that there is a new national pro soccer league, the Beat are reforming. Its about time, I say. The US women's team has won two world cups. We are the Brazil of women's soccer. We need a viable league and a team in Atlanta!!!

Now, if you were paying attention to paragraph two of this entry, you may have noticed that Atlanta is missing a senior men's team at the moment. The Atlanta Silverbacks, who had been playing in the American equivalent of the Championship (the United Soccer Leagues, or USL), folded last year. The only club left in a city of three million people was an Under-23 development league team. Would Atlanta be the home to a women's top flight club, but not even have a men's team at all?

No, as it turns out. Move over mysterious, middle-eastern Premiership club owners, some real estate developers from the "Big Peach" have trumped anything you have done. Just today, an Atlanta-based company called NuRock has just gone and bought the entire USL! That's right, Atlanta may not have a club in the league, but now the league itself belongs to an Atlanta company. And, of course, the new owners have granted themselves an option for a new Atlanta franchise.

I know that the American soccer leagues are not held in especially high esteem by European football fans. That is mostly a perception of the quality of play. What can't be doubted, though, is that there is some serious money behind both of these moves. Even without superstar salaries you can't employ an entire roster of full time players, rent a stadium, and fly your team around a country as big as America on the cheap. Whatever Atlanta's failings as a soccer town, it has not run out of local millionaires willing to put their money up to give it another go.

Here is my guess how things will go: the Beat will do relatively well if they just copy what the first incarnation of the Beat did. The bigger question is if the new "Women's Professional Soccer" will last. NuRock obviously have oodles of cash. After establishing a new team in the USL I expect they will make a move to get their team into the top flight Major League Soccer (MLS). In England this would be done by rich owners spending lots of cash on big signings who would hopefully win the club a Premiership berth. In America, where there is no relegation and promotion, it is a much simpler process: just spend lots of money. As long as the cash continues to flow freely and this new Atlanta team gets decent support the MLS will eventually grant it an expansion slot in their growing league. And, as the recent trend is to name new teams after the failed soccer franchises of the '80s, it may not be too long before I am cheering on the Atlanta Chiefs once again!

Now, can we find any spare Atlanta property-developer-millionaires who want to throw a bit of money at Bath City?

A Kind of Violence Americans Don't Understand

The mere idea of a West Ham and Milwall fixture sounds violent. Both clubs, especially Milwall, have had a reputation for supporter violence. And there are few rivalries in English football as intense as the one between these two East London clubs. The fact that meetings are rare now that Milwall now plays two divisions below West Ham made last night's League Cup match all the more tense. Both of the clubs and the Metropolitan Police, however, have the experience to prevent and control the sort of events that occurred last night. The fact that they did not probably points more to the (mistaken) view that serious fan violence was a relic of the '80s. This has been a rude wake up call for the authorities of English football, especially the FA who do not want to have their bid for the 2018 World Cup scuppered. Expect harsh penalties to be meted out to any hooligans successfully identified from film clips, and perhaps to the clubs themselves.

I first became aware of violence in English football in my doctor's waiting room in 1985.From the magazine pile I picked up an issue of Sports Illustrated with the strap line, "A Soccer Tragedy Shocks the World," on the cover. Inside was a long essay explaining the disaster at Heysel stadium on the 29th of May of that year (and thanks to the wonders of the Internet, you can read that same article yourself here) when 39 people were killed after Liverpool fans rushed into an area of the stands mostly populated by Juventus supporters. I remember reading that article really not understanding it. The idea of fans of one team massing and attacking the fans of another made no sense. What was the point? What was the motivation? It would not change the score on the pitch, would it?

Fan violence in American sport is mostly limited to scuffles under the bleachers at high school football games on Friday nights. There are usually parents on hand to step in if things get out of hand. Most Americans (except Texans) outgrow the taste for high school football when they leave high school, and with it the hormone-fueled style of support. Rightfully, fighting in public is generally viewed as childish.

And here is a great irony: although America is undoubtedly a far more violent society than Britain, you are much less likely to see violence in America. Local evening news programs in America vie with each other to lead off with the most violent (and ratings grabbing) story they can find, but for 99.9% of their viewers this violence will remain purely theoretical. Violent crime in America happens in certain well-known urban areas that most sane people avoid. While this in itself throws up some pretty uncomfortable questions about American society, it does mean that most people live a life free from the fear of physical threat. It was not until I moved to the UK that I ever saw someone being attacked live and in person. That is not a common experience, but I have had to learn that there are certain scenarios in Britain (usually involving alcohol) where you need to be on your guard in case things start to 'kick off.' Until the late 1990s the most common of these was football matches. Conversely, I have been to hundreds of sporting events in America covering at least six different sports and I have never been to one where the fans needed to be segregated. I can't really think of a scenario where that would seem at all appropriate.

The reasons why English football should be plagued by hooligans is complicated. The fact that cricket and rugby are virtually free of such problems makes it harder to identify the problem as something specifically 'British.' Yet it is absurd to think that there is something about the sport of football that incites people to violent behaviour. It is also not a matter of the famous 'English football passion' going a bit too far on match day. Most hooligan activity is arranged in advance by organised groups. The only possible conclusion one can make is the same one I drew in that doctor's waiting room twenty years ago: it makes no sense. In other words, football violence has no footballing purpose. The football matches themselves are just a convenient pretext for a bunch of people who appear to like fighting to get together and beat the tar out of each other.

This is not fair on the majority of supporters who don't come to matches to beat the tar out of each other. It isn't really fair on the clubs or the FA either since football is essentially being invaded by organised gangs. Regardless of whether it is fair or not, it is only the clubs and the FA who have the ability to rid football of this pestilence once and for all. The thugs who came to yesterday's match to fight, and not to watch the football need to be identified and banned for life. They aren't real football fans anyway, so it would hardly be unjust. I do wonder, though, if West Ham or the FA will really have the stomach to do this. If we see this gentleman in the stands again, we will know they did not.

There is one silver lining to all of this. This is a wonderful country to live in. British people are much to suave to say this about themselves, but I'm American so I'm allowed to gush. Much of UK life would seem idyllic by US standards. For example, I know all of my neighbours well. I can also, in a few minutes, walk to the shops in the centre of town, the fields in the nearby countryside, or my children's school. I only drive when I need to make the short journey to Bath. I feel privileged to live here. It is not perfect, though. All societies have their problems. Hooliganism is one problem that the British have, more or less, managed to control admirably. Helpfully, it is in public view, which makes it easier to identify the troublemakers and harder for the authorities to ignore. One further thing yesterday's violence did was to demonstrate just how far everyone has progressed since Heysel.

A Tripple Helping of Frustration

Bath City lost today to Hampton & Richmond Borough 3-1. Losing is painful, and for some reason losing in football hurts a lot more than it does in other sports. This loss was harder to bear than normal though: it was a match of continuous frustration. They say football will break your heart and they are right. This, however, was more like football cornering you at a party and talking to you endlessly about themselves in a tedious fashion until, to your horror, you see that the buffet has been picked clean and now there are only the cheddar and pineapple h'ors douvres left that no one else wanted. It was that frustrating!

I was feeling relatively positive as my friend Mark and I approached Twerton Park. City were putting together a decent run, Hampton had struggled out of the blocks, and we were due for a bit of luck after last year's home fixture against Hampton. My brain cheerfully ignored the fact that Hampton's brutish squad from last year was largely the same. It also blocked the memory of how they had made it to the playoffs last year using an ugly, physical style that helped them grind out wins across the league. My brain thinks it is being helpful when it does this. I try not to complain much because it has so far prevented me from going down to the betting shop in such a condition.

In the car park I receive what I think is good news: Will Puddy, our embattled keeper, is injured. Okay, that doesn't sound good, but he is going to be replaced by Steve 'Porks' Perrin, our second choice keeper (Putty was our third choice - the first choice is having a back operation and has yet to play this season). This sounds good especially because last year Hampton had City on the back foot for almost the entire match. Pinned in the back third, the City defence struggled valiantly, but it was Perrin's superhuman shot blocking ability that kept City in the match. Nearly a full match's hard work was undone, though, when referee Mark Philpott awarded a terrible penalty. A sharply hit ball in the penalty box hit Jim Rollo in the arm. The fact that his arm was pinned against his left side and that he could not have avoided being hit there was not considered. City lost what should have been a valiant defensive draw.

Things appeared to be looking up with Perrin between the sticks, but something else was wrong. It may have been the overcast, autumnal sky. It might have been the humidity, which gave the air a 'heavy' feeling. Personally, though, I think the Hampton club just have a bad vibe. I remember it from last year as well. It is the same sort of vibe you feel in a dentist's waiting room, or a bad party. There was a nervous tension in the air that was not related to the expectation of the play of the match. I feel bad saying this, but I think I just have a visceral dislike of Hampton that I can't explain. Ugggh. Even before the first kick this had the feeling of a match to endure rather than a match to enjoy.

One big improvement over last year, though, was that rather than trying to grind out a 0-0 draw from the beginning, City started the match looking to score. Although they rarely seemed on the verge of a finishing shot, City played with a bright style that relied on passing and possession. Most of the Hampton squad was content to keep its shape behind the ball. City regularly charged forward en masse, sometimes dominating mid-field play. Inevitably, though, the surge would break down as it entered the Hampton penalty box. There were several on-target shots in the first half, but never from anyone with the position or time to get much on the ball. Despite looking more like a tax assessor than a keeper, Matt Lovett was always in a good position and kept Hampton in the game.

Eighteen minutes in, it looked like City had gotten some payback for last year's penalty call. During a scuffle in front of goal a Hampton player appeared to sit on Lewis Hogg. This year's ref, Andrew Newell, rightly pointed to the spot. Edwards lined up for the penalty. He had to line up for a long time because the Hampton players kept wandering into the penalty box and Newell would have to wave them out again. Whether or not this was intended to be a distraction, Edwards' kick glanced clear off the top bar. The opportunity to put City in the lead was gone.

Within two minutes, in one of the few sequences thus far in the City half of the field, a mix up in front of goal led to Chris Holland scoring an own goal. Missed penalties and own goals are perhaps the most frustrating things you can witness as a fan, and we had witnessed both within a few minutes. Hampton had gotten a two goal swing on the cheap.

City kept playing aggressively, however, often sending players forward from the back line. Half-chances came and went. Edwards almost redeemed his missed penalty with a fantastic header from a free kick. This was one of only two shots that Lovett was not able to handle cleanly. From an off-balance position he managed to get enough glove on the ball to flick it over the bar. Although, again, against the run of play, Hampton got a penalty three minutes before the break. This penalty was taken cleanly. City were behind 0-2 in a match that they were dominating in every category except scoring.

In times of crisis the British get a cup of tea. Mark and I settled down on the terrace steps and tried to come up with scenarios that would end in a 3-2 City victory as we sipped our brews. I knew City would keep fighting, and that was some consolation.

Although the two goals lead for Hampton was not really deserved, they had given City plenty of scares in the first half. They are a big, physical team. Their strategy appears to be to out-muscle their opposition and capitalise on any resulting mistakes. They rarely showed much creativity. Their most effective passing was from the keeper, Lovett, who had a booming kick with which he could pick out his own players more often than not. Because of their size, and because their striker duo of Craig Dundas and Lawrence Yaku were big and fast as well, it was effective. They got a third goal not long into the second half off of a bad pass by Marcus Browning. Yaku ended up in a one-on-one with Perrin and scored with ease.

Afterwards City still attacked. And, they attacked well. At the hour mark I saw what I think is the most impressive goal scored by a City player I have seen, especially considering the opposition. Lewis Hogg got the ball off a Hampton mid-fielder in the City half. Although he appeared to be on the verge of passing at several points, he kept the ball and managed to weave through the kicks and tackles until he got the ball into the left corner of the Bristol end. Despite having two Hampton players covering him, he managed a sharp cross in front of goal and Mohamed Kaid, our reserve striker, was in exactly the right spot. It happened in a flash and seemed ran completely counter to the style of the game up to that point. It almost made the eventual defeat worthwhile.

Again, City kept attacking. Kaid managed two bicycle kicks in front of goal. They were on target and, at least for me, totally unexpected. Somehow Lovett managed to be right in front of them each time. Despite the venom Kaid kicked with Lovett stopped them with the composure of a pre-match warm up. With such efforts Kaid deserved another goal. He deserved a hat-trick.

Scuffles began to break out on the pitch. I could not help but think the City players shared my irrational dislike of the Hampton players, but I think the Hampton players gave them enough reasons to be disliked without being irrational. A few minutes before time there was a double red card. Marcus Browning and Ian Hodges both collapsed to onto the pitch clutching their faces. Presumably they had headbutted each other, but both acted fell so theatrically there were no complaints about the refs decision in the stands. Browning is becoming increasingly unpopular in the terraces anyway. Several people around me welcomed his inevitable suspension as good news.

The match ended 3-1. I don't feel City were robbed - Hampton are a difficult side and City should have taken an early lead. I felt, to be honest, a bit of relief. Relief that the match was over. Relief that I probably won't have to watch Hampton play again until next season. Relief that the quality of City's play would beat most teams in the Conference South this year.

As Mark and I walked away from Twerton Park we could hear the Hampton travelling support cheering their team. I can't blame the supporters, and credit to those who came, but I am truly thankful that City is my team and not Hampton. Football is meant to be the beautiful game, but they play it in a dark and ugly fashion. I appreciate a team that plays with fire and spirit, but watching a team win in such a one-dimensional way is not fun. And, besides all this, there is something about them I just don't like. I really did not want City to lose to them. How frustrating!

The Soccerball Years, part 1

As a child there were five professional sports teams in my home town of Atlanta, Georgia. The Braves played baseball. The Falcons played American football. The basketball team was the Hawks. Surprising everyone, as winter sports are not popular in the South, we had a pro hockey team called the Flames. Lastly, and perhaps most dear to the hearts of fourth graders across the metropolitan area, was the Chiefs, our soccer team.

Atlanta has always been a relative hotbed of soccer. My high school had a team as early as the 1950s. It took until the late 1970s, though, for soccer to take a place in the wider public imagination and become an increasingly popular activity for middle-class parents to sign their children up to. My parents enrolled me in the local church league. We didn't know much about tactics. Most matches consisted of eighteen kids crowding round the ball and kicking each other in the shins, while the goalies sat on their haunches and looked for four-leafed clovers in the pitch. We had fun, though, and we enjoyed fooling ourselves into being experts at a game which mystified our parents.

Although I did not know it at the time, the Atlanta Chiefs of my pre-teen years was actually the second club to operate by that name. The original club had been one of the founding teams of the North American Soccer League in 1968. It had, in fact, had won the league's first championship. No one remembers this now, of course, but two surprising legacies of the original chiefs are still extant. One of the star players that year was Kaizer 'Boy Boy' Motaung. After a single season in Atlanta he returned home. He enjoyed his experience with the Chiefs enough to use the name for the new club he founded, the Kaizer Chiefs (and in fact he used not only the name but the logo of his old team as well). Over twenty years later, the Kaizer Chiefs sold Lucas Radebe to Leeds United. He quickly became a fan favourite, and inspired a group of local musicians to name their band after his old club. So now when I watch my boys bounce around their room listening to a Kaiser Chiefs album, I secretly enjoy it as an unintended memorial to my first football love.

The original Chiefs folded in 1973, practically unnoticed by anyone. The NASL continued without them, and despite nearly a decade of obscurity, suddenly found itself to be the major American sports fad of the late 1970s. The league began to expand its membership and in 1979 Ted Turner moved a franchise to Atlanta and renamed it after the original Chiefs. This incarnation lasted only three years but left a lasting impression on the children of the city. After all, soccer was our sport.

Getting to matches was difficult. My parents, like most parents, thought that soccer was boring. They did not understand the rules and they did not understand how a sport could allow play to go for so long at a time without anyone scoring. Saying that, it was my parents who saw the Chiefs first. They were invited by one of my father's clients to a evening match when the Cosmos were in town. They went, brought me home a Chiefs pennant (which I still have) and were able to tell me they had seen Pele. That's right, my mother, who doesn't even know there is such a thing as an offside rule let alone posses the ability to explain it, has seen Pele play. I could cry. As far as I can remember they never went again. I suppose it was only going to be downhill from there.

I did get to see the Chiefs myself, finally, thanks to the efforts of my friend Marthame. Marthame was the most soccer mad of any kid in Atlanta in 1979 without doubt. He could have explained the offside rule, that's for sure. Marthame always had his birthday parties at Chiefs matches, and one of these coincided with a 'meet the players' promotion. After queueing for ten minutes I got my picture taken with the Chiefs keeper. After some research I am pretty sure this player was one 'Tad Delorm,' but he could have just been a reserve. Whoever he was he had a wonderfully 'porny' mustache and the facial expression of someone who would rather be doing almost anything other than posing with nine-year-olds for souvenir Polaroids.

The match itself was played in the cavernous Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium with a capacity of over 50,000. I remember finding it hard to follow the play on the pitch - we seemed a million miles away, and they style of play was not what I was used to (as in eighteen players crowding around the ball and kicking each other in the shins). Whenever I had a question Marthame was always there to answer it, always with enthusiasm. The half time entertainment was, believe it or not, a short exhibition of rugby. Really. I can remember the announcer explaining to the crowd that the players were not allowed to throw the ball forwards but could kick the ball forwards if they chose. Considering that the adult half of the crowd that day was undoubtedly confused by the soccer already, a rugby match was probably one novelty too far.

Despite soccer never really becoming 'mainstream,' the Chiefs still managed to draw decent crowds. It was a natural step, therefore, for Ted Turner to enter the Chiefs into the NASL indoor league in 1979. The games were played in the Omni, where the Hawks and Flames played as well. Although Americanised to the point where its relationship with proper football is at best tenuous, indoor soccer has had a commercial success that outlived the NASL. It continues to be played in several small professional leagues across the country today. The games are fast, have little room for complex tactics, and involve much more scoring. Certainly as a child I found it easier to follow. Marthame liked it too, and his parents would organise groups of children to go with him to occasional matches.

I have three memories of the indoor Chiefs matches. One was that there was a banner hanging from the ceiling proclaiming the Chiefs status as NASL Indoor Eastern Division Champions, 1979. Considering the fact that no other Atlanta team had won anything in my lifetime that could be sewn on a banner, I was suitably awed. There was also a woman who was at every match I attended who had a wooden football rattle. She swung it around so much I found it really annoying. No one has ever produced a football rattle at any match I've been to here in England so there is no telling where she got it from.

My most vivid memory of the indoor Chiefs matches, though, was the Atlanta keeper, Graham Tutt. I wish I could say that I was fascinated by him because of his playing record. I wish it was because I knew that he had played for Charlton Athletic in the old First Division from 1973-76 before a traumatic eye injury sidelined him for eighteen months. The real reasons were much more mundane: (1) His jersey number was '00,' which I thought was 'really cool.' (2) The King Tut exhibition had just caused a huge media sensation in America and having 'Tutt' for a surname was also 'really cool.' (3) The Omni had a huge, four-sided scoreboard that hung suspended from the ceiling. Every time Tutt kicked the ball had to be careful to avoid it. Once he did hit it, and I thought that was 'really cool.' I was ten years old, okay?

After three outdoor and two indoor seasons the second Chiefs were wound up as well. Although attendances were good, soccer struggled to succeed on television. It continued to do so until my generation became old enough to become a demographic grouping advertisers wanted to reach. Today's Major League Soccer reaps the harvest the NASL sowed.

After the Chiefs folded most of the players who could move on to other teams did so. Graham Tutt, however, stayed in Atlanta and played for the equally ill-starred Georgia Generals. After that he began running training camps for children and playing amateur soccer. Little did I know that as an adult, our paths would one day cross again.....(continued in the Soccerball Years, part 2)