Three and in – not just another football blog

Footballers careers are curious things. The smallest things can make or break you. Take Ashley Cole. A left-back that Arsenal were willing to sell to Crystal Palace until they realised Silvinho had made his passport at home with some dodgy photocopies and a couple of bits of double-sided sticky tape.

As he fled to continental Europe, where such passports are the norm, Cole took his chance and won a stack of trophies at the Gunners before becoming public enemy number 1 by being an unspeakable twat and moving to Chelsea.

Other have had their careers ruined by demons. George Best – drink. Mark Bosnich – drugs. Gazza – drink and drugs. David James – Nintendo. Mikael Silvestre – having a giant head and being quite shit at football. Not sure if that’s the same thing but it’s worth mentioning.

Others have managed to come through their troubles yet have had their careers affected. And at the moment the most obvious example is Joey Barton. He’s dealt with drink, by all accounts, but is hampered consistently by the fact he has a temper as short as a bodybuilder’s cock and is, to all intents and purposes, probably psychotic.

The thing is that if you can leave the temper and lunacy aside Barton is a very good footballer. His set-piece delivery is fantastic, he uses the ball well, can tackle (I know, I know) and can score goals. Witness the belter against Villa.

Yet even that piece of fantastic football was marred because it looked as if Barton’s celebration was a Hitler salute. The fact he was sporting the most dodgy tache you’ll ever see didn’t help him there.

At the moment he’s embroiled in a row over gestures made to Fernando Torres during Saturday’s 3-1 win over Liverpool. It seems he requested the Spaniard’s presence in the region of his groin area so that the Bartonschafte might receive some oral pleasure. Or cleaning. Who knows? Maybe it was just dirty.

Frankly, I don’t see the problem with that. In a high stakes game I don’t see the difference in one player telling another to go fuck himself (about which nothing would be said) and telling a player you wish him to engage in sexual conduct with you (about which much fuss has been made).

I suppose the reason people are making a lot of it is because it’s Joey Barton. If you needed a picture definition for the word ‘previous’ he’d be it. Just a couple of weeks after punching Morten Gamst Pedersen (an act with which many football fans can empathise) there’s controversy again. And I’m sure it won’t be the last time this season.

It’s clear he can’t help himself. No matter how much he talks about maturing and growing up he’s got a switch that just goes off and that’s something he, Newcastle Football Club, Newcastle fans and opponents are going to have to live with. When you look at his ability as a player alone you can’t help feel he’d achieve a lot more but his complete mentalness is as much a hindrance to him as booze to Best or blow to Bosnich.

Still, it makes for fun viewing for the neutral observer. And I wonder if Torres was just a little bit tempted.

… is that he provides an irresistible, if somewhat crude, photoshop opportunity.

Pies has a nice take too.

Mike Ashley, eh? A man described recently as ‘a noxious, ignorant boor who knows as much about running a football club as I do about running a factory involved in the manufacture of tiny microscopic weapons that can be injected into somebody’s bloodstream like in that film with Dennis Quaid’.

‘Who said that?’, you might ask. Well, it was me, down the pub as Newcastle were drawing 1-1 with Chelsea. The sympathy for Chris Hughton will come because he was doing a fair job at a newly promoted side. Some of the results were great, a win away to Arsenal, drawing with Chelsea, spanking Sunderland 5-1. Some of them were poor, losing at home to Blackpool, Stoke and then West Brom last weekend. Consistency is not usually a characteristic of a side that has just come up from the Championship, even if Newcastle as a club has a bit more top flight pedigree than most.

Yet if the rumours are true Hughton could be replaced by Alan Pardew. Which must be a bit like your wife leaving you to run off with Lembit Opik. For me Hughton has never really convinced in the role and it’s been hard to escape the fact that he’s been an assistant for the majority of his post-playing career. A man who played second fiddle to Christian Gross will always have a shadow of doubt over him but to be cast aside by a man like Ashley for a manager like Pardew (if that is the case) … well, nobody deserves that. Ok, Sam Allardyce deserves that, and more, but he’s a special case.

Hughton will leave with his reputation enhanced, and many kind wishes, but it’s still hard to see clubs queueing up to make him their boss. Everyone loves a good number 2 and that’s probably where he’ll end up.

As for Mike Ashley, what faith does anyone have that he can find a man to do better under the same constraints? One can only hope he gets what he deserves. Ok, the chances of him catching Ebola on Tyneside are slim but we can dream, can’t we?

Maybe it seems trite to call him that, given the fact he’s just a football manager, but the Dutchman has taken a courageous stance and one that is, for most part, unprecedented in modern football.

When Nigel de Jong broke Hatem Ben Arfa’s leg with what was clearly a reckless and dangerous tackle the pundits on ESPN brushed it off as ‘one of those things’. Nicky Butt and Kevin Keegan were the men in question and once again it’s a demonstration of a lack of understanding in the English game when it comes to violent play.

Neither of them could see any reason to condemn de Jong because they simply don’t understand that what he did was dangerous. To them it was just a good old fashioned challenge and Ben Arfa’s injury was just an unfortunate and unavoidable consequence of that. They couldn’t be more wrong. De Jong can’t tackle, he thinks any genuine attempt to get the ball or man is ok, but it’s not. Ask Stuart Holden, the US international whose leg he broke earlier this year. Ask Xabi Alonso who got de Jong’s studs in his chest in the World Cup final.

It was inevitable that he would cause somebody a serious injury in the Premier League and so it was yesterday. And he got away with it. No card, yellow or red, and the so-called ‘experts’ couldn’t see anything wrong with what he did. The rest of us weren’t so easily fooled, nor was the Holland manager who promptly dropped de Jong from his squad, saying:

I’ve seen the pictures back. It was a wild and unnecessary offence. He went in much too hard. It is unfortunate, especially since he does not need to do it. The funny thing is that the referee did not even show a yellow card for it. Apparently, there are other standards. But I have a problem with the way Nigel needlessly looks to push the limit. I am going to speak to him.

Stand up and give that man a round of applause. Managers are far too quick to excuse their own players failings. Even as Mick McCarthy said he had no complaints about Karl Henry’s latest horror tackle he tried to dimiss the reaction of the player who had been poleaxed as theatrical. And how vomit-inducing was it to hear the pundits on Match of the Day tut-tut at his sending off against Wigan when just a few weeks ago they were chuckling to themselves at his treatment of Joey Barton. They were complicit in his latest assault.

Perhaps Van Marwijk’s decision is the start of something positive. Perhaps he won’t be ridiculed or accused of trying to ‘do away’ with tackling. Perhaps he’ll be seen as someone who took a stand against the kind of player nobody should condone but which far too many do.

Fingers crossed.

Let’s be honest, there aren’t too many people who have a great deal of time for Joey Barton. He’s a man of dubious character who has, in the past, behaved abysmally on and off the pitch.

Hong Kong Phooey plays for Wolves

However, I’ll give him some props for not reacting to the kicking he got at Wolves yesterday. Match of the Day might have thought it was funny, chuckling away as they showed foul after foul on Barton. Sure who wouldn’t want to see the bad boy of English football kicked about a bit?

Well, regardless of Barton’s past, none of us should condone deliberate foul play, which was bordering on dangerous at times. Laughing about it on the most watched football show on television does exactly that. Would they have been laughing if it were Wayne Rooney or Theo Walcott or Fernando Torres on the other end of it? I don’t think so.

There was one clash with Karl Henry which was great to see. Both players fully committed, going for the ball and despite the collision they both got up and got on with the game. No complaints. Henry, however, went too far. There was a late ‘shoulder charge’ which was worthy of a yellow card on its own. There was no intent whatsoever to play the ball, he went into to hurt the opponent.

The challenge for which he was booked, on display to your left there, might have been a sending off. It was head high and the way he twisted his body and flicked out his foot meant he was trying to hurt Barton again. Henry was shown a red card last year for a reckless challenge on Tomas Rosicky which might have caused serious injury. He was lucky he didn’t get one yesterday too.

Two or three other Wolves players had a go at Barton as well. It’s clear it was deliberate tactic to wind him up. We know his temper is short, we know he’s capable of reacting, it’s to his credit he didn’t.

The bottom line is that some of those tackles could have caused serious injury yesterday. The rules are the same for everybody and everybody is entitled to the protection they offer too. Even Joey Barton.

Every week Lawrence Gray-Hodson, a man who made his name in the upper reaches of Division 2 in the 1970s and 80s as well as being a former Scotland and England international, writes a column exclusively for Three and in.

This week he opines on the divisive topic of facial hair in football

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Back when I started my professional career there was a grizzled old pro coming towards the end of his. He was an intimidating character in the dressing room. One of his favourite things was to sit on your head and unleash a monstrous fart which generally smelled like the fish and chips washed down with bottles of stout that he’d had last thing the night before.

His other favourite thing was his moustache. It was an enormous bushy thing, like a frightened caterpillar that had just been blow-dried by Vidal Bassoon himself. He said it set him apart from the other players. He was right. We might not all have been great players, in fact some of us were decidedly average, but because of our lack of facial hair we weren’t noticed. Fans noticed him and he got unmerciful stick when he had a bad game. He didn’t care though and when I attended his funeral a few years back (he was another who fell victim to the demon drink – he was beaten to death with a vodka bottle by a customer in the pub he bought) we all chipped in and bought a giant moustache shaped wreath to pay our respects.

Yet that was then. This is now. And now is not an age when footballers should be sporting facial hair. I’ve mentioned my friend Tony Grealish in previous columns and he told me he wouldn’t dare sport a beard if he were playing these days. Back then he was a member of the hirsute massive. Look at the amazing players who were bearded – George Best, Frank Lampard Sr, Ricky Villa, Socrates and Mickey Droy. You could make an all-star XI out of those players alone.

Fast forward some years and what have you got? Olaf Mellberg, Djibril Cisse and Abel Xavier who looks more like he’s auditioning for the role of Neptune in a straight to DVD movie than a football player. I know David Beckham had a beard at one point but David Beckham also wore a skirt. The former England man is a legend but he’s made mistakes.

Since David Seaman retired there hasn’t been a top class goalkeeper with a moustache anywhere in the world. I watched every minute of the World Cup this summer and not once did I see a keeper with a ‘tache. Those days have long gone. They need to be clean shaven to maximise their aerodynamics when they dive. If you don’t believe me I’m told that a top Premier League currently trying to sign a goalkeeper is having so much trouble because they’re insisting the player shave his head before each game so he can fly through the air with the least wind resistance possible.

Is it any coincidence that when Cesc Fabregas shaved off his beard Vincente del Bosque chose to use him in the World Cup final to great effect? And I know, from previous columns and people picking up on what they think are errors, that someone will mention Gerard Pique, but Pique’s beard is a Katie Holmes, designed to conceal the truth. He has had a weeping skin complaint for some months and this hides his embarrassment in public.

Newcastle have just come back to the Premier League after a great season in the Championship but bad-boy Barton’s refusal to shave will do nothing but end in tears. I’ve got no problem with Barton in general, I feel he’s misunderstood and who amongst us hasn’t got so drunk that they think somebody’s eye is an ashtray? Let he who is without sin and all that, but Chris Hughton ought to slam down hard on him for his outrageous top lip fuzz.

If I were a manager I would insist all my players had short back and sides and had a good shave before each game. A club has to have to standards. None of this sissy long hair or African-Americanfros that some of them sport. And standards aside the fact is the more clean shaven a team is the more chance they have of success. Only rarely can a team grow hair on their faces and win things. A stylish dazzler like Robert Pires can just about get away with it, an unremarkable clogger like Alan Smith cannot.

Unless Newcastle want to go straight back down the Championship Barton must make an appointment with his barber who will take out his trusty razor and do what’s right for Newcastle.

It’s a cut-throat business in both regards.

Every week Lawrence Gray-Hodson, a man who made his name in the upper reaches of Division 2 in the 1970s and 80s as well as being a former Scotland and England international, writes a column exclusively for Threeandin.

This week he looks at Sol Campbell’s decision to join Newcastle and dares to think the unthinkable.

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I wasn’t at all surprised that Sol Campbell joined Newcastle United. They’re a great club who can offer him more football than he would likely have gotten at Arsenal once Arsene Wenger signs a 19 year old Botswananian to shore up his defence. There was probably the issue of money too. I know Sol a little through some contacts in the game and while he’s always been ambitious he’s had a pathological need to earn as much money as possible.

The story goes, apocalyptic though it might be, that during a card game during his time at Spurs he forced Justin Edinburgh into betting his own house on a hand of poker. Sol won and before they’d even got back to White Hart Lane on the team bus he’d had his advisors put it on the market … while his teammate’s kids were still inside!

Yet at his age money shouldn’t be the deciding factor, it should be about how many games he’s going to play and how realistic the chance of a trophy is. You hear footballers all the time talking about how they just love to play but really it’s about medals. You want to be able to turn up to an after-dinner event and know that if the other ex-pro at the table is a bit of a Tim Sherwood you can throw out the ‘Show us your medals’ line. I include my Player of the Month awards in my trophy haul.

So what chance does Sol Campbell have of winning anything at Newcastle? A flukey FA Cup maybe, but that’s the kind of long shot even Ronnie Radford wouldn’t put money on. Can Newcastle ever win the Premier League? Not in my lifetime, not even if I live to be the same age as Moses or George Burns.

Niall Quinn in a Toon shirt

Then I got to thinking about Newcastle’s rivals Sunderland. They’re the same. They’ll never, ever win the league. What kind of an existence is that for a football club when you think about it? Going into each season just to make up the numbers. You might get the odd result against one of the ‘big’ teams, or a derby win, but if that’s the extent of your club’s ability you have to wonder what’s the point. Average clubs with average players playing average games in front of fans who have become so used to average that anything slightly above average is seen as wonderful when, in fact, it’s just a bit better than average.

But what if you could change things? What if, and hear me out here before you ‘go postal’ or call me a flamer, clubs like Newcastle and Sunderland, who have no chance of winning the league, combined their resources to make a new north-east superclub that could challenge the Uniteds and Chelseas and Arsenals?

Sundercastle. Newland. Let’s face it, they could even rope in Middlesboro and call themselves Sundercastle Boro. Build one giant stadium in the middle of all of them and you’re onto a serious winner. We know the fans in the north-east are brilliant. St James’s Park was packed even when Newcastle languished in the lower divisions. Add the Mackems and the Boro boys and you’ve immediately multiplied your fan base by quite a lot indeed.

‘What about the rivalry?’, I hear you cry. ‘How can fans who sing songs about cutting each other up into pieces with machetes and feasting on their remains put all that to one side?’.

I admit, it won’t be easy, but it can be done. If protestors and catholics can live in peace and harmony in Northern Ireland then why can’t Newcastle and Sunderland fans become one behind a team which is in the Champions League every season? It might take a generation or two but after Sundercastle Boro have won the league for the fifth consecutive season and when the management team of Kevin Keegan and Don Hutchison are being held aloft at the Greggs Angel of the North Stadium will anybody be complaining? I don’t think so.

Ian Rush scores for Everton!

And this really is something other teams in other cities should be looking at, hard as it might be to stomach. The financial realities of the modern game are such that a club like Barcelona, which has won almost every trophy it competed for in the last few years, has to borrow money to pay its cleaning ladies and players. So what about a club like Liverpool which, despite its rich history, hasn’t won the league since 1990. That’s nine years before Prince.

Wouldn’t the combined Scouse power of Liverton or Everpool give those fans a better chance of enjoying some success instead of mid-table mediocrity. How can you reasonably expect people in this day and age, when times are so tight, to keep going to games and paying good money to watch a team which cannot possibly win the competition they’re in? Fans are loyal but only to a point. Real fans aren’t content with 11 guys just turning up, real fans demand success and trophies.

Birmingham Villa. West Ham Hotspur. Close neighbours like Watford and Luton could become the Wuton Clan. Even the south-coast would be better with one good team, a Porthampton perhaps, than two teams who simply can’t survive in the modern game and are forced to play YTS lads who bring you nothing but relegation. It’s just common sense and I’m told that quite a few Premier League chairmen have discussed this very thing over secret lunches in the Dorchester.

I know this idea is sure to be unpopular. Fans are tribal. But when two tribes go to war a point is all that can you score.

Wouldn’t one tribe and three points be a much better idea?