This is LLK. She will be three next month. LLK is a gansta. She a sticker gangsta! She puts stickers everywhere – in books, on paper, on furniture – even on her face. This is LLK’s dad. He’ll be 37 next month. He’s not a gangsta – but he can touch his nose with his tongue. Being able to touch his nose with his tongue is not relevant to this post, nor to stickers – he just struggles to pose naturally for photos. He first started collecting Panini stickers for the 1982 World Cup. He can’t remember the last time he collected Panini stickers. He feels that now is the right time for LLK to learn about the glory, that is finding a shiny badge
Football Archive
Originally posted on Parla Calcio? Oh Italy. The place I’d love to one day call home – that beautiful country I have visited more than any other (if you discount Lancashire) in recent years. Italy – the home of great food, great wine, historical landmarks, fantastic football teams – and a language so, so, err, so…. Parla Calcio? This is a project I have thought about doing for a couple of years now. A way in which I can interweave my love for football with a burning desire I have to learn the Italian language. To see if the language of football – that of players names, club names, stadium names, formations – can be used as a bridging gap between the vocabulary used to
This guest post is part of a series of first memories of football. As the piece explains, this match wasn’t my first actually footballing memory – more the first time I can recall football actually meaning something more than just being a game, on TV, where the result was a mere formality. When it started to mean more than what it really should
I can’t drink anymore. Not in the physical sense, where swallowing has had to have been replaced by a tube. No. My inability to drink stems largely from the fact that I seem to spend most of the day after a good night out, rushing in to bathrooms or bemoaning yet another – thumping headache. I first noticed that I’d lost the fine art of drinking shortly after Lauren was born. For some reason or other, I didn’t go through with the tradition of wetting the baby’s head; leaving it for a month or so before I ventured out to satisfy my thirst for a night on the beer. It’d been a couple of months since I had last been out, as I vowed to
A guest post written for the football website, In Bed With Maradona, based on my curious love for an inanimate object – the Adidas Tango football. A love affair with the Adidas Tango
I was once told that through sport, I lived a double life. I disagreed. My view was that what I did was no different to how others involved in amateur sport lived their lives. I had a decent job, a part-time hobby and a dedication to the sport I played. But then if I introduced myself to anyone new. Told them what I did. How I made my living; where I would be on a Friday night – what I would then be doing on a Saturday morning – a lack of understanding would permeate through the rest of our conversation. They simply refused to believe me. The job meant working at different European sites. The hobby was as an events reviewer for DJ Magazine.
Post on the so called demise of footballing heroes – who shroud themselves in expensive suits; courting favours and votes in exchange for the right to kiss the hem of their cloaks. In Bed With Maradona – No More Heroes
A guest blog for the Dear Mr Levy website. A site dedicated to the trials and tribulations (with the occasional happy, positive post) down at Tottenham Hotspur FC Here I am allowed to dream; to slip back in to my childhood and remember a time when Spurs were once a European force. Oh what a night that was…. European Dreams
This piece was written as a response to Iain Macitntosh’s article on In Bed With Maradona. It is intended as a counter-argument to the view that football is fun. For it is my genuine belief that football is fun, there are just far too many current examples of football being as far detached from fun as you can possibly get. Football is fun. Football. Is. Fun. See, as three words it is easy to say. But as a viewpoint, is it really so easy to accept; to simply agree to and move on? I imagine football is fun if you are playing keepie uppie in the corridors of Barcelona’s training complex, whilst waiting to interview one of the top three footballers on the planet. Or
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