It is now time to switch to a new Money AM football blog as the world cup is now over and we all look to the future.....World cup 2010 is over, Bravo Espana, and Forlan, once again and bring on the new season !.....I never expected the last thread to be such a success...thanks all.... so this new one might go on for years without the need to edit the title...we shall see...

Ah well, that means Delia doesn't have to write any more cookery books for a while! On the day I reckon (even though I am biased) that Norwich played the better football and seemed to want the promotion more.

Fifa arrests: 'Football's never seen anything like this'

Huge corruption scandal......Is anybody surprised about it ?.....nobody......Sepp Blatter for all his charming ways is probably in an untenable position as the head of a rotten organisation......he might not be as guilty as the others but if all these others heads have to roll : his would surely follow as well as in any normal company such a scandal would end up with the boss departing.....this will only be the tip of the iceberg of course because you have to have proof and the laws of liable and such mean the prosecutors will have to tread carefully......if the Swiss enquiry digs up more corruption with the world cup bids.....Fifa would be perhaps disbanded and the next world cups annulled.....really serious stuff.....shame that people are so greedy....anyway bravo Sevilla tonight....super teams these Spanish sides....the premiership has some catching up to do.....

Will he take the fall this time?

Andy King :( Bubblegum cards, Shoot, and Match Of The Day.



By required field - 17 May 2015 20:20 - 4433 of 4445
Just a quick farewell to Gerrard....tremendous player.....England needed a few more like him to have made an impact.......I fear Liverpool might struggle next season.....I wouldn't like to say relegation candidates.....mid-table perhaps....but it's not looking good for them.....

Too often showed a lack of discipline; one man band - hence Stevie Me. Seemed great when it worked, when it didn't the team suffered and he looked a fool - against Germany in South Africa he kept leaving the full back exposed, the game he became Slippy G he spent the rest of the match shooting - ignoring teammates in better positions, and so on. The trait contributed to what turned out to be a year long comedy tour. If he wasn't English, the media wouldn't have been so lenient.

Cheers,
KidA

Am I missing something, but what are the Americans doing involving themselves in soccer and FIFA? The corruption has happened in a sport in which they are barely involved and presumably in countries which are outside US jurisdiction?

Because they are American.

Yep and you wonder why certain other countries resent the US and their imperial aspirations!

From CNN
So why is the United States, a country where soccer ranks far below football and basketball in popularity, now taking top FIFA officials to court on corruption charges?

Most of the 14 people indicted aren't Americans.

But as U.S. Attorney Loretta Lynch lays it out, the suspects planned their crimes in the U.S.; they used the U.S. banking system; they planned to profit through schemes that targeted the "growing U.S. market for soccer."

That's a bit harsh on SG KidA !......yes there were mistakes but look at the career overall....pretty good in my view.....

My interview with Andy King
By Brian Viner 28/05/2015 Comments (14) jump
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My interview with Andy King
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Poor End to a Poor Season
From My Seat: Tottenham (H)
Poor half by Blues sees Kane win it
This is from my book Looking For The Toffees, first published last August. I imagine I was probably the last writer to interview Andy at length, so – long as the following extract is – it seems timely to share it ...

Andy King wasn’t a hard man to find when I researched this book, but he was a hard man to pin down for an interview. He was working at Northampton Town, first as assistant to Aidy Boothroyd, and then as caretaker manager, following Boothroyd’s dismissal in December 2013, in the wake of a 4-1 home defeat by Wycombe Wanderers that left Northampton bottom of Division Two and therefore 92nd of 92 league clubs.

I phoned him several times, but he kept saying that he was too busy, that I’d have to leave it for a while. Eventually, in January 2014, we finally nailed a day and time for me to see him at Northampton’s shiny Sixfields stadium.

First, though, let me turn the clock back to that unseasonably warm and sunny October afternoon in 1978. Liverpool were top, Everton were second. Both teams were unbeaten in the league. We had won six of our first 11 games and drawn five. But in doing so we had only scored 14 goals. They, in winning 10 of their first 11, had scored 35 goals. There had only been two blips in their season, although one of them was a hell of a blip, for their defence of the European Cup had fallen at the very first hurdle. And to make matters much worse, it was a hurdle in the form of Brian Clough and Nottingham Forest. Liverpool had also been knocked out of the League Cup by Harry Haslam’s Second Division Sheffield United, without Maradona but with Sabella. But in the league programme they took terrible revenge for these indignities.

We got an earlier-than-usual bus from Southport’s Ribble Bus Station that day, my friends and me, the usual derby-day trepidation magnified by Liverpool’s extraordinary goal-scoring prowess in the season so far. I had turned 17 just a few days earlier, and could hardly bring myself to hope for the most perfect birthday present of all: the first victory for Everton over Liverpool since shortly after I turned 10, and which I barely remembered.

Meanwhile, Dave Prentice, two years younger than me, was making his way from Formby on the train.

“It was a day of mixed fortunes for me,” he told me. “I’d never seen Everton beat Liverpool, so obviously that was fantastic. But I was short of cash, so I bunked on the train with a used ticket. When we got to Bank Hall station, the British Transport Police were at the top of steps, but there was a scrum of people, so I wasn’t too worried. The fella took my ticket off me, but stupidly, rather than walking through, I asked for it back, because it was a return. That’s when he looked more closely at it and nicked me. He took me to one side and asked for my name and address, and being young and naive I gave him the correct details. Walking to the ground and even during the game, it was on my mind the whole time. When Andy King scored that glorious goal down the Park End I celebrated wildly, of course, but it was still worrying me, that I’d been nicked by the British Transport Police and would get a right bollocking from my parents. It took the shine off my day a little bit.”

Nothing took the shine off mine. Rafe, Briggy, Mozzer, Bean and I arrived at Goodison to see a huge BBC truck outside, and while it wasn’t exactly surprising to find the Match of the Day cameras at a game between the teams placed first and second in the league, and a Merseyside derby to boot, it was still an added thrill to know that we were going to be on the telly. Not that we knew just how much we would treasure the footage, and John Motson’s immortal lines at the final whistle: “That’s it! Everton have beaten Liverpool, Andy King the scorer. Seven is his number, and seven years it is since this last happened … Liverpool’s run of 23 league games unbeaten is over!”

At the opening whistle, the respective line-ups didn’t seem to favour us: Lee’s XI was Wood, Todd, Pejic, Kenyon, Wright, Nulty, King, Dobson, Latchford, Walsh, Thomas. Bob Paisley’s was: Clemence, Neal, Alan Kennedy, Thompson, Ray Kennedy, Hansen, Dalglish, Case, Heighway, Johnson, Souness.

There were a few weak links in that Everton side, it seemed to me. Mickey Walsh already looked like a wholly inadequate replacement for the departed Duncan McKenzie, and Geoff Nulty never inspired much confidence in midfield, although he had rather unfairly become something of a whipping-boy on the Gwladys Street.

Nulty was a huge favourite of Gordon Lee’s, who had brought him from his former club, Newcastle, and would take him to his next club, Preston. But he went to Deepdale as a coach, not a player. His playing career ended abruptly during another Merseyside derby, at Goodison in 1980, when Jimmy Case somehow escaped a red card for a challenge that these days would ignite talk of assault charges. Dixie Dean died of a heart attack while attending that game, and I don’t suppose it was Case’s despicable tackle that finished off the great man – he must have seen even worse in his own era. But it was a bad, bad day for Geoff Nulty, Dixie Dean and Everton, even taking the result – 2-1 to Liverpool – out of the equation.

Nulty later became a sub-postmaster, another job into which ex-footballers sometimes fell. His job on that 1978 day of days, however, was to mark Ray Kennedy, 27 years old and in his considerable prime. Nulty did it splendidly.

The match stayed goalless until the 58th minute, when Pejic clipped the ball to Dobson in the Liverpool penalty area, he headed it outside the area to King, who struck a sublime volley past Ray Clemence that Liverpool players, most ungraciously, dismissed as a miskick. “And Goodison Park goes absolutely mad,” cried Motson, and it’s perfectly true, we did.

If anything, the celebrations were even more hysterical than they had been six months earlier when Latchford scored his 30th. We had given full throttle that day to ‘Bobby Latchford walks on water’, but for the remaining half-hour or so, the Goodison Park rafters positively shuddered to a rapturous chorus of ‘Andy is our King, oh Andy is our king, oh Aaaandy is our King!”

Also, unlike Latchford’s goal, this one was captured for posterity by television. Moreover, the immediate aftermath of the game would become a staple of TV bloopers shows for years to come, an over-zealous police inspector having manhandled King and the BBC’s reporter Richard Dukenfield off the pitch. “My instructions are that at the end of the game there will be nobody on the pitch, and that means nobody,” he told Dukenfield, with impressive pomposity.

More than 35 years later, I turned up at Sixfields Stadium looking forward to shaking the hand of a man who, with a swish of his right foot, had given me one of the greatest thrills of my teenage years.

I turned up at the appointed hour to find about 40 people standing in the reception, varying in age from teenagers to pensioners, and none of them talking to each other, just looking around awkwardly or staring at their feet, or gazing at their mobile phones to save them staring at their feet. A couple of them looked at me and nodded, as if to welcome me into their circle. It was most disconcerting. I asked one of them if there was a receptionist about. She said she didn’t think so. So I waited for a few minutes, trying to weigh up what on earth these people were there for. Were they all applying for a job? A vacant receptionist’s job, perhaps? Eventually I asked a man in a duffel coat. “Speed awareness course,” he said, glumly.

I phoned Andy King on his mobile and he told me to come through reception and meet him in the dining hall, where he and the players were about to have lunch. Unlike some of his old teammates, he bore little resemblance to his 1970s self. The Andy King I remembered had a shock of curly bond hair, a bounce in his step, and a mischievous glint in his keen blue eyes. Now he was grey and mostly bald, and walked with a pronounced limp (the legacy, he told me, of a challenge by Brian Kidd on the Everton training ground decades before). But the glint was still there. He insisted that I get myself some lunch, so I walked with him to the kitchen where a chef lovingly plated up some overcooked fish and limp broccoli.

We sat down in an otherwise empty meeting room and he began to talk. And talk. On the phone, King had made sceptical noises when I said I’d need an hour of his time, but almost two hours had passed before I made my leave along the labyrinthine corridors, hoping not to turn into the speed awareness class.

He was as beguilingly entertaining company as I’d hoped he would be, and also piercingly candid about the gambling habit that had undermined his football career. But first we talked about the winning goal against Liverpool that elevated him from Goodison favourite to Goodison legend.

“Yeah, 15 games, seven years,” he said. He knew I knew what he meant. All Evertonians of my generation know how long it was since we’d last beaten our local rivals. “You know, Mickey Lyons never won a derby game, and he was injured for that one.” I knew. “So when I scored and ran over to the bench, everyone thought I was running to Gordon Lee. But it was Lyonsy I was running to. He was Everton Football Club, Lyonsy. I became an Evertonian, and still am. It’s the only thing in football I love. But he was Everton born and bred. And we were close. He was the best man at my wedding. My first wedding, that is. I still speak to him in Australia. He phones me when he’s pissed. If I could get him back, to coach with me, I would. I think he’d love to come back. I tell you, if I had three wishes, that would be one of them.”

King told me about his earliest steps in football. Ron Henry, who had played in Tottenham Hotspur’s Double-winning side of 1960/61, lived in Markyate, and recommended him to the people running Tottenham’s youth teams. “I was in the same group as Hoddle,” he said. “But they released me at 15. Broke my heart, that did. I wasn’t a Tottenham fan – Luton was my team – but I was a Jimmy Greaves fanatic. Later, Bill Nicholson sent me a letter apologizing, and saying he thought the coach who let me go had made a mistake. My mum’s still got that letter. She keeps it in a case with all my other stuff.

“But mistake or not, I had to get on with my life. So at 15 I started work in a sheet metal factory called Skeltons, which I hated. I still played Sunday league football though, and one day my dad walks into the factory and says ‘Luton want to sign you’. So we called my Uncle Den, the only one in the family with a car, and he drove me over there.”

The Luton manager was Harry Haslam, later of Sheffield United and nearly-signed Maradona fame. And while King was no Maradona, Haslam rated him highly enough to give him his debut – at a time when Luton were still in the First Division, although about to go down – aged 17, at Manchester City. The following season he became a regular, scoring 10 goals from midfield. Everton were alerted, and Cardiff City.

“The thing in them days was that you only really knew the teams in your TV region,” King recalled. “We was Anglia, so we knew Norwich, Ipswich. But the north of England we hardly got, so I hadn’t seen much of Everton, and I’d never even heard of Cardiff. But I knew that Everton was a big club, so Harry took me up there, and Billy Bingham, the manager at the time, was clever. He took us up in a lift. I’d never been in a lift before. Amazing, it was.

“That was the beginning of the love affair. I signed for £37,500, which was a strange figure, but not when you know the circumstances. Luton needed £100,000 by five o’clock one night to save them from going bankrupt, so they sold a lad called Peter Anderson to Royal Antwerp for £62,500, and made the rest up by selling me. That’s how they survived.”

As a fleeting aside, that same Peter Anderson went on to play for Tampa Bay Rowdies, settled in Florida and in 1997 formed a company called Bayshore Technologies, a highly successful computer systems integrator, whatever that means. In 2013 Anderson’s company merged with another, and according to a trade paper, the merged company was projected to generate annual revenues of more than $140 million. It is nice to be reminded that some 1970s footballers fell on their feet.

King quickly found his feet at Everton. On Easter Monday 1976 he made his debut in a 3-1 home win against Middlesbrough, and two days later he scored two in a 3-1 win away at Derby. After a miserable run of results that had included five consecutive defeats, the last of them at Anfield, Everton won the final three games of the season, and King, not yet 20, played in them all. It was quite clear that Everton’s cheeky little Cockney, as he was generally perceived – leaving aside the minor detail that not even the Bionic Woman, Lindsay Wagner, could have heard the Bow Bells from Markyate – could cut it in the First Division.

“We were told that if we won all of those last three games the club would take us to Marbella, which they did. I’d only ever been to Butlin’s at Clacton. Marbella was another world.”

I invited him to elaborate on some of the F-Troop stories that George Wood and Dave Jones had touched on. “Oh, well. We were pretty wild, but not aggressive, not offensive. But yeah, we played in that end-of-season thing in Egypt, and we beat the Egyptian national side 1-0. I scored and Woody saved everything. So we were paraded around and that night we got back to our hotel, which was in the desert, to find a sign saying ‘Dancing Girls Tonight’. That was Gordon’s worst nightmare, that was.

“So we took these girls to a disco boat on the Nile, but here weren’t enough of them to share. There were maybe four or five of them and 10 or so of us, and George wasn’t in the running, so he got a bit annoyed. It was harmless fun. ‘I’m having that bird’ – ‘no you’re not, it’s my bird’. That sort of thing. So there was a bit of pushing and shoving, and then George threw me over the side of the boat, so there I am, in the Nile, with fucking sharks and that.”

I roared with laughter, and pointed out that of all the dangers of being drunk and in the Nile late at night, a shark attack is almost certainly not one of them.

King didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, well, I don’t know that, do I? All I can tell you is that I couldn’t swim, and I’ve never been in the sea since. Anyway, they threw the lifebelt thing for me and I get back in the boat, and there’s a bit more rough-and-tumble, and a couple of ornaments get broken. The next day it turns out that the guy who owned the boat was a German who owned half of fucking Egypt. So we have our passports taken away and before we could get them back, F-Troop had to pay for the damage. Not Latchy, Dobbo, Dave Thomas, the sensible ones. F-troop was me, Woody, Lyons, Mark Higgins, Billy Wright, Dave Jones, the younger lads.

“But I’ll tell you a funny follow-up to all that. A couple of years ago I get invited down to Woody’s 60th birthday party, in a hotel. I don’t drink much any more, not since I had a heart attack five years ago, which I’ll tell you about in a minute. But I did have a couple that night, and there’s this geezer who keeps going on at me about what I earned. Turns out this fella has driven Woody and his missus mad over the years.
“Still, we have a good night. My missus goes to bed and I stay on downstairs, but the next morning I wake up and I’ve got this red mark on my forehead. No idea how it got there. So we go down for breakfast and I get this big round of applause. Turns out this fella had been banging on at me and Woody told me to stick the nut on him, so I did. He goes, ‘Kingy, you gave him the Kirkby kiss’. So there you go. He’s still getting me into fucking trouble. Even at a 60th birthday party.”

In 1978, King, unsurprisingly, was the team prankster. “We used to go to the Atalaya Park Hotel near Marbella. Gordon loved it there. And one day Dave Thomas is running round the pool swearing his head off, which was highly unusual, because Dave never swore. He’s going ‘where’s fucking Kingy!’ He’s brought this book with him, you see: 985 pages and he’d reached the end. But I’d torn the last page out. Which I thought was hilarious, but he didn’t, for some reason.”

King chuckled. “But you know, there was never any arrogance about that sort of stuff. We never flexed our muscles like they do now, some of them. And we knew the punters. Remember Eddie Cavanagh (the Everton fan sometimes billed as football’s first hooligan, after running on the Wembley pitch and briefly leading the pursuing bobbies a merry dance after Mike Trebilcock made it 2-2 in the 1966 FA Cup final)? I was big mates with him.”

For a while after he arrived at Everton, King shared humble digs in Lauriston Road, just off Queen’s Drive. As a subsequent Goodison joke would have it, everyone in Liverpool knew where Queen’s Drive was, and also where to find King’s drive – in the back of Clemence’s net. But that was later.

“At Lauriston Road I shared a double-bunk with a lad called Drew Brand, even when I was in the first team. Then I got posh and moved to Kirkby, where I got to know Phil Thompson and Terry McDermott. And then I got married to my childhood sweetheart, which unfortunately was a mistake. I had a second wife, too. Love at first sight, so that didn’t last long. I’ve been married to my third wife now for 23 years, so I got it right in the end. Mind you, my first wife, Sue, she give me a beautiful daughter, who’s 36 now. If I’d stayed in Markyate and worked at Skelton’s from 7am til 5pm every day, me and her would probably still be together. She was lovely, but football finished us.

Uncharacteristically, King fell silent for a moment. “You know,” he then said, “I should be sitting here talking to you now with as many games for Everton as anyone, and England caps too. But I gambled, and that got the better of me. I gambled away my wages, and then I started borrowing against my wages. That’s why I had to leave Everton. I should never have gone to QPR in a million years. But it wasn’t just me. There were loads of us like that. Stan Bowles, Don Shanks, Kenny Sansom. Kerry Dixon was the worst. I’m in touch with a dozen football people whove had their lives ruined my gambling. And God bless my missus, Barbara. She’s just what I needed, a strong woman. Because otherwise there lie I, but for the grace of God and all that. If it weren’t for her, I’d be living in a one-bedroom flat now with Kerry Dixon. And I don’t mean no disrespect to Kerry. He knows it’s ruined his life. We talk about it quite a bit. And before us, it got the better of a great man, Alan Ball. I was told he had to leave Everton because of gambling debts.

“No, it’s my one great regret in life, all that. And if I catch a kid now, I’m hard on him. I sit him down and say ‘I’ve met more women, drunk more pints and spent more money in the betting shop than you ever will, so don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes’. But if you drink too much, you can put a binbag on and sweat it out. You go to the pub with £100 in your pocket and spend £40 and you’re drunk. But you go into the bookies with £10,000 in your pocket and lose every penny, so for me, that’s the worst of the drugs. Apart from actual drugs, maybe. Gambling’s second worst. Drink affects your health, yes, but so does gambling, believe me.”

It was moving, getting this burst of heartfelt sincerity from a man whose default setting was gag-a-minute chirpiness. I asked him when he had finally managed to kick his corrosive gambling habit?

He regarded me solemnly across the table, with just the hint of a twinkle in those blue eyes.

“Last Wednesday,” he said.

When I’d stopped laughing, I asked King to fill me in on what had happened to him after his playing career had ended. After four happy years at Everton, and less successful stints at QPR and West Brom, he had returned to Everton again in 1982, playing 44 more games and scoring 11 more goals. He then had spells in Holland and Sweden, followed by stints with Wolves, with Luton again, then Aldershot, Waterford United, Cobh Ramblers and finally, two appearances (and one goal) for my own home town team, Southport. It was the cv of a man who manifestly loved playing football.

“Yeah, then I packed in and Brian Labone, God bless him, got me into insurance. After that I got into the hospitality business, but I had a little bit of luck … I went back to Luton and the woman who ran the commercial department was going off pregnant, so I became Luton’s commercial manager and that’s how I got back into football. David Pleat was manager and I did some scouting for him. He thought I had it in me to be a manager, so he recommended me to Harry Haslam’s son, Keith Haslam, who’d bought Mansfield. I never had a coaching badge or nothing, but I went to see Keith and I got the job that afternoon.

“I had a couple of good years at Mansfield. Colin Harvey had been sacked by Everton so I took him there as my assistant, and you can’t get no better than that. We beat Leeds in the League Cup at Elland Road, and reached the play-offs, but Keith was a strange chairman, shall we say, and that summer he sold all my best players from under me, £1.8m worth of players. So that didnt last, and I went to Grimsby for a while, then with Reidy to Sunderland. There’s always been an Evertonian connection, funnily enough, because after that Colin Todd took me to Swindon, but he left after three months and the board give me the job. I stayed there for six years.”

After being sacked by Swindon, King became chief scout for Plymouth Argyle. But then came his heart attack. “And that’s when I had some good luck. I had a doctor’s appointment because I was having this ankle operated on, and I mentioned that I had a peanut caught in my throat, which is what it felt like. The woman who ran the scanning machine thing was about to go home, but we caught her on the stairs, and they tested me and told me I’d had a heart attack. I was in Papworth Hospital the next day. But if she hadn’t been there I’d have gone home and started smoking again, and who knows … unlucky in gambling, lucky in life, that’s me.”

The heart attack put an end to King’s gambling as well as smoking. He used it to effect a complete change of lifestyle. “I don’t know if I like myself as much,” he said, “but my wife says I’m a better human being.”

He still hasn’t had the ankle operation. “But I will. Everton were the first club to set up a players’ foundation and it’s still the best. Pat Labone, Brian’s widow, is in charge, and I have her permission that when I can I’m going to have it done.

“Everton’s just different, you know. There’s nothing like that football club, in my opinion. I go to those old players’ things, and the adulation you get is unbelievable. Whether you should live for that I don’t know, but it’s certainly a boost. I did one the other week with Latchy. He’s in Germany, you know, with this young bird. Real gentleman, Latchy. But he lives off what he’s got, and that isn’t a lot. Kevin Campbell (who played for Everton from 1999 to 2005) was at the same do, and he looked a million dollars. He was wearing a Rolex that was worth me and Latchy put together. I said to Latchy, ‘we need to nick that, Latchy. You chin him and I’ll nick it.’”

We both laughed. King added that he didn’t begrudge the modern players their fabulous wage packets. “No, the way I look at it, there were greater players who came before me who didn’t have what I had. Kendall, Ball and Harvey, all them. And before them, players who didn’t have what they had. I went to Everton on £30 a week, and when I left I was on £450. Which people said was a lot, but my dad was getting £180 a week as a hod-carrier. He used to say ‘you lucky bastard, more than double what I’m getting just foir running round a football pitch.’ Double! That’s a laugh, when you think what Rooney’s dad earns compared with Rooney.

“But I’ve done alright. Lost loads to the bookies, but I own my house and I’ve got a little place in Spain. I’m better off than many. And I’m sitting here at 58, still working in the game. That can’t be bad.”


RIP Andy

I saw him and our ex manager Dave Jones play against Cardiff in the 5th round of the FA Cup at Ninian Park in 1977.

RIP Andy

Villa to surprise Arsenal today. As a neutral I just hope it's a good game.
2517

Well done Arsenal - a shame from a spectator point of view that it was so one sided!

Barclays and Standard Chartered launch Fifa investigation

Villa surprised Arsenal alright, Arsenal couldn't believe Villa would be so easy & lacklustre.
2517

Only saw ten mn....but the Gunners were far better....Villa were just kick and rush stuff.....

By required field - 28 May 2015 21:18 - 4451 of 4457
That's a bit harsh on SG KidA !......yes there were mistakes but look at the career overall....pretty good in my view.....

He won some things most players don't and if the USA doesn't work out, he has his DVD/download to fall back on:

Self-Defence; The Gerrard Way.

By the end of the series you will be able to send in your mates and then whilst the potential assailant, i.e. the no-mark who won't play your great music*, is dazed, be able to pull his jumper over his head and land 3 punches.

* Many will mistakenly believe the no-mark to have some worth and your taste in music to be shite.

The Gerrard Defence is performed at the user's own risk. Expensive legal team not provided. Home court not guaranteed.

Cheers,
KidA

A house of cards..

FBI extends FIFA scrutiny to World Cup host bids of Russia, Qatar

Sorry but I can't understand a thing you're saying KidA.....