So if not Fabio Capello, who?
Harry Redknapp? Don’t make me laugh. His wheeler-dealing is hardly appropriate to international football and any Pompey fan will tell you his tactical acumen could be engraved on a pin-head with a pneumatic drill.
Roy Hodgson? Maybe. But why would a sensible man in his 60s take on the England job in preference to rejuvenating the sleeping giant at Anfield.
Jose Mourinho? Probably the ideal choice, but the suits at the Football Association are no more likely to appoint him than they were Brian Clough in the mid-70s. And we all know he was the right man then.
But why does an international manager need to be proven at club level? It seems only UK teams are fixated on that ideal.
I’ve looked at the careers of World Cup-winning managers in my years watching football and club success does not appear to be a priority.
Franz Beckenbauer had no real managerial experience before taking over the German national side in 1984 and six years later won the World Cup.
In the six years after he left the job he managed Olympique Marseille and Bayern Munich, collecting domestic titles along the way. But that was it. He’s had more marriages than club management jobs.
Carlos Bilardo won the World Cup in 1986 – and although he had Maradona in the side, which isn’t a bad position to be in, his club experience was limited to two spells at Estudiantes and brief stints at Deportivo Cali and San Lorenzo. And he didn’t pull up any trees there.
Italy’s Enzo Bearzot spent six years as coach to his country’s under-23 side before moving up and ultimately winning the World Cup in 1982. Before that he’d been manager for one season at Prato – no me neither, Prato having last reached the heights of Serie B in 1964.
César Luis Menotti (Argentina 78)? One league title in four seasons with Newell’s Old Boys and Huracán before being given the job.
Helmut Schön (West Germany 74)? A brief spell as manager of unfancied Wiesbaden, before spending four years as manager of a then-independent Saarland side, before becoming assistant to Sepp Herberger for the West German national team and succeeding him in 1964.
Four largely uneventful years as manager of Botafogo was all Mario Zagalo had on his managerial CV before taking over the Brazilian national side and taking them to glory in 1970 despite the much discussed personality issues within the camp.
Carlos Alberto Parreira had won nothing as a club manager before leading Brazil to glory in 1990. Instead it was his achievement in getting Kuwait into the World Cup finals which raised his stock. Subsequently he has, in total, taken five nations to the World Cup finals. He didn’t even play the game at a particularly high level.
Big Phil Scolari’s club management experience was extensive but much of it was spent outside of the mainstream football nations, in Kuwait and Japan, for example; though he did win titles in Brazil. But we know how successful he was at Chelsea and it is Premiership success that we – and particularly our knee-jerk football media – demand.
Frenchman Aimé Jacquet (1998) had a successful club career and obviously Marcello Lippi (Italy 2006) had an exceptional club career, but they are the exceptions. And we only have to look back a few days to see where Lippi is now.
So the next time somebody calls for David Beckham, Alan Shearer or Stuart Pearce to be given the job don’t automatically dismiss the suggestion out of hand.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Goodbye and good riddance
I was going to blog about England players' World Cup capitulation but I thought they couldn't be arsed, so why should I?
Monday, June 21, 2010
A lazy blogger - and a very sad tale
Just to confirm I'm an incompetent pillock, this is my first blog for nearly three weeks and I'm going to have written less than five per cent of it ... but with good reason.
I have chosen to pass on an email I received from a very good mate which tells - in words and pictures - a very sad tale. And illustrates perfectly, in my humble opinion, where we get things wrong in this country.
Surely some of the many millions of lottery handouts could have been directed to this very worthy cause.
Please pass on the tale to anybody you know. We can't let this pass without comment.
The email below was sent to me by leading photographer, ale critic and cocktail bar raconteur Steve Bailey (www.stevebaileyphotography.co.uk).
I headed over to Lasham on Sunday where there is the Second World War Aircraft Preservation Society (SWWAPS) ... or should I say was...
They have had to fold due to lack of funding and have sold off nearly all their aircraft. I was met at the perimiter fence by a diminutive old lady who had clearly been involved with SWWAPS for quite some time.
She told me about all the aircraft they used to have on display, how they had at one time hoped to renovate some of them, as well as how and why they were closing. They have already sold off most of their aircraft and only the dismantled remnants of a few remain. A very sad tale indeed.
The woman was standing next to the de Havilland Australia Drover Mk 2, the main fuselage of which lays on its belly beside the crumbling hut that for the time being remains the SWWAPS Headquarters.
She patted it and told me: "There are only a couple of aircraft left, including the flying doctor here."
This DHA-3 Drover Mk.2 became a part of QANTAS (Qantas Empire Airways) in 1952 and never actually served in the Royal Flying Doctors Service flight (registrations VH-EAZ and VH-EAS. After seven years service, it was shipped to the UK and reregistered G-APXX in December 1959, but would never fly again.
The aircraft was put on show in Southend in 1967 painted up in RFDS livery, carrying RFDS registration VH-FDT, that of a sister aircraft. That museum shut down in 1987 and the aircraft was donated to SWWAPS.
Behind the old lady, loaded on to a flat bed truck stood a once great Gloster Meteor (NF.13) now in pieces. She told me this was heading for Poland and was due to be picked up tomorrow.
The Gloster Meteor Mk. I made its first flight on 15th May, 1941. It had a maximum speed of 415 mph (667 km) and had a range of 1,340 miles. It was just over 41 ft long with a wingspan of 43 ft and armed with four 20 mm cannons.
The first 20 Meteors were delivered to the Royal Air Force in June 1944. The Mk. I saw action for the first time on 27th July, 1944 used as a defence against the German V1 Flying Bomb.
Armstrong Whitworth built Gloster Meteor NF.13, a version of the NF.11 designed for use in tropical climate in 1953. This particular aircraft serial WM366 (39 Squadron RAF), was sold to the Israeli Defence Force – Air Force in 1956 and became serial 4X-FNA. It was reclaimed from a desert graveyard before being brought to Lasham.
I'm not sure I should have been, but I was ushered through a barbed wire fence and told I could take a look around and as many photos as I wanted. The poor woman who I would imagine has dedicated many years to the Society seemed close to tears.
There remain a Royal Danish Air Force Hawker Hunter F51 (E-423), A Royal Air Force Gloster Meteor F8 (WH291) the last Meteor to see service with the RAF and the wings of another Royal Air Force F8 (VZ530). lashed to a tree and marked as "sold".
In the woods beside the SWWAPS offices and a little beyond the sold wings of the Meteor are some shell cases. Positioned in the woods and looking like a manifestation of spring, they rise from the ground as if they were meant to be there.
One further shell stands beside the SWWAPS HQ, it looks perfectly natural here among the flowers. I wonder if it will see through the summer.
Steve
I have chosen to pass on an email I received from a very good mate which tells - in words and pictures - a very sad tale. And illustrates perfectly, in my humble opinion, where we get things wrong in this country.
Surely some of the many millions of lottery handouts could have been directed to this very worthy cause.
Please pass on the tale to anybody you know. We can't let this pass without comment.
The email below was sent to me by leading photographer, ale critic and cocktail bar raconteur Steve Bailey (www.stevebaileyphotography.co.uk).
I headed over to Lasham on Sunday where there is the Second World War Aircraft Preservation Society (SWWAPS) ... or should I say was...
They have had to fold due to lack of funding and have sold off nearly all their aircraft. I was met at the perimiter fence by a diminutive old lady who had clearly been involved with SWWAPS for quite some time.
She told me about all the aircraft they used to have on display, how they had at one time hoped to renovate some of them, as well as how and why they were closing. They have already sold off most of their aircraft and only the dismantled remnants of a few remain. A very sad tale indeed.
The woman was standing next to the de Havilland Australia Drover Mk 2, the main fuselage of which lays on its belly beside the crumbling hut that for the time being remains the SWWAPS Headquarters.
She patted it and told me: "There are only a couple of aircraft left, including the flying doctor here."
This DHA-3 Drover Mk.2 became a part of QANTAS (Qantas Empire Airways) in 1952 and never actually served in the Royal Flying Doctors Service flight (registrations VH-EAZ and VH-EAS. After seven years service, it was shipped to the UK and reregistered G-APXX in December 1959, but would never fly again.
The aircraft was put on show in Southend in 1967 painted up in RFDS livery, carrying RFDS registration VH-FDT, that of a sister aircraft. That museum shut down in 1987 and the aircraft was donated to SWWAPS.
Behind the old lady, loaded on to a flat bed truck stood a once great Gloster Meteor (NF.13) now in pieces. She told me this was heading for Poland and was due to be picked up tomorrow.
The Gloster Meteor Mk. I made its first flight on 15th May, 1941. It had a maximum speed of 415 mph (667 km) and had a range of 1,340 miles. It was just over 41 ft long with a wingspan of 43 ft and armed with four 20 mm cannons.
The first 20 Meteors were delivered to the Royal Air Force in June 1944. The Mk. I saw action for the first time on 27th July, 1944 used as a defence against the German V1 Flying Bomb.
Armstrong Whitworth built Gloster Meteor NF.13, a version of the NF.11 designed for use in tropical climate in 1953. This particular aircraft serial WM366 (39 Squadron RAF), was sold to the Israeli Defence Force – Air Force in 1956 and became serial 4X-FNA. It was reclaimed from a desert graveyard before being brought to Lasham.
I'm not sure I should have been, but I was ushered through a barbed wire fence and told I could take a look around and as many photos as I wanted. The poor woman who I would imagine has dedicated many years to the Society seemed close to tears.
There remain a Royal Danish Air Force Hawker Hunter F51 (E-423), A Royal Air Force Gloster Meteor F8 (WH291) the last Meteor to see service with the RAF and the wings of another Royal Air Force F8 (VZ530). lashed to a tree and marked as "sold".
In the woods beside the SWWAPS offices and a little beyond the sold wings of the Meteor are some shell cases. Positioned in the woods and looking like a manifestation of spring, they rise from the ground as if they were meant to be there.
One further shell stands beside the SWWAPS HQ, it looks perfectly natural here among the flowers. I wonder if it will see through the summer.
Steve
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
A mountain out of a DIY molehill
I can't believe it's been more than a month since I last blogged. It's very remiss of me and I apologise.
But I have news: I am a DIY God!
Over the bank holiday weekend I managed to change a light fitting (electrical), fix a leaking cistern (plumbing), and oil a squeaking door (general maintenance).
OK, to the gifted DIY-er that may not seem much, but to somebody with my dextrous skills it's equivalent to climbing Everest. Maybe even more of an achievement, for I'm sure Lady Hillary didn't say to Sir Edmund, as an aside while re-potting some courgettes in the garden, "I know dear, why don't you go and climb Everest while I'm doing this?"
Hillary had some successful experience in mountaineering; I have myriad unsuccessful experiences in DIY. The house is testament to that. There are shelves off which books slip at regular intervals; a towel rail remains connected to the bathroom wall merely by virtue of the strength of a Rawplug; and numerous pieces of flat-pack furniture don't function correctly.
So while Lady Hillary's suggestion to her spouse might have received a "Right-ho darling!" and a "couldn't see him for dust" moment, my wife's demand - as opposed to 'suggestion' - was met by bemusement and panic in equal measure. And not only by me. Two teenage boys and two cats also appeared shocked by the prospect.
But I shocked everybody, myself included, by fulfilling each brief. Admittedly the light fitting needed a bit of improvisation, or bodging as it's known in certain circles, because the necessary replacement items did not appear to be available in the public domain.
But the light works. It occasionally sends a line of sparks shooting around the bathroom like a fairy wall-of-death rider, but so far the bathroom users have escaped serious injury.
And as a follow-up to my three-fold success over the weekend I have also managed a fourth DIY achievement in the field of construction. Having completed three tasks with no raised voices or hospital treatment I appear to have made a rod for my own back.
Mrs B now appears to have a list of further tasks all ready prepared for the next time she has to re-pot her home-grown veg.
But I have news: I am a DIY God!
Over the bank holiday weekend I managed to change a light fitting (electrical), fix a leaking cistern (plumbing), and oil a squeaking door (general maintenance).
OK, to the gifted DIY-er that may not seem much, but to somebody with my dextrous skills it's equivalent to climbing Everest. Maybe even more of an achievement, for I'm sure Lady Hillary didn't say to Sir Edmund, as an aside while re-potting some courgettes in the garden, "I know dear, why don't you go and climb Everest while I'm doing this?"
Hillary had some successful experience in mountaineering; I have myriad unsuccessful experiences in DIY. The house is testament to that. There are shelves off which books slip at regular intervals; a towel rail remains connected to the bathroom wall merely by virtue of the strength of a Rawplug; and numerous pieces of flat-pack furniture don't function correctly.
So while Lady Hillary's suggestion to her spouse might have received a "Right-ho darling!" and a "couldn't see him for dust" moment, my wife's demand - as opposed to 'suggestion' - was met by bemusement and panic in equal measure. And not only by me. Two teenage boys and two cats also appeared shocked by the prospect.
But I shocked everybody, myself included, by fulfilling each brief. Admittedly the light fitting needed a bit of improvisation, or bodging as it's known in certain circles, because the necessary replacement items did not appear to be available in the public domain.
But the light works. It occasionally sends a line of sparks shooting around the bathroom like a fairy wall-of-death rider, but so far the bathroom users have escaped serious injury.
And as a follow-up to my three-fold success over the weekend I have also managed a fourth DIY achievement in the field of construction. Having completed three tasks with no raised voices or hospital treatment I appear to have made a rod for my own back.
Mrs B now appears to have a list of further tasks all ready prepared for the next time she has to re-pot her home-grown veg.
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