Street brawls in Rome, dressing room unrest, a five nil spanking at Stoke, bucket loads of self doubt but ultimately a last gasp winner in the Cup Final, and the iconic sight of Arsenal’s fan boy, rebel-with-a-cause, Charlie George lying prostrate on the Wembley turf, which is the image seared into the psyche of every Arsenal fan, as this unsung team became the first side to win the Double in the television era and the benchmark for all the triumphs that have followed, and are to come in Arsene Wenger‘s new vision at the Grove.

As I write these words I can feel a frission of excitement and I transport myself back to my early twenties and walking out of Arsenal Tube Station. I can literally smell the hog dog stalls and feel the chill night air in my throat. There was something indescribably primal about night games at Highbury, football fandom stripped of all the modern paraphernalia. Cold, often wet, jostling by the turnstiles, steaming Police horses, stale beer breath, fag cupped in hand, soggy chips. Cliché upon cliché. Nick Hornby has a lot to answer for.

I started to go on a regular basis when I returned to the Britain in 1989, but my first Arsenal game took place at Wembley in the Summer of 1988 during the much maligned Makita Tournament.

English Clubs were rightly the pariah of Europe in the wake of the Heysel Disaster of 1985 which had claimed 38 lives through that great English Tradition of “running”, not proper hooliganism, but deadly when combined with poor organisation and a ramshackle Stadium.

Thus the only action we could get against foreign opposition came through pre season tournaments such as this one which featured AC Milan, Bayern Munich, the mighty Tottenham and of course Arsenal.

We arrived from Ireland at Baker Street Station and this was to be, for me the dreaded Meeting The Family scenario.

A guy turned up driving a convertible blaring New Order, sporting an ear ring and implausibly tight jeans, but enough about Martin Kemp. My future Brother in Law and I spoke the common language of football and this started one of the most important, lasting and valuable friendships and relationships of my life. Brian Marwood is the prime suspect in all this.

I was Hull City through and through, and whilst I watched top flight stuff on the telly, I had no opinions either way about the teams taking part, usually cheering the under dog as in Coventry and Wimbledon in successive Cup Finals.

But when my all time Tigers Hero Brian Marwood, inspiration for two promotions in the Don Robinson inspired madness which saw City come back from the abyss of bankruptcy, signed for Arsenal and Michael was a fan, the jigsaw fell into place. The rest as they say, is history.

Arsenal beat Spurs 4-0 in my first game. This Arsenal supporting thing is easy enough then! If only….

As I got into it, you listen to the stories and talk to the older fans and 1970-71 seems to be the genesis for the modern Arsenal narrative.

All the great Arsenal traits seemed to come together in the Double Team and it’s instructive to compare the first Double team with the 1998 vintage, the foundations of which were laid by George Graham, built on by Bruce Rioch, and topped off by Arsene Wenger in his first full season at Highbury.

A fantastic back five, 1971 and 1998 are legendary for the Captain Fantastic centre half leading from the front and never expecting of others what they wouldn’t of themselves. Tony Adams may as well have been cloned from Frank McClintock.

Wilson, McNab, Rice and Simpson were mirrored in 1998 by Seaman, Dixon, Winterburn and Keown with Steve Bould filling in when required, and the former Stoke man played a pivotal role in that surreal moment when he played Adams through with a pinpoint ball which the skipper buried with the aplomb of a seasoned finisher when the Gunners clinched the Title at home to Everton.

In midfield Coach and tactical mastermind, Don Howe and Boss Bertie Mee had a withdrawn man on the right hand side of the park who possessed a great engine, pace and a fierce shot in Eddie Kelly who ironically gave way to the mercurial Charlie George during the run in. Kelly however came off the bench to score the equaliser in the Cup Final.

Ray Parlour provided that role in 1998, and how the Essex Pele never made it to the World Cup of that year, lies only in the mind of the bonkers Glenn Hoddle.

Geordie Armstrong provided the width and pace on the left wing, and Marc Overmars had the season of his life in 1998 including netting the vital winner at Old Trafford in March.

In the middle of the Park, Manu Petit’s class and ability to play the killer ball directly compares with George Graham, not a man blessed with pace and like Petit he learnt through the sharp tongue of his defenders when he needed to get stuck in and protect as well as create and do the flashy stuff.

Peter Storey, latter-day porn runner, brothel owner and convicted counterfeiter was the archetypal ’Seventies central midfield brusier, the water carrier for the classier players and whilst Patrick Viera was much more of a rounded player as befits the Premiership era, his basic task for Wenger was to win the ball and feed Overmars, Petit and the finishers. And what a great engine the guy had, non stop hard running up, down and all around.

Up front Howe and Mee had the young buck Ray Kennedy, as Wenger had the blistering pace of an 18 year old Nicolas Anelka ably supported by the old head and experience of Bergkamp coming into his pomp. Who can ever forget his masterful hat trick at Leicester early in the season? Howe and Mee had John Radford, a no nonsense Yorkshireman as Kennedy’s mentor.

On the periphery was Jon Sammels. A talented midfield schemer in the mould of George Eastham but who became the butt of the notorious North Bank boo boys. He played a pivotal role early in the season, but injury and a perceived loss of form saw him absolutely slaughtered by a section of the crowd and whilst his colleagues celebrated the Double, Sammels negotiated a summer move to Leicester.

This has become somewhat of a nasty and unpleasant seam running through recent Gunner’s history. In my era it was Perry Groves followed by Jimmy Carter, Martin Keown and almost unbelievably Kevin Campbell. The current target is Alex Hleb whom I observe to be a hard running, committed player on the right hand side, Parlour like. Not spectacular but does a job.

The Groves thing intrigues me. No one doubted his effort but he really wasn’t any good and lived off skinning Gillespie in the 1987 League Cup Final win. I vividly remember the cacophony of groans that accompanied his introduction on the tannoy. His nadir came in a horrendous 0-0 at QPR in 1992 when his name was chanted sarcastically because we were so bad.

The pitch is tight at Rangers and you are on top of the play and during this game a hard core totally crucified a hapless Jimmy Carter.

I felt for the lad and saw him physically crumble in the face of such abuse. He was a decent player by reputation, but we needed him to actually change things, rather than hone his skills and blend in, and he wasn’t up to the job but I am certain the boo boys wrecked any hope of us seeing the best from him.

And yet…. Groves’ autobiography is selling like hot cakes amongst the Gooner faithful. There is a distinct whiff of revisionism at work. Faux sentimentality. But Groves is having the last laugh on his way to the bank. A perverse form of justice.

As for Seventy One Guns… It’s a well researched read complete with fascinating insights from the players, casting light on what it was like to be a pro in that era and I’m sure many of today’s players wouldn’t last the pace what with the heavy pitches and the brutal tackling. And best of all Arsenal pipped Damned United, Dirty, Violent, Thugs Leeds United to the Title.

I would heartily recommend it, and not just for Arsenal fans as you get a great flavour of the contemporary game, and it ranks with my favourite book about football, Eamonn Dunphy’s tome Manchester United and Matt Busby: A Strange Kind of Glory.

There is no way Arsenal can match the magical history of Britain’s (if not the World’s) greatest football Club, but David Tossell’s book reminded me why I fell in love with Arsenal and why I should jolly well do something about re igniting matters which I have let drift since 1999 when I moved to Hull.

Hull City is the wife, but Arsenal is a tempestuous but enchanting mistress.

We see how the fledgling Nigeria is torn apart by a brutal Civil War and the cessation of Biafra through the eyes of various protagonists caught up in yet another African tragedy…

This novel by Chimanada Ngozi Adichie, her second, has an horrific backdrop as yet again the British leave a trail of destruction in their Imperial wake.

Ireland, India, Palestine, indeed anywhere unfortunate enough to be caught in the net of the Empire where the Sun Never Set, fell victim to the classic occupier’s tactic of Divide and Rule. Nigeria was no different as the British set the various Tribal and Religious factions against one another in order to facilitate the pillage of the country’s natural resources, meaning that when the inevitable exit came, intercine conflict became a racing certainty.

In 1967 the Igbo tribe, having experienced their fill of discrimination and random violence at the hands of both the Central Government in Lagos, and the Islamic area to the north, declared UDI from Nigeria and so began the Biafran War which claimed countless lives, and begat a brutality that would have made the limb severing European Occupiers proud.

They obviously took some of our Civilising tactics on board then, these feckless, base and barbarian peoples.

The author tells the story of this appalling Made in the UK Tragedy in a sensitive way painting a picture of what life was like for the University Lecturer, his wife and family plus Ugwu, his faithful servant boy.

The European character Richard, is a bit of a stereotype. Well meaning, but wishy washy trying to document the sufferings of Africa for the Liberal folks back home. But the author’s portrayal of US journalist covering the conflict is frankly lazy, and panders to anti Americanism. But on the other hand maybe that’s how it really is….

Overall I found the book passable, and the descriptions of the horrors of war and real, graphic and shocking but the novel never really gripped me at any point, and I completed it just to find out what happened, rather from any sense of being involved.

The writer takes a great deal of trouble fleshing out her characters, which is fine but there are too may of them for the reader to really care for them, and it’s all a bit of a detached experience.

As for the depictions of Africa… It fits in with what I have gleaned from Blood Diamond, the Last King of Scotland and Cry, The Beloved Country. They had a lot going for them until the Europeans came, and now the resource richest continent on Earth is the most deprived.

That’s Capitalism and Empire for you. Niall Ferguson and he deluded revisionists should take note.

As for Half of a Yellow Sun. Promising but failed to really deliver, and I suspect there is a school within the Liberal Elite who laud it because it’s written by a Nigerian and therefore by definition is the True Voice of Africa.

In Other Book News….

I got half way through Ian McKewan’s Atonement and gave up. It’s just part of that hideous genre of British Romantic Costume do das. Upper Class Twits and their stupid self indulgent hang ups, set on a Country Estate. Awful and such a shame as I absolutely loved his novel Saturday published in 2005. Or maybe I just didn’t get it....

One of the strangest days of First Class cricket I have ever witnessed, saw Yorkshire storm to the top of the Championship and effectively wrest control of the Title Race with two games left, both against our immediate rivals, Sussex and Hampshire.

The Tykes had a big job on their hands, coming into this game on the back of two morale sapping defeats firstly to bitter Northern foes Lancashire, and more damagingly to a poor Worcester team who chased down 330 as if it were a stroll in the park.

For once in this wretched Summer the weather has been kind to Yorkshire, and North Marine Road in Scarborough was an absolute picture, three quarters full and bathed in warm summer sunshine in contrast to the Brit Oval where Sussex, in desperate need of bonus points, were totally washed out.

Warwickshire won Wednesday’s toss and inexplicably chose to bat in a late summer sea fret. Meat and drink to Hoggard and the Yorkshire seamers, who took full toll.

Warks 129 with Hoggard bagging 4/33 and Shazzad, Bresnan and McGrath snaffling two scalps each.

When McGrath was dismissed to leave matters at 133 for five, the visitors must have felt they were not out of it.

But out came the sun and Brophy stayed with Rudolph in a effort to eke out a lead. Run begat run, begat partnerships, begat another half century for Rashid and incredibly a massive total of 561/7 dec. Rudolph falling agonisingly short of the record by a Yorkshire player on this ground when he went for 220. Tim Bresnan added a second ton of the season and the scene was set for a Yorkshire win.

Then came an amazing session during which the ebullient Gough and the frankly ferocious Hoggard, blew away the top order to 31/7. The faithful were in full voice and we fully expected victory within the half hour.

Tim Ambrose has been getting rave reviews for his keeping, but if he can bat like this on a regular basis, then Matt Prior, whom I find to be frankly a bore without the talent to back it up, should be looking over his shoulder.

Aided by the tail he somehow prolonged the game for a further two and a half hours, hauling the Bears to 222 and accruing 89* in the process.

Eventually at 4.20 Darren Gough held a steepler and we went home happy, and the bars sold plenty of unexpected beer in the late afternoon sun.

My treatment secured, a wonderful family behind me and an idyllic setting with great mates, summer sun and Yorkshire top of the Championship. Not a bad old life is it?

Amnesiac CIA Agent Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) dodges new, superior assassins as he searches for his unknown past while a government agent tries to track him down……..

This is another of this year’s Must See action adventure films, and provided you just roll with the ludicrous plot (and why not, it’s the cinema after all?) and unlikely situations where our hero just marches into CIA buildings, un noted and raids the Chief’s safe, despite being The Most Wanted Agent of All Time, you will, like me have a great time.

The third Bourne film certainly lives up to it’s billing;

“There's no doubt about it: the Bourne franchise delivers more entertainment-bangs for your buck than anything else comparable. And it's an action movie with an IQ.”

Thus I have left the following thread on IMDB. There is something drastically wrong with me. Help.

“Can any one confirm that the show “Top Cat” was known as "Boss Cat" in the UK due to the BBC not wanting to endorse a brand of cat food called "Top Cat"?

“It sounds bizarre, the reason I'm asking is that in the Mary Whitehouse Experience Book of 1992, it mentions this in a humorous way, but on asking around and on Wikpedia it appears to be true.

“But, if you sing the theme tune to yourself (this is getting worrying, but stick with me) it is deffo Top Cat. Also did the beeb do new titles? Did they change it back?

“Is it just an Urban Myth that’s taken hold? I think we deserve to know.”

I await replies with bated breath…..

There is no getting away from extremism, even amongst the most Liberal followers. Christianity teaches, in common with all the other faiths the concept of Soteriology, which is unambiguous that unless you believe in God as revealed through the Bible then you are damned. Simple and straightforward.

Therefore there is no possible reconciliation between different faiths, ergo conflict is inevitable.

Having said that I found Dawkins to betray that smugness that many religious people have regarding the absolute truth of their belief, but the book is a polemic and meant to provoke.

One weakness is that Dawkins picks on the rather easy targets of religion, e.g. a rather lame experiment to prove that prayer doesn’t work. As if…

He refers to the “fact” of evolution. It isn’t. It’s theory otherwise how do you explain a lot of anomalies? It’s the best we’ve got, but there is still an awful long way to go in explaining how it all began. But that’s the beauty of science. There’s always more to find out and ruminate on.

A hormonal Aboriginal teenager on the threshold of manhood is treated (whether he likes it or not) to a Rites Of Passage story set in the distant past by his elder brother…..

This is a film of universal human experience, growing up, personal and group conflict plus loss ,and should be seen in this context as the film’s location and cast could be set anywhere.

Because this is the first Black Australian language film to receive a wide spread release, there is the danger of the Weirdy Beardy, Lentil and Sandals brigade using it as a “Hey! This is the True Voice of the First Australians! Aren’t they like amazing! They say prick and talk about bonking! Far Out!”.

Ten Canoes is a simple film. It tells a common story and the fact that it is set in an environment so different from our own makes it interesting and proves that humans invent ritual, superstition and religion in order to make sense of a hostile environment.

The story is set before the Europeans came to Australia and set in train the appalling Genocide which continues to this day, and my fear is that the picture will be seized on as some kind of vindication that Black Australians have a real voice, and influence in a State that the UN described in 2005 as; “Permissively racist”, the first Nation to be so named since Apartheid South Africa. (See category Black Australia: The Truth).

This film should be judged on it’s merits, and not be held up as some kind of standard bearer for Aboriginal Rights, where the producers get awards out of some false crusade to highlight, and do something about the atrocities such as Prime Minister Howard’s latest declaration of War, Thatcher like, against one section of Society. Far better to read John Pilger’s material on his website, the imaginatively monikered

"It was a great start but the same frailties were there for everyone to see”, said Manager Phil Brown when interviewed by the BBC in the wake of a depressingly inevitable home defeat at the hands of a very mediocre Pilgrims side.

Absolutely unbelievable. Or maybe not. This is Hull City we are talking about.

How can the Manager come out with such a crass statement?

Would those “frailties” be the ones that each and every one of us identified at the end of the last campaign?

4-3-3 doesn’t work as the game becomes far too narrow when in possession, allowing no out let for the man with the ball, and it leaves the side wide open to being hurt down the flanks with Dawson and Ricketts exposed.

It was a dreadful display. Groundhog Day. You could just feel the frustration building up around the ground as the game wore on. There is no well of goodwill for Brown to draw on and the clamour for change will grow and grow, unless matters turn around.

When Barmby pounced on a defensive error, hit the post and Windass netted the rebound in the 12^th minute, there was a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe Phil Brown had actually recognised last season’s errors and City would dance to a different tune.

Not to be. The spectre of the opening home game last term came to the feast when we had taken a two nil lead to Barnsley, only to be vanquished 3-2. Cue Plymouth being gifted two goals by defensive errors, the second saw Delaney switch off just before the break, and the forward stoop to conquer having nipped in front of the Irish stopper. Unforgivable.

City were given a get-out-of-jail card when a Pilgrim gave away a soft penalty, Marney converting after Windass’ spot kick was parried.

Coles, in for the impressive Turner, was again at fault for the winner having been put between a rock and a hard place by his partner‘s indecisiveness. Thus the centre back pairing were at fault for all three goals, having a collective shocker.

PLAYER BY PLAYER.

Myhill.

This may prove to be a pivotal day in this season’s Title Race, as an impotent Yorkshire attack had no answers to Law (206) and Horton (149) who ran rampant on a track that had seen the hosts skittled for 144 on day one. At one stage the Tykes were 1 for 3 and then 22 for 5 and only unexpected runs from Bresnan (39) and Adil Rashid (24) prevented a total rout.

Flintoff provided some succour for a depleted England who spent two days chasing leather at the Oval (India 664) by bagging 3 wickets in ten balls on day one, and then taking another scalp late last night.

Luck plays a huge part in sport and Yorkshire had non yesterday. Two leading edges fell agonisingly short of the fielders which would have broken Law and Horton’s record Red Rose partnership, the two Aussies compiling 258 for the third wicket and the former is imperious and dismissing, the ultimate County run machine being up there with Hick, Ramprakash and Lehmann when it comes to flailing domestic attacks to all parts.

It just goes to show how much mental attitude matters at International level as, if you put Trescothick next the above batters and judged it blind, the Somerset man would come no where near, yet his record at Test and ODI level is something the others would kill for.

I have written at length previously about 19 year old Yorkshire leg spinner Adil Rashid, and it is still my contention that he will have a long, and fruitful Test career as a quicksilver fielder, doughty batter and of course wicket taking bowler.

But not yet. There is a clamour in the Press for him to be named in the Winter Squads for Sri Lanka and New Zealand, but yesterday proved in part why it would be premature.

Flight? Check. Control? Check. Enthusiasm? Check. Work Ethic? Check? Variation? This is a leg spinners main weapon and Rashid, naturally does not yet posses and wrong ’un or flipper. From what I could glean from third man he has got a top spinner which goes straight on. But that’s about it.

His control means there are few four balls, admirable at 19, but top order batters can milk him fairly comfortably and in the Test arena he would be cannon fodder.

Thus he should be allowed to develop his game in the Championship and tour with the A side whilst he learns what is after all, the hardest trade in cricket and the selectors must bear in mind how Salisbury and Schofield‘s top level careers were left in tatters by premature elevation.

Lancashire batted wonderfully yesterday and Law's knock is up there with the best I’ve seen in the flesh but it beggars belief how we got ourselves in such a mess yesterday as there appeared to be precious little help for the bowlers until it started to go up and down a bit after tea.

Gillespie was toothless and reminiscent of the his disastrous 2005 Test showing. 0/54 yesterday but he is having a decent season overall.

Gough was his usual gregarious and enthusiastic self but never put the batters under any sustained pressure, and for me Shazad when bowling in tandem with a hostile Bresnan looked the most likely to make things happen.

I was heartened that the noise level and sharpness in the field were still present during that enormous partnership, and this resulted in the last seven wickets going down for under a hundred. We will need to bat for four and a half sessions whilst hoping for someone to really catch fire with the ball on the last day.

A Doctor’s life is shattered when his wife is murdered by a serial killer. But eight years on, when he receives a email from her, all previous certainties are removed….

This is a classic film from the French “Roman Policier” genre of detective fiction and I was quite surprised to read that the original novel, “Tell No One” was in fact written by an American, Harlan Coban as the film is quintessentially French in flavour, and a good successor to classics such as Trauffut’s Tirez Sur La Pianist.

The plot is taught, and twist after twist (although by no means over done) keeps you gripped. Looking back there are no pointless “filler” scenes as each part of the picture is a vital part of the overall jigsaw and your attention doesn’t waver for a second. The plot thickens and then unwinds at optimum pace.

The cast were top drawer, and Francois Cluzet is especially impressive as Doctor Beck whose seemingly idyllic life is suddenly shattered by the brutal murder of his child hood sweetheart, now wife, Margot.

A serial killer goes down, but having admitted to seven murders he refuses to confess to this one, and the Cop in charge has a gut feeling that the Good Doctor is not all that he seems….

Matters come to a head and Beck is forced to go on the run, aided by in somewhat unlikely style, by a set of goons run by a major gangster whose son was saved by the Doctor.

There is also an impressive chase/action sequence which complements the intricacies of the plot and, along with some comic moments offers the viewer pleasing variety.

Ne Le Dis a Personne, as a film that does not satisfy the ITV1 demographic by which the mainstream Cinemas determine which pictures Hull gets, only got an airing in our City due to the splendid and vital Council run service that is Hull Screen. Effectively it is our Art House Cinema and if current trends continue we will lose it.

Currently Hull Screen resides in “temporary” accommodation in a Lecture Theatre in Town. This has lasted four years so far.

Hull City Council have slashed funding meaning it only now operates on three days per week.

An on screen advert appeared before last night’s showing calling for a new Friends Of Hull Screen group to be set up.

Email:

This record has been with me for well over twenty years man and boy, and I would describe it as my “Go To” album , a long player for all seasons and moods from a song writing genius at the height of his powers.

Everyone should have a slightly deranged and inspirational teacher in their teenage years. I had three, which is being greedy and Mr. Welburn, my Tutor and Geography teacher had a huge impact on my musical development by introducing me to Dylan and lending me this album (which I then copied, naughty, naughty). He was a Dylan nut in quite a scary way looking back, but I vividly remember him relating having attended a Duran Duran gig with his twelve year old daughter. A career as a stand up comic should have beckoned as we were all in hysterics by the end of it.

A war re-erupts on Earth between two robotic clans, the heroic Autobots and the evil Decepticons, leaving the fate of mankind hanging in the balance…..

When video/DVD entered the film market place, everyone predicted the death of the cinema.

They upped their game by improving not only the viewing technology and screens, but the experience itself with comfortable and clean venues. The Odeon in Hull being a dishonourable exception.

In this decade the pirated DVD is the New Satan, destroying cinema.

Last weekend saw a new record set in British cinema history as £20 million was grossed via The Simpsons Move, the latest Harry Potter, Shrek and this unexpectedly good film Transformers.

We arrived at CineWorld on Kingswood to see queues snaking around the foyer and out into the car park, and the screen we were in for Transformers was virtually full as the film commenced.

Transformers, Die Hard 4 and other great recent action films prove why a DVD could never replicate the sheer awesomeness of modern photography. You would never get the sense of action and pace if you viewed such offerings at home.

If anything piracy, like video before it has spurred film makers to greater things and Transformers is evidence of that. It’s not a film that would have readily appealed, but these days if a film falls under the action genre and is mainstream, you are virtually guaranteed a visual treat no matter the flaws with plot, acting and script.

There were plenty of complaints on those fronts, but do you know what? I didn’t give a jot, and was prepared to forgive the cast and director almost anything given the fantastically brilliant special effects and action sequences.

The story is based on those appalling ‘Eighties cartoons where cars and the such like become robots, and it was only reading the reviews that persuaded me it was worth a go, and it’s far from a kiddie film as demonstrated by the demographic in the theatre.

Jon Voigt as the ageing Defence Secretary brings a bit of gravitas to a young and fairly able cast and I honestly had a great time despite the silliness and awful script.

If piracy gives cinema this much of a shot in the arm, please can we have the next dodginess ASAP to enhance our viewing experience even more.