Forgive the brevity of this weekend’s review. This writer has been out of action for the last few weeks and it’s a case of having to get back into the swing of things.
Forgive the brevity of this weekend’s review. This writer has been out of action for the last few weeks and it’s a case of having to get back into the swing of things.

The playmaker. Yeah, that guy. He’s the one who operates in behind the forwards or striker/s, pulling the strings and using an almost ethereal view of the football field in order to make himself available for a pass and in return, he then feeds the attack. Does it sound easy? Well, it isn’t. In fact this is the position that is so difficult to fill lots of teams don’t even bother to have a playmaker.
You can have attacking midfielders, you can have central midfielders, you can have defensive midfielders, you can have wide midfielders – which is different from a winger, wing-forward and a chicken wing thrown on the pitch by an aggrieved fan – but a playmaker is a genius, and a genius is hard to find.

A wave of black and blue. A counter-current of white. Yet more surge forward, demanding the heads of their foes, screaming and snarling and appearing as wild and as fast as a hoard of Vikings that smell blood. The scary thing is, they’re not animals, barbarians or those with a lust for the kill and they know what they’re doing. They’re working together, they’re plotting, planning and executing with a distinct, dispassionate ethic. In return those on enemy soil do not back down or falter but they roar back and lunge in hope to upset the seemingly predestined loss at the hands of their oppressors.

A record breaking weekend in the English Premier League again added to claims that the competition is the most exciting in European football.

This tournament has been historic. It will always be remembered as the first World Cup to go to Africa, in particular, to South Africa – a country that has suffered so much oppression, that has fought to show the world that it is safe and that has shown the world that white people and black people are co-existing in peace.

That weekend felt draining. I don’t think I’ve experienced so much footballing information in such a short space of time. Saturday started with the England hangover. Everyone has their own opinion as to why England continued their poor form with another failure. England fans weren’t the only ones feeling angry. The USA’s fans awoke to their own frustrations. They felt, quite rightly, that their side had been denied a 3-2 victory against Slovenia which would have capped an excellent turnaround having been two goals behind. Maurice Edu’s late goal was harshly ruled out by the referee.

I’ve always been fascinated by the world of Italian Football – right across the board from the elegant players that grazed the turf of the San Siro (or the correct title ‘Giuseppe Meazza Stadium’) to the more cynical form of Catenaccio. I was pleased to find a book written by John Foot entitled ‘Calcio: A History of Italian Football’ and I was intrigued to find out more about Vittorio Pozzo (who I always believed to be aligned with the fascist regime enforced by Benito Mussolini) and the corruption that has always been rife within Italian football – from top to bottom. I wasn’t disappointed at all.