A Troubling Verdict

I've spent the last four or five days biting my lip, taking the jibes, and taking in the quite ludicrous judgement handed down by the FA on Monday night.  I've read, watched and listened to every one come out and regurgitate what they've been told to believe by the judgement, and the accompanying media.  Jumping down the throat of both the player, the club, and those who choose not to be drawn in and manipulated by the decision, the establishment.

Oh, you might say, oh, a typical Liverpool fan who's response is tinged with the reddest of red tinted glasses... the world hates us... the system is corrupt, etc.

But is that really the case? Or is that simply because we, as a large body, have not been taken in by the hypocritical and xenophobic decision laid down by the governing body of this countries football?

The media in this country have such a cripplingly powerful effect over a large proportion of the population, whereby the word of Sky Sports, TalkSport or a journalist is taken at the absolute truth.  The agenda these forms of media have is quite frankly astounding.  Yesterday, a brilliant article was put up on the goal.com website - not usually a site to be associated with high class and knowledgeable writing - that looked at the case of Luis Suarez and took a step back, highlighting the 'ignorance and clumsiness' running through the veins of the case, who's decision making masters have 'an attitude that remains indisputably in the stone age.'

An article that went against the memo, the party line, and looked beyond the truths we were told to believe by the majority.  This article remained unchanged for less than an hour, before, presumably, the editor felt it necessary to add:

'Nevertheless, Suarez has been made to look ignorant and clumsy, too. And whatever his intentions were at Anfield on that day in mid-October, he really should have known better in  the first place.'

This, systematically changed the entire message of the article in two sentences.  Disappointing.

And now, back to the 'case' - although it feels hard to call it so, such was the predetermined outcome weeks before the 'case' was even heard.

Luis Suarez, a Uruguayan, is reported to have said the word 'negrito' or 'negro' to Patrice Evra in response to the Frenchman's jibe of 'sudaca', a strongly derogative term aimed at South Americans.

Now, it is important to understand that the world no longer revolves around the English, in fact, the English on the whole are pretty despised by the rest of the world.  With that said, there's half a chance that there are different cultures and ways of life that exist around the world. So, you'd think, perhaps, that this would be taken in to consideration when deciding the outcome of one of the most infamous cases in recent memory.

In England, the word 'nigger' is unacceptable, there are no two ways about it.  I would not say either of those terms, certainly not in as public an arena as a Premier League football match, but then I am English.  It is within our culture not to say such a term, yet those who do (and there are many, many more than the powers that be will have us believe) have no excuse, and must simply be considered - a racist.

However, in the English language, the English culture, there is no equivalent to the term negrito.  The closest it can be considered to, is pal.  Whilst there may be connotations to those with darker skin, in the Uruguayan culture, this is not considered offensive, rather a friendly colloquial term used as a nickname.  A quick search on the internet will throw up a number of examples, 1950 Uruguayan World Cup winner Obdulio Varela - 'El Negro Jefe' or 'The Black Chief' - racist? I don't think so.  Javier Hernandez referred to a Mexican teamate, Omar Esparza, in similar fashion, 'I liked the goal of the Negrito, I think it's a sign of Chivas' youth'. Whats even more interesting, is that the Manchester United team mates of Evra reportedly use the word as a nickname for the Frenchman.  I struggle to believe Evra runs around Carrington accusing people of racism, but then again, who knows?

Somewhat ironic, perhaps, that in this storm of outrage and disgust, the notion of race as an descriptive term, is seen far more negatively in England than it is in Uruguay.

Interesting.

To ban Suarez for 8 games for something that quite clearly was not said with any racist malice or intent is quite frankly staggering.  The mere fact that Suarez has reportedly admitted saying the word shows that he does not consider it to be racist, or discriminatory at all.  It could be argued that Suarez should have known the sensitivity around the term 'negro' or similar, but who are we, the English, to know how it is to come in to our culture and attempt to adjust - when so many of its nuances would seem quite frankly bizarre to a individual from South America.

Yes, that could be argued and yes, he may have been naive in saying what he did, but was that worthy of having his image and reputation tarnished with the most debilitating and despicable term of being a racist?  No, quite honestly it was not. 

Over recent years, foreign Football Associations have been given pointless fines by UEFA and FIFA in response to clear and disgusting racism (Spain, Macedonia, etc) and the FA have rightly fumed. They have been waiting to show the world how to deal with racism in a ruthless and unforgiven manner. Yet this is the wrong case to do it in. Luis Suarez's destiny was decided at the very outset of the case, the FA wanted to be seen as swinging an iron fist in the face of racism and spineless governing bodies.

But to do so in a situation which very foundations are built upon the loosest ground imaginable, whilst not taking in to account that cultural differences do exist and do provide a reality and conclusion so far from the judgement is quite frankly unreal in this day and age.

The actions of the FA have been at the very least strange, initially waiting over two months for the case to be heard, only interviewing Suarez once with no video footage and not asking for his version of events, whilst Evra was met more than once and shown footage before submitting his final statement.  Strange.  Further to that, where is the written reason for the decision? Whispers yesterday suggested it would be well in to January before Liverpool would receive such details.  Again, strange.

Whats more, it is strange that Evra appears to have got off scot-free with his barbed 'sudaca' comment, widely considered in South American culture to be be far more derogative and hurtful than what Suarez responded with.

The obvious question is why? Why the delay in publishing the written reason for the case? With every passing hour, its fuels the fire that the ruling is holed.

Liverpool Football Club are not defending a racist, despite such individuals as Paul McGrath (who happily defended Ron Atkinson, lets not forget) and a multitude of tabloid hacks saying so. They are defending who they, and their legal team, believe to be an innocent man, wrongly labelled and punished as a racist.

I can't help but believe that the staggering hypocrisy in this country to accept different cultures and nationality, despite the proclamations to the contrary of many in power, underlines the ridiculous nature of this judgement, and following media explosion.  This 'case' has a long, long way to run yet, that is for sure.  The bullish nature of Liverpool FC does not suggest misguided arrogance, it suggests they are certain that a miscarriage of justice has occured, and to quote John Barnes, a player who had to deal with racism more than perhaps any other during the 1980's, a 'witch hunt' is underway against Luis Suarez.

Beginning Work #lunchtimeblog

So, my 6th day of work heralds the arrival of my first #lunchtimeblog - clearly going to be a best seller decent at best lunch time read.

I'm now in to my second week of full time work in the big, wide "real world" that is continuously built up as the biggest and scariest thing ever in life by everything and everyone since you hit about fifteen years old.  Thankfully, I'm still alive and doing the odd seemingly semi-worthwhile thing here as I struggle to get to grips with pretty much everything; the abreviated terms, reguarly used jargon, procedures, etc etc.

I've been told that I won't fully know what I'm doing for three months or so, maybe even as much as a year, which means these opening weeks are the start of a long process to reaching a standard expected of me, and the position itself.  I feel like a massive sponge, full to the brim with water as I look to take on as much as possible, although clearly processing relatively little.

Fortunately, I think, the position is new and thankfully that means I'm not coming in to the organisation in the shadow of someone else.  It means I can develop the role, to a certain extent, to fit me and what I'm good at.

Which is good.

I feel like I've adjusted fairly well to being in an office for 8/9 hours a day.  It goes quicker than a day at River Island (probably because I'm actually doing something...) and it is physically less tiring (because I get to sit down! Haarrrr harrrr maybe, but unless you've worked on your feet all day, don't underestimate how good it is to sit down all day!)  Of course, its mentally more tiring, but again thats good because it means your actually doing something that is challenging and stimulating.

One thing that's going to take some getting used to, however, is waking up early.  I know that 7.30am isn't even that bad compared to some people, but I've not got up routinely at this time since school, and thats 4+ years ago.  So it's bound to take a few weeks.  It's usually about 10am before I tune into the day properly, but I'm sure that will get better as times goes by.

I've already been able to take on some responsibilty and be able to put my stamp on a few things which has been useful and allowed me to gradually settle in to the role. Everyone here is supportive and nice, whilst I have an awesome new computer.

Thankfully, me starting here and the Christmas break is wonderfully timed, and allows me to have three weeks of working life becoming a reality here, before having a little break to recharge.

So far, so good.

Better Connected? Really.

"We're better, connected" - The staggeringly ironic strap line of O2, The "UK's leading provider of mobile phones and broadband."

Now up until recently, I had absolutely no problem with O2, which is unusual in this day and age where people are regularly foaming at the mouth when it comes to their network provider or handset manufacturer.  I thankfully avoided the storm surrounding Blackberry when they had a whole world of issues with downtime causing people to lose their minds, and up until recently, O2 had provided a good service with no issues.

Something I expect when I'm paying hundreds of pounds a year for the privilege.

I succumbed to the iPhone buzz shortly after the 3GS was released in the summer of '09, committing to a two year contract at £36 a month.  I had absolutely no issues with Apple or O2 during this period, and was looking forward to upgrading to the next iPhone model whenever it came out after my contract ended.  Now, the iPhone 4 had been out for some time by this point, so I wasn't particularly keen to commit to 18+ months of something that would soon by superseded by the iPhone 5, or 4S as it ultimately was.

In July, when my contract ran out, I got a call from O2 offering to put me on a rolling contract that kept the same texts and minutes (unlimited and 600) for £16 a month, as I was no longer paying for the phone, simply the sim.  I was told categorically that I could leave this plan whenever I wanted, which I said would be when the new iPhone was released later in the year.

I was delighted with that, and was impressed that O2 would not only get me off my more expensive contract for a cheaper one, but would be happy for me to upgrade back on to a premium contract when it was possible, i.e. once Apple had decided to release the next generation of iPhones.

Needless to say, I didn't think twice about it after that, and looked forward to being in a position to get a new phone.  I let the initial rush for the 4S pass, and went in to the Derby store about a month after release date.  I sat down with the O2 shop assistant, and began the process of getting a new phone.  However, it soon became clear that I was "ineligible for upgrade."

It turned out that O2 offered a similar sim only plan to a number of people in a similar position, and then decided that it was not possible for said people to leave the contract freely when they wanted to.  Clearly, I and many others, had been misled.  I was then told to ring up customer services and get them to remove the ineligibility with regards to my upgrade, and that it should take 24 hours or so to process.

That's fine, I thought, whilst a little frustrating, I accepted it.  With one thing and another, I didn't return to an O2 shop for a couple of weeks (getting a new job, finishing my old job, and the continuous cat and mouse game of finding a store that had the handset that I wanted in stock).  I finally managed to find a store that had it in and drove in this morning.  I went through the same process, and low and behold, the same problem was there - "ineligible for upgrade."

I explained the situation to the shop assistant and he immediately understood, stating "it's happened to quite a few customers." At this point, I knew full well that I wouldn't be getting a handset today.  He rang up the upgrade department, reciting my story, and found that there was indeed a note that backed up my story - yet no changes had been made to make me eligible.

Two things; how on earth does a company like O2 not have a simple button they can press to make me eligible, 2-3 weeks after the initial promise of it'll be done in 24 hours  And secondly, how can a company like O2 tell me, and I'd imagine hundreds of similar customers, that they can do something in terms of agreeing to the sim only plan, only to decide a few months later that no, this wasn't possible and these customers were locked in to a 12 month deal?

It became clear that it was not possible to get a phone in store before the end of this "contract" so I agreed to order the handset over the phone.  Apparently,  it will be here Monday, but I'm not holding my breath.

To be misled not once but twice by one of the biggest companies in the UK is very disappointing.  If I wasn't "locked" in to this 12 month plan I would be very seriously considering switching network.

The lack of alignment between the telephone sales advisors and the shop assistants is incredible.  Surely, you'd expect both departments to be singing off the same hymn sheet for the greater good of the company, but clearly not.  I felt sorry for the shop assistants who have had to deal with the customers face to face who had been misled by the telephone sales advisors, completely hamstrung in their efforts to do anything for us.

For a company who prides them self on being "better connected", the service provided by O2 over the last few weeks has destroyed the good work they had done, by simply doing their job, over the previous two years.

Lucas: Underrated Brilliance

"People just don't know how good Lucas is."
         ~ Rafa Benitez, December 2008.

The above quote came from the darkest days of Lucas Leiva's career to date at Anfield, in the aftermath of being booed by his own supporters in late 2008.  Liverpool fan's on the whole like to see themselves as different, rightly or wrongly, dating back to the old adage of The Liverpool Way.   To hear a player donned in famous red booed inside L4 like the Brazilian was stands out as a particular low in recent times, in stark contrast to the belief and values that fuel such an ethos.

That is for me, even lower than the booing of Hodgson, Konchesky and the like, during arguably the darkest days of the last twenty years.  At least that was understandable, almost inevitable.  Almost necessary.  The Liverpool Way was a dying myth, the life blood (and £110,000 a day) being drawn out of the club, bringing it to it's knees.  The discontent of the 45,362 was heard no more vehemently than during the home defeat to Wolves, but that felt a necessary act.  The mistreatment directed at Lucas, albeit not half as universal, wasn't necessary, and only served to highlight the misgivings of the new age of The Liverpool Way, and the fickle nature of the lesser educated fans - the Sky Sports generation.

When Lucas signed for Liverpool in the summer of 2007 for £6m (yes, six million) from Gremio in Brazil, he had quite the pedigree, and as was the trend with new signings from far and distant lands (i.e. people's limited knowledge stemmed from three minute YouTube clips) - quite the hype.

The captain of the Under 20's Brazilian side, and youngest ever recipient of the Bola de Ouro, Brazil's best player award, previously given to Tevez, Kaka, Romario and Zico - i.e. not a bad judgement of quality.  Whilst young, Lucas showed maturity and a mentality above his years, and moved to England as a 20 year old.  But Lucas didn't look like your typical Brazilian flair players, he looked more like a teenage member of a failed boy band.

I vividly remember his debut, in the caldron of the Goodison Park derby, coming off the bench to replace Steven Gerrard.

Steven Gerrard.  Liverpool captain.  In the derby.  Mad.

Had it not been for Phil Neville's out stretched hand on the line, Lucas would have won the game in the final minutes, and been a hero.  Instead, that honour went to Dirk Kuyt from the penalty spot as Liverpool ran off in to the distance with three points.  Rafa Benitez went on to explain his decision which had fans aghast with shock; "I had Lucas on the bench and I could explain to him what I wanted, I couldn't explain to the players on the pitch with the temperature at 180 degrees.  I wanted less passion and more calm. Someone that could analyse the game and say 'we are not in a hurry. If you play 15 minutes with calm and you have possession you will have four or five chances."


It was clear that Benitez rated Lucas, and saw a number of qualities not immediately apparent to the watching fans.  He was young, and still had a lot to learn, never mind adjusting to the rigours of the Premier League.  Lucas wasn't the flamboyant, creative attacker that our minds jump to when we hear the term 'Brazilian Footballer', he was what seemed to be a timid character who was fearful of the stature and reputation of his team mates.  Lucas was unfortunate, he made a series of high profile mistakes that cost himself and the team greatly, and gave Sky Sports and the like the opportunity to crash down on this un-Brazilian Brazilian.  His foul against Wigan to give away a penalty in the dying embers of the game, and subsequent red card against the blue half of Merseyside in the FA Cup game which saw a Tic-Tac advert mask the misery of seeing Everton score the winner, stand out particularly.

The lowest ebb.  During this stage of his career, Lucas look inhibited by the crippling fear of exasperating the dislike held by a large proportion of the fans, and giving the easily influenced general football fan more ammunition to laugh and say "he's shite".

This was the turning point.  A haircut and stirring performance in the demolition of Manchester United at Old Trafford, playing in place of an injured Xabi Alonso - something that few know, such was the assumption that the Spaniard was at the heart of such a memorable victory.  After the departure of Alonso in the summer of 2009, Lucas played 35 of 38 league games, and growing in stature, it was the time when fans began to see Lucas in a different light.  As a strong, and powerful defensive midfielder, who given the opportunity to get forward could excel, as nights particularly in Europe showed.

The darkest 5 months in two decades followed the removal of Benitez, yet Lucas shone under Hodgson, taking greater responsibility and performing to a such a level perhaps only his former manager believed he could reach.  "People just don't know how good Lucas is.  He is a fantastic player, he was captain of his club side at 19... he has a very good mentality...  He can tackle, he can pass the ball and he can win in the air."

The depature of Hodgson and arrival of Dalglish did not change his performance and standing within the team, winning the Player of the Year Award and making the most tackles in the England, Spain, Italy and Germany during the 2010-11 season.

Lucas has arrived and now must be considered the premier defensive midfielder in the Premier League, if not Europe.  His domination of Yaya Toure and quietening of David Silva against Manchester City on Sunday can only serve to emphasise his quality and importance to the Liverpool side.  His ability to break up the play is second to none, his passing range is getting better and better, whilst his tenacity and energy is mind blowing.  He has learnt from those around him, creating some kind of Mascherano-Alonso hybrid, the absolute definition of a modern day defensive midfielder.

It shows how far Lucas has come over the last four years, that the united concern that his potentially serious injury could deal Liverpool a blow greater than losing their captain for nearly a year, fingers crossed the prognosis is less debilitating both for Lucas and the club.

Whether or not he is ruled out for a considerable period of time, I look forward to the day the Lucas wears the captains armband at Anfield, and leads Brazil out across the world.

You're Hired

To be honest, I'm not sure why I haven't wrote this blog entry yet, seen as originally, this whole blog was motivated by the trials and tribulations that I faced and experienced on the road to getting a job.  Clearly, over time, it has become a wider exploration of things important to me, or at least of passing interest.

So, after 50+ applications (yes, I counted them) to organisations all over the country, countless painful online psychometric tests, and seemingly as many emails starting with the word 'unfortunately'... I finally have a job.

Since about May, when I really my applications really began in earnest, I have gone full circle in what I've targeted.  Initially, and quite naively I didn't really have much of a plan.  It was the glamorous opportunities I targeted first, the organisations with world renowned names - the most sought after ones.  Whilst I came close to one in particular, the lack of real world working experience cost me, especially as there's always someone who knows someone else, or has managed to get a weeks experience at the U-bloody-N, or the like.

Whilst these opportunities were marketing based, my relatively recent desire to forge a career in such an industry had me at a disadvantage.  Some people, as is the case with everything, will have known from an early age that they wanted to do something, and done everything they could to have made that a reality.

My reality was that I only discovered an interest and passion for marketing in the latter stages of my undergraduate degree, and whilst the year I spent studying for my MSc got me up to speed - I was playing catch up in practical experience.  It took quite a while to acknowledge this, again, perhaps naively, and led to a broadening of my application horizon.

A misguided venture in to the possibilities of recruitment followed, blinded by the lights of potential earnings above a basic salary, whilst my own focus became more on gaining that valuable work experience in an office, or on the road than following my own interest.  I had accepted that this was the route to go down, and went as far to be offered a job at a well known and respected drinks company, doing some thing that would provide me with experience I needed, rather than something I wanted to do.

Seemingly, out of the blue, I found a job that was not only something that I wanted to do and would follow on nicely from the MSc, but it was 2 miles away.  I had two interviews, and was offered the job on Tuesday last week.

So finally, I can leave my 6 and a half year vigil at River Island, and actually do something that I've been working towards for the last few years.

A Distinct Path

Thursday 17 August 2006, Sardinia; walking down to the rather pebbly beach on the third day of our holiday, in what now felt as an accepted routine, I felt confident. 

"... at worst, Mum, I'll get ABBC," I remember saying, "A in English, B in History, B in Sport and a C in Biology."

It was AS Level results day, and I wasn't facing the nervous walk in to school to pick up an envelope before looking down with my heart pounding.  I was waiting on a text, from a friend who I had placed the responsibility of getting my results for me whilst I was on holiday.

I had breezed through GCSE without much effort, and whilst I hadn't changed too much, I was sure I had put in enough effort to make the step up to AS.  With only four subjects, how could I not have enough time to revise sufficiently, and achieve some good solid foundations before A2 began? Well, that was the thinking anyway.

Lying on the beach, phone in hand, the text was expected around 12 o'clock.  A nervy fifteen minutes or so followed after midday, attempting to read a book as the nerves hit.

Finally, the vibration on the old Nokia hit.

English C.

History D.

Sport Studies E.

Biology U.

Umm, was this a joke? "I'm really sorry mate, I'm not joking."

In that instant, my trouble free world took the most unexpected and devastating of hits. Relatively speaking, of course.  I had expected, and been expected to do far better.  I was aiming for BBB to get on the Uni course that I wanted to be on, so this had massively set me back and left me with a mountain to climb to get remotely near where I should have been.

Getting the results on holiday was horrible.  I had no time or space to get my head round the results, and spent most of my time swimming out to a big rock a hundred meters or so to sea.  Worse of all, my parents - clearly disappointed, didn't lay in to me until we got home.  Very much an air of a stay of execution.  I knew it was coming.

Friday 28th October 2011, Home; shortly before work, it was worth a quick check on the Uni online results page to see if the painfully dull sounding Board of Examiners had finally confirmed my results.

Not that I expected any thing to have been published, just like the umpteen looks before hand. So when I checked and saw "Pass with Distinction" I had to get my mum to read it, just to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

Whilst it was what I had aimed for over the last year, I feared I had just dropped short after a particular Icelandic lecturer took a dislike to me and crucified a presentation that deserved a good 10% more.  Of course, to get a commendation at MSc level would have been good still, but I had aimed for a distinction knowing it was the only grade I could get that would make the cost of the last year worth it.

To get a distinction completed five years and two months of an educational roller coaster.  Back in August 2006, I was told by pretty much everyone going that it was nigh on impossible to recover grades like that.  I had a firm talking to by both the head of sixth form and my parents to get my head down and work, focusing less on being the class clown and playing football.  Three resits in January helped bring English, History and Sport Studies up a grade, whilst Biology was never given another passing thought as it was unceremoniously sacked off.  There are some things you can recover from in the world, but a U in Biology is not one of them.

I went on to get BBC at A Level, and whilst it didn't hit my BBB target, I had recovered enough to give myself a chance of getting on a good course at a good Uni.  Even before the results were published, I'd decided journalism wasn't the path I wanted to take, I eventually took a course through clearing that had some modules which I was really interested in.  Somewhat bravely (stupidly?), a fair few of the modules were science based, but I managed to get through.  Fortunately, the management focused modules helped and I earnt a solid 2.1 - another step as I tried to recover the disaster of '06.

The result of this year has finally put to bed that let down, and allowed me to perform better than expected.

With the price and time invested in the last year, it was inevitable that it would/will act as a huge weight on my shoulders until I justify it by getting a job better than one I would have got had I not studied for an MSc.  It will be some time yet until that weight can truly be lifted, but the result gained on Friday is the best first step towards achieving that.

Now to get a job.

365 Days of Change

"That was as good as we have played all season, and I have no qualms with the performance whatsoever. I only hope fair-minded people will see it the same way.  It's just unfortunate that such a good game of football, a real credit to the Premier League, will revolve round the fact that Liverpool did not win."

A year ago this week, Liverpool had just succumbed to their fourth defeat out of the opening eight games under Roy Hodgson's management, only goal difference separated them from being bottom of the table.  It was already painfully clear that Hodgson was not up to scratch - both in terms of managing a club with aspirations a top four finish at the very minimum, and in terms of what we, the fans, expect from the manager.  He simply wasn't made for Liverpool.  His football philosophy, culture and expectations were at polar opposites to that of the club, and the 34 years of experience he so often relied upon as justification for his appointment, was the very reason he should never have been considered for the job.

Hodgson, his experience and methods "translated from Halmstad to Malmo to Orebo to Neuchatel Xamax to the Swiss national team" did nothing to warrant his appointment, merely being the safe option, a yes man after that awful Rafael Benitez and his constant politics and "rants."  This was what Liverpool needed, in the opinion of Christian Purslow (the Fernando Torres of finance, no less), to steady the ship in the face of loan repayment deadlines, and make the club more attractive to possible investors.

However, the logic behind that decision quickly unraveled as Liverpool had their worst start to a season in 82 years.  Liverpool were playing awful, unimaginative football despite Hodgson's claims that he liked a "high tempo passing game," had a manager who refused to consider the Liverpool Way and whose expectations meant a 1-0 victory at Bolton was referred to as a "famous victory." It was not, but it was another nail in the coffin as Liverpool, its players and fans endured some of its darkest days on the pitch.

Fans, already heavily worn down by the ownership situation and the club bleeding money, were beginning to fall out of love with the club.  With the game.  I no longer looked forward to our next game, each loss felt less and less significant, and I was tired.  It wasn't our club anymore.  I vividly remember being sat high in the Main Stand on cold night in December when we lost to Wolves.  There was an air of inevitability of what was occurring in front of us. We were playing rubbish football, no creativity, no spark, and were completely outplayed by bottom of the table Wolves.  It was the night where the ironic chants of "Hodgson for England!" and "Dalglish!" became louder and louder.  Both in terms of sound, and meaning.

Hodgson didn't last much longer fortunately, yet I dread to think the state we would have found ourselves in had that gone on for a few months longer.

But Hodgson was just the support act of those dark days, the ownership situation had reached its head.  Martin Broughton, brought to the club by George Gillett and Tom Hicks to sell the club, had finally found an organisation who met the criterion set to buy the club.  On the 5th October, one of the most surreal statements I've ever read set the ball rolling in the most tumultuous few weeks in Liverpool's history.  Hicks and Gillett, unhappy with the prospect of making such a loss on the club they had bled try for 3 and a half years, attempted to remove Purslow and Ian Ayre from the board.  What followed was something I never thought I'd see, nor want to experience ever again - the future existence of the club being decided in a court.

It was a horrible period of time, but a year ago today, FSG completed the purchase of Liverpool Football Club.

"It's a real indication of how far we've come when we come into the dressing room and the boys are disappointed that they've drawn 1-1 with Manchester United."

This quote from Kenny Dalglish speaks volumes for the changes that the club has been through over the last 12 months.  No longer do we have a manager who so painfully and obviously didn't fit, nor are we bleeding £110,000 in interest payments every day.  The club is being professionally and effectively ran, making the most of our brand and strengthening our off the pitch performance ten fold.  The team is still in its infancy in terms of meeting its ultimate goals, but the potential and determination to do so is clear.

It is incredible to think how far we have come in the last 365 days, certainly further than my own expectations.  It was simply a relief to be free from Gillett and Hicks, yet there was massive caution associated with the new owners, and rightly so.  However, from the outset, John Henry and his colleagues have been willing to learn and to understand what needed to be done, from both the club perspective but also from the fans.  The ambition and honesty shown by FSG is in stark contrast from the depths of distrust, infighting and public embarrassment that overwhelmed everyone associated with the club, and seemed never ending only just over a year ago. 

The reds are coming up the hill.

An Ayre of Inevitability

"The socialism I believe in is everyone working for each other, everyone having a share of the rewards. It's the way I see football, the way I see life."

Over the last few days, this ethos, The Liverpool Way, has been widely considered to be under threat as the Liverpool Managing Director, Ian Ayre, indicated the club's desire to move away from the collective majority of the Premier League, and negotiate it's own overseas television deal.

I don't believe this idea to be quite as "scandalous" as some in the media would make out, and whilst I am not in support of it, I can see the thinking behind it.  Of course, it goes against the socialism that Shankly believed in, but sadly and with an air of inevitably, football sold it's soul to the devil long ago and this is just the next stage in it's unstoppable path (to ultimate destruction?).

In a world where Manchester United can sell sponsorship of their training kit for £40m, and Manchester City can sell their stadium naming rights, somewhat coincidentally admittedly, to Etihad for £400m over ten years - it is difficult for anyone to argue that it is still a level playing field, and everyone certainly can't be considered to be "sharing the rewards" as football appears to go from strength to strength.

However, with that said, challenging the issue of overseas television rights is very much frowned upon and equally unlikely to to happen, with 14 of the 20 Premier League clubs needing to sign off on it.  But why do Liverpool feel the need to float this idea? The Financial Fair Play rules.

The increasingly influential FFP rules dictate that a club must "compete within their revenues" based upon relevant income and expenses.  UEFA states in Article 58 that "relevant income is defined as revenue from gate receipts, broadcasting rights, sponsorship and advertising, commercial activities and other operating income, plus either profit on disposal of player registrations or income from disposal of player registrations."

Broadcasting rights are the only aspect of "relevant income" that are not individual to the club.  It would be wrong to share the income of gate receipts, sponsorship and commercial activities between every club in the league, as different clubs receive more, obviously.  So in that respect, why is it so out of the question for clubs to be paid their worth in terms of broadcasting.  Television rights in the UK, result in each club receiving £17.7m as an equal share, with then the more viewed clubs, i.e. the top 4-6, receiving up to £10m more in TV money.  So, to an extent, the bigger clubs already receive a greater slice of the pie.  However, even Alex Ferguson has suggested he doesn't think his club "gets enough money" considering the Premier League product, as it were, is sold to over 200 countries.

With that said, why can't the approach taken by Barcelona and Real Madrid be taken, where they rake in £136m per season? PER SEASON. It is clear to see why the Liverpool management feel their is a significantly untapped resource here, the support of the club and a number of others across the world means their hand could be strengthened beyond any happy majority.  But is suggesting this idea alone going against the foundations of the club?

Ian Ayre will merely be the mouth piece in this, with FSG, vastly experienced in monster television right deals and 80% owners of a sports network in America.  They are doing their job, they are investigating every single possible avenue for increase relevant income, and if that ruffles a few feathers... well it only highlights the state of the game.  If you don't play to the current environment and expectations, then someone else will and you will be left behind.  It is a sad fact of modern day football, and one that has already cost Liverpool dearly over the last 15 years or so, and its inability to fully realise the potential of its brand, and plan effectively for the future.  When football sold out to Sky in 1992, the Liverpool brand was immeasurably stronger than that of Manchester United.  Some two decades later and I don't need to tell you who did a better job on the business side of the club, never mind the integral links between on and off the pitch success.

I for one don't have any expectation for FSG and Ayre to get their wish, there are simply too many clubs who rely on the popularity and size of these clubs to bring in a significant proportion of their relevant income to accept any change.  I am sure FSG know this is probably the case too, and so, the eventual bottom line of this story is to strengthen the hand of the majority.  FSG are far too calculated and experienced as an organisation to not know every eventuality, whether that be going it alone, or achieving a stronger hand for the majority - both will benefit the club. An overseas television deal that includes the likes of Manchester United, Liverpool, Chelsea, Arsenal and Manchester City when they are posturing to go it alone, will be worth a lot more than a happy cast of satisfied clubs.

I wouldn't be surprised to see a similar suggestions from clubs looking at the possibilities of chasing their own overseas television rights over the next 20 months or so, again strengthening the hand of the majority with the ultimate outcome being an increase in deal that the Premier League receives in 2013, probably even more than the regular doubling of the fee up to now.

Benefiting everyone, sharing the rewards.

The Assessment Centre

The assessment centre.  Fundamentally flawed.

That is my feeling towards them at the minute. Especially if they are run as badly as some of the ones I have been on in the last week or two.  The whole point of an assessment centre, at least in terms of my understanding, is to find the most appropriate candidate(s) to recruit.  Whether that be through in-tray exercises, presentations, case studies, numerical/English tests, or group assessments… they’re basically there to test you, the candidate, against their criteria as to what they believe will be an appropriate candidate to hire.

Some of the aspects of assessment centre’s, I have absolutely no problem with.  None at all.  Some however, well one in particular, I couldn’t be more frustrated and disapproving of. 

Group assessments.

I know, I’ve got a great idea that will absolutely, definitely show me who we should employ.  We’ll give them 10 minutes, split them up in to a group of umm… lets say 10? 15? And let them work out a problem.  It’s brilliant.  We can see how they work with people, how they’ll fit in to our company culture, blah blah blah.

Wrong.

I have taken part in a number of group assessments, and to be honest, they are only getting worse.  They shouldn’t even be called group assessments.  They should be called ‘let’s see who can shout the loudest, and make the most insincere, fake approach to solving the problem.’ It is absolutely infuriating.  I took part in one a couple of weeks ago in London.  In groups of 15, we had 10 minutes to do one of those you-crash-land-on-the-moon-what-do-you-need-most tasks. 

Fifteen people.  That is a stupid, stupid number for such an activity.  So we spent 10 minutes with four or five people talking really loudly and saying all the things you are programmed to say, usually starting with the most patronising “right guys.” It’s a game, and maybe my inability to play the game is costing me, but ultimately, it is costing a good proportion of organisations that assume that just because you are shot down by some boisterous “Essixxxx girl” or some pompous Covent Garden politics graduate, that you are indeed rubbish at team work.

It is without a doubt the most frustrating aspect of trying to get a job.

Each time I am posed with such an assessment, I try my absolute best to get noticed, to weigh in well and show that I can play the game.  But sometimes, it is just impossible. 

But as I say, this will be costing the organisations that hire these people who play the game the best, and ultimately realise that they don’t match the company culture in terms of their personality, and they are god awful at teamwork. 

I do my best, and will continue to try and have my voice heard in such rubbish assessments, but the system itself is fundamentally flawed.  The ironic thing from my perspective at least, is the week assessment centre I spent at Adecco allowed a far better process, with group assessments over a week, in smaller groups with people who you have been able to create some kind of relationship with. It is surely here where you are more likely to show an accurate representation of your team working skills and personality.  I say ironic, because my team work "skills" were highly rated in that assessment, but it was my... wait for it... customer service skills that let me down. Nevermind, only had 6 years of retail experience, must have awful customer service skills.

I just can't win.

This will be massive.

Doomsday America: 10 years

I don't think I will ever witness such a day ever again.  At least, I certainly hope not.  Tuesday the 11th of September was not this generation's JFK or similar era defining moment, it was the apocalypse.  It was a day that has defined the world, at least in part, every single day since.  The biggest and most devastating attack on freedom for an unthinkable amount of time.  The day I remember vividly.  As vividly as a twelve year old could ever remember anything.

To be fair, I can't recollect whether there was an appreciation of what was beginning to happen whilst I was at school, but from the moment I sat down in the 'blue room' (I think it was the dining room, that happened to have some blue Ikea unit in) of our old house, I can remember the staggering images that were all over the television, as I attempted to do my maths homework.

Things like that shouldn't happen.  It took cold blooded murder to a new level.  I dread to think how those last few inevitable minutes must have felt for the passengers on those poor planes.  I remember being completely hypnotised by the events, literally not moving until being ordered to bed.  As the day wore on, and little to no homework was completed, the horror of what was happening truly become only to visible.

I remember my parents not letting my younger sisters watch the coverage.  How does an adult begin to understand what had just happened, let alone a 8 and 10 year old.  I had no idea.  Who would do this? Why? What on earth would possess anyone to commit such an act?

As the towers came down with the terrifying ease of a house of cards,  the terror and realisation of what had happened only became more real.  I can shut my eyes and see myself sat on my mum's bed, watching the wall-to-wall coverage on TV, as firemen, policemen, anyone who was physically able pored over the unthinkable tonnes of rubble.

I think the day afterwards was one of the most surreal experiences of my life.  Everyone was on edge.  Would they attack again? Would they attack us? There had been blind panic that the UK would be hit next, so much so that I can remember asking my mum "has it happened again?" after school.  To this day, I have a chilling newspaper from that day.

The last ten years have flown by.  From a personal perspective, from being in what, year 7 or 8, to finishing my postgraduate degree is an incredible stretch of time. I've been lucky and had a wonderful group of friends, I've witnessed incredible highs with Liverpool, traveled the world and doing my best to make something of my life.  The mere fact that 2,977 people weren't given that chance, never mind the thousands and thousands who were directly affected is one of the biggest injustices I think the world has ever bared witness to.

For what it's worth, I think America have done brilliantly in recovering (as much as is ever possible from such an event) over the last ten years.  George Bush, whilst not very popular with many, should be remembered with massive respect for how he stood up for his country, and the free world in the aftermath.  No peace time leader has ever had to deal with such an atrocity, and I hope history looks kindly on him.

It is impossible not to catch at least some of the programs in remembrance that have been on the television this and every anniversary, which images still haunt and hypnotise me as much as they did a decade ago.  The incredible courage and bravery of the fireman that day has always stuck in my mind.  How on earth do you charge in to a burning tower, knowing the chances of survival are stacked against you? How do you manage to do your job when your colleagues are being killed instantly by falling debris.  By falling people.

It is something that I have never been able to comprehend - amongst many, many other factors during that day, and something I don't think I could ever accurately reflect my respect and appreciation of the men and women who showed such insane amounts of bravery and fearless pride in what they do, as they charged in to the very heart of evil.

Incredible.

I feel particularly lucky on days like today.  Especially today. 

I am certain I will never ever forget the events of that day, nor the thousands of people who have had their lives so cruelly dictated by the forces of evil, and hope to never see something remotely like this ever again.

Good night and god bless. 

You'll never walk alone.

Leaving University

Today, I officially finished University.

After 4 years, £30,000 plus, endless moronic lectures, thousands and thousands of words, a painful number of hangovers, mega lie ins, horrible essay all nighters... I have finally finished.

I am sad to leave University.  Sad that I'm not living with my friends any more and messing around, making people laugh and what not.  I somewhat write off the first year of Uni in my memory as I hated it.  Awful flatmates, living away from the main campus, and therefore EVERYONE on my course... it was difficult to make friends, and feel part of it.  But as time went by, I settled in to it more and made some brilliant friends who will be friends for life, no doubt about it.  When the undergraduate course finished last summer, I was so sad because I finally felt like I belonged there.  I think, in all honesty, that was a significant driving force in me staying on to do the MSc. Rightly or wrongly, I wanted it to carry on, as normality.

To be part of it.

To an extent though, thank God. 

I have gradually and fairly inevitably ran out of steam over the last six or seven months.  My expectations of a continuation of undergraduate life and making a whole host of really good new friends didn't really come to fruition.  

Don't get me wrong, I've met some lovely people over the last year, but with such diverse backgrounds and interests - it was difficult to formulate the friendships and experiences I had during the first three years of Uni.

So, I guess fortunately in a back to front way, it benefited me to have less distractions and get on with doing myself justice in an academic sense.  Of course, I still managed to fit in hundreds of hours on Football Manager, but when I needed to work, and work to a high standard - I did.

Hopefully, that will come to pay off in the coming months and years.

It has to.  Otherwise I am in a whole world of misery, probably stuck in retail for ever more.

I had a second phone interview today for a sales position at Molson Coors which went well.  If anything is going to cost me, it'll be my lack of experience in a similar role... but then, why not give someone like me the chance to prove that I'm better and will develop better than someone who has already done something similar, and not done enough to progress? Employers go on about achieving the right culture and personality in a candidate, so I hope that the lack of experience isn't held against me and I get a chance to prove myself (... or come second, again?) at the assessment day.

I certainly wish next week's five day assessment center was only a day long for a recruitment company, but I suppose I just need to suck it up and try and do my best over the week.  I just hope there's some similar people there that I can enjoy spending a week with.

We shall see.

This was on CSI the other day, and it struck a chord or two..

Untitled

Honestly, what's the point? Of a blog that is.  To rant and rave about general happenings, to glisten with anticipation and then impending misery as football begins again? Or simply the medium by which an individual sits on their laptop at 3.01am to dictate a prose that is never to be read.  An individual muse that is so focused on the various thoughts and wondering of a walk home after £35 worth of alcohol, that it will probably not exist beyond the sobered up consideration of the next day.

But then again, who's going to read it?  So it is merely no more than a medium to which to vent through in as delectable a manner as possible.

You spend a night with people with prospects.  With people who have something to work for.  Something to go home too.  And something to aim upon.

Whether that be a graduate scheme in the big smoke come September... or a beautiful and lovely girl to lean and rely upon... a well paid placement year... a year in one of the continents premier cities... an impending round the world trip... a reliable and testing job... a relationship of 4 years.

All that.

Then the focus draws upon myself.  Seemingly inevitable job responses that dictate that whilst your application really was top notch, a CV to be proud of yada yada yada... but unfortunately we have decided to go with someone else.  No negative feedback.  Nothing.  Just a tone and decision that is insanely detectable from the very first syllable of the conversation.  What would be better?  Well something to pinpoint and work on, for starters.  I for one couldn't care less if you think I'll have 'no trouble in getting a job.'  You try motivating yourself to write endless letters pleading for half a chance to prove myself with organisations who couldn't care less.  Answering inevitable questions about a time when you have had to deal with a problem... an example of something you are proud of... an endless and monotone plead as to why ones skills match the ever shit criteria.
 
Genuinely, what are you supposed to do?

This of course acts as the foundations of existence, whilst things and people you used to rely upon become ever more frayed.

I hate change.  And I hate losing people who I once considered to be the pillars that held me up.  For whatever reason... be that a boyfriend who isn't right for you, or a job that simply takes greater preference.  Honestly, what can you do?  The answer is nothing.  You do the very best you can, and hope that one day that is rewarded.  A faith perhaps, for even the most nonreligious of people... a belief that everything will one day be alright, a belief that everything happens for a reason... even the unexplainable shit that explodes out of nowhere with the greatest and most indescribable feeling of force and destruction.

So again I ask, what can you do?

Nothing.

Nothing but giving you're all and believing that you are doing so for a reason.

There are so many people, places and things I miss.  People, places and things I would literally give everything to be with or have.  But things aren't that easy.  Instead, an early morning vent on here will have to do.  It's funny in a way, I have written this with very little expectation of anyone ever reading it.  I will not tweet a link, or promote this in any way.  I just need it said.  I need it out of my mind, at least for the night, and to wake up tomorrow slightly less weighed down with the complete rubbish that is.

Good night.

Burning streets

What a massive bunch of tossers.  Really, whats the point?  As one of the journalists on twitter referred to it, the "underclass" - those so deep at the bottom of society that they act in such a way.

When you get some CNN reporter walking through London streets in full on warzone gear, it says something.  This isn't Baghdad or Tripoli... it's London.  Get a life and stop embarrassing yourself, your family and your country.  In a city that is supposed to be hosting the Olympics in less than a year, it really doesn't send out the best message.

Sick to the teeth of some idiots on Sky pontificating about the Police not doing enough, blah blah blah.  Ever considered that the Police are damned if they do, damned if they don't?  Never mind the fact that they are acting on orders from the Government.  Giving the Police shit about "not doing their job properly" is out of order.  Seeing some poor bloke get smashed in the face with a brick earlier and to be considered not doing their job properly is a joke.

What are they supposed to do? Start fighting back rather than attempting to contain? OK then, and then watch the complaints of Police brutality roll in... swiftly forgetting about the scumbags who have literally set alight the capital.  In my eyes, if you act like a twat and destroy cars, buildings, etc... you lose your rights to be treated.  The Police should be perfectly within their rights to go in and destroy these shitbags.  They'll soon get the picture and scarper off home.  Imagine this happening in America?  Nah, me neither.  But it all boils down to the fact that the Police are completely hamstrung.  They can't do a thing.

Urgh, rant over.

Hope you all enjoy your loot, and I look forward to your faces being plastered over the media.

Rubbish

Ever get the feeling you're absolutely fucked and can do nothing to change that? I have right now.

As my one or two readers will know, I took out a Career Development Loan last year to pay for my postgraduate course at Uni.  I'd accepted this was the only way to afford such a course, and planned to follow the advice of one of those money saving adviser sites... do this, do that... then pay off your extortionate interest rate CDL loan with a personal loan with more manageable payments.

Good plan.

Or so I thought.

Turns out that despite hopefully being in full time work by September (the actual end of my course), I can't get any loan of any sort.  I was probably naive to believe I could, but I suppose following the advice of a renowned financial adviser to the word has cost me.

It was also nice of Sainsburys to not inform me of my application being rejected, rather relying on me getting in contact with them.  Impressive customer service.

So, what next? Not a lot I can do really bar up the job seeking ante, and hope something comes to fruition soon. In the mean time, I'll be paying £320 a month in repayments to the existing loan from the 10th next week, and facing a horrible early payment fine whenever I do get a job/can get a proper loan.

Not much fun.  And not a great state of mind to find myself in either.

Home

Today, after 4 years, I moved home from Nottingham for good.  Well, at least in terms of Uni.  I might find myself heading back sometime in a more permanent capacity should a number of pieces fall in the right places.

I've been at home with the stuff I actually need for a while now, but I think clearing out of uni for one last time holds some kind of significance.

I also massively underestimate the amount of rubbbbishhh I've harbored over the last four years and moved from house to house/left over summer after summer in a box under my bed.  This included a random top hat from a night out, some Thai sweets from a course mate, football stickers, and a whole other bunch of crap.

And this gem...

The absolute best chocolate in the world, that is inexplicably sold pretty much everywhere but the UK! A mixture of white and milk chocolate.  Perfection.  It's been done over here, blah blah blah.  Not like this! I lived off these in South Africa and bought a batch of them at the airport to bring home.  This is the last one, that somehow, wasn't eaten.  Hell, when I got home and tracked down the origins of these moments of absolute perfection, I found that there was 'Bring back Top Deck' facebook group.  If it's been to the UK already, I have missed out.  Sort it out Kraft, and push Top Deck.  It is the best. FACT.

I found a big box full of random sentimental things that I didn't want to see all the time, but didn't want to get rid of either, so there in there.  I found 6 cans of baked beans, and about 15 sachets of instant mash potato - which, may I add, is not even that instant.

It took me a long while to peel down all my newspaper cuttings off the wall, before making their debut in my home room here... presented in a new arty clever way.

Tahhh daaaa.  My wall/collage of happy memories.  Which is kinda cool.  And in no way reminiscent of an 8 year old worshiping his childhood heroes.

I've also started rebuilding the other content of my bedroom walls, to make it feel like home.

Various memories of various trips, games, events etc.  I've left a bit of space on the right of the two notice boards as the other one is a bit full now.  But that's something to aim for over the next year or two... to build it up with stuff.

This evening I finally got round to applying for a new loan to cover the one I've had for the last year which I soon will have to start paying back - and be stung by the silly 9.9% interest rates.  So fingers crossed I can pay that off and deal with a much more reasonable 6.9%, which is good.

Off to the Test Match tomorrow, so here's a song from the wee hours of a December morning when Sky put together one of their brilliant cricket montages after one of the Ashes Tests.

Cheers.

Stop clicking your red heels...

"... stop clicking your red heels and wishing for home"

Some lyrics from my undoubted number one band, the words of who's songs have effectively become the soundtrack to my life over the last two years or so since I discovered them on the eve of my 20th birthday as I watched the days' Glastonbury highlights.

The Gaslight Anthem.

Now, it is not my intention to make this sprawl of thoughts an endless prose about them or Brian Fallon, so fear not.

The quoted lyric at the top of the page is from a song called Bring it On, and by pure coincidence features the title of the whole blog.  I pick up certain lyrics of songs at different times, I suppose dependent on whats going on and how I'm feeling, etc... and so, initially picked up 'blue eyes and spitfire' a lot earlier.  It's interesting that the song has such gravitas that it brought me, entirely subconsciously, back to it.

Often, I will have a line or two from a song in mind for a while, and just kind of relate it to things, to try and create a personal meaning, if you like.  The sort of lines you whack on as a facebook status or a tweet, and before long you are flooded with 'gay!' or 'ooooh, who is this about' ... the worst of the lot was when one of my uni friends thought it was a good idea to type the name of an ex girlfriend in massive bloody capital letters in response to a line from an earlier Gaslight record.

Needless to say, I scrabbled online bleary eyed and annoyed to delete the entire status.

It wasn't about her.  I don't think it was about anyone, but rather a general idea.  An expectation that will be about someone... one day.

"... stop clicking your red heels and wishing for home"

Back to that.  I haven't been able to put my finger on quite why this song, and line in particular, hold such power towards me.  I think the clicking of the red heels, in my own mind at least, refers to the power and persuasion some girls can have, by just being them.  The mere fact the heels are red too adds to it.  The clicking.  The clicking.  What does that mean? Something to do with playing on the raw attraction between one and other, a way of getting what she wants.

Maybe.

Wishing for home.

That could be more representative of myself, despite possible opposite meaning in the song.  Home, where everything is and where everything should be.  Recently, I've had a few interviews in London and got quite close to contemplating actually moving there, alone, and being forced to start afresh.  That is not something that I want, but is something that I recognise as an almost inevitable possibility.

Or maybe it's wishing for something that doesn't even exist, in terms of the song at least.  Maybe it's completely and 100% to do with the insecurities and vulnerabilities that can consume us (me?) at any time.

So, clearly I have absolutely no idea and have just used this as a channel to spout some rubbish on my blog.

Cheers.

Werchter moment

I didn't see this actual performance at Glastonbury, but I saw it in Werchter and absolutely loved it.  A stand out highlight, and their album should be a good listen if this is anything to go by.

"... because you used your heart as a weapon, and it hurts like heaven..."

Luis Suarez

Just how good is Luis Suarez?

I just watched Uruguay lift the Copa America, with Suarez picking up the Player of the Tournament award... so so so good.  He completely lit up the second half of last season, adapting and running riot immediately in the nigh-on-impossible-to-adapt-quickly* Premier League, and that was coming off the back of not playing for weeks in Holland.

*absolute rubbish. If you're good enough, it doesn't matter.

£23m.

Absolute bargain.

He is a phenomenal talent, and I can't wait for him to light up the league this year.  People talk about Tevez, Aguero, etc.  But I wouldn't swap any of them (or £50m) for Luis Alberto Suarez Diaz.

I just can't get enough.

I'm backkk

I haven't written on this blog for a while, drifted over to Tumblr for a bit but with a few more people starting up on this... maybe I will use both?

I've had a busy 5 weeks or so... Going to Hyde Park to see Arcade Fire, then the next day going to Rock Werchter in Belgium which was amazing and witnessed the birth of the award winning (in my own mind, at least) Angry Animals! Aha, I've also had a couple of job interviews - coming painfully close to one of them, and now just waiting on a few applications as I look to find some way of beginning to pay off my loan.

Awesome.

I've been to the F1 at Silverstone and enjoyed a 80 minute journey turn into a five hour one on the way home, seen Take That at Wembley with my family and about 60,000 menopausal women... Hosted a bbq, before realising I had no coal... so that soon became an oven-a-q. Umm, what else?

As we approach August, I've only got two more deadlines to go at uni - 3000 words before Friday, and then another by September... after recently carrying my project group through to a 65% presentation grade (18 slides out of 23...), its quite nice to just do some work on my own and not have to worry about other parties.

I shall try and make some more interesting and poignant blogs as time goes by, but that pretty much catches things up.

And finally, back to one of my early blog ideas... a song to finish on.

From the ever brilliant Brian Fallon and his new project, The Horrible Crowes.

A Red Warrior

The new kid is on the ridiculous money, footballing block.

A company synonymous with Lacrosse equipment in America, and not a whole lot else... Warrior Sports will design and manufacture Liverpool's kits from the summer of 2012, at a rumoured cost of £25m a season.

It is important to put this into consideration.  Current manufacturers of the fourth biggest selling replica shirt in world football, adidas have decided not to match the offer from Warrior.  The German company's current deal is worth £12m a season - which for a shirt that is only outsold by the Spanish giants of Barcelona and Real Madrid, and the commercial Juggernaut that is Manchester United, is a quite frankly poultry figure.

Warrior's deal with Liverpool values the strength of the brand at a far more realistic level.  It beats Nike's £23.3m deal with United, setting the record for a kit deal in the UK.  Of course, the Warrior deal will almost certainly be topped by the time United come to negotiate their new deal in 2015 as the money in English football continues to grow, yet the message the deal sends out for both Liverpool and Warrior is could prove to be worth more than the £25m.

For the first time, Liverpool are beginning to fulfill their commercial potential.  Not only this deal, but last years £20m per season deal with Standard Chartered can be highlighted as comprehensive proof of this.  Arguably the one and only positive that the crippling reign of Hicks and Gillett brought to the club was the appointment of Ian Ayre as Commercial Director.  His promotion to the position of Managing Director earlier this year was fully deserved; based on his achievements in bringing the club to a level which makes the most of its history and status within the game. 

With the impending Financial Fair Play rules on the horizon, the money that a club can bring in from sponsorship and manufacturing deals have taken on new importance.  Gone will be the days of Manchester City spending staggering amounts of money on transfers, if it outweighs the money being brought into the club.  Liverpool's owners, FSG are very aware of this.  Their links to the Boston based parent company of Warrior, New Balance will have undoubtedly have played a role in the deal.  Yet, it is difficult for any fan of the club, or onlooker from afar to be anything less than impressed with the start they have made as owners of England's most decorated club.

The deal marks Warrior's first venture in to football, and with the amount of money involved one thing can be guaranteed - this will not be a half interested attempt.  In March, the considerably more well known Under Armour agreed a five year deal with Tottenham (£10m a season, for what its worth), representing a similar entry in to the sport.  Not only does that highlight the coup pulled off by Liverpool, but also shows the determination of Warrior to be associated with a team of Liverpool's standing in football.

There was a rumble of discontent amongst some fans when the news was broken a few weeks back, by those who's attachment to adidas seemed stronger to that of Liverpool.  What about the stripes? What about if we have rubbish kits? Who's going to wear Warrior? Fact is, if it's red and has a Liverpool badge on it - it will sell like an adidas shirt would, or a Nike shirt would.  I simply refuse to believe there are fans out there who but football shirts dependent on the manufacturing brand.  Not a chance.

Every brand had to start somewhere - including Nike and adidas, and who's to say Warrior won't be spoken of in the same breath as they in thirty years?

Liverpool are pioneering again, 32 years after the first sponsored shirt in the Football League, they welcome Warrior to the fold.

 

It is massively encouraging to see the football club run in a proper and profitable way, as the club continues to rebuild itself towards the place it should be both on and off the pitch. 

Heard this last night.  Forgot how much I love it.

Recruitment Mare

Not really.

I'm not suffering from the impending getting-a-proper-job nightmare just yet, but I can see the storm slowly approaching on the horizon.  

I've already delayed getting to this point once already.  This time last year, I was about to hand in my dissertation and begin the final slog towards final exams.  It wasn't until then that I even considered doing a Masters.

Staying on was heavily influenced by two factors a) the absolute misery that filled me up when I thought about the prospect of full time work, and b) the factor that my housemates were staying on to complete their legal education.  That made the decision easier than perhaps it should have been to commit to another year of education - a 17th year of consecutive education, no less - and to spending over £7000 on the course.

Another commitment, and probably the most grown up thing I've ever had to do was taking out a loan to cover the costs.  At the time, I remember thinking... pahhh! I'll worry about this in a year or so.

Annoyingly, that year or so is nearly up.

Fortunately, I've done well so far on the course and with ten weeks to go, and with four (or five) pieces of work left to do - my eye is once again cast to the getting a job.

This week, I've got a recruitment fair at uni (hence the witty blog title) where I'm hoping to find a few positions to apply for, whilst it'll be good to see what they're actually looking for.

There seems to be an every increasing pressure to get a job - not only to start paying off the nigh on crippling loan repayments (certainly off a 9 hour retail assistant contract...), but also off my friends.  The majority of which have successfully made the transition into working full time, or have just got incredible jobs lined up.  It is difficult to look at them with anything more than a touch of envy, I just hope the investment of the last year has been worth it.

With that said, I am absolutely done with education.  I think whilst the course content is good, it is dumbed down, and slowed down for the benefit of the foreign students. 

Three hour lectures.

Jesus.

Two hour lectures would be absolutely fine.  Ten weeks to go, and unimaginably depressing amount of lecture time to go.

Fingers crossed.

Nice song this.  One of the few listen-to-able songs on the work soundtrack.  Give it a go.

Never forget

You'll never walk alone.

Justice for the 96.