Wow, apparently so. Fair amount’s happened in the past few weeks since the last post.

First up, work. Conference went well by all reports, despite the “legal issues” surrounding our esteemed Prez. As that was going on, I managed to whack out the magazine, which was greeted with much applause and back patting. Seems like I’m capable of doing my job AFTER all, and it would have been a rather stupid move to give me the old heave ho, eh Mr. President? Alas, rather than make this statement to the afforementioned Prez, he fell on his sword and resigned. So all change at the office again, but the atmosphere is a lot better back there, and people have reported that they now wake up for work singing this.

Not an image I want in my head. (Shudders)

In other news, we managed to disappear up to the cabin for a long weekend. Myself, Tracee, Professor Mike, and Jarod were joined by a pair of lovesick teenage kids. Awww, just kiddin’ Michael, but you did almost induce vomiting at a few points! (That might have been the copious amounts of beer…) As usual, a good time was had by all, and the beer served an extra purpose – creating empties for the newly formed….

Ta-daaa! Yep, not satisfied with buying the brewing equipment, I’m getting all obsessive about things as usual, so Long and Short Brewing has a name. And a logo. But more importantly, two (count ‘em, TWO!) brews in progress. The brown ale which is unofficially titled Ol’ Dirty Bastard, and a – wait for it – double chocolate imperial stout to be referred to as “Whenin Doubt – Chocolate Stout”.

The brown hits bottles next weekend, while the chocolate stout’s not going to be drinkable for another 6 months or so. Which means we’ll have to make a couple more stopgap brews to tide us over until we crack that mutha’!

Other than that, not a lot going on. Michael will be furiously dialling me when he reads that my arse hasn’t been on my bike at all in the past month – thanks to crappy scheduling for work, being out of town or busy doing other crap (cabin, roped into wife-related events, in-law invasions, etc.), my riding partner disappearing for two weeks on vacation (how dare he!!) and – I’ll be honest here – lack of motivation to ride dusty as feck trails in the height of summer. The result is that the past month has seen zero weight loss – but has also seen zero weight gain. But being on my duffer is certainly not going to see me in good stead when we ride Tahoe next month. (I know, Michael, I know…)

Footy season kicks off this weekend (another excuse to not ride!), with Liverpool in action against Spurs. Have to say, the confidence that our strong finish had given me for this campaign’s worn off with our activity in the transfer market. Two players out – one of whom was our player of the season – to be replaced by two similar players. Glen Johnson steps in for Arbeloa, which in fairness is an upgrade, while Xabi Alonso’s replacement is Alberto Aquilani – a tremendous talent when he’s not on the treatment table being nursed with some injury or another. Indeed, the guy’s not even available to play for us for another month, as he recovers from ankle surgery.

Christ!

So, um, Gerrard and Nando? Up to you two. Again.

Right, I’m off to bed. Night night!

SAN RAFAEL (Reuters) – Beleagured, bald, belligerent, and still overweight Irishman Gaz was resting comfortably at his San Rafael home today, after a large simian escaped from his rectum. The cause of the incident is still unknown, but experts believe it may have had something to do with USA beating Spain 2-0 in the Confederations Cup. The monkey could not be reached for comment.

Seriously, I didn’t see THAT coming. Truth be told, I was so buried in work I completely forgot about the game, until JB shot me a text half time, asking if I was watching Spain losing to the US. Whaaaa?

Fair play to the US team – they defended REALLY well, Timmy Tourettes was phenomenal in goal for them, and they took their two chances well (because in fairness, that’s all they had – two chances!) Spain, on the other hand, rained hell and damnation on the US area, but just couldn’t crack them open. They seemed predictable at best, and certainly didn’t look like a team that was considered unbeatable. Bummer that we’ve been robbed of a Brazil v Spain final, but I suppose I’ll have to wait until next year for the World Cup final for that…

Work’s on my tits. Conference time is usually bad enough, but throwing in the need to design a magazine from the ground up adds to the fun. Actually, no – what REALLY adds to the fun is when the editor of said magazine disappears for a two week holiday, meaning yours truly didn’t get the articles until the arse end of last week. No, that’s okay – I have a magic button that I just press that makes finished design pieces. Suuuure I do…

Course what makes that even BETTER is when your computer decides to shit the bed, meaning I had to spend all day yesterday wiping it and reinstalling EVERYTHING.

So with that, little time to ride. In fact, haven’t hit China Camp in over a fortnight thanks to the work schedule and the fork issues I had. But even though I’m not riding the trails, I’m at least on the trainer downstairs. Thank Jebus for that thing, otherwise I’d be going mental.

Sigh, back to work…

Minor bragging. Excellent footy match today – put in 4 miles, won 2-0, didn’t put a foot wrong. In fact both goals scored by yours truly, and nice they were. Should have had a couple of helpers too, but people on my team couldn’t @#$# finish. Came home, feeling good, saw the scale sitting there in the corner.

Taunting me.

Come on, fatboy, you haven’t lost an ounce the last two weighdays. You know it’s time. Waddle over here, and take your medicine.

Seven days. One short ride, one short hike, one decent hike, two footy games, two sessions on the bike trainer, and sticking to the diet like glue.

Down 4lbs.

I’m back, baby!

In other news, United’s good luck charm is offski. £80 million later, and Ronaldo’s off to Real Madrid. While on one hand, it’s terrifying knowing that they have that much money in their pockets now, I’m giddy at the news – the two players that saved United’s arse last season were Ronaldo and Tevez, and it’s looking like neither of them will be at Old Trafford next year. Add to that the fact that Giggs and Scholes are past it, Van Der Sar’s getting up there as well, and you KNOW Ferguson’s not going to have the entire wad to spend on new players (not with the debt they have), and they’re looking likely to get knocked off their perch next season!

And the icing on the cake, is that I think I sold my 29er singlespeed wheels! Hooray!
—————-
Now playing: The Weeks – Buttons
via FoxyTunes

Kisses for the camera, when we take the lead…
Jesus H. Christ on a bike. Not satisfied with thumping Real midweek, Liverpool Football Club continued to completely and utterly mess with my feckin’ head this weekend, by giving Man United a solid kicking in their own backyard. Torres was rampant, United looked confused, and the poor feckers in my living room (Professor Mike, JB, and Greg, as well as Tracee) were subjected to my mixture of caffeine fuelled tourettes and euphoria that only a win over the Scum™ can bring.

“I was going for the ball! Honest!!”
What made it more impressive was coming from behind. A dodgy penalty (in my eyes) gave the Scum™ the lead, but that lasted all of 8 minutes when Torres molested Vidic like an altar boy for the equalizer. Just before half time we took the lead, with Gerrard getting clipped in the box and stuffing the resulting penalty. The second half saw us defending deep, and looking shaky doing so, before the highlight of the match – Gerrard, through on goal, was hauled down by his nads by Vidic. Straight red card, and potential for sexual assault charges (see above!) Aurelio stroked the 20 yarder into the net, Dossena added a fourth in injury time, and yours truly was on cloud nine.

I’m certainly not deluded enough to think we can somehow win the title – still too much bed shitting against the likes of Boro, Stoke, Hull, Everton, City, etc. to overcome – but giving the regular members of “the big four” a good kicking should make for an interesting confidence boost for next year.

And this was just the beginning…
Supporting Liverpool this season has been a challenge. I’ve watched the lads give the Scum™ a thorough kicking (despite a 2-1 scoreline) only to see them draw with Stoke in the next match. Inspiring w ins against Chelski were followed by defeats to Spurs and Everton. We’ve gone from top of the Premiership at the beginning of 2009, to third place, seven points behind United, who have a game in hand to boot. Performances on the pitch all season long have been poor and uninspired. Our owners have continued to play the evil spoilers to our progress, and to top it off, our manager has on more than one occasion lost the plot completely, with bizzare rants in the press. Our fans are getting on the team’s back, and the much vaunted “Liverpool Way” seems more and more to be a thing of the past.

So going into last night’s game, given recent performances against Middlesboro and Man City, I was a little nervous, despite a 1-0 first leg lead. You always expect magic at Anfield, especially on European nights, but this season has seen as much disappointment as it has excitement.

90 minutes later, I’d seen the finest display of flowing attacking football Liverpool had produced in 10 years. A Real Madrid side in great form were given a complete and utter lesson, and ran out of Anfield with their tails between their legs on the receiving end of a 4-0 whipping. And in truth, had it not been for a man-of-the-match display from Iker Casillas, it could have, and should have, been more like 6 or 7-0.

Er, Juan, what the fuck just happened?
So it begs the question, where the feck has that been all season long? I can’t help but wonder where we’d be in the league had that level of passion, flair, and determination been on display a bit more this year. Would we have turned a few of those draws – where we looked disinterested and uninspired – into wins? Can’t help but think yes.

Still, here’s hoping that this outstanding performance gives the lads all the inspiration they need this weekend when they travel to Old Trafford. And here’s also hoping that it gives Rafa an idea of what his team can do when he doesn’t shackle them with batarse, overthought tactics…

The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of Arsenal and the tyranny of United. Blessed is he, who in the name of Shankly and Paisley, shepherds the Kop through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is EL NIÑO when I lay my vengeance upon thee.

I love this pic – sums up the way poor Everton fans must be feeling these days. Embarrassed in the Carling Cup, languishing in the league, their owner desperate to sell, no money available, and now a solid lesson by the good half of Liverpool this weekend, where the 2-0 scoreline REALLY didn’t reflect the one sidedness of the game. (If Babel started on the right instead of Kuyt, it likely would have been 4 or 5.)

Benjamin Franklin once said “In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes.” Well, here we are on April 15, and as millions of people here in America are clamoring at the Post Office trying to get their returns in on time, instead I’m focused on the other, far more solemn side of life’s certainties.

On April 15, 1989, my beloved Liverpool Football Club were playing Nottingham Forest in the FA Cup semi final at Hillsborough – Sheffield Wednesday’s home ground. Due to police mismanagement, many fans were allowed into the ground without a ticket, resulting in 96 Liverpool fans being crushed to death.

What happened following this tragedy, I’ll leave to Wikipedia to explain:

On the Wednesday following the disaster, Kelvin MacKenzie, then editor of The Sun, a British tabloid newspaper owned by Rupert Murdoch Andrew-Neil-on-Murdoch , used the front page headline ‘THE TRUTH’, with three sub-headlines: ‘Some fans picked pockets of victims’; ‘Some fans urinated on the brave cops’; ‘Some fans beat up PC giving kiss of life’.

The story accompanying these headlines claimed that ‘drunken Liverpool fans viciously attacked rescue workers as they tried to revive victims’ and ‘police officers, firemen and ambulance crew were punched, kicked and urinated upon’. A quote, attributed to an unnamed policeman, claimed that a dead girl had been abused and that Liverpool fans ‘were openly urinating on us and the bodies of the dead’.

MacKenzie explained his reporting in 1993. Talking to a House of Commons National Heritage Select Committee he said “I regret Hillsborough. It was a fundamental mistake. The mistake was I believed what an MP said. It was a Tory MP. If he had not said it and the chief superintendent (David Duckenfield) had not agreed with it, we would not have gone with it.” This explanation was not accepted by families of Hillsborough victims. Even fifteen years after the Hillsborough disaster, the circulation of The Sun in Liverpool is still believed to be only 12,000 copies a day where previously it was around 200,000.

On 30 November 2006, speaking to a business lunch, former Sun editor Kelvin McKenzie repudiated the apology, saying that he only apologised because the newspaper’s owner Rupert Murdoch ordered him to. He said “I was not sorry then and I’m not sorry now” for the paper’s coverage.

On this day, April 15 2008, my heart is with the families of the 96, and I salute everyone involved with the Hillsborough Justice Campaign, and those who continue to boycott that filthy rag.

Jesus Christ, my heart! Liverpool stuffed Arsenal in the Champions League quarter final at Anfield, setting up a semi final clash with Chelski. Again. Lord help me I’m in bits. Take it away, John Aldridge…

The two halves of Liverpool did battle this week in European competition. Everton faced Fiorentina in the UEFA Cup, while the Mighty Reds took on Inter Milan in the Champions League. How did they do? This should offer a clue.

First, Liverpool:

Oooh, looking good lads! And now, Everton:

Aww. Better luck next year, Bluenoses!!!

—————-
Now playing: The Black Crowes – Jealous Again
via FoxyTunes

As a bloke comfortable with the onset of old age (c’mon, you remember being 5 years old and thinking how old teenagers were… imagine 34???) I can hearken back with the best of them at “the good old days”. Ahh, you young folk. I remember when all this was fields, I had to walk 50 miles through the snow barefoot to school every day, and watching Ireland consisted of Packie Bonner booting the ball upfield to Niall Quinn, who knocked it down for Aldridge, and there ye are. And you know what? We were glad of it.

I had the benefit of growing up during Ireland’s golden years – when qualifying for a major tournament was a regular occurrence under Jack Charlton. Unfortunately, that benefit is now something of a curse. Y’see, up until 1988, the only thing you could count on from the national team was that they’d be shite. Heartbreak and disappointment were the hallmarks of the Irish footy fan. Then Big Jack came in and changed that. He was like that one amazingly beautiful and intelligent woman that comes into our lives, making us wonder what we did to deserve them, before disappearing in the inevitable breakup, and the return to normality.

Alright, that’s a bad example – yes I dated a model once, and a rather gorgeous architect, but am now married to the one of the greatest women in the world. But Ireland hasn’t been so lucky. Jack was followed by a string of managers who’ve done nothing but disappoint, and have reminded us that Ireland’s not a great national side going through a bad patch, we’re a historically mediocre footballing nation who punched above our weight for a decade or so.

Why am I bringing this up? Well, I just discovered over on the good oul’ Irish Independent that Don Givens and Don Howe are charged with finding the next gaffer for the national team. God help us.

What’dya reckon Don? What about that Brian Clough lad? I think he’s dead, Don.

“We are delighted that we have found two extremely credible football men known throughout the game for their honesty and integrity. They will leave no stone unturned in their efforts to ensure that we get the best person for the job.” crow the lads at the FAI. My arse. You found the only two people willing to sign on to your dodgy panel, since everyone knows that it’s going to be bloody difficult finding a world-class boss who’ll accept the terms on offer from the cheap bastards in Merrion Square, especially with the poisoned chalice of the England job on offer. (Poisoned as it might be, at a reported £6 million a year on offer, I’d cheerfully take it and be the subject of hatred for 2 years!) So far the only candidates on offer are Terry Venables, and… um… Graeme Souness. Given that both Dons worked with El Tel before, I wonder where their recommendation will go.

Just a couple of weeks ago, he made the announcement that “‘football people’ — from outside the FAI — would be responsible for the appointment” and now the current U-21 boss is tasked with the charge of finding… his next boss? This is greasy little John Delaney at work again. Public opinion in Ireland seems to be against the appointment of Venables, but in a few weeks, when John-Boy hires him, he gets to point at his “panel of experts” and say “Wasn’t me, mam – they made me do it”. The head of the FAI, completely unwilling to shoulder responsibility – again. Just a year ago, this was the man who vehemently defended Staunton to the hilt, before running for the hills and pleading the fifth during Stan’s rather poorly-handled dismissal. (Mutual agreement. Yeah, right.) And just like the days of Brian Kerr, when the knives were out for the Dublin man, and Delaney looked on, hands raised as if to say “Hey, nothing to do with me!”

And so, Ireland will head into another qualifying campaign with a new boss, promises of a bright new day and a return to the Olé-olé, inflatable hammer days of Jack Charlton. Again. And just like it’s been before, you can’t help but feel like it’s just wallpapering over the cracks. And in 3 years time, after uncomprehensible draws and losses to poorer opposition, John Delaney will point to the two Dons and say “Wasn’t me.”