Today, at the Riverside, Middlesbrough hosted non-league Hastings United in the third round of the FA Cup.
Ian Dennis, the Senior Football Reporter for BBC Radio 5 Live tweeted...
Hastings away support is 1068. If only 2 had not made it!!@Iandennisbbc 52 minutes ago
Classic!
Oh, and we won 4-1, which makes a nice change, eh?
Showing posts with label Middlesbrough. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Middlesbrough. Show all posts
Saturday, 5 January 2013
Saturday, 14 July 2012
Give us a break
That heavenly few weeks between the end of one football (soccer) season and the start of the next has just about evaporated this year, or been submerged in the flood waters of a thousand tabloid headlines. So no precious month or two's respite for those who loathe kissball or simply support Middlesbrough FC (just me, then?).
If having Euro 2012 plastered all over the media wasn't enough to make you go and stand out in the garden in the pouring rain, then the trial of one John Terry, Chelsea and England stalwart, for alleged racial abuse against Anton Ferdinand, was enough to make you wonder whether walking across hot barbecue charcoal was a more pleasant option. If only the blessed rain would cease.
That the finest players in the Premier League cannot set a good example to the rest of football, in particular, and the sporting world in general is an absolute shame. Racism does not have a place anywhere, end of. For it to remain on the field of play in the national game is pathetic. For it to be present in the stands, it requires the rest of us to take a long, hard look at ourselves.
But the trial of Mr Terry in a Magistrates' Court will also be remembered for another painful fact. The level of banter between players has not really left the playground, and a particularly foul-mouthed playground at that.
I appreciate that these guys are where they are because their brains are hard-wired to their feet (and in JT's case, possibly another region of his anatomy, the tabloid press would have us believe). But surely they can rise above the cringe-makingly awful examples that were unearthed during this case?
Witty banter? Don't make me laugh.
Acid sarcasm? Give over.
If only their wits were as quick as the desire to foul, feign injury and cheat. Do you recall a football match without shirt-pulling or cynical fouls or shouted obscenities or a keenness to have the other guy sent off? Not for decades, I'd wager.
So, JT may be a gifted centre back and innocent of the charge of hurling racial abuse, but...
Is he able to deliver a humorous put-down. No, he's cack.
Can he deliver a killer one-liner? Nope, too blunt.
And there you have it, two words to describe our sporting hero... cack, blunt.
Who would have thought it?
If having Euro 2012 plastered all over the media wasn't enough to make you go and stand out in the garden in the pouring rain, then the trial of one John Terry, Chelsea and England stalwart, for alleged racial abuse against Anton Ferdinand, was enough to make you wonder whether walking across hot barbecue charcoal was a more pleasant option. If only the blessed rain would cease.
That the finest players in the Premier League cannot set a good example to the rest of football, in particular, and the sporting world in general is an absolute shame. Racism does not have a place anywhere, end of. For it to remain on the field of play in the national game is pathetic. For it to be present in the stands, it requires the rest of us to take a long, hard look at ourselves.
But the trial of Mr Terry in a Magistrates' Court will also be remembered for another painful fact. The level of banter between players has not really left the playground, and a particularly foul-mouthed playground at that.
I appreciate that these guys are where they are because their brains are hard-wired to their feet (and in JT's case, possibly another region of his anatomy, the tabloid press would have us believe). But surely they can rise above the cringe-makingly awful examples that were unearthed during this case?
Witty banter? Don't make me laugh.
Acid sarcasm? Give over.
If only their wits were as quick as the desire to foul, feign injury and cheat. Do you recall a football match without shirt-pulling or cynical fouls or shouted obscenities or a keenness to have the other guy sent off? Not for decades, I'd wager.
So, JT may be a gifted centre back and innocent of the charge of hurling racial abuse, but...
Is he able to deliver a humorous put-down. No, he's cack.
Can he deliver a killer one-liner? Nope, too blunt.
And there you have it, two words to describe our sporting hero... cack, blunt.
Who would have thought it?
Monday, 18 January 2010
A better bit of Boro
During a weekend trip to the North East, we managed to fit in a brief visit to Saltholme, the RSPB's new reserve on Teesside.
Surrounded by acres of industrial hardware, towers, cranes, chimneys and pipework, it felt slightly incongruous to be birding in such a nature-challenging environment. The birds obviously didn't mind. The lakes and pools were providing much-needed habitat and food for plenty of waterfowl, especially after all the harsh weather of late.
Surrounded by acres of industrial hardware, towers, cranes, chimneys and pipework, it felt slightly incongruous to be birding in such a nature-challenging environment. The birds obviously didn't mind. The lakes and pools were providing much-needed habitat and food for plenty of waterfowl, especially after all the harsh weather of late.
On the first frost-free and sunny day in ages, the wildlife and the visitors seemed to be just glad to be alive and out in the fresh air. The car park was pretty full and there were as many groups of birders as there were flocks of Lapwing, Golden Plover, Wigeon and Starlings.
On the way in, we had passed a concentrated mass of optics, which presumably pinpointed the rough location of a bittern. However, we contented ourselves with the spectacle of several Little Egrets in the pasture ditches and a Black-tailed Godwit feeding in the midst of a bunch of Wigeon.
It will take some time for the place to mature into a fully-fledged reserve, but this will soften the hard edges of the surrounding landscape, whilst providing a haven for Nature and her followers. It will be noted, dear reader, that the Transporter Bridge hasn't been demolished and shipped to America to span a gorge in Arizona.
Interestingly, in the car park there are signs that proclaim "Walk this way". So is the RSPB a big fan of Aerosmith or Run DMC? We should be told.
Friday, 15 May 2009
Carpet fitting
There's a new stair carpet going in at Tense Towers today as part of the ongoing restoration programme. I've never heard such a hammering since... er... Middlesbrough's last game. OK, many of Middlesbrough's games this season.
On a similar tack, one of the fitters is off to see MK Dons v Scunthorpe tonight and he asked me if I watched the Leeds v Millwall game last night. I had to explain that I know nothing about football, hence the reason I was drinking cold, unsweetened tea from a Middlesbrough FC mug.
Will the Dons get through to the League One play-off final and stand a chance of meeting the mighty, but fallen, Boro in the Championship next season? Or even wave in passing as they continue their meteoric rise up through the Divisions? The Scunthorpe game will certainly be a gripper.
It's a funny old game, they say. Well, "they" didn't support the Boys from the Smog. It's never really been fun, but I suspect that's not the point. I have to tread carefully here, as my support isn't the traditional "go to every home game and never miss Match of the Day" sort. For instance, I don't even know where that Geordie bloke has gone that used to sit alongside Alan Hansen. The last time I went to see Boro would've been in the 70s, the decade that taste forgot. This might explain my choice of team, when all around were supporting Newcastle, Sunderland and Leeds.
But times move on. Now, it's all about the thickness of your pile. Unless you've got the odd oligarch, with an attention deficit disorder, bankrolling your team, fun or more likely success, is going to be in very short supply. Nope, support is more about loyalty, that roller coaster ride of an unexpected away win against a top club and an abject home defeat in the Cup to some minnow from a lower league. It's about popping in and out of the room whilst listening to a football commentary on Radio 5. And every time you leave the room, your team goes a goal down. It was my fault the Boro were thumped 0-5 by Chelsea. Sorry lads, I was taking up the old stair carpet.
MGLW doesn't see the point of football. In fact, she struggles with the whole concept of sport. Cricket is mildly entertaining to her, at least, that bit between the overs when everyone mills around. Rugby's ok, for some strange reason, as she's been heard to shout "Pick the beggar up!" at critical moments. But football, no. Too many braying fans, too much foul language and not nearly enough entertainment to justify the bother and expense. If asked who she supported, she'd probably say Fat Face. Against that logic, what chance for the third best team in the North East?
Yep, form, like stairs, can go up as well as down. At least I hope so.
On a similar tack, one of the fitters is off to see MK Dons v Scunthorpe tonight and he asked me if I watched the Leeds v Millwall game last night. I had to explain that I know nothing about football, hence the reason I was drinking cold, unsweetened tea from a Middlesbrough FC mug.
Will the Dons get through to the League One play-off final and stand a chance of meeting the mighty, but fallen, Boro in the Championship next season? Or even wave in passing as they continue their meteoric rise up through the Divisions? The Scunthorpe game will certainly be a gripper.
It's a funny old game, they say. Well, "they" didn't support the Boys from the Smog. It's never really been fun, but I suspect that's not the point. I have to tread carefully here, as my support isn't the traditional "go to every home game and never miss Match of the Day" sort. For instance, I don't even know where that Geordie bloke has gone that used to sit alongside Alan Hansen. The last time I went to see Boro would've been in the 70s, the decade that taste forgot. This might explain my choice of team, when all around were supporting Newcastle, Sunderland and Leeds.
But times move on. Now, it's all about the thickness of your pile. Unless you've got the odd oligarch, with an attention deficit disorder, bankrolling your team, fun or more likely success, is going to be in very short supply. Nope, support is more about loyalty, that roller coaster ride of an unexpected away win against a top club and an abject home defeat in the Cup to some minnow from a lower league. It's about popping in and out of the room whilst listening to a football commentary on Radio 5. And every time you leave the room, your team goes a goal down. It was my fault the Boro were thumped 0-5 by Chelsea. Sorry lads, I was taking up the old stair carpet.
MGLW doesn't see the point of football. In fact, she struggles with the whole concept of sport. Cricket is mildly entertaining to her, at least, that bit between the overs when everyone mills around. Rugby's ok, for some strange reason, as she's been heard to shout "Pick the beggar up!" at critical moments. But football, no. Too many braying fans, too much foul language and not nearly enough entertainment to justify the bother and expense. If asked who she supported, she'd probably say Fat Face. Against that logic, what chance for the third best team in the North East?
Yep, form, like stairs, can go up as well as down. At least I hope so.
Monday, 11 May 2009
The mathematics of smog
Mathematics, the bedrock of the universe. An infinite number of infinite numbers. As the old saying goes, "All biology is chemistry, all chemistry is physics and all physics is mathematics."
It's a subject and science that sits, almost unseen, behind everything. On a human level, our everyday experiences of it are superficial, yet without it, the world we have built for ourselves would not function. Trigonometry, calculus, a whole string of theories, culminating in... er... string theory. Under our fingertips, binary digits flow from our keyboards to move us around a virtual environment. In our engines, electron shells fracture and reform to transport us across the planet. Politicians and lobbyists compete to twist the last grains of untruth from every statistic.
Numbers, just numbers. Pathetically, we try to tame them with a variety of units, for example, a fee of £10 000 000, or a goal difference of -28 perhaps, or even the bleak nothingness of zero (often applied to chances). But mathematics would exist even if we did not, we are not its masters, which frees us from the great weight of responsibility that numbers hold.
This morning, that is of no great comfort to dejected Boro fans, the most optimistic of whom must now surely realise that the phrase "mathematically possible" has a very hollow, hopeless ring to it.
It's a subject and science that sits, almost unseen, behind everything. On a human level, our everyday experiences of it are superficial, yet without it, the world we have built for ourselves would not function. Trigonometry, calculus, a whole string of theories, culminating in... er... string theory. Under our fingertips, binary digits flow from our keyboards to move us around a virtual environment. In our engines, electron shells fracture and reform to transport us across the planet. Politicians and lobbyists compete to twist the last grains of untruth from every statistic.
Numbers, just numbers. Pathetically, we try to tame them with a variety of units, for example, a fee of £10 000 000, or a goal difference of -28 perhaps, or even the bleak nothingness of zero (often applied to chances). But mathematics would exist even if we did not, we are not its masters, which frees us from the great weight of responsibility that numbers hold.
This morning, that is of no great comfort to dejected Boro fans, the most optimistic of whom must now surely realise that the phrase "mathematically possible" has a very hollow, hopeless ring to it.
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