Remind Me Again How This Makes Things Better?

As is normally the case I've been pondering this old blog of mine, and cursing myself

for not being more creative and consistent in the updates I make.
I beat myself up, with good ideas flashing through my head - "more about City", "how crazy was that news report", "I really must record more of what my boys do and say" - and then when it comes to putting fingers to keys (or whatever the new fangled way of saying "pen to paper"), I never seem to get round to it.
I would normally blame Spider Solitaire or Angry Birds on Facebook.
Well I finally have sat down to do something, logged into "Blogger" and am imediately hit by one of my (many) pet hates.
It's all changed.
Under the banner "we've made some improvements" it's asking for my mobile phone number. How this will help the blog I don't know, but apparently it'll help with how secure everything is in my life. It was under a sub heading "What would happen if you lost your G-mail account?"
I'm presuming the point was,m that I should feel that some kind of armageddon based end of life as I know it would come about, with my wife leaving me, the car exploding (again) and my children finally driving me around the bend before they run off to a) take over the world or b)Join the circus (or possibly both).
I thought about these dire circumstances, and pushed myself hard to face up to the question as to what I would actually do if I lost my G-mail account.
Gee. I guess I'd sign up for another one. Having never used said account, I think I may be just abouyt able to cope with a Russian Mafia syndicate, a Somalian band of pirates, or even worse, someone from Google pretending to be me.
In fact I don't normally pretend to be me. As a rule I pretend to be "Paul Handford". Now I know this blog goes under the name of Phil Handford, but those who know me intimately (i.e. everyone except the in-laws) knows my real name is Paul.
But when I pretend to be Paul Handford, I've found a far more exciting front. This is Paul Handford the Associate Professor, Ecology & Evolution Group, Biology Department, of the University of Western Ontario.
Boom.
Not exactly Batman to Bruce wayne, but pretty cool I'm sure you'd agree. There's even pictures of birds on his home page, and his hobbies listed as Morris Dancing.
The clincher is that he really could be me in 15 years. Okay 5 years.If you don't believe me go here - Paul Handford's Home Page
Anyway, time to sign off and go play Angry Birds, I promise to be back soon before everything changes and my life has been taken over by the moonies stealing my internet connection...

A yearly Update

Oh my! My life is rushing away! - Inspired my a good friend and his good (if sometimes misguided!) blog on being a Man Utd Fan, I thought it was time for my yearly update... only to find its 2010 when I last updated.
Oh the shame... the shame...

I'm just a Fan of the Invisible Man...

Well, I feel I should be far more upset than I am. Maybe I'm getting old, who knows(!); maybe I'm just softening a little.
Another day at the soap opera that is my beloved Manchester City, and another soap opera like saga to keep us on the edge of our seats!
We went into the match on the back of the new that our inspirational skipper(!) had withdrawn his transfer request and agreed that he really did want to stay after all. Add to this the fact that if we win tonight we leap frog United and Arsenal to the top spot. The first time we've been top at Christmas since 1929 or something.
Who are we playing? Everton. A team that haven't won in 7 games. Easy really.
But this is City, and we're 2-0 down after 15 minutes. As ever we're seemingly playing the 11 men of Everton plus the referee. Even after they have a man sent off on the hour mark we cannot get the goals we need and it finishes 2-1 to the visitors.
I'm disappointed, and a little annoyed (at the two comical goals we gave away as much as the referee!) but having had 60% of the posses ion, and 25 shots on goal (to Evertons 3) I'm not sure what more we could have done against a side as well organised as Everton.
It was something Adam said along side me that calmed me down and now in hindsight is my overriding feeling of the night.
"It's just like the old days at Maine Road this..."
Basically, that would mean city being a bit crap, but really giving it there all. Us all hoping we're going to win the league but knowing really, for now, we're not quite ready. It was enjoying a good game of football.
It's something I am prone to saying, although something I often forget.
It's only a game.
Don't get me wrong, after my wife and two beautiful sons, Manchester City are the most important aspect of my life (some would say on a par with my family...) but that doesn't, and shouldn't detract from the statement, "It's only a game".
If we could go out, buy the best players, give them the most money teach them the best way to play, and instantly win everything it would be good but...I think I'd miss the journey.
Don't get me wrong, that's where I want to be, but I want to get there slowly, and enjoy the journey. I want nights like tonight when you feel deflated, but there's always next Saturday, always the next game.
I've gone from the old first division to the second, back again, down to the 3rd tier and now to the brink of the champions league, sometimes its worth stopping, pinching yourself and reminding myself with some disbelief that "We are not really here..."
Bring on the next game!
(And to add insult to injury I got pulled over by the Police on the way home!)

I think the Gypsy Curse has followed us...

It really is true that every silver lining has a cloud and never is that more true than with my beloved Manchester City.

We win convincingly away from home for the fifth time this season. The team is beginning to gel. We manage three goals without our top scorer who is suspended. We go joint top of the table on points with Arsenal - above United for the first time I can remember...

And then the same Talismanic top scorer (who I should probably mention is also the captain - announces he wants to leave!

The club says no, and calls him greedy, and led by his agent - He throws his toys well and truly out the pram saying he has fallen out with someone and in no way can he play again for the club.

He then points out that the fans are great, the manager is great, the owner is great... so who exactly has he fallen out with?

The mind boggles, and I'm afraid I have very little sympathy for the man who last week said he definitely wanted to stay...

The deed is done...

Well the deed has finally been done - a little earlier than planned - but Wilf, my son, has finally at the age of four years 10 months, entered the world of joy and happiness and pain and misery.
On this September day he has been partially detached from his mothers bosom and truly joined the roller coaster, which should run for a lifetime - which my Father passed to me.
Wilf today, went to his first football match.
Obviously not just any football match (Beth had some odd idea to take him to watch a small match first) a match at Eastlands watching the greatest team in the land and all the world (as the song goes) Manchester City.
For the record, it was against Blackburn Rovers, and ended in a somewhat disappointing 1-1 draw, but that is the least of this story and something to which Wilf is completely ignorant.
As mentioned above, it was all a little earlier than planned - I cannot remember the first game I went to, and wanted to be something my two boys could cherish and tell their children in years to come - but there was a spare ticket going, and I just thought , what the heck.
I put it to Beth, who was not impressed. It came off the back of a discussion I'd had with Wilf , about him liking United, which had ended with me telling him he could live in the garden if that was the case, and I'd just thought, lets strike whilst the iron is hot, and give him a day to never be forgotten.
Beth was very unsure and the debate waged to and fro as we tried to complete the weekly shop. In the end we asked Wilf.
"Do you want to come to the football to watch City?"
"Yes"
"Why?"
"Because Dad says I've got to go."
Not really the answer I was looking for, and gave the impression I had been applying undue pressure on the boy...
It was finally agreed he would come (After I had called a friend who was also taking his son for the first time that day) and amidst some tears from his Mum (who had seen him go to full time school for the first time earlier in the week) he was prepared for the match.
Maybe I should have taken over at this point as he ended up looking like he was going on a trip up Everest.
He had a warm jacket on under his waterproof coat (and over his City shirt), he had a large rucksack packed with, well almost everything.
Two drinks, crisps, a chocolate biscuit, a cup of sweets, a book to read, a notepad and pen,tissues, a full change of clothes, an apple, raisins, plasters, calpol, a sleeping bag, small cooking stove...
Okay the last two weren't, but you get the idea. a bag that only a mum could pack.
We set off, agreed to meet Grandad and Grandma Shona at half time, picked up Liz and Adam, and made our way to Eastlands.
He started on his sweets in the car and was clearly excited at the prospect of his big day out. More sweets and a burger outside the stadium, and we joined the queue and entered, forcing our way through the hordes inside and got to our seats. I introduced Wilf to the regulars around our seats (who were warned about their swearing) and before we knew it the teams were out.
Wilf loved it.
He cheered, clapped and booed in all the right places, his little face glowing as he stood on his seat to see his future heroes.
16 minutes on the clock.
"Dad, can we go home now?"
He then finished his sweets, ate his crisps, looked at the Moonchester comic, had Liz read his Transformers book to him, and did some drawing.
By half time, he didn't feel well, and wanted a poo.
We went to meet Granddad and Grandma and was a bit clingy, clearly tired. I told him there wasn't long left, he sighed and followed me back to our seats.
He did me so proud during the second half, during a lull in the crowd noise, amidst some disquiet from the fans he started shouting out to any that would listen around us.
"Come on City, Come on City - Keep on Trying!"
It was such a mummy's boys kind of line, those around us smiled, laughed, and started shouting again for City to pull their collective fingers out.
Even the chap behind changed his normal rantings as he caught Wilf's eye,
"Referee you're an absolute fu - fu -f - idiot!"
The game ended, and we left (Wilf oblivious to the score or what we had really been dong for the past couple of hours)
The rain came down as we trudged back to the car. We all got soaked to the skin, and Wilf splashed in puddles all the way. I think this is the main thing he will remember from this day.
We got to the car, and he got in (without the carefully packed change of clothes in his bag) wet and happy.
Fast asleep before we were out of the city centre.
One very happy little boy and very proud dad, who will remember the day for far longer than his son.
(Please note, when I have wiped the tear from my eye, I will return to my normal moaning self in my next blog!)

A day has passed...

Well a day has passed since City failed to get the fourth champions league spot and my original disappointment is turning to annoyance, and maybe even a certain calmness, in the fact that it is probably going to be City's best ever Premiership finish, and probably the highest finish I can remember in the top division.

The annoyance is aimed pretty squarely at the media and their coverage of the game, and the general back slapping to Tottenham and Redknapp in particular.

I will laugh so hard the day he is taken down for being the devious, conniving, back hander taking, swindling git that he is.

His knocking up of players is a disgrace, his holier than though view on his own team is annoying, his hysterical ranting at others is despicable, and his dodgy dealings make Terry Venables look like a saint!

There is a reason Portsmouth went into administration, and it isn't Peter Storey!

But all of this has been forgotten by the press today. Add to this their playing of the "Money bags City" being pipped at the post by poor lowly Spurs with their English players and wonderful team spirit?

... So Spurs haven't spent anything on players? I seem to remember them being just a few million short on city in the last couple of transfer windows?

Also, City may have foreign owners, but to imply that City just have expensive foreign imports? - tell that to Wayne Bridge, Gareth Barry or Michah Richards, Shaun Wright Phillips, Nedum Onuoha or Adam Johnson.

I hope a year in the Europa will do us good. I hope we don't go mad and try and buy another new team. Just one or two new faces and lets see what we can win next year.

Not "aim for 4th" but actually win.

Let Spurs struggle with the extra games - I want to see some silverware!

Chin Up.

Gutted..Absolutely Gutted

Oh Well, I am so gutted about tonights resilt in so many ways...

role on next season....