Spin the wheel

Posted on April 19, 2014 by Steve Morgan

Despite my vehement remonstrations my human ‘emotional roller-coaster‘ insists in hanging on to the hopey-changey thing. Just because their team managed to fluke a win away to Southampton last week doesn’t bear any relation to a swallows and summer vibe… I quietly suggest. As a less cool cat than me once said: “It’s the hope that will kill you… in the end.” So it’s the ‘turn’ of The Potters from Stoke City FC to roll into town to torment the local faithfuls at the Cardiff City Stadium. ‘Turn’… potters… get it!? I guess I just can’t suppress that cool creative streak on these auspicious occasions.

I am guessing that the visiting artisans will be arriving with kilns all fired up, ready to apply the heat to any unsuspecting Purple Dragonbirds. And with recent appallingly bad home form, and a season drawing rapidly to a close, it is time the locals took some advice from George Michael… get spinning the wheel. This is shaping up to be a bull in a china shop affair, with plenty of crockery throwing between less than friendly rivals. Stoke City bring a quick return to the Cardiff City Stadium for Peter Odemwingie, who managed a less than auspicious few months in a Cardiff shirt, but seems to be a reborn goalscorer and provider since arriving in the potteries. We also have yet another Welshman managing a Premier League team with aspirations to put a further wobble in the Cardiff City FC pot spinning abilities… but what better incentive for the local deluded dreamers than a good motto:

It is 3.00pm on a Saturday afternoon, and the teams line up…

… but the question in the minds of all cultured fans is whether they will be witnessing an array of Wedgwoods and Royal Doultons, with a holding midfield of Burgess & Leigh and William Brownfield, Spode & Copeland out wide, with a front three of Toft, Minton and Moorcraft [they all happen to be makers of pottery by the way… nothing gets past this cat]. Alternatively, are the home team still staring down the pan of an Armitage Shanks or Twyfords? There will be no time for a return of the Porcelain Ponies that pitched up against the Palace on the last home outing… note: the word ‘played’ does not apply to that previous performance!

The home crowd need not worry, as the 5 changes to the last team witnessed in this hothouse don’t seem to possess the same feet of clay that their demoted team-mates offered. But for all the careful kneading of their trade they seem to be offering the same final product… a lack of stoneware in the form of goals. Then wouldn’t you know it; not a penalty seen in these parts all season, but suddenly deep into added on time at the end of the first half the referee (aka everyone’s favourite guy… not!) sees things that nobody else seems to see. One converted penalty later and half-time arrives: Cardiff City 0 Stoke City 1, and suddenly the home fans are desperately searching for the inspiration to fix their shattered pot.

As the second half begins the sunshine of 3.00pm has dissipated as the home team face the need to fire up their season or find they get rapidly fired out of the league.

Within minutes of the restart an unexpected truth emerges as the ceramic arts serve up a new twist in a season that sends most heads spinning. You don’t see a Ming vase for ages and suddenly two arrive within minutes of each other…

a Stoke penalty on 46 minutes, then…

… a Cardiff penalty on 49 minutes and Peter Whittingham doesn’t give up rare chances like these:

Suddenly the home team are all fired up, and even manage to score a disallowed goal shortly after. But as both teams labour away at their craft the minutes ebb away towards the draw that does little to disturb Stoke City’s middle table safe season, but does very little for the home fans still languishing in the basement showroom. Passionate Bluebirds are left broken and dispirited by a score that reads:

1 – 1

As the season draws towards its inevitable close the spinning of each wheel becomes more anxiously watched… it is a time of the year when art slides away as mathematics takes over. Three points from safety with three more games left to play, and the only remaining home game is against one of the contenders for the title. So until we speak again I am a Juno talking in foreign tongues at home not to let the hyper-one get the drift of my prophecies… as they say in France: je ne pas une pot chambre pissoire… or words to that effect! Sting puts it succinctly on his The Last Ship album: “When he’d hardly got two halfpennies left, or a broken pot to piss in?”

[This post includes a few Google images to illustrate points made, used with thanks to the original providers]

Shootout at the KO Corral

Posted on April 5, 2014 by Steve Morgan

Tombstone, Arizona relocates to Cardiff, South Wales for 90 minutes as the infamous 3.00pm shootout is reprised by a bunch of misfiring Premier League gunslingers at the Cardiff City Stadium. With a Marshall as the last line of defence Cardiff City FC are looking to put the visiting Eagles on the road to Boot Hill. Scoring three goals in each of their last two games the home team are shaping up more as Earps rather than the mis-firing twerps of the previous few months. Crystal Palace FC travel to the wild west, but who is going to need a Doc, and who will be looking to a Premier League survival Holliday?

This is a shootout between two of the teams who drifted into Premier League town this season, and both have been eyed up and carefully measured by the local undertaker as favourites to be driven back out of town, one way or another. My ‘resident outlaw‘ despairs at a situation where the Eagles are five points ahead of the Bluebirds as they shape up to face each other at either end of the corral.

“It’s a crime that a team so far behind us at the end of last season, and so far behind us earlier in this season, are now ahead of us entering this gunfight” says the disgruntled one. But the previously floundering Eagles arrive with a new backbone of former Cardiff cowboys, and a former supporter in Tony Pulis as head outlaw.

For 30 minutes there is a distinct impression around the onlookers that they are witnessing a contest of firing blanks, then a poor spectacle is briefly illuminated by an unexpected Crystal Palace goal.

Half-time arrives with Eagles soaring…

Cardiff City 0 Crystal Palace 1.

With the second half about to start, the questions are largely about the tactics of the home team, can they make home advantage work and get their supporters to raise the roof? They seem to be getting some help from other sources…

The home team hardly seem to have had any injection of urgency, with their Colt 45’s functioning more as water pistols. Without any great exertions the away team score a second goal inevitably by one of their old boys, so celebrations on the pitch take the now ridiculous customary mute tone as some fake demonstration of respect for scoring against a team they used to score for.

The Cardiff sheriff makes some changes to personnel, but onlookers are muttering something about too little too late. Then the killer blow as Crystal Palace score a wonder goal out of nothing. Cue a mass exodus by home fans, and the now customary chant from away fans that are in a clear winning advantage… “Is there a fire drill?” The final score is wildly celebrated by the away fans, as the home fans make their funereal march home…

0 v 3

There is no doubt that if the Earps and Holliday combo of 1881 had performed anything like the home team today that Boot Hill cemetery in Tombstone would be welcoming different corpses. In the meantime, my ‘deadbeat supporter‘ accepts that suicide would be getting off lightly, and the only sentence for a current supporter of Cardiff City is to keep watching them! Until we speak again I will be Juno trying not to taunt Wyatt Twerp with a slow goodbye to Premier League football in this household.

[Some of the images have been downloaded from google images, with thanks to the suppliers for their contribution to the making of this story].

Bleak House

Posted on March 22, 2014 by Steve Morgan

The ‘Beautiful Game Tour‘ (aka Liverpool FC) rolls into Cardiff today for a game at the Cardiff City Stadium, or Bleak House as I am now prone to calling it, as a tease to my long-suffering resident season ticket holder. “What the dickens is going on?” I ask, when the ‘delusional one‘ begins to extol something approaching ‘Great Expectations‘ regarding the fortunes of the home team. “This may well be A Tale of Two Cities“ I reply, but “if you believe in hope for your team today you must have lost yourself in The Old Curiosity Shop of dreams”. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, particularly for those who ultimately provide the basis of my laid back lifestyle, but… “your lot are falling on Hard Times“ I mutter under my breath. Local fans should take a lead from Oliver Twist, as the outcome from today is likely to be no more than a bowl of gruel.

In the tale of two cities theme, it is the challenge of the former docklands as the Pierhead Building takes on the Liver Building:

But for me, it is yet another lunch teaser… what is it with these football teams and bird mascots? You watch your match, I’m going to dream about a Bluebird starter followed by a roast Liver Bird.

It’s 3.00p.m. on a trepidatious Saturday afternoon for the local desperados…

… but wait, some people have clearly not read the script. Rumour has it these days that Liverpool FC use their pace to overwhelm the opposition from the kick-off, then ease back as the match goes on. Eight minutes on the clock and up steps the aptly Dickensian named Jordan Mutch to put Cardiff City into a surprising but deserved 1-0 lead. Only a few pages into the book and the home fans are already sensing a happy ending. However, The Artful Dodger, (Louis Suarez), hits back with an equalising goal on 16 minutes. The home fans remain upbeat, and on 24 minutes are again aptly rewarded by a Dickensian double of Jordan Mutch passing to Frazier Campbell for the second goal.

Scrooge has clearly had no hand in the influencing of either teams defence, as later in the half Martin Skrtel equalises for Liverpool. The home fans turn their joy into a less than warm reception for their hated owner, the Uriah Heep type villain who makes Miss Havisham’s neglect and final destruction of her own home look like a blueprint for his ultimate intentions in CF11. “We’ll always be blue” is repeatedly chanted by the home fans, waving a mass of blue scarves in support of their team playing in red! It could easily have been a song that a young Charles Dickens sang while his father and other family members were incarcerated in Marshalsea Debtors Prison back in the early 19th century.

Half-time brings rapturous applause from all parts of the stadium… 2-2. It is looking like the Bob Cratchett’s and Joe Gargery’s of the world might just be getting some reward for their honest toil. As the second half begins someone in the crowd is making their views known across the pitch to the empty seat where the owner should have been sitting…

Rumour has it that Bill Sikes is trying out new disguises in order to camouflage his misdemeanours in the locality…

The Great Expectations of the first half soon begin to descend into a Bleak House of a second half, as The Artful Dodger (Louis Suarez) and his accomplice Fagin (Daniel Sturridge) pick the pockets of their hosts relentlessly. 2-3 quickly becomes 2-4. At 2-5 it is very clear that Pip, the fresh-faced young Cardiff manager is out of his depth, and his team have found themselves deep in a truly Dickensian workhouse scenario, finding it increasingly difficult to extricate themselves from a perilous position in the relegation places in the Premier League. Jordan Mutch gets an unlikely third goal to give the largely silent home fans something to get passionate about. But, as the minutes of added on injury time ebb away another pocket is picked by The Artful Dodger. And the final score at ‘the beautiful game’…

3 v 6

My ‘perplexed companion‘ is left bewildered, as the home team rarely score 3 goals at home this season… now that they have achieved the feat it comes at the cost of double the number of goals conceded. Life can be strange, but for those that support Cardiff City FC football can be a kick in the teeth (frequently, it would seem). Until we speak again I am going to be Edwin Drood Juno, walking the streets of Cardiff in search of material for the unfinished story that is this blog.

[With thanks to those who provided google images that helped to illustrate this story].

Battle of the basement

Posted on March 8, 2014 by Steve Morgan

My resident ‘exaggerator general‘ is talking up the enormity of today’s encounter at the Cardiff City Stadium, but I can barely raise a paw from my eyes at the prospect of the Battle of the Basement, as the Premier League’s two worst teams go head-to-head in the rush to relegation. With the two worst defensive records, and two of the worst scoring records I await nothing short of a comedy of errors to be reported back to me after the match from the ‘gullible one‘, who has even gone as far as to renew a season ticket. I am secretly trying not to offer congratulations for grabbing a bargain, as relegation means 4 extra games for the same price… I must keep remembering it is so easy to mock the afflicted!

I hear they are extending the capacity of the stadium, yet one glimpse into my food bowl of fortune tells me that the crowds will be hard to come by…

If you are into gambling I suggest you should have more confidence in a four-month long Welsh heatwave starting today, with record temperatures in the upper 30 degrees, than the arrival of Fulham FC sparking any heat into this encounter. Even with their tradition of the comedian Tommy Trinder being a life long fan (and former club Chairman) there is nothing in their recent history to suggest Fulham are going to raise the spirits…

One look at their line-up of managers so far this season does little to tempt me to roll over for a tummy tickle! I thought I heared something on the radio about ‘Felix the Cat’ being this week’s manager at Fulham Football Club, but my ‘fount of all things unnecessary‘ tells me it is a German guy called Felix Magath. Oh well, football is a strange game, so I am told. But, whoever came up with that one hasn’t watched cricket, I say!

It’s 3.00p.m. on a sunny Saturday at the Cardiff City Stadium, with all the home fans desperately hoping some of those rays inspire a long lost performance out of their team. Get strapped in, this could be a roller-coaster of a yawn; 90 minutes can be a long time when you are stuck in a seat watching loads of blades of grass grow.

Much running and sliding, and general kicking about goes on for 45 minutes. As expected of the two teams propping up all of the others, little resembling a chance of goal scoring is happening. 0-0 as the half-time whistle approaches, but one further minute of added time comes up on the stadium big screens. Many of the home fans are wondering what a goal is… it is reaching a point where they begin to claim to have heard about them but not seen their team score one for so long… “days of the dinosaurs” may even get muttered in the same sentance as the last Cardiff City goal. But then, with the last kick of the half (and many fans already queueing for their exorbitantly priced tat passing as refreshment beneath the stands) up steps Captain Caulker to slot home from a few yards out. The mystery of the Cardiff City Stadium goal is banished as the home team go off the pitch to the applause of their fans… Cardiff City 1 Fulham 0. A cat’s eye view of the goal (with thanks to Mail Online):

Dare the locals dream… the second half is about to kick-off in this game where it is widely acknowledged that the loser is likely to be doomed to relegation.

The half begins with more of the same fare experienced for most of the earlier 45 minutes. Not exactly igniting the passions, and then the inevitable happens as the home team go on the retreat, against the demands of some of their baying fans, and Fulham score to level the match at 1-1. Deep from the inevitable footballing cliche machine comes the murmuring of the stadium sages… “a draw helps neither team”. But, uncharacteristically for this field of dreams, a 12 minute spell of productive activity ensues, and with the help of Captain Caulker again, and a comedy of errors in the Fulham defence, Cardiff City find themselves in uncharted Premier League waters at 3-1 to the good.

Anything could now be possible in the weirdly distorted mind of my ‘biased reporter‘; “don’t be so stupid, this is Cardiff City, not Barcelona” I suggest. And, with a cat’s level of footballing knowledge, I take a bow for my superiority in all matters. Whatever the fans shout, this is Cardiff in the Premier League, and they just can’t help themselves… they have this strange habit of running backwards, making even poor or mediocre teams like Fulham (or Sunderland, Norwich, and West Bromwich Albion) to temporarily look good! This is clearly a team that defy all logic. If playing an attacking style pressing forward puts you into a 3-1 lead, what genius has told them that they should now all run backwards and play just back in their own half? You don’t need a degree in mathematics or statistics to read the league table and see this is a team who manifestly fail at trying to defend a lead.

Mesmerising, majestic, out-of-this-world, scintillating… these are all words overly used in football descriptions, but today you will have to be somewhere else to find them. However short on superlatives, those rays of sunshine do manage to bathe the home crowd with something more than just luck… for today they are playing Fulham, a team even more inept at putting the ball in the back of the net than the home team. The final whistle arrives to bring the curtain down on a score to lift Welsh hearts… Cardiff City Bluebirds 3 Fulham Lame Ducks 1.

I guess I will have to listen to ‘exaggerator general‘ pontificating about hope, and a bright new horizon, while I resist the temptation to spike the balloon with a reality check. If Felix the Cat is still in a job next season, in a club that have taken the term ‘Manager of the Month‘ to a newly ridiculous level, will he be seen in these parts again? Until we speak again I am going to be a sun-seeking Juno, trying to avoid casting around the dark clouds that still engulf a team saddled with a clueless owner…

… with an over developed sense of self-importance.

[Most of the images are borrowed from Google images to illustrate the story, with thanks to those who posted them originally].

It’s a name-changer

Posted on February 22, 2014 by Steve Morgan

I am losing count of the number of times my sleep pattern is being interrupted by some inane football comments on the TV. It is my guess that if you place all of the footballing cliches end-to-end you still would not get anywhere near the land of common sense. Commentators, pundits and general all-round-idiots, who have nothing better to do in life than talk about things they were never any good at themselves, like to identify ‘game-changers’. Such-and-such a player is a game-changer, the manager’s next substitution needs to be a game-changer, the referee’s decision was a game-changer.

As yet another weekend of wall-to-wall TV and radio football punditry and commentaries arrives I was contemplating the benefits of hibernation that so many smaller mammals seem to go in for while much of the football season is on. Then, with my usual easy-going languid effortless creative self (with the help of the Life of Pi DVD advert) I chanced upon a true game-changer… get some Tigers on the pitch! Get back to some wholesome Roman sporting spectacle to keep everyone awake.

My ‘football evangelist‘ is uncharacteristically quick to say this is exactly what is happening at the Cardiff City Stadium today. It’s the arrival of fellow promoted hopefuls, Hull City, or is that Hull Tigers? Seems to me that it is the battle of the ‘Name-Changers’… is this City v City or are we talking Dragons v Tigers? Who knows what your team is supposed to be called when the true match is the battle of the owners billions fuelling total disregard for the history or passion close to the hearts of true fans?

My ‘delusional optimist‘ has constantly gone on about how Hull are one of the teams that will finish the season below Cardiff. The only failing in their logic is the fact that Hull have been above Cardiff in every week of the season so far… but what does a superior cat like me really understand about the simplicities of the peoples’ game? From what I hear this is a battle between two teams that find it relatively difficult to score goals… which, as far as I am aware, are game-changers! The anxious local crowd are hoping the tigers roar is going to be little more than a whimper:

It’s 3.00pm on a game-changer Saturday afternoon, so let the confusion begin… guess from the picture who the Bluebirds are? Yes, the team in red. As for Tigers, when did they come in a blue variety?

The first half progresses with a series of attacks from the home team, but unfortunately ‘Puff the Magic Dragon‘ seems to have brought along his mate ‘Huff‘, and also seems to have mislaid the ‘Magic‘ bit somewhere. As for the Tigers, as cliches go they seem to be playing within themselves… sounds anatomically strange to me, but that’s what the aficionados of footballing nonsense like to say when they haven’t got anything exciting to say about a team. The real action takes place off the pitch, as both sets of rival fans form a vocal connection: “Stand up for your history” rings out as a collective middle finger to both clubs owners. It seems that very few present are interested in the concept of the ‘name-changer’!

Then suddenly along come two chances and the Tigers score two goals… cue mass depression across the majority of the ground, as most of the home fans become so disoriented they are drifting away for half-time refreshment 10 minutes before official half-time.

As the second half begins the home fans calls for desperate measures are partially answered, as one over-paid lazy git is replaced by a young upstart from the new manager’s native Norway. However, the much used cliche that football is a game of two halves takes on a strangely unexpected twist… all present have been duped into the deja vu world of watching one half, but twice! ‘Huff and Puff‘ continue their wearisome double act, while the roar of the tiger makes itself known infrequently, but ever so loudly for the comfort of the home crowd. Another two goals for the away team acts as a reminder to about 10,000 of the home fans that this was a day they promised to be home early. 20 minutes to go and the magic trick arrives… a football stadium turns instantly into a library, only slightly interrupted by joyous sounds from the relatively small numbers of travelling away fans.

My ‘in-house statistician‘ returns head bowed, mumbling something about having the higher amount of possession, corners, shots on and off target; with uncomplimentary references to ‘them’… after all, this was one of those teams that ‘delusional optimist‘ remained adamant would finish below the ‘Mighty Purple Dragonbirds‘ or whatever they are called. I guess I don’t help the depression levels with my addition to our statistical interlude… “I believe another cliche in the beautiful game is that only one statistic counts in the end”, and on this occasion it reads:

‘Whatever they are called dragons’ NIL

‘Who are they tigers’ FOUR

It looks very much to me like it is going to be check all ligature points, and hide the belts and laces week, again! Until we speak again I am Juno, advising local people to shift allegiances to the Welsh national rugby team.

[Some of the images in this post are taken from google images with thanks, as they helped to illustrate key points being made].

Where did the sunshine go?

Posted on February 12, 2014 by Steve Morgan

My ‘irrational optimist‘ is expressing a load of expletives, something to do with a ‘villa’. It has me very confused, because when I think of a villa I get the following images:

… sharply contrasting blue sky and white buildings.

Yachts slowly drifting into port…

… a meal overlooking the sea.

Boats disappearing into the sunset…

But it seems that the ‘Villa‘ in question today is something to do with the less salubrious Aston area of the city of Birmingham! Not even a reference to Alabama… it’s got more to do with Brummies arriving in town! Though how they will be getting here is anyone’s guess… it’s February, so they should be battling the snow. Instead, half the country is under water; so to get from England’s second city (as far away from the sea as you can get) to Wales first city (right by the sea) is going to require a boat!

Stormy weather and the prospects of a stormy match; as the locals are quietly panicking about their ability to ride the crest of the Premier League wave beyond this first season. As for Aston Villa, they may be viewing mid-table safety as being within their grasp, but defeat today and it could be deja vu as laughing boy doesn’t spend much time out of the managerial sack-race spotlight.

It’s 7.45pm on a cold and wet Tuesday night in February… so welcome to the grim, the battered and the ugly! The first half sees the home team viewing this villa as something they could occupy and take control of, but not quite doing enough to make a clear purchase. Little signs emerge of the background storms invading this particular patch of real estate. Half-time dawns and it remains a becalmed 0-0.

As the second half begins many of the home fans are slow to get back to their seats, possibly not entirely convinced that the necessary storm surge is going to engulf their opponents. Fears turn to reality as the half progresses, and it is the turn of Villa-folk to eye up an opportunity to gazump any home team offer to take the match. Finally, and not for the first time this season, it is up to Cardiff’s main line of flood defence, their goal keeper David Marshall, to pull out one of the saves of the season to preserve one point for his team.

So, with prior expectations of both teams desperately needing three points for the win, a stormy battle was on the cards… but in football, Estate Agent type levels of exaggeration are made but rarely reflected in the bleak reality. As for the final score, it ends up as a becalming Basement Flat 0 Under-whelming Villa 0.

Until we speak again the forecast suggests I am going to be batten-down-the-hatches Juno!

[A few pictures in this post were gratefully borrowed from sources on google images to illustrate points being made].

In a parallel universe

Posted on February 8, 2014 by Steve Morgan

I was just contemplating the peace and tranquility of my local area when it was rudely interrupted by one of those rival birds. Those at home around me who would benefit by ‘getting a life’ tell me that the Bluebirds are away to their local rivals, Swansea, today.

So, why are they in my backyard, and trying to recreate the ‘Black Knight’ sketch from Monty Python and the Holy Grail? “Nobody passes by here” was the implication of this creature’s demeanour; and a pretty mean demeanour it struck too.

Being a pacifist cat, I retreated from what would only result in the usual nasty Cardiff – Swansea affair. Personal dignity was my primary concern.

But these swans do not seem to share my more delicate contemplations and meditations on peace and quiet.

“Where are you, I know where you live” were the threat-like remonstrations from my long-necked tormenter.

I reluctantly became drawn into my inquisitor’s more base conduct… “You and who’s army” I enquired, in my politest of tones. But little did I expect the beaky one to bring the whole family in on the altercation…

I was beginning to get the hang of this Mexican standoff routine… “Bring your family, all the more meals for me next week” I retorted. But, in true poker playing style the feathered-one upped the ante with a call to more troops that would have been better deployed at Swansea’s ‘Liberty Stadium’ for the Premier League grudge match:

You can use threats and intimidation as much as you like, but ultimately for us stylish cats it is the elegance of our demeanour that will always triumph… but just occasionally a flash of the gnashers is regrettably required…

… and the swans go diving for cover. Synchronised swans arses can mean only one thing… peace is once again restored in the Juno universe.

As for the match taking place in a parallel universe somewhere out west, serenity has clearly been denied, as my domestic ‘religious correspondent‘ is busy praying, begging, searching for any spare miracles that might have been mislaid in my personal conquest of the white renegade hoards. It is so undignified, but what else can you expect from football fans, particularly those on the end of a 3-0 defeat to their bitterest rivals?

Until we speak again I intend to be imperious Juno, and my household will be a place of merciless mirth-taking with regards to all losers!

[The cat pictures have been borrowed from google images, with special thanks to their originators for providing additional material to illustrate this tale].

Canaries in a Coalmine

Posted on February 1, 2014 by Steve Morgan

I have been so obsessed with food of late that I have forgotten my responsibility to mock my resident ‘grieving fan‘ on their local team hitting rock bottom in the Premier League. What makes matters worse for the poor soul is the clash of sports, with Cardiff City at home to Norwich City at the same time as the rugby international at the Millenium Stadium with Wales hosting Italy. From what I can see the wallet has triumphed over the heart, as the use of a pre-paid season ticket to watch the tedium of two teams who can hardly score a goal, yet both seem happy to let them in (surely a nailed-on 0-0) triumphs over the possibility of watching pure passion for free on the TV.

The Cardiff City Stadium prepares to ramp up the levels of boredom to new heights, with Norwich taking about 30 attempts on goal without scoring, in the corresponding match at their ground earlier in the season. Though they did get the ball in the net by cheating, which was fortunately disallowed. The match promises as much excitement as watching a canary slowly choking to death in a coalmine… a fitting analogy, as Norwich City are known as the Canaries, though God only knows why (actually it is after 16th century European refugees); and South Wales is known for its coalmines, though finding one these days is a bit like witnessing goalscoring chances for the Bluebirds.

Tantalisingly for me, it’s yet another footballing ‘battle of the birds’, and all I get is to comment from afar. Let me at them and there just might be some excitement at the match today. But for now it is 3.00pm on a damp February Saturday afternoon, and the Bluebirds are wondering where to find any Canaries, whilst the disguised canaries stare perilously into the coalmine:

The Bluebirds have new faces from the January transfer window are flocking all over the place without seemingly working as a team.

The Canaries celebrate with a simple goal against a ragged Bluebirds defence. An inconsequential first half ends CARDIFF CITY 0 NORWICH CITY 1.

The home birds start the second half with a Norwegian flea in the ear (Ole Gunnar Solskjaer the new manager), and the proverbial ‘game of two halves’ is about to unfold.

You can’t miss from there, and on 49 minutes local boy Craig Bellamy obliges with an equalising goal.

Nice goal celebration Craig. Yet a mere minute later and it’s new boy Kenwyne Jones showing the fans a different perspective on the Cardiff City Stadium:

As the match enters the final 20 minutes an all-too-familiar pattern emerges for the home fans as their team sits back and invites the opposition to launch wave after wave of attacks.

With the help of a tiring home team, the Canaries seem to have found renewed energy from somewhere.

My resident ‘panic merchant‘ tells me it only takes a short memory in these parts to remember Bluebirds on course for a nasty collision if they don’t sustain their need to attack. But on this occasion they desperately hold out, and with great home sighs of relief…

… it is the away team that has to look at its frequent inability to take their chances. As the final whistle blows, it is a time for Bluebird celebrations, and for Canaries to hang their heads in defeat.

2 v. 1

So much for my prediction of 0-0. Until we speak again my ‘desperate optimist‘ will hang on to any morsels of success, but I have been a frustrated Juno… so many birds on display and all I can do is observe from a distance. In the meantime, my ‘anti-stereotyping consultant‘ just congratulated me on a post about Norwich City with not a single mention of Delia Smith, Colman’s Mustard or that everyone looked the same… oops!

[Some of the images in this post just might have been copied from google images (and BBC Sport)… many thanks to those of you posting images that support my stories].

Guns & Hammers

Posted on January 11, 2014 by Steve Morgan

[A number of pictures have been retrieved from google images, and I offer my thanks to all the cool cats who have created and shared them]

After the recent visit of the Black Cats I am once again left conflicted with this football tribal allegiance thing… the arrival of West Ham United tugs on my coat. It’s a reminiscence thing taking me back to the kitten years, as I emerged this wonderful in the less than salubrious Republic of Newham in East London. My more recent elevation to Cardiff via a brief sojourn in Blackheath even began in a cat sanctuary down the road from West Ham’s Old Boleyn ground. I must admit I fell off my throne laughing when I heard that they are about to move into the Olympic Stadium… that’s a triumph of ambition over ability if I have ever heard of one.

Should I be supporting the ‘Hammers‘ on their brief trip into foreign territory? The question soon fades into obscurity when my ‘in-house sports correspondent‘ tells me the home team really did dispense with the Malky god-like character, but have replaced him with a Norwegian Gunnar.

Compatriots of my superior species are quick to remind me of the power of the gun over the hammer:

What’s more these hammers seem to be arriving in wilting rubber mallet mode, having lost 5-0 & 6-0 in the last week:

Sam Allardyce My resident ‘wishful thinker‘ tells me that things come in 3’s. Yes, I say, you have had one very good manager sacked, only two to go! As long as Looney Tunes remains the dominant soundtrack at the Cardiff City Stadium it will be difficult for the home fans to build confidence through a triumph of hope over nut-job-ery.

It is 3.00p.m. on a sunny January Saturday afternoon, and the Ole’s armoury are setting their sights on any old East London iron (the hammers are also known as the ‘ironsiders). However, it seems that 11 home team players haven’t read the script, as they set about a recently familiar trait of not bothering to turn up for the first 45 minutes… a peculiarly Welsh trait shared with the national rugby team, only their illustrious rugby counterparts have a track record of barnstorming second half success not yet learned by these naive Purple Dragonbirds. After a long delay through serious injury to one of the bubble-blowers (West Ham fans never tire of singing ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles’… though I am not aware of bubbles’s thoughts on the matter!), their average but dominating team score. The home team play a familiar laid-back game with slow passing and often beating an ignominious retreat when they should be pressing forward in attack.

Half-time arrives 10 minutes later than planned to resounding boos from home fans. Cardiff City 0 – 1 West Ham United. Surely the second half must see something of a response for the long-suffering home fans.

True enough, the home side come out fighting, pushing for an equalising goal, and with 30 minutes still left to go they gain a dubious reward of seeing their opponents reduced to 10 men as their captain is sent off for a second yellow card (not a dubious decision, more a dubious idea of it being a reward). Over 30 minutes are played out with Cardiff almost entirely in the West Ham half and do at last get some shots on target, but nothing to trouble an average goal-keeper. Some urgency is injected by their oldest player on the pitch, but others still seem plagued by a need to play slow methodical passes around the pitch with little end product.

Those of you who know something about these types of matches will not be surprised to hear that West Ham had a solitary second half attempt on the Cardiff goal in time added on… and score! Cue a mass exodus by the home fans, with various comments along the line of ‘the ref is *&$%er’, ‘we was robbed’, and ‘it’s a mess’. In the words of the Coen Brothers (from No Country for Old Men) ‘if it isn’t a mess, it will do until the mess turns up‘.

For the record the final score is:

0 – 2

So, it transpires that the guns were largely silent, and the ‘iron‘ did enough to secure all the points without threatening to appear solid or imposing. As for my ‘heap of domestic despondency‘ there seems to be a triumph of reality over hope, as the local team have now managed to draw and then lose to a couple of the very few teams that were below them in the table. I dare to mention the ‘R’ word (relegation), but heads are bowed in dark contemplation.

Until we speak again I am probably going to be ‘suicide watch’ Juno, and all belts and laces have been removed!.

Twelve days of christmas

Posted on December 26, 2013 by Steve Morgan

You humans do seem to like your lists at this time of year, and even try to put them to song occasionally. Take a tip from me… don’t do it! The following is not a list, it is my topical manifesto adding to the seasonal football overload; particularly as the locals here have been going through a megalomaniac-inspired, finance-confused, football-knowledge-free, pantomime of farcical proportions. After all of last week’s threats that the Cardiff City FC Manager was minutes away from the sack, the announcement this week that he remains in post ‘for the foreseeable future or until things change‘ sheds much light on the stability of a managers position… he is clearly now promoted to the security of being hours from potentially being sacked instead of minutes.

Anyway, Southampton FC must be wondering whether santa has left them a delayed gift as they arrive today to play a team and club in utter turmoil! But my ‘source of in-house erudition‘ says beware of the rabid dog with one eye hanging from its socket and sharpened teeth dripping with steamy green saliva… whereas I say beware of any dog (except Molly and Jack who bought me a christmas stocking gift). So, what is likely to be taking place here in God’s Own City this Boxing Day afternoon?

12 Bluebirds chanting…

11 Saints for slaying…

10 world class saves…

9 ayatollahs…

8 pitbulls snarling…

7 pinpoint Whittingham wonders…

6 (66) versions of looney tunes…

5 TENSE MONTHS (until survival in May)…

4 captain Caulkers…

3 great fight-backs…

2 bruised egos still fighting…

And a partridge in the City Arms! How much chance do you think we have of winning today Sean (Partridge)?

Ouch! Come on, that’s a bit harsh.

Meanwhile on the pitch… the home team are without their pitbull, the expected wonders seem to have been left behind with the leftover turkey, and the locals are caught between chanting for the saving of their manager and the disappointment with their team’s poor performance. Sean seems to have predicted it correctly as the slaying is being done from the outset by the Saints. Clinical Southampton players out-fight, out-think and out-play their Cardiff counterparts to go 3-0 up with barely half an hour gone. Boxing Day for the home team looks like becoming an embarrassment.

Hanging on desperately until half-time the ragged band of red-coated bluebirds are about as clear in their style of play as they are in their team colours and name. Surely the second half will bring some redemption:

For Southampton it continues in the style of a training ground practice match, encouraging their own fans to taunt the locals. Cardiff make some changes of personnel and toil desperately to make something happen. But, as the second half draws to a close it becomes clear the Malky’s Marauders have been tamely put to the sword by the Saintly Slayers of Southampton… 0-3!

‘Resident masochists‘ have heads in hands muttering something about despair, so I am a quietly sniggering Juno feigning sympathy until we speak again.

Cardiff fans protest against owner (bbc.co.uk)

	David on Searching for Lebanon
	Kirt on NOLA: UK-style
	Wanda Rusiecki on Frohe Weihnachten
	Steve Morgan on Turkish delight
	Wanda Rusiecki on Turkish delight

JUNO's VIEW

Seeing Cardiff and the world through the eyes of one cool cat

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