Not sorry to see you go Sir Alex!

This has nothing to do with books, art, running or movies, but as every journalist, politician & celebrity wants to give their verdict on ‘Sir’ Alex Ferguson, I thought I’d give mine.

Let’s first put this into context. I’ve a Mancunian mam. Now, whilst she is completely ambivalent about the game, I have other relatives whom I love very much, but who are very much RED! I have fallen foul in the past of making silly  hurtful Facebook comments which were clumsy and that is not my intention with this post. It’s also fair to say that back in the seventies, before my love affair with Pompey began (affairs never end happily) City were my team.

 

I remember in the half-term holidays, getting the Number 16 bus from my Grans in New Moston to Moss side to stand on the Kippax and watch Lee, Bell, Tueart, Marsh..the list is endless. They were far superior to United back then, whose supporters used to console themselves by finding  entertainment off the pitch by systematically dismantling away grounds and smashing windows as local terrorised terraced house dwellers cowered behind sofas (nice, but also conveniently forgotten)

We've taken Norwich!!

I also remember getting a kicking at White Hart Lane as a 13 year old after Paul Power beat the offside trap and Pat Jennings consecutively to give the sky blues a surprise point!

 

Hypnotic eyebrows!

So I accept I’m biased.

I’ll counter this by stating that one of footballs all time showmen is Eric Cantona, and I loved watching him, unsure whether you were to witness devilish magic with the ball or the devil off it. Likewise Ryan Giggs (apart from extra curricular dalliances) David Beckham (apart from extra curricular dalliances) and George Best…ah.

No, here’s my gripe with United and in particular Ferguson. You had the quality to win without having to apply bullying, intimidation and thuggery to achieve the success.

Case in point: Roy Keane. Look at this photo of a game which United actually won, but the little man in black has just done the unthinkable and given a penalty to the other team.  If Keane was in the stands, adopted this stance, and hurled abuse at the away fans he’d be out, he might even be on a charge. 

'Ya know da feckin rules ref, ne feckin penalties to de uder syde!'

This is not the behaviour that I want to see my children replicate, but there are 600million supporters worldwide who, the majority, were prepared to turn a blind eye...for the greater good. (A United win)

But this type of behaviour was only ever half heartedly condemned by the Boss.

There’s something romantic about united, particularly for people a little older than me who remember Munich, and please, there is never an excuse to ever mock, provoke, devalue this awful tragedy as certain other teams fans do, but I’m afraid I missed that, so my view is somewhat hard headed but watching a game of football should be entertaining, and not something that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Ferguson has always had players who have looked to pushed the boundaries with regards to physical intimidation: Norman Whiteside, Paul Ince (well he thought he was the guvnor) Gary Pallister, Steve Bruce, That annoying little Irwin fella (cant remember his first name and can’t be bothered to Google it) Paul Scholes etc. Oh and lets not forget Wayne Rooney, now there’s someone you want your little lad to aspire to be, yes?

Case in point: Think it was last season, I had been running in the morning, and I’m recovering on the lounge floor (doing my stretches like a good boy) and I turn on the telly to see what the score was in the lunchtime encounter between United and those likeable east end chappies in claret and blue! Shock, WHam were leading, but then along came Rooney, and two goals later, it’s the reverse. But what got me again was the contorted expression on Rooneys face, which he pushed into the Sky camera mans face whilst unloading a string of expletives and once again adopting the thuggish ‘C’mon then!!’ pose favoured by yobboes captured on CCTV on a Saturday night or matchday & displayed on YouTube for our edification.

 

But he was excited because he’d just scored a couple of goals and won the game.

But that’s his job?

This week I’m pitching for a big investment case. Imagine the scene if I get it.

 ’Mr Cobb, we’d like your company to manage our assets’

 ‘YEEES, F***ING Get in yOU F***ING C***!!! F*** F*** etc etc.

 Just doing my job.

Going back a bit further (even pre SAF) Bobby Charlton looks like a surly bugger. There's a wonderful book called 'Manchester United Ruined my Life' by  Colin Schindler which is a delightful tale of good honest Manc fandom and liberally littered with good tales from Old trafford Cricket ground to, but in that book, Schindler tells the story of meeting Sir Bob and not being impressed.

(Actually that reminds me: I leant this to my ex Pastor (good bloke, keen utd Fan) and he never gave it me back!! You know who you are!!!

So, Mr Ferguson. For endorsing Thuggery, intimidation (I haven’t gone into the things YOU have said about refs) Bullying, Gamesmanship, I am personally glad to see the back  of you. Enjoy your horses.

To United fans. I wish you all the best. You now have a fantastic manager who, although dour, could not just emulate, but better SAF. I sincerely wish you well, particularly in Europe.

I on the other hand will be unaffected anyway, as I start a new adventure discovering the delights of Rochdale, Accrington & Dagenham. You know what, I can’t wait!

 

 

Wild at Heart?

Ok that’s book number nine so far this year. Since my last blog I finished The Trespassers by DH Lawrence and all I would say about that book is that if you are having an affair with someone and you think you might find kindred spirits in Sebastian & Helena you will be sadly let down.

'I did not have sexual relations with this woman'

My last post was more about the author than the characters, and it’s not really a book which particularly grabbed me and bettered me in any thought provoking way, so, not for the first time, it simply became a challenge to get through it as quickly as possible, so as not to waste too much of my life which I sense is now in the latter half of its course!

I’d only read one Christian book this year, so when I received a gift from a wonderful hero of mine which was the latest offering from John Eldredge, I was keen to promote it to next on my list. Eldredges finest hour was a book called ‘Wild at Heart’ which I confess I have read four times as I had never encountered writings which so summed up the challenges, hopes and dreams that a man has, but who also wants to know more of his creator. In a nutshell, we are all wearers of masks, as a way of protection against ever having to address the wounds that we carry from our Fathers.  


No seriously, I'm fine!
 

I know many people who have changed their lives on the back of that book!

Funny, I didn’t feel the need to address my wounds with my old man. He’s eighty something for goodness sake, does he need me dumping guilt on him in the name of catharsis? Don’t think so!

Anyway, it’s still a good book, and it’s just good to read a Christian writer who empathises rather than preaches or prescribes.


Okay Okay, i believe!

In fact apart from Philip Yancy, Eldredge was the writer I would most seek out. That is, until the awful ‘Way of the wild heart’ and that cringe wrenching moment when he describes his sons thirteenth birthday when he writes of  presenting the young boy with a gun, followed by a sword, and then some cake. That’s the moment when you realise why about three quarters of the worlds population hate the yanks! I mean, I know plenty of really good American people, but they’re not English are they! We would settle for cake.  

So, I hadn’t read anything for a few years, and reading ‘the Utter relief of Holiness’ was a bit like getting a letter from an old friend. However, I’m sorry to say that Jay EE has regressed into the prescriptive camp, and his examples were all pretty standard with the proximate cause of the exampled problem typically being previous sexual abuse or some drunken Dad. I didn’t feel any kind of connection, and I’m not convinced that we can blame al the ills of the world onto our folks. That’s simply not fair. However I do believe JE has the right to blame all his ills on his drunken dad, and that’s fine.  

It’s weird that I write so cynically having just spent the weekend in one of the most spiritual & scenic places I know (& a little closer to me than Lindesfarne) Once a year I visit a retreat in Ely with some other guys. The city is about the size of Harpenden, so it has no reason to be called a city but for this incredible Cathedral which, because of the flatness of the surrounding area, can be seen for miles. You really get a sense of historic  pilgrims journeying there and catching their first glimpse from many miles back. 

 

I have returned refreshed, and challenged about certain areas of my life. As always, when men find the courage to speak up about their weaknesses and fears, they invariably find they are not on their own. Of course, openess, weakness, fear are not ‘manly’ so it can be difficult to remove the mask and reveal the real you. Hey, I’m sounding like John Eldredge! Perhaps I better read his book again? 

On a completely different note, what fantastic news that Mott The Hoople are reforming for a tour including a London date. But the O2? They’re not Take That FFS! Seventies bands should play seventies venues and for me, the Hammersmith Odeon (Apollo to younger readers) IS the definitive seventies location. It worked so well in 2009, and they sold out all four nights. Methinks this has something to do with age, and it being easier to do one gig than four in the smoke, but guys, sorry but it’s a bit of a sell out. You are often quoted as being a big influence on the punk scene that followed you, but this action is definitely punk-less.  


 

I’d love to take a stance, but with Ian hunter now 73, and the drummer Dale Griffin too ill with Alzheimer’s, you have to throw your principles out the window and buy (4) tickets. This really could be the last time I ever see them.

Smut?

So I finally finish ‘The Constant Gardener’ by John LeCarre and do you ever have one of those coincidences where you unintentionaly read two books that are actually along the same lines. Its ok to do that intentionally, but after Grisham’s The Appeal I didn’t really need another ‘Little man versus evil multi national corporation.’

But that’s what I got.

But in a far more complex, drawn out, evocative narrative. Sometimes you don’t want complexity. Those kinds of novels where you have to have a note book to hand to jot down who is who. I always think a book does itself a favour if it has a list of characters at the front with a short bio. Or maybe I’m just becoming more cerebrally challenged as I get older?

 

Think its time for a classic next, and ive picked The Trespasser by DH Lawrence. I know nothing about it but it cant be any more raunchy than the Chatterley Mellors tryst!

One for the ladies!

I’m about fifty pages in, and although its lacking the shock value of Chatterley, I cant help but feel that Lawrence was one sex obsessed dude. Or should I say sex supressed as this was written in nineteen twelve.

The two main characters in this novel are illicit lovers, but I’ve just read a paragraph which, shall we say, is describing the last moments of a romantic evening, and I had to read it again, and then read it to Debbie and ask ‘Have they just done it?’

In contrast, it reminded me of reading Ian Mcewans ‘On Chesil Beach’ which the pastor of my church had quoted from only the week before. So I took it as bedtime reading on a fishing weekend with the lads to the lovely Wye Valley. We intended to have a lazy start, visit the tackle shop before fishing mid-morning, so, as I had no requirement of the tackle shop, I took my book down to the breakfast room with the intention of having a leisurely breakfast and to start my book.

The restaurant was surprisingly full and my mates were all still enjoying their fried plates of protein so I went over and joined them.

‘what book have you got there’ asks my good friend Paul as he relieved me of it and started to flick through it.

‘Oh just a Mcewan novel I reply. Nothing special’

Paul has now stopped on a page and I notice his eyes widen and then to my horror READS ALOUD a pretty explicit description of a ( somewhat unsuccessful) honeymoon night!

The restaurant had gone deathly quiet with everyone looking at us, and all I could think to say was ‘My pastor recommended me that!’

This is NOT my Pastor and good friend Steve. He's much better looking, and younger!

But here’s the thing about DHL, (no, not the courier) in the morning ‘she tried to wash herself with the white and blue morning, to clear away the soiling of the last nights passion ’ which to me is a little bit more intimate than a description of a love scene? It’s as if he wants to titillate and shock, push acceptable boundaries, but not in an obvious way, or maybe just tell the world that he knows what goes on when men & women’s undercarriages meet.

And whilst I’m at it, back in Chatterleyland, why does he call a woman’s height of pleasure ‘Her crisis’?? A thesaurus gives us the following alternatives: Disaster, catastrophe! Emergency, calamity (hardly) predicament, crunch, watershed (alright I’ll give you that one!)

All I know is that when Debbie now burns a cake, and declares that ‘she’s having a little crisis’ there is a begrudging respect that she can multi-task”!

Mmm, looking good luv!

You know what, at the end of the day, its hardly 52 shades of grey is it! I'm mocking the man, but its actually a sad indictment of society today, as I would imagine 100 years ago Lawrence would have caused the same sized waves to literature as Jonny Rotten did to music. It would definitely have been lock up your daughters time!

Today, whilst Chatterley as a title is still synonymous with something a little shameful, it really is tame compared to rap lyrics, Nuts magazine or some pretty disturbing internet images which our children are only a couple of mouse clicks away from..We have been warned.
 

Success

I’ve made it to fifty. In fact, like a child, I found myself telling someone last week that I was fifty and a week old! Unsurprisingly, this has been the year where many of my friends have either or are imminently turning fifty and it seems that you either celebrate it unashamedly with a big party, or you make it something of a non event.

I still feel young, in spite of the stress I’ve faced over the past three years, I still run, workout, and lust after the female form. However I’m aware that my hearing is deteriorating, I no longer have 20/20 vision, and it’s a constant battle keeping on top of unwanted ear hair, nose hair, eyebrow hair and worse still, I am aware of a bald patch forming on the top of my head!

 

I felt I got my birthday about right, having all the family round but I passed on the party. But I was genuinely touched by the presents, cards and Facebook messages. It kinda said ‘youre alright Cobby’ and that’s what we all want to hear.

My Mum found this wonderful piece of Jonathan Cobb history,aged 7. I'm frustrated because I have stupidly saved it in pdf so cant download, and original is sitting at home. Anyway it reads as follows;

'June 25th 1970
I wish i were a socer star and cume famusfore all the gols I scord like pele. The tems I wode play for is Chelsey and England. I wod do my best an i howp i sown will get a medall and i wod be senter forwod
I wod do my Best not to hold the Ball and cice eney Bodey wich is a fawl'

(We worry about the state of education in our schools, but 43 years ago we still had some way to go!)

What it actually says is:

‘I wish I were a soccer star and become famous for all the goals I scored like Pele. The teams I would play for is Chelsea and England. I would do my best and I hope I soon would get a medal and I would be a centre forward. I would do my best not to hold the ball and kick anybody which is a foul. ‘

I don’t want to  do a self analysis at this anniversary. You know, benchmarking yourself against compatriots and how successful they were by this age.  I guess I’m a little scared to, but I’ve never had a hunger to be massively wealthy, or to achieve worldly success, but there are times when those desires , kept hidden away in a locked box in our mind, somehow Houdini like, wriggle free and push themselves to the front of our minds and say ‘He’s got a bigger house’ ‘She will be able to retire in 10 years’ (some hope me!) or ‘Two holidays a year. That would be nice’

I’m pleased that as a seven year old I saw the benefit of endeavour and fair play, and if I have to justify myself to anybody but myself or my maker, I know I can say that those attributes have been consistent.  I noticed on the news this week that a recent survey by the MCC  showed that two thirds of uk children feel under pressure to cheat at sports because of a ‘win at all costs’ culture .   On Saturday morning, go up to Memorial Park (or your equivalent) and see Fathers with number one haircuts, 4x4 offroaders as their vehicle of choice, signet ring, obligatory sleeper earing, staffy dog named over disgraced boxer  screaming at ‘kevin / Danny / Jason ‘ to ‘Get stuck in’ & ‘let ‘im know yer ‘ere’

Hi Dad!

Showered, lunched (McDonalds) back in 4x4 to White Hart lane, Highbury, Kenilworth Rd, Father & son adorned in replikit will together shout to a highly paid ‘Kevin / Danny /Jason’ to ‘Get stuck in’ & ‘let ‘im know yer ‘ere’

Am I over egging this if I conclude that Son is getting a subliminal message that Dad will love son if he is a ‘winner?’

I remember that day when I realised that Cobby wasn’t going to ever captain Pompey.  Never to be interviewed by Chris Kamara and hear those words ‘I just wanna  thank me Dad’

He’s a happy enough chap, seemingly content in his own world of gardening, reggae, ska and Steller. No, not the lager, that’s the name of his girlfriend.  

I feel successful when I look at him. That's my boy! 

Wealth

The John Grisham novel was devoured in less than a week. I have moved on to a Le Carre. He of the Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, but that’s not the one I’m reading. I’m reading The Constant Gardener, which I am trying to remember whether I have seen the film. A hundred pages in, and nothing is triggering a memory. Anyway, we’ll see. It’s got a picture of Ralph Fiennes on the front who has a remarkably similar profile to mine. He became a great actor and I chose financial services….i guess that’s the way the cookie crumbles!

No, its not me!

The Appeal by Grisham was a cracker based on litigation between the behemoth Chemical company and the little guys who have suffered because of the dumping of toxic waste. Naturally, the bad guys are the corporation and in particular the evil CEO but I enjoyed it particularly because many moons ago I worked in Lloyds of London and we dealt with a large number of Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) cases.

Some of the tricks these companies got up to was pretty shocking and these weren’t fiction! I remember one company who poisoned a lake through their illegal dumping and paid a man to go out in his rowing boat each night and pick up the dead ducks and dispose of them. Some clever Para-legal found the man, who admitted he was being paid by the big boys and it was Punitive damage time!

I never liked working in insurance, and I still have a mistrust of the industry which does look to wriggle out if it can, either through policy small print, or through defending the in-defensible. The Grisham novel powerfully makes its point when a representative of the big corporations has a personal tragedy which is caused by a third party liability. He finally understands how an event like this is literally life changing. In fact it’s not all about the money, albeit that will help. But the book vividly highlights the immoral link between liability (or denial thereof) and profitability.

Even though The Appeal was written in 2007, I have noticed a trend in fiction (whether book or film) towards the demonization of mega wealthy corporate bosses who, since the credit crunch, are rightly taking flak for their immoral pay. Alan Alder plays a Hedge Fund manager in the surprisingly charming Tower Heist and he is simply a criminal in a suit. 20 years ago, the same character would have a stocking over his face and a sawn off shot gun, but now instead of robbing banks, it’s the banks that are the robbers! The thieving is less violent but as equally devastating.

In truth, they’ve always been around. It was 1987 when Gordon Geko famously announced ‘Greed is good’ but there was still something likeable about him. However characters like Carl Trudeau in The Appeal, John Veals in Sebastian Faulks excellent A week in December’ have absolutely no redeeming features. They have but one goal: To accumulate money.

It’s a challenge for us all. Although we might not be successful at it, it doesn’t mean that money doesn’t run our lives or take up too much of our time pursuing, whether successfully or not. Uh oh, another polemic from Jon, but there has to be more to life than the pursuit of the material? Maybe one good thing that can come out of the banking crisis is that we can revalue the power that money has in our lives?

I’m fifty tomorrow.

I have always found that on anniversaries which end in zero, I become somewhat introspective and take stock of where I am in my life. As a natural born cynic this is never a good thing, and I know that in my personal analysis I will be hard on myself because I am behind the curve of where many of my compatriots are in terms of financial success.

But success comes in many forms and fortunately I will be reminded of this as I look at my loving family (& dog!) and a wealth of friendships that mean so very much to me.

In fact, I am rich beyond compare.