27 Jun 10 The bond of trust between Football team and football fan
England’s team traipsed out of the world cup having offered up a series woeful performances throughout the competition. They were made to look ordinary, if not outclassed, by minnows of world football from Algeria, USA and Slovenia. Then, as soon as they came up against a real team in Germany, they were dispatched, with the ease of a sledgehammer on jelly.
The national sense of shock has been amplified because we have had months of speculation about this being the golden generation. And the golden generation’s golden boy was Wayne Rooney. 2010 was pencilled in as the year the world would see his magnificence. For all the talk of Messi and Ronaldo and other ‘world class’ players, England had Rooney. The Henry V of our times going forth to to the breach with the blast of war blowing in our ears, to imitate the action of the tiger; stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood and so on.
But instead of Henry V, closing the wall up with our English dead, we got Horrid Henry going missing when he should have been doing football with the rest of the world. In fact the whole sorry bunch of individuals shuffled together into matching shirts and pushed out of the tunnel, conspired to insult the memories of men like Bobby Moore and Stanley Matthews. Men who were knighted for services – outstanding services – to football. The entire team looked like overpaid show ponies who probably thought other teams would wither and fade in front of the power of their celebrity. Instead they came up against teams ready to play football in the spirit of like Moore and Matthews while Rooney and co thought they were in a TV episode of ‘Celebrity Posing on Grass’.
And what of the saviour of English football? No one could really answer that. The most remarkable contribution Rooney made to the competition was his impetuous complaint that the crowd were booing him. Perhaps he expected the producers to have briefed the crowd to clap wildly – just like in the script. But a fan earns less in a two years than Rooney earns in a week. The crowd have given up their holidays to come to South Africa and watch. The crowd, spent money on their credit cards that they will still be paying off when the next world cup starts in four years time. The crowd did it because they were doing their bit. They were there to add decibels to their debt and would have come away accepting a quarter final place, happy with a semi-final place and believing that we could, given a bit of luck, made the final and even won it.
There is a bond of trust between players and fans. We send them out in our name. The best of the best of what our nation can offer. We see our own identity and character in their performances. Because in our name they give of their all, fight, bleed, suffer injury and pain. These are our hailed heroes and representatives on the pitch. We give them celebrity status, they are gods of sorts. They are rewarded with riches beyond our wildest dreams and that is acceptable because they carry the dreams of a nation.
We do our bit as well. We kick every ball, feel every injustice celebrate every goal for and feel pain at every goal conceded. We know the misery of defeat. And deep down we know we can win the world cup. We bitch, debate, complain, argue and passionately display out support in every manifestation.
What happened to the England supporters in South Africa and at home was disgusting. The most expensive collection of footballers in history, with the best manager, the best preparation the best of everything contrived to fail. It was meticulously bungled through a mix of arrogance and inertia. The crowd will turn on these players. They will hound them out of South Africa, boo them back into Heathrow and boo them at every game they show up at next season. They will do this, not because the team lost, but because they did not try, they were inept, woeful, pathetic and in doing and being so, they have abused our trust.
Rooney World Class? Don’t make me laugh.
06 Jun 10 Jockey Inn, Baughton, Worcestershire – very disappointing
Yesterday Carolyn and I palmed the kids off on a sleepover with friends and in celebration of Carolyn’s birthday booked a table at The Jockey Inn at Baughton, near Earls Croombe In Worcestershire.
We last went there about eight years ago when our eldest son was about a month old in a carry-cot. While we ate, he spent the evening asleep on a spare table. I remember, it was very good. Since then, the pressure of children, money, and time means that Carolyn and I have probably been out, by ourselves, less than once a year.
So with this in mind, we thought – ‘night off, lets have a good meal, don’t want to travel a long way – lets go three miles down the lanes to The Jockey at Baughton’. What a disappointment!
We had booked the table the day before. But we seemed to be met with a hint of surprise once we got there. Still, no problem, there was a table and in fairness, the place was pretty busy. We wanted to order drinks, but no one wanted to take our order. Again, one of The Jockey’s virtues is its bijou cosiness and with a couple locals camped out at the small bar, it is difficult to get your message through.
So we took our seats and studied the blackboards and ordered food. In my case a mozzarella and tomato starter, followed by a rump steak and side salad. Carolyn went for the pork stoganoff; at least she did once we had explained to the waitress what stroganoff was.
And then it arrived. If you have ever wondered what it is like to have your taste buds removed, I suggest you go to the Jockey and order this selection. I genuinely mean it. There was not a hint of taste in the entire meal. The mozzarella and tomatoes formed perhaps the worst of it. It was devoid of any taste at all – it was just stuff. If I had been blindfolded, from the texture, I would has guessed it was industrial residue and jelly. I know that mozzarella can be a bit like that, but you might normally expect a dressing of oil and balsamic vinegar with a few herbs to tease out the flavour. But not at the Jockey – just beef tomatoes and white lumps and no taste in any of it at all. There was some rather insipid oil on the table – not the rich golden / green colour of extra virgin olive oil, but the wee colour you get from catering packs of cheap olive oil of the non extra virgin variety. No black pepper, just the standard chip shop collection; salt and grey pepper, some acrid malt vinegar plus the cheap olive oil. I experimented with combinations of the available seasoning, but it was not possible to find any taste in the dish.
The Steak and Chips showed up. The chips were oven chips and devoid of taste again. I had really thought that a decent restaurant would either have made their own. You know – cut up potatoes and use one of those chip fryer gizmos. It’s easy. Or I would have been happy some really good ready made chips. But at the Jockey you get really cheap catering pack stuff that you might expect to get from burger vans.
The steak was cooked properly for Medium Rare. The texture was okay, the cut had a bit of stringy fat running through it, but within the bounds of acceptable. It was tender and cooked properly. But there was again barely a hint of taste. I asked for some mustard and pepped it up that way, but it was a very poor meal. The side salad turned up a little late and was more kitchen temperature than fridge temperature. It had all the right stuff in it. it looked quite nice, but warm salad tends to droop when you pick it up and is not something you want to put in your mouth.
I kept waiting for someone to ask “Is everything alright?” or “Are you enjoying it?”. I had mentally prepared the words – roughly to say “I have a little feedback, please take it the right way. We found the food a little lacking in flavour. I think some of the ingredients are not as good as other restaurants in the area and the food preparation feels a little slap-dash.” I wouldn’t have had a rant – I am typically English and I get embarrassed when I want to complain.
In addition, no one offered us a wine list. No one thought to ask us if we would like water, no one really seemed to care very much at all.
By the time we had asked for a wine list, we had decided to skip a desert, finish and go home as quickly as possible. So the entire evening was over before 9.00pm. We had envisaged it might have extended from 8.00pm until about 10.00pm with maybe a twenty minute expedition to the bar for a brandy at the bar .
The two starters and two main courses cost under £50 (obviously with wine it would have been more). On the face of it, that seems cheap. The trouble is, it tasted cheap, the service felt cheap and it was, as I said, a disappointment.
