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Gary Socrates Lives

But does the Ponderer? An interesting thought. No more Thin Blue Line (ever? who knows?) which mean the motivation to write the Ponderer column 5 times a season is gone, and thus less stuff on this blog about football. Meanwhile I am continuing with Socrates' Story (Follow the story at http://twitter.com/Socrates_Story). Writing a novel on Twitter? Am I mad? Quite possibly. It is an interesting challenge. Trying to make each bit fit into 140 characters. I have cheated several times by not using full stops, by finishing on character 138 or whatever. I think that's ok. I like the idea of having my own rules, and not sticking by somebody else's randomly made up rules. (See this: http://www.twitip.com/how-to-start-a-twitter-novel/). I read this and decided no: why have a plan? That's for those who have an idea what they imagine the finished product to look like. I prefer letting the plot develop slowly and naturally. There are two problems with this method though: You get some days where very little happens. I don't want to do too many tweets every day, so some days very little happens. Ah well, tough. The other, bigger, problem is remembering what went before -- I don't have a plan, or a document to refer to, so therefore it is hard to remember things. For example, I have had three characters so far: Two of them have told the story in first person. Have I given their names? I can't remember! Somehow I will have to check on this. The only name I have for sure is Larsson. And he's gone. Oh well, if I can't remember, no one else will...

So what else... I will carry on with this blog, with things as and when I want to. There are various things I want to get down in writing - some connected to cardiff City, more not.

For example - advertising. I have become interested recently in advertising, mainly because I started to notice how it has changed during the recession. So many more adverts are for money services - insurance, loans, trade in your gold (Have you got any spare gold lying about your house? Didn't think so...) and so many of these adverts are SO bad. there are so many assumpions made about people it makes me squirm. Price comparison websites advertise every couple of minutes it seems (somebody needs to set up a price comparison website comparison website - there's a fortune to be made there... hmmm, Dragon's Den here I come) whilst other insurance companies boast how they are NOT on price comparison website "Thanks but no thanks". So go to "Go compare the meerkat supermarket dot com" (Seemples? No Stupeeds). It doesn't matter which one you do, but bloody hell it's boring. So which one do you go to? the one with an annoying singing moustachiod Italian? The one with the bloke from Dragon's Den? The one with the meerkat? The one with people who step in and out of a computer? the one with the morons - sorry, 'ordinary people' - advertising how easy it is to use, or do you ignore all that and take Paul Merton and Stephen Fry's advice? (Bloody hell they really have devalued themselves by being in that ad haven't they? BIG mistake). Or do you take the advice of Stephen Merchant (tosser - I used to like him) and shoot arrows at some porcelain dogs (What is that ad for?). Horrible isn't it? Even worse, you could be a lonely sod with no life who has to dial 118 118 to have someone to go out with tonight (that is what they are advertising isn't it? Or have I missed something?). What really really pisses me off about all this advertising is the low level it is pitched at. People can't be that stupid can they?

Alright, alright I know they can, but please get this drivel off my TV. Try and pretend people have brains, or make people aspirational for brains at least. And as for Fry and Merton, I think you've blown it.

The story begins here... (Start at the bottom, twitterers)...

Follow the story at http://twitter.com/Socrates_Story

But he looked worried. He looked down. Even I could see that through the semi-drunken haze I was in, through the haze of the poorly lit bar.


So this man was right. But in contrast to me, he was clean, clean shaven, short haircut, wearing a nice suit and tie, CLEAN CUT. Sharp. Neat

But close. I looked like someone with no job, a drunk, no money no prospects, nothing to lose. Well I suppose I looked like I was. Not good

I should explain that. I looked a wreck. Tired, I guess. Dirty? Maybe. Unshaven. Shitty clothes. Needing a hair cut. Down and out? Not quite


But he sat down at the table and started talking quietly to me. "Do you want a job? You look like you might need a job. Some work for money"


I thought maybe he might want a game of pool, or that maybe he was drunk and wanted to pick a fight, or -who knows? - wanted to buy me drink


When the man came up to me in the bar I hadn't any idea what he was going to say to me and where it would all lead. But I guess you never do
But he looked worried. He looked down. Even I could see that through the semi-drunken haze I was in, through the haze of the poorly lit bar.


So this man was right. But in contrast to me, he was clean, clean shaven, short haircut, wearing a nice suit and tie, CLEAN CUT. Sharp. Neat

But close. I looked like someone with no job, a drunk, no money no prospects, nothing to lose. Well I suppose I looked like I was. Not good

I should explain that. I looked a wreck. Tired, I guess. Dirty? Maybe. Unshaven. Shitty clothes. Needing a hair cut. Down and out? Not quite


But he sat down at the table and started talking quietly to me. "Do you want a job? You look like you might need a job. Some work for money"


I thought maybe he might want a game of pool, or that maybe he was drunk and wanted to pick a fight, or -who knows? - wanted to buy me drink


When the man came up to me in the bar I hadn't any idea what he was going to say to me and where it would all lead. But I guess you never do

First game of the season...

Not for Cardiff City, but for me, when I can watch the home game against Bristol City on Sky. I expect us to lose. We usually do when we're on TV. Especially when it combines so many important things: my first game of the season, on the telly, local derby. I'm afraid it means we have no chance, sorry.

Being Jewish. Race v Religion

The recent legal ruling regarding Jewish identity in the UK is really interesting (see http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/jul/03/judaism-chief-rabbi-jonathan-sacks) with the Court of Appeal ruling with regard to the Jewish Free School's (JFS) refusal to allow a child into their school because they felt he was not a Jew in accordance with Jewish rules - because his mother his mother was not a Jew, despite converting to and practicing Judaism. I have particular interest in this because my position is the same to some extent - my mother was not born a Jew but converted to Judaism, to please my father's mother before their marriage. The difference for me is that I have never practiced Judaism at all, preferring to live my life as a practicing atheist. In a similar situation to this child, however, when I married my first (Jewish) wife 25 years ago, my ex-father-in-law-to-be (what a great title) checked with the then Chief Rabbi whether I was a Jew and would therefore be allowed to marry in an orthodox church. He ruled I was a Goy (not a Jew), and we married in a trendy reform synagogue in Knightsbridge. Anyway, the appeal court ruled that such a 'qualification' to be a Jew (having to have been born a Jew by a Jewish mother) is a qualification of race rather than religion, and therefore the decision JFS to refuse the boy entry into the school was therefore in breach of the UK's race laws.

The Chief Rabbi, Jonathan Saks is up in arms, hating that he (and the Jewish religion, as he puts it) can be called racist - but he shouldn't be. The fact of 'being Jewish' has long been decided by others - by anti-semites, by racists. The Nazis never cared about strict hebraic qualification rules, they defined a Jew any way they wanted. Those racists here in France attacking Sarkosy for being a Jew don't care either about Judaism's own religious/racial rules. The Jews have historically (and perhaps understandably) tried to maintain the 'tribe of israel', and have opposed marrying 'out' as they put it, and it is clear to anyone with a modicum of sense that if you define any group of people by a familial/linear method you are defining a 'race'. It is not really something you can argue about. It may be that you are doing it because of a rule defined by religious texts, but why was that rule set? Surely to maintain the Jewish purity of the tribe. No?

This has not ever been anything often challenged by anti-racists throughout the world (nor anti-semites), nor (when it comes down to daily life) by most Jews. Most Jews have a strong sense of their identity which is not defined by religion, but by history. This is a landmark ruling that I hope gets upheld at the High Court, the House of Lords and all the way to Europe - it could have a major impact upon the Jewish community in the UK and beyond.

Why is this important? OK, take myself, and take this young boy trying to get into JFS,(I am still amused by the Free in Jewish Free School) and many other people throughout the western world who might define themselves as Jewish, or even HALF Jewish, by race rather than by religion, knowing that racists define them as a Jew, and Orthodox Jews define them as non-Jews. When we live in a world where racial hate exists, we, the half-Jew/Jew/non-Jew want to know who will protect us and who will not, who is on our side, and who is not - and thus being a 'half Jew' is not a comfortable identity to hold.

It is perhaps time for the Jewish community to grow up, and open its arms. I have no problem with other people identifying me as a Jew, it is only the Chief rabbi and his ilk who seem to have that problem. I think the Court of Appeal is righjt. It is a view that IS racist.

Integration

So many things linking together via simple bits of internet software - blogger, twitter, facebook and what else can I integrate. My twitter update now on the right of this blog, and it tells you exciting stuff like I am going for a picnic right now. I'm just waiting for everyone to get ready. At the moment it's only me and the dog who are ready. Mind you, the dog's always ready.

And no Cardiff news at all at the moment. Boring stuff about the new stadium (yawn), but no new players as yet, no one sold as yet. 

As for twitter, I don't really get it. I guess if i used my mobile for updasting it it would be even more dull (and expensive). But some people I don't know are 'following' me. I feel like I am being stalked. Or is that storked? Anyway, I have the feeling that there are people who surf twitter just looking for entries that chime with them, and I said the right things. One person is a yoga freak, and I think she's following me because i mentioned Buddha. But it was only in the context of Human League and their song 'Being Boiled', which i was listening to - ironically on a very hot day.

Gary Socrates End of Season stuff - sorry it's late

Gary looks forward (when we’ll be looking back)

Normally I look sideways, but this time it’s different. Just one point in the next four games will guarantee us a play off berth (or birth, he said, pregnantly) – and we might already have secured this by the time you read this – and there is still an outside chance of (say it quietly) automatic promotion.

No, I don’t really think we’ll go up (not after watching Cardiff city for 45 years) , but whatever happens next season is going to be different. Either we go up and suffer a ridiculous year of humiliation in the premiership, with just one victory over an injury-riddled Hull City to our name (after they’ve had two players sent off and it was an own goal anyway), or we’ll stay in this division, in our new Ikea stadium, with half our team gone – if the press are to be believed. Ledley will go to either Wolverhampton or Stoke or Everton or Middlesbrough or Sunderland or some other godforsaken town that has a top-tier team. Johnson will go to somewhere similar, McCormack will end up at Celtic playing with his boyhood idols (and Willo Flood) and Chopra will go somewhere with a betting shop.

Leaving us with a bunch of players who just might manage to escape from relegation to the old third division. Whatever way you look at it, I reckon THIS year, our last at Ninian Park, is going to be one of those years we look back on, and say “Those were the days.”

Flying elbows

What’s wrong with Crystal Palace? What’s wrong with Warnock? Well, Warnock is clearly a dodgy transsexual toe-rag with the morals of a scallop, and always has been, but why on earth were his team so keen to kick the hell out of us, and elbow poor old Roger Johnson into the hospital? Was it partly because their weirdo manager was saying how wonderful he thought Cardiff were before the match? Was it because Warnock is still employed by Sheffield United? Was it because (and I say this as someone who lived in North London for over 40 years) they are South Londoners? Probably that’s the answer. I always remember the Palace fans calling Cantona a “dirty northern bastard” after his famous kung fu kick at Selhurst Park. North? Marseille? Bunch of weirdos – they deserve Warnock.

Ninian Sell Off

As predicted, Mr Ridsdale hasn’t missed a trick, and all ambassadors have been offered a chance to buy a bit of plastic (known as a ‘seat’) from CCFC for £20. You also have a chance to buy a bit of the pitch for another twenty quid, if you need to re-turf your back garden (although I don’t know what you’ll do with the box and the certificate), and you can get your name in the programme for a mere tenner. Alternatively you can write a nice letter to that nice Mr Turton who edits this rag – oops, sorry, I mean esteemed journal – and you can get your name (if you can spell it) into TBL. For only a fiver (Oi, Andrew, cut me in for half of this!). Meanwhile, there’s some dodgy bloke outside Ninian Park selling things that are “Limited Addition”. I’d guess this bloke failed both his English AND his Maths GCSEs.

Old shirts

Apparently everyone is going to be wearing old City shirts for the last game at Ninian, and I shall be there wearing one of my ancient imitation shirts too. Not sure which one though, as this seems a damn fine time to sell the rest on Ebay.

Money money money

Not that I am obsessed by money or anything (but I can go on for hours about how the pound-euro exchange rate is killing me), but you have to wonder about the wealth of our fans. I know you save a few quid by standing on the Grange End, but is the only reason you do this so you can throw your spare pound coins and mobile phones at Swansea players? Or refs? The Jacks’ keeper De Vries was reported as saying he could have made a few quid from what was thrown at him: “I could have picked £250 up at the end to be honest,” he said. Instead, he was picking the ball out of the net. Mind you it would be hard to pick up all those coins with goalie gloves on. De Vries also noted that in Holland someone had thrown a banana at him. Down at the Jacks’ stadium he normally only gets thrown lucky heather… (Sorry).

Purse strings

Ha! You thought this bit was about money too, didn’t you? But you’d be wrong. Instead it’s about Darren Purse, who it looks like will be playing his last game with us shortly. Strange really, he’s clearly had a fall out with Jones, but without anyone lined up to replace him it’s strange he’s going to leave (along with Roger Johnson if we don’t go up), whilst we’re prepared to offer some sort of contract to those old crocks Kennedy and Scimeca. On the other hand maybe jones HAS got someone lined up. Whatever, cheers Darren, many thanks for what you’ve contributed, not least your song: “De-de-de-de-de-de- Darren Purse, Darren Pu-urse, Darren Darren Purse..” One more round against Ipswich?

Internationals

Amazingly this year we have had players for us from a huge variety of countries: Obviously Wales, England and Scotland, and not surprisingly both parts of Ireland, but also: Greece, Finland, Poland, Hungary, France, USA, Holland, and Norway. That’s an awful lot of countries, isn’t it? But here’s athough, whilst some of those are easy, see if you can work out who the players from each country are… (Extra points if you guess who was born in Norway without looking it up).

Awards Time

Yes it’s the end of the season, and it’s time for the awards that all city players are waiting for…. The Garys. Stuff the Player of the year nonsense, or the points things that appear elsewhere in this esteemed organ (ooh-er) THESE are what count. So here goes:

• Best American: This is a tough one, but after much consideration, the award goes to Eddie Johnson
• Most Unpronounceable Name: A lot of (stupid) names in the hat for this one, including Konstanwhatisname , Quincy Awuso-whatever and Miguel Comminges, but it has to go to Gabor Gypes. Easy to write, impossible to say. Strangely none of these guys have their own song.
• Best Goalie: After due consideration this was not awarded
• Best Norwegian: Ha! Did you think I’d give the answer away THAT easily?
• Best Irishman with an Italian name but really born in Norway: I think that might be a clue…
• Best Hair: Kevin McNaughgton. But only sometimes. Sometimes he has silly hair, sometimes he doesn’t. It’s confusing. But fun.
• Best TV Character: Quincy
• Best Sack: Erwin
• Biggest Burke: Chris
• Most Popular Name: Johnson
• Best Character From A Jane Austen novel: A close one, but this goes again this year to Darcy Blake
• And once more, that old favourite: Best Locker: Davy Jones

Ninian Park Memories

The Editor of TBL asked me to write something about my Ninian Park memories, but then decided to cut the thing to one paragraph. So here's the whole thing. What the hell.

I have a confession to make. I have no great affection for Ninian Park and I won’t miss it when it has gone. This is almost certainly mainly due to the fact that growing up in London I saw more away City games than home games, but also due to the fact that, given this distance, I have always thought it wasn’t the best of stadiums. On the other hand I have worked out that I have watched about 200 odd games at Ninian Park, and have plenty of memories, which I guess is all the Editor of TBL asked me for.

As a kid we used to come down to Cardiff regularly, to mainly visit my grandmother who lived in Cathedral Road, but also for holidays in Ogmore by sea, and (most of all) for my dad to take me on the bus from Cathedral Road to Ninian Park. For a hardened Londoner like me (I was at least five years old) this was a lesson. On the bus I remember the signs saying “NO SPITTING” – unlike anything I had ever seen in London – were people in Cardiff more likely to spit? Yes, my dad the chest doctor explained, miners and ex-miners with lung diseases. I felt small. At the ground I heard a shout and saw a waved fist “SCOULAR YOU’RE A JEW!”. As a Jewish boy growing up in North London in a community where Jews were aplenty, this was news to me: “Is Jimmy Scoular Jewish Dad?” I asked. My dad, looking forward to a City match, had to quickly explain to me the nature of casual anti-semitism. I got it, some years later.

I can’t remember who won. I can’t actually remember whether that was my first game at Ninian Park (certainly not my first City game, my less-than-perfect memory tells me that was away to Charlton, when my father told me that Barry Jones was our “Dangerman” and I pictured Patrick MacGoohan in one of my favourite TV shows. But certainly those were the days of Toshack and Clark, and Don Murray and Brian Harris – with whom my dad became friendly. And I know I sat in the grandstand with my dad – who still sits there, whilst I go around the ground to sit on the bob bank.

Other memories…. Of matches I saw, I can remember seeing Ronnie Moore score – knocking one in the Grange End whilst (for reasons I can’t remember) I sat in the Canton Stand. I remember Gil Reece scoring two goals against Oxford when he had the wind with him in the second half, I remember Pikey scoring after running the full length of the pitch, I remember (my favourite) Nathan Blake scoring a cracker from 30 yards out, and then shooting every time he got the ball – and nearly scoring every time he got the ball. Then I remember the excitement of going down to Cardiff for the FA Cup 6th round game against Luton, only to find out the bastards had sold Blakey to Sheffield. I remember everyone running onto the pitch after winning promotion against Scunthorpe, I remember that unforgettable defeat of Leeds, and I remember (well it was only last week) holding the mighty Arsenal. But mostly I remember a lot of boxing day draws: 2-2 against Torquay when they wore our revolting yellow away kit (the one that looked like it had bird shit on its shoulders) and 0-0 when I took my son to his first match, aged 6, on a freezing boxing day afternoon against Chester City. One of the worst games I have ever seen, with the only excitement when Carl Dale hit the bar. “Why’s everyone stamping their feet?” asked my son. “To keep warm” was all I could reply, “there’s nothing to get excited about on the pitch”. And despite all my subsequent attempts, I could never get my son interested in football after that terrible start. My wife, on the other hand I converted to City first time out. “Do I really have to come?” she asked, as we spent new year in Ogmore by sea, our first trip together. “Oh yes” I replied, knowing that a home match against Exeter City, would inspire true love. But even I didn’t expect the 6-1 win. And we (Andy Jordan) even scored Exeter’s one. 6-1. I haven’t seen anything like it since – and nor has she.

OK, Ninian Park’s not so bad. Even if you do have to piss against a wall, can’t get a decent cup of tea and we bloody hardly ever win. The good news is that when we move the long distance to our new ground across the street, we’ll surely still have our white flying visitors swirling overhead, and for a moment we’ll stop shouting “Bluebirds” to be the only crowd outside of Brighton to shout “Seagulls”.