Archive for March, 2019

Boro v Ipswich, Saturday December 29th 2018, 3pm

March 29, 2019

The second game of my Christmas trip to the UK was another home game for the Boro and this time involved a catch-up with Paul and Aiden. I usually see Paul a couple of times a year for gigs or football tournaments but with Aiden it’s generally once every three or four years and almost always a festive fixture at the Riverside.

We had a spare ticket too, but Paul’s dad, Mike, who would have come in the past wouldn’t entertain it. Tom was working and as Harry was at his nanna’s, it went unused.

We were in the West Upper and the first half was spent catching up on each other’s news. Aiden had just retired. That seems weird. It shouldn’t really at fifty-four, but just being fifty-four in itself seems weird. Mid-fifties. How did that happen?

Half-time discussions quickly turned to how crap we are. I don’t see a lot of the Premier League on the telly as the time difference in Malaysia makes it an arse on, but for Paul and Aiden who are able to watch the likes of Man City or Liverpool, it must have been like sitting through a different sport.

I thought that the inclusion of Howson at wing back and Wing in midfield made us a bit more adventurous than in the game I’d watched three days earlier, but maybe that was more a reflection on the relative merits of Ipswich and Sheff Wed.

Still, the result worked out better. We’d taken a first half lead through a Hugill penalty that nobody seemed to appeal for and then second half sub Tavernier capped a livewire performance with a goal. That’ll be him dropped for a while again then.

Overall though, nobody was much impressed with anything at all and by the time the full-time whistle blew half the twenty-three thousand crowd had already cleared off. It’s the time of year when football is supposed to get you out of the house and away from that between Christmas and New Year stupor, yet most people seemed keener to head back home. That speaks volumes.

Boro v Sheff Wed, Wednesday December 26th 2018, 3pm

March 28, 2019

After the lay-over for the FIFA Club World Cup it was back to something a little more mundane and a visit to the Riverside for my first Boro game in eight months. My son, Tom, has a season ticket for the South Stand and I thought that it might be time for my grandson, Tom’s nephew, to join us in what is probably the liveliest part of the ground.

The last time Harry came with me to the Riverside the highlight of his day was spotting a squashed rat on Borough Road. I’m sure he must consider Middlesbrough to be infested with rodents as despite him keeping a good eye out all afternoon he was surprised not to see another one.

His ticket was seventeen quid. He’s eight years old. Actually he wasn’t even eight as his birthday wasn’t until the following day, so still seven. With the booking fee we paid about fifty quid in total for the pair of us to get into the cheapest area of the ground. I doubt that many small kids get taken to the match at those prices.

The lack of rats wasn’t the only change for Harry. Last time we’d been in the West Upper and he was only on his feet when we scored. This time everyone around us stood from the start and so in order to see, anyone Harry’s height  had to stand on a seat. He was a bit reluctant at first as I think his Mam has rules about feet on chairs, but he soon got the hang of it, even joining in with some of the songs. I think his Mam probably has rules about swearing too.

Boro were terrible. We were set up to with five at the back, protected by three holding midfielders. That left Stewie in no-mans land and Britt isolated up front. Sheff Wed had former Boro player Adam Reach in their side and as such he was nailed on to score. He did. Strange to think that he couldn’t get a game for us in the promotion season, but if he came back now he might very well be our best player. I doubt he’s improved much in his time away so it’s more a reflection on our rapid decline.

The Sheff Wed fans had a decent song for him, to the tune of The Beautiful South’s Rotterdam. They milked it all afternoon in what was a rare successful away day for them.

The support from around us mainly comprised frustrated chants of “attack, attack, attack” and, after an out of character moment of positive intent, a sarcastic rendition of “We’ve had a shot”. However, despite the cynicism from the rest of us, Harry remained confident that we’d equalise up right until the final whistle. It’s great to be eight. Or seven.

 

Real Madrid v Al-Ain, Saturday 22nd December 2018, 8.30pm

March 26, 2019

The final of the FIFA Club World Cup was the second game of a double-header evening at the Zayed Sports Stadium in Abu Dhabi. The later kick-off came with a significant drop in temperature which I welcomed but it made it cold enough for Jen to choose to clear off back to our hotel.

Most of the River Plate fans who had cheered their side to victory in the earlier third-place play-off also chose to clear off and that enabled me to move from my designated seat to one along the side, lower down and about level with one of the penalty spots. It seemed a few other people were doing the same and there was a fair bit of re-positioning going on in the run up to kick-off when the actual ticket holders for those seats eventually turned up.

Whilst I was surprised at the drop in temperature, it could have been worse. We’d been for a look around an old fort that morning and the taxi driver reckoned that we were in for their once a year rain downpour. Fortunately it didn’t happen. The fort was ok, but in a Trigger’s Broom sort of way, with just about all of it looking like it had been re-built over the years.

There was a museum attached to the fort that I enjoyed more. It had a selection of photos showing the development of the city over the last fifty years or so. Best of all was an early picture of the Zayed Sports stadium that we’d be attending.

As kick off neared I looked around at the fans. There weren’t anything like as many Real Madrid fans around as there had been from River Plate and those I did see looked decidedly like locals. I’m not really sure how they take pleasure from supporting a global concern against their hometown team? Although I suppose they probably saw the two teams as operating in different worlds. It’s as if the Boro were somehow pitted against Norton’s George and Dragon. You can’t switch your allegiance from the bigger team just because you usually walk your dog across the opposing team’s Sunday League council pitch.

Happily, there were plenty of Emeratis supporting Al-Ain who had progressed against the odds as host club to knock out the champions of Oceania, North America and then South America to reach the final.

Madrid had all the big guns on the field including Bale, Kroos and Benzema. Ramos received solid but essentially good-natured booing every time he touched the ball. Modric got a cheer when announced and was a pleasure to watch. He was always looking to start something off and a quarter of an hour in took more applause when he opened the scoring with a curled effort into the corner.

The goal and Ramos baiting aside, there wasn’t much noise from the home fans and there was even less in support of Real. After a while the couple of thousand River Plate fans who had stayed behind after their game started singing their own songs and drowned everything else out.

Al-Ain were almost on equal terms soon after the opening goal when pantomime villain Ramos foiled their best efforts by clearing one off the line. Shortly afterwards a second home effort was ruled out for offside.

In truth though I don’t think Al-Ain really believed that an upset was on the cards and so the European Champions were never in any real danger of losing. The title was in the bag when Llorente added a second on the hour. Ramos nodded in what must have been a very satisfying third Madrid goal as we entered the final ten minutes to put the game out of reach.

I nipped out not long after that as back to back games is pushing my limit for football in one evening. I heard the roar of the crowd for an Al-Ain consolation as I walked away from the ground and the more muted response to a fourth and final Real Madrid goal a couple of minutes later as I approached my hotel.

River Plate v Kashima Antlers, Saturday 22nd December 2018, 5.30pm

March 21, 2019

There are no direct flights from Malaysia to the north-east of England, so when I travel back to the UK I’ve got to break the journey somewhere. Usually I change planes in London or Amsterdam, but for my Christmas trip home I went via Abu Dhabi. The UAE Is not somewhere that has ever appealed to me as somewhere to live and as such I’ve knocked back any number of enquiries for jobs in the region over the years. This time though the final of the FIFA Club World Club Cup was taking place at a time that fitted in with the flights and that’s as good as reason as I’m ever likely to have for paying the place a visit.

The logistics were very easy and a forty quid online ticket from FIFA covered both the final and the third place play-off that took place as a double-header. We were only staying for a couple of nights and so we didn’t need a visa, whilst our hotel was just across from the Zayed Sports City stadium. It was also only about ten minutes in a taxi from the Sheikh Zayed mosque, which is just as well as my original plan for whiling away my time at a sanctuary for injured falcons didn’t come off.

I’m not really a fan of big modern buildings but I was happy to wander around the enormous mosque mainly to look at the tiling. I’m renovating a house and in my latest manifestation of geekiness have developed an unhealthy interest in reclaimed Victorian ceramics. It took a bit of effort to get in though. Not so much for me, but Jen was required to dress up as Obi Wan Kenobi with a shawl and a head scarf. My time and money-saving suggestions of a tea towel or a cardboard box with eye holes were dismissed as grossly disrespectful and she chose to buy the necessary gear from a department store that no doubt did very well out of improperly dressed tourists.

There were lots of River Plate fans wandering around the mosque in the hours before their third-place play-off game. No doubt they too were marveling at the elaborate encaustics whilst cursing the limited opening hours of the hawk hospital.

Later that day Jen and I made our way over to the stadium with plenty of time in hand. Just as well really as it was almost as much of an arse on getting in to the ground as it had been the mosque. I got away with a small, yet still prohibited, camera but had a pen no bigger than you’d find in a bookies confiscated. These posts struggle for accuracy at the best of times but my memory is so poor these days that if I can’t make a few notes then you can’t be confident that anything I write here is in any way accurate.

Still, this one was easier than most to check later. It was the third-place play-off featuring River Plate, fresh from their much disrupted Copa Libertadores triumph against Boca Juniors, taking on the champions of Asia, Kashima Antlers.

Iconic is a much over-used word but I think that the River Plate kit of white shirt, diagonal red stripe and black shorts counts. Kashima were in a somewhat less iconic red combo. There were at least six sections of River Plate fans, maybe five or six thousand or so of them, compared to a small but vocal section of a hundred or so Japanese fans just to my left. A few local fans, some supporting Abu Dhabi’s own Al-Ain, others wearing the global uniform of a Real Madrid shirt, made up the numbers in a crowd that was officially announced as being seventeen thousand.

The River Plate fans made an incredible racket all the way through despite the game meaning little to them. I mean, you win the Copa Libertadores against your greatest rivals and before you have the chance for a triumphant home-coming you have to pitch up at a Micky Mouse tournament only to switch off and lose your first game to the team that qualified by being local.

Play was fairly even in the early stages up until former Jeonbuk Motors goalie Kwoun Sun-tae picked up an injury and had to be subbed. The replacement keeper’s first job was to pick the ball out of the net as River Plate went one up from a corner. Strangely their fans barely celebrated. The goal brought the Asian Champions out of their shell and made for a much more open game but the Argentinians went two up late on and then added a couple more in the final moments to rub it in. It’s a shame that River Plate hadn’t turned up in their semi-final as I’d have liked to have seen them take on Real Madrid for the title.

 

Viettel v Binh Phuoc, Saturday 29th September 2018, 3pm

March 19, 2019

In our time over here we’d only been to Vietnam once, a trip to Saigon a year or so earlier. It was an interesting place so we thought we’d see if Hanoi was just as good.  Turn out that it is, with the added benefit of being to gawp at the actual remains of their former leader Ho Chi Minh, rather than just wander around somewhere like his 1970’s decorated palace searching in vain for the advertised elephant’s foot umbrella stand.

The walk through Mr. Minh’s mausoleum was very well-managed. The queue snaked through the grounds for a few hundred yards but under covered walkways. It was kept moving at a good pace by some very smartly dressed soldiers and once inside, as you might imagine, there was extremely chilly air-conditioning. You weren’t allowed to talk or take photos, in fact you weren’t allowed to do anything but walk. Jen was told off for crossing her arms whilst I did my best to stifle a cough.

The route eventually ended up in a dimly-lit room with a corpse in a bed. He looked a bit like his photo on the main stand at the game we went to later, but a little waxier.

Other highlights were a big lake near to our hotel surrounded by eating and drinking establishments. The roads were closed off for the weekend to allow people to stumble around with less chance of being killed by the traffic.

We walked to the match on the Saturday afternoon and had to dodge scooters on the pavement as well as cars on the roads. We also had to dodge a bloke smoking a bamboo pipe that was at least a foot long.

The Hang Day stadium is pretty run down, but that’s the way I like them. We arrived about an hour before kick-off and there were lots of people milling around the main entrance. Vendors were selling snacks that may have been cooked a while ago and were unprotected from flies. You could wash them down with something cold. Or at least you would be able to if the cans and bottles weren’t just sitting in the sun rather than a cool box or fridge.

As we had sufficient time we did a circuit of the stadium. It was quieter around the back and we spotted a couple of soldiers. They seemed much more relaxed than the ones on duty at the funeral home.

If we’d been inclined we could have had haircuts at the back corner of the ground. That’s something the Boro should start offering during matches. I reckon there would be a decent queue of people keen to escape watching the soul-destroying set-up of five centre halves and four defensive midfielders taking turns to lump the ball forward to a single striker ill-equipped to do anything with it.

Anyway, this game was free to get in to and the sounds of partying that we’d heard coming from inside were due to the home side Viettel having already clinched the second division championship with a couple of games to spare. Not quite Charlton’s Champions but you take what you can get.

There were two tier stands down each side, with open terracing to our right and a wall to the left that backed on to housing. Potential there for “Once more and we’ll stick a knife in it”. The home fans were celebrating their promotion with their band and by waving a variety of flags. The carnival atmosphere was mirrored on the pitch where Viettel, in white, seemed to be applying the ‘Tuncay’ rule whereby the build up to any chance must include at least one fancy but ineffective flick. Binh Phuoc were in green shirts with a red band. Or red shirts with a green yoke. Hard to say really. Either way the best chances in the half went to the hosts, but poor finishing and some decent keeping kept it goalless at the break.

Our first half viewpoint in the stand opposite the tunnel had become less attractive as the sun got lower. When it began to shine through the gaps in the structure on to the backs of our heads we were forced to move to an area where the sun was blocked by a stairwell. At half time we took the opportunity to move upstairs and take advantage of the better shade provided by the roof.

The excitement level rose soon after the restart when the away coach was sent to the stands. Maybe the sun had been a bit much for him too. It didn’t seem to change much on the pitch though as the champions continued to press ineffectually for a goal to complete the coronation.

With a quarter of an hour to play it was the turn of the players to lose their composure. We had a minute or two of argy-bargy before Binh Phuoc switched off from the subsequent free-kick and an unmarked header put Viettel a goal up. It sparked just the sort of celebrations that you’d expect.

A few minutes later another header doubled their lead and we sloped out leaving them to it. Game and season over.