Birmingham Post - Sport Blog

Late-night tennis - a bright new world?

2009-07-02T11:36:02Z

My friend Claire (not her real name) is disabled. Not disabled in mind, her brain is as sharp as a tack and she is determined to make the best of what life she has, but physically.
Claire often uses a motorised wheelchair to get about and there are days when she cannot raise the energy to get out of bed.
Claire loves books, partly because there are days when she can do little else but read - or, rather, listen. That's how we met, at one of the audiobook groups at our local library.

The other thing Claire loves is sport. She's a devoted Warwickshire CCC and England cricket fan and Wimbledon fortnight is sacrosanct.
She hasn't been to SW19 for some years now, the journey is too taxing, but she tries not to miss every serve, every backhand, every volley of the television coverage.
Our book club meetings, on the last Monday morning of every month, cover a multitude of conversational topics and are often enlivened by the presence of a couple of guide dogs under the table. We can go on for up to two hours, even though that can be quite hard work for Claire.
Not this month; this month, Claire warned us at the 10.30am start of our meeting that she would have to be home for the start of Wimbledon at noon - and she was.
I wonder if she was still there at 10.38pm when Andy Murray (known to the delinquents on the Post sports desk as 'C'mon Andy' in deference to the days when we refused to join the rest of the nation in crying 'C'mon Tim') finally put away Stanislas Wawrinka.
I'd lay a good bet that she was and I wonder if the success of the first use of Wimbledon's new roof will turn Claire's summer fortnight upside down.
The BBC, which stumps up millions of pounds every year for wall-to-wall coverage, had a peak of 12.6million viewers watching Murray-Wawrinka; that's 2.1million up on the Scot's early-evening meeting with Rafael Nadal last year.
The Beeb furiously denies that it had any say in the decision to keep the roof closed, claiming the Met Office told Wimbledon organisers of a 70 per cent chance of showers. It can't have done them any harm, though, so I wonder if the day is far away when Claire can enjoy more of the early part of her day during this fortnight, but will have to stay awake well into the early hours to see the denouement.
The US Open and the Australian Open, which regularly experience tennis at 2-3am, already do it and televised tennis at 7pm on the East Coast of the United States (midnight in London) would enhance the value of Wimbledon's overseas rights enormously.
I wouldn't be shocked if someone suggests 3pm starts and midnight (at the earliest) finishes within the next couple of years, especially if the weather isn't as good as this year.
That may not be a bad thing and the local authority has already given the green light, handing extended licences to pubs in Wimbledon Village and no doubt uttering business-speak phrases about 'enhanced consumer spend and greater tourist footfall."
But having often experienced the hell of Wimbledon and Southfields stations during the All-England Championships, I do wonder how London's creaking public transport system would cope in the early hours.
It's a tough decision and I hope the All-England Club aren't blinded by the thought of multi-million pound cheques as they make it.
If they do make the leap, perhaps I might be able to enjoy a little more of Claire's company at the June meeting of our book club.

Lunacy versus reality

2009-06-16T20:52:11Z

It was as I checked Ceefax for the last time before getting into the taxi on my way to Birmingham Airport and a week in Fuerteventura that I discovered that Gareth "I really need Champions League football" Barry had signed for............Manchester City.

It was a casual glance at BBC News 24 while I took a break from the searing heat of the Canary Islands which told me that Cristiano Ronaldo had signed for Real Madrid for a fee of £80 million and a reported salary of £500,000 per week.
I went to the fridge, poured myself another San Miguel and resigned myself to the view that top-flight football really is going to eat itself in the very near future.
It was as I got back to work at the weekend that I discovered a piece of news which should make the likes of Gareth and Cristiano hang their heads in shame.
Tony Kempster has died.
Tony who?
Tony Kempster was to non-league football what David Dimbleby is to general elections; what Jeff Stelling is to Saturday afternoons; what the late Bill Frindall was to cricket.
His website, www.tonykempster.co.uk, was the Holy Grail for those of us who care about the real end of the game. An exhaustive detailed analysis of teams, fixtures, structures and results from the Conference right down to the Midland Combination and its equivalent leagues across Britain, it attracted and honoured those players, fans and officials who are involved in football for the love of it, not for the glory or the money.
Programme editors and groundhoppers across the nation relied on Tony for their facts and knew he would be right.
Tony was only 56 when he died of cancer last week. He was honoured with a Lifetime Achievement Award when the National Game Awards for 2008-9 were handed out just before he passed away.
He posted a message on his website recently saying that it would be frozen as his health deteriorated. But it is such a thing of beauty to the non-league fan that it would be an awful shame (I cannot bring myself to use the word 'tragedy' when a 56-year-old has died of cancer) if it was left to stagnate.
Take a look at the link below, admire the detailed beauty of this map and remind yourself just what football is all about. And the next time a Championship manager tells you that "we'll take each game as it comes and the boys will give it 100 per cent" feel free to smack him in the mouth.

Tony Kempster RIP

http://www.tonykempster.co.uk/maps09-10.htm

For details of how to donate to Tony's chosen charities, please go to: http://health.tonykempster.co.uk/

The big four - again...and again....and again....

2009-06-01T15:43:00Z

Clive Tyldesley doesn't get a lot right, but ITV's oh-so-pleased-with-himself football commentator was right on the money during the European Cup final.

After an opening half-hour during which the pro-Manchester United feeling was laid on with a trowel, Tyldesley suddenly applied the brakes, took a deep breath as the camera lingered over a shot of Barcelona coach Pep Guardiola and said, with a note of regret: "Of course, I realise an awful lot of you out there will be supporting his boys tonight."
I suspect that 90 per cent of the watching nation raised a cheer at that point; certainly, the reaction of the people alongside me when Barcelona scored their second goal was not that of Tyldesley and David Pleat and Steve Ryder and the rest of the ITV crew, who rely on continued 'English' success in the Champions' League for their jobs.
It was a cheer of relief that one of the Premier League's 'big four' were being given their come-uppance. Certainly, on Thursday morning my inbox was stuffed with anti-United, anti-Fergie gags, most unsuitable for publication here.
It was the same for Saturday's FA Cup final. I had my own reasons for wanting Everton to win (£5 at 16-1 for a 2-1 win being the least important of them) but the replica shirts on show around Tamworth town centre and in its hostelries on Saturday afternoon were not Chelsea blue but Everton blue - a sight not often seen 100-plus miles from Merseyside.
The cheer when Louis Saha scored the fastest goal ever recorded in a Cup final far outweighed those when Chelsea replied and by the time John Terry was collecting the trophy (whatever happened to the 39 steps at the old Wembley, by the way?), the TVs had long been turned off.
So when will the national media, the newspapers, the television companies and the Football Association finally get it that the continued domination of the English game by Manchester United, Liverpool, Chelsea and (just about, Arsene..) Arsenal, is not good for interest?
Those with a casual knowledge no longer watch because they know who's going to win; committed fans of other clubs know that they will only ever break down the wall if another Roman Abramovich comes along; even committed fans of the big four are finding it difficult to pay the rising cost of watching Champions League football and are disillusioned by their club's indifference to most domestic football.
English cricket is killing itself by playing too often in the pursuit of money; English football isn't doing that but it should not assume that the current level of interest will be there for ever - and if nothing is done to curtail the rule by the big four, the day when it all crashes down could be closer than they think.

It was a fair bet I'd lose - but it was fun trying...

2009-05-29T11:40:31Z

Last weekend, I did something I don't do very often and probably haven't done for 12 months.
I enjoyed it so much that I'm intending to do it again tomorrow.

I bet on a football match.
Now I realise I'm behind the times here, but I was genuinely surprised to read recently about the huge percentage of off-course bookmakers' profits that come not from horse racing but from football.
As regular readers will know, I'm a horse-racing man. When I walk up the road most Saturday mornings to see Mr William Hill, I do so to study the racecards on the wall and take a view on how to fund the Chinese takeaway which myself and Mrs W enjoy most Saturday nights.
Most of the customers are similarly inclined but there is always a group of lads in one corner huddled around the football coupons. A few years ago, I was one of them, until I realised that betting on the correct result of anything up to ten matches was a mug's game.
I prefer to pick two or three horses, preferably from that afternoon's televised cards, taking my chances that way. But what the newspapers dubbed 'Premiership Survival Sunday' sparked my interest - and when I bumped into four burly men in Newcastle United shirts and an Aston Villa fan on my way into town, I thought I'd have a punt on Villa v the Toon.
Correct result, first goalscorer, score at half-time, Villa with a one-goal start, last goalscorer - which was it to be? In the end, I settled on odds on 8-1 for Villa to win 2-0, which seemed a reasonable bet against a side surely destined for doom.
It did, of course, assume that Villa would rouse themselves after two months of staggering towards the finishing line but it surely wouldn't be that difficult, with Newcastle falling apart.
And I must say it made Sunday afternoon at work far more interesting. Three big-screen televisions and Final Score live on my computer (don't tell the boss...) and once Villa scored at the end of the first half (OK, Damien Duff did it for them), I thought I was on to something.
There wasn't a lot of work done in the next hour as I gazed anxiously up at the screens and down at Ray Stubbs and Garth Crooks (who is always far better with the sound turned off, don't you think?).
A Villa-supporting friend had circulated an email on Friday afternoon pointing out that it was the duty of us all to support them against Newcastle 'just so we can see thousands of fat Geordies in tears' and I was right with him now.
Newcastle were disinterested, surely Villa could walk one in and pay for a couple of Mrs W's birthday presents.
On a couple of occasions, I thought they'd done it as Stubbs took us over to Villa Park.
In the end, of course, it wasn't to be. Martin O'Neill was happy to finish sixth in the Premier League and I tore up my ticket and went back to work.
But it certainly made the afternoon more interesting and as I will be enjoying tomorrow's FA Cup final in what passes for my local these days, I'm going to have another shot.
I've explained here before (http://blogs.birminghampost.net/sport/2009/04/a-story-to-restore-my-faith-in.html)
why I'll be supporting Everton and I see from Peter Sharkey's betting column in The Post that I can get 10-1 on David Moyes' men to beat Chelsea.
That'll do for me and a win would be the perfect start to our summer holiday. I'll let you know how I handle it - but only if I win, of course.

The perfect read for a golf lover

2009-05-19T18:50:52Z

I discovered pretty early on in life that I'd never make a golfer. Actually, I discovered pretty early on in life that I'd never make an active sportsman of any sort but that's another story.

If parental influence had anything to do with it, I really should have been a golfer. Among my clearest memories of childhood are those of my father getting up at 7am every Sunday and heading off with three mates for 18 holes at either Habberley (http://www.habberleygolfclub.co.uk/) or Ludlow (bottom) (http://www.ludlowgolfclub.com/pages.php/index.html) Golf Clubs.
He'd get home at about 2pm and spend most of the afternoon snoozing quietly on the sofa. At the time, I never quite understood why; now, more than 30 years later, I think I probably do.
Outside those Sunday mornings, he would often take me for nine holes at Habberley. Between the ages of eight and about 13, I was sufficiently keen to have my own cut-down set of clubs and I did my best, although I quickly discovered that my lack of hand-eye co-ordination would be a major handicap to a money-spinning career.
I gave up playing as exams and a career became a major distraction, but golf is still one of the top five sports I follow from the safety of the sofa/the Post sports desk.
I have spent virtually all my career on The Post following Paul Broadhurst and Steve Webster and I have mentioned here before that arguably the best day of Broady's career, his third-round 63 at The Open Championship in 1990, took place on my wedding day.
Whenever golf makes one of its rare excursions on to terrestrial television, I'm watching and I would love the opportunity to recreate a journey my dad and I made to see The Open at St Andrew's in the late-1970s.
At the age of 72 (73 this week but with the mind and spirit of a man at least 20 years younger) my dad still plays. These days, he and his ailing knee get round his home course of La Sella (below) on Spain's Costa Blanca (http://www.lasellagolfresort.com/es/la-sella-golf.html) with the help of a cart but rare are the weeks when he doesn't manage two rounds. Indeed, rare are the summers when he doesn't manage at least two golfing trips away.
I doubt, though, that he will be able to live up to the title of the terrific book I have bought for his birthday (please don't tell him, I haven't posted it yet.)
1001 Golf Holes You Must Play Before You Die, by Jeff Barr, is one of those books that will enthrall even a part-time fan like myself.
It cleverly divides the featured holes so that the best No 1 holes in the world come first in the running order, with the best 18th holes providing a splendid finale.
It also offers an insight into the thinking of the course designer, so that readers will learn why a particular hole on a course tends to be designed in a particular way.
Having bought it, I thought I would take a brief glance before working out how to package what is a 960-page brick of a book. Forty-five minutes later, it was Mrs W's return from work that forced me to put it down.
In the summer, this is perfect back-garden reading; in the winter, the perfect accompaniment to a large glass of something nice in front of a roaring fire. So good is it, that I may well go and purchase a second copy for myself.
To anyone remotely interested in golf, I heartily recommend it.

A story to restore my faith in football

2009-04-28T15:42:39Z

I've moaned enough times on here about the money-obsessed nature of football these days, from the Premier League right down to the Conference National and below. But something happened this week to remind me of the game's everlasting ability to touch the hearts and stir the emotions of people of every age, of every nation, of every lifestyle.

A very close friend's mother has died at the age of 85. Although she had been very ill a while ago, she had enjoyed 12 months of relative good health and was at home when she passed away peacefully - on the evening of the Everton-Manchester United FA Cup semi-final.
I'll let my friend take up the story, with the email he sent me and some others a few days after his mum died.
"We think my mum might have been watching that dreadful Everton v Man U semi-final when she died on Sunday evening. She enjoyed her football and would have been delighted to see United lose, so we are now all Everton fans on FA Cup final day. In addition, I have requested that we sing Abide With Me at her funeral as acknowledgement of her footy devotion and this curious FA Cup link."
As someone of the generation which grew up with the Cup final as the only live match on television and who has wanted for years to go out to the strains of Abide With Me, I know where he's coming from.
Rest in peace, Mrs H. Let's hope against hope that this year's Cup final (on another new pitch, remember) is a cracker, in your honour.

Lambs step nervously into the limelight

2009-04-24T09:56:11Z

I'm grateful to my colleague Rob Tanner, for bringing readers' attention to the thrilling end to the non-league football season, in particular the battles involving Burton Albion and Tamworth.
Burton can look after themselves (or maybe they can't, as they sit on the verge of blowing a 17-point lead) but as you may have seen by now, Tamworth clinched the Blue Square North title this week, courtesy of a fist-gnawingly tense 1-0 win over Hinckley Town at The Lamb.

Victory puts them back in Conference National (Division Five, if you will) after a two-season absence and alongside the likes of Wrexham, Mansfield, York, Rushden, Oxford and, amazingly, the relegated Luton Town.
Given the financial constraints detailed in my fellow Tammie's blog, the mood among Tamworth's 6-700 loyal supporters has veered between jubilation and trepidation. Some are looking forward to visiting proper grounds and all those ex-Football League clubs (one loyal supporter of 25 years has told me he is considering only going to away games next year); others are already moaning about visiting plastic all-seater stadia with over-zealous security men and expensive ticket prices.
Almost all are wondering how a team which had to fight all the way to win an incredibly low-quality Conference North will cope against big-budget full-time teams targeting a place in League Two.
The Lambs won the league this year by bringing in a squad of enthusiastic well-motivated youngsters with a point to prove after being released by higher-level teams. Thanks to a pair of master motivators in Gary Mills (yes, that Gary Mills, he of the Nottingham Forest team which won the European Cup) and his assistant Darron Gee, it worked. But the financial gap between North and National is greater, in my view, than between Championship and Premiership - so what happens now?
Go up, get battered every week, get relegated by February but bank the increased gate revenue and win the Conference North in better fashion in two seasons' time while steadily improving the ground (see Lewes this season)?
Go up, spend a fortune you haven't got, still fail to get in a blow against the big guns and ruin the club's financial fortunes for years ahead (see Alistair Darling)?
Go up, make some judicious signings of experienced Conference players, mix them with the enthusiastic youngsters and be happy with finishing in 16th place next year (see Hull City/Stoke City)?
If the club chooses Option C (and given that they have a steady and reliable chairman in Bob Andrews, I think they will), Mills should be the man to do the motivating. Whatever, it's going to be a fascinating ride.
Some of us, of course, are not going wholly for the football. There is a devoted band of real ale-drinking Tamworth loyalists who use every new away ground as an opportunity to 'tick' new towns, new pubs, new breweries, new beers. They never mis a game and to them, a copy of the CAMRA Good Beer Guide is as crucial as Rothmans Football Yearbook.
Their exploits are legendary, their stories classic (remind me to tell you about the journey to Gainsborough Trinity a couple of months ago, which required the 8.48am train from Tamworth for a 7.45pm start, going via Birmingham, Nottingham and Lincoln). I hope to bring some of them to you when the season begins in August - and at least Tamworth will be here in August, unlike an increasing number of non-league clubs who seem to have chosen the Alistair Darling approach.

The Lambs can rise again

2009-04-21T10:35:25Z

This is truly the business end of the season when the fates of football clubs up and down the land in so many divisions of the football pyramid are decided after a long, hard season.
Wolves are back in the Premier League and Blues are on the cusp of joining them.
Albion's fate was all but sealed last weekend, while Villa still face a fight to maintain their UEFA Cup spot.
But it is further down the pyramid that has grabbed my attention recently. In the spit and sawdust, and real ale realm of non-league football.
Burton Albion are desperately clawing their way to the finish line to book their place in the Football League for the first time in the club's history having picked up a case of the promotion jitters in recent weeks.
If they manage to hang on, what an amazing feat that would be and credit to everyone associated with the club.
Just a few years ago, the Brewers were competing alongside my hometown club of Tamworth in the Conference, but while the Lambs were left behind, the Brewers went from strength to strength, thanks mainly to the move to the Pirelli Stadium.
Their new facility gave them the foundation to build upon, to generate their own off-the-field income and build a club capable of sustaining itself at a higher level.
Tamworth tried to do exactly the same but have been met with barrier after barrier, mainly due to local politics and a lack of support from various entities.
As a result, when Tamworth were surviving in the Conference but looking to push on to secure their future, they were left in limbo and left behind.
They were relegated and have been through a process of rebuilding. Tonight, their recovery could be complete because if they beat Hinckley United at The Lamb, they will be promoted back to the Conference Premier. It would be an achievement on a par with Burton's.
If Burton are promoted what a boost that would be to the town and I am sure everyone would want to share in the celebrations, and deservedly so. Would the name of the town be in the national spotlight more for anything else but football? I doubt it.
If Tamworth do it, on their own terms but with the help of their fantastically loyal band of supporters, I am sure many around the town, including local dignitaries, would also want a taste of the bubbly.
But I wonder how many outside the club truly deserve it.

No longer bowled over by cricket

2009-03-31T15:18:17Z

Of all the sports to have sold their souls to television and money, I think cricket has suffered the worst.
Did you know there is still one match to go in England's interminable tour of the West Indies? Actually, if the dispute between the West Indies players and authorities over (guess what?), money, is not resolved, it may have finished already.

Did you know that there is still a Test series taking place between New Zealand and India? That the 2009 domestic season starts on April 9 with the County Championship underway five days later?
For the first time in many years, I didn't. For the first time in many years, I have yet to go out and purchase my copy of the 2009 edition of the Playfair Cricket Annual (Bill Frindall RIP).
As I write, the start of the Ashes series between England and Australia is 99 days away. Before then, there will be the Indian Premier League, a one-day international and Test series against the West Indies, the Twenty20 Cup and the Twenty20 World Cup with the County Championship shoehorned somewhere in between.
Those of us with Sky (either at home, or in the office) will be overwhelmed with international and one-day cricket; those without will be forced to search the broadsheet newspapers for coverage of our native counties whose teams we have supported all our lives.
The Post will, of course, maintain our usual high standards; whether other newspapers will do the same when paginations are being cut in straitened times is debatable.
In my case, it's the money wot's lost it. I can no longer take seriously an England team that seems to chase round the world at every opportunity to make a few more pounds, playing games when and wherever their television paymasters decree and making it impossible to keep up. Meanwhile, the international game has become so far detached from the County Championship which spawned its players as to make the whole thing unbelievable.
It seems to be so difficult to play oneself out of the privileged and preening England set-up as to make the county game irrelevant except to the few loyalists (and Post readers) who sustain it.
I write as someone who believes New Road, Worcester to be one of the greatest sporting settings in the country, if not the world. And perhaps my jaundiced view has been coloured by the struggles of Worcestershire chief executive Mark Newton and his colleagues to make the best of a nightmare situation over the last two flooded summers.
As a Worcestershire native, I am less troubled by Warwickshire's ongoing argument over ground redevelopment at Edgbaston but money also lies at the heart of that argument.
I am looking forward to spending a day or two at New Road this summer, hopefully in sunlit conditions not seen for the past three years. Perhaps my mood will have softened by then, but with the season just over a week away, English cricket has a great deal to do to draw me back into its spell.

An afternoon to remember

2009-03-23T13:41:32Z

I have been fortunate enough to watch rugby for a living for more than five years now and I've seen some wonderful matches and individual performances in that time.

And I've always said that Birmingham & Solihull's victory over London Wasps in February 2004 was the highlight of that period.

How the world marvelled as the butchers, bakers and candlestick makers dumped the biggest names in the sport on their illustrious backsides.

Saturday was another such occasion. Moseley's National Trophy semi final upset was cast from the same mould.

No, that's not quite right, rather it was the same cocktail of manic motivation and condescending complacency that left Exeter comatose in the gutter and Moseley intoxicated with their own success.

It's not easy to say which one was the more enjoyable.

Not that anyone was tipping Moseley to win but Bees' was certainly less expected. They were away from home against a Premiership side featuring the likes of Trevor Leota, Simon Shaw, Tim Payne and Tom Voyce. The nearest Exeter had to a household name was Josh Lewsey's brother.

But then that Bees team had no home-grown players, none who'd come through the system. They were expertly recruited professionals who came together that year to produce something special.

On Saturday Moseley had at least six or seven players they could call their own and that makes it all the more sweet.

And while Wasps certainly didn't want to be embarrassed on their own patch they might reflect that their quarter final loss was the best thing that happened to them as they went on to win the Heineken Cup.

For Exeter their whole season was riding on the outcome. It was a double header and in losing they waved goodbye to the cup and in all likelihood the league.

Not only was there a sense of history at Billesley Common, the win put Moseley through to Twickenham, all Bees got was a pasting at Newcastle Falcons. But they were on live television.

There was nothing seat-of-the-pants about Moseley's either. Ian Smith's side never trailed, they had the perfect gameplan and executed it to the letter. Bees did something similar but theirs was a white-knuckle ride of an afternoon.

Ah, you say, but Bees caused their shock in a more famous competition, the Powergen Cup was the direct descendent of the John Player and Pilkington and that's a fair point.

In short I don't know which one is more creditable, I find it difficult to say which was more memorable, I just count my blessings that I witnessed both.

That is not to say it wasn't cold up on Chillesley Common!

BUT - An ode to hope

2009-03-19T15:28:29Z

Tomorrow's the famed double-header
When Mose could be slapped even redder
Painful defeat to an end would bring
A truly special EDF spring

But...they're not supermen coming from Ex
And there just might be a last hurdle hex

Most say they don't have a sniff,
Those red and black hordes of coach Smith
Their guests will be far too strong
Not a foot - or a toe - will go wrong

But...if Mose stick it to every last Chief
Those critics might yet come to grief

In the cup they've lost out to Mike Teague
And there's not been much good in the league
Years of losses have piled like the leaves
And scattered on the cold Billesley breeze

But...Saturday's the day when it's through
All those deferred dreams in the end may come true

It's a long shot, we admit it, of course,
But if Exeter fall from their horse,
And Mose steal an improbable win
How the proud city will grin
And in beating those giants from Devon
For once the Common will be heaven.

Anon 2009

'The Long Fellow', 'AP'....and my nan

2009-03-11T11:02:35Z

I blame my nan on my mother's side - for Nora Harrod was a proper punter.
Decades before At The Races and Racing UK, years before Teletext gave instant access to that day's racing results, Nora and her husband Charlie, a retired carpet factory worker, would sit every afternoon in their living room in Kidderminster, with a copy of The Sun and a mug of tea, poring over the form and flicking on the radio every 30 minutes for the sports news and the racing results.

I can't say she was particularly good at it because I'm not aware of a secret family treasure trove stashed away since they died in the late-1980s, but she certainly gave me the punting and horse racing bug.
She taught me the mysteries of the formbook and I think I've mentioned previously here that she placed my first-ever bet; it was on Crisp in the 1973 Grand National - I've been mostly finishing second ever since and I still don't like Richard Pitman.
Nan Harrod also introduced me to one of my first sporting heroes in the shape of Lester Piggott. Like generations of punters, she admired 'The Long Fellow' for his determined, some might say brutal, approach to riding winners.
Piggott, who earned his nickname by being unusually tall for a jockey, had a style that would probably have got him banned for life today, if indeed he ever made it out of training school. Whip raised way above shoulder level from well before the finishing line, it often seemed as if he picked up horses and bodily dragged them over the winning line before their rivals.
One particular ride sticks in my mind. It would have been in about 1978 because it was a Saturday afternoon and this particular 14-year-old was in the bar at Kidderminster Hockey Club, just preparing to do his worst for Kidderminster 4th XI. The television was tuned to ITV and the racing was on. I don't remember the name of the race, the course or the horse but I watched mesmerised as Piggott more or less carried his mount to victory in the final furlong. Afterwards, I sat back and thought: "How did he do that?"
Piggott rode until the age of 56, clocking up 4,493 Flat-race winners. I finally had the privilege of meeting him at last year's Cheltenham Festival when, now a sprightly 73-year-old, he signed a copy of his biography for me.
Perhaps there was a 14-year-old somewhere watching day one of this year's Cheltenham Festival alongside his grandmother this week and catching the racing bug.
If so, they would have seen a ride which took me back to the great days of Lester.
Tony 'AP' McCoy isn't allowed to use Piggott's demented style, the animal rights lobby having put an end to that years ago, but is just as driven and just as beloved by punters. He, too, sometimes seems to carry half-a-ton of horseflesh across the line on his own and countless are the times, in betting shop and on racecourse, where I have heard people say: "That wouldn't have won without AP."
The Irishman's ride aboard Wichita Lineman in the William Hill Trophy was a case in point. Its owner and trainer had given up hope well before the final fence but McCoy had not. Pushing, driving, cajoling, coaxing, he steered his mount up the daunting Cheltenham hill, urged on by thousands of racegoers. Just before the winning line, he got his head in front to take the prize.
Cheltenham erupted and not just with the cheers of those (such as yours truly) who were talking through their wallets.
Here was recognition of a man who is the best jockey of his generation by a mile and arguably one of the finest sportsmen - yet who could probably walk down most High Streets in Britain unmolested.
The BBC's Sports Personality of the Year award gives him a cursory mention every December but he has never been in with a sniff of the prize - yet for sheer dedication to his craft, sheer persistence and sheer talent, there may be none better in Britain today.
And I know my nan, looking up from her Racing Post and looking down from her armchair in racing heaven, would agree with me.

Just promoting trouble

2009-02-25T10:57:42Z

"Of course, if we go up, we'd have to change the entire team," complained a workmate as we discussed the previous evening's football results. "I wouldn't back any of them to get a first-team place next season."

As it happens, he was talking about Birmingham City, but he could just as easily have been talking about Wolverhampton Wanderers, Reading, Bristol City, Preston North End, Leicester City, Burton Albion or, come to that, Tamworth.
It's a problem of which many fans are becoming increasingly aware as money strengthens its' grip on football - do we want to win promotion in a blaze of glory in late-May, knowing that November will see us in a relegation battle because we can't afford the thousands or millions of pounds required to be competitive at the higher level?
I suspect Blues and Wolves fans already know the answer, given that the recession can only have worsened their backers' financial position since their last brief shining moment of glory. The thought of Bristol or Preston in the Premier League isn't a pretty one while Reading have, of course, also been there, done it and failed.
The mighty Lambs, meanwhile, are a point behind Blue Square North leaders Gateshead with two games in hand. After a disappointing campaign last season, it's been a bit of a shock to Tamworth's fans but it's been achieved with a young squad who, most people agree, would struggle in the money-dominated BS Premier.
Indeed, when one regular contributor to the fans' forum at www.tamworthfans.co.uk tried last month to start a topic entitled "Who would you keep next season if we go up?", he was quickly slapped down by those saying 'two or three, at most.'
That's not a satisfying way to watch football, in my opinion. After winning promotion from the West Midlands League in the early-90s, Tamworth spent several years in the Midland Division of the Southern League, building a base on and off the field before being in a position to challenge for promotion to the Premier Division and ultimately, the Conference.
And I enjoyed those years, far more than I enjoyed their four years of toil in the lower reaches of the Conference. They were competitive in more seasons than not, the club was never put in financial jeopardy by chasing a pointless dream and while the football wasn't great, at least relegation was rarely on the horizon.
Is that a better way than being a yo-yo club? Up one season and down the next, experiencing wildly differing emotions as the seasons change, hoping against hope that this season will be the one; that this businessman will be the one whose money finally pushes us up over the top so that we stay on the right side of the fence?
I'm not saying I don't want Blues/Wolves/Burton/Tamworth to go up (although I would appreciate it if the Lambs could end the suspense quickly - the potentially crucial last match of the season at AFC Telford clashes with a friend's wedding day), but that promotion in football's cash-driven world can bring more trouble than it's worth.
I guess what I am saying is this - Is it sometimes better to be a Walsall fan? And is that why the Saddlers' are the second-favourite club of every football fan in the West Midlands?

Prem prize up for grabs

2009-02-23T16:02:43Z

Hands up who wants promotion to the Premier League? Anyone? What, not one of you?
Crazy as it seems that seems to be the case at the top of the Championship.
Before Christmas it seemed so straight forward. It was supposed to be two from three as Wolves, Blues and Reading dominated proceedings.
Wolves were scoring at will and were as strong defensively as they were the previous season. There were many who were waiting for the bubble to burst but Wolves just kept winning.
Blues were packed with players with Premier League experience and while they never looked as convincing as Wolves, they knew how to grind out the victories.
After a slowish start, the Royals began to rediscover their attacking flair and were moving ominously closer to Wolves and Blues.
Since Christmas and everything has changed. Wolves have won one game in ten, while Reading and Blues have failed to take advantage with just two wins each in the same period. It is relegation form and yet they are still in the top three.
Wanderers are struggling to keep a clean sheet while Blues have are struggling to get out of first gear, and Reading are treading water.
Preston's charge has slowed to a crawl, Burnley had faltered in league as their cup exploits distracted them but are now unbeaten in six, while Bristol City and Cardiff are mounting challenges of sorts.
But despite their attempts, I still feel the top two will come from Blues, Wolves and Reading come the end of the season, and I think that says it all about the Championship.
Albion lost 11 games last season and still won the league. That is nearly a quarter of the season.
No wonder the promoted sides struggle in the Premier League.

Out of my ground

2009-02-12T11:36:44Z

Where do Yeovil Town play? What about Dagenham and Redbridge? Or Stockport County?

Come on, don't go searching for the Nationwide Football Annual. And what about Brighton & Hove Albion?
Come on, no conferring, I want you to name every one of the 72 grounds in the Football League and you've got ten minutes.
Tricky, isn't it? Great fun, though, because I've just tried it, thanks to one of my favourite quiz websites, www.sporcle.com.
Sporcle is an American-owned site which asks questions you really think you ought to know the answers to and gives you a time limit to solve them.
It's a general knowledge site, so quizzes such as naming the countries and flags of the world, famous cats and dogs, American states, the elements of the periodic table, the planets and the like are among its most popular.
The American slant means that challenges such as having five minutes to name every one of the 32 National Football League franchises or every team manager in Major League Baseball are well-tried, but it does cross the Atlantic on regular occasions and I've just discovered the challenge mentioned above at www.sporcle.com/games/footballleague_stadiums.php.
How did I do? Well, for someone who professes to be a lifelong football fan and particular admirer of the lower leagues, not well.
I got 32 out of 72 in the ten minutes allotted. I named 19 of the 24 Championship stadia, but went downhill fast from there. I only found seven of the 24 League One grounds and six of the 24 in League Two. |And before you ask, yes, I did name the four West Midlands grounds involved.
I lay some of the blame on the increasing trend for clubs to name new grounds after sponsors. The only reason I remembered that Doncaster Rovers play at the Keepmoat Stadium is because of Birmingham City's recent pursuit of Rovers defender Matthew Mills but did you know that Accrington Stanley live at the Interlink Express Stadium or that Shrewsbury's new ground is the Prostar Stadium?
Some of the blame, though, must surely lie with increasing age. I couldn't even remember grounds I've visited, such as London Road in Peterborough, Bury's Gigg Lane or Spotland in Rochdale while famous old names such as Sincil Bank in Lincoln (Brian Halford, our Walsall FC correspondent and an Imps fan to his boots, will kill me) and Bournemouth's Dean Court eluded me.
I was quite pleased with myself for knowing that Carlisle United play at Brunton Park and Reading at the Madejski Stadium (and for spelling the latter correctly, unlike plenty of football writers whose copy I've amended) but I really should have remembered St James's Park in Exeter or Boundary Park, Oldham.
And that's enough of me solving this for you. Have a go yourself and I'll be fascinated to find out how you get on. Just don't come complaining to me when your boss hauls you in for becoming addicted to Sporcle during working hours.