I missed the England-Austria World Cup qualifier because I won’t subscribe to Murdoch TV. Calam almost did for us again despite a two-goal lead. Oh well. But then our beloved national team put it right midweek with a good 2-1 win in Poland, in which Jermaine Defoe distinguished himself with a superb piece of opportunism. Afterwards, the players refused to talk to the media infoclerks. The following morning on BBC Radio Five one of said clerks sniffed, “It’s time these players realised their responsibilities. They get paid thousands by large companies and sponsors and they owe them some return.” You couldn’t make it up, but they can and do, and it never crosses what passes for their collective mind that nobody gives a shit if they get stiffed by the players or not. Personally I think the players should do it more often until there is absolutely nothing for the infoclerks to do except go on the dole. It can’t come soon enough for this fan.

Also midweek (and inserted here for no reason other than my own perfectly justified complete political bias) I watched a DVD that makes dear Michael Moore’s efforts look like amateur videos of a vicarage tea-party. To wit, Erroll Morris’s 2003 Academy Award winning documentary, “The Fog of War.” Those who despise the Anglo-American invasion of Iraq would do well to view this film. All those grey heads who opposed the Vietnam War will find full if very belated vindication delivered by, of all people, Robert Strange McNamara. The war itself was frequently labelled “McNamara’s War” because of his seven-years involvement as US Secretary of “Defense.” Of course that was a simplification – McNamara was a manager, not an instigator – but once you have listened to his self-admitted history of war criminality you will be left with little doubt the American Establishment was and is every bit as heinous as contemporary accusations would have it. Once again the guilt trail is traced back to Texas. Compare that to even more tawdry propaganda from current members of the British and US Establishments and it can be seen their behaviour has changed little. Watch the DVD, feel sombre, and remember it next time – and there WILL BE a next time – they send our uniformed young men and women to do their dirty business for them. And they still haven’t found any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq……………………..

Thursday night courtesy of Kipper I was invited to an Alan Ball evening – actually a launch of his book – held in our luxury brasserie known universally as The Tent for fairly obvious architectural reasons. Unfortunately it was booked some time ago in ignorance of the one-night-only comedy stand of a club extraordinary general meeting instigated by Tom Cannon and supported by the Sharesellers Association. Given reliable accounts of the latter I have to say I very much regret the clash which led to me missing all the fun. Bally is a good and fairly funny footy raconteur but apparently he isn’t half as unintentionally hilarious as the tin trumpeters, paper drummers, hate-mongers and snake oil salesmen, water pistols blazing, who managed to miss the open goal yawning in front of them at said meeting. The two most common words I heard to describe it all were “pathetic” and “shambles.” Properly managed from the floor of the gathering it could of course have been a rare moment to pose sensible questions and help clear the air. Alas, it seems it was like listening to your average tyro Year One School Band on a bad day in Winter in the schoolyard. The mere technical ability to instigate an EGM is quite separate from delivering a successful result.

No wonder Bill and co. came out of it smiling like Cheshire Cats. I am reliably informed they stood around the barrel taking it in turns to use Kalashnikovs on various fish as they surfaced for the bait. Veterans of such meetings will know there are many different ways to make your point successfully and emphatically. They vary wildly but each of them have one essential common factor. That is, do not shoot yourself in the foot. Let alone reload and hit yourself in the other foot and then cap it all by sticking the gun barrel in your mouth and pulling the trigger for the last time. Apparently it is unlikely anyway the final discharge would hit anything until it removed occipital parietal areas of the subject skull.

Two things you don’t do (if only to maintain credibility) are –

(a) Talk about management if you haven’t the first clue how to manage anything, still less organise a meeting that questions management. Especially when you don’t even have the ability to carry a floor vote on a show of hands

and

(b) With your opponent’s goal wide open in front of you promptly turn around, run the length of the pitch and stick the ball in your own net and then raise your arms for acclaim. Don’t be surprised if you are greeted by stunned silence.

And no, nothing of any worth was achieved, forced or initiated, except a tediously predictable physical fracas at the end, reductio ad absurdum in full flow. With it went the last vestige of credibility of the EGM and the Sharesellers Association. Anybody who pretends otherwise is living on Planet Zog along with the ne’er do wells who provoked both protagonists in the fracas – and then actually applauded the spectacle after egging it on. Sickening isn’t the word. But “mobparanoid” is.

Me, I’m an optimist about humans but I long ago learned some people are well beyond salvaging for The Enlightenment. However, as regulars will know, forced to choose between laughter and tears I’ll pick humour every time. There’s mileage in this, people. Watch the vacant screen stretched between the ears of the tupenny tin trumpeters. They simply can’t help themselves.

But back at The Tent……………………I do wish they had done better food on the night. Sometimes I had the distinct feeling we would have been better off with the indigestible muck they serve in County Road chippies. Still a good night, though, enlivened by some decent footy chat and good company. It helps of course when nobody is a hate-monger. Which is why I choose my company very carefully. Footy-lovers all, and all the better for it.

Everyone on The Bus is a footy-lover with no time for any of the insidious claptrap surrounding the contemporary game. One wonders how long they can ignore the worst of it before calling it a day and leaving it to the self-glorifying barrow-boys, scam merchants and strictly small-time “insiders.” As the fall in season ticket sales demonstrated, it wouldn’t take much more of a push to send them on their way to watching a local Sunday league in the park instead.

And so to Manchester once again. This time to attempt a result at the home of Manc City, scene of an infamous capitulation of ours on the final day of last season. Almost anything was better than the stink of the EGM. But as it transpired my first visit to the City of Manchester Stadium was well worth it anyway. The venue itself is excellent though much smaller on the inside than you would expect, and certainly a vast improvement on poor old Maine Road. No City fan I have spoken to wants to return to Moss Side. Very sensible too. The new building has some visual and practical defects but there’s no question it is a superb piece of contemporary stadium architecture and a proper source of pride for Manchester. Now the other Mancs have sensibly announced they are to complete the upper corners of Old Trafford it doesn’t do for us Scousers to even begin to compare our football stadia with theirs. We are light years behind and it’s time this was sensibly acknowledged, especially next time you have to wade through all the chip-papers and other litter along Goodison Road.

In the pre-game pub, mercilessly, Mogsy was asked to consult his moby for word on transfers. You know the sort of thing…………Gravesen to Hamburg, Joey to Newcastle. Except both were once again absent from the line up. Hmm. Maybe Mogsy’s onto something after all. Also, there was another attempt to label Bus regular Tommy a raging queen for ordering “a pint of lager with a touch of lime” when we were at Crystal Palace. His macho reputation might have escaped intact if he hadn’t used the words “a touch of.” Nevertheless, he’s made of stern stuff and came back fighting with some new and old disgracefully unPC gags. Meanwhile, Paul was having emotional difficulties because his young sons had had to remove Rooney posters from their bedroom wall. At the match, in front of me sat an extremely large bald man with an earring and a tee shirt reading “Rooney Don’t You Dare Call Yourself A Scouser” front and rear. Sadly, forgiveness will not be on the agenda for some time yet, not while feelings are so raw. It’s probably a good thing we aren’t playing United again for a long time. I dread to think of the crowd’s reaction at Goodison.

It was a reasonably good game from our point of view, though it’s safe to say the Sitteh fans thought it was a pile of steaming poo. You could understand this because their side were hardly in it except for a couple of early scares that were promptly snuffed by lively, strong defence from everybody except Sandro. Once again our Italian Stallion opted for his more laconic approach and duly got skinned a few times. Around me, The Bus was apocalyptic every time the ball went near him. Everyone else played well in a display very reminiscent of our seventh place season. My own concerns were for Davey Weir (oh how I wish we had him when he was much younger) and how he would stand the pace. Fortunately he and Stubbsy were both like rocks at centre back. It remains to be seen whether they will withstand the marathon season and classier opposition. At various times the Mancs tried Anelka and Wright-Phillips against Hibbo but soon gave up when they found no quarter.

Midfield was tidy and determined, no flashes of genius or outlandish creative play, just nothing silly or maddening. If these first few matches are anything to go by Tim Cahill is going to be one of Moyesy’s inspired signings. I’m quite useless at this anorak formation stuff though it did look like five across the middle to me with loose-limbed Marcus patrolling a lonely if lively beat up front. You can see why Moyesy has always insisted he wants young, enthusiastic players. Despite this we created a whole string of chances in the first half. Unfortunately Calam was in really good form and kept them all out even when Tim and Leon should have buried two particularly good opportunities. By half time we were well in command and wondering if we could keep it up in the second half.

After a quarter of an hour of the second half we got in front with an outstanding goal. Hibbo crowned an excellent game with a persistent strong run to the right side goal line near the corner flag, and a magnificent cross – yes, you read it correctly – to our slightly left side of their penalty area and Tim – yes, we know him well enough now – butted it down and in back across Calam the way he should have in the first half. At which we got reductio ad absurdum Mark Two. Naturally he wheeled away cavorting, the way you do – in fact the way the entire away section did – got his shirt over his head, and promptly got sent off by a complete arse of a referee named Bennett. You couldn’t make it up. Christ, it’s a good job they don’t apply that too readily to away fans. Most of ours immediately turned on nearby Sitteh fans and bated them so mercilessly a couple of them went mad, frothed visibly, and had to be escorted out by the bizzies. I have to say that bit was quite entertaining. However, we were profoundly concerned our ten men wouldn’t be able to hold out.

We needn’t have worried. Sitteh had not the guile or the determination to breach our seemingly re-formed team spirit. Every time they got near the edge of the penalty area they got crowded out and the Mancs in the end were reduced to long range or snatch-shots, all of which zoomed into the upper tier with a regularity that emptied the home fans long before the end. The Gravedigger, The Big Yin and Nace were all summoned from the bench and did their bit. Nobody gave the ball away though there were a couple of heart stopping moments when The ‘Digger tried a couple of midfield late keep-ball-dribbles that loosened more than a few bowels.

All in all, yet another good result and display. As Arsenal’s results keep rolling in that first day massacre begins to look more or less ordinary. You can’t say fairer than that. My recommendation is for non-renewal season ticketeers to come back. I know it’s a ridiculously early time to be saying that but we’re skint and we need the dosh.

D’you hear me Peter Senior and Peter Junior?