What to do with Wayne ...

FROM villain to hero - all in a week and a couple of cracking goals for England against Slovakia. Such is the life of Wayne Rooney, enfante terrible of the footballing world.

Rooney answered his critics, following his petulant behaviour in Manchester United's embarrassing and unexpected defeat by Fulham the previous week, with a man-of-the-match award in the stroll in the sun at Wembley.

On Wednesday, when England play Ukraine, Rooney will become the youngest player at 23 to win 50 England caps. That makes him a very special talent and if he can keep his suspect temper under control he was almost certainly beat David Beckham's newly-achieved record of the most caps won by and England outfielder.

But what chance Rooney's career lasting that long? If you believe the views expressed by a certain section of the press last week, Rooney's going to be the next Gazza, hell bent on destruction.  Listen to his England team mates and commentators less prone to such extreme 

fortune telling and it's all about his passion for the game. Take away his aggression and Rooney will be a lesser player, they say.

Rooney's crime against Fulham was more about petulance than aggression. He threw the ball away to get a red card and then punched, rather pathetically,  the corner flag on his way to an early shower. Not quite up with the Eric Cantona catalogue of football misdemeanors. 

Much of Rooney's childish behaviour happens when United, or England for that matter, are not playing well. So frustration is probably part of the cause. However, how much tolerance should we show to someone in such a privileged position, earning millions a year, for kicking a football?

Should his club take more responsibility for his behaviour, not jumping to his defence quite so quickly?  England manager Fabio Capello referred to him as "a crazy man" but that was more a a "crazy ha-ha" rather than "crazy disturbing".  But it would seem that Capello does have the measure of the young man and there's no doubt Rooney is crucial to England's chances of success in next year's World Cup.

In any group of young men, there will always be one or two who step out of line. Rooney is not alone. There are rebels in all forms of sport and more often than not they are the ones who are blessed with the most talent. 

I'm pleased that Rooney will get his 50th cap on Wednesday and I hope he follows his former United colleague, Beckham, and plays for England for 100 games and beyond. 

One thing is sure. If England are to do well in South Africa, Rooney has to be on  form. He's suffered disappointments with injury in previous world cups. He's only got two more tournaments ahead of him. If he wants to make a real impact on world football, his has to keep his temper in check. There will always be indiscretions - but I think Rooney will enjoy a career as long and as successful as David Beckham.

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David Beckham deserves his place in the England squad and his 109th cap. I'm sure there will be a few more to fill the trophy cabinet in one - if not all - of his many residences around the world.

I believe it is wrong to compare him to Bobby Moore. All Beckham can do is to keep fit, keep playing and hope Capello will keep picking him. And when he gets on the field of play, keep delivering - as he did against Slovakia.

At this moment, Beckham deserves his place in the squad. He may never play 90 minutes again with three Lions on his chest but he proved on Saturday he still has much to offer.

Take away his ridiculous showbiz life, perpetuated by his wife, Beckham is a great role model. He keeps himself fit, he's a good family man and is a great ambassador for sport.

Get off his case.

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I'M not a great F1 fan but I usually tune in to see as many of the 17 grand prix that make up the season. 

I don't pretend to understand all the rules changes which has got this year's world championship off to such a fascinating start. A month ago Jason Button didn't have a ride and Lewis Hamilton was looking forward to retaining his title.

One race down at Button gets only his second victory in 150-odd races whilst Hamilton had the unusual experience of starting from 18th on the grid. He still managed to get on the podium, however.

It would seem there's very little difference in the top dozen or so drivers when it comes to driving skills. But there's a great difference in the cars they drive.

Apparently, the McLaren car lacks downforce and it's all to do with the type of diffusers being used. Confused? So am I. But it's added a little bit of spice to the new F1 season. One thing is for sure, Hamilton's not going to get it all his way whilst Button will get the chance to prove there's more to him than his playboy image portrays.

 

Well, it had to happen...

AS a Manchester United supporter (life-long since Munich) - and living 240 miles from Old Trafford - I'm used to being much malinged by other footballing fanatics.

Of course, all Man U fans have been cock-a-hoop this season following a brilliant run of form since Christmas which has got even the less boastful of Reds thinking that Fergie's boys can pick up all five trophies. 

Until Saturday, that is. I think it was back in 1992 that United had four put past them at Old Trafford. No one expected Liverpool to do it, despite heir European form in midweek.

The verbals between Ferguson and Rafa Benitez, and a stupid "I hate Liverpool" statement from Rooney, stoked the game up well before Saturday  so perhaps United were heading for a fall. But 4-1, surely not?

I didn't see the game on Sky. I had to attend a political lunch with my pal Nigel Fortnam, a big Liverpool fan (although it used to be Wolves when he was younger). Neither one of us could believe we were missing the biggest Premier game of the season to listen to a somewhat predictable speech on the European Parliament.

I checked the score on my mobile between courses when Liverpool were leading 2-1. And again after the coffee and speeches were over. Nigel was a surprised as me with the scoreline.

I phoned another friend, John Stamp, a season ticket holder at Old Trafford, who was at the game. "We didn't turn up," he said. "We were beaten by a better team."

I couldn't bring myself to watch Match of the Day, either on Saturday night or Sunday morning, but I have just seen the goals on Match of the Day 2. And yes, Vidic's sending off was deserved. He just couldn't cope with Torres.

United are still in a strong position but having looked at their run-in to the end of the season, it may well not be such a forgone conclusion that we will retain the Premiership. I think they could possibly lose eight points and if that is the case, Liverpool could pip us to the post.

However, I can't see Liverpool winning all their remaining games, despite Benitez's bravad0, and Chelsea are currently going great guns under new manager Guss Hiddink. Although I want United to win it, and let's face they deserve it, I don't think it will be by such a big margin everyone was talking about before Saturday's results.

There's still a lot of football to be played yet and the last few weeks of the season could be much more exciting than we thought.

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DOES anyone take women's cricket seriously? Well, those who play it definitely do, especially the England ladies team who have just got through to the World Cup final.

Ladies cricket has been around for years but gets precious little coverage in the national press. Despite England getting to the final, with a 146-run win over the West Indies, I could find barely a paragraph in the combined sporting pages of the British press.

In this corner of the cricketing world, women's cricket is alive and kicking (or should that be batting?), especially at Cloakham Lawn, home of Axminster Cricket Club, one of the most forward thinking in Devon.

Last season Axminster Ladies more than held their own in the Devon Premier League and they have certainly brought a new dimension - and a sense of fun - to the cricketing life of Cloakham Lawn. This is always much in evidence at the club's annual dinner. 

Not so long ago I got involved in ladies football with the formation of the Lyme Lazers at Lyme Regis Football Club.  At the time, we were trying to get funding for a new ground - the ill-fated Strawberry Field project - and having a women's team was one of those boxes that had to be ticked.

Once the novelty of girls running round in shorts wore off, and the ribald comments extinguished, the Lazers became an integral part of club life. Their attendance at the club dinner for the first time was a memorable occasion, receiving the trophies to sounds of the Spice Girls' hit "It's raining men".

I also remember taking to the women's FA Cup at Crystal Palace and an England international at Fratton Park. Their enthusiasm for the game was infectious.

The Lazers eventually joined the Dorset Women's League which was appallingly administered by Dorset FA, insisting on matching the new teams from smaller towns with the likes of Bournemouth, resulting in unnecessary heavy defeats which all but ruined morale.

The Lazers have now amalgamated with the Axminster girls and play in the Devon League, which is altogether more professional.

Football or cricket, the girls are proving there are few boundaries in sport these days.

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FOOTBALL could be coming home again at last - with England attempting to host the World Cup in 2018 or 2022. Bring it on.

If we pull it off, I want to be there, although I will be well into my seventies by then.

I was 18 when we last staged the World Cup in 1966, a young reporter on the Express & Echo in Exeter. I shall never forget the final as it nearly cost me my job. I skipped a job to watch England's historic victory over Germany. Later that evening I went to the Big Beat dance at the Marine Theatre in Lyme Regis where the continual chant of "In-ger-land In-ger-land" resulted in the band vacating the stage. 

The girls were not amused.

If England were to get to the final again in 2018 or 2022, I doubt very much that I will be raving it up afterwards. More like a cup of cocoa and an early doubt. But I will be just as excited.

What a shocker ...

TALKING of embarrassing cricketing moments, I have my own shocker.

I was a typical village cricketer: nice kit but not over blessed with talent. Very much a second elevener, a clumsy wicketkeeper who fancied himself as a opening bat. I did get the occasional outing with the 1st X1 , accepting any invitation to play the sport which dominated so many summers in the 1970s and 80s. But I knew my place.

I had my moments, notably a hat-trick of slip catches at Chardstock where Mark Parris was bowling furiously down the slope. In fact, two of the catches bounced off my fellow slip fielder and great cricketing pal, John Stamp.

The other big moment - and also one of the most disappointing  - was when I was caught on the boundary for 94, the nearest I came to scoring a ton. As I was well into my fifties at the time, I knew it was my last chance for that elusive century. In the bar afterwards one of my daughters said: "Don't worry Dad, it's only a game." What do girls know!

My most embarrassing moment came in a midweek final being played at Seaton. The light was fading and the opposition needed just four runs to snatch victory. With just one ball left to bowl, some of our players were starting the celebration.

But they hadn't factored in one mad yet comical moment from yours truly. I was fielding in the gully. The batsmen just swung in hope and the ball was skied in my direction. Although it was difficult to see I got in place to take the catch and win the game. I would be the hero of the day. But I spilled it. All I had to do was to pick it up and throw it into the keeper. We would still have won the game.

But no. Don't ask me why but as the ball tumbled out of my hands I tried to volley it into the hands of Rodney Rowe who was fast approaching, thinking he might well have been able to get to what was definitely my catch. I connected with the ball perfectly and volleyed it beautifully over the boundary for four runs, giving our opponents  an unexpected and undeserved victory.  I had never connected so sweetly with the ball in all the years I played football.

Rodney looked dumbfounded. John Stamp hollered out "twat" which just about summed it up. 

I was crestfallen in the dressing room where no one spoke to me. I packed my kit and went home. Later Martin Rowe called at my flat and told me to forget about it and come out and drown my sorrows. I couldn't even do that.

When it mattered most I let down my team. And for a sportsman, even those with modest talent, there's no worse feeling.

Cricket's a great leveller

THERE'S one sure thing about playing cricket. No matter how good you think you are, the sport will always bring your ego tumbling down. It might be a rogue ball which keeps low and demolishes your middle stump. It will almost certainly be a simple catch when the ball just tumbles out of your hand without explanation.

It happens to all cricketers, no matter what level you play at.

I couldn't help cogitating on the downfalls of playing cricket when I first heard that Kevin Pieterson and Andrew Flintoff had become the game's first million dollar cricketers in the obscene auction that took place for the Indian Premier League.

I wondered what the other England players really thought when Pieterson and Flintoff arrived in the England dressing room for the first test against the West Indies at Sabina Park. There would have been the usually joshing but I bet a few of them were thinking:  "Wouldn't it be ironic if they failed to trouble the scorer today with bat and ball."

In the first innings Pieterson was out in swashbuckling fashion on 97 - an innings that was praised and condemned in equal measures for the irresponsible shot he played when getting out. Flintoff contributed a modest six runs to the total. He did manage to grab a couple of wickets in the Windies' reply which gave them a 74-run lead.

Highly fancied England (unbeaten by the West Indies for nine years and 17 tests) would have been pleased with that. Then cricket did what cricket often does. It brings you down with a thumping great bump.

England were skittled out for just 51 runs with Flintoff getting six and Pieterson one. Million pound flops, you might say.

By all accounts there was a lot of bickering among the players. What influence did the elevation of Pieterson and Flintood to cricket's millionaire club have on the mood of the England camp? It's a question worth asking.

Actually, although I thought Pieterson was the wrong choice for captain (I prefer Englishmen in that particular role), I am a great fan of his. Every successful test team needs an impulsive player, exuding insufferable confidence. He's the modern-day Ian Botham, or as near as you can get to the world's greatest all-rounder.

Flintoff, too, is a great cricketer, both with bat and ball, more in the Botham mode when it comes to the after-match wind down/celebrations/fight.

England will have to put behind them their embarrassing second innings in Jamaica and there's still much to look forward to from this Caribbean tour.

As for the Indian Premier League, whilst I'm a bit of a traditionalist as far as cricket is concerned, you can't expect our most talented young cricketers to miss out on such wealth. I just don't want cricket to down the same greedy road as the English Premier football league which will implode in the not too distant future if severe action is not taken.

But that's another story ...

Harry up against it

THE look on Harry Redknapp's face said it all. As he stood on the touchline at Old Trafford urging his players to take the game to Manchester United in Saturday's FA Cup tie, the television cameras caught a wry smile on  'appy Harry's face. 

Actually, he didn't look that happy. His expression spoke volumes. "I got my work cut out here with this lot," kind of look. The honeymoon at Spurs is definitely over for the manager with the golden touch.

After a string of good results following his move from Portsmouth, which saw Tottenham climb out of the crowded relegation zone, Harry looks like he has a mountain to climb - or at least his players have - if they are to escape relegation.

Hampered by a crippling injury list, Harry doesn't seem to have settled on his best line-up or indeed his preferred format. The last few days of the January transfer window may help him provide some much needed punch up front to play alongside Defoe, but the run-in to the end of the season looks like being another roller-coaster for the mercurial former Bournemouth, West Ham, Portsmouth (twice) and Southampton boss.

Everyone expects Harry to preserve Spurs' Premier status but if Saturday's performance at Old Trafford is any indication, I'm not sure his squad has the stomach for a relegation scrap. Harry was forced to leap from his comfy dug-out chair on Saturday to get his players to give their all and rattle the United stars. But it never really happened.

As for United, apart from conceding the early goal, they never really looked in trouble and the second half  looked more like a training game for them. Sir Alex Ferguson gave Brazilian twin Fabio da Silva his first start and he looked better than his brother.

The mighty Reds have been drawn against the winners of Derby County and Nottingham Forest which will give Sir Alex the hope that winning four major trophies this season may be possible.

As for Spurs, well they could end up in the Euefa Cup, with their place already booked in the Carling Cup - and playing in the Championship. Surely not!

Wise man at the court of Keegan

IS there anyone out there in football land who believes Kevin Keegan actually sanctioned the appointment of Dennis Wise as executive director at Newcastle United - or even knew about it before the news was announced?
To be fair to Wise, those who know him to a man speak highly of his intelligence. Clearly he has greater attributes than his ability to thump mouthy taxi drivers. And he has done a good job at Leeds United where no one thought a stroppy little Cockney would be accepted by one of the most critical and viciously partisan set of supporters in the land.
But Keegan-Wise is not a match made in heaven.
Still, it's good work if you can get it - a £1.5 million salary package and he doesn't even have to live in the frozen north. Wise will operate out of London and I far as I can see will be overseeing Newcastle's scouting network and academy. He's one of a number of new appointments made by chairman Chris Mort, one of whom - Jeff Vetere -has the title of Vice-President (Player Recruitment) or some such moniker.
Keegan insists he will have the final say on new signings (yeah, course you will Kev) but the bookies are taking loads of money with good odds on the messiah chucking it in by the end of the season.
I know it's totally irrational, but I want Newcastle to lose every game just to see King Kev throw his toys out of the pram again. I even found myself cheering for Middlesbrough when they scored what could have been the winner in the Tyneside derby on Sunday before it was ruled offside.
If Keegan does lose it again and do another "I'd really love it if ..." routine, Wise is warming up on the London sidelines and super-rich owner Mike Ashley has a quick successor.
But whether the mighty Toon Army would agree to swapping one little man for another - no matter how wise - remains to be seen.

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I APPRECIATE there's no room for sentiment in football, especially at international level, but I am sorry that David Beckham will not be getting his 100th cap in next week's England game against the clockwatchers of Switzerland.
New boss Capello is flexing his muscles to send out a message to players, supporters and his bosses at the FA: "I will do it my way."
Former manager Steve McClaren made the mistake of discarding Goldenballs when he took over from the Swedish playboy and lived to regret it. I wonder whether Capello might do the same.
I think he would have been better advised to have picked Beckham, give him the captain's armband and substitute him as early as possible. Then he could tell him: "That's it. Go back to America and play your pub football and keepy-upy on a Brazilian beach."
Despite his ridiculous celebrity status, fuelled by his wife's obsession with Brand Beckham, the talented arm of this double act has been a good role model for young, would-be footballers. Which is more than I can say for the majority of the rest of the England squad which are a pretty unsavoury lot wit somw notable exceptions (Owen, Gerrard, etc).
I know fitness if the all-important key factor and Capello says he will keep an eye on Beckham when he returns to Galaxy in Los Angeles. Hmm! I wonder. I didn't see a great deal of fitness when I saw England play in their pathetic performance against Croatia. In fact, I didn't realise Frank Lampard was on the pitch until his scored a penalty.
Becks looked like the only player who wanted to win when he came on as a substitute to claim his 99th cap. After the final whistle, Beckham stayed on the pitch at Wembley to milk the adoration from a grateful crowd whilst his colleagues skulked off the pitch with their heads held low and boos ringing in their ears. Much deserved.
I thought then that he somehow knew this was his last game in the shirt containing the Three Lions.

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I WAS ten years old when the Munich air disaster happened. I immediately became a Manchester United supporter and Bobby Charlton my first boyhood hero.
Many years later, after Charlton was appointed a director at United, I met the great man himself and always thought that he was carrying a great sadness. As indeed he was - the guilt of being one of the Busby Babes who survived that fateful day in February 1958 whilst so many of his talented colleagues perished.
With the 50th anniversary of Munich approaching, Charlton has now become the public face of the grief that is still felt so intensely in the football mad city of Manchester. It is a burden he will carry to his grave, the memories of the tragedy having touched every era of his glittering career and his elevation to football's world statesman.
We can only try to appreciate the pain that Charlton must feel as he remembers so publicly the day that a generation of talented sportsmen and journalists, who were travelling with the team, blazing a trail through Europe, were snatched from their prime.

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WHEN I worked in the media in London I rarely missed a fight if I could get a ticket. Watching my first professional bout at York Hall in Bethnal Green, sat in the front row, an early punch split an eye and blood spurted out all over chinos. "Welcome to a man's world," said my companion who had grown up around the boxing gyms of the East End.
I was in the crowd at White Hart Lane in 1991 when a blow from Chris Eubank put Michael Watson in hospital and a wheelchair for life. It was one of the most frightening experiences of my life as the crowd went berserk, tossing chairs around the arena. Me and my guests managed to get out just before it turned nasty as an ambulance was arriving for Watson. I went away thinking that was the last fight I would watch. But it wasn't, such is the attraction created by the hype generated in the world of professional boxing.
Boxing isn't for the feint-hearted and Watson wasn't the first or indeed last to have his life ruined by the noble art of fisticuffs.
But there's no denying that the sport has saved many a young hoodlum from a life of crime and incarceration and occasionally along comes a young boxer who makes you realise that this sport is not just about violence and thuggery.
One such man is Amir Khan. I watched his latest fight on television on Saturday night - his toughest test to date. This former Olympian fought 12 near perfect rounds to retain his Commonwealth lightwight title against the experienced Australia-based Gairy St Claire. Surrounded by his family - every on of whom he embraced after winning the fight - Khan was interviewed ringside by Jim Rosenthal. He was humble, respectful and full of praise for his brave opponent. Here is a world champion in the making - and a nice bloke to boot.

King Kev to the rescue

KING Kev is back at St Jame's Park and the Toon Army is ecstatic. The massed ranks of Fleet Street's sports hacks, a cynical bunch if there ever was one, are not quite so sure, however.
The coming of the Tyneside Messiah was one one of those occasions when, in future years, you will recall exactly where you were when the news broke. A bit like John Kennedy's death and Margaret Thatcher's downfall, although not quite with the same consequences, unless of course you are one of the Geordie faithful, so precisely described by Hugh McIlvenney in the Sunday Times as the "lost tribe of English football".
I was in a traffic jam on Lower Thames Street, on the way to my flat in London Docklands, when I heard the news on Radio Five. I immediately telephoned James Coles, sports editor at View from, who sits next to me in our football-mad office. Neither one of us is a Newcastle supporter, but we had been speculating for days about who would succeed Big Sam.
After watching the circus surrounding Kevin Keegan's return, and listening to his press conference, I share the cynicism shared by almost every chief football writer on the nationals.
There can be no doubt that from a fans point of view, the appointment of Kevin, so worshipped on Tyneside as a player and manager during his first stint in charge of then great underachievers, has galvanised the great Newcastle football public. All they need to do now is bring in Alan Shearer as his No 2 and they will be in a constant state to arousement.
On this last scenario, I'm not quite sure what to think. None of the journos think there's any chance that Shearer will consider a No 2 position, but it seemed to me that he was virtually on his way "oop North" when he spoke about his future on Match of The Day on Saturday night. Once the best of buddies, it seems that the friendship cooled quite considerably when Keegan failed to turn up to Shearer's testimonial because he was on a a family holiday in America.
There can be no denying Keegan's honesty and enthusiasm, which he demonstrated in bucketfuls at the press conference, but there was an intensity about his answers and his demeanour which was slightly disturbing. Flashes of that wonderful Sky interview when Keegan lost the plot flashed across my mind. "Does he have the bottle to do this job," was the question I kept asking myself.
There would also seem to be a little local difficulty with Michael Owen as well over his views on Keegan in his book and the form of Newcastle in their dour 0-0 draw with Derby on Saturday wasn't quite what the script expected and will have proved to Keegan that he has much work to do and a great deal more money to spend. Fortunately, owner Mike Ashley's bottomless pit will provide that.
Keegan will inject some excitement into the otherwise unfulfilled lives of football's most loyal fans. I can't see him sitting in the stand barking orders into a mobile phone in Sam Allardyce fashion. That's not his style. He will be in the dug-out and on the touchline kicking every ball , urging his players forward, hugging them at the end of every game and then pouring out his heart to any microphone shoved in front of his face. He will "really, really love that".
He's already warned Sir Alex Ferguson that he's after his title. I doubt whether Fergie is quaking in his boots.
Of course, the loyal Geordie fans deserve success and I have no doubt Keegan will deliver eventually in some form or other. It could be a long haul, however.

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WELL, I've managed to get through nearly half the season in my first year out of local football without taking up train spotting on a Saturday afternoon.
I've written in this blog before about the big change of my Saturday itinerary after ten years as chairman at Lyme Regis FC. I still miss the buzz of match day greatly and a recent visit to the Davey Fort proved to me that just being a supporter will never be a substitute for the total involvement I enjoyed for all those years.
Every so often I get a flashback of some of the more memorable events and experiences during my years as chairman of the club I've been connected with for 50 years.
Here's one of them: in my early days as chairman I loved being involved with the team on matchdays and became the bag man for a few seasons. I even got an FA first aid qualification.
There was one occasion when a player went down with what looked to be a serious injury. I picked up the medical bag and gashed my forehead on the side of the Davey Fort dug-out. I didn't really how serious it was until I was attending the injured player and blood from the gash was spurting out all over him. The ref sent me back to the dug-out to get attention whilst the visiting bagman took over looking after our player.
You can't beat enthusiasm.

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BEING interviewed before the Manchester City-West Ham fixture on Sky Sports on Sunday afternoon, manager Sven Gorin Eriksson was asked if he was worried about City's poor scoring rate. He said he wasn't and that he was still sleeping at night. Which prompts the question: "Who with?"