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Leeds lose to Blues



Blues 4 Leeds 1

Leeds are this seasons "too good to go down" team. They boast some talent but their results suggest otherwise; no back to back wins, a massive minus 31 goal difference, only 2 wins at home and 3 on their travels. Things are looking grim.

Bruce stuck with the same team that lost 5-3 away to Boro. The defence looked nervous and Leeds attacking players were causing Upson and Cunningham no end of problems. Leeds were no doubt assisted by Upson's poor performance and the lack of communication between Grainger and Upson.

Leeds started off brightly enough and they only reason they didn't have 2 goals after 10 minutes was due to poor finishing. Blues rarely score or concede in the first 15 minutes but this time they managed to do both. Viduka steered the ball through the stagnant defenders and Hughes easily slotted home an excellent Lazaridis lay off. Viduka should have put Leeds back in front but managed to miss an open target. Blues attacked in numbers but were denied by good goalkeeping. Graingers sweetly struck free kick hit the bar but landed at Tiny's feet - a poacher he ain't.

It was going to be one of those games. The first half was strange mix of nice attacking football and poor defending. Blues boast an impressive record in shutting out the opposition but the last few games have made us all forget we forged our place in the top half with dogged and determined defending. All too often the ball was humped into the air and belted upfield with no obvious target. Too many Blue shirts stopped and watched when Leeds went forward.

A half time score of 1-1 seemed just and I thought it would stay that way with both teams happy not to lose.

The second half started pretty much the same as the first but Blues made the most of their chances. Hughes and Lazaridis linked up well to set up the second and Forssell took full advantage of a napping Leeds back four and placed the ball under the keeper. 2 goals in two minutes. When was the last time we did that?

With 10 minutes to go, Leeds threw it all away. The ref had missed 2 good shouts for a penalty but on the third shout Blues got one as Morrison was chested out of the way. Hughes on 2 goals wanted to take the spot kick to get his hat-trick but the manager overruled and the chosen penalty taker had the honours. The Finn took his tally to 16 premier goals by sending the keeper the wrong way. A hug for Hughes was scant consolation.

It's supposed to be a sign of a good team if they can win when playing poorly but I think that would flatter us when such flattery is undeserved.

Special mention has to go to both Grainger and Lazaridis. G-Man got a great reception from the fans and reminded Bruce how free kicks and corners should be taken. He was unlucky not to have his name on the score sheet.

Stan continues to enjoy his football and was involved in at least 2 of the goals and caused no end of problems for the Leeds defenders. If we had someone like him on the right (Pennant?) then the Finn would be on 25 goals.

Birmingham: Maik Taylor, Martin Taylor, Upson, Cunningham, Grainger, Johnson, Hughes, Clemence, Lazaridis, Forssell (John 83), Morrison (Tebily 84).
Subs Not Used: Bennett, Cisse, Carter.

Goals: Hughes 12, 67, Forssell 69, 82 pen.

Leeds: Robinson, Kelly, Caldwell, Matteo, Domi, Pennant, McPhail, Seth Johnson, Milner (Simon Johnson 78), Viduka, Smith.
Subs Not Used: Carson, Harte, Radebe, Keegan.

Booked: Domi.

Goals: Viduka 3.

Att: 29,069

Ref: M Halsey (Lancashire).

My Player Ratings

Maik Taylor - almost did an Enkleman but overall looked comfortable - 6
Tiny - shakey start and a couple of errors but carries the ball well and goes forward - 7
Cunningham - usual standards - 7
Upson - seemed to be elsewhere today - 6
Grainger - good free kicks and corners, seems more patient and controlled - 8
DJ - still can't beat a man but adds good support - 6
Clemence - got stuck in and marshalled well - 7
Hughes - reminded sceptical fans why Bruce wants to extend his contract - 8
Lazaridis - caused havoc and created chances - 9
Forssell - he's going straight back to Chelsea - thanks for the season - 8
Morrison - needs to be stronger with defenders - 6

John - looked lively - 7
Tebs - didn't have much to do - 6
posted by kwacky at 8:53 am

 
..and there are somethings money can't buy according to the advert. Too true. I had the day off yesterday. It was nice to relax and do fuck all. I took my time to get washed. Went out for a couple of hours on the bike, picked up some tickets for Fulham and spoke to Wolfie. Nosed around some areas of Brum I don't know too well (still thinking about moving).

In the afternoon I went shopping. I hate shopping. But, I had agreed to cook Sunday dinner so I volunteered to get the goods. Rather than head for the supermarket which is about 200 yards away, I went for a walk along the High Street. The greengrocer was very helpful - he could see I was struggling with my selections. I spent about 20 minutes chatting to the butcher as I ordered my joint of pork. He gave me some advice on how to cook it and cut it. I spotted some home made faggots. "We do a tray of two with gravy and peas for 99pence" That was lunch sorted, and very nice too. Stopped off at the florists to get some flowers for the good lady (I'm a softie really). This time I passed on my tips for keeping flowers longer.

A 90 minute stroll down the High Street would have taken 20 minutes in the supermarket, but I know which one was more rewarding. Next weekend I think I'll try and talk Sam into skipping the Co-op and we can shove the little one in and out of the local shops as we stock up.

Like a good lad, I did all the housework so Sam can take it easy this weekend.

Dad and his wife came round to look after Georina, so Sam and I could go out,. It was someones birthday, a girl Sam grew up with. All of the crowd were from the Black County so conversation would be difficult ;-)

Being in a generous mood, I elected to drive so Sam could let her hair down with her old mates. Full with Italian stuffed peppers and duck we made our way home. As I parked up, we bumped into the neighbours and invited them in for a nightcap. A tip top day all round.

Sam got up early this morning to look after Georgie, who was wide awake and wanting to play. I had a lie in, I didn't get up until 10 to 8. I took over and Sam has gone back to bed. Little Georgie was tired but refused to go to sleep. I put her on my lap and chatted to her as I blogged. The little angel fell asleep, in my arms, stroking my hand. Things don't get much better than this.
posted by kwacky at 10:21 am

 
Fat Buddha's Footballing Friday Five

1 If your life depended on it, who would you trust more in a one on one with the keeper Morrison or John?

John. CM looks weak when he's only got the goalie to beat.

2 If Forssell would sign only on condition that he enjoyed sexual congress with your partner every time he scored would you consent?

Yes. But I can't see her agreeing to the idea.

3 Should the TF Suite be renamed?

No. I didn't see him as a player but I understand why fans have such fond memories. My old man still talks about the Blues team from that era. I can't stand the bloke, as a man or manager, but you can't remove the club's history with a new name for a bar.


4 Which would bring you greater pleasure, Blues qualifying for Europe, or Villa getting relegated?

Blues to Europe. Not fussed what the Vile get up to to be honest.

5 Can Blues do anything heinous enough to make you stop supporting them?

I spent a season in the wilderness after the Barnsley debacle. Petty, I know, but there we go. Doubling the price of season tickets?
posted by kwacky at 10:07 am

 
Tallinn - Day3

After a long night, a sluggish start to Sunday was no surprise. The lack of conversation was probably due to the heavy heads and the fear of a crazed Welshman brandishing a sub machine gun. Today was the day we went shooting. The man from the shooting range had arranged transport for us, so we stood outside and waited for our lift. A Diggydow lookalike pulled up and gave us the thumbs up. We all piled in "Where to?"asked Diggy. We soon realised our mistake. 10 minutes later the real transport turned up and took us to the range.

En route, our driver explained how the area we had just entered used to be Soviet only, no locals allowed. A large contingent of Russian military men and machines used to occupy a costal area of unmarked natural beauty. Our driver told us that the locals soon entered the area when the Soviet empire started to crumble. Our host laughed. Southy opened the window to grab some fresh air.

The range was located underneath the Hotel Athena. We passed through a nuclear bunker style doorway to meet the owner of the range. Yep, he looked like he wrestled bears for entertainment.

"You will listen to every word I say. It is for your own good. That way, no one gets hurt"

5 Brummies meekly nodded.

We were shown 5 guns that ranged from mere toys to metallic demons. The Mini Uzi and the MP5SS looked like boys Christmas toys. The AK74 and the G36 looked like guns should look, and the AUG was just huge and sounded like a battleship broadside.

Andy and I went first, Andy got to grips with the scoped G36 but my shooting skills with the AK74 were more Clinton Morrison than Mikael Forssell. We all rotated and ended up having a go with each of the weapons. Southy, the biggest pacifist of the lot, had the largest grin. We all agreed that shooting was too easy. It was only the AUG that made you feel as if you were firing something.

After the shooting our host allowed us to take some photos but only after the guns had been cleared and checked. We chatted. Our friend was in the "How you say, home guard?" when the Ruskies were in town.

I asked about prices. The sophisticated MP5SS with scope, silencer and target identify was £1500. Cheap. He then laughed and pointed to the AK74

"That one I didn't pay for"

His friend laughed as well.

"A Russian soldier gave it to me"

More laughs

Quick as a flash I was in a bear hug with Grizzly Adams menacingly drawing his thumb across my throat "But I didn't kill him" Sure, an armed Soviet Soldier on a military base just happened to hand over his gun to an unarmed local who was out for an evenings stroll.

The rest of the day was a quiet affair. We milled about town until we stumbled across a good old fashioned East European beer hall, complete with it's own brewery. Ian insisted we try the live beers. We did. We livened up. The last pint on the way home turned into about 6 or was it 8, or maybe 4? The menu was extensive and the food being served looked very good. So Ian ordered the pigs ears.

Back at the hotel we decided to have a last look at the Disco. It was empty, save for pimps and their charges. We were accussed of being "fucking shit men" by one lady because we refused to dance with her. All in a days work.


posted by kwacky at 9:44 am

 
Tallinn – Day 2

The following events have been pieced together. I know what is posted below happened, I’m just not 100% sure of the timetable of the events.

Having been wise enough to have an early night, Ian, Andy and I went into town to have some breakfast. Andy reported that Southy and Slammer fell into the room at about 5.30 a.m. muttering something about “Rock Rob”. The fresh air and the lack of a hangover meant the 3 of us were prepared for the long day ahead. The plan was to find a bar showing the only premiership games – Blues v Bolton - in between planning the night and the following day.

Andy assured us we had found the “Bar With No Name”. We ordered some food and appreciated the pleasant, young, friendly, attractive, short skirt wearing staff :- ) After eating we walked further into town and found the “Bar With No Name”. Just for research purposes and to ensure we didn’t take the late night revellers to a duff bar, we went in for a beer or two and stumbled across the only stag party in Tallinn - a bunch of London boys on some poor bloke’s stag. Quiet what they were doing with a Hartlepool fan I’ll never know.

We looked for a tourist information office to find out about the rifle range we had heard about. We stood outside for 10 minutes deciding which one was going to talk to the local lass about firing AK47s. Getting colder by the minute I took the plunge. My query was greeted with a face that failed to register a word I said. Her colleague translated. I heard “Kalashnikov”. Her face was no longer blank, but pained and puzzled.

“Why?” was her query.
My excuse of “Erm, because we can’t do it in England” was returned with a frowned brow.

The nice lady from the tourist board made some phone calls. She then passed the phone to Ian. I quickly gathered he was talking to the owner of the rifle range “No, we don’t have our own guns, can we use yours?” perked us up as we had started to think that this place didn’t exist. However, it’s fair to say I was a tad nervous when Ian gave his name, hotel and room number.

“He sounded a big bloke. A really big bloke. Scary” reported Ian.

“So why did you tell him where we’re staying?”

“He’ll fax us some details.”

Cool. We headed back to base and picked up 2 very rough looking Bluenoses. They had carried on drinking, argued with some Yanks and made friends with a heroin addict. All in a nights work.

Back into town for more food. Slammer turned down the nosh because “food is for girls” 20 minutes later he was asleep. We dragged his sorrowful carcass to Molley Malones where he woke up long enough to throw an insult to a gang of Helsinki bikers. That art of flight I told you about? Put to good use.

We couldn’t find anywhere showing the Blues game. These Eastern European countries are so backward ;-) We took in some of the sights and settled in a bar with skysports 1 so we could hear about Blues going 5th. Slammer slipped into deep slumber. We moved seats to give him some peace. In came a drunken couple. Finns celebrating their 3rd wedding anniversary. How sweet. He was the Finnish version of the pub singer, a song every 3 minutes. He also seemed to take a shine to Southy, rubbing his unshaven face against Southy’s each time Southy joined in with the sing a long. Nice stubble rash.

Mrs Drunken Finn wanted to hear some English songs, so we tried to teach her the good old fashioned Shit on the Villa. Curious looks from our new found Finnish friends.

“Why you hate the villa?”
”Scum love.” (feigned spit on the floor)
“BASTARDS! Why you hate the villa? WHY?” came the plaintive plea.

Slammer woke up.

We fled.

We headed back to the Bar With No Name to watch the Arsenal game and to hear from a Gooner how times were hard under George Graham. Our collective hearts bled.

Back to the hotel to get washed and changed. We collected in the lobby bar to plan the night. I decided that we shouldn’t stay out too late as we had to be at the rifle range the following morning and the last thing you needed to mix with a banging hangover was a semi automatic assault rifle. Seemed like a good idea. We’ll go to the hotel’s disco for a nightcap and call it a night. Whilst waiting and watching we noticed a decent sized queue develop for the Hotel’s “ROCK DISCO – HITS OF THE 80s AND 90s”. The average age wasn’t nnnnn nineteen, nineteen, more like fortysomething. This must be the place where mums and dads come to reminisce. This was one fucking surreal day. So we went to the local strip club.

This was the usual fare, very attractive semi clad ladies of various nationalities and breast size, do everything possible to make you and your hard earned part company. I found my target (or she found me) and off we went into a private booth with a very nice full sized mirror. When she whispered “ you can touch me for EEK 500” and then pulled her pants down a little, I didn’t know if I was meant to slot in my hand or the cash.

15 minutes later I emerged to find that the others had all found a particular silken purse. After a while the others returned to the main area. All but one. Slammer. Being the loyal and kind hearted folk you know us as, we fecked off and left him to whatever he was up to.

En route to the ROCK DISCO we decided to get more cash. Southy got attacked by a small group of local ladies who loved his smell. Go figure. He was tempted to follow them to another nightclub until we pointed out that the leader of the pack had a rather strange and unsightly growth on her lower lip.

Back to the hotel and the 8th floor ROCK DISCO. As we paid our entrance fee I noticed a Spotted Slumbering Slammer. Not usually seen this far East we made sure it was alright before we fecked off and left him too it.

The oldies we had spotted earlier had obviously left and been replaced by the babysitters who cared for the elders charges until ma and pa had had enough.

A couple of local lasses questioned our choice of destination which was answered in the usual fashion of “cheap beer and good looking women”. They impressed us with their knowledge of at least 4 languages and we relied on the "but everyone speaks English" excuse. They were impressed with my smattering of German which meant I didn't have the heart to tell them I learnt it all playing sad on-line second world war shoot em ups.

Surreality (is that a word?) took a firmer grip when I found myself slow dancing to Estonian folk music with a Sarah Jessica Parker lookalike. Being the gents we are, Southy and I offered our new found friends the chance to join us for food. If we could find somewhere. It was 4 o’clock in the morning and they don’t do kebab and chips. We were escorted to a local late night canteen style buffet. Once we had our fill we dumped the ladies and made our way back to the hotel (taking the longest route home for some unknown reason) stopping only to talk Russian with some guy who wanted a rollie.

As I stumbled into bed this voice muttered “you don’t want to stay out too late, we’ve got the rifle range in the morning”

“Fuck off Ian, and sweet dreams mate”

posted by kwacky at 10:32 pm

 
Tallin – Day 1

After just a handful of hours of poor sleep the alarm went off. It was 4.45 a.m. Freezing cold, dark and there was a Welshman asleep on my couch. I forced myself out of bed and into the bathroom. A few minutes later I was feeling slightly more awake and getting my head together for the journey to the former Soviet country of Estonia.

Slammer's driving reflected the mental alertness of any early morning traveller. I did try to tell him the flight wouldn't wait and that the speed limit was 40 mph not 14 mph. As we neared the airport it transpired that the car park booked was a 45 minute bus journey away! We dumped the Slammermobile in Brum Airport and found the others.

Czech airlines took us first to Prague then on to Tallinn. Andy quickly showed his grasp of the local exchange rate and advised everyone that 10000 EEKs (Estonian Kronas) would be more than enough. This was based on two things: - his calculation that this equated to about £200 and that we honestly thought that beer was 25p a pint.

Guess what?

Yep, neither were true.

My first good deed was to return someone's credit card. Nice of them to leave it in the cash point with a valid pin number but I'm just too honest for my own good.

Taxis to the hotel were taken.

The Metropol was a decent sized hotel just outside the old town. Clean and unfussy if not somewhat basic. But hey, we only needed beds.

We ventured into the town to find somewhere to eat and drink. A nice little fish restaurant gave us the first taste of local cuisine. And beer. Everyone seemed pleased with their choice save for Slammer who insisted the portions were too small. Least he got what he ordered (for the first and last time).

On into town and some more pubs were notched up. We had our first Finnish encounter in little boozer. Some bloke from Helsinki took a liking to me and told me all about his job as a Finnish fire fighter, his use of the local whore houses and his apparent interest in the progress of a certain Mr Forssell. There were a couple of problems with this bloke: 1) – he wouldn't fuck off and 2) he was so pissed it was a bit hard to understand him. Hence my first "lost in translation" error. As far as I'm concerned, it's easy to mistake "fuck" for "work" when you're dealing with someone who is clearly off his skull and foreign. It's not my fault I got a bit shirty when he asked if my fellow travellers were my work buddies.

To make amends the Finnish firefighter took us to another bar. Things got a bit weird when we clocked that we were being clocked by dodgy Russian sorts (especially those with several very attractive ladies in their company) who only seemed to have one topic of conversation. I can understand "English" in any language. Southy went to use the gents and came back insisting we left there and then. We got good at making a sharp exit.

Southy reported that our drunken tour guide was talking to some more dodgy blokes who were stashed in the back.

Full of local produce we did what all Englishmen do in frozen countries – we had a snowball fight then proceeded to slide our way about the town on the frozen cobbles.

We sought safety in the obligatory Irish bar and settled in for the night. Southy and Slammer got chatting to some local ladies (probably on a divorcee night out). The rest of us mercats later spotted the drunken Finn. We became practised in the art of flight.

We had been up for a fair few hours and agreed to call it a night on the grounds that we would make a day of it the next day. However, Ian insisted that Slammer and Southy go back into the bar to impress the fish wives with their British charms. Slammer's decision to stay out would cost him dearly the next day.



posted by kwacky at 2:45 pm

 
NO UPDATES FOR A WEEK

I'm going here for a few days.

I'll send you a postcard.


posted by kwacky at 6:38 pm