Russell Brand On continental management

[Jimbo 133]

Newcastle United visit Upton Park today, a side with whom West Ham currently have so much in common that the conflict come three o'clock will be rightly confined to what occurs in the subsequent 90 minutes.

 

It will not be a clash of ideologies or a confrontation that will tumble through the generations, bad blood begetting bad blood till eventually in a Swiftian dystopia no one can recall what the fighting was really for. Both Kevin Keegan and Alan Curbishley left their respective posts due to perceived boardroom meddling in team affairs as a result of new, continental structures at their clubs.

 

The power of language is such that in spite of the ensuing mayhem the word "continental" still suggests a degree of sophistication - "Oooh, you've got a continental structure" - why, that seems as glamorous to me as a continental quilt once did, before I had one. Till then I had warmed myself by night beneath a Superman bedspread that was, frankly, itchy, and gazed with envious eyes upon the bunks of chums who drifted into blissful dreams beneath a continental quilt, as if Jean-Luc Godard and Sophia Loren were coaxing them off to nod with nocturnal Gauloises and laconic fellatio. Really it was just some feathers in a bag.

 

Curbishley departed hastily, photographed as they always are in anonymous cars, weary at the wheel, but Keegan, never a man to eschew drama has, with timid recklessness, been dipping in and out of his former job like a tipsy teenager in a provincial bus depot who knows he doesn't have a condom. He may yet re-enter the club for yet another "second coming"; he must devour zinc the way Mike Ashley puts away pints.

 

The Toon chairman has been abroad traipsing round Dubai trying to flog his beloved club. Well that strikes me as a bit opportunist - "What? Man City has been bought by Arabs? Take me to the desert baby!" I once heard that Nottingham had a demographically improbable girls to boys ratio and so after a gig in the city wandered round the town centre assuming that women would be staggering about all pie-eyed and knickerless, demented and desperate - like Bethlehem after the slaughter of the innocents - but I went home alone. Now Ashley is marching through the kasbahs and bazaars of the Middle East with tears in his eyes clutching a photo of Michael Owen and offering a bargain.

 

In retrospect it seems unwise to have plonked himself in the terraces, illegally downing pints and wearing his King Kev pyjamas because he has abruptly found himself in a situation where he needs to be taken seriously as a businessman. I think it unlikely that a trillionaire sheikh will unthinkingly hand over three hundred million pounds to a bloke who looks like he'd struggle to cut his own toe nails.

 

West Ham's board have at least appointed quickly and my confidence in Gianfranco Zola has grown now that he has been bolstered by the arrival of Steve Clarke who it transpires was earning a fortune at Chelsea. The Blues demanded a Kings Road ransom for his release, which makes me feel emboldened. Obviously the slippery endorsement from the Special One further enhances Clarke's value; Jose Mourinho took time out from managing Internazionale to stick his oar right into Premier League affairs, proving that no matter how far or how busy he is he can still provoke strife in English football. Many Premier League bosses would battle to gain attention if perched nude upon one's lap but Jose barely has to smile from Milan and eyes turn.

 

Zola has likeability, I hope he succeeds and I imagine he'll be warmly received for his first game in charge today and given the current global economic climate it is perhaps apposite that he finds himself at the helm of a sponsorless club. I never particularly liked wearing a replica shirt with XL emblazoned across it as it stirred in me long dormant body image issues, I'd rather we were sponsored by an as yet un-invented company called "svelte" or "dignity" but in the absence of such elegantly titled commercial enterprises I'd like to support the campaign for the "Bobby Moore Fund for Cancer Research UK" logo to be on the West Ham strip for the remainder of the season. It is a great cause, a reminder of a great man and a chance to be proud of the shirt regardless of results. Sign the online petition.

[Ketsbaia 0]

Hmm...the point he is trying to make may be spot on but he's suffering from South of the Watford Gap syndrome, by just making up random shite about the club.

 

Ashley can't sell because he wore his shirt on the stands and drank alcohol, he can't sell because he's asking for too much and, if you ask me, he isn't owa keen on selling!

 

Still, I can't remember the last time I found Russel Brand tolerable. So go him.

[Tom 13918]

This is the definition of a 'non-article', hidden away by big words.

 

He basically says nothing of any use whatsoever.

[@yourservice 67]

Russel Brand is a fucking cock who needs to be shot point blank in the mask, or failing that, a double barrel pointing from the ankle upwards

[Asprilla 96]

I quite like Russel Brand tbh.

[Besty 4]

I quite like Russel Brand tbh.

 

Aye, same.

[Fop 1]

He's ok, but he does quite often take half a book to say something that could be quite eloquently summed up in a sentence, it's fine if it is just a funny discourse/killing broadcasting time, but his own bus station analogy probably sums him up in this case.

[Kevin Carr's Gloves 3323]

Does he not know that Swifts dystopia was one where poor parents sold their children for food? Therefore not really linked to a cycle of violence.