Scolari - A Right Balls-Up (An Angry Rant)

Unless you have spent the past week cowering under a damp stone (in which case, I salute you - it's got to be more fun than revision) then you will have heard of the fiasco surrounding the FA's attempts at hiring a new England manager.

When things go drastically wrong, people often say things like, "There's no point throwing blame around" or, "Nobody was at fault - it just wasn't meant to be." I disagree. I think it's a great idea to throw blame around, and that is exactly what I propose to do. Better yet, I'm going to structure it, with subheadings and everything, so that I can convince myself that it's valuable exam practice. Prepare yourself.

The FA

The main mistake that the FA made was to appoint a committee to do what should have been done by a single person. In the past, the Chief Executive has been sent toddling off to go and hunt down a manager and bring him back to Soho Square, by force if necessary. If this had happened, we would almost certainly have Martin O'Neill (who is manifestly the best candidate) in the job by now, because he was Mr Barwick's preferred choice. All would have been rosy.

God alone knows why the Premier League chairman, the FA chairman, and another faceless corporate mannequin were involved. And then to make matters worse, David "Impartial" Dein, the Arsenal vice-chairman, muscled in and insisted that Scolari was the best choice. Over-crowded broth-spoilage occurred.

The Press

As undoubtedly bungled as the FA's efforts were, I think the Press (that vague, amorphous entity that in this context essentially means tabloid newspapers) is the real villain of the piece.

Firstly, they reported in gleeful detail the fact that the FA was talking to Scolari. At no point did the FA make any kind of announcement - they were trying to keep things under wraps, like any sensible recruiter would in the situation. But the newspapers couldn't resist sticking their noses in, not caring that reporting that he had been offered the job meant that, if he refused it, any decent manager subsequently offered it would know that he was second choice, and may well refuse it on that basis.

After thus storing up massive problems if Scolari should reject the job, the Press then added the coup de grace by actually causing him to reject it. He said in a press conference that there were 20 reporters outside his house, and the newspapers had already started sticking their noses into his private life and comparing his wife to Sven's. He said he wanted no part of that culture, and I don't blame him.

Conclusion

So as much as the FA did make a mistake in their selection procedure, I would still like to take this opportunity to stick several fingers up at the Press, and to cast grave doubts on the legitimacy of their parentage. Not only have they stopped us getting Scolari, they've now made it very difficult for us to get anyone else. Good job.

The Duck Returns!

I decided not to write (m)any posts over the Easter holiday, because nothing really happens at home that is worthy of your attention. That's right, gentle readers - I was thinking of you, my loyal and dedicated flock. Praise my selfless attention to your needs. In addition, there's the distinct possibility that I would have ended up scrabbling desperately for things to write about, and that wouldn't be fun for any of us.

So now I'm back at university, spending more or less every waking hour in the library revising for the exams that are now less than two months away. Revision has become a vast monster that is threatening to consume my soul.

Writing that metaphor reminded me of Shang Tsung, that rather unpleasant fellow from Mortal Kombat, the most hilariously bad film ever made. He killed people and then enslaved their souls, which always seemed a bit harsh. His one redeeming feature, however, is that he never made those tortured souls revise for Law exams. Compared to the Faculty of Law, and whichever bastard writes the exam timetables, he was positively an angel.

Revision, etc...

I don't know if this is a common sight everywhere, but in my town I often see a small group of hapless people running around the town in the late evening, wearing leotards and t-shirts. They're members of some form of running club, I believe, which, judging from the look of the people involved, also dabbles in the odd bout of sado-masochism and witchcraft. Judging a book by its cover is underrrated. They also have all the survival instincts of a green-haired, blue-wearing lemming, and love nothing more than running out in front of my car without even the most cursory of glances.

It struck me recently that revision is a lot like going running. When you're about to start, you dread it, and start desperately thinking of excuses to avoid it. Once you get going, you can feel it slowly starting to shrivel your soul and transform you into a beastlike form, but press on anyway, pretending to enjoy it and convincing yourself that its actually doing you some good. Then when it's all over, it leaves you drained and fit for nothing, able to communicate only by grunts and having lost the ability to read. At least, that's what revision does to me.

On a pleasingly random side note, I've noticed a grave loss on our television screens. Those of you who are as elderly as I am may remember that, just before the adverts came on, there used to be a little black and white striped box in the top corner. Where's it gone?? I think we should be told.

Televisions - Rocket Science?

One of my most vivid and repeated memories from primary school was those exciting occasions when the teacher felt that the furtherance of our learning could only be achieved through televisual means. "Or they just wanted an hour of peace with their feet up", I hear you cry. You cynical bastard.

Whenever this treat occurred, we would all be herded into a special room and the Television (teachers are fantastic at pronouncing capital letters when talking about technology) would be wheeled out. As our excitement rose, the teacher would, with a flourish, insert the video and press a button on the remote. Inevitably, it never worked. Cue every teacher in the area being called in to cluster round and lend their technical "Is it turned on?" expertise.

The same thing always used to happen in secondary school, except with more laughter from the audience and some people offering to help and then spending ten minutes delaying proceedings by pretending to be baffled, while carefully avoiding noticing the fact that the DVD Player wasn't plugged in to the Television. Not that I was one of those people, perish the thought.

I thought I might have left these adventures behind, but happily, I was wrong. Imagine my delight when, sitting in a courtroom as part of my mini-pupillage experience, the prosecution decided to produce some CCTV evidence that was on a DVD. It took the combined efforts of the prosecution barrister, the court clerk, the usher and the security guard to get this esoteric Device working, while the magistrates looked stonily on. It's good to see that nothing changes!

V For Vendetta - A Film Review (Of Sorts)

On Friday night, to mark the last day at university before returning home, a small group of us went to see the new film, V for Vendetta. I was slightly sceptical, because the screenplay was adapted from a graphic novel ("They're just over there, next to the comics, sir" - great days working in a bookshop), but on the bright side, the people doing the adapting were the Wachowski Brothers, who fully deserve their capital B.

The bright side won out, and the film was fantastic. Having decided I can't quite be bothered to write a full review, I am instead going to recreate arguments that I've heard from people who didn't like the film, and then destroy them. Destroy them like only a lawyer can...

"You can't bond with a character who always wears a mask."

You shallow, shallow person. Do you have to see someone's face before you decide whether you like them? Do their words and deeds mean nothing? I personally thought that this would be tricky, but Hugo Weaving's voice is easily dramatic and powerful enough to pull it off. You really end up sympathising with this (somewhat mental) man.

"It encourages terrorism."

No, it doesn't. The appropriateness of actions depends on their context. V doesn't live in our world, he lives in a totally different, much darker and more oppressive world. In that world, trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament was the right thing to do. In ours, it's not.

"It was too violent in places." (from one of my companions)

I don't quite understand this concept of a film being "too violent" - the phrase has always seemed a bit like an oxymoron to me. So I'll just let this quote stand for you to read in all its lunacy.

I was going to go on, but I'm tired of carrying out what is essentially an argument with myself, so will probably go to bed instead. Bed is good. Suffice it to say, if you've read 1984, and spent most of it wishing that Winston wasn't so useless and would actually grow a pair and fight back, then you should enjoy this film!!

When Work Ends

Today was a special day.

I was waiting for someone to shout "Why?" so that I could say, "'Why?' I hear you cry", but I don't think that's going to happen. Sometimes the world just doesn't know how it should behave.

The reason for today being so special was that it marked our last lectures this term. From 5pm this afternoon, we were joyously free to gambol heedlessly in the meadows. Or to finish writing an essay; I forget which. Happily, though, said essay is now finished and sailing its merry way to my supervisor, which means that I no longer have any work to do! Back of the net.

Until, that is, I get home at the weekend, and then immediately start a mini-pupillage on Monday. I still haven't made up my mind if this is a good idea - I think the plan was that, having just finished term, I'd still be in the mood for working. The flaw in this plan is, of course, that I haven't been in the mood for working since 1998, but I'm hopeful that I can overcome that. I have signed a confidentiality agreement so won't be able to post in any great detail about it, which is obviously gutting for my legions of fans who hang on my every word. C'est la vie.

The Mooting Grand Final

In case anyone was wondering why it's been so long since the last post, just ask my supervisors - those people who have set me thirteen thousand essays to write, and unholy numbers of books to read, in the last two weeks of term. Some day I may take vengeance...yessss, we will, precioussss, we will...we will takes the preciousss, put the fat hobbitses eyes out, make him crawl!!!

Ahem.

Anywho, it'd be a crying shame to have a post titled "The Mooting Grand Final" without any mention of said event. Confusion might occur. Essentially, it was a more hardcore version of the previous rounds of mooting (see earlier posts), with lots of Scary and High-Up People (tm) doing the judging.

Their probing and doom-laden questioning almost made me burst into tears, and I was sitting in the audience. And not even in the front row. Heaven alone knows, then, how the mooters themselves felt. I would imagine it was somewhat akin to having the flesh blasted off your bones by one of those machines they use, so I am told, to make Chicken McNuggets. But they all survived the onslaught admirably, with their flesh intact. Much applause.

The Dreaded Ballot...Of Death

Selwyn is, at the moment, in the middle of the highly stressful procedure known as ballotting. Essentially, this is an advanced form of psychological torture, roughly akin to experiencing sensory deprivation whilst undergoing Chinese water torture and being electrocuted. On a rack. With a sharp pendulum blade swinging above you, and a fiery pit beneath.

Despite the main purpose of this procedure being to provide some innocent, harmless amusement for the college Fellows, a happy by-product of it is that you end up with a room for next year. I shall have a very nice room with an amazing view of Old Court out of the window, so I suppose it was all worth it in the end.

On a side note, any perceptive readers will recall that I was awaiting the result of an application for a vacation scheme with an unnamed London law firm. (If you do not so recall, go back and start reading all the posts again. And pay attention this time.) Anywho, the long and short of it is that this firm recently bestowed upon me a rejection email, with one of those wonderful clauses at the end that say "Don't bother asking us why". Nice.

In order to safeguard the law firm from reprisals from my army of loyal and dedicated supporters, I shall describe them only as "J. Day." Or on second thoughts, I suppose "Jones D." would be better. Whichever floats your boat.

Tony Blair & God - An Angry Rant

(Originally published Saturday 4th March)

Why doesn't anybody listen?

I'm going to use the row about Tony Blair as an example. In an interview on Parkinson, he said that, ultimately, it was for God to judge him on whether he was right to send the army to Iraq. Immediately, everyone leaps for the throat, moaning about how there's no place for God in politics, and how a Prime Minister shouldn't make decisions based on his personal faith.

Now all of this is probably true, but it's entirely beside the point. If these people actually bothered listening to what Blair said, he was very careful to avoid saying that God told him to go to war. He said that the decision had to be made based on personal conscience (and, presumably, dodgy intelligence dossiers - whoops), and that the decision would be judged by God. That's something completely different - all he's really saying is that he believes judgement after death, not that he makes his decisions based on his perceptions of God's will during life.

Now I'm usually the last person to defend the current government, but it seems that every time they open their mouths, everyone queues up to misinterpret what they're saying. Just look at all the idiots queuing up to spout rubbish about how Muslims are now going to think that the Iraq war was the Crusades all over again. That's just stupidity, pure and simple.

And then everyone moans about "spin", and how politicians never tell the truth. When people grossly misinterpret everything they say, is it any wonder?

I'll get you next time, Michael Fish...

(Originally published Friday 3rd March)

Well, it looks like all chance of snow has gone beyond recall - I'm told that it's going to start getting warmer over the weekend. The Met Office chose to send us nothing more than a few flurries, cruelly teasing me with the prospect of proper snow before dashing my hopes on the rocks of weather-related despair. I've decided to do the only thing that a mature man can do when things don't go his way - sulk. Until next winter.

At the moment I'm working on International Law. I've decided that it's probably my favourite subject, partly because we're currently learning about the use of force. Essentially, it's all about when it's legal for you to do the international equivalent of punching another country in the face, because that country did the international equivalent of looking at you funny, insulting your mum, or dissing your threads (so to speak). The advantage of this is that when people start talking (at dinner parties, and so on) about whether the invasion of Iraq was legal (as they always do, apparently) then I will be fully qualified to nod sagely and say "Hmmm".

Who says a university education is worthless?