By Chris Wright

On the day of his 30th birthday, Genoa’s Rodrigo Palacio (he of ‘abysmal rat-tail/Jedi bog chain’ horror hair fame) scored against Lazio on Sunday with an absurdly deft, over-the-shoulder flick at the near post that lobbed over the flapping Federico Marchetti and in at the far post.

Question is, did he mean it? Have a butcher’s and see what you think…

Did he mean it? Not in a month of Sundays, the jammy so and so! For our money, you can definitely file this one away under ‘speculative near-post flick-on goes incredibly well for Señor Palacio’!

For the record, Genoa won 3-2.

(Thanks to Pies fan Greg Evans for the nudge)

                          

By Chris Wright

“There’s contact…juuuuust…hold on…wait a second…there.”

Ne’er does a week go by without some dime-a-dozen pundit rolling it out. That sodding word. ‘Contact’. A word which is quickly becoming the bane of my very existence. Even to look at it up on the page there, sitting all smarmy and aloof, makes my bile rise and blood to begin to pulse from my tear ducts.

Though I’m at pains to point out that it only causes my vital fluids to leak out through my facial orifices when it’s used in a very specific context. I’m not crazy.

Most recently, last weekend to precise, it was used willy-nilly to absolve both Adam Johnson and Danny Welbeck of any guilt after the pair independently took the conscious decision to label all of the emails their respective synapses were sending to their lower legs as ‘spam’ and duly floundering to the turf unencumbered while vast numbers of ‘always do your best to stay upright’ memos piled up in their trash folders.

In short, they dived. Like Jacques Cousteau giving Greg Louganis scuba lessons off the coast of Divington-upon-Sea. They both knowingly attempted to cheat. Nothing more, nothing less.

However, in addition to letting gravity take over at the wheel, both players kicked out a lower limb in the direction of the nearest available heat source – Chris Baird in Johnson’s case, Branislav Ivanovic in Welbeck’s – in order to engineer that seemingly crucial ‘contact’ before their trunks hit the deck.

The Man City winger has since pedalled the old ‘I was only anticipating contact’ defense – which is, of course, utter tripe.

Skip to the 1:38 mark for Johnson’s little ‘anticipation of contact’

Not that this kind of thing is the sole preserve of Messrs. Johnson and Welbeck. Far from it. Indeed, the practice of kicking out legs or dragging feet to ensure contact seems to have been slowly gaining favour with those willing to readily surrender their integrity for at least a few years now – though it’s now becoming worryingly prevalent. I’m talking once-or-twice-a-game prevalent.

The root of the problem (other than the actual ‘simulation’ itself) for me is the use of the word ‘contact’ and the context it’s used therein.

To use Welbeck’s flop against Chelsea as an example; at no point was there enough outside force acting upon him sufficient enough for him to lose his footing. There just wasn’t. He reached the edge of the area, was fully aware of his grid co-ordinates and fell over looking for a penalty because it was easier than trying to carve out a scoring chance. As he went down, he made sure – quite consciously – that he kicked a foot out against Ivanovic to ensure there was…you guessed it, it’s that magic word again…contact. Completely synthetic, absurd, irrelevant contact.

‘THERE WAS CONTACT!’ comes the immediate cry from the gallery.

So bleeding what? He still cheated, didn’t he?

Contact doesn’t, or more precisely, shouldn’t necessarily mean a foul has taken place. There are shades of grey, but it’s trotted out ad infinitum by studious pundits (usually ex-players that regularly hark back to the days when you could kick an opponent into the terraces without reproach), resolutely partisan managers and clueless armchair lollygaggers alike.

Theoretically at least, football is a contact sport; contact is required, necessary and even demanded in some instances – though it galls me to the down to the plums that the word is routinely aired in an attempt to absolve, let’s face it, cheats of their dive-happy crimes against the spirit of the game.

It all seems to be part of a bigger problem to me, though maybe I’m just paranoid. It’s almost as if football as an organisation, especially in the upper echelons, are trying desperately to create and preserve a veneer of perfection to present to the watching world. As the market grows, the purer the product must seem.

On grandiose stages such as World Cups and the Champions League we regularly see referees now officiating with ridiculously infuriating and finicky standards; doling out yellows for the most inane of offences in a bid to uphold a sheen of sterile, sanitised and clinical football. It’s FIFA-scrutinised conduct which has a definite trickle-down effect through the rest of the football hierarchy.

Players are frequently starting to go down to mask poor touches, naff control and a lack of technical proficiency and being vindicated by a short shrill peep of the referee’s whistle. As soon as the ball squirts away, legs are thrown from underneath and the old ACME sounds.

I’m not calling out a vast global conspiracy here, but it’s like they can’t be seen to make a mistake. Pandering to inadequacy in order to preserve a façade of flawlessly consummate ability is what is it. At least in my eyes.

You trap a ball further than most men can kick one during a Sunday League match – you get the almighty snot torn out of you for the rest of the day by guffawing teammates (bitter, bitter experience). You do it in the Premier League and you get a free-kick in your favour IF you successfully managed to get to ground in time.

That’s just not kosher Eileen.

“Silken hankies you say? Not a bad idea!”

On a similar tack and definitely an offshoot of the whole ‘pandering to inadequacy’ thing, a personal pet peeve of mine is the relatively new-fangled ‘hoof it up the touchline past your marker and then run into him’ technique now employed by useless wingers the world over.

The trick is to remember that you must always throw your hands up in the air as you buffet into your turning opponent and make pleading eye contact with the ref as if to say ‘what the hell is this dim-witted chump playing at?’

The worst part is, it never seems to fail. ‘Phweep‘ goes the whistle.

We’re continually told we’re looking at a clunky full-back failing to read a tricky winger’s cute footwork and/or deal with his pace, when in reality we’re looking at a one-trick pony winger and a poor sod of a full-back who was left with absolutely no chance of getting out of the way.

Does no-one else get riled by this on an almost weekly, almost matchly basis ? It makes me froth with rage, so it does.

I realise I’m just aimlessly ranting now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you stopped reading several paragraphs ago, but a) it’s incredibly carthartic and b) I need to know I’m not completely alone when it comes to these matters.

I’m no Luddite clogger, far from it. The last thing I want is a return to the days when it was considered perfectly acceptable to dislodge a player’s retinas in the name of man-marking, but there must be a limit to how much physicality you can outlaw and how much simpering you’re willing to allow.

I can’t help but genuinely fear that – by the Qatar World Cup perhaps – a tackle will consist of a defender tugging a silken hanky out of an opponent’s waistband and waving it coyly at the referee, while goals will be awarded for those who ask nicely enough.

                          

It took a cool £8 million to get the case to this stage, where a joyful and relieved Harry Redknapp walks free from Southwark Crown Court and back to Tottenham and their title charge. Hardly a sensible use of money, but hey-ho – at least it’s all been squared away with Her Majesty…

While Arsenal fans will no doubt be crying into their free-trade cappuccinos, Sky Sports News will be breathing a quiet sigh of relief.

Redknapp is their favourite go-to-guy for a quick quote on pretty much anything, and by dodging time in the nick, he is thus once again ready to roll down his car window whenever – and I mean whenever called upon by a roving Sky reporter.

Arry’s back on the scene. Thank God for small mercies, eh? Seems like the ‘I’m well stoopid and I does sometimes write like a two-year old’ defence actually worked!

                          

By Alan Duffy

“You see this smile on my face? It’s only for the cameras, okay? I genuinely despise you”

Currently doing a spot of pre-season training in Spain with new club Shanghai Shenhua, Le Sulk, Nicolas Anelka, has described the hell he had to endure during his final days at Chelsea.

Both he and Brazilian centre-half Alex weren’t too keen on signing new contracts with the Blues, much to the anger of manager Andre Villas-Boas, who, according to Mr. Moody Pants, punished his two wantaway stars like a pair of naughty school-kids.

Anelka said:

“Ever since I was punished they put me with the youngsters. I’ve got all the kit and equipment that professionals have but they put me in a separate changing room — that’s football for you. One day, you can be there scoring goals and doing all you have to do for your club but the day you leave there is no pity.”

“That’s why the day you do decide to leave you have to do what you have to do and have no sadness either, because there are no friends in football. That’s the truth. It’s sad to say but that’s the truth. It’s a collective sport but it’s also very individual.”

However, the former Arsenal man, who has all too often failed to make the most of his talent, says he’s exceedingly happy with his new club.

“Shanghai is Asia’s New York,” he explained. “I love the way they live here. I often come here on holiday. This is my last contract.”

I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Nic. Another strop and you’ll be off on your travels again, I should coco.

                          

By Alan Duffy

“Dn-n-n-n-dn-n-n-n-dn-n-n-n-dn-n-n-n TAXMAN!!!”

At 11.30 am today, Twitter almost burst at the seams with journos declaring that Spurs boss Harry Redknapp, along with his former Pompey boss Milan Mandaric, had been found not guilty on two charges of tax evasion.

That’s right, now ‘Arry’s left to celebrate his exoneration while, five years down the line, Portsmouth still can’t afford to pay their players regularly. Ho hum.

Interestingly, at the same time, England boss Fabio Capello was heading to The FA’s underground lair for what will no doubt be referred to as a ‘showdown meeting’ following his remarks to the Italian media that, in his eyes, John Terry was and should still be his captain.

Is there a link between the two? And if ‘Arry does eventually get the England post, is he really the best man for the job?

                          

Just Sir Alex Ferguson and Falkirk striker Farid El Alagui sharing a moment outside what appears to be an air-raid shelter…

Pies says: “Sir Alex’s smile begins to fade as a fifteenth consecutive game of ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’ ends in a draw”

You say?

                          

By Chris Wright

As you no doubt remember, former Italy battering ram Christian Vieri is appearing on the Italian version of ‘Strictly Come Dancing With The Stars On Ice-Factor’ at the moment – with his latest routine, a Brazilian Capoeira (a dance based on a strain of martial arts, made famous by Tekken’s Eddie Gordo), showcasing all the grace and mobility he displayed on the football pitch during his last few years as a pro, i.e, absolutely none…

Judges, can we have your scores please?

Ah.

                          

By Chris Wright

Blackpool beat Sheffield Wednesday 3-0 at Hillsborough in their FA Cup fourth replay round last night, with Lomano Tresor LuaLua (yes, that Lomano Tresor LuaLua!) grabbing the goal of the night – the Seasiders’ second – with a superb curling effort from the apex of the area…

For the record, Matty Phillips opened the scoring on the night after just seven minutes, with Ludovic Sylvestre nabbing the third goal a shade less than ten minutes after the break.

Blackpool, who have now unbeaten in eight and sitting pretty in fourth in the Championship, will now go onto to play Everton at Goodison in the fifth round.

Photos…

Photos: PA

                          

Promise this is the last time we’ll mention ‘you know who’…

Via the brilliant False 9.

                          

By Chris Wright

In which the majestic, graceful, honest and British Gareth Bale is unfortunate enough to run headlong through a hotspot of intensely strong gravity caused by solar flares reflecting off the twin moons of Tatooine at Anfield on Monday night.

Poor Gareth…

It may well have looked like a pathetic dive to those too ignorant to spot the atmospheric disturbance, but I can assure you that honest, British players like Gareth would never stoop so low as to associate with such a devious practice – not like Luis Suarez, of whom it should be expected. He is a horrible foreign oik after all.

Bale, as I mentioned previously, is British.