In the Back of the Net

Moving on up! (Moving on out)

2011-06-29T11:10:00.003+12:00

I am very sorry to be a pain in the butt to all the lovely readers that Google Analytics assures me I have, but I have moved this blog over to Wordpress.

The main reason for this is they have domain mapping and I figured that seeing as though I am paying for the cool domain name, I might as well get full use out of it.

So please join me in the new digs. For my part, I promise I will make a concerted effort to write more often...

www.in-the-back-of-the.net

...and now for something (almost) completely irrelevant.

2011-02-05T20:08:00.004+13:00

With news breaking on Thursday that Roma might be in the process of being sold to New York interests, I feel the urge to recount a funny situation from my stopover in New York on the way home from Italy in 2009.

In Battery Park right at the bottom of Manhattan there are a bunch of street artists who tourists pay to paint their pictures. I wasn't interested in a picture of myself but I saw one of them had this cartoon of Francesco Totti on a display board...I asked "how much for Totti?" The artist ummed and ahhed and eventually I paid way too much.

This became a great source of confusion for the locals. As I carried my newfound treasure around for the rest of the day, New Yorkers in the streets and in the shops kept looking at me, looking at Totti and telling me most earnestly "that looks nothing like you." I had to patiently explain to each one that it was a famous Italian 'sawccerr' player.

Then when I went through screening to go to the Statue of Liberty, the surly security woman (most New Yorkers seemed to me to be in a perpetual bad mood) scowled at me, screwed up her nose and said "that picture is a really bad likeness of you". I said, getting a little exasperated by this time, "it's not meant to be me, it's an Italian soccer player!" Then, to my shock, this massive African American guy who was operating the x-ray machine yelled at the top of his voice "LEMME SEE THAT!!!!" Oh oh, I thought, now I've gone and pissed them off. What are they going to do to me?? "OOOOOH I KNOW WHO THAT IS!!!!" he beamed, "THAT'S TOE-TEE!!!!!"

Hopefully if the sale goes through, more Americans will know who people like Totti are in the not too distant future...

Look out Inter, here come the REAL Nerazzurri!

2010-11-22T21:37:00.007+13:00

Take a good look at this stadium. It’s called lo Stadio Domenico Francioni. It’s in Latina, Italy and one day Manchester United might well play there. In my little dreams.
Lower league football is great. You can tell a lot about a place, its culture and its people by going to a grassroots game of sport and immersing yourself in it. Going to the Stadio Olimpico for the derby between Roma and Lazio in 2007 was a lifetime highlight for me. But so too was attending a very different game a week later in Latina.

Latina, a city close to my father’s home town, is a funny sort of place unlike anywhere else in Italy. It is a new town, created by Mussolini’s government in the 1930s as a demonstration of the so-called glory of fascism. It is situated on what used to be known as the Pontine Marshes, an enormous swamp that emperors, popes, and kings had tried to drain for the previous 2000 years. It was not only a vast region that was completely unreceptive to any sort of agriculture, but it also provided a breeding ground for malaria carrying mosquitoes. When Mussolini decided to tackle this problem, he ordered a massive project that included rounding up the unemployed from across the country and putting them to work digging canals, mostly by hand. They built new towns, cities and farms on the newly arable plots. Mussolini then personally handed the titles to the land back to the workers co-opted to the project. He became a hero to those people and remains to this day a hero in the local area. Latina, elected an openly Fascist mayor in 2002 with 73% of the vote.

This history is one of the keys to understanding the club. When you understand what makes the region and its people tick, you can understand the passion of the ultras and why, for example, they would do such a thing as storm the pitch and chase their own players into the dressing room after a loss, as they famously did in 2004. Stories like this are unsettling, yes. Yet they are also somehow endearingly quirky and quintessentially warts and all Italian.

Latina calico has not always been lowly. AS Latina has previously played as high as Serie C1 (now Lega Pro 1) before a rapid fall from grace that saw the club enter administration and split into two clubs, FC Latina and Virtus Latina, on the way down. FC Latina was entered into the Eccellenza division (sixth tier) of Italian football, Virtus started one division lower in Promozione.

When I visited FC Latina to watch an Eccellenza game, the first thing that struck me was the enduring memory that still burns strong in my mind. The ultras. Here I was, watching the 6th tier of Italian football and there was a packed curva nord waving flags, firing flares and singing with every fibre of their beings complete with choreography. Three years on and the song is still ringing in my head. I find myself singing it in the car, at the office, at the supermarket to the astonishment of those around me wondering what gibberish the crazy man is babbling. Foooooorza Latina! La la la la la la. La la la la la la. Ole ole ole ole ole ole ola. Foooooorza Latina!It might not look like much compared to Roma’s curva sud:(I had to find a way to use that picture)

However when you compare it to what I’m used to, perhaps a similar level in New Zealand, the best club in our top tier……ahem…it really makes Latina look wicked cool impressive.

The game itself was fairly unremarkable – it finished 0-0. But as I sat in the middle of the tribuna (a safe distance from the dressing room storming ultras) I felt all the passions of the spectators around me. My Italian isn’t flash but I know when people’s lineage is being alleged to contain various species of ape and I think the odd goat. As frustrations boiled over, hats were thrown to the ground with great force and people paced and stormed around in front of me with choice words and wild gesticulations. Through it all the ultras never stopped singing and dancing. The crowd must have numbered a good 2-3000 – the sixth tier! Incredible.

It turned out I was the inspiration that spurred them on to greater things. At least, that’s what I’m telling people. For the next year and a half I was nervously looking up FC Latina’s results online every Monday – even though the updates were so slow for such lowly football I was finding out the result of each game two weeks after it had been played. In 2008/09, FC Latina made the promotion playoffs and went all the way to Serie D.I was in Italy again at the time of the playoff final and I wanted to go to the home leg – the chance of seeing a promotion was too good to miss. So good that when I realised it fell on the same day as Roma vs Torino – the last game of the Serie A season, I thought long and hard. But given Roma’s position on the table out of the top 4 couldn’t change regardless of their result I decided to attend Latina instead. When I told some Romanista friends that I wasn’t going to the game and why. They looked at me like I was crazy! They didn’t say it but I could see it in their eyes – “you call yourself a fan?” As it turned out, they might have had a point. We had the date of the playoff wrong so I ended up missing both – something that will always sting when I think about it.

Virtus Latina has been on the rise too. They were promoted to Eccellenza in 2007/08 and along with FC Latina, to Serie D in 2008/09. At that stage, sanity finally prevailed and the two clubs merged back together to form US Latina. US Latina finished last season mid-table in Serie D well out of the promotion zone, but applied for a Lega Pro 2 license anyway and due to so many clubs above them succumbing to financial difficulties they received it. Back in professional football, USLatina now sit in Lega Pro 2, not just making up the numbers but top of the table after eleven games. I hope this post does not jinx them but if they can hold that position, automatic promotion to Lega Pro 1 awaits. Next stop Serie B.

Having a second team, a lowly, even a semi joking team to support is not only romantic, but it can be just as rewarding as following the top flight. I would genuinely be delighted to have to hope they lose two games a season against Roma even if that would take away some of the quirkiness. They wouldn’t be as interesting in the San Siro or Stadio Olimpico playing in front of 80,000. But until then, forza nerazzurri! No! Not THAT nerazzurri. The REAL nerazzurri!NOTE: A portion of this post was taken from another I wrote about ANZAC Day over on the political blog Just Left under the pseudonym of ‘Dolan’.

A change is gonna come

2010-11-15T19:19:00.002+13:00

One evening a year or so back I was phoned by a Sky (pay) TV employee doing a telephone survey on the viewing habits of their New Zealand audience. I was asked if I could spare fifteen minutes to provide some feedback to assist them to improve their service. “Great”, I thought. At last, here was my chance to point out the folly of their dearth of football coverage and how they could rectify their misguided oversight. The first question required me to rate on a scale of one to five (five being very much, one being not at all) how much I enjoy watching rugby. I answered perhaps a little harshly “one”. The lady conducting the survey then said “thank you for your time, sir, you are not in our target demographic”. Before I could splutter my astonishment, she had hung up.

Such is the life of a football fan in a rugby mad country.

What’s the difference between the lunar landing and New Zealand football fans? Some people think the lunar landing really happened. It’s not that we are beneath contempt, it’s that our very existence is denied. We have petitioned, written letters, phoned talkback and whined in online forums but the response from Sky is always the same. “New Zealand football supporters are a small but vocal minority. As our ratings show time and time again, this support does not translate into viewers.” Translation: “Shut up and be grateful we show any of your pathetic little sport at all”.

Telling other Kiwis that football is the most played game in New Zealand, thanks to the high number of kiddies whose mummies and daddies don’t want little Johnny or Josie getting bloodied up on the rugby pitch, is a waste of breath. As is pointing out that the beautiful game is played by more people and countries than most other sports combined. The game is popular, it’s true. But the reply you get is “so were the Spice Girls but that doesn’t make them good”. Fair enough.

The reality is, Sky have us cornered. Football fans are loyal to their clubs and their game. We are never going to cut off our nose to spite our face by cancelling Sky, and Sky know it. We get five or six English Premier League games per week and every Australian A-League game in high definition. We get the Champions League and Spanish La Liga on ESPN – a much poorer quality picture but at least it’s there. It’s not every game we would like. Unless you follow the big four in England you might be lucky to see your favourite club once a month. We get no FA Cup. There has been no Serie A since ESPN lost the rights to Setanta/Fox Sports (who also have the rights to Dutch, Russian, Scottish and German football amongst others but can only be viewed in Australia) at the end of last season. But we get just enough table scraps to deter us from being tempted to strand ourselves at the mercy of the grainy, intermittent internet live streams that New Zealand broadband provides.

Trouble is, technology is moving on and we will soon have more options. One day, we will be able to watch whatever we want, from the Champions League Final to the Fijian Cup Final, live in HD on a pay per view basis through our phone lines with no need for a subscription to Sky. Or, we will be able to subscribe to our favourite club’s channel online so we can stream all their games every week from anywhere in the world. This day is not coming fast enough but it is coming. When it does, I for one will remember the treatment we are getting from Sky right now.

It has to be recognised that we are a minority in this country. We don’t want or need to be subsidised by those who think ‘soccer’ is a sissy game. So here are a couple of thoughts on what Sky could do to not only get themselves back into our good books, but perhaps even make some more money off us while they are at it.

1. Start a dedicated subscriber football channel. We would pay for it. I’ll even wager that more people would subscribe to it than currently pay for the Rugby Channel. Partner up with Setanta and show some of the leagues, like Italy, that nobody else in New Zealand is allowed to carry. They could even throw all the EPL that they complain nobody watches onto it. Then, and only then, will we get an accurate read on how football rates in this country. Because nobody I know has a ‘people meter’ and the one time somebody started to ask me what I watch… see above.

2. If 1. Is unsuitable… We could get access to Setanta in good old NZ with a little help from a satellite dish and a decoder. Except Sky won’t let them unscramble their signal. Why? You guessed it, %^$#ing rugby! Setanta shows some Six Nations rugby matches which Sky has the rights to in New Zealand albeit only on their special Rugby Channel that nobody forks out the extra $10/month for anyway. Sky, please, in the nicest possible way cobbers, GET AN EFFING LIFE!

We are currently in a sort of limbo land between the golden age of television and conventionally broadcast channels being replaced by on-demand web based content available when and where we want it. Sky, like every other TV network needs to adapt fast or die. But how long will we have to wait? Five years? Ten years? In the meantime watching sport is still unfortunately stuck in the realm of rule by the mob. If you follow a minority sport – and this is probably equally true of a Rugby lover in Italy, following your passion is still prohibitively difficult.

I believe that the ability to watch live sport should be a right, not a privilege. When people are able to access the sport they love, they are more likely to be inspired to get off the couch and try to emulate their heroes, leading to a fitter and healthier society less dependent on public health. This leads to lower taxes, fewer wars, more sunny days, more apple pie for desert and… What’s that you say? Too much? Ok, I’ll stop now. Just somebody please for the love of all that’s sane and holy put Roma on my TV once a week, ok?

Undivided Loyalties

2010-07-21T20:19:00.004+12:00

That was a bloody tough World Cup to live through as an Italokiwi. I wrote at the time of the draw that Italy and New Zealand finding themselves in the same group had left me feeling gutted. But I really had no idea how gut wrenching it would truly be. My disappointment then seems silly now. I was upset about superficial fluff. I would only have one group to take a keen interest in instead of two. I would feel torn. I would not be able to properly enjoy the team I was so overjoyed to watch qualify live in Wellington.

As the sunscreen song tells us, “the real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday”

Close. It was around 4am on a Monday New Zealand time when the final whistle blew at the end of the match between the All Whites and the Azzurri. I watched the game where many in Auckland’s small Italian community go to watch all of Italy’s World Cup and Euro games – Gina’s Restaurant. The place is always packed full of Italians, even in the wee small hours and there is only ever one team being supported. This time though, much to my shock, the place was packed with confident, shrieking, slightly drunken kiwis who had decided it would be a really fun idea to come and give us heaps. How I wanted to put them in their place.

What did they know about the beautiful game? These rugby heads. These people whose idea of sport is thirty men (occasionally women) rolling around on top of each other. Who sit in stadiums and think that atmosphere is when everyone in the crowd quivers their stiff upper lips in unison. They all discovered football ten minutes ago and now they think the All Whites can win the World Cup! Yes, a lesson is what they needed – a reality check. It never came.

The game was not the prettiest exhibition of football you are ever likely to see. The Italians had a game plan that involved drawing fouls at every opportunity and there was a fair bit of what some politely call ‘simulation’. Chiellini in particular I thought gave a performance that if Sandra Bullock was watching, she might have picked up some useful tips to assist her in her quest for back-to-back best actress Oscars. De Rossi, the man sent off in the corresponding fixture four years earlier (vs USA) for a stray elbow was doing his best to get Rory Fallon to follow in the master’s footsteps. There was a penalty awarded to Italy that if I had been the ref I probably wouldn’t have given and New Zealand scored from an offside position. All very disappointing, but nothing at all out of character with football in general for my money.

Other teams dive. Other teams go into games with tactics geared towards having players they know are prone to it, booked or sent off. But Italy always seems to be the butt of jokes for it. The focus of hatred for it. Defined by it. Unfairly in my view. The aftermath of this game was no different. Not helped by the lack of football knowledge most display when you try to have a rational discussion with them about it.

And this is the truly upsetting part. More upsetting than Italy’s first group stage exit since 1974(!) The knowledge that Italy and Italians – all Italians – are now being characterised unfairly, even rascistly (on the off chance that’s a real word) by many a New Zealander as a nation of filthy, stinking, diving, cheating mama’s boys. My country hates my country!

At the end of those harrowing 90 minutes with the score at 1-1 “LIFT YOUR EXPECTATIONS” was the chant of the kiwis at Gina’s. I’m still not quite sure if they were referring to themselves or the Italians. After all, they were the ones celebrating a draw. And, grudgingly, I say well they should have celebrated. It was an incredible result for New Zealand. But at any rate, I have taken their advice. I have lifted my expectations. I expect New Zealand to qualify for the next World Cup. And the one after. And the one after that. I expect them to win, lose and draw. Be unlucky. Be lucky. Be both. Play well. Play poorly. Play fair. Cheat. Ride the rollercoaster we all ride not at one World Cup, but over several. Experience it all and accept it all as part of a truly beautiful game. This is the path to becoming a real football nation. I’ve always wanted to live in one of those.

URGENT WARNING – GLOBAL PANDEMIC THREAT!

2009-12-19T20:00:00.001+13:00

The WHO (World Health Organisation) has today issued an urgent warning affecting anyone with non-essential travel plans to the North West of England. Travellers are advised to stay home for fear of the spread of a new virus which is quickly emerging as a global pandemic threat.

H1N20 (Heroes Once but Nothing in 20 years) Influenza, otherwise known as Scouse Flu has become the latest super bug to threaten civilisation as we know it.

Symptoms include irrational behaviour, rash (purchases), hallucinations (delusions of grandeur), and choking.

The first case was discovered when a panicked Spanish man was admitted to Liverpool’s Aintree Hospital complaining of ‘injuries’ which seemed to be related to having given his fortune away to a crippled Italian. It later transpired that he had also been suffering from watery eyes and a mistaken belief that he was the manager of a top 4 football club. At this point doctors became concerned and following a series of tests it was established that the man was inflicted with a new and deadly strain of influenza.

Since that first hospital admission, officials were placed on high alert and it was hoped that the disease may be restricted to a one-off case. But alas, further cases have since been discovered.

One of those inflicted, a Mr S Gerrard, said that he believes the virus may have been present in his system for some time before he realised something was wrong. “I have been feeling quite normal.” Mr Gerrard said. “But I started to suspect something was up when I began experiencing chronic choking. This became more frequent over time and then I started to realise some of things I had been taking for granted were simply figments of my imagination. For instance it occurred to me that if my football club has not won the league in 20 years, perhaps we are just a bunch of nobodies…”

Health officials in Europe have been warned to be on the look out for possible cases as it is feared that some Merseyside residents have been spotted suffering from severe choking episodes in Florence and Lyon. Residents in those cities are asked to remain vigilant and seek medical advice if they feel any signs of disillusionment.

Dr Scarlett Proboscis, medical expert at the University of Liverpool said today that “we think the virus is airborne and is spread through the eyes. We are hopeful that this may assist with its containment, given that most Scousers are pretty one eyed.” It is understood that a container load of eye patches are being freighted to the infected zone immediately to assist efforts to control the spread of the infection.

In the meantime, people inside the containment area are advised to stay in their homes and watch as much Serie A as they can until a cure is found.

Viva Auckland City - You did us proud!

2009-12-19T17:45:00.007+13:00

A couple of weeks ago I blogged on my perfect miserable day watching Auckland City FC - a little amateur club in the the New Zealand Football Championship.

Since then, that little club has walked with giants, and what's more, they did it without looking like dwarfs by comparison.

FIFA had been threatening to ban amateur teams from having a pathway to the Club World Cup. They wanted the Oceania Champions out. We are easy beats. Not serious competitors. Not worthy of our place.

But they forgot to tell all that to Ivan Vicelich and his team. They shocked us all by defeating Al Ahly (the hosts) to win a place in a quarter final that would find a semi final opponant for FC Barcelona. Mexican Champions Atalante proved too strong, but then another shock in the playoff for 5th. The Champions of Africa, TP Mazembe of Congo, were dispatched 3-2 and New Zealand proved that there is a place in big tournaments for quaint little clubs who are capable of making fairytales come true.

This was a great tournament for the morale of New Zealand Football, but also for the finances. Two million New Zealand dollars in prize money will now find its way into the coffers. Perhaps next time I visit Auckland City's home ground, Kiwitea Street, there might be real (not instant) coffee available for purchace? I'll even accept plunger coffee. Baby steps...

Now roll on the World Cup!

il Derby

2009-12-07T21:36:00.003+13:00

I’m still buzzing from the Rome derby this morning. I know I’m biased, but that has got to be the best local rivalry in the world. Such a shame that the fans so often turn to violence. But none the less, the passion on display is an awesome sight.

As I have mentioned in a previous post, Roma and Lazio supporters simply despise one another. Their differences are historically political. Lazio supporters are largely from the wealthier parts of the city and beyond the walls of Rome in the rural parts of Lazio. Their supporters are traditionally of fascist leanings. Roma supporters come more from the working class areas of the city. Roma fans have historically been communist, but many fascist groups have now crept onto the Curva Sud – the part of the Stadio Olimpico where the die hard Roma supporters sit.

To the fans of these clubs, victory in the derby is seen as far more important than winning the league.

But I can’t pretend to not be happy my team got 3 points out of today. The 1-0 result this morning provided a very welcome victory for Roma, now only one point from the Champions League places.

The heroes were as unlikely as they come.

Marco Cassetti has been reviled by Roma fans this season. He’s been in terrible form. Today, he was substituted on at half time for the injured Philippe Mexes. He not only scored the winning goal, but he played a massive hand in creating it too. Not bad for a right back. His passionate celebration spoke volumes, as did the way the rest of the squad, including the bench players surrounded him to share his moment and congratulate the much needed success of a comrade.

And Julio Sergio – with one of the best saves I have ever seen!

He was lying on the ground, then a split second later he reaches up with a single paw to block an absolute bullet. I’ve seen it at least 30 times now. I’ll never get tired of watching it. Not so much because it was such a wonderful save. It was. But what really warms the cockles of my heart the most is the back story of the Brazilian Goalkeeper. He’s been, not the second, but the 4th choice goalkeeper at Roma for several seasons now. He was signed as a backup, directly from Brazil on the recommendation of Doni – the man whose place he has now taken. He got his chance at the start of this season because all the other keepers were either injured or woeful. Now he is undoubtedly the Roma number one, and is being touted for a potential call-up to the Brazillian National Team.

At 31 years old, Julio Sergio proves there is hope for all of us. He’s an inspiration to me and in his honour, I have decided to order a new Roma shirt. The home goalkeeper’s strip with J.Sergio printed on the back, along with his number – 27. When it arrives, it will in my opinion be one of the coolest things I own.

If you missed the game, check out the highlights. Sergio’s wonder save is at the 50 second mark. LEGEND.

High Treason?

2009-12-07T20:24:00.002+13:00

The one thing I was dreading when I switched on my TV for the World Cup draw in the early hours of Saturday morning was the prospect of New Zealand and Italy being drawn together.

Bugger. That’s exactly what happened and I’m absolutely gutted about it.

Because now I’m just going to have to cheer against the country of my birth. A team in the All Whites that gave me so much pleasure as I stood in that stadium in Wellington with a tear in my eye, surrounded by 20,000 beautiful bare chested maniacs at the moment of the final whistle, the moment we knew that New Zealand would be participating in the greatest show on earth.

Why? “Why can’t you support the All Whites?” I hear you cry! Because it would be going against every fibre of my being, that’s why.

I was born in New Zealand. My mother is a Kiwi. My father was Italian. You might say I am a New Zealander first and an Italian only by ancestry. I have only set foot in Italy twice. I stayed with family but for all intents and purposes I was a tourist in a foreign country.

But that’s only a tiny extract of the relevant bio.

I have always been a little bit different. My name, for starters. I developed a siege mentality at school in small town New Zealand. Other kids found my name a source of great mirth and an excuse for ridicule. But I was proud of my unusual name. Why did I have it? Because, unlike anyone else within at least a hundred kilometre radius, I was Italian. I was special.

Some things are just in your blood. I can only deduce that the intense sense of pride I feel when the Italian national anthem plays at the beginning of a World Cup match involving the Azzurri is something that is part of my DNA, inherited from my father.

My despair was cavernous as I lay prostrate on the floor of my brother’s house, head buried under my arms for an apparent eternity after Italy’s defeat on penalties to Brazil in the 1994 final. This was the earliest evidence of my deep passion for the Nazionale Italiana.

12 years later, the jubilation of the 2006 final was something I will treasure for the rest of my life. I watched the celebrations in Berlin, almost speechless as I marvelled in stunned disbelief at the odd realisation that we were finally the world champions – something I had up until that point, begun to fear I would never live to experience.

In between… what a ride!!! Euro ’96: two deeply disappointing 2-1 defeats to Russia and the Czech Republic respectively ensured we failed to qualify for the knockout rounds. At the 1998 World Cup, a quarter final loss, again on penalties, to eventual winners France. Euro 2000 and a loss in the final to a French golden goal after a French equaliser in what felt like the 25th minute of injury time. In 2002 we were absolutely robbed by referees and officials hell bent on co-hosts South Korea progressing. It was so obvious that we were never going to be allowed to win that game, that it still makes me shake with rage just thinking about it. Then a woeful performance in Euro 2004 – we only had ourselves to blame for that failure.

Now, after living and breathing every single moment of all of that like my life depended on Italian success, how could I have room in my heart for any other team?

I’m sorry New Zealand. It’s not you, it’s me. I love you, but I’m just not IN love with you. I know this will be hard for you to hear, but I’ve been seeing someone else. We’ve been together for 16 years now. I’m am… so sorry. I’ll call you. But not until the 2014 qualifiers, you understand.

Until then, Forza Italia!

All Whites

2009-12-06T18:43:00.003+13:00

There I've said it. I've typed the keys in sequence on my computer keyboard and various levels of software have orgainised things so that you can see those words on your screen.

All Whites

It gets easier after the first few times.

For almost thirty years I've eschewed that awful nickname. I don't know who coined it and I don't care. That person doesn't deserve a place in history. I assume it was some marketing brainbox who took about five minutes to dream it up based on the colour of the shirts and the long-standing name of the New Zealand rugby team. Never mind that the name 'All Blacks' came from an ancient mysterious misunderstanding and/or spelling mistake that probably had less to do with the colour of the team's jerseys and more to do with the speed, agility, and mobility of the players across the entire team.

For nigh on thirty years whenever people talked to me about the 'All Whites' I would perversely answer, "Oh you mean New Zealand ..." refusing to recognise the name. It was in the vain hope that if I started the fashion of ignoring it it might spread and soon everyone would ignore it too and it would drop into disuse and be cast into the rubbish bin of silly passing fads where it deserves to be.

Over the last few months, however, it slowly built to a crescendo as the date of the world cup play-off second leg in Wellington drew ever nearer. Then on that incredible drama filled Saturday night at the Cake Tin the crescendo reached its conclusion. I was just one of the 35,000 people chanting and clapping in unison to cheer on our team and I found those two words racing headlong out of mouth at the same time as 34,999 others ... and to my horror ... it fitted in. When a crowd is rhythmically clapping in unison the words "New Zealand" with its three syllables doesn't really flow. "All Whites" does.

Dammit!

Oh well. On that night - 14 November 2009 at Westpac Stadium in Wellington the name "All Whites" well and truly became the property of the passionate faithful and long-suffering football fans of Wellington and New Zealand. And as one of those aforementioned fans who has never lost faith or belief that we could make the world cup again I suppose I own it too. Now that I've shouted it at the top of my lungs to the world I can't, in all dignity, carry on pretending the name doesn't exist.

We're stuck with it now and I guess it ain't so bad. After all, there are a plethora of much worse and more embarrassing nicknames for New Zealand sporting teams which, if a foreigner ever asked me to explain, I would disavow all knowledge of their existence.

Video killed the Ronaldo star

2009-12-03T13:37:00.007+13:00

President Josiah Bartlett from the TV show ‘West Wing’ said that when someone tries to explain cricket to him, he has to fight the urge to hit them over the head with a teapot. I know what he means, even if I can’t share his distaste for the game. Test cricket can be stuffy. There are traditions and etiquettes. The game lasts five days and has barely changed since its invention. While one day cricket and the newer, shorter twenty over variety have come along and been allowed to evolve into whatever format is most ‘entertaining’. Test cricket has made no such concessions – which is what I love about it.

It’s also one of the things I love about football. When you watch a game, you are watching almost exactly the same thing a spectator would have witnessed in 1900. Tradition is important. We don’t tinker. If a change is made it is well considered and adds something absolutely necessary.

Like most sport loving New Zealanders I thoroughly enjoyed watching our cricketers defeat Pakistan last weekend. Unlike most New Zealanders, my favourite part was not the jubilant celebrations of the players basking in their victory. Call me an anal retentive (you would not be too far off), but my favourite part by far was observing the challenge system in action.

There has been much talk in the football world lately, for obvious reasons, about the need to make use of technology for getting crucial refereeing decisions right. Football, true to past form, is on the whole reluctant to change. The best we seem likely to get is a referee behind the net to rule on whether a goal is scored or not. This, 43 years after Geoff Hurst’s infamous ‘goal’ in the 1966 World Cup final.

I am firmly of the belief that if there is a TV camera in the stadium, you are mad not to use it. I don’t like the idea of video being used for every decision. It removes the human element and slows the game down far too much. There must be a balance. A balance that I am convinced cricket has struck. Each captain gets two challenges per innings, and two only. It’s brilliant to watch because there is more psychology on display than at the World Series of Poker!

Before this system was introduced, the ball would hit a batsman’s pads, the bowler appeals, the keeper appeals, the slips go up, screaming, demanding the wicket. The umpire looks hard, shakes his head and says “not out”. The fielding team curses, swears, kicks the ground, inquires of the umpire “what was wrong with that sir???” Then life goes on.

All that still happens. Except the last bit. Now when we get to the end of the above process, we get to see what the fielding players REALLY think. This is the fascinating part. The part where the captain decides whether or not to challenge. He looks at his bowler who shakes his head. Then he looks at his keeper who shakes his head. It turns out they both knew all along that it was never, ever out.

It is an insight I will never get tired of seeing.

Think what this could do for football. The game could only be stopped for a replay a maximum of 4 times to query any decision. There would be no cause to blame the referee for a loss because game changing decisions would either be corrected or the losing captain would only have himself to blame. But that’s not the best bit. We all get sick and tired of diving. Well this could be the silver bullet that sorts that scourge out once and for all!

If you believe you have been tripped in the area, you don’t need to dive. You could stay on your feet and then ask for the review. Wouldn’t that be something? People may start scoring goals in open play regardless of contact! If you go down and a penalty is given, then on review you are shown to have dived – you get a straight red. You would be a fool to try it. Christiano Ronaldo would be out of business for good!

This one change could clean up the game and do more to make sure results are fair, with minimal disruption, than any other change possible. Surely it’s a no-brainer?!?

When two tribes go to war…

2009-11-29T22:44:00.003+13:00

It’s hard to describe just how much a derby means to a fan. To put it into cold, emotionless black and white words on paper (or computer screen) can’t convey the intensity of feeling without it somehow seeming pathetic to the reader. It’s only a game after all! It is just two groups of guys chasing a ball around a paddock. At the end of the game, our tax rates will still be the same. Unemployment will be unchanged. There will still be nothing good on TV on a Tuesday night. There is nothing at stake! So why do we footballaholics get all worked up about it?

The answer is there is just something about two teams with an intense rivalry built up over decades of mutual loathing. It’s great to watch. It’s wonderful to be a part of. Ordinary, run of the mill football is a massive outlet for intense passion in Europe. At derby time, that passion intensifies infinitely. The pure, unadulterated hatred of the other team that drives a desperation for victory at all costs is somehow intoxicating.

For the victor there is no cup, trophy or other such trinket that can be put on display. It’s far more important than that. Ask most fans if they would rather win their league, or take bragging rights in their local derby, most would reply that the derby is much, much, much more important.

While your league is made up of 18 other teams from different cities whose populations you care little about, you argue with your local rivals all year about who has the better team. Then, in the week before a derby, that banter builds to a crescendo. When a derby is over, your rivals don't pile onto busses and drive off into the sunset. The next morning, as you attempt to go about your normal daily business, the opposing fans are your co-workers, your boss and the guy who sells you your morning espresso.

My passion for derbies comes from having survived one of the world’s most intense derbies – Italy’s ‘Derby della Capitale’ fought between Roma and Lazio. It was the experience of a lifetime. 80,000 choreographed, singing, dancing fans shot flares, exploded firecrackers and waved flags.

We brought tickets on the understanding we would be sitting at the Roma end. Dressed in Roma shirts and scarves, when we found our seats we discovered we were almost right on the boundary with the Lazio area.

The overwhelming vibe we felt as we looked into the eyes of the Lazio tifosi was of a hatred so intense… They looked at us as though we had murdered their families, taken their houses, killed their pets, then found the gutter they were sleeping in and taken that too. We could see every bloodshot vein in the eyes of a mob who were clearly of the view that we were less than human and thoroughly deserved a violent, painful and preferably slow death.

But if I had died that night, I would have died happy. The echoes of the Roma songs are still ringing in my head. Every emotion you feel at a normal game is ten times more intense at a derby. I remember the deep despair that came when Lazio scored the first goal. The relief and restored hope when Roma equalised. The jubilation when we then took a two goal lead. The terror as Lazio scored a second then camped out in the Roma penalty area firing numerous shots that bounced off our posts. The ecstasy of the final whistle and the pride in singing along with 70,000 other romanisti as ‘Grazie Roma' was played over the stadium P.A. as it does after every home victory. As I left the stadium with the jubilant Roma tifosi, I skipped along knowing that there is not much in the world that can beat that.

Being in the stadium for the All White’s victory two weeks ago almost topped it. But nothing else has come close so far.

Since that day in Rome, watching a derby on television has taken a very different meaning for me. I watch with a sense of longing. The memories come flooding back. I have to make sure I get to experience that again before I die. But in the meantime, a TV screen will just have to suffice.

This weekend, and next, I am very excited to be able to relive that night in Rome many times over. As luck would have it, there are massive derbies all across Europe and we are very fortunate that they are all on TV here in New Zealand.

This weekend, Italian football gives us the ‘Derby della Lanterna’, contested by the two Genoa teams - Genoa and Sampdoria. It is named ‘Lanterna’ after the lighthouse at the entrance to the port of Genoa and is one of the oldest derbies in the world. In the UK, there is a London derby between Chelsea and Arsenal and even more exciting is the very hotly contested ‘Merseyside derby’ between Liverpool and Everton. Perhaps the biggest is ‘El Classico’, between Spanish giants FC Barcelona and Real Madrid CF. Roma and Lazio will contest the ‘Derby della Capitale’ next weekend.

So strap yourselves in folks. It’s gonna be HUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGE!!!!!

A perfect miserable day

2009-11-22T19:24:00.017+13:00

When I was growing up in the Waikato we had certain values instilled in us from birth. We hated sissies. We hated daylight savings. We hated Auckland.

When you watched sport, any sport, (but only sissies liked sports other than rugby, and we’ve covered what we thought of sissies) you supported two teams. Waikato, and whoever was playing Auckland.

You can take the boy out of the Waikato, but you can’t take the Waikato out of the boy. I don’t take such a dim view of sissies anymore and I have fallen in love with football. But when I go to watch two Auckland football clubs play against each other, it really is because I am a true footballaholic, not because I want to support one team or the other.

When I go to NZFC (New Zealand Football Championship) matches in general however, it is because it is a competition that I thoroughly enjoy.

The standard… well it is poor. No point trying to deny that. So poor that I really don’t have much to compare it to that might give an international reader an idea as to just how poor. I have been to Italian Eccellenza football - the tier below Serie D, which is essentially division 5 in the old money. That was clearly a higher standard than the NZFC with bigger stadia and bigger crowds.

But you know what? Who cares about the quality? I embrace turgid football. I adore quaint little grounds. I applaud Auckland City’s 8 or so ultras who stand up and sing through the whole game. Despite being a complete coffee snob and foodie, I always get the soggy chips, the cheese and pineapple toasted sandwich and the $2 cup of insipid instant coffee. It’s part of the experience!

The only thing that is usually missing is freezing cold weather and drizzle. The NZFC is a summer league. That does not quite feel right. Sun shining and birds chirping merrily don’t quite match the rest of the package. But there was none of that today. Today was perfect! Despite being late spring, today it was cold and drizzly. Perfect NZFC weather!

Auckland City’s home ground, Kiwitea Street is a standard New Zealand club ground. Small. Cosy. Intimate. You sit or stand almost right on the touch line. Under no circumstances do you divert your attention from the game. Not because you might miss something. But because you risk getting clocked on the skull by a wayward pass!

Today’s encounter went more or less according to what I have come to expect. There was a red card after 7 minutes. Waitakere United, down to 10 men went 1-0 up. The Auckland City ultras doubled their volume. City equalised through All White Ivan Vicelich. Formerly a defender in the Dutch Eredivisie, scored the crucial goal and fresh from playing in New Zealand’s dramatic World Cup qualifier, he has gone from the world stage to just about as far from it as you can possibly get in the space of a week. But I digress. City took the lead in the second half and never surrendered it.

But the outcome hardly matters. What matters is that we have live football in this country that one can buy a season ticket to, that has club rooms and flood lights and that has crowds and fans.

Perhaps, like Abba it is good because of how bad it is. Or perhaps it is good because when it’s all there is, you might as well make the best of it.

All I know for certain is I LOVE IT!!

The luck of the Irish

2009-11-21T16:03:00.012+13:00

The Irish have been a hard done by lot down through the ages. As if hundreds of years of Viking invasions, Norman conquests, potato famines and various other associated ‘troubles’ were not enough. Now this. Thierry Henry has added some serious insult to injury by producing a ‘hand of god’ moment that rivals, if not surpasses that of Maradona.

And my, my aren’t we quick to whip up a lynch mob?!?

The headlines in many an Irish paper (not to mention the sports section of the New Zealand Herald) are dubbing this incident “The Hand of Frog!” Steady on! I for one could do without the racism. Polls conducted by the French media on their own citizens have confirmed that they are almost universally as embarrassed about this as they should be.

Henry, who has always had a reputation of being a man of integrity and sportsmanship will be forever damaged. That will in itself serve as adequate punishment. Calls for him to be banned from the game for so long he will need a Zimmer Frame to get back on to the pitch for his next match are as redundant as they are hysterical.

As for replaying the game, well… I note that Henry himself is backing the cries for this to occur. However, as a long suffering supporter through various football travesties, my advice to the Irish is to be patient. Just as their land was mostly freed when independence arrived on the Emerald Isle, so too will arrive their day in the football sun.

The country of my father’s ancestors, Italy, have been robbed like this many a time. Most outrageously in my living memory was against the French in the Euro 2000 final. The referee seemed determined to keep injury time going into the next day if that is how long it would take for the French to equalise. Now we are world champions, while the French have to rely on atrocious refereeing just to get into the World Cup.

Perceptions of a football injustice are unavoidably coloured by your mood at the time (not to mention you allegiances).

I arrived home on Thursday after a tough day at the office. I turned on the news. What did I see? I saw Thierry Henry’s French paw pat that ball down onto his hoof, which flicked it perfectly onto William Gallas’ noggin.

“WHAT A STINKING CHEAT!!!”

My view softened somewhat as I unwound this morning, sipping the weekend’s first latte in my favourite café while pondering the article on the subject in today’s paper.

The wound is still raw, but the pain will fade. France will compete in the World Cup. They will lose to one of their former African colonies in the group stages. Head home early. Domenech will inexplicably keep his job. And so the cycle will begin again.

I hope we will see the Irish competing fiercely at Euro 2012 with the memory of this driving them onto great things. Unless they are drawn in Italy’s group. In which case I hope they all succumb to the shame of this humiliation and whither away never to be seen or heard from again.

Footballaholics Anonymous

2009-11-19T21:56:00.007+13:00

Good evening ladies and gentlemen. This is the regular meeting of the blogosphere group of Footballaholics Anonymous. My name is Enzo and I am a footballaholic and your Chairperson.

Let us open the meeting with a moment of silence for the good players we had to let go in the last transfer window, followed by the Serenity Prayer:

God, grant me the Serenity to accept the bollocks refereeing decisions I cannot change, Courage to call the bastard a cheat when I’m within range, and Wisdom to show indifference to the loud mouthed Manchester United fan at work when we lose.

www.in-the-back-of-the.net is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem of lack of purpose in the long, empty hours and days between football matches, and help others to embrace their footballaholism.

The only requirement for membership is a love of football. There are no dues or fees for membership; we are self-supporting through our own obsession.

www.in-the-back-of-the.net is not allied with any club, league, fan organisation, association or confederation. We will edit out any inappropriate profanity or personal attacks in the comments sections. We neither endorse nor oppose any of the rubbish our contributors might spew forth on this bandwidth from time to time.

Our primary purpose is to talk football and help other footballaholics to talk football.

We will now read “Coconuts – Cambridge United v Newcastle United” from the 1976-1986 chapter of ‘Fever Pitch’ by Nick Hornby.

I now invite any new members to introduce themselves by their first name only - a new member is anyone who has a desire to talk football and is within their first thirty days on www.in-the-back-of-the.net

Top 10 positive outcomes that will emerge from New Zealand's participation in the World Cup

2009-11-17T21:45:00.004+13:00

10. Everyone will learn to call it football, not soccer.

9. The team sport that has more registered players in New Zealand than any other will be funded accordingly.

8. People will discover that a ‘test match’ is more aptly labelled a ‘friendly’.

7. It will become blindingly obvious, to those a bit slow on the uptake, that you are not the best in the world at anything if you have not won its major tournament since the late ‘80s.

6. It will be acknowledged that getting your legs chopped out from under you by a studs up sliding football tackle does in fact hurt more than a purported ‘hit’ and rolling around on the ground in agony after said tackle is somewhat justified.

5. It will catch on that thousands of people singing “you’re so shit it’s unbelievable” in unison at a referee is far more effective than each person yelling something different about his sexual orientation.

4. People who wear Manchester United or Chelsea shirts will actually watch their clubs play for the first time. They will then immediately comprehend the filthy looks they get from random strangers every time they go out in public.

3. People will realise how stupid they sound when they call a game ‘boring’ that is loved by billions of people the world over.

2. Not one single football story in the New Zealand Herald will be cut and pasted from Reuters.

1. About a billion people around the world will hear the words ‘New Zealand’ for the first time in their lives.