FIFA to Introduce "Tax-Dodging Technology"

Sepp Cameron has astounded the world of tax-dodging by announcing his plans to introduce new tax-dodging technology. He is introducing systems to detect when someone has gone over the arbitrary line between decent, law-abiding minimisation of tax payment and things that are "frankly morally wrong".

"It was quite simple," said a spokesman I've just made up, "in the days when tax avoidance going 'over the line' was benefiting large companies and Conservative Party donors, we believed there was no need to introduce this kind of system. But now we've realised that satirical comedians are able to dodge taxes in exactly the same way, it's more important to spot when it has gone over the line."

"In the past we depended on blokes who didn't have a clue to oversee this kind of arrangement. But now I've realised that we need to put in place ways of stopping it. Frankly, it's morally wrong."

Unnecessary Diagram of Policing an Arbitrary Line

Archbishops of Canterbury XI

It's the question they're all asking as the European Football Championships progress - what would your best all-time team made up of Archbishops of Canterbury be? Well, we've all got our opinions, and obviously it's impossible to test out - at least outside the bounds of Archbishop Manager 2012 - but this is my suggestion. I reckon it could take on any XI from Rome or Alexandria, no questions asked.

I realise that some might say that packing the midfield like this is quite un-English, but then to be fair so are a couple of the Archbishops. I justify it on the grounds that in the C of E it's always important to grab the central ground. Wherever you happen to think it lies.

In a shocking display of sexism, you will note there are no women in the team. That's because men and women aren't allowed to compete on a level playing field. If you think this situation should change, I suggest you contact Sepp Blatter. Or stand for the General Synod.

Beckett (GK)  

Carey                                                    Coggan

Berhtwald        Laud 

W Temple (C)         Augustine                Runcie     

    

      Lanfranc                                                           Williams

Cranmer

Notes: Becket is a shoo-in as goalkeeper - widely regarded as a safe pair of hands, and only going down under some particularly brutal challenges.

Williams is naturally lining up just left of Runcie (who in his turn was often well to the left of Thatcher in the 80s). Who can forgot that great midfield line-up in those days: Tebbit, Thatcher, Runcie, Scargill?

William Temple's dad was captain before him, so naturally he gets the job. Berhtwald was a great organiser, so will be a great central-defensive partner for  William Laud - a man whose vision and stubbornness are a great asset, though he has a tendency to lose his head.

Lanfranc, as a man appointed by William the Bastard, murderer of half of Yorkshire and all-round nasty get, is out on the right wing.

I'm going to suggest Stigand as manager. Like all such people his reign eventually ended in disgrace. But was Archbishop through the reigns of Cnut, Edward, Harold and William, while recovering from repeatedly being excommunicated. So I reckon he could handle today's press. 

Geoff Shreeves Through The Ages

Alexander the Great - ruler of the world by 30, cities named after you all over the Mediterranean - yet dying after a binge.  Any regrets?

Julius Caesar - Any thoughts on Brutus and Cassius?

Harold Godwinson - an easy victory over the Vikings at Stamford Bridge - but it was one in the eye for you here, wasn't it?

Richard III - There's never a horse when you need one, is there? Where do you think you'll go from here?

Anne Boleyn - From quiet country girl to Queen of England. Would you say your head's on the block?

Juliet - How ironic was that?

Charles I - If you're God's chosen - he's not doing you any favours is he?

Capt Cook - Would you say you've learnt anything about the idea of "friendly natives on paradise islands"?

Adolf Hitler - Berlin's in ruins and you're moving imaginary tank regiments around on a map. How do you rate your chances?

Kieran Dogleash - A Statement

It is with regret that AFC Beaker Folk have immediately terminated the contract of our head coach, Kieran Dogleash. Kieran has of course been totally useless, but we look forward to building on the strong foundations and good work he's put in over the last 4 days since he took over.

You may remember that we hired Kieran after his predecessor, Rory Hedgeson, turned out to be completely useless and only fit to manage England. Rory Hedgeson, in turn, replaced Ralph A Bennet Esq, who was completely useless and probably only fit to replace Kieran.

Kieran Dogleash has many great properties. The support he gave to Louis Starbucks after that "piece of light-hearted banter in the Star of India" only showed how well he combined total loyalty with a complete lack of awareness. While winning the Mid Beds Nearly-Pagan Para-Church Knock-Out Consolation Cup at least meant our outlay of nearly £450 million on players was rewarded. Albeit we only beat a bunch of Brownies from Luton on penalties - but they can be pretty vicious, Lutonian Brownies.

And so having sacked the Director of Football, Communications Director, Managing Director, Chief Executive and head coach, the good new is that AFC Beaker Folk isn't such a top-heavy organisation any more. In fact, our sponsor, Mr Dwight D Linebacker from the Good Ol' US of A, is now personally responsible for picking the squad, team tactics and laundry. Sadly the new stadium on that strip of grass by Junction 13 is now even less likely to  materialise, but on the bright side we look forward to hiring a new manager, in whom we will have total confidence right up to that moment when we realise we have to sack him because he's totally useless.

On the Spiritual Benefits of Mid-Table Obscurity

Warning - turn away now if you are not interested in football (or are trying not to hear the progress of the game).

There seems to be much excitement among those who support football teams such as Man Utd and Man City, Tottenham, Arsenal and others today. A Manchester team will win the Premiership - and at the moment I'm not quite sure which yet. Although it would appear that by getting sent off for attacking the entire city of Manchester just now, Joey Barton has unexpectedly strengthened his own team as QPR are now leading Man City. Maybe Joey should get sent off more often, for the benefit of his team - if he ever gets the opportunity again.

The majority of the Beaker Folk leadership are watching all this (or, in some cases, not) with a sense of total equanimity. The Official Team of the Beaker People, Liverpool, are not going anywhere as a result of today's games. We can't win the League. We can't go down (and you'd never have believed, in the last 45+ years, that that would ever be a concern). We can't get in the Championship. We're safely in mid-table obscurity, clutching our League Cup, going into the Europa League, where next season we get to play teams of Belorussian boiler-welders and part-time Slovakian eel-farmers. Though what a part-time Slovakian is when he's not being Slovakian, I'm not quite sure. Czech, maybe, or perhaps one of the people of "O" - the little, landlocked state that was also involved in the breakup of Czechoslovakia.

In any case, none of this matters. The pomp, the glamour, the shiny shields and baubles - none of it matters. We have a place safely reserved in the European equivalent of the Autowindscreens Shield, and that will have to do. There are no heart-stopping moments for us today.

(2-2, by the way. Surely Man city can't come back and win this?)

Obviously, it's better for the mental health. And the blood pressure. No heart palpitations, and no sudden urges to elbow Man City players. This is much better for us. A kind of Zen thing. Our prize - such as it is - is safe. Why get over-excited? That is what we tell ourselves.

I'd like to draw the analogy with knowing we have a reward safe in heaven - that, secure and safe, we can watch the excitements of  those who chase worldly rewards, promotions and the chance to chair exciting meetings. But if you can find any way of making the Europa League sound like Heaven, you're a better man or woman than I am.

Man City just won, by the way. Poor old Fergie.

Live-blogging Chelsea

Interesting to watch De Matteo's brave substitution earlier. Three subs on at once. he brought on Fernando Torres, a barn door and a banjo.

Sacking Another Manager

I regret to announce that AFC Beaker Folk (2007) have had to release the manager, Andrew Village-Bozo. Andrew has tried very hard in the six months that he has been here, but unfortunately he is completely useless. I brought him in as a young manager, expecting him to build a "dynasty", and he has completely failed.

Some people have claimed that Andrew's problems stemmed from some of the older players. Well, it's true that Hnaef's not as young as he used to be, and he does insist on playing in hiking boots for no discernible reason. But he and Daphne are my friends, and if that doesn't count for a lot in modern village football I don't know what does.

Likewise Derek Diver has shown the club great loyalty. Merely because he now requires heavyweight lifting gear to help him get upright whenever he falls over in the box does not mean that, as Andrew suggested, he's getting on a bit. While Fred Lumphard has one of the greatest medal collections we have ever seen - and not all of them in pie-eating competitions.

And I feel Andrew has most signally failed in getting the best out of Fergus Torrid. Just becausee he was useless at Westoning Wombles then useless here under the previous manager does not mean that his continuing uselessness is not Andrew's fault. I spent a lot of money on Fergus. And even more buying that cow, the barn door and the banjo.

All in all, AFC Beaker Folk have had a poor run with managers. Claude Rainy-Day changed his tactics so often that on one occasion he substituted Joe Totty after he lost the toss. Joseph Meringue thought he was special, just because he'd won the Druids in Sport Inter-County Knockout Cup with FC Portsmouth.  Well, if he was so clever why couldn't he win it with us? Even after I brought Andy Shootsbadly in? If you can't win with one of my godchildren in the team what can you hope to achieve?

Then there was Abraham Grint. Well, just because he was a member of a famous wizard family didn't mean he could work any magic on the pitch. Louis Philip Schofield - what did he ever achieve? And then Hoos Hoo-hee, and I can't even remember what he looked like.  And Carla Canneloni had to go for wanting to play "more interesting" football. The only football I'm interested in is the one where Joe Totty, hopefully not having exhausted himself in - ahem - other fields picks up a trophy at the end of the game.

So a run of apparently truly brilliant managers, all of whom failed dismally after I appointed them. I'm quite downcast. If only I could find some kind of common factor.

If ITV Commentated on Acts of Worship

"The vicar's reading from some notes in the pulpit. He's preaching a sermon."

"Singing The Old Rugged Cross after If I were a crocodile has changed the whole complexion of this praise service."

"And during the Peace, the congregation are taking the opportunity to shake hands with each other."

"Once again, the Cloud of Witnesses prove they're good in the air."

"The crucifer playing in the "hole" behind the two acolytes. While the Gospeller's workrate means the vicar's been freed from book-carrying duties."

"The Archdruid's just reached "and finally" in her sermon. But Sir Alex Ferguson is tapping his watch to indicate that he reckons there's another four or five minutes."

"It's a service of two halves - the Word and the Sacrament."

"Now the Sunday Club rejoin the rest of the church. Which will reduce the average age of the congregation."

"The angels performing well on the wing - while the verger will be taking the sweeper role after the service."


"The choir's sitting down now. They're ...hur, hur... not singing any more."

"The deacon showing real belief. Especially in the Creed."


"Not a lot of interest in this "Sydney Carter Service". Empty seats all round the church. But I reckon there's a good chance we'll be hearing "Lord of the Dance" later."

After the Ball is Over

That was a real shock for Drayton Parslow. He was walking from his cottage down to Bogwulf Chapel for his regular morning's period of smug repentance when something fell out of the sky and landed on his head. Knocked him out cold for a while. A Beaker person found him and called me and, fighting back the urge to draw a beard and moustache on him, we helped him come round.

Drayton was aghast. He was convinced that he had incurred an immediate 10 Wrath of God points and been struck, so to speak, by a warning thunderbolt across the bows. But a bit of a search around the place, and the discovery of the round object responsible, meant we were able to put his mind at rest. It was just Charlie Adams' penalty finally coming to earth.

After a few hours in the coal shed

When the whistle blew at the end of extra time, I went and locked myself away. I can't stand watching penalties. Although you can always trust Stevie G and Charlie Adams to put them away.

How did we do?

Sacrifice in English Religion

The English religion, it is sometimes said by people wondering why men don't go to church, is football. For the benefit of my American readers, or people from Gloucester, Northampton or St Helens, I should explain that I'm talking about foot-ball here, the game that one plays with one's feet, hence the name.
One part of the older, traditional religions of the British Isles, before the English arrived to introduce the Church of England and subsequently football, was human sacrifice. In order to ensure that the crops grew the following year, the Celtic folk would build giant Wicker Men, fill them with prisoners, and set them on fire - as shown in that seminal film where Christopher Lee cons Edward. Woodward into dressing up as a fool and then sets fire to him while the brass band plays "Summer is y-cumen in" or somesuch culturally inappropriate song.

For my American readers, I should explain that this is The Wicker Man. Not the one with Nicholas Cage. Ridiculous film that is. Imagine - a religious commune run by a scary woman, where the men are all useless drones. Where could they have got that kind of idea?

In more recent years, due a misprint, the Wicker men transformed into "wicket men" - a group of Novices, dressed ceremonially in white, who are slaughtered when they are unable to cope with the magic of "spin bowling".

For my American readers, cricket is... no, sorry, I couldn't possibly explain.

The English religion of football is based on a four-year liturgical cycle.  In some respects it resembles the Fisher King of Arthurian legend, that man on whose welfare the state of the kingdom depends.
The nation engages a council of wise fools, the "FA", to find the man with the greatest tactical and magical skills. It must be a man. The English will not allow women to take this role due to a belief that they don't understand the arcane mysteries of the Laws of the Game- in particular "The Offside Rule".The FA are allowed to scour the world for this role, or sometimes just Middlesborough. When they find him, they pour gold over his head until he accepts the role.

The "England Manager" will initially be recognised by the nation to be gifted with second sight, profound wisdom, genius and an ability to solve the "Riddle of Gerrard and Lampard". His every touch will be regarded as magical, to be confirmed after two years when, after a goalless draw with a team from a small former Soviet Republic, the team narrowly qualify for Europe. He will then be declared "unlucky" to have gone out to Germany or, as it may be, Italy.

But this is the high spot of his powers. From now on, everything he does goes from genius to foolishness. He will repeatedly be compared with an ancestral sage of near god-like powers named "Ramsey" and seen to fall short. The only one still convinced of his powers, he will make bizarre claims to be able to divine the sins of people in former life. He may drop people in good form, play Wes Brown instead of Jamie Carragher, or believe in an antiquated formula known as "4-4-2".

The end of the Manager's reign is always bizarre, shambling oblivion. Managers have taken obviously injured players to tournaments in the belief that they can be miraculously healed; claimed to have fountains of youth in which Beckham can regain his youthful ability or paired Emile Heskey with Wayne Rooney. They may unexpectedly take Lineker off when we need a goal, or pick players who have never even played for their clubs. Some may even start to resemble turnips, or other root vegetables. When they raise an umbrella above their heads in a futile attempt to keep the anger of the gods from falling on them, the nation knows that it is time. The well-being of England is once again at a low.


Eventually The Manager is sacrificed to that god-like pantheon "The Press". Supernatural beings that are said to be able to know a man's very thoughts - or at least his phone messages. The Press accepts the sacrifice, and makes one demand of the FA. If the last Manager was English, they demand the mystic powers of a foreigner. If the last was foreign, they request the traditions and ancient powers of a Briton. They belief that there is one mage - the O'Neill of legend - who can combine both these threads. And yet the O'Neill can never be found when he is needed.

Enough. Time has once again come full circle. The sacrifice is made. A new Manager will be appointed, all nature will be reborn and the cycle can begin again.

Fabio Capello Resigns....

As we heard from this tweet a short time ago.

Lucky Harry Redknapp is innocent then?

You can say what you like, but I reckon that was a heck of an over-reaction to the Church of England Synod's discussion on women bishops.

On Booing at Patrice Evra

First up, I should declare an interest. All the members of the Beaker Folk leadership team are Liverpool supporters. It is not a requirement of membership for Beaker People to be Liverpool supporters - for we accept people of all faiths and Nuneaton Town - but it is a strange, statistical quirk of fate, I guess. Also I speak only for myself on the subject below. The Hnaefs can speak for themselves, if they want to.

There was much complaint yesterday about the way that Liverpool fans at Anfield booed Patrice Evra. And I'm not going to defend it. It's gormless and idiotic. Should we have been running a Beaker coach trip to Anfield, I would have dealt with any such behaviour from Beaker People severely (but not instantly, as they have a habit of confiscating cricket bats at football grounds, with good reason). But it was not merely unsurprising, it was inevitable.

Did Luis Suárez racially abuse Patrice Evra at that previous fixture? Probably. I can't say for certain, because I didn't hear it. The charge that was proven against him was on balance of probability, not the "beyond reasonable doubt" of a criminal court. Is Suarez a racist? Probably not. is he an idiot? Probably, based on a whole series of incidents. Did Liverpool over-react, defending Suárez when they should have shut up, printing T-shirts supporting him that they shouldn't have done? Yes. I can understand why they did - understand the depths of tribal loyalty and the sense so often felt by Liverpudlians that the world is against them - but understanding isn't condoning. They should have shut up, up front, and not stoked the fires.

Were Liverpool fans going to be silent at Evra yesterday? Of course not. That's not a matter of being racist - it's about loyalty, misguided as it may be. Their man - whom they believe to be innocent - was sitting in the stands, while Evra was on the pitch. they believe Evra is a cheat. They were going to boo him - in just the same way that some Man Utd fans were going to sing about Hillsborough, and Leeds fans sing about Munich. It's not funny, it's not clever, and it's shocking to the middle classes who thought football was a nice sport to watch now. Well, maybe from behind a nice big window in a hospitality box it's all changed. But the people down on the sides of the pitch are still working class, still attached passionately to one side or the other, still eating pies not prawn cocktails and still loathing the other side's guts - especially when it's Luton v Watford, Portsmouth v Southampton, Spurs v Arsenal or absolutely anyone against Man Utd.

Working class males have always been quite good at hating other people when they're of a different type. Once upon a time - and even now, occasionally - the nation is quite grateful for that, as it helps us fight wars. At home, in peace time, in a culturally diverse environment, it just takes longer for them to realise that the rules  have changed than the ruling classes would like.

But that's why a football fan isn't going to let a little thing like an FA charge being proved make them believe their man is in the wrong. Good grief, football fans will make claims that defy the laws of physics in their demands for referees' decisions to go their way - never imagining their claims are wrong, or even impossible. Balls that have clearly gone over the line will be claimed to have stayed out of the net. Offside players will be believed to have been 10 yards from where they actually were. And it will never occur to the supporters that they are anything other than right - and that the referee, the linos and the other side's supporters are all utterly deluded.

That kind of tribalism is there all the time in our society - and not just among the working classes, although they are less adept at hiding it as something else. It's been there since the Tower of Babel and it'll be there till the last trump. Stirring up the anger, as the TV and media have been doing - endless shots of  Suárez yesterday, for no better reason than reminding us he wasn't playing and why. It was cheap easy TV, especially during a fairly dull game.

Next time Liverpool play Man Utd, Evra will be booed by Liverpool fans and, if he plays,  Suárez by United ones. That's just business as usual. Foolish tribalist supporters from Man Utd and other clubs will claim Liverpool are all "racists", thus blackening a club and all its supporters. We're not, though the club have been foolish. But it's a working-class game at heart with working-class passions, and sometimes that means people will do stupid things. One day the old divisions will end. We will all realise that in Jesus there is no East or West end of the East Lancs Road. That the Runcorn bridge joins together, just as the Mersey divides. That there is no Mancunian or Scouse. Or all the fans will become middle class, and polite applause will ring out from both sets of supporters, when a goal is scored. But it's gonna be a long time coming.

Lament for Man Utd getting Knocked out of the European Champions League

All: Oops.

Macedonia and Montenegro - an Apology

In my earlier posting, I appear to have confused Macedonia with Montenegro. Macedonia is where Alexander the Great came from, Montenegro drew 2-2 with England. That's how you tell the difference. I would like to apologise to both nations. I would also like to stress, after Hnaef has pointed out my other mistakes, that neither country is famous for drinking sangria, eating spaghetti or dancing Cossack dances while wearing furry hats.

The bad news is that I've received a phone call from the England Football Supporters' Club telling me that I'm a disgrace. Still, on the bright side, UKIP want to know if I'd like to stand as an MEP at the next European elections.

On another matter, I note that Wayne Rooney has been sent off for a silly foul, and could miss the next three games. I guess he must have suffered a rush of blood to the hair. Sorry, head. Head.

Hope springing eternal

Come on England.  It's only Macedonia. And what have they done since 323BCE? (that's "Before Capello's England").

Surely we can beat a bunch of spaghetti-sucking blokes who dance around in furry hats while drinking Sangria? After all, while they were still building the pyramids we were already developing the concept of overlapping full-backs. (Hnaef - can you check this?).

Frankly we're nailed-on certs. Macedonia may as well go home.

Oh. They are at home?

Good old England! Plucky losers as ever! That Capello's rubbish. We're never gonna win anything till we get an Englishman in charge - or else a Dutchman - you know, like Steve Mcclaren. 

(Continues forever)

Todo se ha ido tranquilo por allá

Phil comments on the problem that Fernando Torres has had with translation - ie that when he was trying to say "given a bit of patience I'm sure my run of poor form will come to an end - after all look at the quality of the people behind me", it came out as "If you put a white beard on Frank Lampard he'd be a dead ringer for Father Christmas, Terry's always too tired from extra-curricular activities to limp any faster than an asthmatic snail and the rest of them, frankly, are well past it".

But had El Niño really said what he has been reported as saying, he would only be proving what we all knew - that there are two kinds of people in the world. Those who blame others when they are at fault themselves, and those who blame themselves no matter who's at fault. It's a simple psychological fact that, by blaming his team mates, Nando would be preserving his self-belief until he started scoring goals again. It may not be a spiritually good idea, but it does wonders for your self-respect. Although it may mitigate against ever getting better.

Still, good luck, Fernando, I'm sure things will get better,  Or, as they say in Spain, "Él no podía golpear las nalgas de una vaca con un banjo".

Memorial Sermon for the Death of Football

And so, in the light of yesterday's events in the Premiership, we reflect that fings ain't wot they used to be, and that money has ruined football. This time is definitely the end. Just like it was definitely the end a few years ago, when Roman Abramovich bought first Chelsea and then the Premiership.

And in doing so we follow our fore-mothers and fore-fathers, fore-uncles and fore-aunties - who declared money had ruined football when Trevor Francis went for a million quid in  1979. And when Jimmy Greaves went for a quid less than 100,000 in 1961.  And when Alf Common became the first £1,000 player in 1904.

And so we reflect on the immense waste of money involved in the whole thing, the money syphoned out of the pockets of fans and into those of agents and other hangers-on. And in a moment we will light the gigantic pile of Monopoly money we have erected in Lower Paddock. We will watch until all that is left is a little ash blowing in the wind - in the Ceremony that has the strange name "Buying Torres".

And as we reflect on the obscene sums involved in football, we will agree that Arsene Wenger needs to get out and spend big and quick. Because how else can he hope to compete with the Big Boys?

Late score: Manchester 13 - North London 3.

Marcuse / Mark Hughes / J'Accuse

The results of the Marcuse / Mark Hughes poll are in.

Sparked by an unlikely pun on their two names by @MetalVicar,  the vital question was - who has heard of these people? And in a poll with all the accuracy of a Daily Express house price survey, we have the shocking results.




Mark Hughes - 47-year-old Wales International and Football manager with the nickname "Sparky" - is known by  49% of people.

The name of Herbert Marcuse - 113-year-old German Jewish left-wing philosopher (well, he would be if he were still alive) - is known by 40% of people.

The overlap between these two figures is that the frankly underwhelming percentage of 25% of respondents knew of both. Which means that one in 4 of the Twittersphere and other people would get a joke based on whether a German Jewish philosopher was being lined up as the new manager of Birmingham City. I think. It's so long ago, I can't even remember the football club now.

36% had heard of neither person. I'm guessing they were people uninterested in left-wing philosophy and Manchester United.

I've no idea whether Mark Hughes every met Marcuse. I'm guessing the answer is "no", as Sparky was a 16-year-old wannabe footballer when the philosophy guy died. What a shame.

Metal Vicar blogs here.

Happy Summer, Football's over

And so, once again, the plucky sparrow of English footballing hope flies into the patio door of mediocrity.

And that's it. The football season is over. Today's dress code for the "Hear Comes the Summer" service is white - for cricket, tennis and flouncing around the garden in the sunshine, drinking a quick Pimms before dinner. There will no bad coffee after this morning's Occasion: instead we shall be drinking Earl Grey from bone china tea sets and limbering up for a quick round of croquet. Boaters will be worn.*

I am hoping that, this summer, we can conduct ourselves as befits English gentlemen and ladies. The pints of ale of winter will be laid aside for the gin and splash of soda. And while the lower ranks of Beaker Folk will sing the traditional songs of Lark Rise and Candleford, and feed the threshing machine with whatever it is poor people used to be required to put into threshing machines (some kind of cereal-based product, I would think), we will gather together the last of the corn straw to make dollies.

And a gentler, more skilful sport awaits.  Willow will hit leather - or leather hit ash, if the guile or pace of the bowler exceeds the skill of what Alec Stewart so vulgarly calls the "batter". Poets will lounge around the boundary, blades of grass in their mouths and daisy-chains round their next. Evening walks will meander into the eternal twilight of even as late as 11 o'clock on a good day. The punts will be launched, and the clink of ice will be heard in the land.

It's about three weeks until Fulham kick off in the Europa League, in case anyone was missing football already.

---

* In the Marquee, if wet. Or do I mean the Marquis? I can never remember which is which.