Circuses. Hold the bread.

Wikileaks documents revealed that an aging, secretive, ruthless and unpopular dictator who refuses to relinquish power and who has handed his fiefdom over for exploitation by unprincipled corporate interests contemplated taking over Manchester United last year.

That's strange. I though Alex Ferguson was already in charge.

Boom, and indeed tish.

(Joking aside, the story is stunning and heartbreaking).

All's Well That Ends Well?

What a surprise. The British media have been utterly hysterical about spud-faced nipper Wayne Rooney's supposed departure from the Manchester United team. Indeed, my Man U-supporting chum Emma came out with an appalling stream of invective aimed at out-of-form whore-buying Rooney yesterday.

Now it turns out that Rooney's petulance and the manager's heart-broken press conference were all just performances designed to extract the maximum cash from the heavily-indebted corporation that masquerades as a football club.

Wayne Rooney has made a shock u-turn and agreed a new five-year contract at Manchester United just days after announcing his intention to leave.

Congratulations to both sides: they realised that the British media are so desperate for material to fill the acres/hours of space that they could be played like a finely-tuned organ. As an example of how to negotiate in public, both sides played a blinder, though I'd give the nod to Rooney as the winner on points for demonstrating his importance to the team and making Alex Ferguson look like a broken old man. Never before has a player managed to beat him in the mind games: Ferguson usually tosses them aside without a backward glance.

I look forward to Emma's claim of amnesia…

Of cardboard and paper

I'm definitely moving house to a decent enough flat in the town centre, getting the keys a week on Friday. Now I'm overwhelmed with thoughts of the packing, the shelving required (70-80 metres for the books and records) and the cold hard cash… frightening. Next week will be spent alternately teaching and packing! Obviously I should cut down on things which need moving, but I called into the bookshop to order the poetry course textbook and ended up buying four more books: Andrew Brown's examination of Sweden, Fishing in Utopia: Sweden and the Future that Disappeared, a new translation of Y Mabinogion (my fourth), Michel Faber's satirical The Fire Gospel, and some bracing polemic, Slavoj Zizek's Violence.

Neal, Emma and I went to the Hogs last night - watched Manchester United grind out a dull win and lost in the pool competition - me in the first game, Neal in the second.

Poor Emma

That petulant idiot savant Ronaldo has gone to Real Madrid for £80m. Meanwhile, my eyes are on Ireland v. New Zealand this afternoon. It should be good. New Zealand play great strategic cricket (Vettori's my favourite bowler) but they may not be cut out for the agricultural style demanded by Twenty20.

Live coverage here.

Living the high life

I've often teased Emma for being a typical Man U fan: foreign, lives a long way from Manchester etc. Now I know it's true because I've just received this text:

Just boarded. Drinking champagne. It's a hard life.

She's not flying with Ryanair, that's for sure.

What are you all doing this weekend? I'm going for a walk around Bridgnorth tomorrow, in the company of the Map Twats. Then we're going to find Birmingham's finest indie clubs to celebrate Dan's birthday. On Sunday, I'm going to finish all the marking. Then on Monday I'm off to Aston Uni for a conference on how to get an academic career. I always thought 'career' was what happened when your brakes failed…

Then on Tuesday it's off to Walsall to explain to the PGCE external examiner what a brilliant teacher I am (ho ho ho).

A minute's silence for the death of attacking football

Now is not the time for gloating.

OK, now IS the time for gloating. I had the pleasure of meeting one of this happy band of bloggers in the Hogshead, and exercised the utmost restraint. Emma, unfortunately, was watching the match at a friend's house, hiding behind a wall of alcohol. Now she's running away to America for a week, presumably to take up an interest in baseball.

Seriously though, whom to support was such a no-brainer. In one corner, a corporate entity sponsored by an insurance giant so bankrupt that it's now owned by the US Government. In the other corner, a regional giant which is owned by the community, opposed Franco, and carried the Unicef name where most teams have corporate logos.

It was quite a dull match though - MUFC just had no attack after the first ten minutes. The most exciting bit was Ferguson's 'tetchy' post-match interview…

Place your bets

Emma reads this blog during her lunch break.

So, by how many goals will Barcelona humiliate Manchester United today?

Hasta la victoria siempre! (Wish I had some Catalan).

we're football crazy, football mad…

Needing a break from a T S Eliot dissertation, I'm following the (very boring) England-West Indies cricket match ball-by-ball here, and every soccer game here. I think Hull and Middlesborough will go down, despite Ferguson's choice of the Manchester United No-Stars and my own desire to see Newcastle drop. Blue-nosed Rangers have won the Scottish Premiership, unfortunately. Oh well, decades of Celtic supremacy was making the world's least competitive league boring. Stoke to sneak a 1-0 victory over Arsenal from a set-piece.

Update: so much for my predictive skills. We're 2-0 down after 16 minutes, thanks to an own-goal and a penalty.

Update: a goal for them and a penalty for us makes it 3-1. Only 60 minutes of this left…

Update: oh dear. 4-1 down at half-time.

Update: Middlesbrough and Newcastle relegated - Stoke flying high (except for today's result). Good season, chaps and chapesses (another one for Deer Friend there - we've been discussing terms for acquaintances)!

Why why why, Delilah?

Just to make you happy, congratulations to Manchester United for their league success. I've lost a filling getting that out through gritted teeth.

Good weekend for the revived giants of Stoke though. A clear victory. We're closing on Man City and ahead of all my friends' teams other than MU. I'd like to finish the season by doling out a damn good thrashing to Woolwich Arsenal. All that remains for me to say is I TOLD YOU SO.

Tony Pulis for England?

Oh no, he's droning on again

Here goes with the kind of post that you all ignore. Would it help if I added something sarcastic about Manchester United, or referred to Betty Boo?

You all know that I'm a massive fan of Pharyngula, an American science professor who has a neat sideline in speaking up for scientific endeavour in the face of religion, quackery and media stupidity.

A couple of days ago he gave the graduation speech at Keck School of Medicine. He made some comments that teachers, students and everybody else should take seriously in a climate where being an expert is increasingly being associated with arrogance and contempt:

… the responsibility of the public intellectual is what I want to say a few words about to you. You are about to receive a diploma that gives you the potential to be one of us, too.

A public intellectual is the modern equivalent of the court jester -- the wise fool who could say anything to the king, because no one would ever take him seriously as a rival for the throne. If the concept is too medieval for you, look at 21st century America, where the best news commentary on television is offered by a couple of comedians on a small cable network. It's the same principle: people on the edge of the herd, whether it's the mass media or the general electorate, are unconstrained by the group norms and are given greater freedom to speak out and express themselves. The weirdos, by their very nature, have more latitude, and we also institutionalize the principle in ideas like academic freedom.

Did I just call you all weirdos? I'm sorry, yes I did. You're all receiving advanced degrees from USC, and that automatically makes you all a bunch of nerds. You should be proud.

You are also the lucky few, the ones with talent and discipline and the fortunate opportunity to pursue science and medicine, and you have acquired another kind of debt: you have been granted this privilege, and now you owe society repayment. We need you to make the world a better place. To quote a comic book character, with great power comes great responsibility.

Power? That diploma may not give you political power, or the ability to beat up criminals, and it may not even guarantee you a job, sorry to say, but it does represent something significant: it's intellectual capital. You will have acquired some small measure of authority and credibility with that acknowledgment of your accomplishments, and I'm here to tell you to spend it.

There's lots more, about the graduate's duty to communicate and to criticise error. Don't just become pliable work units. Become troublemakers, agitators - at work, or in the public sphere. I know it's easy for me to say this in my job (which isn't quite as cushy or secure as you may think), but we'd live in a better society if we didn't let the shysters, conmen and bullshitters set the tone in politics, the media and pretty much every other sphere of our lives. You do have the skills and intelligence to object now and then - you just need the courage. One of the few things I'm proudest of is ticking off a copper for bullying some skate kids at the railway station. It was a small thing (though scary) but it reminded me, her, and them, that we're citizens with a role to play in each others' lives.

I do wonder, sometimes, what my job is. There's a debate in my office at the moment about the nature of professionalism. We agree that it's about defending the public good - in terms of educational motives - rather than just taking your money and doing whatever our bosses say - which at the moment means dumbing down and being 'market-oriented'. The intrinsic value of education is under attack - one of our incoming deans openly rejected the idea that small subjects should be taught. Brilliant. What a philistine.

Not many people may need to speak a particular language or understand a particular culture, but they'll come in useful at some point, and surely there's something valuable about just caring about things, however 'obscure'. If more people understood Afghan culture, or about financial planning, or the sociology of MPs, perhaps this country would be in a better state.

OK, rant over. Back to pop culture. I'm listening to Modern Life Is Rubbish. It's so elegiac.

More fresh meat

Emma has started a blog. Only one introductory post, so encourage her. You MUFC fans may find it a more genial place to hang out while you eat your prawn sandwiches and discuss motorway routes to Manchester. I believe that Newton Heath is short for MU's first incarnation as Newton Heath Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway FC.

Salford United v. Manchester City

Somehow, this blog seems to have been taken over by a nest of Reds. So I thought I should introduce you to my old friend Neil.

Like you Manchester United fans, he doesn't live anywhere near Manchester.

As one of Murdoch's News International team, he too has a 'privileged' relationship with the regulatory authorities, and lives to wipe out the opposition.

Unlike you, he's a Manchester City fan. Let's hope Everyday Isn't Like Sunday for you, Neil!

(Sorry. Bit of Mancunian music-based humour there. But you did ask for more jokes, and everybody ignored my comment about Hazel Blears and the large TV).

Mystery solved

So now we know who Barcelona are going to beat in the Champions' League final: Manchester United. Phew!

Namecheck songs

A selective list based on a quick trawl through my hard drive: titles only. Think of some more over the weekend while I go south to see Felix and maybe even go to the FA semi-final between Everton and Manchester United, depending on whether the tickets exist.

I didn't start it. The Guardian did. You all know an awful lot of awful music. I can extend it:

Jacob Marley's Chain - Aimee Mann

Glitter Years - The Bangles

Like Dylan in the Movies - Belle and Sebastian

Seymour Stein - Belle and Sebastian

Gene Autry - Beulah

Ingrid Bergman - Billy Bragg

Walt Whitman's Niece - Billy Bragg

Benny Hill's Wardrobe - The Bitter Springs

Mike Coe Reads the Credits - The Bitter Springs

Andrew Ridgley - Black Box Recorder

Josephine Baker - Blaggers ITA

Warhol's Fifteen - The Blue Aeroplanes

Blues for George Michael - Boo Radleys

Arthur Walker - Cable

Lloyd, I'm Ready to Be Heartbroken - Camera Obscura

Presley on Oldham Street - Clint Boon Experience

Tiger Woods: Astronaut - Clint Boon

Andy Gill: Astronaut - Clint Boon

Eulogy to Lenny Bruce - Damon and Naomi

Elizabeth Duke - Darren Hayman

Geno - Dexy's Midnight Runners

The Beatles - Edwyn Collins

Fitzcarraldo - The Frames

Black Elvis - Gold Blade

Sally Webster - Gorky's Zygotic Mynci

Gubba Lookalikes - Half Man Half Biscuit

Fucking Hell It's Fred Titmuss - Half Man Half Biscuit

David Attenborough - Huon

Annie Oakley - Jad Fair and Kramer

Alice Cooper's Roadie's Love Child - Kim Fowley and BMX Bandits

Sharing a Gibson With Martin Luther King Jr. - Lambchop

Popeye - Lambchop

Howard Hughes Blues - Laura Cantrell

Ballad of Bilbo Baggins - Leonard Nimoy

Bonnie and Clyde - Luna

This Nelson Rockerfeller - McCarthy

I'm Jim Morrison, I'm Dead - Mogwai

Zidane - Mogwai

Kerouac - Morphine

Eulogy to Lenny Bruce - Nico

Elvis the last ten days - The Nightingales

The Ballad of Bjorn Borg - Pernice Brothers

I Know Someone Who Knows Someone Who Knows Alan McGee Quite Well - The Pooh Sticks

What's the Frequency Kenneth? - REM

John Cage Bubblegum - Stereolab

The Very Best of Neil Diamond - Super Furry Animals

I Was a Rolling Stone - Tiger Phil (Ochs) - Tom Paxton

Tribute to Woody Guthrie - Tom Paxton

Tinky Winky - Tom Paxton

There's a Guy Works Down the Chip Shop Swears He's Elvis - Kirsty MacColl

Cassius Clay - The Wave Pictures

Shatner - The Wedding Present

Dan Dare - The Wedding Present

Kevin Ayers - Gorky's Zygotic Mynci

Bukowski - Rheinallt H Rowlands

Paul McCartney - Laugh Mulder and Scully - Catatonia

The Ballad of Tom Jones - Cerys Matthews and Space

Where's Captain Kirk? - Spizzenergi

John Wayne was a Nazi - MDC

Myrna Loy - The Minus 5

Where on Earth is Kevin Shields - PS I Love You

Talulah Gosh - Talulah Gosh

Norman Bates - Landscape

Robinson Crusoe - Tindersticks

Alan Parsons In a Winter Wonderland - Grandaddy

Jolly well done chaps

Stoke City 1 - 1 - Newcastle United. And, for Ben, hearty congratulations to Manchester United for their plucky victory over Sunderland. One more victory and we'll be safe. Above, I reproduce a picture of the Stoke City team celebrating in the traditional fashion after another good match.

1. The Hon. Ricardo Fuller.

2. Mr. James 'Beano' Beattie.

3. His Grace the Duke of Hanley, Ryan Shawcross.

4. Sir Wilkinson Wilkinson

5. Glenn Whelan, Bt.

6. Lord Delap, 'Strongarm'.

7. Sir Matthew Etherington.

8. His Majesty Thomas Sorenson I of Denmark.

9, Mr Liam 'Lawro' Lawrence.

2 other gentlemen temporarily detained by constabulary for post-prandial, sherry-fuelled highjinks.

Football - and more important things

Well, it's a big day for football - in serious as well as lighthearted ways. Firstly, Liverpool are playing Blackburn on the nearest day to the anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster: poor stadium design coupled with aggressive, thoughtless policing led to the deaths of 94 people. The BBC broadcast a rightfully passionate, pointed program this morning which moved me to tears. It ended with a radio broadcaster (I didn't catch his name) ending his analysis later on that day with 'The gymnasium is today being used as a mortuary. And the sun shines'. That's top quality broadcasting.

The other wonderful part of the show was the section which reminded us why Rupert Murdoch, News International and The Sun are so utterly evil. While others mourned, the paper's front-page stories accused Liverpool fans of urinating on the police and robbing the bodies of the fans - complete lies from start to finish, but great for newspaper sales. It took 20 years to admit that the stories were untrue, and to this day Liverpudlians who support any of the local teams won't buy The Sun. I urge you to join in. It's too late for some of those fans, but the business model continues. Lies, slander and poison are the meat and drink of tabloid journalism, and none are quite so greedy as The Sun and its Sunday version, The News of the World. Liverpudlians are accused of being over-sentimental (they are a mix of Welsh and Irish), but in this case, staying bitter is absolutely the right thing to do. A proper inquiry was never held into Hillsborough and The Sun remains evil.

It reminded me of a period in which football was a matter of huge, mass emotion - sometimes violent, sometimes sentimental. Footage of the Liverpool team of the time reminded me of how much we've missed - so many Liverpool players spoke with Liverpool accents, shared surnames with the victims and some lost neighbours and friends - how many of the current Premiership players live anywhere near the average fan (who is more likely to be a middle-class high-earner anyway)? Hearing John Aldridge describe attending the funerals of fathers and their sons, of two sisters, was heartbreaking. On another level, these men remind me of a vanished (and probably quite unpleasant) time in other ways. Many of them speak the language of the fans, they don't have advisers, agents, lawyers and PR employees polishing every word, weighing every statement, looking out for themselves, or beating people up in nightclubs. These men were fans and from the people. On the other hand, safe stadia require massive amounts of money, and ticket prices are going to do it, so perhaps hugely expensive days out are the price we have to pay for safety.

On a lighter note, Stoke has the chance to strike a blow for honest football and the past today, by beating the arrogant, pseudo-galactico chancers of Newcastle United. If only it were MUFC we were sending down (as we did once in the 1970s), but anyone will do. One more win - or even a couple of draws - will do nicely.

Association football

Stoke have suffered badly from referees trapped in the headlights of big teams this year: Manchester United and Chelsea both beat us with goals deep into 'injury time' despite no significant injuries or delays occurring.

So I'm assuming that the Man U - Porto ref was a) incredibly brave; b) foreign and c) heavily guarded when he actually blew the whistle for full time after Porto scored a 90th minute equaliser. If he'd been local, a few minutes would have been found. Perhaps Tevez could have been delayed by a difficult shoelace conundrum, Ferguson might have had a headache, ANYTHING.

Why, why why, Delilah…

Where are you now, Arsenal? Sure, you can beat showponies like Manchester United, but you fold up like a cheap deckchair 

when faced with Stoke City - and Wigan hung on for a draw today. We'll settle for the UEFA cup this year (and thanks to Cynical Ben for my present of £1 on us to win the Premiership at 7500-1).