Just for you…

As I gather my Vice-Chancellor is an avid reader of Plashing Vole, here some educational material for the benighted Black Cat:

Football's brave new frontier

Newcastle United has just announced that St. James' Park (which is next to a real park, with actual cows painted black and white to match the team's colours) is to be renamed after its owner's company: the Sports Direct Arena. For some reason, this has caused more grumbling than Arsenal, Manchester City and Lansdowne Road all being renamed in the pursuit of cold hard cash.

Naming rights to this NUFC fan's belly are still available

It bothers me because football clubs are the quintessence of real places: usually founded by local groups of enthusiasts and often staying in the heart of their communities. When clubs are taken over by financial speculators or rich men looking for a plaything, they start to become 'non-places': signified by names which are adverts and identical architecture. My own club fell victim to this in the early 90s: Stoke played at the Victoria Ground, a picturesque but semi-derelict stadium: now it's at the Britannia, named after the building society which was hurriedly taken over by the Co-op (with whom I bank) before it went bust. The new ground is exactly as you'd imagine: a smaller version of the same design you get everywhere else.

The reason for all this is - obviously - capitalism and its discontents. Corporations have (or had) the money, but they lacked one thing: warm fuzzy feelings. What they want to buy is our emotions, and there's no surer way, they thought, to make a community love a company than through its local football team. So they buy the naming rights and help build a stadium. Ironically, this is where it all goes wrong for the company and the club. Fans don't love companies - they're either indifferent, or hostile to an important part of their culture being wiped out for temporary financial gain. The stadium, too, becomes a symbol of rootless capital, rather than a palimpsest of the local.

Look at these:

The first one is Craven Cottage, Fulham's ground. It's cute, individual (especially now there's a gilt Michael Jackson statue outside) and distinctive. It's probably a financial headache for the owners and a firetrap.  The second one is the Britannia: it could be anywhere, and is in fact perched on former wasteland miles from anywhere, virtually inaccessible on foot and strangled by dual carriageways. Neither the clubs nor the companies get it: the sponsors haven't bought affection - the clubs have sold it. Sponsor names dissolve the bonds between a club and its fans. Not that the owners care: the advertising to distant viewers is far more important than the affection of local supporters.

One last day of sanity

On Monday, the teaching period starts once more, as does the madness, the pressure and the excitement. No more quiet offices, no more slacking off. But the pleasure of bright-eyed students eager to mull over ideas and discover new texts - one has just called into the office to inquire whether she needs to prepare anything for next week's classes - a question I should perhaps be asking myself!

Which is why I spent most of this morning in sybaritic indulgence. Already shocked to the marrow by Stoke City surrendering its lead over Dynamo Kiev in extra time, I found myself glued to the last 200 pages of Maria Edgeworth's Patronage, and resigned myself to remaining in bed until all the ladies were married and all the gentlemen restored to their ranks and estates. I'm sure you're all as grateful as I am that equilibrium - to use the structuralist term - was duly restored, though at some cost to narrative plausibility.

Gooaaaarrrnnn the Potters

Appearances to the contrary, it's not all Maria Edgeworth and deconstruction here in Vole Towers: there's always room for the thrilling exploits of Stoke City. I modelled my approach in fencing to their footballing strategy: sod the pretty stuff, ruin your opponent's game, nicking an unjust victory can be even more satisfying than a classy win. This weekend's exciting and undeserved victory against Liverpool is a perfect example.

So to all you critics, here's the Guardian's reaction:

Given the amount of time the ball spends in the air during Stoke's matches, their players have a head for heights but a quick look at the league table may bring on a few nosebleeds. Still unbeaten, they are fourth, four points off the leading Manchester clubs and one point ahead of Liverpool, whom they defeated 1-0 on Saturday, albeit with a fair bit of luck. There is, of course, a long way to go yet and Tony Pulis's side are unlikely to be challenging for the Champions League by the end of the season; the glass ceiling remains intact, no matter how desperate Stoke might be to shatter it.

Even so, this should be another successful season for them, following one in which they reached the FA Cup final and qualified for the Europa League, although they did finish only 13th in the league. They will be aiming for much better than that this time, particularly given the backing of Peter Coates, who has allowed Pulis to sign Peter Crouch, Wilson Palacios, Matthew Upson and Jonathan Woodgate during the summer. Clearly Stoke are not about to alter their no-nonsense style – uncompromising defending, pace on the flanks, aerial threat in attack and a reliance on set pieces – but after a wobble at the start of the year, everything is in working order again. Watching them in the Europe this season promises to be fascinating.

Pros and Cons of dying, aged 98, on Saturday 14th May

As I mentioned, my beloved maternal grandmother passed away a couple of days ago (it's OK, I've got another one, and she's only 90).

So what did she miss?

Stoke City in its first ever FA Cup Final.
Stoke City losing in its first ever FA Cup Final.

The Eurovision Song Contest
One of the best Doctor Who episodes ever, written by Neil Gaiman.

Some good rain.

On balance, it was an OK day to depart.

And we're back at the FA Cup final

Here we go again. Disgracefully, the corporate seats which were denied to fans of the two teams are empty as their occupants hang around in the restaurants and cosy bars. What a way to treat an historic fixture.

I'm feeling horribly pessimistic about this. I've supported Stoke as long as I've known about football. The last few years have been a psychological struggle. For most of my life, Saturday afternoon was reserved for feeling miserable as we lost another one. We always had a false dawn leading up to Christmas, before being relegated or just escaping.

I was happy supporting a dour team struggling to survive. It matches my outlook on life. It was always nice to win a match here and there for a bit of variety (especially against Crewe and Port Vale), but success was a concept we knew existed, but never thought it could happen to us.

But gradually, we started to win matches and even get into the Premiership. Thankfully, we didn't give up the old ways: grim-faced graft was never going to give way to flashy silky skills straight away. Tony Pulis's tactics are Welsh slate to the diamond-studded glitz of the money teams, and it lasts longer.

But I'm still a Stoke fan: the further we go in a competition is another chance to lose on a bigger scale. That said, the new match tactic appears to be to get the ball and try to get it in Man City's goal, which is promising.

1618: Horrible, disgraceful tackle from Touré on Wilkinson. A bit of anger might be good for this match. The crowd sound much more alert. Now Balotelli cynically bundles over Pennant with an elbow in the back. Tempers may boil over. Free kick: we have several half chances. At least we're putting the pressure on. Damn: Tevez is marauding but da Silva leaves it too long and we somehow get away with it. Man City are surely going to score soon. Balotelli feeds Tevez but he drags it wide with help from Huth then Barry smashes it into the crowd.

1625: Excellent save from Sorenson - we've always had ace keepers, including Gordon Banks and Peter Shilton. Balotelli's getting some personal attention from his markers - they know he's likely to lash out if he's wound up. Not very sporting, but highly amusing.

1626: Brilliant long ball to Kenwyne Jones and he manages to arse up a one-on-one: the most glorious chance of the game. Joe Hart did really well to come for it but Jones really should have scored and I'm gutted. Etherington off, Whitehead on. What a missed opportunity that was - a moment of genius denied. More like that, definitely. But finished off.

1629: Weak shot from Tevez easily saved. Now we've another Rory Special. Stoke fans now singing Swing Low Sweet Chariot in honour of Arsene Wenger calling Stoke a rugby team. Shawcross drags down Balotelli - very dangerous free kick coming up. Lots of messy defending but it's OK in the end.

1638: Got bored. And it's raining and cold here. Maybe it's because my gran died today, but it's hard to keep up my enthusiasm through all the half-moves.

My mum walks in and Touré (£220,000 wages  per week) smashes the ball into our goal after an extended period of penalty-box pinball. Turns out I am emotionally invested in this match after all. There's no coming back from this. Now there's more handbags and Wilkinson gets a yellow for a late sneaky tackle on Balotelli. Suddenly Mancunians are singing.

Kenwyne Jones should rue his awful finishing - it could all be so different. Man City are rampant now. On comes Carew for us: a big, ugly old defender who can be very effective when on form, in place of Rory Delap. Man City are all over us now, though our defence is doing the business.

Still, it's not long since we were playing Yeovil and Co and we've played brilliant football in the Premiership this year.

3 minutes' extra time. Why bother. All the players on the pitch have accepted the status quo. Or perhaps not: we've got a corner after good stuff from Walters. Even our goalkeeper is up in their penalty area now. So Man City go for a substitution to drag it out a bit. Viera's on. It bounces around and we get another corner. This is torture. I'd love it if our goalie scored. But no - goal kick and surely it's all over.

And it is. Trophies all round for Manchester teams today. We were outplayed and we didn't get much of a chance to show what we can do. But still… we used to be rubbish and now we're now, and we're in European football next year. Oddly enough, we're playing Man City again on Tuesday…

Our fans are singing - brilliant. No dejectedly streaming out of the ground, just full-throated support. They're still singing and staying in their seats.

TV coverage reverts to the usual clichés: crying children etc. At least Micah Richards just said 'fooking' on live TV. Balotelli tells us that he's 'happy' and that he told his colleagues to respect Stoke as 'a team'. He also said he previously played 'sheet'. You wouldn't get this on the BBC. Adrian Chiles is now apologising.

In the spirit of modern football, we cut to adverts even before all the Manchester City players have collected their medals.

The Man City fans are all singing Status Quo's 'Rocking All Over The World': including Liam Gallagher. That must make a change from his day job. Arf!

FA Cup Final live

It's a weird situation - grandmother passed away 12 hours ago, the relatives contacted, and there's an odd lull in the proceedings - filled by the FA Cup Final. She didn't die for 98 years, then picked Stoke's only Cup Final day since it was founded in 1863. How disobliging. Typical of a Watford fan. Can I enjoy it? I hope so, though I'm aware that sounds horribly selfish. What are we meant to be doing?

First impressions: why are the army involved? They're all over the pitch before kick-off. An RAF officer is carrying the cup. Odd, unsettling propaganda. Is it meant to imply that playing well on the pitch equates to military bravery?

Liam Gallagher is still excited to be on the big screen: that's rather endearing.

Stoke's Welsh manager is wearing a daffodil, but his trademark baseball cap is inexplicably missing. Perhaps it's being cast in bronze as next year's trophy. Kenwyne Jones seems to have styled his hair with epoxy resin. It looks like someone's taken a blowtorch to a time-trial cycle helmet.

Some of Stoke's mascot kids are porky little numbers. No idea about the Man City ones - not looking at them. I've just muted the TV for the British national anthem. Is it true that a lot of fans sing 'God Save Our Greatest Team'? I hope so.

15.05: That's better, Tony's back in his cap and tracksuit. Legend has it that if it falls off during a match, we get relegated. Balotelli's playing: I'm sure we can wind him up and have him sent off in short order.

15.11: Sorenson saves a Man City shot. I'm quite nervous. And sober. Perhaps that's what's wrong. Man City do seem a bit calmer. At least we have one advantage: they can only play pretty football. If style doesn't work for us, we can fall back on violent disruptive play. There's a lot to be said for dour hard work. When is Rory going to get a long throw?

1514: Subbuteo in the box followed by a Manc corner and lots of Manc shots. Brilliant strike on the floodlights by De Jong. He may have bounced the shot off the 3.00 BA flight to Dallas. Perhaps our strategy is to let them run around a lot with the ball until they're tired. Oh dear, another Manc corner. Not very good, but they're getting far too many. Yaya Touré just smashes another shot just the wrong side of the goalpost. We really need to keep the ball for a few seconds.

1518: At last: a Rory Delap trebuchet shot. Nothing off it, but at least we're getting into their half.

1519: And another throw. Slightly more promising. Etherington's struggling though, and Man C are all over him. Manc are really pushing though. Balotelli's down with a head injury. Huth elbowed him in the face, the moron. He'd have been off if the ref had seen it.

Soft free kick for us. We're good at set pieces: undeserved goal coming up? No. Easy catch by Joe Hart.

1525: Tevez almost has a clear shot, then Barry but Sorensen and Huth get us out of trouble and Walters is streaking down the side but the move peters out. Man City are passing it around in our half like they own it.

1527: Kenwyne Jones gets into their box and causes trouble for the Man City defence, but they manage to take it off them. I almost got excited there. Now we've got another set-piece - a free kick which flies into Row Z. I assume the Japanese calligraphy on Wilson's(?) forearm is flight coordinates.

1530: Brilliant save from Sorensenn saves a Balotelli shot that was definitely going in. Corner now. Oh dear. Lots of handbags in there. No real shot there, then another one from further out. It's all a little ragged and hopeful, but Man City are putting moves together and taking shots. Our strikers aren't reduced to spectators.

1533: Walters tries to head across their goalmouth but it goes into the side netting. We're not intimidating them they way we did with Bolton and Arsenal. Stoke's last (and only) major trophy was the League Cup in 1972, 3 years before I was born. We did win the Auto-Glass Windscreens Trophy though. Twice, I think.

1537: Great shot from Kompany thankfully saved by Sorensen and it's down their end for a very good corner from Pennant which Hart saves. Rory's got another chance with a long throw. He fools everybody by making it a short one, and it's out again for another go. Our strikers arse up a shooting opportunity and we all womble out in midfield for a while. Man City throw looks short and weak after seeing Rory's 3-mile rocket launchers. The crowd's quite quiet now. Dare I say even bored?
1542: They aren't now: goalmouth scrambles as Balotelli and da Silva miss sitters. We're hugely lucky not to be down 1-0.

Apparently there's someone called Tevez on the pitch, but he's not been seen much. He cost Man City roughly the same as Stoke's entire team.

1545: More goalmouth scrambles courtesy of Balotelli. I wonder what the atmosphere's like in Stoke today. As I walked through, every other person wore a shirt and flags were flying. Strangers nodded to each other or shouted Goooarrrn at each other. Which was nice.

Very silly tackle from Huth. Yellow card and a dangerous free kick. Dangerous if you're sitting in the top row behind the goal, that is.

1548: De Jong sidefoot eludes everybody but goes out wide. I'm hanging on for half-time now. We're hanging on nervously. Kolorov boots another one into orbit. We get a free kick in a useful area but De Jong clears it. Tevez and Pennant are injured. That could be very bad news for us. We're really not playing at our best and Pennant's the best Stoke player on the pitch.

Half time. And not a moment too soon. Back in 15 minutes.

Wow, the reverse ferret in action

Most football journalists have spent the past few years mocking and sneering at Stoke City's 'anti-football' blah blah blah.

It's different today - here's what the Guardian says:

Stoke City did so much more than reach the FA Cup final for the first time in their history with this remarkable result. The manner of their victory also laid down a marker for their meeting with Manchester City at Wembley in a little under four weeks' time. Stoke, on this evidence, will present a major obstacle to Roberto Mancini's hopes of winning his first piece of silverware at Eastlands.

I actually don't think Stoke will win, but it will be close.

Going Potty

Well that was one of the most joyful 90 minutes of my life as a Stoke fan, of which there aren't many. We've just beaten Bolton, who usually play attractive football, 5-0 to get into the FA Cup final for the first time ever, and better finishing would have made the score even higher.

Somehow it feels wrong - Stoke fans aren't bred for success. We're used to spending Saturday evenings in post-defeat gloom and Mondays soaking up the abuse of our 'friends' and colleagues. I remember the days when Port Vale (!) had the local bragging rights… I wonder where they are now. Anyway, all this means is that we'll be too tired to win the matches we need to survive the Premiership, and we're merely postponing defeat until the final. No. That's the old mentality. We're going to win everything from now on. Ahem.

Stoke's first goal goes in: many more to come!

Wash out your Pottermouth

Another huge hit from the anonymous Poet of the Potteries, in honour of our FA Cup semi-final:



I don't think Eminem has much to fear.

Stoke City: An Apology

Yes, I'm waiting for the national media, my readers and my friends to apologise for the abuse heaped on my football team all season.

This weekend's match against Chelsea was scintillating. The BBC called it a 'showcase for the Premiership', amongst many other garlands. Rather than kicking the opposition off the field and scoring from Rory's freakishly long throws, Stoke played magnificent, exuberant and stylish football. It truly was like watching Brazil (and not the mercenary Brazil scum who played recently in Grozny (Chechnya) at the behest of its insane dictator).

 a thunderous contest, played out to din from the stands, and managers and players were in agreement that neither side had deserved to lose. 

there are few trickier trips in the top flight these days than a visit to the Britannia Stadium. In other circumstances, emerging with a point might have felt like a triumph.

 The home team were magnificent, Kenwyne Jones unsettling David Luiz and even John Terry and Jermaine Pennant and Etherington tormenting their markers.

"That second half was as well as we've played since I joined," said Etherington, who spoke to Terry at the final whistle. "He just said: 'You've been different class this season.' It was nice of him to say that."

These days Stoke, who are unbeaten at home this year, feel like an established top-flight force. Their FA Cup semi-final against Bolton at Wembley will offer them a focus, now that safety is within reach. They may require another win at least to be sure of staving off relegation, but their ability to compete with a revived Chelsea lineup was testament to the progress they have made this season. The power in their game is long established but there is also invention, trickery and even subtlety to their style when they build up a head of steam.

"If you've got Etherington, Pennant, Jones and [Jon] Walters, you've got four players who can play football," said the Stoke manager, Tony Pulis. "We caused [Chelsea] loads of problems. We get stigmatised at times, but that's not a problem for me."

Walters's goal – he embarrassed David Luiz on the touchline before teasing Michael Essien and finishing at Cech's near post – was wonderfully taken. Chelsea's response, Drogba thumping in the first league goal by any of their strikers since Fernando Torres made his debut, was just as impressive. Thereafter, the match was thrilling, even if it ended in a draw.

Roll on the FA Cup semi-final.

He shoots, he scores

My good friend Gary has been clearing out his loft and sent me all the early 1970s football magazines with big features on mighty Stoke City. Happy days - we won something in 1972, a mere three years before I was born…

Smith helped us to the 1972 win, and was in the Guinness Book of Records for the most injuries (including 5 broken legs). He never did play for England, but did manage a lot of teams.

Didi was right: the Dutch beat them 2-0 in a violent semi-final.

The great John Ritchie. Stoke's top scorer for many years in a row. His 171 goals have never been rivalled.

In March 1974, after a row with Southampton's Peter Osgood who criticised Ritchie's heading ability, the striker completed his hat-trick against the Saints by dribbling around keeper Eric Martin, stopping the ball on the line and kneeling to head it over!

He shoots, he scores

My friends, I can't express how much fun it was to watch Stoke City play Wolverhampton Wanderers in the FA Cup yesterday. Emma and I wandered along, had a beer beforehand, and took our seats next to a man who deserves a big medal for not managing to say anything positive about his team for the entire 89 minutes (he left before full time).

Good things about the Wolves ground: excellent cheese and potato pie. And the toilets. I knew things had moved on from the days when fans would just pee onto the terrace until a pleasing yellow waterfall effect was achieved, but I was stunned by the space, cleanliness and all-round sparkle of the men's loos.

The same could not be said of the first half of the match. Stoke were totally dominant in the set-pieces, while Wolves seemed better in the open play, though they did massively prefer to pass the ball back rather than try to score goals. That said, they did have the majority of the (few) chances in the first half. I politely applauded each competent Wolves move and tried not to openly eat oatcakes and throw pots.

The second half was loads better - both managers had obviously given their players the hairdryer treatment. The quality wasn't entirely apparent, but the effort was. Wolves had several threatening runs, but no finishing quality. Then late on, Stoke's Robert Huth (he's roughly 4 times my height) rose to meet a corner and headed in a great goal, which I was forced to acknowledge with a rueful shake of the head rather than a 'proper mental', which the Stoke fans opposite me did indulge in.

They were in good form - 4000 of them and only 7000 Wolves fans. 'Delilah' rang out many times, whereas the Wolves fans only managed 'We're the boys from the Black Country' once, preferring to sing 'Boring' at Rory Delap's wondrous long throws and 'You Fat Bastard' at Stoke's goalie, Thomas Sorensen. I thought that was a bit cheeky: fans from officially Britain's fattest region singing that to a lean professional athlete. Funny though.

The last few minutes were - in Alex Ferguson's words - 'squeaky-bum time': frenetic attacks from Wolves, one needing a fantastic save from Sorensen. I thought I was going to have  a heart attack when Wolves were awarded a penalty - nobody saves those - but Sorensen did, and the Wolves fans started to stream out of the ground.

Not a classic match, but a decent one, and a brilliant afternoon out. Here's a professional's report.

By popular demand

As several of you have been requesting this post, I'll succumb.

Yes, Stoke City played Manchester United yesterday. They also played a referee and a couple of linesmen. As a result, Stoke City lost 2-1. Great goals from both sides, but Manchester's Gary Neville should have been sent off for two disgraceful tackles of the kind which so annoy Mr. Wenger when Stoke employ them.

I know this is entirely predictable whinging, but we never get the breaks: referees never see tackles against us, or never act on them.

I am, officially, miffed.

Oh the excitement

Time to tear myself away from the office, where I've been working, while keeping an eye on the Labour Party leadership hustings and the build-up to Stoke v. Aston Villa. Should be interesting - Villa are good but managerless, and Stoke are dogged, direct and (for tonight only) managerless. We haven't won all season, and I'm getting nervous. Meanwhile at the Labour hustings, it's all very very boring and tediously predictable. It's definitely time for a purge.

I'm hoping that the boring ones in red win (i.e. Ed Miliband and Stoke).

I'll be quiet tomorrow - all sorts of exciting things to do which don't involve imitating an infinite number of logorrheic monkeys.

Let battle commence

The new season's fixtures are up for the Premiership football. My beloved Stoke has an easy start - away to so-called local 'rivals' The Dark Place Wanderers, managed by The Most Morose Man In Football, Mick McCarthy (whom I rather like actually).

I think Stoke will be happy to qualify for the Europa League this year - Champions' League next year. Got to walk before we run.

Is everyone enjoying the World Cup? I've seen bits, but not loads. Instead, I read 300 pages of apocaplytic science fiction short stories last night, and feel rather strange today. The happy shouts of playing children bear an extra-sharp edge, and the relentless heat seems to presage doom. I'm in an ideal mood to mark some resit essays!

Events, dear boy, events

After Stoke City's rather one-sided encounter with Chelsea yesterday, I'm minded to paraphrase Emperor Hirohito's announcement of Japan's surrender in 1945: 'the situation has developed not necessarily to Stoke's advantage, while the general trends of the world have all turned against her interest'.

A couple of goals were debatable, but this was the worst performance by Stoke since our 8-1 Liverpool defeat all those years ago.

Magnificent Messi?

There's been a lot of talk recently about Lionel Messi recently. Is he the greatest footballer on earth? Despite being called Lionel?



Well, there's no doubt that he can score goals, and that he plays for a great team (one which was on the right side in the Spanish Civil War and ensuing dictatorship, and which opts to promote Unicef rather than some corporation on its shirts) but there's one area of his game which is, as yet, sorely lacking.





Yes, until he can master Delap's long throws (and the stunning volley), he's not the finished article. If he came to Stoke for a season, we'd tutor him, nurture him, turn him into the ultimate footballer.

The Long Arm of the Delap

Barney Ronay's Guardian column includes this nugget about Rory Delap, Stoke's Irish hero who is determined to remove the 'foot' from 'football'.

Delap's dedication enters book of records

Rory Delap took 19 long throws during Stoke City's goalless draw with Aston Villa on Saturday. This is one long throw every 4.7 minutes. Given that Delap takes on average between 20 and 30 seconds to wipe down, wind up and let go, this adds up to at least nine minutes spent watching a man do a long throw. It also represents up to half a kilometre of ball-throwing in one match by one man, surely some kind of record.

Delap is really good at long throws. It is a prodigious and legitimate weapon, one that forces teams to pick centre-halves who can defend properly (Richard Dunne and James Collins can be proud of their clean sheet). But still. Is it really much fun to watch for Stoke fans? Is the 17th long throw as thrilling as the second or third? Very few of us have had the chance to find out. Either way, it represents a feat of style-refinement that you have to admire, a remarkably determined – and anti-Martínez – definition of what the word "football" means.

(From this gallery):

Tony Pulis, Class Traitor?

I return from my union meeting with another job - co-signatory on the funds. Not, unfortunately, a great opportunity for embezzlement: last year we bought a kettle.

I've had sport on my mind today. Last night I went to the university's fencing club, desperate to hit someone, only to find that it's been abolished by the students' union without regard for the democratic niceties: the union's disgraceful financial incompetence and slavish devotion to the university's management trump such details. It's a real shame: before I resigned as coach over a year ago, I acquired £5000 of new kit for them… sigh.

Later in the evening, I declined the opportunity to manage the England junior team for the School Games - I'm already the Games' Welfare Officer for my sport. Maybe next year.

Then, Ewar sends me a link to a very amusing and ideologically correct blog entry on my beloved Stoke City. You can tell it's clever and true because Ewar, blinded by his hatred for anything leftwing, describes it as 'bollocks'. In this piece, the author explains why the manager's defence of Ryan Shawcross's devastating tackle is 'pernicious' because it seks to explain the actions of the worker on an individualistic level (intention to hurt, in this case) rather than in structural terms (i.e. the system requires potentially dangerous behaviour because the alternative is to lose): it's classic Marxism. Stumbling and Bumbling earns a place on my blogroll for mixing football and Marxist politics.