The Green Machine

My junior team roared back to form today with a most splendid performance. Log onto www.marshallsfc.me.uk to read the full match report.

The mens team didn't fare so well, losing 2-0. Read the match report @ www.marshallsfootballclub.co.uk.

Hey diddly de...

A students life for me!. Yes, that's right, a place to study Journalism is mine, and I have to admit that I am pleased. It does also mean I will have to start practising doing student things, like writing a cheque for a packet of crisps for example. But despite the prospect of that, and other similair actions, I have to say that I am happy to be facing 4 years of part time study. Well, kind of...

A big thank you to those who helped me with my application. You know who you are. Thank you for making it possible.

At least I'm trying

This Sunday marks just 16 weeks until the Liverpool Triathlon, and I gulped heavily when I realised this fact. As most training schedules are for 15 weeks, I have just 10 days to get myself ready before the preparation begins in earnest. Thankfully I have already got my bike back on the road as I rode about 35 miles today. Admittedly it was done at a leisurely pace, but at this stage it is time on the bike that counts. My legs felt strong and I was comfortable throughout the ride, which in turn has boosted my confidence. I am running anyway, and managed to complete a gruelling speedwork session on Wednesday evening which consisted of 15 x 200m sprints. By about number 10 my legs were screaming, and I also felt a bit sick. But I managed to complete the set, and I know I will feel the benefit. All I have to do now is conquer my life-long held dislike of swimming and I have got it made. But swimming.....

The wise man says....

I read a great quote today. It was in a coaching magazine and was emphasising the need for children to learn for themselves, and not to be told how to do something. It said, "When we hear, we forget. When we watch, we remember. When we do, we understand." Superb. And so true in the context of coaching children. The job of a good coach is to provide the environment, and within that environment lies a number of challenges. The job of the child/player is then to learn how to overcome these challenges, within a framwork of playing games. We all like to think we are THE one who will teach a child how to play football, and how to understand the game of football. But it is the players themselves who do that. All we do is facilitate the process, and, hopefully, get lots of pleasure out of it along the way.

I mustn't relent

Lent starts tomorrow and 40 days of abstinence begins. For this year I have decided to give up 'junk food' which is pretty comprehensive. To just give up crisps leaves me wide open for chocolate abuse. Laying off nuts would probably mean laying on biscuits. Junk food covers pretty much all that is bad, and perversely, all that I find good. It will be quite a challenge but I need to do something drastic to restore my waistline to it's former glory.

Worn out and ready for bed.

A busy weekend. Read the match reports of both my junior team, and the mens team. Both sides enjoyed good results on Saturday which was very pleasing after last weeks games which demoralised me to an extent. This weekend has restored my faith completely.

For junior team log onto www.marshallsfc.me.uk

For mens team it's www.marshallsfootballclub.co.uk

Haway the lads

My team were amazing today. We had the bare bones, (Philip played in goal as he was ill) and we won 4-0. Some of the football would not have been out of place at the Maracana stadium.

I'm on the committee

Just been to a committee meeting that makes the man in the hostel seem interesting. Blimey Charlie it was tough going. I'm mentally exhausted through boredom, a common complaint I understand. Going to bed.

How boring art thou?

There is a man in the hostel where I work who is unimagineably dull. He is so boring it is hard to believe although he isn't the most boring resident that has ever spent time here. No, about a year ago a man moved out and back into society who was astoundingly boring. There are no words that could ever describe or explain just how monotone this man really was. A serial criminal, his crimes were horrendous and he should never have been freed as he will undoubtedly reoffend. But he should never be allowed to walk the streets anyway in case you, dear reader, have the misfortune of bumping into him. A conversation with this most tedious individual is a breach of your human rights, and should never be allowed to happen. 

These two boring undesirables have got me thinking about a World Cup for boring people. The idea is simply to bore your opponent until they can take it no more. The two men I have mentioned would surely be challenging for the crown of Most boring man on the planet. I picture them contesting the final in a scene reminiscent of the famous chess matches of the seventies between Fischer and Kasparov. The tension would be unbearable, and the pressure intense. The winner would surely be the second man I mentioned, a man with no superiors in the boredom stakes. I can imagine him lifting the winning trophy, (a gold-plated tin of paint) high above his head in a deserted stadium. The spectators, all life-long bores themselves, would have well gone, unable to handle just how boring this man really is . And the sad thing is,the lack of acclaim  wouldn't bother him at all. He would already be thinking of defending his title, and ways of improving his performance. To think he could become even more boring is a frightening prospect for us all. 

Wonder if I will get in?

The personal statement is almost completed,  and the form will be electronically dispatched within 24 hours. After that it is simply a waiting game. Am I going to become a student again?. At 38. Or will it be tears, and plan B?. One can only wait. I am hopeful, but not overly so. I'm filled with a mixture of excitement and dread. The excitement comes from learning Journalistic skills; Shorthand, Podcasting, writing for radio etc... The dread comes from the fact that I will, (if I get in) be sharing a classroom with a number of spotty students. They will be revelling in student life whilst I will be shuffling nervously nearby, staying away from the throng as often as possible. Not the best way of looking at life for the next 3-4 years, but realistic nonetheless. And I will have to give up meat. Obviously. And I will have to write a cheque for a packet of crisps.

Wooden balls in a velvet bag

Some things should never change, no matter what. Watching the draw for the FA cup quarter finals earlier on made me think back to a time when the draw was so much better, and was one of the few things the bumbling English Football Association always got right. The sound of the wooden balls banging together in the velvet bag was a joy in itself, as was the placement of the drawn ball onto the ball holder. Superbly managed by Ted Croker, the draw was an event in itself, and the perfect precursor to the games that followed.  The cup draw of the present day is a sterile affair, and must surely revert back to it's former glory. Poorly managed, (see todays offering) and with 2 FA cup 'Legends' on hand to offer expert drivel, it drives me to distraction on so many levels. The velvet bag has gone, as has the beautiful sound of the wooden balls, to be  replaced by a Bingo-style monstrosity that fails to capture the magic of the cup. You can even see the balls as a hand fishes around for one so the element of surprise has disappeared. The only thing missing is a voice-over from the National Lottery. 

If it ain't broken, don't fix it, (too late now.) It is broken now so fix it. Please. Before the magic disappears forever.

The joy of football

3 games, 2 wins, 1 defeat, and little enjoyment. The question that has to be asked is quite simple; WHY? 

An answer will be provided when I have stopped sulking.

Back to normal

My 3 days of 13 hour shifts are finally over. I can now start living my life again. Saturday's agenda includes 2 junior soccer matches before midday, an open-age match at 2pm, and an evening trip to the cinema, (possibly.) Nice to just be easing myself back in.

The birthday boy.....

...with his new wig on!. He is burning 9 candles today. Happy birthday Pip.

This time 9 years ago...

...he, (above) was getting ready to make an appearance. When he finally arrived, after much stubborn resistance, he looked as if he had been baked in an oven for 30 minutes on a low light. When the redness subsided a most beautiful baby boy was left. And he has remained beautiful to this day in more ways than one. He went to bed 30 minutes ago in a state of enhanced excitement. We fully expect a visitor in our room well before dawn. I remember the feeling vividly and it doesn't get much better than that. I hope the day is all he expects,  and more. 

How mature am I?

I have spent the last hour or so appying to Liverpool John Moores University to start a Journalism BA course in September 2009. It has struck me that this is the course I should have applied for about 20 years ago, which in turn would have saved me much aggravation in later years. However I found myself facing the prospect of studying as I enter my forties, (outrageous) as well as being the butt of hundreds of jokes, puns, snide comments etc.. I had better get used to them and fast. 

The very fact that 'Mature' students don't have to meet the standard entry criteria means that they are treated differently. Apparently my "life experiences' are more worthwhile than a set of impressive A levels. In that case, (and assuming I get an interview) I will regale the interviewing panel with some of my favorite tales from my 'life experience days, (and nights)". Such notable events include  the day I fell into a lake whilst fishing after drinking heavily , the night I took a hammer to the side of my head whilst high on drugs, or the sunny Sunday afternoon when I staggered across Smithdown Rd with half of my arse showing, (have I ever mentioned that before?. ) If that isn't enough to get me a place then I'm not sure I deserve one. And I have the scars to prove each of these "experiences' took place, although some of them aren't visible to the naked eye.

Anyway, this is a positive step and I am going to start my preparation this very second. I'm growing a beard, I have ordered 2 pairs of corduroy trousers, 3 x thick woollen jumpers, and I am not going to shower on a daily basis any more. I am sure that my huge and loyal following of readers will have many suggestions and helpful tips for me as I prepare for student life so please email me at liamdeveney@mac.com. There will be a prize for the funniest and most original suggestion.

On thin ice

Today was Philip's birthday celebration with his friends so we went ice skating in Deeside. I had forgotten just how difficult it was to skate although I did manage to remain upright throughout. The fact that I never went beyond 1mph surely had some bearing. The main problem was the pain in my feet, another sign I'm sure of my increasing fragility. After 40 mins of fun I had to sit down and rest whilst the throbbing eventually stopped. The trip was a roaring success with all party members having lots of fun. Philip was very impressive on skates, as was his friend Ryan who surely has a career in skating ahead of him. But a great day was had by all and it was worth every penny.

All in a days work

Coaching a dozen 8/9 year olds is a difficult job at the best of times. Add in a 4 year old pitch invader, two 7 year old girls, (1 of whom is your daughter who thinks it's hilarious to smack your bum) who are running laps of your playing area, and you have chaos. And that was my session between 6 and 7 pm tonight. There was some great football to admire, and my son Philip was truly superb, (spot the biased Dad). But the overriding emotion was one of relief that nobody suffered any injuries. And I am so tired I must go to bed and lie down. 

To be someone...

...Would be a wonderful thing. After the realisation that my football days are drawing to a close came the bombshell, (I'm exaggerating, I've known it all along) that I haven't got a career. Worse still, it is really getting to me, no matter how much CBT I use on myself. I've never really been bothered and have been happy to kind of drift along, and using my various hobbies and activities to provide the stimulus for my soul. But it bothers me now. I'd like to be something. And my preferred choice is to be a Journalist.

It dawned on me earlier today that if I ever tried to emigrate to somewhere like Australia, I would be snookered. I could imagine the conversation with the official at the Embassy.

Man/Woman in Suit: "So Mr.Deveney, why do you want to move to Australia?."

Me: "Fancy a change, climate, different culture, new start, blah blah"

M/W in suit: "And what do you offer the people of Australia? What do you do for a living?"

Me: "Er............................................................

M/W in suit: "What exactly do you do?."

Me: "What exactly do I do?."

M/W in suit: "Yes. "

Me: "I play pool with dirty old men.

M/W in suit: "Oh."

Me: "I am good at it though."

M/W in suit: "I don't doubt it for a second. We will be in touch."

Me: "Thank you." 

And therein lies the problem. On paper I have little to offer, nor do I have a body of work or evidence. Having said that, I have seven-balled a few of them so that must count for something. 

The funny thing is that there isn't a definitive route into Journalism, nor is there one qualification that a budding Journo can aim for. The world is choc-full of courses varying in length from 22 weeks to 3 years. Trying to find the course for me is proving difficult although I have to say that I am enjoying the research. I will report back when I have some news. In the meantime the search for career satisfaction goes on. Watch this space.

Work (2)

Another day of soul searching in work. The only job I ever got real satisfaction from was when I sold doughnuts . And that was only because I could eat a few on the sly. Only lasted for the summer of 87, but what a summer that was. Then I went to college and started my re-sits. What a sad ending to a golden time.

Work

I hate it

I need Viagra....

..In the footballing sense. I'd consider anything which would improve my performance as it was lacking yesterday. 24 hours on and I am stiff, (no pun intended) and sore. Above all else, I am disappointed that my talents are on the wane and I am less relevant than ever on a football pitch. There are some beneifts to being the oldest player on the pitch, and an old head, (my god, is that me?) often brings calm and intelligence, as well as plenty of experience. But too often the pace of the game, and its younger combatants, catches you out. Take yesterday for example.

  The alternative for a 38 year old is Vets football where all of the players are aged 35 or over. But I have always held a great dislike for the concept of 'over the hill' football. There are some things that should be left behind in your youth and competitive football is one. Keep fit, play five a side, train hard, I am in complete agreement with that. But don't try and kid yourself than you can still cut it, because you can't. And I can't. Not any more. So I reckon the time has come to hang the boots up, and concentrate on coaching and managing. OR, bite the bullet and join a Vets team. I think I know the answer already, and it is a pity as I have just spent £50 on a new pair of boots. I think I should now concentrate on developing tomorrows footballers, and forget about yesterdays.