Doha Days: Not Quite a Fairy-tale Ending

Being jammed in the office for literally the majority of the day isn't something new or unexpected, considering the line of work I've chosen and chosen to pursue, but though I've recently had to spend several hours with someone with a name out of a Disney fantasy, it's been anything but.

Those who have been keeping in touch would have heard of some of my troubles and complaints, and I do understand that not every place is as ruthlessly efficient as acronym-crazy Singapore, but there are limits to decency and sensibility surely, limits and thresholds and breaking points that many of us here have seen shattered and surpassed.

Firstly, it is still quite a joke that a number of staff here have not gotten their IDs, and in some cases work Visas yet - being in effect illegal aliens - with one of my colleagues having been submitted to such treatment as being asked from HR why he didn't get his passport stamped with the right stamp (in Arabic) after he had given it to them for that very purpose. And paid for it. Twice.

Our real estate agent was flabbergasted a couple of months ago when we told her we didn't have them yet, as we had been in the country for well over six weeks, and according to her the process took all of six days. When we did eventually get it, of course, it was quite simply one of the defining moments of my (admittedly brief) time here so far.

Quarter to two on a Tuesday afternoon, the gallant hero braves the elements to enter the gauntlet of bearded men and veiled women, armed with nothing but a temporary staff pass - because HR has not issued actual cards after two months - to try and claim an artifact of great power. A Qatari ID.

Past sentries and gatekeepers, and finally standing before a harsh face behind a shield of crystal.

And here is where fantasy ends and the nightmare begins (restarts?).

Me: Good afternoon, I'm here to collect my Qatar ID...
Man Behind Glass: Wait. (Talks to colleague and shows him a photo on his phone.)
Me: (Waits)
MBG: (Assumed translation from Arabic) Look at this picture of a a Land Cruiser, I am thinking of getting it.
Friend of MBG: I thought you already had one?
MBG: Two, but they are so cheap and I earn so much, haha!
FoMBG: Haha!
Me: Hi, can I just collect my ID, I have work to do?
MBG: Wait.
Me: (Waits)
MBG: (Arabic) Do you know where I can buy a watch?
FoMBG: I think there is a shop beside the ice-skating rink.
MBG: Of course my friend!
FoMBG: Yes, if you want you can buy a leather hand-bag to put it in too.
MBG: That's a good idea.
Me: Excuse me?
MBG: What?
Me: I need my Qatar ID.
MBG: It's 2pm.
Me: Yes, I've been here for 15 minutes.
MBG: Two o'clock close.
Me: What?
MBG: No more.

And the two dweebs roll away on their little office seats to continue their inane conversation while I am left without something that I should have gotten 6 weeks ago, something that I needed to set up a bank account, phone line, wire my home for internet and TV (more on that later), and basically evade arrest from handcuff-happy local police.

You can imagine by aggravation at this point. But there is little else I can do to combat such reckless disregard for responsibility, and so I return the next day, as ordered. This time, with backup.

With my room-mate, the trek to HR was no less arduous, and we arrived with no more hope for a decent outcome. He went first, and was literally on his knees asking the dude behind the glass to open his drawer to at least look to see if our documents were there. After haggling for several minutes, the guy relented and looked into the black hole of his heart - or drawer - and lo and behold, there was a bunch of Qatar IDs and passports.

Now, seeing as how I am kind of the obvious answer if you play a game of "one of these things is not like the others" in this department, the bright orange Singaporean passport sticks out amongst the less garish British ones that nearly everyone else has. And so, even with my rather cycloptic sense of sight, I spotted the little thing and hope flared in my heart.

Me: Hello, I am here to collect my Qatar ID.
MBG: No.
Me: What?
MBG: No here.
Me: I saw it.
MBG: No.
Me: You were holding my passport literally one minute ago.
MBG: You just want passport?
Me: I want my passport, ID, everything else that comes with it.
MBG: Not here.
Me: Open your drawer.
MBG: Not here.
Me: Open your drawer.
MBG: No.
Me: I am not leaving until you open that drawer and give me my things.
MBG: (Heavy sigh) Okay, here.

That isn't an exaggeration or dramatization either. In fact, it is condensed and abridged, and the entire exchange featured longer and increasingly heated pauses and me having to deal with the unblinking gaze of someone being blatantly and willfully dishonest for no other reason than to impede the life of another.

I wish I could say that that episode (2-part episode?) was something unique and anectodal, but it isn't. If anything the days where I have yet to encounter a case of blinding incompetence or even worse malicious intent are few and far between.

That last line was originally supposed to read "are the days I remain firmly entrenched at home" but that's not the case either.

The house/villa is rather amazing, spacious and quite stunning for a rent well within our means - leaving more than a bit left over - but despite being there since the middle of September, we are still without amenities like a phone, cable television and home broadband.

Now, I know what some might be thinking, that they are luxuries and not exactly essential for human survival, but if you also consider that this place is painting itself as an upcoming hub for business, culture, and life, looking to host the World Cup (slave-controversy aside) among other things, this is truly a joke.

It is no stretch to say that we have called, E-Mailed, or physically been to the Oreedoo/Qtel store close to thirty times since moving in, and there is no resolution in sight, despite the house already being wired for fiber optic broadband - as evident by the presence of a modem/router that indicates a network already present - and three visits from technicians who have each given us a different answer to the same question:

When can we get this sorted?

Once we were told to call a certain number, but only with our own Oreedoo number. Despite the actual job being to get an Oreedoo number/account.

Several times the crew has not arrived on the days they said they were, instead picking times we specifically said we would not be home.

At least three times we have been answered with "I don't know" when we asked about things that should be protocol.

Worse than being at the end of our tether, we've been lost in a sea of uselessness, with no help in sight. I'll be amazed if I'm able to play FM14 or catch up with Arrow and The Walking Dead before Christmas, at this rate.

But life here is not so different from living in a world where the horde is out to get you (on an unrelated note, Warlords of Draenor?), where the minority struggle to survive surrounded by entities that seem intent on shortening your odds of success, going out of their lumbering, plodding, close-minded ways to - for lack of a better term - fuck you up.

All this along with constantly malfunctioning office hardware, questionable tap-water, daily gridlocks, the lack of anything resembling chilli, and the continued misfortunes of Manchester United and Milan make me a rather sad bloke.

Bloke? I am also slowly adopting British speech patterns.

That's gash, mate.

Doha: Day 9, 10, 11 - Dorigo, Discos, Disappearing

So...

Not yet a fortnight and I've fallen behind in my writing. And to think I had (and still do) hoped to become some sort of journalist and columnist. I'd probably be unemployed before my second article, probably immediately after the first, considering my rather poor and consistent flaws and habits, one of which is using too many commas to make sentences too long, causing entire paragraphs to be dominated by only one actual sentence, accompanied by a couple of very short ones if they are lucky, or if I am somewhat distracted.

I hope I don't do that here.

But I guess it's been a rather busy few days here, especially since I've finally been entrusted enough to actually do stuff without having someone peer over my shoulder - much like I've been peering over theirs the previous week - and having my stuff to on air. Did a couple of things I can honestly and humbly say are pretty good, by my standards at least. Still haven't quite done what I do believe is my forte, the more tactical analysis kind of gig, though it does seem that the resident presenters and pundits here do a lot more than most of the ones I've had to work with previously, so even that isn't that much of a task.

Pity, actually.

But can't complain, or at least I won't.

For those wondering, I did eventually go out with the fellas from work the other night, somehow finding myself, hours later, amongst a sea of sweaty bodies in a club in Doha with shoddy air-conditioning. That was not a very fun experience in itself, though generally the night was alright, even if I felt like an outsider. Not that it was the fault of anyone other than me, but that's probably going to be the last time in a long time I get dragged to one of those things.

Tony Dorigo was there, of course, and Mido.

Yup, Mido.

Scandalous and controversial retired footballers aside, I managed to slip away as soon as I could, hearing the next day of how some of the others found themselves getting closely acquainted with rapidly-filling toilet bowls as they found the limits to their alcohol intake.

So here I sit, alone in my room, as most of my colleagues are in the process of getting smashed in the bar downstairs. Still unsure if this puts me in a negative light; pub culture is a big thing, after all, if what I've read and watched is to be believed, but really I don't ever see myself getting involved in that. Not even on religious grounds, as those who know me well will scoff at, but just...

Meh.

More than a week here now, of course. There's a familiar routine developing, in some ways, though with what has happened (and to a larger extent, not happened), that may very well change very quickly very soon. In the meantime though, making do with what I can and what I have, munching on a simple sandwich while watching random TV shows. Did my first load of laundry, getting the bank account sorted, now just need to get a place to stay and some actual cash money.

No problem there, right?

Doha: Day 7 & 8 - Dissonant Delays

Missed a day, hence the title, though I suspect and expect that all my loyal readers, followers, fans and underlings have been craving for yet another update from the lone Singaporean in the team in Doha. Not really, no. But I'm going to give it to you anyway.

A strange mixed weird different couple of days, with yesterday (Wednesday) being the single most frustrating one since I landed, even more so that the first morning where I was called in to an empty building and made to look like an idiot while the person who said he'd sort it packed up and went for lunch.

Turns out I've got another Visa issue, which in reality is no surprise considering not-so-distant history. Looks like the jibes about finally going somewhere where I of all people won't have a problem with immigration is total and utter bollocks. Long story short, I was not issued a business visa, and until that actually happens other paperwork (and salary matters) won't be processed.

Raged about that for enough yesterday, along with other things that happened to further aggravate the heck out of me, and went to bed angered, frustrated, regretful.

But then i got up today to a message from someone that did cheer me up, and again reminded me that despite all the rubbish, there's more than a tad of positivity to be had.

Plus work today went alright.

Actually did something meaningful that's going to be on the show, out on air to many places on the weekend, though as usual Singapore won't see it. I bet there are folks back home who think I'm making my work up. I wish. But then I must say I'm pretty happy with what was churned out, even if it was heavily based on someone else's work.

Sitting now in the room, about half an hour away from a call from said colleague to go to some bar or pub or - heaven-forbid -  club. The last time I spent any meaningful time in a club (bar a flea market at Zouk) was literally half a decade ago, and really that went tremendously horribly and hilariously well at the same time. Not actually looking for that again any time soon, if ever.

But most everyone is going, and I do want to get to know the people who I'm going to be seeing almost every day for the foreseeable and considerable future. Peer pressure? Perhaps. Sigh.

Also, I have found that I'm saying "mate" a lot.

Doha: Day 6 - Distinct Dispositions

Another long day today, made longer by the "meeting" we had with a representative from the HR department, a tudungster who did more to enrage than enlighten, her words revealing if her attire was not; sending everyone away fidgety and fuming. At least it helped bring everyone together, if nothing else.

If it wasn't already apparent, everyone who had been recently recruited had been told different things regarding different things, with matters like insurance, travel allowance, visas, accommodation, salary, and flight tickets all confusing the lot of us. Some have already been explained, others are still up in the air, though almost every answer (or non-answer) infuriated those present, with certain things blatantly contradictory to what some had been led to believe, with the flimsy shield of "government policy" the only thing tossed back at us.

But at least I felt like I did more today, though that's not saying much. Most days so far I feel like a sheepish onlooker trying not to get in the way of people obviously well able to do their things, like a lifeguard at a kiddie pool where parental guidance is mandatory. Not that I am making sure people stay alive, far from it. I'm just watching and observing (here is where the analogy is not totally accurate, lest a pedo accusation is laid down), trying to pick up the basic skills and jargon and routines that the vast majority of my colleagues are already familiar with.

I do miss home though, with my mom sending me a picture of Kaera lounging on furniture. I hope she's doing well. Mom too. She mentioned how she kept hearing me cough, which suggests either she misses me a lot, or there is a sick poltergeist back in Kembangan. I didn't even realize I coughed a lot.

People always say they miss the food, the weather, other things from where they came from, and while I do understand that I don't actually miss a lot of it that much, save perhaps for the public transport system in Singapore, and the fact things get done when you hope they do.

A lot has been done, gotten done, and needs to be done, in many ways. Here, back home, in the office, other places. A brave girl told me today to keep going, keep at it, reminding me of things I shouldn't have to be reminded about even as she was overwhelmed with things.

Not sure how many of you are fans of The Simpsons, but after so many admittedly craptacular seasons, one scene sticks out in my mind after today, "And Maggie Makes Three".

Yup.

Doha: Day 5 - Diving Days

Strange day today, though that's true of every one since I've landed in the Middle East.

No rush to get anywhere, being the day off for the week, and yet I got up much earlier than expected. Decided then to take a swim, doing as many laps as I could before the shoulder started to act up. Nowhere near Michael Phelps, of course, but kinda pleased regardless.

Then to breakfast, where the team of Indonesians have taken a particular interest in chatting me up since discovering I'm able to join in in their conversations. I haven't spoken this much Malay or Bahasa over the span of a few days since the days I was in Secondary School.

Back to the room then, to start to seriously look at properties to live in once the time at the Marriott is up. Found a few decent places, including the one suggested by a colleague to share, which may just be the best bet. Still, fairly pleased that I managed to find a couple of options that were both within budget and not stupidly far from the office, and got called by two agents who promised to get back to me with a list of potential places to view next week.

Everything's moving both really quickly and still too slowly for my liking, so I decided to take some time and go... grocery shopping.

Yup.

Didn't actually buy much though, just some supplies to keep me alive when I'm too tired/lazy/nonplussed to grab dinner after a long day of (non?) work. Good news? Nothing is more expensive than it is in Singapore. Bad news? Nothing is cheaper than it is in Singapore. Worse news? No Peanut Butter Cup Ben & Jerry's.

Maybe I can go for another swim tomorrow, though I first need to find out what time I'm actually expected in the office.

Doha: Day 4 - Dessert Dilemma

I was going to say that this was the end of the weekend, but then realized how irrelevant that statement was, considering the term only really referred to the conventional work-week that isn't practiced here, and that my work schedule would make that definition null and void regardless of geographic location.

Still, it feels pretty significant. First Premier League weekend done and dusted - Monday night notwithstanding - and it's been a real eye-opener.

Moving forward I recognize there's a lot I can and need to do to put myself in a better position than I am now, something that three people have pointed out to me in various ways. I'm annoyed at myself for not contributing as much as I want, even if the colleagues I've spoken to assure me that it's fine. Those same ones are also the ones who have suggested how to alleviate that aggravation, of course, and I hope I get "stuck in" as one put it.

Also had my first ice-cream since moving here, a small scoop of supposed Kinder gelato, though it didn't really taste like it and perhaps I was better off picking the white chocolate instead. Still, pretty decent, though I'm told that the hotel's selection of dessert is even better.

As is its humus.

No, I am not going to develop a palate for humus.

But then development is the name of the game, as it were, and really why I'm out here, right? There is the obvious monetary benefits, but as cliche and sappy and cheesy as it sounds, I'd hope that only a ludicrous, Gareth Bale-ish offer would be enough to tempt me away from my loved ones on that basis alone.

Develop then, and get stuck in. Maybe even try that new ice cream.

Doha: Day 3 - Damn Drogba

So Day 3 dawned with another searing morning that promised an even more scorching midday. Roused earlier than I expected, I decided to have a quiet breakfast on my own before going back to the room for a bit of not-so-legal Game of Thrones action, but before I could start it up, I got a call telling me about a meeting with some of the big guns from Qatar. In less than an hour.

Uh oh.

So I pulled a Keanu and rushed (rushed), meeting a bunch of colleagues to taxi to work, where everyone was already there, mostly. Of course, the meeting never materialized, and I continued the previous days' work of following the other fellas who had all come together from ITV do their thing, and tried to not get in the way.

A bit later though, I was given a Task.

Asked to help a gal I had met the day before with putting together a piece about Roman Abramovich, plotting a sort of timeline and montage of all Chelsea had achieved since he has pumped his billions into Stamford Bridge. Not too difficult, though made all the more challenging when you consider we have little to no Premier League footage (for now) and have to look for an ingest the tapes (old-school) of each game where they had won something in the last decade or so.

Drogba, Drogba, Drogba.

Holy crap.

That aside, it was the big kick-off for the Premier League, and Arsenal losing is always fun (though that colleague is a die-hard Gunner), and United won easily as well. Not so easy for me in the studio/gallery, trying to find my place and a place where I might be useful while not stepping on any toes.

Hard.

Not to say i don't get what's going on, far from it. A lot is similar to what happened at ESPN Star Sports, and later Fox (even the screw-ups), though some things are slightly different. Problem I can forsee is that in the gallery itself, there is already at least one person doing what it is I normally do, and while that's fine, for now I'm not nearly able to do anything else because I still don't really know how to use Avid, coming from a rough FCP background. The people I've spoken to have said they understand I need time to adjust and acclimatize to new systems, workflows, and people, which I do. But I am personally annoyed and aggravated that I'm unable to contribute significantly, watching everyone else go about, sometimes struggling with their workload.

Time to batten down the hatches then, and make things work. Eventually.

Also, bit of trivia for football fans. Without looking it up, who scored the last goal for Chelsea in the 2005 League Cup Final against Liverpool?

Enjoy.

Doha: Day 2 - Decoding Dinner

Strange one, today.

It all started (after a rather good breakfast buffet) with an eventful trip to a hospital with a few colleagues to get our blood type checked as part of the immigration/recruitment process for new employees in Qatar. Pretty straightforward, I thought, if a bit redundant as Singaporeans are all aware (or should be aware) of theirs before puberty has run its course, having fingers pricked by nurses in wh -

The hospital looked like a hotel.

What?

Seriously. We walked through sliding glass doors, past the red and gold trolley-things for bags, into a marble concourse complete with a large water feature, plants and walkways hanging from the perimeter. Once we located - or were directed to - the reception, we sat ourselves down in what one called "emperor chairs", soft and plush and flanked by mirrors with carved frames, only just noticing a sign that pointed out where the laundromat was.

And the smell of strawberry ice-cream wafted through this surreal hospital-hotel.

Then the reminder that we were still in Doha, as it took about an hour before we managed to get things done, during which I was almost charged 500 QR for the blood type test, another colleague was close to being hooked up to a dialysis machine, and an impromptu lesson about blood groups.

Finally, to the office, where I felt I was only slightly less useless today! Pulled a Micah and somehow managed to figure out the workings of a machine I had never actually touched before, all Hero-like. And uncovered a button in Avid. Small victories, I know.

Bit more chat, including with a boss that looked like he was already strained, and getting to know the people I'll be working with for the foreseeable future, punctuated by walking about a workplace that reminded one of an airport and seeing a cute cat. Then it was back to the hotel, where a Nando's dinner with those said colleagues never materialized as I was called to dine with the sister's boyfriend sister and her husband. Yup.

The pasta wasn't anything to write home about (though in a way i'm doing that now), but the company and talking was rather nice. Not being sappy or nostalgic of course, but it was nice that people I barely knew seemed to be genuinely happy to help with things, taking time out of their own schedules.

They even told me where to get nasi padang and laksa! I don't even like laksa!

But after handing over the veritable chest of sambal tumis, it's time for bed, and it is looking like a long day tomorrow.

All kicks off.

Doha: Day 1 - Desert Dance

Exciting, isn't it, the opportunity to work in a faraway land with a new company that's a big upgrade both in terms of salary and prestige? That's what most people said it would be, asked if I felt for weeks, if not months, leading up to this move.

Not exactly how I felt though.

Not even talking about the entire having to leave loved ones behind deal, but just... I never saw the general glamour of it. Sure, the whole expat package is a spiffy deal, but... is it really worth it?

The flight was fine, and I actually got moved to a better seat (leg room, woo!) after take-off. I've never seen such a collection of movies I wanted to watch, but the Qatar Airways audio system leaves much to be desired, and so I didn't get to finish The Prestige. Terminator 2 and Jurassic Park were still as awesome as I remembered, of course.

The heat hits you, and it's not just a phrase. Even forewarned, I was shocked at it. Those who know me know I've never been a fan of higher temperatures, and this was by far the worst heat I've experienced in my life, worse than anything. But the lack of humidity was the saving grace, the very arid, dry, silver lining.

Then the trouble began.

I had come with the belief that there would be a dedicated driver to help me get around and get settled for the first two weeks in Qatar, and this wasn't out of some inflated sense of self-worth, but because I had been told as much by HR, a detail that had calmed my nerves (somewhat). The driver who did pick me up from the airport, and Ethiopian named Ismail, was friendly, informative, funny. Said he'd be around to help me for two weeks, yes.

Then he was gone.

And so was HR.

Let me put this into context. If you work in the HR department for a large, multinational corporation, and are in the midst of a massive recruitment and project launch, I would think it's a good idea to actually do your job. Answer questions, make arrangements, and please please PLEASE don't NOT be in the office.

Because that's what I had to deal with.

Being asked - told - to arrive in Doha on Thursday so I could sort out HR and paperwork before the Friday-Saturday-Sunday rush of European football. Which I understand, and so I acceded to the request/order and made my way as you can tell.

HR is not around.

I'm not even talking about being out for lunch here. The entire department is on leave. When they have specifically told people to come during this period and to look for them.

What. The.

The people who were in the office weren't much better either, one going so far as to tell me he was going to call someone for me, and then running into a car and driving off to lunch, leaving me stranded.

Eventually, after personally pestering my Boss, I got to where some others were, and thrust myself into the madhouse of chaos that is Al Jazeera Sport, where half the team is not yet arrived in Doha, and half the people there haven't even signed a contract yet (again, AWOL HR), and no-one is sure what it is that needs to be done and/or how to do it.

Still, managed to get a show out last night, which went well, with (in)famous faces at the helm.

Back in the hotel now. And while it is a fancy one, comfortable and with all the amenities that any traveller would need and ask for, I look back to my flight here and wonder about it, if it's all worth it.

Because I didn't really get the prestige.

Great Scot.

Perhaps made most famous (phonetically, at least) in a much-loved film about time travel (and the potentially tricky situation of seducing one of your parents), the exclamation is surely apt in these first few hours after an announcement that has brought about anything from shock to scorn, damnation to dismay, gratitude to glee.

Sir Alex Ferguson has announced his retirement.

Not like you haven't heard, of course. Trending on Twitter, dominating Facebook, and I'm sure there are already a bunch of tribute Instagram compilations (accounts?) bearing names like "Fergie26" or "SAF_ROX". The real issue of course, is not that it happened - it isn't even the first time it has - but that it happened so suddenly, and that it opens up a whole new world of opportunity and uncertainty.

A former colleague of mine, Liverpudlian true and true, once said that Sir Alex Ferguson was an institution, and that he, more than anyone else, represented a dynasty. That he individually has won more League titles than Arsenal as a club speaks volumes of his drive and motivation (the "cocker spaniel" Ryan Giggs shared this stat as well), and as the manager with the second-highest win ratio in the Premier League, his ability - either tactical adeptness or his motivational talents - cannot be questioned. One has to remember as well that the wily old Scot has repeatedly been met with criticisms of his many sides, usually along the lines of them being "a weak Manchester United squad" and still managed to match or best nearly all before him without splurging. The rather insightful stat from a prominent UK-based newspaper has revealed that Manchester United have spent less on transfers in their entire Premier League history than Manchester City have in the last five years.

But it is not the tributes to the departing Ferguson that has left mouths watering, eyes glued to smartphones and fingers rapidly mashing F5. It is that uncertainty. The question of who will follow in his hallowed footsteps? Who has the ability, the gall, the charisma to take charge now of Old Trafford?

Let's see.

David Moyes
One of the leading candidates, and the pundits preferred pick in many instances. A fellow Scot that has always been respectful and full of praise for Ferguson and United, he's the third-longest serving manager in the Premier League, which in itself suggests an ability to bring about stability (more on the second-longest later). In Wayne Rooney, Ross Barkley, Seamus Coleman, and other starlets, Moyes has also demonstrated a belief in developing youth, which is reported to be important to the United board. Much-lauded for his decade at Everton, some criticize his lack of trophies with the Merseyside club, but you have to consider that he's turned them from the jealous, workman-like, ungainly neighbours of Liverpool to a team that has flying wingbacks and one of the most potent attacking midfields in the League. If he chooses to.

And therein lies the problem. It seems to go against the philosophy of Manchester United to appoint someone who can sometimes come across as unambitious on the pitch (he discarded his attacking 442 in the recent Merseyside stalemate), though conversely, he's also been able to consistently trouble United in recent meetings, save the latest 2-0 loss where Gary Neville pounced on his brother's individual mistakes.

He has worked with a number of former United players though...

Jurgen Klopp
Another name much-touted my many. The man has done magnificently at Borussia Dortmund, winning the Bundesliga in 2010/11 and 2011/12 despite spending much less than Bayern Munich. This season, his side are well off the pace of the Bavarians in the league, though they are well ahead of Bayer Leverkusen in third as well. He has, of course, led Dortmund to the Champions League final, facing Real Madrid four times and Manchester City twice.

An advocate of attractive, attacking football, that particular trait may suggest a good fit at Old Trafford, though one wonders why he would leave such a brilliantly-run club that has enjoyed so much success. The potential answer to that, of course, is that next season may prove to be a formality; Bayern Munich, already with a massive advantage, have splashed the cash to activate Mario Gotze's release clause, "stealing" Klopp's crown jewel, albeit for 37 million Euros. This is yet another loss of a key midfield playmaker for the club and for Klopp, after Nuri Sahin and Shinji Kagawa left in recent times.

Wait a minute, Klopp and Kagawa? With Lewandowski leaving as well? Hmm.

Frank de Boer
A "left field" option according to another one of my colleagues, and an intriguing one. The legendary defender who once played in the same side as Pep Guardiola has done magnificently at Ajax Amsterdam, and they recently lifted their third straight Eredivisie title. To win a league as tight as the Dutch one is no mean feat, especially considering that few Dutch clubs ever spend greatly, and it is probably the most competitive top-flight league in Europe. The Ajax side is legendary in its youth development, of course, having produced and/or nurtured countless stars in the past two decades, and De Boer himself was the manager of the Ajax youth side before taking the step up. The winning mentality and focus on youth will lend much credibility to a man who many haven't even thought of.

And he's a twin, and twins are always cool. Maybe he can turn Rafael and Fabio into legends.

Arsene Wenger
The age-old nemesis, and the longest-serving manager in the league after Sir Alex. Wenger is also the one, (naturally) behind Ferguson with the most number of BPL wins under his belt, though that's still 161 less than the Scotsman. Someone who has always emphasized bringing in and utilizing young players, that meets the requirements that have apparently been set by the United board.

But here's the clincher.

It seems like Arsene Wenger has long abandoned his winning mentality. The Wenger of old, the one that commanded two truly fantastic sides, seems long gone. Now it seems he is more than content with a top-four finish and kicking bottles of water around the dugout. Some might argue that he is doing the best he can with what he is given, but isn't David Moyes then doing even better?

But there's the RVP connection...

Mike Phelan
Ferguson's assistant, less talkative that Carlos Queiroz or Steve McLaren, he hasn't been tested, though has taken charge of a few United games when Ferguson has been ill, or been scouting players and sides. Comfortable working with and under Ferguson, for sure, but as we've seen with Jordi Roura (and Carlos Queiroz), it is sometimes a step too far.

Ole Gunnar Solskjaer
One of a number of former United players who gone into management, the Baby-Faced Assassin is one of the few of those who have tasted success, though that's in Scandinavia with Molde. That being said, however, he also successfully managed the Manchester United reserves, winning several competitions with the second (or third or fourth) stringers. Winning with United is in his blood. Also once offered the job to manage Norway, so can't be too bad.

Despite that, and the heroics and goalscoring exploits that will always be associated with the man who has a banner stating his legendary status, it will be hard to see him coming in as anything but an understudy. The same can be said from anyone from Gary Neville to Ryan Giggs, Roy Keane to Eric Cantona. 

Jose Mourinho
This is the one you've all been waiting for.

The Special One is the only one to better Ferguson's win ratio in the Premier League, and at 70% nobody else comes close. He's won trophies everywhere he's been, shocking Manchester United and controversially knocking them out en route to winning the Champions League a season after winning the Europa League, before moving to Chelsea and dominating the BPL, and Ferguson, in his stint at Stamford Bridge. The San Siro was next, where he turned a good Inter Milan side into a truly great one, again winning the Champions League and securing a famous treble (like Ferguson). Then on to Real, his most controversial job yet in a career defined by controversy. 

He dropped a mainstay of the first team, a fan favourite and regular starter for the national side, got into heated arguments with key members of the squad, assaulted others, made headlines in the press, and scored a bunch of goals along the way. Now substitute (no pun intended) Iker Casillas for any one of Wayne Rooney, Ruud van Nistelrooy or Paul Ince, and do the same for Sergio Ramos and Pepe for David Beckham and Roy Keane.

He has, of course, broken Barcelona's invincibility, even before Bayern did, though this season has been punctuated by discord and strife and the backroom politics of the Bernabeau.

But it that turmoil that will count against him, surely. Sir Bobby Charlton has already come out to say he doesn't approve of Mourinho's antics, though it may well be a clever double bluff. Silvio Berlusconi called Mario Balotelli a "rotten apple", after all, and now he's the toast of the Rossoneri.

But Mourinho is Chelsea-bound, right?

Well... Let's revert back to the first pop-culture reference I used. Enter your DeLorean and hit 88, go back to when Wayne Rooney wanted to leave Manchester United.

"He belongs to Manchester United."

When I first heard that, I turned jokingly to a colleague and said "that's because Jose is coming to United and wants to manage Rooney!" Mourinho was later the VIP at the LMA Awards Dinner, and was asked on camera about a return to the BPL, where he maintained that he definitely would like to (as he has several times), but he also stated he didn't have to go to a London club.

Well, well, well.

Interesting to note, especially with him being pictured buying boxes from IKEA recently, but will he pick red over blue? Is Jose Mourinho and his 20 million Euro release clause the "big signing" that Ferguson himself promised?

His motivation is unquestionable. He wants to win, and win at all costs. He has won almost everything everywhere he's been. Each stop in his managerial career has seen a trophy cabinet bulge. 

But that's the thing.

There is no stability, no lasting legacy, no dynasty. Along with some silverware, Mourinho also leaves behind destruction in his wake. An overworked squad - Rafa Benitez had to deal with more than 10 senior players injured his entire time at Inter - jaded from the rigours of Mourinho's system, the lasting cliques and politics - AVB and those before him had to deal with the Lampard/Terry/Drogba coalition - that future managers struggle with, a depleted and ignored youth system and, of course, how every side he has left has then gone on a mad manager spree after. One may argue, of course, they have just been spoilt, and that no-one can match his work and so are viewed as lessers, but the counter-argument is equally poignant.

He leaves his successors nothing to be successful with.

And taking that point, cutting it down like Occam, we have,

"He leaves."

After 26 years of building greatness, is this what United crave?

We'll find out soon enough.

Soldiering On

The time spent in National Service will always be memorable to almost any Singaporean in his twenties or more. BMT, POP, SOC, IPPT, LRI, ORD, and a whole plethora of other acronyms may evoke memories sweet and sour, or both. Be it two and a half years, an even couple of years, 18 months, or some other weird duration (2 years and 3 months for me), it is, for whatever reason, a big part of growing up.

Most of my memories regarding NS were forged in a yellowed office lined with metal cabinets. There, I used a stapler gun for the first time, learnt how to deal with people either too stupid or too difficult to deal with, and twice facepalmed when the same Sergeant got busted for jacking off to pixellated images of barely-skimpy girls. Hard to forget.

Especially hard to forget when a lot of us are joyously plucked from our daily civilian lives and thrust back into the world we thought we had left behind.

In a few days I'll be trudging my way, duffel bag and all, past a set of bored-looking guards watching the clock more than the ins and outs, alongside a horde of other similarly-enthused individuals. Again.

Before I go further, I will state, for the record, that I think that NS is a good idea, a good thing. More than the facade of defending a nation, it teaches (forces?) the youths to gain a measure of independence, exposes them to new and diverse personalities and experiences, and ensures that they can use a broom or mop or Microsoft Excel to some degree of competency.

What I don't agree with, what I have always (and will always) argued against is the dreaded Reservist.

One or two weeks of little else but Monopoly Deal and waiting about to be called from our dilapidated bunks to assemble for meals can drive even the sanest of people up the wall, and in truth, while it's a damn fine card game, there are only so many rounds you can play with no stakes before it gets dull.

But that's the truth of the majority of what goes on in Reservist camps, at least for the folk who haven't been designated Combat Fit.

Again, I'll make a mention of those that are, and how they of course have their own regimen of fantastic fun oiling and cleaning and oiling and firing and oiling and cleaning various firearms. Or the array of officers who themselves sometimes know little of what's going on, and find themselves sat down in a chilly meeting room listening to career men spouting about drop zones and casualty evacuations.

But for many people, the option is clear. Sleep, or stare at a wall.

The first time I tried to get out of this, I had to the Commanding Officer of the unit. Then, I had just started work as a Freelancer at ESPN Star Sports during the 2010 World Cup (also known as the 2010 Vuvuzela Festival), and was looking to make a good impression to have them take me on permanently. I had thought that such an important aspect in the life of a Singaporean would be seen as such. Important. You heard the doom and gloom about the crashing economy and the rising inflation and the astronomical cost of living even before million-dollar flats, and this was important.

Not to the army, not to the SAF, oh no.

"You say you want to defer because you just started a new job. Don't you know that half of the unit is still unemployed?"

I was flabbergasted. What the hell kind of reasoning is that? Alright, so a lot of folks don't have a job. I'm sorry to hear that but that has no bearing on my job. I'm not POTUS. As I looked blankly at the man across the table, I honestly wondered if he was being serious, and if that was his way of convincing me that potentially not being hired was a good thing. I've been trying to make sense of the line for two years and the more I think about it the more I think it's little more than idiocy.

Since then, of course, I've secured a job I've enjoyed immensely, and it's something I think I'm pretty good at doing. Those who know anything about it know, though, that it isn't an easy one, not just a bunch of guys sitting around watching Mark Clattenburg and Tweeting about it. There's a lot of work done by too few people every day to get material onto television for the region to watch. Or for the sponsors to rate.

I'm not the only one in the position of course, not hardly. Many others are as important, probably more important, in the smooth running of their own jobs and their absence adversely affects others in various ways. There are many, many, others like that.

Surprisingly though, at least to those I've spoken to, there are also many, many others who are not called up at all.

You would think that with just about the entire adult male population already gone through NS, that everyone should, at some point or other, go through the rite of Reservist. You'd be wrong. It isn't everyone; there is a roster selected from the list of people in the unit. How the list is populated is open for debate, with the popular argument accusing that a single scrawny clerk had put it together while everyone else was still botak as well.

This is quite bullshit.

How is it that some people are called back, year after year, often times more than once a year, and others are never touched or bothered or prodded at all? These aren't even those who have gone overseas for study or for work, but are the same ones who will gleefully share pictures of themselves gallivanting with wenches in a club while everyone else is getting ready for Round 73 of Monopoly Deal.

Some have said that it's because those people weren't dependable, or didn't do a good job while in NS, and so the unit only calls back the men they can rely on. While this is some sort of compliment, it poses another question then.

Why the hell would you bother to perform at all in NS, if that meant you'd be chaining yourself to the SAF machine for the considerable future?

I can say I was a good soldier. I actually received the Good Soldier Award twice, though it was, admittedly, a token gesture more than anything. But, like the others who are even now packing their duffel bags, I did my job, I did what I was asked. When I could, I did a little more to make things easier and better for the commanders around me. I filled the Sergeant Major's little flask with warm water everyday, I was never late in the mornings for two years, I never lost a key or misplaced a document, I didn't mind having to buy pork buns for the busy Captain during the fasting month. We were good soldiers.

And now we are being punished for it.

There's nothing to be done, really, except accept it, resigned and annoyed as I am now. I won't go so far as to declare that if and when I have children, I will raise them away from this atrocity, and I won't blatantly suggest and advise to my younger relatives to just slack off when their time comes, but I am honestly beyond irked at this point.

Monday Morning Blues it is, then.

Murphy's Day

It's been a long time since I posted anything that wasn't football-related, but it's been a rather eventful day, and one that deserves a mention, immortalized in the glorious web of information.

The taste of bile is never a good thing, and having that as your waking sensation is even worse. After retching in the bathroom for a few minutes - no, I'm not pregnant - and wondering how the hell that happened, I found myself welded to the toilet as well. Bad news on both ends then. Sister theorizes that two weeks of pasta and pizza means that my body is rejecting curry.


The next few hours were spent shuttling back and forth from computer desk to bathroom, finding an equilibrium where I could properly diagnose my laptop's newfound habit of freezing during SWTOR, GW2, TF2, and even other games which aren't abbreviated. Friendly advice has offered such remedies as compressed air, replacing burnt cards, and the abolishing of gaming altogether as possibilities to alleviate this troublesome syndrome, but each has either been totally and utterly proven invalid or rejected outright.

Eventually meeting the Missus, after trawling through a rather random mid-afternoon highway jam, our dynamic duo embarked on a journey to fix her laptop, and I was given the quest to escort the lady to Bukit Timah Plaza, where the service centre was apparently located on the fifth floor.

There is no fifth floor in Bukit Timah Plaza.

One parking fee later, we were in Bukit Timah Shopping Centre, finally locating the elusive technicians. A hard reformat had to be done, which they said would take half an hour. Fair enough. So we went to look for the SAMURAI FRIES that we didn't get before going to Italy.

These Samurai Fries were as Samurai as Tom Cruise.

Cheese shaker fries are not Samurai Fries, McDonalds. After two weeks in a land where an order of large fries can amount to almost three Euros, we came back hoping to reintroduce ourselves to the goodness of the promised reward.

How we felt cheated.

But the half hour was up, in any case, and so we strolled back to the Lenovo service centre.

Well, "stroll" is misleading since we took the escalators, but therein in itself lies the next pitfall in this hero's journey.

Most of the 7 semi-regular readers of this space have read or heard of the reports about people in those God-awful Crocs having toes shorn off after their "shoes" have been caught in escalators (a little caveat, Crocs are not shoes. They are abominations). The horror stories of severed appendages flashed through my little mind as I realized what had happened, with my relatively new and ultra-fashionable Quicksilver slipper (the right one, if you're pulling a Phoebe) caught catastrophically in the end of the escalator, or as I labelled it at that moment, the Moving Metal Mauling Monster Maniac.

But all it did was swallow my slipper.

I was left flabbergasted and half-barefooted. The slipper was gone. Dreadfully and utterly and totally.

I still have all my toes (though there's a spot that's now blistered somewhat), but what the hell.

So I hopped/limped (while she laughed) back to the car, and we decided to travel to a friend's place for some solace and serenity after an already annoying day. A calm, pleasant drive accompanied by the soothing sounds of Kiss 92FM shamelessly plugging the products of one of their former employees (by the way, watch The Monday Night Verdict and World of Football on ESPN, Mondays and Wednesdays). A relaxing drive.

Of course that didn't happen.

Being rear-ended is, unfortunately, something I've experienced before, and it's not something you can ever get used to unless you are perhaps addicted to bumper cars. The fact that I had been stationary for a few seconds (and not travelling at high speed prior to that) made it worse. The scene about ten metres back, where another three cars had decided to form a vehicular conga line didn't improve things either.

As the obligatory details and photographs were being exchanged, a curious truck driver in the other lane seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle of the Automobile Centipede smashed into another stationary lorry, innocently waiting in line to turn off the highway. This, of course, led to a Volvo following closely behind the kaypoh truck to join in the festivities, and the menage a trois quickly became a foursome when the last one compacted the Volvo, blowing all his windows out.

The driver of the Volvo seemed pretty upset, storming out of what was now effectively a Mini to berate the others. How the airbag didn't deploy astounds and frightens me.

Finished with exchanging details, we drove off before more inducing more carnage.

The time spent at the friend's place was rather nice, though it did confirm my suspicions that my dear laptop was well and truly fu - err, spoilt, since the compressed air did little to help matters despite uncovering a hidden dust bunny.

But leaving from her place to look for dinner was a trial in itself, with every highway crammed with commuters. Not an entirely foreign concept once you've lived here for a while, but still. Plodding along in the dented Mazda, the abdominal adventures from the morning came back for an encore, miles from a known and available public restroom.

"This has been a shitty day," she said.

Har har.

Mercifully, I had the fortitude to hang on until we managed to find a suitable place, and boy was I relieved.

I half-expected to be locked out of the house, or to trip and fall somewhere, or to be the target of a similarly diarrhetic bird as I walked home, but I managed to escape incident.

For now.

Anfield Assessment: Early Days

I have a special relationship with Liverpool, one that has ebbed and flowed throughout the various stages of my life. My father, many of my best friends, my close colleagues at work all look to Anfield are all ardent Liverpool fans, and being a Man Utd supporter myself, I will admit to having enjoyed more than my fair share of jibes at their recent performances.

The second coming of King Kenny was widely heralded and applauded when the appointment was made, and even after losing his first game back (against Man Utd) optimism was high, especially after he had replaced the much-derided, face-rubbing, owl-like Roy Hodgson (who is now the England manager...). In hindsight, he enjoyed a poorer record than the much-maligned Andre Villas-Boas, and was belatedly ushered out the door.

And Brendan Rodgers was welcomed into the hallowed halls of the Merseyside club after successfully introducing his Swansalona side to the Barclays Premier League, and the world. Much has been made of his footballing philosophy and all he has achieved at the Liberty Stadium (I wrote about it as well) with it being labelled everything from magnificent to mundane.

Rodgers' appointment was immediately met with speculation that he'd weed out those who didn't fit "his style" of play, with most understanding that it was a polite way to say Liverpool now had another excuse to offload Andy Carroll. Former club Newcastle came calling, and there was a laughable rumor that AC Milan were in for him, but he eventually ended up at West Ham, reunited with Kevin Nolan. Standing ovation on his debut for the Hammers, in case you didn't hear.

And that highlights several problems with Liverpool.

Having allowed Craig Bellamy, Maxi Rodiguez, and Dirk Kuyt to leave and loaned out Andy Carroll, Rodgers now only has Luis Suarez and Fabio Borini as recognized strikers - and at this time neither are really strikers per se. A great Tweet from Aayush Sharma on ESSAFC summed it up perfectly, that Luis Suarez is a forward and not a striker.

But is he?

Prior to the World Cup in South Africa, he enjoyed an amazing run of goalscoring with Ajax and Uruguay, a record which cannot be put down to the perceived lack of quality in the Eredivisie when you take a look at the kind of goals he used to score. Now, he has among the worst conversion chances in the whole of the Premier League. Fabio Borini, once of Chelsea, was part of Italy's European Championship squad, but then Giuseppe Rossi was injured, and the preferred partnership was the volatile Mario Balotelli and a man only just recovered from a stroke, Antonio Cassano. That sums it up, really.

So was Borini's recruitment simply a matter of Rodgers looking for familiarity? He also signed Joe Allen, someone essential to Swansea's success last season. Allen already has something like an above 90% pass completion so far for Liverpool, and so he does seem to fit the system Rodgers wants to impose, though that is to be expected. Rodgers himself made no secret of wanting to bring his own style to Liverpool, and here we are at the point from before.

Is Liverpool's current run (their worst start in 50 years?) and barren run of goalscoring down to just the wrong style implemented by the manager?

Carroll never enjoyed the kind of service at Anfield that he was provided at St James' Park, where his height and aerial ability was used to great effect. Stewart Downing, bought with the Moneyball philosophy of chance creation, was deployed on the right as an inverted winger and hardly managed a decent cross to Carroll the entire season. One afternoon at Upton Park reminded everyone just how useful a player he is, though some are still adamant that Rodgers doesn't need him, and didn't need the energetic Bellamy, industrious Kuyt, or the inconsistent Maxi.

But he does need Joe Allen and Nuri Sahin, by his own admission.

In theory, there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, it seems a perfect fit - the former Bundesliga Player of the Year, the young midfielder that created more chances than anyone (104) in 2010-11 where his side stormed to a league title.

Except what happens to Steven Gerrard?

Allen, Sahin and Gerrard started for Liverpool in a three-man midfield against Arsenal, who themselves had Diaby, Arteta and Carzola, all decent ball-players in their own right. The problem with Liverpool today is an extension of what has been plaguing them for years now, though; To implement Rodgers' interpretation of Tiki-Taka, you need a side of good passers with incredible tactical discipline. The issue here, is that the Kop legend Stevie G has neither.

The Steven Gerrard we see today is not the one that dragged his side to qualify for the Champions League knockout stage from the brink of elimination. He is not the one who dovetailed so magnificently with Fernando Torres to wreak havoc on anyone and everyone. He is not the man who single-handedly won the FA Cup in 2006. He is not anymore the player who inspired a side to come back from three goals down against an AC Milan side that lined up with Maldini, Cafu, Stam, Nesta, Gattuso, Seedorf, Pirlo, Kaka and Shevchenko.

Under Rafa Benitez, Liverpool and Steven Gerrard genuinely looked world-class, but a large part of that success was down to the subtle presence and often-overlooked contribution of Javier Mascherano and Xabi Alonso. Lacking that anchorman and the deep-lying plamaker second only to Andrea Pirlo (no coincidence that they now play for Barca and Real?), Stevie G looked without direction, ironic that many now observe he runs everywhere and does little else.

To reinterate, Steven Gerrard does not fit into the current Liverpool side, and is a detriment to Brendan Rodgers' plans in bringing them forward.

To be fair, this isn't even a thought I've come up with alone and originally. A former colleague of mine, born and bred in Liverpool said two years ago that to have Liverpool succeed, Gerrard needs to be dropped. But it would never happen. Controversial? Sure. But perhaps true. Look at Liverpool's performances this season. Admittedly, it's early days yet, but Gerrard's tendency to go for the "Hollywood Pass" breaks up the tempo of his own side. And that's the reason Charlie Adam was allowed to go to Stoke.

It will be interesting to see how Liverpool will line up when Lucas is fit again, to provide a screen in front of the back four and allowing Allen and Sahin to dictate the play. One has to believe that both of them will play, and that Gerrard will not be deployed as a winger - those berths will be given to the excellent Sterling and one of Borini (oh no), Downing (oh no) or Joe Cole.

Dropping the living legend that is Steven Gerrard is, in my opinion, the way to go for Liverpool, for Brendan Rodgers to have his side play his brand of football in his vision. But it is also worth noting that even before he was at Swansea, the side were already playing good football, an ideal brought to them by someone else who might deserve more than what he is getting at Wigan.

Football Loot

If you're familiar with the any of the plethora of modern-day video games, you'll understand that the term "loot" refers to both the money (gold, credits, coin, bottlecaps) and the items (trophies, baubles, trinkets) you might earn while living your virtual life. Or you might be a pirate, but you're probably not. Regardless, "loot" is a touchy and important subject in today's game, and the focus of discussion today.

I was recently involved in a debate with someone in the office here at ESPN Star Sports, and he believed that if Liverpool had won the FA Cup last Saturday, they would have had a great season. They didn't, and so his argument might be moot, but I'm sure he will also say that lifting one trophy at Wembley already constitutes a good enough season, compared to a certain Manchester club who will almost surely finish empty-handed.

That's besides the point, though.

The next few years are going to be vastly important in reshaping the financial landscape of European (and global) football. With the Financial Fair Play rules coming into effect, teams will be barred from overspending. In a nutshell, a club will very soon only be allowed to spend (roughly) as much as they earn (some reports suggest a loss of no more than  €15m each year over the next three years on average). What does that mean for the clubs?

Someone once said that Champions League football is the difference in signing Ashley Young and Stewart Downing. While he probably meant the glamor of actually playing in elite Europe, rather than the Europa league, the statement holds more truth than ever before. While cut-price deals are always available (Yohan Cabaye, and even Rafael van der Vaart were much cheaper than either Villain), not being in the reckoning for the Champions League means than a side will be unable to offer either the chance to face Barcelona, nor the enhanced paycheck that could come with it.

From a player's standpoint, netting the side a few more dollars might not be high on one's list of priorities, and it's more than understandable. They play for trophies and medals and titles. Even the ones with bulging cabinets want more. But in this day and age, you simply cannot challenge for major honors without the financial backing that comes with the Champions League. Wayne Rooney threatened to leave Manchester United because of their "lack of ambition" in transfer signings. Arsene Wengers says that signing Podolski will "convince" RVP to stay. PSV, conversely, have been reduced to a selling club because they cannot balance the books due to a lack of Champions League revenue.

And that is revenue a club will not receive from winning a domestic cup. A good cup run (and win) is an acheivement, of course. But so is a good league standing. League positions do not lie, while a side may win a cup competition without being particularly good. Just ask Greece. And ask FC Alania Vladikavkaz, who got to the Russian Cup final (and the Europa League) without scoring a single goal. But the Europa League will always be seen as the "lesser" competition, regardless of competitors. Take a moment to digest this: Playing in the Champions League group stage will guarantee upwards of 8m Euros, which is already more than winning the Europa League.

And so reaching Wembley gives you a chance of some serious loot, and Steven Gerrard himself has said that his best memories of his playing career are the cup successes he has had, but the question is, of course, if it is the best loot. I've always preferred to speak and write about the tactical side of football, and have never enjoyed thinking about the numbers (other than the ridiculous story behind Nicklas Bendtner's 52). The issue of Champions League qualification, however, is quickly becoming more and more important. There was a time I questioned if aiming for fouth spot in the Premier League was good enough for a side, rather than tasting "actual" success. But it seems that in some says, that lucrative Champions League spot might already be "actual success".

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Employee of the Month: Carlos Tevez?

There are few players that divide opinion like Carlos Tevez. From his time in Argentina (before his ill-advised amateur golfing career) and then Brazil, to his strange move to West Ham and then to Old Trafford and finally as he made the short trip to Eastlands and then going full-circle back to South America, the Argentine hitman has courted controversy as much as anyone else you can think of. The man whose entire career is a transfer saga has always been mercurial - a messiah and maniac, prodigy and pariah. Stocky and scarred, his visage is splayed across the back pages of newspapers and tabloids across the footballing world, for a myriad reasons.

The obvious choice for a striker's spot in anyone's Team of the Week today, City's former skipper bagged three against Norwich at Carrow Road, reminding everyone of the player he once was, and perhaps still is - the man who inspired the blue half of Manchester to FA Cup success and Champions League qualification last season. What a welcome to Manchester it was, then.

But it was in the Champions League that Tevez's downfall was all but cemented. Already pining for a move away from the Etihad (with reported offers from AC Milan, Internazionale, and Paris Saint-Germain), the whole story behind his refusal to warm up against Bayern Munich may never be revealed, but supporters of striker and manager exist en masse, and perhaps both sides have good arguments. The end result saw the Argentine fined by the club, with added disciplinary action leading to him packing up and heading to Argentina.

During the months away from City, the team continued to do remarkably well (as did United, a strange parrallel whereby bth teams performed without their top scorers last season), though his golfing exertions didn't exactly yield an invite to the Masters. And all the time, he was still receiving wages from the employers he refused to play for.

Think about it for a moment, if you will. You are told by your boss that you have to do something you are contractually obliged to do (and paid handsomely to do), but you refuse. You are not fired. You leave your place of employment without permission, and stay away for several months, all the while collecting your salary. During this time, your other colleagues, for better or for worse, are doing their best to acheive what is best for your employer. You then choose to return to your place of employment, and promptly displace the worker(s) who had carried the ball for you while you were gallivanting off on the green.

It sounds harsh, of course, but it is the truth. Neither the idiocy or immobility of Balotelli or Dzeko, nor the phantom foot-spray woes of Sergio Aguero can mask that fact. What of the ever-professional James Milner, or the under-utilized Adam Johnson, both players who have their opportunities in the side pushed back by the return and almost immediate inclusion of Carlos Tevez?

There is no denying that Tevez is probably a much, much, better player than Balotelli or Dzeko, and that the Argentine pairing that led the line at Carrow Road is probably the best striking duo in the league. What is up for debate, though, is what Man City have lost in their quest to win.

After the warm-up debacle, Mancini was vehement in stating that his former captain would never play for his side again. After the player left to Buenos Aires, it seemed almost guaranteed. But a sudden return and reserve team outing suddenly saw the promise forgotten, by players, fans and manager alike.

Perhaps the decision was made by Mancini's employers, but that still raises the same questions directed towards the Etihad, and sets a dangerous precedent. His imbecelic antics aside, can you look at Mario Balotelli with an accusatory eye when he can at least claim to be more professional than Tevez? He has never gone AWOL for months at a time, and in fact did very well in the time Tevez was away, red cards and poor performances (in the eyes of Mancini) coming to the fore after Tevez returned to Britain. Can you blame Edin Dzeko for being demotivated when he was the one who was scoring goals alongside Sergio Aguero, but has lost his place to the two monst controversial strikers in English football?

Manchester City are still in with a shout of lifting their first ever Premier League trophy, though the title is still very much in United's hands. Many have called the return of Tevez as a turning point in their season, the catalyst and spearhead to rejuvenate their ailing league campaign. But City had a chance to make a statement, one which many (including myself and everyone else here) thought they did make, that nobody was bigger than the club. Several likened it to Sir Alex Ferguson's treatment of Jaap Stam, David Beckham, and others, and heralded it as City's rise to prominence, a sign of great success to come. Great success is probably still in City's near future sometime, but perhaps that success may be tainted.

This and more at www.thatswhatnazsaid.blogspot.com

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Statues of Liberty

"Swansalona" is quickly becoming a common term this season as the first Welsh side in the English Premier Division continues to impress. While this article may be long-overdue (Swansea have been sticking with the same style of football since August), it, like the team in focus, has had a patient build-up.

Few sides can boast wins against both Man City and Arsenal this season (only Sunderland and Man Utd can, if you count all domestic competitions) as well as draws against Chelsea and Liverpool, alongside a point gained against Spurs when they still played Bale on the left and Van der Vaart behind Adebayor (more on that in coming weeks) at the end of 2011. For a newly-promoted side to have that record - as well as only losing to Arsenal and United due to lone, individual errors - almost boggles the mind.

And this is a side built on a shoestring budget, with none of the funds that the likes of Malaga or even Leicester City have splurged to propel them into (relative) footballing heights. They've spent less than £6m on signings for the first-team (Vorm and Graham) and have among their squad a number of players who have played for the side (Garry Monk, Alan Tate, and Leon Britton) who have played for them across 4 domestic divisions. If ever there was a rags-to-riches story, it is at the Liberty Stadium that you'd find it, surely.

And a fitting name that, looking at the way they go about ther business on the pitch. For long periods of time this season (and during individual games), many believed that Swansea flattered to deceive, that their possession-based play would not do them any favors. "Swansalona" might be the catch-phrase, after all, but Danny Graham isn't Lionel Messi, Nathan Dyer isn't David Villa, and Leon Britton and Joe Allen aren't Xavi or Andres Iniesta. That Opta once had an in-depth comparison between Britton and Xavi notwithstanding, such comparisons were amusing, if nothing else.

But the results mentioned before speak for themselves. They currently sit 8th in the table, comfortably safe from relegation (barring a spectacular collapse) and only three points behind mighty Liverpool. What have they been doing right with such limited resources?

Many point to manager Brendan Rodgers for encouraging their style of play, while others point towards former manager Paulo Sousa (though in his best season his side only managed 40 goals in the league, contrasting with beating Twente 3-1) who took over from one Roberto Martinez. Either way, credit still has to be placed on Rodgers, who once worked under Jose Mourinho at Chelsea. Perhaps a bit of The Special One's special touch rubbed off on the former youth team manager, who has gotten the absolute best out of his squad so far.

Their rock-solid defensive displays have lent themselves to their string of impressive performances in 2011/12. World Cup Finalist Michel Vorm, signed for less than 10% the fee Manchester United paid for David de Gea, has been heroic. Ashley Williams in the heart of defence has been similarly imperious, and the side did not concede a single goal at home until the end of October. Only Manchester City have conceded fewer at home, and even then the Swans have already baeten the men from the Etihad.

Their regular wingers Nathan Dyer and Scott Sinclair have also won many plaudits (as well as Fantasy Football points) with their incisive running on the flanks, offering endless energy and enthusiasm if perhaps lacking in genuine quality. But as mentioned before, manager Brendan Rodgers has allowed his two wingers (and the journeyman Wayne Routledge as well) to flourish in the roles he has set for them.

But it is in the centre of midfield where the answer to Swansea's rise to prominence lies. The partnership of Allen and Britton, complemented by either Mark Gower or the excellently-named Gylfi Sigurdsson, is the reason for the parallels drawn with a certain Catalan side. Leon Britton remains one of the only outfield players who have a 100% pass accuracy in a single game (v Bolton in October). That's not happened in over half a decade in the Premier League, and the only other players who have done it in that time frame are defenders playing square passes.

It was their wins against Arsenal and Manchester City that raised the most eyebrows, and made the most headlines, of course. But again, why have they done so well?

Last week, both Manchester clubs, far and away the best-performing ones in England domestically this season, crashed out of Europe. They've already been eliminated from the Champions League, obviously, and now bowed out of what many see as a significantly inferior competition against significantly inferior opposition. Sporting Lisbon and Athletic Bilbao aren't even Porto and Barcelona. But Sporting and Bilbao, over two legs, outplayed City and United with possession-based play. City also lost in the group stage to Bayern Munich, who also keep the ball very well thanks to Bastian Schwensteiger. Barcelona beat (some say humiliated) Arsenal in Europe with the same style last season. And in the final, Barca beat BPL champions United with the same game-plan, executed to perfection. This season, Arsenal (again) were comprehensively outplayed in the first leg of their knock-out tie against a Milan side that kept the ball tremendously well. Which is what Swansea did against them as well. Yes, Swansea have now been compared to Bayern Munich and AC Milan as well as Barcelona.

This blueprint was obviously not set in place with the specific intent to beat Wenger, Ferguson and Mancini, but the consistent failures of the "top" English sides in Europe against sides that employ this form of play might even suggest a fundamental failing that English sides have against it. The counter-argument is that City are a cosmopolitan side managed by an Italian, but perhaps this is still an observation worrthy of further study. If such a failing or weakness does exist, perhaps Brendan Rodgers and his Swans have stumbled upon it, and inadvertantly or not, have exploited it to their startling benefit.

In all probability, the cries of "Swansalona" will continue to ring for the rest of the season, whatever happens. Perhaps they are deserved, the comparisons between the smallest side in the league to arguably the best footballing side in a generation, but either way, it is certainly fitting that it is at the Liberty Stadium where the most unrestricted brand of football is on show.

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