Friday, December 16, 2011

What a player!


I found this article on The Busby Way and I thought I'd share it here. Unfortunately, I don't know much about the author. I only know that his first name is Tom.


"In this day and age of media and television hype, everybody has got an opinion and I have no problem with that. It would be a boring old world, and make for boring conversation if we all agreed. However, I did look at that poll and it had me scratching my old head. I believe that it was run by the Manchester United Magazine, but the question that I would ask is, what criteria was laid down to constitute a “best ever player”? Selecting a “best ever” player, is in my opinion, an almost impossible task – there are so many intangibles – the main one being the expanse of time between the different eras.
Now don’t get me wrong, great players are great players, no matter which era they come from. They all have that special “something’ which makes them a class apart, and takes them up to that “great” level.
Today I hear the eulogies of “world class”, “great”, “legend” etc etc, bandied about so freely and bestowed upon players, who in my own humble opinion, are anything but. It is not helped by this relatively new era of electronic media hype, and for the majority of players from eras that I have heard dubbed as “the black and white era”, and “the cloth cap era”, they are generally consigned to the historic garbage can.
Is that fair? I don’t think so. Today there are all sorts of historical records to look at when you look at the modern player – dvd’s, “You Tube” clips, even movie film. For those old players of long ago, there is nothing to gauge their abilities on apart from old newspaper reports, and micromesh film of old newsreels, stored away in the various city libraries archives. Their careers are marked by hard to get hold of books, out of date magazine publications, but mostly, they are remembered by word of mouth passed down through the generations of match going fans. Fans who actually saw these old players, and then passed on their recollections to their families and friends.
We all have differing views, and see things differently. A player, whom I think maybe “world class”, may well be dismissed as being “a donkey” by others. Fair enough, as the old saying goes, “one man’s meat is another man’s poison.” It’s all about opinion, and this is one of the main reasons why this wonderful game is attractive to us all as fans. However, I do find that players from bygone eras are all too easily summarily, and arbitrally, discarded these days. Their contributions to the game are far too easily forgotten, and that is a crying shame. I hear the same old stuff time and time again these days. “Oh he/they wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the modern game” or, “there is no comparison, today’s players are much fitter, and both they, and the game are much faster.” Really?
I’ll concede that today’s game is quicker – but only marginally, and that I put down to the pristine playing surfaces which players have at their disposal week in, and week out; and also to the ball that is used today whereby it is at a constant weight and does absorb water like the old leather ball did. The ball moves across the surface quicker. As for fitness, yes again I’ll concede that today’s players are fitter, but for all the sports medicine and technology etc, again I’d say there is not a lot in it. You look at those grainy old films and pictures of the 50’s and 60’s and just look at the surfaces those old players had to contend with. The kit they wore was mostly cotton, and wool, and also absorbed water. For those old boys to get through 90 minutes on the pitches which, between October and April, only had a nodding acquaintance with grass, was great testament to their fitness levels and stoicism.
It would be interesting if say, we could see the likes of Best, Law, and Charlton, or Mathews, Lawton, and Finney, attacking today’s defenders. Just as interesting would be seeing the likes of Drogba, Torres, van Persie, Tevez, Rooney, lining up against the likes of Roy Hartle and Tommy Banks, Eddie Clamp and Ron Flowers, Tommy Smith and Ron Yeats. So let’s be under no misapprehensions – those old players from years ago, those who had “great” reputations, were just that – “great”. For a number of today’s wonderful players, they too fall into that same category – they truly are “great” players.
When you spend a lifetime watching the game, and your own team, you watch literally thousands of players, see some wonderful, extraordinary moments, (Wayne Rooney’s goal against Manchester City was one of them) and those memories get encased in your memory’s back pocket. Your memory has a computer image of all of these names, moments, occasions in your life, locked away, and as you get older and progress through your life, you do relive them over, and over again – especially when younger fans want to thirst on your knowledge. For example, today I was asked to recall “the three greatest goals that you have ever seen scored at Old Trafford” – it’s nigh on an impossible task, but I will sit down later and try to answer. It is fun.
I have been very fortunate in my life to have lived through the great football periods that I have. I’m blessed with seeing the many hundreds of truly “great” players that I have – both British, and Foreign. There have also been many wonderful teams to recall along my journey. Teams that played the game in the right way, and with style and grace, and who upheld the ethos of the game. But over the years, the questions which I have had to field more than any others are;
“Tell me about Duncan Edwards.” “Just how good was he?” “Surely, most of what has been written about Edwards is myth?” “It’s impossible for any player to be described as good as what Edwards has.” “Edwards can never have been that good because he never reached his full potential?”
Dear Duncan. It speaks so much of him, that even now, almost 53 years after his passing, (his anniversary is tomorrow February 21st) he is still probably the most talked about player in Manchester United’s long, and rich history. I was lucky enough to meet him so many times, sometimes to the point of being a nuisance to him. From the time he lodged at Mrs. Watson’s at number 5, Birch Road, Old Trafford, then after he moved to 19, Gorse Avenue, Stretford, and then on to 2, Barlow Road, Old Trafford.
Just how good was he? Let me assure you good people that there is certainly no myth as to regards Duncan’s playing abilities. He was simply the most “complete” player that the game has ever seen. That’s not sentiment speaking, nor is it any kind of sentimentality. It is not only my own opinion of him, but simply the judgement of his peers, and his contemporaries, the very people who played with him, alongside him, and against him. It is also the views of some of the most respected men in football’s great history. This is what some of those people had to say:
Sir Matt Busby; ‘I rate Duncan Edwards the most complete footballer in Britain – perhaps the World.’
‘He was a Colossus. Whatever was needed, he had it. He was immensely powerful. He was prodigiously gifted in the arts and crafts of the game. His temperament was perfect. His confidence was supreme and infectious. No opponent was too big or too famous for Duncan. A wing-half, he could have been a great centre-half, or a great forward striker. He would have been one of the great leaders with his sheer inspiration. If there was ever a player who could be called a one-man team, that man was Duncan Edwards. His death, as far as football is concerned, was the single biggest tragedy that has happened to England and Manchester United. He was then, and has always remained to me incomparable.’
‘We looked at Duncan right from the start and we gave up trying to find flaws in his game. (Remember – this was Edwards when he was just 16 years old). Nothing could stop him and nothing unnerved him. The bigger the occasion the better he liked it. While other players would be pacing up and down the dressing room, rubbing their legs, doing exercises, and looking for a way to pass time, Duncan was always very calm. He was a good type of lad too. Duncan didn’t want to know about the high life. He just wanted to go home or to his digs. He just lived for the game of football.’
Sir Bobby Charlton; ‘I find that I think about Duncan a lot. I have seen all the players who in their time have been labelled the best in the world – Puskas, Di Stefano, Gento, Didi. John Charles and all the rest – and not one of them have been as good as Big Duncan. There was no other player in the world like him then, and there has been nobody to equal him since. The man was incomparable.
Sometimes I fear that there is a danger that people will think that we who knew him, and saw him in action, boost him because he is dead. Sentiment can throw a man’s judgement out of perspective. Yet it is not the case with him. Whatever the praise one likes to heap on Duncan is no more than he deserved. He was out on his own at left-half and a First Division player in every other position. There was no one else to start with him.
I am not a person to dramatize things or dispense fulsome praise. It is not in my make-up. A man is a good player or he is not. A few are great, and they deserve respect. But Duncan Edwards was the greatest. I see him in my mind’s eye and I wonder that anyone should have so much talent. He was simply the greatest of them all.’
Sir Stanley Mathews; ‘Duncan Edwards, the boy-man, made his début for Manchester United at 16 and was an England regular by 18. You could play him anywhere and he would slot into that position as if he had been playing there season after season. For all of his tender years, he was the most complete player of his time and it was a tragedy that his life was taken in the Munich disaster of 1958. When the going was rough, Duncan would be as unmoved as a rock in a raging sea, but for all of his considerable size, he possessed the most deft of skills.’
Jimmy Murphy; ‘Duncan was the Kohinoor Diamond among our crown jewels. Whenever I heard Muhammad Ali on television say he was the greatest, I had to smile. There was only ever one greatest, and that was Duncan Edwards. There was nothing that needed to be coached into him – even at such a young age of 16 – he simply had it all.’
The eulogies about Duncan could go on, and on, and on.
Notice, Busby and Mathews both said, ‘Complete Footballer’. This is what I try to tell people when I am asked about him. In this day and age of overblown media hype, Duncan’s name seldom gets mentioned when it comes to these “best ever” polls. Mostly, he isn’t even mentioned. It is ridiculous really, because Duncan is without doubt, the most complete player to ever pull on the Manchester United shirt.
One myth that I would like to dispel about Duncan was that he was huge in size. He wasn’t, standing just under six feet tall, he weighed 13 and a 1/2 stones. However, his frame was large and bulky, and solid muscle. His thighs and legs were huge, but for all that, he was quick, and moved with the speed and elegance of a gazelle. He had nimbleness as well as strength, flair as well as calm.
Duncan’s favourite position was what was called back then, left-half. He loved that position because he was always in the game. But he could, and did, play for both United, and England, in different positions. Centre-half, centre-forward, inside-forward, it didn’t matter to him as long as he was out there on the field. He could mould his play to whatever position he had been asked to play and still be the most outstanding player on the field. As I have noted, for such a big lad, Duncan was exceptionally quick over the ground, read the game so well for one so young, was ferocious in the tackle, distributed the ball immaculately with either foot, and he could also shoot with such power with either foot. It was almost impossible to see which was supposed to be his weaker foot although in his early years he had been naturally right footed. His heading prowess was another strong point in his game. His temperament was unflappable and he had such great belief in himself and his abilities. In the era in which he played, there were some very famous names and reputations, but they never fazed Duncan in any way whatsoever. He just eclipsed people by the power of his own performance.
People are so quick to tell me that “he never realized his full potential”. I have never agreed with this statement, and I never will. I will agree that his career never “peaked”, but there is a huge difference in not reaching your potential and your career peaking. By the time of his passing, Duncan had played for five years at the very top level, and had been an established England international for three years. It’s difficult to imagine that he could have improved as a player even more. He was already the finished article.
Between 1953, and 1958, at the top level of English football, there were only two competitions in which a professional footballer could take part. The Football League, and the FA Cup. European competition did not start for English teams until 1956. Edwards had an insatiable appetite for playing. In 1956-57, he played an astonishing 94 games at different levels – Football League Championship, FA Cup, European Cup, Full Internationals, and he also represented the Football League XI, England “B”, England U-23, and the Army. He won 2 First Division Championship winner’s medals, an FA Cup Runners-Up medal, 18 full international caps – and those at a time when they were not given away so freely as they are today. He’d played in the European Cup, World Cup Qualifiers, and had been capped at every level for England from Schoolboys (where he still holds the record for being the youngest ever player capped at that level at just 13 years of age) through to full international. There were so many wonderful players around in that era (Stan Mathews, Tom Finney, Nat Lofthouse, just to name a few) who never achieved half of what Duncan did. Yes, his career never peaked (and God knows how much he would have gone on to achieve in his career but for the tragedy) but his potential – no question from me – as I said, he was the complete finished article.
I have so many memories of him. His modesty, shy smile, his broad West Country accent, his habit of calling people “chief”. Even today, I can close my eyes and still be thrilled by the memory of him winning tackles in midfield and surging forward with the ball. His pure strength and ability to play the long or short ball. His tremendous reading of a game and to anticipate what was going to happen. His ability to come up with goal when the going was tough, his strength and determination to be everything he wanted to be – simply the best.
Myth or Marvel? No doubt in my eyes. The myth being that he didn’t reach his potential. The marvel being that for me, and many, many others, that quite simply, he is and was without doubt the most complete player in Manchester United’s great history."
 

Sunday, July 24, 2011

I don't know what is happening.

There is only so much we can see. Things happen everywhere around us, all the time, all set in one perpetual motion whose motive is yet unknown to me. There is only so much we can hear. The sounds never die away. The lips always move, but we just can't hear what they are saying. There is only so much we can know.
We believe we've experienced something in life. But what is truth?
What of all those moments worth living for?
All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Will they?

Loler!



Monday, June 13, 2011

Let it Roll!

I could say I have been loafing languidly in shady recesses lately. Perhaps could is inappropriate because I could have stated the same with half decent conviction. Well, when the times, challenged by inevitability, enter periods of dull gloom it has become common practice to spend time watching programmes on the television or the computer. Some such thing happened to this certain somebody last night.

I suppose television or the visual media, in some quarters of course, is unanimously thought to be a bad influence; books being better and the whole cultural upheaval thing, I know this is an ancient issue, but still. Unfortunately, the visual media has been embedded in the human way and we have to take it for what it is. I'm pretty sure some animals would nod in agreement too, one could think of domesticated animals occasionally being exposed to, probably disturbing (to the animal of course), gyrations of certain people. Obviously there are positive sides to this too, and by this I mean the television, and I shall explain why. I would also claim that there is no such thing as an unfortunate thing, but then I am reminded of a total and complete nutter who once said, "The Law of Discernible Pairs states that everything in the world, as we perceive it, occurs in pairs!"  I suppose most actual writers would concur with the following: what is written is a window to look back at the past, whether you like it or not. Now, I look back at what that nutter said and I think, that would disregard my aforementioned claim. Therefore, the fortunate has to coexist with the unfortunate, and this I find quite unfortunate!

More importantly, what I'm trying to say is that there have been questions flying around in my head. There comes a time in the life of every man when he starts to make certain generalizations about those ethereal people. These then become the seeds to a hundred new questions, mostly to do with the quests and conquests in life. Last night, I was watching a couple of episodes of this and one of that on television, and I would like to think that I could see a glimmer of direction that would lead me towards the answer. Hence, my claim that it is not as bad it is thought to be. I know I am not justifying anything here, indeed it is but a feeble imitation. The older readers would probably still feel, as would the new, that I am still unable to put together two coherent lines together. However, I am truly trying sanity now.  Sometimes, you need to see the dots to connect them and in the process you might miss a few. I have been called a blithe optimist, but don't you, my dear reader, think that there is sanity in optimism?

Well, this young boy I knew used to say, "Well constructed are the words of the wise!"
So I have been thinking, trying to find answers and this is the conclusion that I have arrived at:
"In all fairness, the world is probably fairer than we perceive it to be and probably not as fair as it was meant to be. " 

And then, I was watching this show and an amazing thing happened! In the background, there was Georgie boy, not the O Quinto Beatle, but the actual Beatle boy singing,
"Let it roll across the floor
Through the hall and out the door
To the fountain of perpetual mirth
Let it roll for all it's worth!"
And all the time roll sounded just like lol!

- Loler

21/05/2011 

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

in the eyes of someone ..

Hey beautiful, the case in question, very often, is the weather. The whole of yesterday was summarized by a grey, cloudy expanse. Totally contrasting was the bright sunshine and the sky that greeted me this morning. A bright blue sky, maybe a couple of shades off the striking blue on the plumage on a kingfisher, but still, illuminatingly beautiful. Unfortunately, circumstances force certain types of working people to spend a majority of their time in the confines of indoor recesses when they'd rather spend time in the yard playing with a couple of cats. Perhaps not, I'd prefer watching the clouds drift by. Indeed, there wasn't one in sight before noon. After fulfilling my share of time in the indoor confines, I set out for my haven. "Long may this routine last!", I sigh and say to myself fully knowing that it will not. Undeterred by this, of course, I was today. I looked up at the North-Western skies and there were wisps of clouds that looked like a human palm, fingers four in all and a thumb. I thought the outstretched hand was trying to tell me something. Or in the eyes of someone ...

Very soon, a bright yellow moon rose from the east, from behind the trees. The moon was in its full grandeur tonight, still is of course. Reminds me of Narsil, the sword of Elendil. The sword's name contains the elements nar and thil, "fire" and "white light", referring to the sun and moon. Ah, I remember the scene. 
"Anduril! Flame of the West. Reforged from the shards of Narsil!"
The sword that shines ...
is there a sparkle in the eyes of someone .. ??

Well, folks, isn't it amazing how a sequence of songs reads a well composed story. Here's one
I am Superman, Kryptonite, I'm No Superman, Here Comes the Sun and Hero.
Here's another one, it is incomplete though.
Strangers in the Night ................ Our House.


Wait up folks, I totally forgot to mention the fact I'm currently in a little bit of an inebriated state. I thought I'd jot down some stuff here before I drown completely in my inebriation. You, my dear friend, so not unlike me are wise if this makes utter nonsense to you. Rest your head, because everything is so easy.

- The Drunken Monkeh.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

another half page of scribbled lines ..

Well, it is November already. This sweet melody is playing, like an old gramophone record from decades gone past my ephemeral existence of yonder. It has been a while since I've pieced a piece at this time of the day, perhaps a year or more. There isn't anything in particular that I'd like to write about. Maybe it's something to do with, say, pohucussing. They constantly flitter about, but let's just say that I have been thinking about islands and how you can't really be marooned on one.  It's like this, I suppose it might not strike you immediately, but it is like being wise, but, without wisdom. It's strange, this serenity that has descended upon me. I'm sure I will drift seamlessly into that realm now; where a stone dropped in the water creates ripples that echo through the walls of silence. Soon, little boy, that cloud you see will drift away.

- Local Hero

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Some things are just meant to mean something!

Well crafted are the words of wise men.
Bruce Lee had this to say:
" Martial art has a very, very deep meaning as far as my life is concerned because, as an actor, as a martial artist, as a human being, all these I have learnt from martial art. To me, ok, to me, ultimately, martial art means honestly expressing yourself. I mean it is easy for me to put on a show and be cocky, but to express oneself honestly, not lying to oneself, and to express myself honestly, that my friend is very hard to do."
I hope one day I can say the same thing about football,  maybe something, or someone!
The great thing about football is the way in which it helps you connect to life, or whatever.  You know, sometimes I feel its almost like a person you can talk to. I'm just trying to say that football means a lot to me, in a lot of ways. And, of course my club Manchester United.

In the wake of recent events, this is what I wish to say, of course with the help of a few well crafted words.

"Ah, fill the Cup:  what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday,
Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!"

XXXVII
The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Well crafted indeed.
And there ain't no reason to fret today.
Well, because, you know what we've got? We've got faith, love for our team and most importantly, in Sir Alex we trust. I foresee one last act of greatness on his part.

He is the Genius of the Restoration
And at Manchester United we Aid our Own Resuscitation!

- An emotionally stirred Red Devil.

Never, never cross swords with a Devil who holds no sword and bares no fangs.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Of Stubbed toes and Punching Dry Walls

My dear punk, I know what you're thinking. And it's not whether I've fired six rounds or five. Hold it, backed by a bout of severe criticism from certain critics, existential, surely not the word I have in my mind, and imaginary, I have decided that from this current instant, and I mean this, I will alert the audience before I take my customary, seemingly unnecessary diversions. Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I've kind of lost track myself. But being this a .44 magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world and that would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky? Well, do you? Punk. And that's certainly not what you're thinking because you're ambling along thinking, 'What a day it has been and what a rare mood I'm in, why it's almost like being ..', and then, all of a sudden you stub your toe against a dry stone and you are out of your reverie.

I'm sure you sweats know what unagi is. There is a concept in karate, called Unagi. Ah, some things really make you roll on the floor and laugh like crazy. It is quite something, and it's a real work out too. It's an exploding gigaloop. Exploding, because the gigaloop by default is implosive, initially at the least. Surely, on the floor on all your four limbs and punching the floor with your fists, you laugh so hard you start crying and your stomach starts aching; rolling around loling and then you think, ok, ok, enough. Everybody goes quiet for a moment, and then all of a sudden somebody just can't hold it in any longer and you're at it all over again. I don't know! Well, I did bring up Unagi for a reason. A person who is capable of true unagi wouldn't end up injuring the toe in the manner I have previously described. Maybe, just maybe, actually I'm sure there are times in one's life when one cannot remain in a state of true unagi. Of course, the simplest solution would be to wear shoes when you're out walking, but then you would miss out on the amazing, but painful, stubbed toe experience. 

Every time I've stubbed my toe, I've learnt a new lesson. On second thought, maybe I've just learnt the same lesson in a different way. It never was an act of recklessness, but more an act of appreciation. I'm sure the not-so-fair people understand what I mean. After all there is a soft spot, occasionally reserved, for those fairer people; actually when these fairer peoples stub their toe it most surely is an act of recklessness. Well, me being a football player and of decent pedigree, there are times when I play bare-foot. That reminds me of what one wise man among the wisest had to say, "Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the wind longs to play with your hair!" Winds blowing and the hair playing, and yet another stubbed toe. Alright, back to the football. But first, a statement worthy of my modesty. I'm sure you folks know that I would be the last to deny the fact that I am light miles away from being a good footballer at any decent level. Actually, pick up the previously used adjective, pedigree, and chuck it straight at the kennel. What I intended to say is that I've never hurt my toes playing football. Night cricket at the entrance, yes! Anyway, you know what some wise men say - You stub your toe for a reason, oh you sure do!

Surely, this isn't all about stubbed toes. Being Photonman, I should be able to tell you how light is limitless and tireless. General relatively speaking, I'm speaking about waves and reflections and therefore how, everything we do, and by we I mean everybody, is just some sort of reflection. Newton's third, maybe and surely not! Song writing is something I've got to look at. He did say his music was literal. Actually, punching walls is something I'll talk about another time. Bright news for some of the old sweats, I've started working on my 'Elementary Treatise on Berbatovian Mechanics'. Patience they say, is the art of hoping. And what Wordsworth had to say, those beautiful words from the springs of tranquility, so apt. 

This ain't no poetry, but surely it isn't prosaic.
I know, for it was she who said, "It's mosaic."

Who the devil is she? It's always been said, 'Sometimes it's all in the name!'

--
Well, I wonder, 'What's in a name??'

Friday, October 1, 2010

Scribbles and dribbles!

This, and I don't mean this particular one, opening statement, I shall not use, for I will use it when the time is right. This one should do for now. Or maybe I should, no I suppose I won't.

I'm sure the old sweats would vaguely remember what I had to say about the, I mean my, Law of Discernible pairs. Folks new, in its simplest form it puts forth the suggestion that everything and anything is part of a pair of things. I happened to read a crass, with all due respect to the scientific and philosophical community abiding by this particular crassness, report  that suggested that some scientific development has since long disputed the Unity of Opposites. But, I, and I mean me, like the ancient peoples of our sacred planet believe that everything exists in pairs, but not necessarily as a composite of opposites. I'm sure you, and I mean you the reader, would agree that events would in certain circumstances qualify as things. Now we are here, and I, and I mean me, want you, the reader, to look at a pair comprising of two singular elements, music of any sort and events in your life.

Oh, I know what I'm saying. 
Each song, every single one of them in my favourite songs collection .. reminds me of a single, certain event in my life. Ah, I'm holding back, but you my dear friend, and I mean the reader, will find out soon enough. Oh, and sweats, old and new, there is something I want to admit. I'm sure you folks know that I would be the first to deny that ... more about that later. Well, the previous few lines put aside, most of these songs can me mapped to a football video! :D 

I'm sure it's all too obvious, but still, Baggio. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, what a goal by Baggio and then ♫ Tomoyasu Hotei -- Battle without honour or humanity! (5th sem, '07) ♫ Bitter sweet Symphony - The Pele video. ♫ Ordinary world - George Best. ♫ Rule the World - Ryan Giggs. 

Ah .. some other time I will write about football and martial arts. 

I remember what Cantona had to say, well I remember that he did say something about the music in the streets at Manchester. Essentially put all these things in a big bowl. On one hand you have the art, the music, the irrationality, I suppose you, the reader knows what that means for I don't, of it and football, the poetry that steps out of the book. And then on the other hand you have the hardened, logical, cold blooded, rationalizing powers of Holmes or House. What are you, and I mean all of us, supposed to embrace ? (♫ The Ashes by Embrace, David Beckham best assists.) Bruce Lee had this to say, "On one hand you have natural instinct and on the other you have control. You are to combine the two in harmony. If you have one to the extreme you are unscientific and if you have the other to the extreme, all of a sudden, you are a mechanical man."

The choice is yours ? Planet earth turns slowly, so you can always fly the other way, so fast, that you can accomplish time reversal. Superman did!
That's all irrelevant, because the Dark prince has risen, and he will not let things register at an emotional level. The time has come for him to become the cold-hearted brute he once was.

By-
If I wrote Crap Bag, it would be  plagiarism.
Dust Bin.
Ask me if I give a shite!


Let's end with that famous dribble .. "... turns like a little eel, he comes away from trouble, little squat man… comes inside Butcher and leaves him for dead, outside Fenwick and leaves him for dead, and puts the ball away… and that is why ........... is the greatest player in the world."
”
—Bryon Butler (BBC Radio)

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This is what King Eric had to say: "I feel close to the rebelliousness and vigour of the youth here. Perhaps time will separate us, but nobody can deny that here, behind the windows of Manchester, there is an insane love of football, of celebration and of music."

Added today, i.e., 22/10/2010

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Peregrination from 'lout' to 'maul'. WL 29.

On a dark, desert highway ....
Strangers passing in the street; by chance two separate glances met. (meet?)
I wonder if they could see each other in the dark....
And then she woke me up in the middle of the night ..

Are we all prisoners of our own maledictions??
Does God have malicious machinations ?
Are they just aberrations ??
What is fate ??
One thing is for sure, if you lose control over your destiny, you will become a canoe about to be tossed right into a maelstrom.
Is there no return ?
Is there a threshold, I mean a point of no return?

Peregrin Took ..did he get the name because he likes to travel??
I ask too many questions.

___________________________________________________________________________

I don't know about this dark, desert highway ...
- Chu
13/09/2008

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I have no idea what that ^^^ was all about.
- Raj
24/08/2010

Gone Away!

*Warning: Spoiler alert -> for people who haven't seen Inception or the latest episodes of Naruto Shippuuden*

Quite an eventful day, in front of a screen, it turned out to be. Home Alone for lunch, a little bit of the Spy Who Loved Me, the ending of The Truman Show and another bit from Life is Beautiful. I also spent a considerable amount of time listening to different versions of Ordinary World  and I was finally able to identify the song whose name had eluded me for over a year. And of course, Inception.

It was a pretty obvious connection for me, between the idea presented in Inception and the concept of Genjutsu in the Narutoverse. In both cases, there exists the notion of , I don't know if this would be the right way to express it, an alternate reality of sorts. After watching the movie, I got to thinking about what Itachi had to say about reality. "People live their lives bound by what they accept as correct and true. That's how they define 'reality'. But what does it mean to be 'correct' or 'true'? Merely vague concepts ... their 'reality' may all be a mirage. Can we consider them to simply be living in their own world, shaped by their beliefs?"   

Itachi's words are surely words of wisdom. The people who have seen Naruto/ read the manga would surely agree. All this thinking brings me back to the central theme, the ordinary world of mine. And so I sing,

♫ Where is the world that I recognize? Gone Away ??


 - Raj
(19/07/2010)

♫ It's all for the best it's all a lie ...

Monday, August 16, 2010

Gen stuff 3

"Childhood is measured out by sounds  and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows." John Betjeman

I saw the movie, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, yesterday. It's based on a novel by an Irish novelist John Boyne. The story is about living on the fringes of the Holocaust, from the point of view of a young boy. I can't, I'll stop. Just watch the movie if you can folks. It puts things in a whole new perspective, it did for me. 

The wind blows gently through the garden. Once again I have discovered that my abilities are inadequate to do justice ... but I guess that's fair enough. 

Growth is inevitable, but I wonder ... can I push the shadow back to the shadow whence it came from? Just a bit?

- The boy who used to play aeroplanes? 


 

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Say you want a revolution ?

The things that we do, the things that are done, sometimes, make me feel like I need a retreat. It doesn't weigh me down, on the contrary, at the end of it, it make me feel lighter and higher. Amazing things, revolution in the air, on the floor.

You know, every time I listen to Imagine, I see a peaceful world, some place like the Shire. My hammock under the shade of a couple of trees. A cool creek to the right and a small hut, from one of those fairy tale books, in the background with a little puff of smoke periodically puffing its way out of the little chimney. 

A day in the life....

A day out in the fields, with my straw hat on, chewing on a blade of grass. God did say, "some of the happiest people in the world come home smelling  to high heaven at the end of the day." Hang on to the thought; I need to digress for a bit, for I do deem the digression to be necessary.

A good author is able to exactly recreate an intended picture in the reader's mind. Or, maybe she just creates a skeletal framework of the picture and the readers are supposed to fill in the rest with their imagination and personal perception of things. I suppose it's the latter, but I'll resort to letting pictures help do a bit of the talking instead of words that would, in my well estimated opinion, surely do injustice to the lucid images I have in my mind.  

 Day out in the fields! ( Leaving the Shire, LOTR)
We're back. Nothing like a dip in the cool creek after a good day of hard work. And oh, then there was the nice game of football in the meadows, no shoes, no tactics, nothing too complicated.
Joy to the world!
Another dip, this time in a nearby pond, caught some fish for dinner. Then, it was time to set up a little fire; flint, hay from the fields, dry twigs from the woods was all we needed. A small gathering had arrived. We got some good old earthen mugs out and soon they were being filled with some home-made ale. All the good old ladies were busy concocting some good smelling, delectable delicacies.

Today was a special day though. One of the lads is getting married in a couple of weeks, there was a festive atmosphere about the place. There was some music, the lad started singing, "I want to hold your hand." There was merriment and dancing around the warm fire.  The stars were all out now and the gaffer kept the little kids entertained for a while. Soon, it was time for some of us to go out on the usual perimeter walk, along the little encircling canal. By the time we were back at the begining of our circle the folks had retired to their cosy abodes. As for some of the young lads, a hug and a kiss and the lasses were off too, while some other genially devious mischief makers were busy conspiring. Some of us, we sat beside the dying embers talking about things from yonder and things of wonder till the seduction of sleep was too strong to resist.

I set forth on my walk, under the stars beaming through the wispy clouds, to the eastern check-post. There lies a gently-sloping piece of rock that faces the eastern skies. I place my nice, straw hat beside me and with a little hay for a pillow, now , I lay down on the warm rock as the stars watch over me. I look at the stars for a while and the words keep ringing in my head,
"Cloudless everyday you fall upon my waking eyes, inviting and inciting me to rise
And through the window in the wall, come streaming in on sunlight wings
A million bright ambassadors of morning!"
I close my eyes, for I know, I'll be woken up by that sweet, soft whisper in my ear, "Said you want a revolution! Lil Darling, here comes the sun!" and a little morning .... 

Imagine.

Snap.

- Me


Ruby valley, Nevada

PS: Thank you John, The Beatles and P. Floyd!

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Owen Hargreaves, don't give up!

I'm not sure if clement is the word I don't want to use to describe the weather. But it sure is one of those days when I feel like going back to school. Old school on a rainy day, sitting beside the open window, wearing my sleeveless, navy blue sweater, (out of necessity and not because my shirt wasn't pressed) so I could feel the spray on my face. The perfect environment, dark days of deep, developmental contemplation, especially in the absence of a teacher. Perfect weather for some pondering.

The dots have been laid out by Her, but we are the ones who are supposed to connect them. I believe that Free will and Destiny are connected in this manner. This sure has been a year of realization. It started on that fateful night, the 27th of May 2009, when United lost to Barcelona at the Stadio Olimpico, Rome. Then, we lost Ronaldo and Tevez in the transfer season. What followed was players getting injured at crucial times and inexperience costing us that Champions league encounter against Bayern Munich. (I don't blame refereeing decisions!) And this stupid thought lingers in my mind. I don't suppose it would make sense if I said Manchester United lost the league last year because, personally, I didn't work hard enough. I know it's plain stupid, but sometimes I have this incredulous belief that such an entwining is tangible and not merely imaginary. It has been disappointing, but the return of Owen Hargreaves was something that lit me up. 

I remember that amazing 2007-08 season, Hargreaves' first season at Old Trafford. I remember the fantastic match winning free kick in that crucial battle against Arsenal. I remember his penalty in the shoot-out against Chelsea at the Luzhniki Stadium, Moscow, on the 21st of May, 2008. It's the best penalty kick I've seen, awesome it was.


And then disaster struck. Operations on both knees, followed by a twenty month long rehabilitation program. After being out for two seasons, he made his Premier League return in the 92nd minute of United's penultimate game of the season against Sunderland. I was delighted to see him back in action. He touched the ball only once, but still, he was back!! He's a player who will run his heart out for the team. Yes!

Just when I thought everything was going to be fine, someone just had to pull me back out. Hargo is facing another serious injury setback. He's had to visit his knee specialist again and some fear that it may be all over for him. I've been feeling haunted ever since I got wind of the news. Reminded me of 'Red' Redding saying "Every man has his breaking point." I mean, how much can a man take? Every time he's taken a step forward, he's been knocked back and down. But, but, like I said, it has been a year of realization!!

Now that I think about it, I vividly remember the letter that Andy wrote to Red. Right now, for me, the best thing that could happen at Manchester would be the return of Hargo (and United winning everything :D and of course, City getting relegated :P !!) I hope he makes it back, I know he will. 

Don't give up Hargo!! 

- Raj


Friday, June 18, 2010

Chuism!

Chuism revealed!

Five years ago, I was subjected to some shitty, unholy ritual, which was unfortunately, conducted by the shittiest and crappiest conductor of this ritual you'd ever find. From that day on, I was called Chu Chu. No rhyme or reason, the name was supposedly a cute version of a very popular swear word. I took it in my stride and started this whole thing called 'Chuism equals Infinite Optimism'!
The principles of Chuism are simple:
  • Always look on the bright side of life.
  • Never lose hope.
  • Never give up.
 There have been times when I have and when I haven't stood by my principles.

These are testing times right now. The most important thing in my life is on the line and I am not going to lose hope. Never!

Chu

Friday, June 11, 2010

A Billion, a Brazillion, 736, 32 or 1? Or a continent? The World!!

It's June 2010, but there ain't no dust that ain't dusting around in the you know where while moving through Kashmir! The Monsoon is here. It's been dull and cloudy here in town. But, I closed my eyes and flew up, up and away into the sky, of course I made sure I had clear headway before closing them eyes of mine, and I could see a certain radiance illuminating off of the world. These are the times when you could jump off a cliff and the energy of the world would keep you afloat, metaphorically of course. The sun ain't shining, the weather ain't sweet, but there is a beat, a rhythm out there y'all and it makes me wanna move my dancing feet yah! 

Haha! George Bush is one big time cupper! This one time, Donald Rumsfeld is giving the president his daily briefing. He concludes by saying: "Yesterday, 3 Brazilian soldiers were killed." "OH NO!" the President exclaims. "That's terrible!" His staff sits stunned at this display of emotion, nervously watching as the President sits, head in hands. Finally, the President looks up and asks, "How many is a brazillion?"

Talk football and everybody knows The Pele or a Ronaldo. Brazilians are the kings. They didn't win last time yeah, and I wait to see if a new usurper will rise. Soul Wayne Rooney, for if he loses it he's gonna grow that weird beard of his. Time for some numbers. There are probably a million people involved in organizing the show, billions watching! Partially fulfilled dreams of 736 world class professionals, a few broken hearts yeah and millions more for each one of those broken ones! 736 players, 32 nations. Butterflies in their bellies surely, but who's the one who's going to win it? Mae .. chounoyona mae .. Float .. float like a butterfly! Sting like a bee!

The war begins, but no lives are going to be lost in the making of history. Damn, this reminds me of Andrés Escobar. Sad story his, but probably a one off and something that isn't captured by this spirit. It's just a reflection of that irrational lunacy in humans. Let that never happen again. OK! I was watching the official starting ceremony on TV last night, people shouting 'Africa Africaaa'! It's a beautiful place - the desert, the rivers, the rain-forests, the Serengeti, geographically so diverse much like our own beauty. The message last night was 'Football - connecting people. Education for all.' In spite of the shallowness of my perception of life and understanding of the meaning of things, football for me, and I mean for me, has a very deep meaning! I don't care who wins the trophy, tears will surely be shed in the process. Oh, not by me of course. Watch this video --> Football Heartbreaks! and you'll get what I'm saying. It hurts, especially when you lose in a shoot-out! Part of the dream is taken away from you, that's part of life. Go out and get yourself drenched, play a game with the people and everything is gonna be alright soon enough.

For me though, all of them 32 nations are the winners, Africa is the winner and the whole world too. 'Lose your inhibitions.'  These are the times when we can sing 'Joy to the World!'
Un Diego!!
One Wayne Rooney!

-
   Ju ma pel What? What's so shady?  Joey can't speak French!
   And I'm always on time!


Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Scan this Wasted Land!

'My Shangri-la beneath the summer moon I will return again.
Sure as the dust that floats high in June when moving through Kashmir.'

Imagine yourself walking through a desert storm or sailing along dire straits.
What exactly would you be trying to find ?

- Jebowski


Thursday, December 31, 2009

I had a feeling all along that this couldn't be true!!

'Just Summer Moonshine!' Indeed, it was. This is a dedication to a very special person, a certain Jane, if you must know, to the extremely curious reader. I certainly wouldn't want Jane to get a hold of this, not right now in the least. When the years roll by, and Jane is still where she ought to be in my heart, I'll let her catch a glimpse of this little piece of -let me call it- elegant scribble. A dreamy sort of something, alliteration put aside, has descended upon me, and it's not being too hard on my emotions. Well, before I induge in what I'd like to call the hippity-hop-a-skip-a-hop phenomenon, which, by the way, is not exclusive to me, let me get straight to the point. Like Mr.Bond, Ruskin, I believe I am the sort of person who treads that zigzag path, pursuing the diagonal between reason and the heart. This small illustration should suffice, to explain the aforementioned phenomenon, if you indeed wish to call it one. Let's get straight back on the train, because I don't want to start all over again.

It isn't too often that skies open up and nimbus clouds pave the way for angels to descend to that one time haven of mine. I've spent many a hour in the dust and the grime, in this sanctuary for people who considered one certain passion more important than life or death. 

The raindrops were falling on my head!
And there she was, Jane!!

Then, there was that walk in the summer! I wonder if the moon was out that night!! 
Summer moonshine? I wonder if it was true!


Stardust, Z

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Sands of Time

It was cold, as we would perceive it to be, in the land where time and space are explained by laws yet unknown to us. A beautiful creature clad in white, shimmering in the darkness, was walking along a lonely boulevard which led to nothing but vast emptiness. The only source of light was a great luminous monolith that stood beyond the horizon. The sky was always bright and always dark; a weird call of eternity echoing off non-existent walls.

There was always a gentle breeze disturbing the calm, and when Her white gown fluttered the silence was broken by an ethereal melody. She picked up a fistful of sand with one elegant hand and gently let the sand flow into Her other palm, almost like in a hour glass. The sand grains slowly formed a heap in Her palm. She didn't want this seemingly uninteresting process to end. However, the harder She tried to grip the sand in Her fist, the faster the grains slipped out of Her grasp until none were left. Exasperated, She lifted Her palm up to Her lips; nobody has ever heard Her speak but rumour has it that the sound that Her lips issue will persist  forever. And then, lovingly She blew them away.


An ordinary act, but one only had to look at the sand closely.

After all ....
"The wind is free, but the sand goes where it is blown.

Unaware of the world around it, whirling on the breath of the Gods, at the mercy of the storm that engulfs it.

What is one grain of sand in the desert?

One grain amongst the storm?
"

(The quoted part is from the POP game in which Elika is one of the 2 protagonists.)

They occur in different shapes and sizes, but every grain of sand is special in its own way and She knew it. As they dropped from Her fist to Her palm, each grain shone in its own way, a myriad of colours ensued as they were lit up by that great source of light. The grains were then thrust out into the open and were left at the mercy of the winds. She had probably done enough for them.

The wind will take them all to different places, but it is believed that one day they will all end up where it started.

(There is a story about the grains of sand on the coasts of Africa. The grains are formed from rocks up in the mountains and the rivers carry them down to the coast. From there, the winds carry them across the deserts all the way over to the other end of the continent and then the ocean currents carry them all the way back to the coast.)

Monday, August 24, 2009

Unfinished!!

A list of unfinished posts of mine!! ( Last edited on)
  • In the Doldrums 21/08/09
  • Concerning Idiots!! 03/08/09
  • sands of time 25/06/09
  • Nobody said it was easy!! 31/05/09
  • wiki'ing 30/05/09
  • This Lizard of Ours 23/04/09
  • Concerning Idiots - Reviews 19/04/09
  • If I had just one wish! 04/04/09
  • Purpose! 01/04/09
  • Random Walks and Mozilla Firefox 01/04/09
  • The Fish of Mordor 11/03/09
  • Strings, pressure variations, vibrations and electrical impulses 10/02/09
  • Golden boots 02/02/09
  • Learning to Fly 02/10/08
  • Peregrinations from 'lout' to 'maul'. WL 29. 13/09/08

I don't know! I don't know!

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Half a page of scribbled lines!!

I just had an epiphany! It was a sudden explosion of creative energy that had accumulated in my subconscious mind. For a second I could see the regularity in all the randomness! It was Eric Hoffer, an American social writer and philosopher, who said, "creativity is the ability to introduce order into the randomness of nature." The time is gone, (its almost 12) the song (Time - P.F) is over!! I thought I had something more to say.
Spotting regularity in a random pattern might be possible. If indeed life is a random process with a certain mean (which is of course time varying!) , is there a regularity that can be noticed in a single individual. OK ..fart only! But I think a lot of people speculate and think along these lines.

Ok ..time for Bohemian Rhapsody!!
Is this the real life? Is the following just fantasy?
It sure is amazing how a nimbus cloud can change your life! It was an amazing cloud! For a minute or so it was raining only over 'there' and in a flash the wind swept it over to where I was!

Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me!
Well, that is it I'd say! Half a page of scribbled lines!

Got to leave this all behind and find the truth!!
Later!