The London [insert sponsors name here] Olympic Games

After 7 years of “thorough” preparation, the London Olympics are finally upon us. With the eyes of the world watching, the pressure is on to deliver. In order to oblige, the British government has ploughed around 10 billion pounds of public money in to the games, but has at the same time axed thousands of jobs, destroyed pensions, cut funding in health and education, and is ironically spending less on grass root sports, effectively laughing in the face of the Olympics’ "lasting legacy". However, it’s claimed that in return it will encourage investment in to the country, and stimulate our lagging economy, or in other words, the spending of tax payers’ money will result in large private companies making more money, and will hopefully make so much, that in order to make any more they will be forced to appoint more staff and invest, and so the crumbs from the table are shared.

When first conceived by Frenchman Pierre de Coubertin, the Olympic Games aimed to unite the world through sport, promoting peace and harmony.  However, these ideals appear to have been sold to the highest bidder, with anybody promoting the Olympics, that hasn’t paid for the privilege, being swiftly removed by the Gestapo. Shamefully, in a country full of obese children, with a health care system already at breaking point, the faces of the world’s biggest sporting event are McDonald’s and Coca-Cola, along with a host of other uber-ethical  brands such as Dow Chemical, and BP.

With an estimated 4 billion people tuning in to watch the opening ceremony, almost 30 million pounds has been spent on Danny Boyle’s “green and pleasant land”, which effectively appears to be Craggy Island’s Fun Land, complete with The Crane Of Death, Spider Baby, and the Tunnel Of Goats. Yet, despite billions watching at home, the opening ceremony has struggled to sell out, mainly due to ridiculously high prices being charged for tickets, ensuring the event is reserved for the sponsors and the very rich. Fortunately, the stadium won’t be peppered with areas of empty plastic seats, as the spare tickets are being given to soldiers. A nice gesture, although they will have to select soldiers that aren’t busy filling in for the hopelessly incompetent G4S.

However, beneath all the money and hype, the essence of the Olympics is still there, the sport. Hopefully, London 2012 will prove to be both thrilling and exciting, with Great Britain surpassing their achievements 4 years ago in Beijing, and hopefully pillocks will refrain from calling us “Team GB”, we’re not Yanks, and we are not a brand, we are a country. Stop putting a fucking dollar sign in front of everything.

Beer Review #2: Gold Tankard

From its home in Wylam, on the edge of Northumberland, Gold Tankard’s reputation has spread through Tyneside becoming a permanent fixture at many a pub. First created 12 years ago, Gold Tankard became Champion Beer at the CAMRA Tyneside Festival and Darwen Lancashire Festival. Originally residing in the pubs of the tranquil town of Wylam, Gold Tankard began making regular appearances at beer festivals, and can now be found in many locals up and down Tyneside. The Wylam beer has even managed to break on to the scene in Newcastle, a city that in recent years has become a wash with cheap vodkas and generic lagers. It’s well known that ale is the drink of proper blokes, and Gold Tankard can be found knocking about on the edges of town, talking football with its mates, and getting a round in while it sticks another quid in the jukebox, leaving watered down Fosters dancing to Abba in the Bigg Market.

With its smooth taste, with a hint of citrus, Gold Tankard is a top beer. However, despite its deserved popularity, I don’t think it is even Wylam’s best beer. The Wylam Brewery squad boasts both strength and depth, and for me Gold Tankard struggles to beat its comrades “Rocket”, named after the locomotive designed by the father of railways and Wylam’s most famous son, George Stephenson, and the soon to be re-released “Turbinia”, whose name derives from the world’s first turbine powered ship, designed by another Wylam lad, Charles Algernon Parsons. So not only do you get a superb beverage to sup on, you also get a little nugget of history to ponder over while supping the said beverage. I fully expect it to be argued in parliament that young adolescents should be weaned on to Wylam’s finest ales in an attempt to boost GCSE history results, and to phase out the drinking of tuppence hap'ney drinks such as Wkd and Smirnoff Ice. In Wylam Brewery’s words, “It’s proper beer”.

Geordies here, Geordies there, Geordies every f*cking where....

While some sections of our crowd against Wigan last year kindly suggested that the “fat Geordie bastard” Steve Bruce was not welcome at our club, many other Geordies in the crowd may have been left questioning just how welcome they themselves were.

Sunderland have always had a strong Geordie following. From the 1950s, when supporters from Tyneside and Wearside would watch Sunderland one week, and Newcastle the next, through to the 70s and 80s when “Geordie” and “Mackem” chants could be heard echoing around the Fulwell. However, things turned sour with the advent of the cringe worthy Geordie Nation bollocks, where Newcastle United attempted to claim all things Geordie for themselves. The vast majority of Mags, being pillocks, believed their own hype, but unfortunately, many Sunderland fans also seemed taken in by it.

A quick look on the ALS/RTG SMB forum, and it’s clear to see that amongst some Sunderland fans there is a degree of hatred towards Geordies, and not just from the knackers, but also from intelligent, loyal, and otherwise well informed supporters. Despite what Tory boy John Hall would have you believe, Geordie does not belong to Newcastle United, and the city itself has no exclusive right to the name, in fact it’s quite probable that Newcastle has a lower proportion of Geordies in its population than anywhere else on the Tyne. Geordie belongs to the whole of Tyneside, whether you’re a Sunderland supporter or a black and white. Anyone who believes otherwise is merely playing into the hands of the Goebbel-esque, Maggie propaganda machine. And contrary to what many a gobshite Mag might say, supporting The Lads whilst coming from Jarra, Shields, Gateshead, or The Fellin’, does not make you a Mackem. Just as a Londoner supporting Liverpool is not a Scouser, and probably not even a thief.

Support from lads from Tyneside should not be underestimated. Geordie Sunderland fans make up a decent part of SAFC’s core following, there’s no room for half hearted support when you spend most of your life surrounded by Mags. When most of your mates and work colleagues are Skunks, it’s a right bastard having to go down the pub after Michael Proctor has managed to single handily destroy his own team with a hat trick of own goals, or having to go in to work after another defeat to the Barcodes. A generation of Sunderland fans on Tyneside have had to grow up tolerating their school mates discussing turning Barcelona over, while they sit quietly at the back of the class reading their Sunderland v Oldham programme. As a result a lot of Sunderland’s loyalist support can be traced back to areas surrounding the Tyne.

Hence it seems incredibly stupid, and Magpie-like, to alienate such fiercely loyal fans, who make a 30 mile round trip every other Saturday to cheer on the same team as their Mackem brethren. Don’t let the Mags steal our Geordie support. We are Sunderland. FTM not FTG.

Clobber: Nazi-fighting shoes - Clarks

Back when schools could be arsed with having proper uniforms, primary schools the length of the country would be full of young’uns sporting a pairs of Clarks shoes. One of the final days of your summer holidays would be spent traipsing around the shops with your mam, trying on new trousers, and picking up a fresh set of Crayola’s finest coloured pencils. This shopping trip almost always included having to call in to the Clarks store, and waiting in what can only be described as a doctors’ waiting room for shoes. Sitting there patiently until your number came up on the board and you could have your feet professionally measured, secretly hoping you’d reached the mythical status of being an adult size 1. The next day at school would be spent comparing new shoes, only to find that almost everyone was wearing the same ones, which in itself was pretty cool, as the general conclusion would be they must be the best ones.

As you matured though, Clarks were bullied from the scene by the likes of Kickers and Pod, and were seen as pretty much untouchable, relegated to the choice of young kids and old blokes. However, these shoes were merely Clarks’ mainstream footwear. Their cult classics, relaunched in recent years as Clarks Originals, have remained a staple in the wardrobes of many a finely dressed chap throughout the decades. The Desert Boot is up there with the greats of cult footwear, despite it becoming dangerously trendy over the last year or so, hijacked by soulless fashion magazines, and reproduced by the likes of Topshop and Primark. A favourite with the mods in the 60’s, due to them looking equally as smart with a suit as they do with a pair of Levi’s, Clarks Desert Boots are based on a similar design worn by the British Eighth Army as they fought the Nazis in North Africa. Initially Nathan Clark, great grandson of the company’s founder James Clark, was told by the Stock Committee superintendent that his design would never sell, but Nathan persisted and the shoe soon became a bestseller. Worn by the likes of the Cooler King, Steve McQueen, the Desert Boot has become an iconic shoe.

Whilst the Desert Boot may receive the majority of the attention, Clarks also produce a number of other quality shoes. Based on a Dutch design, the Desert Trek has become popular with both ramblers and football lads alike. Its trademark centre seam gives it its distinctive look, and like the Desert Boot, looks just as good when worn with a pair of jeans as it does with something a bit more formal. The Wallabee was done to death a few years ago, but is still a smart alternative to some of the shoes available out there, and while the Oberon conjures thoughts of a 70s history teacher, it looks refreshingly tidy when combined with some decent threads.

Whilst a lot of top trainers are becoming soul-destroyingly common, Clarks are a breath of fresh air. With a pair of Desert Treks on your feet you’ll be soon be looking as sharp as the Ace Face, or cooler, considering he’s a bell boy, and Sting.

Monkwearmouth Park

A decade of piss poor football combined with an increased feeling of alienation as football fans in general, has slowly taken its toll on the atmosphere and match day experience as a whole. Fortunately, things seem to be taking a turn for the better at The Stadium of Light. The players, for the time being, have stopped playing shite. We have a Sunderland supporting manager with a proven track record and the ability to attract top players. Sunderland legend Niall Quinn has preached SAFC to the world, whether it be attracting fans from East Asia, or trailing round the local boozers, dragging the piss heads away from Azerbaijani Football TV and back in to the ground.  And we have a chairman and owner who not only seems to have a bit of cash, but also appears to care about the club and the opinions of the fans. If we can’t make it with our current set up, I doubt we ever will.

Ellis Short’s willingness to listen to fans has recently been demonstrated, his plans to shift the away fans up into the North Stand upper, creating a new “home” end in the South Stand, have generally been well received amongst the Wearside faithful. With the South Stand looking as if it will be at concession prices next year, this is an ideal opportunity for Sunderland fans to gather with other like-minded individuals and bring back the famous Roker Roar. This, coupled with the emergence of groups such as “Ha’way the Flags”, should hopefully improve the atmosphere, and make going to the match enjoyable once again.

But why stop at there? While the clubs around us sell their souls, renaming their grounds after wealthy Arab airlines or jumble sale sport shops, our current set up gives us the opportunity to embrace our traditions and famous past. Despite not jumping on the sponsorship bandwagon with regards to ground name, “The Stadium of Light” was probably not the name which many envisioned when it was announced back in 1997. It doesn’t have any particular relevance to the club, sounds pretentious, sounds nicked, and sounds like, er, shite. Surely something relevant to the area would be more appropriate. The current names of our stands also leave a lot to be desired. Meeting your mates in the Strongbow Upper North Stand, or Fosters Shandy East Stand, isn’t quite the same as meeting at the back of the Fulwell. We’ve inhabited our new ground now for almost 15 years, yet the names of our stands still sound like a pissed tramp’s compass. With some input from the supporters, we could have something we could relate to, such as The Southwick End instead of the North Stand, with our new home stand The Wearmouth End, or maybe even the Niall Quinn Stand, opposite. We could reclaim Archibald Leitch’s lattice work from the stadium’s car park, stick it in the West Stand, and rename it the Main Stand. Surely this iconic part of Roker Park would look better in the ground, rather than out of view, gathering dents from them shit 4x4 things that the players drive about.  We could even hoy a half decent looking clock on the East Stand and rename it The Clock Stand, while naming the corners of our ground after legends such as of Gurney, Shackleton, Carter, and Hurley, would help make the stadium feel as though it did really belong to the fans.

Whereas Mike Ashley laughs off Newcastle fans’ Neanderthal-like grumbles regarding their ground name, at Sunderland we have the opportunity to shape and influence our club. It’s up to the supporters to take advantage of the unique relationship between board and the fans.

Beer Review #1: Super Bock, superstar, gets you more pissed than Stella Artois. – SUPER BOCK

Originating from Porto, Super Bock has been getting the Portuguese pissed since 1927. Racking up an impressive 26 consecutive gold medals in the "Monde Selection de la Qualite", it has become established as Portugal’s favourite lager, and had also become one of my own personal favourites. I first stumbled across this little gem when holidaying across in Albufeira. After spending the majority of the week steering clear of it, partly because it sounded like something like you’d pick up in a South African Netto,  but also because the initial lager of choice was the splendid, and Portuguese sounding, Sagres. However, the lack of Sagres in one bar forced my hand, and Super Bock was given a trial. Every now and then you come across a drink so good that you feel like you can’t get enough of it. Super Bock is one of these.

Drinks will always taste better on holiday. Sitting by the beach gazing out to sea, with the sun beaming down on your back, is bound to make a drink taste better than when you’re back at home sat in a dingy pub on a wet Tuesday night, with some old codger farting in the corner. However, when confronted in one bar without either Super Bock or Sagres, resorting back to the home comfort of a pint of Carling really illustrated how good these Portuguese lagers were. After almost spewing from that first initial taste, it then began to piss it down outside. Maybe that’s why it’s always wet in England, too much Carling.

Weighing in at 5.2%, Super Bock lacks the bitter aftertaste many lagers have, and its mild hoppy flavour hits the spot during those hot summer days.