Big Brother, Why Bother…

Celebrity Big Brother 2010

Is it just me or is everyone else happy that the last of the Big Brother series is upon us.  I mean really now, how is it that we actually derive enjoyment in watching a group of people stuck in a house, sitting around doing literally nothing!  I would be a bit more understanding if they crossed concepts with ‘Survivor’ and we got to watch the housemates fight to survive, at least then there’d actually be something exciting worth my attention.  But beyond the actuality of the show, one has to wonder what goes through the mind of the agent signing their client up for this spectacle.  Being a housemate is a testament to the fact that your career is on the bottom step and any attention will do!  Let’s just take a look at the current cast:

 Alex Reid, an English professional mixed martial arts fighter, best known for being the current boyfriend of Katie Price following her split from Peter Andre.  Honestly now, did we even care about him before Katie cast the spotlight on him by making him her own life-size dress-up doll! Maybe she should be his agent cause nobody else seemed to get him in the papers! Note to Katie; go get your commission hun!

 Dane Bowers, an English pop singer, songwriter, and record producer.  Hmmm, ok, I’ll give £10 to the first person that can name some of his hits without the help of Google.  Kind of scary isn’t it, that at the tender age of thirty he’s finding it necessary to pick up these types of gigs to survive in the industry. In sensing there will be a new record coming in 10, 9, 8…

 Heidi Fleiss, an American “Hollywood Madam”. I’ll admit that Heidi is probably one of the best known in the house, although probably not for the reason she’s happy with.  In fact I’m most curious about her motives for being in the house.  On one hand I’m thinking it must be because she’s low on money, but then something else tells me that she want to clean up her image and tale a proper stab at being a celebrity. She is one of the few in the houses with little dignity to lose.

Ivana Trump, the ex-wife of real estate developer Donald Trump, also a Czech fashion model and socialite.  Ivana has been trying to get on the right side of ‘Celebrity’ for a while now but I never would have expected this.  Maybe Donald’s cheques just aren’t coming like they used to, besides there’s only so much you can make from a failed reality series and lessening sporadic cameo television roles.

Jonas Altberg, better known as Basshunter, a Swedish record producer and singer-songwriter. I’ll save myself some time and just let you revert to Dane Bowers for a similar opinion. *yawn*

 Ekaterina “Katia” Ivanova, a Kazakstan born British model best known for being the ex-girlfriend of The Rolling Stones’ Ronnie Wood.  I can only think that maybe her agent sent her in here to get close to Heidi and forge some retirement plans. 

 Lady Sovereign, known as Sov in the House, a British rapper and grime artist. This is perhaps one of the biggest disappointments in the house.  In my opinion Lady Sovereign has more talent and potential than she knows what to do with and should in no way be falling into the ‘washed-up’ category this early into her career.  Maybe this will actually be a good opportunity for her to cool off and assess her next steps. Maybe she should bond with Sisqó and learn some industry tips.

 Nicola Tappenden, also known as Nicola T, (born 2 December 1982) is an English Page 3 Girl, and glamour model. I’ll save myself even some time and just let you revert to Ekaterina “Katia” Ivanova for a similar opinion. *yawn*

 Sisqó, an American R&B singer and another disappointment in the house. Someone please explain how you go from being Grammy-Award nominated, leader of a hit R&B group, having two Platinum solo records to being on Big Brother. I could sit here and make fun of his flamboyance or joke about the outdated performance he did before entering the house, but I won’t.  The truth is that Sisqó does have an outstanding voice and I believe that if he spins this right he might be able to pull off a comeback.

 Stephanie Beacham, an English actress.  I’m somewhat baffled as to what she is doing in the house.  She has had a long and interesting career and should now be enjoying retirement somewhere tending to roses in a nice country garden.  I’m hoping that she’s not a Bernie Madoff victim trying to pick up the pieces!

 Stephen Baldwin, an American actor, the youngest of the Baldwin brothers.  I’m still trying to find his relevance.  He comes off as annoying and self-righteous but then again I guess he’s just trying to keep his head above his family’s shadow. I predict he will fade back into oblivion.

 Vinnie Jones, an English film actor and former football player. At first glance one would assume that he’s just some washed up footballer turned actor but the reality is that he has had a pretty consistent acting career.  With a few movies out this year I am swayed to believe that he is using is time in the house to get more people familiar with is face/name as a head start to promoting his films later on it the year. I predict that he will become the most successful housemate.

So maybe I’ll actually watch this round of Celebrity Big Brother…but then again there might be some more interesting paint drying somewhere!

Powder To The People

Yay! It’s snowing! Let’s all go oust side and behave like five year olds!. The schools are closed, and there’s no public transport, and that means no work for many of us.

This is the only time when it is perfectly acceptable to launch missile attacks on passing vehicles and strangers, ESPECIALY if they are female, less chance of getting your teeth punched in that way.

You can tell Aussies and South Africans a mile off.
They’re generally the ones taking photos of everything and grinning, like they’re at a free-beer barbeque. The ones strutting around in tee-shirts are Polish, at least they’re not taking the day off!

We all know about the classic snow time activities- snow men, sledging, snow ball fights, snow angels etc. Here are a few alternative ways to enjoy the white stuff.

1.
Find a fresh dog turd, and very carefully build a pointed cone of snow around it, then hide and wait for a child to jump on it.

2.
Whisky Snow Balls.
Take a tumbler. ½ fill with whisky, make a snow ball, drop into tumbler. Hey-presto, hedonistic slush puppies for everyone!

3.
Golden Rings.
Stand in a grassy area full of fresh snow, extract penis, commence urination, spin around until you’r surrounded by a yellow circle.

4.
Naked Snow Angels.
Ah! I’m ashamed to say that we actually did this once, whilst high on whisky snow balls. It seemed like such a good idea. Just make sure that there’s no-one around with a video camera and a facebook account,

5.
Stay at home and crank the heating up to eleven. Who wants a broken coccyx bone anyway?
HJ
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KILLING IN THE NAME OF…

Viva Facebook and God bless Rage Against the Machine!

RATM are the greatest rap/rock combo in the world and one of the greatest bands, full-stop, of the past twenty years. Joe Bloggs is a karaoke singer from a TV talent show. If RATM make Christmas No.1 with ‘Killing in the Name Of’ (one of the most unchristmasy songs of all time), it will represent a glorious coup for the dying world of real music and a timely black-eye for Emperor Cowell and his empire of brainwashing tedium. It will also be the second most faith-affirming demonstration of the power of the Internet since Obama’s presidential victory.

And yet, even now, we have Cowell and Cheryl Cole coming out and objecting to the Facebook campaign, like disgruntled royalty complaining about the peasants. The pot’s got nothing over the kettle when Simon Cowell has the nerve to come out and compare the RATM Vs Joe Karaoke contest to ‘David and Goliath’ – and actually suggesting that ‘The X-Factor’ is DAVID in the analogy!

Right – so the billionaire mass media mogul and corporate dictator is complaining that his TV-manufactured product is being treated ‘unfairly’ because thousands of people are supporting a hard-working band of proper musicians who’ve worked their trade for sixteen years and built up a proper fanbase? Sounds about right. Seriously, if there was a Nobel Prize for Hypocrisy, then Simon Cowell would be a dead cert. He practically OWNS the music industry in this country; and THAT’S why he’s upset – no dictator is happy when the people mobilise and try to take back some power.

As for Cheryl Cole – a woman who makes Danni Minogue seem prodigiously talented – what business does she have publicly criticising the Facebook campaign? If  I were a talentless piece of eye-candy who’d somehow become filthy rich despite having no merits, I would be a bit more humble about it and just keep quiet, rather than whining about the competition. I’m sorry, but when mega-rich celebrities complain about the actions of real musicians and real music-lovers, I want to reach for the sick bucket.

At a time when musicians and musicianship are being crowded out of the marketplace by this vast corporation of television karaoke, there’s something very satisfying about the prospect of a band as great as Rage Against the Machine scoring a victory for the art over the mass media manipulation and hype. The days seem to be long gone of artists making meteoric impacts, shaking the industry or inciting musical and cultural revolutions (the Bob Dylans, Sex Pistols’, Public Enemy’s and Nirvana’s, etc); and if the X-Factor style of chart dictatorship continues, then such revelatory moments or recordings will be wholly consigned to history. But if ‘Killing in the Name Of’ outsells Mighty Joe Young, then the signs are good that hope is not lost. Rage Against the Machine are the very antithesis of anything the X-Factor might roll off its factory line, and so the choice of both artist and track are entirely fitting.

The dull, dead-eyed automatons churned out by the X-Factor have claimed the Christmas No.1 spot for the passed four years in a row. Let’s all do a favour for music and make Rage Against the Machine this year’s chart-toppers – and it’ll be a Christmas to remember. It’ll also make Jesus very happy. He was well into RATM. He’d also appreciate the somewhat Messianic nature of RATM’s potential sabotage of the corporate machine at this time of year, as Christ was all for revolt.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

The Christmas Doo

Last night was the work Christmas party. I only went because the Gallows gig in Watford was cancelled, something about the front man being ill. If I can’t get my teeth knocked out in a mosh pit, I may as well go and risk losing all dignity in front of my managers.

Before I left I was weighing up the odds, my homie was getting a take-away delivered, and it was minus three outside with the prediction being heavy snow. I finally decided I should make the effort to see if I could learn something about the people who I spend every day talking to.

This gathering of freaks took place in our local pub down the road, and by the time I arrived it was absolutely rammed. I said a few hellos, and then shoulder barged my way to the bar and ordered a Broadside, as it turned out, the first of many.

The rest of the night was spent explaining my presence to everyone who I had told that I wouldn’t be able to make it to, poncing fags off people, and the inevitable slagging off of authority figures who were stood just metres away, but were too drunk to hear.

I did what I set out to do, I had a lot to drink, I got really cold, I vented my spleen, and I learned a lot about my colleagues. For example, the quiet young looking girl, who is more insane than eccentric, turned out to be in her mid forties and incredibly intelligent and nice to talk to.

I left before the snow started to get too heavy and stumbled home. I then left a rambling voice mail on an ex-girlfriends phone (sorry Becks!). When I awoke this morning I had my headphones on and my ipod on my lap, my lamp was still on, and there was an unopened can of beer on the table along with an empty Dime bar wrapper. Success!
HJ

Talking to a Brick Wall

Another letter I had to send to someone who tried to screw me over. No reply to this one either. I get the impression that they’re not taking me seriously. Maybe I should try to follow it up with a second letter, or a parcel full of excretion.

Dear Mr. J Sainsbury’s

I have been a customer of your moderately overpriced supermarkets for some years now, and have rarely had cause to complain despite the amount of my time and money that you have indirectly absorbed.

However one particular practice that your staff have recently taken on has been causing me considerable distress.

I’m sure a man of your calibre, owning a chain of successful and profitable supermarkets would have at least some kind of understanding of the law. The one particular aspect that I would like to bring to your attention is the legal drinking age in Britain. I’m assuming that this still stands at eighteen as it has done since the invention of alcohol in 1950.

Now, I am over thirty, yet most of the staff in my local Sainsbury’s refuse to serve me alcohol. Why? Because for some reason, you have decided to take the law into your own hands and change the legal age for purchasing alcohol to twenty five, and I do not have any ID. Even in America where the sport of binge drinking does not have any prominent athletes, you can buy a drink of weak, pissy lager at twenty one.

The humiliation and stress that your staff have caused me cannot be rectified. There is nothing that can be done to mend the damage done. This has gone way too far.

Here is what I intend to do. Since you have taken the law into your own hands, then I will do the same. I will be going to my local store this evening where I will help myself to a bountiful supply of my favourite alcoholic beverages. I will then sit on the floor and drink them right there. So that I do not commit theft by leaving the store with your property, I will then wait until I pass urine in the cat litter section. I may then wander around, read a magazine, if I get hungry I may help myself to a pastie or something from your fine deli counter. Likewise, I will then wait until I defecate or vomit before leaving with anything that I have not paid for.

Should this arrangement not be practical with you, please let me know ASAP so that we can arrange alternate methods of compensation.

I await your reply
HJ

Dubai’s Ruin, England’s Walkover, and Amir Khan’s Controversial Claim…

In some ways, it’d be a shame if Dubai fell into ruin due to its financial crisis – all those pretty buildings surely need to be kept standing now that they’re there. But, on the other hand, how much natural sympathy does one feel for a glitzy, superficial paradise island, built on virtual slave labour for the gratification of oil tyrants and sports stars to indulge in a billionaire playboy lifestyle? And when are people going to learn not to borrow money and accumulate debts? I owed a hundred quid to a mate once and I paid back within a week, knowing that I didn’t want that debt hanging over my head. I’m guessing Dubai owes a bit more than that, but still…

Still, one wonders what’d happen if our present civilisation collapsed at some point; would some of Dubai’s kazillion dollar monuments become the Coliseum or Parthenon of future generations? Would explorers and archaelogists of the distant future stumble upon that palm-shaped Jumeira Island, or the islands shaped like the World, and wonder, ‘Who built these mysterious constructs, and what for what purpose’?

In any case, all glory is fleeting; and if Dubai might be equatable to a modern day Pompeii… well, we all know what happened to Pompeii. They STILL haven’t finished digging it up.

I’m not a fan of Amir Khan in particular, or of boxing in general, but Khan is spot on when he says that if he were a white man he’d be a superstar. You can frown or complain all you like about that statement, but it is wholly true, even if it was said entirely out of ego.

Speaking of sport, 2010 just might be the year for English football to finally live up to its calibre and its seedings and actually win the World Cup. After what was a god-sent qualifiying group, lo and behold – England’s World Cup first-round group looks like it should be a walkover. USA, Algeria and Slovenia? The gods must be favouring the Capello’s squad right now, and the omens are good.

Which means something’s going to go wrong. Presumably, the easiness of this initial trio of games will settle England into a lax attitude, leaving them entirely unprepared to deal with being torn apart by Argentina or Portugal in the second round. Only David Beckham can save them then

For the record, I want to go on record even now as predicting that the Ivory Coast or Ghana might end up winning the tournament. Now, if I pop into the bookies and put a quid on either of those sides this early, I’d win… let me see… fifty-five million pounds.

Susan Boyle Is The New Eminem, and Tony Blair Is Not the Anti-Christ…

Susan Boyle has the fastest selling debut album of all time in America; a record previously held by Eminem. Some might bemoan her success and cite it as another nail in the coffin of the music industry as any kind of meaningful artistic entity (and I’d usually be one of them); but this time I’m actually not all that bothered. Granted, Simon Cowell’s victory is invariably culture’s loss, but I don’t see how Susan Boyle shifting mega units is any more annoying than Alexandra Burke, Leona Lewis, Cheryl Cole, Hanna Montana, or a hundred other karaoke singers and PR gimicks.

What maybe is a little bit surprising is that America seems to have top-heavied the Boyle bandwagon; the American record-buying public are generally less gimick-oriented and less novelty-inclined than we are in Britain, after all. Evidently, it’s all about the backstory; the Cinderella motif. It sure as hell isn’t about the music. But then nothing coming out of an overhyped karaoke tournament is going to be about the music. It’s entirely hype over substance; that’s what happens when predominately television audiences suddenly invade record stores in time for Christmas.

Someone just as popular in America as Ms Boyle is our former Imperator, Tony Blair. Just a shame he’s not so popular in Europe (or Britain, apparently), as evidenced by his missing out on the Euro Presidency and being shafted by the continent; probably a blessing in disguise – a great many (lonely) conspiracy theorists cite the prospective role of European President as equating with the prophetic figure of the Anti-Christ… and who needs THAT for stigma?

A belated R.I.P to Edward Woodward. ‘The Wicker Man’ may be his most remembered film, but those of us who grew up in the eighties will remember him for the TV series ‘The Equaliser’. Actually, all I can properly remember about the equaliser is the wicked theme tune. Which segways me into another objection: why, by Zeus, has ‘Knight Rider’ been remade? The original is perfectly fine. What is it with film and television producers and this endless procession of remakes and retoolings? Is there no one left with any original ideas, or are there no production companies or commisionning execs willing anymore to put their money and sanction behind proper creative or inventive enterprises?

Practically every other (large-scale) cinematic release is a remake or an adaptation. Where are the writers? Sorry to sound like a grim curmudgeon, but frankly the film, music, and television industries are at their lowest, creatively speaking, that they’ve been in my lifetime. Granted, my lifetime hasn’t been that long; but it’s long enough that I remember far better days.

PS: ‘Terminator: Salvation’ is (soiled) pants.

YOU M U S T SEE THIS MOVIE…

There were tons of things I might’ve written a word or two about this week; from the news or the papers. But then I went to the cinema to watch a certain film yesterday; and, frankly, nothing else in the world is more significant to me right now as a subject matter. You probably haven’t seen it yet, and most of you probably aren’t even intending to see it; but, to my mind, ‘Fourth Kind’ is not only the most important film of this year, but one of the most important releases of all time. You MUST watch this film…

The film, starring the beautiful Mila Jovovich, is a mixture of dramatisation and real-life video and audio recordings. The effect of this is more compelling than anything I’ve seen in a long time. I don’t want to give the whole thing away, so I won’t go into all the details here, but the (true) story is about a Professor Abigail Tyler; a proffessional psychiatrist who discovers that she, along with a number of her patients, is being tormented and abducted by anomalous/alien/demonic entities in her sleep.

This movie is not about an idea or a theory or a claim; it is about the EVIDENCE. And the evidence on-film here is beyond contention; real-life video footage of patients breaking down under hypnosis; real-life video footage of Mrs Tyler, as well as one of her patients, being possessed, forcibly levitated and having NON-HUMAN INTELLIGENCES speak through them; real-life audio recordings of NON-HUMAN ENTITIES speaking in another language; and real-life video footage of one of the patients shooting dead his wife and children before shooting himself.

The real-life footage in the film is extremely disturbing and upsetting. It will shake you; but that, I believe, is a necessary effect in order to make people take the matter seriously and to have people realise that these are/were real people, with real lives, and that these were real experiences. That’s why this movie is so powerful – had it been entirely acting and dramatic interpretation of the story, the effect would be lost; it’d be just another supernatural thriller. But the intercutting of real material serves to maintain the reminder that these aren’t fictional events.

This woman is confined to a wheelchair and is mentally unstable – on account of her experiences. She suffered a broken neck from her experience. Her husband shot himself. One of her patients murdered his entire family and then killed himself. Another of her patients had his spine severed and neck snapped and was crippled for life. Her blind, seven-year old daughter (who she maintains was abducted by the alien entities) has been missing for almost a decade, without trace. Multitudes of people WITNESSED the UFO that she claims took her daughter (audio recordings of all of these eye-witness accounts are included in the film, during the end titles). A police officer witnessed the UFO above their very house at the very moment the girl went missing. This is not some mad conspiracy theorist in the wildnerness, or some attention seeking charlatan trying to sell a story.

I have personally been well-versed in the subjects of UFOs, alien abduction claims, and the paranormal in general, for a long time, and I’ve had the sh*t scared out of me a few times before from things I’ve seen or read – but NOTHING has hit me as hard as the footage in this move has. If the scenario depicted in this documentary/film is genuine – and you WILL leave the cinema overwhelmingly convinced that it IS – then it is the most significant, most important cinema release of my lifetime. For, what it does is to expose to a broader audience a horrifying, profound, and remarkably widespread phenomena that has largely been limited to the fringes of public consciousness. People – and the mainstream media – still sneer at, or even laugh at, people claiming to suffer supernatural torments and afflictions, and more often than not treat the subject as a joke, or as something unworthy of proper coverage. It is admittedly unlikely that this film will change that; but if it doesn’t make a big impact in that direction, that in itself only exposes the imbalance and injustice of the mainstream.

I have always wondered why (aside from the classic theory of a mass cover-up) why the mainstream media shies away from this area, given that it is indisputably an issue important to a great many people (and victims), and given that the various implications of the subject are of such importance to humanity, to society, to religion, to science, and to the world itself. If anyone watches this film without being disturbed, emotionally affected, and – most of all – convinced that there is something very, very important and very serious going on outside of the radar of common knowledge, then frankly there is something wrong with you as a human being.

It’s probably unlikely that ‘Fourth Kind’ will be a major commercial success (even with Mila Jovovic in it); but I doubt that was the primary reason it was made. This film is not entertainment. It doesn’t have special effects or massive stars or anything of the sort. It does, however, have a genuinely powerful emotional content, and it does convey a story that has enormous implications for the entire human race, this world, and both the past and the future.

On a technical level, the film’s combination of dramatisation and real-life footage/recordings (which includes a lot of split-screen editing) is very effectively done and works well. The movie is never overwrought, it never tries to be clever. This really isn’t about clever tricks or editing. It isn’t glossy, it isn’t Hollywood. The direction and production is very understated. The most striking parts of the film are not in the dramatised reconstructions but in the real-world footage. Although, for the record, Mila Jovovic (the most criminally underrated actress of the passed fifteen years) really does provide a first-class performance here.

However, the genuinely compelling figure in this whole thing is Abigail Tyler herself, during the real footage of her being interviewed. She looks like the most tortured, haunted and afflicted woman you’ll ever have seen in your life.

So please do go and see this movie. Not for entertainment, and not even to be scared. But for the effect it might have on your thoughts and your mind. And because the woman (and her lost family) whose experiences are depicted in this movie deserve to have as many people as possbile be aware of what may ‘have been through.

And if the whole thing IS fake, as some people are saying, at the very least it is grounded in real life stories and claims, of  which there has been many over the passed decades…

We Really Need to Talk About Kevin

He’s back. I saw him yesterday exiting the recycling bin. I was under the impression that we’d reached a truce, apparently I was, wrong.

I pulled a few boxes out from under my bed and searched for the mouse trap, but it wasn’t there. He’d hidden it, the sly little bastard.

He’s grown as well, he’s bigger, stronger and more intelligent than ever before. I thought it was an otter at first, but when it turned and looked me in the eye there was no doubt in my mind that Kevin had come back to finish me off. We have a turbulent history, and it has got to a stage now where it has to stop, it really is me or him.

Mouse traps seem to have changed, you shouldn’t mess with a design classic, but that’s what they’ve done. It’s all black plastic and random bars now. Still, as long as they execute rodents, hey… There’s an army surplus shop near me that also stock hunting and fishing gear. I’m not entirely sure which of these categories samurai swords fall under, but there must be a market for them in East London. Finally decided to stick with the trap.

Night One.

I baited the trap with a chunk of one of Liams biscuits, put it beside the washing machine and screamed “TIME FOR DESSERT YOU FURRY FUCK!” before retiring to bed.
On inspection in the morning it appears that Kevin managed to feast on short bread without setting off the “new and improved” mouse trap. Although it could have been Liam.

Night Two.

This time I used a smaller piece of bait from the tip of my bacon and cheese crassoint, and I pushed it further back, so that Kevin would have to really get in there. I then screamed “HERE’S SOME LOVELY FRENCH FOOD FOR YOU ARSE HOLE!” before retiring to bed.
During the night however, he once again managed to outsmart me and get another free meal without tripping the death mechanism.

Night three.

My tactics needed to be revised. I set the trap in the same place, but stuck a blob of moist peanut butter right in the middle of the platform. I then screamed “BREAKFAST’S READY YOU THIEVING SHIT BAG!” before retiring to bed.
I was just dropping off to sleep when I heard him scuttling about in my goddamn room! Now, I don’t keep any food whatsoever in there, so he was obviously just taking the piss and showing off. I tried to ignore him and go to sleep, I really tried, but I couldn’t rest with him in the same room. And the noise was getting more and more regular. I eventually reasoned that Che never won his battles by going to sleep, and turned the light on.
What I saw was the tail and rear legs of a mouse jammed under the door, trying to free itself. I sat and thought about the best way to deal with this, and then plucked him out by his tail and headed for the front door. It turned out not to be Kevin as it was much smaller, probably his sidekick. Fortunately there was nobody out on the street at that time, or they would have seen me stepping out in my superman briefs and a wife-beater vest with a live mouse in my hand. I threw it like a cricket ball and watched it bounce and run off somewhere.

I then went back to bed, but was pretty pumped up with adrenaline so didn’t sleep too well.
In the morning I was even more surprised to see that the REAL Kevin was attached to the mouse trap with his skull caved in and a surprised look on his little face.

Should any of you wish to pay your respects, you will find him buried in my back garden, six feet deep. The hole is filled in with concrete, and on top sits a brass plaque that reads “DANCE HERE”.
HJ

trap

No World Cup for Ireland, and No Irish Friends for Henry…

The Republic of Ireland is up in arms. Ireland have been eliminated from the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. Thierry Henry is being villified and labelled a cheater. The reason being that his illegal handling of the ball led directly to the scrappy goal that eliminates Ireland from World Cup qualification. It’s an injustice, certainly; but football is full of such injustices.

It’s harsh on Irish football, without doubt. But the backlash against Henry seems a bit excessive.

He’s NOT a cheater, of course; across the span of a brilliant career, Thierry Henry has exemplified what is, in football, a great rarity – a top-class player who also happens to be a gentleman, with class and sophistication, dignity in his game, and sportsmanship. The fact that he handled the ball – and he clearly did – was most likely the reflexive action of a player under pressure. In the dying moments of a vital World Cup qualifier, a great many desperate strikers might handle the ball – instinctively, rather than in any kind of thought-out way. Players do it all the time.

The difference is that, nine times out of ten, they’d be red-carded and the resulting goal would be disallowed. The fact that Henry’s violation wasn’t spotted, and that the goal stood, was not the fault of the player, but of the incompetent officials. It’s the same principle as a player committing a foul or a violent tackle: every player does it, but they generally don’t get away of it.

It’s certainly an unfortunate situation for the Republic of Ireland – just as it was for England in ‘86 when Maradona and God slam-dunked the ball into England’s net to eliminate them from the competition. The difference, I think, is that Maradona clearly handled that ball with full intent and premeditation; whereas Henry, I think, reacted instinctively.

The offended party are calling for the game to be replayed; clearly they have a good case for that. If FIFA does capitulate, however, and allow for a rematch, one wonders if it’ll set a new precedent for future high-profile games. The idea of replaying matches that have been undermined by invalid refereeing could open a pandora’s box, in which all kinds of games might be replayed on the basis of everything from offside goals being allowed, penalties not being given, etc. While that would be very interesting, it’d also be infeasible on a logistical level.

Could you imagine a World Cup Final having to be replayed and the original winning side then losing the rematch?

Much more feasible – and many would say, long overdue – would be the incorporation of pitch-side monitors and screens with replay options for officials to double-check their decisions. With all the extraordinary amounts of money in the football industry, what would be the hold up?

In the meantime, if the Ireland/France score stands and the Irish don’t progress to the South Africa games, Thierry Henry will probably be a hated figure in Ireland for the next couple of decades…