Scrivener

How’s everybody’s All Hallows eve treating them. Mine currently involves drinking cans of Polish lager and chewing far too many cheap sweets. My teeth are starting to get paranoid that our relationship is coming to an end.

This is just a quick entry to let you know about what’s going to be happening here at Insert Witty Pop Culture Reference Here ( I really wish I picked a better name) for the month of November. There is going to be a slight change in the format due to some interesting projects I’ve got going on.

November, those interested in writing will know, is a very busy month. It is National Novel Writing Month. For anyone who isn’t let me explain. NaNoWriMo as it is down is an annual event where writers from around the world (It started off in just one country and they didn’t want to lose the snappy abbreviation) attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in the calendar month.

This is my first attempt at it. There is no prize as such, other than pride but it seems to be a great motivational tool and a good way to chat to other writers and get advice and feedback on the writing process. I’ve always wanted to write a novel and the whole point of this blog was to build up a discipline to write more. So lets give it a go.

My novel was originally going to be called Daffy Duck and the Intenet Café, but I was worried that people might associate that with the Danny Boyle movie The Beach.(I presume the same character is in the Alex Garland Novel...but I haven't read it.) Then somebody did link them together so I decided to change the title. So far it is called Status Update but that is liable to change.

Hopefully it will be a Hornby-esque tale of a guy struggling to find his place in a grown up world. It sounds semi-autobiographical and to be honest there will be lots of elements of me in the hero including some of the things he does and sees. Hey, they say write what you know.

I don’t know if any of you has tried to write 50, 000 words before but considering it takes me a 2-3 hours to write a standard one of my blogs (about 1500 words.) So its quite intimidating. Editing of the 50, 000 words is discouraged as the idea of the programme is to complete the novel regardless of spelling, grammar or stylistic flow. That can all be checked in December.

Of course this means my normal blog writing schedule will suffer.

But fear not I hope to still be posting here. I plan to use the site as a way to monitor my progress on the novel and keep a kind of diary in my first proper concerted effort at producing a book. This way if you guys want to give me any tips or advice or a kick up the arse you can do it all here. I’d really appreciate it. Of course I could get so swamped that I never get the chance. But it’s a plan anyway

The plan is to do on average 2000 words a day for 6 days a week and then by the end of November Status Update should be complete…that would be awesome. One of the first blogs I did was about how I wanted to be a writer. To finish a draft of a novel I think would be the shine on what has been a good year for me as a new writer.

Also this month, I will be doing a Blog/ Travel writing workshop with award winning writer Theo Dorgan. This should be interesting. I’m not really sure what to expect but hopefully I can take away a couple of things that will help improve my output both here and in general.

There is one more thing happening to me as a writer this month that I will tell you all more about when it is ready. I will say I’m very excited about it I really hope it’s a first step of many for me in making headway in the putting words in sentences business.

Its an hour and 30 minutes before November the 1st. I’m seriously considering getting started as soon as the bells strike midnight. Wish me luck.

Charlatan

One of the things I enjoy most in life is sitting alone in the cinema with a turkey, potato salad and Swiss cheese sandwich. Unfortunately , despite all my brain wracking, that does not make for a good blog post. So I’ll put that concept aside for a while and tell you about another of my great pleasures.

Last night, thanks to my good friend Aisling, I had the privilege of seeing a group of immensely talented musicians performing on stage in the National Concert Hall. Men and women doing what they love. Playing instruments they have spent years perfecting and entertaining the crowd with their craft.

It really is a joy to watch great musicians combining their individual talents to create a tight sound and to know that they are enjoying playing as much as the audience is enjoying listening and watching. A brass section of twelve horns, bass, drums, guitar, and Hammond organ made up the Rhythm and Blues Orchestra ,with their leader, Jools Holland on piano.

Along with four guest vocalists including Alison Moyet, this group of accomplished players treated the crowd to a collection of Boogie Woogie, Rhythm and Blues, Jazz standards and some of their original compositions. Each song had feet tapping, heads nodding and fingers clicking. Every member of the band had their moment in the spotlight and each virtuosic solo was greeted with tremendous applause by appreciative fans.

It was the type of gig that you can’t help but feel good about. Guaranteed to put a smile on your face. A smile that only gets bigger when you catch the eye of the person next to you and realise they are experiencing the same joy as you.

Halfway through the gig, I had a bit of thought. I looked down on the stage and it occurred to me that none of the performers, with the exception of guest vocalist Rosie Holland (Jools daughter) were what you would describe as young. They ranged from middle aged to legendary trombone player Rico Rodriguez who is 76. Everyone a mature, experienced, musician.

And then I thought about all the people sitting at home watching the X Factor at the exact same time.

I’ve been thinking about how best to put this all day. I know it’s an incredibly popular programme and you possibly watch it. I’m trying not to offend or judge too harshly. I want to balance criticism with objectivity.

However, every time I start to write I just end up ranting about how Simon Cowell is an evil manipulator cackling as he constantly pumps trash onto our TV screens on a weekly basis and the people who watch the programme are BRAINWASHED FUCKWITS…..ahem…excuse me.

I’ve spoken before about the mind numbing effect of television and one of the main reasons I got rid of my cable TV channels was because of tripe like the X factor. I found it too easy to sit there, brain off, remote control in hand and let it pollute my existence. Saturday night zombification. Then they decided to show it on Sundays too.

Even now, when I don’t have the stations I still can’t escape it. I know about the Gamu controversy, Mary from Tesco, Matt with and without his hat. There are people called Cher and Katie on it who are ’spannerfaces’ apparently. I know Cheryl is having a hard time and Louis is picking on her…allegedly.

The free morning paper seems to have a two page spread on it every day. Magazine and newspaper covers blast out scandalous and shocking headlines about the contestants and the judges. Everyone I know talks about it or post something on face book about it. It’s like I’ve caught the X-Factor disease through secondary media. Joining the masses as we mindlessly wait for Cowell to give us our opinion.

You probably think that last sentence is a step too far. Have I finally joined the list of batty, conspiracy theorist nuts who blog? I’m haven’t honestly. But. If I had, I’d probably point out that, with the most popular TV programmes in the UK and the United States broadcasting his every whim, Simon Cowell has access to numbers of unquestioning subjects, I mean captive viewers, which Hitler would give his one remaining testicle for.

The worst are the people who know it is shit and still watch it. For entertainment!!! Everybody loves the first couple weeks with all the mad, bad, self deluded lunatics. Those people who are awful or mental or both who squawk out cat torturing versions of Celine Dion tunes. We love to see the classless rejects get up in Simon and Louis face Jerry Springer style. ‘Oh no you didn’t.’

The thing is, if I were to stand on the street and laugh at someone who was obviously mentally unbalanced you’d be right to call me a bit of an asshole. Yet here we are enjoying the exploitation of simpletons all in the name of entertainment.

After that we are through to the live stages where the final 12 sing their hearts out to win the heart of the world. Except it’s never about the singing. In fact it would be very interesting to see what percentage of the show running time is actual singing

Instead it all about the backstage drama and whatever controversy was in the paper this week it’s about them ‘stepping out of their comfort zone.’ It about how the judges mocking one another because the song doesn’t suit the performer. It’s about backstage drama. It’s about production values. It’s about how loud they can play the backing track.

Some of them are very good singers but then so is the woman down my local who sings ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ after a couple of vodka tonics. Or my cousin. She is a very good singer. I’m not saying that acts have no talent. They do. I’m saying they have no soul.

Whores for fame, money and influence, every one of them would sell their grandmother for a record contract and a cover shoot on Heat magazine. Not one of them has any interest in art, integrity or creativity. They are dictionary definition charlatans cashing in on their fifteen minutes of fame.

The perfect example of this is Jedward. The hateful twins from Dublin personify everything that is wrong with the ‘music biz.’ Talentless hacks with no discernable ability, they perform bad cover versions of songs that weren’t very good in the first place. They distract their audience with stupid haircuts, bad American accents, awful clothes and complete lack of shame. Pushed by a multi million marketing machine, they are everywhere.

On bus stops. Shop windows. Newspapers. It is virtually impossible to walk down the street of Dublin without seeing their remarkably punchable faces endorsing everything from Abrakebabra (Yea, We totally love Taco Fries, don’t we Edward? Like totally John) to UNICEF (Yea, We totally donate to all the starving babies, don’t we Edward? Like totally John.)

I normally hear two arguments to counter my distaste for these peons. The first one is ‘Ah sure what harm are they doing, its just a bit of fun for the kids.’ Is this really what you want your children to aspire to? Spiky haired arseholes who think its ok to be really bad at what they do?

If you bought a car and it was it didn’t drive properly you’d bring it back. If you bought a car that you knew was rubbish in the first place, you’d be an idiot and all your friends would rightly ridicule you. Yet its acceptable to buy really rubbish music and just accept it. If someone tried to hand your child a cowpat you would call the police. Yet no one has reported their manager, Louis Walsh.

The second argument is ‘ They might be wankers but they are rich wankers.’ And whose fault is that. Who buys the cd? Who buys three tickets for their concert for their kids at 25euro a pop? Who buys the books? The Easter eggs? The tee shirts? The kebabs? The toilet roll?

So what if they are ‘rich wankers.’ The definitive word in that sentence is still wanker. Rich is just an adjective that is used to describe what kind of wanker they are. It doesn’t make being a wanker something we should hold up as a career choice. Including this sentence, I’ve used the word wanker five times in a paragraph. I really don’t like Jedward.

I’ll give the last word on the subject of X Factor and Jedward to a man who almost twenty years was railing against the talentlessness and pointlessness of the modern pop industry. Unfortunately things have only gotten worse since Bill Hicks died. Part of me would love to hear him rant on Simon Cowell….but then maybe he would have sold out and made a novelty record with him. Probably not though judging by these words.

“Because you know if you play New Kids on the Block albums backwards they sound better. "Oh come on, Bill, they're the New Kids, don't pick on them, they're so good and they're so clean cut and they're such a good image for the children." Fuck that! When did mediocrity and banality become a good image for your children? I want my children to listen to people who fucking ROCKED! I don't care if they died in puddles of their own vomit! I want someone who plays from his fucking HEART!”

That leads me right back to my original point. Musicians who are good at what they do and enjoy what they do should be revered. They should be held up as an example for children. I don’t mean all the sex and drugs part. That stuff is nobody’s business but there own. But if you can get a child to fall in love with an instrument and want to learn to play and want to be good at it, then they are on their way to being happy.

Disposition

I don’t think I could ever be described as ray of sunshine, although some have tried albeit sarcastically. Over the years I have tended to voice my grievances with the world’s ineptitude and have never been shy about letting people now if I’m upset. Someone once said I could change the mood in a room. They didn’t mean it as a compliment.

People who have only got to know me in the last year or two may not have seen this side of me. I’ve been trying to be a much more positive person. I’m a veritable happy go lucky scamp compared to the pre therapy Jayhaitch.

Its not that things don’t annoy me anymore. They do. Equally if not more so. These days however, I try to let things slide. Look on the bright side.

I do this for a couple of reasons. Obviously the main reason is because all that anger isn’t good for you. Getting stressed by (in a lot of cases, little) things is not good for the mental well being.

When people talk about a metaphysical weight off their shoulders this is what they are talking about. Getting wound up and holding on to pet peeves manifests itself as tension in the neck and shoulders. Let that shit go.

The second reason I’m less inclined to rant is that, in the end, nobody took them (or me) seriously. The first time I went off on a bit of a tirade, people may have been shocked. The second, they might have been taken aback. The third, they nodded knowingly. The tenth, amusement. By the time I got around to my twentieth they were downright ambivalent. Nobody wants that

I’m angry dammit, listen to me, cower at my outrage.

I was as effective as Mr. Furious in Mystery Men. So these days, I count to ten, hold my breath, bite my tongue, turn the other cheek and walk away. I’m also probably a little more considerate of other people’s feelings so I tend to keep in check my disgust if I think it might offend someone.

It wasn’t easy at first. Everything still bothered me. Not rising to people’s consistent idiocy was extremely trying. It was as if the world knew I was trying to self improve and it wanted me to test me. Push me to the limits. Sometimes I would rise to the bait, take a bite out of juicy worm of stupidity.

But as I worked on my smile and nod technique it got easier. My episodes became more sporadic. I developed a certain understanding. I practiced patience. I was down right calm. I have to say it feels good.

People have noticed this change and think it’s for the better. I know at least one person who gets annoyed by my being positive while she chooses to bitch and moan about everything. Some might even suggest if it came to a Zen-off I could probably give the Dali Lama a run for his money…as long as David Bowie was the judge and not Richard Gere.

They would be wrong. I still get pissed off, a lot. I can forgive them for getting it wrong though. I think I thought I didn’t get bothered by stuff any more. I do. I just choose not to voice it. I realised this last week I found myself getting aggravated by a couple on the bus.

It was 8.20 in the morning, the earliest I had be up in at least 6 months. It was raining. The battery on my MP3 player died half way through ‘This Is Where It Gets Good‘ by Eels and I was on my way to Fighting Words. I was going to take the lead with a group of twenty-five 9 year olds for the first time. I was quite nervous and trying to shut the world out.

Then two stops after I got on the bus I was joined by a pair of simpletons who were about to make my morning worse.

In what I imagined was the first flush of a budding romance, holding hands as they came up the stairs. He took the lead looking around for a seat for them both. The bus was about five eights full so there were plenty of seats available; however there was only one seat for two free.

They were both in their mid to late 20’s. He had that really fine strawberry blonde hair that makes it hard to tell if he is actually going bald. His cheeks were red as if in a permanent blush. If you can imagine Niles from Frazier had eaten too many Tayto sandwiches your pretty close.

She was wearing the world’s least sexy outfit of jeans and a GAA jersey, probably his. I think it was a club jersey but I really couldn’t say.

They sat down in front of me, he offered her the window seat but she declined so he sat on the inside. She sat beside her man. Snuggling into him, she rests her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her along the back of the seat, his elbow dangling over onto my side.

This is where I began to get irked. That was my space. He was invading my personal bubble. I paid one Euro sixty for this journey I want the air at least till the distance of the seat in front of me and here was this interloper trying to deny me.

Eventually he moved it. My tension abated briefly. Very briefly. They then began what can only be described as snogging. The kind of kissing 14 year olds do outside the local ice rink or bowling alley. Kissing for kissing sake. Kissing because they were boyfriend and girlfriend. The kind of kissing that makes me sick.

I have no real issue with (moderate) displays of public affection as such. But it was too early in the morning for that shit. They seemed to be on there way to work so it’s not as if the kissing was going to lead anywhere. And before anyone (female) says just because you kiss doesn’t mean you are going to have sex here is a news flash. Yes it does. We only do the kissing ladies, because we want the sex…if not immediately, later. We can play the long game.

In the past I would have coughed in a very unsubtle manner and told them to get a room. This time I didn’t. I went into my tongue biting routine but I was really aware that they were annoying me. I counted to ten. The anger built. I tried to think happy thoughts but they two slurping morons in front of me were very off putting.

Just as I was about to explode and slap them both in the back of the head they had a lucky escape. She stood up and said ‘This is my stop, I love you and can’t wait to see you later’ and kissed him goodbye. And that was it. My rage subsided and once the taste of sick at her parting comment left my mouth it was all good again.

As I finished my journey I was very aware of how much they annoyed me. And I was very aware how I had been appearing to not get annoyed. Little things like that didn’t bother me anymore did they? I guess they do. I decided that this re discovery needed some analysis. I was going to keep a record of all the little things that annoyed me for a week.

I didn’t have long to wait till I found items number two and 3 on the list. After my session in Fighting Words I went to the cinema. It’s a usual Tuesday afternoon thing for me to do. I was sitting waiting for Scott Pilgrim to start (still very enjoyable on second viewing) and the adverts had yet to begin even.

Cineworld at this stage normally pipes in movie related music over the P.A. The boss must have been off on this day and a member of staff hijacked the music system and decided we all needed to hear the new album by Diana Vickers.

For those of you lucky enough not to know who Ms. Vickers is, she is a reject from X factor. She sings with such an effected voice that she sounds like a cross between Kate Bush having an orgasm and Delores O Riordan from the Cranberries having an asthma attack. She has ‘distanced’ herself from her Xfactor days in an attempt to be taken ‘seriously’ as an ‘artist.’ One of her ‘lyrics’ is about how she hates ‘rich kids’ who shop in ‘charity’ shops.

How many sarcastic inverted commas is that? You get my point.

Number 3 on the list was the trailer for the movie Vampires Suck. A ‘comedy’ lampoon (ok, no more ironic ‘air fingers‘) of the Twilight. Bereft of any artistic merit, a cheap cash in on the movie franchise that already has no soul. It happens to have been hugely successful in the United States despite terrible reviews and coming from the same stable as Another Teen Movie, Scary Movie, Meet the Spartans and others of its ilk How could anyone not be annoyed?

I was going to put the guy behind who laughed at the trailer for this abomination of cinema on the list but when the movie was over and the lights came on I saw he was a man in his 40’s dressed in the full Liverpool away kit, socks and all. So I’ll let that slide.

The rest of the list was made up in part of the following things-

• Last minute cancellations
• 
  
• People not leaving a voice message (especially when they ring from a private number)
• 
  
• Bertie Ahern in that stupid ad. (Just Bertie Ahern in fairness)
• 
  
• Wanting to put something on my list but then realising I’m blowing things out of proportion
• 
  
• Passive Aggressive Behaviour. (You can slam as many things as you like but I won’t know what’s upsetting you unless you tell me.)
• 
  
• Losing the other stuff on my list of annoyance because I was recording them on my phone and I lost my phone.
• 
  
• Losing my phone.

So as you can see. I am still prone to the bout of vitriol. I think that’s natural though. It isn’t natural to keep it all in. Get annoyed, let it out and let it go. I will still try and keep a positive spin on things but occasionally I will think about the things that annoy me and try and let them out.

If only I had some sort of public forum where I could do that without shouting at people.

Support Group

Dear C.L.

How have you been? Hope you are well? You don’t mind me writing do you? Its just….Its… I miss you. There, I said it. I really really miss you.

I’m sorry I know right to say this. We never said it was forever. I always knew you couldn’t guarantee to always be there for me. Hell, you already changed your own rules once when it looked like I didn’t have the stuff to get to you.

After that time I tried really hard. You know I did. And it seemed to be getting easier. But that didn’t last. My friends all say you are fickle but I understand. You have certain requirements and if I wasn’t meeting them…then I guess I can’t be with you.

I’ll never forget those nights we had though. You made me feel so alive. So much passion, so much excitement. I swear there were times when you had me so exhilarated my whole body throbbed and I thought my brain would explode.

Those midweek rendezvous made everything else seem bearable. Even when the bread and butter stuff was going wrong you always found a way to make me feel hope. Even with all the hassle with the bosses you were there for me.

I hear you’ve started seeing T.H. Does he make you happy? Does he give you the thrills I used to. I know its none of my business who you see but I don’t think he’s good enough for you. He’s just a poser from ‘Laandan.’ He doesn’t have the class that I have….used to have.

I know he got you on merit but he’s not what you need. Those fancy things he gives you. The Van De Vaart and Modric? They’re nice and all…but what about all the good times I gave with Alonso and Masch? I still have the El Nino….you deserve the El Nino. And even if Mr. G is past his best he still has more good qualities than T.H.

You know I’m seeing E.L. of course. I can’t keep lying to myself. I hate her stupid face. She isn’t half of you…not even a small portion compared to you. When I’m with her, I fake it. She makes me use a Poulesen and Lucas. What kind of tempo and penetration can you expect with that. And she takes me to places like Utrecht. It sounds like S.T.I.

Remember the nights we had all over Europe. Madrid, Barcelona, Turin, London. And Istanbul. What a night. I thought I was finished. Over before I’d even got started. But you, you inspired me. I pulled out the most magnificent performance I can ever remember. Do you remember how you joked about my ‘Big Pole.’

I miss you so much it makes my bones throb and my heart ache. What I wouldn’t give to be there with you once again, sharing the highs and the lows. If you can tell me there is a chance…just a glimmer of hope, I’ll walk through deserts, climb mountains, sacrifice Sammy Lee. Anything to just once more be able to say you might be mine.

Don’t let the company I keep fool you. The likes of Hodgson and Knochesky I only keep around for E.L. I’m still in your league. We can be great together once again.

I love and miss you so much.

L.F.C.

For those of you who haven’t guessed that is not me pathetically pleading to be taken back by some European beauty. If only. No these are the pleas of a man deprived of something even more special than sexy time with a Spanish senorita. I’m talking about football.

I’ve been supporting Liverpool FC since 1986. In the interest of disclosure I need to add an addendum to that statement. I began supporting Liverpool in 1986 when they won the league and F.A. cup double. Before that I supported Man Utd.

I know, I know. Heresy. You are not supposed to switch football teams and you are definitely not supposed to switch between Man Utd and Liverpool. In my defence, I was only 10. And I only supported Man Utd because my nanny had gotten me an easter egg with a Man Utd cup. They didn’t win anything that year and Livepool had.

So yea, you can call me a fair weather fan. I like to think I’ve endured enough misery over the years to restore the karmic imbalance of abandoning my first team. Man Utd as anyone with oxygen in their body knows have become the biggest and most successful team on the planet. Liverpool? Livepool have become the bane of many tortured existences.

As the only member of my extended family who supports Liverpool, I’ve tolerated the (good natured) taunts and jeers of my United loving uncles, cousins and brothers for twenty years. I could always resort to the fact that my team had an overall historical better record. Man Utd have since caught up and Livepool only have slight advantage.

Do I regret my decision to switch allegiances? Not in the slightest. For all the heartache and torment, following Liverpool has given me some fantastic moments. They have an unrivalled penchant for drama even in defeat. I still have nightmares about losing the league in 1989 to that last minute Michael Thomas goal.

When they do win? Oh they do it in style. Their ability to come back when all seems lost in the big games is a phenomenon. Never has a team mastered delivering high drama and tension the way Liverpool have. Especially when it comes to the Champions League.

Last Wednesday, as I was once again losing a game of pool to my good friend Al, Man Utd were on the T.V. playing in the Champions League. For those of you who don’t know, Liverpool didn’t qualify for the Champions League and are instead competing in Europes inferior (no other word for it) competition, the Europa League. It was then that I decided to write the above letter.

Since then it has been an incredibly tumultuous week for all Livepool fans. A 0-0 draw to the above mentioned F.C Utrecht was bad enough. Our new managers comments after the game however were bewildering.

Roy Hodgson, who’s previous managerial experience with the likes of Fulham, Neuchatel Xamax and the Finnish national team was deemed the appropriate experience to take charge of one of the biggest football names in the world, said ‘It's the first time we haven't won one of these games but to be honest it would have been unfortunate for them if we'd won the game tonight. They would have felt hard done by. For me, a draw was a more than satisfactory result.’

Well I’m sorry Roy, actually no its not. Five years ago Liverpool where the champions of Europe. Their pedigree is second to none. In no way should they be considered fortunate to be on a par with a mid table Dutch club.

It was to get even worse. Three days later, at Anfield, for so many people the home of football, we lost to Blackpool. A team in their first season in the premiership. A team with no star players. A team expected to struggle to stay up in the top flight.

A team with more heart and character than Liverpool.

At the moment Liverpool sit third from bottom in the league. Fernando Torres is injured again. Our marquee summer signing, Joe Cole, has failed to impress so far. The team are playing a dull passive style that is not the Liverpool way. It is however, the Roy Hodgson way.

We have great players but they aren’t performing. So many players are playing out of their best positions and it shows. No one seems certain of what they should be doing.

All this without even mentioning the fact that they got knocked out of the League Cup by Northampton. That’s Northampton who at the time of writing are 19th in League 2, three divisions below Liverpool. It really isn’t easy being a Liverpool fan.

The letter to the Champions league seemed like a nice little blog. Something to make fun of the current situation that my team find themselves in. Then as when the Utrecht result came in, I didn’t feel like poking fun. When the Blackpool game happened, I was too depressed to post.

A lot of the malaise has been attributed to the clubs American owners Tom Hicks and George Gillette. They took over a couple of years ago using the club as collateral and have since crippled it with debt which in turn has delayed progress on promised developments for the team such as a new ground and investment in the team.

They have angered and alienated many of the clubs great fans and have changed the atmosphere of supporters from one of hope and optimism to despair. Supporter groups have organised in an attempt to oust the owners. Protest marches and sit ins are a common occurrence at Anfield these days. And while I’m sure thick skinned , brass necked Americans like Tom Hicks couldn’t care less about fan protests there is finally a chink of light for the put upon supporters.

The Americans inability to pay their debts resulted in the banks forcing them to sell the club. If they failed to do so before the 15th of October the club would then be repossessed (as such) by the bank. The Royal Bank of Scotland did not want this and put in a non executive chairman to ensure the club was sold.

This morning it looked like a sale was agreed. With more American but this time ones who have a track record for reviving flagging sports teams fortunes. New England Sports Ventures are the parent company of the Boston Red Sox. Since taking over the Red Sox they won their first championship in over 80 years and followed that up with a second. They renovated their old Fenway Park stadium, redesigned the management and playing staff structure and basically woke a sleeping giant. The head of the consortium, John W Henry (not the Steel Driving Man) was recently voted the best owner in Major League Baseball.

The saga has not had its happy ending yet as Hicks and Gillette are attempting to block the sale as they make no profit from it. Despite the fact that they have put the club in a position where financial administration is a possibility they still have the audacity to try and screw over the club one more time. Thankfully it does not look like they have a leg to stand on legally.

So whilst always being aware of the old adage of ‘once bitten twice shy’ it looks like off the field there is hope for Liverpool. Now, if we can get the team playing to its ability and in a style that its fans have become accustomed to there may be more reasons to be positive.

Its rarely easy being a Liverpool fan. But for emotional turmoil, drama, intrigue and high tension I wouldn’t swap it for any other team. This blog has been one the more negative ones I done. My team have given me a hard time lately and yet I’m able to find hope to end it on. Having hope, that sums up supporting Liverpool in two words.