Hammam's Legacy

If you have a browse around the net, it will seem that I am a lone voice in my cynical assessment of Sam Hammam's tenure at Cardiff City. I feel like a salmon swimming upstream, such is the outpouring of gratitude and even grief in some quarters.

Even my attitude has softened. Take away the personality clash, the embarrassing proclamations, and the crass behaviour, and Sam's legacy is on the face of it, pretty impressive.

He has proved me wrong over past few years on several occasions. I thought he would walk away as soon as things got tough. I was sure that "Black Friday" was the end of him, but through sheer persuasiveness and hand pressing, he won the fans back. He has stopped his on the pitch shenanagins, has seemingly brought in serious investment and maybe history will prove me wrong again.

It appears that he took a struggling 4th Division club, and through a mixture of connections, chutzpah and bravado, has put the club in a position where it is on the verge of its biggest success for half a century.

So what is the problem ? Firstly, I am irritated that all of the club's recent success is attributed to the Chairman. There have been significant contributions from a number of people, who have then been discarded, and their reputations tarnished unnecessarily. I am thinking of David Temme primarily, who has received little recognition for his part in the stadium development, which was in place for some time before Sam arrived.

There are other dissenting voices, but as the editors of "The Thin Blue Line" will tell you, it isn't easy to criticise, or even question the regime at Ninian Park.

One man who is yet to be convinced that all is as rosy as it seems is Leighton Andrews AM, who raises important financial questions in his blog.

I am now playing a waiting game. I am prepared to admit that I might be wrong about all this. In ten years time, history might prove that I am just a bitter ex-employee, disgruntled at perceived unfair treatment. Cardiff could be playing in "The Sam Hammam Stadium", and there might be a statue in the forecourt of the man who saved the club.

But you know, when Leeds United played in the Semi Final of the Champions League, and Ridsdale was spending the money, as the fans were demanding, nobody wanted to consider the implications of the gamble. In hindsight, Leeds fans now revile a man they once adored, in the same way that City fans love Hammam. Ironically, Ridsdale is the man now in charge of another club building up huge debts which are apparently going to be wiped clean when they win the League.

A coincidence ? Let's wait and see.

Good Riddance Sam Hammam

When I heard the news that Sam Hamam was leaving Cardiff City, I bought a round of drinks to celebrate. However, more informed research, from more reliable sources than "Bubs" the Spurs fan has made me more cautious about the finality of Sam's supposed departure.

I should state a personal involvement here. I was working at Cardiff City when Sam Hammam took over the club. After a couple of months, it was obvious that our personalities "clashed", then we had a stand up row before one game and I walked out the following morning.

In one swipe, my twenty five year relationship with the club was hanging by a thread. It seemed that every moment of satisfaction from an increasingly successful Cardiff side was to be framed by the image of my nemesis striding around Ninian Park, waving a Welsh flag and generally "rubbing it in". It was like watching someone shag my girlfriend - in my own bed.

Recently, however, Sam has been keeping a low profile, and it is much easier to support Cardiff City when he is out of the picture.

This is not the place where I tell you about Sam Hammam. You have all heard stories about his behaviour. Let me just tell you that if you ever hear a story about Sam that sounds just too extreme in its cruelty, arrogance, narcissism, crassness and crudity, then it is probably true.

What really hurts me is that people that I have always respected, good genuine Cardiff City fans, have been flattered by the attention that he dishes out, and have been blinded by the success of the team. Most have seen the error of their ways after time, but even now most have blinkered themselves to the back stage workings of this currently successful run of theatre. They wouldn't care if Pol Pot scored the goal, as long as we won the Cup.

Suspiciously, the announcement comes just as Week in Week out is due to broadcast an apparently controversial documentary on the progress of the new stadium. And Sam's footsoldiers have been active recently, encouraging action against the BBC for publishing negative content about the club at the time of its most successful period for 35 years.

What interests me in this "resignation" statement is that Sam denied that he was ever Chairman of the club. He was always adamant about this. He used to mumble some platitudes about being the "Head of the Family", but I'm not sure that he was ever officially Chairman. How then can he resign?

Semantics apart, I am not convinced that he is about to disappear. He is still President. That's not an abdication in my book, that's just a cabinet reshuffle. But with family in America, maybe he'll go.

Last night, I walked around feeling like I did on the day that the Tories were voted out of Goverment in 1997. But this afternoon, after a day when more information has become available, I feel like I did when I discovered that Labour were no better.

I'll be at Ninian Park on Saturday, and I'm sure that it will be an emotionally charged experience. "We want Sam Hammam walking round the pitch" and all that. He will be there, waving his flags, and Ali will play "Thanks for the Memories." There won't be a dry eye in the house. Personally, I am delighted that I can once again support Cardiff City without the smallprint disclaimer.

Lighthearted Tannoy Announcements

There is nothing funnier than a lighthearted tannoy announcement. Official.

"Could the owner of a robin reliant please remove their vehicle from Sloper Rd, or it will be towed away." Manna for the terrace wag.

"Happy Birthday Ronnie from the lads at Panasonic. Big Bertha from accounts sends you an extra special kiss." Ho Ho Ho.

But the one that everyone craves, the King of the tannoy announcement is the following:

"Could Simon Forthwinkle please go home immediately as your wife is giving birth." Such is the fame that this announcement would bring, such is the kudos amongst your fellow fan that is gained by such dedication to your team, that many people aspire to missing the birth of their child in order to attend a Division 3 relegation struggle.

Four years ago, I set my targets a bit higher.

My second son was due on the day that Wales played Italy in a European Qualifier. The due date itself was handy, and it gave me plenty of opportunity to bluster my way through pre-natal conversations with concerned female friends. "Of course I'm going to the match. Some things in life are just too important." They would then rush home to break the horrific news to their partners, who would jump on the chance to concur with me . "Bloody right too. I'd do the same thing in his position."

It's all bravado of course, but when my wife started having contractions on the morning of the match, I found myself really having to make the decision; it was no longer simply a hypothetical wind-up opportunity. I went to the match, but I didn't drink, which I think was an admirable concession on my part. I gave her the number of the Millennium Stadium and left her with a cup of tea. Glengettie of course.

When we went 2-1 up, everyone else was praying for the final whistle, while I was praying for the tannoy call. Just imagine it. In the dying moments of the game, there would be a "bing-bong" and the crowd would fall silent. "Would Eric the Red please go home immediately as your wife has gone into labour." I would rise amongst my cheering companions, face the crowd, who by now would have identified me as the absent Father, wave regally, and decisively and hilariously remain at the game. I would be a legend.

When I got home that night, her bags were on the front doorstep, the front door was open and she rushed into the car. She had begun serious contractions half way through the second half, but seeing the score had decided that it would have been pointless to call me. A sensible sort, my wife.

As it happens, Eric Jnr. was born the following day after several hours of discussion about whether we could call him Simon, Bellers, or Craig.

I may have failed in the tannoy attempt, but at least now it is easy to remember my son's birthday. He was born on October 17th, 2002, the day after Wales beat Italy. My first son was born on April 27, the month and year when Cardiff won the FA Cup. See? - It's easy, this Fatherhood lark.

Let's have a pop at the English again

I am including some excerpts from Ronan O Gara's attack on English rugby published in the Guardian yesterday. I do so here, without reservation, bacause his comments could just as easily apply to English football, and indeed to the English in general.

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"We no longer suffer from being beaten before we even travel to England or France any more. We expect to win when we go over there. It's the same with Ireland. I've played against England six times and won four of those matches. That's not surprising to me because, between the walls of our dressing room, we always expect to beat England.

But the English public and their team have a hard time believing that. They still assume they should come out on top every time because, apparently, the natural order in rugby is that England are the greatest. It's probably down to the way they've been brought up."

I watch some Premiership rugby and I have to switch off the sound because I wonder if I'm seeing the same game. Their commentators are enthusing about the quality and excitement and I'm just like, 'Oh my God!' "Sky do an incredible job in dramatising the whole of English rugby, but the way they hype these English guys is unbelievable. I've toured with some of the players they're now saying are the best in England - and it just doesn't make sense. We all talk about the English players so this is the general opinion in Irish dressing-rooms. Some of the people they are trying to put on a pedestal just don't deserve to be there."

Celtic v Benfica

This is the era of multi-kitted teams, when clubs will wear a special kit for each different competition, when they not only have second kits, but third kits too. Sometimes, a team will also produce a special commemerative kit which they never even wear.

In this environment, you would think it possible for Celtic and Benfica to come up with a couple of kits that made it possible to distinguish between the two teams on television.

Evidently not. Last night's match on Sky was almost unwatchable due to the similarity of the pale kits under the floodlights. It doesn't look too bad in this photo, but on TV from the gantry, it was only the dark shorts of Benfica that gave you a chance of identifying the teams at a glance.

Benfica's kit was disgusting anyway. It was pale grey, but it seemed to have a light pink tinge from distance. They usually play in red, so why they changed it for Celtic was anybody's guess.