#1 Paying women less

How can any organisation get away with paying women less to do the same job as men? A 3 set game may last less time than a 5 set match but that isn’t the point. The organisers don’t charge less to see women play. Many women are valued more highly by sponsors than men. In any other aspect of British life, legislation would force the organisers to pay women an equal amount. Don’t expect to read much about this over the next fortnight.

#2 Distorting the debate about British tennis

Every fortnight we have a wailing and gnashing of teeth at the failure of Britons to do better at tennis. For those two weeks of the year, tennis courts are full. Britain is the centre of the sport. And then we turn back to the football and the sport continues elsewhere. We still have too few people playing tennis, too few courts and too few coaches. It should be of no surprise that Britons aren’t better at tennis. If it wasn’t for Wimbeldon, we wouldn’t be surprised.

#3 Smug satisfaction

Expect to read lots of guff in the next fortnight about how WImbledon in The Best Tennis Tournament In The World. Most of it appears to be based on polite foreigners humouring journalists. As if playing (or, quite often, not playing) in rainy London in June is actually better than an Australian winter or Paris in spring. Unlike other sports, there is no competitive environment which awards Wimbeldon its Major status. Do better-trained ball girls and boys really create a better tournament?

#4 Andrew Castle

Talking of smug satisfaction, Andrew Castle is the embodiment of the problems of Wimbledon – the leader of the Wimbledon Watchers. The ubiquitous ITV presenter is diverted to tennis for a fortnight because he once picked up a racket at some point in the 1980s before going back to daytime TV. Never knowingly penetrating, rarely insightful but never lacking in a sense of satisfaction.

#5 Faux formality

Is there anything more silly than the faux formality of Wimbledon? It’s no wonder that British children grow up thinking that tennis is about quasi-militaristic changes of the ball, servants handing players towels and umpires in uniform. Can you remember what they wear in France, or how the ball boys in America throw the ball? No, me neither. Perhaps it’s a fond reminder to Daily Telegraph readers of the years of Empire.

#6 Suspicious of winners

Tim Henman was Wimbledon and Wimbledon was Tim Henman. A nice boy with a nice wife and well-to-do parents. A good player but not a very good player. And one quite capable of not appearing to try too hard. But how we loved him. Andy Murray, even if he wins Wimbledon (which is highly unlikely. He will probably win the US Open and never quite receive full praise gor it) will never be loved. Because he wants to win.

#7 Increasing jingoism

The 1980s weren’t all good. But at least the absence of British tennis players meant that we could focus on the tennis. In stark contrast, this year ITV News led on a question to Rafael Nadal on Andy Murray’s prospects this year. How rude is that? The best player in the world who has graced Wimbledon with some of its best gamesof recent years. Being asked about whether he thinks the 4th or 5th best player in the world of beating him. Imagine the same journalist filing a piece for London Tonight asking Sir Alex Ferguson what he thought of Chelsea’s prospects next season. No, I can’t see it either.

Tennis is a great sport. And Wimbledon 1990 inspired me to play. But a more modernised tournament, with a focus on the sport rather than the trappings would be a better contribution to our national calendar.

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I realiased before I went on holiday that I just watched too much TV. There would be evenings when I’d sit down on the couch after putting Eloise to bed and promise myself half an hour TV before dinner. That would turn into an hour, then a further hour during dinner. Then it would be 10pm and I’d be having to wake up early to catch up on the things I should have done the previous night. It had to stop.

In Cyburbia James Harkin estimates that the total amount of time it took to write wikipedia amounts to the length of time America spends watching TV commercials in a SINGLE WEEKEND. That’s what a time-sapper TV really is. And, fair credit to the Sky call centre operative, he didn’t argue when I said that I was cancelling it because I watched too much of it.

Tonight, I was reminded just why. I started 30 minutes during dinner which turned into an hour as I hopped between some comically bad T20 cricket (featuring 3 people in the stands and some awful fielding from Imran Tahir) a Barenboim Beethoven masterclass with the sort of ugly people in the audience that would have had Margaret McDonagh shaking, an episode of Friends I’d already seen and a review of the 2008/09 Premiership season which was an average one for Liverpool. A true waste of time. No-one wrote in Abe Lincoln’s biography that he achieved extraordinary things channel hopping during the civil war. So now it’s all gone.

So just wait to be amazed at what is possible without the power of Sky (and an extra £25 a month in my wife’s pocket). Next challenge: staying sober when I’m down the pub watching Liverpool games twice a week.

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Uefa must take some responsibility for this particular incident. Reports this morning suggest that Hamburg airport does not usually service night flights. That service is crucial to keep the cost down for fans, to enable them to get there and back during a working week (and ensure parents don’t get into trouble for children missing days off school). My experience of European finals is also that fans will have struggled to find hotel rooms. So Uefa should have considered the transport infrastructure more closely before deciding on Hamburg and given logistical support to the airport.

Uefa has history with poor logistics. In Istanbul they chose a stadium for the 2005 Champions League final that was impossible to access by road for many, leaving fans to walk miles over rubble and wasteland – with no thought of the potential for trouble.

In Athens in 2007 the failure to allow fans with tickets into the ground as a result of choosing a stadium without turnstiles or adequate stewarding obscured the subsequent transport chaos. I was left outside the stadium for 6 hours on a cold, miserable night with 200 other Liverpool fans because there were too few busses to take us to the airport.

On arrival at the airport we found unimaginable chaos given the unextraordinary nature of events. Liverpool fans were sent to a temporary hanger to keep them away from the Milan fans who had the main terminus despite the smaller numbers. In the tent hundreds of fans had taken a kip on the floor after being told that no flights were leaving. Rather than walk away at the entrance – as many did – I stepped over the fans and walked (unchecked) through security and passport control to the ‘departure gate’ – or flap in the marquee. With no audible announcements or useful information on the TV monitors I wandered out to the tarmac and boarded a couple of planes before finding one destined for Stansted. Having lost my ticket some time earlier I wad anxious about boarding but went unchallenged. People came in to the plane gradually until it started take-off – at which point it became clear that there were more passengers than seats. We got by.

Once again, the intricacies of the situation are not attribbutable to Uefa but the common thread suggests a failure of planning and leadership. You can only imagine the chaos if all 60,000 tickets went to fans rather than the 33% left after the corporates and football ‘dignitaries’ have been catered for.

Uefa under Michel Platini has made great strides towards legislating for a more equitable game in Europe. But unless they can get the big events right they will continue to give the impression that they lack respect for the common fan. When stacked against decisions to play on 11 September 2001 and continue through volcanic ash regardless of the difficulties presented to players and fans, it’s harder to dispute.

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There: I’ve said it. the first step to recovery. Yes, I’ve always been a bit compulsive – checking the teamsheet online one hour before kick-off (knowing the starting XI isn’t enough, teaching my daughter songs from the terraces, checking my favourite messageboards (Red and White Kop and The Liverpool Way) several times a day.

But I’m not just an avid football fan but an addict. I recognised my addiction when I noticed the extent to which I had stopped enjoying games – and even the aftermath of a victory. It isn’t just recent Liverpool results: I hated the last few games of last season, from Fulham away onwards. And after Liverpool’s defeat to Fulham last weekend, I couldn’t even bring myself to watch the La Liga games on Sky Sports.

Like all addictions, my wife doesn’t approve and neither would my daughter if she were old enough. And it’s an activity that costs too much money and takes too much time, given the relatively short ‘hit’ of a game. As with other addictions it’s too frequently indulged with other ugly, socially excluded men in dark, dinghy pubs.

Like an addiction periods of absence are awful, mind-numbing affairs (or international breaks as FIFA prefers to call them).

The build-up towards satisfying the addiction isn’t much fun. The anxiety over ticket availability, the performance of the opposition, the pre match assumptions. As with any other addiction, doing it isn’t much fun either. just a tense ritual. Mostly, the sensation at the end is a relief now, followed by anxiety about the next match, the financial health of the football and the stability of the club.

But I’m not ready to kick it just yet. The highs – however fleeting – are still too high. I even enjoy the despair as I know it’s just a prelude to another high. And reliving previous highs is too fun to abandon the present.

So in the short term, I’d settle for Rafa keeping his job, a good cup run and a top 4 finish. But maybe one day, by the time I’m 30, I’ll be slightly deadened by the highs and lows and ready for a more passing acquaintance with a former vice.

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Labour Party conference is the last big party meeting before the general election – half time if you will. I won’t be there. But if I could address the cabinet, this would be my message. And any coincidence with anything Rafa Benitez said at half time in Istanbul is entirely deliberate.

__

In the bowels of the Brighton Centre, the cabinet is assembled. Ragged. Dishevelled. Abject despair prevails. They are tired after a long season. They are 3-0 down at half time against a rampant opposition. All the talk before the game of the opposing team being too old, past it, has not been realised. They may be old but the old tricks are working.

The manager clears his throat and starts to speak. But it’s not enough to stop the hostility starting to break out between some of the payers.

“It’s worse than you think”, he says. They stop, taken aback.

“We’re headed, you are headed, for an historic humiliation. And given the financial state of this club, we may just be 45 minutes away from the start of the end for a great institution. An historically bad performance. Some of you will be left here, having to clean it up. Some of you may get other offers. But you’ll be forever associated with failure.

But before the future, this day is not over. Events have yet to run their course. There’s a long way to go before the final whistle. And you’ve got to go out there again, in the worst possible circumstances, to face your fate. You can shirk and it will hurt more. Or you can stand up and show that you deserve to be here. That you stand as quality individuals. That you represent something greater than yourself: a collective with a proud history.

Because if you go out there and try to vanish, head down, you will be lonely at the end. Or you can go out tehre and work together, as a team, to stand up for your reputation, your history, your achievements so far and your ideasls for the future.

I don’t know if we can win. I don’t know if we can protect ourselves from humiliation. But I do know this: we got here as a team. Playing for each other, for sure. But also as custodians of something much greater. The hopes, aspirations, dreams of a community who depend on you to do what they can not. Yes, they’re grateful you got this far. But it will pale into insignifcance against the worst defeat in history – the betrayal of what you gave away.

So, this is what we do next.

Gordon, the goalie: your distribution needs to be quicker. Don’t charge off your line and get caught out. Don’t worry about the fumbles in the first half, just catch the next one. Make yourself big. Narrow the target in one on ones.

Cruddas, left back: If you’re going to get forward your final ball has to better. Don’t get caught out of position. And make sure you’re covered defensively.

Miliband (D), right back: You need to get forward more. You’re not up against a substantial player. And when you’re in a position to make a telling contribution, don’t spend too long thinking about it.

Straw, Darling, centrebacks: Stay strong in the tackle. Be decisive on the air. Don’t get pulled out of position.

Denham, defensive midfielder: Every team needs a water carrier. You need to be bigger. You are on the national stage now. You’ve broken into the first team because you are good enougih. Now play like it.

Balls, midfielder: You are drifting out wide too much. Cut out the fancy tricks. Stop playing your own game and get stuck into the team. You were an integral part of how we got this far.Remember your role and your major strengths and provide more cover for the keeper and the back four.

Mandelson, attacking midfielder: You can’t be everywhere. You’ve got to galvanise others by doing the best you can  – not playing as many roles as you can. And when the ball drops to you, make sure you are there to make the pass or take the shot.

Harman, playing off the front man: You’ve got a role in attack and defence. Don’t get ahead of the play. Hold your position and pick the final pass.

Burnham, Johnson, wingers: I’m aware that you’re both playing out of position. You’ve got the energy, so use it. You’ve got tremendous strength cutting inside. We need you to hold the ball up and when you get a clear cut opportunity – take it.

Blunkett, sub: I know you are desparate to get on. Remember: being associated with a winning team brings rewards of its own. IF your chance comes, take it.

Now you are ready. Don’t think about the bigger picture. Just do the next thing well. Win the next tackle. Pass the ball. Keep the ball. And when you lose posession, re-group and work as a team to close them down and win it back. And if you do this, you won’t conceded the next goal. So you’ll be in with a chance. And I know that you – my team – only need one chance. Score a goal and everything changes.

And win or lose, you will have done it together. On this day, you’ll have reminded people what you are. You’ll have shown people that on this day, a team of people worked together for a greater cause. And if you do this today, there will be a future – thanks to you. The dream will live on.

So go out there and do the next thing well. You can control your destiny.

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