Supercoach Out. For now...

The innaugural season as Supercoach is over. The Mighty U13s did an amazing job this year of turning from 14 kids who didn't know each other to a force to be reckoned with in the U13s West Bubblefuck District Soccer competition.

The highlight of this winter really was working with these boys. Oh, and that weekend that Erin came to stay was a highlight too... But really these boys were brilliant to work with. We went from 5th to 3rd in the comp in the last round. We won a game 10-0. We reduced our margins of defeat against the top teams, and fought successfully against the middle order. I lost my voice at least half a dozen times. The boys learned to share, developed a hatred of the hill sprints and worked their way to playing some beautiful football. And the concept of 150% has entered the U13s lexicon.

I'm hoping I get most of them back again next year - though I will probably lose my Supercoach Sidekick (don't tell him I called him that - I don't think he'd like it). The Mighty U14s could take over the world.

Happy Daiz

Spaced has its 10th birthday this week. The unparalleled, most brilliant, genius television show ever created in the history of this universe... without a hint of hyperbole.

Spaced makes other sitcoms seem like someone is using a paintball gun to permanently damage your kidneys by shooting you a million times, from the front. It makes other sitcoms seem like a never ending sweaty room full of baked-on, caked-on, greasy dishes to wash up that goes FOREVER. It makes other sitcoms seem like you are humiliating yourself at a job interview.

Wittier than Bill Bailey and Ricky Jervais put together. More random hilarity than David Walliams could conceive. More quotable than Anchorman. More likeable characters than The Goodies. More intertextual references than Shrek (or as channel4 says, more pop culture references than you can shake a light sabre at).

And I'm not the only one besotted by this TV brilliance. This week other (more serious) writers have been inspired to opine ad nauseum about just how fantastic it is - NME and The Guardian for a start.

In the heady days of Astolat Manor, Spaced was a Tuesday night ritual. In the pokey flat above the pub in Waterloo, Spaced was the room to breathe and the post-work tonic. In the Kilburn sharehouse, Spaced was my educational gift to the flatmates (just down the road from the pub where they did the shooting of the pub scenes, where we turned down getting pissed with David Soul for a lamb roast!).

Spaced is a love affair that has stood the test of time. Boyfriends have gone (and a divorce like settlement over who owned the VHS tapes did ensue) and come and gone again (possibly because he couldn't see what I thought was so incredible about this show), but Spaced stays true.

This kind of show makes you want to buy a miniature schauzer. To smoke a big fat doobie on the way to a pub in Camden. To dance cheesy soldier like moves to a remix of The A-Team theme song. To eat too many twiglets and punch a performance artist in the face. To have a slow motion gunfight in a back alley with teenage thugs. To build a robot and join an illegal robot fight club. Oops, I'm not allowed to talk about that...

If you have seen Spaced, and you feel like I do, then we are destined to be friends. If you have not seen Spaced, then I don't know why you are still reading this when the 3 disc box set is such a reasonable price on Amazon (or other cheaper, less legal avenues). If you have seen it, and you didn't like it, best not mention it to me really. I might take it the wrong way.

Happy birthday, Spaced.

The Root of all Emo

Wow, it has been ages since I posted...

I am a non-believer in the Emo movement. I tend to find people who consider themselves emo to be self obsessed, overly self-conscious and wrapped up in the cliche of not being a cliche. I have been known to scoff at the long fringed, stripe socked and the guy-lined.

But with a sense of friendliness, rather than Mexican-style-homocide-riot-emo-killing kind of scoffing.

Craig Schuftan is the dude who talks on JJJ about all things historic and cultural. He explains to the kiddies how they stuff they love now is based on stuff that has been loved for years and years. He tends to pull up loads of interesting bits of trivia that, as a music trivia fan (nay, expert or officiando... officianda?), I find just delicious.

So when I was trawling through an ABC shop to find more oblong things to spend my hard earned on (seriously, I need to kerb this serious addiction to books and dvds), I saw Neitzche, Leave Those Kids Alone. And based on the title alone, I knew I must have it. We all know that I love a good pun. And a pun based on both a religion-hating philosopher and a Pink Floyd song, well that is just asking to be purchased.

When reading this book, it feels like Shuftan's melodic voice is dancing in your ear. Once I got past his obvious affection for all things Chemical Romance, especially the Black Parade album, the book was a great read. I've never really considered the fact that the emo subculture is pretty much a reincarnation, or a continuation, of the 19th century Romantic movement - a turn away from God, from the betterment of society, from making art to reflect the human condition towards the self. The Romantics were All About Me - MY emotions, MY true love, MY misunderstood suffering... Sound familiar?

And in between were the New Romantics, the Joy Divisions, The Cures, and he of all things self-God-like, David Bowie. The New Romantics knew that they were channelling the Byrons and the Wagners - they even refer to the source it in their moniker. But I kind of get the impression that the emo kiddies - not the emo musos (most of whom reject the label) - think that they just might be the original centre of the universe, and nothing like them has ever come before so nobody can ever understand their pain.

The book didn't change the way I feel about kids with their fringe sliding over their face in too tight jeans. But it did make me think that the musicians I had maligned so much are actually aware of their musical heritage. And if they are not, then at least Shuftan is. And now, I am too!