Mascot of the Week 19

Name – Robin Hood

Affiliation – Nottingham Forest

Colour – Caucasian skin pink

Animal – Homo Sapien

Missle Most Commonly Pelted With – Cheap Nerf bow-and-arrow sets

It probably didn’t escape most people’s attention that last season the once-mighty Nottingham Forest earned promotion up into the Championship, and took the first step back towards the greatness that they were associated with for so many years. However, while a lot of folk around the country praised the players and the management there was a behind the scenes change that I think those in the know will acknowledge as playing a far greater part in the drama than pure coincidence.

You see, after many loyal years service, Forest’s old mascot Sherwood the Bear was retired last June, to make way for the considerably more ‘direct’ figure of Robin Hood. You may have heard of Hood’s history while at school, his stories are pretty legendary. In many ways he was the world’s first hooligan, and together with his firm of 7 “merry men,” roughed up a lot of rich folk’s manors with concrete-filled newspapers (oh, he invented concrete too by the way) and re-distributed their wealth to his crew. Even though he wears tights and skirt, the apparently-immortal Robin Hood’s look is definitely more from the Batman school of tight-wearing than the ballet one.

So sure, while Sherwood was running tings kids had a huge smile permanently plastered on their faces, and he used to comically take penalties at half time, but football fans ask yourself this: would you rather have a furry and loveable loser as your talisman, or a tattooed hard-nut who fires iron spikes through opposition supporters’ faces? Exactly.

The Only Couple that Make the Rooneys Look Good

You might remember a little while ago we showed you just how little taste Andriy ‘Fat Paris Hilton’ Voronin and his chav-tastic wife Yulia have when it comes to clothes.

Well now she’s pregnant for the second time in ten months, which is obviously a sign of pure class. But thankfully this neither stops her from dressing like a magic eye picture, nor him like a muscle beach homosexual.

Well that’s about it really. It’s been a long day. In other news Chelsea have just prick-teased everyone all day about unveiling a new signing, only to reveal instead that Fat Lampard has signed a new contract. Whoop-de-fucking-do.

It’s Tough Being Really, Really Good Looking

For all you lovers of all things lady-shaped, Hollywood beauty Eva Mendes has recently been frolicking around in underwear for Calvin Klein quite a lot. On top of a sweet poster campaign, she has also appeared in a TV commercial stateside that was deemed too hot for common consumption, and subsequently banned by the powers-that-be. As signs go, that’s normally a pretty good one.

Anyway, it seems that she is the latest to join a long line of insanely attractive women who have unveiled a soft spot for David Beckham. Speaking thrillingly to office-favourite Cosmopolitan, the presumably-now-retired-as-an-actress lingerie model said: “Attractiveness is primal – it’s something you can’t put your finger on,’ she tells Cosmopolitan. I’ve met guys who are great looking, but there was no spark, and I’ve met guys who’ve been overweight and balding, but when you talk to them you’re like “wow,” I’m really attracted to this person. Smell is important too. Would David Beckham be as beautiful if he smelt like old socks and bad cheese? Actually, bad example – he probably would.” Eva and David sitting in a tree…K-I-S-S-I-N-G…

On top of the usual tirade of pointless slags like Rebecca Loos and that Chantelle idiot, several upstanding ladies have also expressed an interest in D. Beck, further begging the question of why he insists on punishing himself with that vacuous orange surfboard, the artist-formally-known-as-Posh Spice.

A couple of years ago now both Dannii and Kylie Monogue revealed that they had a crush on the LA Galaxy man, with the sluttier of the sisters telling cracking magazine B that her dream night would involve being spitroasted by Becks and Brad Pitt. Nice.

Real actress Salma Hayek also quite likes a bit of the Beckmeister, outbidding professional man-hater (and editor of Vogue) Anna Wintour to bag a private coaching session with David Beckham for $350,000 at the Madonna and Gucci Malawi Benefit in February 2008.

Finally, who could forget this time last year how excited a pre-lesbian-phase Lindsay Lohan got by the Beckman’s arrival in America, betting socialite pals $50,000 she could lure the married lothario into her cocaine-soaked den of iniquity by Christmas. She failed, and subsequently turned to girls out of desperation. Why Lindsay, why?

The Best Damn Club in Town

Since dumping inflatable fun-bucket Nereida Gallardo, Cristiano Ronaldo has been having a whale of a time. In between busy stints tanning himself blacker than night, the Portuguese winger has been rubbing shoulders with Paris Hilton, David Beckham and Justin Timberlake, and dating a foxy Italian model called Letizia Filippi. Presumably her Portuguese isn’t too great, and I doubt he’s learned Italian for her, but whatever, they’ve clearly found a couple of ways to communicate.

Just to compound how much you hate Ronaldo, today the feisty Italian revealed that the pair share a wondrously saucy fantasy: “We have exchanged dozens of hot messages,” she drooled. “My dream would be to get on a private plane, just the two of us, and do it at high altitude. It would be so romantic.” While ‘romantic’ isn’t exactly the word I would’ve chosen, I think you’ll all share my sentiments of violent jealousy.

Down to Earth

Christ, it must be pretty rough being a Derby fan. After literally the worst top flight season in English football history, they opened their Championship account this year with a home defeat to newly-promoted Doncaster. At home. Ouch. Paul Jewell’s record as the Rams boss is now 1 win out of 29, and however you decide to chop it up, that is miserable to say the least. I’m sure fans were thinking from about March onwards last season that they would remember what is was like to win again soon enough, but this weekend’s defeat will have raised some serious concern amongst the Rams faithful. Obviously let’s not jump to sensationalist conclusions after just one game, but I’m not sure I would be that surprised if Derby were to go straight through the Championship this year and end up in League One this time next season. I don’t think they will, but based on the overall ability of the team and the competitiveness of the Championship, it could happen. Defensively, the word woeful doesn’t quite cover it, but in Roy Carroll they thankfully have a top class goalkeeper, who’s worth at least a couple of goals per game. Up top, well, I just struggle to see where goals are gonna come from. Anyway, like I said, there’s little value in giving them the last rights just yet, so kudos to Doncaster on a great showing.

The other recently-relegated sides also found life hard back in the Championship, with tight games against tenacious opposition to signal that respecting reputations it is not what this league is all about. Birmingham on paper have to be favourites to bounce straight back up, and in Larsson and McFadden especially, they have players that’d walk into most top half Premier League sides. After much delightful interplay though, Birmingham found Sheffield United too resilient too actual football, and so with 93 minutes on the clock, a long ball found new signing Kevin Phillips, who controlled and swivelled effortlessly to score once again on debut and give the Blues the points. Reading meanwhile were also given a game, this time by another newly-promoted side, Nottingham Forest. It’s great to see them back in the big time, and they proved that they have every right to be there against a Reading side, of which 9 players started the last game of the Premier League. What’s just as remarkable though is that 7 of that starting 11 actually played in the Royals’ final Championship game three years; it’s testament to the team’s spirit and Steve Coppell’s steady hand. Anyway, 90 minutes and no goals, but Forest should thank keeper Paul Smith for producing a wondersave from a Kevin Doyle header late on.

So, what are the chances of all three relegated teams coming straight back up next season? Hmmm, it’s a poser certainly. Birmingham surely have enough to walk this league, but as for the other two promotion spots? My money’s on QPR and Crystal Palace. Or Charlton. Or Norwich. Or…you get the picture.

Need Help Sitting on a Bench?

Because help is at hand for all you aspiring pseudo-footballers out there that don’t give a shit about your career and only want to drive a diamond-encrusted Hummer to China White and back four times a week. You see rather than follow his brother Bradley’s example and head into a life of petty crime, Shaun Wright-Phillips has decided to supplement his astronomical income by setting up his own football academy. Apparently he has done this without a hint of irony either, with the website blurb advertising skills-based coaching and also particular hints about mastering Shaun’s very own dribbling method. Wow, if only the cut-off age wasn’t 12 otherwise I’d be down there in a flash!

Although one of the summer courses started today, don’t worry, because there is another chance to rub shoulders with the small and underwhelming in a fortnight’s time. There are 72 spaces per course so book early, but there must be a website error at the moment because it’s showing that there are still 72 spaces available for the August 25^th – 29^th academy. I simply cannot believe that.

So direct your browsers to the awesomely-urban stylings of www.clubswp.com then for a real treat. Not only can you book your children on a course guaranteed to make them at least as successful as one the Wright-Phillips boys (possibly the one that’s in jail though), you can also win the chance to join Shaun on an undoubtedly-thrilling Harley Davidson bike ride. Most excitingly however, there is also a club shop where you can buy your very own SWP branded gear…pens, mugs, water bottles, you name it…basically, if you can ruin something with an incongruously-monogrammed logo, he’s done it.

It Ain’t Over(mars) Till the Fat Lady Sings

Regulars to this site will probably tell you that it’s not very often that we are kind towards Arsenal or any of their associates. There’s the odd player over the years that slips through the net though. That is to say that for every undeniable prick like Freddie Ljundberg, there is class act like Thierry Henry that transcends the ‘Arsenal-ness’ of the rest of the team and manages to be almost likeable. The above man is another example of this, and simply one of the most impressive players of our generation; Dutch winger, Marc Overmars. So why the impromptu bukkake? Well the former Arsenal, Ajax and Barcelona is this week set to miraculously return to professional football, after retiring back in 2004 due to a persistent knee injury.

He is currently the general manager of his formative club, the fantastically-named Dutch second division outfit Go Ahead Eagles(!) however, with the club finishing a disappointing 10th last season, Overmars has vowed to return to action in order to help the club push for promotion. He told the club's official website over the weekend: “I am doing it for Go Ahead. This will help the club move forward. Of course I will find it fun to play again too.”

The 35-year-old apparently impressed during a recent testimonial for former Holland star and professional Easter Island statue Jaap Stam, and is confident he can still perform to his best. He modestly added: “I was surprised that things went so well during the Jaap Stam match, and that I still had the speed. I stopped playing four years ago and train just once a week, but a lot can happen on will power alone. I hope to pass that on to the team.”

Jermaine Sure Can Pick Em!

There’s just something about the name Jermaine that conjures up an instant image that the owner is a moron. I’m not being racist, or class-ist, it’s just that all available empirical evidence confirms this. King of the Morons is obviously Jermain Defoe, but since he’s been disappointingly quiet recently, I’d like to take some time now to talk about one of his old pals, Jermaine Pennant. His previous conquests include blonde rent-a-rack Amii Grove, who discovered he’d cheated on her by watching his mansion’s CCTV footage, but to be honest, if you spell your first name in such a ridiculous way, what do you expect to happen? Now though the underwhelming winger is ticking another box on the wannabe-playboy sheet, by swapping a page-3 model for a soap actress; a Hollyoaks one at that.

Now Hollyoaks is renowned for attracting braindead and conceited bitches, so it’s no real surprise that to footballers, they have the same effect as a red rag to a bull. The one Jermaine went for goes by the name of Jennifer Metcalfe, and when she’s all nicely make-uped and photoshopped by magazines, she’s actually quite fit. She is however categorically an idiot, as evidenced by some comments uncovered by Wagsblog.com today. Now when most girls grow up they want to be gymnasts or vets; not our Jennifer though. She apparently knew that at heart she was destined to be a tarty piece of eye candy, and revealed today a long-term passion for vice: “I had ambitions, although they were misguided,” she explained. “I’ll always remember the look on my mum’s face when I declared: ‘When I grow up, I’m going to be a lap dancer.’ I assumed it was a glamorous job!”

She continued: “When I was 12 I watched Band Of Gold and decided I wanted to be a prostitute!” And just think, just over a decade later, her dream came true! Sorry no that’s harsh, being a part-time actress and lad’s mag model doesn’t make you a whore. Sleeping with a footballer because he’s famous, drives a Ferrari, owns a wardrobe worth more than half a million pounds, and buys you diamonds sure as hell does though.

Why Doesn’t This Ever Happen in My Office

It sounds like the start of a joke doesn’t it: how many cheerleaders can you fit in a lift? Well, some bright sparks in the home of the bright spark, Texas, decided to try and answer that question in an experiment of Newton-esque importance. For those of you here purely for the result by the way, I’ll get it out of the way now: 26 cheerleaders is apparently the most you can fit in a lift.

Anyway, the heroic girls, aged dangerously between 14 and17, managed to get into the lift on Tuesday night at the couldn’t-be-more-appropriately-named Jester Residence Hall on the University of Texas campus. After taking deep breaths, and possibly removing all semblance of clothing to save space, they managed to close the lift doors and descend to the first floor, but when they touched down the doors jammed, sending the visionary young ladies into a frenzied mass of braces and pom-poms. After one of the cheerleaders eventually contacted the outside world by calling from a mobile phone, repairmen were despatched to release them. However, it took 25 minutes to open the door, and in the meantime one girl fainted and had to be treated in hospital. Can you imagine the look on the repairman’s face when his mundane day of electrical faults and broken taps was interrupted by jimmying open a lift door to find 26 teenage cheerleaders? JACKPOT!

Predictably though the university authorities overseeing the cheerleading camp failed to see the funny side: “It's dangerous actually,” said po-faced Rhonda Weldon, the university police spokeswoman. “They're lucky that that's all that happened. Take the sign seriously,” was her valuable advice. “There are signs everywhere: no more than 15 people or 3,000 pounds.” Cheer up love!

I’d Rather Outline My Body in White Chalk

Everyone knows Rio Ferdinand is an absolute joker, but did you also know he is a very astute record label executive? No me neither, but apparently he co-owns and runs the sinisterly-named White Chalk Music, with the worthy manifesto of promoting the hottest urban talent Manchester has to offer. It seems however that he was unable to find any of this talent, so has had to settle for some girl called Nia Jai, an ex-nurse who won a competition to be signed by White Chalk. You know, I hear all the best artists are signed after winning competitions.

Her debut album, the cleverly-titled Black Ice, will be released on October 6, and yes, you’re prayers have been answered, for it does indeed contain Rio dropping verbals on at least one track apparently. In a segment printed today in The Telegraph, the Manchester United man raps: “This is Rio Ferdinand. Make sure you do not sleep on Nia Jai, White Chalk’s first signing. This girl spits out fire.” Wow, those are some big bars, this is clearly not his first time! I have a sneaking suspicion that Mr Ferdinand might well be headlining Glastonbury next year…

Anyway, the first Nia Jai single is imaginatively called ‘Hey Girl,’ and features guest appearances from two clowns called Chipmunk and Natty Boii. Not one to just criticize for the sake of it, I feel it is my duty however to warn you that this is among the worst pieces of ‘music’ ever recorded. Whoever the pre-pubescent guy is who raps the first verse, I’m guessing the infamous Chipmunk, he needs to stop now. Forever.

Rio was obviously quick to big up his first release, hyperbolically dribbling: “Nia's album is incredible; her collaborations with Chipmunk and Sway are a testament to her talent. I'm made up to be launching her first single and album.” The circle-jerk continued with these gushing words from Nia, praising the man who I’m sure is keen to be called her mentor: “Rio has been involved a lot. He has been in the studio with me and texts me with ideas and opinions,” she said ominously. As far as positive indications of future success go, this is pretty lowdown on the scale, but still she seemed pretty pleased that: “He even has my CD in his car.”

Now, this is all very exciting I know, but the real question is: what the hell happened to that Snoop Dogg and D. Beck collaboration we heard about a couple of months ago? Honestly, hearing Beckham’s cartoon character voice over a Dr Dre beat will mean I can die a happy man.