Barclay Talks Sport

The treasure hunter who inspired the young Indiana Jones said that at the beginning of the 'Last Crusade'. I've just watched the beginning of what should prove a magnificent tennis rivalry and the same words should be being said to Andy Murray by his coach, Brad Gilbert.

Murray, 15th seed, lost in 5 sets to Rafael Nadal, 2nd seed. It was 6-1 in the decider which was a margin too large given the effort and sheer skill of Murray. People might say he couldn't live with Nadal in the last set. They'd be wrong. He had break points in two Nadal service games and should have held all his own. What was the difference? Simple really, Nadal isn't no.2 in the world for nothing. He's a brilliant tennis player. Murray matched him. Indeed I thought Murray would win in four sets but the Spaniard was able to cut down errors and up his level. That's why he's no.2. Murray is still learning and growing. It was a quite fantastic match of tennis. 3hrs 50 minutes of skill and stamina by both men. It was exhausting and breath-taking to watch. And at the end, the respect between the two men and the sheer relief on Nadal's face said everything about how close the match was. I cannot wait to see them play each other again.

Murray is only 19. A year younger than Nadal. And if the Scot plays at that level consistently over the next 12 months, he'll be going to the ATP masters series final with a realistic chance of winning it. Make no mistake, Murray was magnificent. He has all the shots to be a champion and he has the fitness level now, as well. But just as importantly, even at three match points down he hit a service return forehand winner. And that was because he believed he could still win the match. Mental toughness will take him anywhere he wants to go.

My prediction... Andy Murray, world no.1 at 21.

You read it here first.

Some premiership managers are seriously one-eyed. I'm beginning to think Mourinho is the worst of them. Having lost to Liverpool very comfortably at the weekend, poor old Jose is lamenting the lack of strength in depth of his squad once more. Apparently he can't perform miracles. WHAT? The special one? What an admission.

It must be difficult for him, facing up to the problems that every premiership manager, nay, every club manager in the country, faces on a daily basis. Having to play players out of position. Oh, the hardship. Or perhaps he thinks that Newcastle's Nobby Solano is actually a full-back. I could go on. The point is, that he implies that the only way he can stop the 'rot' at Chelsea is to buy someone in. Probably an experienced international for £10m or so. And this is because those in his reserves/youths etc are not good enough to play in the premiership.

Why not? If you have a club structure that involves a squad at various stages of development, it is incumbent on you to ensure that you have emergency cover for every position at your club. If your youths and reserves are not progressing at the right pace then they are either the wrong players or they are not being pushed and coached to the right level.

Look at the Bridge, Jose. Go visit the rest of your players. See the talent you surely have just waiting their chance and who are all, to a man, right royally hacked off that you consider them sub-standard. Do something different and take a risk.

Blimey, you've even got those two lads who are the product of football icon...

Remember the halcyon days when a club could genuinely expect to be able to climb through the divisions and reach the top flight using a combination of luck, hard work, guile, no little skill and maybe the odd fresh face at a critical time. Wimbledon. They did it. But they'll probably be the last unless Bill Gates buys Torquay United.

I know that even back then, the bigger clubs had better options through greater finance. But in those dim and distant days, I could reasonably believe that Ipswich Town had a chance of winning the old first division.

Now, if you aren't in the premiership, that looks a forlorn hope at best. Like David beating Goliath only his sling is broken and there aren't any stones on the ground anyway. The new £625m overseas TV rights deal puts the tin lid on it. All will be divided between the top 20 clubs without even a nod at those below who still provide a good percentage of the players who grace it. And the gap between Prem and Championship, already wide, is about to become a chasm with a flimsy footbridge Indiana Jones would look at twice before crossing.

That's because now, you can earn £30m for coming last. What? Surely even the most cataclysmically badly run club can't fritter that much away. Not with parachute payments for a season or so too. Charlton, Watford, West Ham et al... sit back and relax. If you happen to be relegated, you will be so with so much cash you needn't be concerned about re-promotion. You can retain players, buy the best of the rest, do whatever and know the rest of the championship hasn't a hope of competing unless a sugar daddy comes a calling. If you fail to get back up at the first attempt, you should probably take up a different sport. Yes all right it doesn't come into play til next season but you see what I'm getting at.

Small wonder premiership clubs, players and managers have delusions of grandeur and importance. I'm not even sure they're delusions any more. This is a depressing time for those outside the top flight right now. It doesn't work that richer clubs pay bigger transfer fees. Not to cash strapped league clubs they don't. Only to other rich clubs.

It isn't a pyramid anymore. It's more a gentle sided plateau upon which sits a scorpion-encrusted, snake-encircled, slick-walled rock spire. Go on Indiana, climb that.

I heard Alan Green on FiveLive, twittering on about Becks. He was suggesting that the decision to move to the US signalled the imminent disappearance of Beckham from the radar and that because Major League Soccer is a 'joke' in the US, he shouldn't be heading west.

Respectfully, Mr Green, you are totally missing the point. Let's put the money aside for the moment, though I have no doubt it played its part like it does in every transfer. The fact that this story is all over the sports press in the UK, Spain and no doubt across the footballing world should be telling us that Beckham is unlikely to disappear the moment he gets on the plane. Does Alan Green really think that when Beckahm first dons the LA Galaxy colours, there will be no international press in attendance? Does he seriously think that there will be no interest in the progress of the biggest football celebrity the world has thus far seen? Please.

Think a little more laterally here. The owners of LA Galaxy have not bought Beckham on a whim. He is a massive figure in the UK and Japan, countries with which the US have particularly close ties. His influence on football watchers throughout the world really should not be underestimated. And for heaven's sake, at least they are trying to do something to raise the profile of their sport among the adult population. It is because the sport is currently a joke that huge names like Beckham are needed. It doesn't matter that he is a class above every other player. The fact that he is there is all that matters. It's about speculating to accumulate. Applaud the effort to improve the future, don't deride the present.

Beckham is his own man. He and his management make very few errors; and you cannot deny how hard the man works everywhere he goes inside or outside the game. He's already played for two of the biggest clubs in the world. This is a smart step away and a plan for the future. Whether he can being a revolution in the MLS is open to debate. But disappear? I hardly think so.

It is traditional to knock David Beckham though there has always seemed to me little reason to do so. To my knowledge he has done little to enrage fans other than to play for Man Utd and get himself sent off against Argentina in 1998. Granted that last was stupid and petulant and might have cost us the game. But only might have. We scored a good winner, chalked off by the ref then did what we do with or without him. Lost on pens. But anyway.

So this US thing then. For the money? Well if it is, who cares? Here's the choice he was effectively given.
1. Carry on playing for Real by sitting on the bench but thanks for helping us sell so many shirts.
2. Do the same in Italy for a Serie 'A' Club.
3. Come to England, play in the premiership and suffer extraordinary abuse from the fans regarding you and your wife and from the press because you aren't still at your peak after 15 years at the top.
4. Come to the US, a country which you and your wife love. Add some real celebrity to major league soccer, playing for a team whose owner wants the game to be massive over there. Knock about with your 'A' list friends. Add energy to the Beckham soccer schools you've opened there. Get no filth from fans or media. Ever. Oh, and have $120-odd million over the next five years too.

Tough choice, eh?

David Beckham has gone to take on a new challenge. Anyone who thinks he has just 'gone for the money' is ignorant and blind. And jealous too, I expect. The fact is that he has always given his all at everything he has done. It will be no different this time. He loves his football and he loves his celebrity. What better place to enjoy them both together at this time in his life? Good on you, sir. Good on you.

I've checked. It is not April 1st. Therefore, we can assume that poor old Jose really believes he is having a terribly hard time at the helm of Chelsea FC right now. Not enough quality players, apparently. A terrible injury list. I mean, he probably only has twenty or so full internationals fit to play. His expensively mussed up hair must be a little greyer every day.

But it gets worse. He isn't to be allowed to buy and so he won't sell anyone either. I'll pick up your toys for you Jose, there there.

But it gets worse. This are hard times for Chelsea. His worst in football management, he says. But they'll pull through. Somehow. I thank god I have a spare shirt as I fear my heart is bleeding. One day, Jose, you really must visit Earth. Nice little planet, just to the left of Mars. Hard times? Give me strength. Or as my fine friend Ariel put it: 'well, boo hoo.'

But you can see Jose's point, surely. Chelsea's disastrous recent form and apocalyptic injusry crisis, plus their apparent lack of finance for new players has made a car crash of their season. A lowly second in the Premiership table, through to the next round of the FA cup, second leg of league cup semi to come at home and only just scraping into the Champions League knock out top of their league. Who would swap to take on that mess? Not Torquay, that's for sure.

You may believe, Jose M, that your breast-beating brings great sympathy. I think ridicule and contempt are more likely reactions. Just get on with it and stop whining, please.

I'd like to think that I will not rant on such things as this too much but, honestly. The long faces, tragedy-stricken expressions and acres of column inches devoted to one particular element of this match might make the uninitiated think there had been a planet-wide disaster.

And that disaster is, apparently, Liverpool shipping six goals at Anfield for the first time in 70 years. Big bloody deal. Ian Rush, who does a very good long face, appeared as if someone had massacred his entire extended family and implied that it shouldn't be allowed for oppo teams to score so many at Anfield. Like this smear on the club's stats should be illegal, certainly expunged from the collective consciousness and possibly that the perpetrators rounded up and shot for insulting the fans on the Kop. There is no doubt that I, and the rest of the football watching public, am being asked to feel terribly sorry for the poor old 'pool.

Why does this get my goat? I'll tell you why. A couple of seasons ago, Liverpool beat Ipswich Town 6-0 at Portman Road. It snuffed out a recovery and signalled our slide out of the premiership. We got relegated, lost £30 million and went into administration. I don't recall us beating our breasts, wailing or gnashing our teeth. Or anyone feeling sorry for us. Nor should they.

Liverpool, on Tuesday night, got knocked out of a relatively pointless cup competition. GET OVER IT.

We saw the best and worst of darts at the PDC world championship this time around. And, with this blog title nodding respect to Sid Waddell, we had classic commentary from the great man too. It will be a sad day when he retires. Please don't, Sid. Not ever.

The worst...

Chris Mason's pathetic, unprofessional and totally unwarranted outburst after his defeat to Phil Taylor. Yes he got a right hammering but that happens in every sport and the true professional shakes hands, says 'well done' and goes back to the practice board to make sure it doesn't happen again. Instead, Mason chose to blame Taylor for his own failings on the night, basically accused Taylor of taking the piss by constantly making his third dart count after two poor darts (and how ridiculous is that... the ability to stow a fine third dart after two poor darts is what separates champions from also rans, Mr Mason) and most laughably of all, consdered the best way to end the match was to take care of business in the car park. Good grief. Darts does not need players like Mason on this showing. Taylor's threat to walk away was over-the-top dramatics but I agreed with his sentiment. No one deserves to be abused or threatened while at work. Unless they are reality TV contestants, then it's probably OK.

Phil Taylor has a reputation for arrogance. I must confess I have never really seen it. Sure, he's supremely confident but you know, he's 13 times world champion. I reckon we owe him that.

My advice to Chris Mason is: go and work harder. If you think you must humiliate Taylor in some way (and this makes you weak to begin with since desire for petty revenge is a despicable emotion) then do it on the oche. In the car park? Give me strength.

The best...

The final. Pure and simple. Phil Taylor vs Raymond Van Barneveld. An astonishing match that I almost turned off at 3-0 to Taylor because it looked like it was going to be an embarrassment for Van Barneveld. It ended up as the best match of darts I have ever seen. I know darts has many detractors and the section above unfortunately adds fuel to their fire, but this final was tension and magnificent theatre right from the moment Barney began his fight back at 3-1.

For those not quite in the know, it's the first to seven sets. To win a set you have to reach three legs. To win a leg you have to score 501 points and end on a double (that awfully narrow ring around the outside of the board). Never mind the rest of the match, the final set was extraordinary. These two players, neither consistently at their best, both managed to pull out supreme shots under the greatest of pressure. The final set went all the way to a sudden death leg. Barneveld won. But what I loved was the technical skill on display as the match reached three hours and more. Both men able to use the barrel of the preceding dart to direct the next just where they wanted it. Both men taking cover shots that kept up the pressure on their opponent. Both men burying doubles when to miss would be to lose.I could go on and on. Really stunning stuff.

And at the end, great respect from both combatants after a true epic. Oh, and Taylor, having lost his crown in what could be considered the cruellest of circumstances, turned round and said it was the greatest final he had ever played in. Perhaps you would like to take note of that reaction, Mr Mason.