It takes a certain type of person to want to be the chairman of a football club.

The potential of intense public loathing means the requirements for wanting the job go beyond basic financial greed. The obsession with power, control and glory common to most chairmen means they generally fall somewhere in the same bracket as military dictators on the personality scale.

The enormous amounts of money involved in football over the past 10 years has seen an explosion of power-crazed lunatics from all over the world queuing up to buy Premier League clubs and establishing themselves as some of the game’s most fascinating, mad, cruel and hilarious characters.

With this in mind, we’d like to welcome you to our countdown of football’s five most controversial chairmen (if you think we’ve left anyone out, please let us know in the comments section below). Expect tantrums, fan protests, shady backroom dealings – and Vincent Tan.

5. Malcolm Glazer (Manchester United)

The first chairman on our list is the only one who is sadly no longer with us. Beardy Yank property mogul Malcolm Glazer took control of Manchester United during a protracted shareholder buy-out that lasted from 2003-2005, and was met with fierce resistance from Old Trafford diehards.

Supporters of the Red Devils could at the time be seen wearing yellow and green scarves to matches in protest to the acquisition – an apparent reference to the club’s original colours and a scandalous gesture, which must have had the American magnate quaking in his no doubt incredibly expensive boots.

Such was the opposition to the takeover that a section of disgruntled fans even went as far as founding a new club, with the original and catchy title of ‘FC United of Manchester.’

The hostility to Glazer quietened somewhat in the seasons that followed, as United continued to dominate the Premier League and benefited greatly from the injection of his vast personal fortune.

With hindsight, it’s difficult to see quite what United fans were so concerned about with Glazer’s involvement – his reign at the club was relatively benign, and he was barely heard from in public throughout his entire tenure – but the hysteria his mere presence managed to spark grants him a well-deserved position on our countdown of controversy.

4. Simon Jordan (Crystal Palace)

Undoubtedly the most outspoken of the chairmen on our list is perma-tanned, peroxide ponce Simon Jordan. The former Crystal Palace boss made his money flogging dodgy mobile phone contracts to unsophisticated punters in the late 90’s, before saving the Eagles from bankruptcy in 2000.

The Day-Glo gobshite’s knack for a libelous turn of phrase – and his weakness for Z-List celebrities like Sophie Anderton, Alicia Douvall and Meg Matthews – meant he was never far from tabloid headlines during his career as Palace chairman. He went on to firmly embed his prattery and general unpleasantness in the wider public’s consciousness with a string of charismatic appearances on TV game shows, which were soon axed.

Jordan suffered a love/hate relationship with Palace fans over the years, but the supporters ultimately grew weary of his limitless narcissism and lack of diplomacy – which led to, at best, fractious relationships with other clubs. His hostility towards agents virtually blacklisted Palace from the transfer market, and his constant disagreements with his managers made the club an equally unattractive prospect for potential bosses.

Jordan retired from football after Palace went into administration in 2010. The club was saved by his apparent protégé Steve Parish, and has since regained its position in the Premier League.

Jordan, meanwhile, retreated to Marbella to work on his tan.

3. Vincent Tan (Cardiff City)

Speaking of tans, even Simon Jordan and his deep orange hue can’t quite match the mayhem number three on our list has managed to cause in just four years at Cardiff City.

With his countenance like a Bond villain, moustachioed Malaysian madman Vincent Tan (pictured above) hasn’t let his relative inexperience of the football world get in the way of him filling the role of football’s latest ‘tyrannical nutter with too much money’ with aplomb.

Taking over the club in 2010, the club has never seen a dull moment throughout Tan’s eventful leadership. After overhauling their historic Bluebirds identity to the Red Dragons in 2012, Tan led a successful campaign for Cardiff’s promotion in 2013 to the Premier League for the first time in the team’s history.

However, Malaysian’s bizarre antics in the Premier League soon proved too much for the club’s supporters to bear. His controversial sacking of Director of Football, Ian Moody in October 2013 was the first sign that something could be awry in South Wales, but even the most cynical footy buff couldn’t have predicted the farce that followed.

Tan decided the best candidate for Moody’s replacement was a 23-year-old Kazakh named Alisher Apsalyamovby with absolutely no experience of football besides a two month internship with the club and who, by remarkable coincidence, was a good friend of his son.

Cardiff’s popular manager Malky McKay was similarly forced out by Tan a few months later, and speechless Cardiff fans were left scratching their heads in amazement at quite how a positive start to the season had all gone so spectacularly wrong in just a few short months.

The appointment of the recently departed Ole Gunnar Solskjaer as McKay’s replacement was not enough to settle the off-field dramas of the club, who were relegated after just one traumatic year in the top flight.

2. Mike Ashley (Newcastle United)

Many chairmen struggle to endear themselves to the fans of the clubs they run, but when it comes to rubbing your supporters up the wrong way, pie-chomping Newcastle United owner Mike Ashley quite literally takes the biscuit.

Ashley took over the club in 2007 after making his fortunes shifting cheap Donnay clobber via his retail emporium, Sports Direct, to Britain’s burgeoning chav community during the 90’s and 00’s.

After initially positive relations with Newcastle fans, the mood on Tyneside soured after Ashley’s appointment of Dennis Wise as Director of Football led to the infamous bust-up with Kevin Keegan in 2008.

Relegation followed, and despite a swift return to the Premier League, no amount of footage showing the bulbous billionaire sitting in the Gallowgate End swilling Brown Ale in an XXL Newcastle shirt could win back the trust of the Magpies’ fans.

Following a number of unsuccessful attempts, it now appears Ashley has given up on trying to sell the club – much to the chagrin of the supporters. His ridiculous re-naming of St James’ Park to SportsDirect.com @ St James’ Park, coupled with Newcastle’s inertia in the transfer market and stagnant performances in recent seasons, has only intensified the hatred the Toon Army have for their sandwich-hoffing boss.

Chants and banners declaring supporters’ loathing of their chairman are now a depressingly familiar feature of match days at Newcastle, and it’s as if Ashley’s sole intention is to turn this once proud and dignified club into a national joke. Geordies the world over have been practically begging for a new buyer for half a decade. Let’s hope one shows up soon.

1. Roman Abramovich (Chelsea)

In terms of his standing with his own club’s fans, Roman Abramovich is undoubtedly the most popular chairman on our list. But his controversies do not stem from his actions as chairman of Chelsea.

With a weekly shopping bill that probably outstrips the GDP of Malta, the eye-wateringly wealthy Russian oligarch is possibly one of the richest, most powerful and politically well-connected men on the planet.

Abramovich casually strolled onto the football scene when he purchased Chelsea for a cool £140 million, which he found down the back of his sofa in 2003. Prior to this, he made his fortune by ruthlessly exploiting the murky world of the Russian oil industry, emerging victorious from the infamous aluminium wars, following Russia’s embracement of capitalism in the 90’s.

Throughout his years in the UK media spotlight, Abramovich has been dogged by allegations of political bribery, corruption, and links to the Russian mafia. His legal battles with former business partner and Alexander Litvinenko murder suspect, Boris Berezovsky, drew further attention to Abramovich’s shady past, and he has been equally criticised for his cosy relationship with psychotic mischief maker and scourge of Western democracy, Vladimir Putin.

Not that any of this has really bothered him. Abramovich generally casts a languid, slightly bored-looking figure in public, despite enjoying a level of controversy other football chairmen can only dream of.

Chelsea fans seem unfazed about their club’s connection to a character with such questionable allegiances and an unfathomably dark history, but as this list proves, when football chairmen are involved, it’s success that talks.

Connor Pierce

1. Phil Jagielka can shoot 

Phil Jagielka managed to redeem some of the shame he brought on himself after his embarrassing performances at the World Cup with a belting last minute equaliser in the first derby of the weekend between Everton and Liverpool. The game wasn’t exactly a classic, so Jagielka’s thundering half-volley was a silver lining to an otherwise disappointing fixture.

Phil Neville said in his ‘Match of the Day’ analysis that he had never seen Phil Jagielka do anything like that before during his time at Everton. This will come as a surprise to absolutely nobody, given Jagz’s general reputation as a lumbering, graceless centre back, but it’s nice to see that he’s capable of a shot of such class.

pic.twitter.com/e10pfM5j0Y

— Everton Aren’t We? (@EvertonArentWe) September 28, 2014

2. Fat Frank flattens Hull to become Man City’s unlikely new talisman

OK, Chelsea don’t exactly look like they miss Lampard thanks to an embarrassment of riches in midfield, but Fat Frank has made a lot of us look like fools by proving he can still cut it in the Premier League with another goal to add to his collection.

Most surprising is the fact that Manchester City are relying on the 36-year-old not only to close out games, but to actively change them.

Although the politics surrounding the possible extension of Lampard’s loan deal are somewhat murky (at least according to an obviously bitter Arsene Wenger), City will want to hang on to the midfielder for as long as possible. Even if Lamps doesn’t have the legs to last until May, it would be worth it just to see him score another goal against Chelsea at the end of January.

3. Rooney’s suspension could be a blessing in disguise for Man Utd

Manchester United haters took last week’s shock defeat to Leicester as proof that their 4-0 trouncing of QPR had been nothing more than a red herring against the Premier League’s whipping boys.

Although Big Sam and his lapdog Kevin Nolan convinced themselves that United were lucky to bag three points after a late West Ham goal was ruled out for offside (watch the replay again, guys), United showed plenty of flair early on in the game and steely determination, following Rooney’s reckless red card. Yes, they’re light at the back, but Phil Jones, due back next week, is capable of forming a formidable partnership with Jonny Evans if the pair can stay fit.

Make no mistake, Rooney will be missed (his goal was sublime), but on the bright side, there’s now the tantalising prospect of three games with Juan Mata playing behind Van Persie and Falcao, and reminding us all of what he has to offer.

Juan Mata’s reaction to Rooney’s red card pic.twitter.com/PSrrvHe4eG — GeniusFootball (@GeniusFootball) September 28, 2014

4. Steely Spurs escape from the Emirates with a lucky point

Neither Arsenal or Tottenham have lived up to the standards demanded by their fans in recent weeks, and neither took the chance to prove their credentials in Saturday’s North London derby. Arsenal dominated possession and should’ve really sewn the game up. Having gone a goal down via Spurs’ international playboy Nacer Chadli, Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain saved Danny Welbeck from embarrassment with a clinical equaliser, after the new boy clumsily swiped at the ball from almost point blank range, making no contact whatsoever and ending up flat on his arse.

Although they clung on for dear life throughout most of the match, Spurs fans will be the most satisfied, not only for the point away from home, but for of the defensive resilience – most notably from a resurgent Younes Kaboul – that has been sorely lacking for much of the season so far.

Mauricio Pochettino still seems unsure of his best team, however, using trial and error system to select his centre midfielders. Ryan Mason – billed, somewhat cheekily, as the ‘Enfield Modric’ – looked like a genuinely exciting prospect in his Premier League debut, but it would be foolish to rely too much on such an inexperienced player (although he’s older than you may think at 23).

5. Man City’s Mangala is the Buffoon of the Week

Eliaquim Mangala must be the most relieved man in Manchester this week. After City cruised to a comfortable 2-0 lead in just 11 minutes against Hull, the £32 million centre back appeared hell-bent on dragging the Tigers back into the game.

Mangala first turned a Liam Rosenoir cross into his own net after 21 minutes of almost total anonymity from Hull, before rashly bringing down Abel Hernandez in the box 10 minutes later to level the scores, with Hull having barely registered a shot all game.

Fortunately for Mangala, however, Edin Dzeko managed to put the Sky Blues in front again in the second half, before Lampard sealed the deal late on to take the focus away from the clumsy Frenchman’s errors. His rashness and general confusion throughout the game didn’t go unnoticed by the Year Of The Wolf team, however, making him a deserved winner of our first ‘Buffoon of the Week.’

Alex Andrews & Connor Pierce

Ricky Gervais is finally doing what he always said he never would. David Brent is back and this time he’s on the big screen.

In August, Gervais announced that the character that shot him to fame – ‘The Office’s’ protagonist, David Brent – would be making a return. Gervais is set to play the character in a new film, entitled ‘Life On The Road,’ a mockumentary about Brent’s attempts to embark on a music career after Wernham Hogg closed its doors on him in 2003.

ALSO SEE: How the Inbetweeners came of age and conquered culture

The writing has been on the wall for a while now. Gervais brought Brent back for a brief mini-episode in 2013’s Comic Relief, which was followed by a succession of YouTube videos in which the character taught spoof guitar lessons. It was really only a matter of time before he announced a more substantial return for his most successful creation.

The news of Brent’s resurrection has been met with mixed reactions from fans and critics. The mood has generally been, at best, one of trepidation. At worst, it has been one of downright anger and indignation.

This is understandable. ‘The Office’ sparked the kind of loyalty in its fanbase that only maybe one television program per generation manages to do. In fact, it’s possible that no sitcom has ever had quite the same impact on its audience as ‘The Office’ has.

When it first aired, many critics claimed ‘The Office’ changed the face of comedy – which it did, undoubtedly. But for those of us that grew up with the show, its effect was far more profound. Its influence over our lives was such that it kind of became a part of our personalities.

Aside from being the funniest thing we’d ever seen, the show’s subtle commentaries on the human condition, and on people in general, served as life lessons for a younger, more impressionable audience. As such, the connection that those of a certain age have with ‘The Office’ is a deeply personal one, so it’s not surprising that there is a general sense of unease about Gervais’ decision.

‘The Office’ was also such a delicately crafted show that returning to its central character almost seems dangerous. Part of the show’s allure was its realism, but to some extent people had their own carefully preserved versions of what happened to Brent after the series ended. Viewers genuinely wanted to believe that the glimmers of hope so expertly woven into Brent’s sad life at the end of the Christmas special were his happy ending. Revisiting him 10 years later will shatter those illusions.

So for Gervais to have made this decision is a pretty big deal. However, it isn’t really a surprise. Since the phenomenal final episode of ‘Extras’ in 2007, there has been a marked decline in the quality of Gervais’ output. His various stand-up tours became less and less original and insightful; he appeared in a number of woeful films – and even those who liked the saccharine, mawkish ‘dramadey’ that was ‘Derek,’ or the dull and stilted ‘Life’s Too Short’ surely couldn’t argue that they were in the same league as his earlier sitcoms.

It’s difficult not to get the feeling that Gervais also knows this. Bringing Brent back seems like an admission of defeat more than anything else. Gervais had always stated that he would never return to ‘The Office,’ preferring to preserve the memory of his creation as a show that needed no further closure.

But now, daunted by the realisation that his creative drive may be waning, it feels like Gervais has finally decided to go back and milk a few extra laughs out of his best work. It’s not desperation exactly, but it’s certainly not the action of a man who is happy with where he is artistically.

This also contributes to the sense of apprehension about ‘Life On The Road.’ One of the most rewarding things about ‘The Office’ was that it never outstayed its welcome. Lasting only two series, plus the sublime Christmas finale, it never became irrelevant or a parody of itself. There is a justified concern amongst those who loved the show that the film could have ‘The Godfather Part III’ effect of sullying the memory of what was a perfectly crafted piece of art.

But the reaction to the Brent revelation is really just the culmination of a general decline in both the critical and public appreciation of Gervais in recent years, particularly in Britain. His success in America has seen him go decidedly more Hollywood of late – and this, coupled with the comparatively poor work he has produced in the last half decade or so, has made it acceptable – even trendy – to start lambasting him.

Despite the potential hazards of his decision, though, and despite the prospect of the memory of ‘The Office’ being trampled on, these negative reactions are not fair – particularly when they emanate from those who hailed Gervais as a genius only 10 years ago.

Fans of TV shows – and arts critics in particular – are a famously fickle bunch. Always the first to laud an actor, writer or director with praise while a series is at the peak of its artistic potential, they are also the first in line to start hurling stones at the sign of any rough patch, or any indication that a show might be losing its touch.

The lack of empathy felt for the writers and creators of our favourite TV programs – for those who have sacrificed everything and put in countless hours of work purely for our own entertainment – Is staggering, and at times shameful. The concept of loyalty on the audience’s side of the relationship between the entertainer and the entertained is almost completely absent.

This is why people like me, who would rather not see a David Brent film made for fear of it soiling the memory of one of our favourite ever characters, should get over ourselves. Although Gervais is not the comedian he once was, his back catalogue is so strong that even if he makes nothing but duds and turkeys for the next 50 years, his overall contribution to British comedy will have been greater than almost anyone since Monty Python.

The fans and critics who take such glee in condemning him now would do well to remember this. It doesn’t seem much to ask for him to be treated with the respect and gratitude that his best work deserves by those who have taken so much pleasure from it.

For that reason, even if the film turns out to be even worse than ‘Ghost Town,’ I will not be complaining. Instead, I’ll just bang ‘The Quiz’ episode on and remind myself of just how brilliant and fresh ‘The Office’ still is, over a decade after it first hit our screens.

And besides, the film could actually be good, couldn’t it?

Connor Pierce

I began watching the US version of ‘The Office’ on the recommendation of several friends. One told me not to bother with the first episode – and probably the entire first season – as it was too much like a shot-for-shot remake of the much heralded English equivalent.

One episode in and I was messaging him to confirm his warning. The lines were the same. The delivery was pretty much indistinguishable but, as so happens when you have an expectation of how things are meant to go, it was naturally worse off.

ALSO SEE: David Brent’s big screen debut: Don’t look back in anger

From the very first scene where Steve Carrell’s Michael Scott mistakenly calls a woman on the other end of the phone a “gentlemen and a scholar” before realising his mistake, the episode is littered with the same jokes that were crafted by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant several years prior.

But that’s pretty much where the similarities end. The rest of the season develops as its own entity. The characters are given room to expand and the actors playing them grow out of the shackles of their British counterparts and make them their own.

Plenty of people have tried to analyse and compare the British and American versions of ‘The Office’ and many of them are probably far better qualified then me to do so. But I’d go so far as to say that once the agony of that cringe-inducing first episode is out of the way, the two shows take on different tangents that are vastly different to each other.

It is such that when people feel the need to categorically say which version they think is better, it is, to me, a moot point – though if you read on I might just let you in on my personal choice on the matter.

The US version’s main characters may have been created using the British templates, but they are portrayed in a wholly different manner. The obvious example is the differences between the shows’ leads: Gervais’ iconic David Brent and Carrell’s blundering but at times loveable Michael Scott.

Over the course of the UK installment’s two-season run (plus the outstanding Christmas special finale), Brent offers precisely zero redeeming qualities; he is nauseatingly narcissistic, completely detached from reality and utterly useless at his job. His workers despise him, and given the interactions between them and their boss that we are shown, quite rightly so.

Brent was a boss who was so desperate for his employees to like him, he would constantly sabotage any progress he was making by trying too hard. His light-hearted quips as he shows temp worker Ricky around the office fail hilariously as he gets next to no reaction from his staff.

He is also shown to be tragically out of touch with any of the workers from the warehouse, despite his attempts to fit in, reinforcing the lack of respect that he is afforded throughout the workplace. The main element of humour in Brent’s character is his complete obliviousness to how others perceive him.

In a piece to camera, he reveals that he wants to be regarded by the staff as “a friend first and a boss second… probably an entertainer third” but in reality the office workers are repulsed by his actions, leading to some particularly embarrassing (for Brent) but hilarious (for us) silences when his jokes fail to land.

Contrast this to Michael Scott, initially shown to be something of a similar character and one who displays plenty of moments of revulsion throughout the seven seasons that he appears in. But the key difference is the scenes where Carrell is able to demonstrate a softer, more human side to Scott’s character and provide hope to the audience that he has it in him to tell right from wrong.

His pep talk to a broken-hearted Jim on the booze cruise in season two was among his finest moments. The effect was the same when he showed up at Pam’s art exhibition in Season Three and purchased her painting of the office building at a moment when her character was in desperate need of a lift.

Scott is still a massively flawed character, with a desperate need to be adored by his staff and a detachment from the reality that many who come across him find him difficult in the extreme. But his character is allowed to grow – a direct consequence of the longer run of episodes afforded to the US version of the show.

ALSO SEE: How the Inbetweeners came of age and conquered culture

One of the key arguments I often refer to when fighting the corner for the UK version is the shortened run of just 14 episodes, with every moment scrutinised in more detail and every look, reflex and line spoken given more relevance. The show ended with the audience wanting more, which is surely the mark of a hugely successful venture.

Although nine seasons in all for the US version was probably a touch too long, it allowed the characters and storylines to take on a new shape, giving a greater pay-off to the audience who had invested emotionally in what was happening.

Take Tim and Dawn/Jim and Pam. Two love stories that began in identical fashion yet were able to follow different paths thanks to the corresponding lengths of each series. Tim and Dawn’s plot is mostly one of heartbreak and repressed love. It’s obvious to the audience from their first scene together, yet it takes them until the penultimate shot of the entire series to finally make it happen.

Dawn’s return to the Christmas party and her kiss with Tim is a magical scene and one which is cherished by fans of the UK version time and time again, perhaps to the point where it overshadows any single scene enjoyed by Jim and Pam in the US. But theirs is a storyline that is just as romantic and just as enjoyable when spread out across the entirety of nine seasons.

Pam, like Dawn, initially rejects Jim when he makes his big move, but where the UK show soon came to a close following Tim’s leap of faith, the US version had plenty more legs in it. We were able to witness Jim’s relocation to Philadelhia and his inevitable return, the added complication of Karen Filippelli played Rashida Jones, the dramatic departure of Pam’s fiancé Roy and then the company’s eventual happy ending at the end of Season Three – not to mention their subsequent attempts to build a life together and the frictions that naturally occur.

And it’s not just the main characters. Whereas in the UK version, the rest of the office staff aside from Brent, Tim, Dawn and Gareth Keenan (exceptionally played by Mackenzie Crook) aren’t given much more than the odd sentence and certainly no major storylines, the characters who play similarly meagre role in the first season of the US version are then given license to expand in the subsequent seasons.

Meredith turns into a sex-crazed alcoholic, Angela becomes hilariously more tightly-strung (not to mention her romantic liaison with Dwight) and every line Creed says is crazier than the last. Even the character of HR rep Toby has his own excellent development, earning initial sympathy from the audience for his rough treatment at the hands of Scott, before he eventually comes to embrace how flaccid and monotone his own personality really is, giving the audience something extra to laugh at.

When you boil both shows down, what’s left is a revealing glimpse into what Brits and Americans find funny. Gervais and Merchant created a show that was both innovative and hugely funny, but also, one that was dark and complicated. There are moments of raw emotion to go alongside the hilarity; Brent begging his bosses not to make him redundant is an absolutely gut-wrenching scene, where the viewer instantly feels empathy for a character they have no reason to like at all.

The US show is an altogether brighter, more optimistic offering. The emotional moments are still there but they centre around Jim and Pam’s romance and come hand-in-hand with optimism that they will eventually find their way. For lack of a better phrase, the British version is to me more ‘real’ and easily relatable.

While I find the American alternative exceptionally funny and extremely well written, I suppose I connect to the UK version in a stronger way and, thus, find it to be the show I would choose to watch more often when browsing through Netflix.

But going back to my point right at the top, both shows are immensely different from each other and stand alongside one another as separate entities, despite coming from identical backgrounds. The chief success of Greg Daniels and his American team of writers was that they were able to create their own thing, a show that remains independent of the one that it was birthed from and still retains the same appeal.

We should all be thankful that both shows exist.

Mark Tilley

“Sexy people and shiny things… processed cheese… shit pieces of art… one hundred per cent cod… you fucking tit rifle.”

On a background of cheap processed beats, Jason Williamson of Nottingham’s Sleaford Mods machine-guns Cameron’s Britain and the everyday gloom and grime that we have to put up with. From my first listen I found the words and the delivery to be captivating, clever and wickedly funny. Think John Cooper Clarke, the seedier end of Pulp, a sprinkling of The Streets and you’re getting warm.

ALSO SEE: 5 albums from 2014 you should have heard by now

Soundtracking Britain in 2014 – an intangible economic recovery, zero hour contracts, UKIP and little Englanders clinging onto something that they never really had – it’s impossible to feel indifferent about a group that has its finger so firmly on the pulse. I’m not the first to describe Sleaford Mods as a band of their time, capturing the moment with their frustration and cynicism, but let’s just pause for a minute to think about what it actually means to “capture the moment” and why does it feel like Sleaford Mods are so capable of doing so?

If we look back at Britain over the last 60 years, we can see a clear correlation between contemporary music and the national mood at the time: the beat combos of the swinging sixties and the freedom of a drug-fuelled baby boom generation; the rage of punk when the country was on the cusp of recession and national decline; and the positivity of Britpop that arose when Britain found a hip new identity.

So, in a time of benefits cuts, the selling off of the NHS and the unconvincing promise of economic prosperity, there should be no surprise that a band like Sleaford Mods have floated to the top of the cesspit. While less provocative artists reflect an impossibly rosy Britain – one that is crammed with pop-up food markets, yummy mummies in posh cafes and TV chefs selling ‘traditional’ English food that none of us have ever actually eaten – the Britain described by Sleaford Mods is one that is scarred by dozens of community pubs closing every week, living rooms littered with empty lager cans and part-time jobs in morose convenience stores.

It seems unimaginable that a group that concerns itself with wanking in toilets, Rivita and cracked black pepper could have made the same impression 10 years ago. The misery chord Sleaford Mods strike is one that just didn’t exist in the same way back when it was all skinny jeans and New Labour. Nonetheless, these songs and these words don’t invent themselves and Williamsons’ skill as a lyricist is his striking ability to lacerate the listener with a gush of swears words, observations, nastiness and heart-sinking humour.

ALSO SEE: Can Jamie T save Britain from a twee nightmare?

While Williamson’s witty choice words and brash, unique style has earned him comparisons to Mike Skinner and John Cooper Clarke, he shares a similarly scrappy style with Jamie T – only without the sentimental sheen that the Londoner sometimes uses to paint his stories. Both artists crudely cut and paste their observations together, more like a scrapbook than a narrative, excerpts and ideas, no central theme but very modern. Very Twitter, very Facebook – constant distractions and short attention spans.

A recurring theme throughout ‘Divide and Exit,’ Sleaford Mods’ second full-length release, is human waste – namely shit, semen and urine. It feels as if every song has at least some reference to faecal matter, stomach-wrenching smells and “piss on your shoes.” It would be toilet humour if it wasn’t so miserably real. This fills the album with a pervading sense of lowliness and grime.

Besides the loo references, Williamson reels off shopping lists full of lifeless supermarket products. Like the poor cousin of Patrick Bateman in ‘American Psycho,’ where the emptiness of consumer culture is underscored by banal lists of luxury items, Sleaford Mods drown us in lines about frozen cod, breakfast cereal, brands of rice based snacks and ready-meal dinners. We are what we eat, what we wear and what we do and it sounds like we all lead remarkably unwholesome, unstylish and uninteresting lives.

There’s a lot more that could be said about Sleaford Mods, their lyrics and their presence in modern Britain; they tell us about a stark, dark and fruitless existence and they tell us about what and where we’re living today. Time will tell us if Sleaford Mods truly come to define the era that spawned them, but they seem to have grabbed a moment in British cultural, social and economic history in a way no group has done for a good few years.

The duo will never be as popular as their shinier peers and their lack of universality makes it difficult to see them earning any kind of crossover appeal beyond the sweat-covered walls of the UK’s toilet circuit. Nevertheless, it’s fascinating to listen to a group so succinctly tell us about our current lives and existences.

Len Williams

(Make sure you follow Year Of The Wolf on Twitter: @YOTWolf)

Chelsea can’t stop grinding

It’s not hard to see why Chelsea are most people’s tip for the title this year. Cesc Fabregas and Eden Hazard have been rightly praised for a series of wonderful performances, while Diego Costa’s scoring spree shows no sign of slowing down.

But Chelsea are a frustratingly dull club for the neutral. Just like we saw against Man City, Chelsea looked satisfied to hold onto to what they had against Arsenal, despite having the time – and of course, the resources – to put their underwhelming opponents to the sword.

If Chelsea weren’t already sat back enough in the second half, Jose Mourinho swapped André Schürrle for John Obi Mikel with 20 minutes still left on the clock to entrench their lead and grind out a 2-0 win in a cagey, niggly game – both on the pitch and off – that could’ve been a classic.

As if by magic, David Silva appears

Three players tried to stake their claims as Premier League MVPs this weekend, with Eden Hazard, Angel di Maria and David Silva all excelling to bring victory to their clubs. Silva’s masterclass against Aston Villa was the pick of the bunch, not only because it was the most dazzling, but because Silva needed a game like that to remind the Premier League how lucky it is to have him.

When he’s in flow full – as he was on Saturday evening – Silva makes his talent look effortless; his touch was magnificent, he drifted into space time and time again to pick up the ball in dangerous areas and threaded in enough through-balls for City to at least double their lead.

After the match, Paul Lambert remarked that his defenders were too exhausted to close down Yaya Toure and prevent him for scoring the vital goal of the game. Clearly, there’s only so much energy you can preserve after being run ragged by a mercurial Spaniard for 80 minutes.

Steven Naismith is Everton’s everyman hero

Steven Naismith could’ve been the star man on Sunday afternoon had it not been for David de Gea’s superhuman shot-stopping abilities. He scored his fourth goal in his sixth start for Everton, but it in the end, it didn’t matter.

The importance of the goal, however, is that it proves what a lethal asset he’s become for Everton. The balding 28-year-old might look like he’d be more at home draining pints of Tennent’s in a paint-splattered sweatshirt, but he’s the kind of everyman that gives hope to all football fans.

It’s unlikely that Naismith would’ve seen as much game time this season had it not been for Ross Barkley’s injury, but the industrious Scotsman may have done enough to earn a regular start regardless.

Gylfi Sigurdsson finds his mojo

Gylfi Sigurdsson added his fifth and sixth assists of the season for a Swansea side that have looked like a whole new proposition since Gary Monk ditched his gilet and started wearing a suit.

Sigurddson was arguably Swansea’s brightest talent in his first spell for the club – regularly banging in pile-drivers from the edge of the penalty box – but he had a slow start at Spurs, and when he finally started to earn plaudits, it was for his tenacity, rather than his creativity.

Having returned to Swansea, he looks rejuvenated, pulling the strings for the majority of the side’s attacking movements and re-opening his account with a goal against Man Utd.

Buffoon of the Week: Robbie Savage and Alan Shearer

This week’s ‘Buffoon of the Week’ award is shared by Robbie Savage and Alan Shearer, who brought their comedy double act to Saturday night’s ‘Match of the Day.’

Shearer made two major blunders: he firstly gave Man City a grilling, claiming their dominant 2-0 win over was “full of errors,” without even mentioning Silva’s sublime performance, and then criticised Newcastle for selling Loic Remy when the club never actually owned the player (he was only there on loan).

With his ridiculous new quiff, Savage was even more irritating, derailing his train of thought after the Swansea vs Newcastle game to pointlessly troll Spurs fans. “I’m not saying Spurs are a big club,” he sniggered. “There are bigger.” Predictably, enough people took the bait and Savage was soon trending on Twitter, which must’ve delighted the show’s producers.

Alex Andrews

In the summer of 2010, Manchester City splashed somewhere around £25 million of their new Arabian cash on a David Silva. The 24-year-old had already established himself as the link man in Spain’s World-Cup winning side in South Africa, and the signing was seen as further evidence’s of the club’s commitment to winning the title.

The following summer, Juan Mata, another pint-sized playmaker and one of Silva’s former teammates at Valencia, left La Liga to join Chelsea at a time when tika-taka was seen as the pinnacle of world football. Although he was also part of his country Word Cup squad, the lesser-known – and younger – Mata made only one appearance as a substitute for Fernando Torres.

When Chelsea met Manchester City for the first time that season, the game was proceeded with a debate over which of the two players was better than the other – and who was the best in the league, as if this was already an accepted fact that it was one or the other.

Despite the wave of acclaim for both players – particularly in the first half of the season – neither Silva nor Mata won the award for the Premier League’s Player of the Season that year and neither has won it in the years that have followed.

Silva has continued his shimmering form for City, but outside of Manchester, he’s rarely draws the same excited breaths as the likes of Yaya Toure, Sergio Aguero or even Vincent Kompany. It’s a clear a testament to the strength of City’s squad, but it’s also perhaps a reflection of the fact that it’s become old hat to speak about Spanish players with the same gushing praise as was common a few years ago.

The main criticism aimed at Silva is that he doesn’t score enough goals. Another reproach is that he doesn’t rack up enough points in Fantasy Football; it’s a ludicrous way to judge a professional footballer, but it goes some way to explaining why a number of lesser players receive more consistent praise, both in and outside of their respective clubs.

Silva’s talents are subtler than the more dynamic, all-action Premier League stars. His abilities were plain to see at Villa Park on Saturday, as he glided past his opponents, played perfectly weighted one-touch passes and received the ball while closely marked by defenders and still managed to keep hold of possession.

The next day, it was Mata’s chance to shine, as he pulled a Manchester United shirt over his head and stepped into the hole behind Robin van Persie and Radamel Falcao, which had been conveniently opened-up by Wayne Rooney’s three-match suspension.

Since his arrival at Chelsea, Mata has been universally regarded as one of most dangerous and intelligent players in the Premier League (with the exception of Jose Mourinho, it would seem). He poses more of a goal threat than Silva; he scored 18 goals in 82 appearances for Chelsea and was crowned as Chelsea’s Player of the Season for two years running (an honour that City have never bestowed upon Silva).

Mourinho’s decision to freeze Mata out of the Chelsea team was one that baffled – and continues to baffle – the majority of football fans. But despite his slip down the pecking order, David Moyes was confident enough to spend £37 million to bring the out-of-favour Spaniard to United.

Joining in January, Mata’s first season for United was a patchy one. In what was probably his best performance of the season, Mata scored twice in United’s 4-0 win over Newcastle in April, and after the match spoke of how much he enjoyed linking up with Shinji Kagawa.

Kagawa’s departure would’ve hit Mata harder than most, particularly as the arrival of the supremely talented Angel Di Maria has made it easier to overlook Mata’s performances so far.

Mata has scored two goals this season, compared to Rooney’s three. Having both featured in six games, Mata has attempted and completed more passes than Rooney, and against Everton, he looked like a more natural fit in the number 10 role.

The next two games could be a vital in determining Mata’s future at the club, as rumours surrounding a move back to Spain continue to circulate. Paul Scholes has already suggested that Rooney’ should be deployed in a deeper role as he gets older, so it will be fascinating to see if Mata does enough to convince Louis van Gaal to incorporate both players into his midfield diamond.

Much like his new club, Mata’s reputation has been dented over the last year or so – and it’s something that he’s yet to fully recover from. This season, United will realign their targets on a top four finish, as Silva and his teammates in the blue side of Manchester go about defending their title.

Regardless of the outcome, both players will be watched very closely, as they continue to dazzle and remind us why they’re still very much part of the Premier League’s elite.

Alex Andrews

1. James Wade deserves a place amongst Britain’s sporting elite

A cynical reading of professional darts is that it’s not really a sport at all, but a glorified pub game. This completely misses the point of what darts is all about. It doesn’t matter that you weren’t blessed with superhuman athleticism or that you have the waistband and hairline of a pub landlord, to make it as darts player you need a steady arm and an even steadier nerve, which is something that only comes from hours and hours of practice.

James Wade is a man who typifies darts’ humble, everyman charm. The portly 31-year-old worked in a garage in Aldershot up until 2006 and since turning pro, his career has been hampered by clinical depression, fluctuating form and a terrible record against Phil ‘The Power’ Taylor. Now, he finds himself back in the big leagues, engaged to a PDC walk-on girl and the very nearly champion of the World Grand Prix.

Wade was in scintillating form throughout the week, knocking out Taylor and Garry Anderson. He hit the first of two nine-dart finishes and was arguably the most consistent player of the tournament. When it came to the final, he was cruelly denied the title by a ruthless Michael van Gerwen, who reminded his opponents once again that if you give him the smallest amount of breathing space, he’ll make you regret it 10 times over.

2. Doubling-in in Dublin is a whole new game

The big difference with the World Grand Prix – held in Dublin since 2001 – compared to other darts tournaments is that players must hit a double before they can start their countdown from 501, rather than simply trying to rack-up the biggest score possible.

This takes away some of the advantage that you get from throwing first in a leg and places a stronger emphasis on technical ability, separating the men from the boys and producing wildly unpredictable results. It’s a wonder that the PDC hasn’t adopted the format in the Premier League or the World Championships to really spice things up.

3. No one is unbeatable (unless you’re Michael van Gerwen)

The unpredictability of the double-in double-out format saw some of the sport’s biggest titans bow out before reaching the semis.

This paved the way for outsiders like Stephen Bunting – who only switched from the BDO in January – to make their mark on the tournament, with Bunting drawing Van Gerwen in what must have been the first semi-final of any sport where both opponents looked like oversized babies.

Taylor showed more signs that his powers are waning, as Peter Wright, Raymond van Barneveld and Adrian Lewis all failed to make it past the second round. Even MVG was given a run for his money by Mervyn King, who came perilously close to knocking him out in the quarter-final. But the Dutchman proved he’s still the man to beat.

4. Boring Barney is a whiney manchild

After an unconvincing opening win over Dave Chisnall in the first league, where his sad, disengaged eyes looked like they were hiding the sorrows of a thousand years, Raymond van Barneveld capitulated in an embarrassing 3-1 defeat to Mervyn King in round two.

Barney apparently suffered a back spasm early on in the game, and despite winning the third leg 3-0, he proceeded to hobble around the stage with even less life than he’d shown in the previous round, grimacing and aiming for the bull, after failing miserably to double-in.

It was a good job that King was able to kill him off and spare the viewers of another gloomy post-match interview with Barney sounded like a man who’d just heard his dog had been run over – even after winning.

5. Wayne Mardle is the new voice of darts

As thrilling as darts can be, there are only so many ways to describe the sight of two overweight men hammering the treble 20 over and over again. It’s to Wayne Mardle’s credit that he managed to pepper his exuberant commentary with genuine insight, not too many references to “Tungsten tension” and enough madcap moments to honour the late, great Sid Waddle.

His experiences as an ex-professional darts player have moulded him into a perceptive and strangely prophetic commentator, often predicting a player’s next move before he even knows it himself.

When Barney started throwing his toys out of the pram against King, Mardle had the minerals to call him out for overshadowing King’s performance and essentially behaving like a spoilt brat, when the decent thing would’ve been to throw in the towel.

Alex Andrews

With the European Championships too far away to get excited about, the international break acts as little more than an interruption to the usual excitement we are treated to in the Premier League week in, week out.

The nation is also still very much in the throes of its ‘post-major international tournament hangover’ – that all too familiar period of bitterness and universal self-loathing English football fans endure following each limp exit from a major international tournament. It usually lasts about 18 months, by which time the excitement of the next tournament stirs up the nation’s delusions all over again.

During this period, the shame we all feel for our country’s relentless underachievement at every World or European Cup is manifested even by the most patriotic and optimistic of England fans in total apathy towards the fortunes of the national side. This is the time when England shirts are going for £10 in Sports Direct, when just four months before they were flying out of the shop for 50 quid. But no one wants to buy them, because we’re all still so totally ashamed of being English that we won’t even admit it to our own countrymen.

In short, the memories of England’s pathetic performances in the World Cup are just too fresh in our minds for anybody to care about two games against the whipping boys of Europe, San Marino, and former-Soviet stag spot, Estonia.

I mean, is there really any point in analysing these two games? Games against San Marino are so totally pointless and impossible to enjoy that even watching them seems more like a chore than entertainment.

Jack Wilshere was rightly named as man of the match, Kieran Gibbs also had a good game and Andros Townsend looked bright coming off the bench, scoring another goal from distance. Wayne Rooney should have converted more of the chances that fell at his feet, while Calum Chambers made a few too many comedic errors to really consider him a prospect just yet.

Scoring fewer than six goals against the joint-worst team in the world should be considered a failure, but the fact England had a perfectly sound goal disallowed means we can probably allow them a pass on this front.

The Estonia game was equally unsatisfying. For games like this, that same cliché is always rolled out in every single media outlet in the world: England weren’t pretty, but they did the job. The media shouldn’t be blamed for this lack of imagination in analysing games like this – it’s just that there is literally nothing else to say. The opposition is too weak to be considered a true test, and the England side just aren’t fired up enough to put a full shift in. It’s a totally unpleasant, boring experience for the spectator, which most frankly don’t bother with.

Still, no one can really complain about being top of the group. The games themselves had their moments – there were a couple of decent goals in the San Marino game, Rooney’s free kick was well taken against Estonia (though in general, he should have done much better), and Wilshere showed more glimpses that this season could be the one in which he finally fulfils the hype that’s been surrounding him since he was about 14 – but ultimately, these really were painfully dull matches.

If you had any sense at all, you would’ve watched the darts instead. Or, you would have gone outside and done something else.

Connor Pierce

All walks of life give us men who have risen and fallen. Men who have sacrificed family, friends and everything in between to reach the tremendous, dizzying peaks of their profession; only to come crashing miserably back down to earth.

Football tends to spew up more of these fallen heroes than other areas. In celebration of these sometimes tragic, but more often ludicrous men, we’d like to introduce you to five of our favourite footballing falls from grace.

Comedy and pathos intermingle in this list, for these are the men who almost tasted glory – and then slipped on their arses.

5. Steve McClaren

While it’s somewhat misleading to suggest that everyone’s favourite Wally with a Brolly, Steve McClaren, was ever in any kind of position of grace to actually fall from, it’s worth remembering that the decision to appoint him as England manager in August 2006 was met with support from such high-profile figures as Alan Hansen and Alex Ferguson.

In retrospect, it’s easy to see why he garnered such plaudits. With a glittering managerial CV that boasted such awe-inspiring achievements as turning Middlesbrough from bankrupt, smoggy relegation-fodder into a mediocre mid-table premiership club, he left the FA little choice but to award him the top spot after Sven Goran Erikssen’s resignation in 2006.

ALSO SEE: Football’s top 5 maverick chairmen

His reign as England boss was so utterly devoid of leadership, authority or competence that at times the only reminders that he even existed were the litany of bemusing decisions he would occasionally spring forth with – decisions which included dropping David Beckham, before performing a total U-turn after England scored one goal in five Euro 2008 qualifying matches in his absence (England won four in a row on his return).

The country’s pathetic performances in the qualifiers culminated in a humiliating denouement to McClaren’s career as national manager on a rainy evening in November 2007. England coughed and spluttered their way to a damp squib of a 3-2 defeat against Croatia on home soil, when only a draw would have secured qualification. Images of McClaren’s stupid, forlorn face under an enormous England umbrella on a wet night in Wembley became a new symbol of English footballing failure. He was promptly sacked the next day and an England side featuring many of the so-called ‘golden generation’ in their prime was denied entry to the Euro 2008 party.

There was a fascinating epilogue to McClaren’s sorry saga when he fled England in exile to the Netherlands. Appointed manager of FC Twente in 2008, footage of his first interview as new boss soon emerged and found its way back to the UK. McClaren – unable to speak a word of his adopted country’s native tongue – decided to make an effort with the local press by conducting the interview entirely in English, but in a side-splittingly hilarious Dutch accent

This final act of idiocy firmly secured McClaren’s position as England’s high prince of prattery. When you plummet the kind of depths McClaren has reached in his career, how far you ever climbed in the first place really becomes a matter of perspective – making McClaren a worthy figure to kickstart out list.

4. Malky McKay

Cast your mind back to August 2013. The world was Malky Mackay’s oyster: he had just won the Championship with Cardiff City – achieving promotion to the premiership for the first time in their history – and at the age of just 41, he was hotly tipped by those in the know as one of Britain’s brightest young management prospects.

Then it all went rather pear-shaped. In a storm of controversy, his second in command Iain Moody was fired by Cardiff’s evil overlord Vincent Tan, and replaced with one of his son’s playmates. Relations between Tan and Mackay swiftly worsened , with Tan eventually giving the Scot an ultimatum to either resign or be fired. Proud to the last, Mackay refused to leave his post, and was sacked in December 2013.

As something of a media darling at the time, the portrait painted of Mackay was one of a severe injustice done to a bright young manager. He had left with his head held high, it seemed, the victim of a clueless tyrant with almost no understanding of the game.

In August 2014, however, the plot of this messy episode thickened somewhat. After being strongly linked with the newly vacant Crystal Palace job, questions began emerging about the nature of some of the “friendly banter” (Mackay’s words) between Malky and his old chum Moody (since appointed by Palace) in the form of text messages the pair had sent to each other – almost all of which were of a racist, sexist or homophobic nature.

The texts included such witty japes as, amongst others, “nothing like a Jew that sees money slipping through his fingers” and “fucking chinkys… there’s enough dogs in Cardiff for us all to go around.” Although the LMA also attempted to excuse Mackay’s messages as mere jest, neither the public nor the media had much time for his impish sense of humour, and Mackay found himself firmly out of the running for either the Palace job or any other position in football (although rumours of a new tenancy as political commentator for the Daily Mail did begin to circulate).

ALSO SEE: Neil Warnock’s top 5 football feuds

It’s too early to say just how big an effect Mackay’s playful personality will have had on his managerial career, but it seems unlikely that he will manage any club in the UK anytime soon. He may seek refuge in a job abroad, but if he attempts to follow Steve McClaren’s lead by imitating the locals in interviews, one dreads to think just how well his tactless impersonations will go down. Let’s just hope Shanghai Shenhua F.C. don’t come knocking.

3. Paul Gascoigne

The figures on this list have often been a source of mirth for football fans. Falls from grace for the rich and powerful are always worth a laugh, particularly when they deserve it. But Paul Gascoigne’s decline stopped being funny a long time ago.

A fall from grace in the game usually happens quickly. A poor season; a dip in form; a manager or player’s hubris after believing their own hype – they all happen fast, and the individuals concerned can usually retreat to the shadows away from the media spotlight to recover at their own pace when it’s all over.

Not Gazza. Unlike most in football, Gascoigne’s collapse has been a depressingly long and painful one, unfolding minute by excruciating minute, and with no clear end in sight.

There’s no need to relive the sorry details of Gazza’s deterioration as a player and a human being. Everyone knows what a spell-bindingly brilliant footballer he was in the 1990s. Everyone knows about his alcoholism, his domestic violence, and the gradual path towards self-destruction he embarked upon in 1999, following the death of his best friend and the break-up of his marriage.

Whatever happens to Gascoigne, it will be important to remember just what an incredible talent he was in his prime. Although it’s probably too late for Gazza to save himself now, his tale is one that is all too common when the vulnerable are thrust into the limelight, and his never-ending downward spiral should serve as a cautionary tale to younger footballers of the tragedy sporting success can bring.

2. Fernando Torres

Of all the characters on our list, Fernando Torres’ fall from grace is the most bizarre.

No one saw this one coming. As Gascoigne’s hectic lifestyle slowly strangled the talent he had shown as a younger man, Fernando Torres crashed and burned spectacularly and, it seemed, inexplicably, in the space of just a couple of seasons.

Arriving at Anfield in the summer of 2007, ‘Nando immediately set the Premier League alight with his blinding pace, skill and clinical finishing. For many, he looked like the perfect striker. The Liverpool faithful – usually so measured and unsusceptible to hyperbole – hailed him as a demigod, imploring him as the saviour the club needed to finally win them that elusive Premier League title (they’re still waiting).

A setback occurred in April 2010, however, when an injury put Torres out of action for the rest of the season. When he returned in August of the same year and went almost two months without scoring, most put it down to a post-injury dip in form. It certainly didn’t put Chelsea off snapping him up for a record £50 million in January 2011.

That’s when things really started to go sour. It soon became clear that this was no mere blip, and his first season with Chelsea was punctuated with a series of lacklustre performances that saw him bag just one goal in 18 appearances. Something serious had happened to the Spanish wunderkind, but no one – least of all the man himself – could quite figure out what.

The dire performances continued the following season, reaching a sickening crescendo with an agonising, fist-in-mouth miss on an open goal against Manchester United in September 2011.

By this stage, Torres had become a Premier League laughing stock, falling from the new Thierry Henry to the new Ade Akinbiyi in the space of just 18 months. The awe that fans and the media alike had greeted him with back in 2007 became merciless ridicule, and no amount of attempts at hard man haircuts and scary new tattoos could put the fear back into defenders that he had previously sparked.

By the summer of 2014, Chelsea had finally had enough of their most expensive ever signing’s seemingly interminable lack of form, and palmed him off on loan to AC Milan. Quite where Torres’ talent decided to disappear to in 2011 will most likely remain a mystery for ever, but one thing is certain – as far as players go, there has never been a fall from grace quite so spectacular as that of the once world-beating Spaniard’s.

1. David Moyes

Even by the high standards of calamity set by the buffoons populating this list, David Moyes’ fall from grace is utterly staggering.

In May 2013, already a thoroughly well-respected Premier League manager, Moyes’ dreams came true when he was granted the Biggest Job in Football and appointed the new manager of Manchester United.

There was no surprise in the decision. Alex Ferguson had tipped Moyes for some time as the heir to his throne, and many pundits hailed him as the rightful successor. Finally, the time had come for Moyes to prove that he had what it took to cut it with the big boys.

Needless to say, he spectacularly, unequivocally and incomparably, failed with flying colours. Filling the enormous shoes left behind by Sir Alex’s unprecedented 27 years of success as United manager was never going to be an easy task – but no one quite envisaged that the devastation would be of quite this magnitude.

After a lack of action in the transfer window led to such questionable purchases as Marouanne Fellaini, a string of woeful performances followed. The mighty had well and truly fallen, and it seemed as though teams were queuing up to end their run of defeats at Old Trafford: West Brom, Stoke City and Sunderland all notched up their first victories at the ground in almost a generation.

Other humiliations like losing twice against (and ultimately finishing below) Moyes’ former club, Everton, and unsavoury rumours involving new signing Wilfried Zaha and his daughter only added to United’s embarrassments. When it became clear that the Red Devils would not be qualifying for any European competitions that year, urgent action was taken by the United board, and ‘the Chosen One’ was sacked just 11 months into the job.

In those 11 months, Moyes had gone from being one of the Premier League’s most well-respected managers to a complete national joke. He became the target for nationwide lampooning on a scale that was almost unheard of, and for a while it was impossible to log onto the internet without encountering another cruel meme delighting in his failure.

In fairness, the stars aligned in the worst possible way for Moyes. Being the successor to the most decorated manager in history, coupled with the increasingly prominent role of social media in the modern game meant Moyes probably received more ridicule than he deserved. Even so, his rapid change in fortunes is almost unsurpassed, allowing him to pip Torres to the post in being crowned the undisputed championin our countdown of football’s five biggest falls from grace

At least he can say he’s won something.

Connor Pierce

1. Sam Allardyce has some friends in high places

In an intriguing turn up for the books, West Ham managed to dent Manchester City’s title hopes significantly by beating the reigning champions 2-1 at Upton Park on Saturday. The chorus of West Ham fans baying for Sam Allardyce’s blood last season have been strangely subdued of late, as the Hammers have embarked on an increasingly impressive rampage up the table, matched only by Southampton‘s seemingly inexorable rise.

Among those keen to express their appreciation for football’s favourite Fred Flinstone look-a-like was former skag-addicted sex pest turned countercultural revolutionary Russell Brand, who invaded Allardyce’s post-match interview to shower the Irons’ boss in kisses. Could this be the start of an unlikely celebrity bromance? All signs point, unequivocally, to yes.

2. Don’t get short defenders to mark big strikers

Quite why Manchester United chose pint-sized Brazilian full-back Rafael to mark Didier Drogba, one of the most intimidating strikers the Premier League has ever seen, for a Chelsea corner in Sunday’s clash will no doubt remain a mystery for the rest of the season; but they paid the price when the burly African tore away from his diminutive marker to rocket home the header that put his side in front early on in the second half – proving that he still has some considerable Premiership clout at the ripe old age of 36.

Although they were able to salvage a draw in the dying seconds of the game with an impressive strike from Robin Van Persie, there was no denying that Manchester United were second best in this most recent clash of the titans, particularly during the second half. Manchester City fans will have breathed a sigh of relief as Chelsea’s title aspirations suffered a considerable setback, but they still look so organised and dominant that it’s difficult to see the Mourinho’s men relinquishing their grip on the league any time soon.

3. Wilfried Zaha is as honest as the day is long

As if it were needed, Crystal Palace’s Wilfried Zaha added yet another string to his already impressive bow by proving he is a man of unbridled integrity. Diving is often considered the scourge of modern football, particularly among younger players, but when referee Mark Clattenburg – despite being about six yards away from the incident – failed to notice that the Ivorian skillster had flagrantly and blatantly been brought down in the box against West Brom, Zaha did little more than get up, dust himself off and carry on playing, barely even registering a very legitimate complaint with the official.

In a game that hinged on a couple of other questionable decisions from Clattenburg (including allowing a goal following a literal assault on goalkeeper Julian Speroni) Palace ultimately threw away a valuable 2-0 lead to draw against the Baggies. Despite some complacency on the part of the Eagles, it’s difficult to deny that on another day the result could have gone the Londoners’ way.

4. Sammy Ameobi is the future

As the youngest member of one of England’s great footballing dynasties, Sammy Ameobi has some big shoes to fill if he is to live up to the kind of lofty standards set by his brothers Shola and Tomi – but in Sunday’s game between Newcastle United and Tottenham, he went some way to meeting them. With his side a goal down at half time, Alan Pardew brought Ameobi Junior on for the second half, and within eight seconds of the restart, he had brought the Magpies level with a thunderous strike that left a complacent Tottenham stunned.

Newcastle were able to grab another and went on to win the game – their first away win since March, and Tottenham’s third home defeat this season. This is Spurs’ worst start to a season for some time, and, rabonas aside, their malaise shows no real sign of fading. Pochettino may well have got more on his hands than he bargained for.

5. Buffoons of the week: Vito Mannone and Wes Brown

The entire Sunderland team were worthy contenders for this prize last week, but a more committed performance on Saturday meant the blame for the Mackems’ defeat to Arsenal could be squared purely at two individual errors from their leaky back line.

Wes Brown’s woeful pass under absolutely no pressure whatsoever in his own half fell straight at the feet of Alexis Sanchez, allowing the deadly Chilean to coolly chip a flailing Vito Mannone on the half hour mark

Arsenal squandered various chances to kill the game off, but on 90 minutes Mannone himself made yet another howling error. After an ill-advised backpass from Santiago Vergini, the Italian shot-stopper seemed to lose the capacity to control his feet for a good 10 seconds, fumbling the ball to a prowling Alexis Sanchez to easily tap home his second of the game, and Arsenal’s winner.

Sunderland will no doubt be happy to see the end of this week, following what has been seven days of utter disarray for the club. Mannone and Brown in particular, however, will no doubt be keeping a low profile around the north east for some time.

Connor Pierce

1. Scoring brilliant goals is easy

(At least, Oscar certainly makes it look that way.)                              

There are times in football when fans berate their side’s players for failing to score simple tap-ins by forcefully suggesting that they could do better themselves. We seem constantly to be screaming: “MY NAN COULD HAVE SCORED THAT” at our television screens as some feckless millionaire with a stupid haircut (usually Fernando Torres) blazes another sitter over the bar. 

If such a thing exists, then Oscar’s goal against QPR on Saturday was the absolute opposite of that cliché. In what was a fairly sub-standard and ugly Chelsea performance, a flash of smart link-up play between Cesc Fabregas (who else?) and Diego Costa was met with one of the most perfect strikes seen this season by the diminutive Brazilian.

It’s goals like this that remind football fans why we pay to watch this stuff. There is literally no way, in a hundred years of trying, that a single person in the stands at Stamford Bridge on Saturday could have done what Oscar managed to do so effortlessly and nonchalantly. Rob Green said in his post-match interview that the only thing he could do was “applaud [the goal] as it went in.” He wasn’t the only one.

2. Referees still hate Swansea

It’s difficult not to feel some empathy for Gary Monk’s exasperation at the seeming conspiracy held by officials against Swansea City this season.

All managers like to let off a bit of steam about frustrating decisions going against them, but Gary Monk has had particular cause to complain in recent weeks. His bad fortune culminated in an almost comical (for anyone other than Swansea fans) lack of awareness on referee Kevin Friend’s part in Saturday’s goalless draw against Everton.

Following a low Jonjo Shelvey shot in the first half, Everton’s Antolin Alcaraz dived dramatically to his left to block the oncoming ball… with his left arm. The ball, having lost momentum thanks to Alcaraz’s heroics, ricocheted into the grateful clutch of Tim Howard. Monk‘s blood pressure was clearly up following the decision, and if refereeing displays like this keep holding Swansea back, it will show no signs of easing. Let’s hope the Swans have a decent doctor.

3. Alan Pardew resurrects Newcastle

We all know how fickle football fans can be, but Newcastle’s three-game winning steak under the inspired leadership of Alan Pardew has left a large portion of the Toon Army with egg on their Geordie faces.

Those were calling for his resignation a few weeks ago now have three choices: 1) Graciously apologise for getting carried away in the moment; 2) Back track and try to make out that you were only trying to shake things up; 3) Insist he’s still not the right man for job.

Of course, if you were convinced he was the wrong man at the start of the season, the temptation of nine points isn’t going to be enough to change your mind (even if one of those wins was against Manchester City). Pardew might be “back from the dead” as one Halloween-inspired banner read, but he’s not out of the woods just yet.

4. Michael Oliver doesn’t like giving penalties

Gary Monk wasn’t the only manager this week with a reason to begrudge the officials. Judging by Michael Oliver’s refereeing performance in the Manchester derby on Sunday, it looked like nothing short of a war crime would have been enough to make him award a spot kick.

Oliver failed to notice not one but three stonewall Manchester City penalties, although Manuel Pellegrini was somewhat more charitable than most would have been in his assessment of the situation, suggesting only that “one-and-a-half” penalties should have been awarded for his side.

The game itself was an exciting clash which City probably deserved to win on the balance of things. Chris Smalling’s comical sending off was further proof of why United’s – and England’s – defence is in trouble. His constant harrying of Joe Hart over a meaningless goal kick was nothing short of foolish and pointless, and the challenge that finally caused Oliver to pull the trigger could have been a straight red in itself.

5. Buffoon of the Week: Liverpool’s Alberto Moreno

Another week, another disappointing Liverpool performance. After huffing and puffing for 75 minutes against a lazy Liverpool side, the Reds’ defender Alberto Moreno crucially failed to make a routine clearance when the ball fell to him following a goalmouth scramble, allowing Perez Gutierrez to leap in and slot home from close range.

Moreno was also at fault for what should have been a second goal for the Magpies. Remy Cabella pounced after the defender again gave the ball away carelessly high up the field. Only Cabella’s poor shot saved Liverpool and the hapless Spaniard from further embarrassment.

It would be unfair to lay the blame for Liverpool’s poor performance squarely at Moreno’s door, but he is representative of the far greater problems at Liverpool. At times, Moreno looked confused and lost on Saturday. Sadly, he isn’t the only man in red to have looked that way this season.

Connor Pierce & Alex Andrews

Warning: May contain spoilers

In the late 1980’s and early 1990’s, America went through a brief period of producing thrillers featuring psychotic female antagonists.

I call this mini sub-genre Hollywood’s ‘Mad Woman’ period. Key examples include ‘Fatal Attraction’ (1987) (Michael Douglas has an affair with bunny boiler (literally) Glenn Close – disastrous consequences); ‘Misery’ (1990) (author James Caan is rescued from a car accident in the middle of nowhere by a deranged female fan – disastrous consequences) and ‘The Hand that Rocks the Cradle’ (1992) (an attractive nanny attempts to usurp her employer’s family – disastrous consequences).

ALSO SEE: 4 underrated double bills for your own Woody Allen night

These were all fantastically entertaining films in their own right, although could hardly be considered highbrow or ground-breaking in themselves. What’s interesting about them collectively though, as Mad Woman films, is the shift they represent in Hollywood’s portrayal of women as a whole. These films were the first time Hollywood really started casting women not as objects of pity or desire, but of fear.

The female leads in the above films all exert a stifling control over the hapless male protagonists in a way that is totally contradictory to Hollywood’s established perception of femininity. It’s arguably a misogynistic approach (although I wouldn’t personally agree with that assessment), but the attempt to cast women in a light in which they are essentially the power holders is surely a progression from what was their default position in American cinema before then – essentially two dimensional supporting characters defined solely by their relationship with more interesting males.

David Fincher’s latest effort, the adaptation of Gillian Flynn’s 2012 novel, ‘Gone Girl’ fits perfectly within this sub-genre, and Amy Dunne (played superbly by Rosamund Pike) is cast from the ’Mad Woman’ mould. To be honest, it’s difficult to say anything about this film without giving at least something away (I‘ve already said too much), so I’ll try and keep spoilers to a minimum. However, if you haven’t seen it and you really like surprises, you should probably skip to the part where I talk about ‘Nightcrawler’.

The first we see of Amy is through a series of flashbacks to her and husband Nick’s (Ben Affleck) early whirlwind romance. A beautiful, intelligent, spontaneous woman who suddenly goes missing, Nick’s apparent apathy and lack of emotion about the whole situation turns the audience against him from the outset.

The truth about Amy – the first in a series of delicious twists – is revealed about halfway through, but the full extent of the brutality she is capable of is saved until the end. This was the best executed and distressing climax to a film I have seen for some time (for which Trent Reznor’s accompanying score deserves a shout-out). To put it mildly, and without wanting to give too much away, I didn’t realise I was squeamish until I watched that scene. In one vicious act, Amy propels herself firmly into the company of other Mad Women on a scale Rebecca de Mornay’s nanny could only dream of.

Fincher is also the perfect director to make a Mad Woman film. His movies have always somehow managed to toe the line between trashy and thought-provoking (‘Fight Club,’ ‘Se7en’), in the same way that the best Mad Woman films do. His best films are always unsettling in a way that goes beyond their actual storylines, indicating a disturbing hollowness to their worlds which is a little too close for comfort.

This is again the case in Gone Girl. The eerily empty Missouri town in which most of the film is set, and Nick and Amy’s enormous but sterile home, are both symbolic of the moral and spiritual voids within almost all the characters.

Previous Mad Woman films were fairly clear battles between good and evil – but the lines are more blurred in Gone Girl. Moral certainties do not exist in David Fincher’s world, and it is this sense of hollowness that has been Fincher’s key contribution, not just to the Mad Woman sub-genre, but to cinema as a whole.

***

If ‘Gone Girl’ is a film in which morality is at best ambiguous, indie flick ‘Nightcrawler’ is one which violates and tramples over it in the most cynical, depressing way possible.

Creeping out of the shadows of LA’s seedy, lonely underworld, the film stars Jake Gyllenhaal as Lou Bloom, an odious ‘independent news reporter’ who spends his time prowling the streets of LA for footage of tragedy which he later sells to a low-budget news station.

Bloom’s mission is to track down footage of ‘urban crime creeping into the suburbs’ in his station’s desperate quest for ratings. It is quickly apparent that the bloodier and more intrusive the footage, the better – as one of his competitors puts it, ‘if it bleeds, it leads.’ Bloom throws himself into this mission with a merciless vigour, lying, cheating, stealing and even interfering with police crime scenes in order to fulfill his task criteria.

Everything about ‘Nightcrawler’ is creepy. The LA depicted in this film is a heartless, depressing void, where the human presence is almost entirely absent. This is not the glamorous metropolis representing the Mecca of ambition in the public consciousness, but is a cold and emaciated ghost town where any sense of community or even friendship has long since evaporated.

ALSO SEE: Richard Linklater’s Boyhood: “Hey, that’s my life up there!”

The utterly repellent Bloom fits right into this backdrop. Gyllenhaal is superb in this role, and his capacity for creepiness is almost unnerving. Every subtlety is accounted for, from his gaunt, pallid appearance – with vaguely hipsterish ponytail, short-sleeved shirts and New Balance trainers – to his high-pitched, joyless laugh, his sense of weird otherness is enough to make the skin crawl.

Bloom justifies his increasingly appalling actions with empty, corporate jargon throughout, constantly spouting motivational bullshit at his weak, gormless partner (Riz Ahmed) without ever really paying him properly. His contemporaries are no better – Bloom sells his footage to another depressing and morally defunct failure, the fading news anchor Nina, whose total lack of remorse in her quest for ratings is perhaps one of the most unsettling things about the film.

If ‘Gone Girl’ harks back to the Mad Woman sub-genre, then ‘Nightcrawler’ is a contemporary take on another more recognised genre: Film Noir. Despite not involving private detectives, femme fatales or Humphrey Bogart, its view of humanity as a pitiless, corrupt and amoral cesspit is absolutely in line with that genre’s themes.

That sense of hollowness that exists in ‘Gone Girl’ is all-pervading in ‘Nightcrawler.’ There are almost no redeeming features about any of the characters in either film, and very little hope exists in the portrait of America they portray. These characters are twisted, soulless leeches – emotionless, sterile and, fundamentally, alone.

Both are tremendous films. After a slow summer, cinema just got good again.

Connor Pierce

Over the summer, inspired by a close colleague, I decided to brave the streets of London on a bicycle and start commuting to work by two wheels.

Guided by my colleague and pseudo-cycling enthusiast friend, I opted to purchase a second-hand road bike, based mainly on the fact that I’ve always liked their curved handlebars and thin frames.

Despite having not ridden a bike for quite some time, I took to cycling around the capital like a duck to water. I cycle about 28 miles a day, which takes about an hour each way and despite the uphill slogs early in the morning – which you need calves of steel for – it’s something I really enjoy. Cycling is an excellent way to see and learn your way around London; it starts putting the coloured lines of the Tube map into some sort of perspective, as you get to grips with the distance from one place to the next.

Upon taking my first ride, I felt I needed to fit in with the other hipster cyclists buzzing around and purchased a retro cycling jersey, a cycling cap (apparently you need to wear the peak up, not down) and some other probably more necessary items including a helmet, lights and a waterproof jacket (trust me, when it’s raining and you’re on a bike you NEED a waterproof jacket).

Make no mistake, cycling is great. It’s healthy, it’s environmentally friendly and it’s cheaper and often quicker than public transport (I now have another £100 in my pocket each month and actually get to work in just under an hour, as opposed to an hour-and-a-half by public transport). But despite the many positives, there is one clear drawback. It’s not the roadside punctures in the freezing rain and it’s definitely not the exhaust fumes you inhale every day (that’s all part of the job). It’s the small matter that cycling has turned me into a complete and utter arsehole.

Now, I mean ‘utter arsehole’ in the nicest possible way, but cycling on a bike, in London, does something to me which isn’t particularly pleasant. Most people, who live and especially work in London, view cyclists as an angry bunch, constantly skipping red lights, bashing on window screens when they think someone hasn’t seen them and generally being pretty rude. Before donning a lycra jersey myself, this was a view that I kind of agreed with. I’ve been shouted at by many on-coming cyclists when I’ve started stepping out on a road and thought to myself “what an arsehole” once they’ve passed. I was determined not to become like this.

But there’s something about riding a bike in London that automatically makes you an arsehole. I’m not the worst by any means; I generally don’t jump red lights, I occasionally let people cross over zebra-crossings, and I even try not to swear at oblivious motorists who I can see have children in their car/people carriers/4x4s (mainly 4×4 drivers). Still, I need to learn to control my angry cyclist self

Generally, cyclists are arseholes because they need to alert themselves to other road users. There are so many incidents of near-misses when you’re a cyclist: cars that try and overtake you at the narrowest possible point in the road; doors swinging open in front of you; pedestrians not looking before they step out; and white van drivers being, well, white van drivers.

I am an arsehole, because quite frankly, I need to assert my authority on the road. I need to shout and swear at drivers to tell them when they are doing something wrong and get my message across. If they know they are too close to me, they may remember to keep their distant with the next cyclist who is front of them. It’s like a universal pact. A universal pact of arseholes who are trying to make the roads safer.

There’s no condoning cyclists who jump red lights and dart out in front of cars/pedestrians/lorries, but generally we are the road users that no one likes. Even cyclists don’t really like other cyclists. We’re like Tottenham or Chelsea – everyone hates us.

Despite being an arsehole, I would have to be dragged kicking and screaming on commuter public transport again. The people on trains and buses are even bigger arseholes. Especially the ones that allow their children to sit on the seats that they aren’t paying for, the people who wear rucksacks on packed trains and the guy in the corner who decides to eat a tuna sandwich. Yes, you know who you are – those people are the real arseholes.

Oh, and the other side-effect of being a cyclist? Whenever cycling is on the sports channels – I find myself watching it (EuroSport One AND Two). It’s truly captivating, and I get to watch other people being utter arseholes instead.

Matt Cooper

1. It’s definitely not boring

It’s a common misconception that snooker is dull. This is only the case if you assume that ‘slow’ and ‘dull’ are the same thing. Snooker is undoubtedly slow, but those who disregard slow activities as boring are the sorts of people who have never read a book or tried to learn anything, have never walked anywhere and have forgotten how to communicate without the assistance of a screen.

Once understood, snooker is one of the most exciting games around. The UK Championship is, without doubt, the perfect time to change the perceptions you might have about one of Britain’s most underrated sports.

2. The pure, unadulterated skill

All sports are effectively about celebrating some form of physical prowess, whether it’s strength, agility, stamina or speed (or a combination of all four), but no sport – aside from possibly golf – values pure and unadulterated skill as much as snooker.

Anyone who has ever tried to knock a 52.5 mm coloured ball with a similarly sized cue ball, into a pocket at the side or corner of a table that is almost 12 ft by 6 ft big can appreciate what a profoundly difficult task it is. To do so with any sense of strategy, let alone flair or panache, is completely remarkable.

This is what is so endlessly compelling about snooker. There are many footballers, for example, who possess phenomenal skill, but there are far more who possess none whatsoever and yet are still effective at the top level (take a bow, Neil Ruddock). This can never be the case in snooker. Every player competing at the UK Championships possesses a level of skill that those outside the game could not even comprehend. As with anything, once one understands how incredibly difficult this skill is to master, watching someone repeatedly and effortlessly achieve it becomes a joy.

3. Ronnie O’Sullivan is still the GOAT

Every once in a while, someone will explode onto the scene of a particular sport and somehow combine mind-blowing ability with charisma and personality. I am talking of the Muhammad Alis and the Usain Bolts, sportsmen who not only excel beyond all physical boundaries, but who seem completely unable – or unwilling – to leave their personalities in the changing room. These are always the best sportsmen to watch and Ronnie O’Sullivan exists among the elite, gliding around a snooker table, taunting his opponent with one-handed trick shots.

On his day, it is almost accepted wisdom that Ronnie O’Sullivan is the best snooker player there has ever been. Those who favour a more tactical and consistent approach may point towards Stephen Hendry or Steve Davis, but neither could have matched O’Sullivan at his absolute prime.

It is, however, Ronnie’s lack of consistency – indeed, his outright contempt for it – that makes him so fascinating. His apparent refusal to reach his full potential can often be frustrating, but this kind of consistency in snooker requires a level-headedness that O’Sullivan simply is not capable of. He is like Jimi Hendrix in a tuxedo – performing acts of such dazzling, stupefying brilliance in the same frame as the most basic mistakes against weak opposition. His personal battles are well-documented – as is his unrefined, unapologetically rough around the edges character – but when Ronnie’s in full swing, he is still unplayable. Let’s just hope the right Ronnie shows up this year (assuming he actually plays).

4. The poetry of Chas ‘n’ Dave

The attempt to write a song that represents an entire sport is one that is usually doomed to miserable failure. Football, of course, has a few anthems from back in the day, but aside from ‘Three Lions,’ ‘World in Motion’ and – at an absolute push – Fat Les’ ‘Vindaloo,’ almost every other tune has been appalling – and most sports, frankly, don’t even bother.

There is, however, one glaring exception to this rule. In 1986, two raucous cockneys assaulted the UK charts with a song about the game they loved. I am talking about Chas ‘n’ Dave’s smash hit ‘Snooker Loopy.’ It’s the perfect sports song; catchy and funny with an up-tempo beat, the song also features a number of cameos from snooker’s stars of the era, such as Steve Davis and Dennis Taylor.

However, the song also works as a perfect guide to snooker’s rules for the uninitiated. “Pot the reds, then pull back for the yeller, green, brahn, blue, pink and black” is undoubtedly the pithiest summary of what is an incredibly complex game. All these years on, the song still sounds as relevant and daring as it did then.

5. Dennis Taylor and John Virgo’s heavenly commentary

It is a truth universally acknowledged that commentators in slower sports, like snooker and cricket, are infinitely more entertaining than their more energetic counterparts

Dennis Taylor and John Virgo are the epitome of ’slow commentary.’ Their dry, self-deprecating wit, understated excitement and outright hostility towards any attempt to introduce modernity into the game are a joy to listen to in comparison with the inane, brainless dirge we are subjected to during ITV’s football coverage. Virgo and Taylor do not talk for the sake of talking, and they are not afraid to let a few minutes of silence go by for viewers to make their own reflections on the game.

In a world where British sports coverage increasingly resembles the hysterical whooping and crass ‘entertainment’ of American wrestling, Dennis Taylor and Clive Tyldesley’s unapologetically languid approach is both a remnant of a forgotten era and a breath of fresh air. When watching sport, it’s nice to be treated like an adult occasionally, rather than a hyperactive child. Sky Sports: take note.

Connor Pierce

Warning: Definitely contains spoilers.

1. Wideboy Dan clings on for another week in ‘The Apprentice’ Episode 9

Self-confessed “lover of banter” Daniel Lassman continued his reign of terror in this week’s episode of ‘The Apprentice.’ He returned to the boardroom for a fourth time, following his haphazard management of another failed task, causing Lord Sugar to bring out some of his best barbs so far. “Are you a season ticket holder at Leyton Orient?” he asked. “You’re a season ticket holder here, that’s for sure.”

Having consistently proven himself to be petulant, deluded and deeply despised his fellow contestants/housemates, the thick-jawed pub quiz director was again spared by Lord Sugar, who clearly still loves having a fired-up wideboy in the running no matter how exasperated he acts.

This time it was Felipe Alviar-Baquero’s turn to be the fall guy, after an attempt to bend the rules cost him dearly. The hapless lawyer rode his luck for long enough, but he couldn’t stop an ominous Lord Sugar from going biblical on him (“this isn’t a legal loophole, this is a noose around your neck.”) Elsewhere, the quietly competent Roisin Hogan came into her own this week to emerge as a strong favourite; assuming she already has a half-decent business plan, Lord Sugar’s £250,000 might as well have her name on it.

2. Tarantino’s favourite actor waltzes into the next Bond film

‘Spectre’ was unveiled as the title for the forthcoming James Bond film causing people to get about as excited as you can about the name of a film. But the best part of the announcement was the news that Christoph Waltz will play a character named Oberhauser, who may or may not be the son of Blofeld, arguably Bond’s most iconic nemesis.

Having been plucked from obscurity by Quentin Tarantino, Waltz’s almost overnight transformation to an Academy Awards darling – via two powerhouse performances in ‘Inglourious Basterds’ and ‘Django Unchained’ – has fuelled hysterical speculation amongst Bond buffs about what the diminutive Austrian can bring to the table, particularly on the back of the admittedly very good ‘Skyfall.’

Sam Mendes returns to the director’s chair and after attempting to reinvent Bond as a brooding, beer-drinking madman, his decision to cast Waltz – who is best known for playing articulate assassins with a glint in their eye – suggests he could be chasing something closer to the camper feel of older Bond movies.

3. Band beefs heat up in album of the year polls

It’s that time of year again when music writers indulge themselves in the pointless but strangely addictive activity of ranking their favourite albums from the past 12 months in order, revealing more often than not that they’re actually incapable of forming their own opinions. According to the Album of the Year aggregator, the tastemakers’ choice is ‘Lost In The Dream’ by The War On Drugs, after polling highly on a series of suspiciously similar lists.

‘Lost In The Dream’ narrowly outranks ‘Benji’ by Sun Kil Moon (aka Mark Kozelek) on many of the round-ups which have already surfaced. This will no doubt irk the notoriously grouchy singer, who recently penned a folky seven-minute diss track named ‘War On Drugs: Suck My Cock,’ calling them “the whitest band I’ve ever heard.”

Elsewhere, Rollin’ Stone managed to either troll the entire internet or prove just how out of touch it has become by naming U2’s ‘Songs of Innocence’ – the one that invaded people’s iTunes libraries this September like a nasty case of mumps – as its album of the year.

4. Adnan’s defence lawyer gets cross-examined in ‘Serial’ Episode 10

After bringing out the big guns in recent weeks to further support Adnan Syed’s innocence, in this week’s episode of true crime podcast ‘Serial,’ the show’s host Sarah Koenig – who now has the familiarity of a close friend or family member – turned her attention towards Adnan Syed’s defence attorney Cristina Gutierrez, a woman who up until now has only been portrayed as a somewhat unconventional, but overall respected lawyer, who may or may not have botched Syed’s case intentionally.

In this episode we learn that Gutierrez was a meticulous and brilliant workaholic, who obsessed over Syed’s case – and in turn, earned his deepest trust – to the extent that it probably contributed to her declining health (she died of heart attack four years after Syed was convicted of murdering his ex-girlfriend).

The court recordings of Gutierrez’s painfully drawn-out delivery gives the episode a slower feel, but Koenig is able to reach conclusions about how Gutierrez’s health may have affected her competency throughout the case – particularly as she appeared to gloss over a major piece of evidence and lost her temper in the court room on more than one occasion. Koenig also responds to rumours about a new appeal for Syed, saying “it is still alive by a thread… based on a claim of ineffective assistance of counsel, meaning Christina Guiterrez screwed up.”

5. ‘The Newsroom’ passes its shelf life in Episode 3, ‘Main Justice’

‘The Newsroom’ entered the business end of its third and final season on Sky Atlantic, which, by American standards, is something of a failure. The criticism that has been heaped on the show throughout its short tenure has often felt unfair given its potential to be hugely entertaining, but the most recent episode – which bordered on nauseatingly schmaltzy – had all the hallmarks of a show well past its sell-by date.

The re-appearance of Lucas Pruit, an eccentric – and most likely autistic – new media mogul played by B.J. Novak (aka Ryan from the American version of ‘The Office’) was another example of the show’s paper-thin and frankly, unconvincing characters that cling tightly to tired stereotypes – much like the sanctimonious journalists and online-dwelling nerds that we’ve already endured.

The storyline that’s stringing the series together is at least captivating for the most part, so there’s still hope that Aaron Sorkin can tap into his former screenwriting glory and craft a fitting ending for the show.

Alex Andrews

1. Diving is OK now

Diving seems to be all the rage in the Premier League this season. By far and away the stars of this noble new trend are Chelsea, whose return to winning ways was something of a sub-plot to their comfortable 2-0 victory over Hull at Stamford Bridge on Saturday.

The game saw three blatant dives from Gary Cahill, Diego Costa and Willian, the most flagrant of which – Cahill’s – went totally unpunished, as referee Chris Foy did his much-cherished and well-respected profession no favours by failing to show Cahill a second yellow card for hitting the deck theatrically in the Hull box. It’s difficult to see quite how Foy can justify his appalling decisions. The only conclusion is that he was influenced by the crowd at Stamford Bridge.

There has predictably been widespread media outrage about both Chelsea and Foy – particularly, it seems, that such a noble defender as Gary Cahill could be guilty of such chicanery. It now appears that diving is no longer a foreign epidemic to be grumbled about by English pundits and managers, but has now been adopted by salt-of-the-earth English players themselves. Either way, it’s here to stay, and referees now seem totally fine with it.

2. Brendan Rogers is on thin ice

Liverpool proved just how far they’ve slipped from last season’s nearly men by losing 3-0 to their bitter rivals Manchester United. Brendan Rogers gambled big by playing Raheem Sterling as a makeshift striker. His side were dominant for most of the match and deserved more, but Sterling was denied three times by David de Gea, who was once again United’s saviour. Liverpool were disorganised, giving Antonio Valencia free rein of the right wing and Juan Mata the permission to saunter through their leaky defence and head the ball home (from an admittedly offside position).

Regardless of their dominance, Liverpool’s lack of cutting edge has just as much to do with Rogers’ failures in the transfer window (and naive team selection) as it has to do with De Gea’s amazing reflexes. Rather than at least trying to replace Luis Suarez with a striker of a similar calibre, Rogers brought in a notoriously volatile man child and a 32-year-old. You can point to the fact that Liverpool are sill missing Daniel Sturridge, but the United side that beat them has suffered from an even bigger injury epidemic.

It seems that Liverpool have ultimately failed to learn from Spurs’ mistakes last season, following the sale of their most prized possession. Unless Rogers can turn things around quickly, we could see him go the same way as Andre Villas Boas.

3. Mauricio Pochettino rides his luck

Football is a game of the finest margins and the cruelest twists of fate. If Liverpool were unlucky against United, then Spurs were this week’s biggest chancers. For the fourth time in the last seven games, Spurs conjured up a late winner out of nowhere to mask what was – for the most part – another turgid performance.

The fact that this has now become something of a habit for Spurs has led some to claim that this new found resilience (rather than luck) is a reward for Mauricio Pochettino’s intensive training schedules, which were questioned at the start of the season. Of course, had Spurs failed to beat Swansea – which would have been no less than they deserved – the Argentinian’s methods would’ve no doubt been called into question all over again.

Despite finding themselves in a favourable league position, Sunday’s win confirmed two things: Pochettino’s Tottenham are still very much a work in progress and further reinforcements (upfront and perhaps in centre midfield) are needed in January if they have any chance of pushing on.

4. The wheels fall off Southampton’s joyride

Southampton showed signs that the wheels have fallen off as they fell to their fourth consecutive defeat at the hands of lowly Burnley. It was impossible not to feel sympathy for last year’s surprise package when they were pillaged in the summer transfer window, and it was even harder not to enjoy watching them race out of the blocks in the first few months of the season.

You’d back Ronald Koeman to reinvigorate his troops – particularly with Jay Rodriguez due back from injury soon and Wesley Sneijder rumoured to be joining the club in January – but looking at their fixtures over Christmas, which includes Chelsea, Arsenal and Everton away, it could be about to get even stormier for the Saints.

5. Buffoons of the Week: Arsenal’s spoilt boo-boys

We were all reminded of the fickle nature of Arsenal supporters this week, as a chorus of Gooners sung Arsene Wenger’s praises following a convincing 4-1 win over Newcastle United – barely a week after a crowd of Arsenal diehards were seen hurling abuse at the Frenchman at a train station in Stoke.

Criticism of Wenger isn’t totally unfounded, but one might expect Arsenal fans to show a bit more respect for the most successful manager their club has ever had. Arsenal supporters have been the spoilt brats of the Premier League for some time now, with a sense of entitlement to endless trophies that even United and Chelsea fans don’t seem to share.

Fans leading the recent mutiny at the Emirates Stadium might do well to learn a lesson from their rivals in the North West, Manchester United and Liverpool. After all, finishing in the top four for 18 consecutive seasons doesn’t just magically happen. David Moyes can tell you that.

Alex Andrews & Connor Pierce

1. There will be drama

Aside from the exhilaration of watching two athletes at the absolute peak of their sporting prowess going toe-to-toe at the oche, the World Darts Championship always breeds subplots that make for compelling viewing.

In previous tournaments, we’ve seen Phil ‘The Power’ Taylor and Raymond van Barneveld virtually come to blows during a semi-final grudge match, and Adrian Lewis storm off stage when a particularly nasty draft threw him off his game.

The focus this year will be on whether Michael van Gerwen – the closest thing that world darts has to its own rock star – can defend his title against Taylor in what could turn out to be the 54-year-old’s swan song. But there’s no guessing what drama this year’s Championship will bring.

2. Phil Taylor could get knocked off his perch

You never know what you’re going to get with Taylor. In the last few years his form has wavered from world-beater to has-been. We even had the audacity to claim that his “powers are waning” after he spluttered out of the Grand Prix in Dublin, but we had to eat our words when he emphatically won the Grand Slam last month.

Taylor automatically commands kudos based on the fact that over the last 27 years, his name has become as linked to darts as Ronnie O’Sullivan‘s has with snooker. The difference is that Taylor isn’t particularly likeable: he has an unpleasant arrogance rather than a swagger and a childlike petulance when things don’t go his way.

Despite being the bookie’s favourite, the World Darts Championship is always worth watching simply for the chance of seeing Taylor – with a face like a smacked arse – knocked off his perch by a lumbering youngster who looks like he survives on a diet of John Smiths and Mars bars.

3. The atmosphere is electric

It doesn’t matter that most of the people standing up because they love the darts are lairy lager lads who think a Shanghai finish is something you’d ask for at a Chinese massage parlour, the atmosphere at Alexandra Palace is electric enough that you can feel it through your television screen.

The chants may have become less inventive in recent years, but the crowd participation is still a large part of what separates darts from other spectator sports. No doubt the fans will find a new favourite this year (like this guy), but in the meantime you can expect them to sing Van Gerwen’s name to the tune of ‘Seven Nation Army’ and boo Lewis like a pantomime villain.

4. Someone will hit a nine-dart finish

Forget every goal, shot or pot that’s ever made you feel a sense of awe, a nine-dart finish is one of sport’s greatest spectacles. With each treble 20, the cheers get louder until there’s an electrifying explosion of noise when the final double is hit.

Last year, Terry Jenkins and Kyle Anderson were the only players to hit nine-darters, but with James Wade hitting one in the Grand Prix and Taylor looking like he’s back to his best again, you could do a lot worse than putting money on seeing at least three at this year’s tournament if you fancy a flutter.

5. It’s inexplicably Christmassy

People say that Christmas loses its magic as you get older, but the reality is that it morphs into an anarchic month of excess that’s marked by a whole new set of festive signposts – whether it’s a Christmas Eve tear-up, a Boxing Day boxset or an almighty cheese board.

For savvy sports fans, the appearance of adverts for the World Darts Championship will make you feel just as Christmassy as the Coca-Cola truck used to. Running from 18 December right up to 4 January, the Championships tie the festive season together in a bow. Quite simply, you’ll struggle to find an example of grown men celebrating Christmas with as much vigour as the ones that cram into Ally Pally.

Alex Andrews

As critically acclaimed American TV series go, three seasons is not typically representative of success – especially when one of those was just a measly six episodes long. Yet, Aaron Sorkin’s ‘The Newsroom’ – though admittedly not universally appreciated – has at least managed to garner a degree of praise in its short run since 2012’s pilot episode, making its early conclusion all the more confusing.

Even after the finale was aired both here in the UK and over in the US and this week, opinion is still divided as to whether Sorkin’s depiction of a primetime television newsroom – and a broad examination of modern broadcast journalism – will enhance or diminish his stellar reputation as a storyteller.

After all, this is the man responsible for the multi-award-winning ‘The West Wing,’ the Broadway play-turned-Hollywood motion picture ‘A Few Good Men’ and the transformation from page to screen of Ben Mezrich’s ‘The Social Network.’

Put simply, Sorkin is in exclusive company when it comes to screenwriters. His use of a series of story-telling devices such as rapid-fire dialogue, extended monologues and the now legendary ‘walk-and-talk’ shot are embedded in popular culture.

Seth Meyers, host of the nightly US talk show ‘Late Night,’ was both poking fun at and honouring Sorkin when he produced a sketch incorporating all of the screenwriter’s famous devices as part of Sorkin’s recent appearance on the show.

The walk and talk is trademark Sorkin: the sequence will consist of a single tracking shot featuring two or more characters engaged in breathless conversation as they walk through set, with people and objects entering and exiting seamlessly as the shot continues without cuts.

The dialogue is fast, witty and sharp. It makes you want to be a part of the conversation or at least have a similar one with your own work colleagues the next morning. And when it comes to an extended monologue, Sorkin has written some simply jaw-dropping scenes.

In the Season 2 ‘West Wing’ episode ‘Two Cathedrals’, he wrote a part-English, part-Latin tirade against God to be delivered by Michael Sheen’s president Josiah Bartlett after his secretary was killed in a car accident. Wonderfully scripted and beautifully acted, it was possibly one of the most powerful and memorable scenes in television in the 2000s. (And if we’re looking for individual examples of Sorkin’s writing prowess, there are plenty more to choose from. How about the “you can’t handle the truth!” speech from ‘A Few Good Men?’)

So how does The Newsroom stack up in comparison? While it bears many of the essential Sorkin production hallmarks, the overbearing sense with his latest creation is one of overwhelming sanctimony, which is probably the deciding factor on whether or not you’ll enjoy the show.

‘The Newsroom’ tells the story of news anchor Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels), and his staff of producers and journalists as they tackle real-life news events and the pressures of ratings and reporter ethics. As early as the first episode of Season 1, Sorkin uses the show to portray a nobility in journalism and an integrity that has been lost to varying extents in modern day media.

As the news team cover events from the not so distant past – such as the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico and the shooting of Arizona congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords – the audience are afforded the luxury of knowing more than the characters (assuming they pay attention to the news). This allows Sorkin’s news team to get it right more often than they get it wrong (or at least make a valiant attempt to do so). The Season 1 episode ‘I’ll Try To Fix You’ features McAvoy’s team deciding not to broadcast the story that Giffords had been killed by the attempt on her life (she hadn’t), when most if not all other major networks did. Giffords survived and our heroic team were vindicated.

But where some take issue with ‘The Newsroom’ is the level of authority and righteousness the characters take. It’s one thing to show them doing their jobs well, both practically and ethically, but at times the patting on the back can be at best gratuitous and at worst nauseating.

The most recent episodes of Season 3 have depicted McEvoy’s decision not to reveal the identity of a source in a particularly sensitive news story – a key moral belief that all journalists must adhere to, we’re led to believe – leading to his 52-day incarceration for being in contempt of court.

McEvoy has a clear and obvious way of ending his imprisonment (by revealing the source), but he is seen stubbornly clinging on to his journalistic principles to protect others. This is all very noble, but one can imagine the frustration felt by some viewers as, for the umpteenth time, he smirks and answers “no sir” to the prosecutor when asked to name the source.

Sanctimony in characters is nothing new for Sorkin. It’s something he used a lot in ‘The West Wing’ and to great effect in ‘The Social Network’ when writing Jesse Eisenberg’s portrayal of Facebook creator Mark Zuckerberg. But in ‘The Newsroom’ it can, at times, feel forced, as if Sorkin is ramming his opinions down your throat.

If you can move past that, the show is very promising. The inner workings of modern broadcast journalism are explored in great depth, there isn’t an over-reliance on technical jargon so it’s fairly straight-forward to keep up with and the interpersonal relationships between characters, though a touch grating at times (see the almost endless game of cat and mouse between Jim and Maggie), add an additional element of intrigue.

Thomas Sadoski’s Don Keefer and Olivia Munn’s Sloane Sabbith provide endless warmth in their many scenes together as a producer and financial news anchor in a relationship with each other. Showcasing Sorkin’s ability to transform a character, both started on the periphery of the show, but grew quickly to become arguably the two most cherished characters.

All that said, the show has not been without its controversies. The recent Season 3 episode ‘Oh Shenandoah’ was heavily criticised in the US for the storyline involving an alleged rape victim and one of the producers’ admission that he felt morally obliged to believe the defendant’s side of the story.

Critics have labelled the show as having a ‘woman problem’ and one of its own writers Alena Smith criticised the show, tweeting that she had been kicked out of the writing room by Sorkin when she had raised objections to a scene where “a rape victim gets interrogated by a random man.”

The show has also been slated for perceived attacks on the Republican Party, which plays a heavy role in early plot lines, and for a general over-reliance on “sermonising diatribes.” Alessandra Stanley wrote in the New York Times that “at its worst, the show chokes on its own sanctimony.”

As we can now look back on the series as a complete body of work, it doesn’t seem likely that ‘The Newsroom’ will rank at the top of Sorkin’s esteemed career, with too many controversies and criticisms stacking up in the against column.

But to dismiss it completely is a mistake. Sorkin has offered us a look into the thought processes into what constitutes news today. And though the characters might not curry favour with everyone, the show asks plenty of questions of today’s mainstream media – ones that will perhaps become the enduring legacy of the show.

Mark Tilley

1. ‘Black Mirror: White Christmas’ kicks off the Christmas special season

‘Black Mirror’ began with two men (one of which was Jon Hamm) in a dilapidated old house in the middle of a freezing, barren wasteland. Against this eerie backdrop unfurled three increasingly dark Christmas narratives.

The show was set in a not-so-distant future dystopia, a non-specific point in which 30-year-olds are too young to recognise the word ‘Xerox,’ but where people apparently still drive Rovers. In this world, all modern fears about the prevalence and dependence on technology have been realised: humans have all installed microchips which control their perception of the world called ‘Z-eyes’; personalities have become indistinguishable from pieces of software, and the social media concept of ‘blocking’ has been draconically applied to real life interaction.

Unfortunately, the sharp social commentary that was not so subtlely woven into the show seemed somehow cheapened by the barrage of twists which occurred in the final 15 minutes. Rather than significantly adding to the plot, these served more to cheat the audience out of an understanding of the characters that had been had built up over the preceding hour, and what started out as an uncomfortably plausible nightmare vision of the future all went a bit ‘Flash Gordon’ by the end of the show.

Still, this was entertaining telly, thanks in no small part to that incredibly rare treat – a proper US actor appearing on British television. Hamm essentially played a futuristic Don Draper, but his mere presence in a show like this was enough to boost the quality rating. If even half of this year’s Christmas television is as watchable and thought-provoking as this, it’ll be one of the best festive TV seasons we’ve been treated to in a long while.

2. Sparks fly in ‘The Apprentice’ semi-final

This Wednesday saw the interviews episode of ‘The Apprentice’ – the one that everyone who has ever watched the show spends the entire series looking forward to.

Even after 10 years, this spectacle remains an absolutely delightful hour of television, as formerly cocky and arrogant men and super-confident power-women are broken into little more than whimpering babies by Lord Sugar’s sneering henchmen.

The lamb set up for this season’s slaughter was bouncy youngster Solomon Akhtar. After his CV and application form were cruelly built up as “an absolute pleasure” by Alan Sugar’s terrifying muse, Claude Littner at the start of his interview, he was verbally bludgeoned to death when his woeful business plan came under scrutiny.

Unsurprisingly by the end of the show, but against the odds of the series, the trigger was also pulled on this season’s most impressive candidate, Roisin Hogan. When it transpired that her business plan was seriously flawed, the big man was left with very little option.

The firing left something of a sour taste in the mouth. In earlier seasons of ‘The Apprentice,’ candidates won a job with Sugar rather than an investment, and were evaluated on the 12 week process as a whole. That’s no longer the case, and as a result, one of the most competent candidates ever unjustly fell at the last hurdle. The current format does beg the question that, with so much ultimately riding on the business plan, what the hell is the point of all the other rounds?

3. And the BBC award for dullest act of 2014 goes to…

“Coming up! George Ezra, Ed Sheeran and One Direction!”

Maybe it was because I listened to Noel Gallagher’s interview on Radio 4’s ‘Mastertapes’ the night before, but somehow I found it difficult to share Fern Cotton’s excitement over the line up for the BBC Music Awards, which aired last Thursday night.

In hissession, Gallagher bemoaned the current state of the British music scene, like he always does. But when his grumblings are juxtaposed with the evidence, it’s difficult not to agree with him.

The Awards were a celebration of blandness above anything else. Dreary acoustic ‘singer/songwriters’ followed manufactured boy bands and pretentious ‘dance-fusion’ combos, to a backing track of unbearable Radio 1 staples like Nick ‘Grimmy’ Grimshaw high-fiveing each other over the BBC’s apparently crucial contribution to music. It was pretty frustrating viewing.

Musicians really are an insipid bunch these days. Even the backstage shenanigans that were the highlight of the music award ceremonies of yesteryear seem to have evaporated into a mist of fad diets and selfies. Nowhere better was this portrayed than in Ellie Goulding’s summation of her own outrageous antics: apparently, she had ‘a nice little bean salad thing and a soup.’ Who said Rock ‘n’ Roll was dead?

4. Battle of the ego heavyweights on ‘Question Time’

‘Question Time’ is the most predictable program on television.

Every week, the panel goes like this: second rate Labour MP; second rate Tory MP; third rate Lib Dem MP; MP from a ‘minority’ party (usually UKIP, but sometimes Plaid Cymru, SNP or Green depending on location); a journalist/political commentator/academic; and a celeb (usually a comedian).

The show then runs as follows: the major party MPs (who have no real power anyway) answer questions so rigidly in accordance with their party lines that it becomes impossible to tell whether they are in fact human beings or just party campaign leaflets with a pulse. The minority MPs slag off the major parties and get raucous applause from the dozen or so nutters in the audience who have turned up specifically to support them.

The celeb spouts populist, ill-informed drivel on issues about which they know very little, and, if they’re a comedian, will work in a bit of new material. This usually gets the most applause. The political commentators and journalists usually start by trying to take the show seriously, but realise what a fatal error they have made about halfway through and give up.

This tired formula continued in last week’s episode, but with the two most egotistical men in Britain – Nigel Farage and Russell Brand – filling the ‘celeb’ and ‘minority party’ spots.

Brand and Farage are opposite sides of the same coin. It’s difficult to take either seriously, and both rely on broad, simplified and reactionary views of complex issues to push their ‘messages’. Neither could ever conceivably find any common ground, and neither possesses the expertise, empathy or self-awareness to ever seriously deconstruct or analyse the other’s position. This is why inviting them onto a debate show is fundamentally flawed.

They are two narcissistic, testosterone-fuelled bulls which the BBC loves to invite into its china-shop because verbal fisticuffs are good for ratings. Sure, this was entertaining TV in comparison to the usual snoozefest QT has become, but the pretence that this show is still a forum for serious and engaging political debate is an illusion. You might as well watch the ‘One Show.’

5. ‘Serial’ comes to a conclusion (kind of)

Serial, this year’s hottest podcast, concluded its first season this week, after 12 fascinating episodes and over a year of painstaking groundwork into the 1999 murder of 18-year-old Hae Min Lee in Baltimore. The show’s host Sarah Koenig achieved as close to a proper ending as was possible in regards to the innocence of Adnan Syed, who still maintains that he did not kill his ex-girlfriend.

You almost hear the doubt swirling in Koenig’s head, as she asked herself: “Did we just spend a year applying excessive scrutiny to a perfectly ordinary case?” She didn’t exactly draw a clear cut conclusion (“If you asked me to swear that Adnan Syed is innocent, I couldn’t do it”), but claimed that she would have felt legally obliged to aquit Syed as a juror. Looking back on the evidence brought to the table, it’s not the character witnessess or even the flimsiness of the prosecution that feel like the strongest weapons in Koenig’s armoury, but the absolute convinction of third-parties, such as the ex-homicide detective hired to review the investigation or the lawyers from the University of Virginia Law School’s innocence project clinic.

The finale may have fell a little short of the standard of the rest of the series (that was always going to be the case), but that shouldn’t detract from what has been a journalistic triumph throughout.

Connor Pierce & Alex Andrews