Saturday, November 25, 2006
We must destroy everything that Ian Wright stands for
I’ve just finished reading a book about the battle of Stalingrad, and it’s fair to say that Stalingrad in 1942 is one of the places in history I’d least like to have been.
Another place from the past that I wouldn’t much fancy is the bottom of a well (say, in the 13th century), having been deposited there by the village elders in my capacity as witch.
But of all the places in history I’d least like to have been, my numero uno unpleasant location would be the Arsenal dressing room circa 1991-1998. Why? Because Arsenal is where Ian Wright plied his footballing trade during that period, and by all accounts he callously subjected his teammates, week in, week out, to his own almost certainly execrable taste in music in the changing room before every game.
The fact is, it’s never much fun having what someone else deems to be “good music” forced upon you, particularly if the music in question is complete shite. If I ever go into Borders in Kingston, my attention is more often than not wrenched away from matters literary by the sounds of Katie Melua or Tori Amos, whose meaningless piped dirges have driven me out of the shop on more than one occasion (I’m not joking).
I mention all this because I remember a conservation with Juan a few years back, during a run of bad results for the Casuals, when we discussed the possibility of playing a dues-paying, head-down, no-nonsense headbanger of an anthem in the changing room before the game with a view to motivating the team.
The problem, as always, is that one man’s musical Angelina Jolie is the next man’s etc etc. Here, in apparent contradiction of all that I've just said, are my top eight changing room musical motivators –
Another place from the past that I wouldn’t much fancy is the bottom of a well (say, in the 13th century), having been deposited there by the village elders in my capacity as witch.
But of all the places in history I’d least like to have been, my numero uno unpleasant location would be the Arsenal dressing room circa 1991-1998. Why? Because Arsenal is where Ian Wright plied his footballing trade during that period, and by all accounts he callously subjected his teammates, week in, week out, to his own almost certainly execrable taste in music in the changing room before every game.
The fact is, it’s never much fun having what someone else deems to be “good music” forced upon you, particularly if the music in question is complete shite. If I ever go into Borders in Kingston, my attention is more often than not wrenched away from matters literary by the sounds of Katie Melua or Tori Amos, whose meaningless piped dirges have driven me out of the shop on more than one occasion (I’m not joking).
I mention all this because I remember a conservation with Juan a few years back, during a run of bad results for the Casuals, when we discussed the possibility of playing a dues-paying, head-down, no-nonsense headbanger of an anthem in the changing room before the game with a view to motivating the team.
The problem, as always, is that one man’s musical Angelina Jolie is the next man’s etc etc. Here, in apparent contradiction of all that I've just said, are my top eight changing room musical motivators –
- Sex Pistols: Anarchy in the UK
- Nirvana: Lithium
- Lou Reed: White Light, White Heat (live version)
- Nirvana: Smells Like Teen Spirit
- Stranglers: No More Heroes
- The Fall: Dr Buck’s Letter
- The Hives: Hate To Say I Told You So
- Elmer Bernstein: Frankie Machine
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