Asamoah by addick-tedKevin

Then you’ll scour the article, at Ghanaweb.com, for the killer quote. “I did it for money.” “I left to make myself richer.” “Stuff Sunderland; gimme more money and I’m anyone’s.”

And you’ll scour in vain.

True, the introduction reads: Asamoah Gyan has broken his silence on his bitter exit from Sunderland and admitted: Money makes me happy.

But that’s not a direct quote, just the author’s summary of what Gyan – “believed,” says Ghanaweb.com, “to have ­QUADRUPLED his money to over £100,000 a week” – actually said.

And the real quotes?

“I know people will be wondering why I moved to the Middle East, but it’s up to me. In life you need two things. You need to be happy and you need to look after yourself money-wise.

Whoever said I went for money needs to think twice. I made a ­decision with my family and the most important thing was for me to be happy and to be with my family.

It wasn’t a difficult decision. I had to decide with my family. My family is more important to me.”

Then our Asamoah begins to ramble a bit before adding: “Steve Bruce is like my father. He brought me to Sunderland for a record fee of £13million. But that’s life. I’m doing my job and he’s doing his job. He’s working under ­Sunderland and I’m also working under Sunderland. There was no confrontation with Steve. He is still my father. He gave me confidence. I’m always ready to work with him again.”

OK, we can all interpret the first part of the quoted remarks as meaning just what the the article says he said. But he didn’t quite say it; it remains our interpretation. I could also have put up a headline stating: “Asamoah Gyan shock: ‘Steve Bruce is my dad’.” He says first Bruce is “like” his father, then that he is “still” his father.

For the record, Steve Bruce is not Gyan’s dad.

But at least he has some command of verb tenses, telling Ghanaweb: “The Sunderland fans loved me. I know they were hurt. The deal came at the wrong time – but that’s life.”

You will have to go to the Ghanaian site if you want to hear his thoughts on starting to score a few goals in the UAE league, not really an Everest-climbing sort of feat, and about how his game is improving.

And you can always post a comment there, telling our Asamoah that when it comes to dosh, we didn’t even need his own word for it: he is a greedy b******.

Monsieur Salut

Well that was in 1908, when we hammered the Mags even more comprehensively – 9-1 – at St James’ Park and they just shrugged it off to finish top anyway.

Things have changed in football. Surely after today’s mauling by Man City, 6-1 (going on 9-1 from what I saw of the procession of City chances following Jonny Evans’s correct sending off), United’s odds on keeping the Premier title will lengthen a bit. Probably already have.

And where do we fit in to this? Well, we have United away ourselves, next but one game. If they play anything like they did today, we have to be in with a chance; they looked very ordinary indeed, some of the players seemingly promoted way above their levels of competence.

OK, Salut! is getting carried away. Most of us, delighted with a win of any kind, are setting our sights no further ahead than Saturday and Villa at home.

Back-to-back wins are something we haven’t seen since January. After the victory at Bolton, confidence should be high for Saturday, But is it completely beyond credibility that a mighty performance one week later could get us something from Old Trafford, too? Or do we just get the backlash?

Maybe Scott the Red can come back here to tell us what sort of a chance he gives us of adding to United’s misery …

But remember who we have

Why has Pete Sixsmith abandoned non-league football, the paqes of Salut! Sunderland, his cat Samson and – just days ahead of Bolton away – the intensive psychological training considered essential for those planning to attend SAFC games?

What are we to read between the lines of a mysterious text message sent from what was meant to be a secret location detached from the British mainland?

Salut! Sunderland can reveal that Sixer is on a mission.

Forget world conflicts, the euro crisis, Liam Fox and the trial of Michael Jackson’s doctor. You’ve had the Arab Spring. This is the Mackem Autumn. After years of loyal if at times critical support, Sixer has travelled undercover (under cover, that is, of thermal underwear, several layers of clothing and waterproofs) to Orkney.

His task: to find a safe haven for Steve Bruce whose exile from the Stadium of Light is reported by mischief-makers to be imminent.

Orkney consists of 70 islands. Even so, it has not been easy finding somewhere suitable.

Not everyone wants a deposed dictator around. Will enemies pursue him to the islanders’ peaceable community? Will he spend his time there scheming a comeback? What about the need for impenetrable vaults to accommodate the Payoff, a traditional reward for underachievement in English football.

Can Orkney pass these tests. And will Bruce he contented enough, far from home(s), to pose no threat or nuisance? Do television signals for Newcastle United games reach Orkney?

When last seen, Sixer was heading northwards from the “frenzy of North-eastern football” and had under his arm a copy of Great Expectations.

He has already checked library shelves for any sign of Bruce’s three novels, Striker, Sweeper and Defender ( a fourth, No Striker, is due out soon and speculation about a possible Scottish islands hideaway grew when literary sources said the author might choose a pseudonym derived from the origins of the Bruce clan, de Brus or de Bruis).

Sixer’s solitary subsequent SMS, thought to have been written in code, said only: “Horizontal rain in Kirkwall.”

But insiders say his researches will take him to any or all of the following small islands: Shapinsay, Gairsay, Stronsay, Wyre, Rousay, Egilsay, Eday, Sanday, Westray, Papa Westray, North Ronaldsay, Graemsay, Hoy, South Walls, Burray, Flotta and South Ronaldsay.

To throw off suspicion, he’ll resurface in time for the Reebok and offer polite applause as Bruce takes his place in the dugout. He may not be able to suppress an angry reaction at 10 to 5 but this, too, is seen as part of an elaborate plot to act normally.

Only time will tell what will happen after that.

Hamish Blair

You heard earlier this week about Clément Koch’s black comedy for the Parisian stage, entitled and set in Sunderland and owing something to his observations while a student at Durham.

Since Salut! Sunderland‘s piece appeared – see here – it has been in The Times and Independent and on the Today programme – Sunderland apparently described there as being on Teesside – as well as on Ready To Go and the Newcastle pages at not606.com

The BBC rang me early from Newcastle to do a short interview on a breakfast programme. Last I heard was that it was being discussed by Hawksbee and Jacobs on TalkSport.

Imitation is a great form of flattery but M Salut trusts that commissions are in the post. There is one journalist who need not pay since he alerted me to the play in the first place, but I had better not name names in case my article appeared before his.

And now Paul Dacre, editor of the Daily Mail, has enlivened the Leveson inquiry into press conduct, defending tabloid and mid-market newspapers’ conduct in these terms:

“The Hampstead liberal with his gilded life-style understandably enjoys The Guardian, a paper that deals with serious issues. But does he or a judge have any right to deny someone who works 10 hours a day in a Sunderland call centre and lives for football, the right to buy a paper that reveals the sexual peccadilloes of one of his team’s millionaire married players – a player who uses his celebrity to sell products to him and his children?”

Clearly he was not talking about Jeff Whitley, who has admitted to snorting cocaine when at Cardiff City (though not while playing, merely after being given paid leave because of his drinking). But if it wasn’t cocaine, what exactly was he on when he took that kick – if it can be described as a kick – in the penalty shoot-out in the promotion playoff v Crystal Palace?

We must surely be told.

Monsieur Salut

This is a headline from the BBC website today:

Reputation preceeds me – Sunderland midfielder Cattermole

I wouldn’t mind betting Lee has already been in touch to complain. Perhaps a yellow card is in order for someone in Auntie’s team.

More seriously, the world is clearly coming to an end if the BBC has made illiteracy a condition of employment.

The link, which includes an interview in which Lee insists he is not a dirty player but a victim of his reputation, is here. The headline may well be corrected as time passes.

Monsieur Salut

Sunderland have been rubbishing the weekend talk of Steve Bruce’s job being on the line with Martin O’Neill poised to take over. I am inclined to believe the club’s version, as filtered through the Sunderland Echo and Journal sports staff, that his job is – as of now at any rate – no more in danger than the Queen’s. But that doesn’t mean we’re all happy bunnies. This is not our first Dear Steve of the season. Andy Nichol is a stern critic of the way SAFC too often do things and would dearly like Steve to pay heed to his thoughts (adapted here from a message to the Blackcats list) as a nervy Sunday afternoon at Arsenal approaches …

Dear Steve,

I will be there – living in London I’d struggle to find an excuse. But the harsh fact is that we are not worth watching – workmanlike yes and, who knows, we may even grind out another 0-0, but with only Sessegnon to provide any hope of some creativity/flair it’ll be backs to the wall all afternoon.

No Bendtner either. We’re one-paced and lacking in width and God knows what formation you’ll be putting out.

I have been reduced to wondering out loud with the question: “4-6-0 anyone?”

Could we be in for a repeat of the Brighton debacle?

I am sorry, Steve, but regardless of where we finish this season, we’re one ugly team.

All the best,

Andy

Images: V Tonelli

Now if only it could be Sunderland’s play taking Paris by storm. That for all their Qatari gold, we’d gone to the Parc des Princes and walloped Paris Saint-German 3-0 to proceed still further in the Champions’ League.

There’s the fantasy. Here’s the reality, or Sunderland as presented on the Parisian stage.

Sunderland is the title of a play running just now at the Petit Théâtre de Paris in rue Blanche (9th arrondissement).

It sounds as if it might be something Molière would have come up with if given some old Likely Lads scripts and asked to portray life in a northern English town where life is dominated by rain, factory closures, bird flu (bit out of date there, mind) … and the shortcomings of the football team.

A comedy à l’anglaise where emotion and laughter constantly intermingle, according to the blurb.

But so far as I could tell, it was not a translation from a British play but a piece written by a Frenchman, Clément Koch. And I have just this minute confirmed that to be the case.

The online comments from Parisian threatregoers suggest a great night provided you speak the lingo, French that is not Mackem.

“A lovely piece of theatre,” wrote “yannorangebleue”, awarding five stars, “between emotion, belly laughts and love, carried off by a uniformly strong cast. No overacting and we are drawn into the story as in a film.”

And “Claudia65″ wrote: “Loved it, a beautiful production that really makes you believe you’re in the north of England. Very well written, lots of emotion and tenderness and sometimes some laughter. Excellent actors. We had a great time.”

More? Let’s hear from two other amateur critics giving it five stars: “Olga2000″ found the play “pure happiness” while “Enico” overcame initial reluctance – he didn’t care for the poster and modern theatre sometimes leaves him cold – to be “totally impressed”.

To the proper critics, the play is – as the French love to say – so British.

The writer from L’Express confused football and rugby but liked it a lot, marvelling at the writer’s ability to produce comedy from a series of characters that include a woman bringing up her autistic younger sister after the child’s mother hangs herself, a lovestruck, spurned male friend, a flatmate who earns a living spouting telephone porn and “as the icing on the cake, two gays in search of the uterus”. “With all that, and the lovely presence of Elodie Navarre, the director Stéphane Hillel sweep us off our feet. Bravo!”

I thought I needed to know more and put in a call to Pierre Cordier, the man handling publicity.

But he was walking along the boulevards and told me to ring later. When I did, Pierre’s colleague answered a little breathlessly as if he, too, were pounding along sur le trottoir; he was so, so Parisian, namely too busy to talk beyond confirming that it was an original French work by the said M Koch. They clearly don’t expect to sell many tickets – I have seen prices varying between 21 and 39.50 euros – via Salut! Sunderland. Book here.

As for M Koch, a spot of Maigret-style – or was it Clouseau-style? – detective work by M Salut now establishes that he is bilingual, studied at Durham Uni, plays guitar and prefers ice hockey and tennis to football.

Monsieur Salut

With unforgivable lack of loyalty, my younger daughter supports Liverpool. She was born in Bristol, but that’s no excuse.

Even less loyally, she bought my wife as part of a birthday present a copy of the book How To Wean a Man Off Football, by Ronni Ancona and Alistair McGowan. What is she trying to do to my life?

And on page 38, the conversation goes a little like this:

Ronni:

You can’t simply put the fact that men look happier now than they did in pre-Industrial Revolution portraiture down to the advent of football.

Alistair:

No, but football has made men happier. It certainly distracts them from the sadness of life – and rickets.

Ronni:

Ali, that’s rubbish. Most men are made unhappy by football. My friend Jenny says she checks the football results at the weekend before going to work on the Monday to see what sort of mood her boss is likely to be in.

Alistair:

Who does he support?

Ronni:

I don’t know. Sunderland, I think.

Alistair:

Trust me. He’s generally going to be in a bad mood. She doesn’t need to check the papers.

M Salut wishes it to be known that pocket money is suspended for the next 10 years.

Monsieur Salut

Image: Andrew Fogg

Fortified by a trip home to the North East – no football, sadly, but to be at the retirement do for the Northern Echo‘s brilliant columnist Mike Amos (click here for more of that) – and by renewed acquaintance with pork pies, sausages and the like, I thought this thread on the Blackcats list deserved a wider audience …

As is often the case, our own Jeremy Robson chipped in with the opener. Whenever football’s thin on the ground – and let’s face it, internationals don’t really count – other topics crop up. What follows is not much more than a taster of the full thread; I will post the rest if there seems, as it were, to be appetite. And I am sure what is pictured above would be sent straight back by many Mackems, especially the steeped-in-nostalgia folk who belong to the Blackcats list …

Jeremy:

* It’s a very slow Blackcats day. Has nobody got any pease pudding crack or pasty stories or owt?

Terry:

Funny you should mention it.

Today I had an altercation in a pub having ordered steak and kidney pudding with vegetables. What turned up was very nice. It was a plate of the usual vegetables with a bowl of steak and kidney mixed with gravy. Again very nice. On top of the bowl was a lid of pastry. Definitely a lid because I lifted it up and peeped under it to see the meat.

I asked if this was a pudding because to me it wasn’t even a pie. Just meat with a lid on it. I was told it was a pudding. I was hungry and ate it. It was nice but …

What I expected was a S & K pudding. Heavy suet pastry, wrapped and steamed ’til both heavy and fluffy, filled with meaty gravy heaven. What we called “babbies heeds”

Did my mother waste all those years spent wearing one stocking so we could have proper steamed pudding for tea? Seems she did.

She’d cook like that every day for us and me dad. Meat and potato pies, corned beef and potato pies, scones, apple and rhubarb. Ham shank and pease pudding. Cooking every day. Now pubs and restaurants can’t even be arsed to cook properley for profit.

There again, what me mam called daily housework is regarded as spring cleaning now.

Sad times.

Jeremy:

The thing that I can’t stand, and I know from this post is that you are going to have some sympathy with this) is when you get a “Steak pie” and whatever in a pub. It’s invariably a “lid” as per your description.
Call me a purist; but when did a “pie” or in your case a “pudding” become a stew with a circle of suet or flaky pastry. A “pudding” in the world of steak and kidney is a package. It contains the meat and gravy and is not added as an after thought. The same goes for a “pie.”

In France there would be a government committee appointed to prevent such transgressions. It’s an abuse of the culinary art. Over here the bastards are getting away with murder. “Lasagne” ; well proper lasagne is difficult to find with many establishments offering “lasagne” as a plate of spag bol with some cheese on the top melted.
Not even baked, Heathens man.

Stephen:

Jamie Oliver has a cracking Steak & Guinness pie in one of his books. Blows your doors off! Maybe we should have a Blackcats Recipe day one day per week in the summer when there is no footy…

Me:

I’d be excluded for having allowed France to poncify me. Otherwise you’d get something like scallops cooked with saucisson and creamy leek. Then again I’m back in the NE this (typically match-free) weekend and can’t wait for my fixes: good tandoori, breakfast fry up and unchilled real ale.

Jeremy:

I hope there’s some room for F&Cs and some mushy peas Colin.

Paul:

Again showing my age here (not as venerable as most on here, but still…), but when I was young, steak and kidney pie/pudding actually contained kidney. You know, it’s in the title, you expect it in the dish.

There’s probably European legislation that I could call upon in this case. Not that the Germans care about savoury pastry. They’re only just waking up to ersatz sausage rolls in bakeries. And this is the land of the sausage! (Missus)

But I’m back in the UK in 3 weeks time and I will be seeking out a s&k p. I will report back how many pieces of kidney I actually find.

Gordon:

Not only that, Terry, but mams had to shop every day too, no fridges and freezers back then! My mam worked full time too, until she was made redundant the day after me dad died. So she shopped on her lunch
break and cooked when she got home, even after me dad had retired and was sitting around the house half the day, and down the park playing bowls and doms the rest of the time.

Ols

I’m positive I had Steak and Kidney pie back in the UK last year with albeit a very tiny amount of kidney in it. I actually picked up some Scotch Pies a couple of weeks ago on at a motorway services on the way back from Columbus to Pittsburgh. Pulled in to get petrol and saw a food wagon plastered in tartan and promising such unknown treats to North Americans as Bridies and Haggis. It wasn’t actually open, they were driving back to South Carolina from a Highland Games in Michigan, but they kindly sold me a half dozen pies at inflated prices anyway. Very genuine though (proper water pastry and seasonings, mutton not beef) so worth it and at pushing $4 per pie, about the same as you’d pay at a larger ground in Scotland. Made me happy, anyway.

Sheila:

That’s nee pie Terry – that’s pie crust…. as we had pie ‘crust’ for tea off me Mam when we were bairns, the pastry was a lot thicker than me Mams pies…. so technically speaking your serving was neither a pie nor a pudding…. it was in fact a pie crust – hope this gives the definitive Barbary Coaster definition of your food menu item.

Andy:

Ahhh man! Pie crust was class! We used to have it with braising steak and you’d try and get the crust to soak up all the juices!

Sheila:

Me Mam had one of them magic gravy pans, didn’t matter how much pie crust you got, or how thick it was, there was always more than enough gravy to cope ….. but yes Andy, always served with braising steak …ooohh where’s me rolling pin, I feel inspired

Ian:

I can’t now from memory identify those establishments – usually pubs – which ladle a dollop of S&K onto the plate and pop a circle of (usually puff) pastry on top and those where you get a real pie in its dish with the party well and truly sealed around the rim. But I’ve enjoyed both. And it’s true the percentage of kidney included is hugely variable. It can be bought separately in butchers and supermarkets so there’s no excuse.

And why does Colin need to go to the N-E for a tandoori? (because Indian food is commonly rubbish in France! – Colin

David:

I had a similar argument with the chef (sounds a bit grand) at the golf club yesterday when he tried to sell me a pie.

‘Is it in a pot with a lid on top?’ I asked him. ‘Yes’, he said. ‘Then it isn’t a pie then’. And most people there agreed with me. I was a bit worried it might be a Southern (well, south of the north east, at any rate) thing.

Michael:

I don’t think you’re right, David, because there is a long tradition – going back hundreds of years – of pies which only have pastry on the top. They would be for eating sitting down and will have existed alongside the fully-encased variety, which are portable and suitable for football matches etc. The four and twenty blackbirds would be baked in the former, whilst Simple Simon would have bought the latter.

But, regardless, Terry has been done. As Georgie Porgie (the well-known sexual abuser and soft shite) would tell you: there are puddings and there are pies. There’s no way a pie is a pudding – even if you have a pie for pudding.

Ian No 2:

I ordered a leek pie in a bar in Granada a few years back and got a pile of mashed leeks with a salad garnish, no pastry in sight. It was very tasty, but not a pie. Similarly, if a filling is not entirely cased in pasty, it’s not a feckin’ pie.

And everyone who disagrees can be cursed to eat stews with pastry lids on for the rest of their miserable lives.

Neil:

Nowt better than a good plate mince pie like my nana used to make. She used to bake every day, her own stotties, pies, pastries and cakes – which were heavy and wonderful. Stottie, fresh out of the oven, with some butter on. There was nothing, but nothing, better than tea at my nanas.

I’m hungry now; the lentil soup I had for tea is feeling a bit mediocre in comparison.

Clive:

Wonderful thread Cats. A great reminder of why this is a unique, fabulous list brimming with wit, cutting comment and wonderful nostalgia. And in this case plate pies, pie crust, lip smacking fillings & gravy and chops with a bit of kidney still in. I had forgotten all of those. Thanks folks for those reminders of bygone days and home.

Jeremy:

Speaking of fillings and the world of meat pies. Does anyone have a unique filling to their pies? Or is there a pie shop (other than the wonderful Maws of Southwick of course) that has a unique taste to their fillings?

My nomination for this is the legenday pie makers from Murton which is Bucknall’s. Marvellous quite dry texture for a mince pie with a fabolous flavour all of its own. Once tasted and never forgotten. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it anywhere else. Going back a bit. Well 30 years actually. We were at my mate’s 21st and someone was doing the traditional speeches “I’d like to thank x and y and a & b etc.” Allegedly I stood up on a stool and said “And
I’d like to thank Bucknall’s for the pies!” Sorry to say I have no recollection whatsoever of this alleged interruption.

Colin Randall

The mischief makers are at work already. Jeremy Robson naturally found ways of interpreting the Niall Quinn announcement in a quite different way than presented by SAFC …

There has been a widespread discussion following the news that Niall Quinn has stepped down as Sunderland chairman to pursue other duties. Much of this debate is about the truth in the statement. But in reality, can a man in Ellis Short’s position actually afford to tell the whole truth?

What would the reaction be if the news reports following the press release said the following:

Niall Quinn has been forced to step down by Sunderland AFC’s owner, the Texan billionaire Ellis Short.

“Niall is one of the nicest guys that I have come across during my time in football. He is very popular with the followers of this club, and it’s with great reluctance that I have had to remove him from his post as chairman.

As he is such a genial and well loved gentleman I have created a position for him in the Far East, developing the SAFC brand in that part of the world. I haven’t the foggiest idea what that means and neither does he, but we all feel better about the changes we have to make by telling everyone that. I’ve invested a fortune in this club and it’s as clear as day that we are getting worse and not better.

Steve Bruce was a terrible appointment, which I grilled Niall about at the time. He insisted that Steve was the best that we could get. I regret taking Niall’s lead on this but he was the football guy and I am the businessman. I made a mistake in trusting his judgement and I regret that.

Niall said to me: “If Steve goes then I go.” I know that he meant leave altogether but I’ve sent the pair of them to Korea which is far enough away. The website we were on couldn’t issue tickets for Timbuktu anyway.”

Quinn will be heading off later this week to the Far East as part of his new role and will be accompanied by both Steve Bruce and Mike Farnan who until Quinn’s change of role had some post loosely described as “National and International Marketing Manager.”

When quizzed about the longer term future of manager Steve Bruce, the London based financier said: “Steve Bruce is the manager of Sunderland football club and will remain as the manager until I sack him.”

When asked to elaborate on whether Steve Bruce would still be in charge for the upcoming Arsenal game, Short told reporters that he is “Still waiting for Martin O’Neill to respond to my text messages and voicemail,” and when probed about the possibility of Steve MacLaren (who earlier resigned as manager of Nottingham Forest). taking the reins at the Stadium of Light he responded curtly with “It’s a manager for a football club I need here. If could get somebody better than him at Burger King!”