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So said the young hero worshipping kid, following the guilty verdict against “Shoeless” Joe Jackson. Joe and some of his team-mates of the Major League Baseball team the Chicago White Sox way back in 1919 had been convicted of conspiracy to fix the Baseball World Series. Joe wasn’t the last sporting hero  to fall from grace and disappoint their fans and followers.

Failure in sport is difficult for the fan to take,  but it can be accepted if we know that someone has tried, given their all, was beaten by the better opponent, will pick themselves up and try again. Losing is the other side of the coin to winning. But cheating is a double headed coin and is no win at all.

The accumulation of  money or the pursuit of fame, or both are it seems sufficient justification to win by whatever means it takes. The cycling world is reeling from all the disclosures about Lance Armstrong. A man revered for his achievements in the sport of cycling and an inspiration to millions worldwide for his fight against Cancer. Now discredited his victories worthless.

Premier League Football is rife with accusations of “diving” by top players to influence the results of games by the award of free kicks and penalties. Their legacy can be seen in action any weekend in junior games across the Country.

Back in 1919 it seemed impossible for the youngster to believe, his hero Joe Jackson, was prepared to fix a game, to cheat.  But the illegal  use of drugs in cycling has been known about for many years. Television highlights in slow motion replays the minute contact required to fell a muscle toned footballing superstar (you know who you are) and how far he can role in what appears to be his death throes.

Ironically if asked if they cheated they invariably say it ain’t so.

When I was a young child, living in Bury Lancashire, one of my favourite evening meals, after the compulsory two hours of football following school, was corned beef ash, a simple dish consisting of a  mixture of potatoes, onions and corned beef heated in the oven and always made with a pastry crust on top. My mother, Bella, would always make enough to feed our family of four for at least two sittings even allowing for second helpings. Still there would be some left.

Then the remaining ash with crust was put in the frying pan (similar in a way to bubble and squeak), heated with a bit of butter and brown sauce, and a final serving was made. I remember well how good that fry up tasted.

In recent years I have taken to making corned beef ash, without crust and served with red cabbage. I do not believe it is anywhere near as good as mum used to make but I have had no complaints either. This week I made another corned beef creation and recalling my childhood days decided I would fry up the residue. The result was little short of a disaster, nothing like the taste I remembered.

Sometimes those things from our past are best left remembered.

So good they named it twice. I know 2012 will be a great year. How? I don’t really know.The proof will be in twelve months’ time when if we are all still here and indeed things are better than they are now, I can say “I told you so”.

I just have this feeling, maybe it’s that 2012 has to be better than 2011. Let’s face it; it cannot be as bad, can it?

Wars, riots, unemployment, the bloody Euro and lets not mention the football (although United did make it a 19^th title win}. House prices, Fuel costs, bloody Bankers and the Rugby World Cup.

So, on the eve of the New Year, my feeling is one of optimism, of hope and a belief that 2012 will be a great year.

To my family and friends and anyone reading this Blog have a great 2012.

When we recount old times we sometimes remember events in a different way to how we perceived them at the time.

It amused me this week that in referring back to the early nineties football match between Port Vale and Manchester United, the then Manager of Port Vale, John Rudge complained about United boss Alex Ferguson fielding an understrength side. Alex had left out a number of United regulars including Eric Cantona. Some of the paying public of the Potteries felt cheated at not seeing established United stars like Eric, Mark Hughes and Co.

Indeed the local MP raised the matter in Parliament no less.

Instead of Eric and the usual suspects, a crop of youngsters won the game with a lad from Oldham called Scholes getting amongst the goals. Other unknowns playing for United that night included David Beckham, Gary Neville and Nicky Butt. These and other youngsters from the United Youth Academy went on to dominate the Premier League for over a decade.

I wonder how many of those then demanding their money back, now recount the event with tales of “I was there when Becks and Scholsey played here at the start of their illustrious careers”.

Strange how we sometimes remember things.

 I start another week, refreshed and enthusiastic and genuinely looking forward to a number of key events planned for my business this week. Already today I have concluded two key tasks I set myself, and expect the remainder of the week to work out as I have planned.

However, I remember some years ago a conversation with one of my then team, Dave the Marketing Manager. It was late on a Friday afternoon, most staff had already departed including the receptionist and any late incoming calls were taken by anyone still there.

Dave came into my office and said he had just taken his last call of the day and what a strange call it had been.

He had answered “Hi, this is Dave, how can I help you”. A deflated voice had replied ” I don’t suppose you want to buy anything either” and without giving Dave any further chance to speak ended the call.

We were puzzled and speculated that here was an individual who had probably started his week, full of enthusiasm and determination to sell his products or services. But who by the end of the week had seemingly lost all hope and his call picked up by Dave reflected his despair. We never found out who had made the call or whether he rang again the following week.

Who knows what will happen by this Friday. I know what I have planned and my hopes are high of an enjoyable and successful week. So far so good.

The passing of Jimmy Saville recently reminded me of the only time our paths crossed. It was on Chorley New Road, Bolton one Saturday lunch time back in the early Eighties. To set the scene we must go back one week earlier. The regular Saturday morning fourball of Ian Kennedy, Phil Wolstenholme, John Carmichael and myself had been played golf at Whittaker Golf in Rochdale. We decided on a few drinks after the game which turned into a few more drinks and to cut a long story short concluded with the four of us in deep trouble with our long suffering respective partners and wives.

The upshot was that the following Saturday morning game of golf was precluded by strict instructions to return directly home after the game, and not via any drinking emporium.

We played our game at Regents Park Bolton and not even stopping for a coffee afterwards dutifully made our way to our cars and tried to drive out onto Chorley New Road and then make our way home. Enter Mr Saville and 20K others running the Bolton Marathon up Chorley New Road and effectively blocking our exit for at least another hour.

We walked to the nearest pub and using the public phone (pre mobile phone days) called our respective golf widows to explain why we would be delayed. Granada Television were covering the event so proof (if proof was needed) was there for all to see.

We had seen Jimmy, resplendent in gold track suit jogging past and may have been heard to shout “you’ve definitely fixed it this time Jimmy”.

As we were then stranded in the pub we felt it would be impolite not to have a pint whilst there. However, once the crowd of runners had past we were dutifully on our way.

Goodbye Jimmy.

 I read with interest that Lady Godiva, whilst there is evidence of her existence as a mid eleventh century Anglo-Saxon noblewoman, did not ride naked through the streets of Coventry as immortalised in the 800 years later poem of Tennyson.

Other non happenings in the same article of today’s Daily Mail include Vikings did not have horns on their helmets, Columbus did not discover America, merely the Bahamas in 1492 and other Caribbean islands on later trips. America was discovered 500 years earlier by Norse settlers under the command of Leif Ericsson, presumably without horns on their helmets either.

 The American wild west was quite a tame place in reality becoming gradually wilder after the 1902 novel The Virginian and more so after the Iconic Hollywood western, High Noon in 1929. Even the Red Indians it seems were a lot more easy going than the bloodthirsty savages we know and love, accounting for only 342 violent deaths of settlers between 1840 and 1860 (250,000 reported pioneers crossed Indian territories on their trips West.)

Henry Ford (“You can have any colour you want as long as it is black”) said that History is bunk (well maybe he said it)

Taking all these previously believed “facts” to be not true perhaps City did not beat United 6-1 on Sunday and if so why am I still getting nightmares about it?

In the Sports section of the same newspaper, amongst the continuing reporting of the Manchester massacre, Sven Goren Eriksson (who knows maybe a distant descendant of the aforementioned Leif Ericsson) was sacked yesterday from his post as manager of Championship club Leicester City. Perhaps he’s off to America?

Today was a good day, maybe when I look back a great day. Everything is starting to move in the right direction at last, plans are coming together.

I am launching the web site live tonight. I will continue to update and add to the site as events unfold and my understanding improves. For now welcome one and all.