U-Ess-Ay U-Ess-Ay

Can there be a more simple and yet concurrently annoying chant in the world?

I wanted to wait a couple of days before writing about the Ryder Cup, wanted to let the coverage and the contest dissipate fully, but now I'm ready. The US were the better team, they played the better, more attacking, more daring golf on a course they knew well and with a team that didn't have the spectre of Him riding over it for once.

Why did Europe lose? Apart from the fact they were outplayed, you have to look (as most of the press have done in amongst all the Faldo bashing) at the failure of their big guns. Simply put, Westwood, Harrington, Garcia and Casey (yes Casey - ignore the wildcard, he should have been a big gun given his past couple of seasons) failed to perform for a variety of reasons.

Firstly Westwood. I've got nothing against the bloke, he's a wonderful golfer but he has always struck me as a bit flakey, a bit too hit and miss. I know his Ryder Cup record has been amazing, but what if we just kept catching him on a good un'?

That brings us onto Harrington, whose record is the complete opposite of Westwood's - it's truly abysmal over the past 3 Ryder Cups. And that leads you to the conclusion that maybe he's the European version of Him - supremely talented, major winner, not able to be a team player, despite what he professes. Or maybe he and Westwood really were both just knackered. Both of them, at the same tournament, for 3 days.

As for Casey, I'll cut him some slack, he fought his guts out for two hard earned draws, but you had a right to expect better of a bloke who's spent the past 2 years in the top 10 of the world.

And finally Sergio, dear Sergio. The man with the panic button installed on the inside of his putting grip (and the 'ground open up and eat me' button on his golfing glove). Sergio truly does love the Cup, always has done, and for one very good reason - he can hide.

Now I don't mean this in a bad way, far from it in fact. By hiding next to his partner in the Foursomes and Fourballs, he can cast off his doubts, his nerves and that panic button and just get on with doing what he does best. Knocking the cover off the ball and chipping in ridiculously good iron shots. But really Mr Faldo, sending out first a man who's singles record sucked even before Sunday's thrashing as the leader of the comeback charge? Out on the course, alone and without his Fours partners, he did the inevitable, as he had done last year on that windswept links, he wilted, grasped the putting handle and waited for the end.

Which brings me back to Harrington. Faldo took some stick for sending him out last, and thereby missing the chance to extend the game, but he actually got this one absolutely spot on. Bringing up the rear gave Harrington one simple, singular goal - Win. No team, no points, no up, no down. Just Win.

If it had gone to end, if Soren Hansen hadn't lost that game on the 17th, and Jimenez holed his putt on the same green, then it could have been the greatest finish in years. It wasn't to be.

But I'd have bet my life on Harrington if it had.

2nd Chance Tuesday

There are many things that make the human race unique, but the one that shone out yesterday was our amazing ability to offer a reprieve to those who have erred. A cheetah hunting on the African savannah won't stop its chase of an exhausted gazelle to allow it to refuel, and a seal won't hesitate to favour her stronger calf when it becomes apparent that another is weaker. Humanity on the other hand, offers the hand of reprieval on a regular basis, often without a second thought. Our most popular religion is even founded on this very principle, that to err is human, to forgive (and reprieve) divine.

And over the past 36 hours, humanity has demonstrated its unique ability to perform this extraordinary feat in 3 different spheres.

Firstly of course, to America's behemoth (and that really is the only word to accurately describe its reach) AIG, which received an inordinate amount of money to stay afloat, and then gratefully fell into the sheltering arms of its repriever. AIG wasn't the first of course. Northern Rock, Fannie, Freddie, Bear Stearns and Merrill Lynch, all felt the power of reprieval from humanity, and as tonights buyout of HBOS shows, these institutions won't be the last either.

Secondly, to John Terry, reprieved and forgiven for his error and thus free to play on the weekend against his biggest rivals. Was it worthy of a red card? Certainly not, but was it worthy of a full reprieve? Absolutely not. England's least favourite Captain benefitted from an institution that offers reprieval a little too easily for most people's liking. A win on Sunday, and his reprieval will be complete, at least in his and his supporter's eyes.

Finally, perhaps the luckiest man to feel the hand of forgiveness, Gordon Brown. Ignoring the economic reality, ignoring the resentment of the electorate, ignoring even the resignation of a junior minister on grounds of failed belief, Brown's cabinet has offered him one last chance to prove that he has learnt his lesson and that he can turnaround the unturnroundable.

And to be fair to him, he's already seized his chance - dipping his fingers into the rescue of HBOS and broking the talks to lead them to safety via their own repriever, Lloyds TSB. A masterstroke from a man many believed had no such strokes left in him.

A pity then that no one explained the concept of human reprieval to the employees of Lehman Brothers. From what I hear, they sought solace in that other great human comfort zone - the humble chocolate bar.

Vacation, Vacation, Vacation

Funny thing holidays. You can't wait to escape the office, kick back, have those extra beers during the night and revel in turning over and going back to sleep over and over again in the morning. And yet, bizarrely, I feel a bit empty, naked almost, without the bussle of the office.

Now I'm lucky I guess - I love what I do, but it's worth asking, are holidays really a good thing, especially longer ones? I'm increasingly becoming a fan of the long weekender over the long week off to be honest. A week off has so many downsides to match its bonuses - the forest of emails in the inbox, the two days it takes to get back up to speed, and the mear fact that the last couple of days of the holiday feel like a giant countdown clock above your head.

No, 3 day weekends are definitely the way forward. As such, I've developed a theory - it's the 9 day working fortnight, where every second Friday is part of the weekend. How fantastic would that be?

The main perk, as far as I can see, is that you'd avoid the weekly, depressing recurrence of what I call the 'Friday Night Syndrome'. This phenomenon is responsible for the failure of many (self included) to truly maximise their weekend. It entails having an absolutely scorching, ridiculously good Friday night, only to then blow the whole of Saturday getting over it. Suddenly it's Sunday, there's food to buy, washing to be done, and Bang, the weekend's gone; and you're left facing the witching hour that is 9:15, Sunday evening when reality dawns.

Introduce the 3 dayer on a rotational basis and the problem is cured - you can afford to have 'Hangin like a dog' on the Friday, and then enjoy the Saturday, before chilling on the Sunday. The idea is Genius.

Downsides? I suppose there'd no longer be happy hours in bars on Thursdays, and we might see the introduction of a new excuse into the fakers dictionary of reasons for pulling a sicky - 'Sorry Sir, I thought this was the 4 day week'. But apart from that, genuinely, wouldn't it work like a treat?

Apparently, you can email the Prime Minister from the No.10 website these days - I suspect this isn't strictly true; not unless Mr Brown has a similar system of lookalikes to the late Saddam Hussein. But nevertheless, I'm sure it might merit attention, if only as a gimmick to get the electorate back on his side.

In fact, I might combine this letter with the other one I've been meaning to send to Gordy's (soon to be ex) best mate, Alastair, asking why, in these inflation riddled times, he finds it acceptable not to bat an eyelid at Mr Lampard's recent 20% pay rise as a reward for jogging round a field for 90 minutes twice a week.

Even the fattest kids in school just about manage that onerous task.

Drawing a Map

What to make then of Mr Darling and Mr Brown's announcements yesterday regarding their package of measures to stimulate the housing market?

Was it a measure designed to help first time buyers and the most at risk mortgage holders? Yes, definitely. Was it the last, desperate measure by a failing partnership to convince their electorate that they still possess the nous and the nerve to provide a solution? Quite possibly. Will it make any real difference? That depends. And it depends on how far one can map out the current troubles.

I mean, have you ever actually sat down and tried to sketch out why we are where we currently are? Yes we know that food and oil and gas are more expensive than they used to be, and we also know that it costs more to pay a mortgage each month, and to pay off a credit card bill (my particular problem). But have you ever actually looked deeper than this top line? This is what I spent a good deal of time last night doing, and like any sensible person, after failing to draw a picture in my head, I got out the paper, the pencil and the ruler, and I sketched it out.

Or at least I tried to.

And yet, the more I tried to sketch it out, the deeper I got, the more paper I used, and eventually I had to give up. To see what I mean, just consider one aspect of the current crunch for a minute - let's take the high energy price.

Why is oil more expensive than it used to be? 'Ah, simple', many would cry, 'more poeple want it, there's less of it to go around, and what is available is more difficult to extratc'. But is it actually that simple? Not if you look at the production and consumption figures it's not. Whilst both those arguments are true, they don't explain the 18 month surge.

Likewise, the fact that banks lent a bucketload to people who clearly couldn't afford a mortgage doesn't wholely explain why we're all now struggling to pay off loans, mortgages and bills. A $13bn writedown isn't to be sniffed at (even if it does sound like an almost laughable sum of money), but then neither is a $13bn profit which had been the custom at many major banks for several years previous.

So what is it then? What, after several sheets of paper, two pencils, and a lot of scratching of chin did I arrive at? The answer, perhaps predictably, is that I arrived at the same conclusion as most economic commentators - trust, or lack thereof. No-one wants to lend to their former mates, because like said mate at the end of a night out, you're not really all that confident that your gesture will be returned to you in the future. The same applies to the energy shortages, the hunger problems and all those other issues listed by the UN on their millenial development goals spreadsheet. Trust you see, is an inherent necessity for progress, and unfortunately, we've been running a little short over the past couple of decades.

Think about it, have we really moved on that much since the 60's? We still use the same transport systems, still shop, eat and work the same way, still place our trust in the same political institutions. Of course, the reason we do these very things is because we trust in these staples of life, and this is a very good thing. But at the same time, this trust in the current is preventing our trust in new ideas, new directions and new technologies.

Perhaps it's fitting then, that as the Independent notes today, we're about to put our trust for the future in a 40 year old ex-one hit wonder who is to be the "poster child" for the new Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland.

Now that really is trust.

The Power of Reputation

Cast your eye over the sports pages in the paper this morning and amongst all the stories regarding football's transfer deadline day, Andy Murray's new found resilience and Capello's left-field (though thoroughly deserved) choice of Jimmy Bullard in his squad, one story really stood out for me - the rebirth of England's modern day lionheart, Freddie.

No-one can deny that Mr Flintoff has grasped the current one day series between England and South Africa firmly by the privates and given them a good shake. But what is astounding is that here is a man who has had four operations on a still suspect ankle, has barely played consecutive matches for 18 months, and who has failed to score any kind of meaningful runs in first class cricket during that time.

So how has he resurrected himself from this mire of misfortune during the past fortnight? Certainly the fact that he's now fully fit and functioning has made a huge difference, as has the restoration of his mate Steve Harmison by his side in the clubhouse, and Kevin Pieterson's impact as new Captain shouldn't be underestimated either - despite what his doubters say.

But the real difference comes from within the minds of two people and two people only - Freddie, and the man facing him 22 yards away at the other end of the wicket. Freddie is a rare and lucky beast because of the mindset of these two men. Firstly, his own mind, which is driven by such a ferocious and fervent belief in his own ability that he simply can't comprehend himself as anything other than a supreme being on the field of play. This isn't to say he's vain, (far from it in fact) rather Freddie recognises that he has something special, that he is blessed with both an extraordinary physique, and a gifted mind able to maximise that physique.

But most important of all is what Freddie does with that belief - he channels it. Onto himself, onto his teammates, onto the crowd, and most important of all into the mind of his opponent. This is his most supreme gift, his and that of a rare clutch of sportsmen; the power of reputation and the ability to channel that power into the psyche of an opponent. No-one doubted that Shane Warne was a lesser bowler during 2005 than he had been in 1995, a bowler who no longer ripped the ball out of the rough, who no longer could "spin it on glass".

And yet, like Freddie, Warne almost single-handedly won that series for Australia through his willpower, his belief, and most importantly, his reputation and its effects on his terrified opponents. The spell he cast over a young Ian Bell was particularly acute and mesmerising to watch - a batsman totally, utterly in thrall to the legend that had been accumulated during the many years of Warne's career, and unable to comprehend that the great man's best days were behind him, and that Bell was the luckiest English batsman of the last 10 years to be facing him at the end, rather than at any time previously.

There are other examples of this: Courtney Walsh during his later years, Jonny Wilkinson in 2003 and Roger Federer for the past 18 months, until finally, fittingly, a man with perhaps an even greater aura recognised the truth and broke the last of Federer's reputation as 'the man who could not lose' on the lush grass of SW19. That it took 5 hours, 5 sets and two tie-breaks to achieve it is all the more testament, both to Federer's awesome ability and inner belief, and also to his effect, even on Nadal.

But surely the most stunning example of the supreme power of reputation in recent times was Ronaldhinho at his majestic peak in 2006. Yes he was a wonderfully gifted player; an artist, a majician, a ballet dancer even, when in full flow. But his reputation, built upon the damage he had wrought in defenders psyches for two years previous, gave him an almost insurmountable advantage during that year - opponents were already beaten before he'd flicked the ball past them.

The Proof? Witness his second goal against Real Madrid at the Camp Nou during that year.

Helguera never had a prayer. And what's more, both of them knew it.

A New Year's Resolution (in August)

Now let's be honest - how many people really carry out their Resolutions? For everyone out there now nodding sagely and proclaiming 'Well I did', then let me follow up that rather tame question with a second one - how long did it last?

How long was it before the monumental effort needed to heave yourself out of bed at 6:00 in the morning for that jogging session crumbled? Or the self-mutilation that was the effort to stay away from the ice cream section in Sainsbury's gave way to the simple, pleasurable desire for frozen sugar?

I know Resolutions don't work, because I'm one of the resolutors who's tried on many an occasion, and I can quite comfortably sit here today knowing I haven't done my 50 situps for the day, or been for that 3 mile run, or avoided the aforementioned ice cream shelf (or in my case the whisky shelf).

Worse still, I'm one of those devious buggers who pretends he's still somehow renewing the broken creed by constantly telling myself (and others) that I'll get back on it tomorrow, or next week. Even worse, I might make the same pledge again at 12:01 01/01/2xxx and thus fool myself (and all those brave, hardy believers in my struggle against the inevitable) all over again.

And so that brings me, neatly, onto this little column, quietly tucked away in a corner of a virtual world. This you see, was my Resolution for 01/01/2008. I was to begin writing a blog I proudly told all and sundry, I was to update it every day with a topic of my choice I proclaimed to the masses, and I was to share its cutting insights with the global community I declared to that very community (or at least to some bloke in a sweaty nightclub over a bottle of beer chipped by the adorable human concept of 'clinkies')

And now, here we are, August 31st, Oyster Card renewal day, and I can proudly say I've fulfilled my Resolution - not broken it you understand, because throughout the 200-and-something days between drinking Port from a plastic cup on Brunel's bridge, and sitting here, I've maintained the notion that I will, before the end of the year, begin to write.

So there-in lies the key you see - when it comes to Resolutions, don't be too ambitious, don't be too bold, and don't declare your new found will to do anything out of the ordinary. Instead, set a simple, attainable, non-cardiac arrest inducing goal, and (above all else I must stress), make it a goal that no-one will be able to use in future years as a hideous, hilarious reminder of your deflated, broken willpower to achieve such things.

Either that, or start celebrating New Year's in August.