Why I'll always love L'Boya

As 205 long-suffering followers will testify to, I like using my Twitter account. Most of my 5386 (at the time of writing) tweets are of no use to anyone. Pro-Leeds United, pro-Jermaine Beckford and lots of Millie Clode-based voyeurism.

I use my account to follow plenty of people too, one of whom is the respected football journalist Henry Winter of the Telegraph. I admire his work and, particularly like his apparent soft spot for Leeds.

However, one of his recent tweets caught my eye and prompted me to write this blog.

In the wake of the Wayne Rooney rumours last weekend, Winter said, via his Twitter account that he should be forgiven because, unlike Joey Barton and Lee Bowyer, he wasn’t a lost cause.

And that got me wondering. Why do people think Bowyer is a lost cause? What are your memories, thoughts of Lee Bowyer?

For most of you it will be his unsavoury on-field fight with then Newcastle team-make Keiron Dyer, or his snarling, red face as he not-so-politely told referee Jeff Winter what he thought of him after he sent him off during Leeds’ 2-1 win at Arsenal in August 2002.

Beyond that, there was his and Jonathan Woodgate's trial, or his conviction following an altercation in a London branch of McDonalds.

But, as a season ticket holder at Elland Road since 1999, my views of him are somewhat different and it frustrates me as to why he is seeing out his days with a reputation as a kicker at Birmingham, rather than being given a ticker-tape send off.

As a year nine, 10 and 11 student. Bowyer was my hero. My God. As a pupil at a Catholic High School, I ranked him above the big man upstairs.

He epitomised everything that was good about supporting Leeds United. No-one likes us; no-one liked him in particular. And, even as the general mood towards our side softened as David O’Leary’s ‘babies’ threatened to win the Champions League, Bowyer remained the outcast. The proverbial black sheep.

And with that the fans took to him like no other player I can remember. While he will not have fond memories of the two trials he and Jonathan sat through, Leeds fans, or at least this Leeds fan, look back on that period with a romantic tint in the eye.

I don’t think I’m over-egging the situation when I call some of the football he played during the 2000-01 season as perfect. I have never seen a player play as well over the course of the season as he did during that campaign. He scored 15 goals from midfield and, I’m so tragically sad, that I could probably recall all the goals now.

It wasn’t just the goals, though. It was the spirit, the drive and the way he connected with the fans. That once-in-a-decade bond that fans have with certain players. When I see the banners that adorn Old Trafford with Roy Keane’s name on them, it makes me annoyed that Bowyer is no longer idolised on in the Elland Road Kop. There should be banners and songs for him when fans choose to walk down memory lane.

It is hard to talk about Bowyer’s time with Leeds without mentioning ‘the trial’. The first thing worth pointing out is that he was acquitted of all the charges brought against him. It’s become the fashion, though, for pundits, fans and observers alike to just assume that he was found guilty.

Nope, he was acquitted. Just like Steven Gerrard, the England captain was earlier this year.

Bowyer, though, was banned from playing for England. During that 2000-01 season there was no better player, let alone midfielder, in the country than Bowyer. He was not allowed to be picked for England and, staggeringly, there was no place for him in the PFA Team of the Season.

The fact that Teddy Sheringham walked away with the PFA Footballer of the Year for that season was a joke. It was Bowyer’s prize.

Throughout both trials he did not train with the side. He trained alone in the gym of his hotel near Hull Crown Court. He arrived at night games by helicopter and went on to single-handedly win us a Champions League game against Anderlecht with a last-minute winner. He had only arrived at the ground minutes before kick-off.

The trial ended in the December of 2001. Bowyer was cleared of any charges, but was soon hit with a fine from the club on the basis that his involvement in the night out was worthy of the punishment. Bowyer refused to pay it and he went on the transfer list.

The subsequent game at home to Everton remains one of the most memorable of my Leeds supporting life. We were top of the table at the time, and Bowyer watched the game from the TV gantry. When Robbie Fowler scored one of his two goals on the night, the players ran as one and picked out Bowyer. The fans sang his name all night and a banner was passed around that read: “Losing Bowyer means losing the title – it’s your choice.” We lost the title, but the sentiment remains.

Two days later Bowyer was off the transfer list. He played against Newcastle the next day and opened the scoring in front of the Newcastle fans who were housed in the South Stand. Bowyer went utterly ballistic after scoring. He almost clambered in to the away end such was the vitriol with which he celebrated.

The Newcastle fans, never short of an opinion, had spent the last 12 months revelling in singing “Bowyer’s going down” – the anthem that had been sung at every ground in the Premier League.

But, that was it. That was the end of the fairytale for Leeds fans.

Bowyer remained in the side for another 12 months, scoring the odd goal, crunching into the odd tackle, but the spark, the magic, the love had gone. Things were never the same again.

A move to Liverpool came close to happening, before he was eventually offloaded to West Ham in the early spring of 2003. And with it, a legend left Elland Road. A short-term legend, granted, but a legend nonetheless.

He was never given the chance to have the send-off he deserved, for the fans to sing his name with unbridled passion one last time. Peter Ridsdale, out infamous chairman, had overseen the sale of ‘the crown jewels’ and fans bemoaned the loss of Woodgate and Harry Kewell, but never Bowyer.

He was snuck out of a side door. Ridsdale is remembered for the goldfish in the boardroom and the champagne wages he paid to Seth Johnson. But I will never forget the way he saw Bowyer, the player the closest to the fans, out of the club, and essentially made it look as though he had wanted to go.

The fans that celebrated his last-minute winners against AC Milan and Anderlecht, those that saw him hit the winner on a Wednesday at Villa Park, those that named him as the Player of the Year in 2002, would never have wanted him to leave. And this particular fan thinks that he never wanted to leave either.

So it annoys me when respected commentators rubbish Bowyer’s career, labelling him as a lost cause. He’s made mistakes, granted. Maybe a couple more than he should. But for his place in the history of the Premier League to be glossed over, almost scrubbed out is grossly unfair.

Sticking up for 'ull

For anyone that knows me, works with me or follows me inane Jermaine Beckford and Millie Clode-related ramblings on my Twitter account then you will know that the sport of rugby league means a lot to me.

Taking my beloved Leeds United out of the equation, it is by far and away my favourite sport and, the game that in my job as a sports journalist, the one that I love covering the most. I've been bombing up and down the M62 for the last six years covering the sport, taking in some pretty special matches, witnessing some wonderful players and some pretty awful ones (Gary Carter from the Sun will tell you how much critcism I used to give the Crusaders' Mark Dalle Cort).

Covering the game has introduced me to some great people and helped me come across some truly great journalists, whose level of ability I can only aspire to. I include my 'mentor' Ian Laybourn very much in that bracket.

Now, more by default than anything else, I find myself on the 'committee' of the Rugby League Writers Association (memberships now being taken etc) and have done by level best to get on as well as I can.

However, one aspect of 'the game' still frustrates me slightly, and that is the ignorance, or what I perceive to be ignorance, that some sections of the media and the sport have towards the two Hull sides.

Throughout the six years I have been covering the sport, I have mainly followed the fortunes of Hull FC and Hull KR, two bitter, bitter rivals but both from a city that lives and breathes rugby league. The progress that Hull KR have made since their elevation to the Super League has been impressive, with coach Justin Morgan doing something of a 'Sam Allardyce' in quickly bridging the gap between Division One and the top flight.

They are now a stable top-eight club and, with a couple of handy signings over the winter, they should have enough to go deep into both competitions next season.

Likewise Hull FC, who are main crux of what I have on my mind.

I have covered all but a handful of every one of their home games for the last six seasons and have been lucky enough to follow their fortunes at close hand. I witnessed John Kear build a side that won the Challenge Cup in 2005, only to be sacked six months later, and then was blessed enough to see what I consider their best side of the last decade, the one coached by Peter Sharp, go all the way to the Grand Final in 2006.

I have fond memories of that time, probably allowing how good my own life was at the time to influence my memory on how good a side they were, but still. Sharp was a fair coach and a great guy to boot, and his captain and close friend Richard Swain remains the best player I have ever seen in the flesh.

Since Sharp headed back to his now infamous house on Manly beach in May 2008, the club had bobbed around in the bottom three of the ladder - until this year. Richard Agar, schooled under Kear and Sharp, is now the head honcho and, despite numerous criticisms from the punters, has taken them from two 12th-placed finishes (admittedly under his leadership) to what will be a top-four finish if they beat Leeds this weekend.

They have actually manned the top four for the majority of the season. That's right, don't adjust your monitors. They have. You might not know it, though. Why? Because those of you that follow the game on Sky or in some quarters of the media may not know that, as it has often been portrayed this season that Wigan, Warrington, St Helens and Leeds have made up the top four. Not so. That may be the case on Saturday night if Leeds win at Hull (this fixture surely a dream for the RFL), but I personally don't think it's fair the way the top-four has been advertised this season.

I have seen at first hand how hard Agar and his staff, not to mention his players, have worked this season to engineer an eight-place swing. Granted, their last three appearances on Sky haven't helped them (licked by Wigan, Warrington and Wakefield), but had the Sky cameras been present at their stunning comeback-win over St Helens, they would still be raving about it to this day.

But, I digress. The Super League Dream Team is announced next week and, while the majority of us can guess at a number of the players, there are still a lot of places that should be up for grabs, although I don't necessarily expect them to go to, in my opinion, the most deserving candidate.

Hull KR's Clint Newton has been outstanding this season and, with 12 tries in his last 12 games, has a better scoring record than a number of the backs I have seen banded about in various members of the media's sides. Likewise, the young Hull KR forward Liam Watts has been ridiculously good this year and I would challenge anyone to find me a more improved forward in the competition.

I fully expect Hull's Tom Briscoe to land one of the wing spots and rightly so, as he is a genuine talent. Strong, great under the high ball and a lethal finisher, he could surely hold his own in the NRL one day. The hardened Australian pair of Mark O'Meley and Craig Fitzgibbon have been magnificent for Hull too, although I don't envisage either will break the Warrington/Wigan strangehold that is likely to dominate the pack. The duo came with injury warnings and, while they have missed some games through various problems, their contributions have been immense.

Likewise that of Willie Manu. The Tonga forward could well be lining up for England in the Four Nations at the end of the season, so at least someone recognises what a fine player he is. I don't expect him to oust Joel Tomkins or Ben Westwood, but just so people know, he is out there.

So what's the point of this ramble? Well, I'm not too sure I know, but I started it with the intention of trying to point out that Rugby League does exist to the east of Xscape on the M62 and that despite what you may be told, both sides are in pretty reasonable shape. And, while you may not hear the names Newton, Manu, Watts or even Lovegrove and Houghton mentioned when the various awards are handed out over the next month, please don't think that they haven't had good seasons. Because trust me, they have.

Leo Bertos: World Cup Hero or Scarborough Zero

For those that still have a place in their heart for the now defunct Scarborough Football Club, Tuesday 15 June 2010 was a day of some distinction. It was the day that the first Scarborough player, past or present, played in the World Cup.

"Wow," I can hear you all saying in your armchairs, or on the train as you read this on your iPad. "That's pretty big isn't it. I wonder who he was. And how did Scarborough manage to go into liquidation if they had this guy on their books? Surely they could have sold him for a fair price to balance the books?"

They could have. But here are a selection of comments I have managed to find about the said player that were made on the popular Scarborough FC message board, the Surfing Seadog.

"If Forest Green can put 5 past a team containing ****** then how many will Slovakia get?"

"He was shit."

Now those might not be popular opinions were you to air them in Waikato, Wellington, Dunedin or Auckland, but mention the name Leo Bertos to anyone who saw Scarborough lose 5-1 to Forest Green on February 2 2006 and you're likely to be told that "he wa only signed cos Redfearn wa shit an all".

To translate for anyone that can't translate bitterness into English, the now 28-year-old Bertos made a 78-minute cameo for Scarborough against Forest Green four years ago under the ill-fated managerial reign of Neil Redfearn - he of the hard shot, stubble and gristle when Barnsley were playing "like Brazil."

The 5-1 hammering turned out to be Bertos' only contribution to the eventual 128-year history of Scarborough Football Club. Considering he is now a capped World Cup international you could look back on it as a guest appearance.

Leo's nomadic career, which had already taken in Rochdale, Chester and York then took him to Worksop, before he eventually returned to Australasia, turning out for Perth Glory and currently the Wellington Phoenix.

So what was it? Were the Scarborough fans so blinded by their hatred of Redfearn (who signed Bertos having played with him at Barnsley) or was he genuinely that bad? Your first thought would suggest that they were wrong in their assessments of him. The guy has played in a World Cup and, after their 1-1 draw with Slovakia, is a national hero for crying out loud!

But, on the other hand. Worksop, Chester, York? Hardly a CV to be proud of is it?

Either way, Leo's heroics bring me nicely on to the overall point of this potentially terrible rambling.

When the aforementioned Surfing Seadog first carried news of Leo's inclusion in the New Zealand squad, it brought about a mild case of internet handbags.

The Surfing Seadog, you see, used to be the place where Scarborough fans of all generations would debate the hefty issues of the day such as 'why is Steve Baker playing more than Paul Foot' and 'just who can get the best out of Tony Hackworth'.

Anyway, I digress. When Scarborough Football Club eventually buckled under the weight of one financial disaster too many in the summer of 2007, some of the traffic stopped flowing through the Surfing Seadog.

A new club was born out of the ashes of the old one, Scarborough Athletic, who are a trust-run club and play out of Bridlington Town's Queensgate ground. They have had moderate success in their three-year existence, but this correspondent would suggest that they currently lack the ruthlessness that they had when they were first born.

Further up the road, or back in Scarborough to be precise, those who felt those in charge of Athletic were to blame for the old club's demise have started a club of their own, Scarborough Town and, as of next season, they shall play in the division below Athletic.

I can hear you: "What's wrong with that, plenty of towns and cities have two clubs, just look at Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow...."

I think the situation can be best assessed thus. In its final season as a Conference Premier League side, Scarborough FC boasted the following shirt sponsors. Matalan and Scarborough Spa and Hot Tubs. Businesses in Scarborough had rarely been forthcoming in their support, while business through the turnstiles floated between 500 on a wet night against Altrincham to the occasional 3000 on Boxing Day against York City.

The club had always had to battle against the odds. That's what its motto was for goodness sake. 'No Battle, No Victory'. Tony Adams hauling down Darren Foreman in the fog in January 1993, William Gallas handling in the box in 2004. The injustice. The small-club syndrome. The club had to scrap to survive, to pay the wages (and often not pay the wages) of footballing heavyweights such as David McNiven and Dan Jarvis.

It scrapped and kicked its way through one season after another, begging, stealing and borrowing to survive. Making light of the town's apathetic support. And now, what have we got. Two clubs fighting over the same resources on which one couldn't survive. You couldn't make it up.

Have I forgot something. Oh yes. The internet handbags. Well, one scribe said to another: "You haven't got the right to talk about Leo Bertos because your club isn't a continuation of Scarborough Football Club, ours is."

The club has gone from playing in a modest, humble but wholly sufficient little stadium where it would fight points deductions, opposition players (and occasionally fans) and setback after setback to splitting into two clubs that fight over who has the rights to Leo Bertos. A man that was universally branded as "shit".

Having followed with interest the comings and goings on the Surfing Seadog of late, I would be inclined to suggest that they were in fact wrong about Bertos. He was a bloody good player, they just couldn't see it. And I reserve the right to keep that opinion until both sides sort themselves out and stop fighting over who owns him.

And then, and only then, will he go back to being shit.