Bob Woolmer
A couple of techie books he has been involved in are due to be published in June, according to what I read this morning. The other book hasn't got a publisher yet and was apparantly, a follow up to his autobiography. As Chelsea states, the guy who is co-writing it (ghost?) states there was no expose or anything so dramatic.
Talk is cheap
[quote="STEVE G"]Pete, Ireland lost to the West Indies yesterday, if you don’t understand this sport you are not the only one: from yesterdays IHT, “And the notion that anyone would watch a game that, in its highest form, could take five days and still end in a draw provokes widespread disbelief among results-oriented Americansâ€
Pete,
I suggest you continue with your education in Rugby first and foremost. There's enough diversity between League and Union to keep you going for some time. Only when you believe that you have a good handle on those 2 should you start trying to understand cricket - I've lived in the UK for a long, long time, and have never had the desire to even attempt to understand that game.
I suggest you continue with your education in Rugby first and foremost. There's enough diversity between League and Union to keep you going for some time. Only when you believe that you have a good handle on those 2 should you start trying to understand cricket - I've lived in the UK for a long, long time, and have never had the desire to even attempt to understand that game.
Championship Plymouth Argyle 1 - 2 Leeds Utd 
Points 46; Position 23 RELEGATED
Points 46; Position 23 RELEGATED
I agree with BB, cricket is easy once you work out the in is out, out is in thing and imagine a pint of real ale on a warm summer day in a field somewhere that is forever england that you can doze on a deck chair enjoying, to be disrupted only by the occasional ball being whacked against willow to raise you from your reverie to partake in polite applause. A liking for cheese and cucumber sandwiches and stewed tea is an advantage.
Rugby however, is far more challenging!
Imagine a group of working class kids from a big estate loving union. Buying a bollock shaped ball was challenging enough without the fact the elite were rather snotty allowing you to use their facilities.
Imagine an amatuer club that relied on bar takings to survive only supplemented by a reasonably wealthy jolly hockey sticks benefactor as collateral. Imagine that this club once hosted some of Englands finest players, Andy Ripley amongst them and is still internationally renowned for its 7's tournament.
Imagine that this club is in Roehampton and you attended regularly and played the game at school, but in your free time, you did a deal with said club to enjoy their facilities after your own game (soccer/footie) was over, in the days before pubs were open all the time, thus adding to their profits.
Imagine being kicked out when certain public school rugger types objected to this arrangement and that the same club eventually witnessed one of the finest black kids playing the sport (footie/rugger) defecting to that professional protestant game called "league" played in the north. He became a household name and eventually, years later, was welcomed back into the "union" fold once it bacame professional, like their northern upstarts.
Does that make it easier for you?
Me? I gave up rugby union at Wimbledon rugby club at the age of 16 when a freak of nature the same age as me, but much wider and taller was heading towards me at 90mph (ot thereabouts) on a rugger pitch and I was the last line of defence.
At the last minute, I decided I had better things to do with my life and he could pass. Sadly for me, my decision coincided with him seeking to side step me and the end result was, albeit not my intention, the tackle of the century.
I brought him down on top of me and the ball was released. I was pushed into the earth by a good six inches, battered, bruised and barely coherant. I remember the Welsh rugby international called Williams who was our teacher screaming at me, "great tackle boy, great tackle" (imagine welsh accent) and seeing him staring at me nonplussed, as I staggered up, barely lucid, shaking myself to get my bearings and to make sure I was still in one piece and walked off the pitch, telling him to "f##k off" en route. That was the last time I set foot on a rugby pitch.
I still love the sport though.
Rugby however, is far more challenging!
Imagine a group of working class kids from a big estate loving union. Buying a bollock shaped ball was challenging enough without the fact the elite were rather snotty allowing you to use their facilities.
Imagine an amatuer club that relied on bar takings to survive only supplemented by a reasonably wealthy jolly hockey sticks benefactor as collateral. Imagine that this club once hosted some of Englands finest players, Andy Ripley amongst them and is still internationally renowned for its 7's tournament.
Imagine that this club is in Roehampton and you attended regularly and played the game at school, but in your free time, you did a deal with said club to enjoy their facilities after your own game (soccer/footie) was over, in the days before pubs were open all the time, thus adding to their profits.
Imagine being kicked out when certain public school rugger types objected to this arrangement and that the same club eventually witnessed one of the finest black kids playing the sport (footie/rugger) defecting to that professional protestant game called "league" played in the north. He became a household name and eventually, years later, was welcomed back into the "union" fold once it bacame professional, like their northern upstarts.
Does that make it easier for you?
Me? I gave up rugby union at Wimbledon rugby club at the age of 16 when a freak of nature the same age as me, but much wider and taller was heading towards me at 90mph (ot thereabouts) on a rugger pitch and I was the last line of defence.
At the last minute, I decided I had better things to do with my life and he could pass. Sadly for me, my decision coincided with him seeking to side step me and the end result was, albeit not my intention, the tackle of the century.
I brought him down on top of me and the ball was released. I was pushed into the earth by a good six inches, battered, bruised and barely coherant. I remember the Welsh rugby international called Williams who was our teacher screaming at me, "great tackle boy, great tackle" (imagine welsh accent) and seeing him staring at me nonplussed, as I staggered up, barely lucid, shaking myself to get my bearings and to make sure I was still in one piece and walked off the pitch, telling him to "f##k off" en route. That was the last time I set foot on a rugby pitch.
I still love the sport though.
Talk is cheap
Looks like the case, and his memory, can be put to rest.
http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=181885
http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=181885
May you be in heaven half an hour before the devil know`s you`re dead!
