Wood for the trees

Duology(?)

Under normal circumstances you'd be hard pushed to link former England captain and '66 World Cup hero Bobby Moore with prog rockers ELP; wouldn't it be nice to discover that in 1973 Messrs. Emerson, Lake & Palmer had invited West Ham's finest to sit in on the Brain Salad Surgery sessions and sing the odd harmony (just like he did on Back Home)? Or, even better, to unearth evidence that Keith Emerson once had trials for the Hammers? I'd even have been happy to read that Carl Palmer's original drum teacher had been Bobby's brother when he was living up in Cradley Heath. Alas, no.

Trilogy

However, what I can tell you is that in the early seventies both Bobby (and his missus, Tina) and the band John Peel once described as a waste of time, talent and electricity had their mugshots taken deep in the heart of Epping Forest.

I can't tell you how many hours I pored over the Trilogy gatefold sleeve that depicted all three members of the band lurking behind every tree. It was like Where's Wally?' only in reverse.

Confession time (1). Every time I see a wooded glade (especially when I'm in the car) I shout out 'Trilogy!' It's at times like this, I suspect, that members of my immediate family fear for my sanity.

Confession time (2). As much as I love ELP, and I do, the image of Tina Moore with the England shirt pulled down as far as it will go does it for me every time. I'm only human after all, as Rag'n'Bone Man would say.

Bovver

West Ham Utd are, it would appear, in a spot of bother: problems on the field, and just as many off. There is something perversely just that the east London club's owners have, in their money grubbing haste to flee their spiritual home at Upton Park, brought The Hammers into the 21st. century and, yet, at the same time, dragged them back to the dark days of street fighting hooliganism made (in)famous in the 1970s.



When will those in charge of this now morally bankrupt game get it into their thick skulls that fans don't want to watch their team play in some soulless athletic stadium with a running track around the pitch? Gone is the very notion of touch line seating, and giving the opposition's left half the benefit of your opinion as he's about to take a corner kick. And something tells me that getting a cup of Bovril at halftime time is probably not an option

No wonder then that disgruntled supporters would rather rip up their (not so cheap) seats and knock seven bells out of the visitors than watch the game through a pair of binoculars.What would Bobby Moore think? Or Clyde Best? And where's Alf bleedin' Garnett when you need him?