Birmingham Mail

I wasn’t among those fortunate to be at the Scholars Ground on Tuesday night.
But from all the reports and the old imagination it must have roared and crackled like nothing else.
Just when perhaps we all start to get completely fed up with football’s commercialism, brassed off with genuine supporters being priced out of the game and sick and tired of over-paid prima-donnas in it for money rather than love, along comes a story like Chasetown.
A bunch of part-timers from the Southern Midlands league, with a ground boasting only a 140-seat stand and temporary terracing, are into the Third Round of the FA Cup to tackle Welsh giants Cardiff complete with Robbie Fowler and Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink. (if the pair of them of them fancy it of course!)
Marvellous scenes, historic scenes, with the latest instalment in the Chasetown dream Tuesday’s epic win against Port Vale.
Not only did Vale miss one penalty, they missed two.
And it wasn’t until the 89th minute that Chasetown substitute Danny Smith struck the decisive winning goal.
Steven Spielberg couldn’t have written it any better.
So onto Cardiff, onto Dave Jones, a manager lauded by Chasetown counterpart Charlie Blakemore after taking Wolves into the Premiership four-and-a-half years ago.
And what a talent Blakemore is proving for turning his team of part-timers into a well-oiled and seemingly invincible machine just destined for slaying giants.
His inspirational team-talks, captured on video, are becoming the stuff of legend.
“They look like they’re from Kwik-Fit with their tracksuits,” he said of the “fancy dan” students of Team Bath ahead of the First Round victory.
“They’ve been playing on their PlayStations all day while you’ve done a day’s work,” prior to last night and the professionals of Vale.
With gems like those, perhaps we could forgive the partisan BBC Radio Stoke commentary on the Internet last night which finished with the rather patronising, “Vale ought to be beating teams like these.”
Blakemore is surely destined for bigger and better things, but certainly not until he’s taken Chasetown where he wants them to be.
And how refreshing too to see a manager and group of players clearly welcoming all the press and public attention and yet being able to cut through the distractions to continue doing the business on the pitch.
Those team-talks, television clips, press cuttings, all are being gleefully kept and meticulously stored away for future reference.
And rightly so.
This is a once-in-a-lifetime event – or maybe not given Chasetown’s march to the First Round and replay with Oldham two years ago!
But in the years to come those videos, DVD’s and cuttings will see the memories flooding back of the finest footballing memories Blakemore and company will ever experience.
And who knows? With Cardiff not exactly pulling up trees in the Championship this season, there may yet be more historic footage to come.

There was something strange about watching the Sports Review of the Year from the press lounge.
Situated next to the main auditorium, with only a heavy duty curtain and makeshift wall separating us from 8000 guests, it was a bizarre experience watching the event unfold on TV with a handful of other journalists. We could hear you, but we couldn't see you.

It was a fascinating insight and a memorable night.

Sir Bobby Robson, incredibly emotional following his rousing reception and lifetime award, still speaks with passion about football. Those fires which made him England's finest manager since Sir Alf Ramsay still burn fiercely. Ravaged by illness, yet he still maintains a level of dignity and immense pride with his reception. He shouldn't be surprised by the standing ovation - fans of all ages, media, players and managers hold Sir Bobby with the highest esteem. Aside from his England spell, he remains the nation's finest managerial export - coaching at Barcelona, PSV Eindhoven and Porto. He's only just officially retired and already it seems like football is desperately missing him.

Full marks to Sir Alex Ferguson for breaking off his dispute with the Beeb to present Sir Bobby with his award. It was a scene which will live on long beyond any other moment from the night.

Sir Bobby later approached Lewis Hamilton in the press room to wish him all the best for the future. It was a touching moment between two heroes - one who has already made his mark on the sporting world, another who is doing so.

Lewis, for his part, isn't tall. For a man who spends several hours every other weekend, from March to November, throwing several hundred horsepower of machinery around, he doesn't half look composed and calm. It's hard to imagine his frame can cope with the kind of G forces needed to control an F1 car. It's hard to believe he's only in his early 20s and about to start his second year of Formula One (it took Mansell five to win his first Grand Prix, 12 to win the World Championship, while Damon Hill wasn't an F1 rookie until he was 32).

Mind you, if the awards ever return to the NEC then someone ought to think about better signposting. I walked out of the press centre with a radio colleague, about one hour after the show had finished, to find Sir Clive Woodward walking around in a daze, trying to find his way out of the building. Makes winning the rugby World Cup seem like a doddle...

THERE are often moans about BBC losing some of its bluechip sports.
Grumbles about their coverage of those sports they have left.
But surely there can be no complaints about the continuingly excellent Sports Review of the Year as was screened last night.
As a paying punter at the NEC, I was one of the 8,000 treated to two hours of slick, action-packed, informative and, in the case of Sir Bobby Robson, seriously moving entertainment which just proves when it comes to events like this Auntie Beeb has no equals.
Difficult to believe Gary Lineker was initially derided as he tried to fill the unfillable boots of Des Lynam in presenting British sport.
Now as polished an operator as they come, aided and abetted by Sue Barker and resident Brummie Adrian Chiles, the production was flawless.
A few highlights?
The outside broadcast from Las Vegas with Ricky Hatton and Joe Calzaghe.
Surrounded by three or four rows of corner men and mates – including a certain Richie Woodall – there seemed almost the air of a load of blokes turning up for a drive-in movie.
The pair’s constant banter, and the unshakeable face of Lennox Lewis, was a real picture, while Hatton’s “I slipped” reference stole the show.
But in Calzaghe, a worthy winner of the competition, quite probably 12 months after he should have done.
The arrival on stage, on his machine of world superbike champion James Toseland.
Before then launching into a spectacular blues rendition on the old Joanna.
Can a bloke do any more to win?!!
The presence of a sprinkling of stars from the Midlands.
Alex McLeish, amusingly told by Chiles his reward for nearly taking Scotland to the European Championships was a new life in Birmingham, both Mick McCarthy and Tony Mowbray in attendance, and Steve Bull on stage as part of the tribute to Robson.
Which brings us neatly on to the highlight of the night.
Presumably there was barely a dry eye in the house as Sir Bobby shuffled on stage to receive his Lifetime Achievement award to be met by a rousing two-minute standing ovation.
The body may be frail amid a seemingly endless battle against cancer and most recently a brain tumor but the mind is still sharp as a tack.
And noble too of Sir Alex Ferguson to put aside his long-standing dispute with the BBC to actually present the award.
Of course there will be one or two complaints about what was and wasn’t shown.
The lack of even a mention for the county cricket season perhaps, the choice of England’s rugby team as “Team of the Year” amid far more consistency from more minor sports elsewhere, and maybe Tim Henman deserved just a little more air-time given the way he has carried the sport of tennis for over a decade.
But overall what a fantastic night, for audience and viewers alike.
And amid rumours Birmingham might not be granted a third year in the hotseat 12 months from now, organisers would be well advised to consider one of sport’s golden rules: “Never change a winning formula.”

So former Wolves and England captain Paul Ince is advocating the return of former Wolves and England boss Glenn Hoddle as national manager.
It’s a suggestion that will probably be open to ridicule, and at 100-1 the bookies are certainly not convinced.
But do you know what? From a purely footballing perspective, Ince may actually have a point.
There’s only ever been one England manager with a better “win-ratio” than Hoddle’s figure of 60.71%.
And that was a certain World Cup winner by the name of Alf Ramsey, with 61.06%.
For the record, in terms of recent history, Sven stands fourth (59.7), Steve McClaren sixth (50), Terry Venables ninth (47.82), Graham Taylor tenth (47.36), and Kevin Keegan 12th (38.88).
But beyond the mere stats, Hoddle’s three-year England tenure stands up to the fiercest scrutiny.
When it comes to qualification for major tournaments – the be-all and end-all for any international manager – he achieved his one and only target by reaching the1998 World Cup.
And lest we forget, his final crucial fixture was not at home to a Croatia side who had already qualified, it was away to the mighty Italy who needed all three points.
It was on that momentous night in Rome that Hoddle’s tactical acumen took England to one of their finest nights of the last decade, the eventual 0-0 draw almost overshadowing the fact that an ultra-professional and often-attacking performance probably deserved the win.
Then the tournament itself.
Yes there were question marks about his delay in using Michael Owen and David Beckham, perhaps understandably, but once more on the big stage England delivered, and despite being reduced to ten men would have seen off Argentina but for the ridiculous disallowing of Sol Campbell’s ‘winner’.
Of course a year later Hoddle was gone, and clearly the FA had no choice after some at the very least misconstrued and at worst incredibly insensitive views about people with disabilities.