CLOSE SEASON 2014 - COMPREHENSIVE AND INSIGHTFUL COVERAGE OF STUFF AND OTHER STUFF
STUFF

Er, there's not much to talk about at the moment, in this awkward gap until the new season starts. There's cricket, I suppose, but Captain Cook and his crew seem wearily content to hammer a few more nails into that particular coffin. If you really want to blame somebody for England's demise, look no further than coach Peter Moores, whose only skill seems to be an ability to coax ordinariness from promising players.
There was the Tour de France, but that one faded badly when it became clear that the British riders were falling off their bikes. Formula One occasionally sparkled, but even that is being bogged down by Hamilton's sulks and Rosberg's peculiar ears. Rory McIlroy won the Open, but we can't take to him at all, mainly because of that peculiar, overstriding walk he's adopted, a cross between a catwalk model and a gun fighter. Talk to Stress about this - he's obsessed with the way people walk, but especially with people who limp. According to him, there are far too many limpers, many of whom not only get in his way when he's in a hurry, but also do it on purpose. It's a problem.
There's the Commonwealth Games, of course, and I'm trying desperately to generate some enthusiasm for this worthy event, but as yet it's not bubbled to the surface.
All in all, we're feeling a little bit meh about sport. We're even struggling to go crackers about Forest, despite Stuart Pearce and the new young signings. At the moment, Forest seem to be the same old biscuit factory they were last season, and the friendlies aren't providing much of a clue as to who's going to represent Pearce's best starting eleven in the opening fixtures. We sense patience will be required, a lot of patience, before Pearce's philosophy works its way through. Until then, you'll have to make do with biscuits.

OTHER STUFF

  CHAMPIONSHIP 14/15

Jack Hunt, right back from Palearse, on loan until January, because Lichaj is still broken. Everybody's still broken.




I have great pleasure in announcing that Michael Mancienne has agreed to join us on a 3 year deal. His versatility will be a great asset in helping us achieve our goal. - Fazzer.




"And what kind of player will Nottingham Forest, or some other club be getting? Riera is a consummate professional with a winning pedigree, two intangibles which make him worth a try. On top of that, Riera is great with the ball at his feet, not a surprise after nine years at La Masia, he is good in the air and at 6ft 1in will be able to compete physically in the English game. I cannot guess the politics and other reasons for his departure from Barcelona but I will follow Riera’s career closely. He has the potential to become a leader for a first division team in years to come, whether that be England, back in Spain or abroad."

Another signing! Louis Laing, centre back, on a one-year deal, by the end of which he should be on solid food.




A cursory look at the released fixtures confirms that next season Forest will be mostly playing away.




Large Veldwijk went home for a few days to Mull, but the Verhoek moment is over - he's signed. Whatever happened to Verhoek?





Matthew Fryatt, 3 year deal. Refuse to call him Matty. Sounds like knotted hair. Maybe we'll call him Chip.






Danny Fox has signed a three year deal. Three left backs seems a bit of over-compensation for all those years we went without one. He's probably better than Harding, but probably nowhere near as good as Cohen. Please don't move Cohen to midfield. Cohen was morphing into Pearce mark 2 at left back. That's all we have to say about that.


Steve Wigley has left Fulham to join Stuart Pearce at Forest. Here he is seen in his England days, eating a Serbian's arm.



Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing.