ADOPTED LOVE - (SOMETHING I EXPERIENCED)

Distance is something resented by most. We crave to be close to the ones we love, no matter what state we are in. It’s almost instinctive to want to be loved and in many cases to want to cherish those you feel close to, and thus those you call ‘family’. For others it’s a lot harder. Consider if you may, not even knowing the very mother you were born from.

If that’s the case then the term ‘family’ becomes ever so slightly more distorted. For anyone pondering what the state I’m referring to actually is then let’s use the term ‘adoption’ or ‘adopted’. (I’m not talking about the WWF adverts where you can sponsor Tony the Tiger somewhere in Siberia and receive a framed picture, this concerns humans). To me, family means those closest and not always of genetic matches (although, obviously, I have no choice with this). For instance my closest friends are people throughout my life I have been able to consider family too. Yet when questions are raised or I ponder the matter of adoption too long it is changed completely in my own mind.

Imagine, if you will, a desire for an answer to a question to which you know nobody around you can offer any sort of answer that will suffice? Then, imagine this further, for example wondering about this since you were seven years old. A question unanswered is like a seed; it grows and forever blossoms in your own mind, and one that concerns your very origin grows even further resulting in, at times, you questioning your very own self.

Albeit confusing enough to read, trying to muster up the correct words to summarise how it feels to be adopted is very difficult. It’s nothing to do with courage, however, more so making sure it reflects correctly when read. For I’m not some sort of pathetic dribble concerned only with finding my birth mother, far from this in fact I’m quite content with my life as it is. Yet it’s only natural, and apparent that when you’re posed with the thought of being adopted it only evokes a lot of sadness. Although not being something recurring, it’s hard to ignore at times; I notice especially that when I have struggled in my life the thought of adoption comes into my mind, quite probably because I associate this with sadness and thus it comes out in relation.

It’s nothing to be confused about, though. My mother and father are the two people I have known as such for my whole life, I consider myself lucky to have such understanding parents who told me about my adoption at a young age so I could try and come to terms with it, something obviously easier said than done. This is what makes me consider myself special, yes I have a genetic mother and father out there somewhere but I have my real parents (emphasis on the ‘real’) who have made me the person I am today. In my own eyes, the woman who gave birth to me will never be considered my ‘mother’, does this bother me? Not in the slightest. Yes, adoption is difficult, but for me it turned out for the best .

'FAMILY IS EVERYTHING, FOOTBALL BREAKS YOUR HEART'

In many respects a University football beveraging game is hardly the most sincere of places to be. Yet we, who are present have one common factor to be a part of the event; our relentless passion for a sport that we both love and take part in. Usually full of rowdy boistrous comments alongside the occasional beverage or two I found myself last Wednesday staring across at twenty or so other players sitting in complete silence. It's ironic that one event can change so much at so many levels and yet marking the death of a loved football icon from the smallest levels upwards felt like the correct thing to do.

Gary Speed was such an icon. Spending various years seeing his named slapped across the Newcastle and then Bolton Wanderers teamsheets had become a given, for Speed himself was what most now professionals can only dream to be. He was there to play football, a true professional. Albeit nothing in comparrison to the silences held at various stadia across the United Kingdom over the weekend, our small but meanginful tribute to a man who devoted his life to our most precious sport is surely proof in itself of the reach he has as a player. For it is this unity in sport that makes the lowest moments seem recoverable. Football itself has been deprived of an insiprational leader, two boys have been deprived of a father and a wife is left grieving without her partner.

Deaths themselves come laced with irony, they unite those which would usually hate. Football is the most bipolar sport on the planet, scenes of hate echo across derby matches across the land and yet at a time of overall mourning fans come together to form the biggest family on the planet. It had come to my attention when reading about this tragedy that a certain Manchester United fan decided to visit Elland Road as tributes were being laid out around the Billy Bremner statue. In all honesty such a fan would never even speak of their support for the Red Devils around that part of Yorkshire, and yet this was different. Speed's death saw the fiercest of football tribalism put on hold and made way for all to truly remember a great. Walking up to the statue the man clasped in his hand the red shirt of Manchester United, turning to an official nearby he asked 'Can I lay this?' with the reply being 'Of course'. Worried of the reaction from the thirty plus Leeds United fans gathered around he then asked 'But will they say anything?' to which the official then answered 'Of course they won't' and led him to where the rest of the tributes were placed. He then laid out the shirt of Leeds United's most detested rivals in the middle of where various flowers, shirts and other messages were placed written on the back it read 'Gary Speed RIP'. In a sea of white and blue lay a crimson mark of respect, something to show a touching rememberance for everything a man did for the sport of football. This immense gesture from a rival shows Speed's true status in the sport. He had everything a fan loves about a player, desire, battle, pride in the shirt and the ablities to create and score.

Disbelief is the word on this matter for it was only a day before his untimley death that Speed was seen on Football Focus as a pundit, seemingly 'okay'. Where others have tried, though, I'm not here to delve into reasons behind his apparant suicide, this post is far from that; it is more a timely reminder of the way a sudden event can provide unity in a sport otherwise completely divided. Liverpool fans rememembering a fallem Everton hero as well as Sunderland fans paying respects to a fans favourite of their Tyneside rivals. Speed's death was a large shake to the world of football, in the way that a previously considered man who had it all could end it in such a fashion. It's incredible to consider that he was only forty-two years old, and even more incredible that he only retired from football shortly before. Speed's final interview had him say the sentence; ''Family is everything... football breaks your heart'', how fitting in this instance.

THE STATES AREN'T SO UNITED

It's impossible right now to open any sort of tabloid or broadsheet and not catch a glimpse of the 'occupy' movement currently spreading like a bush fire throughout the world. It's far more impressive when you actually put a moments research into the topic, after typing the word 'Occupy' into everyone's favourite search engine, my screen immediately becomes flooded with videos, quotes and blogs dedicated to the current pandemic, now known as 'The 99%' in the states.

To suggest political overthrow is almost irrelevant in its matter entirely, just look what happened to Guy Fawkes; I'm sure nobody wants to be commemorated by being burnt on a fire every fifth of November, yet in actuality what is apparent is that citizens are fed up. Over the past decade or so it's evident that the bridge between rich and poor is vastly enlarging, but why? Democracy is difficult. A statement brilliant in its own effortless alliteration, yet pondering political overthrow doesn't come easy, for many of us fit into the system we and thus do not question what truly may be occurring, or rather not happening. Across the pond (albeit a very large pond) a country's very own foundations are causing it to collapse on top of its own idealised morals and ideals.

The matter as a whole is complex, and yet so very simple. To make it easier for this I've chosen to write in particular about the '#OccupyWallStreet' movement rather than the movement globally (as it has now apparently become quite a pandemic). It started roughly two months ago, with protesters massing in Zuccotti Park, New York which they then have appeared to rename 'Liberty Square' for probable obvious reasons. This becoming a humanoid generator for the movement itself amassing thousands in a camp all connected by their ideals as if conjoined to become one all adjoined by metaphoric cables allowing the ideas of all to be transported mouth to mouth and thus voiced as one in a riot of human will. To be certain, however, from what I have read there is no 'real' riot occurring here, no youths ransacking shops and stealing trainers; alas this is so far from the masses we were treated to in the UK during the summer riots, these are people all fixed on a purpose, that:

"The political system should serve all, not just the wealthy".

It's ironic that America face this episode, after all a country built on all being able to live in their 'dream' and bask in the glory of a 'free' state should have no trouble at all, surely? And yet what 'dream' has American served to it's own citizens now? One of struggle, when a family can barely afford to put food on their own table then nobody can be sharing any sort of 'dream', George Washington must be shaking in his grave (if there's much left of him). For in its basic terms America was meant to be everything England was not at the time, a place for radicals to venture and live off the land; to be free and make money from a 'ranch' and build their way up to the top of the ladder. Tell that to the thirty-thousand protesters staring up at the bankers on the top floors of the buildings of Wall Street then.

From their own website the movement itself states:

"Occupy Wall Street is leaderless resistance movement with people of many colors, genders and political persuasions. The one thing we all have in common is that We Are The 99% that will no longer tolerate the greed and corruption of the 1%. We are using the revolutionary Arab Spring tactic to achieve our ends and encourage the use of nonviolence to maximize the safety of all participants.
The #OccupyWallStreet movement empowers real people to create real change from the bottom up. We want to see a general assembly in every backyard, on every street corner because we don't need Wall Street and we don't need politicians to build a better society."

That is the difference, with no scapegoat leader; the people are as one, unified in one belief to achieve a goal set out for all to believe in. With no visible funding behind the movement itself, there is no group to be intimidated and addressed by the government, nobody to hound and remove to end this group; in fact as a whole it may only continue to get stronger and larger. With it recently being present in over 30 other cities across America, and present outside our own Saint Pauls Cathedral, the occupy disease is infecting all who understand and are affected by their ideals.

More recently, however the residents of Liberty Square were evicted by the Mayor of New York in what can only be described as an act of desperation, why evict those who are being peaceful? There is apparent panic amongst those in charge as clearly the realisation has dawned that many understand that what '#OccupyWallStreet' stands for is not untrue, and affects them too. With multiple arrests and police harming innocent members of the occupation (surprise, surprise) there is only going to be a fiery backlash to this event. No riot will take place as the members still keep to remain peaceful, for they have no reason to react to an attack of political cowardice against citizens of their own country; something that one can only describe as ridiculous. They now have chosen a new slogan after these events: 'You can't evict an idea whose time has come', fitting in the way it broadcasts the ideals of the movement itself, an idea that has simply blossomed under the addition of more members.

"We are the 99% and we are here to reclaim our democracy."

The members claim that the stock exchange has been targeted not just because of the 'bankers' crisis, something very present in the UK too, but because they see Wall Street as owning Washington. That those with money control those with power, as an example Rupert Murdoch controls nearly everything, why? Because he has power, but more importantly he has the resources through his money to control what we see and therefore believe. To shield those from what is occurring means they can never understand the true matters going on. The '#OccupyWallStreet' website described their eviction as being constructed by;

"billionaire Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s predawn raid of Occupy Wall Street at Liberty Square"

and therefore reinforces the matter they wish to uphold, that rich and poor continue to have a schism between them, and this is growing.

It's difficult on a personal level to cite an opinion on a matter so far away, especially when it mildly concerns political overthrow and rebuilding. Yet I empathise with the plight the movement is going through. Thirty-two thousand, five hundred people cannot all be false in their ideals, can they? It's true that after the recession many have been left jobless and to fend for themselves, but in the midst of this organism that is the movement, there are workers with jobs, supporting the views for this is not some sort of flower weilding hippy-march, this is a serious matter being dealt with by those who care and are affected. Too peaceful for the military to oppose, yes, but with strong reason to deliver what they believe needs to occur to progress their country. In all regards if they are wrong or right in what they are undertaking, they have certainly grasped the attention of the world and therefore have achieved the status they wished. The only real problem is that their actual motivation and point makes their intentions easy to question.

99% say the States are no longer United.

DIAMONDS IN THE ROUGH

Respect is something I've previously discussed amongst this blog, and irrespective of the matter to be respected it should be in our very human nature to at least hold a little for those around us. Every now and again though there is a contrast in how we perceive respect. Respect is given to those who deserve it, for example Remembrance Day, but also for those who overcome all adversity and still manage to pull through on top.

Luey Jacob Sharp died on the twenty-ninth of October, just two days after he entered into this world. Some may call this an insignificant life, others would disagree and say it has more significance altogether because of the short timespan involved. Meanwhile Luey's father, Billy Sharp (a striker for Doncaster Rovers) performed what can only be seen as the utmost act of remembrance for his little boy. Clearly Sharp will probably never fully recover from the loss of his child, nor will his partner, but the bravery and courage that he undertook just three days after his son's death proves that some sort of hero's do exist amongst us.

This post isn't a tribute to his son, by any means; rather it is recognition of what Sharp thought was right to do after the passing of his little boy. Sharp was courageous, at a time when courage would have failed many others for obvious reasons. Football unites people of all different walks of life, but there are times like these that really show the power of the sport with all. Regardless of his own personal heartbreak Sharp chose to play for Rovers, being given the captains armband for the match and lead his team out against Middlesbrough (and let me reiterate, just three days after the loss of Luey). He requested a minute’s applause be held in memory and as a true mark of respect for his little boy. I'm sure nobody could have imagined quite how he must have felt during this. What makes this event even more spectacular is the obligation in which both sets of fans, and players undertook this mark of respect. With every single fan in the ground standing and applauding, one can only credit sport itself for allowing such respect to be delivered.

Sharp said on his twitter:

"My goal tonight was the most important of my career dedicated to my brave boy Luey Jacob Sharp. I love you son.
"I was crying [during] the minute's applause. Thanks to both sets of fans."

Powerful.

People claim a goal can change so much for someone. It can make a day, ruin a week and certainly give the scorer a feeling of absolute euphoria incomparable with any other feeling on this planet. Therefore Sharp scoring was simply the fairy-tale ending after the seemingly unbearable horror story he had endured over the past few days. Sharp celebrated the goal by revealing a message on his shirt emblazoned with the words 'That's for you Son'; a timely reminder of a fathers undying love for his child. Usually such an action of lifting the shirt would follow with a referee brandishing a yellow card to the culprit but on the day, Darren Deadman (the man in charge) was praised by all for not doing such. It was therefore seen as fitting that Sharp could perform such an act for his son.

Yes, it is only a game of football, two teams and a ball, and yet the pure passion and emotion that was present shows the power of the sport; in the way it brings together people to commemorate and also celebrate events in life, in this case a celebration of what was a life for a very little boy. It's incredible how such a theme could completely overshadow a football match, and demand respect from all players in the game, that is definite unity in sport. With the recent allegations of racism in football this story comes as a simple reminder to all involved that although at times the sport brings out the worst in people, it can also provide the world with moments of absolute beauty; and that at times where individuals are at their lowest it can provide the support and relief to pick them up. Respect is something that should be earned; yet in this case it was deserved.

TERRY'S IN TROUBLE..

Apparently the title of being the England captain these days comes with little regard for that players action; and therefore the consequences of these actions. In this case, a certain Mr Terry is back in the headlines under an alleged 'racism row'. Even his own team mates have now failed to defend him. 'Oops' doesn't quite cover it.

To reiterate what you probably already know, Mr Terry uttered some very potty language at a mixed race player during the much heated West London derby that Chelsea recently played against Queens Park Rangers. Now, I don't personally know Anton Ferdinand, but I'm guessing he's neither 'black' nor a 'c***'? He's brown and a football player, as a matter of fact. Although in many other cases this wouldn't even be an issue, as I’m certain racism takes place a lot more than people are willing to admit in any sport; after all in the heat of a sporting moment and being under such pressure some simple minded buffoons often have no other insult to throw at another human other than to mock their ethnicity or background, step forward Mr John Terry; this was caught on camera, for once technology has supported football (much to the probable misery of a certain Sepp Blatter who believed there is no place for technology in football). A choice few television cameras caught the Chelsea captain remarking the slur and he is easily seen mouthing the words. Since the event these videos have circulated around the global web and diffused their way onto many avid sports fans computer screens.

The most shocking thing about this whole fiasco is that Terry is supposed to represent the country's football as a whole. From the teenagers in Bristol playing 'heads and volleys' on a road, to every professional player representing the Premier League, John Terry is meant to be an aspiration, something to look up to. He represents the pinnacle of English football, a leader of all within the sport of this country. I can imagine a few players that are now questioning this alleged leadership, and for very feasible reasons. Most of us know the England set up now contains an almost equal set of both black and white players, in fact in the most recent squad; ten out of the twenty-five players are of other ethnic origin and heritage. This is therefore representative of the level of multiculturalism within football today, and thus Terry citing these alleged comments simply undermines the level that English football has now achieved in regard to respect for players of all ethnic backgrounds. For football is surely about ability, not race.

Yes, he may now not deserve the captaincy of England, nor of Chelsea and in some ways it's surprising that his own players have not yet come forward about the matter. Especially after the three Queens Park Rangers players coming forward to present evidence against Terry; 'trouble' doesn't quite cover it, if found guilty Terry faces obvious fines and possible police enquiries. The main result, however will be the fact his career will be left in complete tatters; as if the previous breakthrough of his affair with the partner of former team mate Wayne Bridge was not enough, he may now have utterly plunged himself top of the list of 'most shameful' footballers in the eyes of many fans.

In all colours, shapes and views we want football to continue to be beautiful, the 'beautiful game' and yet with such individuals tarnishing it, it is almost inevitable that at the moment in time football has taken a giant leap backwards with regard to equality in the game. The worst part of it is that Terry may seem to be in trouble, but his £120,000 a week wage probably won't suffer too much. Poor lad.

I LOVE HATE (SOMETHING YOU'VE EXPERIENCED)

It's almost farcical to think that you can forever be happy in life. No feeling can, or ever will last forever no matter how much money, talent or self-belief you have. You're only human, after all. As pessimistic as that all may sound, it often helps to be a realist where emotions are concerned. For some apparent reason emotions, even though it's said we cannot control them, drive everything; from that bad day at work because your boss majorly woke up on the wrong side of his king size bed, to the little playground spats as a child where the boy from the class next door decided that losing his pokemon card was your fault; and thus proceeded to take it out on you for the remainder of the day.

So more to my point, the most famous of the emotions out there is the one that everyone craves. Yes, love is desired by all, especially those that claim they don't want to be in love. In actual fact the biggest cliché in the history of mankind is love itself.

'Love conquers all'

Really? I can't imagine cupid beating many people in a fight. But on a more serious note, love can be so, so brilliant. It's quite easily the most intense and exciting feeling that you can experience, from that first kiss when you realise you're falling for that special person to that moment where they break it off because 'it's not working'. Love is a feeling you cannot shake; as if it's an emotional shroud around you grasping at your every movement, coursing through your body with every beat of your heart. Almost like a drug, love can make your heart pulsate in ways you could never understand, then it can make your stomach do backflips until you feel so queasy you almost can't take it anymore. Love makes you feel happy when you're at your worst, but it can also bring you to lows you never thought you could experience.

For it is also true that love comes hand in hand with other emotions, trust and jealousy to name a few. When emotions get together and gang up on you, that's when you truly lose a bit of self-control. You wonder how a feeling that your own body has created can make you shudder with joy but at the same time feel rage that you never thought your body could even contemplate. That moment where you feel your stomach has suddenly lifted to the top of your chest (you know the one I mean) can mean so many different things. Of course, to fall in love with someone you must be lucky, for in most cases you're loved back and if that's the case then it can make you feel like nothing else will ever matter. Love encapsulates almost everything you can give to someone. From the single rose you buy in the cheesiest manner for them, to that grand gesture of a proposal in front of hundreds of people, love makes you do actions you never would even think about doing for other people.

Everyone wants to be loved, and thus everyone must want to also love somebody else too. Therefore, to put it frankly, love is quite simply the most unforgettable feeling anyone will experience.

#2 ME AND MANDY?

http://youtu.be/TMSSqCEZaOk

Above is the link to my personal favourite song. Ever.

You probably think it's awful. Fact.

But for some strange reason it's stuck with me as something I can always listen to, usually a good indicator that for me, anyway it's a favourite. Sang by the artist 'Example' (who has now consistently turned out commercial s**t for the masses) it’s part of his much earlier work. Lovely.

The chorus states;
'She won't say where we're gonna go and I do not need to know, oh no,
'Cuz it's just me and Mandy,
We sit there looking at the Thames don't give a f**k about our old friends,
'Cuz it's just me and Mandy.'

Brilliant isn't it? An exhibition of genius in the format of wordplay and rhyme it's a demonstration of what in my eyes a true song should be. Personally it just seems as if the artist himself does not care, the song seems wild, it's blaring, it's riddled with profanities and laced with references to underground drug abuse and culture. Like I said, brilliant. The first line itself even states;

'Youre a bitch.'

How attention grabbing. Even now as I type these very sentences and words down, the song blazing through my headphones in this otherwise silent library, the lyrics just transport my mind to a day dream of utter chaos. Call it a party if you wish, but it's far more abstract than that. Yes, the use of 'Mandy' is clearly not about a female lover of the artist as he clearly calls her his 'crystal mistress' but it is this quirky and frank description of how his 'head and not my genitals' are buzzing off the molecules put across the suggested images of pure ecstasy (oh the irony) and jubilation he has during this night out and thus what the song reflects upon the listener.

He calls the experience the 'best 12 hours of the last 6 months', how enticing that such an effect could be so incredible. All it makes me consider is pure curiosity, that the effects of 'Mandy' could apparantly be so delightfuly life-changing. With no cares in the world expressed in the song itself, it truly oozes the obviously intentional rush and buzz of the experience. Plus it's a pretty good tune too...

'Something I attended' OUCH!

Blog post one. Or if you're a baguette wielding French man named Pierre (and for some strange reason have come across my blog) 'un'. I enjoy writing, and I enjoy myself in a strangely non-twisted kind of way. Hence I thought why not base my first post almost entirely around myself; or at least some sort of experience. Call this an introduction to yours truly...

As a keen footballer and athlete from the University football I often find myself lying face down in my room after a Wednesday night, various missed calls upon my mobile, wondering what exactly occurred to make my head feel ever so slightly disgusting. Generally, it's the toxic substance secreted from various pumps and dispensers in those wonderfully inviting (with their little flashy lights) bars and clubs, or it could be an occurrence from an even less likely knock on the head the night before, needless to say I do enjoy a drop of liquor after celebrating a win that afternoon; or if it be a loss then drowning my sorrows, or if it be a draw then simply celebrating life and the wondrous things upon this God given land.

Speaking of knocks on the head, at times it's clear I've had one too many. Presumably that's what others often think of me after a night out, after I exert my various moves in the amplified atmosphere of the discotheque I often frequent. Thus here is my story from one particularly 'sloshed' eve at such a place.

After proceeding to beverage a whole bottle of the finest Co-Operative Rose, and a few light beers the hops clearly took hold of me and I left my inhibitions at home. With my chums we then trotted to the students union bar, revelling in the beauty of the strobe lights and various bass lines offered, and to a certain degree the mixture of liquid substance that continued to pour down our gullets for the rest of the night. Two hours later and we could be described as 'on one', or to put it less street, intoxicated. After our merry night ended we eventually managed to find the brightly lit exit of the Union and decided it would be a clever idea to hop the large gate, under the assumption that obviously we were now some sort of ape-human being able to clamber large obstacles at any time we wished. How wrong I was.

One rip later I was over the fence. How simply lovely it was to raise the palm of my hand and discover that I had a large gash down the middle of it, apparently that's called your life line by some; if that's the case I was definitely a dead man. Que the bleeding, how exhilarating it was to watch this white open space upon my palm suddenly turn to a vibrant pool of crimson shining under the streetlights. Gladly, my fond friend Mr Carling had worked his magic long before and feeling anything on my body was no longer possible (until the next morn). Yes, three stitches later and a long drowsy sleep I awoke no longer able to slap a fellow man upon his face with the palm of my right hand, of course not that I'd want to...