Premier League - Week One

Hooray! We've once again launched into the parallel universe that is the Premier League. In the past few weeks I've been tossing up as to whether to do a detailed preview of the madness to come. However, with laziness and drunkenness both at impressively high levels this Southern winter, I really, really just couldn't be bothered. And anyway, if you end up doing a preview that means you'll be making all sorts of predictions that you will be held accountable for. Which is no good, as that is certainly a good way of undermining whatever authority you have.

Another, and perhaps more compelling reason, other than beer and sleep and reacquainting one's self with the Orange Juice back catalougue, is that, if any of us were ever honest, we'd have to admit that the Premier League is a rather predictable affair.

In many ways, Scotland was way ahead of the curve on this one, as it has been with just about everything else with respect to football in Britain: the Jimmies have been perfecting the two-horse-race for the best part of a century, and it looks like the English have finally cottoned on to what seems to be the Evolutionary Stable Strategy of Footballing Leagues, and shunted everyone but the obscenely rich and arriviste Chelsea and the much-ballyhooed and 'storied' Manchester United (forgetting how ridiculous they were for the best part of forty years) into slugging it out for scraps. Liverpool's dramatic fall from grace has been cushioned by the Champions' League sinecure handed out to it and Arsenal for being the best of the rest, while Villa, Spurs, Everton and perhaps Portsmouth and Manchester City (if the money takes) run around like headless chickens in a desperate attempt to somehow stave off the long, slow solar-death that is befalling all clubs outside of those four spots. After that we have the relegation battle, which, to be fair, is the most interesting aspect of the whole thing, insofar as we only ever know two of the three that will go down (someone always gets sucked in. And if there were any sort of perverse justice in the world, it will be sucked in for Newcastle this year ...).

In addition, you can guarantee somewhere along the line that the Cron will annoy the living bejeezus out of everyone but the most slavishly uncritical United fans (admittedly a sizeable minority); Ashley Cole will barf on some tart he happened to leave Lil' Ashley in that he found lying next to last week's take-out pizza on the car floor; Wayne Rooney will swear at everyone; Lord Salex (etc. etc.) will swear at everyone; Liverpool's playing system, initially based on the philosophy of Immanuel Kant will devolve into existential nihilism, leaving a gaping black hole where their midfield should be; Spurs' impressively attacking 10-man midfield will prove surprisingly ineffective; Villa, like an 11-strong phalanx of coroners, will look clueless when the ball isn't dead; City will in actuality suck; Arsenal will look certain to be the first squad to ever win the title with no players aged over 14 before March precipitates an inexplicable snap into some bizarre Lord of the Flies mindset; Hull and Stoke will go down; and Newcastle will be like a flaming meteor heading straight for Tokyo - either it's going to plough into the earth leaving nothing but a crater where Mike Ashley once stood, OR will be swallowed by Godzilla. And Ashley Cole will solicit a paper-cup and a chip that fell behind the seat when he gave Frank Lampard a lift the previous week.

Unsurprisingly, a few of these have already happened on the opening weekend. Spurs' impressively attacking 10-man midfield of Subbeto pieces looked impressively clueless at Boro, and Juande Ramos needs to consider rejigging his tactics and personnel, especially insofar as the growing lack of strikers in Lilywhiteville means it might be rather wise to stick a giraffe in a Spurs strip in the opposition penalty area to get on the end of the odd David Bentley cross - and to ramp up the bacon and eggs for Luka Modric, Aaron Lennon and Giovani dos Santos. This shouldn't deflect from a solid showing from Middlesborough: Gareth Southgate has his side playing with discipline and motivation, which will make them more competitive than they have been for the past few seasons, though squad depth will limit their ability to push on into the upper reaches of the also-rans.

Manchester United's impressively attacking 8-man midfield also misfired against a surprisingly coherent Newcastle. United were unimpressive and listless with everything occurring in front of Newcastle's defensive line - the need to sign Berbatov (and really, we're pretty much jack of his starfucking 'I wanna plaaaaaaaaaay foooooor Uniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed!' tanties each week) seems particularly acute. Newcastle looked solid, without being too impressive - good workrate, surprising level of organisation for a Keegan-managed team, and Obefami Martins remains a potent striker who can knock the chances in if everyone behind him can keep it together for long enough to serve up the chances. But the big story was United's toothlessness. They were still good enough to get a goal they didn't really deserve to level things, as were Liverpool, who were able to rely on Fernando Torres to do absolutely everything for them again. With a midfield looking as though it spilled from a clown-car with only Mascherano there to muller anything that waltzed through, Sunderland gave them a right run for their money. Had they invested more wisely on their forward line, it might have paid dividends and Liverpool's recent trend towards underwhelming dreadfulness would have got its just reward. As with Liverpool playing to the type of recent history, so with Arsenal: swathes of possession were squandered on a gazillion sideways passes. If points were scored for geometrical complexity, then there would be no contest, but at times there was not even a suggestion of forward thrust. Samir Nasri at least looked positive, and took his chance well, but the question of how effective Arsenal are without Cesc Fabregas is a lingering and thorny one. Meanwhile West Brom should feel encouraged in spite of their defeat - Tony Mowbray's cavalier approach looks to be intact, as they were keen to bomb forward on the few occasions when the interminable Pong game being performed in front of them was broken up.

The big story though, is from the club who has gone against type (at least of late). To be honest, it's what many of us have always feared: should Chelsea combine their Globetrotter playing staff with Globetrotter football and conquer the known universe. And maybe even the unknown universe. It certainly looks as though Phil Scolari has begun to combine the two. Few new signings will make as immediate and lasting impression as did Deco in the 4-0 mauling of Portsmouth. As fulcrum of the Chelsea midfield, all of a sudden the most detestable waste of talent in the history of football began to look like the Spurs Double winners, the Lisbon Lions, the Busby Babes, Liverpool of the 80s and Arsenal's Invincibles rolled into one. Pompey, with not unreasonable ambitions of their own were bent over the proverbial car bonnet and fucked to within an inch of their lives in a performance so ominous Wes Craven will have been waiting outside Stamford Bridge so he could mug Big Phil and steal his ominous mojo (except you don't see anyone mugging Big Phil, do you?). It would be unfair to judge Pompey on that performance - they were pretty much up against an unstoppable force on the day, and the talent remains at their disposal to push on from the improvements of the last few seasons and trouble the Liverpools and Arsenals of the league.

But the best story simply had to be Hull's comeback against Fulham. While the quality of personnel and football had nothing on the fixtures involving the big boys, and certainly wasn't as entertaining as Villa and City's 4-2 (which showed both clubs as an attacking force, but a defensive shambles), or Blackburn and Everton's 3-2 blockbuster, the sheer spirit and giddiness of the team and its supporters in rolling back a 1-0 deficit was something to behold and better than all the bottled-excitement that Premier League marketeers can throw at you. There's a sad pattern amongst newly promoted clubs of being disheartened too quickly. While results may suggest dreadful football, it isn't always the case. But less-experienced players often find it difficult when even at their best an established Premier League side can punish you against the run of play. Hull might well have gone that way with Seol Ki-Hyeon's opener. However, they didn't implode or revert to desperate measures too quickly and played themselves back into it. Particularly impressive was the belief that arose in the second half and rose up like a wind at the players' backs, helping them to press on with Folan's winner. It was roared all the way home by a jubilant crowd which proved anathema to the funerary mood of footballing malls like the modern Old Trafford.

If that kind of passion and dizzy glee can be replicated each week, and if everyone outside the Big Four can stop admitting defeat and begin to dare just that bit more than is sensible, perhaps this season will shape up a little better than it has for the past few runs. And good god Juande, buy a flipping striker or two ...