So after last week’s verdict, John Terry is guilty according to the FA.  But he’s not guilty according to Westminster magistrates court.  Yes but he is still guilty….. or, well, not guilty.  Ok, he’s guiltily not guilty.  Clear?  Good, glad that’s sorted.

Depending on who you listen to it’s either or both.  As far as the courts are concerned, he’s not guilty.  They determined that he might have been repeating a phrase as opposed to using one.  The context in which he used the language was important and the fact that there was doubt as to his intent.  But the FA don’t appear to care.  He used the language and that’s that.  The FA and their heavy-handed attempts to appease people without in depth thought or analysis.

I’m not sure I’m at all comfortable with this.  I don’t know whether John Terry said what he is supposed to have said or meant what he is supposed to have meant and evidently. Maybe he did really mean what he said.  Or maybe he really was trying to clear up what had been said.  Although it does seems odd to do that on the football pitch.  “Excuse me did you just suggest that I should have sexual intercourse with my mother?”. “Yes.”.  “Oh jolly good, I should hate to think you said something else dear boy.”  Can’t imagine that happens often…

The problem is that as far as this untrained judge is concerned, there doesn’t seem to be enough evidence to be convinced and therefore not guilty seems the only answer.  But either way, the FA have laid down the law and charged John Terry with misconduct.  He has been banned for four games and has been fined £220,000 (subject to any appeals).

But I don’t think that the punishment tallies.

£220,000?

Admittedly just over a week’s wages.  Not for me, for John Terry but still that seems quite a lot.  Especially when you consider the completely disproportionate nature of other race related fines around Europe.  For example; The Croatian FA were fined a relative pittance for fans making monkey noises and throwing bananas on to the pitch during a group game against Italy in Euro 2012.  Lazio were a similar pittance for their fans making monkey noises during a Europa League game at White Hart Lane.  The same applies to the RussiaN FA for their fans making monkey noises at Czech Republic full-back Theodor Gebre Selassie during Euro 2012.

I don’t know for sure what those fans intended but I don’t think there’s much doubt.  I don’t think we’ll ever know what John Terry was thinking but whilst there is ambiguity, it seems unfair to punish him so steeply in comparison to what I think are open-and-shut cases.

I’m glad that the punishment bar for racial abuse is set high in England. I just wish that in cases where it is incredibly obvious the punishment should be as severe throughout the rest of the world.  Unless the punishment is a deterrent rather than a risible slap on the wrist the problem will never go away.

You can follow the author of this article at @peterstickney.

James Milner is a player who I have admired and been confused by in equal measures for some time now.  How could he leave Aston Villa where he was highly regarded, played brilliantly and led the team, and then go to Manchester City to be a sub?  How could he often play with such direction, aggression and freedom for England, particularly against Ukraine at Wembley, but play like he was tied to the floor in the Euros?

And then it all started to make sense…

Maybe James Milner isn’t just a footballer. Maybe he is the embodiment of English football and all English footballers.  A living, breathing, dribbling analogy.  A footballing martyr.  He has played for our sins and we all want to see him on the end of a cross.  He was even born around Christmas time.

Maybe he has the answers?  If we can decipher his actions we might see the way and finally understand them all.

He, like the England team, plays with great freedom and flair (within reason) when the pressure is off.  He expresses himself and we see his true colours, a player with no shortage of skill and determination.  A genuine talent.  But when the spotlight is on and the heat is turned up he along with the rest of our three-lioned ‘warriors’ run around like cats on a hot tin roof.

Why James?

He was brilliant at Aston Villa.  With him in their side they almost had a second coming of their glory days.  He was a leader of men adored by the masses, a humble and quiet man whose play was sometimes miraculous.  But it wasn’t enough for him and he followed a star (not Gareth Barry) to a place where for all England internationals, except maybe Joe Hart, the grass is never greener.  Manchester City.  A place where he is richly gifted by a Middle Eastern king (though probably doesn’t get paid in Myrrh) but regularly sits on the bench.

Why James, why?

Hang on I see it now.  He is testing our faith.

He, like all of the good English players and in fact the whole England team, is showing us what it means to make sacrifices.  Having a God-given talent but once it is discovered not letting it blind and embarrass others.  Leading us almost all the way to the promised land of an international trophy but ultimately keeping us from temptation by uselessly wandering in the wilderness of a quarter-final exit on penalties.  Profound sacrifices and lessons for us all.

Ok James, I’ll keep my faith.  I am not ready to wash my hands of you or the rest of them yet.  We must wait.  We will be rewarded.

We will find out the truth eventually I’m sure.  When he retires he’ll put out the obligatory ghostwritten autobiographical book and that will tell us all.  I’m looking forward to reading about his life and learning from him.  Maybe we’ll all see the light and finally understand them.  Maybe, if we can wait, King James’ good book will have some revelations for us all.

Until then us mere mortals will just have to hope they can play better against San Marino.

At the moment, comments abound about people “speaking too soon” this season and I think for the most part that sentiment is well founded.  The sensible pragmatist stays well clear of this type of comment, the worst place to have egg is on your face and there is nothing eggier than suggesting in early September that Fulham will win the league or Liverpool will get relegated.

Hubris was a crime in ancient Greece and whilst I’m not suggesting that we should abide by Ancient Greek law and arrest over-excited commentators on the Premier League, though the thought isn’t so bad, I think that we should at least pay that law some attention.

All that aside and without wishing to pay so little attention to what I preach that I fall face first into a big egg containing thing full of eggs, I would just like to say that I think Swansea will definitely win the league.

Okay, maybe they won’t win the league but I definitely think they’ll better last season’s placing and finish in the top half of the table. They could even push further up and challenge for a European place. Handcuff me now!

Before the season began, however, I was worried. The foundations of a bright future had been laid last season, and in the proceeding Championship season, by Brendan Rodgers but I feared that without him the same buoyant Swans would soon be replaced by concrete flippered cygnets and second season Swansea would sink without a trace. Add to that a manager without experience in the UK, let alone in the Premier League, and the signs weren’t good.  Yes, he has managed elsewhere with some success and he was a wonderful player, but how often has the strength of those sort of credentials vanished when thrown in to the Premier League bear pit?

I’m glad to be proved wrong thus far. Michael Laudrup speaks, and manages, as he played; with grace, skill and humility. You sense that he deeply means what he says and his thoughts about life inform his thoughts about football and vice-versa. So I am absolutely delighted to see this superbly talented and humble man begin in such a way. Swansea’s play is a joy to behold. There is no concession to fear and no small amount of skill in the way they move the ball around. From back to front they are controlled footballers with serious ability. Mr Laudrup has them as well drilled as they were before and several clever, under-the-radar acquisitions have begun to bolster a squad shorn of Joe Allen and Scott Sinclair (though why he would choose to be a bench warmer at City rather than a leading light in Wales, I have no idea; his bank account may give us a clue though). They, like me, may lack depth but if they can keep the nucleus of their squad together and injury-free whilst getting in extra numbers before the transfer window shuts, then who knows?

I may soon be proved more omelette than expert but this time I’ll take that gladly. Odysseus would be proud.

Last year I ruined the beginning of a perfectly good holiday in the south of France by sitting in my rental car outside an Internet cafe stealing WiFi in order to listen to Everton against Queens Park Rangers. Full of expectation and excitement, about Everton’s season starting with a bang and Ross Barkley banging in goals at the start of the season, I sat with my ears glued to the Internet radio, glued with anticipation, glued because of melted ear phones, glued because of love.

We lost.

I trudged home.

I definitely argued with my girlfriend, I very nearly cried.

This year however…..  A new season and another chance for the Toffees. For a start I’d changed my pre-season training, I wasn’t in France.  I was in my newly-opened local pub, listening to Z-Cars booming around Goodison Park hoping for a better start, again. Again.  Again.

Despite my change in build-up, there were still the same old annoyances. Why must the media insist on forgetting that Everton FC exist?  The top four has become the top eight in order to include a consistently faltering team in red from Merseyside and the new trendy teams in Newcastle and Finsbury Park — yet the team that has most regularly finished in that clique is never mentioned.  This season was yet another example. We are the stealth team of L4.

Well this time it paid dividends. So involved were people in their discussions of Robin van Persie and the ’99-esque squad that Manchester United have assembled that they forgot about little old us. Little old us with our squad of talented internationals. Little old us with our team spirit and passion. Little old us with our track record and history. Well that didn’t work, did it?

After the Everton-Manchester United game, I left the pub so excited that I forgot everything I’d brought with me.  After a five minute walk featuring some fist pumping and shouting, I turned round and casually strolled back into the pub. I got back to find it all still there and the score still up on the screen. It’d actually happened. We’d started playing like we can at the same time as everyone else (well actually Monday night, thanks Mr Murdoch; Revenue trumps tradition every time). We played with a game plan, we played with skill and we played one of the best teams in the world and won. Mitigating opposing-defense circumstances aside, obviously.

But still it comes as a surprise to people. Still we’ll get written off, still there’ll be surprise, still we’ll be last on Match Of The Day and still we’ll get called the ‘dogs of war’.

Well I’m a bit bored of it. I changed my pre-season and had my expectations exceeded. I hope that others can change their pre-conceptions and have their eyes opened.

The ‘dogs of war’ no more, the over-achieving underdogs no more — just Everton FC.  Remember the name (you’d have thought being around for 134 years might help…) next time you talk about the teams at the top of the league.