Graham Hunter: So sad to see the big boys toppled, or is it?
By nature I’m chippy, prone to carrying a grudge – and not shy of explaining it in print.
By nature I’m chippy, prone to carrying a grudge – and not shy of explaining it in print.
Like you, I imagine, I’m sick and tired of reaching Hampden and not winning a trophy. But I’m not going to be hypocritical.
Sometimes football can be delicious. I’m not a fan of how PSG have tried to develop in recent seasons.
While I’m not one of life’s great worriers, Leo Messi troubles me.
While Barcelona were conceding four times to lowly Villarreal their European rivals were losing to Wolves. Again.
Atlético Madrid’s striker Álvaro Morata makes me recall a boisterous and boozy dinner I had in Fulham back in 2006.
One of the Marc Andre Ter Stegen saves in Barca’s 4-4 draw at Villarreal was literally extraordinary – however, his risky anticipation over whether Toko Ekambi would cross or shoot left him embarrassed and cost Barça the 2-2 goal.
As if the drama on the pitch wasn’t sufficient, the images around the edge were searing.
I am, at heart, a mild-mannered Bieldside boy – but Gareth Bale is doing a fine job of turning me into some sort of Victor “Mr Angry” Meldrew.
I deeply feel the privilege of working in a career I love.
Iker Casillas has been a big character in my career.
How much do you remember of Peter Beardsley?
I know I wrote here recently about Vinicius.
Real Madrid are on my mind, and not only because of Alex McLeish’s recent birthday.
The last time I saw Jose Mourinho face to face while he was still Manchester United coach it was at close range.
I like Eden Hazard as a footballer. Never met him, though.
Wissam Ben Yedder can look like a pub footballer. Not on the pitch, mind.
Word reaches my royal ear (Copyright: King Louie, Jungle Book) that the Dandies desperately needed VAR at Pittodrie last week against Kilmarnock.
I’d be pretty sure that bookmakers across the UK took an absolute hammering at the weekend.
I only hope you were watching. I hope you thrilled to every last second of Atlético Madrid becoming the ninth Spanish winner of the European Supercup in the last 10 finals.
There’s substance to this summer story of Juventus not only wanting to buy Cristiano Ronaldo but Madrid being willing, at least, to talk to them about the deal.
It’s only really beginning to sink in but Sunday was a personal farewell to Andrés Iniesta.
In January 2011 I got a phone call from Alan Pardew, then the Newcastle manager, who wanted to replace the aggressive, physical, aerially successful striker he’d just lost to Liverpool.
One of the least appealing elements of this profession is telling the truth.
It’s best to start with an admission. I adored Neale Cooper, the player, the person, the voracious lover of life.
By the time the dust settles in Kiev I’ll be just a few days away from my Aeroflot flight to Moscow.
I was working in Pizzaland in central Glasgow that blighted and cursed afternoon in 1986 when the media announced what we’d all known for weeks was true: that Alex Ferguson needed to extend his horizons and move to Manchester United.
Although they are the two men of the moment one looks like a kid and the other still bears the nickname The Kid.
And so to the case of Ousmane Dembélé. Have you seen the French winger?
The Europa League final on Wednesday should be the ultimate “boy done good” story for Antoine Griezmann.