Why Sterling and Fellaini will end Wenger @ Arsenal

Raheem Sterling last season was a bumbling idiot in front of goal with incredible speed.

Marouanne Fellaini last season was lost, confused and lonely.

This season they are both the English Premier League’s early pace-setters for stars of the season.

What changed? Pep at City and Mour at United.

Now, consider Theo Walcott and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain (and Wilshere).

With each passing season after they broke through as Arsenal’s future, they have got, sadly, worse.

The odd blip of form counts for nothing as a plateau of mediocrity is now established.

It exposes Arsene Wenger for the manager he is.

#MotherTeresa, she touched me

My wife and I have been married 18 years.

We have broken down and rebuilt at least five times.

Only two things have stayed with us throughout these 18 years; against all odds keeping us going, alive, together.

One of the two is this drawing of Mother Teresa.

The day she died, a Hindu colleague of mine gifted it to me.

From that day on, she was the Saint of my home.

Social media allows me to ride a wave of hashtags to be heard, read…

Shameless self-promotion or genuine gratification? Not sure.

Mother Teresa - she touched me.

Marcus Rashford gets the Bolton treatment from England manager

When you are a Manchester United supporter and you’re dad was not born in Salford it always is a tougher pull on the fan-string of your heart when the England national team makes a stupid decision.

Like leave a United player out. Like leave Marcus Rashford out.

Is Sam Allayrdyce really setting England up like his ‘great’ Bolton team?

Harry Kane, Daniel Sturridge and Jamie Vardy, together, don’t add up to Rashford currently.

If this was Germany Rashford would be in.

If this was Spain Rashford would be in.

If this was Brazil Rashford would be in.

Bolton? No.

Welcome to India, @piersmorgan

Welcome to India, Piers Morgan.

It will be unlike anyone or anything you have taken on before, even Gary Lineker.

Your social media numbers should by this time have gone through the roof, and they will not stop for some time.

Expect all major Indian TV stations to run their prime-time debate shows around you, with one particular hullaboo anchor actually inviting you to be on it.

Every opinion writer (and blogger like yours truly) will run the gamut of emotions attached to calling India a nation of losers in sport; not sporting losers, because that we are.

Welcome.

Man Utd's altar boys, now free-flowing prophets

Fellaini, Valencia, Mata, Shaw, Herrera.

It’s the reinvention of Manchester United’s blood and bones that really lift the heart of this Red Devil.

Zlat and Pog have arrived like the sun, lifting the pall of mediocrity borne of religious ritualism to the letter of the laws of football.

The United core were once altar boys.

Now, under the new archbishop Mourinho they have rediscovered their inner calling to the beautiful game.

They have moved from set positions around the altar to free-flowing prophets still within the grand plan, driving it rather than being driven.

They have rediscovered the journey.

Olympic sexism.... bronzed out

The predominant tone of everything I wrote in the pre-social media age was sexist.

I had a national mast-head carrying my byline, so enjoyed the freedom to take a panties and bra view on most things.

If I was writing in today's social media scene I would be slaughtered; the mast-heads would have to let me go.

Imagine Jeremy Clarkson, without the millions.

So, this year’s Olympics only have some true athletes.

Simone Biles is the Serena Williams of gymnastics.

Simone Manuel is the Serena Williams of the swimming pool.

Serena Williams is… well no more sexist posts.

Pog back, Mata of time now

VIDEO: Mourinho reveals why he subbed Mata off yesterday. Seriously? https://t.co/jaKe74Jn8x pic.twitter.com/57I05HcVnT

— Football Funnys (@FootballFunnys) August 9, 2016

Zlatan at Manchester United? Feels like a perfect fit.

Pogba back? Done deal, no sweat. Felt like he was on loan at Juventus.

Mourinho in front of the United bench? It still makes me uncomfortable – like, and I have to repeat myself – my mum remarrying and the new man trying his best to make me, and himself, feel at home.

It’s going to take some getting used to and Juan Mata is going to provide the new daddy with his first test of handling the Red Devil family.

Schweinsteiger I can understand, but be very careful with Mata, Jose.

What FB busting clickbait means for media Scrats

Facebook claims it has busted ‘clickbait’.

Which, if it has, makes it a game-changer for internet firms like Taboola.

Even more interesting, will be its effect on general journalese of the desk.

Much like Scrat chasing the acorn in a melting Ice Age, sub-editors of today have a choice – be a dinosaur and go extinct, though you will be remembered with fear and fondness; or be like the crocodile and evolve, primarily by killing (reporters).

That evolution hit the clickbait age and suddenly everything in a headline online was about hit-generation.

Facebook – the new world – has changed it. Evolve.

All that jazz

I am trying to avoid beginning a post with the word ‘I’, and thoroughly failing.

So, while I’m at it, let me say…

I am currently searching for a new jazz sound to anchor my old age in.

Throbbing guitar riff, soulful sax solo, rippling piano chord-set?

What I did find in my search was one of the great realities of musicdom in today’s hyper-digital leading to virtual reality age.

Jazz as a genre in terms of musical sales is dying.

Jazz as an experience in terms of ‘live’ performance is alive and kicking.

For the numbers, read this.

Pune voting for Donald Trump? Just...

I come from Pune, Maharashtra, India.

Pune is to Mumbai what Sharjah is to Dubai, or New Jersey to New York – or so I have been told.
In Pune lives a photographer, who is a personal friend of mine.

He has several pictures with Donald Trump.

Not shot-in-the crowd selfies, or ‘please sir one pic’, but relaxed, calm, hand-around-the-shoulder pictures.
Trump did a deal in Pune, cue Trump Tower there now.

What’s Donald Trump like, I asked him. Smart, tough, all business, was his answer.

Is that good enough for US President? My friend hopes so.

Me? Read this

40 is the new 60: Too old for middle earth

That quip about age just being a number…

- It’s a number ’70lbs’ on a dumbbell you can’t lift for one more rep

- It’s a number in decimals the ophthalmologist puts on your eye-sight; spec up

- It’s a number on the clock – 10pm – that is now the only time that matters; my 16-year old daughter must be home

- The distance between 60 and 30 is not the same, at least not from 43. So, 60 is fast approaching, but 30, is in the distant past

I did 30 at 20, 40 at 30, 50 at 40…

Hangover #water #and #more #patron #the #madness #lives #abujanisandeepkhosla #super #sunday #watching #vinyl #thebest #hbo #show #and #somemore #water #now #ajsk #original #always #yolo

A photo posted by Sandeep Khosla (@sandeepkhosla) on Jul 31, 2016 at 3:26am PDT

100m for Pogba: Paying to bring family back together again

I made some bad decisions. It cost me the loss of my family.

I then had to pay out a quarter of a million dollars to get my family back; because I knew the value of my family it was a no-brainer.

100 million for Paul Pogba is the same deal. Dad made some bad decisions, and the family was broken up.

The value of Pogba as part of the United family is now known.

The new daddy paid to bring him back.

This has nothing to do with buying titles, it’s a family matter.

Paul Pogba is back.

How social media killed my mo-jo

Information is everywhere, with everyone.

Condensed from reams of pages to characters now, the ‘click’ is the sound of my journey to being the wise know-it-all going up in 140 characters, or 99 words.

I made it my job to read, and therefore, I knew; a fair bit.

So when the boys sat around and a knowledge byte was needed, they simply turned to me.

They still turn to me, but now, to inform me of what they have seen or read on their smartphones.

They have the info, but no perspective… yet.

Info without perspective? That’s not knowledge.

Family vs fear: How the US Presidential elections will be won (or lost)

Is it just me?… (no. it’s never nowadays thanks to social media), or is this US Presidential election going to be fought (and won) on the most basic of fundamental human values.

Michelle Obama laid the pitch for Hillary Clinton’s battle – my children, my husband, America is great now.

Trump has walled up his campaign attack with the fear factor – if you are afraid, and you need to be, I will protect you – even if I have to kill ‘em all.

Family vs fear.

No Wall Street, international policy or crime; not even race relations.

Just family vs fear.

How I feel about Mourinho at Man United

My dad’s dead. And my mother has married again.

That is pretty much how I feel about Jose Mourinho at Manchester United.

If he starts winning and continues winning; if wingers are flying down the sides sizzling crosses in; if counters are lightning quick; if Zlatan scores from the half-way line; if our defence makes Old Trafford a fortress again.

Well, I could grow to love him.

I don’t particularly know how to feel, but she had two bad relationships already, and this guy, well, maybe the best she can get at the moment.
Moving on is tough indeed.

If my religion radicalized me...

If my religion radicalized me I would have to live in the poorest area I could find and help.

If my religion radicalized me I would have to live poorly – with as few material possessions as possible.

If my religion radicalized I would have to go into the desert once a week for 5 hours to pray.

If my wife and children were raped and murdered; my mother and sisters sold into slavery, and religion then radicalized me, would I kill in revenge?

No, if my religion then radicalized me I would have to forgive and walk away.

Damn!

Mighty waterfall, flowing river, trickling stream

I am beginning to look at pride; as a character defect.

Which means I have hit mid-life crisis with all the rage and fury of a trickling stream desperately in search of the big, flowing river that will give meaning to its existence.

Trickling stream, did, of course once come from a mighty waterfall.

Life as it maps the ebb and flow ensures you go mighty waterfall, flowing river, trickling stream – and not always in that order.

I am finally searching for that gentle, but steady rush.

And pride, as it turns out, may be a problem to consider.

Man Utd's new tee-man

We need Mkhitaryan to score.

We need Rashford for running at defences to open up spaces.

Likewise, Martial.

Much more than all the above, we need Paul Pogba to win. Again. Consistently.

Jose Mourinho must know this surely.

Manchester United prepare for the next season with David De Gea being the only Spanish player to exit the Euros with class.

So, what do we need Ibrahimovic for?

As a top executive at a top sports company once told me, it finally boils down to how many tees a player can sell.

Wayne Rooney? Done.

Ibra now Man U’s tee-man.

Too clever by half

An editor I once worked for would use a putdown for headlines that tried too hard, and just never got there.

That’s too clever by half, she would say, as drily as a date in the sun.

Too clever by half has since, been a default headline checker over decades of giving and appreciating smart headlines.

HuffPo US today goes with ‘Hill Yeah’ – for Hillary Clinton’s victory.

Too clever by half.

Sure, we do get all the word play, but it reads like striving for clever, rather than smartly delivering the pun(ch) [see how this worked].

Watching you HuffPo.

A(nother) Slice of life no more

One by one, they die. This year a bunch of my teen heroes are no more.
Ali, Prince, Bowie… and now Kimbo Slice.
I’m walking a lonely road, no cellphone, cigarette in my hand, and a bunch-full of bitter-sweet memories.
I feel like I don’t belong now, but I did once.
Once when I tried desperately to be cool and wanted not to belong, I belonged.
Now, I will happily settle for belonging, but I don’t.
A part of me dies as each great star burns out.
Life becomes slow moments of fast times and a gentle, burning thankfulness.

The Ali I knew

I grew up with a Holy Trinity.
One of them was Jesus. One was Elvis. And the other was Muhammad Ali.
My dad was a boxer and that set the stage for my childhood perception of life to be coloured by three great men – one a God.
Be like Jesus, but dance like Elvis (I could not sing) and box like Ali.
I never did box, but the charisma of Ali forever imprinted on my mind what it meant to be a world-famous champion.
My love for boxing came from my dad. And Ali.
And for that I’m grateful.

Substance-induced time warp... no off switch now

The problem with long-term sobriety is there is no switch-off; or off switch as the Indians would say.

Having once liquored up to escape the mayhem or enhance it, depending upon which side of life’s madness you were on – now, with a serenity that you can only pray for and hope that you embody at some level, you walk down the street; good, bad and ugly.

I woke up at the age of 40. Problem was, I was never 39, or 35 or 29… I was 19 and then 40.

That kind of substance-induced time warp is a butch.

An Eagle flies away... Thank-you Mr Frey

If you liked music, attempted to play any instrument or even just turned up at a party where the volume was up, chances are, you encountered The Eagles; 20 years ago of course.

Hotel California was given the ‘satanic’ workover by the Christian fundamentals and that meant, it was embedded in the subconscious of millions forever.

As a soundtrack to my youth, Glenn Frey riffed well into my late 30s.

Watching him ‘live’ through the haze of amber-hued intoxicants a tsunami of memories brought on a Peaceful Easy Feeling.

For just a moment, the circle was complete.

Thank-you Glenn.

David Bowie - the original funky diva

Before any of the gender challenging, fashion-busting, headline-driving stars that we have today, before Lady Gaga, there was David Bowie.

Growing up in the 1980s, we approached his music with an almost freaked-out reverence.

There was power in it, but there was also an ungratifying drive away from pop-star reverence.

Above all, he challenged you – tastes, beliefs, agenda, life. Then he riffed a bit.

His voice was cultured and rambunctious in an effortless sway between rock, pop, punk and all else.

In today’s star-per-second social media madness David Bowie was the great goth of yesterday’s music magic-ness. No more.

Why I'm running scared...

For all the stupidity and selfish meandering that has marked my life, fear has rarely paralysed me.
As my children were born, gurus warned me that the fear they would put in my heart would be like no other.
My eldest hit her teens. My son, younger, is watching, picking out a plan of action for when his time comes. My youngest is the typical hyper-connected 7 going on 17 child of today.
Fear is beginning to strike.
Mostly because we all want our children like angels to be, but all they are is just like you and me.