To our Warriors in Red,
As individual men whom have grown up in various towns and villages throughout our pleasant nation, each and every one of you will be aware of how the powerful yet graceful, simple but strategic game of rugby features highly in our collective psyche. We are a proud yet small nation for whom the chance to support our nation in the national sport is a rare chance for us to compete on an even keel with larger opposition, most of whom tend to be more dominating and imposing in matters of culture and economy. Rugby is Wales’ outlet to impose OUR culture and style on others as opposed to having theirs forced on us.
A story jumps to mind from a documentary I saw on the BBC post-2008 Grand Slam where it was mentioned that in order to entice Warren to take over the reins of the hottest job in Welsh sport he was flown over the Valley’s and couldn’t believe the plethora of rugby pitches that littered the Valley floor. Mile after Mile, Pitch after Pitch. Even from another similar Rugby nation in New Zealand, the sight was an incredible one for Mr Gatland. Maybe Warren could confirm this, but even if the story transpires to be mere media invention the point behind the tale remains relevant… South Wales in particular is a Rugby Kingdom. Let the RFU of Twickenham preach whatever they must in their public school accents, us Son’s of Wales know where the true home of Rugby is.
We have a good reputation in the standing of the world game for our illustrious history yet genuine success has always eluded us. We follow up individual spurts of domestic success with capitulation the year after. If there was a World Cup in the 1970’s then Wales may have a title to their name but alas, there wasn’t and therefore we don’t. World Cups have tended to come and go in a blur of underachievement and controversy. The promise is always clear, the actual practice lacking. When the inevitably embarrassing and heart wrenching defeats come during the World Cup’s, unlike the English whom seemingly enjoy unleashing their anger and rage in a myriad of directions we Welsh fans just skulk away and deal with our pain in a way we deal with Family deaths. We sink into ourselves, our eyes fill with tear, our stomach begins to churn and our hearts yearn for success.
But that was then. And this is now. For all those whom have grown disillusioned with constant underachieving during Rugby World Cups we have been suddenly and some might say surprisingly blessed with an abundance of success in the guise of you, the 2011 Welsh rugby World Cup squad. We watched as you departed to New Zealand with the usual fanfare to face a group made up of certain teams for whom many of us felt weighed down with the pressure of history. Yet you accepted the challenge and met it head on, a brave and almost successful battle against the reigning World Champions before dispatching decades of painful memories swiftly with victories of Fiji and Samoa. You moved onto the Quarter Finals and won, comprehensively and comfortably, against an Irish side many felt would dispatch us with the advantage of Experience. The Semi final loomed on us, an epic date with destiny versus France that had our country on edge for the longest week in our lives. Longer even than the 2005 wait for the Grand Slam decider vs Ireland. How must you have managed during that week? There was no outrageous partying; there was no scandalous behaviour in public; there was no arguments or brawls between squad members and there was no other negative actions. You were all business. You treated your adoring support with respect and humility and have given us belief in ourselves and belief in you. In an age of escalating disassociation between the public and sporting superstars you have remained by our side. Rather than arrogantly dismiss the incredible levels of support back home in the run up to the Semi Final you acknowledged with a degree of incredulity how closely you were being followed. You took to the press conferences and your twitter’s to thank us personally. Small things such as the tip of your hat to the fans means everything to us. You stared down the French with the support of 2.9 million people and in difficult circumstances gave it your all. You didnt dwell on the controversial decision, you didnt shy away. You took it in your stride and did all you could to carry us over the finish line but alas, it was not meant to be.
We will welcome you home as heroes. This is what you are. Through all the heartbreak, lows and downfalls the Welsh public have suffered in our lives supporting you from the terraces we have never been as optimistic or proud as we are now. You have performed with incredible talent and style, impressing all whom have viewed us. To do so in a way that extols youthful exuberance with the touch of humility is incredible and capable of moving even the toughest of old school, cauliflower-eared props from bygone eras. To honorary Welshmen Warren Gatland and Shaun Edwards, the part you have played in the rebranding of Welsh rugby as not only talented but more importantly winners cannot be understated. Your position in the pantheon of Welsh sporting heroes was safe with the incredible 2008 Grand Slam campaign however with the creation of such a promising young collective you have ensure a rapturous applause whenever you should return to the confines of the Millennium Stadium.
Whilst I cautiously instil a word of warning not to revert to old and undo all the good work as previous generations have in recent years by losing focus off the pitch, nothing I or others have seen during this competition suggests this will be the case. You have been a credit to your country both professionally and personally and a credit to yourselves. You are not merely a rugby team but the personification of the Nation itself and have made every Welshman once again happy to stand up in the face of the world and say “I’m Welsh”.
The Welsh Public.
The legend has left the field and wandered into a life of partying and fatherhood. The Phenomenon is thus no more. R9 aka Ronaldo Luis Nazario De Lima officially hung up his goal-laden boots last week and has brought down the curtain on a highly successful career that many amazingly thought was not quite fulfilled.
For a player who won a record equalling 3 FIFA World Player of the Year awards and 2 FIFA World Cups to be considered a talent whom never fully fulfilled his magical potential is astounding and is the perfect evidential riposte to those who do not rate him amongst the games pantheon of legends. How can a player who never lived up to his potential still be THAT good!.
I don’t subscribe to the theory his career was never what it could have been. Why waste time lamenting something when there has been so much cause for celebration? I could sit here all day and create an article full of descriptive lexicon about how Ronaldo cut through defences with alarming ease and was the perfect mesh of speed and power as he reduced mean back-lines to quivering wrecks. However everyone who saw Ronaldo in his prime years of 1996 to 2002 has the electrifying image of the boy from Rio de Janeiro forever imprinted on the mind. This is, after all, the very man who after knocking Manchester United out of the Champions League almost single handedly was the recipient of an amazing standing ovation from the bewildered Stretford End.
Even when he came back after consecutive career-threatening knee injuries and slightly modified his game to complete the storybook comeback at the 2002 World Cup he was still scoring at an almost constant rate despite off-field controversies and a growing waistline detracting from his on-field accomplishments. His later so-called decline has left people forgetting that he always found the net with such ease it makes a mockery of the strikers regularly acclaimed as “natural finishers”. Many so-called “best players in the world” often burst onto the scene with an extraordinary display of unplayable form yet eventually fade away under the pressure to maintain the high standards. At present Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo are the only players operating at such a superior level over a number of seasons yet they took their time to reach such a level, arguably not reaching these untouchable heights until into their 20′s. Ronaldo was untouchable at 18. By 20 he was FIFA World Player of the Year.
As I mentioned, there is no use in describing a player as universally known and revered like Ronaldo. Whilst not all great players are silverware-laden, Ronaldo’s career can be best summed up by listing the honours he has accomplished throughout his 17-year career, the majority of which he was truly immense even if critics wish to portray otherwise. Ronaldo. R9. “Il Fenomino”. Retire in Peace amigo.
Club Statistics (Games/Goals)
1993-94 Cruzerio. 45/41
1994-96 PSV Eindhoven. 58/54
1996-97 FC Barcelona. 49/47
1997-02 Internazionale. 99/59
2002-07 Real Madrid. 164/98
2007-08 AC Milan. 20/9
2009-11 Corinthians. 38/18
International Statistics (Games/Goals)
1994-2006 Brazil. 97/62
Campeonato Mineiro 1994
Copa do Brasil 1993
KNVB Cup 1996
Johan Cruiff-Schaal 1996
Supercopa de Espana 1996
Copa Del Rey 1997
Uefa Cup Winners Cup 1997
Uefa Cup 1998
Intercontinental Cup 2002
Supercopa de Espana 2003
La Liga 2003, 2007
Campeonato Paulista 2009
Copa do Brasil 2009
FIFA World Cup 1994, 2002
Copa America 1997
Supercopa Libertadores Top Scorer 93-94
Campeonato Minerio Top Scorer 93-94
Eredivisie Top Scorer 94-95
La Liga Top Scorer 96-97, 03-04
FIFA World Player of the Year 96, 97, 02
European Golden Boot 96-97
La Liga Foreign Player off the Year 96-97
Cup Winners Cup Top Scorer 96-97
Ballon D’or 97, 02
Copa America Most Valuable Player 97
UEFA Cup Most Valuable Player 97-98
Serie A Footballer of the Year 97-98
World Cup Golden Ball 98
Copa America Top Scorer 99
World Cup Top Scorer 2002
Serie A Player of the Decade 97-07
Campeonato Paulista Best Player 09
After 6 years in the planning and one rollercoaster month, the 2010 World Cup has come, despite the initial scepticism and negativity surrounding an African hosting, to an exciting and memorable finale.
Possibly one of the most divisive competitions in recent memory, the tournament has seen many contrasting opinions from the fans and media alike. What one may have embraced, one has rejected. Of course we would not expect anything less in the mish-mash of the World’s greatest teams and the unique cultures they bring.
So here is my review of the greatest features of World Sport’s premier event.
Considering the world appeared concerned at the high crime rates and lack of infrastructure, to the relief of FIFA and the organising committee the tournament has been nothing but an unmitigated success amongst the occasional on-field controversy. There were no major reports of public disturbances during the month and the stadiums impressed just as well as any European offering. Throw in the rabid, party atmosphere of the country’s historically-disadvantaged Black population mixing with the White minority and the Rainbow nation has emerged from the competition with its international reputation improved. And to think we have yet to mention Nelson Mandela.
Hated by many yet loved in equal measure, the buzzing plastic instrument crashed into the public’s consciousness and earned the wrath and affection of the worldwide audience. Has any mere item of fan culture ever created such a controversy that it threatened to overshadow the entire tournament? Between liberals bemoaning the audacity of people telling South African’s to bin a staple of their game-going experience to traditionalists complaining about the racket, Vuvuzela’s have become 2010′s most well-known word. My opinion…they’re fantastic!
Following on from the off-field controversy with vuvuzela’s, the on-field controversy equally raged almost as soon as the first game got underway. Adidas’ Jabulani ball was roundly criticised (mainly by Nike-contracted players it must be said) for its unpredictable mid-air flight when walloped. Poor goalkeeping or tactics was never blamed for the errors, it was the Adidas’ boffins fault for apparently ruining the world cup.
Paul the Octopus
The unbelievable and surreal story came out of Germany during the group stages of an Octopus whom predicted, correctly, the outcomes of games. By the end of the tournament the multi-tentacled Paul had predicted 8 games out of 8 and was branded a traitor by Germany, an enemy and potential stew by Argentinians and was given honorary citizenship by Spain. Unbelievable!
Superstar. Greatest Ever. Passion. Comedy. Honesty (well, interview wise anyway). Heart. Mafia Suits. Presence. Enough said. Welcome back El Diego
Underdogs vs Wounded Dogs
Every World Cup ends with big names flopping and small names creating legacies. This tournament was no different. England, Italy and France almost appear finished as dominant forces for the next decade as their “golden generations” dwindle and scupper off into the twilight’s of their career with no sight of replacements. The underdog’s of this year were primarily surprise semi-finalist’s Uruguay and amazingly New Zealand, who although eliminated in the group phase as expected were the only team to finish unbeaten.
World Cup’s tend to be the tournaments which confirm player’s greatness. The stage where they push onto iconic status whilst the occasional player does well enough to earn that big-money move that was nowhere near the table pre-cup exploits. This tournament was extreme in both circumstances. Messi was decent and dangerous enough yet didn’t perform to the ridiculously high levels of last season’s vintage performances. Ronaldo and Rooney were terrible and Kaka was anonymous. Conversely, Mesut Ozil and Thomas Muller erupted onto the scene with irresistible displays not expected from rookies whilst disregarded and written-off Premier League “failures” like Robinho and Diego Forlan proved the class that made them big money buys in the first place.
All in all, whilst people may bemoan the tournament for being boring and too innovative in style and substance, its this unusual African ambience which will leave the 2010 FIFA World Cup a pleasant recollection in most memories. Roll on Brazil 2014.
With the World Cup drawing to a much-anticipated finale, the reintroduction of Diego Maradona onto the world’s biggest stage has exploded a volcano of nostalgia in my mind and countless mental recollections from my childhood, no doubt helped along by the wonder that is Youtube.
Some people state that it is sad to look to the past and to relive past glories and that the most depressing people are those whom start every sentence “remember when…”. I don’t subscribe to this theory for to do so would stop me from recalling the joy I had watching my first football heroes in full flow.
Along with Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video (hardly suitable watching for a child Mother!) The abiding memory I have as a youngster is being continuously peeled to the Television set as I pushed my father’s VCR to the brink of oblivion. The reason? “HERO; Official Story of the 1986 World Cup”. Now being only 8 months when this tournament was underway meant that I missed out on the wonder that is the greatest show in the world, and that’s where my father’s VCR came in a couple of years later.
To this day I remember the exotic, barely unpronounceable names of such 80′s legends like Gullit, Butragueno, Rummenigge and Preben-Eljkaer. Ofcourse, there was one single entity that dominated that ’86 tournament and that was Diego Armando Maradona. The way his small, barrel-chested frame manoeuvred its way through various defences, riding hard bone-crunching tackles and swiftly placing the ball into the back of various nets instantly made me fall in love with football. Although I grew up at the disgraced tail-end of his career video’s such as this as well as books and the advent of internet allowed me to keep track and quench my Maradona-related thirst, something which is evidently not satisfied judging from my embarrassing excitement at seeing him light up the 2010 competition.
It was natural that I would move onto other footballing heroes as my understanding and awareness of the game grew. As a childhood Newcastle fan it is no surprise that my other two, albeit brief, heroes were two Toon strikers. I remember being captivated as he ripped every defence apart on his way to scoring an astounding 34 league goals in the 1994 season. All I remember as a young football fan making his way in the world was that Andy Cole scored goals. It is a well-known tale within my family about how I cried when Andy Cole and his much-copied cycling shorts left St James Park, although they quickly dried up as Faustino Asprilla came on the scene. Less than 40 games later and he too was gone, but his cartwheeling, octopus-legged Barcelona-killing antics would stay lodged in my membrane for years to come.
Yes, when I was on the school playground I was a mixture of Maradona’s insatiable aura, Cole’s deadly finishing and Asprilla’s dribbling skills. At least that was how it was in my mind. The reality was that I ended up in goals! At least I can always sit in the corner of the pub on those cold winter nights, close my eyes, relive the goals, shots and skills, open my mouth and begin “remember when…”.
The World Cup is currently in full flow and in each of the participating countries there is pandemonium amongst the citizens as they cheer, or jeer, their team’s efforts. Barbecues, beer, parties, flag waving and a general carnival atmosphere has been evident in each of the 32 nations over the past fortnight.
As someone who lived in England during the 2006 event I can say that the fervour and zeal the usually part-time patriots showed was astounding. The number of St. George banners on display was amazing as well as the incredible feat of constantly draining local supermarkets of its alcohol.
The reason I mention this is because, after many years of claiming I was ambivalent to the World Cup, I’ve finally come to terms with my jealousy. You see, I’m Welsh. The football fans will understand immediately the situation and the reason for this growing feeling. For the uninitiated, Wales are terrible at the beautiful game and will not qualify. Ever. That mean’s no waving of ‘Y Ddraig Coch’ in a gesture of sporting solidarity, no month-long carnival atmosphere and no cringe-inducing but much-listened songs about our prowess by D-List celebrities.
After taking over Wales at their lowest world ranking of 113 in 1999, Mark Hughes’ team punched greatly above their flyweight status. The gritty, determined blend of Savage, Giggs, Speed, Bellamy, Hartson et al gave the Dragons a confidence that led to massive upsets over Italy and Germany at home as well as drawing to Argentina. Even more staggering than this new-found swagger was the fact that all games, even against terrible eastern-European teams, were played in front of 72,500 sell-out’s, a figure that made the minnows the best supported national side in the Euro 2004 qualifiers. It was also the campaign where the side came an agonising one goal and one drug-cheat away from beating Russia in a play-off for the Portugal tournament.
Fast forward to the present time and the image is back to were we were in the dark days Pre-Sparky. Wales have dropped from the lofty heights of 50 in 2002 to 70 and lower since in the rankings, surrounded by such football luminaries as Mozambique, Iraq and Malawi. The squad has no recognisable names, talented but raw kids playing in front of 6,000-20,000 fans depending on the opposition. Defeat after defeat has left the nation without hope or desire and the team has been relegated to the background of public feeling behind the growing successes of Cardiff and Swansea. Its ironic that as they prosper, Bluebird’s and Jack old boy John Toshack is the man dragging the national side into depths of despondency.
Pushing experienced top-level players into retirement, Toshack’s one saving grace in his pitiful reign is the promotion of promising talent such as Collison, Bale, Ramsey and many others, although arguably the groundwork and compliments should be attributed to Bryan Flynn rather than Toshack. Having these players stifled in a losing, demoralised squad is disrupting their advancement as players and conducive to their growth into consistent and responsible international stars. The current antipathy around the team can only eradicate any pleasure from representing their nation in the way perennial club-winner Ryan Giggs suffered during the 1990′s.
Toshack needs to go and a modern, young, motivating manager not unlike Gary Speed needs to take charge immediately, preferably someone who can breathe some much needed impetus before next years crunch derby’s with England. Even a foreign coach with a technical ability to get the most out a limited squad would be a godsend but unfortunately we are not an attractive prospect. The FAW needs to step forward and pull the trigger on Tosh the Dinosaur and try and salvage this potentially great young generation before they become the lost generation in more ways than one.
With the ongoing World Cup spectacle less than a week old there has been one subject generating a curious amount of controversy and column inches, far more than its humble reason d’etre deserves.
The way a simple, plastic instrument has overshadowed the entire tournament is startling. Although a staple of domestic South African Soccer for decades, its appearance on the international stage has seen a surge in fury from the rest of the world. Players complain about not being able to concentrate; journalists bemoan the lack of natural atmosphere between fans; the worldwide TV audience cry that they need to mute their set’s to enjoy the games.
Now I consider this moaning to be a disgrace and to be something that is rather arrogant. The World Cup, and football in general, is the globe’s great equaliser. It is the battleground where poverty stricken nations can meet, and beat, the wealthiest countries without feeling insecure or inferior. It is where a third world nation can demolish their former colonial masters in a symbolic gesture of freedom and where a previously unknown or mysterious culture can be placed at the forefront of the World’s attention as hosts.
The Vuvuzela’s are an integral part of South African football tradition; when the World Cup was gifted to the continent for the first time it was to encounter such contrasting styles and sounds to the norm, similar to the reasons for taking the competition to the Far East in 2002. Football is a global game, not a European one. Sepp Blatter, FIFA President, put it correctly when he declared “we should not try to Europeanise an African World Cup”
Regardless of how annoying one might consider these plastic horns, this is what South African football is about. An outpouring of enjoyment for a people who in previous generations had nothing to enjoy except their football. Whilst we are guests at South Africa’s truly unique, picturesque hosting of the tournament, we should embrace their diverse and wonderful heritage.
Wonderkids. What is so wonderful about these kids if they are, as we are led to believe, constantly breaking through every year. Are these youngsters whom are putting in eye-catching displays on an occasional basis the real deal or simply the by-product of an over-zealous media and an equally demanding audience to turn any average talent into today’s major story?
Every year we learn of the latest player who will push England, Scotland or whom ever to world domination. Yet of this cluttered bunch, how many possess true genius, that once in a generation gift from God. James Milner has just gate crashed the England World Cup Squad after picking up the Young Player of the Year Award yet he is 23! Wayne Rooney has put in a couple of fantastic season’s at Manchester United that has seen him reach genuine World Class level, yet when he was a teen he was up and down as all teenage talents tend to be. Explosion and raw talent mixed with inexperience and immaturity; Not quite the finished article. Would I have classed these two as wonderkids a couple of years ago, much like Aaron Ramsey of Arsenal and Wales or even John Fleck of Rangers are classed now? No.
But if I’m discarding great youth talents that became future international lynch-pin’s (the Maradona’s, Zidane’s et al) then who would I include in my strict version of this prestigious club of genuine world class wonderkids?
Naturally, Pele would lead the way and would easily fit into the society. A World Cup winner at 17 and scoring 5 goals in the Semi’s and Final, this was an alarming debut on the world stage by a player whom no one believed was so young until he burst into tears at the final whistle.
Although a lack of modern footage exists one would have to take the word of footballing knights like Sirs Bobby Charlton and Robson when discussing tragic Duncan Edwards. Indeed another Sir, Matt Busby, considered him “incomparable” and once stated “if ever there was a player that could be called a one-man team, that man was Duncan Edwards”. Astonishing when one recalls that Edwards died aged 21 in the infamous Munich air disaster in 1958. Superstar and regular for club and country before he was out of his teens, Edwards earned his way into the greatest players in the world by the day he passed away, an incredible achievement.
Many others on my exclusive list of genuine world-class teenagers seem to be forwards. It appears as though it is easier to make an instant impact on the world stage when the main priority is to place the ball into the back of the net. Arguably the greatest finisher in English history, Jimmy Greaves had scored 132 goals in only 169 games by the time he left Chelsea at only 21, an astonishing return that has yet to be replicated at the top level since.
Other explosive strikers blowing their way onto the world stage in dramatic and instant fashion include double European Cup winner Eusebio, whom had conquered the continent by 20, and his fellow young gun-turned-assassin George Best, whom lived up to his prophetic surname with resplendent performances in front of the applauding masses. In the modern English era, the only talent whom achieved consistent world class seasons in succession was Michael Owen, of course punctuated by his dazzling goal against Argentina in the infamous World Cup tie aged only 18 at France ’98. His first full three seasons brought 18 goals each, a phenomenal return in an era where goals are not as easy to come by as past ones, and an achievement that eventually saw him claim the Ballon D’or at 22.
Who was the greatest wonderkid the “beautiful game” has produced however? Undisputed in my opinion it would have to be the man christened Ronaldo Luis Nazario De Lima. His roll of honour during a period of his career where he should have been learning his craft included an astonishing 88 league goals in 97 games across 2 continents and 3 countries; a world cup winning squad member at the age of 17; Two record transfers in successive seasons; World Footballer of the Year at 20 and earning the moniker of “I’ll Fenomino” for his startling 47-goal season for Barca in 1997 where Bobby Robson rated him better than Pele. Ofcourse Ronaldo went onto become the World Cup’s greatest ever scorer and one of the best ever, yet it is still his sudden explosion onto the world scene like a tidal wave which made him an icon. Will we ever see a young man make such an impact again? We’ll be blessed if we do.
As the day’s become longer and warmer and the calendar on my Blackberry show’s we’re in 2010, only one topic comes instantly to mind. The Football World Cup. And with it the hype the “greatest show on Earth” brings.
As May finishes and blends into June, the merchandise overload begins in earnest, with everything from DVD’s and sticker books to flags, bikini’s and clocks readily available in any high street store. If a company can capitalise on a nation’s football fever, it will.
Now this in itself is not a bad thing. If your team is competing in a tournament there is nothing wrong with showing natural patriotism, whether that means having an understated and deep emotional bond with your team or spending the day looking like a lost American tourist covered in as much cheap garb as is possible.
In France there is tricolore’s flying in prominent places as the nation throws its weight behind Les Bleus. Similar scenes can also be seen in many other leading nations whereby progress in the cup is linked to national pride, such as Italy, Brazil and Germany to mention a few. This nationalistic utopia becomes slightly blurred when we add the United Kingdom into the mix, one country represented by four separate football nations all with a vicious rivalry and mutual hatred between the three small, less successful sides and the other political, economical and sporting domination encapsulated by the fourth part England.
For an Englishman residing in England, the World Cup is a tense yet exciting time to enjoy the full bloom of summer following the national team with beer and barbecues. For the Welsh or Scottish cooped up in their respective countries however it can be two months (and another 44 years if they are victorious) of over hype and hope thrust on them by a neglectful London-centric media that forgets it serves four different nationalities not just the largest one.
The in’s and out’s of squad selection, tactics and captaincy of England do not matter or are of particular relevance to people in these fringe nations yet both are subject to this spontaneous patriotic outburst not perpetrated so earnestly on locals since the Irish brought St Patrick’s day to America. Away from the media invasion, Corporate Britain also plays its part by stocking stores throughout Scotland and Wales with English memorabilia for no discernible reason other than to retain consistent stock policy across the UK. Common sense would dictate they are no going to reach sales targets in these demographics and may even gain un needed bad publicity, but these are business we are talking about whereby common sense is not a key factor.
England flags, hats, scarves and so on appear as natural and welcome in Welsh and Scottish stores as New Zealand rugby apparel would in arch-rivals South Africa’s shopping malls or similarly a Leo Messi t-shirt in the heart of Madrid.
Together, this media and merchandise bombardment, simply cultivates an “Anybody But England” culture, banter in its basis, xenophobic and racist in its extreme, on both sides of the border. No one begrudges England their month in the sun, after all, the Welsh celebrate the annual rugby Six Nation’s campaign with all the gusto of a lottery win. When it is forced on citizens of a nation however with no consideration it is not unreasonable to expect some resistance, and this is why I, and many others around, will be ABE for life.