Tom English has written a column for The Scotsman that pretty much sums up the sorry standard – and has become something of a viral web hit, judging by the traffic its getting – but here are a few dishonourable mentions for my part:

Edgar Davids: Eh?dgar Drivel. The words are there, but add them together and it’s just. not. English.

Alan Shearer: Mr Potato Head. Someone should record his ‘expert analysis’ as a sleeping aid.

Andy Townsend: Andy-Christ. Deeply, deeply disagreeable “Irish” Cockney. The day he completes a sentence without a cliché or the words “I tell you what” is the day hell freezes over.

Clive Tyldesley: Snide Bilgely. It’s written in his contract that everything he says must be translated for the Ingerlanders, even if it’s comparing the male pattern baldness of the Slovakia striker with “Rooooooooney”.

Clarence Seedorf: Call Clarence. And dictate the teamsheet to him. At least his ignorance also extends to England, when he called Gareth Barry ‘whatsisname’.

Robbie Earle: The Earl of Compchester. Alas, we were denied Earle’s blatherings when 36 of his complimentary tickets ended up in the hands of a gaggle of blonde PR girls from a beer company. Gaffes don’t really get any more gaffey than that.

Adrian Chiles: Voodoo Chile (Porky Return). ITV producers, please tell Chiles he’s not a comedian.

There were also BBC/ITV gravy train tickets for the likes of Harry “Brown Envelope” Redknapp, Chris “32 caps for Wales” Coleman, Lee “Traders Need Access To” Dixon and Emmanuel Adebayor, who almost answered a phone call live in the studio.

Very few have impressed. Only Jurgen Klinnsman, Roy Hodgson and Jim Beglin haven’t embarrassed themselves.

For anything approaching insightful commentary (and when I say ‘insightful’, I mean expressing an original opinion and/or providing some insider context), I’ve had to turn to newspapers and Twitter (if you follow anyone make it Italian journalist Gabriele Marcotti (@marcotti).

The only saving grace for TV at World Cup 2010 is that Ian Wright’s stuck in ‘Studio Five’.

And the moral of the story? Just because you’ve played football, it doesn’t mean you’re best equipped to talk about it.

* ‘Pundit mince’ is one of my dad’s catchphrases, used traditionally to undermime Hansen & co.

… for making my first public DJ set at Pinup Nights in Glasgow a success (success as defined by the fact that there were at least a few groups of folk dancing throughout).

Sorry if I’ve forgotten anyone.

And additional thanks go to Ben McNab for glossing over my technical ignorance and keeping the beats  going when I was sidetracked by blogger acquaintances.

DJing is great fun – I’d love to do it again. Just need a cool-sounding alias…

Rovers' day in the sun at Hampden

So near and yet so far… I wrote a quick reaction piece on Raith Rovers’ Scottish Cup semi-final defeat to Dundee United for scotsman.com.

Sometimes it’s hard to be a Rover, as Tammy Wynette might have sung if she had experienced lower league Scottish football. And that’s just getting to the game. Unless you’re a member of the Tartan Army or one of the die-hards who made the trips to Mount Florida for away games against Queen’s Park, it’s a challenge to even locate Hampden Park.

Thanks to a combination of smartphone, road atlas and guesswork, we get to the national stadium an hour before kick-off – ample time to mull over Raith’s prospects. Ross County’s stunning win over Celtic the previous afternoon looms large on everyone’s minds. Can we follow in their footsteps with another SPL scalp? Despite ourselves, we can’t help thinking that if we win today we’ll never have a better chance of lifting the Scottish Cup. Looking back, maybe that kind of thinking was our undoing from the start.

Hampden may be less than half-full but it’s a hell of a sight: on the warmest day of the year so far, blazing sunshine streams down on a sea of tangerine and blue – this match should really have been sponsored by a certain fizzy drink. All around Rovers fans greet each other, exchange the usual Starks Park banter and soak up the sense of once-in-a-generation occasion.

But as seats fill and the minutes tick away, the feeling of jubilation takes on a nervous twang. This is it. Weeks of build-up and hype lead to the next 90 minutes, in which our fate will be decided, for better or worse.

And for the first 27 minutes at least, it feels like this could be it. We have plenty of opportunities to sing and shout as our team comes flying out the blocks, pegging United back into their own half and creating four corners in a row. Gregory Tade, hero at Pittodrie two rounds ago, looks his usual gangly but unpredictable self on the right flank, and the SPL high-fliers appear bereft of ideas.

As all football fans know, however, all the possession in the world means diddly squat without a goal. And as if to state their credentials as the form team in Scotland, United hit us with a sucker punch with their first clear chance – former Raith loan star David Goodwillie latching on to a clinical through pass to calmly slot home the opener.

This was not in the script, and the Raith players don’t know how to react. For the remainder of the match we never really trouble United, who double their lead through a fine Andy Webster header just before the hour mark.

As the game wears on the atmosphere in our part of the North Stand grows increasingly deflated, resigned to watching the team in tangerine close down the match, while their fans party as if they’ve already won the cup. Even the tattooed, topless lads in the row in front of us only get off their seats to make certain hand gestures at the gloating United contingent away to our right.

In the end the game was surprisingly lacking in drama or suspense for a cup semi-final. Raith manager John McGlynn will feel let down by the lack of character and abundance of nerves shown on the day by some of his charge, but rightfully proud of the incredible feat of getting this far.

After the final whistle has blown to seal our gloom, the roads out of Glasgow are clogged with cars flying tangerine scarves and flags. With nothing but a long journey home and a relegation battle to look forward to, it’s worth repeating: sometimes it’s hard to be a Rover. But we wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m just home from a fairly manic day at work – but manic in a good way. The reason for the ‘mania’ was the re-launch of the new Radar (formerly known as Under the Radar) website at radar.scotsman.com. Technically it was just a case of switching the testing site to the live server, but there are always things that slip your mind – old links that need changed, social media rebranding, responding to the steady flow of feedback emails and tweets.

First off, I want to pay my dues to the great web development guys at The Scotsman Publications. In hardly any time at all they’ve managed to put together a robust, dynamic and eye-catching mini-site. They really know their stuff, and on projects like this they get to show off a bit.

Secondly, I’d like to pay tribute to the team of writers who’ve shown great enthusiasm and talent over the past 12 months. It’s amazing to think back to this time last year when it was just my own meagre postings and it all felt a bit like a stab in the dark. The new Contributors page is a nice way of boosting the individual profiles of the Radar team.

There are still things I want to add – RSS, a jukebox-style audio player, a multimedia channel – but I’m really happy with how “phase one” has turned out. It’s a huge step forward from what we had before, which was essentially Google Blogger hosted in an iframe. The new site is built with its own CMS and now has unique pages for each artist, each podcast and each blog post. Not exactly mindblowing stuff but we’ve been craving this kind of basic functionality for months.

I’m also excited about where we can take the site. Billy and I are keen to revamp the content we’re currently publishing: we’ll add new strands where they’re needed and take an axe to anything we don’t think is working. This is a transitional period and we’re keeping a very open mind, with an eye towards ways of expanding the site and its profile, both in Scotland and further afield.

If you’re even remotely interested in new music we hope Radar will become one of your regular online haunts.

Right, time to go. I still have another 40-odd artist profiles to upload…

"Steven? Just coming" - Adam & Joe have a cult following

In the media world, 6 Music is like the radio embodiment of its listeners: intelligent, unassuming, perhaps not the life and soul of the party but the one who brings the best records and has the best chat. In other words, since its birth in 2002 it has quietly gone about its business, delighting music fans, carving out a succession of niche audiences and leaving the vain, attention-seeking to its brash FM cousins.

But if your average (Adam &) Joe hadn’t heard of it before last week, he damn well does now. I won’t bore you with the details that you already know, but last Friday the BBC’s latest strategy review was leaked to the media, and that included the proposed closure of 6 Music. Cue a response that was passionate, bewildered, anguished even, from its 700,000 listeners (who, as you might expect, are exactly the type of people who know how to make themselves heard in the blogo-twito-faceo-sphere.)

I added my own thoughts on the weird reasoning behind the announcement on Under the Radar earlier this week, but here I just want to run through some of the arguments I’ve read elsewhere this week. It’s safe to say that Mark Thompson wasn’t expecting such a vigorous backlash …

Radiohead guitarist Ed O’Brien, from the band’s blog:

It literally is the radio lifeblood for music outside of the mainstream. Not to denigrate Radio’s 1 and 2, but it really is the only station that puts music first, and that’s from a punters point of view and not some bloke in a band. Nowhere else can you hear an archived session track from T Rex juxtaposed next to Midlake’s latest release. As David Bowie, put it … it keeps the spirit of John Peel alive.

Hear hear. And Milo at Gaseous Brain (he’s not in Radiohead but he still deserves a say!) has written a thoughtful dissection of 6 Music that points out its flaws but reiterates its worth:

It is literally the only station we use our DAB radio for, and if it is closed it’s hard to see why having a DAB radio is necessary at all. In fact, I would say the vast majority of people in the UK who own a DAB radio bought it solely to listen to 6Music. If it was on FM things might be different. If it was publicised properly by the BBC things might be different.

Matthew at Song, By Toad meanwhile makes a good point about the huge, unbridgeable gap between underground and mainstream platforms that would be left in 6 Music’s wake:

How the hell are you supposed to progress, to step up, to actually make that massive leap without the developmental step of 6Music, where you can start out with a couple of airplays on one show, maybe get a session on another, and hope to eventually make the step up to a Maida Vale Session and perhaps eventually some Radio1 airplay. Take away 6Music and you have to go from the Song, by Toad podcast to Radio1 in a single leap, which is not only a ludicrous expectation, but also makes the process increasingly arbitrary, because bands develop at different rates.

Nicola Meighan at The List wastes no time in the cultural, political or economic stuff. Instead she lists a succession of reasons and examples why it must be saved:

This week’s 6 Music schedule offers the following: Don Letts’ ace documentary series on reggae powerhouse Trojan Records; interviews with Gorillaz, Fear Factory, Broken Bells and Errors; Steve Lamacq’s pick of unsigned talent.

There are a few priceless videos kicking about as well. Have a swatch of Adam Buxton challenging Mark Thompson to a fight on Channel 4 News …

… or Jeremy Paxman doing much the same (albeit in an interrogative sense) on Newsnight (complete with stifled laughter at the end).

Finally, this infographic by The Guardian illustrates the situation rather nicely.

Who’d have thought that 6 Music could provoke this kind of backlash? Not me. Or Mr Thompson, judging by the look on his face.

That’s all down to my friend Alan Scott, a graphic designer who came up with the new banner, above.

You can see more of Alan’s work at www.alanjohnscott.com or read his own blog here.

Cheers Al!

… is the new film by Jacques Audiard, the French director who made The Beat That My Heart Skipped a few years ago.

A Prophet is similar in some ways (brooding, male protagonist, intense, graphic violence, the depiction of a grim world punctuated by brief moments of beauty) but this time it’s the story of a young Frenchman of Arab origin who catches a six-year jail term at the age of 19.

That’s not to say it’s trying to make any political statement about France’s racial make-up in the same way that, say, La Haine did. (There’s hardly any mention of his crime, save for a snide reference by the prison governor to ‘attacking cops’.) It’s cinema verité first and foremost; an unrepenting, unsentimental look at life on the wrong side of the law.

Malik (played with sullen brilliance by Tahar Rahim) is unconnected when he’s locked up. To gain protection he must kill another inmate for the prison’s dominant gangster Luciani (played with great malevolence by Niels Arestup, who was the father in Beat). From here on he gradually builds his knowledge, cunning and respect, running errands for Luciani while on day release.

As you’d expect from Audiard, the film is masterfully shot. He strips away all cinematic conventions to place everything – the characters, setting, action – up close, at times uncomfortably so. He knows precisely how much to show and how little, so there are passages of flick-book style speed and shots that dwell lazily on a deer carcass or Malik’s scars.

What makes this essential? Maybe it’s because Hollywood forgot how to make films like this sometime in the mid-80s. If you’re looking for hard-hitting, uncompromising cinema that even comes close to passing for real life, it seems like you have to just put up with the subtitles these days.

Gregory Tade celebrates the winning goal

Last night Raith Rovers beat Aberdeen 1-0 in the replay of their Scottish Cup fifth round tie.

For anyone unfamiliar with the context or the sport, there’s nothing remarkable about this fact.

But it was remarkable when you consider these facts:

In the original game, Aberdeen bundled in an equaliser in the fifth minute of stoppage time, to the bafflement of many onlookers who couldn’t see where five minutes of added time had come from. It was a tough blow for Raith Rovers to take, and so often it’s in ties like this where the bigger club (Aberdeen) stroll through the replay.

Before and after the first game, Dons manager Mark McGhee’s comments to the media implied that his team had some divine right to just turn up and the result would go their way. Before the first match McGhee said on the radio that Aberdeen had the better players and it was just a case of putting in the performance, and after the 1-1 draw, he said:

“I couldn’t believe we were losing, it was such an injustice. I couldn’t believe we were on the verge of going out, there was something very wrong … We are going back to Pittodrie now and we can finish the job.”

Last weekend’s results seemed to confirm the likely outcome of last night’s match. Aberdeen fought out a 4-4 draw with title-chasing Celtic, while Raith slumped to an embarrassing 4-0 defeat at home to Inverness Caley. By normal logic, this would mean that Caley are a far better team than Celtic. It’s a funny old game.

To add even more complexity to the fixture, on Monday Raith captain Mark Campbell, who for the past four years has been a constant source of dependability in defence and was inspirational in the first game, was badly injured in a car crash. While it looks like he will make a full recovery, this news must have sent shockwaves through the Rovers camp. The players could have reacted in two ways: resign themselves to defeat, or commit themselves to fighting for every tackle and header and ultimately, the win.

Even on the night it looked like the fates were conspiring against Raith. Defender Dougie Hill was injured in the warm-up and replaced by Robert Sloan, and because of the bizarre rules of the Scottish Cup, this meant manager John McGlynn could only have two substitutes at his disposal. Then in only the 24th minute, striker Johnny Russell had to go off after coming off worse in a 50-50 tackle.

But all it took was one tap-in from French forward Gregory Tade, a half hour of dogged defending, and Rovers now find themselves in the quarter finals of the Scottish Cup.

Much of the media attention today has focused on McGhee’s plight (and if he hadn’t been so smug beforehand I might actually feel some sympathy for him after being spat at by Dons fans), but nothing should detract from this remarkable win.

Now all Raith need is the same kind of incentive to go and beat Dundee in the next round.

Peter Kay: seen by many as the ideal host for the Shit Awards

By our Showbiz Correspondent, Diana Rea

Lady Gaga cleaned up at the 30th annual Shit Awards show in London last night, where she won a hat-trick of statuettes.

The expletive-laden Shit Awards also saw Lily Allen land on stage astride a replica bomb to the sound of air raid sirens. After being named Female Shit, she swore as a horn sounded from beyond the stage during her acceptance speech.

Rap star Dizzee Rascal was named male Shit, telling the audience: “It’s about time as well,” as he collected his award. US rapper Jay-Z won the prize for international male Shit. Rockers Kasabian were named Shittest group, while Florence And The Machine picked up the Shittest album award for Lungs.

It was also a successful night for JLS who collected the award for Shittest breakthrough act, then the statuette for Shittest single for Beat Again.

Two special Shit categories were created to celebrate the best of the Shits over the past 30 years. The Spice Girls’ 1997 performance of their hits Wannabe and Who Do You Think You Are took the Shittest performance award while (What’s the Story) Morning Glory by Oasis was named Shittest album since the ceremony began.

The night climaxed with a performance by Robbie Williams as he collected the award for outstandingly Shit contribution to music. The beaming singer said: “It feels really good up here, Shits. Thank you so much.”

The only Shits missing from the occasion were obvious Shit contenders, N-Dubz.

A solitary deer, staring back at the camera

This weekend past I went for a short break in the Highlands with Rebecca. A ‘staycation’, if you want to be all buzzwordy about it.

Sunset at Oban

We drove up to Oban first, the main harbour town on the Scottish West Coast, then carried on northwards to the more isolated fishing village of Ullapool, away up near the corner, so to speak.

Eilean Donan castle

I was expecting mountains, lochs and beaches, and although that’s pretty much what we got, it was the barren quality of this part of the country that took me by surprise, and the way the light pours down from the sky, and the continual succession of great vistas at every turn in the road.

The promenade at Ullapool

It was also a chance to try out my new camera (a Nikon D3000 for any nerds reading), and while I’ve yet to read the instructions, some of the pictures turned out not too badly…

View from Stac Pollaidh

Stac Pollaidh

I have no idea what kind of sheep this is

Evening sun on Wester Ross coast

I definitely recommend the north west of Scotland if you need to get away from it all without spending a fortune.