I made a specific choice about coming to LSE. I wanted to be part of an institution where hard work was of a high priority. I wanted to leave university not just with a good degree and job prospects, but with a better understanding of important political and economic issues. However, over the Christmas break, with some close introspection, I decided I was not a good enough LSE student.

Many friends and relatives looked somewhat disappointed at my achievements and I was often told to “make the most of it whilst I am here.”  Instead, I rarely managed to reach beyond the four or five essential readings for each of my modules. I had half-heartedly attempted to explore the city, getting as far as Buckingham Palace before deciding that getting drunk was preferable to being a tourist. Indeed, in the majority of my first term memories I was either drunk or hung-over. Stayingin bed watching “The Killing” quite often won over being in the library for 8am. This lifestyle isn’t out of the ordinary for many students, but it left me quite frequently feeling let down by my own preconceptions of the lifestyle I would lead at LSE.

Such high expectations are shared by the majority of LSE applicants. But the very high-pressure nature of LSE means that no matter how hard you push yourself, there is always someone willing to go that little bit further, which can be dispiriting.

However, even if you look at your experiences from an individual perspective – necessary to stop you driving yourself mad – there is still an issue with expectations at LSE: the location. It is in London, and the scope for all things is thus immeasurably higher.

Friends in Leeds and Newcastle enjoy brilliant nights out but, three months in, feel they have worked out the city’s haunts; where to avoid, where not to. With London, I feel I have barely scratched the surface of the places to drink, dance and get merry. Whilst I have pretty much sussed out places to go in a half-mile vicinity, I keep hearing of great places that I’m missing out on in Notting Hill, Shoreditch, Mile End, Mayfair… the list goes on.

Additionally, I have had to get a job, as my student loan only just covers the expensive London accommodation fees. Essential as this job may be for me now, it takes a large chunk of my time and it doesn’t really seem to be adding that much to my student experience and my CV. I am able to pull a pint and deal with drunken, pervy men, but I don’t think most employers rate that highly.

Working 21 hours a week in a pub funds going out, shopping and attempting to save up for this summers’ travels. Again, travelling appears to be an essential part of being that “perfect LSE student.” I was left feeling rather dull having stayed in Durham for my Christmas break, as opposed to spending Christmas in Morocco, New Year in St Petersburg and a week in the south of France before returning to university. Instead, coming back to London is my excitement.

Is it possible to get the most from the whole LSE experience? Do I prioritise my school work above all other things, even if it proves detrimental to my social and mental well-being? Or do I fully experience the London night-life whilst I am young and not tied down by serious jobs or babies? Essentially the question is, where do I draw the line on work-life balance in a city and university that expects so much from both?

The attempt to find such a balance underpins the majority of my New Year’s Resolutions: a rather substantial list including items such as attend events, be cultural, and learn basic geography. So have I succeeded?

I have indeed attended events and now finally understand the Arab-Israeli conflict enough to have a vague discussion on it. I have managed to do all my readings and picked and planned essay questions a couple of weeks in advance. I have attempted to be more actively involved in the student body. I have even managed to sort out an internship – oh how very LSE – for September. I managed to finally make it to the British Museum, and whilst I was definitely unimpressed with what were essentially rooms of stuff the British have allegedly purloined, I felt it ticked the ‘be cultural’ box off my list.

However, despite these minor successes, I am still aware that my credentials as an LSE student are not up to standard. I haven’t the faintest idea about economics, my linguistic abilities are pretty much confined to counting to ten in Spanish and propositioning people in French, and I am rather indifferent to whether someone went to Oxford, Cambridge, or indeed a newer university.

I don’t suppose, I’ll ever really find a way to avoid inadequacy entirely. People grapple their whole lives trying to work out how to prioritise. My work will inevitably be compromised by going out and exploring London, but that isn’t such a bad thing. Likewise, if I miss out on a must-see night out because I’ve stayed in to work, the world won’t end. There will be other days and other nights. I suppose the main point of this article is to convince myself – and hopefully a couple of you reading this – that it is impossible to be good at everything.  This mythical perfect student which we seem to see around us on campus and in our classes, is probably struggling just as much as we are to get things under control and is an ideal we have created ourselves and imposed on others. As if we didn’t need any more pressure!

I am as short-sighted as they come, measuring -4.00 in both eyes. For all you able-sighted people, that means I can barely see how many fingers you’re holding up, and no, before you ask, I can’t see what face you’re pulling from the other side of the bed. It can get awkward.

Last week, I took a trip to my nearest optical chain and found my own slice of the myopia pie. I was a little daunted by the prospect of having 150 frames to choose from, even ignoring the 1,500-rich collection online – there is such a thing as too much choice. So, I took along a patient, and crucially, honest, friend to assist me in choosing the next path of my fashion destiny. As you would imagine, there were shapes and colours to tempt even the strongest eyeglass-sceptics. Shock in Elton’s, rock the thicker frames of Buddy Holly, kick back stereotypes with innocent Ghandi’s or go seriously wrong with tinted Bono’s; the possibilities truly are endless.

Those in the know have utilised the iconic status the ‘glass’ can give for years. Said to have first been popularised by the Hollywood stars of the 1930s, glasses have existed as a defining feature to many a famous face, from Dame Edna to David Hockey, Kanye West to John Lennon, and even Colonel Mustard’s monocle in Cluedo.

In the world of politics, however, spectacles have always seemed a fairly no-go area, perhaps perceived as yet another barrier between their lies and our votes. Blair hit headlines when he admitted to wearing glasses ‘at home’ in 1999, as if it were some sordid secret he was planning to expose in his biography when cash was getting low. The country responded accordingly, panicking that our golden yellow Labour leader was turning distinctly grey, and that wearing spectacles was synonymous with being ‘past it’ and having hit middle age.

However, more recently, Sarah Palin revived the ‘glass’ during the US election race, where she sported a sexy secretary image alongside her desired hockey mom persona. So farewell to the nerdy conceptions of glasses. Whether they make you look more intelligent, act as a fashion statement or are merely another way for us to express our ‘individuality,’ they are on the rise, with high-street stores now selling glasses complete with non-prescription lenses.

However, I am sure most glasses-wearers would agree with me that the idea of choosing to wear glasses is rather bizarre. They are a practicality, or, for many like me, an indispensable commodity, yet they most certainly have their downsides. After just a week, some of the illusions of wearing glasses are shattering somewhat. When it rains, you need mini windscreen-wipers, when you enter Starbucks from outside you steam up, and inevitably you’re going to have to push them up your nose at some point. Don’t even get me started on trying to put on mascara half-blind.

However, if we are going to suffer these inconveniences, let’s have fun in the process! Glasses are back. There are three optical chains on my street alone, all sporting dewy Mediterranean goddesses pouting in outrageous frames in the windows. Glasses have been revolutionised, and sexed up. They are now as big an accessory as your handbag, they must be co-ordinated with your cufflinks and, LSE students take note, you will be judged by them in your internship interview.

I admit that when initially planning my trip, perhaps I was a member of the idealised ‘I’m such a pioneer, breaking barriers with my presence in undiscovered corners of the globe’ mind-set, but I quickly forgot about the ‘quality of experience’ crap when my feet were on new ground; I was drinking its rainwater and instinctively feeding from the culture of its people and their practices.

My trip lasted for five months, beginning in the north with Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan, and then exploring the southern states of Kerala and Karnataka, before the trip culminated in a three month stay in Goa working with a children’s charity I found online (www.childrenwalkingtall.com).

When I first arrived, I was very green to the art of travelling. I was scared, in the sense that I was suspicious of everybody and everything, with my slash-proof bum-bag and panic alarm disguised as a watch strapped tightly to my wrist. What I was yet to realise was that India is, in my opinion, one of the safest places in the world.

For me, India embodied a masala of generosity, kindness, patriotism and excitement, mixed with a fierce brashness required to survive everyday struggles, and a conscientious concern to look after others. I’m aware of the dark side of India, evident in the unconcealed corruption throughout the government and police force, and the caste system which cannot yet be deemed extinct, but there is a gentle yet fiercely vibrant vein that pulsates through India and her people.

So, you can see I’m a fully signed up member of the Indian fan club, but it was more than the kulfi (imagine triple-fat icecream, and then triple the richness again), and the excuse to buy more bangles than I had inches of arm, that won me over.

Somehow, things in India just work. Thinking in a tight western perspective, you cringe on the trains as people throw their rubbish out of train windows onto the tracks. Until you realise there is a rag-picker waiting to pick it up, and that is their livelihood. You barter hard with a rickshaw driver, but if you smile and use your limited Hindi, you usually get a congratulatory “Indian price!” Both of you leave feeling happy about the transaction. People everywhere you go ask you “What is your good name?” They’re never going to see you again, but their relentless interest in what your father does and how many siblings you have verges on comical! However, in essence, everything they do is to make you feel a little more at home.

Thinking of going to India? Perfect an ambiguous Indian head wobble, get good at traffic-dodging, dance in the street because IT’S ALLOWED, embrace the stomach bugs and tuck into the street food, and finally, take me with you!

My eyes lit up when I met a gentleman who worked for the BBC World Service, whilst I was working at a gig in King’s Cross. I study Geography and write for the student paper. You needn’t know much more about me to realise that this was an opportunity I felt I could not pass up. Yes, he was old enough to be my dad, had been standing at the bar alone, caressing his beer and was wearing a tweed jacket with a moustache reminiscent of Murray from ‘Flight of the Conchords,’ but these were mere insignificant details. He gave me his card and I went home and googled him, naturally.

The next day I met him at the St. Pancras hotel. It was 4.30pm- a good, safe time surely – in the booking office. Me + old journalist + booking office of hotel = room? No, fortunately my maths and my ignorance failed me; the booking office is the bar of the hotel. Sticking to the soft drinks, I couldn’t avoid the fact that he had to pay for a bill as big as my weekly budget. We chatted both work and play before he told me he wanted to show me both sides of King’s Cross.

Around the corner from the five star hotel we came to a pub with boarded windows and music blaring out. I thought that this seemed more my kind of place. But, how odd, all of the women inside seemed to have forgotten to wear their clothes to work today.

“An apple juice, please.”

I discovered that this wasn’t ‘the kind of place’ to serve juice. My companion slipped me a couple of quid change from our drinks. “Put it in the pot” he said.  I was embarrassed at first, there was no need to make a point of me being a student. Then I   noticed the small stage in the corner and the signs that read “all customers must pay £1 to watch a dance.”

Next we headed to a trendy and bright Bloomsbury gay bar. Another apple juice down and I was invited to dinner with my companion and some friends at Blacks, a private members media club in Soho. As he had neither offered me an internship nor attempted to assault/marry me, by this stage I figured that this would be where we would negotiate the details one way or another.

Inside the beautiful candle lit Georgian house I scoured the rooms, recognising faces of people I’d seen on the television before. I ordered what I hoped was the vegetarian option on the menu – if only I had understood what the ingredients were- and enjoyed a lovely meal with the three middle-aged gentlemen in my company. On our walk back to Bloomsbury, my acquaintance advised me to exploit the contacts in industry I make. But when I asked how I may work with him, he said that we could organise his CD collection together: not exactly what I had in mind. He began to disclose his personal struggles to me with religion, loneliness and his sexuality. Being a naturally curious and caring person I listened and consoled him, and then we departed and went our separate ways.

Within the next few days my inbox had been furiously invaded by both my needy acquaintance and disapproving older sister. She insisted that I made it clear to my companion that my motives were entirely professional and that they should remain so. He told me that he was “not [his] job” and that the company he keeps is “not always strictly professional.”

I never heard of him again, until a week ago when I was telling this story to a friend of mine. The friend asked his name. Apparently this poor man had tried to pursue a friend of ours almost a year ago and later proclaimed his love to her. Perhaps the non-existent, little voice in my head should have been telling me that this was the likely case all along. However, on reflection, I wouldn’t change the way I behaved. Despite my friends being appalled by this man’s motives, in what way were they worse than my own? We were just two people with different aims, isn’t that networking is all about after all?

As this was occurring, my own journey to banking stardom reached the peak of its plight. Yes, that’s right. I had my final round interview for a job at LSE’s favourite investment bank. Having essentially forgone sleep, all essay deadlines, classes and lectures for the past week in preparation, I was armed with 8 rounds of the “FT” in my barrel, a few Economist articles as gunpowder and, of course, the Wall Street Journal as my trigger.

I was somewhat worried I had actually spent more time watching Youtube videos of cartoon investment banking situations, including “The LSE problem part 1,” rather than preparing. Nonetheless, I donned my finest suit, tie and shoes for the 3 hour drama ahead.

First question… “Why us?”

That shouldn’t be difficult; just remember to fake confidence. And always remember the never discussed, yet somehow universally known rule: absolutely under no circumstances whatsoever mention that sacrilegious word in banking – “money.” For a company that prides itself on being the most competitive and most successful in regards to money-making of all IBs – that’s short for Investment Banks for all of you not in the know – never mentioning the word “money” can be extraordinarily difficult. It reminds me of that game I would play as a kid, where you had to answer an endless stream of questions without saying “no” or you lost. Unfortunately in this scenario saying “money” meant losing a £50,000 a year job.

After my first interview I went back to the waiting room filled with Oxbridge-educated, “Yah Yah I just came back from my Gap Yah,” over-privileged, more money than sense, lips still stained from the silver spoon they were fed from, students. Sitting down, my privacy was invaded in the form of an impeccably dressed, tall blonde from the Oxford corner inquiring about my interview questions.

“Yeah, just all the usual questions about myself and my interests…” I replied

“Oh, that sounds nice”

“Yeah it was”

As any student of EC102 will know, “talk is cheap,” unless it’s helping your opponent beat you. I wasn’t telling her squat. LSE 1. Oxford 0.

Next interview…that was alright. In fact, I found the entire process akin to “Who Wants to be a Millionaire.” Each question brought me closer to the magic million, and performing well to the end of each interview marked the £1,000 and £32,000 safety markers. Only in this game, there were no lifelines.

Then came my final interview with the MD, and the nerves were kicking in. All good so far, I had managed to respectfully answer the brainteasers as I climbed the ladder’s rungs from £250,000 to £500,000.

“You’re clearly intelligent, you’ve done your research and you have a passion for markets. Tell me, If I were to hire you tomorrow, what changes would you make to how we run our business?”

Yes, yes… I knew exactly what to say. If there is a God out there he was watching over me!

“Well, considering Equities generates the most revenue…”

“Ahhh, so it’s all about the money is it?”

Wait.. what? I didn’t say money did I? No! I’m sure I said “revenue.” How the hell can he equate revenue to money? This is totally unfair. Who decides these damn rules anyway?

My interviewer leans back smiling, the creases in his cheeks stretching out as he laughs “So you’re here for the money?” in a matter-of-fact voice. Wearing the satisfied look of a parent having caught their son tip-toeing, chair and all, with one hand in the cookie jar, he leans forward and makes a small, seemingly inconsequential note. “You can leave now.”

I had failed on the million pound question. Flop.

*****

Roger Federer – the Great Roger Federer – has enjoyed the most successful career in tennis history, but now the fairy-tale appears to be approaching its last few pages.  After taking the first set of his Australian Open semi-final on a tie-break, Federer must have felt that he could finally secure a return to his superlative best.  However, the next three sets slipped away from the 30-year-old as he finished the match with 64 unforced errors.  Utmost credit must go to Federer’s opponent and fiercest rival, the Great Rafael Nadal.  The two have waged war against each other for as long as the world of tennis can remember; though, this war has always been one of peace and grace, fought under the most gentlemanly conditions.  The Spaniard is the main reason why Federer’s total of Grand Slams has been limited to sixteen and, although it is unlikely, Nadal may still be able to surpass that total.  Indeed, it seems that Federer will now have to get used to not winning the major tournaments, but the veteran is still willing to put up the best fight he possibly can.

*****

Ahead of the Australian Open, I identified Petra Kvitova as a rising starlet who could fill the gaping hole at the top of the women’s game.  I hoped and duly thought that she could lift the trophy in Melbourne to become World Number One.  I was wrong.  That said, I did allude to the unpredictable nature of the women’s game, and the fact that Victoria Azarenka and Maria Sharapova made it through to the final is testament to that.  It appears that the Eastern European ladies, as fierce and determined as they are (grunts galore), are making a move towards a period of sheer dominance.  Yet, Kvitova is still a part of that, and perhaps even the spearhead of the attack.  Kvitova is not yet no. 1, but reaching the semi-final at least demonstrates a level of consistency.  I can only hope that the very admirable Czech makes it to the summit of the game sooner rather than later- and she will, of that I am sure.  However, she has much to learn after her defeat to the more experienced, Maria Sharapova, and, at least, the passive Caroline Wozniacki has finally been dislodged as World Number One, albeit by someone other than Kvitova.

Cole has built a career around being a dynamic attacking, yet defensively capable full back. However, this season Chelsea have conceded  25 goals, more than a goal per game, in which Cole has played in every league game. If we take Cole, Evra and Liverpool’s Enrique as the three best left backs in the league, as well as Baines, his direct England rival, it is thus appropriate to compare their form to ascertain how well Cole is playing this season.

The number of tackles completed per game is thus: 2.7 for Evra, 2.6 for Cole, 1.8 for Enrique and 1.2 for Baines. For interceptions, Evra has 1.2 per game, Cole 1.5 per game, Enrique just 1 per game, whilst Baines comes out on top with 2.1. As well as this, a comparison of fouls per game for each defender is also relatively tight, with Evra committing one per game, Baines 0.9, Cole 0.8 and Enrqiue 0.4 per game. Defensively, it is tight; Chelsea have conceded more goals than United and Liverpool but Cole’s individual statistics imply he is still playing to a similar standard to both Evra and Enrique. One would expect Baines to complete more tackles due to the fact Everton are a more defensive side than Chelsea, United or Liverpool. Thus, with the low level of tackles he completes, one could assert that he is the weakest defender.

It is in the attacking third that Cole has actually been at his best this season, recording six assists, with Evra and Enrique having two each, whilst Baines only has one. This is a very high number of assists for a full-back (the most out of any Premier League full-back so far this season), indicating what an attacking presence Cole has been, even if it hasn’t always been noticed.

A wider look at the attacking statistics reflect favourably on Cole. Cole completes, on average, 50 passes per game this season with a pass completion rate of about 89%; Enrique has the highest passes per game with 52, but has a much lower pass completion rate than Cole with just 79%. Evra completes less passes than both full-backs with 42 per game but boasts a decent pass completion rate with 86%; Baines stats reflect the weakest in this regard, with an average of 41.8 passes per game with a completion accuracy of only 76.8%. Thus, although Enrique completes slightly more passes per game than Cole, Cole’s superior pass accuracy percentage means that he has been the most influential attacking full-back out of the three.

With regards to crosses per game, Baines has the most with 2.3; Enrique has one per game, whereas Cole and Evra have less, with 0.6 per game and 0.3 per game respectively. The reason for this is perhaps due to the more cross-centric style of play used by Liverpool, who cross more balls into the box per game than any other side, rather than due to Cole and Evra being less able to do so.

A stat that highlights the attacking influence of Cole this season is the high number of successful through-balls he has completed, with 2.6 per game; Enrique completes 0.1 per game, whilst Baines and Evra have attempted no through balls this season. Again, this is indicative of differing styles of play but further shows how AVB has used Cole in a far more attacking sense than previous managers have, arguably at the expense of the defensive side of his game.

What explains the perceived dip in form?

There are numerous factors that explain why some people believe Cole has performed worse this season, despite his obvious importance in an attacking capacity for both club and country. One factor is that the Chelsea defence as a collective has been poor this season. The alteration in tactics from a deep sitting backline to a high line has caused problems for every one of Chelsea’s defenders, with Luiz often bearing the brunt. As well as this, the other full-back, Jose Bosingwa, has come under fire more now than ever before in the new system. The reason for this is perhaps that, by pressing high up the field, the Chelsea full-backs are often a lot higher up the field than they would like to be, both in and out of possession; this means that if Chelsea lose the ball, or if they’re beaten in behind, the full-backs look very vulnerable.

During attacks, the shielding midfielder, now Romeu, will often slot back to make a back three with the wing-backs, often urged up the field to initiate attacks and stretch the opposition; as stated, this can leave them vulnerable in behind.

Whilst on the topic of tactics under AVB, the formation is more of a 4-3-3 than previously as now the wide men, Sturridge and Mata, are far more focused on attacking than defending. The result of this is that the full-backs are often left unprotected. In Cole’s case, when Mata comes inside, he is left incredibly vulnerable to opposition attacks. Even when Mata does look to track back, he is more of a forward minded player and thus is not capable of adequately protecting his full-back.

A further factor behind a perceived drop is that Cole has set himself incredibly high standards over the year and, thereby, anything short of that makes it appear that he is playing poorly. Although at the age of 31, he does not seem quite as quick as he once did. This is more obvious when defending, especially on the turn, than when attacking. Although, as stated, his attacking has been very good, he has not been as dynamic on the ball, in fact much of his attacking work has been from running in behind, rather than running on the ball, highlighted by only 0.3 dribbles per game. Perhaps this is tactical, or perhaps it does point to how Cole is adapting his game as he is getting older.

But with regards to Baines, he is not as strong as Cole at defending and is statistically worse than him in an attacking capacity. Cole has 93 caps to his name and his experience alone is a reason why he is a valuable player for England. Furthermore, with Cahill and Terry the preferred centre-back pairing for Capello, it makes sense to transfer the Chelsea trio to the international game as well. Baines is a good defender and should go to the Euro’s, but he is not, if we compare stats, of the same calibre as Cole.

To say Cole is finished would be ridiculous, the comparison of defensive statistics shows that all players are similar and the attacking stats tip it in Cole’s favour. Thus, he should still be considered a key member of the Chelsea and England starting 11′s. As stated, his six assists are incredibly impressive for a full-back.

Amit Singh is the editor of www.thinkfootball.co.uk

We may as well start with one particular Zoo-goer, who found herself occupied throughout the whole evening. This little vixen was never spotted alone, but the scandalous lady was seen in the company of not two, not three, but FOUR separate men throughout Zoo – it seems Mrs Norris was indeed roaming the corridors of Hogwarts, but thwarted and ignored any attempts by any Basilisk to escape from its Chamber of Secrets. Seemingly desperate to steal the title of cock-tease, she flirted her way through the likes of Mailbu and a Russian Oligarch Alumnus, amongst others, but in the end made her way home with two hockey chaps – for an innocent burger, apparently. That brings her total count to a WHOPPING 6 men in one evening. And apparently Mrs Norris was not the only member of her house to be on the prowl though, as your teenage witch and puppy-eyes were once again spotted ducking out alarmingly early – and all in the presence of her recent ex-squeeze. The once power-couple had barely been over for three weeks. *sadface*

Blondes were more than a little active, though, as our frequently featured third team Biggles was seen stealing yet more kisses from a fresh face. Her desires, though, were short lived, and she soon grew tired of her man, only to find his rapid infatuation had grown even faster than her own exasperation. The poor girl was followed round by said gentleman, who tried on numerous occasions to woo and court our fair lady, but if Facebook is anything to go by, she’s having none of her new-found stalker-man. Your Sunny tennis bombshell was also seen moving on rapidly from last week, as her tongue and lips got all Knotted up – when asked about her latest pull, she assured others “what?! We were already Facebook friends and all!” Phew!

Having berated me last term for the lack of Women’s Rugby coverage, it seems some of You were really on the prowl on Wednesday. In a red dress that would make Lucy Liu raise an eyebrow, one starlet was seen trying out the previously featured hoover manoeuvre with the man who provided one lucky girl the nickname of “sex-raggled tool.” As Hobbes danced and pranced his way around Zoo in his usual fashion, it seems the magnetic attraction between the pairs’ lips was uncontrollable, and they were spotted sharing oxygen in the corner, by the fan, near the toilets, outside…well, you get the picture.

Netball’s very own Keith was also seen making her comeback to the market on Wednesday. Turning heads in a striking, yet typically revealing blue dress, a case of mistaken identity ensued as to whom she snared that evening. With many people thinking she was off with a 4th team FC lad, who must indeed be disappointed as his inability to hit a home run, sources can confirm that she was actually entangled with an Alumnus named Jacko. Next time, get your facts right people. Indeed, the rest of her household also seemed to be unusually active, with several other cases of rendezvous’ occurring that they’d like to be kept secret, I’m sure. Suffice it to say, one Ski President got the true white-glove Butler service at Zoo but was, alas, also seen going home alone.

This, however, meant that one person in particular was left high and dry. But never one to be phased by this, your Gaelic Footballer jumped back on the saddle and was seen working his magic, trying to charm your Dance Captain. The captivating lady was seemingly enraptured by his efforts, and the two were seen to be “busy” for much of the night. The Sam squared couple was also seen doing the dirty on Wednesday, though it seems Lush Sam couldn’t quite keep up with the momentum of his energizer-bunny counterpart, and often had to sit down to deal with his fatigue or all-round ineptitude.

At long last, though, it seems the will-they or won’t they pseudo-couple declared their feelings for one another publicly, and a rugby captain allegedly managed to Reed the signs correctly – he sealed the deal with one stunning Brazilian Tuns girl to all-round sounds of “awww,” sighs of happiness and even the odd tear of joy being shed by bystanders. YourCock was also spotted trying to crack onto the tallest member of the Netball sixth team. Reacting instinctively to the advance of his drunken lips and tongue, it seems TeeLee defended her vulnerable lips with her hand, but little did she know that YourCock was all too happy to pull her palm. And finally, it seems the Netball fifth’s cock-tease really did live up to her name once more, spending several hours refusing the advances of Welsh Glory. Only at the end of the night though, did she give in to his inevitable charm and allow him to steal a kiss (or seven), but it seems actually speaking to a girl, rather than an outright pull, works a treat – the pair were seen tottering off in the direction of Tottenham Court Road in the wee hours of the morning, though our girl denies any…frivolities.

Sadly, the night was not all love, sex and magic. With one Alumnus being led out of Zoo Bar by the hand á la mummy-and-toddler scenario, Captain Mateer also had several unfortunate run-ins with bouncers. Having been unceremoniously ousted from Zoo, it seems she learned a trick or two from Alumnus Boca and managed to weasel her way back into the club, to continue her task of ensnaring Lennon. But if her determination manifested herself in any way, it was in violence, not lust, and many a man was seen running scared of her flailing limbs. Suffice it to say, it seems the Zoo Bar bouncers had once again had enough – and this time, it was for good. It would appear our beloved Netball social sec has done the unthinkable and got herself BARRED from Zoo! With a year and a half remaining, how the hell will she survive Wednesday nights? And more importantly, how will this affect her alleged bid for AU Pres? Our hearts go out to you Captain Mateer. I’m sure you can sweet-talk your way out of this!

Cheers for a truly spectacular week, and here’s hoping you live up to expectations next week.  Credit must also go out to Boffin (-B+M-in+at) for her documenting skills. A visual recount of last Wednesday is available on Facebook thanks to her. Until next time…

Redemption is sweet, that is of course, assuming that you don’t falter a second time.

After crucial victories, the New England Patriots and the New York Giants head to a Super Bowl rematch. Four years ago, the Giants pulled off one of the most remarkable upsets in NFL history when they defeated the previously unbeaten and heavily favored Patriots team with a winning drive in the final minutes. No person in attendance, viewing on television, or who has seen a YouTube clip will ever be able to forget David Tyree’s mutually devastating and awe-inspiring one-handed catch against the shell of his helmet.  However, this year, the Patriots are hoping to diminish that image.

After four years of endless taunting, the Patriots have finally been granted their ultimate wish: a rematch. On Sunday, February 5th, they will face off against the Giants for not just Super Bowl rings—but dignity. A Super Bowl victory would quell the incessant jeers and reinstate the New England Patriots as the indisputable NFL powerhouse. However, a loss would provide New York fans with a nearly inexhaustible supply of ammunition for mockery. So with everything on the line, the teams and fans alike, prepare for the biggest game in American sports. This Sunday, either the Giants will emerge even larger than life or the Patriots will bring about a new revolution to New England. Tune in at 21.30 Sunday night to watch the action.

That actual fact a rematch was attainable seemed remotely distant at the start of the season. Questions of Eli Manning’s, Giants Quarterback, ability was constant ground for discussion in New York, the Giants Defensive Line appeared like nothing compared to the dominating unit led by Michael Strahan four years ago, whilst if Manning wasn’t the problem, the lack of a stand-out receiver for him to play his get out of jail card was. The situation was so tenuous at on point in the season Coughlin, the Giants head coach, was seemingly destined to become just another sacked head coach after a mediocre season.

Yet only four months later, Eli Manning, the self-proclaimed ‘Franchise Quarterback’ (indicating quite a sense of self-confidence), is backing up his words. Jason Pierre-Paul, most notable for 13 consecutive backflips on youtube whilst weighing 20 stone, is leading the reemergence of the Giants pass-rush, and finally, Victor Cruz who is now famed for Salsa-dancing touchdown celebrations is now part of New York folklore for the dominance he has displayed this year catching the ball. The Giants, in their quest for the big one, have dominated the Falcons and crushed Green Bay’s dreams of immortality. They have then visited San Fransisco, trading punches with one of the most physical teams in the league, coming up triumphant. Again, the “hot” team have entered the play offs after a few breaks, and have stormed the tournament.

With Tom Brady at the helm, it should, theoretically, be no surprise that New England reached the Superbowl, but with one of the worst defences in the NFL it should be. Somehow Bill Bellicheck, the Patriots Head Coach, and Brady have been able to dominate the NFL with a group of star players surrounding by vast quantities of quality-stricken footballers. When one takes a look at the current Patriots line up there is the star quality of Brady, Gronkowski, Hernandez and Welker. The inconsistent Wilfork definitely belongs in that group most of the time, but he has the habit of becoming anonymous for long periods of time. The rest of the group are weak, the culmination of which can be seen in the Patriots placement of 31st in the league for passing yards allowed, there is only so much bend and break a team can perpetrate before they get eliminated. Just ask the Packers. Indeed it is a testament to Belichek that this group of players have come as far as they have done.

However, form counts for little when heading into the television spectacle that is the Superbowl. The bright lights, elongated television ad breaks, ridiculous singing of the national anthem, this sporting final is a clear example of having to turn up and deal with occasion. Many headline athletes have lead their team to the Superbowl and gone missing in the shadows of the floodlights, just ask Donovan McNabb. It’s just as likely that Sterling Moore is the star of the show as Victor Cruz is. Ability has nothing to do with it, but often Cojones. The aforementioned David Tyree was released from his contract only a year after the Superbowl victory due to him actually being a relatively sub-standard football player, his moment of brilliance was the result of him stepping up to the occasion and ‘making a play’.

Heading into Superbowl weekend, a moments thought should go to the Kickers. Most games you won’t even hear their names, but Stephen Gostkowski and Lawrence Tynes, are heading into the most watched sporting event in the US knowing that if the game is close they will be expected to step up and convert a field goal. Whilst this can be an opportunity to be immortalised in NFL history, they also can be the butt of every joke for a year and even receive death threats if recent events in the NFL playoffs are anything to go by. For some reason they seem to enjoy their jobs, but if the clock is ticking down with the game on the line you can bet your bottom dollar not a single person in the stadium would rather take that field goal.

The Superbowl will be broadcast on both BBC and SkySports on February 5th.

The labour dispute between the players and the League led to a lockout; the eventual solution to which left this season with 66 of its original 82 game stretch. But, unlike the NFL lockout before it, the battle to agree a new Collective Bargaining Agreement (or ‘CBA’ in sports hack-speak – the irony is presumably lost on them) centered not on the biggest name players and their lawsuits, à la football pin-up Tom Brady, but on the plight of the employees on the whole. And this process was fascinating in a league built on working-class participation. The courtside seats may be a sea of white faces – save for celebrity rappers like Jay Z in New Jersey and Snoop Dogg in LA – but in 2008-9, almost eighty-two per cent of NBA players were African American. The reigning Most Valuable Player, Derrick Rose, escaped a tough Chicago neighbourhood to lead his home town Bulls to the Eastern Conference Finals last year; he was previously photographed with an ill-advised gang tattoo. Make no mistake, basketball is the lifeblood of American sport, the game of the streets. They say there’s a basketball court on every street in New York City. Probably the greatest white NBA player of all time, Larry Bird, was a salt-of-the-Earth guy from rust-belt Indiana. NBA players – at least, before they start cashing their cheques – are normal people. Really tall normal people.

Derek Fisher, a Lakers team-mate of Kobe’s and the archetypal small, blue collar player getting by on smarts rather than devastating talent, is President of the Players Association. Who better to champion the little guy? Together with players ranging from bench-warmers to more high-profile stars, Fisher thrashed out a compromise with Commissioner David Stern and the franchise owners. But just as we have seen and will continue to see in the political arena, this compromise satisfies no-one. Indeed, immediately following the announcement that the lockout was over, Stern vetoed the trade of superstar Chris Paul from the League-owned Hornets to the big-market Lakers, under immense pressure from small-market owners – most publicly in an anxious letter from Dan Gilbert, owner of the Cleveland Cavaliers. An uneasy truce has been reached, but many feel that the people’s game should belong to the people once more.

So, stay tuned for more Dwight Howard (forty-five points and twenty-three rebounds against the Golden State Warriors recently), more ‘Lob City’ with Blake Griffin and the LA Clippers (even his nicknames are fantastic: Blake Superior, the Human Posterchild, Earth Blake, Griffin Impossible…), more D-Rose, more King James, more of dazzling Spanish rookie Ricky Rubio and – God help us – more zone defence. But remember, these multi-millionaire athletic freaks are just like you and me.