'All Time Top Three' by Steve Ely

Following on from the excellent interview with South Yorkshire poet Steve Ely, here's some of his work. I'll let it speak for itself, but remind you that his new book 'Oswald's Book of Hours' is available for pre-order from Amazon.

All Time Top Three

In reverse order:

Away, Kirkby Independent, 1993:

taking a long ball from Wack,

over my shoulder and onto my chest

in the channel by the right hand edge of the box,

with Popeye screaming for it square

and the centre half closing and jostling,

I let it bounce once

then took it on the full

and watched incredulous

as it screamed thirty diagonal yards

rising all the way

over the keeper into the top left corner of the net.

At home against the Harlequin, 1997:

I sprung the offside trap,

nipping in on a dinked ball from Growler.

The keeper dashed out into the ‘D’

making himself big

and leapt at me, a reckless imminent impact.

I did the only thing I could

and sliced across the waist high-bouncing ball,

sending it high and vertical over the keeper

before taking the clatter

and picking myself up

to see the topspin I applied

drop the ball into the net

and Benno diving on me and shouting 

“Who’s this fucking Brazilian we’ve got playing for us?”

Away, Spion Kop, 1987:

the ball broke towards their centre half

with plenty of time, but looking complacent,

so I sprinted at him

made it a 50/50 and won it,

the ball spinning loose

ten yards further towards their goal.

I jumped up and went after it,

two-footing the covering full back

sending the ball squirting

to the edge of their box

where I emptied the lunging keeper

and smashed the ball into the unguarded net

for my second and last goal

of the game, nevertheless completing my hat-trick

(Guy Marley, who scored a header

from a corner in the first half

was unregistered,

so Jamie, our manager and press liaison

credited his goal to me, incidentally bestowing

the back-page headline, 'Ely Hat-Trick Sinks Kop'

on the back page of the Hemsworth and South Elmsall Express.)

_______

 Zack Wilson is the author of 'Stumbles and Half Slips' from Epic Rites Press. Also available from Amazon.com.

Steve Ely: Poet of Sunday Leagues and Sainted Rebellion

Steve Ely is a poet and author from Yorkshire, England. When I first came across his work, thanks to social media, it struck as very different indeed from much of the poetry that was being written. Consciously intellectual, with historical subject matter and archaic language, it celebrated an England of northern saints and doomed peasant rebellions.

It also challenged the reader to understand the references. It was poetry to be read, rather than consumed in seconds and forgotten. The work had gravity.

From my point of view, Steve's viewpoints on history and culture seemed to resonate with some of my own. When I first read Steve's work, I had just read the late Mick Imlah's 'The Lost Leader'. Imlah's book, with its reference to Bonnie Prince Charlie in its title, was a poetic treatment of Scotland's history. Often obscure in its references, it used poetry to both inform and make wider historical and contemporary points. It used the past to illuminate the present.

Steve's work seemed similar to me, certainly in some of its textures and fundamentals, its stating points and attitudes. He writes about football players as well as monks, Falklands War heroes as well as medieval saints.

This is ambitious poetry, stimulating work which goes far beyond the merely observational or solipsistic. I spoke to Steve about his writing, his sporting passions and what drives him to express himslef in the way he does. Of particular interest to me were his references to sport in literature, and how playing and watching sport had contributed to his work.

Firstly, your writing seems to indicate an intriguing and, to many people, probably baffling mix of the archaic and the radical. You use Catholic faith, Anglo Saxon language and archaic forms in your writing, as examples, but you are also a socialist and a self-professed hater of Tories, as well as liberals. How do you reconcile what seem to be such competing instincts? Is it hard work to make a coherent whole out of such varied and seemingly competing instincts?

 In a word, yes!  I’m a former socialist – I was in and around the left for large parts of the early eighties and early nineties (with an interlude in the Green Party) and I retain some of the atavisms of the left, such as a knee jerk animus to Conservatism.

But I haven’t been a member of a political party since 1996 and my political activism since then has been non-existent.  However, since my second, unpublished, book of poems, JerUSAlem, which was an exploration of American extremism and concepts of the American Dream, pretty much everything I’ve written has had a political edge.

Over the last four years I’ve been exploring the roots of England in my work and my embracing of Catholicism is part of that.

But I’m a poet, not a politician, and although you’re right to suggest I’m working to a synthesis of sorts, I’m not looking to reach a manifesto position – I don’t see that as being my job.  I want to raise important themes through my work and challenge my audience.  But most of all I want to create striking and evocative work with a powerful affect.

You have written about war as well as sport. What do you make of Orwell's 'war without the shooting' reference to sport?

I think Orwell’s statement is often understood in the simplistic sense of, ‘young men used to go to war and sow their wild oats of allegiance and violence but now there aren’t as many opportunities to fight in wars, so playing and supporting sport is a surrogate outlet for the same emotions’.

It’s an interesting perspective, with some truth in it, but ultimately obfuscatory.  If you’re part of a team – as player or supporter – you inevitably get that electric sense of belonging, mutual responsibility, support and communal striving in which your individual identity is harnessed in, and to some extent subsumed, in a greater whole.

Given that sport, by definition, involves asserting yourself against an opponent in a context of physical exertion and high emotion (competition), violence and aggression will never be far beneath the surface.  When overlaid by aggravating factors of politics, religion or long standing rivalry (Celtic-Rangers, Fenerbache/Galatasary), for example, it can be seen as analogous to war. But I wouldn’t push it beyond an analogue. Sport isn't war.

So, if sport cannot be called 'war', can it be called 'art' with any justification?

At its best, sport is an art form, or a thing of beauty at any rate. The movement and grace of Barca in the 2010-11 season, the vision, technical accomplishment and audacity of Ibrahimovic’s last goal against England the other night, Bergkamp’s goals against Argentina, Leicester & Newcastle, Carlos Alberto’s winner in the 1970 world cup final – these things take the breath away – like Lawrence says about the ‘shout’ of the tortoise - ‘it sounds on the plasm direct’ - not just an aesthetic, physical or intellectual impact – the moment impacts whole body.

What do you think watching sport offers writers in the way of inspiration or understanding?

Having played team sport all my life, the thing sport has brought me is an appreciation of the importance of what might simplistically be called team spirit – that the individual is always part of a larger collective and has a responsibility to fulfil a role in that collective that is reciprocated in the care and support the individual receives from the team. 

Or, as we used to say when I played for the Travellers FC - ‘one in - all in’.  That’s what Camus meant when he said, "all that I know of morality and obligations I owe to football." Bill Shankly and Brian Clough called it socialism. It’s certainly Catholic Social Teaching in a brightly coloured shirt.

The other week saw a great clash in Glasgow between Celtic and Barcelona. Both those teams have strong religious/ethnic/nationalistic identities, albeit in Celtic's case that of a non-native tradition. Do you think that attaching such strong cultural significance to sports teams is healthy?

The fervour generated in the Old Firm matches can provide legitimisation for psychopaths – there was a horrible incident a few years ago when a Rangers ‘fan’ slit the throat of a Celtic fan outside Ibrox in an unprovoked attack, purely because the latter was wearing the hooped shirt. 

That was exceptional, but there’s no doubt that this ‘sectarianism’ gets more or less routinely out of hand.  But, for better or worse, Rangers and Celtic have become emblematic of the identities of many of their supporters, and the affective power arising from that, alongside the context of wider politico-religious conflict, is what makes the Old Firm. 

You regret the excesses, but ultimately, would you have it any other way? 

Barca is different.  For the almost forty years of Franco's dictatorship, Barca was the only expression of Catalan identity and nationalism the Catalans could get away with, and it is why Barca is ‘mes plus un club’.

Take that away, and all you’ve got is Man City, or Chelsea.  You can’t separate politics and sport, because sport is not just about entertainment – it’s about allegiance, activism, commitment, engagement and identity. So often, sporting teams emerge from very specific communities and are the flagship of those communities.

Every time Nottingham Forest play at Oakwell, chants of ‘scab’ echo around the ground – and the thing is, they used to before the 1984-5 strike – the folk memory of the terraces was remembering the aftermath of the 1926 strike, when the Spencer’s bosses union split Cook’s NUM. 

‘Politics’ in sport ramps up the intensity and makes for a more electrifying experience – but you’ve got to rein in the nutters.

What sports do you like? Who are your sporting heroes and why?

Football is my main sport.  I played to a decent standard Sundays (and sometimes Saturdays as well) for over twenty years. 

I was a striker.  I began as a Stan Bowles-type dribbling inside left, evolved into a Steve Claridge type workhorse and ended my career as a Grant Holt style lump. 

As a kid I supported Sheffield United and saw them play River Plate in 1978 just after Argentina had won the World Cup. United had just bought Alex Sabella (now the coach of the Argentinian national team) from River and the pre-season friendly was part of the deal. 

Leopoldo Luque, Daniel Passerella and Ubaldo Filliol of the cup winning team played. United won three-two, with Alan Woodward scoring the winner from the spot.

Aged about sixteen, I switched teams and started watching Barnsley with my mates, largely because I was sick of going to Bramall Lane on my own – nobody else I  knew supported United.  I had a season ticket at Oakwell for six or seven years but I haven’t been for ages now. 

I never really felt an emotional connect with Barnsley, because I was a latecomer to them, I suppose. 

I also watch a lot of Rugby League on Sky. I used to play league as a young kid. 

At middle school we had a teacher, Mr Milnes, who was from Featherstone, and he introduced the game to the school. We were very good at that age – we used to beat sides from Cas and Fev, who were not hapy that a team from outside the league heartlands was besting them. 

I love the mercurial geniuses: Maradona, the greatest of all time, Messi, who will supercede him, Best, Gascoigne, Rivaldo and Dennis Bergkamp, for his purity.

From League I like Rob Burrow and Sam Tomkins, for the same reasons.

Your own English nationalism is very different from that of groups like the EDL. You also have an Irish connection. What made you think of yourself as English? Is being from Yorkshire more important that being English to you?

My concept of England is based on the concept of the people in the land and the corollary opinion that, over centuries, the people have been expropriated and the land degraded and destroyed.

I suppose I’m a utopian in the tradition of William Morris - my project is heuristic and archaeological, seeking to bring to light neglected aspects of Englishness – the Anglo-Danish heritage, the pre-reformation English Catholic Church, the traditions of resistance running through the silvaticii rebels against the Norman occupation, the Peasant’s Revolt, the Pilgrimage of Grace, the radicalism of the English revolution, the nineteenth and twentienth century working class movements and the particular experience of ‘the North’, as well as the wider heritage.  

From these, to use Eliot’s idiom, I assemble the fragments ‘I shore against my ruins’.  

It is a tragedy that discourse of Englishness, or of English nationalism, is pre-sullied by the reactionary racist populism of the EDL or the fascist successors of Moseley’s BUF from the NF to the BNP.  

It’s up to the rest of us to wrest the discourse of identity and nationality away from those motivated by confusion, fear and hatred.  And a precondition for this is engagement with the past to re-discover the wellsprings. 

For all our alleged national obsession with ‘heritage’, (the ‘mad parade’ of the Sex Pistol’s in God Save the Queen), there is probably no developed country in the world in which the person on the street is more ignorant of even the basics of the history of the nation to which they belong, not to mention their local history.  There has certainly been no European nation quicker to throw it away. 

Yorkshire is important to me as county and regional identity should be to everyone - but ultimately, county identity should find its place in that wider polity of the nation. 

I’m also, for better or worse (sometimes better, often worse), very class conscious, almost instinctively so. At the core of my developing, incoherent worldview is what might be called transcendental parochialism.

I vision a time when people can name the birds and animals in the farmland near their town, know the significance of the funny old building on the corner and the gnarly old tree in the town square, understand why the river running through their village is straight and not meandering, know who the guy on the statue was, why they’re living in a tower block, their local and national history (etc) – as well being engaged in current affairs and global issues. 

I suppose I’m tacitly proposing a kind of informed civic engagement in which people secure in their identity and interests and with a sense of solidarity with their corporate community, are empowered to assert their interests and shape their world.

In my recent work, I use archaic forms – Old and Middle English, quotations, epigraphs and references from/to ancient and neglected texts, the spellings and syntax of the Wyclif and King James Bibles, for example – to emphasise my vision of the essential continuity of England and the English. 

Historical and literary studies impose a series of arbitrary disjunctions – Old English, Middle English, Early Modern English, Anglo-Saxon, Norman, Mediaeval, etc. 

This has the effect of severing ‘the past’ from the present, resulting in its neglect. The very term ‘History’ in the popular conception implies something definitively past, therefore irrelevant and thus something that can with good conscience be ignored. My forthcoming book Oswald’s Book of Hours (February 2013 – available for pre-order on Amazon!) and my work in progress, Englaland, are synchronic and synoptic looks at England. The tributaries flow into a single stream.

Lastly, would you have preferred to write a bestselling book or to be a sports star yourself?

Well past the time when it was a clearly a pipe-dream, I clung to the forlorn hope that I could ‘make it’ as a professional footballer, go on to play for England, score in a Cup Final and so on. 

It was never my ambition to write a bestselling book, as such, because that seems to imply a certain pandering to the audience which inevitably compromises artistic vision. 

I write what I have to, what I’m driven to and if anyone else likes it, that’s a bonus.  So professional footballer it is.  I could’ve written in the afternoons when the rest of the lads were playing snooker.

Steve's novel 'Ratmen' is available from Blackheath Books.

Steve Ely was talking to Zack Wilson,  the author of 'Stumbles and Half Slips' from Epic Rites Press. Also available from Amazon.com.

Film Review: Jonathan of the Bears

This is a review of an 'interesting' 1990s film, called 'Jonathan of the Bears'...

Franco Nero and Floyd Red Crow Westerman are the notable names in what amounts to a Russian re-imagining of spaghetti western madness with a nod to Keoma.

Review by: Zack Wilson, the author of 'Stumbles and Half Slips' from Epic Rites Press. Also available from Amazon.com.

Franco Nero has done some interesting things in his career, with the Italian starring in the iconic and influential Django as well as helping make acid western Keoma more than just notable. It's probably fair to say though that Jonathan of the Bears (Jonathan degli orsi) will not be remembered as one of his finest moments.

Not that there isn't much one might think one would enjoy in this bizarre Russian/Italian co-production of a spaghetti western from 1993. The film presents a sympathetic portrayal of Native Americans, and even, perhaps uniquely for a European western, has a real Lakota in it, Floyd Red Crow Westerman.


Enzo G. Castellari's Keoma

Enzo G. Castellari also directs, renewing the partnership with Nero which produced Keoma, viewed by many as the film which brought down the curtain on the spaghetti western era.

The film even looks like it could actually set in America, albeit the pine woods of the North West rather than the Great Plains. But things get a little weirder after that.

The plot is patently absurd, to start with. Nero plays the son of seemingly Eastern European immigrants to the New World, who are ambushed by outlaws. His parents are killed, but the young Jonathan escapes to be raised, or so it appears, by bears. Then he runs into some Native Americans, who seem to raise him as one of their own, though there is an opaque sense to many of the events in the film. Whether this is deliberate or not is hard to decide, but one would guess not.

The film works hard to be true to the genre it is paying homage to anyway. There are flashbacks, theatrical shoot-outs and enough badly-written pseudo philosophical one-liners to keep fans of spaghetti westerns happy in spotting the references. But none of it makes much sense.

Django and Sartana

Nero seems in many ways to be playing a character very similar to the one he portrayed in Keoma back in the 1970s. Indeed, this film could almost be considered a Keoma film, in the sense that Django and Sartana and others prompted hundreds of supposed sequels and prequels that related with varying degrees of specificity to the original movies.

The way the film constructs its flashbacks is also very reminiscent of Castellari's earlier work. Nero's character sees the characters from his memories in front of him, just as in Castellari's 70s cult classic. Jonathan, like Keoma (who was after all followed around by an old woman who turns out to be Death), is also an almost super-natural avenger figure fighting on behalf of the Indians. His line "a man without freedom is dead anyway" clearly recalls the concluding line of Castellari's earlier film.

There is also a nod to Django, with a shoot-out scene set in an Indian burial ground, referred to as a "cemetery" throughout. Jonathan's surname is Kowalski, surely a nod to Nero's role in The Mercenary, especially as the film is dedicated to old master Sergio Corbucci.

Ennio Morricone and Leonard Cohen

The music of the film is a parody of Ennio Morricone by and large, though are some songs with wince-inducing lyrics, with Nero seemingly at one stage emulating his appalling Leonard Cohen impressions from Keoma and singing himself. Navajo singer Knifewing Segura also provides a catchy tune or two along the way, as well as adding some martial arts action to his role as Nero's adopted brother.

 

Zack Wilson is the author of 'Stumbles and Half Slips' from Epic Rites Press. Also available from Amazon.com.

Sergio Leone-style lingering close-ups of faces are another clear nod to the genre, although to even use the name of the great Italian in relation to this film feels more than a little sacrilegious. Castellari could have done a lot better. There is a sense that he is working too hard on the homage and not hard enough on the originality, although the film's historical references could certainly be construed as original and imaginative.

There is no sense of discernible history in the film at all. There are so many anachronisms in terms of weaponry, clothing, infrastructure, the historical narrative of the West and just about everything else that it is wise to stop counting.

There is a clear political message though. The oil-drilling (yes, oil drilling) capitalists who come to the town to drill offer the oppressed of the town: "a paradise, where money flows with wine and women of all colours and shapes." They are clearly not to be trusted, especially not when it is announced later that "progress will win and they will die" in relation to the Indians.

Spaghetti Western Crucifixion

The townsfolk torture Jonathan, giving us a typically spaghetti western crucifixion/hero as Christ scene, in which Nero's character is eventually freed by a black man dressed in a white suit. Indeed, African Americans are portrayed positively in the film, in another nod to Keoma, in which Woody Strode played an alcoholic who redeemed himself. One of the concluding shots of a man playing a guitar whilst Jonathan rides away into the sunset is a clear reference to Strode's banjo playing wino.

But the fun in the film comes from spotting the references to older films. Much of the camera work, particularly that involving the bears, lacks continuity and has a jerky, hallucinogenic feel, and not in a good way. This is the kind of reality-bending associated with low-grade recreational chemicals, anxious rather than transcendent., although a huge orange explosion towards the end is certainly worth waiting for.

All in all, Jonathan of the Bears is more a footnote to some interesting careers rather than a bold concluding chapter. One for completists of the genre or the obsessively enthusiastic; casual viewers should probably save it until after the pub on a Friday night, with something exotic to smoke as an accompaniment.

The original of this article appeared at Suite101:  http://suite101.com/article/cult-western-novelties-jonathan-of-the-bears-a357135

 Zack Wilson is the author of 'Stumbles and Half Slips' from Epic Rites Press. Also available from Amazon.com.

The Abyss Also Gazes

I went on radio for the first time in the early hours of Saturday morning, with Canadian publisher Wolf Carstens, whose Epic Rites Press recently published by debut novel 'Stumbles and Half Slips'.

It was great to chat to Wolf about various things which went into making Stumbles and Half Slips what it is, and we touched on matters as diverse as The High Chaparral, Trainspotting and Rob Plath, and the vile Jeremy Kyle even got a mention!

Listen here, and hopefully you'll be able to understand what I'm on about...

Listen to internet radio with SHORT FUSE RADIO on Blog Talk Radio

Buy 'Stumbles and Half Slips' from Epic Rites Press. Also available from Amazon.com.

Code13 Archive: Lewis Left a Weak Legacy for Rugby League

 Some more from the Code13 archive here. It's fair to say that the Rugby Football League didn't like this article...

Richard Lewis has now been gone from rugby league a while, but it seems fitting as the season nears its end to look at the legacy he left behind, and what that signifies for the sport as a whole.

Commercial

As Bryn Hargreaves confirms he’s leaving Bradford Bulls and the game for a more secure way of making a living, one has to ask fundamental questions about the commercial strength of the sport as Lewis has left it.

We are now in a position where almost every club in the Super League lives, in some way, beyond their means. Club chiefs like Neil Hudgell at Hull Kingston Rovers hint that they are only a whisker away from financial doom. While the RFL seems comfortably solvent, most clubs do not.

Maybe there has been too much focus on moving commercial operations to London and chasing Sport England funding. Whatever the reality, things are not working and we, as a sport, are far too reliant on Sky cash.

What also struck many observers as strange was how in an article celebrating 20 years of Sky coverage, Richard Lewis chose to highlight how supposedly bad the sport was 20 years ago. He used the piece not to celebrate our heritage, but to state that the game 20 years ago was dull and ruined by bad pitches and weather.

It remains unclear just how much rugby league Lewis watched before he took over at the RFL, but he certainly was not describing a game most of us watched and loved, which was thrilling, aggressive and fast long before we played in summer.

To use an opportunity in the national media to blow your own trumpet about how summer rugby had made a poor sport great was an insult of the most unthinking and wooden headed kind.

Little wonder than that a sponsorship deal was negotiated for which no money changed hands. That is surely one of the most damning indictments of a commercial and administrative hierarchy ever in sport.

Internationals

People outside the rugby league heartlands in this country, especially in soccer towns, often believe that there is only one kind of rugby and that is rugby union.

We all agree that internationals are the biggest tool we have in creating genuine expansion, so why has our international game gone massively, massively backwards while union sweeps up in the wider awareness stakes?

Many will indicate the changing of the Great Britain team. Having an England team may have been a decision motivated by enthusing the kind of people who watch the odd game of sport on telly because “England are playing”, but it did nothing for expansion.

When rugby league was riding a wave of general popularity in the late 80s and early 90s, it was in large part due to Welshmen like Jonathan Davies and Scots like Alan Tait playing for Great Britain.

Now Welsh stars can play for a largely part-time Wales team which may have a chance of beating England in a decade or so. No Great Britain tour to inspire passion and aspire to. The situation for players in Ireland is worse, while Scotland seems to have been forgotten about by the game’s hierarchy entirely.

Indeed, there is now a real possibility that should a player from the Celtic countries ever become good enough to play in the NRL (admittedly unlikely as things currently stand), the temptations of qualifying for Australia or New Zealand on residence should not be discounted.

There are no tours either. These were not just exciting international series which grabbed the imagination, but also allowed second string players to develop.

While a full-on tour is probably not practical any more, a test series with a couple of midweek games is. The Tri-Nations was not a bad idea, but the Four Nations has become uninspiring and often insipid, with no momentum building and often precious little passion from the fans for it.

Interestingly, Lewis left the Lawn Tennis Association largely because Great Britain lost their Davies Cup ‘World Status’ and were downgraded to ‘Euro-African Zone’.

The weakness of our international product is not helped by the often obstructionist tactics of the NRL either, but that is another story for another day.

The new era at the RFL must see stronger awareness of the sport’s true heritage, and a more aggressive attitude adopted towards negotiating with the NRL power barons who shape the destiny of the international game.

Expansion

Most rugby league people can agree that expansion as it stands is not going too well. While there have been some significant strides at local levels, at the top level, fewer people than ever outside the heartlands go and watch rugby league.

Undoubtedly, the recession has played a major part in this, but too many expansion projects were built on sand during the Lewis era.

There seemed to be a naive ‘build and they will come’ mentality, which often appears to inform a lot of thinking in this sport.

People may point to Catalans Dragons, but French Catalonia is as much as heartland of rugby league as Cumbria. It was the region which produced the legendary Puig Aubert after all, and he played nearly 60 years ago, so it was hardly virgin territory to begin with.

Wales now has no Super League team at all, which is laughable considering how popular the game continues to be there.

Perhaps the signs were there. It is not, after all, as though tennis, where Richard Lewis cut his administration teeth,  has spread much beyond its traditional demographic either. Interestingly, tennis champion Andy Murray thrived outside the traditional system in the UK, something we see some of our talent now doing in the NRL, or rugby union.

There was also a lack of awareness of real success stories like Sheffield due to little sensitivity towards circumstances on the ground. The fact that little attention seemed to be paid to Cumbria also galls.

Grassroots summer rugby seemed to be intended for dual rugby clubs in the south, and has confused and discouraged many clubs in the north. It looked like a managerial, top down decision, which was made with little actual assessment of what it would it do in communities where rugby league is well-established.

The impression of technocrats imposing structures from above may not have been correct, but it was certainly how a lot of people felt.

What is clear as Nigel Wood takes over is that a new era is dawning. Quite what it will bring remains to be seen, but hopefully in cash strapped times we can continue to produce some of the greatest sporting entertainment going on the pitch.

Richard Lewis, though, certainly looked a lot happier dishing out trophies at Wimbledon this summer than he ever did at Old Trafford or Wembley.

Originally published at: http://www.code13rugbyleague.com/2012/09/25/lewis-left-a-weak-legacy-for-rugby-league-fans/

Zack Wilson is the author of novel 'Stumbles and Half Slips' from Epic Rites Press. Also available from Amazon.com.

RFL insists it's helping Scottish Rugby League: So why the fixture foul-up?

The recent news that the Edinburgh Eagles Rugby League Club would not be entering the 2013 Challenge Cup after all came as something of a blow, I'm sure, to many of us who want to see Scotland develop a competitive rugby league structure North of the Border.

The ridiculous intransigence of the game's governing body is refusing to allow them to re-arrange fixtures so that their Scotland internationals could play for them in the Cup looks vindictively bureaucratic from this distance.

First round fixtures which would normally be held in January are being held at the end of October instead. When the Scotland national team is playing an international against the England Knights.

"We are disappointed to announce that we are unable to enter the Carnegie Challenge Cup 2013," a statement from the Edinburgh Eagles reads.

"The Rugby Football League has changed the normal start date for the preliminary rounds (and) Eagles are currently being represented on the professional international stage by Dave Vernon, Craig Borthwick, Tom Murray and Callum 
Cockburn.

"The RFL have not allowed any flexibility in the dates for this fixture even though there is a representative match 
acknowledged by the governing body.

"We are therefore unable to enter the competition with a squad capable of competing.

"We feel that the RFL has let the club down as we look to develop and attract the quality players in the Edinburgh area to play rugby league."

When pressed about the game in Scotland, the RFL will tell you that there are three full-time development officers working there now. Three more than there were in 1995. Well, there's a massive cause for celebration.

Again, it looks like the RFL have not done their research, certainly not about Scotland and how to fire a passion for rugby league there.

No English person will ever understand how much fitba means to Scots. It dominates the national debate and cultural sphere as much as the sporting sphere. It dwarfs other sports in terms of the coverage it receives, even more so than in England. Only someone from maybe Liverpool or the North East of England could possibly understand just how much the game is fixed in Scottish identity.

This means that rugby league is working with a very difficult set of circumstances. Games like shinty probably have a higher profile than rugby league.

Rugby union has some kind of profile, because the Scottish national team, traditionally composed of Borderers and posh boys from Edinburgh private schools, has managed some degree of relative success.

But the current team is stocked with heritage players from England and elsewhere in the world, with few genuinely working-class players pulling on the Dark Blue these days.

Rugby is perceived in Scotland as a middle-class sport, something not really 'for us'.

Good work has been done in the Glasgow area in particular, but the game up in Scotland has to peddle incredibly fast just to stop going backwards.

Anyone who looked at the Scotland squad for the weekend's home defeat by Ireland at Meggetland in Edinburgh will have noticed how many amateur players there were present.

When it comes to Scotland having a competitive team at the 2013 World Cup, it does not look good. The fact that they will play their World Cup games in Cumbria and Salford is also unlikely to fire the imagination of many Scots.

Ireland have a game in Limerick, so why can't Scotland have a game in Scotland. Somewhere like St Mirren Stadium in Paisley would surely be adequate, with good facilities and small stands that will look less empty on television.

There is a serious risk of choking off Scotland's supply of rugby league internationals too. It's an old theme, but the removal of the Great Britain team as the top of the international pyramid was a serious blow to the game in Scotland.

A team consisting of heritage players which is successful can do much to raise the profile of a sport. Just ask Jack Charlton and the Football Association of Ireland.

English-born players from rugby league backgrounds could play for Scotland and help to develop the game, when they knew that they could still turn out for Great Britain.

Now, if you want to have any chance at all of being in a competitive team to play Australia and New Zealand, you have to declare for England.

This process will not be limited to Scots either. Rhys Evans, one of the most promising players to come from Wales in recent years, has already declared for England.

The England coach has also poached players from other countries, like Scotland, making it harder to develop a team for a tournament. Some though, like Dale Ferguson, have returned to the Scottish fold from England, making a mockery of eligibility rules.

Just wait until the day that Scotland produces an NRL level player. He will not be playing for Scotland when the time comes, but opting to play State of Origin or for the Kiwis.

So what can be done?

Restore the Great Britain team for a start. It's part of our game's heritage and should be there as a pinnacle for all British and Irish-born players to aspire to.

Then, you can have a ready-made 'Origin' series with a British championship, in which players play fo birth or heritage countries, keeping the quality level high and helping players to stake a claim for Great Britain places.

This creates a natural pyramid which will help our players better compete with the Southern Hemisphere teams by hardening them up in meaningful international games. It would form a stepping stone to test footy in the same way that State of Origin is meant to.

It also means that Celtic born players can represent their countries and still have a chance to take on the Aussies and Kiwis on a relatively more level playing field. They will then build a bigger personal profile, which can then be used to build a bigger profile for the game as a whole.

The profile of rugby league would also be raised in the Celtic countries by having a competitive British international championship to watch.

And at the end of the season, we could all look forward to a good three-game test series against the Kangaroos or Kiwis, with Wales, Scotland, Ireland and England providing tough midweek opposition for touring teams.

The chances of anything changing soon internationally look low though. Despite widespread dissatisfaction with the way things are currently done amongst fans, there seems no real will to change at the highest level, with the Australian authorities in particular guilty of obstructing much of the progress which could be made with some constructive and less soilpsistic dialogue.

The current international set-up rewards complacency and makes the game look directionless and amateur.

Zack Wilson is the author of novel 'Stumbles and Half Slips' from Epic Rites Press. Also available from Amazon.com.

Ray's Days 2: Stankevitch

Another short prose piece, dealing with some old exploits of Ray Doyle, the narrator of my debut novel 'Stumbles and Half Slips', published by Epic Rites Press available from Amazon.com.

Stankevitch was probably the most xenophobic man I had ever met. Many people might have found that strange, given his name. He didn't know what ethnic origin he was though when I asked. He just said his name was "foreign, which is funny, 'cause I 'ate foreigners!" Then laugh with an exaggerated wheeziness, as if to demonstrate just how unhealthy he was and how proud he was of it.

He was probably no more stupid than anyone else in the place. Certainly, when it came to doing his job, which was making sure that all work was allocated properly, he was excellent. No one could complain about unfair treatment either, even the foreign workers.

Of course, there wasn't quite the same fuss about Muslims that there is now, not back then. All that kind of thing had settled down a bit, what with the E and that. Everyone seemed to get on in the yard, and Stankevitch probably contributed to that. He was good for morale, if not for improving conversation. He wore a vest in most weathers, showing off a badly inked and faded Union Jack tattoo on wiry, pale brown arms, tanned from years of unloading and loading trucks in all weathers.

And he never missed an opportunity to point out how stupid foreigners were, viewing the arrival of a shipment from abroad as a chance to laugh and mock at people who were not there. His wheezy delivery and simian face made him funny though, so everyone laughed.

But Stankevitch, though capable and competent, perhaps even kind, could never really be described as clever. He followed the rules and enforced them capably. He found thinking beyond the strictures placed on him by his worshipful boss comforting, they gave him safety and a kind of comfortable joy.

Anything out of the ordinary though tended to confuse him, as long as it was completely unrelated to work. Science in particular was a baffling thing he did not believe in. His fear and mistrust echoed the kind of thing parents feel when they learn that their adult daughter has joined a religious cult.

He was reading The Sun one day when he came across a report of an Unidentified Flying Object. There had been a series of lights in the sky over Somerset, and some cider drinkers were yakking in the paper about how they'd thought it was aliens.

Stankevitch's first reaction was, "How the bloody hell do they know it's UFOs. They can't prove that it's the aliens!"

Raj put him right.

"No mate, UFO just means Unidentified Flying Object. It means that they don't know what it is. Not that it's spacemen."

Stankevitch's tiny brown eyes looked up and down several times. He said,"Well, they can't be much good then if they don't even know that it's a UFO or not."

"But they have said it's a UFO," Raj replied. "But the fact that's Unidentified means that they can't classify it yet according to known phenomena."

There was a pause for several seconds. "Stupid pricks," said Stankevitch, "can't even work that out. What the fuck do we pay them for?"

Raj looked blank, his lips moving as he sought for words that weren't there. He genuinely didn't know what to say. Stankevitch slapped the paper shut and barked some commands. We got on with unloading two trucks that had pulled in that morning.

A couple of days later Stankevitch was doing some further research on the mysterious lights over Somerset. By reading The Sun again, he found that scientists had decided that they were caused by space debris. He announced this with great sarcasm and harshness of tone, his wheeze almost becoming a smoky bray as laughed.

"Ha ha fucking ha!" he said, "they call it space debris. That's just bloody shorthand for they don't what to call it. They don't know anything these scientists. I could have looked at the sky and said that. All that and they can't even identify it as a proper UFO. What do we pay them for?"

Then he slapped Raj matily on the back, as though he had just won an important but friendly debate. There was no answer any of us wanted to give him anyway. We all had work to do.

Read about Ray Doyle in 'Stumbles and Half Slips' from Epic Rites Press. Also available from Amazon.com.