Richard Mason reflects on Fiorentina's explusion from the UEFA Cup and what it means for media objectivity
The exclusion of Fiorentina from the UEFA Cup has naturally provoked a lot of comment in Italy, but one aspect of the affair has been entirely ignored: its implications for media companies such as Sky and Carlton seeking to buy into football clubs.
Simon Evans explains why eastern European clubs are staying loyal to UEFA despite being frozen out of the Champions League
Grey-haired sixty-somethings in conservative suits, with small badges on their left lapels, firmly shook hands, slapped backs, kissed one another on the cheeks and greeted each other in Russian. It might have been a scene from any party congress in the past five decades, but this was 1998 and the first-ever meeting of eastern European football associations.
Everyone likes a good moan about their local council. Especially Jim Gwinnell and Rob Rushton, who suspect theirs of neglecting one half of their respective cities
BRISTOL
There has long been a feeling among Bristol Rovers fans that Bristol city council might just as well be named Bristol City council. Their suspicions of a pro-City bias on the Labour-run council have been heightened by the most recent moves in the seemingly endless saga over the future homes of the city’s two League clubs. Bristol City want a new 40,000-seater stadium to replace Ashton Gate, while Rovers are desperate for an adequate home of their own.
Recent spats at the New Den have put the club's fans back under the microscope, but Lance Bellers explains why things are different this time around
Hooliganism would appear to be back at Millwall. Recently we have had Man City players supposedly “too frightened to go for a winner”, City fans kept in for an hour after the final whistle for their own safety and Fulham players confronted on the pitch by home fans. Same old story in south-east London? Well, yes and no.
Borussia Dortmund are a modern and corporate club but that hasn't stopped them constructing a huge new standing terrace. Uli Hesse-Lichtenberger reports
It started to rain a few minutes into the game. No drizzle, mind you. Real, heavy rain. Thick, grey clouds. Chilly gusts. The works. We had been promised the roof would be ready in time for this, the first home game of the season but, meticulous planning being what it is, there were gaping holes above our heads. I always wear my lucky baseball cap and my old leather jacket on match days, so the weather didn’t bother me, but those around me who were either less superstitious or too trustful when it comes to workmen’s promises got soaking wet within seconds. What was more, the roofers had left piles of tiles lying around. They dammed up the water until it periodically came crashing down on our heads like a torrent from a giant bucket.