3 (three) and Max Power

Having played an hour or more of 5-a-side in the howling wind and still sweltering sun, and then returned home to move furniture around for another hour and a half, I was only able to make it to just after half time in last night’s football matches before sleep overtook me (on a solid white line, too). The Newcastle game was enjoyable though, and so it was fortunate that it was the one I chose to watch. Meanwhile, over on the other side of the Pennines, my beloved Blades were taking a beating at Wigan Athletic. Unpretty.

But waking at some point in the early hours and checking the final score, I was delighted to see that we’d somehow salvaged a 3-3 draw, with a last 20 minute comeback of some note:

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Great stuff, but then I can’t help but think that we’d have found ourselves in a somewhat better position if we were to have scored those 3 goals without allowing the opposition to score three of their own first. Yep, call it naive, but if I were a coach, I’d be concentrating on scoring more goals than the other team, working through two basic steps, namely:

  1. Stop them scoring three goals, and
  2. Score three goals.

It just might work.

But then, maybe we were not given the luxury of choice yesterday evening. Because beagle-eyed readers will have noted that Wigan were playing at with Max Power, who was booked in the 87th minute.

Max. Power.

I did some in depth research into Max Power, by typing his name into Google and opening the Wikipedia page entitled “Max Power (footballer)”. And under the “Personal Life” I found out some further details about his schooling and his mildly unusual nomenclature.

Power attended Wirral Grammar School for Boys

Yep. Born on the Wirral, attended the local boys’ school. Reasonable.

…and is named after his parents’ pet labrador

Yep. Named after his parents’ dog.

Wait. What?

I imagine Mr & Mrs Power sitting down together one evening and pondering the possible names that they could give their soon-to-be-born son. It’s a tough one, an important decision. They’ve already rejected several (or more) possibilities, either by mutual consent or by individual veto, that being the standard protocol for these kind of things. They’re rapidly approaching the twenty-sixth and final chapter of the Modern Book of Penguin Names – I’m sorry – The Penguin Book of Modern Names: it’s been no help, and Zebedee just seems a bit too religious.
Exhausted, the heavily-pregnant Mrs Power closes her eyes and begins to drift off to sleep. Sighing, Mr Power searches the room for inspiration. Their other kids, Full, Will, Super and Knowledge-Is are quietly watching TV. The dog is lying lazily in front of the fire. Wait. The dog! Let’s name him after the dog!

Because then we can call them both in from the garden with just one shout. It’s genius!

Quickly, he wakes his wife:

“Corridorsof! I’ve thought of a name!”
She awakens: “What are you going on about, Hydroelectric?”
“A name! For the boy! Max!”
The dog looks up.
“But that’s we called the dog.”
“Yeah, but he won’t last forever.”
“Good point. That’ll do then,” she mumbles and dozes off again.

…and that’s how it happened.

Further information on Max Power:

He once feared that he was named after Homer Simpson’s alter ego in The Simpsons episode “Homer to the Max“, before discovering that the episode aired when he was six years old. He has also posed for a motoring magazine which shares his name. Power has a son, Max.

Imaginative. Although I should point out that all this information came from the Daily Fail. So, you know, it could all be nonsense.

Apart from the story about the evening he got his name. That’s 100% true.

UPDATE: Even better, it turns out that Max’s mother is actually called Maxine (and not Corridorsof). But he clearly states in the article that he was named after the dog, and not her.

‘Thankfully, the labrador won,’ says Power. ‘My mum’s name is Maxine, so I’m glad I didn’t get that.’

But if you work it out, that means that they named the dog after his Mum, and him after the dog. Bonkers!

Frank and Tony’s BUNVENT calendar

Sheffield artist Pete McKee is counting down to Christmas by having two of his favourite characters, Frank and Tony, passing comment on different patisserie products each day. Some of the cartoons are a little niche and will mean more to folk from Sheffield and t’surrounds, but others will appeal to all.

Here are a few examples:

03    04   05    07
Full marks for the accurate points on Parkin, but he’s clearly completely wrong on delicious Battenberg. Follow the series and see more of Frank and Tony’s contentious cake-based opinion on Pete’s twitter.

We’re lucky enough to have one of his prints (complete with Frank) from his The Joy Of Sheff on the wall in Agulhas. Surely the most Southerly McKee in Africa?
It’s this one, called A Perfect Day:

Aperfectday

“Take a picnic with the one you love. Climb to the top of one of the seven hills and look over the city in all its sun-drenched glory.”

Pickled onions, a pork pie, a bottle of Wards Bitter, Pulp on the record player, the woman you love – oh, and a view of that city.
Perfect indeed.

Bethel Sunday School 1852

Quick quota photo I took from a car park in Sheffield. Because: busy!

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Well, what else are you going to do at eight minutes to seven on a Sunday evening? Prep for Carte Blanche?

As I published this, I made another mental note to look up a bit of the history of this place on Cambridge Street. I also made a mental note that my mental notes seem not to be working at reminding me to do things. But I suppose that’s easily forgotten.

UPDATE: “The Chapel used to be next door to the right [now a homewares shop, previously the John Lewis toy department]. An interesting piece of trivia is that when the chapel was built in 1820, it was ruled that trousers were forbidden to be worn in the pulpit!”
Breeches were universally worn and trousers considered vulgar, so the following trust deed was drawn up: “Under no circumstances whatever shall any preacher be allowed to occupy the pulpit who wears trousers.” [link]

Christians, eh?

Science School

The usual post-flight sluggishness has set in and it feels like it’s been an age since I was last in the lab. In a way, I’m looking forward to things getting back to normal.
I’m not getting any younger, but I’m pretty sure that I can remember at least the basics.

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So no need for any re-education for me. I took this photo while I was passing my Dad’s old school in the centre of Sheffield last week. Nowadays, that sort of signage would be pre-printed on plastic and glued to the wall. It would broken or vandalised within a few months, tops.
Back when this was made, there was respect for and pride in the education (and every other) system. It was worth showing off about by carving it in stone.
And it still shows to this day.