During the mid-2000s, when internet football forums were at the absolute height of their popularity, a campaign began on the reputable LFC website RAWK for song-sheets to be handed out at matches, to preserve some of the old favourites that were being gradually phased out by the Soccer Am-inspired atmosphere of modern football grounds.
The vast majority of fans in English stadiums are reading off the same script. After kick-off, the first mistake by a player has to be greeted with a "wheeeeeyyy, who are ya, who are ya?" Once the crowd has got bored after the initial footballing exchanges have died down, usually around 90 seconds in, that old classic "your support is fucking shit" will get a loud airing, and if we're really lucky, a bit of "sign on, sign on." And of course, if a goal is scored, so long as its not one of those grounds that chooses to play Groove Armada at every opportunity, you'll even get clap-accompanied chants of "easeh, easeh." All for just £50.
Although the song-sheet idea shows a few people on the internet have their heart in the right place, the suggested solution and its breeding ground are themselves part of the problem. The only thing worse than no atmosphere at the match, is a fake atmosphere at the match, perfectly encapsulated at Stamford Bridge yesterday as Chelsea fans finally cracked the code to one of life's most evasive philosophical posers, answering the question that the travelling Shed End has asked itself many times; "where's your famous atmosphere?"
Painfully, match-goers were converted from supporters to customers a long time ago, and there are very few opportunities for fans to reclaim their patch and pride. Sloppy, often hypocritical social network grumbles are plentiful - many of us baulk at ticket prices while Premier League stadiums continue to fill every week - but chances for fans to make their presence and views seen and heard, in order to have an impact on the running of their club, come very rarely.
Chelsea fans are understandably angry and embarrassed at recent events. Roberto Di Matteo, a crowd favourite as a player in the 90s, was sacked within six months of achieving legend status after overseeing the greatest night in the club's history and the ultimate objective of his chairman's reign. This is when football supporters, as the largest and most diverse collectives that regularly come together for a common cause, can come into their own. However, within 48 hours, it became apparent that we were about to witness the defining moment in this era of the manufactured football atmosphere.
Sunday was the opportunity for Chelsea fans to show that no matter what happened over 90 minutes against Manchester City, whether a title is won this season or not, they will not stand for one of their 107-year-old club's heroes being disposed of so disdainfully by a fleeting wealthy tourist, whether that man's questionably-sourced funds have bankrolled a few trophies or not. We often remind Chelsea fans about 'history,' and they hate it, yet they witnessed their own in Munich and they should be fighting like bloody hell to protect it. But rather than make a real point to Abramovich, they elected for the internet-warrior-generated 'protest' which turned out every bit as plastic as those infamous flags
They decided to vent all their displeasure at Benitez on the basis the Spaniard was manager of Liverpool during a period when the two clubs were frequently drawn against each other in domestic and international cup competitions. That, and the fact he and Mourinho wound each other up a few times in the build-up to high-stakes intense semi-final clashes. Nothing more. Its not quite El Clasico, the origins of which can be traced back to the execution of former FC Barcelona President Josep Sunyol at the hands of General Franco's troops, sowing the seeds of discontent between the Catalans and Real Madrid. Chelsea v Liverpool became a 'rivalry' in the short-term, tabloid sense, swept along by Sky Sports' montages, but there is no historical basis for it, which should trump the mere emotions stirred by a series of coincidental cup draws.
As a result, thousands of Chelsea fans were doing such innovative and penetrative things as booing, singing offensive songs about a fat waiter, and even the odd witless banner was hoisted in another hurried attempt to mimic our own formerly famous atmosphere. 'Rafa Out Fact' doesn't quite have the same ring to it as our 'Joey ate the frogs legs...' effort of 1977.
The dull and predictable, droning sounds of baseless boos sandwiched a minute's applause for Dave Sexton, the former Chelsea manager who sadly passed away last week. Unfortunately, too many were more interested in their faux anti-Benitez campaign and as such, the Stamford Bridge announcer had to beg for quiet and respect so that the club's tribute, which descended into a farcical inconvenience, could be breezed through.
To top it off, the barracking of Benitez means that the 16th minute tribute to Di Matteo (who wore 16 in his playing days) sadly went unnoticed by those not at the match, and will barely be remembered, even by many attending Chelsea fans, in the way that such a fine gesture should be. The memories won't be about Di Matteo, or Abramovich - it will be 'the match where we booed are own manager. Fact.'
It was one of those to slot into the 'when football dies' category. Naturally, we have to feel sorry for many of those Chelsea fans, particularly those who pre-date the Abramovich era, who are constantly conflicted as the man who is largely responsible for them fulfilling their dreams is the same that represents a lot of what is wrong with the game. Unfortunately for them, they are increasingly becoming the minority, and they weren't given their rightful platform for public voice on Sunday, while the majority read from their 'scouse bastard' script.
When Chelsea visit Anfield later in the season, and their own manager is given a standing ovation by the Kop, it'll be interesting to see if the travelling support will leave their song-sheet outside.
Monday 26 November 2012
Friday 16 November 2012
English Football Snobs & Their Zlatan Apologies
In the 48 hours since Zlatan Ibrahimovic's remarkable performance against England, no one has summed up the mood of the English press more so than the Daily Mail's Dominic King, who published "An Apology for Zlatan." King, in what he probably considered as honourable honesty in a world of willy-waving, admitted that over the years and as recently as Euro 2012, he simply "didn't get" the Swedish striker, but after his four goals on Wednesday, he finally saw the light.
He's not the only one. Its easy to picture the press box at the Olympic Stadium in Kiev, with the clique of British tabloid reporters sat together, all 'not getting' Zlatan, having never seen him do anything of note in what they consider a big game. Then when Andy Carroll climbs to head England into the lead, an exchange of knowing looks and back-slaps - "he's unplayable, him."
It's worth pointing out firstly that Zlatan Ibrahimovic, having won nine domestic league titles in the last ten years with the likes of Ajax, Internazionale, Juventus, Milan and Barcelona, and who recently gave himself a ten out of ten for his international career, probably doesn't give much of a hoot what Dominic King or Andy Townsend think. Or Jamie Redknapp for that matter, who decided that Zlatan finally "announced himself to the world" this week.
But more importantly, what was it about this friendly between Sweden and the second-string of an entirely average England squad, arranged as a curtain-raiser for the new stadium in Stockholm, which makes it the match by which any player can be realised as a true great of the sport? How is this irrelevant practice match which contained as many substitutions per-team as the excellent goals we saw, being talked about on the same plane as the 1958 World Cup Final, when a 17-year old Pele first became a superstar?
Interspersed with exasperations at how teenagers like Raheem Sterling and Wilfred Zaha could even contemplate playing for their country of birth over the mighty England, ITV's Tyldesley and Townsend gave us continual reminders of Zlatan's mediocre scoring record against English teams. It was held up as a justification for their 'enigma' tag, as if scoring goals against English teams live on ITV is the standard to which all footballers around the world should aspire to.
As the son of a Bosnian father and Croatian mother, born and raised in Sweden, I don't quite envisage a young Zlatan Ibrahimovic dribbling a ball through the Rosengard streets with Brian Moore's voice in his head, thinking "one day, when I score, Ron Atkinson might refer to me as Zlatty."
Come the final whistle, the awkward backtracking had begun, yet the resigned speech from Townsend and King's gushing in the Mail the next day were not apologies, regardless of the article headlines, in the sense that they were admitting they'd got it wrong all along. They were knowing nods from football's head office towards this foreign enigma, as if to say "well done son, you've finally done what I've always thought you capable of."
Meanwhile, Zlatan's not arsed. After his second goal, a smartly taken volley, he was more concerned that he'd injured Gary Cahill with his follow-through than with his equaliser. The shirt came off after the fourth goal, and why not, given he'd just scored one of the most extraordinary goals seen on any football pitch? It became a memorable match because of his performance, but this was never meant to be a particularly special game for the striker, despite Townsend's insistence that because of his record on live British television in the past, it turned out to be the night of his reckoning. Zlatan had nothing to prove to anyone, just as when he was asked about being offered a trial by Arsene Wenger some years ago, he responded with "Zlatan doesn't do auditions."
Of course, scoring four goals in a game is rare, but Wednesday was essentially a magnificent footballer having a great time surrounded by average ones, with only Steven Gerrard in his pomp worthy of the same category. Zlatan's fried bigger fish in the past, and contrary to popular belief, in far bigger one-off games too, such as Spain's El Clasico, the Milan derby, and league title deciders. As recently as November 6th, he delivered a Champions League masterclass with something equally as rare as four goals, when he provided four sumptuous assists for Paris St. Germain.
Along with a title collection that trumps many of the sport's undeniable all-time legends, he's closing in on 250 club goals and 100 assists, as well as 40 international goals for an average team, all struck at that 1:2 ratio that strikers are often judged on. He's also no stranger to Youtube moments, with his back-healed-volley in the last minute against Italy at Euro 2004 not far behind Wednesday's acrobatics, not to mention a stunning solo goal for Ajax and an absurd kung-fu pass to Dejan Stankovic when at Inter. He also scored a splendid back-healed winning goal against England in 2004, and two beauties at the Emirates in a Champions League knockout tie two years ago - the awkward anomalies that not many wanted you to hear about before Wednesday's match.
It should be a journalistic criminal offence to spout what the likes of King and Townsend have this week, but in the spirit of free speech and thought, everyone is entitled to an opinion on the qualities of a particular player, no matter how shit and wrong it is.
However, it is quite another issue when those delivering analysis and insight of the world's most popular game to the masses, place them on such a skewed version of the football landscape by constantly positioning England at the top-centre. We claim to have the best league in the world, the best fans and the longest, proudest history. We claim to have invented football and as such we have the final say on its every global movement; what's right and wrong with the game, who the great players are, who is hosting the next World Cup, dual-nationality, goal-line technology and financial fair play - its all based on this idea that English football is the pinnacle, for us and for everyone else looking in. Stan Collymore may not be as naturally-gifted and well-educated a journalist or commentator as those who came through the media ranks, but he absolute nails it when he talks about British football's snobbery.
And so as King and company continue to wriggle and squirm out of the hole they've dug themselves by writing off such a brilliant, unique and entertaining footballer over the years, we can come back to yet another quote from the man himself, when once asked what he'd buy his partner for her birthday:
"Nothing, she already has the Zlatan."
Yes. We do.
He's not the only one. Its easy to picture the press box at the Olympic Stadium in Kiev, with the clique of British tabloid reporters sat together, all 'not getting' Zlatan, having never seen him do anything of note in what they consider a big game. Then when Andy Carroll climbs to head England into the lead, an exchange of knowing looks and back-slaps - "he's unplayable, him."
It's worth pointing out firstly that Zlatan Ibrahimovic, having won nine domestic league titles in the last ten years with the likes of Ajax, Internazionale, Juventus, Milan and Barcelona, and who recently gave himself a ten out of ten for his international career, probably doesn't give much of a hoot what Dominic King or Andy Townsend think. Or Jamie Redknapp for that matter, who decided that Zlatan finally "announced himself to the world" this week.
But more importantly, what was it about this friendly between Sweden and the second-string of an entirely average England squad, arranged as a curtain-raiser for the new stadium in Stockholm, which makes it the match by which any player can be realised as a true great of the sport? How is this irrelevant practice match which contained as many substitutions per-team as the excellent goals we saw, being talked about on the same plane as the 1958 World Cup Final, when a 17-year old Pele first became a superstar?
Interspersed with exasperations at how teenagers like Raheem Sterling and Wilfred Zaha could even contemplate playing for their country of birth over the mighty England, ITV's Tyldesley and Townsend gave us continual reminders of Zlatan's mediocre scoring record against English teams. It was held up as a justification for their 'enigma' tag, as if scoring goals against English teams live on ITV is the standard to which all footballers around the world should aspire to.
As the son of a Bosnian father and Croatian mother, born and raised in Sweden, I don't quite envisage a young Zlatan Ibrahimovic dribbling a ball through the Rosengard streets with Brian Moore's voice in his head, thinking "one day, when I score, Ron Atkinson might refer to me as Zlatty."
Come the final whistle, the awkward backtracking had begun, yet the resigned speech from Townsend and King's gushing in the Mail the next day were not apologies, regardless of the article headlines, in the sense that they were admitting they'd got it wrong all along. They were knowing nods from football's head office towards this foreign enigma, as if to say "well done son, you've finally done what I've always thought you capable of."
Meanwhile, Zlatan's not arsed. After his second goal, a smartly taken volley, he was more concerned that he'd injured Gary Cahill with his follow-through than with his equaliser. The shirt came off after the fourth goal, and why not, given he'd just scored one of the most extraordinary goals seen on any football pitch? It became a memorable match because of his performance, but this was never meant to be a particularly special game for the striker, despite Townsend's insistence that because of his record on live British television in the past, it turned out to be the night of his reckoning. Zlatan had nothing to prove to anyone, just as when he was asked about being offered a trial by Arsene Wenger some years ago, he responded with "Zlatan doesn't do auditions."
Of course, scoring four goals in a game is rare, but Wednesday was essentially a magnificent footballer having a great time surrounded by average ones, with only Steven Gerrard in his pomp worthy of the same category. Zlatan's fried bigger fish in the past, and contrary to popular belief, in far bigger one-off games too, such as Spain's El Clasico, the Milan derby, and league title deciders. As recently as November 6th, he delivered a Champions League masterclass with something equally as rare as four goals, when he provided four sumptuous assists for Paris St. Germain.
Along with a title collection that trumps many of the sport's undeniable all-time legends, he's closing in on 250 club goals and 100 assists, as well as 40 international goals for an average team, all struck at that 1:2 ratio that strikers are often judged on. He's also no stranger to Youtube moments, with his back-healed-volley in the last minute against Italy at Euro 2004 not far behind Wednesday's acrobatics, not to mention a stunning solo goal for Ajax and an absurd kung-fu pass to Dejan Stankovic when at Inter. He also scored a splendid back-healed winning goal against England in 2004, and two beauties at the Emirates in a Champions League knockout tie two years ago - the awkward anomalies that not many wanted you to hear about before Wednesday's match.
It should be a journalistic criminal offence to spout what the likes of King and Townsend have this week, but in the spirit of free speech and thought, everyone is entitled to an opinion on the qualities of a particular player, no matter how shit and wrong it is.
However, it is quite another issue when those delivering analysis and insight of the world's most popular game to the masses, place them on such a skewed version of the football landscape by constantly positioning England at the top-centre. We claim to have the best league in the world, the best fans and the longest, proudest history. We claim to have invented football and as such we have the final say on its every global movement; what's right and wrong with the game, who the great players are, who is hosting the next World Cup, dual-nationality, goal-line technology and financial fair play - its all based on this idea that English football is the pinnacle, for us and for everyone else looking in. Stan Collymore may not be as naturally-gifted and well-educated a journalist or commentator as those who came through the media ranks, but he absolute nails it when he talks about British football's snobbery.
And so as King and company continue to wriggle and squirm out of the hole they've dug themselves by writing off such a brilliant, unique and entertaining footballer over the years, we can come back to yet another quote from the man himself, when once asked what he'd buy his partner for her birthday:
"Nothing, she already has the Zlatan."
Yes. We do.
Tuesday 6 November 2012
Gerrard & Carragher : Fans Relishing A Club Of Strangers Must Walk Alone
Sometimes it feels like football has just died; When plastic flags are handed out to fans before a European Cup semi-final. When music blares out of the stadium speakers after a goal. Any chant which begins with "he scores when he wants" or "we know what you are." Nani.
There are occasions when being a Liverpool fan feels like never-ending death, and this has nothing to do with trivial, incidental things like mid-table mediocrity, being played off the pitch by Swansea or a senior member of staff threatening to post shit through the letterbox of a fictional internet character. This is about something more than an element, more important than the next game or what January's transfer budget will be.
The cliche that there is no player bigger than the club may be true, but stick Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher side-by-side outside the Shankly Gates and the Anfield backdrop that was once a fortress that put the fear into even Jose Mourinho, begins to resemble the toilet Bill himself referred to upon his arrival in 1959.
They are not going to be around forever, and so many of you are missing out on them, perhaps too distracted by a Suarez nutmeg or a Sterling step-over, too busy comparing the net spends of our rivals or scouring Twitter to find out who has passed through John Lennon airport that day. Whatever the reason for the indifference, or even waves of criticism coming the way of the two most important players of this club from the past 15 years, some of it verging on abuse in Carra's case, it fills me with the disappointment of a thousand deadline days.
To a fan, successes and failures, elations and frustrations tend to go in cycles of varying lengths, whether its good or bad players, managers, executives or results. Some of us can handle the reality that five years of feasting in the Champions League were always likely to be followed by five of bedtime on an empty stomach after an unsatisfying Thursday 6pm kick off. Others, often those for whom Istanbul was the catalyst rather than the climax of their Lfc experience, tend to recycle their views on a match-by-match basis. They demand heads on sticks one week after an undeserved loss at home to United, then crow about a routine win at Norwich the next.
Whatever works for you. As Nick Hornby, author of 'Fever Pitch' said, "If you lose the final in May, there's the third round to look forward to in January. What's childish about that? Its actually pretty comforting when you think about it."
But when Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher leave Liverpool and retire from football altogether, whether we are closer to Champions League or Championship, it could leave this club permanently unrecognisable to a lot of us. There is nothing comfortable about that. When they are gone, who will take over the role as the worldwide faces of this club? Who are the fans' real representatives on the pitch? Who are the kids' heroes? Luis Suarez may have wooed you for now, but the law of averages suggests he'll be gone before too long, given that he's bloody brilliant, and we're not. Even Raheem Sterling, a magnificent 17-year old prospect just making the breakthrough, has turned down a £15,000-per-week contract as he (or whoever advises him) is aware that he will be interesting a host of clubs who can afford, financially and morally, to throw obscene money at a kid.
To make things worse, there is a desperate lack of patience, passion and pride amongst the fan-base these days for players who come through the academy. I'm not talking about the likes of Sterling, who the club, given his age, have already spent big money on to ensure he stayed out of the clutches of other big European teams. Fans grew tired of Jay Spearing quickly, even though Darren Fletcher spent several seasons being slaughtered as a functional midfielder at Old Trafford before proving his worth. They are bored of Martin Kelly and even teenager Jon Flanagan too, despite the promise both have shown at a young age. The attitude seems to be unless they arrive in the first team with a YouTube reputation, deemed 'good enough' to play in a title-winning team in the future, then they aren't encouraged, and replacements are demanded. Staggering and sad, not to mention naive when you consider the medal hauls of Phil Neville and Nicky Butt.
If Jamie Carragher had made his debut on Sunday against Newcastle, he'd have been torn apart by the majority within weeks. This was a player who, despite scoring a neat header on his league debut against Aston Villa over 15 years ago, barely resembled a footballer for three years, but a pissed giraffe looking for his dinner in the desert. Yet his worth ethic and studious approach to defending endeared him to Gerard Houllier, who eventually turned to Jamie to solve a long-standing left-back problem. Even the Frenchman, the ultimate function-over-finesse coach was convinced that more naturally gifted defenders existed on the circuit and made several moves to phase Carra out of his first eleven (Vignal, Riise, Xavier, Finnan). He then came to realise he simply could not do without him, shifting him through the positions until Benitez arrived and helped him become a genuinely world class centre-half.
It is easy to point out players who failed to live up to their early hype and to speculate over the reasons why, particularly in the modern era of fame and fortune for all. In Carragher's case, through some substantial sacrifices and a borderline unhealthy obsession with clean sheets, he became one of a handful who have comprehensively surpassed expectations. If he retired tomorrow, he could feel confident that he saturated his potential and rang himself bone-dry of every drop of promise. A European Cup winner, and a serial snuffer of world class forwards in the world's biggest club competition; Berbatov, Ibrahimovic, Drogba, Ronadinho, Eto'o, Messi, Raul - they all came in the Champions League, they all failed, leaving us dreaming of a team of Carragher's.
He may not be the player he was, but given his attitude, experience and achievements, how many better and more reliable 4th choice centre-backs are there in the Premier League? In a painfully thin squad, he remains an essential option across the back four, albeit not in the same way he was in 2005 when he was the continent's outstanding defender. He is also there to set an example to the younger players, to remind them of why representing Liverpool is different to being at any other club, something too often scoffed at by those who think that because they know Joe Allen's pass completion rate, that they know what this club is about.
As for Steven Gerrard, we are not just talking about a two-time footballer of the year who joined the club he supported as an eleven year old boy and is now approaching ten years as its captain. We are talking about arguably the greatest player that the greatest English club has ever seen. True, he hasn't been fortunate enough to play alongside the long list of famous Liverpool names of the seventies and eighties, which dominated the sport, and therefore he remains without the league titles he deserves. However, that he even remains at this club twelve years after he made his England debut, since when he could've had his pick of others (and admittedly nearly did) is a miracle in itself. 600 games, almost 150 goals from midfield and a share of Carra's medal collection, with both players representing the club on and off the pitch in impeccable manner, making us proud regardless of the missing league title.
He continues to perform with remarkable consistency and intelligence, if not with the same spectacular interventions as before, gradually altering his game each week as he comes to terms with his ageing body. In both the recent Merseyside Derby and at home to Newcastle, 100 mile-an-hour matches, he was able to play his own game, rarely looking rushed by the mayhem around him. The bursts forward into the box were few and far between but almost every one produced an opportunity for himself or a teammate, while for all Rodgers' pass-pass-pass philosophy, Steven's set-pieces remain our most likely goal source at the moment. He's also twice shown street smarts to ensure Sterling hasn't been sent off, protecting Liverpool's future while striving to improve the present, as he wears the burdens of the past more than any other player.
In trying to back-up an argument for benching Gerrard and retiring Carragher, plenty point out their respective salaries, and suggest that given our weak squad, a gaping hole in the wage bill could be filled by some of football's brightest young international talents, rather than blowing six-figure sums per week on footballers who are apparently not good enough anymore. The Football Manager approach. "Look at his stats!" they cry. Christ.
Not that its worth dignifying with a justification, but both rightly earn more than the majority because they have been at the club the longest and have contributed more to it, in football and beyond, than anyone else in our current squad has or in all likelihood ever will. There are several players at this club on substantial wages who have contributed very little positive, and we all know who they are, and they don't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as either Gerrard or Carragher. There are some very, very decent players too, one or two world class, and they're still miles away. Try sticking around for a decade first, to help the team improve rather than just yourselves, and then we'll start the debate.
It would also be incredibly obvious and easy to refer to Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs at this point, but I'm going to do it anyway, because it really is that bloody obvious. If you can't see the value of them in United's squad over the past 8-10 years, which is around the time that has passed since either player was at his peak, then stop reading. Rio Ferdinand too, like Carragher, is all but finished as an international force, and once Jones, Smalling and Vidic return, he'll drop down the pecking order. Most teams don't have a 5th choice specialist centre-back, let alone a multi-title winning one. Yes, I'm even referring to the qualities of that insufferable shithouse to back-up my point.
I'm making largely football defences here, but I shouldn't have to. We shouldn't feel comfortable about a club of strangers, which is what we'll become when these two unique servants leave us. Gerrard and Carragher have already done enough to demand the respect of any owner or manager that walks into this club, and any fan that watches on, whatever their standard of display that day. Yes, their inevitable 'decline' will have to be managed, and that will be a test for Rodgers, but blindly bombing them out the team or the club would be a catastrophic mistake, which is why its never entered the man's mind. Thankfully.
This club has had enough problems to deal with, whether it be the highest of high profile disciplinary cases, grossly unprofessional behaviour from some in suits and underwhelming results to boot. Carragher and Gerrard, as our most trusted representatives, whether it be at Anfield, Melwood, at a press conference or at a charity event, should remain our shining lights and not the scapegoats for the failings of those around them.
There are occasions when being a Liverpool fan feels like never-ending death, and this has nothing to do with trivial, incidental things like mid-table mediocrity, being played off the pitch by Swansea or a senior member of staff threatening to post shit through the letterbox of a fictional internet character. This is about something more than an element, more important than the next game or what January's transfer budget will be.
The cliche that there is no player bigger than the club may be true, but stick Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher side-by-side outside the Shankly Gates and the Anfield backdrop that was once a fortress that put the fear into even Jose Mourinho, begins to resemble the toilet Bill himself referred to upon his arrival in 1959.
They are not going to be around forever, and so many of you are missing out on them, perhaps too distracted by a Suarez nutmeg or a Sterling step-over, too busy comparing the net spends of our rivals or scouring Twitter to find out who has passed through John Lennon airport that day. Whatever the reason for the indifference, or even waves of criticism coming the way of the two most important players of this club from the past 15 years, some of it verging on abuse in Carra's case, it fills me with the disappointment of a thousand deadline days.
To a fan, successes and failures, elations and frustrations tend to go in cycles of varying lengths, whether its good or bad players, managers, executives or results. Some of us can handle the reality that five years of feasting in the Champions League were always likely to be followed by five of bedtime on an empty stomach after an unsatisfying Thursday 6pm kick off. Others, often those for whom Istanbul was the catalyst rather than the climax of their Lfc experience, tend to recycle their views on a match-by-match basis. They demand heads on sticks one week after an undeserved loss at home to United, then crow about a routine win at Norwich the next.
Whatever works for you. As Nick Hornby, author of 'Fever Pitch' said, "If you lose the final in May, there's the third round to look forward to in January. What's childish about that? Its actually pretty comforting when you think about it."
But when Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher leave Liverpool and retire from football altogether, whether we are closer to Champions League or Championship, it could leave this club permanently unrecognisable to a lot of us. There is nothing comfortable about that. When they are gone, who will take over the role as the worldwide faces of this club? Who are the fans' real representatives on the pitch? Who are the kids' heroes? Luis Suarez may have wooed you for now, but the law of averages suggests he'll be gone before too long, given that he's bloody brilliant, and we're not. Even Raheem Sterling, a magnificent 17-year old prospect just making the breakthrough, has turned down a £15,000-per-week contract as he (or whoever advises him) is aware that he will be interesting a host of clubs who can afford, financially and morally, to throw obscene money at a kid.
To make things worse, there is a desperate lack of patience, passion and pride amongst the fan-base these days for players who come through the academy. I'm not talking about the likes of Sterling, who the club, given his age, have already spent big money on to ensure he stayed out of the clutches of other big European teams. Fans grew tired of Jay Spearing quickly, even though Darren Fletcher spent several seasons being slaughtered as a functional midfielder at Old Trafford before proving his worth. They are bored of Martin Kelly and even teenager Jon Flanagan too, despite the promise both have shown at a young age. The attitude seems to be unless they arrive in the first team with a YouTube reputation, deemed 'good enough' to play in a title-winning team in the future, then they aren't encouraged, and replacements are demanded. Staggering and sad, not to mention naive when you consider the medal hauls of Phil Neville and Nicky Butt.
If Jamie Carragher had made his debut on Sunday against Newcastle, he'd have been torn apart by the majority within weeks. This was a player who, despite scoring a neat header on his league debut against Aston Villa over 15 years ago, barely resembled a footballer for three years, but a pissed giraffe looking for his dinner in the desert. Yet his worth ethic and studious approach to defending endeared him to Gerard Houllier, who eventually turned to Jamie to solve a long-standing left-back problem. Even the Frenchman, the ultimate function-over-finesse coach was convinced that more naturally gifted defenders existed on the circuit and made several moves to phase Carra out of his first eleven (Vignal, Riise, Xavier, Finnan). He then came to realise he simply could not do without him, shifting him through the positions until Benitez arrived and helped him become a genuinely world class centre-half.
It is easy to point out players who failed to live up to their early hype and to speculate over the reasons why, particularly in the modern era of fame and fortune for all. In Carragher's case, through some substantial sacrifices and a borderline unhealthy obsession with clean sheets, he became one of a handful who have comprehensively surpassed expectations. If he retired tomorrow, he could feel confident that he saturated his potential and rang himself bone-dry of every drop of promise. A European Cup winner, and a serial snuffer of world class forwards in the world's biggest club competition; Berbatov, Ibrahimovic, Drogba, Ronadinho, Eto'o, Messi, Raul - they all came in the Champions League, they all failed, leaving us dreaming of a team of Carragher's.
He may not be the player he was, but given his attitude, experience and achievements, how many better and more reliable 4th choice centre-backs are there in the Premier League? In a painfully thin squad, he remains an essential option across the back four, albeit not in the same way he was in 2005 when he was the continent's outstanding defender. He is also there to set an example to the younger players, to remind them of why representing Liverpool is different to being at any other club, something too often scoffed at by those who think that because they know Joe Allen's pass completion rate, that they know what this club is about.
As for Steven Gerrard, we are not just talking about a two-time footballer of the year who joined the club he supported as an eleven year old boy and is now approaching ten years as its captain. We are talking about arguably the greatest player that the greatest English club has ever seen. True, he hasn't been fortunate enough to play alongside the long list of famous Liverpool names of the seventies and eighties, which dominated the sport, and therefore he remains without the league titles he deserves. However, that he even remains at this club twelve years after he made his England debut, since when he could've had his pick of others (and admittedly nearly did) is a miracle in itself. 600 games, almost 150 goals from midfield and a share of Carra's medal collection, with both players representing the club on and off the pitch in impeccable manner, making us proud regardless of the missing league title.
He continues to perform with remarkable consistency and intelligence, if not with the same spectacular interventions as before, gradually altering his game each week as he comes to terms with his ageing body. In both the recent Merseyside Derby and at home to Newcastle, 100 mile-an-hour matches, he was able to play his own game, rarely looking rushed by the mayhem around him. The bursts forward into the box were few and far between but almost every one produced an opportunity for himself or a teammate, while for all Rodgers' pass-pass-pass philosophy, Steven's set-pieces remain our most likely goal source at the moment. He's also twice shown street smarts to ensure Sterling hasn't been sent off, protecting Liverpool's future while striving to improve the present, as he wears the burdens of the past more than any other player.
In trying to back-up an argument for benching Gerrard and retiring Carragher, plenty point out their respective salaries, and suggest that given our weak squad, a gaping hole in the wage bill could be filled by some of football's brightest young international talents, rather than blowing six-figure sums per week on footballers who are apparently not good enough anymore. The Football Manager approach. "Look at his stats!" they cry. Christ.
Not that its worth dignifying with a justification, but both rightly earn more than the majority because they have been at the club the longest and have contributed more to it, in football and beyond, than anyone else in our current squad has or in all likelihood ever will. There are several players at this club on substantial wages who have contributed very little positive, and we all know who they are, and they don't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as either Gerrard or Carragher. There are some very, very decent players too, one or two world class, and they're still miles away. Try sticking around for a decade first, to help the team improve rather than just yourselves, and then we'll start the debate.
It would also be incredibly obvious and easy to refer to Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs at this point, but I'm going to do it anyway, because it really is that bloody obvious. If you can't see the value of them in United's squad over the past 8-10 years, which is around the time that has passed since either player was at his peak, then stop reading. Rio Ferdinand too, like Carragher, is all but finished as an international force, and once Jones, Smalling and Vidic return, he'll drop down the pecking order. Most teams don't have a 5th choice specialist centre-back, let alone a multi-title winning one. Yes, I'm even referring to the qualities of that insufferable shithouse to back-up my point.
I'm making largely football defences here, but I shouldn't have to. We shouldn't feel comfortable about a club of strangers, which is what we'll become when these two unique servants leave us. Gerrard and Carragher have already done enough to demand the respect of any owner or manager that walks into this club, and any fan that watches on, whatever their standard of display that day. Yes, their inevitable 'decline' will have to be managed, and that will be a test for Rodgers, but blindly bombing them out the team or the club would be a catastrophic mistake, which is why its never entered the man's mind. Thankfully.
This club has had enough problems to deal with, whether it be the highest of high profile disciplinary cases, grossly unprofessional behaviour from some in suits and underwhelming results to boot. Carragher and Gerrard, as our most trusted representatives, whether it be at Anfield, Melwood, at a press conference or at a charity event, should remain our shining lights and not the scapegoats for the failings of those around them.
Saturday 1 September 2012
Rodgers Must Prove Coaching Credentials To Earn Transfer Kitty
For a large amount of modern day fans, it seems who we buy and sell is more important than the actual results on the pitch, more interesting than the performance and development of players, and stirs more emotions than derby wins or last minute goals. The summer is spent constantly speculating and debating targets and guessing budgets, and the moment the window shuts, eyes are cast towards 1st January. Consequently, 31st August 2012 will go down as just about the worst day of a lot of Liverpool fans' lives. I can only sympathise.
The least enjoyable weeks of the football calendar are now over and at last, the season can begin - for 15 blissful days, until the international break ruins it all.
Of course, yesterday was disappointing, mostly because we have a new manager who we assume was promised certain funds to spend, and ruthlessly disposed of certain players, even resorting to publicly criticising players he's worked with for a matter of weeks, and ended up with no replacements. Rodgers fully committed himself to lowering the wage bill, and creating space in the squad for new recruits, and wasn't able to fill those gaps. The immediate concern is Rodgers' relationship with the owners, and whether it has already been damaged, while wider questions need to be asked about FSG's long term strategy.
However, this absurd competition amongst Internet-warrior fans to be the most infuriated at yesterday's events, calling for the heads of the individuals they can only guess are responsible, even making baseless suggestions that FSG are looking to sell up, is just another tiresome phase that will predictably pass as soon as the team starts winning. I can understand some of the intense paranoia and frustration when thinking back to the Hicks, Gillett and Benitez years, but it is clear that, while I'm not siding with the current owners, it is a completely different situation to that which Rafa faced in 2009.
Here's why this is no time to panic.
Of course, yesterday was disappointing, mostly because we have a new manager who we assume was promised certain funds to spend, and ruthlessly disposed of certain players, even resorting to publicly criticising players he's worked with for a matter of weeks, and ended up with no replacements. Rodgers fully committed himself to lowering the wage bill, and creating space in the squad for new recruits, and wasn't able to fill those gaps. The immediate concern is Rodgers' relationship with the owners, and whether it has already been damaged, while wider questions need to be asked about FSG's long term strategy.
However, this absurd competition amongst Internet-warrior fans to be the most infuriated at yesterday's events, calling for the heads of the individuals they can only guess are responsible, even making baseless suggestions that FSG are looking to sell up, is just another tiresome phase that will predictably pass as soon as the team starts winning. I can understand some of the intense paranoia and frustration when thinking back to the Hicks, Gillett and Benitez years, but it is clear that, while I'm not siding with the current owners, it is a completely different situation to that which Rafa faced in 2009.
Here's why this is no time to panic.
What many are failing to realise is that even if we'd signed Dempsey, Sturridge and Walcott, sixth place was still our likely maximum finish, given the existing gulf between us and the top five and their own current levels of investment. As it is, we're going to have some competition for that spot, possibly from Everton and one or two surprise packages, but if we have a strong season, and no repeat of last season's off-field chaos, the squad we have is more than capable of securing more points, and a higher position than last season, which I suppose is the definition of progress.
It is that sort of progress, albeit modest by a club of our standards, that the owners can rightly expect to demand before they inject serious cash once more. Therefore, the onus is on Brendan Rodgers, who is only 157 matches into a managerial career which has delivered reasonable, but not spectacular results, to prove that he is the coach worthy of a bottomless pit of transfer funds, which will provide us with a reasonable expectation of challenging for a return to Champions League football within the next three seasons. To those who haven't been behind the team long enough to stomach waiting that long, again, I'll offer token sympathy.
It is that sort of progress, albeit modest by a club of our standards, that the owners can rightly expect to demand before they inject serious cash once more. Therefore, the onus is on Brendan Rodgers, who is only 157 matches into a managerial career which has delivered reasonable, but not spectacular results, to prove that he is the coach worthy of a bottomless pit of transfer funds, which will provide us with a reasonable expectation of challenging for a return to Champions League football within the next three seasons. To those who haven't been behind the team long enough to stomach waiting that long, again, I'll offer token sympathy.
Although last year's £100 million summer spend was accounted for by a large chunk of sales, it was still £100 million sanctioned for purchases by FSG that ultimately resulted in a side that grossly under-performed beyond Christmas on the pitch, while off-pitch matters descended to a new low. That squad was more than capable of finishing sixth, and should have done so.
Now what on earth are John Henry and Tom Werner, if they don't learn from experiences and mistakes?
If Rodgers wants to have this glorious, league-title-guaranteeing 'backing' that everyone keeps going on about, perhaps he should at least prove his credentials as a coach first? Just a thought. It's what he is here for, after all. Now this may disappoint the twitter-fans, but I am far, far more interested in what Rodgers can do with what is at his disposal, than any hypothetical signings. I am fascinated to see him continue to impose his philosophy and style on our squad, something we saw encouraging signs of materialising against City.
Furthermore, Rodgers made the considerable step up to manage a Liverpool team in one of its most desperate states of recent times, in a summer that contained both a European Championships and an Olympic Games, making for the trickiest of transfer markets. The squad meanwhile, was littered with players who simply weren't worth their wages, meaning sales would be doubly tougher than purchases, making shrewd squad turnover incredibly difficult. It is no wonder, again, that FSG were reluctant to take risks, given that the maximum likely return on that investment in the first year would be sixth position, and a Europa League place. The clear priority was to reduce that wage bill and relieve the club of dead-weights who were simply sucking away their funds and not contributing on the pitch. Some, like Joe Cole, still refuse to budge, and will continue to hold us back.
Rodgers may be paying for the mistakes of previous regimes, but if he is as progressive and philosophically sound in his approach to the transfer market and squad development as he is to playing style, then I am sure he won't allow yesterday's events to linger in his mind in the way it will for many fans. Who knows, he may even look back one day, with a quiet nod of approval to his bosses, and think that it was a necessary struggle.
Furthermore, Rodgers made the considerable step up to manage a Liverpool team in one of its most desperate states of recent times, in a summer that contained both a European Championships and an Olympic Games, making for the trickiest of transfer markets. The squad meanwhile, was littered with players who simply weren't worth their wages, meaning sales would be doubly tougher than purchases, making shrewd squad turnover incredibly difficult. It is no wonder, again, that FSG were reluctant to take risks, given that the maximum likely return on that investment in the first year would be sixth position, and a Europa League place. The clear priority was to reduce that wage bill and relieve the club of dead-weights who were simply sucking away their funds and not contributing on the pitch. Some, like Joe Cole, still refuse to budge, and will continue to hold us back.
Rodgers may be paying for the mistakes of previous regimes, but if he is as progressive and philosophically sound in his approach to the transfer market and squad development as he is to playing style, then I am sure he won't allow yesterday's events to linger in his mind in the way it will for many fans. Who knows, he may even look back one day, with a quiet nod of approval to his bosses, and think that it was a necessary struggle.
Monday 13 August 2012
Britain's Women Could Inspire True Olympic Equality
After an Olympic Games which has inspired so many and so much, it is perhaps ironic that one of the most powerful messages of the past two weeks not only prompted the creation of new words below, but also a wish to eat so many from the past.
On the fifth day since the Games were declared open, British nervousness and self-awareness set in, as medals had trickled through, but as yet, no gold. Then came rowers Helen Glover and Heather Stanning, who not only won GB's first gold of the Games, but the first ever by female British rowers. Four-years ago, Glover still harboured hopes of achieving her goal in international hockey, while Stanning was embarking on international service of an altogether different kind, with the Royal Artillery.
Two weeks on, and with a few eyes already turning to the closing ceremony, 22-year old Samantha Murray claimed a superb silver in the Modern Pentathlon, the event founded by modern Olympic creator himself, Pierre de Coubertin. Four years ago, while others in Beijing were already laying the foundations for success at the home Games to come, Murray was on the verge of quitting her sport altogether. Her on-camera message of believing in your dreams will be beamed around the world well beyond the completion of these Games.
Two contrasting, but equally impressive and memorable examples of sporting excellence and character, at the culmination of years of dedication amongst fluctuating fortunes, from Great Britain's female athletes. And they would become the perfect, appropriate bookends of GB's medal rush, and one of the biggest influences that this Games may have on subsequent Olympics, and on global sport in general.
At London, we arrived at the most gender-equal Games of all-time. A record 45% female competitors, a first Saudi woman Olympian, and both sexes in all events for the first time in history, among the statistics that had Seb Coe purring. There are still, of course, many imbalances, not least because there still exist some unjustified differences in male and female formats within certain sports. However, it is undeniable that we are heading in the right direction.
Yet this change is not purely driven by the men in suits at the top of the IOC, as if kindly providing the equal opportunities off their own backs, out of the goodness of their hearts, but crucially, by the athletes themselves. It is not that women have achieved more at these Games in terms of sporting excellence, in comparison to men, than they have in the past, thanks to increased opportunity. Women have always excelled at the Olympics, since they were given their rightful chance. Rather they have continued, despite remaining prejudices and imbalances, to slam the heavy roller on this playing field. Come Rio, we could see it truly levelled.
Because they don't run as fast, hit tennis balls as hard or lift the heaviest weights, women's sports have so often been regarded as watered down versions of the main events. Most of us are guilty. We question technical, psychological and professional proficiencies, leading us to debate about prize money and media coverage. In the early days of these Games, some even questioned the legitimacy of a woman's performance, Chinese swimmer Yi Shiwen, because she dared to swim faster than a man.
While the successes and failures of male athletes are usually only reflected upon themselves, those of our women are a reflection of an entire gender's participation in sport. A major result doesn't merely create a new champion or a sporting legend, it is then placed in the context of its impact on women's sport as a whole. British boxer Nicola Adams encapsulated this with her magnificent display on the way to gold, proclaiming it a "dream come true, a dream since I was 12 years old." More so, it will go down as the first ever gold medal by a female boxer, with women allowed to box in the Games for the first time, albeit in a slightly different format. The IOC may have finally deemed women physically and mentally tough enough to compete in Olympic boxing, but it is Adams who silenced any lingering debates. Hopefully she can enjoy the gold medal for what it is.
But perceptions could be about to change for the long-term, and if in Rio we have a 50/50 gender split, and sports mirrored in formats, perhaps the most telling contribution of all the British athletes at London 2012 occurred on the first morning of the track and field events. The Olympic stadium, with a capacity crowd over-spilling with emotion, expectation and feverish excitement, were ready and waiting for the Games' flagship events, and the pressure on the home favourites was about to be cranked up.
As Brits, we often expect brave failure from our sportsmen and women. The effort, commitment and courage will always be obvious, but at the crucial moment, we lack our foreign opponents' ability to keep emotions in-check at crunch time. Usain Bolt may have a case to claim otherwise, but the pressure on Jessica Ennis as she walked onto the track on that Friday morning, arguably supersedes that faced by any other athlete at these Games.
Like Michael Johnson in 1996, and Kathy Freeman in 2000, she has been the face of London 2012, the most visible athlete around not just the city, but the country. Simply, above and beyond all other competitors, male or female, she had to win. When watching Johnson in Atlanta or Freeman in Sydney, there was something powerfully inevitable about their victories, yet with Ennis, there would always be the nagging element of British doubt. Missing the sudden-death penalty, dropping the baton, falling at the last hurdle, when facing the prospect of a breakthrough victory - that is what we do.
As Ennis stood at the start line, she was subjected to the most sensational, spine-tingling roar from the crowd. At first she looked nervous, briefly waving, in comparison to the excited reactions of Katrina Johnson-Thompson, another joy of these two weeks.
But as Ennis settled into the blocks, we needn't have worried or hoped. She was ready. She was always ready. She didn't just win that 100m hurdles, she achieved a world-best time that would've won her a gold medal in the individual event in Beijing. It was a true champion's performance - defined not just by its quality, but by its timing. As Federer serves the aces on break points and Woods sinks the pressure putt on the last hole, Ennis was delivering her best performance at the most important moment under the most excruciating expectation, the true hallmark of a world class athlete.
Others too, have bucked the trend of British bottling and shown admirable strength of body and mind when faced with their destiny. In an era where every physical blemish is scrutinised, gold medal cyclist Joanna Roswell says her alopecia spurred her on to her moment of glory in the Velodrome. Meanwhile, the image of 25-year old judo silver medallist Gemma Gibbons offering a quiet message to her late mother at the moment of triumph, will be one of the most enduring of the Games.
We will continue to compare and contrast the male and female events, but this piece isn't quite the time and place for it. And this is not designed to take anything away from Bolt, Farah, Phelps and other men who've lit up these Games. This piece isn't about men versus women on or off the field. On the contrary, it's about the importance of continually striving for true gender equality at the Olympics, for when it has been partially granted, albeit woefully overdue, and gradually edged nearer, the response from the female athletes has been emphatically vindicating, leaving many of us, as men, rather embarrassed of the past.
On the fifth day since the Games were declared open, British nervousness and self-awareness set in, as medals had trickled through, but as yet, no gold. Then came rowers Helen Glover and Heather Stanning, who not only won GB's first gold of the Games, but the first ever by female British rowers. Four-years ago, Glover still harboured hopes of achieving her goal in international hockey, while Stanning was embarking on international service of an altogether different kind, with the Royal Artillery.
Two weeks on, and with a few eyes already turning to the closing ceremony, 22-year old Samantha Murray claimed a superb silver in the Modern Pentathlon, the event founded by modern Olympic creator himself, Pierre de Coubertin. Four years ago, while others in Beijing were already laying the foundations for success at the home Games to come, Murray was on the verge of quitting her sport altogether. Her on-camera message of believing in your dreams will be beamed around the world well beyond the completion of these Games.
Two contrasting, but equally impressive and memorable examples of sporting excellence and character, at the culmination of years of dedication amongst fluctuating fortunes, from Great Britain's female athletes. And they would become the perfect, appropriate bookends of GB's medal rush, and one of the biggest influences that this Games may have on subsequent Olympics, and on global sport in general.
At London, we arrived at the most gender-equal Games of all-time. A record 45% female competitors, a first Saudi woman Olympian, and both sexes in all events for the first time in history, among the statistics that had Seb Coe purring. There are still, of course, many imbalances, not least because there still exist some unjustified differences in male and female formats within certain sports. However, it is undeniable that we are heading in the right direction.
Yet this change is not purely driven by the men in suits at the top of the IOC, as if kindly providing the equal opportunities off their own backs, out of the goodness of their hearts, but crucially, by the athletes themselves. It is not that women have achieved more at these Games in terms of sporting excellence, in comparison to men, than they have in the past, thanks to increased opportunity. Women have always excelled at the Olympics, since they were given their rightful chance. Rather they have continued, despite remaining prejudices and imbalances, to slam the heavy roller on this playing field. Come Rio, we could see it truly levelled.
Because they don't run as fast, hit tennis balls as hard or lift the heaviest weights, women's sports have so often been regarded as watered down versions of the main events. Most of us are guilty. We question technical, psychological and professional proficiencies, leading us to debate about prize money and media coverage. In the early days of these Games, some even questioned the legitimacy of a woman's performance, Chinese swimmer Yi Shiwen, because she dared to swim faster than a man.
While the successes and failures of male athletes are usually only reflected upon themselves, those of our women are a reflection of an entire gender's participation in sport. A major result doesn't merely create a new champion or a sporting legend, it is then placed in the context of its impact on women's sport as a whole. British boxer Nicola Adams encapsulated this with her magnificent display on the way to gold, proclaiming it a "dream come true, a dream since I was 12 years old." More so, it will go down as the first ever gold medal by a female boxer, with women allowed to box in the Games for the first time, albeit in a slightly different format. The IOC may have finally deemed women physically and mentally tough enough to compete in Olympic boxing, but it is Adams who silenced any lingering debates. Hopefully she can enjoy the gold medal for what it is.
But perceptions could be about to change for the long-term, and if in Rio we have a 50/50 gender split, and sports mirrored in formats, perhaps the most telling contribution of all the British athletes at London 2012 occurred on the first morning of the track and field events. The Olympic stadium, with a capacity crowd over-spilling with emotion, expectation and feverish excitement, were ready and waiting for the Games' flagship events, and the pressure on the home favourites was about to be cranked up.
As Brits, we often expect brave failure from our sportsmen and women. The effort, commitment and courage will always be obvious, but at the crucial moment, we lack our foreign opponents' ability to keep emotions in-check at crunch time. Usain Bolt may have a case to claim otherwise, but the pressure on Jessica Ennis as she walked onto the track on that Friday morning, arguably supersedes that faced by any other athlete at these Games.
Like Michael Johnson in 1996, and Kathy Freeman in 2000, she has been the face of London 2012, the most visible athlete around not just the city, but the country. Simply, above and beyond all other competitors, male or female, she had to win. When watching Johnson in Atlanta or Freeman in Sydney, there was something powerfully inevitable about their victories, yet with Ennis, there would always be the nagging element of British doubt. Missing the sudden-death penalty, dropping the baton, falling at the last hurdle, when facing the prospect of a breakthrough victory - that is what we do.
As Ennis stood at the start line, she was subjected to the most sensational, spine-tingling roar from the crowd. At first she looked nervous, briefly waving, in comparison to the excited reactions of Katrina Johnson-Thompson, another joy of these two weeks.
But as Ennis settled into the blocks, we needn't have worried or hoped. She was ready. She was always ready. She didn't just win that 100m hurdles, she achieved a world-best time that would've won her a gold medal in the individual event in Beijing. It was a true champion's performance - defined not just by its quality, but by its timing. As Federer serves the aces on break points and Woods sinks the pressure putt on the last hole, Ennis was delivering her best performance at the most important moment under the most excruciating expectation, the true hallmark of a world class athlete.
Others too, have bucked the trend of British bottling and shown admirable strength of body and mind when faced with their destiny. In an era where every physical blemish is scrutinised, gold medal cyclist Joanna Roswell says her alopecia spurred her on to her moment of glory in the Velodrome. Meanwhile, the image of 25-year old judo silver medallist Gemma Gibbons offering a quiet message to her late mother at the moment of triumph, will be one of the most enduring of the Games.
We will continue to compare and contrast the male and female events, but this piece isn't quite the time and place for it. And this is not designed to take anything away from Bolt, Farah, Phelps and other men who've lit up these Games. This piece isn't about men versus women on or off the field. On the contrary, it's about the importance of continually striving for true gender equality at the Olympics, for when it has been partially granted, albeit woefully overdue, and gradually edged nearer, the response from the female athletes has been emphatically vindicating, leaving many of us, as men, rather embarrassed of the past.
Monday 23 July 2012
Luis Suarez: Try Not To Get Too Attached
It may be wise to gently warn your children not to get too attached to Luis Suarez.
To be clear, by all reliable accounts, Suarez is happy at Liverpool and has no intention whatsoever of asking for a move this summer. However, if Liverpool fans were to be entirely honest with themselves, whether Juventus are able to tempt Suarez away this summer or not, the Uruguayan is extremely unlikely to be a Liverpool player at the start of the 2013-2014 season. As for this time in two years, after the next World Cup, you can almost certainly forget about it.
Suarez is arguably the most naturally gifted attacking player Liverpool have acquired since John Barnes, and given the position we were in at the time, it was a remarkable buy. As such, he's going to attract the interest of the very top European clubs. Currently it seems to be the progressive Italians of Turin who are expressing the interest, in an ambitious attempt to create a Suarez-Van Persie sharp end to their already solid side which went the entire 2011-2012 Serie A season unbeaten.
If Suarez stays, and doing so would mean he will surely have signed a new contract, then his first full, uninterrupted, non-disrupted season at Liverpool will make him the most desired footballer on the planet this time next year, and his value will go through the roof. Among the suitors will doubtlessly be Barcelona, for whom Suarez is a perfect fit in footballing style, and a convenient long-term replacement for David Villa to boot.
Under FSG, Liverpool's only realistic hope of keeping Suarez long-term (and lets forget any notion of Suarez, or indeed any purchased player, 'loving the club') is to become one of the top teams in Europe, and quickly. That would involve qualifying for the Champions League this season, minimum, and John Henry himself has already indicated that no such immediate objective exists. Dalglish was not sacked because his team didn't reach a particular position in the league table. Rather he was identified as not the right man to take this club forward, and Brendan Rodgers was brought in to make a year zero, fresh start at Anfield, and will be given the time to do so.
What has also become clear is at this early stage in the club's rebuilding, while Liverpool remain a developing power, every player has their price. Andy Carroll, for example, is not being touted to clubs explicitly because Brendan Rodgers doesn't rate him as a player, nor consider him incapable of fitting into his style of play. Rather it is part of FSG's preference for Rodgers to identify which members of the squad with the highest market value, and/or the club's highest earners, are non-essential to the team's immediate future. That Andy Carroll, as a young, talented, hyped English footballer, could still command a fee of £20 million despite having barely hit the net in 18 months, will have interested FSG. The question will have been asked of Rodgers whether Carroll is a must-have, and given the system he prefers, the big man would certainly not be a first-pick every week. Therefore, if Liverpool want to invest in the 2-3 (after Borini) signings Rodgers has targeted, he is the obvious, necessary sacrifice.
Suarez doesn't fit into that category, of course. However, when you start getting into the £30 million plus range, any offer has to be at least contemplated, for Liverpool are highly unlikely, even in two or three years time, to be able to compete with the likes of Manchester City, Barcelona and Real Madrid on a footballing or financial level.
The club's desire to tie Suarez to a new contract this summer is about protecting his transfer value as much as it is about ensuring he stays in a red shirt as long as possible. FSG simply won't allow themselves to be backed into a corner by a player in the manner Arsenal have over Fabregas, Nasri and Van Persie in recent seasons, despite the fact Suarez has not yet indicated he wants to leave.
If Luis signs a fresh four-year deal after the Olympics, many will be fooled, as it won't mean he's committed his future to 2016 - it will have just secured a hefty fee for him in a year's time. If the club were taking a not-for-sale approach, Suarez would've been asked to sign on the dotted line before going to the Olympics, and it seems there has been nothing more than polite, preliminary conversation so far. Rodgers has publicaly voiced a desire to get him a new contract,understandably, but it seems the possibility of listening to bids for Suarez, or indeed any other player, has been entertained as part of the year zero approach.
So how much would Liverpool actually miss Luis Suarez?
Of course, any team would miss a player of his ability, and he is realistically irreplaceble on a like-for-like basis. But for a team that hasn't got short-term designs on challenging for the major titles, is having an outstanding superstar in the team really a must-have, when a £35 million fee could be reinvested in key areas of the squad (i.e two forwards instead of one) to ensure that within three years, we have at least made it back to the Champions League?
If LFC adopt that approach, is 4th place attainable within three years and sustainable thereafter? Answer: Yes. If you would consider a 5th place finish next season as progress, then consider that Chelsea's leading scorers last season in the league were Frank Lampard and Daniel Sturridge, who both managed a modest 11 goals each. The latter will likely seek a move elsewhere this summer. Any team is a sum of parts.
And what about the fans themselves? Would we be losing a club hero? Inevitably, many on Twitter are threatening suicide over a Suarez sale, yet there is a general feeling that Liverpool fans have guarded against getting too attached to the number 7, after what happened with Fernando Torres in 2011. A realistic air of resignation has began to drift over some, and I'd advise the rest to suck it in.
Let's get this out the way. Luis Suarez, for one reason or another, has never received anywhere near the level of adulation that Torres was afforded in his time here. The Spaniard, within six months of being at Anfield, was as worshipped as Gerrard or Carragher. He'd became one of the club's favourite sons, and he just seemed to 'get' LFC, becoming a fine ambassador as well as a goal machine. He's been widely panned since he left for Chelsea, and memories are being clouded and concealed, but Torres, when at Liverpool, may as well have been born into one of the toilets under the Anfield Road End, such was his relationship with the fans. Despite his struggles in the Hodgson months, with Kenny to the rescue and Hicks & Gillett long-gone, Torres' demands to leave the club were genuinely shocking. The lesson must be learnt.
As for Suarez, there's no doubt his unique technical ability combined with his high-effort, all-action style makes him a huge fans' favourite. But whether its his solid, rather than spectacular goal-ratio so far, his irritating tendency to scream and wrythe when brushed, or any sub-conscious awkward feelings over the Evra mess, he isn't quite Kop idol status yet. And with a move away looking so inevitable, sooner or later, there is a suggestion he never should be.
The gut feeling is Suarez will stay for the forthcoming season, but it will only be delaying the inevitable, bar an incredible 2012-2013. The hope must be that Rodgers and FSG are bearing this in mind as they are moulding their long-term strategy.
To be clear, by all reliable accounts, Suarez is happy at Liverpool and has no intention whatsoever of asking for a move this summer. However, if Liverpool fans were to be entirely honest with themselves, whether Juventus are able to tempt Suarez away this summer or not, the Uruguayan is extremely unlikely to be a Liverpool player at the start of the 2013-2014 season. As for this time in two years, after the next World Cup, you can almost certainly forget about it.
Suarez is arguably the most naturally gifted attacking player Liverpool have acquired since John Barnes, and given the position we were in at the time, it was a remarkable buy. As such, he's going to attract the interest of the very top European clubs. Currently it seems to be the progressive Italians of Turin who are expressing the interest, in an ambitious attempt to create a Suarez-Van Persie sharp end to their already solid side which went the entire 2011-2012 Serie A season unbeaten.
If Suarez stays, and doing so would mean he will surely have signed a new contract, then his first full, uninterrupted, non-disrupted season at Liverpool will make him the most desired footballer on the planet this time next year, and his value will go through the roof. Among the suitors will doubtlessly be Barcelona, for whom Suarez is a perfect fit in footballing style, and a convenient long-term replacement for David Villa to boot.
Under FSG, Liverpool's only realistic hope of keeping Suarez long-term (and lets forget any notion of Suarez, or indeed any purchased player, 'loving the club') is to become one of the top teams in Europe, and quickly. That would involve qualifying for the Champions League this season, minimum, and John Henry himself has already indicated that no such immediate objective exists. Dalglish was not sacked because his team didn't reach a particular position in the league table. Rather he was identified as not the right man to take this club forward, and Brendan Rodgers was brought in to make a year zero, fresh start at Anfield, and will be given the time to do so.
What has also become clear is at this early stage in the club's rebuilding, while Liverpool remain a developing power, every player has their price. Andy Carroll, for example, is not being touted to clubs explicitly because Brendan Rodgers doesn't rate him as a player, nor consider him incapable of fitting into his style of play. Rather it is part of FSG's preference for Rodgers to identify which members of the squad with the highest market value, and/or the club's highest earners, are non-essential to the team's immediate future. That Andy Carroll, as a young, talented, hyped English footballer, could still command a fee of £20 million despite having barely hit the net in 18 months, will have interested FSG. The question will have been asked of Rodgers whether Carroll is a must-have, and given the system he prefers, the big man would certainly not be a first-pick every week. Therefore, if Liverpool want to invest in the 2-3 (after Borini) signings Rodgers has targeted, he is the obvious, necessary sacrifice.
Suarez doesn't fit into that category, of course. However, when you start getting into the £30 million plus range, any offer has to be at least contemplated, for Liverpool are highly unlikely, even in two or three years time, to be able to compete with the likes of Manchester City, Barcelona and Real Madrid on a footballing or financial level.
The club's desire to tie Suarez to a new contract this summer is about protecting his transfer value as much as it is about ensuring he stays in a red shirt as long as possible. FSG simply won't allow themselves to be backed into a corner by a player in the manner Arsenal have over Fabregas, Nasri and Van Persie in recent seasons, despite the fact Suarez has not yet indicated he wants to leave.
If Luis signs a fresh four-year deal after the Olympics, many will be fooled, as it won't mean he's committed his future to 2016 - it will have just secured a hefty fee for him in a year's time. If the club were taking a not-for-sale approach, Suarez would've been asked to sign on the dotted line before going to the Olympics, and it seems there has been nothing more than polite, preliminary conversation so far. Rodgers has publicaly voiced a desire to get him a new contract,understandably, but it seems the possibility of listening to bids for Suarez, or indeed any other player, has been entertained as part of the year zero approach.
So how much would Liverpool actually miss Luis Suarez?
Of course, any team would miss a player of his ability, and he is realistically irreplaceble on a like-for-like basis. But for a team that hasn't got short-term designs on challenging for the major titles, is having an outstanding superstar in the team really a must-have, when a £35 million fee could be reinvested in key areas of the squad (i.e two forwards instead of one) to ensure that within three years, we have at least made it back to the Champions League?
If LFC adopt that approach, is 4th place attainable within three years and sustainable thereafter? Answer: Yes. If you would consider a 5th place finish next season as progress, then consider that Chelsea's leading scorers last season in the league were Frank Lampard and Daniel Sturridge, who both managed a modest 11 goals each. The latter will likely seek a move elsewhere this summer. Any team is a sum of parts.
And what about the fans themselves? Would we be losing a club hero? Inevitably, many on Twitter are threatening suicide over a Suarez sale, yet there is a general feeling that Liverpool fans have guarded against getting too attached to the number 7, after what happened with Fernando Torres in 2011. A realistic air of resignation has began to drift over some, and I'd advise the rest to suck it in.
Let's get this out the way. Luis Suarez, for one reason or another, has never received anywhere near the level of adulation that Torres was afforded in his time here. The Spaniard, within six months of being at Anfield, was as worshipped as Gerrard or Carragher. He'd became one of the club's favourite sons, and he just seemed to 'get' LFC, becoming a fine ambassador as well as a goal machine. He's been widely panned since he left for Chelsea, and memories are being clouded and concealed, but Torres, when at Liverpool, may as well have been born into one of the toilets under the Anfield Road End, such was his relationship with the fans. Despite his struggles in the Hodgson months, with Kenny to the rescue and Hicks & Gillett long-gone, Torres' demands to leave the club were genuinely shocking. The lesson must be learnt.
As for Suarez, there's no doubt his unique technical ability combined with his high-effort, all-action style makes him a huge fans' favourite. But whether its his solid, rather than spectacular goal-ratio so far, his irritating tendency to scream and wrythe when brushed, or any sub-conscious awkward feelings over the Evra mess, he isn't quite Kop idol status yet. And with a move away looking so inevitable, sooner or later, there is a suggestion he never should be.
The gut feeling is Suarez will stay for the forthcoming season, but it will only be delaying the inevitable, bar an incredible 2012-2013. The hope must be that Rodgers and FSG are bearing this in mind as they are moulding their long-term strategy.
Wednesday 18 July 2012
Yossi Benayoun Ruined My Life
Yossi Benayoun ruined my life. That may seem like an obscene over-dramatisation, but since the most tragic of fans often use football as a metaphor for real life, I'm going to stick by that claim in the spirit of this post, and explain why. And you'll have to forgive my rare venture into the first-person, but pre-season does funny things to a man.
In years to come, Yossi Benayoun will go down as one of many recent talented yet trophy-less entries into the Liverpool encylopedia of players past and present, with the stand-out moment in his 134-game Anfield career being a winning goal against Real Madrid in the Bernebeu on 25th February 2009. In that respect, he's earned a small place in our history. Harmless.
However, it was another of the Israeli's 29 Liverpool goals, five weeks later, which would change my relationship with the club permanently.
All Liverpool fans face daily reminders of our 22-year (and counting) wait for a league title, by fans of other clubs, the press, but mostly from ourselves. With United relentlessly charging towards our precious 18, and with Hicks & Gillett preparing a fire sale to clear their debts, 08-09 felt like our last realistic chance of returning to our perch, even if only briefly.
As usual, the season was a pukey ride, against the backdrop of anti-owner protests, which fans of other certain troubled clubs should note, continued consistently despite good on-field results. Unlike many of the false dawns over the last two decades, we were still in with a great shout when spring came, thanks to having lost just two matches all season. We had the players; Reina, Carragher, Mascherano, Alonso, Gerrard, Torres, with a tactical genius at the helm who installed an air of calm and self-belief in the squad that enabled it to handle the heavyweight Champions League occasions, and the domestic form was starting to follow.
Traditionally, March signals the start of United's late charge, stringing together wins regardless of performance levels, while the competition wilts under the pressure and surrenders meekly before things get too exciting. This season was shaping up differently. United had endured an uncertain defence to their title, and Ronaldo's goals had opened up only a slender lead, looking over their shoulders at what they knew was a superior machine, ready to put an end to their domination, painstakingly prior to reaching its ultimate aim.
'Rafa's rant' is a phrase which seems to bring with it ridicule and negativity, though one of the 'facts' is that after Benitez read from his script, United got stage fright and began to choke.
A showdown at Old Trafford couldn't have come at a better time. Benitez and Liverpool quietly knew we'd gained a psychological edge, and although almost certainly out of contention if we lost, knew that such speculative pessimism was worthless. We were just too good. We showed mercy on United, inflicting a 4-1 crushing that flattered the hosts. A week later, we stuck five past Aston Villa without shifting to third gear, and United were stuffed at Fulham, in a game controlled by Danny Murphy, to add an extra sweetener. The wait was going to be worth it.
4th April 2009 - 17:30 - Fulham v Liverpool. Putney Stand, block P5, row 4, seat 117. Here lies...
If Liverpool could succeed where United had collapsed a week before, we would go top of the league before United played Villa the following day. There was no chance Fulham would break us down, we just had to make sure that, unlike when we'd met at Anfield earlier in the season, that we squeezed the ball over the line just one more time, by whatever means, and the sense was it would be our title to lose.
93 long, painful minutes of sheer insufferable hell. For the first 45, we were magnificent in our build-up and luckless in front of goal. Skrtel glanced a header onto the bar, before Alonso hit the same spot of the woodwork with a crisp volley. Torres ran clear after a typically penetrative link-up with Gerrard, and I could feel the wave of fans behind me, ready to mob the Spaniard as the ball crawled towards the corner before turning like a Shane Warne leg-break and clipping the foot of the post. I'd barely removed the hands from in front of my eyes before Andrea Dossena's diving header walloped off the bar.
From chaos to catastrophe, the second half was even tougher to take, as the chances became less frequent and the energy and vibrancy of the first began to dissipate, though we never once resorted to desperation football. All season, we'd found ways to win games in the same infuriating ways United had managed over the Premier League years. We just needed one more moment of magic or maddening fortune. The 4th official lifted his board to signal the start of a four-minute-long end of the world. Three minutes went by and the dream was slipping away.
What happened next makes the spine tingle and heart sink in equal measure.
Watching the action unfold at the far end from the front rows of Craven Cottage's away stand wasn't easy, squinting, trying to decipher the angles and distances, never quite knowing if Gerrard was within shooting range or if the play was opening up for Torres. Last chance. Ryan Babel cut inside from the left and we didn't know whether to scream for him to shoot, or implore him to pass - and in the end he predictably did neither of note. I'm still not sure how, but the ball was deflected into the path of Yossi Benayoun on the right side of the area. It was impossible to know how tight the angle was, but it was clear he was going to shoot. He had no choice, this was it, now or never. As City fans will testify after watching Aguero stepping into a similar position back in May, everything happens in slow motion. The ball flew across Schwarzer's dive, but it felt like an age waiting to see if the inside-net of the left-hand post would ripple.
Next thing I know, friends cling to my legs as I balanced on the back of the creaking seats, conducting the crowd through an absurd collection of words that I never thought I'd utter even in my wildest dreams, let alone bellow with 3,000 others:
"We're gonna win the league, we're gonna win the league. And now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us. We're gonna win the league."
The celebrations carried on long after the final whistle but I could've stayed all night. This was the moment to be able to say "I was there," We'd make it mathematically safe soon enough, but it would always be Craven Cottage where we won it. Fans from the 70s would recall the comeback at Molineux, and in the 80s, Kenny's winner at Stamford Bridge, and now I was living those video clips in an appropriately old-fashioned stand. The consensus on leaving the ground was simple - it doesn't get any better than that. That should've been the moment...
What happened in the weeks after Yossi's goal, i still can't fathom. United were fluffing it again against Villa, before the distinctly average Federico Macheda scored an inexplicable goal to rescue them, and did so again the following week when a wayward shot struck him and spun into the Sunderland net. When Spurs took a 2-0 lead at Old Trafford a couple of weeks later, surely the game was up this time? But as so often, what the footballing Lord giveth, Howard Webb taketh away. Its quite some effort to become less reliable than an Aston Villa outfit, but Spurs managed it once Webb manufactured a United penalty out of a clean challenge from Gomes on Carrick. The 5-2 win would be enough to galvanise United to the finish line, leaving Liverpool far and away the best team in the league in almost every statistical column, but with no trophy to show for it. Teams have bottled huge leads, such as Newcastle in 96 or United themselves last season, but this was worse. We were the better team, and hit top form at the right time, and we had celebrated a moment where it felt as if the weight of history was about to shift as United faltered and floundered. Macheda didn't even play enough games to get his hands on a winners' medal, and United are still struggling to give him away today. His face haunts me, but I'm still blaming Yossi.
Throughout that season, some had hope, while others even dared to believe, but Yossi gave us a deadly mixture of both, and the hangover has lingered ever since. 18 months later, the club was utterly unrecognisable. Purslow, Hodgson, Poulsen, Konchesky. A manager who dragged us into a relegation battle, then lamented the presence of a club legend in the stands, and blamed fans for a lack of support for the shambles they sat through.
I say 'they', because I haven't been to a Liverpool match since 4th April 09. I was never an every week match-goer but I've turned down plenty of tickets since then that I'd have snapped up in seasons past. My mind occasionally drifts back to row 4 seat 117 and I conveniently forget the context within which those Craven Cottage celebrations sit and just remember the sheer mayhem that followed Benayoun's wonder strike, and wonder if it will ever get as good as that again. And if so, can I trust that Howard Webb won't come along and destroy it? That's when it seems like Liverpool and I need our space.
At first the hangover masqueraded itself as a boycott due to the club's ownership situation, but even long after H&G's departure, with Kenny in charge and the enjoyable end to 10-11, or the cup finals the following year, the motivation still hasn't fully returned. I get the occasional itch go back to Anfield, but rather to pay my respects to the past than to celebrate the present. I still love the club, but we don't really romance each other anymore, as I watch from the safe distance of the pub stool.
The brief renaissance under Kenny, who began repairing the wreckage of the Hodgson months, was tragically short, as he was discarded by the second American regime without a moment's thought for what he means to the club and to its fans. But now with Brendan in charge, promising his unique 'Rodgeball' tiki-taka, there seems to be some cautious hope around again. Though, mercilessly, we're still a million miles away from the torture of another Yossi moment, and that's probably for the best.
In years to come, Yossi Benayoun will go down as one of many recent talented yet trophy-less entries into the Liverpool encylopedia of players past and present, with the stand-out moment in his 134-game Anfield career being a winning goal against Real Madrid in the Bernebeu on 25th February 2009. In that respect, he's earned a small place in our history. Harmless.
However, it was another of the Israeli's 29 Liverpool goals, five weeks later, which would change my relationship with the club permanently.
All Liverpool fans face daily reminders of our 22-year (and counting) wait for a league title, by fans of other clubs, the press, but mostly from ourselves. With United relentlessly charging towards our precious 18, and with Hicks & Gillett preparing a fire sale to clear their debts, 08-09 felt like our last realistic chance of returning to our perch, even if only briefly.
As usual, the season was a pukey ride, against the backdrop of anti-owner protests, which fans of other certain troubled clubs should note, continued consistently despite good on-field results. Unlike many of the false dawns over the last two decades, we were still in with a great shout when spring came, thanks to having lost just two matches all season. We had the players; Reina, Carragher, Mascherano, Alonso, Gerrard, Torres, with a tactical genius at the helm who installed an air of calm and self-belief in the squad that enabled it to handle the heavyweight Champions League occasions, and the domestic form was starting to follow.
Traditionally, March signals the start of United's late charge, stringing together wins regardless of performance levels, while the competition wilts under the pressure and surrenders meekly before things get too exciting. This season was shaping up differently. United had endured an uncertain defence to their title, and Ronaldo's goals had opened up only a slender lead, looking over their shoulders at what they knew was a superior machine, ready to put an end to their domination, painstakingly prior to reaching its ultimate aim.
'Rafa's rant' is a phrase which seems to bring with it ridicule and negativity, though one of the 'facts' is that after Benitez read from his script, United got stage fright and began to choke.
A showdown at Old Trafford couldn't have come at a better time. Benitez and Liverpool quietly knew we'd gained a psychological edge, and although almost certainly out of contention if we lost, knew that such speculative pessimism was worthless. We were just too good. We showed mercy on United, inflicting a 4-1 crushing that flattered the hosts. A week later, we stuck five past Aston Villa without shifting to third gear, and United were stuffed at Fulham, in a game controlled by Danny Murphy, to add an extra sweetener. The wait was going to be worth it.
4th April 2009 - 17:30 - Fulham v Liverpool. Putney Stand, block P5, row 4, seat 117. Here lies...
If Liverpool could succeed where United had collapsed a week before, we would go top of the league before United played Villa the following day. There was no chance Fulham would break us down, we just had to make sure that, unlike when we'd met at Anfield earlier in the season, that we squeezed the ball over the line just one more time, by whatever means, and the sense was it would be our title to lose.
93 long, painful minutes of sheer insufferable hell. For the first 45, we were magnificent in our build-up and luckless in front of goal. Skrtel glanced a header onto the bar, before Alonso hit the same spot of the woodwork with a crisp volley. Torres ran clear after a typically penetrative link-up with Gerrard, and I could feel the wave of fans behind me, ready to mob the Spaniard as the ball crawled towards the corner before turning like a Shane Warne leg-break and clipping the foot of the post. I'd barely removed the hands from in front of my eyes before Andrea Dossena's diving header walloped off the bar.
From chaos to catastrophe, the second half was even tougher to take, as the chances became less frequent and the energy and vibrancy of the first began to dissipate, though we never once resorted to desperation football. All season, we'd found ways to win games in the same infuriating ways United had managed over the Premier League years. We just needed one more moment of magic or maddening fortune. The 4th official lifted his board to signal the start of a four-minute-long end of the world. Three minutes went by and the dream was slipping away.
What happened next makes the spine tingle and heart sink in equal measure.
Watching the action unfold at the far end from the front rows of Craven Cottage's away stand wasn't easy, squinting, trying to decipher the angles and distances, never quite knowing if Gerrard was within shooting range or if the play was opening up for Torres. Last chance. Ryan Babel cut inside from the left and we didn't know whether to scream for him to shoot, or implore him to pass - and in the end he predictably did neither of note. I'm still not sure how, but the ball was deflected into the path of Yossi Benayoun on the right side of the area. It was impossible to know how tight the angle was, but it was clear he was going to shoot. He had no choice, this was it, now or never. As City fans will testify after watching Aguero stepping into a similar position back in May, everything happens in slow motion. The ball flew across Schwarzer's dive, but it felt like an age waiting to see if the inside-net of the left-hand post would ripple.
Next thing I know, friends cling to my legs as I balanced on the back of the creaking seats, conducting the crowd through an absurd collection of words that I never thought I'd utter even in my wildest dreams, let alone bellow with 3,000 others:
"We're gonna win the league, we're gonna win the league. And now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us, and now you're gonna believe us. We're gonna win the league."
The celebrations carried on long after the final whistle but I could've stayed all night. This was the moment to be able to say "I was there," We'd make it mathematically safe soon enough, but it would always be Craven Cottage where we won it. Fans from the 70s would recall the comeback at Molineux, and in the 80s, Kenny's winner at Stamford Bridge, and now I was living those video clips in an appropriately old-fashioned stand. The consensus on leaving the ground was simple - it doesn't get any better than that. That should've been the moment...
What happened in the weeks after Yossi's goal, i still can't fathom. United were fluffing it again against Villa, before the distinctly average Federico Macheda scored an inexplicable goal to rescue them, and did so again the following week when a wayward shot struck him and spun into the Sunderland net. When Spurs took a 2-0 lead at Old Trafford a couple of weeks later, surely the game was up this time? But as so often, what the footballing Lord giveth, Howard Webb taketh away. Its quite some effort to become less reliable than an Aston Villa outfit, but Spurs managed it once Webb manufactured a United penalty out of a clean challenge from Gomes on Carrick. The 5-2 win would be enough to galvanise United to the finish line, leaving Liverpool far and away the best team in the league in almost every statistical column, but with no trophy to show for it. Teams have bottled huge leads, such as Newcastle in 96 or United themselves last season, but this was worse. We were the better team, and hit top form at the right time, and we had celebrated a moment where it felt as if the weight of history was about to shift as United faltered and floundered. Macheda didn't even play enough games to get his hands on a winners' medal, and United are still struggling to give him away today. His face haunts me, but I'm still blaming Yossi.
Throughout that season, some had hope, while others even dared to believe, but Yossi gave us a deadly mixture of both, and the hangover has lingered ever since. 18 months later, the club was utterly unrecognisable. Purslow, Hodgson, Poulsen, Konchesky. A manager who dragged us into a relegation battle, then lamented the presence of a club legend in the stands, and blamed fans for a lack of support for the shambles they sat through.
I say 'they', because I haven't been to a Liverpool match since 4th April 09. I was never an every week match-goer but I've turned down plenty of tickets since then that I'd have snapped up in seasons past. My mind occasionally drifts back to row 4 seat 117 and I conveniently forget the context within which those Craven Cottage celebrations sit and just remember the sheer mayhem that followed Benayoun's wonder strike, and wonder if it will ever get as good as that again. And if so, can I trust that Howard Webb won't come along and destroy it? That's when it seems like Liverpool and I need our space.
At first the hangover masqueraded itself as a boycott due to the club's ownership situation, but even long after H&G's departure, with Kenny in charge and the enjoyable end to 10-11, or the cup finals the following year, the motivation still hasn't fully returned. I get the occasional itch go back to Anfield, but rather to pay my respects to the past than to celebrate the present. I still love the club, but we don't really romance each other anymore, as I watch from the safe distance of the pub stool.
The brief renaissance under Kenny, who began repairing the wreckage of the Hodgson months, was tragically short, as he was discarded by the second American regime without a moment's thought for what he means to the club and to its fans. But now with Brendan in charge, promising his unique 'Rodgeball' tiki-taka, there seems to be some cautious hope around again. Though, mercilessly, we're still a million miles away from the torture of another Yossi moment, and that's probably for the best.
Saturday 30 June 2012
Andrés Iniesta - Why Always Him?
Through the first 30 of 32 matches, the determination of where this enjoyable Euro 2012 tournament will sit within football history has been shaped by the constant evaluation and response to one overriding question - "is this Cristiano Ronaldo's tournament?" It looked unlikely, then things took a bit of a turn, and at one point it looked like a certainty, before it all unravelled at the penultimate hurdle.
For the final two matches, the focus has shifted to two of the supporting cast - Andrea Pirlo, perhaps the tournament's best player, and Mario Balotelli, who provided its most scintillating moment in the semi-finals. If they have another 90 minutes of the extraordinary in them, we may have to settle for 'il torneo di Pirlo-Mario' tomorrow evening. Failing that, it will be another title for the Spanish team; for their tedious tika-taka, the insufferable instant control, and monotonous moments of timely, technical perfection.
Given his enduring brilliance within a team chasing unprecedented international success on Sunday, one might wonder why an international tournament or Champions League season has never been preceded by the question - "will this be Andrés Iniesta's tournament?"
The answer is simple - because it is always Andres Iniesta's tournament.
At half-time during the 2006 Champions League Final, with Barcelona trailing Arsenal in Paris, Frank Rijkaard turned to 22-year old Iniesta to replace the defensive Edmilson. Iniesta had been unable to hold down a regular place in Barca's first team, though Pep Guardiola, then coach of the B team, had already told Xavi that "this guy will retire us all." Iniesta made the first of his bewildering big-match displays, pulling Arsenal's tiring team across the pitch, eventually helping create the spaces for Samuel Eto'o and Juliano Belletti to score the goals to give Barca only their second European Cup. That was unofficially Ronaldinho's trophy, by the way.
Since then, Barcelona and Spain have set standards and broken records, leaving many legitimately wondering whether we are witnessing the greatest club and national teams of all time. Though there remain several consistencies between the two teams; Pique, Busquets, Xavi, Puyol, Pedro, Villa and the latest, Jordi Alba - one man stands out and shines above all as the truly indispensable figure. If Puyol is the soul and Xavi the heartbeat - Iniesta is the lifeblood.
As with all the true greats, for all the hundreds of enthralling performances, trophies and individual accolades, they are often defined by one or two single moments. It is arguably here, that Iniesta stands above not just his Spanish teammates, but even Ronaldo and Messi.
In 2009, with Barcelona on their way to a perfect six-title haul which may never be reached again in our lifetimes, a calendar-sextuplet may have merely gone down as the club's 19th La Liga title year, had Iniesta not intervened in the dying seconds at Stamford Bridge. With a Champions League semi-final defeat looming, and Barcelona having failed to muster a single shot on target in 90 minutes, one swing of Iniesta's right boot made everything possible.
Yet this glorious intervention doesn't quite constitute the definitive 'Iniesta Moment.'
As Spain stand on the verge of history in Ukraine, that they have made it this far is down to the final goal of the World Cup in South Africa two years ago, where Spain were chasing France's unique 1998-2000 achievement of winning European and World titles consecutively. In matches of such magnitude, even amongst sensational players, the sheer tension and realisation of the stakes can provoke indecision, breeding a tendency to pine for the finish line, even if that is a penalty shootout. Late opportunities reduce themselves to glimmers, as the weight of a pass becomes impossible to perfect, and the tense, tired legs allow balls to skip away, giving desperate defenders a chance to find safety. Every major match, these moments arrive and pass in an instant, never to be considered again. Spain had one such glimmer, when the ball fell for Fabregas on 116 minutes.
What happened in the next 1.5 seconds separates football's immortals from the rest. As when Zidane watched Roberto Carlos' cross drop out the Glasgow sky, or as Gazza spotted Colin Hendry advancing with intent on the Wembley turf - Iniesta, like a great snooker player, made his move with his next two already in mind. He ghosted into the pocket of space in the area, ready to receive. Control of Fabregas's pass was not a forgone conclusion as it skipped up to thigh-height, but the little genius had already taken his split second to observe around him, and knew there was only one square-inch of space he could manipulate the ball to if he wanted to strike unimpeded. With the impeccable sense of history that only the true greats can grasp, he cushioned the ball where others would let it slip away, and in the blink of an eye, crashed a shot past Stekelenburg.
Iniesta's career is littered with other moments and performances that propel him above most of his peers. His displays against Manchester United in the 2009 and 2011 Champions League Finals, and in the 5-0 La Liga destruction of Real Madrid in 2010, are among the best I've ever seen. A glorious goal against Viktoria Plzen in last season's Champions League will always remain one of my favourites, while there are countless moments in Barca and Spain games where crowds rise as he sucks defenders in and leaves them swiping at thin air, eyes always observing the situation around him, the ball obeying his every command.
In Kiev tomorrow, Iniesta has another chance to enhance his standing amongst the sport's historical elite. In 2008, he was one component of a team which dominated a tournament from start to finish in a way you rarely see, with the pace-setters often peaking early and finding the latter knockout rounds a mental step too far. In 2010, after a surprise defeat to Switzerland, his return to full fitness after a thigh injury was the turning point in Spain's fortunes. The team grew with each game, edging closer to their 2008 standards, until the Iniesta Moment settled the final.
In 2012, Spain have found themselves the target of criticism, occasionally fairly directed at their relative standard of performance, though absurdly attributed to becoming 'boring.' As teams continually develop and find ways to counter Spain's style, while the statistical inevitablitity stacks up against them, that they have to lose one day, the pressure intensifies with each match. In previous tournaments, Iniesta and Xavi have been able to replicate their Barca fulcrum, with the familiar Busquets security blanket behind them, and David Villa sure to score. With Carlos Puyol, like Villa missing with injury, Iniesta has assumed the role of picking his team up when they, on rare occasion, are unable to allow their football to speak for themselves.
In the semi-final, Paolo Bento set up Portugal smartly, and they admirably stifled Spain, particularly in the first-half, with a penalty shootout looking inevitable from early-on. Spain tried in-vain to break down their Iberian rivals after the break, though the tournament's centrepiece, hair in place and hands on hips, lurked up-field, waiting for his moment. At his tournament. As time wore on, Spain would become all too aware that Ronaldo needed only to receive the ball once, facing up to the back-four, and their dream could be over.
With Del Bosque electing for no recognised striker by this stage, and Spain's rushed midfield unable to link up with Fabregas further up the pitch, Iniesta assumed the role of pocket-picker in extra-time, pushing Portugal's ball-players further towards their back-line, and further away from Ronaldo. He scampered and scurried, retrieving possession, often down the inside-left channel, allowing Alba to provide a much-needed outlet. Spain grew more settled as extra time progressed, and another Iniesta Moment almost materialised, but for a fine save from Rui Patricio.
In the end, Iniesta's ultimate influence came in the shootout, scoring with apparent ease after Alonso and Moutinho had their efforts saved, and Spain went on to reach their third straight major final.
Looking back over the winners of Fifa's World Player of the Year, with the exception of inaugural winner Lothar Matthaus, and Fabio Cannavaro in 2006, the awards have been saved for the most special and spectacular, yet uninhibited stars; Ronaldo (both Cristiano and his superior Nazario de Lima), Romario, Weah, Zidane, Rivaldo, Van Basten and of course, Lionel Messi - all floating free spirits within their teams, granted licence to do the damage and not restrict themselves with defensive responsiblities. Thats not to say all the above were lazy players, but their responsibilities in the team were exclusively with the ball at their feet and facing the opponents' goal.
Iniesta deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as those attacking stars on his skill alone, though he perhaps stands out as the one who carries a tactical nous and responsibility when the opposition have the ball. Add to that his growing reputation as a leader, and its a debate whether there is a more complete player in the modern game.
Many previously debated whether Real Madrid's domestic title win meant Ronaldo could pip Messi for the individual honours at the end of this year, but that his repeated failure to win an international tournament could give the Argentine another crown. However, I wonder if the greatest player in the world will be holding aloft the Euro 2012 trophy tomorrow after-all.
For the final two matches, the focus has shifted to two of the supporting cast - Andrea Pirlo, perhaps the tournament's best player, and Mario Balotelli, who provided its most scintillating moment in the semi-finals. If they have another 90 minutes of the extraordinary in them, we may have to settle for 'il torneo di Pirlo-Mario' tomorrow evening. Failing that, it will be another title for the Spanish team; for their tedious tika-taka, the insufferable instant control, and monotonous moments of timely, technical perfection.
Given his enduring brilliance within a team chasing unprecedented international success on Sunday, one might wonder why an international tournament or Champions League season has never been preceded by the question - "will this be Andrés Iniesta's tournament?"
The answer is simple - because it is always Andres Iniesta's tournament.
At half-time during the 2006 Champions League Final, with Barcelona trailing Arsenal in Paris, Frank Rijkaard turned to 22-year old Iniesta to replace the defensive Edmilson. Iniesta had been unable to hold down a regular place in Barca's first team, though Pep Guardiola, then coach of the B team, had already told Xavi that "this guy will retire us all." Iniesta made the first of his bewildering big-match displays, pulling Arsenal's tiring team across the pitch, eventually helping create the spaces for Samuel Eto'o and Juliano Belletti to score the goals to give Barca only their second European Cup. That was unofficially Ronaldinho's trophy, by the way.
Since then, Barcelona and Spain have set standards and broken records, leaving many legitimately wondering whether we are witnessing the greatest club and national teams of all time. Though there remain several consistencies between the two teams; Pique, Busquets, Xavi, Puyol, Pedro, Villa and the latest, Jordi Alba - one man stands out and shines above all as the truly indispensable figure. If Puyol is the soul and Xavi the heartbeat - Iniesta is the lifeblood.
As with all the true greats, for all the hundreds of enthralling performances, trophies and individual accolades, they are often defined by one or two single moments. It is arguably here, that Iniesta stands above not just his Spanish teammates, but even Ronaldo and Messi.
In 2009, with Barcelona on their way to a perfect six-title haul which may never be reached again in our lifetimes, a calendar-sextuplet may have merely gone down as the club's 19th La Liga title year, had Iniesta not intervened in the dying seconds at Stamford Bridge. With a Champions League semi-final defeat looming, and Barcelona having failed to muster a single shot on target in 90 minutes, one swing of Iniesta's right boot made everything possible.
Yet this glorious intervention doesn't quite constitute the definitive 'Iniesta Moment.'
As Spain stand on the verge of history in Ukraine, that they have made it this far is down to the final goal of the World Cup in South Africa two years ago, where Spain were chasing France's unique 1998-2000 achievement of winning European and World titles consecutively. In matches of such magnitude, even amongst sensational players, the sheer tension and realisation of the stakes can provoke indecision, breeding a tendency to pine for the finish line, even if that is a penalty shootout. Late opportunities reduce themselves to glimmers, as the weight of a pass becomes impossible to perfect, and the tense, tired legs allow balls to skip away, giving desperate defenders a chance to find safety. Every major match, these moments arrive and pass in an instant, never to be considered again. Spain had one such glimmer, when the ball fell for Fabregas on 116 minutes.
What happened in the next 1.5 seconds separates football's immortals from the rest. As when Zidane watched Roberto Carlos' cross drop out the Glasgow sky, or as Gazza spotted Colin Hendry advancing with intent on the Wembley turf - Iniesta, like a great snooker player, made his move with his next two already in mind. He ghosted into the pocket of space in the area, ready to receive. Control of Fabregas's pass was not a forgone conclusion as it skipped up to thigh-height, but the little genius had already taken his split second to observe around him, and knew there was only one square-inch of space he could manipulate the ball to if he wanted to strike unimpeded. With the impeccable sense of history that only the true greats can grasp, he cushioned the ball where others would let it slip away, and in the blink of an eye, crashed a shot past Stekelenburg.
Iniesta's career is littered with other moments and performances that propel him above most of his peers. His displays against Manchester United in the 2009 and 2011 Champions League Finals, and in the 5-0 La Liga destruction of Real Madrid in 2010, are among the best I've ever seen. A glorious goal against Viktoria Plzen in last season's Champions League will always remain one of my favourites, while there are countless moments in Barca and Spain games where crowds rise as he sucks defenders in and leaves them swiping at thin air, eyes always observing the situation around him, the ball obeying his every command.
In Kiev tomorrow, Iniesta has another chance to enhance his standing amongst the sport's historical elite. In 2008, he was one component of a team which dominated a tournament from start to finish in a way you rarely see, with the pace-setters often peaking early and finding the latter knockout rounds a mental step too far. In 2010, after a surprise defeat to Switzerland, his return to full fitness after a thigh injury was the turning point in Spain's fortunes. The team grew with each game, edging closer to their 2008 standards, until the Iniesta Moment settled the final.
In 2012, Spain have found themselves the target of criticism, occasionally fairly directed at their relative standard of performance, though absurdly attributed to becoming 'boring.' As teams continually develop and find ways to counter Spain's style, while the statistical inevitablitity stacks up against them, that they have to lose one day, the pressure intensifies with each match. In previous tournaments, Iniesta and Xavi have been able to replicate their Barca fulcrum, with the familiar Busquets security blanket behind them, and David Villa sure to score. With Carlos Puyol, like Villa missing with injury, Iniesta has assumed the role of picking his team up when they, on rare occasion, are unable to allow their football to speak for themselves.
In the semi-final, Paolo Bento set up Portugal smartly, and they admirably stifled Spain, particularly in the first-half, with a penalty shootout looking inevitable from early-on. Spain tried in-vain to break down their Iberian rivals after the break, though the tournament's centrepiece, hair in place and hands on hips, lurked up-field, waiting for his moment. At his tournament. As time wore on, Spain would become all too aware that Ronaldo needed only to receive the ball once, facing up to the back-four, and their dream could be over.
With Del Bosque electing for no recognised striker by this stage, and Spain's rushed midfield unable to link up with Fabregas further up the pitch, Iniesta assumed the role of pocket-picker in extra-time, pushing Portugal's ball-players further towards their back-line, and further away from Ronaldo. He scampered and scurried, retrieving possession, often down the inside-left channel, allowing Alba to provide a much-needed outlet. Spain grew more settled as extra time progressed, and another Iniesta Moment almost materialised, but for a fine save from Rui Patricio.
In the end, Iniesta's ultimate influence came in the shootout, scoring with apparent ease after Alonso and Moutinho had their efforts saved, and Spain went on to reach their third straight major final.
Looking back over the winners of Fifa's World Player of the Year, with the exception of inaugural winner Lothar Matthaus, and Fabio Cannavaro in 2006, the awards have been saved for the most special and spectacular, yet uninhibited stars; Ronaldo (both Cristiano and his superior Nazario de Lima), Romario, Weah, Zidane, Rivaldo, Van Basten and of course, Lionel Messi - all floating free spirits within their teams, granted licence to do the damage and not restrict themselves with defensive responsiblities. Thats not to say all the above were lazy players, but their responsibilities in the team were exclusively with the ball at their feet and facing the opponents' goal.
Iniesta deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as those attacking stars on his skill alone, though he perhaps stands out as the one who carries a tactical nous and responsibility when the opposition have the ball. Add to that his growing reputation as a leader, and its a debate whether there is a more complete player in the modern game.
Many previously debated whether Real Madrid's domestic title win meant Ronaldo could pip Messi for the individual honours at the end of this year, but that his repeated failure to win an international tournament could give the Argentine another crown. However, I wonder if the greatest player in the world will be holding aloft the Euro 2012 trophy tomorrow after-all.
Friday 22 June 2012
Tackling The Glen Agenda
On the night Chelsea stiffled Barcelona in the Camp Nou to reach the Champions League Final, the Times' Tony Evans gave a unique insight into sports journalism by giving his Twitter followers regular updates from his office. One thing that struck me was that his writers in Spain were pencilling in their player ratings as early as the 65th minute of the match. This may merely confirm what most of us already know about the relevance these ratings have to post-match analysis. However, what these moments of premmature knee-jerkulation can highlight is the agenda a writer is working to. A brief (though no less nerdy) study of a dozen UK paper and online publications over the course of England's three Euro 2012 group matches does just that.
In the build-up to Roy Hodgson's Euro 2012 squad announcement, Glen Johnson was widely tipped to be a 'surprise' ommission from the team, or even the entire 23, given the emergence of Kyle Walker, Phil Jones' versatility, and Micah Richards' title-winning form at Man City. Many considered Fabio Capello's consistent selection of Johnson a three-year mistake, with Glen having suffered more than most at the hands of the press after each dismal England display. A change of manager would surely mean a long-awaited adjustment at what is viewed as a problem position in the team.
However, Roy obviously sees in Johnson what the multiple league title and Champions League winning coach did before him, and has stuck by the Liverpool man in a back-four which, a mad 15-minutes against Sweden apart, has done a respectable job so far in Ukraine.
Nonetheless, the singling out of Johnson continued through the warm-up games and into the European Championships, where across the publications, he averages significantly less per game than his fellow defenders, and all but one of his starting colleagues.
What I've seen so far is a player who has made efficient and smart use of the ball going forward, and rarely put a foot wrong at the back. Unfortunately, being marginally the deepest England player while his teammates wasted numerious opportunities to clear a foolishly conceded free-kick, seems to have clouded many peoples' overall assesment of his three performances. Or rather, it has delighted them, as it slots in perfectly with their preconceptions about Johnson, and the rest of his efforts can be ignored.
Johnson is an offensive right-back, and this concept of full-backs being as important to a team's attack as to their defence is one which is still fairly difficult for many long-term viewers of English football to grasp. You can marvel when full-backs overlap to get a cross into the box, but if they're not back in their own penalty area 15 seconds later to make a clearing header, then fingers are wagged, and an attacking full-back autmatically becomes defensively suspect.
Likewise, Spain can pass teams off the park, but if they go 45 minutes without scoring, Andy Townsend will quip: "The opposition won't mind that. That's just tippy tappy football." And if they concede a goal - yep, of course it's because they are too offensive and the full-backs get too far forward, as if its some fundamental flaw in the foreign game, and that there is only one winning footballing formula.
In Hodgson's generally conservative team, attacking full-backs are even more important than in many other setups, as confirmed by Jamie Carragher in one of his Telegraph articles. The midfield four act as defensive protection, with the wide players tucking in as almost secondary full-backs, which is why Carra is convinced Walcott will rarely make a start under Hodge, and why Milner is one of the first names on the sheet.
Milner, the only England player to suffer more than Johnson in the ratings, is being referred to as only playing in the side because Johnson is so poor that he needs some form of special protection to cover his mistakes. So Glen is not just the weak-link himself, he's also responsible for the perceived poor performances of the next scapegoat in line, while the new saviour Walcott is restricted to the bench. Though not quite at his best so far at the Euros, Milner is tactically adept and physically fit enough to do his defensive duty, while supporting Johnson as he attacks. On the left, Cole's ageing legs mean he's less inclined to bomb forward, which makes Young or Oxlaide Chamberlain's inclusion over Downing more viable.
Aside from some early bursts from the Ox against France, most of England's best football has come down the right hand side, and so have all but one of their goals so far. I'm not one for quoting Opta and Prozone stats as i often feel you can find any stat to fit your agenda, though I enjoy them as an aid to analysis - and Johnson's passing and possession statistics have also been impressive. While Gerrard has provided the ammunition for most of England's goals, Johnson has been key to helping England keep the ball, something which unfortunately has not been replicated in other areas of the pitch, and desperately needs addressing before the Italy game.
I am as surprised as anyone that Richards continues to be ignored by England managers, particularly given his versatility, while Walker's injury was a cruel blow after a promising season at Spurs. I remain wholly unconvinced by Phil Jones in any position - a gifted young player who has a long way to go and would do well to concentrate on becoming a decent centre-back first.
Walker and Richards are both eye-catching players, primarily due to their athleticism. Johnson is 6ft and no slouch, but Walker and Richards are far more explosive, powerful athletes who can make dramatic recovery tackles and spectacular overlapping contributions to attacks. Walker also has a decent strike in him too. But for me, Johnson is currently the more rounded player. He's certainly more technical and balanced, with a decent left-foot which means he is as comfortable cutting inside to link-play or go for goal, as he is overlapping. His first touch rarely gets him in trouble and although he is not as positionally reliable as Ashley Cole, he has to rely on his powers of recovery far less than Richards or Walker. And crucially, out of all England's defensive players, he is the most comfortable and proficient in possession.
His contributions, both defensively and offensively, may not slap you in the face - but then Paolo Maldini could go unnoticed for 50 games a season, and he is the finest defender of his generation. It is often the case that the best defensive players, and that includes those holding in midfield, are not neccessarily those that get Peter Drury clamouring for his next nonsensical exclamation.
Sadly, it seems most people made their minds up long ago and can't possibly reconsider. Johnson will have to do something extraordinary to earn their praise, and defensively, that means getting himself into some pretty hairy positions in order to make more last-ditch tackles, or add something in the goals or assists columns at the other end. I hope he continues his fine form as it is , and to ignore the media when he returns to Liverpool after these Championships, as I am particularly confident he is a player well suited to Brendan Rodgers' possession-based game.
More of the same, Glen Johnson.
Thanks for reading.
In the build-up to Roy Hodgson's Euro 2012 squad announcement, Glen Johnson was widely tipped to be a 'surprise' ommission from the team, or even the entire 23, given the emergence of Kyle Walker, Phil Jones' versatility, and Micah Richards' title-winning form at Man City. Many considered Fabio Capello's consistent selection of Johnson a three-year mistake, with Glen having suffered more than most at the hands of the press after each dismal England display. A change of manager would surely mean a long-awaited adjustment at what is viewed as a problem position in the team.
However, Roy obviously sees in Johnson what the multiple league title and Champions League winning coach did before him, and has stuck by the Liverpool man in a back-four which, a mad 15-minutes against Sweden apart, has done a respectable job so far in Ukraine.
Nonetheless, the singling out of Johnson continued through the warm-up games and into the European Championships, where across the publications, he averages significantly less per game than his fellow defenders, and all but one of his starting colleagues.
What I've seen so far is a player who has made efficient and smart use of the ball going forward, and rarely put a foot wrong at the back. Unfortunately, being marginally the deepest England player while his teammates wasted numerious opportunities to clear a foolishly conceded free-kick, seems to have clouded many peoples' overall assesment of his three performances. Or rather, it has delighted them, as it slots in perfectly with their preconceptions about Johnson, and the rest of his efforts can be ignored.
Johnson is an offensive right-back, and this concept of full-backs being as important to a team's attack as to their defence is one which is still fairly difficult for many long-term viewers of English football to grasp. You can marvel when full-backs overlap to get a cross into the box, but if they're not back in their own penalty area 15 seconds later to make a clearing header, then fingers are wagged, and an attacking full-back autmatically becomes defensively suspect.
Likewise, Spain can pass teams off the park, but if they go 45 minutes without scoring, Andy Townsend will quip: "The opposition won't mind that. That's just tippy tappy football." And if they concede a goal - yep, of course it's because they are too offensive and the full-backs get too far forward, as if its some fundamental flaw in the foreign game, and that there is only one winning footballing formula.
In Hodgson's generally conservative team, attacking full-backs are even more important than in many other setups, as confirmed by Jamie Carragher in one of his Telegraph articles. The midfield four act as defensive protection, with the wide players tucking in as almost secondary full-backs, which is why Carra is convinced Walcott will rarely make a start under Hodge, and why Milner is one of the first names on the sheet.
Milner, the only England player to suffer more than Johnson in the ratings, is being referred to as only playing in the side because Johnson is so poor that he needs some form of special protection to cover his mistakes. So Glen is not just the weak-link himself, he's also responsible for the perceived poor performances of the next scapegoat in line, while the new saviour Walcott is restricted to the bench. Though not quite at his best so far at the Euros, Milner is tactically adept and physically fit enough to do his defensive duty, while supporting Johnson as he attacks. On the left, Cole's ageing legs mean he's less inclined to bomb forward, which makes Young or Oxlaide Chamberlain's inclusion over Downing more viable.
Aside from some early bursts from the Ox against France, most of England's best football has come down the right hand side, and so have all but one of their goals so far. I'm not one for quoting Opta and Prozone stats as i often feel you can find any stat to fit your agenda, though I enjoy them as an aid to analysis - and Johnson's passing and possession statistics have also been impressive. While Gerrard has provided the ammunition for most of England's goals, Johnson has been key to helping England keep the ball, something which unfortunately has not been replicated in other areas of the pitch, and desperately needs addressing before the Italy game.
I am as surprised as anyone that Richards continues to be ignored by England managers, particularly given his versatility, while Walker's injury was a cruel blow after a promising season at Spurs. I remain wholly unconvinced by Phil Jones in any position - a gifted young player who has a long way to go and would do well to concentrate on becoming a decent centre-back first.
Walker and Richards are both eye-catching players, primarily due to their athleticism. Johnson is 6ft and no slouch, but Walker and Richards are far more explosive, powerful athletes who can make dramatic recovery tackles and spectacular overlapping contributions to attacks. Walker also has a decent strike in him too. But for me, Johnson is currently the more rounded player. He's certainly more technical and balanced, with a decent left-foot which means he is as comfortable cutting inside to link-play or go for goal, as he is overlapping. His first touch rarely gets him in trouble and although he is not as positionally reliable as Ashley Cole, he has to rely on his powers of recovery far less than Richards or Walker. And crucially, out of all England's defensive players, he is the most comfortable and proficient in possession.
His contributions, both defensively and offensively, may not slap you in the face - but then Paolo Maldini could go unnoticed for 50 games a season, and he is the finest defender of his generation. It is often the case that the best defensive players, and that includes those holding in midfield, are not neccessarily those that get Peter Drury clamouring for his next nonsensical exclamation.
Sadly, it seems most people made their minds up long ago and can't possibly reconsider. Johnson will have to do something extraordinary to earn their praise, and defensively, that means getting himself into some pretty hairy positions in order to make more last-ditch tackles, or add something in the goals or assists columns at the other end. I hope he continues his fine form as it is , and to ignore the media when he returns to Liverpool after these Championships, as I am particularly confident he is a player well suited to Brendan Rodgers' possession-based game.
More of the same, Glen Johnson.
Thanks for reading.
Saturday 2 June 2012
Rodgers Wins The Fans By Accepting Anfield's Friendly Ghosts
Throughout most of last season, until he was eventually sacked, we were widely accused of blindly and unreasonably standing by Kenny Dalglish. It was just another example of Liverpool fans refusing to face up to our current state of mediocrity, while desperately trying to bridge the gap in bragging rights to the Champions League elite by clinging to a hero of the distant past.
We were just living off history, as has been the label for the past 20 years.
The criticism lingered beyond Dalglish's departure when many of us called for Rafa Benitez to be at the very least consulted, if not recruited while FSG were searching for a replacement. Liverpool fans pining for the past again.
Yet before I've even had time to sympathise with those whose clubs' identities are so empty that they consdier history worthless, we are being blanketed by a bizarre contradictory accusation. In the many articles published since the appointment of Brendan Rodgers, variations of the same second paragraph seem to be used to qualify what has been seen as a brave, intriguing move by FSG.
Does this sound familiar?
"Brendan Rodgers will now face the uphill task of winning over Liverpool's restless supporters, who demand a swift return to the Champions League and a title challenge."
Optional: Reference to Roy Hodgson, who was hounded out of Anfield by the baying mob before he'd even got both feet in the door, and subjected to cruel, detrimental chants of 'Dalglish' at every game.
So which are we? The group who stand by their managers too long in the face of the rest of the footballing world? Or the ruthless group of hard-to-please, fair-weather fans who cheer one week, boo the next, demand instant and sustained success, then swiftly cast aside their plastic flags and demand wholesale changes?
Rodgers unquestionably faces a huge challenge at Anfield, and many fans have had their reservations. He certainly wasn't my number one preference from the list of realistic potential targets. yet this apparent mammoth task of winning us over that is being banded around - he breezed through that on Friday morning.
Rodgers came prepared. He had done his research, even aware that he is the first Northern Irishman to manage the club since the very first, John McKenna. But most importantly, he thanked Kenny for the foundations he laid during the previous 18 months and praised him for his contributions to both club and city over the decades, inspiring us to our greatest glories and guiding us through the tragedies. He was clearly honoured to have become part of that history, and is determined to protect it.
Thank you, Brendan, for sharing what is important to us.
Here is a truth - in June 2010, Roy Hodgson was widely viewed as the wrong appointment, at the wrong time, made by the wrong regime at Liverpool Football Club. A lot of us were extremely concerned about the direction the club was heading in. However, he was given a warm reception on his Anfield bow, and we hoped for the best.
As the season started poorly, but before it got progressively worse to the point where we were fighting a pre-Christmas relegation battle, Hodgson began driving a wedge between himself and the history of Liverpool, and its fans.
His tenure became a tiresome series of slurs, aimed precisely at the people he should have been honoured to follow and be associated with. He blamed Benitez, who won us the greatest prize of all, for the team he inherited, and King Kenny for being his perceived successor in waiting, and even the fans themselves. Liverpool fans love to stand out from the crowd, and while we were the laughing stock of the league, our own manager turned on the very people who had the power and the propensity to protect him more than anyone else. We will forgive most things, even a run of appalling results, in the hope that things will get better.
We didn't turn on Roy Hodgson. Roy Hodgson turned on us. And please note, again, we never once collectively demanded he be removed from the club. No marches, no tennis balls, no chickens. And there wasn't a boo in evidence when he brought his West Brom team to Anfield at the end of last season.
Rodgers has already shown his hand. His results may or may not reflect his and the owners' ambitions over the coming seasons, and fans all round the world will discuss this, but he will always have our collective support when the team go out on the pitch.
'King Brenny' may never catch on, but I'm more than happy to be Rodgered next season. Let's hope he becomes another hero we can display our unique brand of support to, whether others sneer or not, during and beyond his time at the club. Good luck, Brendan.
We were just living off history, as has been the label for the past 20 years.
The criticism lingered beyond Dalglish's departure when many of us called for Rafa Benitez to be at the very least consulted, if not recruited while FSG were searching for a replacement. Liverpool fans pining for the past again.
Yet before I've even had time to sympathise with those whose clubs' identities are so empty that they consdier history worthless, we are being blanketed by a bizarre contradictory accusation. In the many articles published since the appointment of Brendan Rodgers, variations of the same second paragraph seem to be used to qualify what has been seen as a brave, intriguing move by FSG.
Does this sound familiar?
"Brendan Rodgers will now face the uphill task of winning over Liverpool's restless supporters, who demand a swift return to the Champions League and a title challenge."
Optional: Reference to Roy Hodgson, who was hounded out of Anfield by the baying mob before he'd even got both feet in the door, and subjected to cruel, detrimental chants of 'Dalglish' at every game.
So which are we? The group who stand by their managers too long in the face of the rest of the footballing world? Or the ruthless group of hard-to-please, fair-weather fans who cheer one week, boo the next, demand instant and sustained success, then swiftly cast aside their plastic flags and demand wholesale changes?
Rodgers unquestionably faces a huge challenge at Anfield, and many fans have had their reservations. He certainly wasn't my number one preference from the list of realistic potential targets. yet this apparent mammoth task of winning us over that is being banded around - he breezed through that on Friday morning.
Rodgers came prepared. He had done his research, even aware that he is the first Northern Irishman to manage the club since the very first, John McKenna. But most importantly, he thanked Kenny for the foundations he laid during the previous 18 months and praised him for his contributions to both club and city over the decades, inspiring us to our greatest glories and guiding us through the tragedies. He was clearly honoured to have become part of that history, and is determined to protect it.
Thank you, Brendan, for sharing what is important to us.
Here is a truth - in June 2010, Roy Hodgson was widely viewed as the wrong appointment, at the wrong time, made by the wrong regime at Liverpool Football Club. A lot of us were extremely concerned about the direction the club was heading in. However, he was given a warm reception on his Anfield bow, and we hoped for the best.
As the season started poorly, but before it got progressively worse to the point where we were fighting a pre-Christmas relegation battle, Hodgson began driving a wedge between himself and the history of Liverpool, and its fans.
His tenure became a tiresome series of slurs, aimed precisely at the people he should have been honoured to follow and be associated with. He blamed Benitez, who won us the greatest prize of all, for the team he inherited, and King Kenny for being his perceived successor in waiting, and even the fans themselves. Liverpool fans love to stand out from the crowd, and while we were the laughing stock of the league, our own manager turned on the very people who had the power and the propensity to protect him more than anyone else. We will forgive most things, even a run of appalling results, in the hope that things will get better.
We didn't turn on Roy Hodgson. Roy Hodgson turned on us. And please note, again, we never once collectively demanded he be removed from the club. No marches, no tennis balls, no chickens. And there wasn't a boo in evidence when he brought his West Brom team to Anfield at the end of last season.
Rodgers has already shown his hand. His results may or may not reflect his and the owners' ambitions over the coming seasons, and fans all round the world will discuss this, but he will always have our collective support when the team go out on the pitch.
'King Brenny' may never catch on, but I'm more than happy to be Rodgered next season. Let's hope he becomes another hero we can display our unique brand of support to, whether others sneer or not, during and beyond his time at the club. Good luck, Brendan.
Thursday 24 May 2012
The Almost-Footballers: Why Football Should Never Turn Its Back
I was saving my first proper post in this blog for Liverpool's next managerial appointment. However, somewhere between "Kenny Out" and "Talk to Rafa" I gave up wasting energy on the whole situation. More on Roberto Martinez (I imagine) once the whole circus is over. Thanks to the ever-discreet Dave Whelan i am aware that Martinez is with our owners in Miami having talks, but then in the context of this particular part of Liverpool's history, that's no guarantee that we're about to see a smooth process and a signed contract. Therefore, WARNING : this post contains discussion of a serious footballing issue.
This comes about after Joey Barton received his 12-match ban for a hatrick of violent conduct offences on the final day of the season. Speculation has begun as to whether QPR can and will sack him, and whether any other Premier League club will employ him once his ban is over. But there are also widespread claims that this should be Joey's last chance in the sport, and that, according to Paul Hayward of the Telegraph, "the game should cast out a limited player."
Its pretty tough to make a case for Barton, who is pushing 30, has served a prison sentence, been given several second chances and far more positive publicity in recent months than most other professional players. But he is in the extreme minority, both in that he is, despite what Hayward says, a talented footballer (though not as good as he thinks of himself), but also his transgressions have gone far beyond the boundaries of what is generally viewed as acceptable, on a pitch or on the street.
But what of the rest?
Despite that clubs are pricing out thousands of fans with obscene ticket prices, football remains a wonderfully classless sport at the grassroots level. The circumstances you are born into do not limit your opportunities to become a footballer - however, neither are they given the slightest consideration when you are deemed surplus to requirements, whether that be at 14 or 24.
For every Wayne Rooney, there are dozens of youngsters who are plucked from their council estate childhoods and given the hope, if not the promise, that they will make it as a footballer, only to find that it was all just a brief dream. They are often cast out before they become adults, just as if they were another Joey Barton, but without having stubbed a cigar out in a teammates' eye or beaten another one to unconsciousness. Plenty others spend 10-15 years working towards their dream, get as far as pulling a first-team shirt on and starting a League Cup match or an end-of-season dead rubber, but still find themselves looking for a new career before they reach their mid-twenties.
What about those that we can't even apply the absurd unwritten social law to, that footballers, because of their wealth, have no reason to be unhappy or angry, or any defence for their mistakes? Or are they simply just fortunate to have even got close to that blissful life of kicking a ball around for a living?
Whether he behaves well or not, what happens to the almost-footballer?
There are of course, provisions right through the game, led by the FA, for safeguarding children against all forms of physical and psychological harm within football institutions, as well as protecting their rights to education. Meanwhile the famous Sporting Chance charity does some stellar work through using the power of sport to turn troubled lives around, and most professional clubs run their own local community projects or foundations.
All admirable, necessary stuff. But there remains a severe lack of provision for how these youngsters deal with being in a position which has the potential to turn their lives, and their family's, upside-down. There is certainly none for how the unfortunate majority adjust to 'normal' life after their wildest dreams have been dashed before they've even had a chance to grow up and think philosophically about their own lives.
Of course, plenty of these youngsters are guided by their parents and probably go on to live perfectly fulfilling lives. But its no secret that there is a behavioural problem within English football's young pretenders, and this is certainly not exclusive to the super-rich and famous. On the contrary, Wayne Rooney was fortunate enough to have worked under two hard-line professionals in David Moyes and Alex Ferguson, who made every effort to ensure his immense talent wouldn't go to waste. But again, Rooney is in a minority, and plenty of lesser-known, promising youngsters are still earning significant sums of money before they know how to look after themselves.
It is not clear at what point Manchester United, which has dealt successfully with Rooney and other talented trouble-makers, considered the gifted Ravel Morrison as no longer worth the damage to their commercial image. Its not hard to imagine his move to West Ham being the last of his career that commands a transfer fee. Morrison, still a teenager, had his fair share of well documented troubles before kicking a ball at professional level, and is considered to be fortunate that the game has not turned its back on him already. That time may still not be too far away, despite his obvious ability. But I can't imagine Sam Allardyce and West Ham snapped up the youngster with a view to nurturing him into a morally upstanding citizen, pay him a relative fortune for doing so, then reintegrate him back into a more conventional way of life and hope he behaves. What they saw was a potential bargain that nobody else wants - not even the world's richest club - who they can always dump at a later stage if he continues to misbehave. No harm done.
Any employer reserves the right to dismiss an employee, but doesn't the sport as a whole have a larger responsibility? Do the FA in particular, through the likes of Barton and Morrison, have the perfect opportunity to change some perceptions of the most important sport in the world, rather than wash their hands of them?
While the work the FA, clubs and charities do currently in the community should serve as a benchmark of what can be done through sport, football is still in need of some radical reforms at the academy level to tackle these issues, and that may involve removing responsibility from individual clubs altogether, and making the game itself carry more of the burden.
Perhaps clubs should be banned from signing kids, and instead the FA expand regional schools of excellence, which should prioritise education and enjoyment first, and football a not-too-distant second, up until the age of 16. This doesn't just include the compulsory education to which every child is entitled too, but also, as they approach 'graduation,' education around the issues, challenges and responsibilities that come with being a wealthy professional sportsman who, whether they ask for it or not, will be in the public-eye. From 16 they would be able to sign contracts with clubs, though until 18, they will effectively remain in part-time education through compulsory FA-funded schemes run by the clubs.
Whether a player is released by its school of excellence at 16, or by its club at any stage prior to becoming an established professional, the FA should form a body separate from the PFA which exclusively deals with a footballer's involuntary retirement. This should also apply to players whose retirement is forced upon them either by injury, or by a refusal of clubs to employ them for non-footballing reasons, and even Joey Barton would fall into that category.
My overall point is not so much that the game should come to the rescue of Joey Barton or Ravel Morrison. Rather that primarily from the moment kids are identified as being potential footballers, which can be as young as 5 or 6, that the game makes every effort to ensure that each kid is prepared as much as possible for what comes next, whether it is glorious opportunity or rejection. Likewise, it should aim to strive that out of those fortunate enough to make it, there are as few as possible who will go on to self-destruct and throw away a career the rest of us would do anything for. Thirdly, it will also aid the game's recently increased awareness of sensitive issues affecting current, former and almost-professionals, such as depression and alcoholism, which are often hidden until its tragically too late.
Joey Barton deserved his 12-game ban, and in fact deserves everything that comes to him (or not) in the coming months. But football owes it to the thousands of young hopefuls at clubs across the country to not turn its back completely on those which tarnish its short-term image, and bring about positive change at the sport's most important age-groups.
Thanks for reading. Liverpool, next time, I promise.
This comes about after Joey Barton received his 12-match ban for a hatrick of violent conduct offences on the final day of the season. Speculation has begun as to whether QPR can and will sack him, and whether any other Premier League club will employ him once his ban is over. But there are also widespread claims that this should be Joey's last chance in the sport, and that, according to Paul Hayward of the Telegraph, "the game should cast out a limited player."
Its pretty tough to make a case for Barton, who is pushing 30, has served a prison sentence, been given several second chances and far more positive publicity in recent months than most other professional players. But he is in the extreme minority, both in that he is, despite what Hayward says, a talented footballer (though not as good as he thinks of himself), but also his transgressions have gone far beyond the boundaries of what is generally viewed as acceptable, on a pitch or on the street.
But what of the rest?
Despite that clubs are pricing out thousands of fans with obscene ticket prices, football remains a wonderfully classless sport at the grassroots level. The circumstances you are born into do not limit your opportunities to become a footballer - however, neither are they given the slightest consideration when you are deemed surplus to requirements, whether that be at 14 or 24.
For every Wayne Rooney, there are dozens of youngsters who are plucked from their council estate childhoods and given the hope, if not the promise, that they will make it as a footballer, only to find that it was all just a brief dream. They are often cast out before they become adults, just as if they were another Joey Barton, but without having stubbed a cigar out in a teammates' eye or beaten another one to unconsciousness. Plenty others spend 10-15 years working towards their dream, get as far as pulling a first-team shirt on and starting a League Cup match or an end-of-season dead rubber, but still find themselves looking for a new career before they reach their mid-twenties.
What about those that we can't even apply the absurd unwritten social law to, that footballers, because of their wealth, have no reason to be unhappy or angry, or any defence for their mistakes? Or are they simply just fortunate to have even got close to that blissful life of kicking a ball around for a living?
Whether he behaves well or not, what happens to the almost-footballer?
There are of course, provisions right through the game, led by the FA, for safeguarding children against all forms of physical and psychological harm within football institutions, as well as protecting their rights to education. Meanwhile the famous Sporting Chance charity does some stellar work through using the power of sport to turn troubled lives around, and most professional clubs run their own local community projects or foundations.
All admirable, necessary stuff. But there remains a severe lack of provision for how these youngsters deal with being in a position which has the potential to turn their lives, and their family's, upside-down. There is certainly none for how the unfortunate majority adjust to 'normal' life after their wildest dreams have been dashed before they've even had a chance to grow up and think philosophically about their own lives.
Of course, plenty of these youngsters are guided by their parents and probably go on to live perfectly fulfilling lives. But its no secret that there is a behavioural problem within English football's young pretenders, and this is certainly not exclusive to the super-rich and famous. On the contrary, Wayne Rooney was fortunate enough to have worked under two hard-line professionals in David Moyes and Alex Ferguson, who made every effort to ensure his immense talent wouldn't go to waste. But again, Rooney is in a minority, and plenty of lesser-known, promising youngsters are still earning significant sums of money before they know how to look after themselves.
It is not clear at what point Manchester United, which has dealt successfully with Rooney and other talented trouble-makers, considered the gifted Ravel Morrison as no longer worth the damage to their commercial image. Its not hard to imagine his move to West Ham being the last of his career that commands a transfer fee. Morrison, still a teenager, had his fair share of well documented troubles before kicking a ball at professional level, and is considered to be fortunate that the game has not turned its back on him already. That time may still not be too far away, despite his obvious ability. But I can't imagine Sam Allardyce and West Ham snapped up the youngster with a view to nurturing him into a morally upstanding citizen, pay him a relative fortune for doing so, then reintegrate him back into a more conventional way of life and hope he behaves. What they saw was a potential bargain that nobody else wants - not even the world's richest club - who they can always dump at a later stage if he continues to misbehave. No harm done.
Any employer reserves the right to dismiss an employee, but doesn't the sport as a whole have a larger responsibility? Do the FA in particular, through the likes of Barton and Morrison, have the perfect opportunity to change some perceptions of the most important sport in the world, rather than wash their hands of them?
While the work the FA, clubs and charities do currently in the community should serve as a benchmark of what can be done through sport, football is still in need of some radical reforms at the academy level to tackle these issues, and that may involve removing responsibility from individual clubs altogether, and making the game itself carry more of the burden.
Perhaps clubs should be banned from signing kids, and instead the FA expand regional schools of excellence, which should prioritise education and enjoyment first, and football a not-too-distant second, up until the age of 16. This doesn't just include the compulsory education to which every child is entitled too, but also, as they approach 'graduation,' education around the issues, challenges and responsibilities that come with being a wealthy professional sportsman who, whether they ask for it or not, will be in the public-eye. From 16 they would be able to sign contracts with clubs, though until 18, they will effectively remain in part-time education through compulsory FA-funded schemes run by the clubs.
Whether a player is released by its school of excellence at 16, or by its club at any stage prior to becoming an established professional, the FA should form a body separate from the PFA which exclusively deals with a footballer's involuntary retirement. This should also apply to players whose retirement is forced upon them either by injury, or by a refusal of clubs to employ them for non-footballing reasons, and even Joey Barton would fall into that category.
My overall point is not so much that the game should come to the rescue of Joey Barton or Ravel Morrison. Rather that primarily from the moment kids are identified as being potential footballers, which can be as young as 5 or 6, that the game makes every effort to ensure that each kid is prepared as much as possible for what comes next, whether it is glorious opportunity or rejection. Likewise, it should aim to strive that out of those fortunate enough to make it, there are as few as possible who will go on to self-destruct and throw away a career the rest of us would do anything for. Thirdly, it will also aid the game's recently increased awareness of sensitive issues affecting current, former and almost-professionals, such as depression and alcoholism, which are often hidden until its tragically too late.
Joey Barton deserved his 12-game ban, and in fact deserves everything that comes to him (or not) in the coming months. But football owes it to the thousands of young hopefuls at clubs across the country to not turn its back completely on those which tarnish its short-term image, and bring about positive change at the sport's most important age-groups.
Thanks for reading. Liverpool, next time, I promise.
Friday 18 May 2012
Welcome To My Blog
Firstly, welcome to The Wrong Colour Shirts. The name is simply a tribute to the greatest moment in the history of English football. Its not Geoff Hurst, George Best, Alan Kennedy, Ricky Villa, Thierry Henry or Sergio Aguero. It doesn't even involve 'a football.' It was in fact, without doubt, when one of the greatest managers the game has ever seen, blamed a dismal first-half display from the best team in the country on the colour of his players' shirts.
For all the millions of twitter characters spent daily discussing formations, tactics, goals-per-minutes ratios, distances covered, phases of play and goalline technologies; when arguably the greatest exponent of the aforementioned was staring at a surprise defeat away at Southampton, he lost his temper, and he made his team change their shirts.
Regardless, United went on to win the 1995-1996 Premier League title, and Fergie has won nine more since, plus a sick-bucket full of cup medals. He has made my first 20 years as a Liverpool fan an exercise in looking over my shoulder, while our bitterest rivals chipped away at our once considerable pile of trump cards, until I'm curled up naked in a corner, clutching onto my '5 Times' as if life itself depends on it.
When this 'genius' retires, we will have to sit through hours of tedious programming, and debate over whether he is in fact the greatest man the sport has ever engaged. He's considered so proficient at his job that he was long-ago made a knight of the realm. And yet he'll always be the man who blamed a defeat on the colour of his shirts. And no amount of silverware will change that. Football, eh, bloody hell.
Anyway, this ramble doesn't lead me on neatly to another topic in this post, or to the general theory behind the creation of this blog. Its merely the online version of the discussion we all had last week around pub tables after Sergio Aguero's bewildering piece of skill and composure, accompanied by Martyn Tyler's beautiful roar. We talked about the most dramatic goals, the greatest goals, the funniest own-goals, the nastiest tackles and the most bizarre incidents - all those moments that make football such a scintillating sport to watch.
However, it wasn't until 24 hours later, that the real lasting beauty of Aguero's spectacular moment became clear. When Sir Alex Ferguson, 12 league titles and all, having reacted so graciously to such a demoralising defeat, finally burst. He claimed City had gained an unfair advantage by their match continuing after United's game at Sunderland had finished, and suggested the Premier League "look into that." Suddenly it all became clear - all those late, late goals United have scored over the years - Fergie has been freezing time.
Sir Alex, you genius. The gift that keeps on giving.
So, that's the intro done. The fact that its almost entirely about Alex Ferguson is something to be ashamed of, I'm sure. The only way is up from here, so next time, its onto Liverpool FC... that'll be fun.
For all the millions of twitter characters spent daily discussing formations, tactics, goals-per-minutes ratios, distances covered, phases of play and goalline technologies; when arguably the greatest exponent of the aforementioned was staring at a surprise defeat away at Southampton, he lost his temper, and he made his team change their shirts.
Regardless, United went on to win the 1995-1996 Premier League title, and Fergie has won nine more since, plus a sick-bucket full of cup medals. He has made my first 20 years as a Liverpool fan an exercise in looking over my shoulder, while our bitterest rivals chipped away at our once considerable pile of trump cards, until I'm curled up naked in a corner, clutching onto my '5 Times' as if life itself depends on it.
When this 'genius' retires, we will have to sit through hours of tedious programming, and debate over whether he is in fact the greatest man the sport has ever engaged. He's considered so proficient at his job that he was long-ago made a knight of the realm. And yet he'll always be the man who blamed a defeat on the colour of his shirts. And no amount of silverware will change that. Football, eh, bloody hell.
Anyway, this ramble doesn't lead me on neatly to another topic in this post, or to the general theory behind the creation of this blog. Its merely the online version of the discussion we all had last week around pub tables after Sergio Aguero's bewildering piece of skill and composure, accompanied by Martyn Tyler's beautiful roar. We talked about the most dramatic goals, the greatest goals, the funniest own-goals, the nastiest tackles and the most bizarre incidents - all those moments that make football such a scintillating sport to watch.
However, it wasn't until 24 hours later, that the real lasting beauty of Aguero's spectacular moment became clear. When Sir Alex Ferguson, 12 league titles and all, having reacted so graciously to such a demoralising defeat, finally burst. He claimed City had gained an unfair advantage by their match continuing after United's game at Sunderland had finished, and suggested the Premier League "look into that." Suddenly it all became clear - all those late, late goals United have scored over the years - Fergie has been freezing time.
Sir Alex, you genius. The gift that keeps on giving.
So, that's the intro done. The fact that its almost entirely about Alex Ferguson is something to be ashamed of, I'm sure. The only way is up from here, so next time, its onto Liverpool FC... that'll be fun.
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