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.
Monday, 23 July 2012
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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