Tuesday 29 March 2011

O Captain! My Captain!

The last couple of weeks have proven to be a fallow period for football, which is somewhat surprising looking at the gruelling fixture pileup awaiting many teams in April. Should we be disappointed? No, no we shouldn’t.  This intermediary period has allowed the collective football fan to filter out all the cultural static and concentrate on what is really important: THE ARMBAND. Not so much the artefact, but what it symbolises. For John Terry is redemption made tangible, but for Rio Ferdinand – currently reduced to Tweeted asides – it is a reminder of his frailties, of a summer spent watching a World Cup instead of playing in it.

Terry has had a merry old time. Long gone are the days of contrition, of the bulldog with the tail between its legs. Now we have Terry barking at anyone who will listen that he did nothing wrong, never deserved to be stripped of his captaincy. His baiting of Ferdinand was clearest when he claimed that Michael Dawson had made the position ‘his own’, a comment which can only be read to suggest that Terry feels that Ferdinand is as good as retired from international football. It would seem if the football is a bit dry, liberally season with a bit of Terry and things get a lot more interesting.

The suggestion that Ferdinand should retire from football would certainly be met with approval from Alex Ferguson, a manager in the habit of quietly convincing his players to cut out international football to prolong their careers – Berbatov, Scholes and Giggs spring immediately to mind – but one gets the impression that Ferdinand would not be so easily dissuaded from appearing for England. There lingers about him the same desperation to play for England as can be seen in Beckham’s omnipresence around the team. Here are two men that may well be hanging about the squad until an indecent age just waiting for the opportunity to ‘boot up’, two former captains put out to pasture.

So, onto Barry the armband is thrust in this post-colonial meeting of two nations. No sooner does Terry claim the captaincy than he renounces it in favour of a Capello-endorsed rest. Thrown into the choppy waters that Terry leaves in his wake is Barry: the quiet man. A man so vapid and inoffensive that not even Ferdinand can muster 140 characters to complain. One has to wonder if Capello is attempting to demystify the captaincy issue that he claims is a uniquely English fetish. To display that we as a nation should not place so much emphasis on who leads out the team, as a leader will lead with or without a piece of elasticated cloth. And so to help him in this goal I have provided your very own armband. We can be Captains, just for one day.

Cut it out, wear it with pride, for you are a Captain my friend.   

~ Ed

Monday 28 March 2011

Tweet Revenge: Mario Balotelli

Good news everyone! Your new favourite forward Mario Balotelli decided to spend his weekend off embracing the Twitter community. Will his new-found love of tweets and hashtags make him a changed man? Lets see how he's getting on...



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super_mario45 (Mario Balotelli)

Following: 12 (probably not including Jose Mourinho)
Followers: everyone (except Lionel Messi)

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super_mario45
hello city fans, now you can follow me on twitter! #goldenboy
2 days ago


diamond_džeko
@super_mario45 hi mario. Nice to see you can get your computer on at least...lolz!
35 hours ago


super_mario45
@diamond džeko You're funny, but how many United fans say "come to us Džeko"?  None, that is how many. You are no Messi. You are no Balotelli.
35 hours ago


super_mario45
bit of time off this weekend, @mentor_mancini says I have 2 clean up my act. Will do my best. Off to buy groceries #everylitttlehelps
28 hours ago


super_mario45
bad time at the shops-lady at the till asked me for ID for allergy tablets. I spat at her. Was asked to leave. I still have much to learn.
27 hours ago


jack_wilshire
@super_mario45 welcome to twitter Mario!!
26 hours ago


super_mario45
@jack_wilshire I’m sorry, I do not know who you are.
26 hours ago


jack_wilshire :(
26 hours ago


super_mario45
i miss italian tv, berlusconi makes the best shows!! going to check out bbc1 #masterchef
25 hours ago


super_mario45
tinned béchamel?!?! **** off, a lasagne needs fresh ingredients. Disgrace. Smashed up the tv. **** gregg wallace.
24 hours ago


silvio_b
@super_mario45 Grazie! I’m sure there’s a place for a man of your temperament at  Milan. Tell me, do you have a younger sister? #bungabunga
23 hours ago


super_mario45
@michael_johnson hi. @mentor_mancini suggests I spend time with a friend. But he is in italy. How about a drink later?
21 hours ago


michael_johnson
@super_mario45 come round to mine pal, i'll get some beers in. How many you fancy? Twelve?
21 hours ago


super_mario45
@michael_johnson beer is not cultured. I will bring wine, a nice Barolo. Also, nibbles.
21 hours ago


super mario
back home. johnson corked the wine with his ergonomic screwpull, then burnt the monte veronese. So I hit him. The child has no class.
17 hours ago


super_mario45
johnson texts me, says I am a cockmuncher. I don't know this term, but assume it is a compliment. Maybe I will forgive him.
16 hours ago


super_mario45
going to the pub tomorrow with @englandsgarethbarrry and @hart_number_one. Hart says he will teach me to play darts. Wish me luck!
15 hours ago
 

super_mario45
@silvio_b Yes. Yes I do.
2 hours ago


~ Matt

Wednesday 23 March 2011

A Positive Monster

Football has become a political matter. Heads of state court me. Football has become a monster, but it’s a positive monster.”

             
              ~ Sepp Blatter, Fifa President, December 2010


* * *


Last Friday Mohamed bin Hammam confirmed the truth to the rumour that he will challenge sitting Swiss visionary Sepp Blatter for the role of Fifa President at the federation's 61st congress in June this year. Currently the kingpin of the Asian Football Confederation, bin Hammam was rumoured to have begun measuring the drapes in Blatter's corner office some while back, and the past few months have seen his public profile skyrocket, not least as all things Qatari (his country of birth) have been unceremoniously thrust into the global media spotlight. As if it wasn't hot enough there already.

Ever since Qatar won the right to host the 2022 World Cup finals, bin Hammam's name has been very much on the tongue of those in the know. Having taken great delight in “driving forward the expansion of football” in awarding Qatar the tournament, Blatter now finds himself fighting for another four year stint against a man to some extent empowered by his own grand concept.

Bin Hammam, however, appears keen to distance himself from Fifa's historically heaving basket of crusty linen. His stated mission to “create an absolute, ethical, democratic and transparent environment within Fifa” translates as a damning indictment of the governing body's current workings, suggesting that Blatter's regime has been pointedly unethical, anything but democratic and about as transparent as a cruel bout of diarrhoea.

Of course the democratic process – however strong or otherwise it may be – certainly produced the favoured outcome for Qatar four months ago, but let's not worry about that for now. Actually, on second thought, let's. As we all know the run up to the vote was bedevilled with claim and counter-claim of corruption, with bin Hammam quick to brand the BBC's hidden camera tactics as “unethical”, posing the metaphor-rich conundrum, "How can we serve justice and look for fairness by not acting justly and fairly? How will we clean dirty laundry by using dirty water?" How indeed.

At the time he “pray[ed] that no corrupted collusion will find its way to the bids." After the suspensions imposed on two members were upheld by the body's ethics committee, it seems his invocation fell on deaf ears, although happily this made it easier to rail against such unscrupulous behaviour as he launched his own candidacy. If nothing else, the man appears to know how to work an issue to his advantage.

To be fair, I may be expecting too much from a man vying to lead Fifa, and to hope that politicking won't occur is to perhaps wantonly misjudge the nature of the process itself. Spin and rhetoric will never be too far removed from even the finest leaders – bin Hammam's apparent openness to a succession deal with Uefa top brass Michael Platini would suggest as much. If anything results in his bid ending up a losing one, it won't be naivety.

Such back-scratching is of course commonplace (some might say necessary) throughout the world's corridors of democratic power, but it doesn't really say a whole lot for ethics – or democracy, for that matter. At least he's being transparent about it, so that's something. "I am not going to lie to you and say that I am not going to talk to Michel about possible co-operation in the future,” he plain-spoke. “I'm not telling you I am not going to do it but let's wait and see." Ah transparency, how we've missed you.

But maybe, like a spurned lover, I have become desensitised to, and distrusting of, the words of an honest man, finding myself hopelessly attuned to the scent of shit and disappointment, like a disenfranchised sniffer dog. So perhaps for now I should give bin Hammam the benefit of the doubt. Christ knows he'll need it – transforming Fifa's public image would probably make Charlie Sheen's ex-publicist decide that maybe he didn't have it so bad after all.

Under Blatter, Fifa's reputation as an obtuse, self-serving, swill trough has swelled exponentially. The Swiss' time in charge reads like the programme notes for a drunken circus act: widening goalposts, scrapping draws, putting female players in tighter shorts, oh God please make it stop. All hilarious on paper, but hilarious in the way a madman scrawling the lyrics to the White Album on the wall of his cell in faeces is hilarious, i.e. for about two minutes, before the crushing human tragedy of it all begins to dawn.

What these concepts amounted to were little more than high-profile gimmicks, all intended to be part of some futurist vision but one which turned a blind eye to actual, pressing issues (a firm stance on goal-line technology, anyone?). Initiatives such as their 'Grassroots' programme show that Fifa is capable of producing good ideas. Yet when Blatter does finally take his leave, these achievements and others will be mostly overlooked, probably because we'll be preoccupied with watching a deranged, offside-less, hot-pant wearing legacy, with no time for warm-downs as the next thrice-annual World Cup kicks off in, oh, about fifteen minutes.

It's not all Blatter's fault, mind. Under predecessor João Havelange, Fifa's mutation into the power-hungry behemoth we see today really kicked into gear. World Cups expanded, rule enforcement became seemingly scattershot and arbitrary, while the organisation itself grew more overtly political and business-like. As its arms welcomed in representatives of its ever-deepening pool of member associations, so it became an increasingly foggy network of private interests and personal agendas. As reported by the BBCs Tim Vickery late last year, Havelange himself marvelled that “Fifa today is a power that has to be applauded.” To paraphrase the closing line of David Fincher's “Se7en”, I agree with the first part.

Yesterday bin Hammam challenged Blatter to a televised leadership debate – indicating that he either truly believes in his remit of openness and clarity, or that he’s possibly been watching too much West Wing. What this does go to show is that bin Hamman is eager – nay, straining – to paint himself as the real-deal alternative to Blatter; the light to his dark, the Jordan to his Gattuso.

The cruel irony for bin Hammam is that in order to oust Blatter, he needs to coerce – sorry, win – as many of the federation's votes as possible, and one of the most influential belongs to good old Concacaf bigwig Jack Warner. Having somewhat ominously promised to “see him [Warner] next month”, bin Hammam must for now play the game that he says he's attempting to eradicate. When Warner walks, others often follow. It's probably true that nobody ever won anything without getting their hands at least a little bit dirty, but if his motives are indeed pure, then such pandering will really stick in his throat.

The potential opposing irony would be for Warner – a man repeatedly linked with unscrupulous practice – to vote in favour of the crusader vowing to clean up the town. It would certainly be a solitary digit raised to his critics, but would nonetheless resemble something akin to the Joker fronting an election campaign for Batman. “Traditionally they vote as a bloc”, bin Hammam mused. “If they decide to vote together, I think they can decide this”. It'll be interesting to see which box Warner ticks. Unfortunately we won't be able to: article 27.1 of the Fifa Statues states that “elections shall be conducted by secret ballot”. Someone really must do something about all this.


~ Matt


Monday 14 March 2011

Arsene Wenger & The Exquisite Corpse

If I were an Arsenal fan today, I'm not sure I'd know whether to laugh or cry. Ok, that's not true: I'd definitely cry, but I would hope some small part of me could muster the strength to acknowledge the almost tragicomic scenario unfolding at the Emirates right now. Making his way toward the Old Trafford tunnel on Saturday evening, Arsene Wenger didn't look like a man possessed so much as a man haunted. Of course this wouldn't be the first time that his sides have suffered from a case of the springtime heebie-jeebies, but this time around it seems their troubles have almost reached the dispiriting realms of self-parody.

Let's consider the evidence. Three weeks ago the country was licking its collective lips in anticipation of their Champions League meeting with pass-and-move-wetdream-made-flesh Barcelona, a challenge they met with impressive vigour, leaving the field with a slender advantage and a handful of hope. With a League Cup final against Birmingham already secured, a tricky but wholly scalable FA Cup fifth round tie with League One neighbours Leyton Orient bagged and a decent run of league games to come, the view through Arsene Wenger's spectacles was for once appropriately rosy.

And then, before you could holler “hold that, Szczesny!”, it all started unravelling in the most inglorious of manners. A week after Orient gainfully secured a replay, Birmingham stood firm, profited from a slapstick piece of defending and rather rudely denied the Gunners a first trophy in six long years. The meanies. Zip forward to the Nou Camp, and Arsenal's uncharacteristically (if understandably) defensive gameplan fell foul of one nonsensical refereeing call and, not for the first time, a misplaced cutting edge. How achingly familiar it all seemed. Sprinkle in to the mix the requisite tally of injuries (most of which come with a hazily defined recovery time) and you end up with some sort of Arsenal-by-numbers colouring book. All the outlines are there; just shade in the spaces and – voilà! – the same old pictures.

The problem is this is no new tome, merely a reprint of an ageing edition. Take a peek at the first page: there's one of the midfield, buzzing around each other like ballet-trained wasps, pretty of pass yet wasteful of finish. Here's another: it's Mr Wenger, defending his troupe like a mother repudiating her son's bad habits, while he bunks off school and sets fire to the best rug. If Arsenal's shortcomings were a game of Consequences, everyone's story would end up pretty much the same. So why is this Arsenal side becoming a by-word for bottling it? For a team based around a fluid, wrong-footing methodology of play, their recent slumps have become alarmingly predictable. As undoubtedly talented as the current squad are, there seems to me to be some vital ingredients missing.

A few years back Wenger chose to address his team's shortcomings by repeatedly pointing to the youth and relative inexperience of his players, that this was a project in progress and that the finished product would blossom with time. Of course as said time passes, discussing how Wenger's teams are still growing and have not yet gelled has become almost as much of a cliché as the matter in hand itself. In a curiously roundabout way, some of what may be missing is born out of what should be a positive. The indiscipline of yesteryear has largely evaporated: time was you couldn't pop to the kitchen without Arsenal's ever expanding tally of red cards being discussed, and yet those days coincided with the club's most bountiful era under the Frenchman. The truth is those Arsenal sides were pretty, but also pretty tough; all the brainteasing football reinforced with a fiery resilience which, while sometimes spilling over into nastiness, cemented together players of unarguably high quality. Picture Patrick Vieira, Dennis Bergkamp and Freddie Ljungberg and you don't just conjure images of wonderfully talented ball-players, but men of fierce temperament and a throbbing desire to win. Wenger's teams of the time had, for lack of a more profound term, character.

Now character is something clearly built through experience – of disappointments suffered and misfortune met – yet many of those players were men in their twenties, just like Arsenal's current crop. It may well be no coincidence that, prior to arriving at Highbury, players such as Marc Overmars, Thierry Henry and Dennis Bergkamp had previously sampled both victory and pressure at clubs like Inter Milan, Juventus and Ajax. These players were brought in to form part of a singular footballing vision, to create an outfit not only of movement and grace, but also of grit, founded as it was on a long-standing defensive line that were no strangers to success themselves. Eventually they had to be replaced, and at times this proved to be a frustrating task, but now Wenger has a group of talented players who maybe require a bit of mettle to support their mastery. Theo Walcott is a long way off becoming the next Robert Pires, Nicklas Bendtner is certainly no Kanu, and while Wenger's current squad sparkles with undeniable aptitude, I'm confident I'd struggle to find a hardened Arsenal fan who could honestly place more than one or two of the contemporary bunch alongside the classes of '98 or '02.

It's also true to an extent that Wenger's working methods have changed over the past decade and a half. Instead of taking rough diamonds (Henry, Vieira, Petit) and polishing them to a shine, Wenger's recent mission has been to go back a stage further and create players (Clichy, Fabregas, Walcott) almost from scratch. While this can, if done successfully, lead to a group playing in perfect harmony (see those Barcelona comparisons), the inherent danger is that they must learn everything on the job. Most teams fail before they succeed, but the current Arsenal team are struggling to learn from the disappointments. Whether this is down to Wenger or the players is an argument you could have all night long, but the buck will ultimately always rest at the manager’s door. It may be blinkeredness, stubborn mindedness or just an unflickering belief in his principles, but Manchester United's reign of success (and Liverpool's before it) was built not just on creating well-oiled machines, but on knowing when they needed maintenance carried out; their respective managers possessing the nous to tweak and realign when certain parts were failing to perform.

Before I slump into Cowell-esque levels of gross negativity, I should say that not all of this is meant as criticism. Wenger helped reinvent how we saw football in this country, and not just on the field. Dubbed 'The Professor' for an understanding of the game that goes wider and deeper than the training pitch, he championed unusual ideas of diet and fitness, and made fashionable the intricate study of player statistics, the influence of which peers such as Sam Allardyce will openly admit to. Each of these aspects of his management are smaller pieces of an overall puzzle, one seeking to squeeze the very last drop of energy and ability from his players. It’s about resourcefulness, about waste-not-want-not. This home-grown (or at least home-taught) ideology will also go a long way towards solidifying Arsenal's long-term financial foundations, for which much respect must be paid.

Unfortunately, the bottom line may be that his current side are simply not good enough to triumph at the highest level. Wenger has never won a European trophy, but he took Arsenal to two finals during his first nine seasons at the club. Last Tuesday, they looked like a team light years away from repeating such a feat. Yes, they were playing Barcelona, but only because they stumbled unconvincingly out of their group.

In spite of all this, however, Arsenal remain in a strong position as far as the Premier League is concerned, just three points off United with a game in hand, and with Sir Alex's men yet to travel south to the Emirates. If they can hold their nerve, they could yet do it. But, as we all know, that's one hell of an 'if'. A quick glance at their run-in flags up a trip to Stoke (where Arsenal have triumphed just once in their past three trips), a visit from a rejuvenated Liverpool and a North London derby, as well as the aforementioned head-to-head with United. For all the artistry in the world, confidence is what they'll require to emerge from that particular minefield ahead of the pack, and that's exactly what is currently draining from their tanks.

Bob Dylan once sang about a girl named Sara – an object of his boho desires who was “so easy to look at; so hard to define”, and so steadily is this becoming true of Arsenal. Under Wenger they have always been pleasing on the eye, but just as much breath is now spent querying their ultimate direction as exulting the impressive scenery of their journey. Are they a harmonious unit or a grab-bag of unfulfilled talents? You sense that for every chunk of criticism volleyed his way, the more stubbornly Wenger will glue himself to his principles and you hope, for the good of his legacy if nothing else, that this doesn't prove to be an ultimately fruitless exercise.


~ Matt

Tuesday 8 March 2011

The Myth Of Perfection

With the Premier League entering its final quarter, tempers are becoming frayed. Alex Ferguson has installed a Stalinist media blackout lest he mutter something to a reporter that could later land him in hot water, while managers at both ends of the table have been getting red-faced over refereeing decisions: Arsene Wenger for the incorrect offside call in his side’s disappointing draw with Sunderland and Mick McCarthy for the perennially lenient Mark Halsey’s refusal to show red to Alan Hutton for clear cut foul preventing a goal-scoring opportunity. These types of mistakes are infuriating, but they are part of the fabric of the game. No FIFA directive will be able to completely erase error from the game, and despite widespread endorsement of 'fair play’, it is not the reason people crush into regional stadia and cram into tightly packed plastic seats. It is not the reason people around the world pay a premium for the pleasure of watching the Premier League. Nor is it the reason, if you tune into Talk Sport or Five Live on a Saturday at 5pm, you will hear caller after caller not lamenting their current personal financial woes or the fact that their kid is having a rough time at the local comp, but lost in the narrative of a 90 minute game. A game riddled with problems, all the way from the inadequate coaching at grass roots level to the ultimately human capacity for officials to make mistakes in the heat of the moment. If everything in football was crushingly fair, the game would be reduced to a mechanical spectacle. Even Formula 1, one of the most technologically advanced sports, seeks to keep human error a factor.

On a personal level, as a Spurs fan, I nearly bit my tongue off at the injustice of Nani's goal against us at Old Trafford. However, I can also look at Sunday's game against Wolves with some distance and objectivity and see that Hutton should have walked. These are just scenes in the turbulent narrative of a competitive season. They provide talking points and raise blood pressure.

Some may argue that that the human error should be left to the 22 players, not the officials; that they will provide the spectacle with their ability, prowess and at times even their incompetence. This notion does an injustice to the game. I can remember many a Sunday morning spent pulling my shin pads on and trudging out onto wind swept playing fields where the cold numbed the bones. It was on those pitches that I learnt that a game can't happen without a referee, to keep the adolescent tempers in check, the baying parents under control. We cheated, we fouled, we made mistakes and mistimed tackles, and to stop it spiralling out of control there was a referee to defer to. Be it right or wrong, he had the final say. 

Managers will always whinge when decisions go against them, complain about conspiracy when really it is only error. It is hard to accept the bizarre twists that shape a game and it would be comforting to think that everything is controllable, that life doesn't need to be so unfair. That is why the respect campaign for referees is not dependant on them getting it right all the time; you can't opt into it. The media witch hunt of specific referees is deplorable because it seeks to instil the notion that football would be more enjoyable if it was fairer. It wouldn't. There would be new gripes with a new system. No one has suggested replacing referees, so we need to start supporting them rather than turning them into scapegoats and pantomime villains.

~Ed