Constructive Summer

Its summer, so naturally football ceases to exist. Not if it's a World Cup year, obviously. Or a European Championship one. And of course this summer there were, and still are, women's and kid's tournaments. And Fulham have already played in Europe twice. But apart from that? Nothing. Zip.

Gotcha – of course football doesn't stop with the long hours, it merely teleports itself from the grass to the mind's eye. And it's here that potential signings begin to form fantasy starting XI's, as last season's despair is run out of town, couped by optimism and bravado and all sorts of fantastical dreams, all pulsing in that part of the brain which used to give press conferences from your own toilet seat before big Championship Manager fixtures. Glad that wasn't just me.

One of the first major summer transfers that I can recall was Chris Sutton’s leap from Norwich City to Blackburn Rovers in 1994. Sutton’s former club had been enjoying a dizzying spell in the upper echelons of the fledgling Premiership (as it was then) whilst the Lancashire side had their sights set on the title, with Sutton going on to successfully complete the puzzle. Speculation bubbled in the playground for days prior to the move. Was he going to United? Were Newcastle in for him? Money eventually spoke and to Ewood Park he headed to the surprise of many, not least the Arsenal fan in my class whose dad had assured him a deal was as good as done.

£5m may seem like small fry these days, and even now the sizes of the cheques being written tend to fluctuate from year to year, but this window looks like being an eye-wateringly expensive one all round. This frenzied activity apparently isn't to all tastes, mind. Whilst I have associates who, as I type, are trawling the message boards and the rumour pages snuffling like a feral hog for a titbit of transfer truffle, there are just as many who would rather spend the hot months hiding away from all things football, concentrating on boring stuff like socialising and being outside. I don't understand these people.

This year champions Manchester United have been quickest out of the blocks, bringing in Ashley Young, Phil Jones and David de Gea as Messrs Scholes, van der Sar and, regrettably, Hargreaves depart. Close to fifty millions big ones splashed and not an orthodox central midfielder in sight has left some supporters a little worried, especially considering the lesson in ball retention dished out by Barcelona in May. The potential arrival of Samir Nasri may go some way to satiate these fears – the lad’s a ball retainer for sure, coddling and caressing it like a favourite pet to the extent that a transfer to Crufts isn't entirely out of the question.

Keeping the ball has never been Arsenal's problem - keeping players, however, is proving far trickier, as the Emirates once again falls victim to a sweaty heat wave of discontent. First of all – as it seems every summer – there’s Cesc Fabregas, the heartsick skipper longing to roost back at his Catalan nest, to return to the bosom, reunited with the alter of his boyhood worship. The one he chose to leave eight years ago. Still, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that, and it looks like this particularly gruelling saga is finally set to reach an end. Which will obviously put a few hacks out of a job, but then that's just par for the course these days.

I feel sorry for Arsene Wenger. Gael Clichy’s escaped and Nasri wants out too, probably to United. Or City. Or Chel… just anywhere that isn’t Arsenal, basically. The Professor taught them well and yet now, without a regular trickle of silverware, they’re playing the “I’m-ambitious-and-it’s-a-short-career” card to hang out with Patrick and Kolo and Patrice. Wenger, for all his forward thinking and idealistic maxims, sometimes appears mired in a bygone age – a disciple of long-termism, a man whose belief system dares to marry beauty and sustainability, like building a renaissance cathedral from Enviroboard. Can his guiding light be mere naivety? No, it’s something less sweet than that, something a little angry in fact – bordering on stubborn – which enforces the rigidity of his principles and offloads those whose heads have been turned by the neon allure of the bright(er) lights. Laudable or foolhardy? Perhaps a little of both, but a recipe for domestic bliss it ain’t.

In fact, both ends of the Seven Sisters Road are currently involved in bitter in-house disputes, as toothy Croat lynchpin Luka Modric seeks a move away from Tottenham. Well, actually he doesn’t. Possibly. Although he would like to play in the Champions League again. Which of course he could do with Spurs, eventually – although he’d prefer to do it with Chelsea. Jesus, no wonder Harry Redknapp spends so much of his life chatting with Sky Sports News. Jim, Sam et al wouldn’t dare mess ‘arry around – he pretty much keeps their news ticker ticking as it is – and in the world of the dumb, the one sound bite man is a top, top king. Although he’s not our king, so we wouldn’t want to talk about him.

Chelsea are having no such problems keeping their men happy, although players don't appear to be trampling their own grandmothers to play for them either. Neymar, the languid, ludicrously-coiffured Brazilian, seems just as content to join the Blues or Real Madrid as he is to kick back and quaff a caipirinha on the beaches of Praia Grande (probably). Which may well all just be agent-led slight of hand, but with Andrés Villa-Boas now at the helm a more pragmatic approach to on-field matters may ensue. As much as he would like to shift the ‘Baby Jose’ label, he’ll have to instantly conjure the kind of on-field flair largely absent from his mentor's reign to do so. Chasing a striker named ‘Hulk’ may not help with that.

And so what of Manchester City, the nouveau riche with the re-badged stadium, the fashionably unhappy captain and more targets than an archery retreat? So far, so steady on the purchasing front. Clichy and the young, broody-looking Montenegrin Stefan Savić have bolstered a defence that wasn't exactly short on numbers anyway, while Garry Cook continues to flash a bit of leg at Alexis Sánchez, Sergio Agüero and anything in Naples with a boot bag and a pulse. If Tevez stays (and despite his goals, there won't be too many City loyalists shedding tears if he departs) then they may be about to slot into place the final pieces of their own glitzy jigsaw, just as King Kenny and Blackburn did seventeen years ago this month.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have press duties to attend to.

~ Matt