You're Outspoken... But Not By Anyone I Know

Hands up if you miss Ian Holloway. I do, not that he's actually gone anywhere, he's merely passed over to the other side, sucked up into that swirling sporting vortex we pampered Prem supporters call “the Football League”. A few weeks back, slumped in front of the TV, I caught sight of the Bristolian Plato for the first time since Blackpool's brief top flight flirtation ended in a heartless dumping at Old Trafford four months ago. There he was all flustered and alert, eyes bulging, re-enacting his team's defending against Derby County via an uncanny impression of a distracted cow. I really bloody miss him.

I do hope Blackpool bounce back as soon as possible. At the risk of sounding ever so patronising, they’re the sort of team we need more of. Even the name – Blackpool – sounds unmistakably English: a bit murky, a bit damp, but they've got a lovely pier so it’s all fine. I’ve never actually been there of course, but I imagine it’s a town rife with deckchairs and taverns and men in well-millinered hats. I could be wrong. It could just be full of Tesco Metros and cheap cocaine, but that would be an insulting presumption and anyway this is my fantasy and I'll render it how I like thanks.

This is all just misdirection of course – what I really crave is Holloway. I had a dig or two last season, but as Joni Mitchell sang in her pre-Starbucks days, you don't know what you've got til it's gone, and by Jove she was on to something. Having watched Match Of The Day with a hangover at least three times this season, I can hereby confirm that the Premier League is missing Holloway's managerial madness. To my ears, the verbal fare offered up from the technical areas and the press rooms has so far been less than rousing. Maybe one of the incoming coaches can step up to the plate.

So who are the new personalities to take note of this term? Well first up we’ve got Andre Villas-Boas, heir apparent (as much as he tries to deny it) to Jose Mourinho, all expensive shirts and overactive knee joints – less Sunday Supplement, more GQ style section. A lot has been made of his age but being younger than some of your underlings is nothing unusual in this day and age. I’ve had bosses who were several years my junior, and it caused no difficulty or resentment at all. Nope. None. Anyway, he's had a bit of a pop at the Premier League officialdom in the last few days, so he seems to be settling in just fine.

Next up – Brendan Rogers! Yeah, him from Swansea. I’ll confess to knowing little of Mr Rodgers' talents. I’m aware he did well at Watford and had a brief, dodgy spell at Reading, but his current side play some nice stuff, and they're at last seeing a deserved goal return for their efforts. They equipped themselves well at Arsenal too and should consider themselves quite unlucky to have departed north London with nothing. Rogers also suffered the sad loss of his father recently, so it'd be unfair to look to him for too much in the way of dramatic utterances right now.

Perhaps most intriguing is Norwich City’s Paul Lambert. As a player Lambert was one of the rare breed of modern era Brits to find success abroad, not only starring in Borussia Dortmund's 1997 Champions League winning squad, but also featuring in the last Scottish side to play at the World Cup finals. As a manager he has rampaged his way through the leagues, but his media output so far this season has been, well, underwhelming. When quizzed about his side’s chances of avoiding an immediate return to the Championship, the Scot has offered little more than stern, non-committal, even dismissive responses. He’s no Holloway, to be sure.

With Villa-Boas denying he’s the reincarnation of The Special One and Lambert denying just about everyone and everything, our search for a little touchline showmanship continues. Of the familiar dugout dwellers, knees-up Harry Redknapp is always good for a sound bite or twelve, and Mick McCarthy’s gruff realism has stood the test of time better than his nose, but in truth few others have gotten my controversy receptors twitching.

The old favourites aren’t doing us too many favours. Arsene Wenger spends the whole time looking (understandably) troubled, while Kenny Dalglish, having been caught flailing early on, is now playing everything with the kind of straight bat that would make Geoff Boycott go all moist at the crease. Even Sir Alex Ferguson’s return from self-imposed media exile hasn’t seen sparks fly like we’d have hoped. To be honest I’m missing Mike Phelan, but then I've always harboured a closeted love for his smooth dome and cockeyed use of metaphor.

Others managerial ‘characters’ have lost a bit of their edge. Martin Jol seems to have knocked the chummy Euro-stoner “why can’t we all jusht get along?” patter on the head for now as Fulham search for something resembling a win, while Tony Pullis has gone all la-di-da since Jonathan Woodgate came to play for him. Neil Warnock tries his best to provoke, flitting fitfully between caring dad and enraged boss, defensive of his players yet unafraid to call a spade a fucking shovel, all the while maintaining the rueful smile of a man who knows the world is against him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Which it probably is. And there probably isn't.

Some are just lost causes. David Moyes will never do – his fixed glacial stare grows colder with every passing season, chilling the blood of all around him, a one man crusade against global warming. Roberto Martinez is far too nice and chock-full of praise: for his players, his owner, even Crystal Palace after they sent him packing from the League Cup. Dullsville.

Roberto Mancini just reminds me of a startled Italian schoolboy who won a trip to manage in England for a day and missed the connecting flight home. He’s only buying all these players because he thinks its part of the prize. He might even believe the whole thing’s just a dream, and that any minute now he’ll wake up on some abandoned baggage carousel, curled up all cosy in his oversized blazer, relieved that Garry Cook was just a tragicomic bit part from the in-flight movie.

It wasn't always like this – just think about the ones we've let go in recent years. There was Big Mad Uncle Phil Scolari, with his Gene Hackman ‘looks’ and casual homophobia, Rafa Benitez and his impressive line in well-scripted paranoia, and of course the sorely-missed Martin O’Neill, all self-depreciative quirk and steely over-achievement. You’d have a drink with O’Neil, but you’d also have one beast of a hangover. Truly these men were the life and soul of the party, albeit one that you'd be better off leaving before the strip poker got going.

But where there's life there's hope and we've managers out there in the football universe ready to fill this gaping entertainment void. Should a vacancy become available soon, Raymond Domenech would fit the bill perfectly. He's currently unemployed, French (read: glamorous) and would bring his unique brand of Gonzo management to the table, replacing tactics boards with star charts and only signing players born under a crescent moon. Maybe Neil Lennon would fancy a stint south of the border once the novelty of the bi-weekly Old Firm clash wears off. Opinionated, forthright, even a little bit violent – a sort of anti-Avram if you like. Sure he might try and smuggle Georgios Samaras across with him, but that's a price I'm willing to pay.

In the meantime let's hope the current bunch find their form before too long. We expect great things from our teams and from those in charge – and, true, we are but a month or so into the season – but football is entertainment and if things don't liven up in the dugout sharpish we might have to take a trip to Blackpool and find something to slip into Paul Lambert's Lucozade. It might be just what he needs – after all, it's a high pressure life whether topping the league or propping it up, and if it all goes wrong the reality must be one hell of a drag. For his own sake, if not for ours, I hope Mancini never wakes up.

~ Matt

King Kenny’s Mirage

The heat of hyperbole after the desert of recent failings created a mirage effect around Anfield this summer that seemed to suggest that shimmering silverware was on the horizon. Recent games have revealed that the team that Kenny Dalglish is assembling is still some way from challenging for major trophies. Yet to face either of the Manchester juggernauts, their assault in the upper echelons of the league seems to be fraying, displaying all too familiar signs of weakness.

Up front there is little doubt that Luis Suarez has been a canny acquisition; he adds a potent threat to a strike-force previously blunted by the sagging shoulders of Fernando Torres. His energy and ability on the ball pulls defences apart, allowing the players behind him to exploit the space. With Dirk Kuyt’s tireless endeavour and Stewart Downing’s delivery Liverpool are equipped with a fluid and dangerous attacking three.

It is Dalglish’s dogged defence of Carroll and his bizarre use of the England international that seem to upset the Anfield applecart. Bought for £35 million – all be it with money made from Torres’ sale - he seems to be played almost because of this fact rather than any tactical aim. Played at the fulcrum of an attack and using his forehead as an anvil to smash balls into waiting nets, Carroll undoubtedly has his uses. When Dalglish bought Charlie Adam and Downing in the summer the common held opinion was that Liverpool would be playing down the wings and accruing goals from crosses and set pieces. However, Liverpool, with Suarez in the team, have performed much better with the ball on the ground and it is to this strength that they should be playing.

Watching Carroll's performance against Tottenham, even in the first 25 minutes before Adam’s early bath, was a text book example of his lumbering appearances for Liverpool. He was off the pace and frequently drifting to either wing, picking up positions that he lacks the speed to be a threat from. He’s at his best muscling the centre backs off the ball, less good at sprinting for the corner flag and cutting inside. The worry for Liverpool must be that on the 31st January 2011 Dalglish was delivered an abundance of riches. With little forethought he suddenly had at his disposal two much sought after strikers. Here lies the conundrum that seems to be vexing Kenny. With their arrival the road before Dalglish seems to fork - one with Suarez as the man to build a team round, the other Carroll. The teams he has selected over the last nine months and the results garnered should have Liverpool firmly striding down the Suarez road, confident that over the crest of the hill lie pastures green. Watching the impact the now-departed Raul Meireles and Suarez had coming off the bench against Arsenal should have been a clear indicator to Dalglish. Instead he sold Meireles to a delighted Chelsea and reverted to shoehorning Carroll into a team who want to play football with a level of verve beyond his abilities. If Kenny had hung onto Meireles he could have played this midfield and attack against Tottenham:

-------------Adam-----Lucas-----------

---Kuyt------Meireles------Downing-

-----------------Suarez---------------

This would have ceded the aerial battle to Tottenham who, with King marshalling the line, are rarely breached with the route one approach, and instead crowded midfield, offering real pace on the break and guile in possession.

All of these issues are within Dalglish’s powers to resolve, he has the players at his disposal to be able to tweak his attack, either dropping Carroll or getting the team to play to his strengths, rather than expect him to play to Suarez’s.

Looking at the summer purchases the feeling is that Jordan Henderson is not the finished article but he is someone who will benefit from game time and coaching from Steve Clarke on the training ground. He is yet to display the brief form he came into last year for Sunderland, notably his domination of Chelsea. If Liverpool can strike upon a clear philosophy it will make it easier for their youngsters to form themselves into players that fit the mould. It is fellow midfield new recruit Charlie Adam that could be far more problematic for Liverpool. There is little doubt about his ability with a dead ball, however he has a tendency to aim his swinging boots not just at leathered spheres but at opponents ankles and knees. This penchant for the more violent aspects of the game have seen him pick up 13 yellow cards in his short time in the Premier League – only Newcastle’s Cheik Tiote has had more in the same period. As the broken ankle Gareth Bale sustained in Adam’s last game at White Hart Lane for Blackpool can testify too, the Scot has a mean streak that often oversteps the mark.

Blackpool fans last year often lamented Adam’s contributions; even with all the goals and assists his expansive game offered. The fan favourite was David Vaughan who many thought was more effective and as the season wore on and Adam’s passing became increasing hopeful, loosing position in 70 yard swipes rather than splitting open defences, Vaughan began to take the plaudits. The final note on Adam has to go to the stat that reveals that of the first four Premier League games this season; he has tried to score from the half way line in three. Wasteful.

This leaves the Liverpool defence, so easily cut apart at the weekend. This was the area may expected heavy investment in and when it finally came in the form of Jose Enrique and Sebastian Coates the needs appeared to have been met. South American pundits have ear marked Coates as being potentially a world class player having already won the Copa America with Uruguay in the summer. If Dalglish can settle on a partnership at the centre, be that with or without Carragher, who brings a combined package beyond his individual attributes, Liverpool should have enough to build a defence to make Pepe Reina sleep easier at night. Injuries have played their part and Liverpool will be much firmer when they can bring either Martin Kelly or Glen Johnson into the team. Even though Johnson is the senior player, Kelly’s displays at the back end of last season proved that should a defence need shoring up, it is his defensive qualities that need to be employed over the more adventurous Johnson.

It is still very early days for the revolution that Dalglish has put into motion and he will be given more time than many to put things right. It would take a monstrous slide down the table to turn the Kop against their King. Dalglish will surely lament that the run of form the team put together in the second half of last season could have been better placed. Should that have come at the start of a season the momentum and good spirit could have been enough to push much them higher in the table. As it is, Kenny’s mean spirited attack on the officials after the defeat to Stoke seems to have punctured the good will at the club and heralded in a more pragmatic view among fans and journalists. The allusions to a conspiracy against them from officials can leave the players feeling powerless in the face of external factors and any manager that voices them sounds bereft of ideas.

Dalglish should note that Alex Ferguson will frequently claim the media are against his team, this subtle difference means that the players think their performances will prove the journalists wrong, creating a perpetual siege mentality in a team that almost should be complacent such has their dominance been for two decades. Liverpool are still very much a work in progress and this season looks set to be one of transition, one where they need to establish a focus and the hope would be that with Gerrard’s imminent return a cohesive strategy will begin to form.

~Ed

Buying The Rumours, Selling The Facts

Football is a veritable breeding ground for weird rumours. There are the regular ones, like Kaka’s never-ending links to Spurs. And then there are the more bizarre ones – remember when a 40 year old Maradona was reportedly joining Dundee? Or how about that time when Alan Shearer was supposed to be getting the Newcastle job and.... oh. Well anyway, the one doing the rounds this past weekend – the one which would see Harry Redknapp installed as England manager once our Euro 2012 qualification is (hopefully) assured – struck a slightly different chord to usual. Namely, it’s so stupid that it wouldn’t surprise me one iota if the FA actually went through with it.

Having apparently sourced a few in-the-know bods at FA high command, The People inferred that Harry Redknapp was set to carry England through to the Euro 2012 finals (and perhaps beyond) on a feelgood wave of media-friendly cockney chirp. I guess the thinking here would be that getting Redknapp in would install some intangible sense of 'passion' amongst a group of players whose heads so readily dropped and hearts so easily wilted during the summer of 2010.

Whilst the logic at the heart of this rumour is profoundly warped, the underlying idea is inherently troubling. And it’s the collision of these two aspects which causes me to worry because, as we all know, logic has never been the FA’s forte. It would be very much in keeping with their perverse modus operandi to go ricocheting from one supposed 'type' of manager to another. Ever since Terry Venables disappeared down the Wembley tunnel for the final time, backdropped by a crestfallen Gazza, a strutting Andreas Moller and a tired and emotional Skinner & Baddiel, the FA have embarked on a series of ultimately doomed relationships.

Having initially embraced Glenn Hoddle's progressive ideas, the FA were forced into a rethink once some of his slightly less progressive ideas came to light. There followed the Dark Days of Keegan, when 'old' Wembley's crumbling façade echoed perfectly the shambolic standing of England's national side.

The promised blood and thunder of the “Geordie Messiah"’s reign turned out to be little more than tomato ketchup and an April shower, resulting in some truly regrettably moments. Remember Dennis Wise's spell as a left winger? How about Gareth Southgate fending for himself in the bleak wilderness of the holding midfield role? They were Kev’s babies. When the bepermed one decided to finally hit the showers – metaphorically or otherwise – the FA sought out someone who would add some continental flavouring to our erstwhile meat-n-potatoes footballing palate.

So in came Sven. Ah Sven, with his glasses and his charm and his two-banks-of-four. This was just what we needed, a footballing partner who could show us the world and open our eyes to the big ideas of the modern age. And it all started so well – back to the drawing board we went, enlightening ourselves with seemingly profound tactical ideas, gradually buying into the dream that we were privy to a golden generation. But what we thought was gravitas was just gold-rimmed illusion, and as over-familiarity bred contempt, the same old failings and failures came to pass. His rigidity and principles took England to three quarter-finals on the spin, and yet eventually proved his undoing, vainly seeking to squeeze some final drop of ingenuity from the long-exsanguinated Gerrard-Lampard axis.

Steve McClaren was meant to be the perfect tonic – an eager young thing with a respectable club CV, knowledge of the England set-up and, crucially, a UK passport. How could he fail? Quite spectacularly, as it turned out. If Keegan's appointment had been the rebound hook-up of the needy, the post-McClaren move for Capello was a repeat of the Keegan-to-Eriksson transition; the realisation that something a little more long-term and meaningful was needed.

Having sobbed and ached through these underachieving years, it would make little sense to fire now a manager who, over nearly two full qualifying campaigns, has a record which runs P17, W14, D2, L1. Of the twenty-one competitive matches played under him thus far, a mere two have been lost. To say England's showing under Capello in South Africa was underwhelming would be like describing Fernando Torres as looking a little off-colour, but the World Cup merely represented the mid-way point of Capello's mission. How quickly we leap about in righteous bluster when a team or club sack a manager before they've had a fair crack of the whip – think Ancelotti, think Hughton – and yet many amongst us would have happily seen Fab walk after the tepid performances of that summer. United in indignant rage we were, like feral stags in full charge, and yet where would it have gotten us?

It's not like Capello’s had it easy. Following the initial predictable rush of foreign coach faux-outrage, there came questions regarding (in no particular order) language barriers, tactical caution, captaincy-rotation and the continuing selection of Jermaine Jenas, all of which must’ve taken their toll. ‘Terrygate’ swiftly followed, essentially a lost episode of Footballer's Wives-made flesh, featuring armband-stripping, handshake-rejection and ex-girlfriend-shagging. Thankfully no-one died during intercourse (that we know of).

Then, of course, there was the World Cup. Were the players treated too strictly? Were they unwilling to meet the manger’s demands? Was there a lack of clear leadership? A dearth of technique and imagination? Perfectly pertinent questions all, but I'm not convinced Harry Redknapp is the answer to any of them, at least not right now.

We all know Redknapp is a cut above most when it comes to man-management, appreciative of the difference between an arm round the shoulder and a boot up the rear. But that's not really the point. What we've often been most critical of as a football supporting nation is the perceived short-sightedness of others. If 'arry is to be Capello's successor at some point, history, having repeated itself a few times now, will have already plotted the first few chapters of his reign. Depressingly, our reactions will be similarly predisposed. Redknapp isn't foreign, so he won’t have to worry about the thinly-veiled xenophobia. No, he's English, so after celebrating that for a while we'll take to battering him for liking 4-4-2, which Eriksson and Capello did too but they pronounced it funny so that threw us off the scent for a bit.

It's taken a while, but Capello seems to finally be getting the picture, which would make kicking him into touch now all the more baffling. In recent months we've seen Jack Wilshire, Joe Hart, Stewart Downing, Chris Smalling, Ashley Young and Gary Cahill become England regulars, a sure sign that Capello understands the need to balance the requirements of today with the challenges of tomorrow and beyond. The performances of our youngsters so far this term suggests that, after countless false dawns, England may – may – have finally started bringing through players who are not only comfortable on the ball, but comfortable in their own heads too.

Once next summer has passed, Redknapp's time may have come, and he’ll be tasked with imprinting his own style on the team, as he has with great aplomb at Spurs. So he’s got that to look forward to, and so much more besides. In the meantime let us accept that England won't win the European Championships (I'm reliably told the Spanish and the Germans can play a bit these days) and remain confident that if Capello is allowed to continue on his current path we won't exhibit the same creative flaccidity that we did in South Africa either. That, rumour has it, is called progress.

~ Matt