Black Christmas

Strange things are afoot at Ewood Park. Blackburn Rovers being bottom of the league isn't one of them, of course – they look a team short on confidence and composure and this year the usual Yuletide winds of discontent are blowing harsher than ever. This week saw them face fellow north-west strugglers Bolton in the so-called 'relegation derby', but while their respective league positions make for distinctly unseasonal reading, it is the home side's off-field issues which are making for a particularly bleak mid-winter, especially if your name happens to be 'Steve Kean'.

I don't know any Blackburn supporters, but I'm worried about their collective state of mind. As the half-time whistle trilled, with the hosts trailing 2-0 to the only team (at that moment) with less points than them, the boos roared like a hurricane across the rain-battered pitch, prompting the gathered TV cameras to focus their gaze on the crowd in search of dissenters. They didn't have to look too hard. Held aloft by the dozen were the now-ubiquitous 'KEAN OUT' banners, as regular a fixture at Ewood Park as Paul Robinson is between the sticks, and yet as the cameras focused, a perplexing phenomena occurred. As the supporter's ire expelled itself from their lungs, the fans – angry and wrathful and tasting blood, their patience stretched to breaking point – looked towards the lens and what did we find on their sodden faces? Smiles. Grins. Laughter, even. The throbbing, fibrous rage towards the club's power-players just stood and waved and powdered it's nose for it's close-up.

Ok, I may be over doing it a touch here. There were vexed faces to be sure, and plenty of them, along with clenched fists, lashing tongues and bloodshot eyes, but there on our screens stood fans caught somewhere between vengefulness and just being happy to be there. “Look at us,” their faces seemed to scream. “We're angry – and we're on TV!' Drama loves a stage.

What to make of all this? The complex relationships at work around Blackburn would be enough to make Dear Deirdre dial up her own helplines. “Trapped in an abusive, joyless relationship with some Indian poultry magnates and a delusional Scotsman? Call 0800-KEAN-OUT.” The truth as I see it (which may therefore not be truth at all) is that Blackburn's hate-hate marriage with Kean is becoming a self-fulfilling tragedy. The cameras love the drama – the manager on the brink, clinging to the edge of the precipice as football itself steps remorselessly on his fingers – but so do the fans. It's why we're in this thing in the first place, if we're honest. And, as the coverage of 'the Blackburn situation' increases, so deepens the co-dependant nature of their loathsome tryst; the protests and the frustration and the venting at Venky's becoming part of a show in which Kean is merely the lead role. Hell, they may even miss him when he's gone. Especially if they get Alan Shearer for Christmas.

In fact, thinking about this for a second, it's a little surprising to the neutral that the owners are receiving as small a proportion of the protests as they are. Perhaps the media at large just prefers a good old-fashioned managerial sack-race. Perhaps the owners, having admitted to not exactly being from footballing stock, are enjoying the coverage and the column inches, if not revelling in them then at least appreciating the profile boost that such times bring, further proof still of the twisted intimacy at work here. Either that or they just don't give a shit. Actually, yeah, let's go with the last one.

All of which makes things rather rough on poor Kean. The man in charge (for now, at least) strikes me as an individual of almost unshakable self-belief, remaining as he does outwardly unfazed by the histrionics around him. To exhibit such stoicism when all around are calling for your head to be paraded through the city centre on a spike is admirable no matter what your profession, but such personal focus can inevitably leave blind spots.

Sometimes, when others are openly questioning your ways, your ideology and your talent, it's almost easier to stick to your guns with even greater gusto. “I'll prove them wrong”, Kean must be thinking. “I'll prove them all wrong.” But when this happens, it's the rational part of your mind which suffers, as gradually you become a glutton for punishment. Before you know it, you're sticking so rigidly to your own principles that each new word of criticism, each loaded jibe and vitriolic shriek takes on a smugly-satisfying, almost quasi-erotic feel. You start to relish it. You even start to get off on it. You begin to savour every cutting remark; each gobful of abuse leaving you thrashing about in a dark dream of hateful ecstasy, steadily driving you towards an increasingly lustful level of sadomasochistic revelry. Or maybe that's just me.

And yet Kean's optimism is undeniable affecting. He has repeatedly argued that, once his regular defence is back in place, we'll see a meaner, leaner, less-completely-fucking-hopeless Blackburn, and he might be right. There are some genuine causes for hope. Rovers certainly don't have too many problems finding the net – at time of writing, they sit as the league's seventh highest scorers, both their victories this term (at home to Arsenal and Swansea) arriving courtesy of impressive four-goal hauls. Unfortunately, only Bolton have conceded more. In light of these facts, Kean's assertions may hold water, and in truth most teams would struggle for frugality when deprived of Ryan Nelson, Gael Givet and Martin Olsson.

The grim truth remains, however, that until Swansea's defeat at Goodison Park the following evening, Rovers hadn't beaten any of the teams occupying the seven places directly above them, and from the season's seventeen fixtures a meagre ten points have been collected. In truth, Owen Coyle, Kean's victorious counterpart on Tuesday night, hasn't fared much better, his troupe 'boasting' only two more points and an inferior goal difference, and yet while he hasn't exactly been immune from criticism, Coyle hasn't had the mob beating a path to his door either.

This could be for a variety of reasons. Timing is probably the main one. Coyle was lucky enough to replace Gary Megson, a man whose arrival at a club is generally greeted with a level of celebration usually reserved for managing to fit all your shopping into the fridge without having to rearrange the vegetable drawer. Kean, meanwhile, took over from ex-Trotters commander-in-chief Sam Allardyce, the most misunderstood/startlingly delusional (delete as appropriate) manager in Premier League history, with Rovers sitting comfortably in 13th. It should be noted that Megson left Wanders exactly midway through the 2009/10 season, with a haul of 18 points from 18 games – a tally impossible for Coyle to replicate this year. Goodwill, it seems, can be as much inherited as it can earned.

Kean's other big problem has been his signings. He has by and large recruited players of skill and artistry, investments in potential with the aim of playing the kind of football needed to arrive at Venky's off-quoted, much-mocked fourth-place dreamland. But moving up the league is more often than not a gradual process, one requiring much graft and no little elbow grease and Blackburn, especially shorn of those aforementioned defenders, are currently in low supply of both.

The faintest of praise sprinkled on Blackburn this season has been that they haven't been playing too badly, a perhaps unwittingly backhanded compliment highlighting Kean's choice of signings as much as his apparent naivety towards the scale of the task now facing him. Whilst some of the play may have been pretty, the results sure haven't. Tellingly, following their 2-2 draw at Molineux the very same night, Norwich boss Paul Lambert appeared unmoved by the praise heaped on his skilful side, stating that he'd happily see his charges play ugly and stay up. “I don't want to get admired and get relegated”, he claimed. As things stand for Kean, the first part is very much in the bag.

~ Matt

A Few Words On Gary Speed

It has been a sad week or so for anyone with football in their hearts, jolted awake as we were last Sunday to the news that Gary Speed – Premier League legend and Welsh national team manager – had died, having apparently taken his own life at the age of 42. Within minutes of the news breaking TV, radio and the internet was awash with tributes, from those who knew him personally and from those who simply knew him as a fantastic practitioner of his chosen art. From amidst this sea of sadness flooded forth words which painted an impression of a gifted yet gentle man; a charmer and a genuinely revered model professional with so much still to give.

The reasons behind Speed’s death are as yet unclear, and it would be unfair and disrespectful to speculate too wildly as to their nature. What I do feel comfortable saying is that, having observed the immediate aftermath, the issue of mental well-being amongst footballers has been troubling close to the headlines in recent weeks

The widespread presumption has been that Speed’s suicide was an act born of clinical depression. As I say, we don't know if this affliction has any direct link at all to Speed, but many of us have felt a somewhat chilling sense of unease at the preceding days' discussion of depression by professional sportsman. On Saturday the Guardian's always-enlightening Secret Footballer spoke of his own diagnosis in 2002. Hours earlier – and even more eye-openingly – Stan Collymore had followed up some worrying Twitter postings with a harrowing account about a recent bout of depression, which you can read for yourselves here.

Collymore's troubled past has been exhaustively documented, but over the years he has taken it upon himself to speak out about his health issues. Regardless of any direct link to Speed specifically, there seems to have been a greater willingness in recent times to speak openly and frankly about health problems which go beyond a tweaked hamstring or broken metatarsal. The confirmation from Tony Adams' Sporting Chance clinic that at least ten current professionals have contacted them to seek advice on their own troubles in the sad hours since Speed’s passing suggests that some invisible barrier may be on the verge of being pushed away, hopefully replaced with an air of frankness and honesty within the public footballing discourse.

There is an encouraging precedent for this kind of development. German football has had it's episodes of real and near-tragedy in recent years, the most notable being the suicide two years ago of national team keeper Robert Enke. Only weeks ago referee Babak Rafati was discovered just hours before he was due to take charge of a Bundesliga tie, having apparently attempted suicide and failed. Germany has also dealt with a high-profile case of depression. Following a spate of terrible injuries, midfielder Sebastien Deisler was diagnosed in 2004, his various health battles eventually leading to his retirement at the age of 27. Enke's passing in particular triggered a reaction in Germany. Ronald Reng, who received the William Hill Sports Book of The Year award (the day after Speed's death, no less) for his account of his friend Enke's life, has stated that players had previously found it difficult to publicly communicate the desperate pressures which it appears with hindsight were unknowingly commonplace. But, says Reng, things have improved. “After Robert's death the network of sports psychologists is much better. There are helplines, there is much higher awareness.”

The overriding feeling from those in the know is that Germany is witnessing a profound shift. In England, the abstract notion of the 'footballing community' is a commonly mentioned one, and it's true that in tough times it can act like any other: it can be a guiding hand; a strong network of support, but it can also be prickly and, at worst, downright self-serving. But the day of Speed's death really did feel like a close-knit community had lost a dear friend, the widespread grief palpable and felt beyond the sporting world. These terrible instances in Germany seem to have reminded football once more that life is brittle no matter who you are or what you do. The most celebrated players on the planet, the ones whose lifestyles and pay-checks we envy, regularly experience moments of great success and adoration. The message which Germany has embraced is that they, like all of us in our darkest hours, are also capable of looking in the mirror and seeing very little staring back. Over the past week the FA have sent out 50,000 booklets to ex-players containing advice on coping with depression. It's certainly a start.

As I say though, no one really knows how much of this debate relates to Gary Speed at all, and to speculate would be to do a disservice to his memory and to those he leaves behind. So what of Speed contributions to the beautiful game? The basic facts are as multitudinous as they are impressive. He was a versatile midfielder of energy and ability, with a knack for goals of all kinds and a one-time appearance record holder for both league and country. A captain of every team he’d played for along the way, Speed won the old First Division title in 1992 with Leeds United, before going on to score in every Premier League season in which he played, a remarkable feat only since bettered by his compatriot Ryan Giggs.

But it seems obvious that Speed’s legacy will go well beyond mere statistical analysis. In life’s grand scheme, football obviously ranks fairly low down on the scale of important things, but that's not to say that those involved do not hold it in high regard. From all the moving tributes paid to Speed, the one thing it's easy to gleam is that he carried out his job with great pride.

The moment at the Liberty Stadium when the pre-match minute’s silence erupted into rapturous applause and the spontaneous singing of Speeds name became a scene repeated at grounds across the UK throughout the week, and clubs were united in their mourning once more this weekend. When it happened in Swansea, mere hours after the world learnt of Speed's fate, it felt less like an outpouring of grief and more like a moment of genuine, heartfelt celebration and gratitude for what Speed had given the game. It spoke with a clarity no obituary ever could.

Last Sunday evening I, along with millions of others, listened with a heavy heart to BBC Radio Five Live’s exceptional 606 tribute show as a Leeds supporter recounted a tale of travelling across country with his son to see his team play, only to arrive at Elland Road to find the game sold out. Spotting Speed, and having previously encountered him a year or more previously, the supporter asked – more in hope than expectation – if he could pull any strings. Within minutes, the Welshman had retuned grasping two of Eric Cantona’s spare allocation. Their paths crossed again in the future, and Speed never forgot the man's name.

Stories of this ilk continued to be told throughout the show. As I listened it became increasingly clear that Speed saw and understood the significance of what he was involved in, and how much it mattered to those who could only ever dream of living in his boots. It seems apparent that he fully appreciated the high regarded in which he and his fellow exponents of the game were held, and when it came to the simple, privileged task of being a professional footballer, he was determined not to disappoint. For the record, he never did.

~ Matt

www.thefa.com/TheFA/WhatWeDo/Equality/MentalHealth/newsandfeatures/2011/Mental-Health-introduction

www.sportingchanceclinic.com/