I am talking of course about the probably pre-emptive
stockpiling of anti-Hodgson headline fodder, rotten organic matter set aside to
figuratively hurl at him should he end up in the public stocks. With Euro 2012
only a month away, I imagine The Sun's photo-editing desk is already on amber
alert. And most excited they must be too. So favourable to the media was Harry
Redknapp’s application that he was essentially being fitted for his coronation
robes from the moment in February when Fabio Capello finally decided he'd had
enough of this nonsense and absconded in the dull light of a late winter's eve,
likely to eventually reappear in some comparatively low-pressure arena like
Serie A or the European Central Bank.
Whilst the public reaction to Hodgson's appointment has for
the most part been reassuringly warm, it is common knowledge that the Fleet
Street crawlers amongst us had their favourite from the get-go and were eager
to let anyone within ear shot know about it. Had he gotten the gig, it would
surely have taken a failure of epic proportions to have seen him publicly
depantsed in the neo-Victorian fashion once endured by Graham Taylor and an
unfortunate turnip. For the record, had a moment of visage/vegetable crossover
ever arrived for Redknapp, I would have gone with 'beetroot'.
Before we get to Hodgson, it's worth looking at the whole
hullabaloo surrounding Redknapp and international football's poisoned chalice,
as it’s known to those of us who would step over a dying relative to have give
it a go. For someone so fervently championed as the man the people wanted, I
never really met that many people leading the cheers for Harry. Perhaps I don't
move in the right circles. Perhaps I've been such a shameless Hodgson fan-boy
my entire football-following life that I just tried to block it all out.
Perhaps I was so resigned to Redknapp being appointed that I just shut off my
senses in forlorn acceptance. Maybe I just didn't think the FA would ever bow
to that one force theoretically stronger than public opinion: common sense.
So why was it that the national media were so desperate for
Harry to inherit the earth? Even the most flustered of editorial-spewers must
have known that he’d never be guaranteed to succeed, just like his host of
talented, would-have-been predecessors. Yes he's a motivator, yes he's got passion,
but he's not alone there. So
I have a theory. Maybe Harry isn’t such a close friend of the press after all.
Maybe they, like us, are getting a little sick of his just-another-geezer shtick,
and have found themselves increasingly desperate to reach inside his motor and
send his automatic window shooting skywards. With his head still in it.
Let's be honest: we put up with it because it amuses us,
Redknapp being one of footballs 'characters' and all, but we have effective
ways of escaping his wobbly patois. We can switch channel, turn the page or
stream some porn. For these guys in the press, Harry is their job. He's their
life – seven days a week, twelve months a year (premium rates apply during
transfer windows). So what if we’ve gotten it all wrong? Maybe we should
actually have been pitying them, for what if getting Redknapp the England job
was part of a grand, dastardly plan? It’s a classic hustle: elevate one man to
an inflated position of importance, get him sat on the throne, and then when he
fails, tear down the walls and set fire to his castle. Except now Redknapp’s
frenemies are angry and confused because Hodgson might just be a success, and
they'll never have the chance to bring down the man we incorrectly considered
to be one of them. It was an inside job this whole time, but now the FA have
gone and ruined it all by anointing someone else in Redknapp's place. Their
anger will need a new focus and Hodgson, you feel, will make an excellent
punching bag.
Flights of Machiavellian fancy aside, the demotion of
Redknapp from shoo-in to also-ran may merely be because he was a victim of
timing. He was the man of the moment for sure, but then England has a penchant
for seizing on glorious moments with little thought for what's to come or what
has gone before. It would have been depressingly fitting for the powers that be
to have chosen popularity over pragmatism. In Hodgson, they've invested in a
man of experience and grace, a wise owl who, if you believe the stories, was
approached in 2000 following Kevin Keegan's shower room resignation, but FC Copenhagen
– his employers at the time – were unwilling to do business. Some would say the
FA should have tried harder, and they'd probably be right, but the glamorous
Euro-lure of Sven eventually proved tough to resist as Adam Crozier sought to
rebrand England as a savvy, forward thinking football power. File that one
alongside the
Royal Mail.
The irony is that after years of flitting between the roguish
and the voguish, all this time England had an international manager of their
own right under their very noses. It's been a rollercoaster couple of years for
Croydon's second son (after Dane Bowers, naturally). Having finally started to
receive the respect he deserved in his homeland by guiding Fulham from the
relegation zone to the Europa League final, Hodgson travelled to Liverpool to
take over from the departing Rafa Benitez, who had checked himself into an
asylum or something. But what should have been the crowning moment of his
career fell flat in no time at all, as, left to chill under the imposing shadow
of Kenny Dalglish, he failed to win over players and supporters alike following
mixed results and some regrettable
purchases. With King Kenny lurking upstairs honing his interview technique,
Hodgson was gone in a shade over six months.
Wounded, Hodgson sough solace at the Hawthorns with West
Brom and, having observed his Craven Cottage exploits, the watching world
assumed that this would be the level at which he would remain, seeing out his
managerial days as a motivator of mid-range teams, occasionally peaking, but
mostly coasting. Redemption – if it were required – arrived via a 1-0 victory
at Anfield in April. Disowned and discharged for the simple crime of not being
someone else, this was the Hodgson version of a single-digit salute to the Kop.
Yet it is exactly this knack of drawing lifeblood from
modest stones that arguably makes him the perfect man to guide England forward,
although there must, of course, be a word or two of caution. Hodgson has signed
a contract to take him through to the 2016 European Championship finals in
France, a period which, if he sees it through, would represent his longest
single managerial placement since his spell with Malmo. That ended in 1989. As
much as this writer wants him to succeed, the knowledge is there that Hodgson
isn't known as one to hang around. The tonic to that may be that such a nomadic
personality has finally taken on a job which will let him lay down some roots.
Rather in contrast to his reputation as a safe pair of
hands, Hodgson possess something of a managerial wanderlust, a restless desire
to take on challenges in different countries and continents. He has trekked
from the Swedish second division to the English Premier League via the United Arab
Emirates and just about every point on the footballing compass in between, but
perhaps now, like the youthful adventurer growing envious of his marrying and
breeding peers, he has finally chosen to settle down. In keeping with his brave
and contrary CV, he's chosen an unlikely patch to call home.
Given a fair crack of the whip, Hodgson could be just the
thing English football needs. He has a wealth of European and international
experience stuffed in his pocket, as well as a demeanour which can move between
calm reassurer and enraged hairdryer as and when required. He should be able to
position himself as a father figure for the younger players within the squad on
one hand, and a firm-but-fair ruler on the other. With a generation of players
like Wilshire, Cleverley, Welbeck, Sturridge and Oxlade-Chamberlain gradually
emerging larvae-like from their cocoons, and with a spine of Joe Hart, Scott
Parker and Wayne Rooney around which to mould their infant talents, England may
have a generation worth rooting for. He’s got a huge task on his hands, but
Hodgson has earned his chance. He’ll persevere when things get tough, and if
his team threatens to fly he’ll keep his feet on the ground. Let’s keep the
vegetables there too.
~ Matt
