Catch-22

St. Francis Xavier said, “Give me the child until he is seven and I’ll give you the man”. The importance of a footballer’s formative years cannot be underestimated (even if there have to be some allowances made if a Sixteenth Century Jesuit Missionary’s words are to be considered relevant), and this is a philosophy on which Arsene Wenger has been building Arsenal. But as the six-year silverware drought continues, the questions are coming thicker and faster: where are the men these boys are meant to become?

Irrespective of your opinion of Wenger, you have to acknowledge, if not necessarily admire, his principles. Those labeled the future are nurtured, encouraged and protected – “there is no blame to apportion” he drawls dejectedly regarding the ‘misunderstanding’ between Szczesny and Koscielny. (Apparently both were confused as to the implications of a ball slowly rolling towards their goal in the 89^th minute of a finely poised cup final, and didn’t think to John Smith it at the first opportunity).

But after more than half a decade without a trophy, is it the players who continue to fall short of the mark, or are the principles inherently flawed? Can developing players purely for their skill ever breed success, or is it doomed to internal paradox, a Catch-22?

Clearly it’s not as simple as saying, concentrating on youth breeds naivety and playing the passing game doesn’t work: a dualistic approach between the two has done wonders for the Spanish game recently, led of course by Barcelona. And the excuses rattled out by the FA as to why England are perennially cack – that our kids are mostly inbred – aren’t relevant here because Wenger brings in talent from across the world: Wilshire from England, Ramsey from Wales, Nasri from France, Fabregas from Spain, Denilson from Brazil ECT. I think the reason why things aren’t working is actually that the players are too talented.

Humour me. Obviously talented footballers collect titles and cups. But they do so by marrying their raw potential developed through hours on the training pitch with a winning attitude and an understanding of how to succeed gained from an involvement at some significant level of success. In other words, ability alone is not enough; it must be supplemented with the right mindset and an experience of winning trophies. This is where Arsenal fall short.

They didn’t used to. The team Wenger inherited from Bruce Rioch in 1996 made the club’s last decade at Highbury one of the most successful in the club’s history and the Invincibles of these years laid rest to any claims that the Frenchman’s reputation was due to the work of his predecessors. His star players, Bergkamp, Overmars, Ljungberg, Pires and Henry (with the exception of Bergkamp who found his best form playing under him) were all signed by Wenger and they all played his way: avec va va voom.

The difference was though that the while all this foreign flair was flowing forward, the Clock End was fortified by five formidable home-grown wardens, who, as wooden as they are as pundits, knew how to defend, and knew how to win (and who, as talented as they were, didn’t exude ‘star’ quality).Whether or not they could play was of secondary importance (Lee Dixon got 22 England caps and an undoubtedly kushti contract with the BBC for mimicking the movements of Tony Adams); they could do their job.

Considering the current crop on the other hand – full-backs Sagna and Clichy offer much going forward, but are definitely culpable coming back while centre-halves Vermulen, Djourou and Koscielny have clearly had the phrase ‘the art of defending’ drilled so deeply into them that as soon as they’re up against it and their bowels start to loosen, the latter half of the phrase is dropped, and their defending is made to suffer for their art. They know no other way. Wembley on Sunday evening: case in point.

In isolated incidents, Wenger’s reluctance (or inability) to attribute blame for the successive faltering of his rear-guard can come across as paternal loyalty to his fledging Beckenbauers. But the longer the drought continues the more it looks like stubbornness to adapt his principles. They know no other way because he is not teaching it to them.

Maybe he thinks adaptation is impossible and change unthinkable? Or alternatively believes a change of fortune is inevitable and success unavoidable with the talent he has available? Either way, viewed through the perspective of six years, Arsenal’s sustained inability to fulfill their considerable potential and bring home the proverbial bacon surely says more about the manager than the players.

By encouraging such a pure form of football, the means overshadow the ends. Talent becomes not only the foundations of the team, but its floor, walls, ceiling, doors and windows. And despite constant complaints that Premier League referees allow a form a football founded in Warwickshire rather than Cambridgeshire, the fact remains that it’s not just the hamstrings which are flimsy in North London: the requisite backbone of true champions is conspicuously absent. They don’t have the cojones when it counts. When the big bad wolf huffs and puffs, the house falls down.  

There is no evidence to suggest that the team fielded against Birmingham – especially with the obvious inclusion of a fit Fabregas and possibly Walcott – cannot win anything. But whether they will surely depends more on the manager than the players, and whether he is willing to sacrifice style for a smidgen of substance?

Look at Barcelona. Their first-leg defeat to Arsenal in February was billed as the battle of the purists, yet in for all the football both play when in possession, it’s what a team does without the ball which really defines them. Not just pressing the ball and closing the opposition down, but niggly fouls to break up play and more than the odd word in the ref’s ear.

The Catalans do both aspects equally well. Without doubt, all their players can play. But if judged purely on personality and not footballing ability there are people there you wouldn’t want to get in a fight with – Pique, Puyol, Dani Alves, Mascherano, Busquets. As formidable as they are on the ball, none of the Arsenal players have the same intimidation factor (Vermulen would be intimidating if he was ever fit, and Diaby if his style of play didn’t suggest a passion for silk shirts and fine wine rather than bar brawls) or ability to influence the ref at crucial points of the match.

This Machiavellian ability to manipulate games at the right times, as well as being able to recognize when the right times are, is essential to winning games, but does not seem to be part of Wenger’s psyche anymore. Back when they were winning it was – Viera and Petit were more than capable of putting a boot in, complaining and kicking the ball away, all in one swift movement – but now when the Gunners are in control of a match they’ll play their passing triangles right up until the final whistle.

There’s also a sense that the Barca players’ passion matches that of their manager: it’s not that he’s plucked them from obscurity and preened them in the limelight, or that they are solely responsible for his appointment and successes; both thrive off each other. Despite his admiral loyalty to the club at which he made his name, you have to sense that Fabregas is inevitably going to swap red and white for red and blue. Once a player signs for Barcelona however, if they’re part of the manager’s plans they’re not going anywhere fast. More and more there is a sense that Arsenal is club to make your name at, not to win trophies at. Would Cashley Cole have swapped the style of Barcelona for the riches of Real Madrid?

Maybe because tiki-taka seems to be a pre-formulated idea which already incorporates less-attractive elements to ensure its success, whereas Wenger’s philosophy has an ad-hoc element of being made up as he goes along and the players come through – i.e. now they have Wilshire in midfield we’ve heard a lot less about horror tackles in midfield than we did last season, with the principle injustice now being the opposition’s physical approach to defending – but the Catalans definitely have the winning mentality to supplement their undeniable skill. Arsenal, as of yet, have not discovered it.   

Like it or not, the blame for this has to be laid at the manager’s feet. Even as a neutral on the day and a United fan by trade, I wanted Arsenal to beat Birmingham solely so that Wenger could be vindicated. We all want to believe that style can triumph. That they didn’t, and especially that they played much of the game with nerves evidently raw, merely served to confirm the problem with breeding players so extensively and so purely: they never will become the men Francis Xavier promises, but continue instead as pretty Peter Pans in pubescent purgatory until they leave. And then they win things at their new clubs. Case in point: Brrrrapsley.

It may be seem harsh to say the mark of when a boy becomes a man in football is when he wins his first trophy. Plenty of incredibly talented footballers have spurned recognized success for the glory of honour and loyalty to a club or cause. The problem with the Wenger Boys Mk. II (Mk. I for me died with the departure of Henry, signaling the paradoxical end of the Invincibles) is that the manager knows how to win; he just seems reluctant to do so again or to pass this knowledge on to his player. And this stubbornness is detrimentally affecting their development. Why, having seen first-hand just how much wily, hardened campaigners can do for you at the back is he so reluctant to sign an experienced centre-half and goalkeeper to lead the youngsters on the pitch?

This brings me onto the third part of my criteria for winning trophies: experience of doing so. At first glance it’s an archetypal Catch 22 – how can you win something for the first time if having done so before is essential to success? – but it boils down to one thing: integration.

Birmingham might not have won a trophy for forty eight years, but man of the match on Sunday Ben Foster picked up his third winners medal in three years. Similarly, Barry Ferguson MBE (I know) put in an excellent performance in the middle of the park (without covering himself in glory in the final third), drawing no doubt on his considerable experience of winning trophies in Glasgow. His manager shared these experiences. At crucial points in football matches technical ability means nothing; instinctively knowing what to do is everything, and Birmingham’s players and manager knew because they’d been there before.

Focusing on youth development is not automatically doomed to failure – far from it – but it is a policy that must incorporate aspects of the past with the future. The best example of this working over time is at Old Trafford in the 1990s (ironically enough during the same period when the experience of Wenger’s side made them one of the country’s most formidable forces) when the likes of Beckham, Giggs, the Nevilles and Butt were cutting their teeth. Crucially though, they were doing so in a team that featured Ince, Bruce, McClair, Hughes and Robson, who’d had the odd tastes of success – including the 1991 League Cup no less – and were hungry for more.

It’d be lazy journalism to speculate, twenty years on, that if the WB Mk. II had beaten Birmingham they’d go on to achieve the same success, but it certainly puts in to perspective both importance of the League Cup itself as a competition and potential platform for bigger things, and what winning a seemingly insignificant trophy can do for a side’s future. If a few senior players have those experiences it makes the difference and the cycle can become self-sustaining.

Arsene Wenger’s current footballing philosophy is the purist’s dream, but in the same way a incredible subconscious experience is frustrating if not recreated in reality, it can no longer be judged in a purely abstract context: it’s time for it to deliver in the real world. And in football – especially when considering some of the crème de le crème of young talent globally available – there comes a point when pragmatism has to overtake idealism. Trophies must be won if players are to fully achieve their potential. An individual and a team can only considered world class when they have the substance with which to supplement their style and ability.

A poignant example of this is Gerald Pique. Schooled by Barcelona from a young age, he signed for Man United at a time when his ability to deliver on considerable potential was in doubt. He developed aspects of his game that the Nou Camp and La Liga perhaps would not have catered for (how to mark Kevin Davis for example), experienced winning leagues and cups from the peripheries of the first team, returned to Barcelona. Within two years he was irreplaceable in the best club and international teams in the world.

During this time he learned from the old master and the young pretender undoubtedly set to replace the wizened sensei in Ferguson and Guardiola, two men who appreciate attractive football and the importance of developing youth, but also that bringing the best out of the best youngsters requires winning. Wenger could very easily be considered among the greatest managers of his time – indeed his successes with the Invincibles may have already earned this accolade – but his currently philosophy has been proved inherently flawed by the barren spell currently afflicting the Emirates.

Until the talent he is nurturing learn how to control games by developing what I have called a winning mentality and experience success at a significant level first hand, not only will they have failed, he will have too, and his failure will be two-fold – firstly as a manager who wins trophies and secondly as the manager for developing world-class players. The latter I think will hurt him more.

Only when the Wenger Boys Mk. II become men will his legacy in English and world football be truly immortal. Currently the only way to do this would seem to be diluting his hallowed principles regarding developing style above all else, and finding players who have won in order to complete his jigsaw of incredibly talent youngsters who have not. This though might subsequently dilute his philosophy, upon which his legacy is built. A Catch-22 indeed.

Common Sense

“Today [11^th of February 2011] is the day that common sense won”. So says Karren Brady. “The stadium was built on a promise” she continues, “a promise made in the Queen’s name, to have a legacy for athletics in London”, and if, as expected, the Olympic Park Legacy Company’s (OPLC) decision is ratified, West Ham’s owners – Davids Gold and Sullivan – and vice-chairman Brady will be the ones to honour her majesty’s word. In today’s climate it might be a decision I’d later regret, but if ever I met FHM’s 98^th sexiest woman 1995, I’d have to tell her she was talking utter shite.

Tottenham Hotspur’s rival bid for the site in East London was dismissed as ‘corporate crime’, and disgraceful waste of the government’s investment, because Spurs wanted to knock down the Olympic Stadium and purpose-build a new footballing arena on the site. West Ham on the other hand will not make any structural changes and will use their new purchase to host athletics, T20 cricket, music concerts and community events, as well as football. Even though the decision has been everything but rubber-stamped, I want to have a quick look at the two bids, and decide if common sense really did win.

At first look, it would appear so. From a corporate point of view, surely it makes much more sense to have a versatile stadium that can be funded and maintained by attracting a wide variety of punters through the electronic, x-ray, SWAT-patrolled turnstiles, rather than narrowing the venue’s appeal and thus potentially risk sustained losses and even bankruptcy by reducing the revenue potentially available? If you’ve got government backing for this Project Mass-Appeal, if the stadium is being built on someone else’s (tax-payers’) money, and if a team of realist Guy Richie extras are at the helm, what could possibly go wrong?

From a footballing point of view too, it has a certain appeal. One of England’s most iconic clubs is in desperate need of rejuvenation: images of Bobby Moore beaming and Paolo Di Canio saluting are less synonymous these days than Avram Grant apologising and Carlton Cole…well doing what he always did, or rather didn’t, do – and that’s before we’ve even mentioned the owners’ inspirational votes of confidence in the manager published in the press. Moving to a shiny new stadium might just be the tonic needed to inspire the players, settle the manager and satisfy the board’s hunger to ‘define an era’. They might start improving. They might even attract more players of Benni McCarthy ability.

Finally, it has a certain appeal ‘for the community’. Assuming such a thing exists in London – which I for one am very sceptical of – it would surely benefit those who live in the run-down areas surrounding the Olympic stadium if it was left as a monument to the unifying power of sport and the omniscient benevolence of the government, a beacon of hope to any visitors, who might feel hopeful that similar changes could be directed their way soon (although this argument seems to overlook the fact that the weekly dole allowance wouldn’t even cover the District Line ticket to the site, let alone entry to any events). Conversely, tearing the thing down as soon as the world’s eyes are diverted would confirm to many that the government doesn’t care about anything except its own reputation.

Considering the three arguments above, it is very easy to agree with Brady that common sense can indeed be considered the victor. West Ham’s bid offered the most viable solution to the problem of ensuring a massive one-off investment is maintained and enjoyed by generations to come, both as an athletics arena, and more generally, an iconic sporting arena.

The problems then. Firstly and most importantly: football and athletics do not mix. Never have, never will. The only point of contact these two spheres should have is the occasion media stunt involving a celebrity fan – although recently players have infiltrated modern football with the belief that being able to run very very fast makes up for a complete lack of talent on or near the ball: Gabriel Obertan I’m (reluctantly) looking at you.

It is impossible to recreate the atmosphere at somewhere like Upton Park, especially when I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles is in full swing, if there is a gap of up twenty metres between the front row of seats and the near touchline. With events like athletics and crickets where a big screen relays all the action to those in the back row, and attending is as much about the experience as it is observing all the action, being fifty metres away is OK; but at a football match…you might as well stay at home, save £70 and watch MOTD.

Secondly, while it’s easy to imagine the Olympic Stadium being sold-out for two weeks straight while the track and field events are taking place in 2012 – any excuse to fly the Union Jack, sing the anthem and get pissed – it’s harder to see the 80,000 seats being filled week in week out. In these times of austerity, will people be willing to pay regularly? Will claret and blue binoculars be made available? West Ham are a team looking odds on for relegation. Can you see anyone paying that kind of money to watch a mid-week Championship game, especially when, for the same price you can watch Champions League football elsewhere in the city?

The Hammers are very well supported within London and this is and always has been built on a sizeable die-hard contingent who would walk from Tower Hamlets or Havering twice a week if needs be. But it’s hard to imagine their number being sufficient to fill an 80,000-seater regularly, especially if their seat was forty feet from the pitch. In order for the stadium to generate enough revenue then, it will have to rely on other sources of income besides football.

OK then, athletics. After 2012, will they make any significant difference? How often are athletics events held that any cares about, and of these rarities, how many are in London? The Commonwealth games and the European Championships maybe, but are these all going to be held in London from now on just to fund the Olympic Stadium? Similarly, T20 Cricket’s popularity is increasing and, marketed correctly, it isn’t unforeseeable that people will watch it at a modern venue rather than the Oval, but unless it was England Australia every week, you’d be lucky to get 10% of the seats filled. And what of the consequences for cricket across the UK if all events must be held in the capital to justify the stadium’s existence?

Plus, cricket and athletic events cannot be held in an outdoor stadium such as the Olympic Park, between October and March because of the weather (and even six months on is an optimistic estimate). Presumably these will be the months in which the majority of outside events are held in order to compensate for the income lost from summer sports.  But how feasible is it to expect a decent pitch on Saturday if 50,000 people have been jumping up and down on it on Tuesday, especially in the winter? And what damage will field athletic events do to the grass? Is there not a lesson to be learned from the Wembley ‘turf’ where concerts are staged, and the Emirates’ playing surface, which is only graced by footballers?

Once the novelty has worn off and people have been to it once, the reality is that even when costs are shared between three sports (two of which are seasonal) and supplemented by outside events such as gigs, you’re going to struggle to break even whilst still maintaining the standards required of a modern stadium. As in any capital city, the neutral sports fan’s money is sought after by a variety of big-hitting attractions within Greater London – Wembley, Twickenham, the Oval, Wimbledon, Stamford Bridge, the Emirates, the O2 Arena, White Hart Lane to name a few – and the cold hard truth of the matter is that West Ham aren’t a big enough club to bring in the majority percentage of the requisite income. They don’t make enough money to justify having such a big ground.

So the OPLC made the wrong decision then: Tottenham then were the right choice? Under their proposal the Olympic Stadium would follow the Games themselves and become and memory rather than a physical legacy, with the ground being all but demolished and a new, purpose-built footballing arena built in its place. The massive initial costs would then be recouped through this investment: having a currently state-of-the-art stadium that would theoretically last Spurs the next century or so.

Regarding the issue of the promise made by Lord Coe (you know, the guy who speaks on our behalf without us knowing) in ‘our’ Queen’s name (which none of us would ever dream of taking in vain) about a legacy of athletics in London, Tottenham’s bid’s answer was simple. Instead of manufacturing an entirely new legacy from scratch by sharing British athletics’ flagship arena with a football club, they would instead fund the redevelopment of the Crystal Palace National Sports Centre, the home of British athletics for the last fifty years. Surely rejuvenating history is a more fitting way of ensuring a legacy than manufacturing a new home and allowing a site steeping in history to become even more decrepit?

The lack of a running track and sole ownership of the arena are definitely initially attractive to football fans: Gooners and visiting support alike cannot speak highly enough of the quality of the Emirates, especially now initial claims regarding a lack of atmosphere have been quelled (as exemplified by their defeat of Barcelona there in mid-February). Tottenham are, at this point in time, a better candidate for stadium expansion than West Ham, judging both on their league position and performances on the pitch, but also on their clout in the transfer market and stability of ownership and manager. The Spurs are very much a club in the ascendency while you have to speculate the Hammers’ slide could just be beginning.

Tottenham have the grass-roots support to contribute a significant number of the requisite weekly bums-on-seats, the financial backing to ride-out the initial heavy losses incurred by building a new stadium, and are rapidly building a squad, style of play, and reputation to draw in neutrals on a regular enough basis to think about breaking even eventually. The eastwardly relocation could also prove beneficial as it would separate them slightly from Arsenal – who still have to be considered the dominant North London club – and establish them as an individual entity, rather than a bigger clubs’ neighbours.

This hypothetical move however, would be problematic: it would surely exacerbate the Hammers’ problems further as well affecting other London clubs. Kids growing up in the East End would have the choice of a Championship or Champions League team as their local club, and while family ties may run deep, six year-olds aren’t saints. As Barry Hearn points out about West Ham’s relocation: any club moving within such a condensed footballing city will inevitably hurt the smaller clubs – Leyton Orient, Milwall, Charlton and Dagenham & Redbridge – who cannot possibly expect to pull the punters in if bigger neighbours encroach on their traditional territories’. Who’s to say West Ham won’t one day be counted among the capital’s minnows?

Another problem for Tottenham’s bid, and thus a reason for them to celebrate not getting it, is, funnily enough, the community. I personally believe you’d find friendlier faces in the Libyan army than in the Burgh of Westminster at rush hour, but speaking to a Spurs fan, he says that the only thing holding the district of Tottenham together is the footballing team. Most agree that a new stadium is needed – 36,000 seats do not reflect the club’s ambitions – but that it must remain in the district to work. Moving away from White Hart Lane and ergo Haringey would disillusion fans who believe that a new stadium is not sufficient compensation for relocation.

Personally, I can’t see why either West Ham or Tottenham would want to move. For West Ham is represents a massive sacrifice on behalf of the fans, who would have to watch what is looking increasingly like Championship football played on a pitch torn-up from last Tuesday’s JLS concert and Thursday’s under-19s regional shot-put and javelin trials, from a distance that might serve as a poignant reminder as to just how far away a return to former glory days is. For Tottenham, consolidating their recent resurgence as a major European force by building a 60,000+ seater is as inevitable as it is essential, but a permanent move away from N17 could serve to disrupt all the positive strides made in the last twenty years.

It is the former however which looks most like coming to fruition. With the New Cockney Mafia at the helm and the blessing of the Olympic committee, the government and Boris Johnson, not to mention her majesty the Queen (who surely wouldn’t want anything promised in her name to be taken in vain) West Ham will relocate for the 2012-13 season, irrespective of what level they’re playing at. If the experts above believe it can work, who am I to doubt it? Who are the fans to have reservations? February 11th, 2011: a proud day for common sense indeed.

Get Bent

Forty-nine million pounds turns heads. It’s the kind of investment on which you’re going to want to keep the receipt. In four high profile moves, Darren Bent has accumulated a collective price-tag of nearly fifty mil., yet no one has ever really got him. He’s been at the clubs, turned up for training, and played reasonably well in games but never has he really gained the affections of the fans, or of the press. Why, when these clubs have shelled out progressively more and more for him, have they always needed to keep the receipt?

At 26, Bent is approaching what most would considered to be his golden years, and certainly there are no immediate causes for a mid-career crisis: 32 goals in 58 games at Sunderland; an impressive strike-rate at Spurs when you consider how many starts he got; and 31 in 68 whilst plying his professional trade at Charlton in the mid-noughties. There have never been any major concerns he would fall down the Jeffers, Nugent or Collymore route of English striking talent spurned. Yet with this move to Villa, the question has to be asked: if not now then when?

His seven England caps have been explained many ways, but the simple fact is that the FA appoints national coaches with all the thought and tact of a Tijuana temping agency. This is because the arrogance of the press decrees The Eleven Lions should pick themselves; we invented football and if only the weather/ref/WAGs/Germans had/hadn’t done this or that we’d be as unbeatable as Bolivia are when they play at the Estadio Hernando Siles. If the press aren’t on your side, the manager can’t pick you. And the more Bent roams off the pitch – on the pitch his off the ball movements aren’t the most subtle – the closer he wanders to journeyman status. And then he’s definitely not going to get picked.

It should be said that, while Bent lacked none the opportunities presented to more successful, but not necessarily more talented, strikers he’s never had a mentor. Charlton, Spurs and Sunderland have had twice as many managers in the last 7 years as Bent has international appearances, and the rewards to be reaped of full managerial backing can be best seen in his spell under Steve Bruce – possibly why his response to Randy Learner’s inquisitions was verbatim to Houllier’s instruction to his American chairman: get Bent. When old candle-face made disparaging comments about his finishing ability (not something any man wants) you have to feel it was not just the striker’s ability to breech David James’ goal he was bemoaning, but his credentials as a Champions League striker.


In that case then, more fool Villa surely: they’re the ones paying over the odds for a distinctly average striker. Or does Houllier believe that his investment is just that: something to be nurtured and built upon? The stats are there to see, and while Steve Bruce was able to rebuild Bent’s confidence, a lack of top-level managerial experience might have limited how far the rebirth could stretch. The Frenchman has nearly thirty years under his belt managing national (Lyon), European (Liverpool) and world (France) champions. Belief from him could prove the catalyst for consistently inspired form. At the end of the day, it comes down to individual temperament, the desire to be the best.

While you’re reeling from this sensational conclusion, I’d like to say, this article’s main focus isn’t actually Darren Bent (it just made too good a title not to pursue). The England man is however a salient case-study for the core discussion: the January transfer window.

Events on Monday have both dwarfed, and to an extent justified, the price Villa paid – Bent’s record looks like Shearer’s compared to Andy Carroll and while the latter is considered England’s hottest striking prospects, I would direct your eyes to aforementioned forwards before telling me which one you’d rather have in your team. The January transfer window is essentially double-glazed though: you have 30 days in which to pay an inflated fee for a player based on their performance since the start of the season; then you have 24 hours where all hell breaks loose. It paid to get Bent sooner.

The window’s initial purpose – to create stability – was doomed to failure from the beginning; why people thought that clubs would spend more sensibly if you limited the time in which they could do so is anyone’s guess. It’s like saying: there’s a food shortage and everyone’s hungry. In order to stop panic buying we’re only going to open Tesco from 5-8 in the evening. It’s already the busiest time of day but people definitely aren’t going to shit themselves when they release their access to already limited resources is being restricted further;  I’m sure instead they can be trusted to save their existing food, not try to steal anyone else’s, and only buy what they need so that nothing runs out.

January brings out the worst in everyone – players become overly ambitious and therefore ever more egotistical; the director/board members jerk their puppets’ knees even more vigorously than usual and staff are discarded faster than the team is sinking; those managers who do survive desperately scour Football Manager for a decent full-back and a 20-goals-a-season centre-forward; meanwhile the press don’t so much fan the flames, as stoke the fires with all the methane they’re blowing out their ass, Lynx-can-on-a-bonfire style. Don’t get me wrong, it makes great viewing, Requiem for a Dream in footballing terms. It’s just that it is killing the Premier League.

The main problem about allowing players to move in January is that prices are based on form, not on ability. Players who were relatively unheard of in the summer become the obsessive focus of frenzy-eyed gaffers; while those who burned brightest in the spring are now highly-paid charcoal, desperate awaiting their phoenix’s arrival. The off-season in the summer – European Championships and World Cups obviously aside – allow for progressive scouting, sensible negotiations and a considered bargaining process (either that or Real Madrid post a cheque at the first available opportunity). A 5 million pound centre-back in June is still a five million pound centre-back in August. The difference is the selling club has had a chance to find a suitable replacement.

The primary focus of mid-season transfer should be to patch-up a squad; not to dramatically alter it for better (as in West London and arguably in Merseyside) or for worse (as on Tyne and to a lesser extent Wear). While nobody can deny that injuries, poor form and acts of God make it essential for the market to function in some respects during the season, to have fully blown bidding wars and the resulting fallout at a time in the year when most Premiership teams play mid-week and weekend is clearly massively detrimental to all involved.

The obvious solution would be to allow players to move on loan in January – and maybe even throughout the whole season – but limit transfers to the off-season: first of June to the middle of August, say the Tuesday or Wednesday before the first Saturday to let the furore die down a wee bit. That way holes can be polyfillad without rushed major structural changes. It might also instil some loyalty into players who consider a four-year contract to be worth roughly the same as Mark Lawrenson’s opinion: millions on paper but in reality fuck all.

Loan moves might then become more significant, it’s true – no longer just a way for youngsters to fill their boots a bit or fringe actors to kick a first team ball, but a major indication of a player’s preferred career progressions. But as long as the balance of power regarding the authorization of loans remains relatively even (i.e. the smaller or financially weaker clubs are not bullied into loaning their stars) squad deficiencies could still be addressed without the circus of permanent transfers. A club’s player would also be their player for the whole nine months of the season rather than the four in autumn.

Talented footballers could still achieve their dream moves to big clubs and play Champions League football or win trophies; they would just have to do so in a way that was respectful to those who got them where they were. Liverpool weren’t interested in Charlie Adam when he was a Rangers reject; only because of Ian Holloway is he the player he is (though whether or not the Tangerines’ manager deserves a cut of any sell-on fee is another matter). It’s only right therefore that the Scot plays the way he has been and does everything he can to keep Blackpool in the Premiership, before moving on amicable in the summer with an established replacement in place.

A model example of this can be found in an often much-maligned midfielder and captain. Cesc Fabregas has been the subject of admiring overtures from Barcelona since before Wenger’s last Specsavers test – and the fact that they are his dream move is both perfectly understandable and no secret – yet he continues to be the best player in an Arsenal shirt and honour his contract while those above him squabble about when (not if) he’s going to move and how much for.

By allowing players to sign for a mid-table team with sunny grins in the summer, raise golden hopes of Europe in the autumn and then crack, freeze and melt away into the shadows of a bigger club in the winter only benefits the over privileged: egoistical players and financially frivolous board-members. It increases pressure on managers by tacitly telling them if they’re struggling in November, someone else’ll be in by December so the squad can be overhauled in January; gives the already dreich demeanour of messers Moyes, Holloway, Bruce ECT an added venom as they use the twigs at their disposal to fend of the hyenas; and shatters squad morale by painting loyalties, etched shades of grey by the press, in stark black and white: “I think I deserve better teammates than you lot”.

Whether or not this will prove the case with Bent (or indeed Torres, Carroll, Luis, Sessegnon et al.) only time will tell. Anelka’s transfer in 2008 revitalised his career while Bellamy’s stuttered after a promising start. Both Bolton and West Ham however are still tenderly recovering from their brief flirtations with two of the Prem’s most notorious journeymen. That they had outgrown their ponds’ is evident, but the timing of their departure hurt the clubs that had nurtured their careers back to multimillion-pound health. Bent’s mileage doesn’t quite put him on this level yet, but he’s not far off. By being able to move in January you’d have to say the Black Cat’s chances of Europe have been severely jeopardized.

Nothing can be won in football by Christmas, but everything can be lost. Whether it’s the prestige of the title, European glamour, mid-table comfort or survival’s lucrative promises, a club aims to reach May with some dignity and pride intact: this season was a progressive one, we did well. Players receive various awards and accolades, but ultimately it’s the team which is held to account most in the summer. How is it fair to do this when ambitions can be crippled as early as the end of the January transfer window?

Watering the Fountain of Youth

It’s a dark dark day in any young adult’s life when they are finally forced to accept they aren’t going to make it as a professional footballer. The pain is made all the more acute by it being a drawn out process – usually taking place between the years of 15 and 18 – of waiting, largely in vain, for the sparks of skill to appear and propel you into superstardom. The proverbial nail in the coffin is watching your team fill up with players who are just a few years older than you; only a year your senior; share your year of birth; were born a few months after you; could’ve been three years below you at school…


As hard as it is, it’s undeniably easy on the eye watching these prodigious talents bloom, and our inner mystics, sensing they have the beating of any conservative rationality our brains possess (ha!), run amok waxing lyrical about just how good these kids are going to be and exactly which qualities they display in abundance unseen since Zidane, Cruff, Best, Eusébio et al.


With all the oohing and aahing that soundtrack Arsenal’s starting Carling Cup 11, it’s hard to see these starlets as anything other than flamboyant zoo animals; yet the creative freedom exhibited on the pitch can sometimes be in tragic contrast with the shackles off it, the bonds and demands from contracts, agents and the press. This is something I feel needs addressed for the good of the players, the national team and the game of football in general.


Before continuing it is worth pointing out now that as I write this I am currently unemployed and in a substantial amount of debt to various persons, so I’m not painting the ‘I-get-paid-£70,000-a-week-why-do-people-get-so-pissed-when-I-act-like-a-twat-and-then-moan-about-the-exposure’ picture; I’d happily accept one-hundredth of that amount to play football for a living (I’d even wear sensible black boots and do my damndest not to shag any whores into the bargain). This is not about the money, but the manner in which it is offered.


When it comes to dealing with hot young prospects, the clubs just as often end up with the fuzzy end of the lollipop, but in discussions about the darker side of being the next Maradona, first port of call should always be the player. It’s now not uncommon for Premier League appearances to be handed to 15/16 year-olds, and a boy can be a first-team regular by the time of his 18^th birthday. Good times, this bodes well for the future.


When I was that age all I needed for a good time was an irresponsible adult to overlook certain moral obligations and turn a blind eye while I made my own mistakes, and even from my position of almost complete ignorance, it seems like it’s a similar case for these multimillionaire teenagers. Only difference is, the negligent adults in my case were the ‘cool’ uncles or sketchy homeless guys who bought us cider and the ethically spurious shopkeepers who accepted horrendous fake IDs.


For young footballers it’s the agents who limpet on to their talent and offer them salaries their Standard Grade Maths can’t even begin to process (and that’s before we’ve started talking about bonuses, clauses, sponsorship or advertisements). It’s the big teams who sign them and root their potential to the reserve team bench; or the hometown clubs who put themselves in a position where they have to cash-in on their assets because of boardroom incompetence.


These are kids who weren’t alive when Nirvana split-up; you can’t offer them obscene amounts of money and then expect them to concentrate on football, and get pissy when they don’t fulfil their potential. There is a responsibility of agents and clubs to take into account the human being, not just the ability.


Of course, this wishy-washy, ‘love thy neighbour’ crap doesn’t actually work in real life. Football is a multi-trillion pound industry and it certainly didn’t get there without leaving a few stragglers by the wayside. Those in positions of power will say that it’s always been a performance-based industry – a buyer’s market – and charity will dilute the quality of the game. Emerging young talents are going to have to be exposed to the ‘real world’ sooner or later and the fact is, if they’re good enough to get paid as much as 20/30 year-olds, they should be expected to put up with the some pressures and constraints.


Fair enough, can’t really argue with that. Footballers’ wages are offered in direct relation to their perceived value, and if Hess…I mean Messi, is the best player in the world at 21, pay him accordingly. Attention however, has to be paid lower down the spectrum. Not everyone’s situation if different, and the Argentine maestro is quite clearly an exception in terms of talent. Not everyone is going to be as talented, lucky or, personality-wise, as down to earth. Some kind of structure therefore has to be set up.


Messi’s legend is well-known: brought over to Spain after being rejected by homeland-giants River Plate as being too weak, Barcelona paid for him to have hormone injections and next thing you know he’s up like a salmon, merkin’ Rio to head past Van der Sar in the Stadio Olympico. At five years old however, he started played for a team his dad managed, and when Rijkaard & co. came calling, his family relocated to Catalonia with him. He has thus always had people around him to keep his featherweight frame grounded and this is something that his humble demeanour and media-shyness is directly credited to.


Not every player is so lucky (or so naturally shy) however, and so at some point a ‘guardian’ has to be appointed to advise the player and (in theory) look out for their best interests. If not, less talented but more astute predators will begin to prey. This is where the problems start.


If you’ve never heard of him before, all you need to know about Kia Joorabchian is that he has two passports, each with a different name and different date of birth on it. He’s not actually a qualified football agent – describing himself (somewhat reluctantly you would feel) as an ‘advisor’ to players – and yet has been the lynchpin in some of the most lucrative and high-profile transfers in world football. He basically legally collects footballers.


Not in the sense of having a meticulously above-board Subbuteo hobby; but rather he goes around, like a cross between the Childcatcher and Rasputin, offering talented but impoverished footballers a seemingly princely, but in actual fact nominal, fee in return for their freedom of contract. He then ‘loans’ them out to clubs (and demands that 100% of their substantial wage demands to be paid) where they then make their name, and when the big boys come in with £30 mil, he pockets the transfer fee.


Clearly it’s not in anyone apart from these so-called agents’ best interest for players to be traded like shares in the City of London, and for me, this problem is best solved at its source. Make it illegal for an individual to be bought by another individual, and introducing a EU-wide ban on ‘advisors’ like Joorabchian. The big-money moves are to European football, so even if this law can’t be passed or realistically implicated on other continents, make it impossible to find anyone offering the money these people are looking for. If Platini only does one useful thing during his time in office, I really hope this is it (I also wonder if he’s even thought of having a camera on the goal line?).


The aforementioned ‘advisor’-types will undoubtedly point out that if this happens, the players will remain undiscovered or undeveloped because they will be forced to stay at their hometown clubs and never get an opportunity on the bigger stages. Big problem, with a simply answer: make their hometown clubs better.


Not by putting ads on the Middle Eastern Gumtree trying to find investors for Scunthorpe United and Elephant & Castle’s pub team, but spending the money constantly promised for youth development, on youth development, and getting the (minimal) existing infrastructure to communicate internally. Nationalise youth development in Home Nations and structure them more like France – who won the World Cup in 1998 & the Euros in 2000 – and Spain – who won the Euros in 2006 & and the World Cup in 2010. True, the former may have had a spot of bother in South Africa, but that was probably down to the fact they had a coach who couldn’t decide if he was Copernicus or Casanova; either way he was definitely more Chaplin than Clough.


Before that however, Les Bleus produced some of the finest world footballers of the last 30 years. This is partly because they can still poach players from their former colonies, but also because of the national football association’s infrastructure. And I don’t even need to talk about Spain’s youth set-up.


In France, youth players train at one of seven, well-funded, national academies during the week before returning to their local clubs at the weekend; in Spain it’s alternate weekends between representing their school team and their academy side. The emphasis is on plucking talent and training them at a higher level, but also letting the player return to their local teams so that the lower leagues’ standard is continually improving by having quality footballers playing in it. The academy communicates with the local teams to make sure their pupils are putting in a shift at the weekend, and also advises the managers which areas of the star player’s game could be improved, and also how the rest of the team could learn from/develop by playing with him.


Britain’s smaller than both France and Spain so it would be fairly easy to ensure all parts of the country had access to the academies, transport would be paid for, and if 14/15/16 year olds spent more time playing football and in a learning environment, not only will they become better players, they might not grow up to be the kind of guy who cheats on his missus with genks.


At the moment, unless a hot prospect is born near a nationally recognised academy (West Ham for example), someone ends up getting hurt as one of two scenarios play out. Either they sign for their local academy, who then train them but lose them to a bigger club on a free before they turn 17 and are eligible to sign a professional contract; or they sign a professional contract at their local team or another smaller side, show potential after a few first team appearances, and are snapped up for a nominal fee by a Premiership outfit, before rotting on the bench or being loaned out to a lower league than they initially started in.


The first instance seems grossly unfair: a team, with limited income, has invested time and money developing a talent, and received zero compensation for them. Understandably, the likes of Man U and Arsenal want to bring hot prospects in at an age where they can still significantly influence their development. The player is relatively unproven so they aren’t going to pay millions (unless it’s a Rooney or a Ramsey we’re talking about) and the youngster isn’t exactly going to turn down a chance to play for these teams. But because they’re under 17, their initial mentors, the smaller club, get paid zilch.


The second case harms both the youngster most because they don’t play anything like as much first-team football, and their talent therefore, unless exceptional, is squandered. Obviously there is an element of ‘if they’re good enough they’ll play’, but the focus can’t just be on producing exceptional footballers; England and Scotland need good 21 year olds just as much as they need exceptional ones. There’s not point in only bringing 11 world-class superstars through the ranks because, who are they going to play with/against? What’s going to happen when they get injured?


Also, not everyone develops into an outstanding player until later in life. Ian Wright didn’t sign professionally until he was nearly 22 (hope for yours truly, who obviously only hasn’t been called up by Fabio yet because the England scouts haven’t been down the Meadows recently), and without a decent standard of league, the exceptional footballers aren’t going to fulfil their full potential, because they’ll never come up against anyone who can really stretch their ability.


If a quality national academy could set-up, then players would be developed regionally with tabs being kept on exactly which youngsters came from which club. This would allow an element of parity to be maintained when professional contracts were offered because the original parent club would be given priority. The academy could also oversee contract negotiations, ensuring the inclusion of clauses stating a minimum number of appearances, to stop big clubs stockpiling and wasting youth prospects, whilst also ensuring the Rasputin-Childcatchers out there are completely excluded from British football.


The future of football is in having a world-class youth system – Spain and Germany taught us as much in South Africa this summer – and not just looking for the diamonds, but filtering out the slightly less precious (but no less useful) elements as well, in order to allow late developers to bloom and keep the young hot-shots constantly on their toes.


We need to be developing a Golden Generation, not a Golden 11 – look where having two world-class attacking midfielders has left England; we can’t bloody play both of them. Introducing a properly run, properly funded, nationwide footballing body, primarily devoted to ensuring what’s best for the youngsters (and by extension their national side), but who also seek to improve the standard of lower leagues, is essential if England (or Scotland) are ever going to make waves in internationally football again. That, and getting a few scouts up to Edinburgh ASAP, because I turn 22 soon and my ambitions will then turn to management.

Discipline

Howard Webb: he’s not from New York City; he’s from Rotheram. Over the summer he officiated the dirtiest World Cup final in recent memory and was roundly criticised for his over-lenience (despite showing thirteen yellow cards and a red), especially for failing to spot Nigel De Jong’s ‘sweet chin music’ on Xavi Alonso. At Old Trafford on Sunday however, he managed to keep one of the most historically tempestuous fixtures in the Premier League almost entirely above board and got most of the big decisions right. Well-done Howard.


In general, Lee Catermole aside, this season has been a largely well-disciplined one, with even the high profile red cards – Joe Cole’s against Arsenal for example – being badly timed rather than malicious. While the reverse could be said for the penalty-taking so far, this doesn’t come as a massive surprise to me (Graham Alexander isn’t around to bring up everyone else’s average and the ball’s probably too white to hit properly); I just can’t understand how Manchester United have forgotten to defend.


Don’t worry, the irony isn’t lost on me: after crafting a reputation and filling a multitude of trophy cabinets with the ability to score late, late, late goals, United have finally been getting a taste of their own medicine at Craven Cottage and Goodison Park in recent weeks. And all credit has to go Fulham and Everton for having the belief and drive to fight right to the end when it looked, in both instances, as if all was lost. But the harsh reality for Ferguson is that Chelsea’s four-point lead at the top of the table has been gifted to them, not by the Blues’ early season fixtures, but by his team’s inability to keep their discipline and close out the games for those two extra wins.

There are of course those who put United’s slow start down to the fact that they are finally losing their stranglehold on the English game. These people may yet be proved right, but if they are it will be through luck, now because of their knowledge of football. Man U always start slowly, and build momentum, make-up impossible points deficits and generally surmount the insurmountable (usually, even I have to say with a fair bit of luck and the odd refereeing decision here and there). Just because we’ve dropped four sloppy points it doesn’t suddenly make us Liverpool circa 1990 under Graham Souness.


It’s just difficult to understand. It’s not through lack of experience at the back that this indiscipline had developed. Johnny Evans is young but this is his third season in or around the first-team. Stalwarts Vidic and Evra are becoming as much a part of United as Mike Phelan doing Match of the Day interviews, while at right-back O’Shea or Neville have been the regular starters: not exactly the greenest of full-backs. They’ve been playing as a unit – with Evans deputising for Ferdinand more and more as the latter’s injury tendencies proliferate – for three or four seasons now, and the three homegrown players are products of the club’s youth system.


And it’s sure as hell not through lack of ability that these late goals are being leaked. Sloppiness is what it is, pure and simple. Not doing the basics properly. If you’ve made it as a professional footballer it stands to reason that you will have worked under scores of trainers, coaches and managers; the sum total of clichés must be massive and they should be as imbedded in your psyche as the need to wear florescent boots or cheat on your missus: keep the ball, it’s your friend, if you have it then the opposition can’t score ECT. So why have United forgotten them (the basics not the boots or infidelity clauses)?


Berbatov’s strike against Everton may have started with a backheel from Gary Neville (in his own half no less), but Arteta’s thundering leveller deep in injury time came about because, almost directly from the 3-2 restart: G Funk received the ball and lofted a nothing ball towards the opposition’s corner-flag; it was promptly launched back to Baines, he whipped it in the United area, Timmy Cahill inevitably won the header and the Spanglish midfielder was there to drive home.


Any one who has ever played football – or even had a bash on Fifa or Pro Evo – knows that if you’re seconds away from winning a match and the other team pull one back, the last thing you do is boot it back to them and give them a chance to launch one more attack. You play it square between the defence and midfield and the only time it ever goes into the corner is if someone runs it there. Where was Neville’s – the most experienced player on the pitch – composure and discipline?


Equally, what was the thinking behind putting Nani, arguably Man U’s least consistent performer in recent seasons (especially now Berbatov’s started banging them in this season) on a crucial penalty that could have put the game beyond a Fulham side who rarely lose at home? Why not put one of the more experienced or levelheaded players on it – Giggs or Owen for example – rather than cater to the ego of the erratic Portuguese winger?


Three points at Craven Cottage is not something that comes easily but if you’re going to win the Premiership it’s not exactly mission impossible.  The spot-kick goes in and you’d think it’s game, set and match (although, in hindsight events at Goodison cast doubts over this assumption). Instead, Nani stepped up, Nani missed and United dropped points.


These aren’t difficult things to address: the gaffer’s surely spotted them and from now on I’d be surprised if any more late collapses or sloppy mistakes didn’t result in a few games on those moulder barker loungers they have in the Old Trafford dugout. The puzzle is why they haven’t already.


This is manager who, as legend has it, sent home Paul Ince from his first United training session after the midfielder, newly signed from Inter Milan, turned up at Carrington with a personalised number plate reading: ‘TH3 GUVN0R’ (“there’s only one governor around here” was the growled Glaswegian reply); he’ll have been livid the discipline he’s spent 20+ years developing is being blatantly ignored. Blatently he chews so much Wriggly’s Extra to stop him grinding his teeth down to his gums and looking like Mr. Herbert by the time his death and subsequent retirement are announced.


Lack of quality is never going to be an issue at Old Trafford; nor are we ever going to be short of a balance between youthful exuberance and senior experience. And all but the most ignorant United fans (so at least a few London burghs aside) will admit we are one of ‘luckier’ teams in the league at the moment. However, without the discipline to see out games we’re not going to win the league back. Simple as.


Teams who try to buy success often fail because of a lack of order amongst the Rolexed-multimillionaires, whilst teams like Stoke and Wolves become part of the Premiership furniture by being organised, committed and concentrating for 95 minutes. With Man U it’s as much a case of pulling the finger out as putting a stick a bit further up, and keeping it there until the final whistle. Shotgun not being the one who does Nani though.

Euro Qualifiers I

You know what Scottish people hate most about the English? Our apathy towards their nation. The fact that their hatred of us, which burns everlasting, is largely unreciprocated.


Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a purely Scottish trait by any means; the English are just as bad. We’ll go on for hours about the times we’ve got one up on the Krauts, and how it’s the rivalry to end all rivalries, but if you talk to Germans about who they’d most cherish beating in a World Cup final, ‘ze Niederländisch’ (the Dutch) would be ze answer.


So while the Three Lions struggling against lowly opposition they should hammer every day of the week (like Algeria, say) would be met with howls of derision north of the border, the fact that Craig Levin’s men were seconds away from dropping points to a country whose entire population is smaller than the Hamden crowd on Tuesday, draws a largely sympathetic grimace from the majority of England fans, myself included.


Scotland doing badly gives me the opportunity to return some small portion of the abuse my ‘mates’ up here have given me over 13 years, but it also makes an already fairly cynical nation utterly depressed and thus lessens my enjoyment of back-to-back England wins. Stephen McManus’s 97th minute header however, left the Tartan Army more jubilant than if they’d won 7-0 so, for the moment at least, a fragile peace exists between Scottish football and myself. Long may it last.


It could have been so different though, because in all honesty Scotland should be well on their way to Poland and Ukraine by now with 6 points. You can only imagine the smirking headlines the Scottish Sun would have come up with had it been England being held in Kaunas, because the fact remains, if you’ve got the world champions Spain in your group, you need three points everywhere else to stand a chance of going through as one of the best runners-up across in qualification.


I couldn’t help but smile as I heard the laments from sections of the press up here and the Tartan Army in general that, ‘we were kicked off the park’, ‘the ref did nothing to protect us’, ‘those boys’re dirty, cheating bastards’ ECT. I’m sorry, but you can’t field a team with savages like Scott Brown and cheats like Alan McGregor in it, and then expect to be ‘protected’ from team that employs the same tactic every team in your domestic league does: if you don’t get the ball, make sure you get the man.


Hasler’s challenge on Alan Hutton on Tuesday was different – it was a disgrace and if ever there was a need for UEFA or FIFA to take retrospective action against a player, this is it – but having played Lithuania in the last four Euro qualification groups, and given that a number of the home side on Friday ply or have plied their trade in the SPL, you’d think Levin would be tactically astute enough to be able to exploit the obvious gulf in class between the two teams. I don’t remember the Lithuanian captain ever winning the Champions League.


And the implications of not beating teams like this stretch further than 2012. There’s no point in beating France home and away if you can’t then consolidate the result with a victory over minnows like Lithuania. In terms of FIFA rankings its one step forward, two steps back, and despite it being widely accepted that these rankings are utterly useless in determining a team’s quality – Gabon for example are currently ranked 34 in the world, one above Sweden, two above Republic of Ireland and seven above Scotland – it is crucial to maintain a good position in them. Otherwise what happens is you get bent over when it comes to the seeded qualifying groups for international tournaments and have to play the world champions. Twice.


Luckily for the English, the draw for qualifying was made before the World Cup, when everyone still regarded Capello as a tactical genius, our midfield as world-class and Wazza as the model professional. As a result, our toughest opponents – on paper anyway, and if there’s ever a nation who should be aware how little this means on the turf, it’s us – are the Swiss.


They, not unlike Scotland, went for the one step forward, two steps back approach by beating Spain in their opening World Cup game and then failing to bag against Hondurus. Their performance on Tuesday night only served to reiterate both how inaccurate those FIFA rankings are – the Swiss are 17th, above the USA who got the last 16 in South Africa, and Ghana who beat them and reached the quarters – and how many substandard teams there were at the World Cup compared with those who didn’t make it (Republic of Ireland for example).


From an England point of view though, you’ve got the focus on the positives. You can only beat what’s put in front of you and say that, so far, England have done pretty well. Not brilliantly, but expectations have been matched and the team took competatent, and if you offered me this description as a blueprint for the next two years, I’d definitely take it.


Having just said the positives need to be the focus however, I’m going to start with the negatives, because there’s actually only one: Shawn Wright-Philips still being selected. GET SWP OUT OF THE GODDAM SQUAD. Get him out of the country, revoke his passport, introduce a height restriction to playing for your country that includes Aaron Lennon but excludes him, whatever; just get him out of the squad.


The man is useless. He looks dyspraxic whenever he touches the ball, can’t pick a ten-yard pass to Darren Bent (who let’s face it, isn’t exactly inconspicuous) and yet continues to be picked alongside Lennon, Theo Walcott and Adam Johnson. Why? The only thing he's got is pace and it’s not like any of the above can’t shift. Difference is, they can shift with the ball rather than just buzzing around distracting everyone, like the visiting relative that your mum’s made you include in your mates’ kickabout despite the fact even she knows he’s shite.


It’s not like he’s in sparkling club form either. The lad Albrighton’s making waves at Villa and Rodwell’s breaking into the Everton 11, whilst Shawn’s floundering around at Eastlands trying to convince everyone (or anyone) that getting a start and bagging against FC Timisoara means he’s gonna be getting a regular game this season. It’s yet another reason to wonder whether Capello’s translator and English tutors a) exist at all, and b) don’t sometimes like to tell him to say exactly the opposite of what he actually intends to do.


If he’s rebuilding the team around youth, why’s a 28-year old who’s been there or there abouts, not done it, and couldn’t find a t-shirt small enough getting his game over some of the under 21s – Rodwell, Albrighton or Wilshere to name but three – who got to the final of their Euro tournament last year, and got beaten by, guess who, ze Germans (and what did they amount to anyway?).


Maybe it’s going to be one of those things that seems blindingly obvious in hindsight but, for whatever reason wasn’t clear at the time: a bit like no one clocking Freddy Mercury was gay (the cross-dressing videos; the leather and biker moustache; Queen? No? No one put two and two together?). Perhaps in 20 years it’ll be on Eggheads: who did Adam Johnson succeed as England’s right-mid? Must have been good if he was keeping our hottest youngster out of the team. Oh…


Right, now I’ve got that off my chest we can move onto the positives. All of the four who scored over the international break needed goals, for different reasons: Rooney to try and get himself off the country’s collective darts board; Defoe to continue to cement his place as the nations number 9; Bent to try and shake his potential tag as the next Emile Heskey (apparently the his goal against the Swiss on Tuesday was the first time he’d hit the target, let alone the net, in 9 appearances for England); and Johnson to make sure that even amoebas on Saturn realise he is the best right-midfielder we have, so that Fabio will hopefully cotton on soon.


Joe Hart too had two very important games, the first in which he sowed himself into the number 1 jersey for the foreseeable future, and second in which he fulfilled that intuitive instinct all English keepers have, the need to something inexplicably stupid at crucial points of a match. The subsequent backlash (although fairly minimal due to the nature and consequences of the ‘mistakes’) will hopefully remind him not to be a twat, to leave the keepy-uppies for when United next visit Eastlands, and remember to always check the pitch for divots, and the ball in case it’s too round to catch. Apart from that, he’s looking good.


All I can hope is that when October comes round and the next squad is picked, Mr Capello remembers these performances and doesn’t just revert to picking according to who’s paid most at club level. The squad’s actually looking like it might be gelling and the gaffer’s started picking people because they can play together – Jags and Lescott for example who were a makeshift pairing chosen because of their Everton days together – and putting folk in their right positions (starting with the captain); the last thing we need at this stage is fat-cats back amongst the birds. They’re struggling enough trying to understand Capello’s pigeon English.

Monkey-See, Monkey-Like, Monkey-Follow

Right, let’s get this out the way: I’m a Manchester United fan with no connections to Manchester. I know I know we were getting on so well; you’re not angry you’re just disappointed; I represent everything that’s wrong with football; how can I have any valid opinions seeing as I’m a just a glory-hunter, so on and so forth.


The short answer to these accusations is usually two cold fingers: jog on; it’s been fourteen years I’ve heard them all before. You support your team, I’ll support mine and we’ll just agree to disagree (or not to discuss it). This argument however it somewhat at odds with the spirit of rational discussion this blog tries to evoke, so let’s try again.


I support Manchester United because as long as I’ve liked football, I’ve been drawn to them. This isn’t to say some divine voice came to me and just happened recommend the most successful team in Premier League history; just that as an impressionable seven year old with no family history of football fanaticism, I chose the team who looked best to me. This ‘monkey-see, monkey-like, monkey-follow’ approach is one I suspect many others have adopted (whether or not they admit it) and this logic, or lack thereof, is, in an increasingly fickle footballing world, one guaranteed constant.


In today’s cosmopolitan society, being a lifelong resident of any one place is becoming increasingly uncommon, and while there always will be those who are able to call one place home their entire life, and therefore have the option of a simple decision as to what team to follow, others with slightly more nomadic residency patterns will not be so lucky.


It has since been suggested, once or twice, that I should ditch the Red Devils and support my local team, ‘cos that’s wot real fans do’. Well I was born in Hackney, so presumably West Ham would be the obvious option. But I only lived in London for a year before moving to Senegal, West Africa, and at 12 months old, I didn’t really feel like a die-hard Hammer (though I was forever blowing bubbles).


After six years in Dakar, however, my passion for football had definitely blossomed. So presumably I should devote my allegiance to ASC Diaraf? But while season tickets are probably easier to come by than at Old Trafford, getting to away games is a bit of a ball-ache, and The Football League Show’s coverage from the Stade de Diaraf is notoriously poor. And at that age, I was content just to play football, spending what TV time I was allowed in front of Wacky Races and Captain Caveman.


It wasn’t until I moved back to the UK and deepest Oxfordshire that I was exposed the phenomenon that is the Premier League. For someone who has spent their boyhood playing barefoot on arid scrubland and whose only experience of watching football as a five-year old casual viewer of USA ’94, the transition to ten games a week, long balls to the big man up front, derby, and pies and Bovril at half-time was quite a culture shock. Now I had found footballing Mecca, a country in which I could watch matches weekly and play daily, I needed a team.


A lack of parental guidance in this critical decision inevitably led to my peers being the decisive factor, and no one wanted to follow Chipping Norton Town F.C. We wanted someone on Match of the Day (the only place to watch decent football in the Cotswolds), with stars whose faces shone from Panini shinies. In 1996 there was only one option: David Beckham & co., and once the decision had been made, that was it, monkey-see, monkey-like, monkey-follow.


Football fans are masochists: we like to suffer because the more we lose, the better it feels when we win. The worse the club perform on the pitch, the better their fans are considered to be because they put up with more and therefore are more acutely aware of both sides of the emotional spectrum, enduring relegation battles, financial uncertainty and their best players leaving for pastures new when bigger clubs come calling; but also the odd Cup run, derby day victory and title top-ten finish.


Every club has its ups and downs and I’d be the first to admit that Man United fans have probably had the easiest ride in English football over the last twenty years. This doesn’t mean however, we’ve all enjoyed it in equal measure. Those who frequented Old Trafford whilst the Liverpool teams of the Eighties were at their peak are undoubted more entitled to enjoy their team’s success than someone who’s never been to Manchester and associate the name Busby with furniture.


But does coming from Salford or Stretford automatically qualify you as a ‘real fan’? And does the credibility barometer subsequently decrease the further away from the North West you live or have lived at any one time? What trumps what, longevity of personal support or one’s family legacy? Is it better to have randomly picked a team and supported them for twenty odd years; or have followed your local team because season tickets have always been available through the family?


It does my head that people feel the later point is even worth arguing. Why should their elders’ sympathies afford them an unassailable moral high ground? ‘Well my dad supports them so I had no choice…’ ECT. Bollocks. You managed to rebel against everything else your parents told you between the twelfth and nineteenth years of your life, I’m sure you could have summoned the strength of character to defy them on this as well.


It’s the easy way out. British terraces have always been a place where parents and children bond but I asked why you support your team, and ‘because I way told to’ or ‘because my family do’ isn’t really good enough. ‘Because I grew up going to the games’ or ‘because I have great childhood memories of watching [team x] play’, fair play, you’ve had some input into the decision; but don’t lay into other people for who they support and justify your allegiances by saying you were told to do so by your family.


Worse still than those who feel that continuing family tradition trumps the seven-year old logic of pick a team you like and sticking with them, are the fence sitters: those that don’t claim any side as their own but are perfectly happy to tell you what’s wrong with yours. If you just follow football and don’t take sides, that’s fine, no problem; but don’t throw mud at me from your lofty perch, safe in the knowledge I can’t aim any back.


Understand that rationality often takes a backseat when it comes discussions about football, and your point may be both perfectly sensible and logically constructed but that doesn’t necessarily make it valid. Subjective and slanderous comments that can’t be answered in relation to a team of one’s own shouldn’t have to be answered at all. You’re not properly committed to the process and therefore and no right to be involved in it. If the stakes haven’t been matched, you can't play the hand.


Of course there are those who follow any number of teams intermittently depending on which one is winning, but equally there are also fans who support smaller teams simply because they think it will gain them respect among their peers an allow them easy digs at other fans. I chose United because they were winning when I first started watching the Premiership, but I’ve continued to support them when they weren’t.


I’m not from Manchester but I am from England, and when you look at their youth system’s contribution to the national side you have to say that there have been times when the national side has been more or less a United team-sheet. Compare that with the brief stint I had following Hearts when Vladimir Romanov took over, and you’ll see that a ‘local’ team is often entirely international in both its players and backroom staff (for example, Romanov sold the Jambo’s Scottish and replaced it with a cosmopolitan line-up with very few British players or staff). The question needs to be asked, if you follow your local team simply because of regional pride, then what are you doing cheering their foreign players?


I can’t believe that it’s just where the side are from that influenced your decision. Surely there was some aspect of ‘these guys player better football than that lot so I’m gonna follow them’ (because another guaranteed constant in the fickle work of football is that everyone has a ‘local’ rival)?


If you’ve spent enough of your life in one place to feel that a team is really ‘your’ local side, I’m happy and slightly envious of you. You may have harder time watching them on the pitch, but when it comes to talking about football you’ve got by far the easier ride. No justifications needed, you get to have a right old moan and no one can say owt against you. But just because I follow a successful team from a city I’ve never lived in and have no family connections with, doesn’t mean I’m a glory-hunter, doesn’t mean I know nothing about the pain and anguish fans are so keen to wear on their Climacool sleeves, and doesn’t mean I’m a dickhead.


I was a bit late to the supporters’ party, had to make an uninformed choice and have suffered and continue to suffer the consequences (as well as reap the multitude of rewards) of choosing Manchester United. Nothing you say about my choice is going to stop me following them and I would hope the same thing goes for you if you’ve got a team. And if you don’t, stop being such a pussy and get involved! Put your balls on the line and your colours on a mast!


Oscar Wilde wrote, “the cynic knows the price of everything and value of nothing”. Call us what you will, but no football fan should ever be accused of being cynical, because no matter how badly our teams play, how near they came to winning or how close they were to scrapping by; every real fan knows a bright day awaits, and when it comes it will be all the sweeter for past anguishes. That’s what keeps us talking to each other, despite our superficial differences: there’s not really any way you can fully understand or relate to the beautiful game without following a team, no matter who they are.