Saturday, 23 June 2007
Monday, 11 June 2007
CONTINENTAL DRIFT
Over the past five years the Premier league has usurped the rest of Europe as the world’s premier football destination, as an irresistible flow of talent has been lured to these shores by unprecedented domestic and foreign generated wealth. But this summer’s transfer tides could be set for a dramatic shift.
With the new Sky TV mega deal worth and the continuation of huge overseas investment there will be vast resources for transfer fees, wages and bonuses to entice the most demanding of players once the transfer window reopens. The Premiership is louder and brasher than ever. But fewer are listening; the money just isn’t talking as it once did. Could it be that the professionals with, merited or otherwise, reputations for greed and material acquisition are beginning to think that money doesn’t bring happiness or at least that it can be found in a £90,000 a week pay check as much as £120,0000.
This threatening trend is more than the realisation of lifestyle choices, a familiar tongue, a comfortable culture and reliable warm weather that lurk behind the multimillion-pound moves. And worryingly so for the Premiership.
The accumulation of the world’s top players over the past five years by England’s top club has relied upon a belief that two’s destinies are intertwined, that with the flow of wealth goes the players and with the flow of the players goes the honours and wealth. The wealthy clubs need the top players and the top players need the top club to achieve their goals. While English clubs do now stand alongside their Italian and Spanish counterparts the desired European domination has remained elusive.
Where once the glamour and money of the Premiership drew internationals from all over, this summer’s top transfer target seem less swayed by overtures from British big spenders. Three of Britain’s top targets are Samuel E’too (unswayed by overtures), Ronaldinho (repulsed by the prospect), and Fernando Torres (far from certain). While the likes of Kaka, Messi, and Totti are all pipe dreams. Not only this but the Premiership’s best are increasingly uncertain in their English homes: Andrei Shevchenko s desperate to return to Italy. Michael Ballack is similarly sick. Christiano Ronaldo’s flirtations are on the back burner for now but run deep. While Carlos Tevez has intimated that a move to Milan or Madrid is preferable. The desperate wishes of Antonio Reyes will be answered with a transfer to Spain.
Thierry Henry’s departure reveals more. It concerns more about Arsenal’s inability to compete for medals and Barcelona’s ability to the same, especially in Europe, than any other mangled reasoning. A blow to the premiership’s standing and self esteem. The question is whether an exodus will follow. This would be as much dehabilitating as humiliating.
The premiership is looking less like the premier destination for the summer.
With the new Sky TV mega deal worth and the continuation of huge overseas investment there will be vast resources for transfer fees, wages and bonuses to entice the most demanding of players once the transfer window reopens. The Premiership is louder and brasher than ever. But fewer are listening; the money just isn’t talking as it once did. Could it be that the professionals with, merited or otherwise, reputations for greed and material acquisition are beginning to think that money doesn’t bring happiness or at least that it can be found in a £90,000 a week pay check as much as £120,0000.
This threatening trend is more than the realisation of lifestyle choices, a familiar tongue, a comfortable culture and reliable warm weather that lurk behind the multimillion-pound moves. And worryingly so for the Premiership.
The accumulation of the world’s top players over the past five years by England’s top club has relied upon a belief that two’s destinies are intertwined, that with the flow of wealth goes the players and with the flow of the players goes the honours and wealth. The wealthy clubs need the top players and the top players need the top club to achieve their goals. While English clubs do now stand alongside their Italian and Spanish counterparts the desired European domination has remained elusive.
Where once the glamour and money of the Premiership drew internationals from all over, this summer’s top transfer target seem less swayed by overtures from British big spenders. Three of Britain’s top targets are Samuel E’too (unswayed by overtures), Ronaldinho (repulsed by the prospect), and Fernando Torres (far from certain). While the likes of Kaka, Messi, and Totti are all pipe dreams. Not only this but the Premiership’s best are increasingly uncertain in their English homes: Andrei Shevchenko s desperate to return to Italy. Michael Ballack is similarly sick. Christiano Ronaldo’s flirtations are on the back burner for now but run deep. While Carlos Tevez has intimated that a move to Milan or Madrid is preferable. The desperate wishes of Antonio Reyes will be answered with a transfer to Spain.
Thierry Henry’s departure reveals more. It concerns more about Arsenal’s inability to compete for medals and Barcelona’s ability to the same, especially in Europe, than any other mangled reasoning. A blow to the premiership’s standing and self esteem. The question is whether an exodus will follow. This would be as much dehabilitating as humiliating.
The premiership is looking less like the premier destination for the summer.
Tuesday, 5 June 2007
RETURN OF THE TRIED BUT YET TO BE TRUSTED
The inaugration of the 21st century Wembley as England´s chief residency, with an unaccustomed draw against the glamour boys of Brazil, prompted by a forceful leap from John Terry in a relatively fresh and clean captain´s armband, set up David Beckham revitalised by a new beginning, and yet there was a resounding tone of familiarity about Friday nights proceedings. A troubling one at that.
Even the celebratory chorus of "times are a changin´" echoed disturbingly in the post match pronouncement. The only element of surprise in proceedings was the absence of a Swede on the sidelines, wise and intellectual in appearance confused and pained in expression. Searching the darkest corners of the dug out there was no ellusive Eriksson, no skulking Sven. Instead there stood a decidedly contrasting figure. Prostrate, animated and red headed, McClaren was the man in the middle, the man in the suit, the boss all tied up. Little else if anything though had changed. In adversity England have reverted to type.
Unlike the critics and fanatics would have us believe it was not all about a boy called Beckham. The starting line up confirmed as much . There was the return of the Gerrard-Lampard axis of uncertainty, of Joe Cole and Michael Owen, but of course the return of the great redemeer took presidence. Goldenballs was back and so the match fulfilled its predetermined destiny.
By convention the narrative was not without hope. The defence was strong for eighty minutes, at times the midfield pressed and harried to stifling and creative effect, and England could have damned near won the thing. Owen was ineffective but fit, as Gerrard stayed deep there were hints at a midfield understanding, and Beckham was enthusiastic.
Then after an hour in need, Beckham stepped upto the set pieces. A couple of close shots on goal and then a curling far post delivery decieved Helton, the Brazilian goalkeeper, exquisitely for his captain to head home. Another comeback complete. All that was left to end the known story was for England to drop so far back that supporters behind the Brazilian goal must have thought the game had finished, Peter Crouch take the pitch in hope of a "knock down" from a non existent strike partner and to concede the inevitable last minute goal ensuring extra time. But reprieve for the fans. As there was prior to the world cup, it was a meaningless friendly and so there was no subjection to thirty minutes of attack against defence and or penalty capitulation.
Infact.... so little had changed, had the last six months been a horrific nightmare manifesting in our minds from past disasters? That was it, surely. There had not been another painfully numb campaign, not another injury crisis to our great reliant only to self destruct, seeing red, and become the great liability, not another bottling of penalty nerves, not another premature exit. The 2006 world cup was just around the corner and we had a chance, more than a chance. This time the belief had been real, and reality would not revolt.
But times have a changed, though slightly. Now it is an arduous overseas battle for qualification that lies aheadand the two to four year cycle of hope to expectation and ultimate disappointment is stillin its infance. An infancy ensured by the retreat into the tried six months into the new campaign, regression rather than the progression promised, and the reinstatement of the former captain for the long term appears flawed in comparison to his axing. It symbolises a stuttering from past to present to future rather than the envisaged seamless transission.
Despite the grand gestures early last September and Friday night´s coronation of the new, in crisis McClaren is growing ever closer to mentor and attempting to succeed where he failed. Maybe the Swede was on the sidelines after all, in the most convincing of ginger disguises. Familiarity though, as Sven knows so well and McClaren must fear, in football, often breeds a volatile strain of contempt.
Even the celebratory chorus of "times are a changin´" echoed disturbingly in the post match pronouncement. The only element of surprise in proceedings was the absence of a Swede on the sidelines, wise and intellectual in appearance confused and pained in expression. Searching the darkest corners of the dug out there was no ellusive Eriksson, no skulking Sven. Instead there stood a decidedly contrasting figure. Prostrate, animated and red headed, McClaren was the man in the middle, the man in the suit, the boss all tied up. Little else if anything though had changed. In adversity England have reverted to type.
Unlike the critics and fanatics would have us believe it was not all about a boy called Beckham. The starting line up confirmed as much . There was the return of the Gerrard-Lampard axis of uncertainty, of Joe Cole and Michael Owen, but of course the return of the great redemeer took presidence. Goldenballs was back and so the match fulfilled its predetermined destiny.
By convention the narrative was not without hope. The defence was strong for eighty minutes, at times the midfield pressed and harried to stifling and creative effect, and England could have damned near won the thing. Owen was ineffective but fit, as Gerrard stayed deep there were hints at a midfield understanding, and Beckham was enthusiastic.
Then after an hour in need, Beckham stepped upto the set pieces. A couple of close shots on goal and then a curling far post delivery decieved Helton, the Brazilian goalkeeper, exquisitely for his captain to head home. Another comeback complete. All that was left to end the known story was for England to drop so far back that supporters behind the Brazilian goal must have thought the game had finished, Peter Crouch take the pitch in hope of a "knock down" from a non existent strike partner and to concede the inevitable last minute goal ensuring extra time. But reprieve for the fans. As there was prior to the world cup, it was a meaningless friendly and so there was no subjection to thirty minutes of attack against defence and or penalty capitulation.
Infact.... so little had changed, had the last six months been a horrific nightmare manifesting in our minds from past disasters? That was it, surely. There had not been another painfully numb campaign, not another injury crisis to our great reliant only to self destruct, seeing red, and become the great liability, not another bottling of penalty nerves, not another premature exit. The 2006 world cup was just around the corner and we had a chance, more than a chance. This time the belief had been real, and reality would not revolt.
But times have a changed, though slightly. Now it is an arduous overseas battle for qualification that lies aheadand the two to four year cycle of hope to expectation and ultimate disappointment is stillin its infance. An infancy ensured by the retreat into the tried six months into the new campaign, regression rather than the progression promised, and the reinstatement of the former captain for the long term appears flawed in comparison to his axing. It symbolises a stuttering from past to present to future rather than the envisaged seamless transission.
Despite the grand gestures early last September and Friday night´s coronation of the new, in crisis McClaren is growing ever closer to mentor and attempting to succeed where he failed. Maybe the Swede was on the sidelines after all, in the most convincing of ginger disguises. Familiarity though, as Sven knows so well and McClaren must fear, in football, often breeds a volatile strain of contempt.
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