Greetings, fellow football fans.
Having put the boot into pitch-soaking preliminaries, flamethrowers, silly kick-offs, unpunished obstruction and ball-playing keepers in my previous article, I felt some of my frustrations with the modern game starting to dissipate. Not for long, though, as I raged against five other deeply annoying aspects of football today.
Number Six:
The continual expansion of non-domestic tournaments is a right pain.
Not only do the overblown Champions League and other Uefa-run competitions last far too long, they cause severe collateral damage to such venerable institutions as the FA Cup (1872) and what was the Football League (1888) until television moved the goalposts in 1992.
Where Uefa goes, of course, its equally power-hungry brothers in Fifa are bound to follow, with the money-making exercises known as the Club World Championship and the World Cup. As one friend, a football agnostic, said when invited to watch yet another match from last summer’s tournament: “I’m living in a world of pain.” Sorry, Walter.
Gianni Infantino’s questionable leadership of both organisations has feathered a lot of nests while running the risk of killing the goose that lays the golden eggs.
Who didn’t love FA Cup replays? One of my fondest memories is the second replay of the Newcastle v Bolton fifth-round cup tie in the 1975-76 season. After drawn games home and away, the third match was played on neutral territory. The brainboxes at Lancaster Gate in London, which was FA HQ until 2000, presumably looked at a map of northern England and decided Elland Road was a fitting venue.
In those days, the words “neutral” and “Leeds” were seen in the same sentence as often as childcare and King Herod. After United finally vanquished the Wanderers, the brick-wielding West Yorkshire hoolies ambushed us on the way back to the railway station. Happy to say we also won that encounter . . .
Replays have been scrapped by degrees; from the fifth round onwards in 2019-20, then completely from 2024-25. Teams playing in Uefa competitions are given a pass to the third round of the League Cup and the “smaller” clubs who are essential to the health of football have been thoroughly shafted.
The chance of a money-spinning tie in front of 60,000-plus spectators has been greatly reduced, allegedly to ease fixture congestion. No longer can fans relish the vendettas that were often triggered by replayed ties.
Such occasions have been usurped by knockout competitions that reach the exciting bit only after a whole host of tedious league-phase matches. If that’s progress, you can stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.
Number Seven
Once television paid the piper, it was bound to call the tune. The Premier League is one of many competitions beholden to the billions of pounds offered for worldwide broadcasting rights. If Sky or TNT doesn’t want a match to start at 3pm on Saturday, the time will be altered. Supporters travelling almost the length of England are treated with contempt. This trend has spread like a plague from the top tier to all the lower divisions.
You might have a 700-mile round trip to the Amex or the Vitality but be a good chap, set off at midday on a Friday or a Monday for an 8pm kick-off. Book a post-match hotel while you’re at it. Because the last train home left before the match started. The atmosphere you generate is an essential element of the viewers’ experience, of course. To show how much your enthusiastic support is appreciated, we’ll charge only £30 a ticket. Just remember to be grateful . .
Number Eight
While TV has done spectators no favours, neither has it considered the sensibilities of referees. They had it relatively easy in the days when only the FA Cup final and the League Cup final were broadcast live. Yes, I doubt the man in black enjoyed hearing his parentage mocked by 50,000 screaming fans but he could just laugh it off.
Trial by television has now taken centre stage. With countless replays of debatable incidents in super slo-mo, there is no hiding place. Rentagob former players, who in their prime would have cheated without compunction to gain an advantage, queue up to find fault. They might not know the laws of the game but that won’t stop them grinding their axe.
Many decisions made by the man (or woman) in the middle are debatable. That doesn’t necessarily mean they are wrong. Though if Jarred Gillett is involved, they usually are.
Number Nine
One particular bit of foul play makes my blood boil. It is sneaky, cowardly and reckless. It is also rarely punished, because most referees seem unable to see what’s occurring.
We all know the scenario: an aerial pass is contested by two or more players. It is perhaps nine feet above the pitch. One player leaps for the ball, eyes fixed on it. Let’s call him Big Dan Burn, for instance. The other doesn’t fancy his chances of winning possession fairly. Let’s call him Kai Havertz . . .
Herr Havertz looks briefly at the ball, then assesses when Burn will jump. The German nudges, pushes or backs into the Colossus from Blyth while he is in mid-air. Down he crashes, in an uncontrolled descent dictated by the laws of physics.
The referee almost always sees nothing wrong. No free kick, no card, let the game flow . . . In one such incident Burn fractured a few bones in his back. After the final whistle, the detestable Arsenal manager ranted and raved because Anthony Gordon’s winning goal had not been disallowed. If only the lickspittle interviewer had mimicked Del Boy talking to Rodney and said: “Shut up, you tart!”
Number 10
They say money talks. That’s certainly true in football, though Dylan was more accurate when he sang “money doesn’t talk, it swears” on It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding).
For as long as I can recall, the overwhelming trend has been: to the richest, the glory. In the 1960s Manchester United were financially bolstered by Louis Edwards, whose company supplied meat products of interesting quality to thousands of schools.
In the 70s Liverpool reaped the dividends of long-term investment by the Moores family, whose fortunes came from football pools and retailing. The Moores also had a stake in Everton, a big force in the 80s.
In the 90s Jack Walker, a Blackburn businessman, paid for a team to win the newish Premier League. Ten years later Roman Abramovich, a fine and upstanding Russian oligarch, rescued Chelsea from financial oblivion. He was forced to relinquish control after his pal Putin ordered troops to invade Ukraine.
Arsenal got into bed with Alisher Usmanov, another man who had made billions after the collapse of the Soviet Union. He was the club’s biggest shareholder by 2009. As a Gunner told me on the train up to London this month for the Fulham v NUFC game: “Thank goodness he left before the doo-doo hit the fan.”
Meanwhile, Abu Dhabi money was about to transform Manchester City from also-rans into the pre-eminent force in English football.
Newcastle United’s current owners almost certainly wanted to do the same when they bought the club five years ago. They have not been allowed that freedom, so far, though they have twice overseen Champions League qualification for the first time in a generation and the first Wembley cup final win since 1955.
Football is no longer sport in the true sense. The playing field has never been less level, the vested interests never more entrenched. The Premier League, Uefa and Fifa are all complicit in this lucrative merry-go-round.
Apologies for donning my rose-tinted spectacles . . . but some things were better in the good old days.