Diminishing returns

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Perhaps the greatest strength of Sir Alex Ferguson is his Man-Management abilities.  Rarely does a Manchester Utd side take to the field not 100% certain that they will win the game, whilst being terrifically motivated and focussed on their task. This is his psychological trump card, for where many great collections of players have failed to deliver the goods, throughout his managerial career, Fergie’s teams have been utterly relentless in their drive for silverware and success. His ability to mould the collective persona of his teams around his vision of success is what sets him apart.

Another of his vital skills is the ability to know when the team needs to be rebuilt. It’s happened countless times; first of all, imposing his will on the dressing room, and ending the drinking culture at the club with McGrath, Robson et al. Then in the early 90’s, having to rebuild the team as the likes of Pallister, Bruce, Irwin and Hughes were phased out. He’s been able to cover superstar-sized holes in the team after a player’s departure: Ince, Cantona, Beckham, Ronaldo, and still he keeps on building successful teams.

Three things have happened that threaten the Ferguson dynasty, of which only two are rectifiable by him. Firstly, Roy Keane has not been properly replaced as the enforcer in their midfield. Secondly, Paul Scholes, despite being a shadow of his former self in the last 4 or 5 years of his career, finally disappeared from view, and despite having years of warning, the goalscoring, creative thrust from midfield also hasn’t been replaced. The players brought in to try and plug the gaps have varied; there’s the energy of Park and Anderson, but no guile; there’s Michael Carrick, who has a very high pass completion ratio (file under “does nothing”). Darren Fletcher is aggressive and bullies referees, but his overall fitness is lacking and in all honesty, is nowhere near as good a footballer as Keane was. Ryan Giggs is a 38 year-old left winger who has been shunted into the middle due to a dearth of viable alternatives. The centre of their midfield has gradually drifted away, and doesn’t look like coming back anytime soon.

And finally, The Glazers. Before they arrived, you could have bet your bottom dollar that something would have been done before there was a bona fide crisis. Despite continuing to fund large outlays on some players, this midfield problem, which started as a crack but has since been eroded into a gaping hole, doesn’t look like it will be solved soon. It is almost a certainty that he will buy in January, and buy big. But in the back of his mind, he will be thinking Juan Veron, Juan Veron. And worrying about making the same mistake, and history repeating itself; in the 2005-06, they failed to qualify from their Champions League group (which had Benfica in it), and finished a distant 2nd to Chelsea in the Premier League.

Man Utd strike such fear into the hearts of their opponents that even with a 2nd rate central midfield, they have been able to win games and league titles (see last season). However, their main weakness has now been exposed. They will still win many games, but teams will go to Old Trafford with less fear now. They will know they can be beaten. All the man-management in the world cannot hide that the heartbeat of the Man Utd side is weaker now than it has been in the last 20 years. And with the added blow of Nemanja Vidic being out for the season, the crisis doesn’t look like resolving itself anytime soon.

 

30 yard sniper podcast Episode 7: The Euro 2012 draw, assumed facts, and refused applications

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Michael Hall is once again joined by his ebullient cohorts Robin Hearn, Jez MacBlain, and via 200 mile-long cup and string communication technology, Rob Cleminson. On this week’s show: The FA’s missed refereeing opportunity; Sack Race 2: The Next Generation; Leo Fortune-West stars as the centrepiece of the Super Quiz; A Text from John; 30 second challenge; plus Premier League, Champions League and lots more.

30 yard sniper podcast ep 7: The Euro 2012 draw, assumed facts, and refused applications by 30yardsniper

Rite of Summer

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Watching the draw for the group stages of an international tournament has always been something of a mystical experience. For one thing, they are almost always presented in English, despite it not being the mother tongue of the people running the show. Further, we come face to face with the “Question in English | Answer in Russian/French/Ukrainian” interview technique, though what illusions of spontaneous human multi-lingualism one may have held are shattered when the hostess reads her reactions to the interviewees answers off a pre-prepared card.

The show begins. Having never witnessed Cossack dancing in the past, I find the opening section of the show to be quite fascinating. Finally, I had discovered the inspiration for MC Hammer’s famous trousers. Our genial hosts are an extremely pretty Ukrainian lady and a Polish man, whose authentic English accent with a hint of Estuary is slightly unnerving. Has he been in Eastenders? After a short video montage, we stare down the barrel of truly unlistenable football-themed Europop, along with some rather creepily enthusiastic backing dancers.

Following this, one member of each of the previous 13 winning teams is wheeled out, holding an authentic signed football from that tournament. After the introduction member of Italy’s 1968 winning team, the camera cuts to a chirpy-looking Fabio Capello, sporting easily the biggest smile he’s managed during his tenure as England boss. Then follows one of those socially awkward moments where no-one’s really sure of the proper etiquette: the formal introduction of a football. The official match ball of Euro 2012 is dangled from a cable and receives a fairly generous, if slightly uneasy round of applause.

After what feels like days of foreplay, we are then forced to watch an instructional video for the machinations of the draw. It’s like sitting in the staff room at Woolworths and watching a 10 minute video of a man lifting a box “correctly”, leaving you with the same feeling of your life ebbing away before your eyes.

UEFA General Secretary Gianni Infantino then takes over, hosting with all the flair of a strict headmaster handing out end of term awards to over-excited children. Zinedine Zidane is chided in French for being too enthusiastic with his handling of the first ball. Peter Schmiechel’s bolshy attempt at ad-libbing after Denmark are again drawn with Portugal leads to a few moments of decidedly awkward silence as Infantino desperately tries to get back on script. Any tension there may have been prior to the show has long been replaced by an overwhelming desire to get the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible so everyone can get down the pub.

The dignitaries in attendance who had long ago slipped into a coma are about to be startled by another bout of feisty Europop, but apart from that, the whole thing is over. Ireland are drawn with Croatia, Italy and Spain (gulp), while England face Sweden, France and co-hosts Ukraine. Back in the BBC studio, Mark Lawrenson is visibly aggrieved at Ireland being drawn in the toughest group, while Martin Keown raises his eyebrows bullishly and thinks England “will be fine.” Without Rooney, Martin? We’ll see.

Group A: Poland, Greece, Czech Republic and Russia;
Group B: Holland, Denmark, Portugal and Germany;
Group C: Spain, Ireland, Croatia and Italy;
Group D: Ukraine, France, Sweden and England.

30 Yard Sniper podcast Episode 6: Chelsea crisis, Pardew’s pasty, Delap for England (possibly).

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Michael Hall is joined by Jez MacBlain, Robin Hearn, and via satellite, Rob Cleminson. On this week’s show: the ever shambolic super quiz is back; which came first, the chicken stadium or the egg stadium; Robin gets a warm feeling in his pants about Stoke-Blacburn (possibly); plus, Premier League, Champions league and more.

30 yard sniper pod – ep 6 by 30yardsniper

30 Yard Sniper Podcast: Episode 5

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30 Yard Sniper’s podcast is back – now with 30% more banter. On this week’s show: England’s giant-killing performance against Spain; all aboard the EuroBus as we look at the qualifiers for Euro 2012; Barry Venison’s Bandwagon Banquet; the pod panel take on the all-new Super Quiz; Rob takes on the 30 second challenge; plus Premier League preview, and lots more.

30 yard sniper ep 5 by 30yardsniper

If you want to take part in the Super Quiz, please email us with “quiz” in the subject line. You will need skype.

30 Yard Sniper’s guide to…The Ultimate Premier League Manager

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It’s a fairly damning indictment of the recent generation of English managers that the 2011/12 season will mark the 20th anniversary of the last time a native manager won the league. Footballers themselves may have moved on a bit, both in terms of the amount of money they earn and the number of group sex sessions they have. But when it comes to tactical nous, man-management, mind games, media interaction, and all the other hoo-haa associated with running a modern club, it’s clear that English managers have a lot to learn from their Scottish brethren, and those wily foreign types, with their diets, and their coaching – what are they like, eh? It wasn’t like that in Harry Redknapp’s day!

Of course, if we were to judge the Ultimate Premier League Manager on titles alone, there’d be slim pickings indeed. So in the spirit of competition, we’ll divide up the body parts and choose subjectively from a range of arbitrary categories, ranging from Dress Sense to Ability to spin around in frustration without falling over – it seems like the fairest method of deciding.

Section 1: The head. Or to be more specific, the brain. When Arsene Wenger arrived at Arsenal in 1996, he looked like a cross between a supply teacher and a Debenhams area manager, but it was definitely his glasses that got him the nickname Le Prof. It can’t be purely incidental that the disappearance of Wenger’s glasses coincided with the Frenchman being unable to see his players’ malfeasances. Martin O’Neill is clearly a very intelligent man, whilst Iain Dowie has a masters degree in Engineering.

However there really can be only one noggin, and it’s a bit of a no-brainer [ouch – Ed] – the king of Mind Games himself, Sir Alex Ferguson.

Section 2: The eyes. As already mentioned, Arsene Mr Magoo Wenger is a definite non-starter in this category. Despite the glasses, you feel Tony Pulis must have fairly good visual acuity to be able to keep track of the arcing ballistic projectiles sailing through the sky at the Brittania stadium. The years of financial hardship at Everton have clearly taken their toll on David Moyes, whose glare can probably look straight through solid steel.

An honourable mention goes to Gerard Houllier, for the sheer peekability of his eyes, but after a last minute change of heart, the award must go to Ray Wilkins, someone who can literally force a bowel movement in another person just by staring at them. Literally.

Section 3: The hair. In the kingdom of the bald, the one-haired man is king. At least, that’s the motto Alan Shearer lives by, who is by far and away the stand-out candidate in the “taking his hair loss really badly” stakes. Gerry Francis’s receding hairline/wavy mullet combo made him look every inch the ageing 80’s rocker trying to cling on to the glory days, while Ruud Gullit’s dreadlocks were the thin end of the hairy wedge that was driven between him and Newcastle. Steve Wigley bravely sported the bowl cut, possibly in an attempt to distract everyone from the on-pitch catastrophies during his tenure at Southampton.

At the other end of the scale, Lawrie Sanchez’s haircut was as reliable as a Swiss watch, whilst Roy Evans and Chris Hutchings had the quietly stylised Jimmy Tarbuck look going on. However there can only be one King of the Coiff, and what a coiff it is (or was, anyway). That man is Kevin Keegan.

Section 4: The Torso. Without wanting to get too homo-erotic (not that I have a problem with that, mind), there’s been an eclectic mix of upper-bodies in Premier League dugouts. There’s the one-man fanny-magnet Sam Allardyce; I’ve heard many married women say he would be their “one” if they were allowed a fleeting extra-marital encounter. Big Phil Scolari certainly had his admirers, but that was more about the ‘tache. Jose Mourinho was always well dressed and looked very svelte, Arsene Wenger however is worryingly thin.

There’s a confident sexuality about Neil Warnock that’s hard to describe, or think about without vomiting, whilst Sven Goran Eriksson has always had some special power over the ladies, so he must be doing something right. However (and since I’ve lost all pretence in keeping this objective) the torso award goes to the Italian Stallion, Gianluca Vialli.

Section 5: The legs. It’s a sad fact of life for most football fans that we don’t get to see the manager’s legs very often, as usually they’re hidden away by tracksuit bottoms or suit trousers. We’re forced to think long and hard back to their playing days, with mixed results. There was always something chubby and untoward about Steve Bruce’s legs. I’m a big fan of Mick McCarthy’s browbeaten face, but somehow he seems like he has knobbly knees.

So it falls to one man to complete our dream entity, one man who still plays one reserve game a season and who continues to wear to shorts on the touchline – probably just in case he needs to come on at short notice. His team may be sliding towards the abyss, but Mr. Owen Coyle, we’re taking your legs. And you can’t have them back.

The result:

The Ultimate Premier League Manager

Act in haste…

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The standard end to that saying is “repent at leisure”, however after Alan Hutton’s two-footed horror tackle on Shane Long last Saturday, no such repentance has been forthcoming from various sources at Aston Villa.

Peter Grant, assistant manager at Villa, yesterday wandered into cliché corner in saying Hutton “is not that sort of player.” Of course, there is no surer condemnation of someone as “that sort of player” if someone is forced to go on the record, after seeing the potentially career-ending actions of a player, and say that’s not something that they do. (Go figure).

McLeish’s staunch refusal to denounce Hutton’s tackle is not only symptomatic of Modern Manager Myopia (MMM), but also hypocritical and evidence of his lack of being able to coach a team to success without fouling the opposition. In the build up to the West Brom game, he had told his charges to “get in the faces” of the opposition. Would it be rude of me to suggest “play better football” is a better tactic for winning matches? It may be obvious, but if Gabby Agbonlahor or Darren Bent had been the recipient of a similar challenge, McLeish would have been screaming blue murder, not saying that tackles like that happen in every game (they don’t), and that people don’t say anything when the player doesn’t get injured (they do). It’s an insult to every team Villa will come up against to be so wilfully ignorant of the actions of one of his players.

Villa are slowly morphing into the turgid anti-football team he nurtured across the city. Randy Lerner may not be committing the same amount of his resources to the club as he did under Martin O’Neill, but has certainly backed his man well enough; £9.5m for Charles N’Zogbia, £3.5m for Shay Given, £1m for Jermain Jenas (loan), and also Hutton will be on a fair chunk of wages as well. N’Zogbia has failed miserably. Jenas is yet to play, but will do nothing at all if his career so far is anything to go by. Hutton has never looked capable in the Premier League. Given appears to be the only decent signing, though his refusal to come off his line at set pieces has been and always will be his achilles heel.

McLeish’s teams have nothing that marks them out football-wise, other than they are usually 4-5-1, inflexible, and dull. Villa fans don’t tend to speak too highly of the reign of Gerard Houllier, but there were certainly some signs toward the end of last season that his philosophy was becoming ingrained in the team. But Houllier has gone, and gone with him the more cultured, continental approach to the game. In comes the “get in their faces” approach. And two-footed, mid-air studs up tackles.

McLeish assertion that “in ten years’ time you won’t see any contact at all in football” is not only pathetic scaremongering, but also an indication that he has no idea how to cope when being “physically assertive” towards the opposition is no longer allowed. Ostensibly non-contact football already exists; it’s called Futsal. Instead of whingeing about the demise of being able to clobber opponents, he should be trying to find a way to make his teams cope without it. And Hutton should be banned for 5 games – maybe then he’d think twice about nearly wrecking someone’s career. If McLeish needs to ask the question “how can you stop in mid-air?” then I’d suggest he asks his players to try those tackles again – using him as a guinea pig.

SniperTube episode 5: Man Utd Special

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We’ve all been there, haven’t we? On the wrong end of an absolute tonking. By the time the 5th or 6th one goes in, you’re so far beyond caring that you’re busy chatting to the bloke next to you about politics or kabbadi. What’s that, we’re down to 10 men as well? Ah well.

Yep, we’ve all been there. Some more than others, it has to be said. And when the most domestically successful team in English football gets a jolly shellacking, we have to savour the moment, since it happens so very, very rarely. And then dredge up and bask in a load of other whuppings for good measure.

After three years of treading water in Division 1, Crystal Palace would finally be relegated in 1973. But it wasn’t all doom and gloom at Selhurst Park, where one of their 7 home victories was against one of the less well-remembered Man Utd sides (they finished a lowly 18th that season). And what a victory it was, too:

Apart from the pure joy of listening to Brian Moore saying “Manchester United simply don’t know which day it is”, it’s also great to see moustachioed genius Don Rogers (“…in a way, doing a Pele”), Palace’s rather dark red and light blue striped kit, and rubber “goalie gloves” taken straight from the washing up bowl and onto the pitch.

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Man Utd walked the league in the 99-00 season, 18 points ahead of nearest challengers Arsenal come May. Here though, it’s early October and the season is still very much finding its feet. And as soon as you hear Martin Tyler say something about “Phil Neville’s been put there to do a job on Gianfranco Zola”, you know the United defence is going to be in for a long afternoon:

There’s so many things wrong in this video. Jody Morris scoring, then doing that trombone celebration; Chris Sutton scoring, who cost £10million (30YS Videprinter: Ten); and finally the conclusive proof that all ‘keepers who wear jogging bottoms are ultimately doomed to fail.

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Post Love it Newcastle under Kevin Keegan were something of a busted flush, but no compilation of teams beating Man Utd 5-0 is complete without Little Kev’s moment of small revenge. Fergie’s men famously overhauled the Geordies 12-point lead to take the title in 1996, but then Shearer was bought for £15million that summer in what was really Keegan’s last throw of the dice. He would leave the job just a few months later, but not before this:

Keegan’s last hurrah showed just how wonderful that Newcastle team could be on occasion. Everyone remembers Philippe Albert’s chip, but David Ginola’s strike for 2-0 was almost as incredible. Keegan resigned in January 1997, saying that he’d taken the club as far as he could; Kenny Dalglish took over and Newcastle finished 2nd behind Man Utd, just as they had the previous year.

Elite Selection

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The 72 clubs of the Football League today voted in favour to set course for Oblivion Central, having departed Common Sense (East) some time ago, after a stopover at Blackmail Town forced chairmen to repeatedly smash the panic button.

It’s the arrival of the Elite Player Performace Plan, a plan devised by the Premier League (originally titled Let’s F**k Football – Together) to ensure they can get the best players off lower division clubs for next to no money. If the Football League had rejected the proposals, the Premier League would have withdrawn the current £5m it donates to lower leagues – that’s £250,000 per club, or an eye-watering 0.5% of the money they receive for TV rights alone. It’s little wonder they’re trying to ensure they get better value for money with such a huge outlay whilst receiving so little in return.

“There is always the danger under the new scheme that larger clubs will become more predatory but we hope we don’t see that,” were the pie-in-the-sky words intoned by football league chairman Greg Clarke after the motion was passed. The EPPP removes what little protection smaller clubs had against getting their best players stolen by larger ones. The only possible outcome of all this is that big clubs will become more predatory. Hope doesn’t even factor into the equation, the whole thing is designed so that big clubs put less effort into getting the better players for less money. Why in God’s name have the clubs agreed to this? In what realm of warped fantasy are you living, Mr. Clarke? And whatever you’re taking, please can I bloody have some?

The youth development of a club will be categorised into one of four sections. Category one, the highest level, will cost up to £2.5m. 46 clubs voted in favour. Statistically, most of these clubs can’t afford to put 50p in the electricity meter; what chance then, of multi-million pound investment in youth development when the maximum fee that can be recouped for a player under 17 is £100,000? Category three and four clubs will no longer be allowed to sign players under 12. The more you look at the figures, the more it becomes incomprehensible that the people in charge of their clubs would make such a decision.

I’m loathe to bring partisanship into the argument, but my club, Crystal Palace, have been stung before, and there is still a lot of resentment about the way the authorities handled the whole affair. The transfer fee for 16-year-old John Bostock was set by a tribunal at £700k, with the fee rising to £2m – when the moon loses her child in a week when two Mondays come together, or something equally as likely (Bostock starting 40 league games for Spurs and playing for England – I think I’ve got as much chance of doing that as he does).

Palace were looking for a fee of at least £2.5m, having rejected a £900k bid from Chelsea when he was fourteen. “It’s beyond me and it makes me question why I bother with football,” said then-chairman Simon Jordan. “One of the reasons the Premier League is the best in the world is because it’s made up of 50 per cent foreigners. So when big clubs buy our young and don’t use them, how the hell does that benefit the national game?” Unusually prescient and wise words from SJ at the time. Bostock has since played just 3 times for Spurs. Jordan gave up bothering not long after.

And that’s exactly what’s going to happen when these rules come in. Chairmen, coaches, young players – they’re all going to give up bothering because it simply isn’t worth it. Clubs have no reason to develop their youngsters for fear of being pillaged by the big boys, shedloads of kids are going to miss out on the chance of becoming a professional, and our national game will suffer as a result.

Of course, some clubs make a hell of a lot better use of their academies than others. But leaving youth development in the hands of each club is by far a much more natural, organic way of producing players. Forcing these categories on teams creates is just arbitrarily restricting their ability to be remunerated for nurturing young players. How can league 2 clubs like Torquay or Morecambe, with average gates of 2,500, be expected to fund a £2.5m spree, just so they can have under 12’s on their books? It is absolute madness.

The last thing clubs in the Football League need is more of a talent drain than there already is. The clubs who voted in favour of this have been banjaxed by some incredible financial short-termism. It is stupidity, denial and ignorance of monolithic proportions. We’ve seen many clubs on tip-toes at the brink over the last 10 years; soon I fear there’s going to be a lot more going over than before.

EDIT 21/10/11: James Daly’s song about the whole saga: