It's not coming home

Well, it was definitely Spain's day on Sunday, wasn't it? with triumph at Wimbledon in the afternoon and in Berlin in the evening.

 

I must confess I don't miss all the hype and hysteria surrounding our poor footballers, trying to win 'the first trophy on foreign soil', as the media never tired of telling us. And I was quite grateful not to have been woken by celebrating drinkers pouring out of The Bay Tree in the late or early hours. 

Someone close to me observed that the excitement seemed a trifle excessive because it was 'only the European Cup'! I took their point, but then I'm old enough to remember the 1966 World Cup. Indeed I remember exactly where I was when the result came through, not in the UK in order to witness Kenneth Wolstenholme's famous commentary, 'They think it's all over.... It is now.' Is it possible today, I wonder, for anyone to score a hat-trick at international level? Because that's what we need - not just England, but generally. I heard Chris Sutton talking of 'the beautiful game' of which he said, in contrast to England, Spain was an exponent. The English team certainly has a handful of very skilful footballers, but they, in company with most highly paid male players, do not play beautifully. 

I have some suggestions to restore the beauty to the game:

• Get rid of VAR (Video assistant referee)! I've written about the difference that would make before: see here VAR. It makes for more grown-up sportmanship.

• Give yellow cards for shirt-tugging, tripping and diving;

• Red cards for dissent, i.e. disputing the referee's decisions, and for professional fouls, i.e. cynical fouls designed to prevent possible goals.

• And off the field more generally don't pay already wealthy players to don the national shirt. To have our teams appearing simply for the privilege of representing the nation, or even - dare I suggest? - for the love of their country, would prevent them being mercenaries but afford them a genuine reason for respect, and even possibly to merit, win or lose, the award of one of those absurdly coveted minor honours of imperial days. If that's not good enough for one of our 'star' players, too bad. No one is indispensable.

Talking of honours, it does seem to me that Gareth Southgate has been the best manager of the England team since Sir Alf Ramsey, who managed his team to World Cup victory in 1966. Whether or not he chooses to remain in post for another two years, he for one deserves recognition for his contribution to the game (and beyond) in this country. 

PS Sadly, I see that he has now resigned. Well, I suppose that like Jürgen Klopp he has been wise, having restored his team's fortunes, in taking a break from the almost unendurable pressure placed on managers by media and public alike. 

PPS How absurd for example for fans to spend tens of thousands of pounds, as I gather some did, to obtain a ticket to watch the match - and how wicked of touts to exploit such misplaced dedication!

Drama on and off the stage

Last Saturday we went on our annual visit to Stratford on Avon with our good friends, Andrew and Ruth. This year we saw Romeo and Juliet. I went with a certain amount of trepidation lest I wept uncontrollably and antisocially at the tragic dénouement. In the event I needn’t have worried. I was in more danger at Mercutio’s death (played brilliantly and controversially by Charlotte Josephine). “Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.

Charlotte Josephine, Raphael Sowole (Tybalt), Bally Gill (Romeo), Josh Finan (Benvolio)

I am peppered I warrant for this world. A plague on both your houses!” 

The two houses are of course the feuding Capulets and Montagues, whose constant street brawls disturb the streets and squares of Verona. If only they’d thought of playing football! Falling in love with a Colombian or a Swede would have been so less problematic. The rival parties could have fought it out in the Federation of International Falling Acts World Cup – and no one would have got hurt, far less killed.

Which brings me to last night’s game. I have no doubt that we are all rejoicing that England are actually through to the World Cup quarter finals, and even more that they have overcome our penalty shoot-out bogeyman, not least for the remarkable Gareth Southgate’s sake. There’s an excellent article in today’s Rochdale Herald celebrationg the achievement which is well worth the read: Miracle declared in Moscow.

BUT what has happened to “the beautiful game”? I’m renaming FIFA the Federation of International Falling Acts, because it seems that the players now spend almost as much time on the turf as on their feet. Not everyone is as high-profile or as suspect as Brazil’s Neymar (watch him here), but

everyone seems to do it, as a way of alerting the referee when the player feels miffed, aggrieved or fouled, or has merely lost the ball. Diving, falling, play-acting, holding your head because it’s been bumped or your ankle because it’s been kicked, or throwing one’s hands up to claim a throw or a corner and other theatrics are common place. And in case you think, I’m pointing the finger at Colombia in particular, I’m not. 

It’s a virus that has infected the whole game and England are by no means immune. Grow up and get on with the skilful game of which you’re undoubtedly capable and which we all enjoy watching. Or in the words of Henry Newbolt's  unfashionable poem, “Play up, play up, and play the game.” And by "play up" Newbolt didn't mean "behave like a child".