Thursday, February 23, 2012

‘My best moment? I have a lot of good moments but the one I prefer is when I kicked the hooligan.’ – Eric Cantona

‘Now we have to wait to see this issue decided and then the Manchester player and I will have to clear things up. Depending on who ends up in the wrong, one of us will have to apologise.’ – Luis Suarez

This Saturday lunchtime, Manchester United will travel to Liverpool for the fourth round of the FA Cup. United’s left back, Patrice Evra, is likely to receive the worst abuse seen on these shores since Sol Campbell crossed the North London divide. I write these words seventeen years to the day since I sat, an impressionable 10 year old, a few feet from my idol as he attempted to quite literally kick racism out of football. Pros and ex pros from every club supported Cantona, the general consensus being not shock that it had happened but merely surprise that it didn’t happen more frequently. A divisive Frenchman taking exception to racist language? Plus ça change. Thousands of words have been written about the Luis Suarez incident but nobody seems willing to accuse the Uruguayan of one significant offence. Being a racist.

Tony Evans, Times writer and Liverpool fan, wrote an excellent piece about his disappointment at the majority of LFC fans supporting the striker but still insisted Suarez had been guilty only of ‘using racist language.’ Indeed, this is the nature of the FA charge. Racist language. Even amongst the United blogs, highly critical of Liverpool and their talisman, most pieces contained a caveat insisting they were not accusing the striker of racism, simply of employing racist language. This seems to have been the case across the board. It’s the footballing equivalent of the argument we’ve all had in which the semantics of whether someone is/is being an arsehole are debated at length. Well, enough is enough.

Let’s try putting it another way; if a man rapes someone, we tend to brand him a rapist. Nobody says things like, ‘Oh yes, he did rape someone on that occasion but really he’s not that kind of bloke.’ But with the race issue it’s totally different. What a difference a letter makes. It’s much like the ‘not that kind of player’ defence used after a player has committed a dreadful foul ending the season of a fellow professional. Just once I’d like someone to come out and say, ‘He is that kind of player, this was an accident waiting to happen.’ Who is that kind of player? And, more importantly, who are these mythical racists? Where do they live? Nick Griffin has consistently stated the BNP is not a racist party so clearly it’s acceptable to say what you like so long as you simply deny the allegations.

For what its worth, I do think Suarez is a racist. Does this mean I think he rues the abolition of slavery? No. But, as the late Patrice O’Neill so memorable stated, not all racist walk around wearing pointy hats. Or, as another comedian, Bill Burr, pointed out, ‘real racism is subtle’:

Suarez admits using the offensive term word at least once. I have played in hundreds of football games in my life and never uttered a racial slur. In return, nobody has ever referred to me as a ‘yid’ during such a match and if they had I wouldn’t waste time analysing the precise nuances of their tone. The cultural argument holds no water since Suarez has played in Europe for years. The idea that it was jocular is a nonsense given the comments were made during a heated exchange with a Manchester United player during a spiky encounter at Anfield. A racist word was used in a bid to rile Evra, ergo the offender was guilty of racism. Michael Richards from Seinfeld is branded racist for his ill-advised rant at the Laugh Factory but at least he was attempting (utterly without success) to be humorous. Suarez was seeking simply to provoke. And he should not be let off lightly. Some have claimed an eight game ban is Draconian but most people would be sacked for a similar comment in the workplace.

Almost as bad as the incident itself was the response of Liverpool Football Club as they lurched from one PR disaster to another seemingly only able to dig a larger hole for themselves. First the preposterous sight of Suarez donning a T-shirt in support of himself greeted us. Dalglish besmirched his reputation as the finest player in Liverpool’s history not only by shifting the blame entirely onto Evra but also, perhaps the worst of his offences, wearing the shirt himself. Not a good look on a 60-year-old man. As Paul McGrath suggested, how much classier might it have seemed to warm up wearing Kick It Out tops? Clearly nobody had a word with the Liverpool PR department as Alan Hansen spent the evening using the word ‘coloured’ on Match of the Day before ‘God’ himself (Robbie Fowler) blacked up for a night out dressed as Lionel Richie and rather foolishly tweeted a photograph. Stay classy, Merseyside.

Liverpool seem concerned people think of the club as inherently racist. I do not. Football clubs aren’t sentient beings. It calls to mind Stewart Lee mocking the ‘values of the Carphone Warehouse’ as they attempted to extricate themselves from another race row, on Big Brother. The Carphone Warehouse values involve only selling phones and Liverpool’s are only football related surely. This persecution complex and martyrdom of the Uruguayan aids nobody. Ferguson didn’t instruct the United players to wear T-shirts all those years ago, he calmly weighed up the situation before making any public pronouncements. Dalgligh needs to realise, like Walter White in Breaking Bad, actions have consequences. Oldham’s Tom Adeyemi must have thought the trip to Anfield would be the highlight of his career to date yet it was marred by racial abuse from the Kop that reduced the young midfielder to tears. There can be little doubt that this would not have happened without all that came before. This is a simple case of cause and effect and the Liverpool manager has to shoulder some responsibility.

All football fans tend to be tarred with the same brush but it’s a broad spectrum. The fact that Emmanuel Adebayor is the Spurs player who has had monkey noises directed at him when his team-mate is Gareth Bale illustrates just how stupid supporters can be. That said, I can recall a time when racial abuse was commonplace in the stands, not least that remarkable night in 1995, and I found it genuinely heart-warming to see Suarez booed away at Wigan. Broadly speaking, as a society, we have moved from booing black players to booing racists.

This is a bigger issue than just Liverpool and Manchester United. John Terry meets Anton Ferdinand again this weekend standing by his assertion that he was simply incredulously repeating the racist abuse the QPR defender was accusing him of. Gus Poyet then needlessly weighed in to do little more than sully my generation’s memory of him as wonderful player. The Terry defence is as ludicrous as Matthew Simmons (Eric’s detractor in the vile leather jacket) claiming he was simply shouting ‘Off you go for an early bath.’ André Villas-Boas, like Dalglish, responded to the allegation by immediately stating he would support his captain ‘no matter what’. I don’t understand this. Surely if it’s proven that Terry hurled racial abuse at an opposing player then he should lose the support of his manager. Particularly given England’s Brave’s status as the pantomime villain of British football. And I write as somebody who takes the ball to the corner flag to wind down the clock when playing computer games.

Despite the quotation at the top of the page, Suarez has singularly refused to issue an apology to Evra, opting instead for a Jeremy Clarkson style ‘I’m sorry if anyone was offended by my comments’ cop-out. Or should that be Kop-out? And so the fires continue to rage. If I can be permitted recourse to one final bit of stand-up comedy, there is an old Eddie Murphy routine in which he talks about walking along the street behind an elderly white couple. Feeling nervous, they stop to let Eddie pass. The anecdote concludes with the comic asserting, ‘Well I was so offended I just went ahead and mugged them.’ When the Liverpool fans abuse Evra on Saturday as a direct result of him reporting a racist incident that damaged their club’s reputation, they will be making just as much sense. And we all know where such taunting can lead.

Lawrence Gray-Hodson

Lawrence Gray-Hodson

Every so often Lawrence Gray-Hodson, a man who made his name in the upper reaches of Division 2 in the 1970s and 80s as well as being a former Scotland and England international, writes a column exclusively for Three and in.

This week he opines on Roberto Mancini’s touchline behaviour

You’ve got to ask: what is Roberto Mancini? Is he a dapper, scarf-sporting, handsome footballer manager who loves a good ragu, or is he a magician?

If it’s the former then he should get on with the job he knows best: alienating players and getting his team to win matches. Too often in recent weeks though he seems to be on the sidelines wishing he had a deck of cards to play with.

Clichy gets fouled, Mancini flicks the eight of clubs at the ref. Oh look, a trip on Milner and there’s Mancini with the ace of diamonds. Edward Dzeko finds himself flattened by a beautifully timed two-footed tackle and there’s Robert Scarfino shuffling the entire deck. And despite all these cards being different they have one thing in common. Their colour.

They’re all red. Or yellow. Perhaps it’s the continental influence but seeing Mancini waves cards around like that on the sideline makes me sick to my stomach although not quite sick enough to get sick. Maybe sick enough to do one of those burps where a bit of sick comes up but you swallow it down quickly again.

I remember back in my playing days we’d never have dared wave an imaginary card in the air. It would have been a sign of weakness, almost as if waving an imaginary card meant you had an imaginary friend called Aubrey with whom you played in a make-believe world called Cissy Town. Once, when we played Leeds in the cup, our right back Jack Morgan got kicked in the knee by Billy Bremner.

“You’ve gotta book him for that, ref,” said Morgan.

The ref did nothing and after the game, in the player’s lounge, Bremner and Jack Charlton leathered the tar out of him. Normally you’d defend a teammate but this time we stood back and let them pummel him. It’s one thing shattering a bloke’s kneecap, but asking the ref to book him was going too far.

And this brings me to Mancini’s rank hypocrisy when it comes to tackling. Oh, it’s ok for Vincent Kompany to jump in with two feet but as soon as Glen Johnston did it he was opposed to it. It reminded me of people who say ‘Yes, we should allow tinkers to settle with their caravans in fields near housing estates’, but as soon as these noble, pot-selling people come into their area they’re up in arms.

I’d like to see a new rule brought in to wipe this scourge from the game. Any foreign manager who waves an imaginary card ought to be given a red card themselves. They just don’t understand the game here. It is different when Wayne Rooney does it. He’s got a rapport with the refs, they speak the same language, Rooney has grown up knowing where the line is and never quite crossing it.

Mancini is a new arrival. He needs to learn to respect the customs of the country he’s in. I mean, he wouldn’t go to Saudi Arabia, openly drink a bottle of Pinot Grigio and walk around with a sultan’s daughter who he insists wears a bikini. So why does he think he can wave cards and allow his players to do two-footed tackles?

I like the man, his smartorial elegance has brought a touch of the catwalks of Milan to English football, but leave the card tricks to David Dunblane.

A song for Ed De Goey

Posted by Big Ask On January - 18 - 2012 1 COMMENT
Below is a song about the ill-fated relationship between Chelsea’s erstwhile Dutch number one and a girl who dumped him around the time Cudicini replaced him as first choice. It might be the most pointless thing I’ve ever written. With apologies to Avril Lavigne and fans of The Thin Blue Line with Rowan Atkinson.

She was a girl, he was in goal
Can I make it anymore obvious?
He had a ‘tache, she did ballet
What more can I say?

He wanted her, she’d never tell
Secretly she wanted him as well
But all of her friends, stuck up their nose
They had a problem with his keepers’ clothes

He was called Ed de Goey, she said ‘see ya later boy’
He wasn’t good enough for her, she had a pretty face
But her head was up in space
She needed to come back down to earth

Five years from now, she sits at home
Feeding the baby, she’s all alone
She turns on TV, guess who she sees
Ed de Goey playing on ITV

She calls up her friends, they already know
And they’ve all got tickets to see the Stoke
She tags along, stands in the crowd
Looks up at the man she turned down

He was called Ed de Goey, she said ‘see ya later boy’
He wasn’t good enough for her, now he will always start
Then coach at Q.P.R.
Does your pretty face see what he’s worth?

Sorry girl, but you missed out
Well, tough luck, he’s at Stoke now
He looks like Detective Grim
This is how the story ends

Too bad that you couldn’t see
Shot stopping ability
There is more than meets the eye
Than plucking crosses from the sky

He’s Ed de Goey and I’m just a girl
Can I make it anymore obvious
We are in love, haven’t you heard
How we save each others worlds?

I’m now with Ed de Goey, I said ‘see ya later boy’
I’ll go to watch away or home, I’ll be standing in the crowd
Singing loud ‘you’re shit aah’
To any other goalkeeper.

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