SAMUEL ON MOYES
SO, IF David Moyes was affected by the heat of the moment, as he says, one question remains unanswered. Why didn’t he jokingly threaten to slap a BBC reporter when the camera was rolling?
Was he suddenly under more pressure when he considered their interview ended? Did the magnitude of a goalless draw with Burnley in front of Sunderland owner Ellis Short then crowd in? Of course not. Moyes knew that what he wanted to say to Vicki Sparks would be considered unacceptable, even in jest, so he kept it buttoned in public. ‘No, none at all,’ was his on-the-record answer to the question of whether he felt additional pressure with his employer in the house.
The implied threat, the not-so-subtle abuse of power and position — that all occurred in circumstances he considered private.
We’ve been here before. Ron Atkinson thought he was off air when he used a racial epithet to insult Marcel Desailly. Carol Thatcher was in the green room, not on camera, when she described Jo-Wilfried Tsonga in demeaning terms. Richard Keys and Andy Gray would never have spoken disparagingly about a female assistant referee during a live broadcast.
We all know how to behave when we think people are listening, and Moyes was no different. There was no heat in his moment, no loss of control; quite the opposite, in fact. For public consumption, Moyes dealt with Sparks very professionally.
Jeremy Paxman came to an Arsenal press conference once. He left shocked by the level of deference shown to then manager, George Graham, who was not having the best time. Had that been a floundering Prime Minister, Paxman said, the questioning would have been considerably fiercer.
Paxman cites Times foreign correspondent Louis Heren as his greatest influence. ‘When a politician tells you something in confidence,’ said Heren, ‘always ask yourself, “Why is this lying b****** lying to me?” ’
So why do managers get away lightly? Maybe it is simply a matter of importance. Politicians are grilled because they have affairs of state in their control; the worst a football manager can do is waste a very rich man’s money on a series of unsuitable signings.
It pays to keep this stuff in perspective. Even so, whatever your feelings about sexism, banter, or what is considered grounds for dismissal, over 10 unguarded seconds Moyes let slip the reality. There really is no level of reverence that is enough for these guys.
MOyES, remember, is bottom of the league. He hasn’t come off two decades of unparalleled brilliance like Sir Alex Ferguson, whose success allowed him to as good as write the rules in his relationship with the media. Sunderland’s dismal season shouldn’t make an Aunt Sally of Moyes, but nor should he be angered by what was a genuine and valid question.
Moyes is sitting 20th in a field of 20. In such circumstances a visit from the club owner might not always be a cause for celebration — certainly when the managers of the five teams ahead of Sunderland have all now been sacked. At the very least, a level of scrutiny is surely to be expected.
So what shocks about Moyes’ response to Sparks, more than the implied threat of violence or any sinister undertone of sexism, is its sense of entitlement. The idea that the reporter had been naughty, needed to be careful, to watch herself, or might expect a slap.
He wouldn’t have said that to a man, it is being claimed. Actually, he probably would — it just wouldn’t have sounded as creepy. Managers tend to be equal opportunity offenders in this regard, if one considers that last weekend Jose Mourinho belittled a male television reporter for asking, a little clumsily, if Manchester United and West Brom had cancelled each other out.
He probably meant in terms of attack versus defence — and the 0-0 draw suggested they did — but Mourinho’s tetchy incredulity left him stumbling and embarrassed. Mourinho has been a manager for 17 years, Moyes for 19. Looking at the ages of many of those asking the questions, the bosses have considerably more experience in front of cameras than the interviewers. They are experienced performers, by no means disadvantaged.
And no doubt Moyes was speaking euphemistically about slapping upstarts, but his words betray his thoughts on status, too. As so much sports media moves in-house, as broadcasters are increasingly part of the industry, anything but the gentlest probing is considered an affront.
Moyes did not see Sparks as beneath him just because she was a woman, he saw her as beneath him because she was a reporter. Even his apology did not afford Sparks basic respect, referring to her not by her name but as ‘the girl’. The disdain, even as he tried to make amends, was palpable.
Were Sunderland in the least bit competent as a club, one might even speculate that the leak of the footage was deliberate, a Machiavellian ploy to rid themselves of Moyes without paying compensation.
Little in their handling of previous crises, however — from the Adam Johnson case which led to the resignation of chief executive Margaret Byrne, to the appointment of Paolo Di Canio as manager, his extremist politics forcing David Miliband to stand down as vice- chairman — suggests they are capable of such cunning.
Equally, before this, the club had intimated they wanted Moyes to stay, even in the event of relegation. If they change their mind now, if his position becomes untenable, it would represent one hell of a flip-flop.
As Moyes can’t handle the local freelance, imagine what Paxman would do to him, and Sunderland.