A whole new bawl game without fans
LOCKDOWN has brought heartache to millions of football fans.
It’s robbed us of crowds, proper celebrations, shared joy – and misery – and replaced it with an eerie vacuum.
But that sound of silence has been shattered in the past few weeks.
In near-empty grounds, the players’ barking orders at each other, cajoling and criticising should have been the backing track to Project Restart.
But it has been interspersed with a noise so awful... a racket so wretched, that it deserves a mention.
Instead of the usual commotion that is associated with a game of football, what do we hear every time there is some form of contact? A squeal.
It cannot be new. It must have been there, back in the good old days when there were live audiences.
But this new-fangled edition of the game highlights its use – and, frankly, I’d rather listen to canned applause and rogue chants than this pathetic accompaniment.
The absence of oohs and aahs, general chatter – and, yes, abuse – has given way to being able to hear every moan and groan.
And every wail that is the default position of any footballer who gets tackled. It’s truly limp.
One reason referee Jon Moss was conned into giving a penalty against Aston Villa – that somehow Stockley Park failed to overturn – was not
SPURZZZZ did not register a single shot on target against Bournemouth on Thursday. How long do we think Harry Kane is going to put up with that lack of
service?
Sbecause he was sidetracked by a plate of steak sandwiches flashing before his eyes.
It was because when Manchester United’s Bruno Fernandes completed his double drag-back and collided with the, admittedly clumsy, Villa defender Ezri Konza, it was done against background noise that would not have been out of place in a playground.
Just to make totally sure that Moss understood there had been contact between the two players, the Portuguese let out a loud whimper – as if to emphasise who was on the wrong end of the tussle. As it was, Moss was wrong. Manchester United’s playmaker had hoodwinked him. And, somehow, those sitting in front of a television screen.
Of course, Fernandes went from holding his shin to stroking the ball into the net from 12 yards in the space of a few seconds.
That we have all seen before. The phoney injury, the grimace, the falling over stray blades of grass.
Your correspondent may be singling out Fernandes to make his point, but he isn’t the only one. They’re all at it. And it needs stamping out.
As if match officials don’t have enough on their plate (and no, that’s not another sideways swipe at Mr Moss).
Fifteen years ago I attended a boot camp with Graham Poll ahead of a new season and the malpractice referees were battling ‘simulation’. That’s cheating, mainly through diving.
The game has moved on and they have to decide, in a split second, whether a multitude of conditions have been satisfied to be able to award a free-kick. And now they have to add this to the list.
The more observant will realise that players aren’t helping matters when they’ve taken to squawking like scalded cats whenever someone goes within a millimetre of them. But when did they ever?
You might ask how it can be eradicated. That’s easy. Officials can leave players such as Fernandes lying on the ground and call him out on his game of bluff. That’ll give him something to really cry about.