The Saviour of England? What a joke
THEY will straighten his tie and mop his brow. They will remove the chips from his shoulders. Then the movers and shakers at the Football Association will cross their fingers, mumble a prayer and wheel him out to face the world: Big Sam, the Saviour of England.
If custom is observed, questions from the media will be vetted. Certain delicate words or phrases will be banned: ‘Long ball... foreigners . . . agents . . . ’.
Instead, we shall be treated to stirring talk of ‘pride, passion and playing for the shirt’.
And when all the shop-soiled slogans are exhausted and Big Sam is led away to his latest sports science seminar, we can sit back to contemplate the consequences of a truly calamitous appointment.
It should be remembered that the FA’s initial instinct was to approach Arsene Wenger, a worthy if futile attempt to hire the very best. But then, absurdly, they changed tack.
What they wanted, it seems, was an Englishman. The England set-up should be English. Us against Them, in the Little Englander spirit of the times.
I’m not sure how far down this goes: English coaches, masseurs, English bus drivers, perhaps? It is not a strategy, it is a slogan.
When Allardyce was still at Sunderland, there were just four other English managers in the new season’s Premier League — Eddie Howe, Sean Dyche, Alan Pardew and Steve Bruce, although he has now departed Hull.
Why are there not more? Because Premier League clubs believe they can do better elsewhere.
Consider the statistics, as Sam might say: Four major Premier League clubs changed managers over the summer: Manchester United, Manchester City, Chelsea and Everton. Respectively, they brought in Jose Mourinho, Pep Guardiola, Antonio Conte and Ronald Koeman.
And why? Because the Premier League clubs can afford to hire the very best. But wait, the FA can also afford the best, since the national manager’s salary of more than £3million is twice or thrice what the managers of, say, Spain, Germany and Portugal are paid.
Yet, perversely, the head-hunters of the FA, led by the chief executive Martin — ‘I’m not a football expert’ — Glenn, suddenly turned in on themselves.
English it had to be. And English did not mean, say, Howe of Bournemouth, with his civilised attitudes and his passing football.
No, it meant the jargon-spouting chest-thumper who led Sunderland to just one place and two points above relegation in last season’s Premier League.
The appointment was endorsed by Sir Alex Ferguson, a close chum of Allardyce. Now, since Ferguson left Manchester United, the club have appointed three managers: David Moyes, Louis van Gaal and Jose Mourinho.
Ferguson would have had a powerful voice in each appointment. If he ever pressed the case for Allardyce as United boss, then the secret was well kept.
Then there is David Gill, another of the three-man panel, who is a director and former chief executive of Manchester United.
He plainly — and correctly — never remotely considered Allardyce suitable for United. And yet, like Ferguson, he has decided he is just the man for England.
And, of course, there is Mourinho. You may recall that match at Stamford Bridge two years ago when a desperate West Ham pulled trick after cynical trick to steal a draw against Chelsea.
Mourinho was justifiably disgusted, and accused his opponents of ‘cheating, timewasting from the very first minute, 10 defenders in the box . . . this is football from the 19th century’.
Allardyce cackled when he heard of the outburst. ‘He can’t take it,’ he gloated. ‘We’ve out-tacticed him.’
Well, the tactical master who plotted that elegant little coup is now manager of England, so how did Mourinho react? ‘I think he’s a good choice. Sam never had the chance at the highest level.’
Think what you will of our Jose but the fact is that he has won eight league titles in four countries, as well as two Champions League titles and the UEFA Cup.
He recognises ‘19th-century football’ when he sees it. Yet still he can stand reality on its head when it suits him.
Finally, and most fatuous by far, was the contribution of yet another old pal, Peter Reid, aka ‘Reidy’.
He has known Sam for 40 years, and he remains his greatest admirer. When ‘Reidy’ speaks of the Bolton side Allardyce managed, he sounds like Guardiola recalling vintage Barcelona.
‘Reidy’ believes that criticism of his hero is merely the ‘snobbery’ of people who believe that ‘a workingclass centre-half, a boy from a council house with a Dudley accent’ cannot become England manager.
It is the kind of drivel which may be treated with the derision it deserves. Yet, in his increasingly
Allardyce’s appointment is calamitous. An absurd decision by the FA
bizarre search to justify the appointment, ‘Reidy’ reveals his chum’s secret weapon: patriotism.
‘There’s no one more patriotic,’ he confides. ‘We have shared a few St George’s Day dinners, and he’s always belting out Jerusalem as loud as anyone.’
Well, that clinches it. Forget the banality of the long ball, forget the self-serving rants at referees.
Why, you can even forget the damaging evidence of those stats he loves so well: last season, Sunderland enjoyed less than 40-per-cent possession and 21 per cent of their passes were hit long.
Allardyce has a win ratio of just 34 per cent from his 467 matches as a top-division manager. And, with each of his five Premier League clubs, he has never won more games than he lost.
Forget those figures. When it really counts, we can rely on Sam to bellow the anthem with lung-bursting, eye-bulging passion.
Give that man £3m a year. As the Saviour of England, he is cheap at the price.