Close the doorwhen you leave, Yaya – you and your ilk will not be missed
MODERN footballers are under-talented and over-paid. They are also arrogant and uncaring. If you were searching for an encapsulating phrase, then ‘pampered prima-donnas’ might be appropriate. At least, that appears to be the public’s overwhelming view. And I believe it is quite mistaken.
Today’s game demands the kind of attributes which previous generations could scarcely comprehend. The modern player is incomparably faster, fitter and stronger than his predecessors. The sustained intensity of the contest obliges him to think more swiftly, react more urgently and concentrate more fiercely. Should you doubt it, then consult a tape of English football’s finest hour, the 1966 World Cup Final.
The Wembley field was flooded with outstanding individuals, and in Bobby Moore, Franz Beckenbauer and Bobby Charlton, we were offered a trio of immortals.
But the match proceeded at pedestrian pace; players had options on the ball, passes were considered at leisure, options were weighed and rejected. The whole affair was conducted at a tempo which we might consider endearingly quaint.
Of course, had Moore and the rest enjoyed the benefits of modern dietary and conditioning methods, then their talents would have flourished accordingly. But they were the products of a more gentle era, and that era fell far short of current standards of preparation and dedication. For the game has changed irrevocably, and anything less than unrelenting commitment is unacceptable.
Which leads us, inevitably, to Yaya Toure. It is estimated that Toure earns anything between £210,000 and £240,00 every week; we shall not quarrel over the trifling disparity.
A couple of weeks ago, I watched him in City’s defeat at West Ham and reported that, until it was too late to matter, he had ‘performed like a weary irrelevance. His impact was minimal, his contribution belying the ability which once had made him one of the English game’s most illustrious imports’.
Last week, against CSKA in the Champions’ League, he was far worse. His sending-off reeked of gross indiscipline, petulantly earning a straight red card for shoving a CSKA defender in the face after already having received a yellow. Yet it was only part of a shoddily unacceptable performance, featuring inexplicably negligent marking to allow CSKA their opening goal, along with a general air of shoulder-shrugging disengagement which mocked an immense talent.
He played like a parody of a gifted footballer, a man in search of a move. And it was disgraceful.
He seemed to realise his errors soon after the match, when he Tweeted: ‘City fans – I am sorry for my red card. I feel it is important to apologise for this’.
Now, with most players, we should have assumed that this was the consequence of a hasty, face-saving intervention by a sharp agent. However, given that the agent in question is one Dimitri Seluk, we cannot be certain.
Dimitri, you may recall, was the star of last summer’s ‘cake-gate’, when he protested at the City owners’ luke-warm celebration of Yaya’s birthday: ‘He got a cake’, conceded Seluk, ‘but when it was Roberto Carlos’s birthday, the president of Anzhi gave him a Bugatti’.
Then, adding heinous offence to injury, he added: ‘The club’s owners ate a 100kg cake after winning the Premier League this season, but when they and the players were all together, none of them shook his hand on his birthday. It shows they don’t care about him’.
He made them sound like 19thcentury mill owners, these tyrants who are handing his client around £11million each year.
Those who have studied Yaya’s career would attest to his highly polished persecution complex.
Yet daft Dimitri sees scope for improvement. Last season, for instance, Toure finished third in the Professional Footballers Association and Football Writers Association Player of the Year awards, both of which were deservedly won by Luis Suarez.
Said Seluk: ‘If he was white, 100 per cent he would have won one of those top awards. I don’t want to talk too much about racism or the politics of football, but he does not get the praise he should get’.
It was insulting tosh, of course, but his client never disowned the poisonous nonsense.
It all massages Toure’s paranoia and creates a calculated climate of uncertainty and doubt. What will he do? Where will he go? Over the past few weeks and months, Yaya has been linked with Barcelona, PSG, Real Madrid, Liverpool, Chelsea, Manchester United and Arsenal.
Now it would be quite wrong to suggest that Seluk is behind such speculation but, back in July, he remarked: ‘If an important club like Paris St Germain or Real Madrid made a big offer, it would be for Manchester City to decide what happens.’
In a single coy and artless sentence, the clown had contributed to a popular prejudice, the one which dismisses all the modern players as arrogant prima donnas. And it is a great pity. Because the overwhelming majority of footballers are highly motivated professionals, operating at the highest level that the old game has ever known.
The likes of Yaya Toure are no more than a disgruntled minority. If they should decide to transfer their sullen, shoulder-shrugging antics to some foreign field, then they would not be missed.