Venomous and vacuous footballers are their own worst enemies

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WYHILE the nation revels in the glories of an Olympic summer, football comes trampling through the front door; thumping its chest and waving its wad. It is largely unloved and widely unwelcome, a sport reduced by its tawdry excesses. The crying need is for humility and selfawareness, but such virtues are unwelcome i n the national game.

Arrogance is its default position. It finds no lessons worth learning, no reasons for reproach. I offer in evidence Richard Scudamore, the chief executive of the Premier League. Scudamore is an intelligent man who pretends to be stupid when it suits his purpose but, on this occasion, he exceeds his brief.

After paying the Olympians a few curmudgeonly compliments, he informs us that footballers are behaving themselves really rather well. This apparently stems from a long-forgotten Premier League initiative called Get On With The Game. It was launched in 2008 and was the kind of marketing gimmick they toss out while dreaming up new ways of screwing a few more millions from the television companies.

‘Behaviour has improved,’ he insists. ‘Among the senior players especially, there’s a genuine understanding and concern about these issues. I’m certain improvements will be seen.’

So, which senior players does he have in mind? Latter-day saints such as John Terry, Anton Ferdinand, Luis Suarez, Ashley Cole, Joey Barton; all those people who have scarcely put a foot wrong since 2008?

It is gibberish, of course, as even the most infrequent football watcher could testify, but it is a measure of football’s smug insularity that the man charged with running its most important competition can propagate such palpable tosh. ET Scudamore is not alone. A few days ago, England manager Roy Hodgson was asked about Terry’s future following his acquittal on a racially aggravated public order offence — but prior to the FA’s hearing of a similar charge. Hodgson expressed his hope that Terry would be ‘freed’, and would ‘carry on playing for England’.

From another intelligent man, and one whose appreciation of the game extends far beyond these shores, this was staggering stuff. He had read the evidence in Terry’s trial and must know that when people shudder at the image of the archetypal English footballer — venomous, vacuous, preening and profane — it is Terry who most frequently springs to mind.

He knows that it was Fabio Capello’s ludicrously misplaced loyalty to Terry which cost him the England job and he is surely aware that Terry will not figure in the next World Cup finals, should England actually reach them. Yet still he undermines his own credibility by spouting such misguided nonsense. It is deeply depressing.

Then there are the crowds, the screeching, threatening, intimidating crowds, that Scudamore describes as ‘tribal’. The term is disingenuous, since it offers a blanket absolution for vile abuse.

During the Games, we discovered that sports crowds could be honestly partisan. Opponents are not enemies. Respect is not a sign of weakness. Because sport, any sport, has more to offer than the dubious thrill of blind allegiance. Only in football is it considered admirable to be biased to the point of imbecility.

Of course, unfavourable comparisons between football and its Olympic counterparts are relatively easy. Premier League footballers, especially those who play for the major clubs in London or Manchester, endure far greater media scrutiny than that which attends Olympic athletes. They offer themselves for inspection on a weekly basis, and their extraordinary financial rewards discourage public sympathy or understanding.

Yet they remain their own worst enemies. They contest every decision, since that is the way they were brought up to play. They dive like a school of dolphins, unaware that the public at large loathes them for their duplicity. They agitate for a transfer, yet still kiss the badge and flaunt the shirt. They insist on being fed prattishly innocuous questions, to which they respond with inarticulate clichés. And they worship false gods; overblown managers and shoddily duplicitous agents. The public observes, and the public deplores. And the image of the game suffers accordingly.

ISP1HI HAVE no simple solutions, since the problems are deep and complex. But there are measures which could be taken, and the central reform rests in the hands of referees. Almost to a man, they seem dangerously chummy. They appear to love the scraps of ‘banter’; the trivial jokes they exchange with players. They lose no chance to pat a back or crack a gag. I imagine some of them holding court in the pub on Sunday lunchtimes: ‘That Wayne, he can be a right laugh … I could tell you stories about Lamps!’ They desperately want

They dive like a school of dolphins, unaware that the public at large loathes them for their duplicity

to be one of the chaps, part of the drama. And it is not their place. Their neutrality should be beyond question or comment. They are not part of the show, they are independent arbiters, whose only duty is to the game.

Recently, it was announced that our leading referees are to be sponsored by an online travel website. Why? Is there not sufficient money swilling around the game to demonstrate that our officials are beholden to nobody? Or is everybody expected to dance to a corporate tune? And yet they could direct a troubled sport in a more decent direction, and they could start by enforcing its laws.

Towards the end of last season, in a Premier League match, I watched what we used to call a linesman deliver a tight but accurate offside decision. A young defender, an England international, rushed up to the official and bawled, clear as day: “You’re a f****** cheat!’

Now, by any civilised yardstick, he should have been reported to the referee, sent off, and banned for a number of matches. The linesman shrugged, the player continued to bellow, nothing happened. That’s just the way it is. Players can say and do pretty well what they like, in the certain knowledge that the referee will be compliant and that his halfwitted loudmouth of a manager will leap to his defence.

Last season, we reached the stage where that despicable

August 19, 2012 exchange between Terry and Ferdinand was dismissed as routine banter.

Instead of tolerating these anarchic eruptions, referees should be sending off players in droves. No yellow cards but straight reds. Off you go. If we finish with a seven-a-side, then that’s fine.

AFTER three weeks, simple self-interest would bring them all to their senses. If managers make a fuss, then they should be treated with similar alacrity. And the referees should be unswervingly supported by all the relevant authorities.

I suspect that the Football Association might go along with such a scheme; others, in thrall to the so-called ‘brand’, might be less enthusiastic. For a smug complacency prevails, a brash conviction that football has no faults worth discussing, that its audience may be taken for granted, that money shouts and ratings scream.

Richard Scudamore again: ‘The test will come on a cold February weekend, how many people are talking about Premier League football and how many people are talking about one of the more remote medal performances from the Games.’

I did say that he pretends to be stupid when it suits his purpose. Sometimes, the pretence is all too convincing.

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