The Archive

Arsene Wenger is a man who has always stayed loyal to his purist footballing vision, but is it now time to abandon his principles?

The terms used for the teams at the top of the Premier League have changed during 2010-11; the group once revered as the Big Four are now the more ambivalent “traditional Big Four”. While Liverpool have appeased the masses (and media) by bringing back “King Kenny”, Arsenal have no such party trick available to them.

 The club’s defeats in three Cups between February 27 and March 12 were greeted by a deep despairing groan. After all, apparently Arsenal haven’t won anything recently and, according to David Anderson in the Mirror, “in addition to the flowering of daffodils, another unerring sign of spring is the Gooners’ season disintegrating”. The Sunday Telegraph’s Oliver Brown worried that six years without silverware may be “too much to bear” for Arsenal fans, while in the Observer Paul Hayward described a “merciless vortex” and a “night of a thousand agonies” in Barcelona.

Encouraged by the likes of Emmanuel Petit claiming that Arsenal were “cracking up”, many commentators attempted a deeper interpretation. In the Times, Tom Dart muttered darkly of “long-held weaknesses”, “an underlying psychological block” and that: “If Arsenal did not need a session on the therapist’s couch before, perhaps they do now.” A cognitively minded Duncan Castles backed this up in the Sunday Times: “In times of trouble football teams, like individuals, tend to regress to their fundamentals.”

Affectionate epitaphs were prepared in advance for Arsène Wenger. Mick Dennis of the Daily Express offered a defence: “Wenger’s ‘business model’ is a beacon of hope for a game dominated by dosh. If he fails again, the light will go out. Money will have won.” But most were harsher. The News of the World mocked What’s your excuse this time Arsene? and the Sunday Express wondered whether Arsenal’s manager was now “more manic and barmy than Gallic and charming”, questioning Is le Prof losing le Plot? A prevalent leitmotif of the criticism was reference to Wenger’s new choice of outerwear – a voluminous knee-length puffer jacket. In the People, Dave Kidd asked: “Will the Arsenal board ever seriously question the man in the technical area with the sleeping-bag coat and the increasingly crazed demeanour?”

Indeed, while attention was focused elsewhere, it was quietly announced that the president of the International Fencing Federation, Alisher Usmanov, had increased his Arsenal stake to “over 27 per cent”. The Russian billionaire has previously called for heavy investment in the team and failed with a proposal of a rights issue to raise transfer funds in 2009. If Usmanov continues his gradual share accumulation, Wenger may well be forced to consider his policy of prudence. And further internal uncertainty at the club should worry the manager far more than cod psychology, generalised football “philosophy” or whether his giant padded coat is slightly too big for him.

From WSC 291 May 2011

Simon Tyers explores the punditry credentials of one of football’s more controversial players, Robbie Savage:

Stating that Robbie Savage is a difficult person to admire is like suggesting Jeremy Kyle could be more equitable. Like Kyle, Savage is the sort of personality who could only have risen to the top of his chosen profession at this specific moment. He’s benefited from the disappearance of the traditional hard man, the short-haired, beefy full-back or defensive midfielder whose raison d’être was to see how many reducers a creative winger could stand, the “that type of player” that no player who lunges in two-footed on an opponent’s shin these days apparently is.

Seen off by clampdowns on reckless tackling, the standard bearer for the player who goes in hard and covers a lot of ground is now a bellicose Scrappy Doo who was once fined for using the referee’s lavatory. Where most retired hatchet-men proudly state their lack of regret for their actions, Savage seems continually flummoxed as to what he’s ever done that people might be expecting him to regret.

Somewhere along the line Savage lost the admiration of fans of the team he played for, which was pretty much all that was keeping him afloat for years. But like most players who seem reasonably approachable and have a certain back-page profile, he was compensated by being invited into the media. Like Stan Collymore before him, Savage proceeded to surprise radio listeners with the breadth of his tactical knowledge and so producers swooped to put him on everything. Like Collymore, the wider exposure has only served to expose his limitations.

In essence, these are threefold. One, he’s still professional footballer Robbie Savage. Two, his natural range is the shrill half-shout. Most importantly, he can’t control his overexuberance when miked up. His comments are usually anodyne but they’ll be delivered as if he’s just been told the oxygen is about to be sucked out of the room. If he can fit a joke in on the end, or just an over the top laugh, he’ll consider it a bonus.

Anyone who saw the ESPN coverage of Man City’s home Europa League game against Dynamo Kiev will be well aware of the deadening touch Savage can bring to any moment. Watching the Premier League’s most singular footballer Mario Balotelli struggle with a training bib, Savage progressed in under a minute from confusion to a lame joke – “I think I’m going to change his name to [expectant pause] Mario Bibotelli!” – which not even Ray Stubbs dignified with a reaction. Having gone for the funny far too early, he progressed quickly to an outraged tone rarely heard outside late night phone-ins on Radio 5 Live. “Is this tonight? Is this now? It’s gotta be a wind-up, this,” he thundered, as if some training ground footage had been accidentally slipped in.

Football Focus, a programme which never met an anodyne footballer it didn’t like, has been using Savage as a reporter for a few months. And so it was that he turned up with pitchside tactical analysis at Everton v Birmingham filmed from an unedifying position adjacent to the cameraman crouching down next to him. This piece was introduced by Dan Walker as “keeping an eye on their tactics – no truck required, though”. It’s always fun to grind Andy Townsend’s reputation back into the dirt at any given opportunity, but the Tactics Truck was a three-minute feature that ran for roughly two months nearly ten years ago. Children the length and breadth of the country must have been seeking explanations from their parents.

Savage then turned up as token Welshman outside the Millennium Stadium ahead of England’s visit, in a production that dealt in national cliches to an extent not seen since the last World Cup game involving an African side – Manic Street Preachers music, helicopter shots of unfurling valleys and a cameo by Miss Wales. Savage was first required to interview Gary Speed, whom he greeted with a Yoda-like fragment of a sentence, “Premier League legend – you are!”, where most people would have used a question.

Afterwards he gave his verdict on Wales’s chances, which was that: “We need the keeper to play like Neville Southall, the defence to play like Kevin Ratcliffe and the strikers to score goals.” Why Ian Rush was overlooked was unclear. No wonder Dan Walker and the pundits had been placed against the backdrop of a local brass band and some chanting children. Clearly someone felt that alternate entertainment might be required.

From WSC 291 May 2011

An important game at the top of League Two, watched by Piers Pennington, sees the homeless side from South Yorkshire lose a fifth consecutive away game, while forward-thinking hosts keep their play-off hopes alive

A few days before the game a familiar name which I couldn’t quite place for the moment popped up in my email inbox; an old friend who hadn’t been in touch for a while I assumed. Ah yes, old Harry Worley, what’s he up to these days I wondered for a second or two before the penny dropped.

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Taylor Parkes despairs at how laddism became the major representation of football fans in the media

Through the wonders of modern technology, I’ve been watching 15-year-old episodes of David Baddiel and Frank Skinner’s Fantasy Football League (why I’ve been doing this, when hairshirts are so cheap, is a matter I’ve placed in the hands of my therapist). These days, as you might expect, this once-hip horror looks dreadfully dated and often painfully unfunny, a very obvious ancestor of Lovejoy and 
Corden’s boorish bollocks.

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Producing a fanzine in 1986 was engaging in solidarity with a subculture. But, as Tom Davies argues, while the landscape has changed the issues remain the same

Hey, has anyone noticed that some footballers have funny haircuts? Aren’t there are a lot of ugly players in Liverpool’s team? And have you tasted the pies in some away ends? Anyone heard anyone behind them at the match say something particularly stupid or funny lately?

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