Month: August 2012

The Campaign for Gentlemanly Conduct; part two.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Previously I have made heartfelt but no doubt ludicrous generalisations about TeamGBsters being better people than say… Rio Ferdinand, the Olympics having shown up the inadequacies of our football stars through the inconsiderate revelation of dee-lightful rowing chap after unassumingly lush cyclistess. Rio – a deliberately relatively inoffensive choice, as it ‘appens – in interview, would stand no chance against… well… against any of them. Imagine the poor fellah pitched into some comparison with (specimen-of-all-specimens?) Katherine Grainger. Nuff sed.

I hope to move on from this unlicensed judgementalism by getting further into the issue of, the contrasts re respect in sport. This is something even I slightly fear threatens to align me with a currently mercifully subterranean (to-the-point-of-imaginary, actually) arch-conservative group fronted by that former decathlete now eminent flopster/middle distance scapegoat Michael Gove but such are the dangers of the hunt for the righteous . (On that political orientation thing I will just confirm that my own lunacy tends to spring awkwardly from the softish left rather than the anal right.) However because  footballers do seem to have no respect and this does I think draw more flak than almost any other complaint against yer Rooney and yer Terry, stuff must surely be said.  About respect.  But… respect for what?

Broadly, the Olympians – our Olympians, for let’s be honest, we didn’t see too much of the rest of the world’s – were universally received as beacons of treble-fabulous good; partly, surely, because of the obvious contrast with footballers? Wherever you looked there was modesty and rounded good-humour of the sort last seen in football circa 1953 when some bloke called Matthews skipped round a bewildered First Division whilst supping mild, knitting nightcaps and discovering the potato; all to general hat-throwing acclaim.

Now the accuracy or validity of any emotion against shallowness, arrogance and disturbing unworldliness amongst footballers may be open to debate.  It is nevertheless certain that large chunks of us – even those who consider ourselves fans – feel they behave, in the widely used vernacular, like wankers. This is often due to their petulance or lack of respect for officials. We understand that players have in the moment some urgent need to express disappointment or to otherwise ‘react’. It does not follow that this reaction might need to be so essentially cheap.

In rugby circles the drama-queendom and simulation in soccer means coaches tear into footballers for precisely these shameful or cynical episodes – acting or disrespectful and inflammatory celebrations being particularly offensive to the rugby community. Coaches in the 15-man game do routinely warn their own players against such dishonour, such poncification – I know, in coaching rugby myself, I have done this.

So it really is true that footballers are held in contempt by many in the rugby community. How many of them appreciate this, I wonder? Or feel the moral depth of that contempt? Would such awareness make any difference? Unknowable – so let’s get back to rules; respect.

First I should probably mention that for those unfamiliar with footielaw (and footie does have Laws not Rules, interestingly or not) Law 12 now includes what was previously recognised as the Ungentlemanly Conduct Law. Now if I understand it correctly kindof subsumed into Fouls and Misconduct, this throwback to the age of honour and imperial plunder is still in use for discretionary expression by refs and, more commonly, though with little discretion, in the bullshitfest that is general discussion and punditry around the game. I think it’s chronically under-used potential reiner-in of modern ills.

For surely this anachronistic, slightly pompous-sounding Ungentlemanly Conduct thing has rather a lot going for it – or could have – alongside its weirdly inappropriate non-PCness, which we need to recognise.

For one thing it unashamedly implies a kind of moral compass; suggesting in its dangerously dated manner that some woolly goodness, some reflection even may be beneficial to the game. (A note here that perhaps you don’t need to be a misogynist traditionalist necessarily to applaud transgenerational sporting values.) Secondly, its non-specificity lends itself to flexibility and discretion. Thirdly, football needs something to latch onto, some cause to cling to or gather around and it may be that post a wonderfully enervating/invigorating and sporting Olympics this notion of good or ‘gentlemanly’ conduct might just help football re-brand. It certainly might help those trying to keep the thing in order.

So let’s just contemplate again, specifically, this thing football has with referees, with its ‘bastards in black’ and on this occasion I promise to jink Steve Coppell-style outside considerations of race before arcing in my devastating cross/theory thing.

We can get a grip on them – referees – there’s something really grabbable in both physical and conceptual terms about their starchy, often geeky authoritarianism drawing them in to our malevolent clutches. They are an almost reassuringly resented presence in football –uniquely so? – there being an extraordinary hostile confluence of opinion upon their role, their nature even.  (But that’s weird, right?)

Led with extravagant charmlessness by the top players and the managers, we the footie public at large – watching either semi-naked on some frosted terrace or listening in to Allan Green whilst our Porsches scoot silently through leafy Mayfair – love to abuse them. We love to abuse them psychotically in fact, with the fullness of our hearts for… for being the ref.

There is a thesis to be written on this alone, this murderous international antipathy to that bloke or woman in the middle; whatever they do; however, pretty much, they do it.
Later, dwarlings, later…

The quality of the abuse of referees in football is peculiarly obscene and its occurrence peculiarly prevalent. It never ends. The players are obviously and enormously culpable in this, as are the managers and there seems to be no significant will from any direction to curb this wholly degrading aspect of the game.

Let me be clear on this. In 2012 swearing is barely an issue – or at least not an issue of the import of racism or homophobia for example. But swearing aggressively and repeatedly and abusively at a referee or an official is. It’s truly an offence in the wider sense of the word and I find it extraordinary that it still goes relatively unpunished season after season.

Very few players are ever actually sent off or banned following such outbursts, yet we see them in gruesome, fulsome high definition in almost every match as players react appallingly to unfavourable decisions. And I know players are under more pressure in the modern game – truly, they are – the exposure being massively greater, the rewards being financially greater. This is no way, however, excuses a disgracefully poor level of discipline amongst players and managers in this regard.

Pity the referees – support the referees I say – with video playback and meaningful assistance from an empowered fourth official and beyond. Currently the man in the middle is utterly undermined by dishonesty and malcontent all around. He or she is there, the Martians have concluded, to collect our madnesses; like some spitbowl for the twisted soul of humanity. And they are in black.

With both a million years of dodgy symbolism and John Terry railed up against them, what chance do referees have?

Well how about if they had a panel of respected footiefolks in their corner? And what if that panel reviewed obviously controversial or mishandled incidents with a view to issuing correctives in the form of warnings or bans to those guilty of (say?) bringing the game into disrepute?

If this group of Goodies riding in to save footie from itself really were concerned to aggressively promote sportsmanship as well as good decision-making, might it even be appropriate for them to use the moniker The Campaign for Gentlemanly Conduct?  Thereby staking a claim on that apparently unnaproachably difficult playing surface… The Higher Ground.

People… there’s more to come on this.

The Campaign for Gentlemanly Conduct; part one.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ 4 Comments

The 2012 Olympics was a significant success for New Blighty in virtually every way you can think of, including and importantly because it did express some progress towards an appreciation of and national ease with our much discussed multi-culturalism. It’s surely a tad more difficult now to be casually or serially racist? Now that we’ve all seen how wonderfully part of us Mo Farrah/Jess Ennis are, how much we mean to them, even. Only the most outstandingly moronic and impervious xenophobe could bark out white supremacist garbage (or similar) in the glorious wake of such a unifying Olympics, yes?

That may be too optimistic a view. But for me a key memory, a genuinely warming one amongst the admittedly intoxicatingly gathering festival concerned how we look… and how we sound, us Brits. Tied into those abstract notions of place and belonging – notions frequently co-opted or compromised by sometimes legitimate political or cultural discourse – this goodly thing that shone back at us (proper people?) did appear to be about us; our team.

We were a hugely attractive bunch; black or mixed race or whatever. And when our athletes emerged into individual focus from their brilliant blur of TeamGBness, for their post-blow sofa-spots or trackside verbals, they were, despite their ‘diversity’ uniformly charming and generous; they were great company.

Dangerously for those of us attempting to report without lapsing pretty immediately into anglo-corn, our athletes brought back to us virtues feared lost in the age of footballer-generated smog. They really were delightful, articulate and entirely believable as decent specimens of humanity. They were compellingly appropriate if not ideal representatives for us. We therefore revelled in the sense of a shared adventure – inevitably more or less vicariously – but with a persistently humming and occasionally electrifyingly uplifting connection. Because beyond the silverware, the medals, there was a profound general awareness of extraordinary people – them – giving of their best in the knowledge of, or even motivated by, other people – us!

…Here comes that dangerous crop of hagiopoop…

Consequently us Brits were gawping and smiling at heroic effort and deserved success by athletes we were proud to think of as Our Lot – not just because of their winning but because of their winning humility, humour and palpable honesty. Time after time – you pick your own! – we were presented with beaming members of TeamGB who captivated us with their wit and their roundedness during interview. They talked with real warmth and appreciation and understanding and insight and generosity about their event… and often our place in their success. And we loved them for all that.

Okay. So deep breath and yes, remember not God Save but those other lyrics, of Declan MacManus –

No more fast buck / when they gonna learn their lesson

When we gonna stop all of these victory processions?

Maybe the world hasn’t actually been changed. A fine Olympics hasn’t, sadly, undermined the monolithic badness of Growth-worship or manifest greed. (In fact, looking at the sponsors… let’s not go there.) But maybe something in our sporting world got better? And maybe we can nudge or bundle shy or retiring loveliness a bit closer to the front of class?

Already a certain momentum against widely perceived arrogance and ludicrous over-remuneration of modest and frankly often undeserving talents in the football world has arisen. Not that many needed the Olympics to flag up the rolexization of our national game – there being even amongst the tribal and myopic some acknowledgement that players don’t give much for what they get.

So let’s just compare what we heard from Farrah and Ennis, the rowers, the cyclists (again, you name the ones who affected or inspired you the most) with what you might get from Frank Lampard/Rio Ferdinand/Kenny Dalglish. (And I reckon I’ve plumped for 3 gentlemen fairly representative of their milieu – even if one is retired.) And let’s maybe consider some vaguely equivalent post-match scenario.

There would be little chance of unaffected joy from the football side. There would be a patina of rehearsed dullness, in fact. Possibly due to some significant underachievement by a manifestly poor or disappointingly stilted England side but arising too from a widespread Premiership Quality cynicism wherein no real truths must be told and some imaginary defensive line must be held against public knowledge.

Whilst Lampard has the capacity to come across as a decent bloke, he is traditionally unwilling to break through into generous good humour; Ferdinand and Dalglish are less giving than this. Often one or both are deliberately obtuse or somewhere between absent, insultingly bland and openly hostile. There is a chronic disconnect, in short, between these legends of the game and the notion that fans might really want to know what they think of x or y. And critically, there is very rarely any suggestion that they love what they do. Or we don’t feel that.  They don’t share much.

On good days, when I feel the footie-pulse coursing through my own veins, I colour in Frank or Rio’s blandness with memories. Often though, I am spurred to join in with those ‘having a dig.’  I have to confess to having unreasonably enjoyed the diabolical freedoms being an insignificant blogger allows – I know and respect the fact that the likes of @ianherbs @_PaulHayward reign themselves in for national publication – but I can sling verbals around a bit, sound off a bit more – like you. So I can further indulge the dubious belief that our young Premiership heroes are ripe for personal as well as professional evaluation, as they are in the court of popular opinion.

When weighed up for their fitness for purpose as rounded humans, or appreciated in terms of their sensitivities, their understanding of value and yes, place, The Footballers seem embarrassingly feeble. Some might say shockingly or offensively so.

On times I am offended by their dumb scurrying through life, their brazenness. How could they allow a sport so beautiful to be so disfigured with simulation, with contempt for authority, with arrogance of such an epic quality? (For surely they are complicit in all this, if not administratively ‘responsible?’)

There is no comparison, I’m afraid, with what those cyclists give and what most bigshot footballers give. In that loose but majestically fine, tippy-tappily omniscient organ us fans call our hearts, we know something ain’t right. These people – some of these people – simply aren’t good enough. And, therefore, my friends, the Campaign for Gentlemanly Conduct will go on.

Idowu

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

On Radio Five Live there has been (maybe there still is?) an energetic, occasionally impassioned debate over Phillips Idowu. Some of it undoubtedly about his performance – his failure to qualify – in the Olympic triple jump earlier. Darren Campbell, the former sprinter turned pundit gave a spirited, sometimes spiky defence of the athlete, at one stage removing himself from the debate so as to avoid the temptation to vocalise too crudely his fury. Punchy and counter-punchy? People get like that about Phillips, it seems.

There is context and there is baggage and there is opinion here. And there is unmistakably the spectre of race. For Idowu is a black Londoner with attitude; and yes, I do appreciate that may be a remark I need to explain, or engulf with my usual distractingly sparkling psycho-cobblers.

Idowu has competed with distinction for the best part of a decade in an event which tops the dodgy knees and ankles league; the triple jump.  Where stresses on joints and limbs are unfeasibly massive due to the pace and compression at work through the 3 phases.  As well as bringing real competitive energy to the event, Idowu has brought an extra dimension –  interest.

Those particular ‘characters’ elevated through their sporting prowess to the grandest of stages find there a particular kind of expectation. (Do we not shout loudest at them or for them?) Some court that – a certain Jamaican sprinter bolts to mind – whilst some bungee-jump between an apparent need to be in, then out, of the limelight. It smacks of moodiness and sometimes of genius; and sometimes, for us the audience, it just doesn’t quite come off.

Throughout his career Phillips Idowu has displayed both a penchant for a peacock strut and a significant persecution complex. Like many people who succeed, that stuff helps to drive him, you suspect. It may not, however, endear him or them to lesser mortals on the sidelines and in Idowu’s case his profile may just be more significant than his fan base. I’m thinking in particular – though not exclusively – that Phillips epitomises much of what the Daily Mail readership fears and (actually, I’m afraid) loathes. Him being in their view a discomfiting, belligerent black presence. (Incidentally, their view stinks.)

It should be unremarkable but…he has been known to apply (why wouldn’t he, as a young bloke?) punkily provocative flashes of colour to his Sarf Landun barnet, thus further denuding his place in the hearts of the anglo-saxon, slacks-wearing classes.

In addition, either he or some pallid, six-bellied tattoo-artist has jabbed shiny metal stuff through his face in a way that some find attractive, some repellent. He maybe does also have something of the loner about him… plus that ubiquitous alpha male swagger favoured by young guys making a point about something… by how they walk. And it may or may not be relevant to this single Olympian episode but he evidently hates the GB Athletics Team Manager and this unwise emotion seems reciprocated. Oh… and he has been one of the very best triple jumpers in the world for several years.

So why the negativity?  What did he do, exactly?

If there is such a thing as a generality here – and on reflection, perhaps there are too many loaded ones, too many dangerous ones? – it seems generally true that folks have responded to Idowu’s failure with vitriol rather than calm. A bundle of tweeters or listeners to R5Live seeming weirdly pleased or even gratified that the athlete underperformed – for whatever reason. Campbell was perhaps a fair counterweight to this hostility but throughout all sides were flailing rather than balletically Jonathon-Edwardsing through a series of renegade body-movements masquerading as arguments. Perhaps the barely reined-in splatter-gun that was Campbell’s anger spoke most articulately of all. (About all of us?)

But let’s get back to the sport. An undercharged rather than visibly injured or athletically compromised Idowu failed by some distance to reach the 17.10m qualifying distance; something he went on to say he might normally “do off 8 paces.” He himself seemed on the bemused side of disappointed rather than extravagantly gobsmacked. That may have been shock but I fancy not. He hinted at the need for an operation but was clear on his lack of current or immediate pain. Meaning that his Olympic experience, or the explanation of it, was pretty much as contradictory, as flawed, as our perception of him as sub-gangsta in the hood. The thought strikes that perhaps Phillips Idowu’s relationships – with people, with instruction or necessary order, with life, with us – are often this way.

I’m very much with @barneyronay in thinking this is a shame. A shame for such a bright, individual talent to get so cruelly, disinterestedly squished. He feels sadly reduced somehow, by the fact and the manner of such a non-qualification. Previously major meets have often been hugely enriched by Idowu’s broiling presence as well as his top-draw athleticism. He has always been watchable in the way other athletes may not have been. Look – how many other world class triple-jumpers from the current generation can you name?  See.  There is some kindofa case there to be rested.

Remember this set-back is not the beginning for Phillips Idowu; surprisingly, he is much closer to elder statesman than sparky junior, despite appearances (or disappearances.) Indeed it seems that much of what has ‘gone on’ – the team communications black hole, the verbals, the antagonism – suggest immaturity on his part rather than physical or emotional confidence. So does that aura of his lack real authority? Is this another alpha male down on power? Is any of that relevant? To this performance?  And why have so many seemed so belligerent in responding to his Fall?

There may be a simple reminder here (amongst the more uncomfortable stuff around race?) that brilliance and foolishness so often do cohabit in the souls of the gifted. The percentages, the parts played out in this triple-fascinating case by psychology and by physiology we – or I – can only imagine.  Imagine and then maybe post/pontificate/tweet about; revealingly.

Meanwhile (the record shows) Phillips did fail.