Football Clichés

D'ya Know What I Mean?

2011-11-09T17:41:00.002Z

This blog has recognised the established well of words and phrases that everyone in football, from the top of the football pyramid to the bottom, draws from to express themselves. Many of these phrases originate in football, and the odd one has even crept into general usage outside of the game's bubble.

However, there seems to be an elite group of words and phrases - which are used consistently by football figures- that have been uprooted from their historically mainstream context, never to return. These phrases are now very rarely used in "real life", and have been well entrenched in the football lexicon, but still look far too sophisticated for the (relative) morons that are using them. Would the club chairman of a lower-echelon feeder club really be able to define the word "derisory" if it hadn't been commandeered for the purposes of publicly pouring scorn on a transfer bid from one of the big boys? Of course not - the club's owner has seen "derisory" used thousands of times before by equally unknowing supremos.

These phrases cover every nook and cranny of the sport. We have previously documented the glorious variety of verbs for shooting at goal, the majority of which seem to be nearly obsolete elsewhere in society. When did rifle become a verb, for example?

Goalkeepers often elect to punch - when did you last elect to go to the pub? Custodians between the posts are often grateful to their stalwart centre-half for marshalling their obdurate defence. At the other end of the pitch, profligate strikers can squander gilt-edged chances, their embarrassment only spared by the linesman's flag should they have been adjudged offside.

More successful attackers take advantage of slide-rule passes from midfield schemers, cutting a swathe through the opposition defence, and finishing with aplomb (or, perhaps, an impudent chip). Seriously, what else on the planet has ever been done with aplomb? Every football fan knows what aplomb means in their world but they daren't use it at work, as it would sound ridiculous.

You know when a defender keeps an attacker at arm's length while the ball trickles over for a goal-kick? That's shepherding that is. Apologies to anyone reading this who is, or knows, a shepherd, but you're unlikely to encounter anyone doing any genuine shepherding. Ever had anything rescinded, other than a harsh red card? Ever lambasted someone for being lacksadaisical at work, only to see them turn on a sixpence and maraud out of the door? No.

When football has failed in its attempt to lay claim to non-football phrases, it simply corrupts them and makes off with awkward counterfeit versions. "Champing at the bit" has been warped by visibly confused footballers into "chomping on the bit". No-one seems to know if it's "stomping ground" or "stamping ground", either.

If you have any to add, comment below or tweet me at @FootballCliches - I'm feeling lacksadaisical.

Body Talk

2011-05-20T19:28:00.009Z

The Angle... usually concerns itself with the spoken clichés of football's protagonists but the 2010/11 season's rabid obsession with Fernando Torres's body language has turned attention to the non-verbal collection of textbook footballer mannerisms.

The Grimace

Other than genuine physical pain, there are two opportunities to grimace for the modern footballer. The first, and most common, grimace-inducer is a squandered goalscoring opening. Be it a gilt-edged opportunity or simply a real chance - but not an absolute sitter - the miss is often accompanied by something like this (hands-on-head optional):

The grimace in this situation is likely to be an expression of ruefulness, pre-empting the co-commentator's pondering over whether the chance-misser will "rue" the missed chance "later on". No other misdemeanour in football can be rued, it should be added. Non-goalscoring errors may cause the player/manager to "live to regret" them, though.

The second grimace in football is even more apologetic in nature. When a selfish striker opts to shoot from an impossible angle, with a teammate in a better position, his penance is expressed with a grimace similar to that above, plus a guilty palm of acceptance in the direction of the angry, snubbed colleague.

The Beleaguered Manager Clap

Time is running out for a team to save themselves in an important game, and the manager has run out of ideas. Having stood forlorn on the edge of his technical area, he remembers he has one more in his locker - the encouraging clap. Barrel successfully scraped, he crosses his arms once again, resigned to defeat. Let's call it The Avram.

The Unrepentant Trudge

When players are sent off, they seem unable to leave the pitch without slightly undressing themselves. This can range from the mere untucking of the shirt, via ripping off the captain's armband in disgust, to full (and unexplainable) upper-body nudity:

Real Concern

Despite the plague of playacting that is creeping into the modern game, it is still very clear when a player has suffered a serious injury. Assuming his leg hasn't suffered a very obvious Busst-esque redesign, the injured player must first signal his desperate plight - while cheating fakers roll, writh and perform triple Salchows, genuinely injured players lie prostrate except for a desperate arm in the air. At this point, no medical attention is allowed onto the field until at least half-a-dozen players display real concern (the more opposition players involved, the more real the concern) by waggling both wrists in the air in a frenzied come-hither gesture:

Checking For Blood

After a clash of heads, one or both of the victims are likely to be seen to pat the affected area and check their hand for any signs of blood. A reasonable enough act of self-preservation. Except, for some reason, it's always done about twelve times in quick succession. You're OK mate, honest. Stop checking.

Goal Kick Perfectionists

To the casual onlooker, a goal-kick remains one of the most rudimentary aspects of the modern game - a straightforward punt to get the ball back in play. Goalkeepers, possibly because they are so mad, are very much their own worst critics though. Just as TV prepares to cut away from the close-up shot of the 'keeper hoofing it down the pitch, every now and then you see a custodian chastise himself for a poor kick. No-one else seems to give a shit.

The Medium of Mime

The saturation of television football coverage is perhaps the reason for many of these mannerisms, none more so than appeals to the referee.

First up is a classic of the genre - claiming not to have heard the whistle when penalised for kicking the ball away. First, the player will nonchalantly point to his ear, confident that the referee will take no action. If the official takes action, more zealous pointing to the ear (or both ears, in extreme cases) may be necessary.

Cue video of a mystified Robin van Persie appealing to not just one referee, but around 90,000:

In its defence, this appeal often takes place in the roaring cauldrons of European football, where language barriers further warrant the need for visual aids.

A more comical, frivolous act of mime we see each week in our Anglophone domestic leagues is the ball-shape. To support his claim that he got at least some of the ball, the tackler will make a circular shape with both hands (more than once, if he really means it). As a general rule, the bigger the ball-shape he makes, the more convinced he is that he got the ball. Rather belatedly, this spectacle is being replaced by the rather more understandable grabbing of the actual ball, held out in a desperate plea to the referee to change his mind.

It's not clear why, where possible, the players cannot communicate these appeals verbally. It has even reached the point where the ridiculous, pantomime act of waving an imaginary card (which has now achieved an absurd level of taboo) is seemingly more of an offence than actually asking the referee to book a player.

"Where's the Talking?!"

2011-01-13T01:28:00.008Z

Follow @FootballCliches
This is a piece about Sunday league football.

It will not make any reference to hangovers (Haha! Some of them go out the night before and are still drunk when they turn up!), fat players (LOL! They aren't professional athletes!) or crap pitches (ROFL! The public playing surface isn't completely flat and abundant with grass!)

English football, from top to bottom, has always been characterised by its intangible, unquantifiable (unless you count bags as suitable units of measurement) qualities of spirit, passion, grit, determination and, less notably, "talking".

Talking is easy. Not talking enough is generally agreed in Sunday league to be highly counter-productive. Players are urged before kick-off for "lots of talking", especially "back there". Not talking is an accusation that can only be levelled at a whole team (or at least its rearguard), rather than an individual (unless it is the captain, who must shout indiscriminately for ninety minutes, for that is his job.)

To avoid this indictment, a lexicon of largely useless phrases has emerged, which can be called upon whenever it is necessary to fill a period of relative silence. Everyone knows them, everyone understands what they are vaguely supposed to mean, and almost nobody questions them. Now, clichéd as they are, many bellowed phrases you hear on a football pitch - "Man on!", "Out we go!", etc - are useful instructions. Nothing wrong with those. The following set of on-pitch rallying cries, however, must not escape scrutiny:

1. "We've Gone Quiet"

Going quiet, as highlighted earlier, is the sign of a malfunctioning team. No-one is talking, which means we all might as well go home. A period of notable quietness is ended only when the captain draws everyone's attention to it: "Come on lads, we've gone quiet!". It can, at the shouter's discretion, be bookended with "...haven't we?", to offer the illusion of a debate where one is really not available.

Apart from functioning to actually end the quietness, this is accepted as an open invitation to call upon phrases 2-8 in this list.

2. "Straight In"

A staple instruction that can be used only at a very specific moment - namely, the opponents kicking off the game. "Run after the ball!", it demands, "Chase it when they kick it backwards!". Only the strikers need to, of course, and the moment quickly passes. Getting "straight in" is not a continuous requirement, but merely an opening gesture of intent, which is guaranteed to be unfulfilled.

Often accompanied by a mindless, yet somehow entirely appropriate-feeling, clap of the hands.

3. "Two On The Edge"

When a corner is awarded, it is everyone's job to pick up their man. One player has the added task of spotting a particular discrepancy in this complex marking system, in that there are two unattended opponents lumbering into the penalty area. In extreme circumstances, there may be "three on the edge" - an unthinkable catastrophe which is met with a suitably incredulous cry of "I've got three here!". The lack of concentration may be down to the defence's preoccupation with the big man, the tall (i.e. lanky) opposing centre-back/estate agent, who has arrived with a look of great purpose from the back.

4. "All Day"

An utterly irritating phrase (specifically designed to be so) used by smug opponents to declare your attacking efforts as weak and unlikely to succeed even if repeated. Often said twice in quick succession - as a speculative effort flies high, wide and [not at all] handsome - to compound the humiliation.

5. "It's Still 0-0"

Football is an overwhelmingly childish pursuit. Much of football supporting is based on schadenfreude and suffering the taunts, in return, when your own team is humbled.

To combat this threat, some employ an overly defensive stance, hoping that an audible absence of pride will pre-empt any possible fall. And so, if a Sunday team races into an early lead, one stern-faced, armband-toting try-hard will attempt to construct a parallel universe in which the game is, in fact, goalless. The job is not done, he says, a point he may return to when the final score is 7-4 or something similarly amateur.

6. "Box 'Em In!"

A cult classic, in my eyes. Satisfies two fundamental criteria: 1) A laughable attempt at tactical insight, and 2) Exclaimed almost instinctively, EVERY SINGLE TIME. The ball goes out for an opposition throw-in, deep in their final third, and it is universally accepted that they do not have the adequate technical skills (or simply the upper-body strength) to play/hurl their way to safety.

7. "[Shirt Colour] Head on This!"

Possibly the most pointless one of all. For the uninitiated, this cryptic command is for your teammates to meet an imminent opposition hoof with their head before the other lot can. No accuracy is required but congratulations are available for heading it really, really hard, straight back where it came from. "WELL UP!" you are told, with your name declared in full if the game is particularly tense. More forward-thinking Sunday league players concern themselves with the second ball, which is often simply another header. Third balls remain an untapped, bewildering resource, possibly due to Chaos Theory.

8. "Away!"

Loosely translated as "Now look here, teammate - I neither want nor trust you to play your way out of trouble. Please dispose of the ball as quickly and as far away as possible." Failure to do as directed leaves one open to castigation for "fannying about with it there". Professional footballers, it should be noted, do not officially fanny about but simply dally, hesitate or dwell on the ball.

Meanwhile, back on recreation grounds up and down the country, players might be allowed to fanny about if they are deemed to have an adequate amount of:

9. "Time!"

The ball drops from the air and a player finds himself in acres of space. Pointing this out to him might seem a good idea. It'll calm him down, allow him to get his head up and play a pass, rather than treat the ball like an unpinned grenade.

However, when ten other players scream "Time! Time!" in unison, it tends to have quite the opposite effect. The futility of the situation is laid bare when, after relinquishing possession easily, the player is offered a final, withering, retrospective observation.

"You had time."

10. "Where Was The Shout?"

The ultimate act of Sunday League buck-passing. A player is unceremoniously dispossessed from behind, to howls of derision from his teammates. Accompanied by a despairing flap of the arms, the player begs of his colleagues: "Where was the shout?"

There wasn't one.

Because they've gone quiet, haven't they?

Adam.
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The Eleventh Hour.

2008-02-01T10:08:00.000Z

Yesterday saw the the transfer window slam shut and with it a cluster of clichés get trotted out. Players all over the country failed to do their ties up properly and practised their best “I didn’t want to leave XYZ but as soon as I heard ABC were in for me, it was an easy decision” rubbish. The loan system was put to good use, with a number of teams sending out their 17-year-olds for valuable first team experience to prepare them for the next twenty years of really needing first team football at this stage of their careers.

Sky Sports News get terribly excited on days such as this, with actual things happening that they can report on rather than endlessly looping mildly controversial incidents from four days ago. However, it was still not quite enough to prevent them from stating on their news ticker:

BREAKING NEWS: HARRY REDKNAPP THINKS JERMAIN DEFOE WILL BE A GOOD SIGNING

Well, fancy that - a manager trying to sign a player he thinks will do well. Although, this being Harry Redknapp, [this part of the sentence has been censored to ensure that Mr. Redknapp will still talk to us rather than have Tony Adams taking four hours to finish an interview].

Portsmouth signing Jermaine Defoe produced one of the finest examples of how ingrained the cliché has become in the discourse of modern football, giving rise to the first of an occasional series entitled Nonsensical Cliché of the Week.

“It’s a great opportunity to play football…”

Good start to the sentence there, a slight variation on the “at this stage of my career” theme.

“…I just want to play for Portsmouth and score as many goals as I can this season…”

Second point well made, you would think. Fans of Portsmouth must be pleased that their new £7 million striker plans to score as many goals as he can, because that, after all, is what he is there for.

However, as we are about to see, something goes off in Defoe’s mind - a flicker of recognition of a lesson he had in “Media Training” at Charlton Athletic's academy, possibly called “Lies to Tell Towards The End of Interviews“

"…but what’s important is the three points.”

This obvious lie, developed at the Shearer Institute for Inane Comments, was designed to perpetuate the myth that strikers aren’t selfish and don’t really care about scoring.

So deeply ingrained is this in the minds of footballer that they trot it out even when, as in Defoe's case, there aren’t even any specific three points at stake – unless of course their new signing expects Portsmouth to gain a mere 3 more points between now and May.

Now that would be interesting.

Coxie.

A Cluster of Clichés

2008-01-29T14:45:00.000Z

The animal world enjoys an innumerable complement of collective nouns, ranging from the wonderfully alliterative to the impenetrably obscure. You may not be surprised to learn that football has quite a few of its own.

For reasons of sensationalism, laziness, inaccuracy or diversity, football coverage has demanded that a selection of collective nouns be made available, to be drawn from whenever appropriate. The list covers all aspects of the game, and leaves us in no doubt (despite the lack of cold, hard numbers) of the plurality of the objects or subjects in question:

Raft of substitutions - The sole domain of meaningless international friendlies, where the second half becomes fragmented by the experimentation of both managers, seeking to give debuts to one-cap wonders. Games are also seen to lose their shape and tempo.

Host of opportunities - Hosts tend to be fairly negative-sounding collections, consisting of missed opportunities or absentees from the first team.

String of chances - Chances can come in strings, as can a goalkeeper's saves or a player's impressive performances. Deviating slightly from the grammatical theme, teams will also aim to string some wins together.

Brace - A pair of goals, although simply the word "brace" is sufficient, as nothing else football-related arrives in the form of a brace. Braces are often quickfire in nature, and often leave the scorer vulnerable to be substituted before he can complete his hat-trick.

Flurry of yellow cards - Card-happy referees can sometimes end a barren first half-hour or so by unleashing a flurry of yellow cards in quick succession. They will often seek to justify this sudden outburst of disciplinarianism by pointing out various areas of the pitch to bemused perpetrators of persistent fouling.

Hatful of chances - A more flagrant exaggeration, used to ridicule the overpriced striker that has missed these chances, some of which may have been gilt-edged. One of the more imprecise units of measurement in football, as there seems to be no official confirmation regarding the volume of an average hat.

Run of victories - Similar to a string of wins, but tends to be more smoothly and less desperately achieved. High-flying sides aim to embark on an amazing run of victories as they march towards the title.

Array of talent - Most commonly found at major tournaments, but can also arrive on a club's youthful conveyor belt.

Mass of bodies - Generally found at the centre of an almighty penalty-area scramble, a mass of bodies can be the reason for a statuesque goalkeeper being unsighted, as a strike from all of 30 yards flies past him.

Embarrassment of riches - To further emphasise the options a manager has at his disposal, the cumulative international caps and transfer fees of his substitutes are often stated to illustrate his embarrassment of riches. The Big Four, for example, are not averse to turning to the millions of pounds' worth of talent sitting on the bench to spare their blushes in a Carling Cup tie.

Galaxy of stars - A rather naff alternative to the rather more understated array of talent, a galaxy of stars is often presented in contrast to the part-time bunch of journeymen they may be facing in a fairytale FA Cup tie.

Glut of goals - A goal glut can occur in a specific competition, particularly a weekend of league fixtures in a certain division. We will be told how many goals flew in in the dozen or so matches, leaving us to do the maths ourselves to decide if that is actually impressive or not.

Catalogue of errors - The media are always on hand to collate previous errors by an individual, if they sense that a catalogue of errors is emerging. Alternatively, unfortunate players may wish to browse a catalogue of injuries.

Series of high-profile gaffes - A more focused and specific offshoot of the catalogue of errors, a series of high-profile gaffes tends to be more easily attributed to goalkeepers, as the likes of Paul Robinson, David James and Fabien Barthez have all found to their cost in recent years. The series of high-profile gaffes becomes so because Sky Sports News insist in endlessly looping footage of its contents. The result for the victim is often the axe.

Swarm of [insert colour here] shirts - Sides that like to get the ball down and play have an equally established dislike of being denied space. The gameplan of their successful opponents may have been to close them down, snap at their heels and ultimately squeeze the game. Commentators will note the swarm of opposition shirts that descend upon a player if he happens to find time on the ball.

Adam.

Mansfield v Middlesbrough: A Case Study of Cliché

2008-01-26T13:20:00.000Z

Some casual, unstructured observations from today's FA Cup game between Mansfield Town and Middlesbrough, live on the BBC. I'll try and avoid addressing the usual Cup clichés, as that would, in turn, be an act of cliché in itself:

2 mins - Martin Keown, today's co-commentator, contends that the "swirling wind" will be a problem for the Midlesbrough defence. Therefore, watch out for a plucky Mansfield defender getting caught out by the swirling wind at some point.

5 mins - BBC coverage of a lower-league side hosting an FA Cup match is not complete without some young scamps (probably on the Beeb playroll for the afternoon) clambering up a tree outside the ground. This will, whatever its position, be described by the tradition-struck commentator as "the best seat in the house".

7 mins - David Wheater, apparently, has impressed this season. Why? The young, English, homegrown local lad has scored FOUR goals this season, making him the club's joint-top scorer. Oh, right. He can't manage to stop his side conceding to drag them away from the dropzone, but he has scored 4 goals. That's what he's in the side for, obviously.

This is typical. No defending can really catch the eye of any pundits, but a couple of goals will always be conspicuous for a defender. Furthermore, as soon as one media outlet describes him as "having an outstanding season", others will blindly follow.

My advice to any young defender would be to go up for a few corners. Get lucky at some set-pieces, and the media will be all over you.

17 mins - In a massive turn-up for the books, Mansfield's bright start has been followed by a straightforward Middlesbrough goal, caused by the Mansfield defence getting caught out by the swirling wind. The opener is "barely deserved", of course, because Mansfield have had a couple of corners at the other end.

25 mins - Robert Huth is booked for clearing the ball and following through on Michael Boulding's midriff. Cue horrified yelps from the commentators, convinced that a red card should have been issued. You wonder, if a Mansfield player had done the same, if the incident would have been dismissed as "clumsy". But no, Huth's foot "cut Michael Boulding in two".

47 mins - The second half begins with another bright start by Mansfield. A couple of corners brings about an "air of belief" at Field Mill.

60 mins - Mansfield embark on a "magnificent spell" of two corners and zero shots on goal.

73 mins - Martin Keown shares a joke with the commentator about the size of the latter's car. The nation can breathe a sigh of relief as it collectively ticks the box marked "Self-Deprecatory Joke between Commentators".

81 mins - Gareth Southgate demonstrates the modern skill common amongst aspirational, young English managers - standing up from the bench and clapping earnestly towards one or more of his players.

84 mins - A Mansfield defender commits an "understandable" foul, to go with the home side's "unfortunate" individual errors and under-hit set-pieces, which have been "a shame".

86 mins - Mansfield score an own-goal. "Cruel".

Adam.

Between the Axe and the Unveiling, Speculation Doth Mount.

2008-01-17T23:19:00.000Z

Until Kevin Keegan's clearly absurd appointment yesterday, Sky Sports News had dedicated itself to Newcastle's continued search for a depressingly and inevitably short-lived replacement for the previous depressingly short-lived incumbent. Managers up and down the country (Harry Redknapp, Mark Hughes, and, erm, Roberto Martinez), an effectively-retired manager who wouldn't be able to handle it (Keegan) and the vastly inexperienced man who seemed to be simultaneously both the ideal and the utterly disastrous choice (Alan Shearer) all faced the monotonous media barrage of speculation and rumour over their respective futures.

The texts and emails into the studio (who bothers to do this? Why?!) were dominated by Newcastle fans clamouring for a dual appointment of Shearer and Keegan, on the basis that they "are Newcastle through and through", and so on. The ongoing myth that Newcastle fans are more passionate than any other set of supporters (they do, apparently, love their football in those parts) and therefore "deserve success" is, of course, preposterous. But not preposterous enough to avoid being repeated mindlessly by the Football Focus and Soccer Saturday regulars.

The rapidly increasing frequency of managerial axeings (combined with the rapidly decreasing levels of patience of club owners) means football fans should be well-versed in the manager's art of facing mounting speculation. The various candidates, earmarked by the media as potential suitors for the veritably toxic chalice that is the St James' Park hotseat, provided the full range of nauseatingly generic responses to growing reports. The Angle... has collated these pathetic, regurgitated attempts to fob off the media and presents the:

Fig 1.0 - The Sky Sports News Speculatrum

The Speculatrum is by no means intended to be used as a indication of the likelihood of any end result from a certain level of speculation, but as simply a guide to the various methods that a manager can employ to deal with the nosey Sky Sports News reporter camped outside the gates of his home or training ground.

The Speculatrum ranges from the most solid rebuttal of media rumours (the upper red region) to the most flimsy wafting away of the mounting reports (yellow/green), before eventually reaching the stage where the candidate in question is reported to be "mulling over" an offer from the desperate club.
Ruled himself out - In theory at least, this is the most unequivocal response to media speculation. Gerard Houllier was among those who effectively ruled themselves out of the running for the Newcastle job.

Poured scorn on speculation - A delightful turn of phrase. The act of scorn-pouring can be performed not only by managers linked to a position, but also the chairmen of the clubs involved. Interestingly, Newcastle poured scorn on reports that Sam Allardyce only had six games to save his job.

Called for an end to speculation - A good indication that the manager in question is getting distinctly sick and tired of the media whispers regarding his future. Recently, Rafael Benitez desperately called for an end to speculation that he was to leave Liverpool. This, as with any other example of this request, will be universally ignored.

Scotched rumours - To scotch, the dictionary says, is to "bring an abrupt end to" something. Useful for nipping in the bud more unlikely rumours like, say, Kevin Keegan coming out of the managerial wilderness to rejoin Newcastle.
Quashed rumours - A similar act to scotching, although this one is apparently borrowed from media coverage of the legal system.

Dismissed reports - A club or organisation may take it upon themselves to further echo a manager's negative reaction to speculation by dismissing reports. The French FA were quick to dismiss reports that Houllier was bound for the St James' Park hotseat.

Rubbished reports - Clearly a more suitably casual rebuttal to more outlandish rumours. Such rumours will also be referred to as "utter nonsense" or "pure fantasy".
Quelled speculation - Reserved for more negative speculation. Clubs may need to quell fears that a player may miss the rest of the season with an injury.

Laughed off rumours - Rumours of audacious or cheeky bids can be easily laughed off in jovial press conferences.

Flattered by speculation - Used either to patronise the interest from a club which the manager would never dream of stopping low enough to join or, conversely, to acknowledge rumours linking them with a club they wouldn't have a cat in hell's chance of being considered by. Swansea's Roberto Martinez fell firmly into the latter camp when he talked of how flattering it was to be linked with the Newcastle job.

Distanced themselves from speculation - It is at this point we begin to move into the murky realms of non-committal. When a manager distances himself from speculation linking him with a move to another club, it means he is simultaneously - and stealthily - issuing a hands-off warning and a come-and-get-me plea to the managerless club.

You may interpret the following quote from Mark Hughes, regarding the recent Newcastle vacancy, as a perfect example of this particularly flexible reaction to speculation:

"I have not spoken to anyone from Newcastle, I spoke to my chairman last night
and he has had no contact, and I don’t think there will be any contact.

Not "commenting on something that has nothing to do with" them - An old classic, which is becoming less and less trusted with every transfer saga or managerial axe. Knowing that they have now sown the seeds, possibly by the facade of distancing themselves from speculation, the manager can now put his innocent face on and refuse to "comment on something that has nothing to do with" him. Mark Hughes tried this trick as well.

Alternatively, managers may attempt to avoid talking directly about the vacancy by mumbling something about not wanting to comment on "hypothetical situations". Yep, Mark Hughes had a crack at this one, too...

Refused to rule himself out - Edging closer to a tacit admission of interest in the job of the moment, a manager will now refuse to rule himself out of the running. This is usually accompanied with one of those eternally infuriating get-out clauses that only football could produce - asserting that, "in football, you never say never". Quite why the likes of Geoff Shreeves cannot manoeuvre their pre- or post-match interview technique around this clumsy attempt at coyness is beyond logic.

Refused to confirm or deny reports - The final pretence. At this point, managers can go rather quiet, leaving Sky Sports News to feed on a five-second video loop of them leaving the training ground and waving at the camera as they speed off. Newspapers rest assured that their scattergun approach is no longer required, so they can stop tapping up not-at-all-imaginary close pals, insiders and club sources.

Fuelled speculation - A manager can fuel speculation simply by entering any retail premises in the surrounding area of a club searching for a new manager, sparking whispers on internet forums that David O'Leary has been spotted in a Middlesbrough branch of Foxtons or that

Sam Allardyce has been seen devouring a sandwich in a motorway service station in the rough vicinity of the Reebok Stadium.

Thrown hat into the ring - It is routinely the task for the interim caretaker manager to take it upon himself to unconvincingly throw his hat into the ring for the vacant spot. Usually thrust into the spotlight temporarily, after bravely stepping out of the shadows of their role as No. 2, the caretaker manager never has any real chance of being offered the job - especially after a couple of capitulations in their few games in charge. These are conveniently forgotten when the new, proper manager takes over.

Finally, the candidate that flirted with the mounting speculation all along is chosen, and they are reported to be mulling over an offer. A brief period of mulling is sufficient before they are unveiled and paraded in front of their expectant new fans. Talk of funds being made available - possibly enough to fill a warchest - ensues, but the supporters should no longer expect him to hit the ground running in his first game in charge. The cruel Gods of football fate cottoned on to this trick a while ago, after Premiership chairmen started firing managers every other week in the hope that the replacements would automatically win their first game in charge. A 1-1 draw is generally considered acceptable nowadays, particularly for a side that can sit back and relax in its new status as a side in transition.

Being in transition is effectively the pure football equivalent of going into administration - you can kiss goodbye to around 10 points straight away, but it gives you a bit of breathing space.

Until, that is, the mutually-consentual axe falls once more.

Adam.

The Managerial Merry-Go-Round: Winter 2007 Edition

2007-11-09T17:00:00.000Z

As chairmen up and down the country succumb to peer pressure and begin sacking their managers, the Managerial Merry-Go-Round (MMGR) steps up a gear. Far enough into the season for clubs to have had a "disappointing run of results", yet early enough for supremos to "act now, in the best interests of the football club", we are in prime hunting season. Unemployed managers with patchy CVs are placed on red alert as vacancies appear at struggling clubs, while desperate chairmen draw up shortlists to find "the right man" for the second time in six months. Meanwhile, bookmakers close their betting as speculation mounts over possible replacements.

The Angle... presents the third edition of the MMGR:

David O'Leary - Arguably now the new holder of George Graham's former position as chief resident of the MMGR, O'Leary is now sniffing around the Republic of Ireland job. With the requirements of an international manager even more of a mystery than a club boss, O'Leary stands a very good chance.

Stuart Pearce - Currently occupying the most cushty of managerial positions - England Under-21s, where it's all about the performance, not the result and where absolutely nobody cares if they win or not. May well eventually be selected as the right man at a struggling Premier League club who need an injection of fighting spirit, grit and determination.

Paul Jewell - Having taken a break for several months, Jewell is presumably now itching to get back into the game. Now being linked with a return to Wigan, which would contravene an unwritten rule of football - never go back.

Chris Coleman - Fairly likely to be quietly ushered out of the historically revolving door at Real Sociedad when he fails to gain promotion back to La Liga, Coleman will return to these shores with his managerial reputation inexplicably replenished. The pitiful number of British players and managers plying their trade on the Continent means that those who do are immediately assumed to be far more talented than they are, regardless of how utterly average they may have been in the first place.

Steve Cotterill - A classic example of a tough-talking young English manager who has turned out to be a complete no-mark. After not proving himself in the slightest at Stoke City and hilariously failing to keep Sunderland afloat in the Premiership alongside Howard Wilkinson in 2003, Cotterill recently left Burnley by mutual consent. Will hopefully be bringing his brand of overeager touchline finger-pointing to a lower division side in his next role.

Graeme Souness - Having rapidly lost his only managerial quality - pure terror - Souness may have to make do with becoming the new George Graham for football broadcasting purposes, only without the successful managerial career behind him. Will quite simply not succeed in any managerial position he happens to land. Also perhaps O'Leary's main challenger for MMGR longevity in the future.

Martin Jol - The amiable Dutchman will find it very difficult to shake off his reputation as quite a nice bloke who suffered the ruthless axe from his previous club, despite being popular with most football fans. Jol is quite clearly, therefore, the new Claudio Ranieri.

Gary Megson - The Angle... try our best to keep up to date. To help us achieve this, we occasionally take the plunge and bravely assume some things are probably going to happen anyway. This is not one of those occasions, however, as we are actually quite certain of Megson's future demise at Bolton. The MMGR may as well have a seat made with Megson's face depicted on the front, especially for him. Doomed.

Martin Allen - Another young English manager who appears to be allowed to prioritise humorous interview quips over actual managerial prowess (see also Holloway, Ian), Allen undid any supposedly promising work at Brentford and MK Dons by getting himself employed by Leicester City.

Peter Reid - Considered in the last edition to be disappearing from view, Reid seemingly wants to supplement the wages Leeds United are probably still paying him - although the only signs of his potential return are being linked to the Leicester job, reportedly part of an enticing shortlist alongside Graeme Souness and fellow MMGR veteran Joe Royle. Speaking of whom...

Joe Royle - Last seen dusting down his copy of The Idiot's Guide to a Relegation Battle in preparation for his interview with Milan Mandaric at the Walkers Stadium.

Chris Hutchings/Sammy Lee - Those pesky No. 2s just won't give up, will they? Before reverting to their natural role as conemen, these two will get one more bite at the managerial cherry - possibly at a Championship club that is allegedly geared towards Premier League football.

John Gregory - Ah, yes. Not quite ready to untuck those tracksuit bottoms from his socks just yet, Gregory will surely attempt to gain employment at yet another club he visited during his journeyman playing career. In which case, that list now leaves Northampton Town or Brighton to be ticked off/left to pick up the pieces. On the other hand, perhaps Gregory has realised that being a former fans' favourite means bugger all when you try and inflict your managership upon them.

The MMGR rolls on...

Adam.

Qualified Failure

2007-10-18T08:54:00.000Z

As the qualifying campaigns for Euro 2008 come to an end, the media like to keep us updated with the Home Nations' chances of reaching the tournament. Apart from the endless permutations of the final games, a select set of phrases are usually sufficient to leave the fans in no doubt. As always on The Angle..., they tend to fall into a convenient scientific model.

Fig 1.0 - Graph displaying the rather unsurprising correlation between qualification hopes and international managers' futures.

Miss Out
There are no easy games in international football, of course, so any slip-ups can result in a team missing out on a major tournament ("for the first time since....", etc). According to football media, there are only two places a footballer is allowed to be during the summer of a World Cup or European Championships year - either at the tournament, or on a beach somewhere.

All but out Needing your closest qualification rivals to lose 4-0 to San Marino while you must come from 1-0 down at half-time in Ukraine means your country is all but out. Technically correct, admittedly, but why beat about the bush? You're out.

Mathematical chance
Also often used for relegation-threatened sides, the mathematical chance heralds the final nail being fetched for the qualification coffin.

Need a miracle
Miracles can happen, of course - that's football - but needing three goals in the last 10 minutes is a bridge too far.

Hang by a thread
Wales' qualification hopes seem to constantly hang by a thread, even before the groups are drawn. Very similar to the mid-match scenario of being in last-chance saloon, hanging by a thread merely prolongs the agony.

In/Out of their hands
Whether a team's hopes are in or out of their hands is vital. If it is still in their hands, they "know what we have to do." If they depend on results elsewhere, they "have just got to go out there and do our job".

Need a favour
Much, much more likely than a miracle, a favour is required when qualification hopes are out of your hands. Pre-match, the team in question is likely to ignore any talk of doing another team a favour.

Hang in the balance
If a team's qualification hopes hang in the balance, all sorts of permutations can affect them. At this point, managers will look to important international double-headers to make or break their qualification campaign.

All but qualified
Teams that have all but qualified usually just need a draw in their final game, at home to the group's minnows, to rubberstamp their entry. There may be a mathematical possibility of them failing, but that's all it is.

Booked their ticket
Also known as sealing their passage, teams can book their ticket to the host nation(s) by securing qualification, especially with ease or by cruising through.

The Angle... suggest that Steve McClaren's qualification hopes currently hang by a thread, putting his Axe Probability figure at around 78%.

Good.

Adam.

Suits You, Sir

2007-10-04T14:09:00.000Z

If clothes maketh the man, what sayeth the pitchside attire about the manager? The Angle... believes that what a manager wears speaks volumes for the aspirations of the club whose fortunes they are seeking to turn around.

As always, The Angle... is on hand with a guide to pitchside attire:

The Tracksuit Manager

If you peer through the gloom and driving rain to the touchline, to see if there is any activity down on the bench to liven up the drab proceedings, and you see your manager wearing a sweatshirt with his initials emblazoned in the corner, I have some bad news. For, whatever the hopes and aspirations the manager set out at the beginning of the year, your team are just going to fall short.

Presumably, in a bid to be one of the boys and hold on to the past, the tracksuit wearer will try and make up for his lack of ability by becoming animated on the sideline. Sadly, the players they have bought and the tactics they employ won’t quite be good enough to make the next step.

Being a tracksuit manager is also rather thirsty work. More often than not, you will see them pacing over to the perimeter of their technical areas to clasp a Lucozade sports bottle, take an almighty swig, before placing it carefully back.

Models: David Moyes, Martin O'Neill, Martin Jol, Alan Pardew, Stuart Pearce, Iain Dowie.

The Cheap Suit

A manager in a bad suit can only mean one thing - a relegation dogfight. Favoured by natural tracksuit-wearers from the lower divisions who have been promoted to the top flight, the bad suit betrays two revealing emotions. The first is an absolute desperation to be taken seriously, in the belief that a TopMan suit, a big knotted tie and a determined look is all that is missing from his squad that was playing in the lower reaches of the Championship about 18 months previously. The second is that, despite the determined expression, he isn’t quite confident enough to go and buy an expensive number, as he will more than likely be on the dole come March. If he is lucky enough to stay up, he is also lucky that he is not David Pleat and will not be wearing the worst suit ever made as he goes scampering across the pitch to celebrate his Great Escape.

Models: Paul Sturrock, Paul Jewell, Aidy Boothroyd, Billy Davies

The Expensive Suit

The new breed of young British managers are from the Sky-sponsored, 20-grand-a-week, post-1992 era. This means that they have plenty of well-cut, expensive suits ready to wear in yet another vain bid to be taken seriously. Graeme Souness appeared in Boys from The Blackstuff in the trademark Scouse shiny grey suit, with sleeves rolled out. Two years in Genoa, however, and he came back with a knowledge of fine materials, tan shoes and a new, younger wife. Sadly he also signed Ali Dia - and therein lies the rub. They suffer from the belief that dressing like Capello makes you as good as him. It doesn’t.

Models: Gareth Southgate, David Platt, Chris Coleman, Roy Keane, Graeme Souness

Club Blazer, Club Tie

This is the uniform that all supporters should look for when demanding a new manager. These men have experience, quality and silverware to their name. We’re thinking Ferguson, Benitez, Wenger, Graham and erm, Walter Smith. Unfortunately, the rule that governs all football - thou must always do as others have done before thee - mean that this is becoming a disguise for managers whose natural habitat is either the bad suit or the tracksuit. However, The Angle... isn’t fooled, as we know who you are...

Models: Sam Allardyce, Neil Warnock, Mark Hughes, Lawrie McMenemy

Coxie.

Anger Management

2007-09-27T09:30:00.000Z

The pressures of top-flight football, combined with the sensationalist media that cover it, mean that managers' tempers can boil over at any point - and the increasing frequency of outbursts has led to a healthy vernacular in football circles. Be it anger directed towards an official, the establishment, an opponent, or even their own club, managers' vitriolic flurries are reported in the same predictable way as anything else.

The varying degrees of such displays of discontent can be displayed in the Anger Severity Scale (ASS), pictured below.

Fig 1.0 - Anger Severity Scale (ASS) - Click to enlarge

Bemoan - A fairly victimless rant. Managers tend to bemoan their bad luck, be it in front of goal or with 50/50 decisions - although referees are spared direct criticism.

Mark McGhee bemoans his side's poor finishing.

Sideswipe - A brief, often sarcastic, comment made in a press conference, usually to the detriment of another team or individual. This is lapped up by the gathered hacks, who rub their hands with glee at another ready-made headline. The effect of a sidewipe is usually minimal and short-lived, although it can, on occasion, be the catalyst for a war of words.

Roy Keane aims a sideswipe at divers in 2005

Responded Angrily To... - As managers point out, speculation is part and parcel of the game. Sometimes though, the rumour-mongers succeed in riling a manager to the point where they feel compelled to respond angrily to reports over their future. It's usually an overreaction - they are far better advised to laugh off, dismiss, or quash speculation instead.

Newcastle respond angrily to Emre speculation

Branded - It is at this point on the Anger Severity Scale that things become slightly more venomous. The soapbox of the post-match interview is used to bring the reputation of an opponent into question. Branding is usually inflicted upon gravitationally-challenged opposing forwards, who run the siginificant risk of being branded a "diver", or even branded a "cheat".

Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink branded a "diver"

Parting Shot - Departing managers or players, especially in acrimonious circumstances, are likely to fire a rather bitchy parting shot. Sounding rather like a childish "didn't like your stupid club anyway!" when relations have turned sour, it also functions as a way of ingratiating themselves with their new employers and fans.

George Weah fires a parting shot at Manchester City in 2000

Hit Out - An angrier cousin of the act of bemoaning, hitting out tends to be directed towards a general topic - such as the influx of foreign players to the Premiership, for example. More specific targets can include FIFA's clown-in-chief Sepp Blatter, PFA chairman Gordon Taylor or rule-changing UEFA upstart Michel Platini.

The FA hits out at FIFA over World Cup 2006 tickets

Tirade - Included higher up on the ASS than you might expect. What the tirade lacks in explosiveness, it more than makes up for in length and despair. A manager, who feels he has been at the wrong end of one too many controversial refereeing decisions, may embark on/launch a furious tirade on the general standard of officiating. A tirade is always limited to general topics.

Roy Keane launches tirade on "WAG culture"

War of Words - A war of words can have several causes. It could be instigated by a sideswipe, a parting shot or a branding. The newspapers adore a good war of words, as it can stretch a very minor story over an entire week. Other elements of a war of words are expanded upon later.

Mourinho and Benitez in war of words

Haranguing - Very possibly now included in the official Laws of the Game as a specific offence, haranguing the referee is an issue that can rear its ugly head at any time. Pioneered by Manchester United's ravenous pursuit of Andy D'Urso a few years ago , it has been adopted by teams up and down the land. There is no official confirmation as to how many players are required for haranguing to occur, but The Angle... would suggest that a minimum of three protesting players would suffice.

Portugal pay price for haranguing referee

Fumed - Similar to a tirade, although shorter and more likely to be targeted at an individual (usually a referee or linesman)

Alex Ferguson fumes

Stinging Rebuke - Another important component of the war of words. The stinging rebuke often has highly moralistic overtones, but is mainly designed to re-open a war of words, or to reignite/fuel a feud.

Dave Kitson receives stinging rebuke from Ruud Gullit

Volley of Abuse - Shower of spittle optional, the volley of abuse has been mastered by Wayne Rooney. Littered with four-letter words, the volley of abuse is arguably the most severe on-pitch display of discontent.

"Wayne Rooney" and "volley of abuse" appear in same sentence!

Attack - Invariably "launched", attacks are as versatile as they are effective. This is reflected in the three sub-divisions of attack, which are highlighted further down. A bog-standard, basic-model attack occurs when a manager is far too angry to bemoan anything, and wants to make his point quicker than a tirade will allow him to.

As pointed out by our Norwegian correspondent Kris Wendelborg, attacks can also be thinly-veiled. Thinly-veiled attacks are, of course, more stealthy in nature than standard attacks, and require a bit more spin from the newspapers in order to initiate a war of words. Managers operating on a shoestring budget may wish to recycle the veil - used to unveil them when they were first appointed - to launch a thinly-veiled attack, although there is no current authority on the degrees of veil thickness in football.

Scathing/Blistering Attack - The first two rather more volatile forms of attack are the scathing and blistering attacks. A scathing attack is more useful for angry disapproval of the behaviour of an individual or organisation. A player may face a scathing attack from an opposing manager if he is branded a "diver", while the FA may well suffer the same fate because of their shambolic procedures.

A blistering attack marks the first point on the ASS where a distinct loss of control from the angry party can be identified. Its recklessness, coupled with the notable disregard for the implications of the attack, makes it a suitable bedfellow for the parting shot. Blistering attacks are a popular weapon of choice for bitter departing players, who may wish to blame their flopping on their former manager and his training methods.

Robbie Savage launches blistering attack on John Toshack

Slam - The most severe form of condemnation an individual can receive. Short, sharp and to-the-point, a slam leaves the media in no uncertainty. As with many components of the ASS, the slam's effect benefits from the violent connotation of the word.

SFA chief slams Mikoliunas "dive"

Blast - The last commonly-occurring element of the ASS, blasts are likely to appear on a weekly basis. Similar to the slam in many ways, but the implication is there is a significantly lower level of restraint.

Fans blast lack of Saturday games

Lambast - Nobody ever lambasts anyone outside of football. Your mother never lambasted you for not wiping your feet before you went in the house, your Maths teacher never lambasted you for chatting at the back, and your girlfriend never lambasts you for not giving her enough attention. Much like "lacksadaisical" or "derisory", you can guarantee that the average football fan is only aware of this word through football coverage. In fact, given that it also only ever crops up in print, no-one is even really sure how to pronounce it (is it "lamBAST", "lamBAYST" or "lamBARST"?!)

Nonetheless, if a lambasting takes place, then it is surely in response to a heinous misdemeanour.

Dennis Wise lambasts wantaway midfielder

Vitriolic Outburst - Effectively the equivalent of a volley of abuse, but in earshot of the media. Vitriolic outbursts are, alas, not often caught by cameras but can appear "exclusively" in The Sun or the News of the World. Axed managers or frozen-out players are most likely to have a vitriolic outburst.

Astonishing Attack - The pinnacle of football anger. While football media coverage is awash with superlatives, there are a select few adjectives that are still used suitably sparingly. "Horrific" injuries are almost always so, for example. Astonishing attacks befit their name - they can be directed at unexpected targets at any time. The standard example would be a manager or chairman launching an astonishing attack on his own club's fans, but other instances have had the potential to shock.

Mike Newell launches as astonishing attack

Yours in anger,

Adam.

The Footballer's Timeline

2007-09-06T12:47:00.000Z

Players' ages are seemingly more significant than ever before. Be it a starlet or a stalwart, a player can be defined heavily by his age. As a result, there are more than a few cliches that can be identified and thet are brought together here in the Footballer's Timeline:

3 - started kicking a ball
13 - playing for Under-15s local side, possibly Wallsend Boys Club, despite being two years younger
14 - Rejected by professional club for being "too small"
17 years and 113 days - Becomes club's youngest ever player, when he makes debut, as substitute, in the Carling Cup.
17 years and 117 days - Becomes club's youngest ever League player, when he makes debut, as substitute.
17 years and 123 days - Becomes club's youngest ever goalscorer. Even if goal is tap-in, player will instantly become one to watch.
18 - signs 5-year contract. called up by Under-21s.
19 - England debut. Fears of burnout are raised in the media.
20 - Three points on driving licence.
20 - Age at which a youngster, having worked his way through the club's Academy, is farmed out on loan to a lower-league club. Although this move is officially sanctioned in order for the player to gain first-team experience, it is in fact a way of preparing the player for the lower-league football they'll face when they are released the following summer, after finding their first-team opportunities limited.
21 - People begin to tend to forget he is still only 21.
22 - A watershed. At this point onwards, a player is allowed to use the phrase "at this stage of my career, I need to be playing first-team football". This stage of his career will, in fact, last about 15 years.
23 - Too old for the Under-21s, and not good enough for the full national side, a player's England B career begins.
28 – the absolute final age possible to be signed from non-league and also the point at which all blokes in the country can officially admit to themselves and their mates that “they’re not going to make it”
28 – also the age when all outfield players are considered to be at their peak.
28 - also the age where chronic injury forces the player to retire from the game at the age of 28. The player did not take this decision lightly, and will miss the matchday buzz, but wants to be able to play football in the garden with his children while he still can
31 - Age at which international retirement is announced, in order to concentrate/focus on club commitments. Such a decision will be credited with adding two or three years on to the player's career
32 – goalkeepers are said to reach their peak
32 – Player is approached to come out of international retirement
33 - Veteran status achieved. Players still at the top level will be labelled "evergreen"
34 – Player reveals that he is taking his coaching badges
35 - Former international player now legally eligible for move to Qatar.
37 - Outfield player's career nears its end, and the player smugly reveals how he is taking each game as it comes and just enjoying it. Others will observe with awe how the player has "looked after himself".
40 – goalkeepers travel the country as emergency cover for teams with a goalie injury crisis. Any move will, of course, be subject to special dispensation.

Adam.

A Journey Into The Unknown

2007-08-13T08:52:00.000Z

Mid-August always sees several of Britain's top clubs have their embryonic league campaigns inconvenienced by the pesky qualifying round of the UEFA Champions League. The third and fourth placed Premier League sides from the previous season, plus whichever two lucky clubs manage to scrap successfully for the top two places in Scotland, are required to navigate this obstacle before they can properly take their places at the top table of European football.

Inevitably, the opponents for this tie (which the big guns probably view as a right pain in the arse, whatever they say about not underestimating the other side) will be from Eastern Europe. Throughout football history, teams from the former Eastern Bloc have been viewed with the traditional suspicion and often awe. The 1980s saw the powerful emergence of crack East European outfits, before the collapse of the Soviet Union and the influx of foreign players to the Premiership, began to significantly (although not entirely) demystify the football culture of the region.

Nowadays, there is a very high probability of drawing a (possibly little-known) East European side in the qualifying rounds of the European competitions. In the Champions League third qualifying round, roughly one-third of the teams are from Eastern Europe. In the UEFA Cup second qualifying round, this representation increases to almost fifty percent.

But enough of the history lesson - books such as those by Jonathan Wilson or Simon Kuper will provide a much more comprehensive account than The Angle... would dare to attempt. Instead, this article's aim is to examine the way that our football teams and media approach such European ties. As always, there is a strict and unbreakable code...

Fig 1.0

The Scale of Difficulty of East European Away Legs (SDEEAL), brought to you exclusively in association with

All of the above adjectives are employed to describe European away matches in Eastern Europe. Awkward (or awkward-looking) matches tend to be against teams from countries without a significant footballing pedigree, and who don't necessarily pose a real footballing threat. However, the perceived awkwardness is understood to stem from the distance that must be travelled to play the game, the state of the opponent's pitch (even if the match is moved to their country's national stadium after "UEFA safety concerns") and the fact that the game will probably be covered on an obscure television channel here in the UK.

What distinguishes potentially tricky ties from simply tricky ties, you ask? Well, ignorance. A potentially tricky trip could be to a relative unknown, or a European debutant - they might provide a stern test, but could just as easily be put to the sword by a straightforward professional performance. Quite simply, the "potentially" part serves as a get-out clause for the media correspondents. Genuinely tricky trips tend to be to better-known opponents, perhaps once-great clubs that have fallen upon rather more modest times. As Coxie pointed out in the previous article, any semblance of a European record back in the day is enough to strike even the slightest bit of fear in a media pundit ahead of a tricky European tie.

Tough ties, at least in the qualifying stages, tend to be the sole domain of the Glasgow clubs. While their English counterparts look far stronger on paper than their opponents (before the SDEEAL model is applied), the Old Firm risk being paired with rather more formidable propositions before they can reach the group stages. Rangers' clash with Crvena Zvezda (yes, we all know who they really are...) was therefore labelled "tough" accordingly.

All clubs will rather avoid having to make a daunting trip at this stage. Such matches take place inside vast concrete bowls that pass as "Olympic" Stadiums, packed to the rafters with a partisan crowd, who generate a hostile atmosphere. Sadly, the modern era of satellite telecommunication denies us the grainy images and muffled commentary that further enhanced the alien unfamiliarity of away matches in Eastern Europe in the 1970s and 80s. Dynamo Kiev used to be the paradigm of daunting trips, but the description now tends to be more sensibly restricted to genuinely daunting footballing opposition such as Barcelona.

However, nothing compares to the away match that nobody wants - Turkey. Although the menace of such journeys peaked with Galatasaray in the 1990s, visiting sides are still given a typically warm Welcome to Hell. Fearsome banners and relentless chanting, all drenched in a generous helping of goat's blood, are separated from the wide-eyed visitors only by a line of Turkish military. All of which is guaranteed to ruffle the feathers of any Premiership tourist, apart from Graeme Souness.

There are signs, however, that the mystique of East European away trips is fading. Teams are hardly flying with Aeroflot and staying in log cabins in Siberia before such matches. Despite the taming of the perceived terror of these away legs, a few cliches remain intact. Teams are still said to to face a journey into the unknown, against teams they no almost nothing about. In fact, managers are surprisingly happy to admit their relative lack of knowledge of their opponents, and that they have relied on DVDs and sending their unfortunate right-hand men to see them in action. The Angle... has no idea why they bother - we can guarantee that the scouting report will inevitably draw attention to the East Europeans being well-drilled, with the ability to run all day.

So, when you're tuning into ITV4 or Channel Five to see your team take on Lokomotiv Chernobyl away, bear our latest offering in mind.

Adam.

The Bluffers Guide to Punditry

2007-08-10T13:43:00.000Z

Yesterday, we brought you a guide to the pundits who will be bringing you the sort of insight only years of playing at the top level supposedly gives you. Of course, being an ex-footballer, a hard week's work would consist of about eight hours of playing a sport you love and getting paid fortunes to do it. As a pundit you will be paid less than you were as a player, so to do more work seems the mark of insanity. Scaling down the pay/work ratio means that our newly appointed pundits will only work in the time they are on the screen. But will this lack of preparation be shown up live in front of the nation? Not if our army of readers includes, as it surely does, luminaries from the professional game.

You pundits should worry no more as, on the eve of the season, The Angle... brings you The Bluffers Guide to Punditry...

The Angle... appreciates that it’s a difficult time to come into punditry. When the Premier League was in its infancy and Richard Keys still wore a Sky Sports corporate blazer, the last truly successful foreign players were widely regarded as the Dutch pair Muhren and Thijssen who played for Ipswich back in the 70s. However, the influx of foreign players meant that no longer would the names be restricted to Smith, Adams and Jones. New, exotic and difficult to pronounce ("rather you than me, John, he he he") names would become widespread.

Things have become even worse with the expansion of European football and the seemingly endless proliferation of Eastern European states. Now, with the UEFA Cup extended to incorporate nearly 5,000 teams, it becomes even more difficult to keep the fact you know little more than Joe Public. First of all, don’t panic - Crvena Zvezda is actually Red Star Belgrade and you certainly have heard of them!

Rule 1: All information is good information. If you do know something about someone featuring in the game, don’t be afraid to blurt it out, even if my nan knows that same bit of information. Which football fan committed enough to watch Copa America games in the middle of the night would not know Julio Baptista spent last season on loan at Arsenal? None, yet this factoid was trotted out continuously in every one of Brazil’s games.

Rule 2: If an obscure team has a player who has been linked, no matter how tenuously, with a move to England, single him out as the danger man. Even if it is the goalkeeper.

Rule 3: If the game is an international, one of the players will surely be familiar to you. Again, pick him out as the main source of danger. This is especially helpful if Brazil have picked a side of largely home-based players but have included a Real Madrid player, isn’t it Trevor Francis? Don’t think we didn’t notice you pick out Robinho out as the man to watch in the Copa America final!

Rule 4: Predictions for the game are largely unaccountable, but to show you know what you’re talking about, make them as non-specific and uncontestable as possible. A good phrase is “I think we can expect a tight opening twenty minutes, before the game opens up in the second half as the players tire” (ie basically the model of nearly every football match ever played).

Finally, Rule 5: If an English team is playing a team you’ve never heard of, the match will automatically set to a minimum difficulty of “tricky”. Never mind that you are unable to name a single player, their manager, or any of their results in the last six months, this simple formula will suffice. We saw this in action last season as Tottenham’s game against Eintracht Frankfurt was labelled “tough” purely on the basis that the German side had played Real Madrid in the final of the European Cup 47 years ago.

Follow these simple rules and the rest of the season will be a doddle. Good luck, pundits!

Coxie.

Silly (Pre-)Season.

2007-07-19T14:12:00.000Z

The idea that football supporters are left in a desperate limbo between the final day of the season and the day that the fixture list is published is a rather outdated one. Thanks mainly to outlets such as the ravenous gossip-mongers at Sky Sports News and the bored wind-up merchants at Football365, we are kept afloat by a constant stream of transfer talk.

We are informed of managers being given war chests by their new foreign billionaire supremos, which they are free to squander on whichever player catches the eye at that summer's international tournament. Vast sums change hands across the Continent in high-profile deals, all of which are vying for the honour of being the Transfer Saga of the Summer (protracted or otherwise). Managers of perennial underachievers are expected to perform a clear-out each summer, in order to strengthen their underachieving squad to the point where they are tipped to challenge in the forthcoming season. This freshly-heightened expectation thus allows the squad to underachieve once more. The knee-jerk nature of many signings made during the close season is clear, but it is a situation not helped by the fans. Even the most cynical supporter gets a buzz of excitement when his beloved club unveils their latest recruit. Those who are yet to see their club dip into the transfer market as July approaches can be heard to pray for their club to sign "someone".

The sheer number of transfers that occur during these hectic twelve weeks or so mean that some simply go unnoticed. Whilst all eyes are trained on the Carlos Tevez saga (A saga that promises to be the absolute godfather of all Protracted Transfer Sagas), Trevor Sinclair will quietly put pen to paper at Cardiff, Leeds United stalwart Gary Kelly will jump the sinking ship to hang up his boots, and England international Michael Ricketts will continue his inexorable downward career spiral by joining Oldham Athletic.

Eventually, come mid-July, new-look squads up and down the country hit the pre-season trail. New signings, looking distinctly unfamiliar in their new club's shiny new third kit, stroll through their debuts against Conference (sorry, Blue Square Premier) opposition. Those at higher-profile clubs see their first appearance come against a local Chinese side, as part of their ambitious employer's attempt to tap into the lucrative Far East market. Of course, this isn't their proper debut, but it's an easy ride nonetheless. A new signing (particularly a more expensive one, strangely) cannot really do too much wrong on his pre-season "debut". Unless he gets sent-off or scores a hat-trick of own goals, the player will be said to have shown "some good touches". Sky Sports News will inevitably acquire footage of these good touches.

Year upon year of the transfer free-for-all means that, in the eyes of some supporters (if not the managers and chairmen), some transfers are doomed to total failure. One such signing is that of Rolando Bianchi by Manchester City. For a fee of almost NINE MILLION POUNDS. The Angle... suggests that a good rule of thumb in the labyrinth of the summer transfer market is to avoid signing a player nobody has ever heard of for £9m. Sven, it'll all end in tears -cue Ceefax:

No. 3: January 2008 - Rolando Bianchi is put out of his Premiership misery.

Starved of club football for a quarter of a year, supporters attempt to extract as much significance as they can from their club's pre-season friendly results, despite assurances from the manager that "at this stage, it's more about the performance than the result." Confused fans wonder if the "XI" side they see listed on the Ceefax fixtures page is work keeping tabs on, while scouring the forum on their club's website for the link to a legally-dubious internet feed of the first team squad's latest match of their Far East tour. Despite their similar curiosity, supporters of the Premiership's more mediocre teams are too wise to get carried way by their team's 12-0 win over some Swedish postmen, plumbers and milkmen, as they begin their Scandinavian tour.

Of course, no pre-season is complete without a red card controversy, where clubs and fans alike are curiously outraged that one of their players gets suspended from the start of the league season after being given his marching orders in the final warm-up match.

While television manages to occupy the airwaves with tedious pre-season rumours, newspapers are faced with a similar task. An effective way of filling the void is a good old club-by-club feature. Club-by-club features crop up at least twice during the close season. The first instance occurs at the height of the summer transfer chaos, where each club's ins, outs and shakeitallabouts are listed in minute detail. It is at this point, if a club's arrivals are summarised by the word "none", that fans are seen to become frustrated at their club's lack of transfer activity. The traditional response from the chairman or manager is to assure the fans that they are "working hard behind the scenes". Over-eager club representatives may even let slip to the masses that the club are "looking to bring in four or five" transfer targets.

As the new season approaches, the second type of club-by-club feature will appear. Providing a forensic rundown of each club's hopes for the next nine months, these features even go as far as to predict the entire final Premiership table for May. The relegation candidates are rarely a surprise, but the speculative forecasts for the top of the table usually just involve the feature writer tipping Liverpool to finally put together a title challenge. Elsewhere in the table, you sense that the predicted midtable positions of Blackburn, Everton and Middesbrough et al are simply cobbled together.

Here we go again.

Adam.

The Crystal Ceefax Ball

2007-05-23T14:49:00.000Z

Steve Sidwell's move to Chelsea on a Bosman was seen by many as a money-grabbing move by a player who will spend most of next season warming the bench. They may well be right...

No. 2: May 2008 - Steve Sidwell ends his Chelsea nightmare by moving to footballer scrapyard Middlesbrough, who are inevitably under new stewardship.

Adam.

Tomorrow's Inevitable News....Today!

2007-05-21T14:37:00.000Z

If only the footballing world had a fast-forward button. The appointment of Bryan Robson as the new Sheffield United manager brought a collective sigh of despair from the Blades faithful, and led the The Angle... to once again question the sanity of football club chairmen.

To save everyone the bother of waiting for the next few months, The Angle... brings you the first in a series of Ceefax stories from the future. Bask in the inevitability of it all!

No.1 - January 2008 - Bryan Robson's spell at Sheffield United reaches its natural end:

Adam.

The FA Cup Final

2007-05-18T08:58:00.000Z

No occasion in football is better positioned to cling on to clichés of decades past, as well as developing the clichés of the future, than than the FA Cup Final.

Saturday, 3pm, is the kick-off for the game, but the tried and tested formula of FA Cup Final coverage has begun way, way before then.

The Angle... may not be able to predict the first goalscorer, correct score or even the result. However, there are a whole raft of incidents that are absolutely guaranteed to occur on the big day itself. Fortunately, The Angle... is far better placed to comment on this, as we bring you:

The Ultimate Guide To The Magic of The Cup, Cup Final Stuff That's Definitely Gonna Happen Because It Always Does, and Stuff That Will Happen Because It's The New Wembley.

The Stadium

A good proportion of the coverage will be devoted to the fact that this is the "New Wembley", and that we are to witness the first final there since it was redeveloped - which seems like 400 years ago.

Prepare to see footage of a lone policeman on the white horse controlling the crowd at the first Wembley final in 1923 between West Ham and Bolton. There will be a talking head interview with a very old man who was at that first final as a boy, describing pretty much what we all know - that a policeman on a white horse controlled the crowd and the game went ahead. Of course, there will be no proof that this man was at the game - it could quite easily be the cameraman's grandfather. Alternatively, perhaps the interviewee has to pass a standard BBC Authentication Test:

Are you over 90 years old?
Have you ever worn a flat cap to a football match?
Do you know what a horse looks like?

The fawning over the stadium (I anticipate the word "magnificent" will be used approxinmately 750 times over the course of the day). If you cast your mind back to the beginning of the season, a time, incredible as it may seem, when there was no such thing as The Angle of Post and Bar, Arsenal's Emirates Stadium opened. Few will forget the over-the-top praise this shiny new stadium received. Into September, and they were still at it - Jamie Redknapp arriving especially early so he could do his Goals on Sunday link, live from the stadium, a good five hours before kick off.

If you cringed at that, then I suggest you prepare for that level of praise multiplied by one thousand, bearing the following in mind:

1. The stadium is 50% bigger than The Emirates

2. It's the National Stadium so any pundit's reservations about Arsenal can be truly put to one side.

3. It's Cup Final Day.

I am also predicting the most patronising "thankyou" imaginable towards Cardiff's Millennium Stadium. I am especially thinking of Richard Keys asking one of his special brand of platitude-filled-cringe-inducing questions, along the lines of "No disrespect to Cardiff, who put a magnificent show on by the way - we're thankful for you putting us up for seven long years - but aren't we all glad it's back here, Jamie?"

The first pre-match question to every single person interviewed will be "What do you think of the stadium?". Every reply will be:

"Magnificent."

The Build-Up

Strangely, this year the BBC and Sky have swapped roles, with the BBC's coverage starting 3 hours and 10 minutes before kick off. Sky, unusually, have decided to start the build up from 2pm - despite what they say, Blackpool v Oldham Athletic in the League One Play-off semi-final does not constitute a Cup Final build-up!

Neither will the BBC have the luxury of adverts to help them out, so they will be really stringing out the features in their pre-game fare, which may include conveniently bumping into two television personalites who happen to support either side (We at the The Angle... bet a fiver that James Nesbitt will get his mug on the box at some point.), and asking them if they've ever "played a bit".

Lineker and Hansen will have little digs at each other about what happened in the 1986 final and Shearer will self-indulgently reveal (almost word for word) "By rights I should hate this competition, having lost two finals, but there's something special about it and I still love it."

Following this will be a recollection of when the two teams met each other in the 1994 final, in which Gavin Peacock and Gary Pallister will be on hand to talk us through what happened.

There will be an interview with a foreign player from each side where they will be duty-bound to say that they "grew up watching this game" and that they "always dreamed of playing at Wembley in the FA Cup Final", as if the failure to say this means that stupid Johnny Foreigner fails to understand the concept of a Cup Final and won't try as hard, and defeat will be their own, silly-foreigner-don't-you-understand-the-magic-of-the-cup, fault.

No FA Cup Final build-up will be complete without following the teams from their hotels to the ground. I doubt whether Wimbledon's journey will ever be beaten - with the BBC actually on the coach playing the tape of when Dennis Wise was 11, appearing on Record Breakers, telling Roy Castle he wanted to win the FA Cup.

I must warn you that, on Sky, when Manchester United arrive, Richard Keys will look up, possibly interrupting one of Jamie Redknapp's monologues about Frank Lampard doing it "week in, week out" and say "Sorry, Jamie - The Champions are here..." Please try not to smash your television into smithereens.

The newspapers have had an easy time of it from The Angle... since its inception in January (don’t worry, we have the whole summer to cover that particular shower). However, come cup final week, and with hardly anything else to write about, they focus entirely on the two teams – even if this does include a fourteen-page special on the registration of Mourinho’s dog.

As a final throw of the dice, the sports sections will try to predict the outcome of the game by assuming the probable line-ups of the teams, marking each player out of ten and then adding the scores up to see which team is stronger (and therefore will obviously win). Not a method favoured by bookmakers, but there you are. There are a number of flaws with this approach. The media want to build this up as a close game, rather than the walkover it has been it recent years, and so contrive to make the scores as close as possible, without arousing the suspicion of the readership that this is what they are doing.

You can easily spot where this has been applied, as the odd player will be given a half-mark up or down to keep it tight overall. For example, Cech will be given 9/10 and Van Der Sar will receive 8.5/10. All innocent to the lay person, but to the trained eye that extra half-mark for Van Der Sar is clear evidence of a newspaper man artificially massaging the scores to ensure a close finish. It's massively infuriating, and surely defeats the whole point of the feature in the first place.

The Game

For those of us with digital TV, the dilemma arises of which channel to watch it on. Is it the Super Sunday pairing of Martin Tyler and Andy Gray or the more traditional duo of John Motson and professional irritant Mark Lawrenson?

I will personally go for the Tyler/Gray match day commentary team, but with half time analysis from the BBC.

Andy Gray’s co-commentary in the cup final is preferable to Lawrenson’s cynical and embarrassingly poor quips. As someone puts it over from 8 yards, the Gray reflexes kick in as he says “What a chance, Martin. You won’t get a better chance than that to be a hero in the Cup Final, son”. This, of course, in addition to his usual glee when a striker “gambles”.

At half time, a 15-minute treatise on how brilliant Michael Carrick is, and how Drogba is the complete player because he’s able to head a corner away at the near post. Half-time analysis on the BBC can be reduced to a simple theory:

Exciting 1st half: They will talk about goals and chances

Tight, Intriguing (e.g. Boring) 1st Half: They will talk about "half-chances" and "openings". Lineker, for example will half-heartedly attempt to stoke the analytical fire with "So....Drogba had a chance right at the end of that first half, didn't he? Well, more of a half-chance, really."

Back to the game and the neutral will be hoping for a one-goal deficit as the final minutes approach, just so we can see a goalkeeper in his opponent’s penalty area. This wreaks havoc at the best of times, so who knows what panic will be induced if this occurs on Saturday?

Once the trophy has been won, the losers will walk up the 107 steps (used to be 39, of course, but someone will fill you in on this on Saturday) walk past the trophy and down again whilst the players are interviewed on the pitch with Geoff Shreeves, hoping that Wayne Rooney doesn’t swear. On average, Geoff Shreeves manages to fit in about 3 questions before he moves on to his next victim. Working valiantly within such limitations, Shreeves covers all bases with his incisive interrogations:

Question 1: How does it feel to have the FA Cup?

Question 2: Can you describe how it feels to have that medal around your neck?

Question 3: Can you put into words how it feels to have won today?

In the near future, footballers will realise they can apply their standard three superlatives ("unbelievable", "amazing" and "fantastic") to each of these questions, helping Shreeves fool the (actually rather uninterested) nation that he has actually asked three different questions.

The winning captain finally lifts the trophy, hopefully wearing a hat given to him by a fan and the swearathon can begin. My favourite example being in 1988, with Dennis Wise swearing his head off in front of a slightly embarrassed Princess Diana.

Eventually, after the third-choice goalkeeper has spent a disproportionate amount of time parading the trophy by himself, comes the most crushing inevitability of them all - who will be the first to put the lid on their head?

After this, the Wembley PA guy will interfere, playing Rockin’ All Over the World by Status Quo at 4000 decibels, as if celebrating winning the FA Cup needs a helping hand.

Hopefully we will be spared the lap of honour with the kids.

Coxie.

The Managerial Merry-Go-Round: Summer 2007 Edition

2007-05-14T14:48:00.000Z

Back in January of this year, The Angle... detailed the concept of the Managerial Merry-Go-Round (the MMGR). A constantly rotating showcase of the game's most talented and enduring bosses, the MMGR serves the game (and, indeed, the media) with a reliable gauge of the available and unemployed, who proclaim themselves as "itching to get back into the game".

As the chairmen of the clubs in the lower reaches of the Premiership begin to wield their axes, a flurry of sackings, resignations and departures by mutual consent has ensued. The Angle... presents an updated MMGR:

David O'Leary: Remains a significant figure on the MMGR, after a near-apocalyptic end to his Leeds reign and an underwhelming spell at the talent black hole that is Villa Park. Concerns are growing, however, that Premiership chairmen may regard him as damaged goods.

George Graham: His future is now unclear. Setanta's capture of pay-per-view rights from next season means Graham's stint alongside Marcus Buckland on Premiership Plus is over. With the trend of Directors of Football now thankfully a distant memory, Graham faces a conundrum. Will we see the Godfather of the MMGR make a dramatic return, to show the new boys how it's done?

Glenn Roeder: The Angle's rather smug complacency regarding the modern game led us to include Roeder on the MMGR in January, even though he was then still Newcastle manager. Of course, he resigned at the beginning of this month and takes his place back on the MMGR. Arguably now the most prominent "active" manager on the MMGR, Roeder is preparing to look all serious, determined and rodent-like at another mediocre Premiership outfit in the near future.

Micky Adams: His desire to "get back into the game as soon as possible", after his sacking from Coventry in January, has proved fruitless. Earmarked as a possible long-term (and distinctly low-profile) rider of the MMGR, before he realises that he has to drop down the divisions to resurrect his career.

Claudio Ranieri: The most linked foreign manager on the MMGR - speculation around a possible future in England for the Italian is likely to be stirred again this summer. Until then, he will continue to lend a Continental flavour to the MMGR. Given the trigger-happy nature of Serie A club supremos, the fact that Ranieri is currently in employment (at Parma) actually means very little here.

Walter Smith: Seems settled at Rangers, but will inevitably be linked with the Scotland job before long. Yet again.

Stuart Pearce: Sacked by Manchester City yesterday, Pearce will now be forced to take his not-so-unique brand of technical area pantomime somewhere else. Despite being utterly found out at City, Pearce's stock remains unfathomably high, and he should only require the briefest of rides upon the MMGR before being unveiled by his next unfortunate employers.

Paul Jewell: Picked up his River Island leather jacket and left the JJB Stadium yesterday. May possibly only give the MMGR the merest glance on his way to be all small-time at his new club. But, still, save a space for him, would you?

Sam Allardyce: While his move to Newcastle seems done and dusted, no manager can be too comfortable with Freddy Shepherd's poisoned chalice. May require the service of the MMGR in the future.

Mark Wright: Simultaneously flying the flag for the lower leagues on the MMGR, whilst further proving the rule that former England internationals are well equipped to become spectacularly unsuccessful journeymanagers.

Chris Coleman: Will inevitably be involved in the summer speculation shake-up. Until then, Coleman will be busy practicing his trademark post-game march towards whichever referee he feels has cost his side three points.

Sven-Goran Eriksson: While Claudio Ranieri provides the exotic option for any vacancies at clubs in the midriff of the Premiership, Eriksson will be reported to be carrying his considerable media baggage to any number of top-half sides over the next year or so. To the backdrop of a collective and nationwide sigh of boredom.

Since January, several old-timers have begun to question the excitement of spending nigh-on a decade on the MMGR, and have clambered off in search of the candy-floss of a media career, the coconut shy of assistant management or the Big Dipper that is retirement:

Peter Reid - Now committing full-time to the only role in which an incoherent neanderthal can take the game less than seriously, and get paid for it - Gillette Soccer Saturday.

Les Reed - Has effectively run and hid behind Lawrie Sanchez at Fulham, after a pathetically brief tenure as Charlton manager - which bestowed upon Reed the unenviable title of 2006/07 Comedy Caretaker.

Joe Royle - Has found his niche alongside new wife John Helm on Five's football coverage.

Kenny Dalglish/Kevin Keegan/Jean Tigana/Dr Jozef Venglos - all missing in (in)action.

A visit to the League Manager's Association website reveals a sort of transfer list for managers. This mammoth list of names who, once upon a time, managed a club for at least 24 hours and are now classed as "available managers", cannot be regarded as an equivalent of the MMGR. However, it does warrant some scrutiny. The following is a cross-section of the sort of aimlessly wandering ex-footballers and managers who are still purported to be jobhunting by their faithful union:

John Aldridge - No matter what he does in the future, Aldridge will still be known not for his admirable career goal haul, but for his 1994 World Cup sideline fit at a bemused official.

Alan Ball - Perhaps time for the LMA website to be given a spring clean...

Dave Bassett - Was always going to struggle to regain employment after the UEFA Pro Licence exam began to require a manager to be able to construct a complete sentence when on camera.

Tony Cottee - For some reason or another, the only job Cottee looks suited for is as the manager of West Ham United Ladies.

Keith Curle - Will perhaps continue to rub chairmen up the wrong way at humble lower-league clubs, in a way only fellow ex-England international and hopeless manager Mark Wright could hope to emulate.

Glenn Hoddle - Should now accept that a media career, where he is still held up as some sort of "expert", is the most sensible option.

John Gorman - After a successful operation to remove himself from Hoddle's right-hand side, Gorman attempted to go it alone. May reappear in League One at some point, but no-one's bothered. May possibly be sat at home fuming at becoming increasingly referred to as "Glenn Hoddle's right-hand man, Dave Gorman".

Joe Kinnear - Your correspondent actually had to check whether or not Kinnear was still alive. Has seemingly retired from being linked strongly to any vacancy that arises at unfashionable clubs where the budget is, of course, a shoestring one.

Long live the Managerial Merry-Go-Round. Roll up, roll up...

Adam.

"He'll miss one."

2007-05-02T09:09:00.000Z

Penalty shoot-outs, we are told, are a cruel way of deciding a contest. In the lottery of a penalty shoot-out, the goalkeeper has nothing to lose in his quest to become a hero - unlike the unfortunate fools who fail to score from 12 yards, often because their shot is at a good height for the goalkeeper. The drama of penalties is based on its unpredictability, the fact that it can go either way. Well, The Angle... can conclusively address this unpredictability, and argues that it's actually rather predictable after all...

Defensive midfielders
Very high-risk penalty takers - defensive midfielders invariably cause supporter's heads to sink into their hands as they step up for a penalty. This doubt is so strong, and so widespread, that the defensive midfielder himself probably knows it too. And it certainly hits home on the long, lonely walk back to the centre-circle.

Right-backs
Rivals the defensive midfielder as someone you really don't want taking a penalty for your side in a shoot-out. Right-backs tend to be solid and dependable in open play, but lack the finesse and cultured delivery of their left-sided counterparts, which is why a left-back taking a penalty is far more acceptable.

Old-Fashioned English Centre-Halves
Unlikely to score for two reasons. Firstly, the old-fashioned English centre-half may attempt the no-nonsense smash down the middle. This often results in the penalty being blazed over the bar, or crashing against it. Alternatively, they may try a more conventional penalty. This weak effort is comfortably saved by the goalkeeper, who will know that such a routine save will still be hailed as heroics.

Short Run-Ups
A cardinal sin. Unless the penalty taker really, really knows what he's doing, a short run-up is almost guaranteed to fail. The sight of any player putting the ball down confidently, only to take a couple of steps back from it, is beyond nerve-jangling. In an era where minimal backlift is rife, many players feel they are capable of propelling the ball into the net with only a short run-up. Many, many fail.

Overlong Run-Ups
Yes, run-ups can also be too lengthy. The reason for this is less clear-cut than the short run-up, but one explanation is that the player concerned attempts to overcompensate for his nerves by trying to appear confident. By striding purposefully from the ball, they find themselves beyond the 18-yard line. This is too far.

Turning Quickly
The act of spinning 180 degrees, after placing the ball down and walking back, in order to try and catch the goalkeeper by surprise. The method of choice for rotund 80's striker Micky Quinn, who was fat, round and scored at every ground. Otherwise, any other player attempting this has clearly let the nerves get to him, and will probably miss.

Penalty shoot-outs are one set of circumstances in which hindsight is an acceptable source of wisdom for supporters. Claiming that "I knew he was going to miss" is very rarely challenged by your peers. Similarly, announcing that a player will miss before he has even reached the penalty area, possibly in some desperate attempt to cast some sort of reverse jinx, is just about tolerated.

So, have this guide handy when your team are next involved in a penalty shoot-out. It will still rip your heart out when they lose, but at least you can say you saw it coming.

Adam
(who may just have got it out of his system now...)

Football Fads

2007-05-01T17:31:00.000Z

For all its drama and passion, football is a game played mainly by idiots, watched mainly by idiots and covered exclusively by idiots. The result of such widespread mindlessness is an awful lot of bandwagon-jumping. It doesn't take much for certain concepts to catch on, and they can also disappear without trace after a while. They are the Football Fads:

Minute's applauses
The last 18 months or so has seen the emergence of the minute's applause, in commemoration of the latest footballing legend to kick the bucket. Minute's applauses, in this country at least, first appeared during the public mourning of George Best's death, and have grown in popularity since.

The assumed reason for their use probably relates to some sort of "celebration of life" sentiment. Nothing necessarily wrong with that rationale, but that's not actually why, is it?! Come on, the reason why everyone is now so relieved to have the opportunity to clap for a short period before kick-off is a bit more cynical than that. It denies the commentator the opportunity to tell us that the minute's silence was impeccably observed, a clear admission that he expects a disrespectful interruption. Minute's silences are an all-or-nothing affair - if one is not impeccably observed, those watching on television or listening on the radio have the guilty pleasure of listening out for some undereducated twerp shouting something out (which is always exacerbated, strangely, by hundreds of other fans choosing to express their disapproval at him by making noise of their own). The commentator will then be "sad to report" the interruption to the viewers/listeners.

In conclusion, while the minute's applause exemplifies perfectly the speed at which football fads can take hold, it looks like being here to stay. This is probably for the better, as a self-satisfied minute's clap is probably better for all concerned than a tense, paranoid minute's invitation for someone to get their bellowed voice on telly. What we will lose, however, is the life-goes-on eruption of the crowd once the referee has signalled the end of the silence. Everybody loves that.

Socks above knee
A by-product of the foreign influx of players to the Premiership, the wearing of socks above the knee appears to serve no purpose in the post-plastic pitch era. Pioneered in England by Thierry Henry (who copied it from Monaco team-mate Sonny Anderson), it has since been adopted by old-fashioned English centre-half John Terry and old-fashioned English centre-forward Dean Ashton, the latter of whom has taken it to such an extent that he refuses to allow any leg to be visible between socks and shorts.

Pointing to Name on Back of Shirt
Only possible in the Premiership era of squad numbers and shirt names, the act of celebrating a goal by defiantly pointing at one's shoulder blades appears to have faded away almost entirely, although it is still in evidence in the lower-leagues where shirt names are less well-established.

Usually the celebration of choice for players with "something to prove" - youngsters making a name for themselves (and attempting to accelerate their journey into the public consciousness by drawing attention to their actual name), much-maligned strikers ending a goal drought, or players making a goalscoring return to clubs that they had left in acrimonious circumstances.

Dr. Richard Steadman
A man finally beginning to receive the exposure he probably deserves. Apparently the only knee surgeon in the entire world, Steadman is based in Colorado, USA, where Premiership footballers gather to prevent their careers being cruelly cut short through injury, sparing the public another TV pundit. Steadman is officially fashionable these days, having treated the Michael Owens, Ruud van Nistelrooys and Owain Tudor-Jones's of this world.

Waving an Imaginary Card
A contemporary phenomenon that co-commentators are so strangely disturbed by is the waving of an imaginary card. The cliched nature of this concept is derived from either the act itself, or the absurdly self-righteous reaction it is met with. An act that apparently contravenes some sort of gentleman's code, perhaps understandably, the waving of an imaginary card (I repeat the phrase to emphasise how absolutely absurd the concept is), is condemned as something that should never be done towards a "fellow professional". It is perhaps a measure of the influence of televised football that a player who is witnessed to shout, say, "Ah, that's got to be a booking ref!" is unlikely to face such censorship from the co-commentator, despite that request being surely more explicit than waving an imaginary card. It is also a clear indication that the "disgust" that the co-commentator shows isn't at all genuine - it's simply something he has learnt from other co-commentators.

Waving an imaginary card looks set to take its place alongside diving, referee harassment and naughty English fans abroad as an issue that occasionally can rear its ugly head. Of course, issues, rather suspiciously, only seem to rear their ugly heads when Sky Sports News have run out of transfer gossip. The rearing of the ugly head of an issue is a cyclical event, and each issue gets its turn. A rearing of an ugly head can last for up to a fortnight, mainly because Football Focus has to wait an entire week before it can report it in exactly the same was as everybody else already has.

Away Team Manager Forcing Players To Go Over And Acknowledge Travelling Support
One of the many hallmarks of the modern day, attention-seeking manager (see Alan Pardew, Lawrie Sanchez and Stuart Pearce). Of course, the players unrepentantly trudging off after a woeful away defeat, without appreciating the toil of the travelling faithful with some half-hearted above-head clappage, is inexcusable. Therefore, the all-too-media-aware manager will step in and earnestly usher the players towards the away section, his words "Go over there" being just that bit too strongly mouthed to be solely for the benefit of his players - he wants the nation to see what a man he is. It's not unheard of for the manager to go even further and highlight it in his post-match interview, just in case his display of overearnestness wasn't apparent already.

Football Fads. Enjoy them while you still can.

Adam.

"Cagey".

2007-04-16T17:25:00.000Z

The Angle... investigates the intricate workings of the two-legged cup tie:

The Draw.
The most significant issue when two teams are drawn together to play a two-legged cup tie is who plays at home first. Teams generally prefer to be at home in the second leg. Boring statistics apparently back this up. Football supporters will pin their hopes on the second leg, where they hope their side will finish the job.

The 1st Leg.
Not always a great spectacle for the neutral, to be honest. First legs are often cagey affairs, with both sides either attempting to feel each other out or succeeding in cancelling each other out. Both of these circumstances are often suggested by the co-commentator, who likes to think he is analysing in great detail what is simply just a rather shit game. The act of feeling each other out perhaps deserves its somewhat creepy name. The pace of the game is slow, and far from pulsating. Feeling each other out can also be referred to as probing, which also maintains a sense of slight perversity. The concept of cancelling each other out has its basis in tactics, where both teams mirror the other's set-up.

The home team in the first leg face a difficult proposition - the visitors are likely to set their stall out, but will be on the lookout for that all-important away goal to take back to the return leg. As we described briefly yesterday, away goals can be crucial, vital and precious. Woe betides anyone who believes that they literally count double, however. Snatching an away goal in the first leg, especially in a smash-and-grab raid, lends a sense of exciting criminality to an away win. Alternatively, if a team that is 3-0 down manages to snatch a late away goal in the 1st leg, it will be regarded as a glimmer of hope - in football matters, hope only ever manifests itself in glimmers. Rays of hope are surprisingly rare.

The final whistle in the first leg heralds the virtual "half-time" in the tie (and, furthermore, half-time in the first leg will be pointlessly signposted as being a "quarter of the way through this tie"). Co-commentators and pundits will be asked which manager will be the happier with the result. Just in case any aspiring pundits or co-commentators are reading, here is a cut-out-and-keep guide to who is happier with a 1st leg result:

Fig 1.0

A good first leg result can virtually book a place in the next round, making the second leg academic or a mere formality, and setting up a mouthwatering clash with the next opponents. Not that the manager or players will allow themselves to tell the media that, of course - the tie isn't over and there is still a job to do, so they won't be "getting carried away", let alone "thinking about the next round". Conversely, a catastrophic first-leg performance can leave a team with a Herculean task or a mountain to climb in the return fixture. No particular mountain, even Everest, is ever offered as an analogy here.

Neither of these circumstances is great for the TV hype machine though. What Sky and ITV love most is a tie that is too close to call after a tense first leg. Perfectly (or even beautifully) poised, often on a knife-edge, such ties allow the broadcasters to beef up their opening montages for the coverage of the second leg.

The 2nd Leg.Endless previewing and build-up leaves no-one unsure about the state of play going into the second leg. Any team that has any sort of deficit to peg back is advised to get an early goal. Any goal that is scored within the opening twenty minutes can be considered early, which is probably why the first 20 minutes are always considered crucial in these circumstances. In these first 20 minutes, teams must be expected to make a bright start. Bright starts are usually heralded by the commentator, but have arguably been cheapened in recent years. Once upon a time, an early goal was the prerequisite for a bright start. Now, in an era in which Soccer Saturday demands analysis from its pundits only seconds after kick-off, a bright start can often be achieved by merely winning a throw-in in the opponent's half. Nevertheless, a team attempting to reduce an aggregate deficit must make a bright start. A goal in the first 20 minutes serves to get the crowd going, particularly on a special European night. Such a match is a very good time for a striker to score a quickfire brace or, even better, an x-minute hat-trick.

Teams seeking to protect an aggregate lead will aim to put in a professional performance. One of football's finest euphemisms, a professional performance simply means playing out the ninety minutes with as little bother as possible. Alternatively, they may seek to step up a gear to put the tie out of reach of the opposition. The cautious probing, so characteristic of first leg matches, gives way to throwing caution to the wind and going for the jugular. In such dynamic circumstances, it is not rare to find the tie swinging dramatically between the two teams, as the second leg ebbs and flows. The excitement of a cup tie is often rubber-stamped when the co-commentator reveals that "we've got a genuine cup tie on our hands now." Commentators have the unenviable additional task of keeping track of the various permutations of the aggregate score. They will always be on hand to let us know the point at which the scorelines means "this cannot now go to extra time or penalties". Late goals can provide dramatic climaxes and heartbreak. Analysts will look back on pivotal moments with smug hindsight, while teams going out of the competition will be left to rue missed chances.

The relative complexities of two-legged ties mean that they are a rich source of cliches, as commentators, co-commentators and pundits seek desperately to provide mindnumbingly inane analysis.

Unfortunately, it also means we endure twice as much of it.

Adam.

Seven Deadly Sins

2007-04-10T09:28:00.000Z

One of the main effects of cliche is that it maintains certain opinions, however misguided. In a football context, the autopilot observations offered up week after week by commentators, co-commentators and pundits are absorbed by the sponges that many football fans have for brains. Many of these opinions are outdated, inaccurate or exaggerated. Some are downright wrong...

1. Hitting the Post/Bar is "Unlucky".
The objective of the sport is to force the ball within the 8ft x 8yd rectangle. The size of a standard goalframe should be familiar to us all. The goal does not move during the match, and is not subject to any sort of random and unpredictable external force.

One can understand how a shot hitting the post or bar could be regarded as more dramatic than a shot that misses the goalframe completely - after all, the ball is back in play and there is little time to immediately reflect on what has just happened. However, under no circumstances should it possibly be considered unlucky. A shot that hits the post or bar is simply slightly better than a shot that misses the goal, and worse than one that actually goes in. It is not unlucky, and certainly not "desperately unlucky". Furthermore, if a team happens to hit the woodwork on more than one occasion during a match in which they fail to score, their fans, manager and players have no moral or logical justification to "bemoan their luck".

There is absolutely no reason why a shot that misses the goal by an inch is unluckier than one that flies high, wide and [not at all] handsome. Better, yes. Closer, certainly. But not bloody unlucky.

The only exception to this rule occurs during informal games between schoolchildren. Often denied the luxury of actual goalposts, they are forced to use jumpers, coats and rucksacks. Very often, the participants are faced with the moral quandary of the ball going over the post. The attacking team will inevitably claim that the ball "would have gone in off the post". The defending team will proceed to forensically reconstruct the shot in question, and demonstrate that it would have rebounded back into play. The debate has a common resolution - the two teams simply keep their own score forthwith. However, the issue continues to rear its ugly head whenever someone is brave enough to shout out loud the current "scoreline".

The point being made here is that, given the random allocation of scary bigger boys to either side in such games, it is only in these circumstances that a shot that hits the post can be considered unlucky. Until FIFA dispenses with goalposts and decrees that a panel of teenage ne'er-do-well bullies will rule whether or not a shot has gone in, a shot that hits the woodwork is never unlucky. It's simply not good enough to go in. Oh, erm, unless it's hit too well.

2. "...a Keeper of His Quality From That Distance."
Forming approximately 27% of Brian Marwood's total co-commentary output, this statement relates to speculative 30-yard shots that fail to test the opposing goalkeeper. As the 'keeper retrieves the ball for the goal-kick, we are shown a replay of the shot and the co-commentator exclusively reveals to us that it "would take something special to beat a keeper of his quality from that distance".

It's hard to know where to start here.

3. Away Goals Count Double.
The Angle... are a fairly intolerant bunch, so anything that confuses or alienates the football ignoramuses is usually fairly acceptable. However, the frequent assertion that "away goals count double" must not pass unchecked. Away goals, especially in Europe, are all-important, precious and even vital, but they do not literally count double. Winning 3-0 away from home in the first leg, for example, does not put your team 6-0 up on aggregate.

4. Forgettable Player Ages.
Co-commentators, to go with all their other faults, appear to have memory problems. Despite young players having their ages measured right down to the unit of days when they make their debut for club or country, and then being labelled with adjectives such as "starlet", "wunderkind" and "precocious talent", their age tends to momentarily escape co-commentators whenever these youngsters have a bad game. A common target for this peculiar amnesia is Wayne Rooney, who, people tend to forget, is still only 21 years of age.

5. "Their goalkeeper doesn't fancy it".
As we all know, Continental goalkeepers invariably elect to punch. During coverage of European games, the co-commentator is primed to pounce upon any hint of a flap by the foreign goalkeeper. Once the flap is identified, the English team will be advised to test him out by pumping balls into the box. The co-commentator will react strangely silently to the goalkeeper comfortably dealing with the ensuing aerial onslaught, because it is not in the co-commentator's remit to backtrack. Heaven forbid.

6. "The crowd are getting impatient, and that can transmit itself to the players."
I am desperate for a professional footballer's view on this. Does the mood of the crowd really transmit itself to the players? Another classic example of an opinion that is floating around the otherwise vacant brain of the co-commentator, who is just itching to use it, no matter how untrue it is. It usually appears when a stray pass is met with an understandable collective sigh of anguish from the home support. Why that should be of any significance is bewildering, but yet it provides the cue for the co-commentator to treat us to his fascinating psychological hypothesis.

The tiredness of a cliche is directly proportional to its predictability. Believe me, this one is right up there with the worst of them.

7. "They could, and perhaps should, be 3-1 up"
This one firstly needs careful explanation before its stupidity becomes clear. Let's say Portsmouth are playing Aston Villa. Villa take an early lead, but Portsmouth pile on the pressure. They miss three gilt-edged chances to equalise.

"Portsmouth could, and perhaps should, be 3-1 up."

No, they couldn't, and perhaps shouldn't. Because, Mr Co-Commentator, if any of those chances had been converted, it would be 1-1, Villa would have kicked off, the ball would thus be in a completely different place, and it's highly unlikely that the other exact same two chances would have happened. Portsmouth might go on to create two more golden chances, but you couldn't possibly know that.

This lack of logical thinking is also applied to individual players, who "could have had a hat-trick today."

So, if you hear any of these seven nonsensical statements on the BBC, Sky or Premiership Plus this weekend, don't hesitate in letting everyone around you know about it. The crusade against such ridiculous accepted wisdom starts here.

Adam.

"Deep in conversation with his assistant there..."

2007-03-27T13:01:00.000Z

The Bench. Like all things football-related, there are rules that all participants follow, seemingly subconsciously.

Firstly, the bench itself. Of course it's not actually a bench and probably hasn't been so since about 1955. I will concede, however, that it would sound a little ridiculous if Tyldesley said "…and Real Madrid do have options on the Recaro race seats". Not that Red Clive seems to have anything against sounding ridiculous - he just wouldn't say it.

The Recaro seat option is just a natural progression of the trend started by perhaps the greatest of all the football innovative thinkers, Graham Taylor. Yes, some may remember him as the man who played David Batty at right wingback, allowed Carlton Palmer to play for England and took off Gary Lineker against Sweden when all we needed was a goal. This, I think, clouds the great man's greatest achievement - which was to start the long road to lovely Recaro seats by sitting by the side of the pitch on plastic chairs nicked out of the canteen. Hats off to you, Graham.

Although it seems that every man and his dog gets a seat on the bench these days, it really is only open to a select few. The Angle... analyses the characters typically found in the dugout:

The Manager

Recently, managers have chosen to leave the sanctuary of the bench to stand in the technical area. This seems to be very handy for berating the fourth official - an example of a completely worthless protest, as it can't affect the game and is most likely to lead to the manager being "sent to the stands". A strange punishment, given that many modern, forward-thinking managers (like, erm, Steve McClaren and Sam Allardyce) opt to begin the match in the stands anyway. They revert to the more traditional dugout position only in the second half, or when their team goes 2-0 down inside ten minutes, or just when the chairman's wife starts annoying them. Until then, they must communicate via mobile phone with their assistant, foiling Sky's attempts to eavesdrop by putting their hand over their mouths.

Managers will use the technical area for a variety of reasons. Jose Mourinho will use it to slide fully ten yards on his knees, Glenn Roeder will stand, arms crossed, providing a calming influence on his players - which panics them into conceding a late goal. Meanwhile, Stuart Pearce will charge round it like a retarded child, throwing the ball back into play in the vain hope that the bigger boys will take pity on him and invite him to join in. Oh, sorry, we mean "he kicks every ball".

When the use of the technical area has been exhausted, the manager will return to the bench and hopefully whack his head on the roof of the dugout. If his team are winning he will laugh, despite the pain, and the rest of the bench will laugh with him. If they are losing, the bench will pretend they didn't see it and the manager will pretend it doesn't hurt. It does.

The Assistant Manager

I'm sure there are assistant managers (or No. 2s as they are, perhaps unfairly, also known) that are absolutely integral to the coaching set-up within a club. These men, even if they spend season in, season out with successful managers, will eventually pluck up the courage go to a club to manage in their own right - and be out of a job within 6 months. They will then be labelled a No. 2 for the rest of their life, unable to release themselves from the shackles of the failure at the big time. Examples can be seen from Manchester United: Brian Kidd, Carlos Quieroz and, most topically, the balding, plastic toothed, red faced, deluded, incompetent buffoon that is Steve McClaren, have all tried their hand as the figurehead elsewhere. If you are an assistant manager, there is only one way to survive - and that is to become a slightly less concentrated version of the "the gaffer". Of course, not in a pathetic, Phil Neal, let's-just-repeat-everything-Graham-Taylor-says-and-hope-nobody-notices kind of way. No, for perfect examples of this we need to look at two of the masters of the art: Steve Clarke and Pat Rice.

In his playing days Steve Clarke was a committed, but average, defender. Not too controversial a figure, quite an anonymous character, in fact. Compare that with the Steve Clarke who sits on the Chelsea bench, all wagging figures and histrionics, passing himself off as a significantly less charismatic and much more Scottish Jose Mourinho. He knows the value of being a yes man and he's kept his job because of it.

Pat Rice is the ultimate "cone man". He collects the footballs, probably takes down the nets at the end of training and shouts pointless instructions such as "Go to the ball, Go to the ball" and, erm, that's it. He has perfected the art of outwardly replicating Wenger's mood, whether he actually feels the same or not. "Patrice" very nearly let the mask slip against West Ham this year when the cameras caught the sheer panic on his face as he tried to decide whether to shake Alan Pardew's hand after Wenger had refused to do so. Still a little way to go there, Pat.

Sammy Lee at Bolton has taken this one step further by aping every physical movement Sam Allardyce makes and wildly gesticulating to the pitch. Rumours that Lee actually died a number of years ago and that Allardyce is operating him, Weekend-At-Bernie's-style, from the stands, remain unconfirmed.

Substitutes

No matter what the game, or the importance of it, as the camera gazes upon the manager barking out instructions, his assistant trying manfully to convey the same message using only his eyebrows, there will be a group of people nearby who are barely watching the game. I am, of course, talking about those that have either been dropped, rested, are coming back from injury or, as in the case of Sheffield United's army of unused strikers, simply not very good.

At least once during the game, the bench will be in fits of laughter or just generally sodding about like the kids at the back of the school bus. The one exception to this will, of course, be the goalkeeper. It has long been received wisdom that goalkeepers are a bit mad, their case not helped by their insistence on "concentrating" for the whole game, despite there being approximately a 2% chance of actually getting on. As well as doing absolutely everything, including the "concentrating", while wearing their gloves.

At some point, the freezing cold sub will be summoned from the bench. To do so requires the reading through of the Assistant Manager's magic notepad of instructions, which no doubt includes gems such as "Use your fresh legs to run at them" or, more likely, "Get out there, make a nuisance of yourself and try a nick a goal. Then, ensure that you mention this in your post-match interview".

The Physio

The physio, or the "trainer" as people like Jimmy Armfield insists on calling him, cuts a very lonely figure at the end of the bench, looking somewhat like a roadie who has just realised he's not actually regarded as "being in the band". He sits with a concerned look on his face. This may be interpreted as concern for the players. In fact, he's wondering why there is always a spare seat next to him. We'll tell him why - most people feel uncomfortable sitting next to man wearing latex gloves, that's why. The look on his face could also be interpreted as the look of a man primed to sprint into action. No physio has ever been officially timed at full speed, but head injuries often cause them to reach velocities unattainable for the average man.

"Who are ya?! Who are ya?!"

It is stated in the Premier League's rules that one obscure member of the backroom staff has to sit on the bench, so that one spectator will ask: "who's that?". The person who instantly answers with "That's the Assistant Kit Man" or "That's Les Reed" will therefore be deemed to need to get out a bit more and be a little less anoraky.

That person needn't mind. He's one of us.

Coxie.

The Art of Defending

2007-03-26T09:39:00.000Z

The emergence of more cautious (and thus, arguably, more negative) tactics in the English game has given the art of defending more exposure, to the extent that it is almost fashionable. The BBC's most prized pundits, Alan Hansen and Mark Lawrenson, were accomplished defenders in the successful Liverpool teams of the 1980s, Italy defender Fabio Cannavaro is the reigning European Player of the Year and FIFA World Player of the Year, and Rio Ferdinand remains the most expensive British player of all time.

As the increased concentration of coverage on the art of defending has left the football supporter in no doubt as to what constitutes good (and indeed bad) defending, the following should be all too familiar:

Danger
One thing that defenders can do routinely, which excites the watching pundits immeasurably, is to "see the danger and deal with it." "Dealing with it" is allowed to consist of merely hoofing it into Row Z, as this is manfully regarded as no-nonsense.

Switching off
A cardinal sin, especially at the top level, switching off is never a good idea. Many a goal has been caused by a defender's lack of concentration, and many defenders risk being associated permanently with being "prone to lapses of concentration".

Reading the Game
A useful tool for defenders who are not the quickest, being able to read the game is invariably traced back to Bobby Moore, often purely on the basis of that tackle on Jairzinho.

Desperate Defending
Be it a last-ditch tackle, or a backs-against-the-wall performance, everyone appreciates heroic defending. If the magnitude of the game is sufficient, hyperbole over the victorious team's defending can include hailing the "immense" centre-backs or the "tenacious" full-backs. The presence of an attacking player in his own penalty box will be greeted with near-disbelief, causing the commentator to have to almost confer with the viewing audience:

Commentator: And who's that back defending in his own area?! Didier Drogba.

Notably, no-one will be heard to bemoan the negative tactics involved in such a performance.

Comfortable on the Ball
For years, English supporters longed for a libero-style defender who was comfortable on the ball. The mid-to-late-1990s then saw the emergence of the ball-playing centre-back, epitomised by Rio Ferdinand, whose international debut in 1997 was observed with absurd wonder. Likened (inevitably) to Bobby Moore, Ferdinand's comfort on the ball had pundits salivating. Nowadays, pundits have gathered their senses and now bother to analyse that insignificant aspect of his game - his ability to actually defend. Ten years after Ferdinand's England bow, no self-respecting centre-half lacks the ability to bring the ball out of defence. Big deal.

Mix-Ups
All defenders live in fear of (yet also know the inevitability of) the defensive mix-up. Often co-starring the goalkeeper, defensive mix-ups can, at worst, leave the opposing striker with the simple task of rolling the ball into the empty net. The post-mortem of a defensive mix-up will often conclude that the defender "needed a shout there".

Bad Defending
Alan Hansen's weekly critique of defensive performances on MotD makes careful use of appropriate adjectives. Not one to overreact, Hansen can be trusted to provide a faithful account of a team's defending. The consistency of his analysis has enabled The Angle... to develop the Alan Hansen Bad Defending Continuum (AHBDC):

Fig 1.0.

Not Good

Poor

Bad

Schoolboy

Terrible

Unbelievable

Comical

Shocking

Suicidal

The AHBDC is a straightforward scale, but one on which no backline wants to register. The more culturally-aware pundit may refer to "Keystone Cops" defending, despite most of the watching audience being far, far below the age at which it would be acceptable to know who or what the Keystone Cops were.

Pace

Defenders "don't like playing against pace". In fact, "if there's one thing defenders hate, it's pace". It "terrifies" them. Pace can be used to give them a torrid time, roast them, turn them inside out, expose them, or destroy them.

Tackling

Modern day defenders are unlikely to be able to get away with the bone-crunching tackles of yesteryear. In fact, any challenge that falls into the agricultural category is likely to be met with a booking. In such strict times, defenders must learn to stay on their feet, and not commit themselves by going to ground. Flying wingers can be frustrated simply by shepherding the ball over the touchline, to houls of "Obstruction!" from the opposing fans. Of course, anywhere else on the pitch, it would be a foul.

Dealing with an aerial threat can be tricky. If, as Andy Gray loves to point out, a team successfully manages to isolate the opponent's diminutive full-back using their beanpole striker ("It's a complete mismatch - it's no contest") the full-back is put to the test. Fortunately, it is sufficient for him to do "just enough" to put the striker off in that situation.

Fouling

Fouls are a standard occupational hazard for a defender, and there are several types. Cynical fouls are met with disapproval from the co-commentator and a booking from the referee, while clumsy fouls are always conspicuous by their lack of malice. Fouls that bring an opposing team's counter-attack to a halt, and the resultant punishment, are often rationalised by the understanding co-commentator - "he'll take that". Fouls that generate the most anger from the co-commentator tend to be shirt-pulling (something which has, of course, crept into the English game thanks to the foreign influx) or fouls against players that are "going nowhere".

As fouling becomes more and more part of the defender's repertoire, so too must the art of appealing. Different type of foul carry with them a different appeal method:

Cynical - Hands-up acceptance of one's fate, similar to a guilty plea in court. There's no mercy, however - booking.
Foul from behind - frantic gestures and hand signals. Language barriers are overcome by the universal symbol for "I got the ball, ref" - palms inward, peform a concave crescent with both hands, meeting at the top and bottom. Realistic attempts to approximate the size of the ball are not necessary. In fact, the more frenzied the appeal, the bigger the virtual ball.
Clumsy foul - the guilty party here will often attempt to appeal not just after the foul, but during and even before. The accepted method is to raise both arms above one's head while bundling the opponent over. The wisdom behind this appears to be that if you don't use your hands to bring an opponent to the ground, then it cannot be a foul. An admirable attitude, but one in direct contradiction to the actual Laws of the Game.
Professional foul - the red card isn't even out of the ref's pocket, but the defender knows his fate. Off he goes. Possibly by means of an unrepentant trudge.
Second yellow - a personal favourite. Realising the significance of his misdemeanour, the player sees the referee striding toward him reaching for his pocket. Apparently, the arm-shaking and finger-wagging, combined with a face usually only pulled by a 3-year-old boy not allowed some sweets, is supposed to tug on the heartstrings of the official. It fails.

The demands on a modern defender are huge. Simultaneously, he must have his opponent in his pocket whilst maintaining his concentration and reading the danger, whilst showing another opponent onto his weaker foot and playing him offside, whilst leaping prodigiously and doing "just enough", whilst being comfortable on the ball and making a last-ditch tackle.

But it's alright - "he's just one of those players that loves defending".

Adam.

"Dodgy."

2007-03-15T10:05:00.000Z

The Twelve Rules of Goalkeeping

It is generally accepted that goalkeepers have to be a bit mad. This is not actually true - there are indeed some dreadfully dull and uncharismatic custodians out there. Elsewhere, however, the received wisdom about goalkeepers (propagated, as usual, by commentators, co-commentators and pundits) can be detailed quite definitively. Since no other media outlet has either the foresight or the inclination to do so, The Angle... gladly obliges:

1. Make yourself big.
A method mastered by Neville Southall in the 1980s, and made popular by Peter Schmeichel in the 1990s, making yourself big is not a complicated concept. By maximising one's surface area, one can minimise the likelihood of the ball going past. The frequency of references to making yourself big, however, appear to be on the wane. It is another cliche that has been forced to defend itself against the all-conquering co-commentary of Andy Gray. Gray often attempts, quite admirably, to apply some sort of narrative (complete with dialogue) to a slow-motion replay. This device is often used by Gray when the goalkeeper is shown to have made himself big:

Martin Tyler: ...and Saha couldn't find a way past Peter Cech.

Andy Gray: Great goalkeeping Martin. Cech just hasn't committed himself there. Saha's waited for Cech to make a decision, but he's said to Saha: "I'm not going to ground, son - you've got to try and beat me."

2. Do not wear tracksuit bottoms.
Goalkeeping is a thankless task. The last line of defence, the 'keeper needs all the assistance he can muster. Which makes the occasional donning of tracksuit bottoms all the more mystifying. The sight of an opposing goalkeeper in such attire is invitation to shoot from all angles, as it is a clear sign of his inadequacy. From Dmitry Kharine's black leggings to Gabor Kiraly's grey pyjama bottoms, goalkeepers in trousers have a long tradition of pantomime-level clumsiness. The odd bit of camera-friendly acrobatics only serves to exacerbate their image as flaky goalkeepers that simply cannot be trusted with backpasses or crosses.

While The Angle... doesn't wish to dwell too long on international football stereotypes, we believe that the pan-continental penchant for tracksuit bottoms is the sole contributor to the image of African goalkeepers as "erratic".

A distant cousin of the tracksuit bottoms-clad goalkeepers is the goalkeeper in short sleeves. This has a significantly less negative connotation, but remains the hallmark of a maverick goalkeeper that has ideas above his station, much like short-sleeves standard-bearer Fabien Barthez. This brand of goalkeeper may be referred to as "eccentric".

3. Englishmen catch, foreigners punch.
Dwelling further on international football stereotypes, The Angle... calls upon one of the more lazy cliches attached to the art of goalkeeping. Along with diving, alice bands and wearing socks above the knee, the influx of foreign players to our shores has also brought with it the ugly art of punching clear. An almost total refusal to catch the ball understandably registers with English supporters as rather a handicap for a goalkeeper. Nonetheless, the foreign custodians will always choose to punch. Actually, no goalkeeper ever chooses to punch the ball. No, they will always be said to either elect or opt to punch.

The Angle... is quietly compiling a list of words and phrases that football people only use in, and indeed only know from, a footballing context. Electing to do something is one of them, as is lack(s)adaisical, but that's a story for another day...

4. Be brave. Everyone likes a brave goalkeeper.
Putting your head where the boots are flying is the timeless benchmark for goalkeeping bravery. Any goalkeeper that dives at the feet of an approaching striker will have his bravery applauded by the co-commentator, despite the fact that if he hadn't have done so, the striker would have scored easily and made the goalkeeper look unquestionably foolish. In the event of injury in such circumstances, it is more admirable to hold on to the ball rather than throw it out before receiving treatment.

5. Have your goalkeeping ability measured in minutes.
Going 9 games without conceding a goal is a superb achievement. Somehow, though, going 756 minutes without conceding appears more impressive. Breaking the 1,000-minute barrier could be considered the holy grail for a modern day goalkeeper.

6. Play until you are 40.
Goalkeepers, presumably due to their perceived "madness", simply do not know when to hang up their gloves (a misleading cliche, perhaps, as gloves are surely stowed away or packed up in some way, be it temporarily or permanently. But never hung.) This longevity may also be attributable to the dubious "fact" that goalkeepers, we are told, "do not reach their peak until their early thirties". How, for example, a 32-year-old goalkeeper is able to perform better, on average, than a 28-year-old one is not immediately clear.

7. Become a Third Choice Keeper
Third choice goalkeepers face a continuous battle with 4th officials over the dubious honour of having the easiest job in football. Often either a 19-year-old rookie, or inexpensive European journeyman (Chelsea's Hilario, for example), the third-choice goalkeeper is called into action only in emergencies. Lower-league clubs, who cannot afford the luxury of having a third-choice goalkeeper on the payroll, may find themselves begging the Football League for special dispensation. Despite its lofty, rather dismissive terminology, this permission is always granted, however.

Probably the only type of footballer that is not likely to say "at this stage in my career, I need to be playing first-team football." They will have given up on any hope of that long ago.

That is not to say there are no prospects for a third choice goalkeeper. If you are deemed to be the third best available goalkeeper in your country every couple of years, you may find yourself jetting off on a free holiday with your mates. All that is required of a World Cup third-choice goalkeeper is to:

1) half-heartedly join in the warm-up before games. The odd drop-kick will suffice.
2) Join in the celebrations/protestations that involve the entire bench.
3) Assist second-choice 'keeper in offering advice/encouragement to first-choice keeper before penalty shoot-out.

8. Go Up For Corners in The Last Minute
An absolutely delightful phenomenon. His team desperately requires a goal, the game is in its dying moments, and a corner is won*. The goalkeeper races towards the opposition area, to the delight of the crowd and the commentator. Somewhere in the official Laws of the Game it states the following:

If, in the event of a corner being won in the final minute of the game, the goalkeeper of the team that requires a single goal must enter the opposition area. The goalkeeper, despite the fact that he is indeed a goalkeeper, must then become the sole focal point of that team's attack. The corner must be delivered towards him, and he must strain every sinew to reach the ball, regardless of his ability to head the ball.

As if he has realised that there is no point in coming up for a corner unless he, and he alone, connects with the cross, the goalkeeper causes absolute havoc. Who should mark him? Should a defender be riskily sacrificed to deal with this curious attacking threat? Why is he more dangerous than the goalscoring centre-back or the 30-goals-a-season striker in this situation?

Despite the drama, a goal very rarely results. We are then treated to the secondary spectacle of whether or not the defending team can take advantage of the open goal left at the other end.

But when a goal does result...

*Given the alarming frequency of last-minute corners awarded to teams that desperately require a goal, one wonders if supposedly impartial referees actually want to see a goalkeeper come up for a corner as much as the rest of us.

9. Overprotection
Goalkeepers, as we are constantly reminded, are overprotected these days. Referees, concerned at having to face a whole team's wrath if allowing a goal after the goalkeeper has been challenged, will always blow for a foul. Once we all realise that it's the same for both teams, we can all move on. But not until the commentator has grabbed his opportunity to tell us how overprotected goalkeepers are these days.

10. Be Dubbed "The Cat"
An important and valuable part of the goalkeeper's repertoire is to have cat-like reflexes. No goalkeeper in history, be it Lev Yashin, Peter Schmeichel or Perry Digweed have qualified for fly-like or mouse-like reflexes. Those capable of reaction saves, often from point-blank range, qualify for "Cat" status (even if, when making such saves, it is deemed that "they didn't know too much about it"). The most famous "Cat" was Peter Bonetti, but others include Sepp "Die Katze" Maier and František Plánicka, the "Cat of Prague".

11. Relish Penalties
Goalkeepers often whinge about how their mistakes prove more costly than an outfield player's. They get their own back in penalty shoot-outs, when a straightforward save of a shot hit at a good height for the goalkeeper can make them an instant hero.
Penalty saves in the 90 minutes are equally heroic. Penalties that are dubious or downright scandalous are often saved, so that justice is served. Goalkeepers that save penalties have a pre-programmed "celebration". Once the ball is out of play or cleared, the goalkeeper is ready to receive the acclaim of his teammates. But he must not appear too ecstatic - there are opponents to mark and a match to be won, and he will over-earnestly remind his colleagues of this. It is very similar in nature to the goalscoring centre-back's goal celebration.

12. Dive for Everything.
If humanly possible, it is recommended that a goalkeeper dives for everything, for three reasons:

1) He may make a save. Boring, but rather important.
2) No goalkeeper wants to be labelled as "statuesque" when a goal goes in.
3) If the shot is going just wide, and the goalkeeper tries to save it anyway, the television viewer is ensured the following disclaimer from the commentator about the unnecessary piece of goalkeeping:

Commentator: That shot might just have been creeping wide, but he wasn't to know that.

Goalkeepers. They're mad, you know.

Adam.

Pundit Trumps

2007-03-01T10:14:00.000Z

Inspired by the classic playground game of Top Trumps, The Angle... has devised its own version. Pit the Andy Grays and Alan Hansens of this world against each other in a titanic battle of...

Pundit Trumps

(Yes, it looks a bit ropey, but it should work perfectly...)

Adam.

"There's Activity Down On the Bench...."

2007-02-26T10:58:00.000Z

There are certain incidents in a match where the co-commentator feels compelled to offer an opinion. One such moment is a substitution. At this point, we are treated to a full rationale of why this replacement is being made. Thankfully, as with many things, the co-commentator can call upon a comfortably wide range of stock reasons:

Like-For-Like
This type of substitution also appears under the guise of the straight swap or the ready-made replacement. Normally used to indicate that the player coming on is uncannily similar in style and position to the one he is replacing, usually because of an injury. A good example of the co-commentator's traditional compulsion to jump in and offer an incisive observation, a like-for-like substitution absolutely never goes unmentioned. Furthermore, the player coming on (although this is usually reserved for unspectacular positions in defence or midfield) will be said to "slot straight in" the same position. Although not necessary, if the players concerned look alike, then the cliche is sealed perfectly.

Example: Claude Makelele (Lassana Diarra, 45)

Fresh Legs
Most apparent when cup-ties go to extra time, the concept of fresh legs can be applied to pretty much any substitute, however pacy they may be. One distinction, perhaps, is that fresh legs are more commonly introduced in the midfield engine room.

A solid, reliable choice for a late substitution.

Example: Tomas Rosicky (Alexandr Hleb, 101)

To Offer A Different Option
Pre-match, a manager may be fortunate enough to be said to have "got options on the bench". In extreme cases, where the options are of very high quality, it may be necessary to provide a rundown of how many of them are "full internationals".

The offer of a different option (or simply "something different") essentially boils down to two things - pace (which is invariably "injected") and height (although the latter's rather rudimentary appearance may be disguised as "aerial ability"). A workhorse wide midfielder may be replaced by a youngster with "bags of pace", while a diminutive forward may be swapped for a beanpole of a target man. Either way, a different option has been offered.

Pacy substitutes may find their career hampered by the unhelpful label of "impact player", which means that they often can't be trusted from the start, but will definitely be called upon to come on and change the game at some point.

Example: Teemu Tainio (Aaron Lennon, 63) - pace
Example: Craig Bellamy (Peter Crouch, 67) - aerial ability

Shore Up the Defence/Midfield
This substitute's general responsibility is to provide extra defensive cover for his team, in order to either sit on a lead, or for the purposes of damage limitation. Often the task for utility players who may find themselves warming the bench on a regular basis.

Example: Ryan Giggs (John O'Shea, 81)

The Time Waster
With their team a goal to the good, managers may wish to use their final substitution in the dying minutes. Wise to the ploy, the player about to be substituted will have conveniently moved himself to the opposite side of the pitch, and will begin to trudge slowly towards the dugout. That is until the crowd's anger rises to the point where he breaks out into a light jog. Even allowing for the unwritten rule that 30 seconds will be added to the period of injury time, this method of timewasting is as effective for the side in the lead as it is frustrating for their opponents. The player entering the fray suffers the very minor indignity of being brought on for reasons completely separate from his footballing abilities.

Example: Andriy Shevchenko (Shaun Wright-Phillips, 90+2)

The Raft of Substitutions
Since the maximum allowable number of substitutes in a competitive game is not sufficent to qualify as a raft, even when done simultaneously, this is the sole reserve of the international friendly. A raft of substitutions is now generally recognised as the symbolic (if not actual) final whistle, and the sensible time to pack up your England flag and tuneless airhorn and vacate Old Trafford.

Example: Steven Gerrard (Joey Barton, 78), Wayne Rooney (Jermain Defoe, 78), Ashley Cole (Phil Neville, 78), Frank Lampard (Jermaine Jenas, 78).

Substitute is Substituted
An unusual occurrence that arises when either circumstances demand it (a keeper is sent off, and one of the used substitutes is seen as the sacrificial lamb) or when the player is so performing so badly that he is hauled off in unceremonious fashion by his manager. A collector's item for the football anorak, who will scan the end of match report to see the glorious indignity that the substituted substitute has received - the double brackets.

Example: Matthew Le Tissier (Ali Dia, 32 (Ken Monkou, 85))

The Standing Ovation
Similar to the Time Waster, in that is "too late to make an impact" for the player coming on, and he isn't expected to anway. For his role is to high-five the player leaving the field to a standing ovation. Standing ovations are given to forwards that have either had an exceptional game (a brace, or a couple of assists, etc.) or expensive signings that have not had a good game in the slightest but whose confidence the fans kindly don't want to beat to a pulp. The former is obliged to leave the pitch performing a difficult above-head-clap/360-degree twist combination.
Bringing a player off to a standing ovation also serves the secondary purpose of saving hat-tricks from being taken for granted. The number of hat-tricks that players have been "denied" thanks to a standing ovation is not recorded, but may run into the hundreds of thousands.

Example: Peter Crouch (Dirk Kuyt, 89)

The Final Throw of the Dice
The third substitution. A goal is required, and the last remaining player on the bench that is anything approaching a forward is brought on, and is heralded as the "final throw of the dice". This players instructions are usually reported post-match as having been "get out there and maybe nick a goal". They often do.

Example: Patrice Evra (Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, 84)

Adam.

"Look Away Now..."

2007-02-26T10:27:00.000Z

A rare and almost forgotten art is still practised in this country today. I’m not talking about maypole dancing or basket-weaving. I’m talking about the epic undertaking that is avoiding the scores. It may be that you are unable to follow your team’s progress on a Saturday afternoon, due to some sort of sudden and unforeseen incapacitating accident; or that your wife has dragged you off to the shops by pain of death…or that you just want to run a masochistic gauntlet by hiding from all forms of media and physical and verbal contact with any other human being - for seven long hours.

The practice was made famous by the classic 1973 episode of Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads called ‘No Hiding Place’, in which Bob and Terry spend all day trying to avoid learning the score of the Bulgaria v England football match, in order to watch the televised highlights that evening. Despite exhaustive attempts to avoid the result - and a malevolent bloke from the pub intent on making it as difficult as possible for them - they manage it, only to find the game is abandoned due to flooding as they grapple with the possibilities of a snatched glance at a headline beginning with “England F…”. Cult viewing at its finest.

For all those that attempt this task, there is a set of simple rules that will determine whether you succeed and sit down in front of the Match of the Day credits with a smug, excited grin or if you end up swinging for your girlfriend as she chooses that exact day to give a shit about YOUR ‘hobby’ and gleefully tells you that your team has just conceded a fourth at home to Wigan.

Plan.
This is as close as you’re likely to get to the magnitude of planning the perfect murder or a military assault on a small Central American country. You must work out the environment that you must survive in for the next 7+ hours between kick-off and the MotD credits. If you are leaving the house, then expect the unexpected and prepare for:

- Multi-screen displays of Soccer Saturday in the television departments of John Lewis

- Any groups of two or more males above the age of 4, or singles talking into their mobiles

- Women. Often considered harmless, but in the same breath can be your downfall (look for the tell-tale club scarf for most over-enthusiastic female supporters)

If you are staying in, avoid all television and radio channels with any kind of news update or sporting connection. Magic FM and The Fashion Channel are thus highly recommended. With all forms of media blanketed there really is only one possible enemy left: everyone you know.

WARN/IGNORE EVERYONE
There are two ways of handling your friends, family and girlfriend/wife in this situation: warn them and then ignore them. If you choose to text them all, or start every conversation with a speedily-delivered mantra “I’m avoiding the scores, so don’t tell me anything”, then be prepared for the mischievous (or perhaps even plain stupid) mate to haunt you throughout your difficult hours.

TRUST NO-ONE
The most dedicated Score Avoiders will turn their phone off. A phone call or especially a text message during the 90 minutes will cause you to speculate wildly about its meaning, but at the end of the day you know that text is not going to say “I’m so pleased for you that your centre-back has just scored from 30 yards to make it 3-0 for your lot”. Texts = bad news. To make absolutely sure, it is also worthwhile making absolutely no eye-contact with anyone, however harmless you think they might be. Many a time has my girlfriend revealed the exact details of a thumping defeat with a momentary look of concern, after she overheard some bloke on the bus laughing heartily at your team’s misfortune.

STICK TO THE BBC
ITV and Sky generally don’t get it. The BBC became the first true ally in the war against knowing the scores when the sports newsreader first began to utter the famous words “…and for those who don’t want to know the scores, look away now”. Unfortunately, even this unique empathy with the die-hard Score Avoider has been tarnished recently by the need to actually read out the scores – probably to benefit the moaning blind people who can’t watch Match of the Day. Bastards. However the addition of “...and put your hands over your ears” in the newsreaders’ warnings has led to visions of grown men across the country sat on their sofas with their fingers in their ears, eyes clamped shut, singing “LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA” for far longer than necessary. If you’ve made it this far – well done. But you’re not out of the woods yet.

BE PREPARED TO BE DISAPPOINTED
For some unknown reason, certain football highlights programmes have little faith in the abilities of the Score Avoider, or perhaps simply don’t care. Creeping into these shows, particularly on those that are contractually bound to show advert breaks, are often flashed highlights of the day's play – often including, criminally, the goals. Someone has to tell them that the use of an obscure camera angle does not hide the fact that the fans behind the goal are going ballistic. A truly sad attempt to maintain viewer interest by suggesting “Yes! There was at least one goal today! What an exciting programme it will be!”. Then there are the studio presenters and pundits who are desperately trying to hide their emotions and remain as poker-faced as possible, while your eyes flicker across Hansen’s face in the vain hope he’ll reveal something about West Ham's leaky defence.

You find yourself at the unpredictable mercy of the commentator and the programme’s editor. Recently, the commentator on Ford Football Special decided to reveal at the start of highlights of the recent crucial Watford v Wigan relegation battle that “Watford don’t have a keeper on the bench tonight”. Good thing that Ben Foster didn’t get injured then….oh.

Then, there is the dreaded Yellow Card Highlight. Any prolonged footage, complete with graphic confirmation of a player getting booked in a highlighted game - can mean only one thing. It is similar to the beginning of an episode of Casualty. That talismanic defender, crucial to your side’s survival in the top-flight, might as well be climbing his roof to fix his aerial during an electrical storm. He’s in it. And he’s going to get sent off. Don't be fooled by the commentator saying "he's got to be careful now" and is "walking the disciplinary tightrope", because he is absolutely guaranteed to fall off the disciplinary tightrope.

There is, of course, one final spanner in the works that is never likely to be a flooded-out England game. It’s simply your own team. On MotD last. Drawing 0-0. Nothing on this earth can prepare you for this disappointment. The thing is – you know that you caused it.

Ollie (for once...)

Wheeling Away...

2007-02-23T09:56:00.000Z

The overworked Fun Police at UEFA have their next target - to get tid of the phenomenon of pre-arranged goal celebrations. So, next season, we will have the sight of players getting sent off for a second bookable offence after little routines made up in training. Inevitably, this will lead to a tenfold increase in pundits and co-commentators appealing for "common sense". On the plus side, it boosts the chances of Thierry Henry and Emmanuel Adebayor retaining a semblance of dignity after their silly recent dance shenanigans.

People (sorry, we mean pundits) say it's taking the "fun" out of football. That's bollocks. It's taking the self-conscious awkwardness out of football, so we can get away from silly dances, ring finger- kissing and (most excruciatingly of all) new-born-baby tributes. This may or may not be UEFA's rationale, but hopefully we shall see a return to proper goal celebrations such as the following:

The Hard Man
These guys might not score very often, as they are too busy putting nancy-boy wingers into the front row of the stand. When they do, however, they are not going to mess around with any sort of aimless running around or effeminate dancing.
For these players, scoring is a manly duty for which no praise is expected - just stick it in the back of the net and get on with it. A speciality of lower-division centre-halves (just watch Football League Review) who have come up from the back for a corner to score their first goal in three years. Possibly pioneered (in the modern age, at least) by Stuart Pearce, whose exocet free-kick goals were often "celebrated" by a stern, purposeful run back to his own half, ready for the restart. Any attempt at congratulation was presumably seen by Pearce as an affront to his masculinity.

The Shearer
A no-frills method, Shearer's technique is the RyanAir of goal celebrations. It does, however, represent the best way an old-fashioned English-style centre-forward can celebrate a goal, particularly if it needs to be practised upwards of thirty times a season. A departure from the Hard Man in that it allows a fair amount of joy to be expressed, the technique is clearly defined. Firstly, the scorer must wheel away in celebration. As a natural movement of the body after a back-post tap-in, this isn't without risk. If the goalkeeper performs a wonder save, the striker may find himself looking foolish. Less embrassingly (if he realises in time) is if the celebration is cut short by an offside flag or the referee's whistle. The next stage is to raise one arm (a la Shearer) or both arms to signal glee, followed by a run to the crowd behind the goal or to the corner. If all components dovetail correctly, the result should be something like this:

This should never be lumped together with Mick Channon's trademark "windmill" celebration, which, like many things, has been rightfully consigned to the 1970s.

The Knee-Slide
An extremely camera-friendly celebration, excellent proponents of this particular technique are Wayne Rooney, Didier Drogba, John Arne Riise and, among the managers, Jose Mourinho. Only advisable when the playing surface is greasy, the correct method is a shallow jump, followed by as long a slide as possible. In a rare articulation between football and curling, any slide that ends just before the corner flag or touchline is considered the benchmark. Any knee-slide attempted on a non-greasy surface will result in an aborted slide, followed by a violent jerk forward onto one's stomach. This does not usually detract from the joy of scoring, however. If the surface is wetter than greasy, the knee-slide is understandably rejected in favour of a body-slide. Indeed, the combination of a saturated pitch and a triumphant cup-final team should result in a collective body-slide.

The Tardelli
The purest, most beautiful goal celebration of them all. Unbridled joy. The magic is in the bend of the run, the fact that he's not sure what to do with his hands (pump fists? grab head? Both?!) and the fact that it was in the World Cup Final. But don't let the uneducated fools in your local tell you he was shouting his own name. Look closely - he wasn't.

Despite its basic appeal, it is something we are yet to witness properly from an Englishman. Much like moped-riding and tight jeans, it is something only Italians can carry off - other exponents include Filippo Inzaghi and Paolo Di Canio. More recently, we saw Italy's Fabio Grosso perform a convincing Tardelli, conveniently after a winning goal against Germany at the World Cup. He knew what to do...

The Ball-Grab
Another classic, if not perhaps a celebration as such. The context can vary slightly, but the general theme is the same. A team requires two or more goals to get back level in a game/cup tie, and they scramble home the first of them. The scorer then tries, as hard as he did to get the ball in the net, to reclaim the ball in order to hasten the games restart. This is, as we all should know, utterly pointless. The game has been stopped and the referee's watch has been stopped.

Nevertheless, the scorer's determination to claim the ball and take it back to the centre circle is often matched only by the opposing goalkeeper's desire to stop him doing so. And this is where the pantomime can begin:

1. Goal is scored.
2. Scorer attempts to claim ball.
3. Goalkeeper prevents scorer claiming ball, often by simply picking it up and turning his back.
4. Scorer attempts to rip ball from goalkeeper's grasp, much like a child whose older brother has stolen his favourite toy.
5. Depending on who fails to get the upper hand in this hilarious tussle, several players from one side will come to the aid of their teammate.
6. Several players from the other side are obliged to then participate.
7. All involved become tangled in the goalnet.
8. Once separated, the players then anxiously await the result of the hushed touchline disciplinary conference between referee, linesman and Sky Sports cameraman.
9. Yellow cards are brandished.
10. Kick-off. 5 minutes later than the goalscorer's team wanted it to happen.

Of course, the sheer inevitability of this is reflected in the goalkeeper's behaviour. As soon as he picks up that ball, he knows he is in trouble. Just look at his face the next time this happens.

If the scorer successfully claims the ball without the need for handbags, he will then return the ball to the centre spot by means of a Stuart Pearce-esque thundering run, a look of completely over-earnest determination on his face. If, however, a teammate is better placed, the goalscorer will emphatically motion to him to retrieve the ball and fulfil his role by proxy.

A classic example here, albeit a slight variation. Lineker pulls a goal back against Argentina in 1986, but selfishly decides to celebrate. Sensing his opportunity to fill in, Steve Hodge races over to do battle with goalkeeper Nery Pumpido:

The Slalom
Usually the celebration of choice for players who may not often get the chance, the slalom requires skill and speed to gleefully evade any teammates intent on mobbing them. Another example of an expression of raw emotion, but perhaps without the gravitas and drama of a Tardelli.

The Messiah
There are moments of genius that can be capped with the sort of celebration only a supreme bit of skill deserves. Arms oustretched, "receiving" the fans acclaim, the player does not need to run anywhere. Let the plaudits come to him. An understated gem of a celebration:

As a footnote, it must be added that this celebration often appears to signal the icing on the cake - the completion of a hat-trick, a last-minute sealer in a major final, or the last goal of a championship-winning season. Even if the player concerned isn't the most talented in the team, as long as the goal is good enough, the Messiah method is acceptable:

The Assist Appreciation
Some players score so many goals that, once in a while, they seek out the player who created the goal. A kind, selfless gesture? No.

The self-conscious point at the teammate and the direct jog over to acclaim them is all a bit "look-at-me". Which explains why a frequent culprit is Thierry Henry.

The Jump and Punch
Another solid and traditional method. Often the celebration of choice when a schoolboy dreams about scoring a cup-final goal, the jump and punch represents an effective expression of joy. The take-off must be judged accurately, like a long jump attempt, and the air-punch perfectly timed to coincide with the zenith of the leap.

A timeless celebration, and one still popular with the new breed. Southampton wunderkind Gareth Bale appears intent on adopting it as his trademark, although the young man should be advised that the mid-air, 360-degree twist is highly unnecessary:

The Backflip(s)
An example of when the impressiveness of the celebration bears no relation to the quality of the goal being celebrated. However, one must not begrudge these gymnasts their opportunity. This spectacular method is reserved exclusively for African imports such as Obafemi Martins, Celestine Babayaro and Peter Beagrie.

The Touchline Beeline
A goalscorer, wishing to show emphatic support for an under-fire manager, may wish to dedicate their goal by running directly to the dugout. This must be accompanied by a direct point of the finger to establish to all and sundry the destination of the celebration. A truly heartwarming sight.

The Finger-Wag
Finally, we come to the last textbook celebration. The finger-wag attempts to rival the Messiah as an understated expression of joy, but lacks the epic feel. Fingerwaggers fall into two categories:

Dismissive - For celebration of a more impressive goal, the scorer appears to actively dismiss any congratulation, on the grounds that nothing could do him justice. A prime example:

Confirmative - the cheekier of the two varieties, this finger-wag simply says: "Yep, that's the one.", as demonstrated here:

Just remember - once upon a time, players just shook hands and got on with it.

Adam/Coxie.

The Ubiquity of Peacock

2007-02-22T09:53:00.000Z

As we have mentioned before on The Angle..., many ex-professional footballers' inevitable route into football punditry is well established. However, the sheer number of aspiring pundits mean that some sort of entry system has developed. At the BBC, the apparent promotion and demotion of pundits indicates a distinct hierarchy in operation - a hierarchy The Angle... can definitively present as the BBC Pundit Pyramid:

Fig 1.0

Movement of pundits between the echelons is fluid and ongoing, and depends largely on their dress sense, outspokenness, possession of a regional accent, and whether or not they were part of Arsenal's back four between 1990-2000. We shall work our way through the Pundit Pyramid from the base upwards:

Women's Football
Often the site of the most patronising, basic commentary and analysis. If Match of the Day is the equivalent of the Ten O'Clock News, then coverage of the fairer sex taking to the field is akin to Newsround. Past presenters have included the aforementioned Celina Hinchcliffe, horse racing expert Clare Balding and Mark Pougatch (who was selected on the basis of his sensitive nature, presumably - who knows?). Pundits here include the versatile Gavin Peacock. Television football coverage's answer to, say, Notts County, Peacock continues to yo-yo between the lower divisions of the Pundit Pyramid.

Not really a breeding ground for pundits. More a dark, cold basement in which they are locked for a couple of hours to teach them a lesson, if they've been naughty when operating further up the Pyramid.

The African Nations Cup
Ammunition, perhaps, for those who subscribe to the it's-political-correctness-gone-mad school of thought, the BBC's choice of presenters and pundits for their past coverage of the African Nations Cup was intriguing. Until the outstanding fellows at British Eurosport thankfully assumed the reigns, the BBC's coverage consisted of renowned African football connoisseurs Garth Crooks and Mark Bright, joined occasionally by everyone's favourite part-time Nigerian, John Fashanu. They still found space for Gavin Peacock, to be fair.

Final Score
A clear admission on the BBC's part that they were getting left behind was when they attempted to copy Sky's Soccer Saturday format. In order to extend Final Score through the 90 minutes it was rebranded (understandably) Score, and a full complement of studio guests was recruited. With Carlton Palmer and Gary Pallister (one can only begin to imagine the rationale behind recruiting these two) taking the roles as watered-down BBC versions of Charlie Nicholas and Matt Le Tissier, and laptop computers with sticky-on footballs providing the equivalent of Sky's slick use of actual television screens, the results are laughable. Oh, and Peacock's there, too. The BBC's total unease in the modern era of sports broadcasting is encapsulated by the terrified Ray Stubbs, as he struggles to cope by being surrounded by nine British divisions' worth of simultaneous score information. How he longs for the leisurely stroll of Football Focus, or those editions of Match of the Day on days where the fixture list wasn't exciting enough for Gary Lineker to bother coming in to work.

Broadcast almost entirely on BBCi, and simulcasting on BBC1 for the last ten minutes or so (before the "final whistles sound, up and down the country"), 87% of Score's audience is made up of husbands watching through front windows of Dixons outlets up and down the country.

Football Focus
If the Pundit Pyramid were Everest, this would be its base camp. From here, only the hardy, wily pundits dare go further (accompanied by Pyramid veteran, Sherpa Lawrenson), while the less capable must descend or give up completely. Flavour-of-the-month managers and players occasionally appear at this level, but often find the altitude overwhelming, and are never to be seen again.
Football Focus is a significant and pivotal stage of the Pundit Pyramid. Pundits are obliged to prove their worth here before being allowed to enter the cauldron of a live broadcasted match environment. It is often a straightforward baptism, however, as they tend only to be grilled on matters such as diving, goal-line technology and the England squad - all mindnumbingly overanalysed subjects that any self-respecting pundit could discuss in their sleep. Combined with a lesser emphasis on direct match analysis, it means that the pundit can, in theory, begin the process of subtly slipping into the consciousness of the watching masses. Create any waves here, though, and their ascent through the Pyramid's levels will end instantly.

Match of the Day 2
A less formal version of its big brother, this is an avenue for the up-and-coming pundit to get their foot in the door, and try to cement some sort of "residency". The MOTD2 arena is the main cultivation site for the specific sense of humour required from a BBC pundit - which is usually based around self-deprecation about one's playing career. References to lack of pace, goalscoring ability and/or willingness to train (however actually true) are mandatory. On this basis, Matt Le Tissier, if not commandeered by Sky, would almost certainly be a MOTD2 resident pundit.

Surprisingly, creating a caricature for oneself is not necessarily a hindrance to a career in punditry, as long as it has depth and mileage. Indeed, Alan Hansen's novelty obsession with the art of defending has seen him rise to the very top of the Pundit Pyramid. Any appearance he or (to a lesser extent) Lawrenson may make on MOTD2 or Football Focus is very much like a chairman of a company doing an "impromptu" meet-and-greet with his lowly factory workers - it maintains the morale in the lower levels of the Pyramid.

An appearance on Match of the Day 2 requires a tad more analytical skill from the pundit, while the casual format keeps them from being overexposed to pure punditry too early. Furthermore, the presence of everyman presenter Adrian Chiles reminds them to keep their punditry feet on the ground - they haven't made the big time yet.

The FA Cup
The first encounter with the pressure of a live game. Thankfully, virtual stabilisers are at hand thanks to the reliable stream of FA Cup cliches. A pundit can safely navigate this level of the Pyramid with well-placed use of phrases like "anything can happen in the FA Cup" (pre-match), "classic English cup-tie"(half-time) and "the magic of the FA Cup" (post-match).
In a similar way to MOTD2, pundits can be known to sneak onto this level of the Pyramid for a one-off appearance, usually thanks to an association with one of the teams. This appearance may be greeted with a dusted-off clip from the pundit's playing career - a prime opportunity to test out the art of self-deprecation outlined above (although it may be limited to hilarious banter about his hairstyle at the time.)

Match of the Day
Now entering the elite reaches of the Pundit Pyramid, where the Hansens, Lawrsensons and Shearers of this world begin to dominate. The ability to handle player montages and to dress up innocuous clips of open play as tactically significant are crucial here. Most importantly, however, is that this is now a level of the Pyramid where the viewers may actually care what a pundit is saying.
Very difficult for a pundit to break into, this upper level of the Pyramid is characterised by its lack of opportunities for outsiders.

England Games
England friendlies on the BBC maintain a high position on the Pyramid, despite their importance and attractiveness barely even being on paper. Their lofty status is also undermined by the presence of Ian Wright, who appears to have snuck up there by virtue of his critically-acclaimed, highly-successful early evening entertainment programmes. (For a wider study on this, see February 2nd's "So, what have we learnt?....")

The World Cup
Finally, to the summit. Hansen, Lawrenson, Shearer, Wright are all present and (in)correct. In addition, the BBC pull out all the stops to acquire a foreign star guest. This figure must fulfil several criteria. Firstly, he must be in possession of a World Cup winner's medal. Secondly, his grasp of English must hover just below conversational. Finally, and most crucially, he must be impossibly good looking, as this tends to tip fellow guest pundit Martin O'Neill into another stratosphere of genuinely amusing sycophancy. Previous appearances have been Leonardo last summer (who arguably became the template for the role, by ticking all three boxes emphatically), Marcel Desailly and David Ginola, but not Gary Neville in 2002.
Reaching this level brings with it certain privileges. You will be allowed (in fact, encouraged) to jump around like a proper supporter in the studio during any England match, while any departure off the proverbial fence to berate any member of the side that have just knocked England out will be deemed as understandable and justified.

Climbing the Pundit Pyramid is a thankless and arduous task, and few are able to complete the journey in its entirety. Many are caught in the punditry limbo of [Final] Score, and are unable to escape. Some prospective pundits, deployed to the (almost literal) no man's land of covering the ladies' game, can be put off altogether. They can then be found toiling away on the after-dinner speaking circuit.

I have no diagram for that, sadly.

Adam.

"And that concludes the draw..."

2007-02-19T12:42:00.000Z

The draw for the FA Cup quarter-finals is nigh, and I have 45 minutes in which to attempt a nostalgic (but not blindly nostalgic) review of this pleasant tradition. I hope I finish it in time, as the following list of FA Cup draw cliches is one I'd like you, dear reader, to tick off as the draw progresses:

The Pre-Draw Headlines
Being such a momentous occasion, any draw for the major competitions requires a pointless generic build-up article, which are nowadays usually the domain of Ceefax/Teletext and the internet. Invariably given the headline "Clubs Set For FA Cup Draw", the article will then reveal exclusively how the remaining entrants are "awaiting " (often "eagerly", where any lower-league club is concerned), and is rounded of with a list of the "all-important" ball numbers.

The Presenter
A modest 15-minute slot is dedicated to the formalities of the draw, now presented to the nation in marvellously wooden fashion by Sir Trevor Brooking. Brooking's predecessors have included the adequate but forgettable David Davies and the helium-powered Graham Kelly. A more challenging role than it perhaps looks, the frontman of the proceedings must juggle the following tasks:

Introduce the star guests who will perform the draw
Provide snappy and suitably uninteresting information on each team as they are drawn, usually pertaining to the way they progressed from the previous round. ("Number 4 is Plymouth Argyle....2-0 winners over Derby in Round Five.")
Ensure that all the balls have been emptied from the bag by one of the guests. This is traditionally the first source of cringe-inducingly awkward "comedy" during the draw coverage.
Engage slightly in mid-draw banter, whilst keeping in mind the need to keep the draw flowing.

The Guests
The logic behind the choice of guests can be a lottery in itself. Sometimes they can be topical invitations (players/managers recently involved in the competition) and sometimes they can be bafflingly inappropriate, like the two overfunded, underachieving "athletes" that performed the 5th round draw. Today's proceedings will feature England management team Steve McClaren and Terry Venables, more of whom to come.
Whoever performs the draw, it is customary to be very careful and precise (showing a level of care and concentration usually only seen when drinking tea from a cup and saucer at your grandma's) and to stand (when not ball-plucking) as all footballer folk do on occasions such as this - hands clasped behind straight back, legs shoulder width apart.

One of the Guests Selects His Old Team
With Middlesbrough and Tottenham in today's draw, the likelihood of this occurring is incredibly high. Another rich source of teeth-grindingly painful "humour" mid-draw, one of the guests is obliged to call upon a wide range of witty responses to choosing his own team. The most popular one, understandably is to smirk and either a) "apologise" for randomly, and not at all deliberately, drawing them to play Chelsea away, or b) produce a shrug that politely says "got them an easy one there!".

In fact, McClaren is likely to be incredibly unbearable in general throughout today's draw. Smug smirks are guaranteed upon the drawing of Middlesbrough and Manchester United's balls, while Venables will get in on the act with Tottenham and, to a lesser extent, Chelsea. Exactly why such a brief, tenuous link with one of your former clubs is such an impressive act of comedy is not clear.

With the draw imminent, I shall leave it there. For something that is supposed to be entirely unpredictable and random, the FA Cup draw has become very easy to forecast...

The Science Of, If Anything, Hitting The Ball Almost TOO Well.

2007-02-16T09:50:00.000Z

Football has always seemed to have a problem with upper limits.

Many have noted footballers' reluctance to be restricted by the draconian percentage system, choosing to declare their desire for 110%. Logic renders this impossible, of course, but its sentiment is understandable and ingrained in the fabric of the football cliche tapestry. Players, managers and supporters all agree that, at the very least, they want to see the full quotient of effort, grit and determination.

A less well-established paradox exists, however. Borne out of the advent of the slow-motion replay, it represents possibly the most nonsensical statement a co-commentator can make (for it is he, rather than the commentator, who is most often guilty of its use). It appears frequently, and as follows:

"If anything, he almost hit that too well."

First, let's take a moment to reflect on what this means, or is intended to mean. Years of experience tells us that shots that are if anything, almost hit too well are heavily characterised. They must be struck powerfully and must miss the goalframe (either to the side or above) by only a matter of inches (millimetres are also acceptable, if a little overzealous in their precision. Curiously, however, centimetres are very rarely called upon as units of expressing the proximity of a shot to the goal. There is, as yet, no clear rationale for this.)

So, a powerful shot that narrowly misses the target is classified as if anything, almost hit too well.

The significance of the "if anything" portion is questionable. It could be regarded as a good indication of the assumed obligation for a co-commentator to provide a verbal backdrop to all slow-motion replays. Quite literally, the co-commentator seems to be telling us: "Look, I've got to say something here. Erm...how about this?". Admitting that there is nothing of note to be said would be tantamount to resignation for the co-commentator, and is a dangerous taboo equal to dead air on the radio. So, there must therefore be something - anything. If this isn't enough, a second qualifier appears in the form of "almost". Similar to the phrases highlighted in The Angle's previous feature, this is a classic non-committal by the co-commentator. Furthermore, it could be argued that it demonstrates that even the most vacant-minded co-commentator suddenly realises the absurdity of "if anything, he almost hit that too well", and attempts to distance himself from his opinion, before he's even revealed it.

So far, so wishy-washy. The co-commentator has already warned us, early doors, that the imminent observation isn't going to be particularly valuable. But now he's telling us that, in addition, he's not really confident that it's entirely true. This does not bode well.

And so, on to the crux of the matter. How exactly can a shot be if anything, hit almost too well? Surely, the more "well" a shot is struck, the greater the likelihood of it resulting in a goal? To begin to deconstruct this nonsense and find some logic deep within, we must start from the very bottom - a shot not hit at all well. Assuming that complete airshots don't count (they aren't, despite their name, actual shots after all), the least "well" a shot can be hit, The Angle... would argue, is to scuff it. The full range of how "well" a shot can be hit can be graphically represented thus:

Fig 1.0

So, the most "well" a shot can be struck is, in our estimation, for it to be hammered. Any more than this, and a distinct ceiling is reached:

Fig1.1

It can be concluded that the statement strongly relates to the excessive power of the shot in question, to the detriment of precision and placement. Occasionally, the viewer/listener is treated to the clarification that the player "went for power over placement", although this is usually the case only with penalty kicks. A shot that is hit almost too well will always have an impressively pure trajectory as it whistles past the post or is blazed over the bar, but ultimately suffers from its excessive wellness.

So that is how, and indeed why, a shot is said to, if anything, be hit almost too well. Interestingly, it would appear to be one aspect of the game of which a manager should be careful not to demand 110% from his players - otherwise Row Z would be kept rather busy.

Adam.

For a classic example of a shot being hit almost too well, look no further than this speculative effort from 1994...

The Commitmentphobia of the Co-Commentator

2007-02-13T14:30:00.000Z

If you extracted the half-truths, non-committal observations and downright lies from the repertoire of a typical co-commentator, you wouldn't be left with very much at all. With a steady conveyor belt of "talent" emerging from the nation's legion of retired footballers, the viewer can be assured of two things. Firstly, that the intellect of these TV gantry sidekicks will be capped at a certain level and, secondly, that each new inductee will be even more heavily-influenced by football cliche than the last.

The role of the co-commentator is an intriguing one. The commentator is traditionally expected to convey, matter-of-factly, what is happening on the pitch (unless it's Clive Tyldesley, football commentary's David Brent, who will treat you to his wide-ranging showcase of wit as well), while his assistant is required to chip in with the odd insightful comment befitting a former professional, either when prompted or when a slow-motion replay is being shown.

Despite the co-commentators priveleged position - en ex-professional footballer, been in the game for around a quarter of a century at least, privy to all the camera angles and replays he needs - there seems to be an inherent reluctance to tell it like it is. There are two possible explanations for this. Either every co-commentator in employment is suffering from a permanent state of confusion, or they're too lazy to rise above the Standard Code of the Non-Committal Co-Commentator, some of which is as follows:

"Borderline..."
Perhaps the ultimate example of the pathetic fence-sitting nature of the co-commentator, close offside decisions should also serve as a lesson to any retired player aspiring to the role - never try and appraise a referee's decision before seeing a replay. No doubt influenced by any club/country bias and the reluctance to be proved blatantly wrong live on television, the co-commentator will enlighten the watching masses by declaring the offside decision as neither correct nor incorrect, but "borderline".

And it's fucking irritating.

"Paul Scholes...never quite mastered the art of tackling, has he? Heh-heh..."
An original Andy Gray-ism, but has been adopted by Clive Tyldesley on those rare occasions that he happens to find himself commentating on a Manchester United Champions League game. Before any United supporters start defending the Ginger Wizard, let The Angle... state what a great player we believe he is. However, received wisdom is that little Scholesey, bless him, has "never quite mastered" tackling - which is why he goes scything though the back of someone every other game, not even bothering to protest when a free-kick is given. It is this attitude that allows him to get away with being quite a "niggly", if not downright dirty, player. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing - we'll leave the sanctimonious faux-indignation to places like the letters page of Football365. Dirty fouls have their place in football, no matter what the self-appointed moral guardians of the game might say - Cantona's two-footed waist high lunge while playing in France being a particular favourite.

"He's not the quickest/tallest in the world..."
He's slow/short.

Why on earth co-commentators feel the need to shield the (obviously otherwise unsuspecting) public from the physical deficiencies of footballers is beyond comprehension. Is it some sort of PFA membership-inspired solidarity? Is it in fact a well-disguised plea for the quickest man in the world (Jamaican sprinter Asafa Powell) or the tallest man in the world (Mongolian herdsman Bao Xishun) to take up football? Does Bao Xishun have a good touch for a big man?

Who knows.

"That wasn't the best ball..."
In almost all cases, this fundametally fails to describe to the viewer/listener what has just happened - which is very likely to have been an absolutely terrible pass or cross.

"That was clumsy more than anything..."
Unless the likes of El-Hadji Diouf, Joey Barton or Michael Brown are involved, co-commentators are likely to shy away from claiming any malice in a tackle. However, the tantalising "more than anything" leaves us wanting more from our co-commentator. "More than" what?!

"There was minimal contact, for me..."
This is a classic case of when gutless non-commitment clashes with mere stupidity. Usually the reserve of Soccer Saturday pundits when their former team concedes a dubious penalty (Yes you, Phil Thompson/Charlie Nicholas), there seems to be a need for a certain amount of contact for a penalty to be given.

No contact - no penalty. Full contact - penalty. "Minimal" contact?! Still a penalty, guys.

The art of the co-commentator will be revisited time and time again by The Angle..., so this is a mere introduction to the world of the hopeless hangers-on who have absolutely nothing to say.

Adam/Coxie

A Postmodernist Deconstruction of the Post-Match Interview

2007-02-05T15:26:00.000Z

Along with television commentary, the post-match interview is the clearest possible opportunity to observe how football clichés have permeated the consciousness of all those involved in the game. Seemingly unwittingly, players (and, to a lesser extent perhaps, managers) conduct these interviews by calling upon a vast reserve of stock phrases and words for answers. The overwhelming presence of these well-established verbal safety-nets does make the seasoned football cliché enthusiast wonder if the interviewee really has anything of note to say at all.

Regardless, the demands of Sky Sports mean that their on-air time must be filled, and so these inane Q&As continue. While the average footballer is hardly an intellectual, you get the impression that the players at the less knowledgeable end of the spectrum use clichés in order to survive an interview, rather than give one. With media training now a common part of an Academy player's development, it wouldn't be outrageous to assume that they are taught these phrases, much like a secondary schoolchild would be taught the appropriate vocabulary they would need on a very unlikely trip to a restaurant in Germany (Ich mochte ein bratwurst, bitte.)

Postmodernist thought often refers to the concept of cultural recycling. Apparent, for example, in film genres such as film noir, it relates to the reappropriation, or even mere imitation, of verbal and visual cues to the extent that a genre is thus established. Pastiche films almost mindlessly draw from previous productions, while parodies do the same, although with a notable level of self-awareness and irony. If footballers continuously looked at the camera after each cliche, and gave the nation a knowing wink, they'd easily qualify for the latter. However, it is currently beyond the comprehension of most of today's players to display such self-reflexivity - they are too preoccupied with somehow plucking out a phrase to answer Geoff Shreeves' latest conundrum to realise that they are referencing and regurgitating football history. The odd "I know it's a cliche, but..." does represent some hope, though.

It should be no surprise that any player that does manage to momentarily eschew the Footballer's Code will be regarded with near wonderment and awe. These "articulate" players will inevitably be either a) tipped for a future job in management or b) earmarked for a future role in the media. For example, "studious" professionals like Gareth Southgate can be assured of a position on the touchline at the end of their playing days, while any player that can string a sentence together by themselves is very likely to feature on MOTD2 by the end of the season. Matt Taylor's appearance on Sunday's edition, aided by his penchant for speculative long-range efforts, would seem to lend support to this theory.

However, such heresy as to try and go without football clichés is a direct threat to The Angle..., and all that it seeks to lampoon. Therefore, in customary style, we present the following utterances, which you may well have heard from a footballer at some point:

Goalscorers
A fair and loyal bunch, strikers "don't care who gets the goals, as long as we get the three points", but can't resist adding that "it's always nice to score". The Angle... is yet to witness a striker (a player who is supposed to be "selfish") announce that he absolutely does care that it was he who got the brace in a 2-0 win, or perhaps that it's "only sometimes nice to score". The most self-indulgent a player lets himself become is when, at the behest of the brown-nosing interviewer, he contemplates whether his 35-yard volley was "one of the best goals" he's ever scored.
Long-serving full-backs, understandably ill-versed in the art of getting on the scoresheet, resort to hilarious bouts of self-deprecation when confronted over their goalscoring exploits. Allusions to "nosebleeds" are commonplace for those players who "don't get too many".

Victorious Players
Magnanimity turns into blatant patronisation for the victorious footballer. "Credit" is always offered to inferior opposition (on paper, at least) for "making it hard for us".

Goalscoring substitutes
Often fairly humble about their effective late introduction to the game, a goalscoring substitute will invariably be asked what his instructions were upon coming on. The classic reply would be:

"The manager just asked me to get out there, put myself about a bit, make a nuisance of myself and maybe nick a goal. And that's what I did."

Foreign players
Whilst it would be highly ignorant to draw attention to any foreign player's lack of command of the English language, it does appear that the first words any overseas signing is taught upon arrival are "happy", "important" and "very". Amazingly, this heavily-restricted vocabulary still suffices when answering Geoff Shreeves' less taxing enquiries.

Player Returning From Injury
Delighted to be back in action after a long injury lay-off, the more melodramatic players will recount how "there were times when I thought about packing it all in."

After a Dramatic Comeback
When inevitably asked if they had thought, at 2-0 down, that the game was over, a defiant captain/goalscorer (usually) lies and claims "No, we never stopped believing. We knew that if we got the first goal...."

Indiscipline
Faced with accusations of malice after a tackle that leaves an opponent injured, the guilty party (or, more often, a team-mate) will attempt to construct a desperate defence of their character. Even the dirtiest player will still be heard proclaiming that "I'm/he's not the sort of player who'd deliberately go out to try and injure a fellow professional."

Impressive (But Previously Under-Fire) Team-mate
Praise of a match-winning team-mate is bread and butter for the interviewee:

"He's a quality player and he showed that today."

If said player has been on the end of media criticism, reference to his performances "in training" may be necessary to lend further support.

Manager interviews perhaps offer a greater sense of self-awareness regarding the use of cliches. While their young players come across as rabbits in the media spotlight, the older, wiser managers are well-versed in the art of the post-match interview. Media-savvy bosses (or, at least, those who very obviously like to think so) use cliches so readily and so smugly that it is impossible to countenance that they aren't fully aware of what they are saying. The Alan Pardews, Alan Curbishleys and Stuart Pearces of this world use the post-match interview, usually the first opportunity to communicate with the fans, in a manner normally associated with a slimy MP, all spin and shameless grovelling. Pearce, for example, regularly abuses the phrase "football club", which should really only be used sparingly at the end of statements at add some profundity.

Post-match interviews can separate the magnanimous winners ("[The opponents' manager] is a good manager, and his team was well organised today") from the bitter losers ("The best team lost today, for me...") and the gracious, if a bit cowardly, losers ("Looking through their teamsheet, you can't compete with the quality they've got"). The referee is more or less protected from criticism nowadays as the managers bite their lip and "don't want to say too much, because I'll get into trouble [with the FA]", but the odd one can't resist and doesn't "care if I get into trouble".

The smuggest post-match interviews, where a smiling manager will gleefully spout the cliched answers expected of him, come when he reaches some sort of landmark, be it a certain number of games or years in the profession. Asked if he is "still enjoying it", the veteran boss can be relied upon to make a flippant remark about his wife or his blood pressure.

With manager's positions more precarious than ever in the modern game, many of them rely on the post-match interview as a desperate method of staying in employment. Ready-made, vacuum-packed cliches are called upon when the going gets tough. The nearer the manager gets to the axe, the more desperate he becomes. The Managerial Axe Desperation (MAD) Spectrum is exemplified as follows:

The process begins quite accidentally, when a bored tabloid "journalist" glances at the recent Premiership results, and sees that one team have not won in eleven games.

"Speculation [about my future] comes with the territory."
"Football is a results business."
"Ultimately, I will be judged on results."
"Both myself and the board want what's best for this football club."
"I've never walked away from anything in my life, and I'm not going to start now."
"The fans were magnificent today. They deserve better."
"The fans pay their money and they have every right to make their feelings known."
"All I'm interested in is preparing for the next game on Tuesday."

The manager leaves the club "by mutual consent".

Of course, sacking a manager without adequate forethought can always backfire. When a suitable replacement cannot be readily found, a struggling club search for answer within, an a caretaker manager is appointed. A sacrificial lamb to the hungry dogs of the media, the Comedy Caretaker emerges about once a season. A few brave post-defeat interviews later, and the Comedy Caretaker (conspicuous by his distinctive markings - his initials on the tracksuit) is also out the door. The Premiership has seen (to name but a few) Steve Wigley (Southampton), Chris Hutchings (Bradford), Frank Burrows (the flat-cap wearing no-mark at West Brom a few years ago) and Kevin Ball (who, at Sunderland, could at least plumb no further depths than Mick McCarthy), while England were forced to endure Howard Wilkinson for a short period.

The post-match interview, be it with a player or a manager, serves to perfectly encapsulate the painting-by-numbers nature of football coverage. Pre- and post-match, football (if we are honest) just isn't as interesting as Sky's hour-long build-up would have us believe. Therefore, television's bloated balloon of hype must be supported by the scaffolding of the football cliche.
But the signs are, however small, that players and managers are becoming more and more aware of themselves going through the motions. The Angle... awaits the post-match interview's continued progression into postmodernity.

Adam.

For an example of when the football cliche handbook goes at least partially out of the window, however, look no further than Newport County manager Peter Beadle, after his side's controversial FA Cup 1st Round tie. What a twat.

"So, what have we learnt?...."

2007-02-02T09:38:00.000Z

At some point this week, a football supporter will wonder out loud, to his friends: "are we playing this weekend?" The answer he receives is enough to chill the blood of any normal human being:

"Internationals."

I know some people get rather excited about England games - people looking to get a bit of trumpet practice in before their Grade 1 exam, perhaps - but there are also people who get rather excited about the music of Cliff Richard, so let's not allow the feelings of the insane get in the way. Some followers of lower-league clubs relish the opportunity to support the likes of Lampard and Rooney guilt-free, but even they will be hoping their Northern Irish Under-21 centre-half returns from Turkmenistan unscathed. Further up the league pyramid, however, fans of Manchester United and Chelsea are already eagerly eyeing up the next round of Premiership fixtures.

The people that would seem to care most about these games are the media - and they care a lot. Temporarily freed from their roles as transfer rumour-mongers, it is time for the press pack to actually do something and change the world. Or, more likely, to give the England manager a hard time, boss him about a bit and, ultimately, try to get him sacked. In the face of such tedious sniping, it has nowdays become increasingly difficult to distinguish between supporters' genuine discontent with the England team and mere boredom with international friendlies in general.

They won't go away, though, so here is The Angle's Rough Guide to the International Friendly:

The Build-Up

The squad is announced. Six players immediately withdraw, some having conveniently limped off in the 87th minute at Old Trafford earlier that day*. McClaren describes this as "a blow", but vows "to experiment" nonetheless. Phil Neville is "drafted into the squad as cover".

England captain John Terry is first to face the press conference, understandably going through the motions. Declaring that the "spirit in the camp" is good, Terry explains how much of an honour it is for these "quality players" to "pull on the England shirt". Steven Gerrard, the media's darling, is next. Of course he can play with Lampard, he says, unconvincingly. He likes playing central-midfield, but will give 100% on the right side, "if selected". In fact, he will play anywhere he is asked to - even in goal. The press find this hilarious and lap it up.

The customary new face in the England squad (someone "young and exciting", who probably got a montage on Match of the Day the previous week) is asked about the moment he got the call to report for international duty for the first time. This is the traditional initiation ritual for a potential international debutant. He passes with flying colours - by reciting the age-old tale of how he "thought it was a wind-up at first". Again, a small ripple of laughter ensues amongst the gathered hacks.

Pre-Match

The BBC, reflecting the passion of the nation before this fascinating encounter, begin their coverage ten minutes before kick-off. We are immediately presented with:

- Alan Hansen looking bored
- Alan Shearer rabble-rousing half-heartedly and using his vast experience as a top pro to produce insights like "we all want to see a decent performance". Shearer, much like ITV's Andy Townsend, has developed a tendency to continuously point towards the pitch behind him, adopting a patented thumb-over-the-shoulder technique.
-Ian Wright, to his credit, delighting thr BBC execs by describing the match as "muggy" and "two-bob".

Hansen is briefly roused from his stupor of indifference by a montage of Michael Carrick's "qualities". The "anchor role in midfield" has seemingly joined the perennial left-sided problem, climate change and the war on terror as worrying (if now rather passé) issues.

1st Half

John Motson, apart from the foam-finger-waving schoolchildren admitted at a discount, is the only spectator in the country who is genuinely excited by the prospect of the next ninety minutes. Lawrenson successfuly tempers this with near Hansen-esque apathy.

Twenty minutes pass. Come on, admit it. Sometimes you just think it would be better if the opposition scored. San Marino after 9 seconds, Macedonia from a corner - these are the guilty pleasures of international football. Even with such illustrious opponents as Spain turning up next weekend, we will be able to revel in the mediocrity of it all.

The remedial trumpet players don't lose gusto. Hell is the Official England Supporters Band performing their hit parade of "England 'Til I Die", "The Great Escape" and, most nauseating of all, "Come on England", the musical equivalent of being forced to watch Frank Lampard line up the same free-kick over and over again. Fortunately, the unofficial England band - the adolescent airhorn-blowers - lose enthusiasm and tail off eventually.

Attention switches to the visitors. Despite every Premiership game being filmed from every angle and beamed around the world, commentators will deem it necessary to identify a cunning foreign spy in the opposition ranks, who "plies his trade in English football" and can give his manager the "lowdown" of the world-famous England team.

Half-time. 0-0.

We return to the studio and Gary Lineker, who looks suitably and justifiably embarrassed to be associated with this rubbish. The pundits have that look on their faces that suggests they'd rather be at home watching The Bill. Ian Wright will blame Sven. It's football's equivalent of anti-Blair rhetoric - lazy, but a safe bet. The second Michael Carrick montage will be played, and will probably be used again as the pre-match Michael Carrick montage for the next friendly. Lineker sends us to Cardiff for highlights of the Wales game. John Toshack's Giggs-less side are 3-0 down, in a half-empty Millennium Stadium, to an East European nation that didn't even exist 4 months ago.

Desperate to find something to talk about from the first half, the pundits analyse a half-chance for England on the stroke of half-time. It will be referred to as England's one "bright spot in the first half".

2nd half.

The raft of subsitutions begin. This is apparently evidence of the manager's "experiment", which appears to be to field a side least likely to ever play with each other again. Despite their suppressive effect on the game as a spectacle, supporters don't really mind seeing their club's prize assets leaving the field to be replaced by bright-eyed Portsmouth and Reading one-cap wonders. Debutants are forced to play in a position they may have played once or twice before in their careers, as they are shoehorned into the chaotic second-half line-up. Of course, it will be a complete mystery why their England careers failed to take off.

The main effect of these subsititutions, as the co-commentator is allowed to mention in his tirade, is that they cause the game to "peter out" to become more like a "training game". England appoint their ninth new captain in the space of 78 minutes, as England's eternal second-half substitute Jamie Carragher takes the armband. He will not necessarily be required to point and shout in a captainly manner.

Full time. 1-0 (scrappy England goal, 84 mins)

Back to the studio once more, and the tired analysis begins again. One of the debutants' performances is examined. A montage of basic heading, tackling, passing and shooting skills leads his display to be hailed as "assured". At some point, reference will be made to "stepping up to International level". Generally accepted to be a "big ask", it requires established Premiership players who share a pitch with the likes of Ronaldo, Drogba and Henry each week to adapt to sharing a pitch with the likes of Marcus Schopp, Marc Bernaus and Szabolcs Huszti. No, neither do I.

Then, the moment we've all been dreading (if you haven't turned off your TV at the final whistle, anyway) - Garth Crooks interviewing Steve McClaren. McClaren tells us that he has "taken a lot of positives" from the match, while not actually going into too much detail about what those "positives" are. The general consensus is that the performance was more important than the result (unless we win, obviously).

Back to the studio: "So, what have we learnt?".

Absolutely nothing, Gary.

Coxie

*Since Wales captain Ryan Giggs made his debut in June 1991, his country have played 112 full internationals. Giggs, arguably their greatest ever player, has taken part in 60 of those. That's a pathetic 54%.

Ten Things That Make The Crowd Go "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!"

2007-01-30T11:31:00.000Z

In the age of tired, formulaic chants (refer to Ollie's recent piece "Shall We Sing A Song For You" below for examples) there are few more instinctive reactions for a football fan than a good, hearty smug "waaaaaa[h]eeeeeeeyyyyy!" (the "h" is optional, and depends purely on the individual, but the additional syllable is often problematic for the average fan).

Usually a sign that the match is going your way (and, quite spectacularly, not the way of the opposing team and supporters), such an outburst is reserved for the more comical moments in the ninety minutes. The Angle... presents the incidents most likely to generate one. In no particular order:

1. The referee falling over.
A relatively rare example of when the whole ground can morally justify joining in, the "Waaaey!" that ensues when the referee goes to ground is immediate and heartfelt. A truly classic "Waaaey!".

2. An opposing player's pass goes astray.
A fascinating example. There are two stipulations that must be addressed in order for the "Waaaey!" to occur here. Firstly, the ball must cross the touchline, as to emphasise the misplacement of the pass. Secondly, although occasional exceptions can be made for fans of lower-league sides, the players concerned must be on the losing side.

Once these criteria have been met, this example of a "Waaaey!" is subject to a form of sliding scale:

MILD/RELIEF
Relatively quick, sharp "Waaaey!" when short pass eludes full-back and exits field of play.
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MODERATE/JOVIAL
Long pass proves too high for wide player, and drifts hopelessly over his head.
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STRONG/RIDICULE
Low pass eludes intended recipient and heads towards touchline, but slowly enough to give hope of rescue. Intended recipient chases ball, but fails to reach it and slides unceremoniously out of play, usually into advertising hoardings or, more excitingly, into front row of opposing fans.
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HIGH/HYSTERICS
Has been the maximum attainable level on the Stray Pass/Waaaey! (SP/W) Scale since c.1992, when the backpass law was introduced. Occurs when a full-back's pass to a goalkeeper races towards the goal-line and out for a corner. The accumulative effect of flailing custodian, hands-on-head full-back, cheaply-won corner, confrontation between said custodian and full-back and the resultant possibility of a scoring chance all mean that the maximum SP/W level has thus been reached.

The further up the scale, the more drawn-out the "Waaaey!" becomes. A longer "Waaaey!" serves to highlight the increased calamity of the spectacle in question. Furthermore, the longer the "Waaaey!", the more pronounced the inflection at the end ("WaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeEEY!"), in order to provide a definitive end to the episode.

3. A second yellow card.
It is important to make clear what warrants and constitutes a "Waaaey!" and what does not. Celebrating a goal, whether or not it involves a similar cheer, is not, under any circumstances, a Waaaey!-worthy event. Although usually set aside for more humorous incidents (as the majority of examples in this article are), a "Waaaey!" can be called upon as the weapon of choice with which to ridicule and individual or collectively signpost a player's misfortune of any sort (barring serious injury).

A clear example of this is the second yellow card. While undoubtedly an expression of the pleasure towards their team gaining a numerical advantage, the fans of the beneficiaries of the sending-off also wish to give the departing member of the opposition a fitting send-off. The referee assists here, acting as an unwitting conductor. The first yellow is shown, causing a ripple of recognition in the stands. Just as the crowd realise the implications of it, the red card follows and they are given licence to "Waaaey!" as they wish. Spoilsport referees, who surprisingly include attention-magnet Graham Poll among their ranks, wish to brandish the cards in quick succession. Although this succeeds in removing the rhythmic element of the "Waaaey!", it does little to stifle its fervour.

4. The "Ironic Cheer".
A unique example of a "Waaaey!", this occurs when the referee is perceived to finally give the home side an overdue decision in their favour. It is mandatory, on any televised match, for the commentator or co-commentator to mention this. A useful, harmless way to vent anger towards an official.

5. A shot that goes out for a throw-in.
When a shot is sliced (veers in the other direction to the foot that strikes it, due to lack of purchase) or dragged (the exact opposite) and subsequently rolls out for a throw-in, this again entitles the opposing fans to emit a loud "Waaaey!". If the SP/W Scale was extended to include shots on goal (or intended to be so), such an effort would probably register around the Strong/Ridicule mark.

6. Player hit in groin by football.
An instantly identifiable event, marked by the crumpling of the player to the ground in a manner that simply cannot be simulated, this is perhaps the cruellest of all "Waaaeys!". Players getting struck in the unmentionables are a highlight for stadium and armchair fans alike, the latter even being treated to a slow-motion replay of the incident. As with the ironic cheer, (co-)commentators feel compelled to offer something humourous at this point. When the commentator is Clive Tyldesley, however, there is a further compulsion on the part of the viewer to re-enact the incident upon him.

7. Injured referee/linesman.
A beautiful example of a good "Waaaey!". Similar, of course, to a referee merely falling over, the "Waaaey!" here is accompanied by a period of reflection allowed by the stoppage in play, in which the referee receives appropriate treatment. How it is decided which medical team is deployed to assist the ailing official has not been established, and clearly warrants further investigation. Undoubtedly hilarious shouts toward the referee that he is in some way pretending to be injured (the "irony" of which is too much for fans to resist) ring out randomly.

8. A streaker.
The invasion of a naked member of the public into proceedings, whilst being a bit You've Been Framed, is another prime candidate for a solid "Waaaey!". Indeed, depending on the success of the uninivited guest in evading the police and the markedly more inadequate stewards, this incident can result in a multitude of "Waaaey!"s. An act enjoyed by everybody present, except Barry Davies, whose retirement from football commentary allowed him to take up the art of grandfatherly disapproval full-time.

9. Manager controls the ball.
Often the reserve of limelight-fetishist managers such as Alan Pardew, Stuart Pearce or Steve Bruce, the literal take on "kicking every ball" often rouses the supporters into some semblance of a "Waaaey!". Interestingly, both skilfully adept or comically bad attempts to retrieve the football in the technical area are greeted with the same approval from the onlookers.

10. Linesman "fouled" by full-back.
Similar (yes, I know...) to No.s 1 & 7, a linesman being taken out by a full-back is a delightful sight. It is set apart from its aforementioned official-plight cousins by virtue of the fact that it directly, and violently, involves a player. Unless a rare serious injury has been inflicted on the referee's assistant, the reaction of the assailant can range from sheepish schoolboy grin to all-out laughter with teammates and opposition players alike, regardless of language barriers.

One interesting conclusion can be drawn from this, and similar, incidents. Despite spending 90 minutes berating the opposition, the opposition fans, useless members of their own team or the board (but only at Villa Park and debt-ridden League Two clubs), football supporters, if they are really honest, thoroughly enjoy sharing a light-hearted moment with everyone present. An incident that brings the whole ground together in a moment of comedy should be applauded. The fact that sincere hostilities are resumed within seconds is even more brilliant.

Adam.

The Anatomy of a Protracted Transfer Saga

2007-01-29T10:01:00.000Z

Despite their weary protestations, the media absolutely adore a protracted transfer saga. The newspapers chart the player's on-off move, the internet provides up-to-the-minute updates, and the bloodthirsty Sky Sports News plonk a poor reporter in front of either clubs' stadium at 6am, hoping for a scoop. The advent of the January transfer window should mean that a protracted transfer saga (PTS) can now only really take place in the summer months. Several clubs and players are then unwittingly forced to do battle for the dubious and unofficial honour of PTS of the Summer. Of course, the Bosman rule (I guarantee that will be a film or album title one day...) has ensured a theoretical exception - PTSs can now have a lengthy prologue that involves the thrashing out of personal terms between player and prospective new employers, without the need for a pesky transfer fee. Now, while these negotiations can go on a bit, a PTS without drawn-out haggling over the transfer fee is simply not a PTS at all.

Years of study into the annual phenomenon of the PTS can now be concluded definitively. The Angle... presents The Ten Chapters of a Protracted Transfer Saga:

Chapter I - The Honeytrap
A player begins to reportedly "attract interest" from "several clubs". If he is considered good enough in these early stages, this elite group of "several clubs" will probably include Chelsea, Liverpool, Arsenal and Manchester United. This, I'm sure you will agree, is a very cunning way for totally uninformed media to hedge their bets for the outcome of an embryonic PTS.

Chapter II - The Hansen Magnifier
Once a player's marketability has been established, the football industry has an unspoken and unwritten agreement with the BBC. The terms of this deal mean that, when appropriate, the player in question will be the subject of a post-highlights video montage on Match of the Day. Alan Hansen, or whoever is his co-pundit that night, will analyse fairly unspectacular footage of the player's performance, concluding with the claim that the player has "a bright future". If the player is a defender, for example, several clips of him making routine interceptions will be interpreted as early signs of a superstar in the making.

A similar agreement exists with Sky. In this case, the player will receive the full attention of the ever-eager studio pundit Jamie Redknapp (who has emerged as a useful marketing tool in these early stages of the PTS, mainly due to his complete aversion to criticising players in any way) during the course of the pre-match warm-up. Complete with stats at the bottom of the screen, it is a spectacle that PTS experts feel is akin to watching kitchenware being hawked on QVC.

Chapter III - The "Hands-Off" Warning
Never be fooled by its dismissive nature - the "hands-off" warning signals a gear-change for the PTS which, in hindsight, proves to be the beginning of the (albeit distant) end. A stalwart of the football vernacular, the "hands-off" warning is invariably issued by the player's manager. Unequivocal in his defiance, the naive boss tells the media:

"We've had no bids for [Player X] and, to be honest, I wouldn't welcome any. We're not in a position where we need to sell players and it would take silly money for him to leave this football club."

The manager is at least careful not to specify an exact hypothetical figure for this "silly money", because to do so would constitute "slapping" a "price tag" on the player, hastening his departure considerably.

Unfortunately, the "hands-off" warning is inevitably the victim of Isaac Newton's Third Law of Motion ("For every action force there is an equal, but opposite, reaction force."). This equal, opposite force can be found lurking in Chapter VI.

Chapter IV - The Loyalty Pledge
Having obtained the manager's assurance that the player will be leaving, the media then seeks a statement from the player themselves. Influenced no doubt by their agent and, more heavily, by thousands of similar player statements in the past, the in-demand ace will, very probably, utter the following:

"I'm happy to stay at the club. I'm flattered by the interest, but it's all speculation. I'm a [Club X] player until told otherwise."

A sigh of relief for the fans, then, but the statement still leaves open all possibilities. Again, a PTS veteran should interpret this as a warning sign for the acceleration of the eventual deal.

Chapter V - The Bid
Finally, contact is made and a bid lodged. At this stage, it is not uncommon for the bidding club to remain officially anonymous, but not essential. Even less uncommon is the reaction of the manager (and often the chairman) of the player's club - the bid will almost always be "dismissed" as "derisory". One of those words that you sense those involved in football only know because of its use by those involved in football (see also; lackadaisical - known as lacksadaisical in football circles), "derisory" is the put-down of choice when it comes to opening bids. It also serves as a minor ego-boost for the smaller clubs, as a rare opportunity to look down their noses at the big boys.

Chapter VI - The "Come-And-Get-Me" Plea
As outlined in Chapter III, the "hands-off" warning has an evil twin. It arrives in the form of the "come-and-get-me" plea. An even more awkardly-named cliche, the "come-and-get-me" plea is the clear declaration from the player that, after the derisory opening bid, he now wants to leave the club, despite his earlier pledge of loyalty. Perhaps a tabloid device, its official name is "written transfer request". Verbal, email, text-message or carrier-pigeon transfer requests are, regrettably, few and far between. While the bid rejection succeeds in at least stalling the inevitable, the club's reaction to their player's request to leave matters not a jot. For the record, though, the written transfer request is turned down.

In extreme cases, the selling club (for that is what they will surely be) banishes the player to train with the reserves or, more damningly, the youth team. In a spectacular example of face-spite-induced nose removal, the club prepares itself for the player's departure. Alternatively, such a decision may indicate that the chairman/manager is a learned student of the PTS, and recognises that resistance is futile.

As a side note, It must be added that this is a precarious, pivotal stage for the player. If they get injured and/or the deal collapses, the already frozen-out player will find themselves in the terrifying-sounding transfer limbo. The only recognised way of escaping transfer limbo is to humbly withdraw the written transfer request and knuckle down once more.

Chapter VII - The Negotiation
Now the two clubs are finally in dialogue over a possible deal (this may involve one or two further bids, which would be immune from the label "derisory"), the PTS would appear to be in full swing. As with any true saga, however, a potential twist is always on the horizon. It is at this tense stage that the media begin to meddle. Reports of bid hijacks are rife, as perceived bigger clubs than the original suitor are drawn in to the melee. Whether such interventions materialise is an unpredictable matter, but Sky Sports News are on red alert anyway.

Chapter VIII - Personal Terms
With the fee finally agreed, the player is then free to discuss personal terms. Sky Sports News' persistence pays off, and a video of the player leaving the training ground in his car is looped endlessly. Despite the age of the greedy footballer, personal terms are still widely regarded as a formality. The same also usually applies to the medical that the player must undergo.

Chapter IX - The Parade
At a press conference (broadcast on Sky Sports News, naturally) the player is finally unveiled. (although unveiling is more often associated with new managers, players are sometimes afforded the luxury too) and subsequently paraded. The absence of any veils or marching bands does little to take away from these events. It is usually the first opportunity for the player to finally speak out about the transfer, and the tried-and-tested statement is always worth the wait:

"I'm delighted to be here. As soon as I heard of [Club X's] interest, there was only one place I wanted to go. This is a massive club."

More brazen new signings go one step further and shamelessly try to profess boyhood support for their new club. Other variations include a player that has signed for a Championship club (particularly if he has left the top-flight to do so) describing his new employers as having "everything geared towards Premiership football" - a strange statement that seems to ignore the fact that the reason that the club looks like it is "geared towards Premiership football" is because it once was in the Premiership, but got relegated in pitiful fashion, crippled by debt and lumbered with a half-empty, if rather pristeen, Lego-kit stadium.

Chapter X - "It Was Always In the Script, Wasn't It?"
The PTS reaches its conclusion (for strikers at least) with a return for the player to for a match against his previous club. Depending on how acrimonious his departure was, the player will inevitably be sought out pre-match to comment on the reception he may face on the day. In the history of the PTS, no player has ever expressed slight concern at the reception he may face on the day.

Anyway, egged on by script-wielding commentators, the player inevitably will get on the scoresheet on his return to his old stomping ground. This is, of course, followed by an overdramatic, look-at-me-aren't-I-honourable refusal to celebrate, a gesture designed to impress the sort of fans that can be bothered to ring up football phone-ins after the match.

And so the PTS ends. But at what point during its evolution does a PTS become recognised as such? A protracted transfer arguably emerges at Chapter V, when the stumbling block of a rejected bid holds the process up. It's not enough to warrant being called a "saga", however. That requires Chapter VI - the point at which everyone genuinely starts to get a bit fed up.

Epic stuff.

Adam.