ON ROSS BARKLEY, AND THE FEARLESSNESS OF YOUTH

Courage is a term thrown about recklessly with regards to sport. One may attribute this to the role sport fills in our lives; an argument can be made that in the absense of armed conflict, games played on a court, pitch or field fulfill a primitive urge to compete, and to be victorious. The tribalism that accompanies sport is a by-product of this, and helps to explain the mania of supporters who feel intrinsically tied to a club by geography, heritage or social standing. This is why such words as 'courage', and 'heroic' are tied so often with athletic feats, as sport brings out an energy and passion that is perhaps only rivaled, albeit to a far greater degree, by war. We may say that 'battles' are fought on the pitch between rival clubs, but as fans we know this to be hyperbole, an overdramatization of something that has greater importance to us than perhaps it should.

ON THE VINDICATION OF THEO WALCOTT

If you follow English football, it is likely you've heard uttered the following phrase about the above-pictured Theo Walcott; "I just don't think he's got a football brain". That phrase was said by a reactionary former England international, Chris Waddle, after a dismal friendly wherein England narrowly scraped by an inferior Egypt side, and Walcott was thoroughly abject. That phrase, furthermore, stuck with Walcott for years; a haunting accusation recurrently mentioned following any sort of mediocre performance. 'He has the talent, he just doesn't have the mind for the game', his detractors claimed.

The above indictment was made by Waddle on the 3rd of March, 2010. Theo James Walcott was seventeen days shy of his 21st birthday. He'd already been written off by one of England's finest ever players, and moreover by much of the English media who viewed the young man from London as a luxury player who, frustratingly, would never fulfill his seemingly infinite potential. Three months on, he would (albeit surprisingly) be left out of Fabio Capello's 2010 World Cup roster, four years after traveling with the England squad to Germany for World Cup 2006. 

Walcott was 21 years old, and already a forgotten man.

ON BERBATOV AND SUAREZ, THE MOST ENTERTAINING PLAYERS IN THE PREMIER LEAGUE

A week ago a pundit on the Guardian Newspaper's exceedingly great 'Football Weekly Podcast', quipped that he would pay good money simply to watch Dimitar Berbatov bring down goal kicks, one after another. He then moved to state that Berbatov, with his languid brilliance and nonchalantly devastating play, is the most entertaining player in the Premier League at present. That statement has remained a point of interest in my mind since, not simply because it is a decent claim, but more importantly because the idea of 'entertainment' provided by a footballer is quite a difficult one to reconcile. What provides entertainment at a football ground? Surely, at the most basic and obvious level of cognition, goals (and the prospect of goals being scored) are what entertain the paying audiences of football matches. A player, whose skill set and aptitude for the game promises at least the opportunity for a goal to be scored, is surely someone who may be deemed 'entertaining'. Yet this qualification alone is not sufficient; for example, at the present moment I do not find Fernando Torres even remotely entertaining as a footballer, though he still holds the capacity to score goals. Furthermore, some quality midfielders, who may infrequently be presented an opportunity to shoot at goal due to their positioning on the pitch, have captured the imaginations of, and provided entertainment for, fan bases world wide. Claude Makelele in his Chelsea pomp was a quality example of this type of footballer. Therefore, the ability to entertain lies in another key facet, one essential characteristic, I would argue. And that ability is this; a player must look different in the way he plays football. He must move about the field and interact with the ball in a fashion that appears almost unnatural to the eye, yet is undoubtedly aesthetically pleasing. Unfortunately, paltry few men in the English Premier League fulfill this qualification, one of them being the man whose picture adorns the top of this post, and another who is almost universally distained...

ON NARRATIVES

A month ago, the 2012-2013 Barclays Premier League season may have held its defining fixture as Manchester United, buoyed by another Robin van Persie game-winning goal, overcame Manchester City 3 to 2. But while the British Press certainly made mention of United's heroic resilliance after conceding their two goal lead, of Wayne Rooney's brilliance and of Michael Carrick's midfield presense, England's journalists chose to focus more heavily on the ineptitude of one Mario Balotelli. Granted the rare start by gaffer Roberto Mancini, City never seemed to click in the attacking third while Balotelli was on the field. His replacement after 55 minutes, Carlos Tevez, made an immediate impact and was louded as having turned the game in City's favor (though of course they still failed to take anything from the match). The maverick ghanaian-born forward was called lazy, disruptive, off the pace, and was further lambasted for walking straight down the tunnel after being taken off the pitch, rather than sit with his teammates in the stands. Balotelli was singled out for being essentially the sole reason for City's lackluster first half from which they failed to recover. Mancini was criticized for his inclusion of the Italian in his starting XI, and many saw Mario's substitution as the beginning of the end of his time in Manchester...

ON OUT-AND-OUT STRIKERS & SUPER-SUBS

There is something almost 'anti-football' about a true number 9. Whereas the other outfield players must have minds which continually process the events around them, the positioning of 21 other players as well as the movement of the ball, a striker plays with a singularity of thought which functions almost irrespective of events beyond his immediate realm of influence. He need be neither technically superb, nor physically impressive to perform his duties; the above-pictured Gerd Müller was affectionately known as 'kleines, dickes Müller' (short, fat Müller) in his native Germany. He must, however, be different. I would argue that the best pure strikers on earth are so devastating because of their ability to detach themselves from the rhythm of the play, what commentators refer to as "drifting out of a match", while those around them are embroiled in tactical battle. This displacement-of-thought lasts until circumstance, combined with incisiveness of movement and intelligence, provides that crucial moment where instinct and muscle memory dictates that the out-and-out striker ends up with the ball in a position where contemplation becomes obsolete, and he guides the ball into the net...

ZIDANE - A PORTRAIT

(please watch the video)

     He gazes up at the floodlights and catching his breath. Even He must have been awed for a few moments during each game he played in Madrid's Estadio Santiago Bernabeu. He touches his nose, and returns to reality, the reality of a crucial game against a stubborn Villareal side.

     He trots off to a more apt position, glancing meanwhile at his accomplice on his side of the pitch. He may utter a word to Roberto Carlos, he might not. He knows that, at this point in their careers, what needs to be said has already been said countless times over. It's simply understood in the present tense.

     He taps his feet as he walks, a nervous habit developed as a child for sure. Maybe it came from his first pair of boots being too big, or perhaps it's simply done subconsciously. But it happens with such a regularity, such a subtle violence that it cannot be ignored. It is part of his demeanor. It is crucial to his walk...

ON JOE ALLEN, LIVERPOOL, AND SIGNS OF A CHANGING PREMIER LEAGUE

  

       Prior to yesterday's match at Anfield, few Premier League fans would have believed that the following statement would be proven correct - Liverpool's midfield three would outplay Manchester City's. On paper such a proclaimation seems absurd; While Manchester City are able to field De Jong, Yaya Toure, and either Nasri or David Silva in front of these two colossi, Liverpool currently run out an elderly Steven Gerrard, a local boy named Jonjo Shelvey (on for Lucas after five minutes), and a 22 year old waif-like anchor by the name of Joe Allen who just this summer transferred to Merseyside via Swansea City. Again, on paper this match-up is dominated by the men in pale-blue...

AN EARLY LOOK AT THE NEW CHELSEA FC

     Trailing 2-1 in this afternoon's encounter against Reading, Chelsea manager Roberto di Matteo decided to take off John Obi Mikel in favor of the notoriously inconsistant Daniel Sturridge on the 68' minute mark. Upon doing so, Chelsea's attacking six appeared as such; Frank Lampard deployed behind Juan Mata and Oscar, with Fernando Torres flanked by Edin Hazard and the aforementioned Sturridge up front. In few words, a scary offensive force.

     This new-look Chelsea is now top of the Premier League table, and is of particular interest to me granted how brilliant they look going forward, and how inescapably vulnerable they look at the back. Today's fixture against Reading may prove a microcosm of Chelsea's season to come. Looking lively from the off, Chelsea comfortably dealt with Reading's occasional offensive forays with ease, and both Hazard and Mata looked likely to unlock the Royals' defense. This proved to be the case on 18' minutes, when Hazard jinked his way into the penalty area before fainting a cross and drawing a stone-wall penalty, duly dispatched by the otherwise quiet Frank Lampard...

ON VAN PERSIE TO UNITED

     On January 22nd 2002, Manchester United had a 7 million pound bid in the January transfer market accepted for one Diego Forlan. Viewed by scouts as a potential scorer of important goals for United's run-in, Forlán joined the third-placed Reds and was expected to help guide United back to the top of the Premier League table for the clubs fifteenth championship. What happened in the next 5 months for the Uruguayan is still looked back on ponderously by Premier League fans; Forlán made 18 appearances for United before the end of the season, contributing not a single goal. United ended the season still languisihing in third place, and trophyless for the first time since the 97-98 campaign. Furthermore, Diego Forlán would spend three more wretched seasons in Manchester, before being transferred away to Villareal, where he would most certainly play out the rest of his career in relative anonymity...

ON NEYMAR, MILES DAVIS, AND DRIBBLERS

     Let's liken the Brazilian National side to a jazz ensemble, more specifically Miles Davis' famous sextet. On his signature album Kind Of Blue, Davis was accompanied by five of the greatest jazz musicians in history, one of them notably being John Coltrane. Such a star-studded group is easily comparable to Brazil's XI, wherein each and every player currently plies their trade at one of the top club sides on earth, when not busy performing for their home nation. With that connection established as a grounding detail, I'll move on. It should now be noted that much of Davis' Kind Of Blue, like many jazz albums, is played at a laid back, hypnotic pace with the band playing as a cohesive unit. On the opening track "So What," for example, over a minute and a half passes in a lazy, harmonized sort of fashion at the beginning of the tune. Such organized, plodding, gradual progression is also seen in the play of Brazil's current Olympic side. When opposing teams systematically foul the Brazilians to stunt their play (see: New Zealand), or have managed through resolute defending to stifle the South Americans (see: Belarus' first half performance), the Seleçao defenders take the initiative to start knocking the ball around to one another at a slower, more measured tempo. A certain cadence is established in order sort out the frenetic pace of the previously oft-interrupted game; Rafael to Thaigo Silva, then to Juan, back to Silva, over to Marcelo, maybe Sandro gets a touch. Then, and often abruptly, the passing picks up speed...