If I’ve learned anything over the past week or so, it’s that domestic floods and poor plumbing slow progress. Had Hitler’s plumber been equally incompetent while fitting the Fuhrer’s washer-dryer, the push into Poland might have been delayed, possibly followed by a change of plans, maybe even a career change. We’ll never know. Anyway, due to the aforementioned delay the first blog post will seem like an artefact in relation to current affairs but give it a chance; it contains almost zero racism (no thanks to plumbers).
The emotional lexicon of the football fan seldom strays from anticipation- then the inevitable anger or frustration that follows. Those lucky enough to support a successful team (or Arsenal) might boast ‘elation’ as a mainstay in their emotive schedule. For the rest of us this feeling of joy exists as a faint imprint on the mind, clear enough that we drag our weary souls onto the match every other week in the hope of a rare reminder, yet weak enough that the rhetoric and mindset of the fan remains inherently gloomy.
The emotional lexicon of the football fan seldom strays from anticipation- then the inevitable anger or frustration that follows. Those lucky enough to support a successful team (or Arsenal) might boast ‘elation’ as a mainstay in their emotive schedule. For the rest of us this feeling of joy exists as a faint imprint on the mind, clear enough that we drag our weary souls onto the match every other week in the hope of a rare reminder, yet weak enough that the rhetoric and mindset of the fan remains inherently gloomy.
Last week, for many Rovers fans, the usual mid-week anticipation was replaced by a collective sadness with the passing of the original ‘Mr Blackburn Rovers’ and former England captain, Ronnie Clayton. It’s a bizarre thing when a generation of fans (myself included) mourn a player they have never witnessed kick a ball; though the reaction is not superficial. A player with almost 600 caps for any club will get a hero’s send off, but it was his character and adoration for the club which set him apart; he was a true gentleman. The ‘one-club man’ and indeed ‘the gentleman’ are a rare breed in football, but it is players like this that give the average football follower a bit more joy.
Fast-forward a week and your man Joey Barton is distributing a sterling liver-shot to the ever feminine Morten Gamst Pedersen….
Not to go off on a tangent (though I will), but Chris Hughton’s response to the rigmarole was to criticise the media for overreacting just because it was Joey Barton. Sorry Chris but you’re cause-and-effect radar is well off; the media furore IS just because it’s Joey Barton…. Because he keeps punching people! Were Ian Huntley released tomorrow and on his departure he flashed a group of Brownies in the prison car park, I expect the subsequent reaction would be just. Anyway, before I start sounding like The Sun with all this paedo chit-chat, I’ll continue.
….. I’m not so naïve as to make a direct comparison between Joey Barton and Ronnie Clayton. Analogously, Clayton would be the shining halo and Barton would be the gammy toenail (if the analogy of professional football was some sort of athlete’s foot riddled, angel Gabriel-type figure), they are two ends of the spectrum. It does though, seem as if the Joey Barton incident is the cherry on top of a year of misdemeanours, scandals and huge wage rises which have gone some way in disassociating players from the fans even more than before.
I have never liked cats (a little off topic again), and I put this down to the fact that they lack some of my favourite human characteristics such as warmth and affection. In reality, it is not the cats fault and I am the idiot for expecting cats to embody human traits. Maybe modern footballers are the same and they are that far removed from normal human beings that we cannot expect them to act accordingly; neither can we expect them to be ‘role-models’ (whatever that means) or ‘idols’.
The money in football means for us smaller clubs, any quality fan-favourite will be moved onward and upward to wealthier pastures tout de suite. The Wayne Rooney saga shows that even players who have reached the pinnacle of football may have no real attachment with the club or fans. I still enjoy watching football but the lack of connection with anyone on the pitch makes those moments of joy even fewer and farther between. I’m thankful that Blackburn are a Premier League club and that the new owners might bring in some bigger names, but offer me a Simon Garner or a Ronnie Clayton any day of the week and I’d bite your hand off!
No comments:
Post a Comment