One Trick Pioneer

Yes, Arsène Wenger was a pioneer in his heyday. But others have long since reached his mark, ripped his flag out of the ground and wiped their backsides with it.

The Frenchman has been on my mind of late, for I can’t resist picking out the bridges between English football and ‘il calcio’, however unlikely they may seem. But the truth is that in a single summer tournament Italy unconsciously changed English football forever. Which was the cause of its own campionato’s undoing whilst also sealing the demise of the Three Lions.

It all started during one hot night at the World Cup held in Italy in 1990, when England squared off with Germany in that famous semi-final. The Krauts somehow got ahead with the quirkiest of goals, but it was arguably the Three Lions’ greatest performance since their World Cup triumph of ’66, as they drew level with the eventual world champions. The usual heartbreak on penalties was to follow, but England had shown everyone that they could play, and had kept their army of fans in an ecstasy until the excellent Chris Waddle leathered his penalty kick far above the crossbar.

The semi-final against the Germans will largely be remembered for Gazza’s tears, after he’d received a yellow card which meant that he’d miss the next game. He could not stop himself from getting all misty-eyed, and the heart of a nation and all neutrals went out to him, whilst Gary Lineker gestured to the bench to warn them to keep an eye on his crazy team mate.

Despite the nationwide sadness they stirred up, Gascoigne’s tears were unwittingly shed for the future of England. And little did he know that his team’s exploits were set to curse the Three Lions. For plagued as it still is by a hugely embarrassing and corrupt Football Association, England was still a nation in which a high proportion of its first division football players were English. And in firing up the national passion for the game once more, Gazza and co. drew the attentions of the money men back home.

They being a shrewder lot than their compatriots on the field of play, these businessmen instantly contrived to conjure up the money-making beast that is the English Premier League, creating a lucrative television rights deal worth 1 billion pounds a year domestically as of last season, and which generates 2.2 billion Euros a year in domestic and international television rights.

The Bosman ruling followed but three years later, and the prospects of young English footballers were about to be dashed forever. England, once a forgotten football backwater post-Heysel, now started to attract fine Continental talent which initially moved there for a final payday. The Premier League was, in a way, a forerunner to today’s US Major League Soccer, as managers like Ruud Gullit introduced ‘sexy football’ courtesy of a few silky foreign veterans.

Hours were spent on the internet as I chortled to myself at confused English reactions and interpretations of talent that was well-known to me through the Serie A, little suspecting that the English league would eventually leapfrog its seemingly invincible rival league in Italy. 

Despite the Three Lions’ subsequent failures – brought about by Gazza’s self-inflicted injury and Graham ‘Turnip’ Taylor at the helm - club football had never been more exciting. Englishmen learned to get their tongues around new words like ‘Cantona’, ‘Ginola’ and ‘Zola’, as foreign managers started to introduce a range of passing football that was rocking the land of Saint George.

At the forefront of this revolution was a prim, sharp Frenchman by the name of Arsène Wenger, a candidate chosen to fill the managerial hotseat at Arsenal. It was a role which had become a bit of a merry-go-round in the year and a half prior to Wenger’s appointment, with various coaches juggling the position following the nine year reign of George Graham.

Wenger was a complete unknown in England and a surprising choice, given that he arrived via the Japanese first division. Otherwise his coaching experience consisted of three years spent cutting his teeth at Nancy, before a seven year stint at Monaco, in which he guided the Principality to solitary league and cup triumphs. Some were surprised by his arrival but Arsenal chairman Hill-Wood stood firmly behind his appointment:

‘I believe Arsène Wenger is going to be a great success and drag football in this country into the 20th century. There is no doubt in my mind we are blinkered and backward as a sporting nation. Look at the British results in Europe, they were not good, including ours. We keep telling ourselves we have the best league in Europe, but it is not true. We need to catch up with the Continentals and we think Arsène is the man to help us’

Wenger certainly hit the ground running, quickly dispelling the commonly held perception that a foreigner could not succeed in the hurly-burly of English top flight football. This was down to an ace that he firmly held up his sleeve, since his years spent in Ligue 1 had provided him with an infinite number of priceless contacts at French grass-roots level football, which allowed him to pick offshore diamonds in the rough long before anyone else.

His approach coincided splendidly with the fact that French youth football was in a state of total overhaul, as the country raced to produce the world class talent that would reach the semi-finals of Euro ’96, win the world cup at home in ’98 and then seize up the Euro crown in 2000.

He became synonymous with names like Grimandi, Garde and Anelka, and his reputation as a talent spotter also became married to that of an alchemist when he turned Serie A rejects like Vieira, Henry, Bergkamp and Kanu into title winning material. He also managed to attract world class talent in its prime, bringing in the ‘flying Dutchman’ Marc Overmars and accomplished midfielder Manu Petit.

What really warmed Arsenal fans, however, was his pragmatic ability to marry this foreign flair with the English workhorses he discovered at the club, many of whom were veterans of the ‘boring boring Arsenal’ glory days under George Graham. With Wenger the famous ‘back four’ of Winterburn – Bould – Adams - Dixon enjoyed a revival in form and passion, whilst his impact on Seaman, Keown and Parlour cannot be overstated.

It was a combination that furiously raced to the title in Wenger’s first full season of 1997/1998, making him the first non-British and Irish manager to not only win the league but also the double.

He was also a pioneer when it came to his brand of football, which married quick-passing skill with an oft forgotten amount of steel, if not outright brutality. Wenger famously claimed never to have seen the fouls committed by his defenders, most of which were rewarded with a red card. Yet his intial tenure was electric, as Highbury turned into a fearsome altar where lesser teams were outpassed and outmuscled, being taken apart mercilessly by Wenger’s men.

The Gunners became the only real rivals to Fergie’s Man United, with the double clinched again in 2001 and the FA Cup secured in 2002. Another one year hiatus was followed by a stunning charge to the title in 2004, which was wrapped up by April, and which famously saw Arsenal go undefeated for an entire season. Having broken new ground again, Wenger described the feat as ‘immortality’ with his side swiftly branded ‘the Invincibles’.

A gold version of the Premier League trophy was specially commissioned to recognise the achievement of a side whose backline had been entirely revamped by Wenger, and now read: Lauren – Campbell - Toure - Ashley Cole. He had also integrated a clutch of other guns named Lehmann, Pires, Edu, Gilberto and Ljungberg, with Wenger constantly finding effective replacements (mostly on the cheap) for players he sold on at premium prices.

Such was his reputation that he even got away with laughing off journalists when they pointed out that he had selected the first completely foreign side (right down to the benchwarmers) in a game against Crystal Palace. I found his reaction arrogant and somewhat disrespectful towards his adopted nation. But no one batted an eyelid at the time, and such was the expectation he had created that the eyes of Arsenal fans had become firmly fixed on the European Cup.

Arsenal’s constant failure to win the competition left me wondering whether Wenger’s charges were as ‘world class’ as they were made out to be in England. Gunners’ darling top-scorer Henry, for example, could still not score a goal for love or money against Serie A sides. Eventually the Gunners’ failures led club captain Patrick Vieira to leave the club for the Serie A after helping the Gunners to secure the FA Cup in 2005, openly claiming that he wanted to win the Champions League.

Wenger weathered this embarrassment with trademark cool and even had the last laugh over his former captain (who he had seamlessly replaced with Flamini and the swiftly rising Cesc Fabregas), when his side comfortably overcame Vieira’s Juventus in the quarter-finals. He also went on to break new ground again, as his Arsenal side became the first London club to reach a European Cup final in 2006, in which they locked horns with Rijkaard’s Barcelona.

It was a game that could not have started worse for the Gunners, as German keeper Jens Lehmann became the first player to be sent off in a European Cup final, after he clattered into Eto’o in the eighteenth minute. But the Arse incredibly went ahead nineteen minutes later when Campbell rose highest to bury a header past Barca’s keeper Valdes. After holding on until the second half, a numerically inferior Arsenal stunned everyone by going on to trade blow for blow with Barca in the second half. 

Rijkaard then pulled off a tactical masterstroke, subbing midfield enforcer Van Bommel for Celtic legend Henrik Larsson. The Swede’s vision turned the game, and Arsenal eventually conceded the equaliser with only a tortuous thirteen minutes left on the clock, before being served with a hammer blow courtesy of Belletti's late winner. Reaching the Champions League final remains Wenger’s greatest achievement at the club, and many hoped that it might serve as a sign of things to come.

Indeed it had been an incredible couple of years, but it was also to be as good as it got. Hardly had Wenger returned to London, that the accolades and slaps on the back suddenly turned into slaps in the face. Wenger’s ‘old mate’ Mourinho was the first to deliver a blow to the veneer of Arsenal’s invincibility, ripping youth product Ashley Cole from the reluctant hands of Wenger.

It was a transfer which was as much about psychology as it was about improving the London Blues, since it rammed home the perception that regardless of its achievements, Arsenal was a club incapable of holding onto its best talent.  Right back Lauren also left for Portsmouth that year, which left both full-back positions to be filled by lesser talents.

The 07/08 season saw Henry and Ljungberg move on, and Wenger’s luck worsen as recent signings Van Persie, Rosicky and Eduardo were constantly plagued by injury. His ‘bargain buys’ were no longer sparking along immediately, since in barely ten years the world’s football landscape had entirely changed, with countless agents sniffing out every whiskerless talent under the sun and offering it to every club across Europe.

Wenger’s contacts on the Continent no longer counted for much, and the Frenchman’s hands were also tied by the budgetary constraints caused by the building of Arsenal’s new stadium. The construction of the Emirates was meant to help the Gunners compete with the European big boys, yet seems to have had the opposite effect of leaving them in the doldrums for years without count.

As year after year rolled by, the team members who had made the European Cup final slowly trickled away, often on free transfers, as Wenger desperately sought to replace them with bargains that no longer hit the ground running. The likes of Ramsey and Nasri were certainly good, but injury and the wages offered by Manchester City did their part to hamper Wenger’s hallmark of nurturing top talent. In the following four years the club sought to raise spirits by embracing returning talents like Sol Campbell and Thierry Henry and fielding them with the first team.

Yet it all smacked a bit of desperation, and a distraction from ‘bargain buys’ like Vermaelen, Koscielny and Chamakh who could not replicate the stunning form of their predecessors. It wasn’t that Arsenal couldn’t play pretty, but their ability to defend and finish at crucial points of the game seemed to have completely evaporated.

Things reached a brutal head in the 10/11 season when Arsenal were waxed 8-2 away to Manchester United, which led the usually composed Wenger to suddenly embark on a knee-jerk shopping spree for a clutch of average players. Wenger’s usually respected defiance towards fickle journalists started to come across as defensiveness, and after six years without a trophy his seemingly impregnable tenure at the Emirates was being openly questioned.

He somehow knuckled under and steadied the ship, and his young side was still in contention for four trophies when they faced Birmingham (Brum) in the League / Worthington (often nicknamed the Worthless) cup final. Wenger did little to quell expectations before the game, openly stating that an Arsenal victory would unlock his players' potential as it would help them to overcome the self-doubt which had hampered their deserved success.

All of which made the eventual loss to Brum a stake driven right through the heart, one that seriously wrecked his side’s confidence and derailed Arsenal’s progress in the remaining three competitions. It was probably Wenger’s worst setback to date, and it took his side another three years to recover sufficiently in the mental department to manage another run in a knock-out tournament, which finally landed Wenger a trophy in last season’s FA Cup.

Arsenal showed the mental strength in the 2014 FA Cup final to come back against Hull who were leading 2-0 early on in the game. Their eventual triumph handed a much craved lifeline to their French manager, who had been publically ridiculed by a returning Mourinho who had branded Wenger ‘a specialist in failure’.

Many thought that Arsenal’s mentality had sufficiently strengthened to finally sustain a proper title charge. But last weekend’s collapse to Swansea has already led Wenger to publically throw in the towel with regards to the Premiership, although it might just be a ploy to take the pressure off his side.

For there are clearly still issues with Arsenal’s mindset, and their fluid early play against the Swans leading to Sanchez’s goal soon ended up in tatters when Swansea drew level though a set-piece. The Welsh club then proceeded to win the game when Arsenal’s typically flaccid central defence came apart like kite paper, sending the Gunners back home to London without a single point.

And as we head into another boring international break, rumours are already abounding about how Wenger is thinking of signing up Pedro and Alves from Barcelona. It is true that he has of late been unfortunate with injuries, which has shown up the depth of his side. But this only begs the question asked by many fans a few months back: what was Wenger doing during the summer? Why weren’t more bodies brought on board?

Another season without a title charge is to my mind unfathomable, and I just can’t see how Wenger could survive it, even if he lands another domestic trophy. There is still plenty of time left in which to try and turn it around in the league, but with Mourinho hell bent on winning the Premiership it’s going to be a tall order. How the Arsenal fans – who, lest we forget, still pay the highest ticket prices in England - will tolerate their beloved Gunners playing second (if not third or fourth) fiddle for yet another year is beyond comprehension.

Many are again wondering what Wenger’s contribution truly consists of, at a time when the rudder seems to have broken once again. The impending clash with Manchester United in a fortnight is only heaping more angst on the new doubters’ frustrations, as the Gunners faithful remember what this fixture once meant to them.

To me Wenger remains a living, breathing contradiction. There is nothing wrong with this, since after all many famous, successful people from all walks of life are born strategists whose position shifts like the wind. Yet this is already a contradiction in itself, for Wenger is famous despite going countless years without achieving much in the way of silverware.

He is still perceived as being a Continental ‘Professeur’, but has yet to land his hands on European trophies, despite reaching a European final on two occasions. A man who screamed that Brum defender Martin Taylor should be ‘banned for life’ after the horror tackle on Arsenal striker Eduardo, even though Wenger had always met claims of his old back four’s brutality with the stock standard response of ‘I did not see it’.

Wenger is also widely regarded as a manager who refuses to be jockeyed by agents, seemingly an emblem of the ‘counter-culture’ that goes against having to do everything to win, and who values the moral victory and quality of play above trophies. Yet at the same time he is a director’s darling, almost to the point of sycophancy, falling just short of appearing to be a corporate weed.

Certainly the yearly profits generated by Arsenal football club make you wonder if Wenger’s longetivity is solely due to being ‘on the in’ with a handful of men who control the money raked in from the profitable London club. Not to mention the Frenchman's annual salary of over $11 million, which renders him the fourth highest paid manager in the world (and which flies in the face of his constant protests against the cost of star player transfers and their salaries).

And how often has this Catholic Alsatian portrayed himself as the wounded father figure whenever Mourinho or Mancini poached the stars that he had developed? This after he had himself done the unspeakable by pilfering Sol Campbell from derby rivals Tottenham, and later attempting to 'pull a swifty' on Liverpool to get Suarez (an episode, by the way, which smacked more of desperation than it did of genius).

Back in his Monaco days Wenger spurned Bayern Munich, and turned down Barcelona during his first three years at Arsenal. But you wonder if he is actually aware of his own limitations when it comes to managing a big club.

Certainly Arsenal remain that most frustrating of teams, constantly about to make the step into the big boys' arena, yet always stumbling at the most crucial of moments. And despite years of criticising clubs that splash the cash, he has of late gone on to splash large sums to land the likes of Ozil and Sanchez.

But most baffling of all is the fact that after Gazza’s tears at Italia’ 90, Wenger was part of the movement that made foreign fashionable and the first manager of an English club to choose an entire lineup without a single British player in it. Yet he has since gone on to flood his side with English talent, despite his previous (and justified) claims that English stars are overpriced.

And if he is sacked at the end of the year, his enduring legacy might be that of leaving behind a core of talent that forms the spine of Roy Hodgson’s Three Lions, with Gibbs, Chambers, Walcott, Wilshere, the Ox and Welbeck all likely starters in England’s clash against Slovenia this weekend.

Yet a club manager’s contribution to a national side is of no relevance, and if Arsenal are still eating Chelsea’s dust in the new year you have to wonder if Wenger’s time is finally up. Once more it appears that he has no more tricks left in his locker and no new ground that he can realistically break, having last stolen a edge on his direct rivals over a decade ago. How much longer is he going to be left to jog on the spot until Arsenal finally put him out of his misery?

For in holding onto this one trick pioneer, Arsenal has itself turned into a pioneer: a Champions League club that has chosen to hold onto its manager despite going years without a serious push for important honours. None of the other big clubs in Europe have ever done the same thing. The Gunners are now deep in new but clearly undesired territory, and it’s high time that this grand old London club - unlike its gaffer - tries a few new tricks.

Man Of Iron

Ah Stevie, Stevie.

If my heart ever bled for a player, it certainly bled for you. You deserved better, and everyone knows it. What price on loyalty these days eh? You stuck it out through sixteen years of winning almost nothing, at a club which had gorged itself on silverware both during your boyhood years and not long before you broke into its first team.

Football, like life, can be cruel. And I can’t help thinking, every time I see a picture or video of Steven Gerrard, that a dark - almost bitter - cast hangs over his face. His eyes seem slightly crinkled by a tinge of disappointment, with his lower lip curled in frustration. Maybe I’m just imagining things, or it could be that the constant lack of sleep-ins, courtesy of the kids, is messing with my head.

But over the last year or two, I feel that Gerrard is looking back on his career with a wee bit of regret. A bit like a priest questioning the real value of his lifelong vocation, and wondering whether there was any point to all of the sacrifices made. Admittedly Gerrard has been the long-serving captain of a great club, which is a big achievement in itself. But one can’t avoid the feeling that it’s so easy to wave the captain’s armband at a standout player, especially when you know you have so little to offer him in the way of genuine title challenges.

The odd comment has also been passed, from a usually tight-lipped specimen, which has set the alarm off in my head. First there were those remarks midway through last season, when Liverpool were well on track to finally get their hands the title.

In rather off-the-wall words for a captain at the forefront of a title charge, Stevie said that he felt he had been presented with possibly the only real chance he had to win the Premier League. A curious inference, if not an outright admission, that Liverpool flattered to deceive throughout his career, and were likely to do so again in future.

 

 

Prophetic words too, when one considers the paucity of quality evident in their game this season. A season in which Stevie himself has come under the microscope, and been accused of being too old to keep up with the demands of the sport. Also a season in which Gerrard has dropped hints that this may well be his last year at the club.

Which somehow reminds me of how Gabriel Batistuta decided to spend his last quality season at Capello’s  revamped and big-spending Roma back in 2001, where the Argentinean striker finally won the Serie A following  countless, fruitless years serving his beloved Fiorentina.

Go Stevie, go. Do what Gabriel did. Who the hell can begrudge you a title tilt at a big spender? If anyone earned the right, then surely it’s you. It would actually flood me with relief to see you heading somewhere like a City, Chelsea, or even the likes of PSG, after the crap that your beloved Liverpool put you through.

Go somewhere where you can finally form part of a genuine title contender, because God knows you deserve a fitting swansong. Don’t end it like Carragher with the League Cup or something useless like that! Please don’t.

Maybe he already has something lined up. For this has also been a season in which Stevie has spoken with some resignation about the strategy of his team’s owners, who he claims are pursuing a policy of securing talented youth rather than spending big on star players like Chelsea and Manchester City.

A remark that was swiftly followed by Manuel Pellegrini’s open declaration of admiration for Gerrard, in which the Manchester City manager claimed that the Liverpool captain would be more than welcome at the Etihad. Maybe Stevie’s head has finally been turned. Is this why Rodgers rushed to declare that a contract would be offered to his captain, so that he might cash in on him in the summer transfer window? Just like he did with Suarez?

Perhaps Stevie has finally seen the light. Because seriously, how much more can a natural born winner take? His levels of psychological endurance are quite simply astounding. How many times has he found himself the scapegoat for England’s setbacks? Coupled with the countless years at club level spent looking on at lesser players in other teams winning the league each year, with his Liverpool only managing second place (and then only twice) during his whole career at Anfield?

To think that his youth held a promise of so much more silverware, back in the late nineties to mid-noughties. A time when the leading midfield generals of the day were the combustible pair of Keane and Vieira, with ‘Stevie G’ but a young pretender. Those were heady moments for the young midfielder, who was given his first cap by Keegan in England’s 1-0 win against Germany at the disastrous Euro 2000, and started in Eriksson’s England side that took Germany apart 5-1 away in 2001.

Stevie himself chipped in with a phenomenal screamer of a goal during that famous rout. So much for German keeper Oliver Kahn cheekily claiming before the game that he had never even heard of the young Scouser!

 

 

 

Gerrard was then a boy possessed of great skill, a wicked shot, and a frightening work-rate that made him a one man army. Not to mention a useful versatility, which allowed him to excel at right back, right wing, central midfield and in the hole behind the striker. There was also a remarkable level-headedness to him, and I remember him before the FA Cup final of 2001 in which Liverpool played Arsenal, claiming that Vieira was streets ahead of him in terms of talent.

The fresh-faced Gerrard said that it would take years for him to reach the same level as the Frenchman, and Vieira did indeed keep him quiet during the encounter, although Liverpool went on to nick the cup with two late strikes from a livewire named Michael Owen.

And although Keane’s Man United and Vieira’s Arse went on to completely eclipse Liverpool’s achievements in the league, it was a different matter in Europe. Stevie proved crucial to the Reds' clinching of the UEFA cup in 2001. And this achievement preceded what was probably his most impressive season to date, when he almost single-handedly propelled a mediocre Liverpool side to the European Cup final of 2005 in Istanbul, doing what both Keane and Vieira never managed by leading his team to victory. For once at least, the infamous pair must have stared on at him in envy.

Yet for all the incredible goals and immense midfield displays, the one true quality that will endure in the memory shall be his endurance, as he put in one hard shift after another in a side that foundered so badly after the first American takeover of Anfield. Six years of his career fizzled into irrelevance due to the ineptitude of the two cowboys who acquired the club and promised so much to its fans, only to get found out by the global financial crisis. 

All in all a state of affairs which was as frustrating as it was maddening for the players too, with eventual manager Roy Hodgson subsequently stating that his star striker Fernando Torres had ‘a beef’ with the club. And little wonder, too.

Yet through all the mediocre signings and frustrating departures of star players, Stevie’s efforts kept the fans’ chins up. How he did it beggars belief, and I can only put it down to a cast iron resolve, coupled with a fanatical devotion to the side he supported as a boy.

How he still does it now is also beyond me, and even Suarez recently stated in his autobiography that after Stevie’s famous fatal slip against Chelsea in April, he cannot believe that his former team mate still finds the mental strength to take the field to play for the Reds.

Maybe Gerrard is earning more than people know, for his unwavering commitment to his side is quite simply baffling. But I don't think it's to do with money. How many world class players have come and gone, with local star Owen jetting for Madrid, Torres doing what Gerrard could not by joining Chelsea, Hamann, Hyppia, Babbel and Henchoz long retired, Agger heading back home, and Xabi, Macherano and now also Suarez chasing the bright lights in Spain.

Fellow Scouser Carragher has also retired. Each time Stevie has been left behind them to walk alone in the Anfield dressing room, reeling from one tortuous separation after another. Emotionally speaking it's been years of repeated kicks in the guts for him, as he's been left to learn how to play with new, often inferior players.

 

 

If Fenway Sports Group somehow succeed in returning the club to its rightful place in years to come, fans will nod their heads ruefully as they refer to the ‘Gerrard years’. For Stevie G has been the one constant in a barren twenty year patch of turmoil dominated by United’s fierce will to win, Arsenal’s initial (but all too fleeting) brilliance under Wenger and Chelsea’s and City’s moneybags.

And even now he is raring to start every game, demonstrating his ongoing commitment to Liverpool by retiring from the national side. How he would have hated being left out of his team’s latest outing against Real Madrid! Although I think that part of him would rather recharge the batteries for the clash against Chelsea. After his famous tumble in their last meeting, he will quite simply be pumped for this Saturday’s encounter, and bent on wreaking havoc in midfield.

It will be a chance for personal vindication against Jose Mourinho’s men, although expect ‘the Special One’ to have his team shoot out of the blocks like a wounded beast, following their midweek setback against Maribor in the Champions League. Jose should fancy his side’s chances going into this game (how he must have laughed out loud upon hearing that the Reds had signed up Mario Balotelli), in which the Blues are surely favourites given their league form to date.

Expect a few red-blooded clashes and sparks to fly in midfield as Gerrard takes on the box to box monster that is Nemanja Matic. It may well prove a watershed encounter for the loyal Scouser. He will meet few stiffer opponents this season, and it will be curious to see whether he vindicates Rodgers’ decision to rest him against Madrid. Can he bear the torch left to him by the long retired Keane and Vieira, and dominate this up and coming, hungry midfield dynamo?

Gerrard might also see a mirror of his younger self in Matic. Yet expect little room for emotion as – for yet another year - he stands and fights for Liverpool’s pride, if little else.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Italian Job

D-Day for football downunder approaches.

A second chance for the A-League to climb to the top of Asian club football, after Adelaide United fell short in 2008. By no means a straightforward shot at glory, as the Western Sydney Wanderers face off with Saudi Arabia’s expensively assembled Al Hilal in the second leg of the Asian Champions League (ACL) final.

Not an encounter for the faint of heart, although the Wanderers have overcome stiffer opposition along the way, having beaten last year’s ACL champions Guangzhou Evegrande in the quarters, prior to knocking out last year’s ACL final runners-up FC Seoul.

After winning the first leg 1-0, going the distance in Saudi Arabia would be a phenomenal shot in the vein for Australian football. After all a young and inexperienced national team still struggles to find its way under Ange Postecoglou (Ange), as Socceroos fans look warily towards the Asian Cup to be hosted in Australia early next year.

Indeed Germany 2006 seems very far away, as Australia wakes up to the fact that it had no part in the ‘finishing’ of the golden generation that did the nation so proud during that world cup.

The journey for football downunder has been chequered since, with many uncertain of not just the Socceroos but also the quality of the A-League itself. It is still widely considered to lag behind Japan and Korea’s leagues, and lacks the spending power of many clubs in the Gulf and China (Guangzhou’s manager Marcello Lippi is the world’s third highest paid manager after Guardiola and Mourinho, on $14 million a year).

However the baby ten year old league is in my view improving in quality with each passing season, with clubs focused on passing the ball across the grass rather than hoofing it high towards the striker.

Unlike his snooty foreign predecessors, Socceroos coach Ange has not held back from picking good players from the A-league, and I think English journeyman striker Paul Ifill summed it up best a few seasons back when he described the Australian league as a competition that was ‘still finding its feet’, capable of world class football as well as some very ordinary stuff.

The passion for the tournament has dramatically increased, and has been helped in no small way by the birth of the West Sydney Wanderers a couple of years back. How ironic then, that the youngest club in the youngest ACL top division is but 90 minutes away from being crowned kings of Asia? An irony that is only eclipsed by an even greater irony, which is how the Wanderers have set out their stall in Asia.

At the start of their debut season, their manager Tony ‘Poppa’ Popovic declared that he wanted the side to play ‘at a high tempo’. I squirmed upon reading this, but it was somewhat understandable that Poppa wanted to play the English way, given the years he spent at Crystal Palace. This brand of gung ho football actually went on to serve his side well as they ended their maiden season top of the table.

Yet what we have seen from the Wanderers in Asia has been a complete surprise, and one tongue in cheek description of the their playing style could be: ‘Crystal catenaccio’. My friends confirmed to me that during the knock-out ties against Guangzhou and FC Seoul, the Wanderers just sat back and soaked up the pressure, retaining an absolute minimum of possession before seizing up the couple of chances that fell their way.

The first leg of the final at Parramatta stadium last Saturday was no different. For the whole of the first half the Wanderers were on the back foot, as they weathered attack after attack from the Saudi side that were clearly made up of faster and more technically gifted players.

Countless waves of pressure from Al Hilal were repelled, with Poppa setting his team into two tight banks of four, with the two strikers also closing down the spaces and barely shirking from defensive duties with not a single shot on the Saudi goal the whole half. Yet Pirtek stadium was filled to the brim, and the diehard Wanderers supporters never lost hope and belief as they sang relentlessly in support of their heroes.

This was devotion of the highest class, especially when one considers that most of the opening 45 minutes consisted of seeing ten bottoms in black shorts swaying from left to right, as the Wanderers had their work cut out foiling the Saudi build-up play. Things were not much different in the opening minutes of the second half, until Poppa sent on Tomi Juric to a deafening applause.

Hardly had the striker taken the field that the clinical Sydneysiders suddenly put their conserved energy into building a couple of attacks. The first cross in the box found a lunging Juric, who toe poked the ball between the legs of the bewildered Saudi keeper.

As the full house stadium erupted like a powder keg, I shook my head in disbelief, all the while jumping up and down like a nutter as I gave the bird to the gathered visiting fans who stood across from us. And it was then that I realised that the Wanderers were not merely a spirited team but also a tactical one.

How often did Muhammed Ali employ the same technique in boxing, floating like a butterfly and then stinging like a bee? Going round after round weathering countless punches before unleashing all of his saved energy late on in the fight with a couple of killer blows?

And I say ‘couple’ because the Wanderers so nearly made it 2-0, when Tomi Juric went on a run and unleashed a daisy-cutter that crashed against the post. As the final whistle was blown many rued what could have been a greater margin of advantage, but what was most heartening of all was the way the Wanderers had performed during the game, never losing their nerve and sticking to plan.

The Saudis had tried late on too, with veteran ‘keeper Ante Covic foiling them twice when he sprinted splendidly off his line to block two attempts, and centre-back Topor-Stanley giving an absolutely immense performance throughout the whole 90 minutes, marshalling his back line with such composure that he must have ended the game with clean shorts.

Not since the days of Helenio Herrera at Inter Milan and Jose Mourinho at both Inter Milan and Chelsea has the football world witnessed such an effective display of ‘catenaccio’. The Wanderers put their physical strength to good use too, often pinging the Saudis off the ball with their pie arses of steel, with Santalab in particular putting in a tigerish shift in the centre of the park, which led him to dislocate his shoulder (and then continue playing).

And now onto the King Fahd stadium tomorrow, with a most incredible ending to a fairy tale run in sight. It will be mind over matter for the Wanderers, who have already overcome hostile environments in Korea and China to secure progression in the tournament.

I am not a great fan of catenaccio, but being a completely biased fan of Australian football I applaud Poppa for choosing a means that will certainly justify the end. The meaning of a victory tomorrow is not lost on any supporter of Australian football, and every club in the country will forget local rivalries as they cheer on the A-league side.

It will be a fascinating encounter, and more finely poised than most people think. Al Hilal are expected to win by a high margin. And although the Saudis play pretty, they certainly need to discover their scoring boots. The Wanderers on the other hand will need all of their Italian siege discipline, and will certainly resume their two banks of four, as they play to frustrate until the opening presents itself. And it will present itself.

Australia expects. I believe that the Wanderers can do it.

Love Story

Another La Liga round, another Real win. Not just any win, as it happens, since they overcame Barca 3-1 despite going a goal down early on in the piece. The combined worth of Madrid’s first team must run into hundreds of millions (with only Casillas a product of their youth system), so it's somehow fitting that they’re shooting the lights out on the field. After all there’s few things more embarrassing than a publically known waste of a mountain of money (just ask QPR's owners).

 

In recent years the Clásico has risen in prominence to become the world’s biggest clash in club football. A mere look at Real Madrid reveals a mouth-watering array of talent drawn from the English Premier League, German Bundesliga and French Ligue 1 (no chance of snatching up any Italian Serie A talent these days, what with PSG constantly sniffing around it).

 

There can be few games more enticing than the clash between the Spanish giants, who had in recent years rendered La Liga the equivalent of a boring two-horse race reminiscent of recent Scottish Premier League seasons. Thankfully Atletico Madrid somehow found the cojones to upset the apple cart last season, before their wonderful team ended up being picked apart. The Clásico is an encounter that never disappoints, and this latest clash was no different. Slick passing and sublime goals, a hotly contested refereeing decision and plenty of swagger and skill all over the pitch.

 

Indeed there wasn’t much wrong with the game except that it lacked a pinch of its usual controversy. Never mind Cristiano Ronaldo’s trademark foppish goal celebration which has come to be expected. There he was, after jinking his penalty kick past Bravo, wheeling away to engage in a pathetic pirouette before screaming with slightly parted arms. Best player in the world though he may be, he remains a juvenile high schooler who totally fancies himself. So wouldn’t it have been fitting if a certain someone had crept up behind the Portuguese and taken a big wet bite out of his  shoulder?!

 

 

 

 

But before we go there let’s revisit heavy metal legend John Michael ‘Ozzy’ Osbourne's chequered past. After signing a record deal with CBS his wife and agent Sharon suggested that he take two doves with him into their offices, to charm the executives who were not overly keen on him. Gasps of wonder were heard from the suited corporate types when he walked towards them and whisked a dove from his pocket.

 

Ozzy held up the bird and drew it closely towards his face. And as the executives surrounding him smiled on warmly, he proceeded to put the bird’s head in his mouth and bite it off.

 

The rest, as they say, is history. It was an act so vile that the media railed against it all over the world. It was an act so vile that it propelled Ozzy into superstardom, as his career roared skywards like a rocket.

 

For there is no such thing as bad publicity.

 

 

 

 

A bite of Bakkal, a hickie for Ivanovic and a taste of Chiellini have probably left Luis Suarez in little doubt of this. No other player’s misdemeanours on the pitch have attracted as much attention in recent years, with the pint-sized Uruguayan constantly finding himself in the dock of public opinion, and a household name as a result. And he was barely about to make his return with Barcelona against Real Madrid, that already the media was choked with stories about his previous misdeeds, with apologists and accusers emerging from the shadows to give their two bobs’ worth about the infamous handball, biting and that racial slur.

 

Seriously how tedious can some journalists get, to still be stirring the same soup months later? Although I guess it’s better than reporting the countless ‘tweets’ of navel-gazing planks like QPR players Joey Barton and Rio Ferdinand. I’m not seeking to condone any acts of violence or denigration committed by Luis Suarez. But hasn’t the whole moral crusade against him already run its course?

 

The way people carry on about it, you’d think Luis was the first player to ever engage in unsporting conduct on the pitch. Never mind Maradona’s handballs, or that Cantona half killed a Crystal Palace fan during his pomp at Manchester United. Or that Roy Keane took out a player’s knee intentionally and then even had the gall to gloat about it in his autobiography (gosh that’s two Manchester United players isn’t it?)

 

Like I said, I’m not trying to defend anything bad that Suarez has done. Nor am I objecting to the hefty penalties he has received, and which were in my view fully deserved.

 

 

 

 

But it is funny how we all want great players to leave it all on the pitch, then squeal in protest whenever a bit of their passion boils over. It’s easy to slam players whenever the red mist descends on them, yet where does the average fan think an unflinching will to win comes from? A place of inner peace and serenity? Or a cushy, comfortable background?

Let’s face it, most South American footballers lead pretty crap lives, unless football takes them anywhere better (and that’s often not the case). Suarez may have had it rougher than most, finding himself one of seven kids without a dad, after his father abandoned his family to be raised by a single mother on less than nothing.

Talk about being attention deprived! He was by all accounts an introverted kid brought up on mean streets, with probably only a football for a friend.

They say that some of the best players are pretty useless in training, and England keeper Joe Hart recently confirmed that about Sergio Aguero, his Argentinean team mate at Manchester City. It’s also true that during the constant ‘nature versus nurture’ debates, many of the world’s best sports coaches have often declared that the added few percentiles of match-winning performance cannot be coached, since it only emerges from certain individuals during the 'heat of battle'.

 

 

 

This was certainly true of the young Suarez, whose sheer abundance of talent was such that he even survived a wayward period spent distracted from from the game, in which he almost gave up football at 14. He was only kept on at Nacional because of the previous glimpses of his sheer natural ability. But when he did rediscover his love for the game, he wowed his coaches with his sudden appetite for it and with his renewed will to win.

Because for all the bad headlines he has attracted, many often overlook the fact that Suarez’s life has been one big love story that would make an incredible movie. And we're not just talking ball. His return to Nacional was down to the woman of his dreams, who became a soul mate he could turn to, and who helped him stray from bad company long enough to realise his amazing talent.

 

Sofia Balbi sorted his head out after he had (understandably) flirted with the life of a tearaway. But life, like football, can be cruel. The only person who understood the young Suarez was ripped away from him to rejoin her family in (believe it or not) Barcelona. It was a bitter loss for Suarez, who found himself devastated once more, just like he had been when his father walked out on him.

 

For the young Luis had no means that would allow him to be reunited with her, and all he was left with was a pitch and a ball. Yet so resolved was he to join his heartthrob that he dived headlong once more into his first love, training with such intensity that he was known to weep in the showers after games that his team had won, simply because he had not made it onto the scoresheet.

 

 

 

 

He knew he had to resort to anything to win, because in football - like life - winning is all, and he more reason than most to succeed. Little did Uruguay suspect that the heartbroken dropout from a broken family was on his way to returning the Celeste to the semi finals of a World Cup, which they had not graced for thirty years. He would also proceed to help secure the Copa America for them again, and go on to be their greatest star since Enzo ‘Le Prince’ Francescoli (Zinedine Zidane’s greatest idol).

 

Eventually Luis’s goals secured him a move to Europe. Yet further sacrifices lay ahead as he commenced his European career in the Dutch fields of Groningen (a name so painful to utter it makes one think of Godzilla stuffing cars into his mouth and chewing them whole). He had been reunited with his old flame Sofia, but was also mindful that he had to secure a future with her. This rendered his will to win undiminished, and he resorted to everything to achieve it.

 

He was transferred to Ajax the following season, where he was eventually made captain at the age of 23, and proclaimed heir to Dalglish at Liverpool before he even hit 27. His commitment to the game is unquestioned, as he fights and scraps for every last ball. Shame then, that his obsession with winning at times bubbles over horribly. Perhaps a side-effect of countless years spent retaliating against bully boys twice his size on the mean streets of Salto and Montevideo? Which most likely often got him thrashed afterwards? We may never know.

 

What is certain is that his unbending instinct to fight in any which way is partly what makes him a sheer joy to watch. And his unrelenting will to win makes his absence from the pitch hard to bear for all true lovers of the game. Which is why seeing him step out with the Blaugrana last week felt like his ban had been lifted from the whole football world, and not just from Luis himself!

Watching him play is just a sheer joy. His tenacity is relentless, and work rate second to absolutely no other player I’ve seen. His incredible comebacks from injury and disciplinary bans make a mockery of the term ‘match fitness’. Furthermore the beauty of some of his goals are only eclipsed by the efforts of fellow ‘bad boy’ Zlatan Ibrahimovic.

 

It really is time for the press to move on, for I think that Luis deserves another chance. I am quite convinced that in Spain he will finally find a home away from home, since all South American stars seem to regain composure once they move from a northern European country to a Southern European one.

 

Take Carlos Tevez. Constant tantrums and hare-brained rants to the press during his time in England, yet not a peep of mischief out of him ever since he joined Juventus. Carlitos now looks like the footballer we never thought he was, fully committed to battle for his club and ebullient about everything to do with the bianconeri who are the absolute love of his life. 

 

And I suspect that this will now be the case with Luis and Barcelona. In his recent autobiography he declared how grateful he was to Brendan Rodgers for introducing tiki-taka to Merseyside, since playing the ball on the ground allowed Suarez to get the better of hulking defenders. So he cannot but flourish in the church of pass and move, and wasted no time in providing an assist during his first Clásico, with the delicious pass he served to Neymar who opened the scoring.

 

 

 

 

With Luis on the pitch his team are always in with a chance, and his introduction to a struggling Barcelona side may not have happened at a better time. It is amazing how the greater the penalties thrust upon him for misconduct, the more he returns with a vengeance to remind the world that he’s not just about bad headlines.

 

Which bad headlines, incidentally, have probably done more to enhance his brand and put Uruguay on the map than any strategy the best marketing teams could have dreamed up. Indeed there’s no such thing as bad publicity, and the constant mention of Luis’s omission from the shortlist is already eclipsing the achievements of all of the nominees called up for the ballon d’or.

 

Once more FIFA seem to have forgotten that omitting Luis only serves to further boost his following, as well as heap more fuel on a fire that will consume all before it. Because Luis is all about doing whatever it takes for love, and greater adversity only seems to further boost his resolve. Last Sunday’s defeat to Real Madrid would have rankled greatly with him, and although he might not yet bite anyone, we can soon expect a goal or two in anger.

 

Which is why I don’t envy poor Celta Vigo, having to travel to the Camp Nou this Saturday to take on Suarez and co. Sometimes true love really can hurt.