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LOCAL DERBY-ITIS 4-1-06
The local derby, as much a part of the rich tapestry of the beautiful game, association football, as any aspect of our great global sport. This type of match allows people to live out their local rivalries in a stridently vocal but usually peaceful manner during the mini wars that are carried out on the hallowed turf of arenas around the globe, week in week out.
One unique aspect of any rivalry is the historical connection, which is vastly increased when a game is titled as a derby, classified in the dictionary as: "An important contest in any sport."
So there you have it, derby, an old colloquial term that has dissolved into the vernacular of every day language especially everyday footer language.
The local derby brings out the best and worst in fans the world over, with their tense build-up caused by age old rivalry and quite often religious or inter city competitiveness. Just witness the hot-blooded Spanish competitiveness of the Real and Barca rivalry, which is arguably the strongest region to region, city to city, on the planet.
Although in these gentler climes fans are better behaved because of, in no small part the horrific disasters at Hillsborough and Heysell, all seater stadia, better security including CCTV cameras and a general treatment of fans as part of humanity and not cattle. This ensures that the highly-charged gladiatorial battle stays usually on the pitch and in the press reports and not in spilled blood on the terraces.
The respective fans of the clubs involved enjoy the build-up, usually in urine extracting banter in bars, clubs and pubs with attempts at verbal one-up-manship. It's true to say that a good derby victory can earn a team enough brownie points to allow the misdemeanours of recent times and iffy performances to go forgotten. Well, for a while anyway.
The triangle of local love, hate and empathy in the English North-East produces a decent competition among the Smoggies, the Jardies and the Mackems. Those fixtures are then instantly marked on the calendar as significant games, indeed weeks of the season. The press gets on board to add to the build-up and the fans go into battle mode on the various fanzines, websites and message boards, attempting to repel raiders from the enemy in sometimes hilariously written stoushes over who is supreme and what we are gonna do to you're lot.
The parochial nature of these fixtures and the effect it has on the two competing communities is often underestimated in the intensity of feeling and the effect a loss to the sworn enemy can have on the psyche and well-being of a die-hard, one-eyed true believer. Sometimes for months afterwards the result can have a negative or positive effect much more so than any other game. If defeated you have to stew on your internal angst until the next derby to get revenge and retribution on your tormentors.
Certain players never appear to get up with the derby programme and can get lost in the vitriol like a startled rabbit in the headlights of a car. A player who does rise to the occasion by baring his soul through his boots and committed heart in a wholehearted performance on the turf instantly becomes a demi-god, and thus can do no wrong in the eyes of the cognoscenti.
This derby business, well, it's a worldwide phenomenon that is played out every weekend in the hallowed stadia of Milan, Madrid, Liverpool, Barcelona, Edinburgh, Rio, Lisbon, Moscow, Manchester, London, Paris, Amsterdam, Turin, Rome, Buenos Aires and Sao Paulo to name but a few of the high profile combatants.
One City I did not name sprawling along the River Clyde is Glasgow, the largest Jockanalian city and home of the most intense and historically bitter rivalry in the game. The age-old battle of the mafia like 'Old Firm', between the fiery combatants of Glasgow Rangers in the blue corner and Glasgow Celtic in the green corner. A contest spiced over the years with religious sectarian partisanship, controversial incidents, blood and thunder football and a basic battle for the local patch. This is a fixture that's highlighted on the SPL roster in red neon every season.
Regardless of current form or SPL position, it causes a mini war to ensue in the tense and torrid build-up, to be followed by a gloating in the gloaming in the aftermath for the against the crushed and vanquished with the victor scoring superiority and bragging rights till the next game. It can only be classified as - Titanic built on the Clyde.
Usually because of the size and strength of these two behemoths of Scottish football, the games have a sharper edge because they can decide the next position for the Scottish Championship trophy to reside, in one of those burgeoning glass cabinets simply at Ibrox or Parkhead. It's a veritable 'see you Jimmy' religion and I've seen Jimmy at first hand, viewing the human condition during live showings of the 'Old Firm' wars at various drinking holes in Perth, with the Big Yin and his muckers from the WA Rangers club.
The cauldron produces an immense parochial passion, the outpouring of grief at a loss, the bouncing pogo elation after a win, both versions treated the same way in true Jock style drowned in an ocean of alcohol. It's a sight to see, and as a people watcher, it's bloody anthropological research at it's finest. Put these buggers in Braveheart gear after a win and the Gers growlers, well they'd frighten the Devil.
The same goes for the Celtic coven they are equally as loyal and vociferous for their Bhouys. Another mucker of mine, supports Celtic, correction- is Celtic, Wee Mark the Little Yin, who has green and white coursing through his veins even though the bugger is an Englishman, with a leaning for Sheffield United from a Partick Thistle supporting family. He still hasn't forgiven me as a Smoggie for "personally" supplying him and the Hoops with the inimitable Juninhio who, very surprisingly, was a resounding flop at Parkhead and never produced the Riverside form that would've surely made him a God in Glasgow.
This was even though he was brilliant on his debut in an Old Firm win for the Bhouys. In a recent article I ended by asking; "Now where's that Juninhio shirt?!" The Little Yin e-mailed back quick as a flash after reading the rant: "In the bloody wash basket at Parkhead!"
The great Glasgow rivalry. It's as old as the game itself and is an actual bona fide example of that oft quoted throw-away quip from the immortal brilliant Bill Shankly, one of many which has passed into the folklore of football history, when he made the all encompassing statement: "A matter of life and death? Nae it's more important than that!"
There's a revival occurring in football North of Gretna and the two major Edinburgh teams, Hibernian and Heart of Midlothian, are getting in on the Old Firm act and hopefully reducing the monopoly of silverware the Glasgow old firm giants have in that neck of the woods. It's good for the game at every level is competition, it also elevates the status of the Edinburgh derby to one rung down from the big Glasgow game.
Heartski, the new money, burleyesque table-toppers and unbeaten for a while, revived by a Lithuanian clog salesman, well rich bugger Vlad Romanov. Hibernian duly revived by a former Boro God, the one and only Mr Tony Mowbray, who the well-informed tell me, has got Hibs playing out of their skins week in week out with a fairly ordinary playing roster and lots of Mogga injected into their veins.
He's already well thought of and respected in the improving SPL and his skills are being watched by sharp eyes South of Hadrian's Wall. Presently under a six game ban into the stands in a way explains his fire and commitment to the green and white side of Edinburgh's cause.
No slight intended on the revived Hibbies but it makes you wonder what this leader of men could achieve at a club who need and expect more. A club with disaffected but great supporters who are crying out for a messiah, a son to lead them forward out of the doldrums, backed by the best Chairman anywhere, on any continent, in any country, with a club with unfulfilled potential and romantic for recognition and success.
Do you know a team like that?
So there you have it, the great local derby, in the Latin known as Localus Derbyitis, a disease of the soul and mind causing depression and morbidity in defeat. In victory vastly opposing feelings, euphoric and overwhelmingly extreme elation, akin to a night of lust shagging a bevy of stunners who swoon at your studdlieness while quaffing Dom Perignon with an endless supply of chip butties and HP sauce.
Classify that one in your next editorial in the esteemed Lancet (medical version of the Sun) Dr. Hugh Jorgan, as it causes more sickness than the flu and far more depressive tendencies than those brought on by watching an omnibus edition of Eastenders.
Enough said.
ErimusRed
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