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RETRAINING THE LAIRY 16-2-07
Calum Law
'Who's the bastard in the black?' (Er, that's the referee - is this your first football match?) I guess they need to update that one now: 'Who's the cunt in green?' perhaps. And instead of 'The Referee's a Wanker', maybe 'The Referee's a Paedo'; that way the severity of the invective keeps pace with the whistler's enhanced 'professional' status.
And yet it didn't occur to me to not put inverted commas round 'professional' because, as Paul Jewell put it, with admirable economy, 'professional means you're good.' And no competitive salary package, isotonic training regimen or FIFA workshop is going to help if, come the weekend you're likely, in Jewell's words, to 'bottle it'.
There's always a temptation to deride the 'whinger' in this circumstance, but whilst all managers have their moments, Jewell is actually one of the more phlegmatic in this regard. And you can bet that, had that been Boro, fighting for our life in the relegation zone, we'd back any amount of red-faced gesticulation Gareth cared to engage in.
For Wigan were robbed, plain and simple, by two shocking decisions from Phil Dowd and his officials; but, as with any number of recent errors, these were not 'honest mistakes' but pea-hearted omissions.
At St James' Park a few weeks ago, with Newcastle 0-2 down and desperate to get back into the game before half-time, Scott Parker - five yards offside - actually stepped over Milner's cross-shot as it skimmed past an unsighted keeper, yet (since the 'goal' stood) was apparently deemed to be 'not interfering'.
He could hardly have been more interfering had he dressed up as a Catholic priest and invited Roy Carroll into the vestry to polish his candlestick, yet even the notoriously pig-headed Uriah Rennie felt unable to resist forty thousand slavering hysterical Geordies willing a goal.
In countries such as Italy and Scotland - indeed in most other countries besides England - the incorrigibly venal nature of the referee is a given. But whilst neither sectarian bias nor a routine culture of 'gratuities' infect the Englash game, only those with an improbably ingenuous disposition believe that howlers like those of Rennie and Dowd 'even themselves out'.
Would Rennie have permitted West Ham to go 3-0 up with such a goal? Would Dowd have seen the penalty differently were it Henry and not Heskey being pulled back? The answers are inescapable: whilst not corrupt, English refs by and large either lack the backbone to make unpopular decisions or connive in the mass unconscious conspiracy that insists the big teams prevail.
I confess: I was happy when Arsenal got a helping hand from Dowd for, as this column has discussed before, Wigan are a far greater menace to Boro than the ethereal Gunners. Moreover, in concert with the barely-decent media worship of the 'Big Four', I'd much prefer Arsenal as opposed to, say, Bolton, to qualify for the Champions League - because, as an armchair fan, they've got more chance of winning it.
It may well be that referees were always as weak and useless as they now appear but - because most games were attended by 'home' fans (who hence tended to benefit) and if televised at all were granted maybe two camera angles - we just didn't notice.
Nowadays however, with the level of exposure, there's many who simply aren't up to the job. We need men and women prepared to make themselves unpopular: who thrive, who positively revel in being hated.
If we want to solve the problem of refereeing incompetence, we need a programme for the mass retraining of traffic wardens.
Re-Branding for Hairy
There, someone's finally said it. In Sunday's Observer, Will Buckley specifically fingered 'celebrity' West Ham fan Russell Brand as being responsible for the team's demise. 'Brand clearly is to blame,' he wrote, 'either he goes, or they go down.'
A glancing acquaintance with Brand's schtick ( tittle-tattle and showing-off) led most to assume that Hairy... was a fairy. So shock was augmented by envy when it was revealed that the never-boring Kate Moss had joined his supposedly lengthy list of female conquests. When he subsequently starts coming over all footballier-than thou into the bargain, it's time for us less-flamboyant types to demur: we don't mind having our assumptions gently tilted from time to time but...
'Ubiquitous' is simply not strong enough a word for Brand - 'virulent' perhaps, for he's clearly capable of pathogen-like mutation. There is now no corner of British life where he's not apt to pop up, but you have to agree with Buckley: when it comes to football, however authentic, his presence is clearly malign. He may well be a founding member of the ICF but Hammers fans must be praying he'll mislay his artfully-knotted scarf (though he probably calls it a bandana). Celebrity support is seldom an unmitigated blessing - one always suspects an element of quid pro quo.
I'm sure the Toon Army could live without Tony Blair's ersatz devotion for instance, and whilst Exeter City fans possibly imagined that Michael Jackson's baffling attachment might put their thoroughly-ignored little outfit on the map, one hopes they didn't get carried away and re-christen the Family Enclosure.
'As Homer Simpson puts it: 'I like my homosexuals f-laming.' And I like my footy fans... well not like you Hairy Chops. Though having said that, it would be funny to put you next to Shearer on Match of the Day. Oor Al'd fair have a noorvous breakdoon.
Re-sign or be Wary
The most disingenuous phrase ever must be: 'I take no pleasure in saying 'I told you so'. So, despite the fact that no-one was listening, I intend to take a long soak in a bath of self-satisfaction for trumpeting Mark Viduka's world-class credentials - ever since I saw him help vanquish Roma at the Stadio Olympico seven years ago with a demonstration of the centre-forward's art that I'm not sure I've seen surpassed.
Just how much this Boro team has come to rely on his hold-up play was re-emphasised during our first-half performance on Tuesday. It took us all back to just how truly crap we were for much of this season and how his restoration to the side transformed our fortunes.
If as Monty reports, he's after a four-year deal, then he's clearly driving a very hard bargain that Gibson may struggle to respond to.
Yet, like Sheringham, his game has never relied on pace and therefore, fitness permitting, there's no reason why, like Southgate himself, he shouldn't be capable of turning in solid displays at 35 and acting as a role model for young pros.
We're lucky to see class like him wearing a Boro shirt - however stained it is with pie-juice.
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