Sunday, 7 September 2014
Man talk 7th September 2014
Sunday, 24 August 2014
Wanted : A football sugar daddy
Wanted: a football “Sugar Daddy”. Apply to a football club near you – note: must have deep pockets.
The hunt for the elusive no strings attached football club owner is on. Anyone heard of John Moores? He was the Roman Abramovitch of his day with his Littlewoods pools millions who lavished his family wealth on his beloved Everton football club, spending money like their was no tomorrow. In the sixties, the club became known as The Millionaires, such was his willingness to splash the cash. Sir John was always good for a few thousand (a lot in those days!) whenever his manager spotted talent. Sadly, when Sir John died, so did his money and the club went into decline.
Everton were not the only club with a local benefactor. The football league, as it was then, was full of “local” businessmen spending their wealth on their local club. Hard to believe that, in their heyday, Manchester United got their cash from the local butcher’s family, the Edwards.
So why did it all go wrong? It’s easy to blame it all on television (especially Sky TV), but, since the mid-eighties, football’s local connections have been steadily erased. A victim of its own success, football became a business with the profit & loss scores becoming the only game in town. The cash rich, no questions asked carpetbaggers from the Middle East and Eastern Europe descended like a rash on the football league.
In the mid-eighties, when the word of the day was “loadsa-money”, these brash, flash billionaires coming from football team poor countries were welcomed into town. With their oil rich millions, they wanted a piece of the most successful league in the world – and, for some, it was the lifeblood they needed. Who wouldn’t snatch the hand off a willing benefactor promising millions?
Some clubs, like current premier league champions Manchester City, had to kiss a lot of frogs before they found their Prince Charming. Other clubs, like Leeds United and the Blackburn Rovers, have paid the price for jumping into bed with wealthy foreign investors and gone from champs to chumps, whilst others like Manchester United and Liverpool have bet it all on red and gambled on success the corporate American way.
The days of the local club forlocal fans are a thing of the past. How can it be local when it’s a global phenomenon, with every game beamed live all around the world? The average Liverpool fan is as likely to come from Tokyo as Toxteth, and for thousands and thousands of supporters every game is an away day.
Could the Edwards’s family from Manchester ever have imagined how big a business their little old football club would become? If they thought they had it good in the sixties and seventies, what would they make of the club today? Manchester United PLC is quoted on the stock market; the board room where decisions are made isn’t in the bowls of Old Trafford, but the skyscrapers of Wall Street – it’s the shareholders the board answers too. The fans are are just the television extras that fill out the stadium week in week out. The price all these clubs pay for selling their heritage is to sacrifice what the fans want for what the shareholders demand. You get your success (occasionally!), but at the whim of the owners. No longer a football fan, more of a business fan. Success isn’t measured so much by cups won as by the pounds banked.
Those Manchester City fans celebrating their premiership title last season have a lot to be thankful for, as they are run as a modern day family business, albeit a Middle Eastern royal family. The manager is lavished with cash and can attract the world’s best players with promises to pay them huge amounts. They play at a state of the art stadium and enjoy facilities second to none. The former millionaires of Everton in their rundown shabby ground can only look on enviously at their “new money” billionaire neighbours. The days of the millionaire are long gone – it’s a billionaire or nothing.
Sadly, the cash to fund the rich mans plaything is drying up, just like the Saudi oil princes and the Russian oligarchs. It’s the TV contracts that are feeding the fire of modern day football. With worldwide deals filling the pots, the premier league elite have never been so cash rich. But the question is, for how much longer? Football once relied on the fans for the majority of its revenue, but not anymore. The beautiful game is dictated by TV schedules; they pay, you play (whenever they say).
What happens if Sky decides to pull the plug? How can clubs hooked on TV cash pay the wages of the lucrative contracts, the loans? Where’s the cash going to come from? It’s a knife edge for many clubs balancing the books and when the money’s gone and the accountants and liquidators move in, the first question they’ll be asking is “Where’s your daddy?”
Man Talk 24th August 2014
Sunday, 10 August 2014
Man talk 9th August 2014
Saturday, 26 July 2014
Man Talk 27th July 2014
Sunday, 20 July 2014
Suppose they gave a war and nobody came
You flick through several channels and finally stop on a fuzzy image of a car speeding down a desert back road. The image is blurred but what can you expect from 30,000ft away? A target sits over the vehicle. A smoke trail drifting across the crosshairs and seconds later a puff of smoke and that’s one less bad guy to worry about.
A video game or the reality of modern day warfare? This is how we sanitise killing these days – we win our wars from behind a desk. Now step back in time 100 years this month, no YouTube, no social media to keep us up to the minute informed. The only images of war are patriotic posters demanding you serve.
Your country needs you.
And so, caught up in the moment, you followed your patriotic duty without a thought. The music hall songs demanded you pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile smile smile, and so they did just that in their millions. It was expected for king and country you served. But would we honestly go so freely and so fervently today? Would we march so proudly off to war? Would we defy our mothers, lie about our ages just so we could enlist in the local ‘lads’ regiments?
‘The revolution will not be televised’ sang Gil Scott Heron back in the 70′s, as we watched the Vietnam War on our televisions. You were lucky to make page 4 of the local newspaper back in 1914.
Today, Social Media would make it a worldwide trending topic until we got bored and switched to the latest celebrity hook up, football transfer rumour or anything else that grabs our goldfish attention spans.
The start of the Great War is being celebrated this month and all over the country the war that was said to end all wars is being remembered. In Liverpool we’ve dressed up the event and sanitised the loss by representing the war as a little girl and her grandmother searching for a dad or a son who has enlisted. It is finally given the reality it never had a century ago. Finally we appreciate the degree of loss. We are beginning to understand that the Great War was mainly fought over a few miles of muddy ground in Northern Europe. The up and over orders into no man’s land with no thought of loss or death only became apparent many years later. In these high-tech times, teenagers are raining mass destruction on nations every night via their PlayStations. Why would anyone want to leave their armchairs for the real thing? How many would answer the call if asked? Would we still treat those that chose not to go with the same contempt? The white feather (a symbol of cowardice) was the greatest insult you could have received. Today their protest would be celebrated. It was a different time – the naivety of the masses to the reality of war meant that working class poorly educated boys thought the war was a heroic adventure. In hindsight, the whole thing was futile.
So… if they called, would we answer? Probably not. There’d be far too much other stuff to do.