Coooey! My name's Sepp. This is my cup and Forest aren't in it!
Coooey! My name's Sepp. This is my cup and Forest aren't in it!
So, Sepp Blatter (sausage-in-batter in German) the President of FIFA thinks it will be a hoot to increase the frequency of the World Cup. Fortunately his counterpart at UEFA has expressed in no uncertain terms, that this is ludicrous, and that European sides would be absent from the competition if it were to be held more often.
Perhaps he was considering the likely effect this would have on the European Championship, a tournament hosted quite brilliantly by England in 1996.
With more World Cups come more matches, more injuries, shorter careers, and, worst of all, the need for even more TV pundits. Haven’t we suffered enough?
Where have we been, where are we now, and where are we going? And why are you reading this? And who can save us all?
A short journey back in time uncovers a nose-dive in presenter quality only bettered by breakfast TV (who only recently recovered with the pairing of Johnny Vaughan and Denise “Essex girl” van Outen). History has clearly shown that, in the same way that the best salesman doesn’t always make the best sales manager, being a great player often means poor TV presenter.
Back when TV went colour, our heroes were the ’66 World Cup team, resplendent in their red jerseys (unless you were watching in black and white in which case Jerry were wearing the lighter shirts. A change strip from the brown shirts they wore in the forties). That team spawned a couple of latter day desk jockeys, notably wor Bobby, wor Jackie, Alan Ball and Greavsie.
Sir Bob was dragged out for every Cup Final, England match, and documentary about Prussian air traffic control throughout the ensuing decades. He played at the very highest level - for his “time”, an era that arguably produced the finest players the world has seen, Pele, Best, Beckenbauer, Muller, Eusebio...
Brother Jack went World Cup mental again with the Republic of Ireland, and his affinity with the Irish, his native Geordies, and his influence in the toughest Leeds team since the War of the Roses have all meant he has an armful of stories from three bizarre cultures. He was good value on the telly too. During the 1990 finals, the two Charltons were reminiscing about a boyhood activity, suggesting that the “adventure” just gets better and better. That it was only 40 years ago they were racked with excitement sneaking through a neighbour’s garden after dark. Jack clarified that it was not the lateness of the hour as Bobby was suggesting, but the fact they were poaching that made it exciting.
Alan Ball appeared as what he is and always was - a craggy faced ginger with a high pitched whining voice. He was a complete player, perhaps lacking anything spectacular on his c.v. (apart from a World Cup winners medal) but he arrived on the TV scene in the late seventies when these sacred cows of our national game were invited to comment on all before them.
The turning point was perhaps the 1978 World Cup when the South Americans did their best to lay on a show for the world to see. The fireworks, street parades, and ticket tossing team welcome had to be matched back home by colourful and entertaining coverage. ITV, fronted by Brian Moore, invited Clough, Channon, Keegan, Marsh, and various England players who knew that they had dropped a gonad in failing to qualify - but let battle commence!
Brian Clough was God-like, always respectful of those around him, but he had his opinion, we were going to hear it, and Channon was going to agree with him. Or not, as happened more often. Great viewing, accusations of cheating levelled at Peru, the big drugs thing with the Scots, and the introduction of the partnership that was to become Saint and Greavsie. At this time, the BBC opted to play safe, Ron Greenwood jumping in with Jimmy Hill, England skipper Emlyn Hughes carrying on where he was leaving off with Question Of Sport.
The formula had been established. A cool host, partially informed, rarely a player of quality, to be joined by luminaries of the footballing world. So what went wrong?
It was a long succession of lousy pundits, picked by TV production managers who had obviously never tried to discover whether their prospective guest had so much as passed an eleven plus - (it takes more than a pair of clever-specs Barry Venison to make you look or sound intelligent).
Thankfully more and more footballers are able to construct intelligible sentences even if the content is a load of hammed up nonsense. Admittedly, our hosts and commentators are guilty as hell for asking such awful, time-honoured questions as, “What will Alex Ferguson have said at half time?” In a court of law the response would be inadmissable, thrown out as hearsay and the jury (or the 'viewer') instructed to ignore the witness’ last remark.
If only Ron Atkinson’s banal waffle could be stricken from the record.
And another ponderable. Where do these pundits who have never been anywhere, done anything, or won anything, get off peddling their so-called expert analysis. Clive Allen - been all around London, (so has Ken Livingstone) but couldn’t score in five England appearances and only ever picked up a losers medal at Wembley. What does he know? Neil Webb made more appearances on TV than he did for Manchester United and England put together - and we all preferred watching his wife Shelley on Standing Room Only. Well, she was a bit cheesy, but look at her husband.
Every meal time I clasp my hands and give thanks for the following; Alan Hansen (irritatingly right every time) Mark Lawrenson (smooth, but obviously knew when to take the gloves off as a player, a winner in every sense) Martin O’Neill and Ally McCoist (two gilt edged discoveries during France ’98 snapped up by the BBC) and, it goes without saying, Gary and Des. Are these two made for life or what? The breadth of appeal, the universal audience potential of these two alone ensures that ITV Sport, no matter who the sponsors are (don’t Playstation adverts get on your tits?) will always be second rate when it comes to TV footy.
. We have said goodbye to Brian Moore. Shame we couldn’t get shot of Gary Newbon, Jim Rosenthal, Bob Wilson (always on the hospitality) Jimmy Hill (that man has got to go!), the sycophantic Venables, the difficult to follow Gullit, the frog Ginola, Keegan, Atkinson, Trevor Francis, Chris Waddle & John Barnes ( can you believe they won 141 caps for their country?!) Barry Bloody Venison, Ian Wright (he’s got a chat show? Lookout Parky,NOT!) We do listen to a lot of old rubbish talked about the game. Mind you, you just read two pages of this mooey.