Why The London Olympics Are Bullshit

And so, after seven years of planning and one of the most ostentatious displays of hype ever seen, the London Olympics begins in earnest today with a wonderful £27m opening ceremony presided by artistic director Danny Boyle. What will follow will be a three week celebration of sport which will inspire children all over the UK to participate in healthy activity and will leave a proud sporting legacy and billions of pounds in Britain’s depleted cash reserves.

Bullshit.

Whilst I am a fan of sport, i’m no Olympian. Too many of the events hold only marginal interest (shooting, sailing, lifting), others are far from their respective pinnacles (football, basketball, tennis). Those few events that do catch the eye largely occur on the track, but even they attract little interest other than in Olympic years – anyone follow Usain Bolt or Jessica Ennis closely in the Diamond League or World Championships? Thought not.

The build up has been arduous and controversial, with typically British balls-ups seeing G4S fail miserably to mount serious security despite seven years to prepare, missiles mounted in residential areas and an endless procession of myriad torches escorted around Britain’s shopping streets by a parade of home-grown heroes like Didier Drogba and will.i.am. The inescapable whiff of corporatisation has seen small businesses castigated and fined for selling ‘Olympic Breakfasts’ or hosting themed nights without permission whilst juggernauts like Mars, McDonalds and Coca Cola smear their grubby paw-prints over anything they can draw five rings on.

Somebody somewhere has guesstimated that the Games will generate £13 billion for the British economy – a ludicrous made up sum which belies the fact that people will not travel here from all corners of the globe during a financial catastrophe, that border control will force them to queue until they’ve missed the Olympics anyway and that it’s cheaper to commute from France than it is to stay in London. Of course, 400,00 unsold tickets add weight to this claim – thanks largely to huge over-pricing and a ticketing process in which acquiring a ticket required the patience of Mother Teresa and the internet acumen of Bill Gates.

The legacy will leave an expensive cycling velodrome with no owners, a £500 million pound football stadium being squabbled over by Leyton Orient and West Ham and a number of other white elephant cash cows struggling to justify their existence once the greatest show on earth pootles out of town. There is absolutely no evidence to show that previous Games have led to greater participation in sport and, anecdotally, I’ve seen little evidence of kids and young adults burning their way around running tracks and long-jump pits in the build up. Save for our magnificent cycling and swimming teams, these home Games are likely to see little improvement on recent performance and little follow-up in the aftermath.

A country which has just cut 67% from the school sports budget (rising to 100% in the next few years) whilst pouring billions into hosting this elitist, bloated corporate behemoth is, frankly, a fucking disgrace. To teach us and our children to strive to achieve at the Olympics whilst destroying the foundations on which sporting spirit, ability and endeavour are built is not British at all. We have been sold a lie.

Paul Scholes: Legend

After 676 appearances and exactly 150 goals, Manchester United’s Paul Scholes has finally decided to hang up his boots. At the age of 36 and with his best behind him, it’s no surprise that the most unassuming of Fergie’s Fledglings has stepped down: famously publicity shy, Scholes only ever wanted to play football. Whilst the feeling persists at Old Trafford that he could still play a part, the player himself disagrees – not happy to be on the periphery and frustrated that his abilities are not what they were, he has moved into a coaching role at his only club.

Whether Scholes instinct for the game can be transplanted into the next generation of United’s youngsters remains to be seen. The impeccably timed runs which saw the diminutive Mancunian bullet home so many important headers seem almost un-coachable. The knack of popping up on the edge of the box to fizz pile-driving shots into the top corner is not easy to teach. But above all else, it will be his vision which is so difficult to replicate and replace.

No less a player than Zinedine Zidane once described Scholes as ‘the greatest of his generation’, but perhaps it’s most telling that the man who makes the world’s best midfields tick, Xavi Hernandez thinks of him as ‘the best central midfielder of the last 15 or 20 years’. It’s telling that Xavi’s passing and movement have only come to be appreciated in England in the last few years as Barcelona and Spain have dominated club and international football. Scholes, too, was underestimated for some time.

A host of international coaches failed to get the best from Scholes on the world stage. Despite a swirling World Cup goal against Tunisia, a hat-trick against Poland and a vital brace against Scotland at Hampden, the midfielder never played in his best position for his country. Shunted around the pitch – and often to the left wing – to accommodate the thrust and bluster of Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard, Scholes called time on his England career at the age of thirty. It was a sad loss which saw the national set-up lose their best passer and most creative player in favour of a midfield axis which has never convinced.

Of course, England’s loss was United’s gain. His retirement ensured that the latter part of Scholes’ career was punctuated by rest periods as his club-mates reported for international duty – and that he added a longevity which seemed unlikely when he first burst onto the scene with a league-cup double against Port Vale. Skinny, pale and short, he looked like a kid who’d wandered down from the stands and onto the pitch. Suffering from asthma and reportedly allergic to grass, he hardly looked like a figure built for the rough and tumble of the Premier League.

Initially playing up front and contributing plenty of goals, Scholes gradually moved further back as injuries and suspensions hit United. When Eric Cantona received an eight month ban for his kung-fu attack on Matthew Simmons, it was Scholes who moved into his position behind Andy Cole. And from there he retreated still further when Roy Keane mangled his knee in that infamous challenge with Alfe Inge Haaland. And there he stayed.

As part of arguably United’s greatest ever midfield, alongside Keane and fellow youth-team graduates David Beckham and Ryan Giggs, Scholes played a key role in the treble-winning team of 1999. A typically terrible tackle ensured he missed the Champion’s League Final, but he scored vital goals in every competition, including one in the FA Cup Final at Wembley.

Scholes’ goalscoring was nothing short of phenomenal. For years he popped up on the end of crosses, cut backs and blocked shots to bullet shots into the net. He belied his diminutive stature to pop up with numerous headers. But most impressively of all, he hit rocket after rocket into the top corner. It’s almost impossible to pick the best of his long distance howitzers: the semi-final screamer against Barcelona; the thunderous thirty-yard volley versus Villa; the first-timer from Beckham’s corner against Bradford; the list goes on.

Of course, it’s not so easy to pick out the passes. There were cute backheels and scooped lobs (including a particularly fine one for Wayne Rooney versus AC Milan) and raking long-ranger after raking long-ranger. Switching play from one side of the pitch to another with a fifty yard pass was such an important part of Scholes’ (and United’s) armoury that it’s possible to imagine Ferguson’s fascination with wingers being intrinsically linked with his midfield maestro’s passing range. It’ll be interesting to see just who supplies Nani and Antonio Valencia with the ball in Sat-Nav’s absence.

But Scholes wasn’t just a passer and a goalscorer. He was also a nasty little bastard. For years he got away with being a filthy little shit. For some reason his skill and ability seem to have blinded commentators and pundits to his vicious streak. An early Scholes ‘reducer’ was often accompanied by a chuckle and a chortle which entirely absolved him of blame for a ‘tackle’ which was often premeditated and more often deliberate. Manchester United fans loved him still more for it. And he didn’t always get away with it – he was the first England player dismissed at Wembley, missed the aforementioned Champion’s League Final through suspension and was sent-off another nine times.

Despite his aggression and flair on the park, Scholes was the most unassuming presence off it. Always the first out of Old Trafford after a game, he was rarely available for an interview and shunned the limelight. He didn’t employ an agent and once reportedly refused a pay-rise, instead just signing an extended contract. He married his childhood sweetheart and once described his typical day as, "Train in the morning, pick up my children from school, play with them, have tea, put them to bed and then watch a bit of TV."

Paul Scholes: famous for being a fabulous footballer. And that’s the way it should be.



Honours:

Premier League: 1995–96, 1996–97, 1998–99, 1999–2000, 2000–01, 2002–03, 2006–07, 2007–08, 2008–09, 2010–11

FA Cup: 1995–96, 1998–99, 2003–04

League Cup: 2008–09, 2009–10

Community Shield: 1996, 1997, 2003, 2008, 2010

Champion’s League: 1998–99, 2007–08

Intercontinental Cup: 1999

Club World Cup: 2008

Thanks for the memories, Becks

Fabio Capello has gone from hero to zero. Following the debacle in South Africa it seems that his every media utterance, his every move and every decision are questioned. This week I’ve read articles questioning his command of the English language, his delegating of responsibility when it came to phoning Paul Scholes before the World Cup and his decision to end the international career of David Beckham.

Let’s get the football out of the way first. Capello is a manager with a proven track record who has the best qualifying record of any England manager ever. Under his tutelage our footballers stormed through qualification for this summer’s championships. We failed abjectly when we were there for a multitude of reasons (some of which I’ve discussed in a previous blog). It will suffice here to say that he was tactically inflexible and that the players failed to perform as well as we might have expected. But so it goes.

In the wake of England’s inglorious failure, the media and the public alike demanded that heads roll, international careers be ended and new players and youthful exuberance be introduced to the first XI. And on Wednesday night - in front of a surprisingly large crowd – Capello did exactly what we required of him. The England team played flexibly, moving from a 4-2-3-1 formation to 4-4-2 and back again. Players were employed in the positions they feel most comfortable in and this paid dividends with Steven Gerrard playing in the swashbuckling style which Anfield regulars are accustomed to. He scored two wonderful goals in a captain’s display and looked far more comfortable than he is when stationed on the left. But the most promising feature of the game was the blooding of a number of young players: Kieran Gibbs, Adam Johnson and Jack Wilshere made their debuts. Ashley Young gave his best performance in an England shirt, Theo Walcott looked revitalised and Phil Jagielka (the least youthful of the bunch) looked comfortable at centre-half. Yes, the game was against a poor Hungary side, but given a chance these players suggested that they could add the dynamism which our sluggish side lacked in the summer and Capello showed that he is not as tactically inflexible as we thought.

As for lacking the language skills to manage the team effectively, I have my doubts. It seems that the Italian is quite happy to hide behind his limited English when it conveniences him, but the language of football is a simple one. Learning to speak that particular language is relatively easy compared to the nuances of conversational English and Capello clearly managed to talk tactics pretty effectively as he made an immediate impact during the qualifying campaign.

Perhaps a lack of confidence in a more informal conversation is what prompted Capello to ask his assistant, Franco Baldini, to telephone Paul Scholes to ask him to end his international exile. And if that is the case, it’s a shame. But let’s be clear about one thing – Scholes is a thirty-five year old footballer who retired from international duty eight years ago. It was always a long shot expecting him to end his self-imposed exile and it was no surprise when he turned down the offer.

The fuss over Beckham is even harder to understand. Yes, he’s a former England captain who has drugged the Three Lions through games, has scored wonderful goals and led his country with distinction. But he’s currently nursing an injury which might end his career, playing in Major League Soccer and is 35 years old. The same media who were demanding Capello choose youth are now chastising him for ending the career of a one-legged man in the twilight of his career.

Perhaps letting this decision slip in an ITV interview was ill-advised. But since then it has emerged that Beckham’s agent already had wind of the decision before it was broadcast to a watching television audience. This ought to dilute the sense of indignation which seems to have gripped the callers to radio phone-ins and the contributors to online football forums. It hasn’t. Sadly, the lionising of Saint David has continued unabated. People have called for a ‘testimonial’ for the player – something which our World Cup winning captain Bobby Moore, our all time top scorer Bobby Charlton or our top appearance-maker Peter Shilton never received. I’ve also heard it said and seen it written that Beckham deserves ‘better than that’. Better than what exactly? Better than some honesty? Capello feels he’s a bit old and has little left to contribute and when questioned about it, he said so. What’s the big deal? I imagine that Gary Neville, a player who has represented England with distinction and who has almost 100 caps can also be bracketed with Beckham in the ‘too old’ camp – he’s unlikely to be picked again but I can’t see anyone clamouring for him to receive a full and private explanation of the manager’s wholly justified and logical decision.

It seems to me (and probably many other jaded cynics) that this whole circus has nothing to do with football and everything to do with celebrity. As the game’s most recognisably iconic figure David Beckham capitalised on the flood of money which entered the sport in the mid-nineties and marketed himself more effectively than anyone ever has. He combined good looks, a famous spouse and a bucketful of talent to become a sum far greater than the total of his parts. He rose from the ashes of his sending off against Argentina in 1998 to become the archetypal family man, England captain and role model despite the fact that from the moment he left Manchester United in 2003 his career has been on a downward trajectory. His cameo roles for Milan and England in recent years have been fairly impressive, but at the top level he is finished and has been for some time.

That he transcended football to become such an iconic figure is testament to an excellent marketing strategy, good timing and great bone structure. That his footballing worth is so vastly overestimated is due to a public for whom he has disappeared from everyday life – they see and remember only his value to Manchester United and England in days gone by. Hidden from view is the diminishing ability of the player himself, disguised as it is by the distance from England to Madrid, Milan and Los Angeles.

Thanks for the memories, David, as that’s all we have now. And let’s leave it at that, eh?