If someone were to hand you a plump tomato and you studied that tomato – rubbed your thumb over the red skin until it lightly bruised; gently squeezed it in your palm; smelt that familiar smell before biting into it and tasting that distinctive tomatoey sharpness – then how perplexing would it be if others around you swore blind that it was a pineapple?
That must be how it feels right now to be a Newcastle, Blackburn, West Ham or Sunderland supporter under the deluge of revisionist nonsense being spouted about the managerial merits of ‘Big’ Samuel Allardyce as his inevitable England appointment looms ever closer.
It appears that these thousands upon thousands of knowledgeable fans – along with the rest of us blessed with functioning eyesight – have Big Sam all wrong. He is not – nor has he ever been – the ‘Big Sam’ of lore: the long-ball merchant, up-and-at-em exponent of the old school.
He is, by all accounts, continental Sam; modern Sam; sophisticated Sam. He embraced sports science before many of his peers, becoming an early devotee of Prozone and introducing holistic measures such as yoga and supplements. At Bolton he even personally ensured that a psychotherapist was on hand should a player be in need of a mental tune-up. And of course he signed Jay-Jay Okocha.
It is important here to consider the sources of this recent re-appraisal. Former players loyal to an ex-boss, manager buddies such as Ferguson and media pals to a man not to mention a handful of bloggers putting forward a ‘hot take’ contrary argument to maximise clicks. All claiming a tomato is a pineapple.
On the other hand those Newcastle Blackburn, West Ham, Sunderland supporters – along with the rest of us with functioning eyesight – only have thousands upon thousands of hours of Allardyce-orchestrated football as our evidence.
The season-after-season, club-after-club, adherence to frenetic, no-nonsense back-to-basics fare Allardyce has trademarked built on scowling defences, industrious midfielders, and a targetman carved from English oak. It is a persistent track record that quashes the mere anecdotal with quotes of our own to back up our claim such as the time he described tiki-taka as ‘a load of bollocks’.
Should this come to arbitration I fancy our day in court though I fear those present will go a little star-struck in the presence of ‘Sir Alex’ – Allardyce’s prime character witness – to at least necessitate some deliberation.
The 61-year-old’s views on ‘tippy-tappy football’ is particularly pertinent considering the context of his imminent employment as national ‘gaffer’. Following every disappointing major tournament and the resulting post-mortem, the FA and public alike look wistfully to the champions – usually Spain or Germany – firstly with envy then an admirable intention to copy their methods. We must encourage players to express themselves more; be more comfortable in possession.
We must discard the grit and bluster of traditional English values and become more like them continental fellows. Root and branch reform. The return of our school playing fields. You get the picture.
This time out the FA and public – so beaten down by yet another failure – have imposed a glass ceiling on these aspirations. Having seen Wales and Iceland ‘out-English’ them it’s time to wheel out Big Sam, a man who presumably offers out his fry-up each morning before wolfing it down and demanding second helpings. A man so quintessentially English he’ll tear a strip off any midfielder who dares to pass it sideways. A man whose whiteboard contains several arrows all aimed for the opposition box.
From looking outwards and attempting to learn new languages we’ve now accepted our limitations. Give us Andy Carroll and don’t spare the brown sauce. It is who we are and what we do best.
How perfect and fitting this retreat to familiarity is happening in the weeks post-Brexit. Now our national football team can be as insular as the rest of us.
But who needs Europe anyway? Or individuality or modernity for that matter. Give us a big plate of chips, six nights a week of Corrie, and Big Sam barking instructions at Wilshere to stop f***ing about with it.
Our country faces many years in the wilderness with all the struggle and poverty that comes with it. Should the FA make their depressingly predictable choice this week our national football team can expect a minimum of four years of the same.
I’m off for a croissant and a lie down.
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