I simply couldn’t be bothered to watch Match of the Day last night, nor in fact any of today’s games on Sky TV. Even though it feels like October weather-wise, I am still stuck in summer, at least in my head. But it’s more than that. A general feeling that football is becoming a bit an irrelevance.
Having spent yesterday doing something far more interesting than watching football, I tuned in to the last few minutes of Manchester City’s draw with Tottenham Hotspur, just in time to see a goal ruled out because of VAR which proved that someone’e knee was offside.
The assembled media masses and ex pros were happy. VAR had made the correct decision. They all supported VAR because it meant there would be less bad decisions. I suppose taken literally, that’s true. However, with the human element largely taken out of the game, what’s left?
The sheer enjoyment of that late winner was taken away from City fans, as will every single future goal that is referred to VAR. Seeing the referee signal a goal and return to the centre circle for a restart will be a thing of the past as we wait to see if someone’s knee or toe is offside.
If your idea of perfection is VAR, then let’s remove the referee altogether and allow VAR to control the entire game. After all, VAR was brought in to sort out those ‘clear and obvious’ errors, yet now adjudicates on issues that are a million miles away from being clear and obvious. Use VAR for every single thing – throw-ins, fouls, corners, tackles; the whole works. Adopt American gridiron rules where the game is played out over four hours. Or get rid of it?
We won’t get rid of VAR because almost all ex-pros, not to mention the commercial broadcasters, absolutely love it. And so do the club owners who complain that VAR is needed because so much money is at stake. That’s in the spirit of the game, isn’t it?
And speaking of money, how about Alexis Sanchez? He’s trying to secure a loan move to somewhere/anywhere in Serie A and Manchester United are so desperate to unload him they are prepared to pay most of his £560k a week salary to make it happen. I mean, that’s simply insane. The gulf between players and supporters in terms of everything is vast. With the country divided and unequal, no one should be surprised, terrible though it is, that footballers choose to live in large, protected and gated communities because of risks to their safety. When a million people can’t afford to feed themselves it does seem a little odd that footballers can ‘earn’ circa a million quid in less than a fortnight.
I can’t even imagine what a million quid looks like. I still look at fifty quid and feel it’s life-changing, even though I know it probably isn’t. But then, I am not a footballer, I don’t own a football club, I don’t run a product called the Premier League.
As summer turns to autumn and effortless morphs into winter, I may return to the football. And then again, maybe not.
On the morning train to Taunton yesterday, our rammed carriage carried a number of Swindon Town fans en route to a fourth tier clash at Exeter City. Guzzling their way through countless cans of Strongbow Dark Fruit ‘cider’, it was clear that this semi-drunken, sweary, exhibitionist world was what they did every single week. To be fair, away matches were never part of my footballing life and now I can’t even be bothered with home ones. I was very glad I was not them, or not even like them. Beneath the macho swagger, theirs appeared to be a sad world, on weekly repeat, with nothing much to show for it when it’s your turn to push up daisies.
From fortnightly millionaires to dark fruit Strongbow drinkers, I knew I would prefer to do something else. Anything else, actually.
