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England's Dreaming (Revisited)

Dave Bowler

2/14/08

It appears that the 39th game is a step too far for the Premier League and the brave new world of playing Premiership football outside the confines of England has been quashed, for the time being at least.

But don’t think it won’t come back to haunt us in the future. Now that this particular feline has removed itself from the bag, there’ll be no stuffing the little so and so back in. There’ll be a revised version, perhaps dumping game 39 but featuring the opening day of the season taking place across all the time zones of the world. Or we might end up playing the final day of the season on the moon - of course, if we really wanted to play somewhere without any atmosphere, we could always just turn up at the Reebok.

The world and his wife - Mrs. World, big woman, two-thirds blue with some green bits - have had their say on Game 39, mostly negative. Sifting through it all, perhaps the most interesting statement of all was this one;

“It’s a strange and comical idea. I laughed because it will never be received by FIFA, by the fans and by the national associations. It’s ironic. Soon you will have in England no English presidents of clubs, you already have no English national team coach, you have no English players and maybe now you will have no clubs playing in England. It’s a joke.”

Ordinarily, you’d assume those words came from Outraged of Tunbridge Wells in the bizarre world that is the Daily Telegraph’s letters column, or from professional Little Englanders such as Peter Hitchens, Gary Bushell or Richard Littlejohn. Instead, they came from one of the respected men in world football, Michel Platini, President of UEFA and one time purveyor of midfield magic. When Platini speaks, only a fool fails to listen. - yes Premier League, that means you.

If Platini’s words start a real debate about the state of the game in England, then all the fuss about the 39th step will have been worthwhile because while any organisation, any competition, any - may God forgive me for using the word - brand has to be outward looking if it’s to survive, there comes a time when a little bit of navel gazing doesn’t go amiss either.

By most measures, the Premier League has been hugely successful. Crowds are generally up, facilities are better, the league reaches huge global audiences on television, extraordinary swathes of cash flowing into the country as a consequence. At the top end, some of the quality produced borders, at times, on the genuinely awesome, although the hype does tend to look rather stupid when you’re subjected to the inept, clodhopping misery of Derby County versus Bolton Wanderers. But equally, any idiot who reckons that the money that brought in Cristiano Ronaldo, Arsene Wenger or Jurgen Kinsman was money wasted should never be allowed near a football ground again.

However. However. We have created a league that is no longer ours. Perhaps in the days of the global village, it doesn’t matter any more. Certainly the fact that we have a cosmopolitan league has done much to help ease racial tensions, if not our tribal ones. But the country that gave the game to the world has done such a good job of it that the world has whipped it from underneath us, like one of those episodes of Star Trek where Captain Kirk saves an ailing planet and then gets put in a cage as reward.

Does it matter that Liverpool, Manchester United, Chelsea, Manchester City, Aston Villa, Birmingham City are owned by aliens - no, not those kind of Star Trek aliens, at least not in most cases. Does it matter that the only English coaches in the Premier League are at Portsmouth, West Ham, Middlesbrough, Newcastle, Wigan, Bolton, Reading, Derby and Fulham, otherwise known as “the clubs that don’t count”? Does it matter that when Capello comes to select his England squads, he really only has about 45 players to choose from - and that’s a pretty generous estimate at that.

How did we get here? Money. Too much of it and, ironically not enough. The too much enabled us to go out and bring in some of the biggest names in world football - as long as they’re not Italian, since Serie A is still a way better competition. But spending international telephone numbers on transfer fees and wages meant that corners had to be cut elsewhere in the squad, and that generally has lead to the recruitment of players from eastern Europe, very, very good players, but whose fees and wages are a fraction of their western brethren, and, especially, way below their English counterparts.

Speak to a Czech player for instance, and he’ll tell you that because so many of his compatriots go abroad, their domestic league is weak. But because there are so many gaps left by the migrants, young players get a chance to play and get better and better. The Czech Republic look a handy side don’t they?

Meanwhile, England are a nothing nation on the international stage. Our Under 21s are decent enough but will they get to play for Liverpool, or will they instead end up at Wigan because there is no chance for them at Anfield?

Platini is right. English football is English in name only these days. It is not of its country, it is not rooted here. It’s spectacular, it’s exciting, but it’s not English nor does it serve England. Does it matter? Have a think. Make your mind up when you’re watching Euro 2008.

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