The Sacrificial Lamb and The Poisoned Chalice

In the end David Moyes didn't even have the comfort of the temporary stay of execution that is the dreaded vote of confidence. The best he got was a "no comment" before the axe fell and he found himself out of work, less than twelve months after his appointment as manager of Manchester United. When rumours began to circulate on Easter Monday afternoon that Moyes was likely to be sacked, the club limited themselves to saying that they did not comment on such rumours and you can understand why. Being a company listed on both the London and New York Stock Exchanges any comments made officially by the club on matters regarding the manager would have to have taken into consideration the need to comply with stock exchange rules. As it transpires, United share price fell as a result of the speculation about Moyes's future and the club's alleged briefing of journalists on the matter before apprising shareholders may get them into trouble with the New York Stock Exchange. Subsequently United's shares rose to an eleven month high on the NYSE on the strength of Moyes's dismissal, further proof, were any needed, that football is a business first and foremost and that decisions that clubs make about managerial appointments need be driven by many concerns such as their brand, their marketing and their profitability as much as their success on the pitch.

Glum: There was rarely much for Moyes to smile about this season.

Now that Moyes has gone, fans and sports writers all over the country are picking over the bones of his short tenure in the Old Trafford hot-seat. Taking over from a manager as successful and iconic as Sir Alex Ferguson was always going to be a hard task; some might say that taking the role was like accepting a poisoned chalice. Even a manager with a more successful  track record than Moyes may have struggled to meet the expectations of the United faithful hoping for a seamless transition. Ending the season without the Champions League trophy coming to Old Trafford and not retaining the Premier League title may have been just about accepted if some other silverware had been won but qualification for next season's Champions League was a minimum requirement and that has not been met. Winning the Community Shield as United did back in August does not, by any definition of the word, equal success.  As it turns out, Moyes has left the club with a home record poorer than that of Crystal Palace, who we will remember seemed doomed to relegation not too many weeks ago.

One of the hardest acts to follow in football anywhere

The unenviable task that Moyes took on was not made any easier by the continued attendance at United's matches of Sir Alex. How many managers have taken over a club and found their predecessor apparently breathing over their shoulders week in week out? Not many, and for Moyes, Ferguson's continual presence was like the spectre at the feast. Moyes's task was made no less daunting by the fact that he took over an ageing squad that over achieved in winning the Premier League last season. His only major summer singing, Marouane Fellaini, has been less than an unqualified success (how Leighton Baines must be breathing a sigh of relief that he did not follow his old manager and team-mate from Goodison Park to Old Trafford), while the arrival of Juan Mata in January did something to stem the tide, although like Canute, he could not hold back the waters. That squad Moyes was left with by Ferguson had not been strengthened in a while, particularly in midfield where it said much for the paucity of talent that Ryan Giggs, even at 40 years old, remained one of the better performers.

After Everton’s win at Old Trafford in December there were plenty of jokes about Moyes along the lines that he had “spent 11 years trying to get Everton above Man United and now he's finally achieved it.” On Radio 5’s 6-0-6 on the Saturday night after United's next home game, a 1-0 defeat at the hands of Newcastle United there were Manchester United supporters predictably calling for Moyes’s head and on Match of The Day that evening there were shots of forlorn looking United fans unable to accept that their team was losing...at home...again. For those of us non-United supporters there was a certain amount of schadenfreude to be had in watching them stumble from one bad result to the next. United fans were receiving an introduction into the world inhabited by supporters of most clubs, the world  where winning is not to be taken for granted. Meanwhile for supporters of United's keenest rivals, clubs like Liverpool and Manchester City, the saying "It is not enough that I should succeed - others should fail"[1] was probably not far from their minds.

Fellaini has not lived up to expectations.

Those fans who were so used to success during the Ferguson era and who were making unfavourable comparisons between Sir Alex and his fellow Scotsman Moyes seemed to conveniently forget that when Ferguson took over in the Old Trafford hot seat in 1986 the initial results were not auspicious. Eventually United finished eleventh in Ferguson's first season, as they did the following term. Three years after his appointment Ferguson had still not fully convinced the United faithful of his credentials; he was close to the sack when a third round FA Cup win at Nottingham Forest effectively saved him from the push. United went on to win the FA Cup that season and the rest, as they say, is history.

United fans, so used to constant success, found it hard to deal with failure.

Should the United board have shown more patience with Moyes? After all, they gave him a six year contract and everyone connected with football knows that success is not guaranteed. Patience is however a commodity in notoriously short supply in the game and long term rebuilding projects are only really accepted in clubs that have not enjoyed continued success over many years; for clubs like Manchester United only more of the same success is acceptable. For those reasons Moyes's sacking should come as little surprise. It may even be that it was not simply the lack of success on the pitch that concerned United's owners; the damage that was being inflicted on the brand, on the share price and the club's image would have been of no little consideration.

 

The Theatre of Dreams became the Boulevard of Broken Dreams in less than a year.

What next for United, and indeed for David Moyes? The appointment of Ryan Giggs is only an interim measure and the club will hope to appoint a new manager with a stellar reputation in the summer. As to who it will be is anyone's guess at the moment, but without Champions League football to look forward to next term they may find their options limited; indeed recruiting top name players may also prove difficult without the carrot of the Champions League. As for Moyes, his reputation has undoubtedly been damaged by this season's travails for all that we may say that he had a thankless task; his next job will be crucial in rehabilitating his career.

Anyone expecting a sudden resurgence by United next year should remember how long it took them to win the League Championship after Matt Busby left the club in 1969, how many managers they employed before Ferguson's first Premier League title in 1993.

Perversely, Moyes's lack of success this season may actually benefit the club in the long term. Certainly whoever replaces him may have reason to feel grateful for the fact that Moyes has been something of a sacrificial lamb; his successor may not have the same weight of expectation or the legacy of Sir Alex sitting on his shoulders.

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[1] David Merrick (November 27, 1911 – April 25, 2000), but also attributed to François de La Rochefoucauld and Gore Vidal.

Foibles and Faux Pas

Many years ago when we had not long been married, Val and I were in a supermarket when she remarked on the system I had for bagging our purchases, describing it as "anal" (as in anally retentive) because I had one bag for frozen and chilled items, another for fruit and vegetables, a third for packets and tinned goods and so on. This did not strike me as anything other than logical and sensible; it made sense to me to keep fruit separate from household cleaning products and to keep frozen and chilled food together, and besides it made life easier when unpacking things once we got home. I do not consider this methodology in any way compulsive or obsessive (although I concede that some people might) but it gave me pause to think on what aspects of my behaviour others might consider odd, or compulsive, or obsessive and for some reason those thoughts have returned to me now, so I thought I might share some of them with you.

A basket for a basket case?

I accept that I am a creature of habit, that I like routine and that I subscribe to the school of thought that says that there is "a place for everything and everything in its place" although this is borne of practicalities more than anything else.  For instance, when I come home I habitually put my mobile phone in a particular place on a worktop in the kitchen. This I do because when I next need my phone I know exactly where it is. Same goes for my keys and my wallet. If I don't put these things in the same place all of the time I know that when I next need them I will be unable to find them. On occasion I have picked up my phone to go out, only to remember some urgent task that I need to complete before leaving and have put the phone down again in the study, or by the door and upon completing said task now find that I am unable to locate the damned thing. Cue frantic search and, in extremis, the need to use the landline to call my errant mobile to ascertain its whereabouts. I hope you will agree therefore that having a consistent place to put one's mobile, or wallet, or keys is deeply rooted in necessity and is not in any way odd. Some of my other norms are perhaps more obsessive however and nowhere is this more apparent than in dress.

By no means do I consider myself particularly fashionable; my most common form of attire is a t-shirt or polo shirt with jeans or chinos (comfort before style is my motto), however I have a number of quirks or foibles when it comes to dress, most particularly in terms of combinations. I tend to favour polo shirts because these can (to my mind) be worn with almost anything, be it jeans, chinos, formal trousers or shorts and with a sweatshirt or fleece or even a blazer or sports jacket on top.  More consideration is needed when wearing a round or V necked t-shirt however. These can happily be worn with jeans or with shorts; at a pinch they can be worn with chinos, but never, ever with formal trousers. Similarly, when wearing a round or V necked t-shirt, these can be teamed with a fleece (provided it is a zip-through one or a hoodie), but never with a plain, round necked sweatshirt. This sort of t-shirt is acceptable with a blazer or sports jacket, but only if the t-shirt is plain. A t-shirt with a gaudy pattern or some sort of large design should never be worn with a "proper" jacket.

While polo shirts are incredibly versatile, I would never wear one under a sweatshirt or fleece if the outer garment has a collar; my rule is two garments, one collar although an exception might be a zip through fleece or jacket (yeah, it's bonkers, but that's me).

Noooooooo!!!!

Now there is a fashion these days to wear a blazer or sports jacket with jeans; perfectly acceptable in my view, but this still comes with some restrictions. This ensemble can be worn with a formal shirt, a polo shirt or plain t-shirt, but not with trainers; loafers, brogues or suede shoes yes, but trainers, never. Trainers can however be worn with jeans, any kind of t-shirt and any other type of jacket or fleece. Equally trainers can be worn with white socks but only when wearing shorts. Despite the fact that in the 1980's it was deemed acceptable to wear white socks with practically anything (I even wore them with suits for God's sake!) nowadays white socks must be confined to a trainer/shorts/polo/t-shirt combo. White socks with jeans or any sort of long trousers are a no-no.

Another thing with which I have issue is the trend for wearing an outer garment shorter than the under garment. This is something that I have seen particularly in winter, with gentlemen wearing a suit and some sort of top coat that is a couple of inches shorter than the suit jacket; I'm sorry, but how can you? Similarly ladies (and sadly Val offends here on occasion) a long jumper underneath a short jacket; again I'm sorry, but what is that all about? In a similar vein I find the fashion of wearing a short sleeved shirt over one that is long sleeved somewhat incomprehensible (except for warmth), as is the wearing of a gillet (body warmer) over a short sleeved shirt, although this last prejudice is purely based on the fact that one would not be warm enough rather than for any reason of style.

Another fashion faux pas that I would not consider is the low slung crotch in jeans or trousers (mind you I am too long in the tooth for that sort of attire anyway) that exposes the wearer's underpants. Apparently this stems from US prison wear, where belts are forbidden for obvious reasons, but which has been almost universally adopted among youths everywhere. It is perhaps apocryphal but another connotation of this type of dress implies that the (male) wearer is sexually available to other men (not sure how true that actually is, but it might give pause for thought to many who adopt this style of dress).

By now my audience is probably divided into two camps. There will be those of you who are nodding your heads sagely and agreeing (to some degree) on the grounds that you do something similar and there will be those of you who consider me to be something of an anally retentive, obsessive compulsive nutcase. Whichever camp you fall into, all I can say is that this is me; get over it.

The Return of Tony Hancock

Many years ago my parents had a Grundig reel-to-reel tape recorder and of a Sunday lunchtime it would be put to use by me, recording BBC radio comedies on the Light Programme, shows like Round the Horne, The Clitheroe Kid, and my particular favourite at the time, The Navy Lark. At some point we upgraded to a cassette recorder (which rather shows how long ago it was) and because of my interest in radio comedy, my parents bought me a tape of Hancock's Half Hour comprising two episodes, The Reunion Party and The Missing Page. Immediately I was hooked on Hancock.

The Navy Lark

Hancock was undoubtedly a genius; episodes of the show like The Blood Donor and The Radio Ham have passed into legend.My personal favourites are The Wild Man of the Woods and Sunday Afternoon At Home, but frankly it is difficult to favour one episode over another. His genius was in his delivery, his pauses laden with comic possibilities; there can be few performers who have been able to generate such laughter from silence on radio, a medium in which silence is normally anathema.  But his genius was in his interpretation of the lines written for him by Ray Galton and Alan Simpson and his interplay with cast members like Sid James, Kenneth Williams, Hattie Jacques and Bill Kerr. Hancock split with writers Galton and Simpson, ditched co-star Sid James (Hancock apparently resented James's popularity and the public perception of them as a double act). Although he remained popular, his post Galton and Simpson period was less successful and he committed suicide in June 1968; he was 44.

The Boy Himself

Hancock's legacy endures. In 2002 BBC radio listeners voted him their favourite British comedian and recordings of the majority of his shows remain available, however thanks to the slightly haphazard BBC system of archiving, some recordings have been lost or the tapes have been recorded over. Twenty or so episodes have been lost forever but fortunately the scripts have not and five years ago these came into the possession of the actor and rare book dealer Neil Pearson (probably best known for Drop The Dead Donkey). Researching their provenance, he realised that these represented episodes of Hancock's shows for which the recordings no longer existed. Working with the writers Galton and Simpson, Pearson persuaded the BBC to commission new recordings of five of the lost episodes and these will be broadcast in November this year to mark the sixtieth anniversary of the original shows under the banner The Missing Hancocks.

Neil Pearson

The cast includes Simon Greenall, Kevin Eldon and Robin Sebastian as Sid James, Bill Kerr and Kenneth Williams respectively; the part of The Boy Himself is taken by Kevin McNally. Recordings began this week and I was fortunate enough to be in the audience at the Radio Theatre in Broadcasting House for the first episode, The Hancock Festival.

What is striking is that, had we forgotten, the humour is timeless; sixty years old and as fresh and as funny as the day it was written. This wasn't just nostalgia making us laugh, this was genuinely some of the funniest stuff you will hear this year when you tune in come November. Of course there are a couple of gags particular to the period in which it was written; Neil Pearson (who co-produces the series) primed the audience about these before the recording, but otherwise the script was as relevant as if it had been written yesterday.

The cast are good, very good, but Kevin McNally (Pirates of the Caribbean) as Hancock is superb; the inflection, the voice, the phrasing and the pauses are faultless. Even on the odd occasion when he fluffs a line he stays in character, "I'll do that again, shall I?" he says exactly as Hancock would have. For those of us of a certain age (and that must have been 90% of the audience) it was as though we had been transported back in time to the originals; close your eyes (or indeed listen to it on the radio) and it is difficult to tell McNally from Hancock.

Kevin McNally proves to be a perfect choice for the role of Hancock.

It was a special treat that Ray Galton and Alan Simpson were in the audience, not more than three rows behind where I was sitting. The ovation that they received when they were introduced before the recording, and at the end, was huge, genuine and richly deserved. At the end of the show I bumped into Neil Pearson in the foyer, giving me a rare opportunity to thank someone responsible for such an show in person, an event that I had thoroughly enjoyed. Looking forward to the show as we sat in the cafe at Broadcasting House, I hoped that my anticipation of it would not be misplaced, that my enjoyment would not be spoilt by my having unrealistic expectations. In part this was due to the fact that this was a new episode (well, new to me); would it be less enjoyable than a show I had heard before, like going to see your favourite band and wanting them to do the old numbers, the familiar rather than the new and less well known material? There was no danger of that; if anything the show exceeded my hopes. Frankly it was nothing short of brilliant.

Galton and Simpson; still going strong.

In the 1950's, when television was not as all pervasive as it is today, radio was king and Hancock was radio royalty. These days it would be easy to believe that radio has less relevance, but the BBC continues with its output of quality programmes and innovations like the BBC iPlayer Radio app make it even more accessible. Lately I've seen a number of radio recordings and radio comedy is obviously alive and well, thriving in fact, but as good as the new stuff may be, classics like Hancock's Half Hour remain at the pinnacle of the Beeb's output.

Hancock, the embodiment of the tragic clown, descended into depression and alcoholism before taking his own life; "Things just seemed to go too wrong too many times" he wrote in his suicide note. We are fortunate that he left behind a rich legacy and a body of work that will undoubtedly be enhanced by these new recordings; I look forward to November.

Ninety Quid? You're Having A Laugh!

There is an incredible amount of money sloshing about in professional sport, especially in football and even more especially in the English Premier League. Any journeyman player in the Premier League comfortably makes more per annum than I did even in the last of my thirty-six years of paid employment  and players like Wayne Rooney, John Terry, Joe Hart and their ilk will comfortably earn many times more in one year than I did in the whole of my working life. Should we begrudge these players their (inflated) salaries? Professional sport is a short enough career anyway and can be brought to a premature end by injury, but there is little doubt that the astronomical salaries that top sportsmen are paid now place them a world apart from those who pay to watch them, much more so than in the days when England's top footballers would earn little more than their fans and would even travel to games on the same bus as those who idolised them.

Tom Finney: £8 a week, a plumber in his spare time and travelled to home games on the bus...

....Wayne Rooney: What's a bus?

Football at the highest level is now really just a business whose stock in trade is sport rather than being simply a sport. The English Premier League is a brand in the same way as Coca Cola is a brand or that Microsoft or McDonald's are brands and by any definition the Premier League is a top brand. Globally recognised, the Premier League is watched by millions throughout the world; top players and top coaches aspire to be part of it. Top companies bid to sponsor teams or the competition itself as their association with the Premier League benefits them even if only intangibly. The strength of a brand is measurable in different ways, maybe by the values of the company, by the ethics of the organisation, by value for money or simply by reflected worth that its consumers derive from their association with it.

While for many of us non-United fans there is a certain amount of schadenfreude to be derived from the struggles at Old Trafford this season, Premier League Chief Executive Richard Scudamore has lamented United's failure to challenge for this seasons title because of the damage that this has done to the Premier League brand. "When your most popular club isn't doing as well, that costs you interest and audience in some places. There are lots of fans around the world who wish Manchester United were winning it again," Scudamore told Bloomberg. He went on to say, "But you have to balance that off against, generally, we're in the business of putting on a competition and competition means people can compete." Generally? Sorry, but surely by definition that is the sole point of a competition, which the Premier League is. If Scudamore is more concerned about brand image than the competitiveness of the Premier League,  then to achieve his goals vis a vis the brand he implies that this requires Manchester United assume some unassailable position that guarantees their success each season with everyone else trailing in their wake, but the brand's image is in part already predicated on competitiveness. It may or may not be the best league in the world, as some people describe it, but it would be all the poorer if there were no element of unpredictability, if the champions could be predicted unerringly before even a ball were kicked each season.

Richard Scudamore

No one would dispute that football has changed, evolved, been revolutionised over the years and much of this is for the better. Stadia are better and safer, the facilities a world away from the primitive terraces, catering and toilets that were prevalent forty years ago. Watching football is safer, inside and outside the grounds, but as to whether the game is better, whether the players are better, then the point is moot. What has changed most significantly is the money, both the players' salaries and the prices that the fans pay. The admission price for the first football match I went to in 1968, at Romford in the Southern League was 1/6d (that's 8p for those too young to remember pre-decimal currency); entry to a First Division match at Manchester United cost four shillings (20p) that season and a seat just six shillings. Today it costs me £8 to watch Romford whereas a ticket for a game at Old Trafford would set you back at least £53 and Manchester United are by no means the most expensive club in England. An upper tier seat at Arsenal can cost as much as £123 (yes, one hundred and twenty three pounds) or the equivalent of fifteen matches at Romford.

And now this week comes the news that the new England strip, manufactured by Nike and to be worn in this summer's World Cup in Brazil, is available to buy in the shops at the price of £90 for a genuine replica shirt. A so called "stadium" shirt, which does not include the "enhanced cooling technology" that the match shirts have (and which is probably of dubious worth) costs £60. The pricing has presumably been set so that those who will baulk at £90 will see £60 as positively reasonable (which it isn't). There is a pricing theory known as "Goldilocks pricing" that postulates offering three different versions of the same product to corner high end, middle and low end market sectors; there may only be two versions of the England shirt but you see where Nike are positioning their product.

£90, for this?

You cannot blame Nike for maximising their potential profit from the production and sale of the England kit, but it is scandalous that the Football Association seek to distance themselves from criticism with their statement that ,"The FA's policy is to avoid any involvement with how its partners/licensees set their prices, so as to avoid any risk of or implications of price fixing." Certainly they may not have any direct involvement in the price that Nike are charging for the shirt but no doubt the deal that has given Nike the commercial rights will have netted the FA a substantial sum which Nike will seek to recoup, no rephrase that, make a handsome profit on with income from sales. It is disingenuous of the FA to detach themselves from the price of the shirt that bears their name and all very well for them to boast about the sums that they put back into the game when those monies actually come (directly or indirectly) out of the pockets of the average fan.

Shadow Sports Minister Clive Efford has said in this connection that, "The game of football seems to be increasingly about profit and commercialism rather than the community and the fans, who have sustained football for many generations." True, if blindingly obvious and something that has been going on unchecked for years. Joey Barton Tweeted that £90 was "appalling" and "taking the mickey." Again, true and to the ordinary football supporter,  it is wearily typical of the near contempt it seems that they are held in by clubs and kit manufacturers who know that regardless of the inflated, unjustifiable prices they put on tickets, replica kit and other souvenirs, there will be enough deluded souls willing to pay.

In my wardrobe I have two replica England shirts, both of over five years vintage; in total they cost me less than £20 because by the time I bought them they had been out of date for some time. The new England shirt, when it is superseded (as it inevitably will be and much, much sooner than later - probably by this time next year), will be on sale in Sports Direct and other discount sports shops for a fraction of this year's price when a new design comes out, the price of which I would suggest could be in three figures.

An alternative to the official, £90 shirt has been circulating on the internet.

Despite the criticism from Clive Efford, Joey Barton and others there will always be enough mug punters willing to pay the ridiculous prices charged by the kit manufacturers but I will not be one of them, and I would suggest that neither should you be.