Casting Call

Casting Call
Greetings, gentle readers.
So it’s mid-October again.  Another summer breathes its last, and what do we find?  We find my 32nd birthday fast approaching, and the spectre of mortality flickering about me like the ethereal shadow cast by a guttering candle.  That being said, I now find myself in new office space at work – a delightful corner office with tremendous views of the east and north sides of the city.  Since I’m now 31 stories above the ground, this means that I can peer over the Toronto Dominion Tower like a titan sneering at a leprechaun, and beyond it see the turf on Commonwealth Stadium and the Rexall sign on what used to be the Northlands Coliseum.  My rarified and lofty position in the business community was summed up nicely by my colleague Jackie, who glanced down at Churchill Square, almost 400 ft below us, and commented, “It’s raining down there.”
In other parts of the news, I’ve decided to stop hopping, and start walking.  Or, as would be more appropriate, hobbling about like a vagrant with one dead butt-cheek.  Also decided to ditch the cast.  It was pinching and hurting too much anyway.  So after crow-barring my swollen and bloated tootsie into my new shoe (never used, compared to the two months of use the left shoe has gotten…), I stumped up the apparently treacherous hill and made my way the three blocks to work.  My new, improved, non-crutch speed meant that I got there in just under half an hour.  So despite the pain and the increased swelling, and despite defying all professional medical counsel, I’m convinced I’m doing the right thing.  Or at least avoiding being a slack layabout, which for someone of partially German descent is the real point.
Those of you with an aversion to reading sports in general or World Football specifically may want to wander off somewhere and do something else at this point, since that’s pretty much all that I’ll be rambling about for the next few paragraphs.  I’ll even recommend some other web-pages.  First of all, there are the lovely advertisements on the right hand side of the screen.  Aren’t they appealing?  Hmm. Well, if that doesn’t twirl your baton, here are some other links (some of which I mentioned before, but who wants to go combing through the archives for links?):
The Annotated Manic Street Preachers site — if you think that North Wales is a home for egg-chasing rugby players and families of coal-miners who have had black lung for so long, it’s become a genetic trait, you’d be wrong.  Of course, up until the rise of the Manics and the Stereophonics, no one could supply any hard evidence, but now you can gaze upon the astonishing acumen and depth of these leek-lovers and be astonished.
The Official Franz Ferdinand site – what the aforementioned Welsh bands do to dispel Welsh stereotypes, this gang of Scottish bohemians does to the perception of Scotsmen as being a bunch of angry, cheapskate, skirt-wearing sheep-worriers (“Sa bonny ‘un, eh?” — “Hoot, mon!”).  Nah, this lot went to school.  They have been known to wear trousers.  They even speak German.  Nothing bad ever came from Germany. And they agree with my (and AJP Taylor’s) assessment of the actual cause of the First World War.  Cherchez la femme, I always say, cherchez la femme.
The Battle of Hoth — the definitive documentary about what really happened in that famous battle of the rebellion at the secret rebel base.  If you work really hard, you’ll see one of my vaunted film reviews buried somewhere in the enormous pile of mung… erm… I mean, the multitudinous evaluations made by my esteemed cinematically critical colleagues
That Cool Honda Commercial — Honda spent an enormous amount of money and let a bunch of ad dudes and technicians grab two extremely rare handmade Honda models, and rip them up to create one long, fluid, non-digitally enhanced game of “mousetrap.”  Rumour has it that it required over 1600 takes to finally get the sequence right.  Of course, they’re still a pack of Nipponese Death Merchants, but they’ve got at least one cool advert that should make any engineer drool.
The “V for Vendetta” Forum —details almost all the minutiae from Alan Moore’s fantastic graphic novel and provides academic bases for criticism and analysis.  Terribly useful stuff, considering that the film is due for release on Guy Fawkes’ Day.  That’s the fifth of November for those of you who aren’t familiar with the traditions of the Mother Country.
And now, on to the footy.  Those who have bailed at this point most likely don’t deserve to receive the burbling intimations that issue forth from the font of my insight.
So following an international week which saw England achieve automatic qualification for World Cup 2006, one might expect celebrations of the fact that, unlike USA ’94, England are part of The Big Show.  Charges that England had paved the road to qualification with unconvincing cobblestones are still laid about with the acrid frequency of cat urine in a carpeted room.  Why?  This is the most talented England squad since the popular distribution of colour television.  The number of English first-teamers jockeying for international and European player-of-the-year honours is beginning to approach the ridiculous.  Some would argue that not even the World Cup-winning team from 1966 would match them in terms of relative dominance.
Bobby Moore was a class act, Charlton, Hurst and Peters are legends.  Alan Ball and Nobby Stiles were tireless performers.  Gordon Banks’ heroics are still fondly remembered, particularly by the greatest player ever to grace the turf.  Playing a 4-3-3 “wingless” formation at Wembley against a formidable West German side was considered a risky ploy by Sir Alf Ramsay, but in the end, thanks to a Russian linesman, Britannia ruled for the one and only time in the history of the World Cup, ever since it was a gleam in Jules Rimet’s eye.  But consider a number of things.  Jimmy Greaves – goal-poacher supreme at the time and still legend at White Hart Lane, didn’t play in the final.  Neither did Sir Roger Hunt.
Was that the finest team England could field?  The debate rages.  Is it, to date, the greatest English team ever?  Personally, I would say that if one cast the clock back 16 years before that final and looked at the quality of Sir Stanley Matthews, Nat Lofthouse, Tommy Lawton, Billy Wright, Tom Finney and Stan Mortenson, you would find the most talented cast of Englishmen prior to the current squad.  Here’s the point. England didn’t win the World Cup in 1950 because they had no direction and no tactical acuity.  Given the criticisms of Sven-Goran Eriksson’s reign as England manager, this may sound like a familiar scenario.  As long ago as 2002, luminaries such as Brian Clough blasted the Swede for being too conservative and timid to impose a pace on games, and lacking the confidence or initiative to effectively chase games if a goal is conceded.
The problems with Eriksson’s governance of the England team can all be generally grouped around one word: discipline.  There are three types of discipline which the current England line-up have been guilty of ignoring or outright defying.
Professional Discipline
When David James put in yet another of his shambolic performances in net for his country against Denmark, his excuse was that he hadn’t prepared.  He hadn’t prepared for an international match in which he was to represent his country in front of home supporters.  Rio Ferdinand’s shaky displays in central defence have been justified by saying that the fans have been very negative towards him in the wake of his contract dispute with Manchester United.  After being suspended for failing to submit to a drugs test, the club stood by him and defended him in the press while paying his wages.  In return for this loyalty, he promptly demanded more money once he returned to the pitch.  I see the fans’ complaints as being justified, just as his selection for the England squad is not.  These are paid professionals, and they should be able to rise above these sorts of things.  Let’s just hope that if David James ever needs the services of another profession, like a doctor or a surgeon, that they will show more professional discipline and prepare to save him.
Tactical Discipline
David Beckham does a great job for Réal Madrid. He plays out wide right, in the space left vacant by the Italy-bound Luis Figo, and fires some telling crosses into the centre for Raúl and Ronaldo, et al. to convert. He also spikes a pretty good dead-ball.  But when he pulls the three lions over his head and puts the captain’s armband on his upper arm, he transforms into a different player.  Although he is supposed to play wide right, Becks has an annoying tendency to cut into the middle to try and win games all by himself.  That doesn’t work.  Joe Cole does the same thing on the left wing.  If England can’t hold their shape, they stand at a tactical disadvantage when playing organised opposition.  There is not enough authority being given to the assignments each player receives.   Stevie Gerrard had to track back and play a holding midfield role against Austria because no one was there, and Frank Lampard didn’t feel like doing it.  One gets the feeling that Sven’s tactics are just suggestions and the players are left to ad-lib as they see fit.
Emotional Discipline
Wayne Rooney is a very talented kid.  A bit of an idiot for dealing with a newspaper that no self-respecting Liverpudlian would use to line their bird-cages, but he does have some considerable skills on the pitch.  But what manager could stand idly by while one of his key strikers gets sent off and suspended for taunting and insulting a ref?  Rooney’s language has already proven a problem on numerous occasions for club and country, and Sven has done nothing to rein in the raging torrents of passion and aggression in the lad.  As a result, England have had to play games short of what would be their XI first picks.  Beckham has been sent off twice with Eriksson in charge – the only England player in history to do so.  If Becks is going to be the captain – and this is another topic for discussion – then he’s got to stay on the pitch for the whole game, and not pick up suspensions.  He has been a disappointment on both fronts.  Stuart Pearce had a reputation as a fearsome tackler and he sent waves of chill terror into the hearts of opposing right-wingers, but he was never sent off for England once.  Rooney and Beckham have consistently shown that they cannot maintain their composure or accept the responsibility of playing football for England.
Brazilians can’t just put in a good performance for their country.  They’re expected to play high-paced samba football with tons of trickery and offensive swashbuckling.  The Dutch national team would be pilloried if they tried playing a long-ball game. They are expected by the Orange Legion to play sexy total football, along the carpet in the tradition of Cruyff, Neeskens and Rep.
By the same token, English national teams are supposed to play with dignity, hard work, and sportsmanship.  Sir Stanley Matthews, Bobby Moore, Gary Lineker and Alan Shearer all maintained their decorum and professionalism both on and off the pitch.  Neutrals worldwide were left aghast at Maradona’s “Hand of God” cheat because it was universally assumed that no Englishman would accept credit for that goal.  England held the moral high ground.  But with red and yellow cards being flashed ever more frequently at English players, Sven’s lack of control over his team’s behaviour has caused a slide in perception.
England’s fantastic Ashes win over Australia earlier this year was incredibly gripping viewing even for people who don’t fancy cricket because the sportsmanship on display was astonishing.  It was a game of honour played by gentlemen.  England national football games are increasingly appearing to be a rapidly cobbled-together group of petulant millionaires arsing about as though it were a Sunday pub-league game.  England expects much more, though Sven may not.
And Liverpool finally notched their second Premiership victory of the season with a rather dire performance against Blackburn Rovers, who were down to 10 men midway through the first half.  Against the depleted team from the North-East, Liverpool were guilty of spurning chance after chance in a scintillating display of profligacy, Fernando Morientes and Luis Garcia in particular coming in for criticism with some truly mediocre attempts on goal from excellent positions.  They weren’t lucky to win, but they should have used the opportunity of a sent-off Khizinashvili to run up a cricket score against the swine who broke Cissé’s leg last year.  One-nil was a frustrating scoreline for a team with Liverpool’s strength (on paper).
With Chelski racing away and slaughtering opponents wholesale, the Premiership looks to be a done deal only 9 game days in.  The “Royal Blues” have run roughshod over all comers, winning every one of their games, and only conceding a goal in two matches.  Barring something extraordinary like injury or some sort of egregious disciplinary infraction, Chelski look set for at least one trophy this year, with the possibility of nabbing all four majors.  Liverpool’s five-trophy season of 2001 included the European Super Cup and the Charity Shield – both one-off matches, and the UEFA Cup, not the European Champions’ Cup.  Chelski could conceivably get:
1.  The Premiership Champions’ Trophy.
2.  The FA Cup
3.  The League Cup
4.  The European Champions’ Cup
5.  The European Super Cup
6.  The Charity Shield
7.  The World Club Cup
And in a final spurt of contempt for all opposition, they might have a go at winning the Fair Play trophy as well.  Of course, I don’t think they can win it all.  Even a squad as deep and well-stocked as Chelski’s has to have an odd hiccup or lapse in concentration.  The only question is: in which cup competition will they stumble?  My money would be on the Champions’ League.  They are vulnerable away from home in games called by continental referees, and they’ll slip up in the knockout rounds.  As for the FA Cup, I reckon they’ll require some highly favourable draws to grab that trophy.  I’d bet if they ran smack into Arsenal or Liverpool in the Quarter-Finals, they could go out quite comprehensively.  It’s easier to get favourable draws in the League Cup, so look for them to defend that trophy capably.  My prediction: two trophies.
So that’s my rambling over and done with for the next little while.  Will try to get another article out soon, but no guarantees as I’m knee-deep in deadlines.  Cheers to everyone, and here’s looking forward to Fulham on Saturday 22nd October, and to Crystal Palace on my birthday, Tuesday 25th October.
For now, good night England and the colonies.
-mARKUS
±Justice for the 96±