Sunday, 28 August 2011
Not wishing to overreact, but I think football may be coming to an end
This is true: there are a few Premier League clubs who can buy players for £20m-£50m and pay them £100K-£250K per week.
But the vast majority can't. This overrides everything. That's not sour grapes. It's bitter reality.
If it helps, imagine James Alexander Gordon saying it. That's how true it is.
There will still be amazing games, shock results, delirious afternoons and glory nights - but, plotted on a graph over any meaningful amount of time, it is that economic fact that will determine who does what, finishes where and wins anything.
It makes football more predictable, more boring and, for the majority of us, let's call ourselves The Excluded, more depressing.
The key is to stop fucking caring. Because there's nothing we can do about this. We are New York and football finance is Hurricane Irene. (And, yes, that does throw up the tantalising possibility of evacuating).
There are degrees of disenfranchisement, of course. Spurs are relatively wealthy and privileged. And fans of, say, Macclesfield may well be tempted to sarcastically rub their eyes and do the fake boo-hoo thing at this point. But it's at our end of the spectrum where the most dramatic changes are taking place and where the greatest gulf is (currently) opening up.
Against Man City our attack was as toothless as a tinker and our defence was as suspect as a hoodie with a can of petrol. But whilst the match itself, like every other match, turned on bad decisions, good goals and poor finishing, the game, the game of football, is turning, in a wider arc, on the influx of billions and billions of pounds, from owners who have no history with or attachment to their chosen play things.
It is, frankly, as baffling as it is depressing. There is no logic to Man City's rise. It's dumb luck followed by brute force. Same as Chelsea.
For the next few days we will pick over the bones of our beating and we will fret about comings and goings. Essentially, we will be rearranging the deckchairs.
I'm not sure where that leaves us, what we have left to hope for, aim for or dream of. (Other than, as always, along with every other poor sod supporting every other crappy club, three points at Wolves next Saturday. Everything has changed, but some things remain the same)
Down, down, down we all go together. Not just to the bottom of the table, but to goodness knows where...