Having brushed away a question about disciplinary issues, Wayne Rooney’s blue
eyes grew ever paler and colder when the matter of his diminishing
goalscoring record for England was raised. “I’ve no problem with it,” he
said.
“Don’t you even think . . .” his examiner continued.
“No,” Rooney said, interrupting with a finality that suggested a third
question on the subject might lead to the matter of discipline being raised
again, as the result of a flying head-butt. And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe
Rooney never sits down and wonders what became of the player Sven-Göran
Eriksson compared to Pelé during the European Championship tournament in
2004; but the rest of us do.
What we recall about the teenage Rooney is that he always looked like scoring.
He had a shot, a trigger that he was ready to pull from just about anywhere
around the box, and it frightened the life out of defenders. His movement
was great, and it still is, but when he got within range, he just developed
greater purpose. He looked as if this was what he was born to do, as if he
operated on pure instinct. That must be terrifying for a defender. A
manufactured player, one whose talent has been coached and honed and
polished, you know what he is up to, you know his rules. The guys that can
make it up as they go along, those little explosions of imagination all
around the penalty box; they must be a nightmare.
I remember sitting down with Jimmy Greaves and Robbie Fowler many years ago.
“Do you do your work, Rob, do you track back, cover the defender,” Greavsie
asked.
“Oh yes,” the young man said, dutifully, trotting out the stock answer, every
bit the modern striker, match-winner one minute, first line of defence the
next.
“What the bloody hell are you doing that for?” Greaves exclaimed. “You’ve got
nine others to win the ball and one to stay up there and stick it in the
net. How are you going to do that if you are chasing all over the place
making tackles? You’re going to be knackered.”
Fowler’s face suggested Jimmy’s advice would not be conducive to winning a
regular first-team place at Liverpool.
And Jimmy is a dinosaur on this subject, I know. The modern game, bizarrely,
has more time for the striker who works but doesn’t score, than it does the
striker that scores but does no work. The extended international career of
Emile Heskey, 47 caps, five goals and counting (but only on the fingers of
one hand) confirms that. Yet there is a middle ground and Rooney needs to
rediscover it. In six minutes against Andorra in Barcelona, Joe Cole equalled
Rooney’s competitive scoring record for England over more than four years.
Cole scored twice, as has Rooney since June 21, 2004. For any striker this
would be poor; for England’s Pelé, it is a minor catastrophe. Fabio
Capello’s first thought on taking over as national coach was to make Rooney
his lone wolf, the equivalent of Luca Toni, of Italy, but in two matches he
played more like Luca Brasi and Capello’s plan A was sleeping with the
fishes.
Rooney could have played alone in 2004, no doubt about it. He could have
played anywhere in 2004 such was his talent. Somehow, in nobly suppressing
his instincts for the greater cause at Manchester United, creating the space
for Cristiano Ronaldo in that selfless, 21st-century, style, Rooney has lost
a crucial part of what made him irresistible as an international footballer.
It is not just that his scoring ratio is no longer that of a successful
forward but that it is inferior even to the midfield. In the years when
Rooney has scored twice in competitive matches, Steven Gerrard has scored
seven times, Frank Lampard and Joe Cole six, and even David Beckham has
scored on three occasions.
The matches spent chasing the ball out wide for Manchester United, or creating
the diversionary space for Ronaldo are taking a toll. Even Capello now talks
of Rooney as one of a number, rather than the decisive player for England.
“Rooney is not fantastic right now, but he is important for the team,” he
said. “It was not the best game for him against Andorra, but he tried to
touch the ball a lot and made a fantastic pass for the second goal. He needs
space, and I hope he will find it. At this moment he is playing well.”
Not a verbal portrait of Pelé, though, is it? Not the reference of a player
that terrified France, the European champions at the time, in 2004. It is as
if the demands of the modern game have sucked the instinctive life out of
him, making Rooney a player that chases down a defender or happily mucks in
when he should be the star. It is admirable, this devotion to the team,
except English football is suffering for his unselfishness. United have
Ronaldo, which makes it understandable that last season Rooney was sometimes
required to do a workmanlike shift on the flank, but, for England, Rooney is
Ronaldo. He is the special one, the player that makes the difference.
Indeed, since Ronaldo has been absent for Manchester United, even Sir Alex
Ferguson has grown frustrated with Rooney’s decency, and called on him to
toil less and score more.
For England, that certainly applies. An unreconstructed member of the bone
idle goalscorers club he may be, but, in essence, Greavsie had it right:
England have nine water carriers to run up the hill all day, and one
intuitive genius that briefly made a connection with Pelé. And if that
footballer turned up in Zagreb, it might scare the life out of them. For
once, son, just go out and play.
And another thing...
Donkeys but no Messiah
Details just in of Newcastle United’s nativity play: one Wise man, 11 donkeys
and most definitely no Messiah.
Corluka gets timing wrong
There is an old story about a boxer, a good, honest sort, British champion,
loses his opponent one week before a televised bout. Fixer steps in, saves
the day, gets an American over, meant to be a bit useful but nothing out of
the ordinary.
Straightforward pay day, everybody happy. Anyway, 12 rounds later, the boxer
is back on his stool, battered, bruised, bleeding. He got the points
decision, but it was the hardest night of his life. The unknown turned out
to be able to do a bit. The press gather round. “So, who are you going to
fight next?” they ask. “The f***ing matchmaker,” the boxer replies.
Probably apocryphal but, even so, I was reminded of it when Vedran Corluka’s
agent at last managed to secure his move from Manchester City to Tottenham
Hotspur, roughly an hour before two hundred billion quids-worth of Arabian
oil money walked in.
West Ham out of order
For a club who lost their last manager, Alan Curbishley, amid claims he was
undermined at board level, West Ham United do not seem to learn. The
directors may wish for a positive answer from Slaven Bilic over the
manager’s job, but parking their tanks on Croatia’s lawn two days before a
World Cup qualifying match against England in Zagreb is no way to go about
it.
Bilic is the proud coach of a proud country. Privately, he may feel that as a
young man he has already exceeded expectations with the national team and it
is time to take a significant club role. The Barclays Premier League is the
place to be right now and West Ham are a club who regard him with special
affection. Even so, what are they doing? How can they be so thoughtless as
nakedly to make their interest public, even trying to put Bilic under
pressure by attempting to organise a meeting in the next 48 hours, while
talking up other candidates.
This man is preparing for the biggest match of Croatia’s World Cup qualifying
campaign; West Ham want to have a new manager in the stands by the time of a
game with West Bromwich Albion on Saturday. You will notice the difference?
A final shortlist is to be discussed at Upton Park today, hence the attempt
to coerce Bilic into making a decision, but to behave as if this overrides
his present schedule is of little credit to the club. It is poor behaviour,
arrogant and insensitive, with the potential to embarrass and weaken their
prime target if Croatia do not get a good result against England on
Wednesday.
Even leaving ethical concerns aside, as a headhunting tactic it could backfire
if Bilic feels that he must dismiss West Ham’s overtures just to prove his
loyalty to his employers at the Croatian federation.
Remember how Brian Barwick blew the FA’s courtship of Luiz Felipe Scolari in
2006, by pressuring him to make a decision while still under contract to
lead Portugal at the World Cup finals.
Curbishley did not do the finest job at Upton Park. He bought poorly and
expensively, and his successor will be paying for his mistakes. Yet one
thought remains. If this is the consideration that is being shown for the
new guy, what must life have been like for the manager the directors were no
longer trying to impress?
Gerrard is not perfect
Steven Gerrard believes that he has been played in his proper position,
central midfield, just five times in 68 appearances for England. This is
bizarre. Records show that Gerrard has played there six times in the past
year alone: against Israel, Russia, Estonia and Croatia at home, Russia and
Austria away. He played there against Brazil and Estonia before, and through
most of Sven-Göran Eriksson’s time as England head coach.
Yet Gerrard does not really mean central midfield. He means as the sole
attacking central midfield player, with the team shaped and selected to
serve his needs. No doubt a few would like similar indulgence.
Derren Brown, the psychological illusionist, conducted an experiment in which
he gathered a group of strangers in a room and interviewed them. He then
wrote detailed psychological profiles of each, which he distributed at
random, instructing the individuals to study the profile and exchange it
with a neighbour if the folder contained their own notes. All attempted to
swap. That was the trick. The profiles were identical. Brown fooled the
group with standard, nonspecific pages of flattery.
“Your perfectionism means you sometimes struggle to get things done,” he
wrote. We would all like to think that, wouldn’t we? Not that we are idle,
or slow, or lack aptitude. No, it is our high standards that cause us to
miss deadlines or make mistakes.
Gerrard’s explanation for the fact a succession of England managers – and
frequently his Liverpool manager, Rafael BenÍtez, too – refuse to mould the
midfield around his talent alone is that he has paid the price for being
decent in other positions.
He is a wonderful player but, like the members of Brown’s circle, not perfect;
very few are.
