In this age of clipboards and computers, number-crunching and ProZone, there
seems to be a growing view that football and footballers can be reduced to a
set of statistics, like anonymous data in some gigantic calculation.
For those who insist on seeing the world in such terms, allow me to give you
the stats on Dimitar Berbatov’s first season at Manchester United. He has
scored 13 goals in all competitions; eight goals in 27 matches in the
Barclays Premier League; he has had eight assists; has a shooting accuracy
of close to 50 per cent; and a chance conversion rate of 20 per cent. Many
argue that these numbers provide conclusive proof that the Bulgarian, for a
player who cost the small matter of £30.75 million, has had a woeful season.
Now, I don’t know about you, but while I find these statistics interesting
and, in their way, enlightening, I also think that they fail to convey the
essential meaning of Berbatov’s contribution. They fail, for example, to
convey the artistry of his volley through a packed penalty area against
Middlesbrough in December; they fail to describe the elegance of his take
and pull-back for Carlos Tévez to score against Liverpool in September.
Most important of all, they fail to convey the audacity of his lightning turn
and intuitive flick past James Collins, the West Ham United defender, and
his cut-back for Cristiano Ronaldo to score in October, arguably the most
audacious, revelatory and intricate piece of creativity all season.
Sure, football is about results and instances of individual brilliance must be
seen, to an extent, in that context. But even the most zealous statistician
must also concede that results have to matter to people. We have to care. We
have to want to travel across the nation to watch our teams in action. And
it is players such as Berbatov — his individuality, his elegance and, yes,
his neuroses — who make football matter to so many of us.
This is about more than sport; it is about life. Sir Alex Ferguson, for all
his ruthlessness and single-mindedness, has always acknowledged the
aesthetic dimension; he has always recognised that football is about more
than the scoreline at the end of 90 minutes or the points tally at the end
of the season.
Neutrals often proclaim their dislike of United, but we have never suppressed
a feeling of gratitude that Ferguson has stayed true to the poetic ideals of
the Busby era. For Best read Cantona; for Charlton read Scholes; for the
tragic Edwards read Ronaldo; for Law read Rooney. Not necessarily similar
players, but men with marvellous skills whose contribution to English
football is measured not just in medals, and certainly not in statistics,
but in hearts and minds.
There is an entire body of academic work seeking to explain the ascent of
English football over recent years: the dominance of English teams in the
Champions League, the legions of fans around the globe, the predilection of
the world’s richest men to purchase our clubs, the sense of glamour and
excitement.
Many cite the business model of the Premier League and the canny stewardship
of Richard Scudamore, its chief executive, for all this, and in so doing
they grasp an aspect of the truth. But the fundamental reason for the
success of English football is to be found in its peerless spectacle. It is
to be found in the willingness of some of our greatest and most visionary
managers — Ferguson and Arsène Wenger, of Arsenal, in particular — to
embrace something beyond the functional and the utilitarian; to hire and
encourage players who have the rare spark of genius capable of elevating
Saturday afternoons beyond the merry-go-round of home and away, victory and
defeat.
We would do well to remember that no fan’s love of football has been
consummated by statistics and that no spectator has left a game with his
mind in hock to a player’s percentage of completed passes. All of us, even
those in anoraks, seek poetry and passion, magic and moments of creativity;
all things that make life and sport matter and that are never to be found in
ProZone’s matrix of numbers.
And that is why Ferguson will persist with Berbatov. An old and wily fox, he
will ponder the sometimes damning statistics and will even experience pangs
of anxiety when reflecting upon his forward’s infuriating unwillingness to
track back and tendency to spend huge chunks of time swathed in anonymity.
But then the old boy will remember those life-affirming detonations of genius
and his granite heart will soften, and he will reach for the teamsheet to
scrawl the Bulgarian’s name at the top of the page once again.
BBC fails in final Crucible test
The Betfred.com World Snooker Championship is well under way and the coverage
on the BBC is, as ever, exemplary. But one nagging regret is that the voice
of Clive Everton, the doyen of the sport’s commentators, will be silenced
during the last five days of the championship, to make way for younger
voices.
Everton is a giant of the commentary game. He understands the importance of
silences and of sustaining an editorial line that keeps casual viewers, as
well as aficionados, engaged. His knowledge of snooker and its history is
unsurpassed and his ability to grasp the subtleties as well as the ironies
of the sport have made him an indispensable companion for those of us who
tune in religiously at this time of year.
Until he missed the final day of the 2007 championship after breaking his hip,
Everton had been to every day of the tournament since its Crucible debut, in
1977.
It is to be hoped that his relationship with the BBC, under some strain
because of the elevation of younger guns, can be repaired. Snooker without
Everton will never be the same.
Tyson: chronicle of a fall foretold
The documentary film of Mike Tyson, by James Toback, the director, goes on
general release on Friday. The reviews have been, in general, positive and a
trailer provides a glimpse of what promises to be a frank and uncomfortable
journey into the contradictory and violent depths of the Tyson persona.
The life and crimes of the former heavyweight champion are well known, but
some reviewers have criticised Toback for having shied away from challenging
Tyson about his conviction for rape (he continues to protest his innocence)
and his many other violent misdemeanours.
Much of the footage focuses on Tyson’s exploits in the ring, confirming why he
was at one time regarded as the most devastating talent in heavyweight
boxing since the retirement of Muhammad Ali. His hand speed and raw punching
power were breathtaking while he unified the division, but, even then, there
was always a suspicion that something terrible was waiting to happen. The
tragedy is that so many others had to suffer in Tyson’s spectacular fall
from on high, collateral damage in a pitiful journey of self-destruction.
