In the Sons we trust...

First published in Sons View, 22 September 2007, Dumbarton -v- East Fife

Perhaps the most important change in football over the past 25 years is the blossoming of fan power and direct supporter involvement in the running of clubs – of which the Sons Trust is, of course, a fine and pioneering example.

There are many other trends in the game, positive and negative, that have grabbed more attention, naturally. The growth of football across Africa and Asia (positive) the finessing of the professional foul (negative) and the seemingly endless tide of designer suits and WAGs (I’ll lake you make your own mind up on that one!)

But if we are thinking about how the sport we cherish can genuinely flourish, then moves to ensure that it stays in the hands of those who love it most must surely be the most significant development of all.

It began with the blossoming of fanzines back in the 1980s – though the first one was probably ‘Foul’, which lasted from 1972-76. Two main trends led to people devoting hours to writing and circulating these blotchy samizdat publications, more than a few of which have survived well into the internet age.

First, ordinary fans felt that the influence on the game of those who cheered from the terraces and passed through the turnstiles was diminishing dangerously. At the same time, new money started to pour into football in the ‘loadsamoney’ era.

As choices about how to spend money and take decisions mushroomed, supporters wanted their own say on how clubs were being run and paid for, as well as the usual opportunity to gripe on teams picks and grouse about referees.

Second, there was dissatisfaction with what was coming over about football through the mainstream media, and complaints about its sometimes over-cosy relationship with the game it was reporting on.

Aberdeen’s original ‘Northern Lights’, I believe, first coined the name ‘The Daily Ranger’ for one of Scotland’s best-selling tabloids, summing up its verdict on the paper’s balance of coverage. Fanzines often enjoyed a tense relationship with their clubs and with journalists, as well as a friendly rivalry with each other.

But commentary was only the first step. In 1985 the Heysel Stadium disaster led Liverpool fans Rogan Taylor and Peter Garrett to found the Football Supporters Federation to campaign for better conditions and participation.

Grassroots opposition to racism and bigotry among a minority of fans grew in the same way. And as both larger and smaller clubs lurched into crisis, Independent Supporters Associations (ISAs) grew up, determined to have a stake in shaping the future.

This pressure was an important factor in getting government to take the game more seriously, and the formation of Supporters Direct in 2000 galvanised a new wave of involvement. As everyone knows, Dumbarton were the first league club in Scotland to have a supporters’ trust.

Now there are over 100 such trusts across Scotland, Wales and England. 59 of these hold equity within their clubs, 38 (including the Sons) have supporter representation within the boards of their football clubs, and 8 clubs (including the reformed Bankies, if you’ll forgive me reminding you!) are now owned by their supporters.

My own local team, Exeter City, was saved from bankruptcy by the incredible dedication of fans and the work of their trust. Well, that and a crucial money-spinning FA Cup-tie against Manchester United. Luck still plays a large role in the fortunes of the small and the brave.

According to Supporters Direct, trusts have, in total, brought around £10 million worth of investment into the game, and more than 75,000 people have joined these supporter-run, not-for-profit organisations dedicated to renewing their clubs in the community.

In an age where cooperation and mutuality often comes off second best to corporate greed, this is a not inconsiderable achievement. I am immensely proud to be a member of the Sons Trust, and grateful to those who keep it moving forward.

Of course now that trusts are allied to ‘the system’ in football, there will be those who worry that they will become the new establishment. But in a democratic organisation there is a solution. Get involved, have your say and pull your weight.

So if you happen to be reading this and haven’t signed up yet, please do consider it. For a small outlay, it’s a very important way of securing the future of Dumbarton Football Club.

Keeping football live

First published in The Grecian,22 September 2007, Exeter City -v- Ebbsfleet

The Premier league isn’t exactly trumpeting the statistics from the rooftop, but according to its latest survey of fan demographics, just nine per cent of those who attend big matches are under 24 years, and the average age of spectators is 43 – which is pretty old (given that this means a very substantial number are well above that age).

OK, I hear you say: I attend Exeter City in the Blue Square Premier, rather than the multi-million pound version, so why should I care? And the answer is because of what figures like this tell us about the connection between young people and live football – or rather, the growing disconnect.

Given the size of the local population, the league we play in and the fact that the southwest isn’t the most football-saturated region in Britain, the Grecians get a decent crowd – and we are working hard to make it even bigger, of course.

Though regulars may grouch about ‘tourists’ and ‘glory hunters’ for glamorous FA Cup ties or Wembley play-offs, those bursts of occasional local interest also give us a tantalising glimpse of the huge pool of potential fans that exists out there. But how do we get to them?

The real challenge is getting new generations in. Many of us caught the live football bug early. Once you’ve tasted the atmosphere, the camaraderie and the sheer physical and emotional presence of ‘being there’, you’re unlikely to find watching two-dimensional stick men moving around a screen quite the same – even if some of them are superstars and it’s HTD.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not knocking TV football. It keeps the lifeblood of the game flowing for more than just the Saturday (and increasingly Sunday, Monday and Tuesday) experience. It also puts resources and a massive publicity machine at football’s disposal. But it just isn’t the same if you’ve got a certain kind of bug in your bloodstream.

Which brings us back to those Premier League statistics. The truth is that the majority of youngsters who aren’t going to see Chelsea, Manchester United and the rest (because they can’t afford to, can’t get the tickets or can’t summon up the peer group interest), aren’t going to many – and in some cases any – other games.

In the 1960s and ’70s, especially, people often caught their live footie addiction by starting out with a lower league team, even if they also craved the old First Division too. My grandfather inducted me into the magic circle at Griffin Park, Brentford.

I vividly remember that first game on a bleak midwinter’s day. The Bees beat Notts County 2-1, I nursed my blue lips round a Styrofoam cuppa (pre-eco consciousness) and the late Jimmy Sirrell, the Brentford manager, punched the cold air in delight. That was it, I was hooked. And so was my schoolmate Guy, also aged 10, who came along with us.

As it happened, I didn’t become a Brentford supporter (though I still look out for their results). Bizarrely, for reasons that I might explain one day, I came to follow Dumbarton up in Scotland. And now I’ve settled in Exeter I’m at St James Park whenever I can. But it would never have happened if someone hadn’t caught me at an impressionable age.

Exeter is among the clubs who are making the most effort to get kids into the game, both in the stands and on the turf. Given all the other distractions of post-modern life, it isn’t easy and the dividends aren’t instant. But it’s where the future of this great game lies.

Goodness, Mourinho has gone...

The sudden departure of "the special one" from his position as Chelsea manager will no doubt be interpreted by some as a 'jump before you're pushed' response to the poor Champions League performance against Rosenborg. But it almost certainly has rather more to do with deep machinations in the boardroom revolving around the wishes of the club's owner - and their incompatibility with the kind of managerial freedom Jose Mourinho desires. Ironically, this saga reaches its most dramatic twist at the same time as British PM Gordon Brown apparently rebuffed EUFA president Michel Platini's plea for curbs on the domination of the game by big money interests. Though he sometimes went way over the top, I for one will greatly miss Mourinho's colourful presence in the Premier League. His interviews were witty, acerbic and often laugh-out-loud funny. My favourite was probably his response to defeat by Barcelona a couple of seasons ago: "They never beat us over 90 minutes with 11 men" he suggested, archly capitalising on a Chelsea sending-off to steal the glee from his opponents.

Expect some incendiary fall-out from this one. "Mutual consent"? My foot!

Playing to the gallery

First published in Sons View, 15 September 2007, Dumbarton -v- Albion Rovers

Though you can grow into it (I’ve heard a number of ‘slow conversion stories’), football is often something you either get or don’t. It’s as much about instinct as learning.

My partner, like a significant majority of her fellow Americans, is basically in the ‘don’t get’ camp. She swears that, before we married, I hardly ever mentioned the Beautiful Game. This may be true, though I recall one or two broad hints!

Anyway, as soon as we settled down domestically, disguising my secret passion became a darned sight more difficult.

There were soon three people in this relationship. No, not Camilla or the patter of tiny feet. I’m talking about me, Carla and (when I’m staying up in London on business) a TV tuned to Sky Sports News – the only thing I’ve ever thanked Rupert Murdoch for in my life.

The best way I know not to get caught up in football is to cut myself off, hermit like, from its news tentacles. That worked for a few years in the early 90s, but as I got more professionally dependent on the internet it became impossible.

Walking outside the front door is also something of a football addiction hazard, too. That’s because we live only a short hop away from the local park – where I have been actively encouraged to walk and run to keep my ageing bones from atrophying.

Rather foolishly, Carla once dismissed footie with the usual “22 men just thumping a ball around” routine. The ball, undeniably, is indispensable. But the number of people involved in a game, their age and gender, are a bit more flexible. Especially in the local park.

Now being a ‘true football fan’ (as I like to put it – there are other medical designations, I’m told), I’ve never really been able to walk past six kids belting a tennis ball into a goal-shaped pile of coats without getting at least mildly absorbed.

Thankfully I’ve not quite got to the stage of being one of those sad gits who starts shouting coaching advice from the ‘touchline’, while absent-mindedly kicking stray dogs out of my line of vision.

Nor do I charge into the junior fray, demanding a place in the forward line in the vain hope that at least I might finally be able to get a hat-trick against a bunch of eleven-year-olds. I’ve been tempted, but they’d rightly call their social workers on a mobile and get me sent off.

No, I just wander along the path, listening intently to Carla (of course)… and wondering whether those lads in the muddy jumpers might be better off trying a diamond formation to wrestle control of midfield from the ones in the, um, other muddy jumpers.

If I’m really lucky, some hapless hoof-footer (of the kind I used to be at school) will fork the ball off the ‘pitch’ altogether, straight in my direction.

This is not an opportunity to be missed. The way to handle it is to stay cool, trap the ball with your instep, raise a suave eyebrow in the direction of the nearest goalkeeper, and nonchalantly punt the ball eight feet to his left. Like you intended it.

Meanwhile, the household conversation has moved towards a conclusion, and my participation is clearly vital.

“So you agree that’s what we’ll do for our holiday, then?” Carla asks, interrupting the seamless tactical machinations of my finely-honed footballing brain.

“Yes, that sounds fine”, I venture confidently. “Great idea! You’re wonderful, darling.”

Carla looks cynical and unconvinced. “You haven’t been listening to a word I said, have you? You’ve been watching those kids whacking a ball around and waiting for that chance to impress them.”

I am wounded by this wholly unfounded accusation and protest strongly. I have heard, I assure her, quite a few of the many wise words she has been lobbing up field in my direction. I’m just not sure which order they went in or what they mean.

But Carla’s usually right, and there’s more than a 50/50 chance that saying “yes” is the sensible thing to do.

This time I have apparently agreed to give up a relaxing week in the country so that we can rebuild our entire house out of organic straw using our bare hands while eating only rice, or something.

Whatever. At least I managed to see that lad with no jumper and a puce shirt head a beautiful goal into what would have been the top right-hand corner of the goal – if a pile of jackets had a top right hand corner.

So there really is an up-side to everything, I think to myself, consolingly. That’s what I like best about football.

We can dare to dream

It's half-time in Paris as I start to write, and Scotland are drawing nin-nil with France in the European Championship qualifiers. 'Mon guys! [Update: 1-0 Scotland in the 61st minute. I'm rubbing my eyes... and now can't bear to look; well, reload the web screen, actually. 21.46: Alex McLeish has taken a leaf out of the Sir Alex Ferguson school of management and is masticating furiously on some gum, says the Beeb. Sir Alex is probably doing likewise up in the stands. 21.48: Two minutes to go plus time added on... this is unbearable.] YESSSS!!!! 21.53: FULL-TIME France 0-1 Scotland. Absolutely incredible. Words fail... Full report by By Thomas McGuigan. "They have talent and they also have a soul, a passion that we saw in the first match and in other games", said France coach Raymond Domenech on Scotland at the press conference yesterday. Now the sceptics will know he was right.

Raising the Rock

This coming Saturday (15 September 2007) Dumbarton entertain Stenhousemuir at the Strathclyde Homes Stadium - as part of a weekend of activities under the umbrella of Raise the Rock, an initiative to further strengthen relations between the football club and the local community. As I'm able to combine it with some work and domestic commitments, I'll be making the 364-mile trek from Exeter to be there... and also for the home game a week later, just before I return to the south west.

The Sons Supporters Trust, who along with the club and the local Lennox newspaper, are promoting the game, believe that increased attendances are one of the keys to a healthy future at DFC. There's more on the Supporters Direct site blog.

Trust director Stephen Lynch commented on the DFC website: "The ability of the club to prosper has many deciding factors. The performance of the team on the pitch is a critical one and equally what the fans can contribute is vital.

"Dumbarton FC are West Dunbartonshire's community club and our Raise the Rock days are intended to showcase what facilities we have on offer at Strathclyde Homes Stadium.

"West Dunbartonshire is a growing area which has 80,000 residents on its doorstep. So apart from a winning team what is it that really keeps the paying public from our matches? It is never easy to come up with the ultimate answer but one that should come up high on our list is the match day experience. And at Raise the Rock we can let people see what we have."

[Pic (c) DFC]

Let the football do the talking

First published in The Grecian, 8 September 2007, Exeter City -v- Cambridge United

I’ve never been a great one for razzmatazz in football. The half-time penalty competitions, 'cross-bar challenges' and point-to-point races are fine. And of course there’s a place for proper ceremony at ‘occasion’ matches – cup finals, play-offs, Champions League games, internationals and the like.

But there’s something about our game that rightly resists too much distraction before and after the main event – or in the midst of it, for that matter.

What made me think about this was being in America earlier in the summer. The media keeps coming back to is the age-old question about whether ‘soccer’ will ever really take off in the USA.

Aside from the dominant questions of dollars and celebrities (the Beckham circus was in full swing while I was travelling), the real issue, I reckon, comes down to a question of spectacle versus story.

Football is about something rather different to the set-plays, stats and stadium antics that bolster the regular diet of American Football and Baseball fans week-in and week-out.

Not that I can’t see the appeal of this. In my brother-in-law’s honour we made a family pilgrimage to see the Pittsburgh Pirates host the Saint Louis Cardinals while we were on the East Coast.

This was Kevin’s university area baseball team versus my wife’s. But the split loyalties were made easier by the fact that the Pirates were going through a rough time in July, so no one expected them to triumph. And they didn’t!

I enjoyed the game. What made it additionally interesting for me, however, was to contrast its appearance with that of football here in Britain, and to try to figure out why they look and feel so very different.

For a start, statistics really are king in US sport. You spend a good deal of your time – perhaps the majority – studying the rapidly changing numbers on a huge scoreboard. And dotted around the stadium are people recording every digit as it flies past their eyes.

Somewhere in the midst of this is the game of baseball itself, which even more than cricket is a series of high-speed events that provide an adrenalin rush in between bouts of on-field reorganisation.

There are also regular competitions, adverts and announcements between plays – as well as rehearsed chants, beer and food sellers wending their way through the seating areas, and a ‘song and stretch’ at the top of the seventh (of nine) periods.

From a football fan’s viewpoint it’s a curious but strangely episodic event. Even the beginning and the end don’t seem such a big deal.

By contrast, football is about the forward motion of a continuous, unfolding story. There’s a kind of ‘narrative’ to a really good game –a shape and architecture to the whole thing, knitted together by moments of beauty, high tension and the almost physical release of a goal.

Of course, I’m deeply biased. For me, no game comes close to football for that elusive combination of skill, tactics, drama, athletic prowess and almost balletic artistry.

We've all seen dull matches, for sure. Probably rather too many – even at dear old Exeter. But when football comes together in all its glorious wholeness it becomes unsurpassably rewarding – not so much an instant thrill, more a work of poetry-in-motion.

Those of my American friends for whom football really is played with the feet recognise this too. But they tell me that in a 'society of the spectacle', as the USA is sometimes called, it's very hard to grasp.

What people are reared on is immediate entertainment. Football, on the other hand, is about the slower burn of passion. Long may it be so.

Oozing with professionalism

Congratulations to the impressively hard-working and dedicated editor of The Grecian, Mike Blackstone (who is interviewed here on the ECFC site). In today's Non-League Paper, page 40, the Exeter matchday magazine - which has won 'top of its class' awards consistently in recent years - is reviewed favourably, and described as "oozing with professionalism". I'm delighted to play a small part in that this season, along with many others. But the real credit goes to Mike. Hat-tip to Exeweb for pointing this out.

Ransacking the positives

Not a good day for the teams favoured by this blog. Dumbarton lost 2-0 away to Stranraer. Still, at least they did twice as well as poor Exeter City away to Kidderminster. Ouch. This, I believe, is what beleaguered England manager Malcolm McLaren (shome mishtake there, shurely? Ed.) calls "taking the positives". Talking of which, I was amused to discover This Is Not 1966 the other day. Indeed it isn't.

Managing our great expectations

First published in The Grecian, 27 August 2007, Exeter City -v- Weymouth

Whatever the post-match arguments about England’s mid-week performance against Germany, one thing was always clear. Given the choices available, no-one quite expected the 5-1 triumph of yesteryear that hailed the arrival of that new managerial hero – Sven-Goran Eriksson.

Sven’s story illustrates just how fickle the worlds of football fandom and sporting journalism can be. And though there is no comparison between the world of international footballing icons and the tough realities of the Blue Square Premier, perhaps the question of how we manage the ‘great expectations’ we have of our coaches isn’t that different.

For months the cool Swede could do no wrong. His image as a football technician was contrasted with the kick-and-hope approach many believed had stunted the English game. His unflappable temperament was heralded as a sign that, unlike those touchline prima donnas, he wouldn’t be too swayed by emotion.

How attitudes changed. Within a few years these same qualities were being dismissed as “a lack of motivational drive” and “a failure to understand the passion of the game.”

What happened was that Eriksson could not quite turn an upper-middle ranking football nation into the team of all-conquering heroes many people imagined they had a right to be. The shadow of 1966 meant that Quarter Finals in succeeding World and European championships was not enough.

So in spite of a couple of near misses and the achievement of gaining the highest percentage of points from competitive matches of any England manager, Sven’s reign ended – with a large boot from the tabloids – amid cries of ‘failure’ and ‘disaster’.

As Eriksson has shown in his club career, not least with the impact he has had on a changing and disjointed squad at Manchester City, those judgements were as superficial as the triumphalism that accompanied his earlier England results, not least the symbolic crushing of Germany.

Football these days is about instant passions, fast bucks and quick decisions. But we shouldn’t forget that there is a long view too. And those coaches who we look back on as real successes are usually the ones who had the guts to do it ‘their way’ in spite of the barracking.

We’d be wise to bear that in mind with our own Paul Tisdale. After the deep disappointment of losing at Wembley there was an understandable wave of uncertainty over the summer.

As well known faces went and last season’s play-off team became a memory, people began to make noises about whether we could really trust the manager. Who was going to replace the old players? What was the plan? Would we be ready in time for the new season?

After the opening few games things are looking clearer. With a host of injuries and a good deal of re-adjustment, it will be tough. But we’ve had a decent start. The emphasis is shifting to youth, with the back up of shrewd ‘experience imports’.

Tis is also making it clear that he’s his own man and won’t be rushed. Without Sven’s millions or experience, he remains more calculating than excitable. With no shortage of advice, he wants to take things at his own pace.

We have a long season ahead of us. For many the play-offs are being described as ‘a minimum’. But we forget that when Tisdale arrived many were unsure The Grecians had it in them to get even that far.

Having great expectations is one thing. But handling the weekly pressures of rebuilding a team and digging in for the future are what it’s really about. So let’s not leap too quickly between hope and despair.

Anyone here speak football?

First published in Sons View, 25 August 2007, Dumbarton -v- Albion Rovers

While your intrepid Sons View editor was working his way across Canada with the Tartan Army a few weeks ago, I was lounging on the east coast of the USA. My wife is American, so we have to keep putting pennies in the pot to be able to visit relatives and friends from time-to-time.

As everyone knows, the US of A is, contradictorily, both a football desert and a place where a huge number of kids play ‘soccer’ until they are about 14 years old – when most then lose touch with the game altogether.

The solution, in reality, has nothing to do with David Beckham, and a lot to do with the language he struggles to speak. No, not English – give the poor boy a break. I’m thinking about Spanish.

Latinos make up a massive and growing proportion of the US population, and many of them are football fanatics. They are also far more liable to be poor, and to fall out of the thin financial net that supports young athletes. Which is why ‘soccer’ will most likely continue to languish, whatever happens to LA Galaxy.

Helping talented and enthusiastic Latino kids into proper training programmes – that’s where the real investment should be going. But the free market sees it otherwise. And so does the media.

Certainly if you are looking for footie coverage on US TV or in the big papers, forget it. The very word is reserved for a game where, ironically, people pick up a ball and throw it. Go figure.

To me the rules of American Football (insofar as I can fathom them) seem rather better suited to deploying Sherman tanks than jinking past midfielders. But that’s the way they like it there. Rough, tough and focussed on a few big games a season.

Even so, there’s a growing curiosity Stateside about what the educated few insist on calling ‘real football’. That and a bit of jealousy about the fact that, unlike NFL and Major League Baseball, our game truly is a global phenomenon.

One of my nieces is a potential fan, and said she would like to go to ‘a proper game’ at some point. I promised to work on it. I’m sure her imagination was really itching to travel to the Strathclyde Homes Stadium. She just thought she was fantasising about Chelsea or The Champions League.

Naturally, after a bit of a chat, many American people ask (out of politeness as much as anything else) who you support. But the answer doesn’t necessarily mean that much. Celtic or Dumbarton sound equally foreign to the uninformed ear, frankly.

So the next question usually goes, “Is Dumbarton a big club, then?” Bigness being a bit of a virtue in the States, you understand. “Well, they’re big in my heart”, I think, wondering how I should go about explaining just how really, really small (but perfectly formed) the Sons are.

Sometimes it would be rather tempting to spin it out a bit. I’m wicked like that. “Well, only recently we hosted one of the finalists in a big European game at our noted training facilities in the shadow of one of Scotland’s natural beauty spots”, I hear myself opining. In my head, anyway. I’m not that tricky… am I? Hmnnn…

The PR campaign continues. “Plus, of course, we’ve won the Scottish championship a couple of times” (omits the words ‘1890/91’, ‘tie with Rangers’ and ‘1891/92’), “not to mention the Scottish Cup… which is, um, the biggest cup competition in Scotland, not counting golf.”

At that point I might sound like I’m about to flounder. But believe me, I’m quite good at this PR lark. Then again, no. I couldn’t really. It would be cruel. And I’d hate myself in the morning, surely?

Actually, some persuasive footie fans did manage to super-hype the lowly Brentford a few seasons back, inadvertently nourishing a minor US celebrity following for the club that has just descended into English League Two (as they insist on calling the Fourth Division). You had to smile.

Meanwhile, I’m writing that imaginary Press Release for the glorious Sons. “Our bigness is better measured in longevity than mere money or success”, perhaps? No, the Yanks won’t buy that. Though in 1872 their West was still wild, remember.

Ah well, one day my American friends and family will understand the true meaning of football, I’m sure. And then they will realise that teams like Dumbarton are worth a dozen Big Timers. For those with imaginations larger than their wallets, anyway. C’mon, my Sons!

Overpaid and over here?

Most people think top footballers should be given a substantial pay cut, a survey for the Fabian Society says. While the UK's (read England's) best-paid soccer players earn millions a year, the poll found people think that, on average, they should be paid just £62,000. The think tank spoke to a representative sample 3,000 people. At the other end of the pay scale, respondents said that experienced hospital nurses should get a pay rise, from the current typical salary of £21,985 to £33,000. The survey follows on from the excellent work done by Noreena Hertz with her May Day For Nurses campaign, which persuaded half of all English Premier League players and managers to give up a day's pay to assist hospital workers' quest for a just wage through a hardship fund. Donations are still welcome. [Pic: Noreena with players from Reading last season]

I'll drink to that

The unexpected late-night arrival of a Celtic fan at my London pied a terre {cough!} the other evening necessitated the brewing of a good strong cuppa. Naturally it was offered in my fine Sons mug [pictured]. What better way could there be to imbibe health and well-being with a lost soul who finds himself in need of a bed for the night? Well, a sofa anyway. Should you, too, wish to acquire this fine piece of drinking equipment, you can do so at the Dumbarton FC online shop. "The first port of call for sporting accoutrements of distinction, mate." I'll be drinking to at least a point off Albion Rovers at the Rock tomorrow, for sure.

United by grief

Legendary Liverpool manager Bill Shankly once famously commented: "Football isn't a matter of life and death. It's much more important than that." He was talking friendly bollocks, of course. And no doubt, if he was alive today, Shanks would have been among the first to honour the memory of 11-years young Everton fan Rhys Jones, who was (appallingly and incomprehensibly) shot dead in Croxteth the other evening. It's gratifying to see that even the deepest sporting rivalries can be put into perspective by a tragedy like this. The sight of red and blue scarves entwined is a heartening in the midst of loss. It would be wonderful if it could happen more often - but without the spur of pointless violence to get us to see how trivial our differences really are. [Pic: courtesy of the BBC]

Scotland 1 England, er, didn't

If progress in football is measured by the ability of a less than on-song team to grind out results against talented opposition (as is often said), Scotland's 1-0 victory against a lively South African side at Pittodrie says rather more about their development than England's 2-1 defeat to Germany at Wembley. In truth, England deserved a point against an experimental German side, but were thwarted by what may come t0 be known as "McLaren's luck". That and a goalkeeper drought which must have the likes of Alan Rough and Bobby Clark smiling. They and other Scottish keepers have had to endure years of mockery from Down South, fuelled by the legend of Banks, Shilton and others. The reality now, however, is that England do not have an indisputable world class keeper to drawn on, and are being forced to turn to a veteran to help - and one who has had more than a few question marks against him in the past, too. How McLaren's team must long to be able to choose someone of the quality of ex-Hearts sticks man Craig Gordon (pictured), recently poached to Sunderland by the Premier League money-machine.

Living with footie's telly belly

First published in The Grecian, 20 August 2007, Exeter -v- York City

So, the new season is well underway – though still at an early enough phase to indulge our dearest hopes. For Exeter City fans, a promotion place is the main goal. Of course.

But few would turn down a big, juicy FA cup tie with the premiership elite, either – not least because of the TV revenues attached to such an occasion.

As Grecians fans know, TV plays a major role in making football an inhabitable environment, and not just because of its entertainment and information value.

Those two precious ties against Manchester United in 2005 live on proudly in the collective ECFC memory. But more than that, they are part of the reason why – in spite of the disappointment of losing last season’s Wembley playoff – we are where we are right now.

Imagine what life would be like without the revenue the Man U matches provided? Those within the Trust and the club who worked so hard to turn survival into flourishing would have been given an even more mountainous task.

All of which reminds us that, for those at the lower end of football’s financial food chain, so much of the telly belly that can spell fitness or failure depends upon, well, sheer luck. The right draw at the right time. The upside is also the downside.

There’s no question but that the TV companies have spooned millions into our beloved game, as well as raking millions in for themselves. But after the record close season transfer spending fuelled in large part by money from television revenues worth £2.7 billion over the next three seasons, no-one can seriously doubt that the influence of the little screen is to produce a hall of mirrors in some board rooms, either.

For while the financial cake depends upon investment, gate receipts and merchandising, it is TV which has had the lion’s share in turning the Beautiful Game into big business – and a top-heavy one, at that.

This, the optimists say, is “simply the way of the world”. But it’s also uncomfortably like the law of the jungle – the big eaters get to rule the roost, and those who survive on smaller scraps are constantly looking over their shoulders to see where the next meal is coming from.

The answer, for us anyway, is to make sustainability the name of the game. In spite of the difficulties and wrangles along the way, that has been a key part of the Grecians' revival story.

Sure, we’d all like more money to splash on bigger players. But the spend-now-pay-later policy comes with a hidden price, given the vagaries of a sport that can turn on the outcome of just a handful of games.

In 2005-6, fewer than half of premiership clubs posted profit. Their growth model is based on looking jealously at the astronomical revenue of NFL or Major League Baseball in the USA, where telly also plays a pivotal role.

But those megabucks are only achieved because relegation isn’t an issue and neither is serious global competition. What’s more, the market is both bigger and (in a number of respects, like transfers) more controlled.

All of which means that the crazy world of soccernomics is unlikely to become saner by Supersizing, unless the fabled European League really does happen.

Here at Exeter we may sometimes envy the big boys’ big bucks, and curse the injustice of a money system which depends massively on luck or location. But at least we have our fate in our own hands. Some of the household names in football may soon come to crave that more than they can imagine.

Beckham insurance shocker

This fabulous story on poor old Becks is from peerless US satirical magazine The Onion. "L.A. Galaxy club officials said Monday that, under the terms of the insurance policy intended to protect their $250 million investment in star midfielder David Beckham, they would under no circumstances permit the high-priced Beckham to play soccer for them ever again." Hat-tip to my esteemed brother-in-law, Kevin Roth, down in Denver, Colorado, for spotting this one. Mind you, nothing could quite top the unintended satire of the cable TV show 'The Beckhams Arrive in America', which I watched, open-mouthed, when in the US last month (July 2007). Perhaps the best moment was when Posh expressed surprise that a vehicle registration agency photo couldn't be touched up, and said that her (filmed) detention for a traffic offence in LA had mainly been traumatic "because I was wearing flat shoes when I got out of the car". A veritable fashion disaster! No wonder David kept himself out of the camera's way for most of the first programme.