Of course my heart is at Anfield right now where the preparations for the Mancs must be at fever pitch. Not only have we not beaten those cloacae in the last six league meetings we’ve lost five of them in the process. It’s gone way beyond frustrating, it’s now taking on the proportions of a biblical plague.
I can’t imagine a god, in any of his/her/its incarnations that would allow a team styled as the Red Devils to continually top the EPL. It’s disgraceful and, quite frankly, fodder for atheistic dogma.
Ahead of the most important game of the Red’s season, I can’t believe that I am looking at the appointment of the next England Head Coach, but I am. I don’t feel I could do justice to the magnitude of tomorrow’s game without sounding, well, disingenuous.
So I’ll stick with the more refined disingenuity that is the appointment of the next England head coach.
Surprise, surprise he’s not English. He’s not even from the British Isles. And he can’t speak English.
And this is proof positive that irony is alive and well, it was Capello’s strike that helped the Italian’s win their first game against the English at Wembley. So for those of you that were hoping that the next coach might add a little to English International history books, not to worry, he brings it with him.
It’s pretty disrespectful really. Macca’s body has even reached room temperature yet and they have produced his replacement. The obvious question is why did Barwick go haring off to hire a coach who got the sack from Real Madrid, is not English, doesn’t even speak English and worse yet was the scourge of the English at Wembley?
Simple. He wins. Barwick is hoping that when Capello starts producing results, the average English fan won’t give a monkey’s about his passport.
It also proves that when the chips are down, (and Barwick’s professional life is on the line) all that matters is the number of checks in the win column and not the romanticized notions of fans. Nostalgia and ethnocentricity ordinarily don’t help in that category. Or at least not in the modern era.
It’s obvious that Barwick et al. place no stock in the language their head coach speaks, so long as he speaks to winning. And the chances are his gamble will pay off. Fans will more than likely quickly forgo misty-eyed visions of an English-coached team when their lads step up onto a podium to collect a winner’s medal.
The hypocrisy boggles. English fans are more than happy to let foreign managers lead them to domestic glory, but cling doggedly to the stylized and flawed dream of being led into international bliss by another Englishman.
The fact that three of the “Top Four” domestic coaches don’t speak English as a first language also points towards the fact that English coaches may be good, but they are not great. Actually, I wouldn’t classify as what Ferguson claims as a language to be English either.
It’s got nothing to do where the head man comes from, but it is what he brings with him. Capello better have a whole bag of magic dust and lots of glue because he is going to need to put something magical together to repair the shards of a shattered national psyche. He might consider bringing a wand with him, too, or at the very least a cudgel to knock out those who aren’t impressed with his Continental slights of hand.