The mindlessness of Adebayor

One of the things that fascinated me was the way the players calmly and stubbornly ignored the rain of insults the fans were hurling at them, which often included questioning the sexual morality of their mothers.

I inquired with my father as to why the players didn’t react, as surely any human being would. He said they were professional footballers and as such they never react to fan behaviour. But, I said, surely the fans don’t have the right to hurl such rudeness. He said the fans paid money for their tickets so they probably think they have the right.

Indeed in those days interaction of any kind with the fans by players was extremely rare.

One incident, which would be considered extremely mild today, brought major headlines. Ferenc Puskás, playing for Honvéd, was copping an earful from a vile section of Ferencváros fans all through the game. Preparing to take a corner, Puskás bent down to adjust the ball and as he did he patted his backside, inviting the hostile fans to kiss his behind. The outrage and public debate about Puskás’ lack of sportsmanship went on for weeks.

It is this principle and protocol, a professional footballer’s obligation not to be wound up by fan abuse and thereby compromise the team cause, which Emmanuel Adebayor abused when he ran 80 metres to stick it up the hostile Arsenal fans after scoring against his old club for Manchester City.

Now Adebayor, already banned for three games after planting his studs on the face of former team mate Robin van Persie in the same game, faces further punishment for his goal celebration on a charge of improper conduct.

The incident has polarised opinion with a gaggle of credible commentators empathising with the Togolese striker, suggesting he has no case to answer. And their arguments have some merit, I confess.

Martin Samuel, the Daily Mail’s much awarded columnist, suggests that when fans call your mother a whore and your father a washer of elephants, it is understandable that you will react. "Buying a ticket is not a free pass to be vile for two hours and does not afford temporary resignation from the human race," he wrote.

Harry Rednapp, the Spurs boss, also backed the player, saying: "It's not celebrating a goal that causes riots, it's idiots who want to start riots. If I had been standing there and we had been giving him grief all game and he did that, I would probably say: 'Fair play'."

And my learned TWG colleague, Jesse Fink, pitched in with: "Whatever happened to football theatre?" And, "Football needs colour. It needs its rogues."

I differ.

Rogues? Sure. The game has always had them and it needs them.

George Best was a rogue. Stan Bowles was a rogue. So was Garrincha. Paul Gascoigne, too. Jimmy Baxter as well. Romario, Edmundo, Berndt Schuster, and the Colombian pair of Asprilla and Higuita were all rogues. But none claimed fame, or rogueness, through acting without a sense of sportsmanship.

Of course there have also, admittedly, been many other rogues, from Andoni Goikoetxea to Vinnie Jones, who will be remembered for having played their football in a way that fell just a trifle short of the virtues of Mother Teresa.

But these were men to whom history will throw little regard. They will be remembered only for their thuggishness and not for their football. Adebayor, a glorious player, should note this, and remember that he has more to offer than the distraction of silly engagement with terrace lunatics.

The FA should throw the book at him. As it should his pea-brained team-mate, Craig Bellamy, for slapping an invading fan post-match at the recent Manchester derby.

Takes two to tango

The impressive displays of Robbie Fowler for North Queensland Fury have been heart-warming, and no doubt a surprise to many who questioned the wisdom of his signing (which included me).

The problem is, and what may stifle his progress, is that he has no partners at the Fury who come anywhere near able to play with him at his level. Ufuk Talay comes closest and Fowler appears to perform better when the ex-Sydney FC midfielder is in the team.

History abounds with evidence that great players often need one or two great partners to play with, especially when the majority of the team is average.

The best example of this I ever saw was in 1976 when a bold Fulham, then in the second division, signed both George Best and Rodney Marsh (along with Bobby Moore) for a brief stint at Craven Cottage.

In the match I saw, a 4-1 thrashing of Hereford, the two were devastating in their telepathic understanding, taking the mickey and tearing to shreds the hapless Hereford men.

NOTE: Watch this video... it's much better than the previous clip that was embedded (TWG Editor)



One reason they stood out, and relied on each other, was because the remainder of the Fulham side were ordinary infantrymen, much like Fowler’s colleagues in Townsville.

The production line starts early

One keeps reading references, ad nauseum, to the Australian Institute of Sport (AIS) having ‘produced’ this genius and that champion player.

Can we clarify something for the ill-informed who peddle this nonsense?

A good footballer takes a minimum of ten years to develop, the critical age span being from nine to eighteen.

Players spend a maximum two years at the AIS (or even one, as was the case with Mark Viduka), in the old days at ages 17-18 (now 16-17), by which time their capacity to learn is restricted mainly to tactical awareness and sharpness.

Ball technique, the most important element in a footballer’s development, is formed before the age of fourteen.

This is no slight on the AIS or its coaches, past and present. I am certain that the players who went there broadly benefited from the experience.

But let’s not be unkind and narrow the credit for a player’s development to just the Institute.

For example Kewell, Cahill, Schwarzer, Chipperfield and many more never even attended the AIS.

Who produced them?