The Gigantic Beard that was Evil
Chelsea beating Aston Villa this weekend was as inevitable as brawling outside Best Buy on Black Friday, but that doesn’t make their victory any less impressive. As 3-0 score lines go, this one flattered Paul Lambert’s men: 63% of possession, 3.5 times as many completed passes in the final third, and eight times as many shots on target; we still suspect Jose took more pleasure from Chelsea’s second clean sheet of the season than he did the goal tally.
However, while the Portuguese did manage to pronounce Lambert’s name correctly, confusing him neither with fizzy water nor the male reproductive organ, we would prefer it if he waited until after the final whistle had sounded before proffering a handshake. Not classy, Jose, not classy at all. The Villa manager and Roy Keane’s beard (the beard grew Roy Keane, not the other way around) were right to show him the indignation the gesture deserved.
Oh Captain! My Captain!
“A real captain’s example” gushed the BBC’s John Motson as Wayne Rooney instinctively finished Rafael’s cross after just five minutes at Old Trafford. One hour later came the other side of Rooney: stupid, crass, unintelligible.
His apologists will tell you that Rooney’s knee-high chop on Stewart Downing is “only” his third red card in 380 full-throttle Premier League appearances. And, statistically, that’s fair enough: compared to someone like Roy Keane (7 Reds in 326 EPL appearances), Rooney is positively cherubic (he certainly has the build). Even against strike partner Robin van Persie (2 in 258 EPL appearances), he compares favourably.
But it’s the nature of Rooney’s red cards that grates: they aren’t mis-timed, last-ditch defensive tackles; they’re petulant, wholly avoidable hacks (members of the Jury, we give you Exhibit A). Both Rooney and van Gaal were at pains post-match to declare the Downing tackle a professional foul deliberately seeking to stop a quick West Ham break. If this was Rooney at his most calculated, Christ help us when he’s emotional: Downing was still deep in his own half when Rooney sunk his studs into the winger’s knee, all while each of United’s four defenders were in decent positions further down the pitch.
Rooney will now miss United’s next three Premier League fixtures, which will at least bring a smile to the lovely face of Juan Mata: the Spaniard now has a trio of games in which to re-establish himself as a starter under van Gaal.
The Tempest
Speaking of faces, anyone who saw Nigel Pearson’s after Leicester City’s 2-0 defeat at Crystal Palace will have said a quiet prayer for the souls under his watch. It was a bit like how we imagine the T1000 would have conducted a post-match interview, but without the emotion. We suspect Pearson doesn’t get mad and shouty with his players, he just gets even: pity their bodies and minds during the coming week.
This game delivered further proof that - in football terms at least - feline flaying is a multi-disciplinary pastime. Pearson and Leicester have a reputation for living right at the cutting edge of managerial practices, replete with a phalanx of shiny lap-tops, fancy GPS tracking, and myriad marginal gains. By contrast, Palace’s Neil Warnock is more akin to your stuck-in-her-ways great grand-mother: she knows the War was a very, very long time ago, but she’s still not going to step foot inside a BMW.
No home side completed fewer passes (193) or had a lower share of possession (39.6%) than Crystal Palace this weekend, yet two scrappily converted set pieces shortly after the interval were enough to secure the points. Fraizer Campbell put the win down to his manager’s inspirational half-time team talk. So what were these transcendent words of enlightenment? What revelatory tactical shift did Warnock instruct his players to enact? Quoth Campbell: “The manager said I needed to be more lively and get myself running about, so that is what I did.”
Football genius.
A Clockwork Orange
Hands up, how many people had Southampton down to struggle this season? Nobody? Not a one?? Liars.
When Ronald Koeman took over as Saints manager mid-way through June, he inherited a side shorn of 16 players, including some of its most influential: Adam Lallana, Rickie Lambert, Dejan Lovren, Luke Shaw and Callum Chambers all left for pastures more lucrative this summer. That Koeman managed to make six new signings before the end of the transfer window and integrate them all into a cohesive, well-drilled, and energetic side is only a few waterborne steps short of miraculous.
The lazy “Dutch Master” headlines were all reserved for Louis van Gaal this season, but, six games in, it’s Koeman who’s collecting the hackneyed plaudits as Southampton sit second in the league following some impressive attacking displays (capped by Graziano Pelle’s stunning scissor-kick winner). Can they stay there? In a word: no, but any relegation fears look dark and distant.
Bambi: A Life in the Woods
More frustration for Arsene Wenger as Mauricio Pochettino’s men produced a functional, counter-attacking display that came close to completing the perfect smash and grab. It could have been so much better if Spurs had a goal-scorer of quality in their midst.
Wenger’s evening was soured further by injuries to Aaron Ramsey, Jack Wilshere, and Mikel Arteta - who are all likely to miss the midweek Champions League clash with Galatasaray. Just as concerning for Arsenal fans should be the comical mis-kick haplessly executed by Danny Welbeck immediately before Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain’s equalizer. Proof, if it was needed, that while Welbeck may have opened his Arsenal account last weekend, he’s yet to shake the habit of resembling Bambi on acid when inside the 18 yard box.
Chicken Soup for the Soul
It was a blood and thunder Merseyside Derby, played at a fierce pace and packed full of robust tackling and talking points: a wonderful Gerrard free-kick, a howitzer from goal-a-season Phil Jagielka, and a refereeing display laden with more errors than the transcript of a Sarah Palin keynote speech.
It’s eye-glisteningly heart-warming to see the Brendan Rodgers School for Troubled Strikers begin to turn around the life of yet another vulnerable, over-paid-but-emotionally-deprived forward. Mario Balotelli worked his little red socks off Saturday lunchtime, harrying defenders, chasing lost causes and generally running tirelessly for his team-mates. Roberto Mancini must wonder what has happened to the Mario he once knew so well.
It’s just a pity that, for all the motivational pep Rodgers has clearly instilled in Balotelli, he still hasn’t told the Italian where the goal is: it’s now 20 Premier League games and counting since he last scored.
