Thursday, 14 October 2010
Is Capello Thick?
Montenegro. I’m guessing it means Black Mountain. Which is pretty much what Fabio Capello has to scale if he’s to win over the media and fans alike after Tuesday night.
If I remember rightly, the South African debacle was going to be an opportunity to blood some new lads, to pump fresh life into the rotting cadaver of England’s football. Seemingly Capello had revived the lumbering beast enough to scare off Bulgaria and Switzerland, but Nico Krancjar’s Dad knew better.
Here’s a man who clearly put his sanity on the line for his big Wembley night – he watched Algeria v England from the World Cup and thought ‘We could do that.’
That’s right get ten men behind the ball against Capello’s England and they’ll counter by keeping their ten men behind the ball too. Get out o’ that one you former Yugoslavians.
Give England possession of the football and then sit back and marvel at the almost total lack of ingenuity. If scientists were England footballers we’d still be waking up every morning and shielding our eyes from the big scary yellow thing in the sky.
And I’m prepared once and for all to lay most of the blame at the door of the manager.
True, certain absences didn’t help. Crouch and Rooney is a match made in Wife Swap. Rooney comes deep, Crouchy stays where he is. Rooney tries to stay up alongside the Cleopatra’s Needle of Football and the ball pings off he head in all directions and the old Scouse bulldog is left confused, frustrated and a yellow card in waiting.
Funny how Wazza’s insisting he hasn’t got an ankle injury when the Ferguson says he has. I wouldn’t rule out Rooney getting a definitively poorly ankle in the next couple of training sessions at United. If his ankle’s sound, his mind’s not. And a moony, loony Rooney means the national team create nowt.
Crouch is and always has been Plan B. If you’re smarter players are getting nowhere, thrown on the bamboo and get some tired defenders in a tizzy.
Capello’s also got a problem with his utterly unfeasible adoration with Gareth Barry. Here’s a man who plods around like a bloody pensioner and, worse still, just giving the ball to the nearest man regardless of their nationality. He needs a bloody shopmobility card that lad.
It’s nowt short of embarrassing how slow he is. I’ve seen milk turn faster. Owen Hargreaves is rumoured to be in the squad at United this weekend and hellfire I hope he stays fit. Cos that lad has an engine. I’m not even sure Barry’s got a laggy band.
But Capello’s worse decisions come when it’s time to change the flow of the game. We had an hour of Englishmen knocking at the Montenegran door with the football equivalent of a scatter cushion. What does Fab do? Takes off Ashley Young, a small and nippy right-winger with a variable ability to get the ball in the box. And replace him with (fuck me old boots!) Shaun Height-Limits, a small and nippy right-winger with a variable ability to get the ball in the box.
I mean what’s that about? If I order a pint of ale at the Blue Bell and it’s off, I don’t expect them to tip the damn thing away and pour me another one! Change the flaming barrel. Or give us summat new!
But wait, here’s another substitution... take off Peter Crouch, a tall persevering and awkward customer who can cause defenders problems in the air but has an annoying habit of giving away too many free kicks and bring on... Kevin Davies a tall persevering and awkward customer who can cause defenders problems in the air but has an annoying habit of giving away too many free kicks.
It’s mad! I tell you, it’s bloody crazy. There’s a Plan A and Plan B is Plan A only more so. It’s actually worse than mad. It’s thick.
It’s thick to think that Gerrard spraying Hollywood passes hither and thither from a deep-lying position is going to get you more goals than him popping up in and around the opposition’s penalty area.
It’s thick not to realise that Adam Johnson could’ve had a dig on the other flank for a bit, especially as the right-back was a new boy and AJ was our biggest threat.
It’s thick to think that the way to unpick a massed defence is to leave a genuinely smart footballer, Jack Wilshere on the bench.
It’s really dense to imagine that a team that had good results under a liberated captain in Gerrard should revert back to one who barely had the job before he was crocked any road.
And why the hell was there no friendly at the weekend? We can organise an utterly bloody pointless one after the World Cup shambles and in the first week of the new season – but when there’d be good reason to give the players a bit of a run-out – NOWT.
All these things were called stubborn before. Now it’s unintelligent, I tell you.
Meanwhile the press conferences are turning into summat from Allo Allo. Our mother tongue is like the bloody Scarlet Pimpernel for Capello. Surely he should be getting better? And if he’s communicating to his players in this incredibly indecipherable way then really what hope do they have?
It’s not as if these lads don't need a fluent English speaker to say things really slowly in the first place. But clearly Capello doesn’t help himself when his oratory is less Cicero and more Manuel from Fawlty Towers. I mean how long before we have the unedifying sight of Stuart Pearce apologising for his gaffer by saying ‘I’m sorry he’s from San Canzian d'Isonzo?
[By the by, I don’t want to do any more Liverpool stuff. Let’s just hope these new batch of Americans are the tunnel-building life-saving kind and not the ones who barge in and lob grenades around.]