Messi-Brough Here We Come

 Okay, it's been a while. But at least I've been more in the public eye than the Prime Minister. I've been on a holiday in North Wales. The tent was real and actually used. The weather was less wet than the green grass would suggest. The waterfalls were many and bleeding beautiful and the wifi was as reliable as a policy statement on schools by the Education Secretary. 

I return to find that Twitter seems more obsessed with whether wobbling-jowled Tories can sing Rule Britannia at that toe-curling tradition that is Last Night At The Proms, rather than the fact that the Government seems to have a never-ending spaff of funds to splurge out on their nearest pals in the glorified Etonian wank-circle they call public policy these days.

But this is a sports blog, and sport has ducked in and out of the showers to bring us some interesting cricket and some fascinating footie. I copped on to some wifi for long enough to watch the Champs League final which, hyped up as some carnival of carefree kickaboutery, turned out to be predictably dull. 

Of all the glorified superstars of world football I find Neymar to be my least favourite. He spends a Grealishly long time falling on the floor during matches. Yes, he's got all the tricks and flicks but I want to slap the lad and just tell him to get the f**k on with it. Indeed, shorn of all the intensity of a full stadium, the pratfalls and rolling around look even more desperate and, well, cheaty. 

More to the point, is anyone else utterly fed up with the replaying of penalty shouts where some pundit uses the well-worn phrase there was contact - as if the defender in question is less a footballer and more a 1970's predatory politician in a typing pool. Since when was touching a striker a criminal offence? Truly the modern game has entirely embraced the dishonour of going down like a sack of spuds. He's entitled to go down. You hear that a lot. It's like me getting a bloke arrest for theft cos he was standing next to my car. FFS. 

Far more entertaining was Bayern's annihilation of Barcelona. Mas que un club? The whole thing's imploding and Lionel Messi is off. If they let him. Which they must. Unless 17 years of faithful service count for nowt. 

Any road, we've had a whip-round in the Blue Bell, £62.13 so far, and we reckon Lionel'd do okay at the Riverside. Warnock and Messi? It's a perfect combination - like ice-cream and gravel - or Trump and Truth. 

Seriously though - actually I'm quite serious so maybe I mean... Realistically though, it would be bloody wonderful if he had a couple of seasons in the Premier League. I know Lineker and Piers Morgan have a tedious fake-Twitter spat over whether Messi or Ronaldo is the best ever - it's like disagreeing about what you favourite colour is and I wish they'd just shut the fuck up about it - but Messi is the one I like watching most. 

And I really wouldn't care which monstrous moneybags of a team grabbed him. Except that I'd love him to pop up somewhere that's just struggling a bit: Crystal Palace, Aston Villa, Newcastle even. The sort of place that would quite simply form itself into a giant hand and spend the next nine months pinching itself with glee. It'd be like Juninho popping up at Boro but times about seventy thousand. 

I'm sure the lad has bills to pay and places to be, and maybe Saturday night down the Bigg Market isn't exactly what he had in mind, but dreams, my friends, dreams are all we have right now. 

Meantime, I've enjoyed the cricket, despite the fact there's been days when it felt like the bubble they've been played in was nothing less than a sophisticated carwash. Of most interest, beyond Zac Crawley's ludicrous 267 and Jos Buttler's return to batting form being coupled with the occasional indication he couldn't catch a hazelnut in a laundry basket, has been the never-diminishing greatness of James Anderson. 

Sometimes you have to get a cricket ball in your hand to understand how what he does is so utterly remarkable. It's like watching Ronnie O'Sullivan knock in a 147 and then missing the reds off your break-off shot when you get down the snooker club. Anderson's control, the way he sets up batsmen with forensic cunning, the fact that his averages go up and up even as he approaches 40, suggests that there's no reason why he can't carry on snarling and grumping his way to 700 victims in a couple of years. 

In a year where sport has felt remote, detached, (and, when Neymar rolls around and Liverpool players jump up and down on a podium in celebration in front of no one, it has felt downright absurd) just watching a master of his craft in action makes life a little - no, a lot - more bearable. 

I might add that it's good to see a highly competent Englishman at a time when those leading us are entirely inept too. 

Good Citizen Kane

If there's one thing I haven't missed about the football, apart from standing inside the Riverside Stadium and weeping tears of quiet frustration, it's the meticulous pulling apart of people's psyches by both national and social media alike. However I'm nowt if not a hypocrite so here's the pennyworth I'd be delivering in the Blue Bell if I could find a mask through which a craft brew lager could pass.

Exhibit 1. David De Gea.

De Gea has been for most of his seven years at United the only truly reliable performer in a sea of banality. Just think what he's seen come and go since Fergie's departure. (I say 'departure' but when you see him up in the stand they named after him, it looks more like he's floated up to some heavenly plinth, from where he, Godlike, glares down on the wrecked landscape of a beautiful world he once created. It's kind of how Tony Blair regards the Labour Party.)

De Gea's brilliance kept United competing in - and even swinning - the odd trophy here and there. He saw off the grisly horse manure that Moyes put in front of him after Fergie's Lord Mayor's show. He was a cornerstone of excellence amongst the monotony assembled by Aloysius Paulus Maria van Gaal - yes his name is almost as ponderous as the football his United played. And when Mourinho arrived with a footballing philosophy that had all the inspiration of Matt Hancock's Parkour video, still the Spaniard's keeping stayed as firm as the lacquer that still sweeps back his hair. 

But in the last two years, and lockdown's no excuse, this exemplar of goalying has gone from Master Craftsman to Mr Bean. Every arching tip round the post seems to be the precursor to an inept flop to the floor. He has the air of a man who catches a falling vase, calmly replaces it on the shelf only for the whole cabinet to collapse in front of him. 

Cliche dictates that a manager who shows faith in such a crumbling reputation is to be admired in this day and age. I disagree. Solskjaer needs to get shot of him. I'm reminded of the rapid decline of Joe Hart, and Roy Hodgson's bewildering faith in him despite the fact that he had a lot of trouble stopping hard shots to his left. Hart had been well nigh brilliant for five seasons but Guardiola didn't hesitate to sideline him. He wasn't good enough anymore. Same goes for De Gea. Romero's been good when he's stood in. Henderson has been magnificent at Sheffield United. 

Whether De Gea will recover his form is debatable, but the oft-mooted stories about Real Madrid gagging for him must be long-forgotten now. It's tough at the top, but it's even harder at the back, especially when you've been surviving the hapless contributions of Phil Jones, Chris Smalling, Eric Bailly, Marcus Rojo et al. When you think about it, there's maybe a delayed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder at play here. Rest and recuperation is a must for the poor lad. 

Exhibit 2 - Harry Kane

Social media in particular is full of snide remarks about aspects of his play and personality which I don't get. Kane is:

(a) Overrated
Kane isn't overrated. Is he world-class? Well he's not Government Track and Trace app world-class, no. The problem is you'd be comparing him with Messi and Ronaldo when you say that, which is like saying Andy Murray's shit cos he's nowhere near as good as Roger Federer;

(b) Greedy
Well strikers are supposed to be greedy, aren't they? It's like criticising a walrus for being too fat. England: 26 goals in 35 appearances. Spurs 142 goals in 207 appearances. Yes I know there was the Stoke goal he claimed when it brushed past a nasal hair. So what? Long Live Greedy;

(c) Too many of his goals are penalties.
Man City have flailed around with some inept spot-kicks this season. They're miles behind Liverpool too. A reliable penalty-taker is a must-have.

(d) Hasn't got nearly enough pace in the modern era
Well, he's not slow and Southgate plays him a little deeper as a creative front man particularly wen the likes of Rashford, Sterling or Sancho are haring down the flanks. Pace isn't everything.

(e) Speaks funny
Yes he does. He'd prefer to let his feet do the talking I'm sure.

(f) Hasn't got the balls to go to a massive club
Well I guess these homegrown players tend to be too loyal. Spurs seemed to be in that bracket when they opened their great new stadium and got to the Champs League final. I'm sure a move wouldn't harm his career, mind.

(g) Has won nothing
See (f)

(h) Is injury-prone
He's not Darren bleeding Anderton.

What troubles me is that even when we have a national team that's really enjoyable to watch, in which Kane is captain and a central figure, there still seems to be a campaign to undermine him. There's an idea that, as was the case with Sterling, these lads need taking down a peg or two. I don't know what more Kane is supposed to do. He works hard, gets his rewards. seems ambitious without being a prick about it. And still the snipers snipe.

It makes you fear a little for the future of wonderkids like Mason Greenwood or England's best midfielder Phil Foden. I hope when these lads get in the England team that a bit of leeway is given them.

What's more it seems that successful footballers are held to more exacting standards of morality and behaviour than the people who run the country right now. Given a choice between to an entitled vacillating racist inconstant babyfathering sickbag of half-truths and evasions and a decent footballer, I know who I'd choose.

Klopp-Clap but Never Mind That

Claps to Klopp and the empty Kop! No amount of hammering by Citeh should confuse the issue. That victory was like a lapped runner hitting Mo Farah with a rotten orange - a small victory but you’re still wayyyyy behind.

Still it whets the appetite for next season and next season will be here very soon. As a Boro fan I’d be happy if it started now. The arrival of Warnock is like a foreshadowing of death. He is the managerial version of the last chance saloon. He’s the old guy in the zombie apocalypse movie who dealt with something like this Back in ‘92 and knew he’d be needed again. 

All the scrapes he’s been through have left him with an iron will, a foolproof method and no discernible eyebrows. That method involves defending like she-lions and nodding in the odd set-piece. I reckon his man-management technique is very much stick and carrot. But without the carrot. I think we’ll stay up with him there. Whether my nerves can bear it is a whole other matter.

Meanwhile other sports are tiptoeing into the limelight and, in the case of Novak Djokovic, skipping straight off to the hospital. Djokovic has always struck me as a little up himself despite the odd nod to humility. It is often asked why we don’t like him as much as Rafa or Roger and I think its cos he has all the charm of a gatepost and hair that looks suspiciously like an otter pelt. But that’s just me. Any road, swanning about with your tennis chums and taking as many precautions as a prime minister in a Covid ward reaps its inevitable rewards. Get well soon and don’t be a twat when you get back on court.

The Conservative Party at play is revived next week too. Test cricket returns - and indeed club cricket now Boris Johnson has understood that cricket need not necessarily involve lunches and teas and shared boxes. Just as education need not necessarily involve Latin verbs, emotional stunting and the induction of a wholly unjustifiable superiority complex. I’m kind of looking forward to it, although without Root England’s top 4 has all the solidity of Norwich City stroking it around on the edge of its own penalty area.

Despite the arenas having the air of a implausibly uninhabited planet on Star Trek, the Premier League itself is shaping up nicely, now that the champs are just about keeping their crowns on straight. Beyond the Canaries, who fell off their perch a while back, there is a bum-squeakingly tight contest at the rear end of the table. Bournemouth look doomed. The club, not the twats clustered on the beach. Eddie Howe’s team have all the bearing of men not quite recovered from induced comas.

Above these two, Watford’s minor improvement under Pearson seems a distant memory, Villa have been treating the route to goal as some some of maze in a Beano annual, and West Ham miraculously found some from to grab a 3-2 against Chelsea.

Still Chelsea are hanging in there, as the foot-race to the Champions League becomes keener than some English mustard with a kick of chilli. United - with Fernandes looking as good as anyone this season - are reborn; Leicester might just have woken up in time; Wolves, armed with the superhero auditionee Adama - who unlike his days at the Boro has learn to run extremely fast and keep the ball with him, look good even with the Arsenal defeat.

On the other hand, who the hell are Spurs right now? And when is Mourinho going to take a long hard look in the mirror? (Okay, clearly he does that every day - but for the wrong reasons). Personally I think Jose’s lost it. He’s got a pretty fine squad there and yet the defence is as polite as a socially-distanced queue outside Waitrose, and the attack is utterly without a plan. Mourinho, as is the way with responsible personalities in this grievous modern age, is happy to dole out blame to anyone  who’s been within two metres of the team bus. If players lack motivation then maybe the bloke in charge of them might find ways to find that motivation. Or maybe you just sit on your hands and moan at the ref? No that’s our job, the fans’ job!

In short, I reckon it’ll be United and Chelsea to nick out Leicester. And Norwich, Bournemouth and Villa to go. Be glad when this season’s  over and we have no rest