Whether its ‘just a job’ or means something more, it’s worth remembering the human impact of club treatment and fan behaviour on players…
I’ve been reading Michail Antonio’s autobiography, ‘Humans, Not Robots’ and it’s struck a chord.
I’ve always had a soft spot for Antonio, back from the days when I was briefly a writer for Championship games for The Times in 2014-2015. He was with Forest then and stood out to the point where I decided to follow his career. The other player to elicit this response was Brentford’s James Tarkowski. Man, he let me down.
Antonio may have had an irritating habit of scoring against the Reds, but I like him all the same. His book is full of honest assessments about how a player reacts to fans, managers and the uncertainties of life in the game.
Some of it makes for uncomfortable reading, particularly when he talks of players celebrating goals simply because it benefits their career and bank balance rather than what it might bring to the people in the stands. He argues that we want to think they have an affinity with us but it’s tricky if they know it’s just a place of work, another step around an ever-changing career. I get that, albeit begrudgingly.
The central theme of the book though concerns how players are treated by clubs. They’re routinely bought, rejected and bought again while being overly praised or criticised by people on the outside.
Sure, it’s easy to leap to the conclusion that the money’s more than alright so that makes up for it, but being frozen out can lead to deeper issues elsewhere. They can be blanked altogether for very little reason. He has no love whatsoever for Graham Potter.
He also mentions how his happy time at Sheffield Wednesday ended when manager Stuart Gray told him that he had to move on as he was too good for their level. A load of flannel, of course, as Wednesday just needed the money and sold him on as the commodity he was – a fact that Gray acknowledged when Antonio dug in his heels and said he didn’t want to move. Sod the fact that he had a young family and was just getting used to a bit of stability. Off you go.
Closer to home, this reminded me of Steven Gerrard’s book in which he talks of his disdain for Les Reed, the FA Technical Director in the early 2000s in the England youth setup. Gerrard thought that Reed was less than sympathetic to a young player who struggled on tour and just wanted to be home with his family rather than be away with people he disliked. Reed simply told him to buck his ideas up. Great work, Les.
Yes, but they’re paid a fortune and live a life of luxury.
Well, yes, they do or at least some of them do, but it doesn’t help further down the leagues. It doesn’t help kids who are plucked from school and abandoned at 16 without an education or a trade. We can all name players who came close to a professional career but were effectively thrown into the world with no coping mechanisms.
Then there’s the abuse. The most I’ve lost it with a fan was in 2009 when the lad next to me on the Kop booed Lucas Leiva’s name when he was named as a substitute. He wasn’t even playing! The target of his ire wasn’t starting, but there he was, booing a player from a team he loves. I’ll never understand that.
I like to think we’re different in that regard. When Daniel Ayala made his home debut in 2009 following Martin Skrtel’s head injury the Kop went over the top in celebration of his simple passes. A two-yard ball brought support through applause. It worked and he had a faultless game. The same thing happened when Adrian came on for an injured Alisson on the opening day of the 2019-2020 season and drunk on Champions League success, we greeted him like he was Bill Shankly incarnate. He had a great game.
We boo players and managers now but that’s for another time.
I’m no different when it comes to shouting at players. A downright hypocrite when it comes to this stuff, but it is important to remember that the game happens to them as much as it does us. Just look at the World Cup final. Both teams just want to get out and play the most important game of their lives but then kick off becomes delayed and the half-time breaks take an age as the fixture is just an undercard to the altar of celebrity endorsement and banality.
When do we go on, boss? When Shakira’s ready.
I’ve used this column to harangue players for being out of touch with fans when they reach a certain degree of fame, but I’ve every sympathy with the lower league player whose life changes because a new manager has come in and doesn’t fancy them or decides to do something new. How do you build on such sand?
After all, they’re only human no matter how convinced I am that they’re put on Earth purely to ruin my weekend.
Real football soon, everyone!
