The party looks over for out-of-sorts Ronaldinho

Last Saturday’s ‘Grand Classico’, the new hyped-up name for the heavyweight tie between Barcelona and Real Madrid, was a fairly depressing spectacle. Not because it was a poor game- whilst not being fantastic it was certainly a more edifying experience than the ‘big four’ fare rammed down our collective throat at every opportunity by Sky over here- but because it acted as the most obvious sign yet of the decline of the most richly gifted footballer of recent times: Ronaldinho.

Yep, that Brazilian chap with the greasy hair and toothy grin seems to be in a terminal slump. It all began last season. Despite scoring an impressive 23 goals and managing a significant number of assists for the Catalans, Ronaldinho was considered on the wane. Barca were usurped by Fabio Capello’s functional yet unremarkable Real Madrid side and the once widely adored Brazilian was singled out as the figure of vilification. This season Ronaldinho’s form has slipped even further. He rarely scores unless it is from the penalty spot and the assists have dried up. Recently Ronaldinho has spent most of his time in Camp Nou slumped in one of the home side’s rather plush substitute airmchairs alongside the hungry youngsters Bojan Krkic and Giovani Dos Santos, who these days tend to experience more playing time than their renowned teammate.

Ronaldinho wasn’t expected to start against Real Madrid, but perversely Rijkaard elected to play him, despite the fact that the two had a rather notable set-to in one of Barca’s public training sessions several days before El Classico. One wonders whether Rijkaard chose Ronaldinho simply to demonstrate to Barcelona’s fans that the Brazilian has lost it and should be jettisoned as soon as possible. The more likely explanation is that Barcelona’s under-fire coach was desperately hoping that the occasion would somehow spark Ronnie into action. It didn’t. Ronaldinho was, even by recent standards, unprecedentedly poor, struggling to break into a trot, tripping over his oversized feet and failing to execute even the simplest of passes. It was a truly lamentable sight.

Perhaps the most frustrating element of Ronaldinho’s demise is that it isn’t inexplicable. Anyone who pays any attention to Spanish Football is well aware of why the two time World Player of the Year is currently so poor. Ronaldinho attends fewer than 50% of training sessions,is frequently spotted out on the town in Barcelona and seems generally apathetic about putting in a shift in that famous maroon and royal blue strip. Last season a Spanish paper printed a photo of ‘Little Ronaldo’, shirtless and looking a tiny bit chubby round the waist, and asked whether the buck-toothed icon was struggling with weight issues. Ronaldinho baulked at the suggestion, but directors at Camp Nou remained unconvinced, with some board members believing that ‘dinho has lost for good that crucial yard of pace that allows him to cruise past defenders with ease. Years of decadent behaviour had taken their toll. The same board members gently suggested as early as last summer that selling Ronaldinho as quickly as possible might be the best option, given that both Chelsea and Milan seem quite prepared to hurl substantial sums of money at Barca for his signature. But other, more dominant figures, such as club President Joan Laporta felt that Ronaldinho could be rejuvenated; and besides, he generated too much money in merchandise for the club to seriously consider dispensing with his services.

Watching ‘dinho stumble through El Grand Classico on Sunday, the same directors probably felt utterly vindicated. Ronaldinho’s moribund performance against Madrid was the culmination of a lengthy decline, which began with the Brazilian losing that much vaunted yard of pace. Last season Ronaldinho managed in part to hide this by floating devastating early balls into the path of Samuel Eto’o and Lionel Messi. However, this season opponents have managed to pin him to the left flank, denying him the space to pick out a defence-lacerating pass. Ronaldinho lacks the pace to escape the attentions of his marker and so has to pick out a shorter, more intricate pass. Unfortunately, physical stagnation seems to have bred mental stagnation, and these intricate passes are rarely completed. Most disappointingly ‘dinho no longer attempts the repetoire of blind passes, elasticos, impudent backheels and step-overs that were once his trademark. He no longer seems to hold a football under his sway in that manner that entranced us all 2 or 3 years ago. At one point Ronaldinho seemed to be an almost omnipotent force on the football pitch. Now he just seems lost.

It wasn’t always this way: Ronnie’s best moments

Ronaldinho scores two magnificent individual goals as Barca humiliate Real 3-0. His third is so good that Madrid fans stand and grudgingly give him a round of applause.

‘dinho scores a gravity-defying goal against Villareal

Ronnie’s first goal for Barcelona: a bit special

That goal against Chelsea

Footballers+Alcohol=Almost Certain Disaster

Ah, the football Christmas party. Every year we are treated to the sordid events of one in the red tops, and every year it reads like a particularily nasty retelling of ‘The Aristocrats’ joke. These parties are characteristically a bubbling saucepan of promiscuity and, unfortunately, that dreaded word ‘rape’ is never far away. In recent years such luminaries of the game as Cristiano Ronaldo, Robin Van Persie and, erm, Paul Dickov have been accused of the r-word, and, despite the fact that virtually all allegations of rape seem to flutter away as soon as any hard evidence is requested, the notion of guilt tends to linger far longer.

The latest victim of such allegations has been Manchester United’s Irish defender Johnny Evans, who was accused of sexually assaulting a girl after United’s xmas shindig on Monday night. The alleged rape was the culmination of a party at The Great John Street Hotel in Manchester which, if you take as gospel this hysterical article from Thursday’s Independent, made one of Cagilula’s jamborees look like an episode of Last of the Summer Wine. The party was organised by Gary Neville and the offensively stupid Rio Ferdinand, with Ferdinand demanding £4000 from each of the first team squad for the ‘do’. Weeo also vetoed the appearance of any Wives and Girlfriends (I refuse to use the abbreviated term as it makes my blood boil) to prevent the players from committing any acts of fidelity and decency. In short, this was always going to end in tears.

Of course one of the main reasons that we hear of so many tales of footballers behaving disreputably at Christmas parties is that they live in an age of ultra-professionalism, where opportunities to let off steam are severely limited. We are worlds away from those halcyon days where your boyhood hero would spend his spare time in his local, forcing pint after pint of calorific ale down his throat. Nowadays managers such as Juande Ramos are hiring nutritional experts to feed their illustrious charges pureed, energy-boosting concoctions at every available opportunity and the most brutal diets man can imagine are diligently adhered to by all, or else. Footballers are rarely allowed so much as a thimble-full of lager, and so tend to act like rabid chimps at when they occasionally are allowed to get tanked up.

Another mitigating factor is that British footballers, almost to a man, are idiots, only just capable of independent thought. Take the man responsible for United’s fateful bash, Rio Ferdinand- a man so moronic that one could quite legitimately assume that he was regularly bathed in nuclear fallout as a child. Ferdinand is emblematic of the prevalent malaise in modern British footballers, being both enormously wealthy and woefully under-educated- not merely in an academic sense, but in social terms as well. As a result we hear constant tales of grotesquely opulent, lascivious parties hosted by Premiership footballers, where people like John Terry get obscenely drunk, forget all notions of tact and discretion, and ultimately end up relieving themselves all over the floor of some shiny, vapid nightclub.

Of course, the most popular indiscretion, the one that seems frequently attached to publications such as The News of the World, is sexual. Footballers are constantly lambasted for acts of promiscuity and a degrading attitude towards the opposite sex. The cover of today’s N.O.T.W concerns yet another story about ‘roasting’, this time involving Micah Richards, while accounts of the United xmas party are filled to the brim with tales of rambunctious first team players doing, or at least attempting to do, the proverbial with scores of ‘hand-picked’ girls, some of whom weren’t entirely comfortable with the prospect of being passed around the United first team like a box of After Eights.

A recurring theme here is the notion of sex being a competitive exercise of sorts; a suggestion of power, domination, and a further progression of an opulent, material driven personality seemingly evident in a fair proportion of British footballers. Rape is the the most extreme extension of such behaviour, but, while examples of footballers being accused of rape are widespread, cases of players being found guilty of such an act are rare. A cynic would suggest that this inequality between accusations of rape and convictions for rape seems sinister. But perhaps that is a little harsh. Perhaps footballers are merely guilty of drinking too much and being overenthusiastic when it comes to the opposite sex. And of course they aren’t the only stratum of society behaving in such a way.

Unfortunately for Rio and company, anyone who plays football at the highest level in this country is expected to act as a positive role model. Football is financially flush at present, and is the profession of choice for any child in this country looking for a life of extreme wealth and renown. John Terry has to understand that earning the largest weekly wage in football in this country and being captain of the national team carries with it a sense of social responsibility. Premier League first-teamers have to recognise that any party they attend will undoubtedly face some sort of media coverage, and act in moderation. Those in charge of the upbringing of future players must strive to make sure that their charges are educated in more than simply a footballing sense. Otherwise we’ll never be rid of these tedious tabloid exposes.

Behind the Times: Capello/Klasnic/Bangura/Bullard

The real world has intervened over the past fortnight, and consequentially T.S.D.B has been on a little downtime. But we’re back today, in a big way.

As I type, Fabio Capello has just finished unveiling himself to a rather large pack/gaggle/shoal/murder of media types at an F.A press conference in some swanky hotel in Londinium. Capello’s English is not quite ready yet, so the Q and A session with the press was conducted in Italian. However, just to show willing, Capello introduced himself in English.

What was most notable about the press conference was that none of the questions posed to Capello were even remotely challenging. Capello’s mere presence seemed to intimidate the usually emboldened Fleet Street posse, allowing Don Fabio (that’s what we’re calling him now, at least until he makes his first mistake) a fairly tranquil introduction into the prickly domain of English football.

Unfortunately for Brian Barwick, a man whose mouth seems to perpetually be moulded into a worried ‘o’ shape, the media decided to reserve all of the tricky questions for the F.A. Capello’s prospective £6.5 million p.a wage was the major talking point, but a few particularly scurrilous scribes brought up the rumoured rancour in Soho Square over Don Fab’s appointment. Apparently, several members of the F.A.’s board believe that Barwick was too hasty in appointing Capello, especially after he promised a ‘root and branch’ review of English football. Barwick quite reasonably suggested that he can’t really win on that count, as he was roundly lambasted by the press for wavering over the choice of the last England manager, ultimately missing out on Big Phil Scholari.

If one can appreciate Barwick’s argument, it’s difficult to accept it unconditionally. Barwick has rushed into an appointment, perhaps offering too heavy a financial incentive to Capello in the process. If Capello fails as England manager, the ire directed at the F.A. will be of an unprecedented level. Barwick is banking on Capello avoiding the ignominious failure perennially associated with the England manager, and in terms of pedigree he has made an impeccable choice. However, in appointing Capello he has elected to avoid entirely the long-term situation, the ‘root and branch’. In managerial terms, Capello is the ultimate quick fix solution. He has that resilient character needed to swiftly inject positivity into a flagging dressing room, as he proved by winning the title with a previously disjointed Real Madrid side last season. However, Capello isn’t really one for the long term. Davor Suker, who was at Real Madrid during Capello’s first spell there, says that Capello “came in a winner and left as a winner.” Capello needs to keep this aura of success around him at all times. It is how he motivates his charges. When he left Milan in 1996 he did so a champion, but with a team on the wane. He returned to the club two years later, but noticed that the club was a meek imitation of the dominant force of the early 90s, without many of its superstars, and promptly exited. In short Capello is tremendous at coaxing excellence out of underachieving players, but is not the sort to patiently wait for the next generation of world beaters to spring up, a la Wenger. His aim will be, in all likelihood, to drag England to glory at South Africa 2010 or Poland/Ukraine and then retire, his glory intact. Which would be great, obviously, but it doesn’t tally with all this ‘root and branch’ talk.

Of course, I may be completely wrong. Capello may hang around for years, waiting for Walcott, Sturridge, Bostock and co to mature, but I severely doubt it. No, surely Capello’s here to eke one last hurrah out of the much-maligned ‘Golden Generation’. After that, who knows.

And on we go:
BigFourGrandSlamSuperSundayMegaAmazingLOLZ Oh, and some other teams played as well.

Video of the Day

Almeria vs Valladolid: One of the worst misses EVER, followed by a rather special free kick.

Heartwarming Story of the Day: Werder Bremen’s Ivan Klasnic scores his first goal for the club since having two kidney transplant operations, as they demolish Leverkusen 5-2.

What have we missed:

-Well, outside of the top division, the massive story of the past couple of weeks concerns Watford midfielder Alhassan Bangura, who is facing deportation to Sierra Leone. It’s quite a sad tale. Bangura fled Sierra Leone in his teens after escaping the clutches of a voodoo cult and believes that, if he returns to his home country, he will almost certainly be killed. An appeal was rejected last week, with the government suggesting that Sierra Leone is not as dangerous as it was when he left. Aidy Boothroyd was apoplectic with rage after hearing the verdict, while both sets of fans in last weekend’s Watford-Plymouth game staged a half-time protest against the decision.

-Greece are the Unofficial Football World Champions going into 2008.

-The always entertaining Jimmy Bullard is close to a return to first team action at Fulham after that horrendous injury.

-Is this the greatest 5-a-side goal ever?

Behind The Times 03/12/07

 Prison Holds No Fears For Barton: Yeah, good luck with that, fucktard.

Boro Bid For Ronaldinho:Publicity stunt, I assume. Well done, ‘Boro. Now go and crawl back under your rock.

Facebook Update: December 2nd- (Manchester City defender)Vedran Corluka joined the group ‘I hope Ricky Hatton gives Floyd Mayweather a fucking good hiding’.

Fill in the Blanks From one of the red tops this weekend regarding Ashley Young’s “online romping”:

As he groped himself 22-year-old Aston Villa star Young said: “I’d love to lick ur _____ making them nice and ____…yeh babe, teasing ur ____.”

Ignoring all the rules on handling, he went to huge lengths to show himself off and feverishly bashed out saucy demands like: “I wanna have my ____ between ur ____and u ____ing the top of my ____.”

We Hate Spurs Thank you Tottenham Hotspur for losing me a potential £38 on my accumulator. Expect a slew of anti-Spurs propaganda on this site in the coming weeks.

Goal of the Day: Kallstrom, Lyon vs Strasbourg-

I could have had Larsson’s for Brum, but I’m getting bored of speculative drives from 25 yards. This was a little more deft.

The Sordid World of Football Bloopers DVDs

KILL. MAIM. CRUSH. DESTROY.

The horror began with that seemingly never-ending line of Nick Hancock videos in the early nineties. Football Hell, Football Nightmares, Football Holocaust. They must have sold shitloads, as from that point on we were treated to a veritable cesspool of identikit titles.

The trend continues in 2007. Unsurprisingly the football bloopers market continues to thrive in this depraved world of ours, where immigrants befoul our once stately Town Halls and Ian Huntley is allowed Christmas Dinner. Here is my definitive guide of this years novelty football DVDs. I haven’t watched any of them, and don’t plan to, but I think I can probably offer an accurate review of each:

Ricky Tomlinson: Football My Arse

Blurb: Ricky Tomlinson, master storyteller and football nut, takes you hilariously through a journey of the funniest gaffes and cock-ups of the beautiful – and occasionally ridiculous – game.

Presented with Ricky Tomlinson’s trademark wit, this is a bright and brilliantly entertaining collection that will delight and tickle football fans everywhere.
Sweet Jesus, what fresh hell is this?

Let’s start at the top. Whoever came up with that title needs sterilising. We really don’t need need any more of their sort around. ‘Ricky Tomlinson, master storyteller’. Huh? I’m pretty certain that I’ve never once heard Tomlinson tell a story of any kind. Not even a mundane anecdote about a pet he once had. No wait. I tell a lie. He whinges on constantly about the miners strikes, so I suppose that could be considered storytelling. Sort of.

‘Trademark wit’? Ah, shouting things in a gruff northern accent, you mean. Great. “Fuck off Noel Coward, Tomlinson’s doing the after dinner speech tonight”. I think not.

Let’s be frank. Tomlinson shouldn’t be allowed near anything football related after the cinematic tumour that was Mike Bassett: England Manager, and the prospect of another collection of people scoring hilarious own goals isn’t all that appetising. These days if anything even slightly funny happens in the world of football it’ll be on youtube in a matter of minutes, remixed and with lots of flashing symbols where the players’ heads should be. So basically, the only people buying this DVD, and every other one on this list, will be those who can’t operate a computer. The infirm. The mentally challenged. The senile.

Gary Lineker’s Action Replay

Blurb: A world class footballer and one of the BBC’s leading sports presenters, Gary Lineker has a reputation as one of the UK’s most identifiable sporting personalities. Now he presents some of the best moments in football – all voted for by fans. The DVD unveils the top three classic moments in categories including the best goal, best skill, best save, funniest moment, worst moment and worst own goal – with the DVD culminating in a countdown of the Top 5 most magical moments ever.

‘All voted for by the fans’. Shit! Really? Well, that changes everything. Because, you know, the general public aren’t fucking cretins or anything.

The major flaw of this ‘concept’, is that it’s decided by ‘the fans’. So basically expect the same clips we’ve seen ad nauseam over the years: Maradona’s goal, Banks’ save, Gazza trying to tear off Vinny Jones’ scrotal sack (or was it Vinny Jones doing the tearing? Actually, no wait, I don’t care). In short, it’s going to be really, really dull.

Even more disheartening is the prospect of Gary ‘permatan’ Lineker doing his wretched MOTD jokes for a relentless hour and a half. I reckon I’d last roughly ten minutes before finding the nearest person and carving, “Lineker’s shiny face makes me want to slaughter,” into their pink, soft forehead.

Paddy McGuinness All-Star Balls Ups

Blurb: Paddy, McGuinness, the everyman working class hero, shows you how footballers are overpaid, oversexed and over rated in his latest DVD – All Star Balls-ups.

With the help of a host of his famous football buddies, Paddy comments on and shows us clips of the funniest, humiliating and most outrageous balls-ups in football to date.
You see, in this country we sometimes call our testicles ‘balls’.

Uninspired double entendres aside, I think this will probably be the best of a bad bunch, mainly because McGuinness has a bit of charisma about him. I still can’t imagine it getting anywhere near half-decent though. I’ve seen a clip of this. Mark Lawrensen’s in it. In fact I can spot that odd little Hermit Crab face of his on the cover. One to avoid.

Ian Wright- It Really Shouldn’t Happen To A Footballer

Blurb: The ultimate collection of football’s greatest gaffes and hilarious howlers!

Presented by the hugely popular Ian Wright, this DVD features a smattering of football’s finest humiliating moments from the history of the game, with a host of humorous and memorable moments!

And so we reach the base of the dungheap. Ian Wright was a competent footballer. No one will argue with that statement. But, in his current incarnation as ‘television personality’, he is wretched, rancid, an utter waste of cells. The levels of stupidity he displays with depressing regularity on MOTD are almost beyond comprehension. I’ve seen Ian Wright try and read an autocue. It was like watching a man boil away to nothing in a vat of acid.

I imagine Wright will have to use an autocue at some point in It Really Shouldn’t Happen to a Footballer. Or at least learn some lines, or do something that requires even the merest blob of intelligence. And I imagine the results wont be pretty. God help any poor, desperate soul who receives this little plastic disc of hopelessness from some spiteful relative this Christmas.