A FELLOW “Soccer Scribe,” who lives near him and moves in the same social circles as Neil Lennon assures me: “Away from football, say in our local pub, wee Neil is an absolute gem.” I believe him.
I have another football acquaintance, a former Junior football great, as both player and manager. This guy's day job was quite a ways up the banking food change; he tended to work in the millions of £s strata. His one-time boss was another football friend, going back to school days, who rated his abilities in the banking sector highly – while admitting, they could never be friends since they came from opposite sides of one of Scottish football's most-bitter divides.
Now the Junior Great once confessed to me: “I've got two heads – my football one and my banking one, and, as long as I remember to put the correct head on every morning, I'm fine. However, should I ever put on my football head, when I should be wearing my banking one – I'm toast.”
Maybe
Wee Neil, when dealing with the press, should take off his football
head and wear his social one – then he would avoid own goals such
as his rant against the world for the justified criticism of the
club's Dubai trip. Dignified it wasn't.
Back in the days of Jock Stein and the Lisbon Lions, if Celtic had a problem, or if they needed to pull the troops together and perhaps sort out a few problems, they would head off to Seamill for a few days, bond better as a team, iron out the wrinkles and generally, come back and take-out their problems on some unsuspecting “diddy team.”
These days, even if Seamill Hydro, the club's bolt hole of choice, has taken itself up-market a bit, not even your journeymen Celtic player would choose to go there – no, no, they think themselves better than this – Club Class to Dubai and back, five-star luxury while there, these are the expectations of men unfit to lace the boots of the decreasing number of surviving Lions.
They are over-paid, over-rated, over-coddled, under-achieving, spoiled brats, managed by a man who is clearly under-pressure and making mistakes – such as tripping over his petted lip this week.
This season's league title is now Rangers' to lose – they have yet to prove they have the bottle to see out the campaign. Rangers' current 21 point advantage might appear huge, but, if you take it down to the lowest common denominator, it's not that great.
In the campaign thus far the comparison looks like this:
Rangers have averaged 2.75 points per game
Celtic have averaged 2.14 ppg
Rangers have averaged 2.5 goals per game scored
They have averaged 0.3 goals per game conceded
Celtic have averaged 2.19 gpg scored
They have averaged 0.76 gpg conceded
IF, as we must assume they will, Celtic win their three games-in-hand, the gap at the top reduces to 12 points, 6 of which can be further nullified by Celtic wins in the two remaining fixtures between the sides. Thus, in theory, we have a six-point gap, to be eliminated over 12 games down the home stretch.
Of course, Celtic would have to find a mental toughness and a sense of purpose which has been largely missing this season, while it would help their cause if Rangers were suddenly to demonstrate a frailty which has been largely absent from their play thus far.
The odds remain heavily stacked in favour of Rangers, on current form, they are the hottest of favourites, but, the game is far from over and Neil Lennon complaining that: “Boo-hoo, the world is against us and we're poor wee, put-upon lambs,” is the wrong look, at the wrong time.
It's pathetic and most-definitely not the sort of thing you would ever have heard from Jock Stein.
THE CLASS OF '92 - in particular David Beckham, Nicky Butt, Ryan Giggs, Gary and Phil Neville and Paul Scholes hold a special place in English football folklore. The players, other than Giggs, who opted to play for Wales – the Land of His Father, were lauded as part of a “Golden generation of English talent,” although, in retrospect, they were perhaps more silver gilt than gold plated – but, being over-rated by their sycophantic press is a permanent plook on the face of English football.
Butt, the least-lauded of the sextet, has most-closely followed the tradition path of switching from playing to coaching, while the others, thanks to their higher media profiles have been less-closely associated with the game.
It might be said, they have rightly tended to steer clear of pure management, although all have “dabbled” - other than Beckham, who went straight into football club ownership. Maybe all these media portrayals of the boy from East London as being: “a bit fikk,” were Beckham demonstrating his actual intelligence.
This week, Phil Neville stood down from management, as he relinquished his role as England women's coach. He was sent on his way with a particularly “catty” going over from a Guardian women's football writer, with a terrifyingly impressive background as a layout sub-editor and a degree in Architecture from the University of Brighton.
Still, I suppose, Phil can live with the criticism from such an “expert.” Her pathetic piece, I feel, merely underlines, the arrogance and sense of entitlement we have long come to expect from male English football writers now extends to those of the other gender who cover their women's game.
Beckham had the right idea, go straight into ownership, it's easier being the top man than the one who carries the can and often has to meet unrealistic expectations.
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