Zlat and Leo

Why didn't it work out for Zlatan Ibrahimovic at Barcelona? He is apparently a player that could shine at any club in the world, so how come the best club in the world didn't accommodate him? The simple truth is an answer best announced by a Spanish commentator: Messii!! Gol! Gol! Gol! Gol! Gol! Gol!

Look up any superlative in the dictionary, type it into a thesaurus, and I guarantee that every word that is synonymous will have been used to describe Lionel Messi. Not just that, the word will have been overused on him, to the point where any appraisal becomes clichéd when talking about the Argentinian. My personal favourite is 'insane', because to me, a man who's technical ability ranges from Lee Bowyer to Peter Enckelman, that kind of intelligence, technicality, and sheer impossibility must class as a mental disorder. It is near superhuman, and I bet that superguy and spiderboy would bow down to his abilities.

Zlatan Ibrahimovic was overwhelmingly aware of one thing during his time at Barcelona; He was not the best player on the pitch. Bear in mind where Zlatan has come from. He played for Malmo in Sweden, Ajax, Juventus (just before the Calciopoli scandal) and Inter Milan, all of whom are giants in their home countries, but all teams where a player with Ibrahimovic's flamboyancy and craft would be a stand-alone talent. Not to mention that he plays for a country where few player's of Ibra's quality originate from, and who certainly won't have any sort of tournament success for the next ten years. Suddenly, having chosen samfaina over spaghetti for a deal which completely benefited Inter, he was on a team-sheet with the best players around. An ego like Zlat's couldn't take that. His arrogance and complacency was his undoing at Barcelona, and a fault which has seen him go from samfaina back to spaghetti in Milan, and then to coq au vin with PSG, and mainly as a marketing strategy by both.

It was a mistake that hurt Barcelona more than anyone. Forty million euros plus an arguably better striker in Samuel Eto'o was a huge price to pay, even for a player who would turn out to be a success. But for a flop, Zlatan was big'un, and a gentle reminder that Barcelona should stick to producing their own talent than paying over-the-odds for an 'outsider'. La Masia is your treasure chest Barcelona. Spend wisely.

From way up here in Row Z, thanks for reading.

The Art of Fanfare

The Fan is not a difficult creature to find in the wild, if you know where to look. They gather on a weekly basis, in herds of many thousand, depending on the species, on cold, barren stone which flanks large grassy areas. Though the Fan comes to these areas in order to get away from the monotony of day-to-day life, these occasion can often turn to verbal barrages, to determine the better species. It is not clear whether these duels are carried out to attract a mate, or simply the result of heavy intoxication, but one thing is for sure; the life of a Fan can be an arduous ordeal at times.

I struggle with loyalty. Growing up, I found it difficult to affiliate myself with one particular club for the long haul, and went through stages of supporting teams, some for a few years, some for around a week. I have a friend, a Liverpool supporter, who will not listen to anyone who cannot sing 'You'll Never Walk Alone' from its first syllable through to it's last. I could never be that biased, and as a Sports Journalist, I hope it serves me well.

I'll admit, in my youth I was something of a glory hunter in terms of the teams I supported. First there was Liverpool, then Manchester United, then for a short time, Real Madrid. I often went to see Colchester United play at the old Layer Road ground, but I never struck up a connection in the same way that I had with teams I would probably never see grace the field in person. More recently, I had an affinity towards Arsenal, before turning my back on glory for good to avidly support nearby Ipswich Town... For about a year. Nowadays, I live a nomadic life, not pledging my allegiances to any one team, more enjoying the beauty of the game, the technicalities of its participants, and the excitement of any given Saturday. Although secretly, I'm a bit of a Barcelona fan.

Oh, I can't help it. For me, supporting a team is boring. I won't deny that when a team is winning, they become more attractive to me, but its more than that. It is the way the game is played. I only became interested in Barca after Pep Guardiola transformed them into the passing powerhouse that they are today. Arsenal were, and still are to a lesser extent, the best passing team in England when I glued my eyes to the TV screen to watch them play. Real Madrid had Zidane, Figo, Ronaldo, Roberto Carlos, Guti and for some strange reason, Steve McManaman when they caught my eye. Every team that I concluded would be my new club had a certain X Factor, a je ne sais quoi if you will. But now, I roam the world detached. I pledge my allegiance to football, not a football club.

From way up here in Row Z, thanks for reading

JT's G2G

John Terry is a player I have never truly respected.

It's true, he is a commanding presence on the pitch for both club and country, and is one of the best centre-backs England have ever produced. However, a string, or perhaps a rope may be a more appropriate choice of words, of incidents off and on the field have signalled his demise, culminating in his recent decision to retire from international football.

For me, the decision is an act of cowardice. John Terry knows better than anyone that his remarks towards Anton Ferdinand last season were racist to an extreme that even Luis Suarez appears angelic next to him. He also knows that whilst he survived the personal law-suit, he was never going to escape the FA's sniper rifle. Deciding to regretfully renounce his English availability on the eve of the FA's sanction is tantamount to running away on the eve of battle, an act which many have been executed for in past wars, I hasten to add. I bet Terry would be even more regretful if he was blindfolded and made to face the guns, and the FA must still impose some sort of punishment, perhaps even more severe given that Terry has turned away from his country and blamed the footballing powers that be, in the hope that he can receive some sort of sympathy.

Terry has one person to blame; himself. Here's a thought John, maybe concentrate on the football next time rather than the right/wrong words to say to those who share the pitch with you. If you had done that before, this blog entry would have focused on your immense defensive capabilities instead of World War 1 desertion.

From way up here in Row Z, thanks for reading.