Football

Tuesday

Ted Grainger

Harry Kane is the perfect Englishman

From our UK edition

Last week, the greatest English striker of all time, Harry Kane, won the most prestigious award for a footballer, the Ballon d’Or. I have to say, I am delighted for him. When he first started his professional career, I don’t think there was any indication that he was destined for success. Only the heroes of ’66 are entitled to rival Harry Kane I remember when he came on loan to my team, Leicester, in 2013. Aged 19, he was fairly unremarkable. He made thirteen appearances after joining in January, and eight of them were from the bench. He managed two goals. When Leicester did not make the move permanent in the summer, there were not many of us who were disappointed.

Wednesday

Roger Alton

I find it hard to be outraged about the Man City saga

From our UK edition

When the sonorous voice of Clive Myrie describes something as the ‘biggest sports story of the century’ in tones normally used for events in Kyiv or Gaza it’s probably time to sit up and listen. Or maybe not. The City saga – at root claiming that the club breached financial rules to pay its way from 2009 to 2018, when they won the Premier League three times – has been going on for eight years after all, and if Ferran Soriano, the chief executive, and the unfeasibly wealthy chairman, Khaldoon Al Mubarak, know what they are talking about, it’s got plenty more time to run. God help us! And they do seem pretty bullish. None of this, ‘OK guv, you got us bang to rights, we’ll come quietly’ stuff. Personally, I find it difficult to get worked up about this story.

Friday

Ted Grainger

Are footballers really that thick?

From our UK edition

In the past few days, the good people of Football Twitter have rediscovered a Guardian article from 2014. Dick Bate, former manager of the England Under-17s, recalled an occasion from the 2002 European Championships in which a young Wayne Rooney, at a meal with the entire squad, stood up and read a self-composed poem called When Saturday Comes. In this poem, Rooney expressed his pride in representing his nation. This has got me thinking: are footballers truly thick? Have we judged Rooney unfairly? That is certainly the prevailing sentiment. Admittedly, I have not been able to obtain a copy of When Saturday Comes, to determine whether it is actually any good.

Wednesday

Roger Alton

Face it: Frank Lampard just isn’t a good manager

From our UK edition

As Spectator readers will surely be aware, many of the stories we read in the papers nowadays are there not because they’re important, entertaining, moving or amusing, but because they’re the kind – about weight loss, true crime, celebrity and so on – that get the most ‘clicks’ from online readers. And clicks mean advertising. It’s the same in sport reporting: football is endlessly popular even when it’s quite dreary (and I mean you, ‘international break’); athletics much less so. Just doesn’t get the clicks, you see, even when it’s the most thrilling spectacle around – like the World Ultimate Championship in Budapest at the weekend.

Wednesday

Charlie Young

Why I love the NFL

The NFL season kicks off again today with the Seattle Seahawks hosting the New England Patriots in a Super Bowl rematch. It got me thinking about the growing popularity of the sport in my country, the United Kingdom. I got into the NFL at a time when my “soccer” team, Queens Park Rangers, were especially terrible. It was around 2022. The 16-hour round trips to away games in the less salubrious parts of the UK had begun to wear on me. After yet another 1-0 defeat on a cold rainy night in Stoke I realised I needed an escape. The balls-to-the-wall action of the NFL was exactly the thing my life was missing.  I decided to support the Seahawks.

Wednesday

Nicholas Farrell

Why have the Rolling Stones not been cancelled?

From our UK edition

Dante’s Beach, Ravenna I was on my way to buy a bougainvillea from the plant shop with my middle son, Giovanni Maria, 14. We were in the Land Rover Defender, windows down with ‘Satisfaction’ by the Rolling Stones on the stereo at very high ‘hey, hey, hey!’ volume. Each time the chorus arrived – ‘I can’t get no!/ Hey, hey, hey!/ That’s what I say!’ – we rapped our knuckles on the dashboard in time to the gunshot drumbeat of Charlie Watts. We drove past the parched fields by the sea that looked like they would catch fire if someone so much as uttered a word out of place. The Stones are one of my very few favourite bands although I don’t listen to anything they’ve done since 1974, as it lacks the raw beauty of their first decade.

Wednesday

Nicholas Farrell

The wolves are at my door

From our UK edition

Dante’s Beach, Ravenna I was at the wheel of the Land Rover Defender on the mile-long dirt track that leads to the main road from our house and I was still feeling existentially disturbed by our defeat at the hands of the awful Argies. Dusk was falling and I just wanted to get into the village, buy a couple of litres of red and get back without running into a police roadblock. There are only four inhabited houses on our L-shaped dirt track, which at the other end peters out into the fields near the sea, and so there is rarely any traffic at all. But in front of me a small white car had stopped. A man’s naked arm protruding from the passenger window waved me to a halt.

Roger Alton

Don’t cry for Argentina

From our UK edition

It keeps on happening, the passing of sporting titans. First Garfield Sobers and now Kevin Keegan, a couple of the best, who charmed everyone on and off the pitch. Enough has been said about Keegan, his skill as a footballer, his drive, his hard work, his easy kindness to his countless fans. Not forgetting his perm, his Brut and his permanent presence on TV. He wrote a column for the Liverpool Echo when I was a trainee there in the 1970s. KK – then the sporting superstar at Bill Shankly’s Liverpool – would often come into the office to work on his piece with the sports editor, Vincent Kelly. He wasn’t happy to let it be ghosted while he did something else. He cared. And to us young whippersnappers, gawping at our hero, he was always polite and funny.

Tuesday

Thomas Munson

Spain has reinvented football

There is something intimidating about sporting royalty in the stands. At many great clubs, retired legends seem almost gargoyle-like, perched high above the pitch, judging those sent to inherit their legacy. Manchester United have long played beneath the watchful gaze of Sir Alex Ferguson; other clubs have their own ghosts. Spain’s World Cup triumph offered a different spectacle. As the Spanish greats of the past – from David Villa to Iker Casillas – watched Lamine Yamal, Rodri and co defeat reigning champions Argentina, they resembled something more saintly; a reassuring reminder of Spanish supremacy. It was a far cry from the shaking head of Ronaldo watching yet another Brazilian disappointment or protestations of England’s World Cup alumni.

Thursday

Toby Young

I’m sick of ‘plastic’ football fans

From our UK edition

Last week I watched a clip of Ian Wright explaining why it meant so much to him, as a black former player, that Jude Bellingham is uninhibited about revelling in his achievements. In the past, he said, some black players had been criticised for being too cocky, as though they’d forgotten their place. So he was pleased that it is now completely acceptable for a black player to strut around with a bit of swagger. I can see his point, but I also thought: why do you have to racialise this remarkable young player? Can’t we just celebrate him as an Englishman? England’s progress in the World Cup is one of those moments in which we’re supposed to set our differences aside and come together.

Thursday

Roger Alton

Thank God for Thomas Tuchel

From our UK edition

Here’s an interesting question: had Thomas Tuchel been Portugal’s manager rather than England’s, would he have picked Cristiano Ronaldo to go to the World Cup finals? I am pretty sure not. The reason England are better under Tuchel than they were under Gareth Southgate is that the German chose a squad equipped to go the full five weeks. In the epic win over Mexico last weekend, what England needed in those nerve-shredding closing minutes was not for a Cole Palmer or a Phil Foden to tiptoe into the fray but for a battle-scarred old soldier like Dan Burn to take his place and start banging out the 40-yard headed clearances that kept his goalkeeper safe.

Tuesday

Sam Matthews Boehmer

Long live the World Cup underdogs 

From our UK edition

Football is fond of superlatives. Before this World Cup, column inches dwelt on its excess. Tickets were the priciest ever; there would be the most matches, the most teams, the most players. Amid the noise, many adopted that phrase favoured by Sunday League managers after a 9-0 drubbing: all we wanted was for football to be ‘the real winner’. Let the games begin.  We have been vindicated. The football has delivered and the hyperbole has quietened into background babble. But what could not have been expected was just how good it has been. Ahead of the tournament, naysayers implied it was already a damp squib. Fifa’s greed in expanding the number of participants to 48 from 32 would see each mismatch become a farce. England would sweep past DR Congo.

Wednesday

James Delingpole

The World Cup is evil

From our UK edition

I tried to think, Pointless-style, of two of the countries least likely to be participating in the world kicky-ball nonsense. Then I burst into the sitting room to annoy Boy. ‘Quick! Quick! We’re missing Haiti vs Burkina Faso.’ He looked up contemptuously from the sofa. ‘Actually, Haiti are playing right now. Against Morocco. So that’s another of your comedy fails.’ Sixty years in I don’t think I’m ever going to get a handle on this football malarkey. I first realised I was different in my first week at boarding school. All the other eight-year-olds owned a football and knew how to play with it and had even been taken by their dads to matches. I was the one who knew the Latin name for the common wall lizard.

Tuesday

Barney Campbell

The World Cup’s a glorious time warp

From our UK edition

There is something luxurious about the group stage of a World Cup. Gone is the waiting. Gone the fill-inch columns about arcane details of squad selection. Gone the faux-humanitarian pearl-clutching about global sport events being a massive waste of time and money. Gone the moaning about the scheduling. Just stay up late; it’s actually quite fun. For now, here we are, with the glorious, technicolour feast. Goals left, right and centre. None of the quotidian misery of a goalless draw on a rainy Tuesday night in Stoke. Now it is the sun-soaked rush of national anthems, heroes, villains and  – most of all – a goal fest aided by defences that barely know each other from Adam. Matches that you’d never before think twice about – Uzbekistan vs Colombia at 3 a.m.

Thursday

Toby Young

Whoops, I’ve given my children a gambling problem

From our UK edition

The problem with my gambling, Caroline has always maintained, is not the fact that I nearly always lose. I only ever bet on QPR, so that’s inevitable. No, the issue is that I might pass on the habit to my children, particularly the boys. My bets rarely exceed £25, but my sons might have less self control. What if they become addicts, she wants to know? It will ruin their lives. In her eyes, gambling in front of them is like snorting heroin off the kitchen table. Well, it pains me to say it, but she was right. My youngest recently celebrated his 18th birthday and the first thing he did, at one minute after midnight, was open a bet365 account. The fact that his becoming an adult coincided with the start of the World Cup didn’t help.

Wednesday

James MacMillan

Pity us poor Celtic fans

From our UK edition

Although the past few footballing weeks have been dominated by the convulsive conclusion to Arsenal’s season – and the upcoming few will be dominated by the World Cup – I wonder if some of you might spare a thought for my own traumas north of the border. As a Celtic supporter, I’ve had one of the worst seasons imaginable. After years of victory in the relatively impoverished (and severely mocked) Scottish Premier League, my team has had one of their most disastrous stretches, knocked out embarrassingly early from all European competitions and then continually shamed and outperformed by a resurgent Hearts, who haven’t won the Scottish League since 1960.

Roger Alton

Who cares if cricketers drink?

From our UK edition

Cricketers Have Beer, Shock: well, who knew! This wretched incident in some joint in Chelsea involving Ben Stokes and Gus Atkinson in a dust-up with some extremely large young Saracens rugby players is hardly world war three, but its ramifications are sending shudders through the cricket establishment. At the time of writing the full details are not entirely clear, though it seems that an England Cricket Board (ECB) security guard might have been accidentally thumped before a full-blown ruckus ensued. Nothing good ever happens after midnight – a sentiment readers will doubtless be familiar with Whether a well-known and widely admired 35-year-old international sportsman should have been out in a nightclub in the early hours of Monday morning is for others to judge.

Charlie Methven

Might England just do it in the World Cup?

From our UK edition

The World Cup has never been just a football tournament. Even if we don’t realise it at the time, it tends to reveal something about us. In Germany 2006, it was all about Baden-Baden and the WAGs: the shallowest point of that celebrity-obsessed age. For more romance and happier memories, go back to Italia 90. Pavarotti bellowing ‘Nessun dorma’, Gazza blubbing, Maradona weaving his magic, Roger Milla hip-wiggling the corner flag. Italia 90 was the last gasp of the old order: modestly paid players with mullets and perms; heaving terraces; the USSR, Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia playing their last tournaments.

Tuesday

Cockburn

Where to watch the World Cup in DC: Cockburn’s comprehensive guide

The World Cup begins this week, and Americans have been celebrating as only we know how: by fighting Europeans on social media about stadium size and atmosphere, and banning Africans and Middle Easterners from the country. Nonetheless, the next month offers a great opportunity to take advantage of DC’s status as a truly international city, and fraternize with foreigners while watching multimillionaires pass a ball around in 100-degree heat. For today’s special sports edition of Cockburn’s Diary, here’s your correspondent’s guide on where to watch each team in the District. Germany The Brig The Brig describes itself as a “secret beer garden.

Thomas Munson

Britain wants you to binge drink

From our UK edition

I was, aptly, in a pub when I heard the news. Owing to the time difference between Britain and North America, Sir Keir Starmer had confirmed that licensing laws would be relaxed for this year’s Fifa World Cup, allowing pubs to stay open later into the night.  Shortly after the announcement, I found myself wondering about licensing laws generally. Like most Britons, I had long regarded them as part of the natural order of things; as permanent a fixture of pub life as sticky carpets. But what were these laws’ impact on my own relationship with alcohol and those of my fellow countrymen? Why is it, compared with so many other countries, we feel the need to binge drink? The stereotype of the drunk Brit is by now internationally recognisable.