Watching football work itself into a lather of self-righteousness is never a pretty sight. The English FA is now back-pedalling furiously, having sucked up to Fifa top dog Gianni Infantino for years. But if you look back over other recent Fifa head honchos, it is harder to find one who hasn’t been implicated in corruption of some sort than it is to find a TV advert that doesn’t feature Peter Crouch. There’s Joao Havelange; or you may prefer Sepp Blatter of blessed memory; then there’s Cameroon’s Issa Hayatou; and now of course dear old Gianni. All, no doubt, fine family men but not averse to a bit of skulduggery when it mattered.
There was a particularly stomach-churning snap the other day of the chair of the FA, Debbie Hewitt, smiling furiously while presenting a signed England shirt to Infantino. Debbie, I am sure, is a terrific organiser, though her connection to football seems to be limited to being a big Liverpool fan. Before the FA, Ms Hewitt was chair of something called the Restaurant Group.
Football is now marked out by the Premier League’s highly expensive Tunnel Clubs and VVIP hospitality packages
Of course Infantino was guilty of insane overreach in trying to flog the World Cup and thanks to the investigative skills of the Times’s Martyn Ziegler, his plan was torpedoed in the nick of time. And a good thing too.
Nevertheless, we shouldn’t fall into the trap of believing we’re all morally superior. So when Andy Burnham says, ‘Let me say this very directly: football does not belong to investors. It belongs to the people who fill the stands and who stand on the touchline week in, week out, rain or shine. The World Cup is not a product; it is the greatest competition in world sport,’ full credit to him for being quick off the mark in calling for Infantino to go but seriously, who does he think he’s kidding? Football is now marked out by the Premier League’s ultra-exclusive and highly expensive Tunnel Clubs (there’s even one at Burnham’s beloved Everton), by VVIP hospitality packages and by season tickets costing thousands. What happened to the local butcher owning the club? Forget it.
Contrast the bloviating aggrandisement of Infantino and his World Cup auction with the delights of the ultra-local Commonwealth Games, ditched by the state of Victoria and rescued by a rainy Glasgow, which put on a terrific show. But could you watch it live on TV? No. Terrestrial broadcasters chose to ignore it, which is a bloody disgrace. But will anyone say sorry? Of course not.
In my view the Commonwealth Games are a festival of sport, often minority sport, while bigger tournaments like the Olympics (or the World Cup) become festivals of corporate greed and vicious interstate rivalry. (Though fun to watch, of course.) There have been superb discoveries at these games, notably Henry Hobbs on the bike and breast-stroker Filip Nowacki, who dented Adam Ramsay-Peaty’s ambitions in the pool. And the dazzling cyclist Emma Finucane picked up a phenomenal four track golds: who wouldn’t have wanted to see that live?
The Commonwealth Games are more about individuals, while the Olympics seem to be more about states trying to do each other down. The games are something we should encourage and cherish, not least because one of the stars this year was the mighty Josh Kerr, who was clear of the pack in a strangely uncompetitive mile race and after his world record a couple of weeks ago is pounding his way to being BBC Sports Personality of the Year. The mile record has a glorious past, too, with the spirits of Bannister, Coe and Ovett hovering near the finish line.
As for poor battered cricket, I am looking forward to Flemball. Stephen Fleming, England’s latest Test coach, was New Zealand’s most successful captain and one of their best ever batsmen, with more than 7,000 Test runs and an average a tick over 40. He was the Kane Williamson of his day: hopefully he will sort out the halfwit shots and England won’t be too far off a degree of success in the future.
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