Archive for the ‘English Football’ Category

Picture the scene: Paulo Dybala and Claudio Marchisio stride into the Juventus dressing room. Life is sweet in Turin. They’re top of Serie A. They’ve breezed through their Champions League group. Yet the duo are here to say their goodbyes. Arrivederci, Gigi. Adios, Gonzalo. For they have heard the clarion call of the English Championship. And those play-offs won’t win themselves… (more…)

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Exotic. Mysterious. Sexy. Not words you’d readily associate with Roy Hodgson. Indeed, that’s been a big part of Mr Roy’s appeal in recent times. He is English football’s equivalent of a pair of oven gloves or a trip to the garden centre. Familiar. Unremarkable. Safe. (more…)

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“Forget about the money and everything else. If we go up, we’ll face 10 months of misery”

Steve Coppell, 1997

 

How did you ring in the Millennium? Did you have a quiet one in with your loved ones, watching the fireworks smug in the knowledge that the end of a century was indeed nothing special? Did you raise a dignified glass to the next 1000 years? Or did you go hell for leather, embarking on a path of debauchery so depraved as to make the video for Smack My Bitch Up look like a Richard Curtis production? (more…)

Charity Shield, Wembley, 8th August 1992

 

Life should have been good for the two teams who strode out at Wembley in August 1992 to bring the curtain up on the glitzy new world of the Premier League. (more…)

It’s 20 years since the headline ‘YANKS 2 PLANKS 0’ belched from the mind of one of The Sun’s ever-culturally sensitive subeditors, summing up depressingly neatly the events of the previous evening in Foxboro, Massachusetts, where England had been beaten by the USA for the first time since Belo Horizonte. (more…)

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5th January 1991

FA Cup Third Round

West Brom 2-4 Woking

The FA Cup has lost so much of its gloss since the riches of both the Premier League and the Champions League came to the fore, treated as an irrelevance by big clubs and relegation scrappers alike. (more…)

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1st January, 1992

English First Division

Manchester Utd 1-4 Queens Park Rangers

Sometimes, an individual performance leaves such an indelible mark on a football match that the player who delivers it is immortalised, his name forever intertwined with the occasion. (more…)

As Manchester United finally started to look like a force again in English football at the start of the 1990s, there was something of a rush among pundits to crown a ‘new George Best’ from the crop of ‘fledglings’ that Alex Ferguson had begun to bring through. Russel Beardsmore (!), Lee Sharpe, and Ryan Giggs all found themselves lumbered with this lazy tag at one time or another – yet Sharpe, ironically, is perhaps the man with the career trajectory that most closely mirrors that of the Belfast boy.

He’d been blooded gradually by Ferguson since his arrival at Old Trafford in 1988, debuting at left back after his £300,000 move from Torquay (a record for a youth player at the time), for whom he’d made just six appearances when Fergie came calling. However, things changed in November 1990 when United travelled to champions-to-be Arsenal in the Rumbelows Cup. Sharpe’s famous hat trick from the left wing in that incredible 6-2 win launched him as the next big thing, and his league winner against Everton that weekend – followed by the introduction of the ridiculous ‘Sharpie shuffle’ celebration – confirmed the birth of a new star. A quicksilver wide player, it seemed that Sharpe just couldn’t fail to steam past his marker and deliver precision cross after precision cross for the likes of Mark Hughes. He loved getting his own name on the scoresheet as well, and registered some stunning strikes in his time at United, often steaming in from the left to leather one into the far corner or going for the audacious volley before anyone else had figured out where the ball was going to drop. Sharpe would emerge as the wild card in United’s season, playing a crucial part in their run to two cup finals in 1990-91.

Cup Winners’ Cup…winner

Football itself was still recovering from years as a pariah sport, basking in the warm afterglow of Italia ’90, and trendy young ‘star’ footballers were still relatively rare. Sharpe seemed set to take the Rome-bound Paul Gascoigne’s mantle as the English game’s hottest property – a teen hearththrob, the cheeky chappy who was as hedonistic on the pitch as he was off it. His love of the game was evident in those early days every time he played, infectious grin permanently etched on his face as he left much more experienced defenders trailing in his wake. He would come up with all manner of ludicrous celebrations that would be imitated on playgrounds across the country the following Monday, from the lambada to the corner flag Elvis impersonation. Outside of football, he was something of a proto-Beckham, lifestyle-wise, developing a reputation for enjoying Manchester’s ‘busy’ nightlife – although tabloid rumours that he was taking drugs were malicious and untrue. He would play in all of United’s big games that season, walking off with the PFA Young Player of the Year award. World domination, it seemed, was only a matter of time.

However, 1990-91 was as good as it really got for Sharpe. Although the following season would see him become the youngest Manchester United footballer to win an England cap since Duncan Edwards, it would also mark the start of the injury jinx that would blight his career, as he succumbed to first a groin problem and then, frighteningly, viral meningitis. When he returned, towards the end of the campaign, he didn’t seem quite the same player, and to compound matters, his golden-boy status had been usurped by Giggs, a truly special talent. The arrival of Andrei Kanchelskis provided yet another rival for a spot on the flanks as well. Frustratingly, the flashes of sheer quality returned every now and then as he would embark on a purple patch, but they never stuck around long enough.

The on-pitch elastic toothbrush was one footballing innovation that Umbro just couldn’t market

Meanwhile, his relationship with Ferguson would suffer as a result of his nocturnal activities. The craggy old-stager from Govan, not for the last time, struggled to understand the lifestyle choices of the 1990s metrosexual male. Sharpe’s penchant for flash cars, daft haircuts, girls and nightclubs saw him repeatedly feel his manager’s wrath, culminating in the notorious occasion when a fuming Ferguson stormed round to break up a house party at the winger’s house, and tear a strip off a petrified Sharpe and Giggs. Sharpe seemed to feel the effects of the dreaded ‘hairdryer’ more than most. In his autobiography, engagingly ghostwritten by David Conn, he suggests that Ferguson felt that his extracurricular interests were making him lose focus and stray from the manager’s control. But the bollockings did more harm than good. The player himself highlights the effect that the foul-mouthed, brutal rants could have on a more sensitive player’s confidence. That he first began to feel them in the days after his famous Highbury hat trick and winner against Everton (for giving a newspaper interview and a daft celebration respectively) suggests the seeds of his Old Trafford exit were sewn almost before his career there had  properly got off the ground.

Confidence, perhaps surprisingly, seems to have been an issue almost since the beginning. In ‘My Idea of Fun’, he talks of his insecurity having not received the incredible technical training that his peers had from the legendary Eric Harrison – the man who oversaw the development of the likes of Giggs, Scholes and Beckham. Instead, he had arrived from the fourth division and was thrown in at the deep end. Sharpe was concerned that his game relied too heavily on pace – knocking the ball down the line and sprinting past his marker – and felt that he would have benefited from a proper critique from his manager instead of being told he was “fuckin’ rubbish and playing like a fuckin’ schoolboy”.

Ferguson’s party pooping marked, Sharpe believes, the beginning of the end of his time as a Manchester United player. Ferguson seemed to lose faith in him, no longer picking him for the big games. He became more of a utility man, popping up at left back, on either flank or even in central midfield. Beyond a memorable Champions League backheel against Barcelona, his contribution at the club rarely came close to his electric impact in 1990/91, and when he didn’t even make the bench as United clinched the title in 1996, he decided he wanted to leave. Unlike many others to head for the exit, this was all Sharpe’s decision – Ferguson tried to get him to reconsider. His mind was made up however. He  was crossing the pennines.

The Bobby Davro look was surprisingly in vogue in the mid 90s

A club-record £4.5m move to Leeds should have been the making of Sharpe. Instead however, it proved the catalyst for a decline that saw him talked of as less the new George Best than the new Frank Spencer. Misfortune befell him at every turn. First, the manager who signed him, Howard Wilkinson, was sacked early into the season, to be replaced by George Graham, whose distrust of flair players meant that Sharpe faced an uphill struggle to establish himself. When it finally did seem as if he was winning Graham over, he snapped his cruciate and was out for the best part of a year. When he returned, David O’Leary was in charge, and it all it took was one disastrous UEFA Cup showing against Roma and he was axed, the Irishman telling him “you’re not getting up and down the wing like you used to”. A loan spell at Sampdoria started promisingly but Sharpe was again the victim of circumstance, the controversy surrounding head coach David Platt’s lack of qualifications seeing him again stranded as the manager who brought him in fell by the wayside. He moved to Bradford in 1998 and helped them to promotion to the Premier League, only to discover that the Bantams were a basket case of a club that would lurch from crisis to crisis, owner Geoffrey Richmond’s antics creating a toxic atmosphere that threatened to engulf the club. His experiences there, he claims, killed his passion for the game once and for all.

By the time he was 32, he was struggling in the Icelandic league at Grindavik– unable to motivate himself to last the four-month season without having a drink (which was a club rule) and high-tailing it back to England just weeks into his contract. They didn’t win a game while he was there. They won seven in a row as soon as he’d departed. After a brief stint as Simon Clifford’s latest publicity stunt at Garforth Town, he retired in 2004, a mere footnote in the annals of Manchester United history, where his old boozing pals Giggs and Keane went on to write their own chapters.

So what went wrong? Certainly, the injury jinx played its part in a very stop-start career – he even managed to crock himself in his post-football career as Z-list celebrity for hire, cracking a rib on Celebrity Wrestling and injuring his knee on Dancing on Ice. However, despite his autobiography’s attempts to blame pretty much everyone and everything but himself, it’s hard to shake the feeling that the common perception of a man who threw it all away is on the money.

Sharpe can’t fathom why every manager he played for ended up dropping him. He suggests, dubiously, it was because he played with “a smile on his face” and everyone in football was so serious. But for a man supposedly concerned about his game being one dimensional, he didn’t seem to work at it much. By his own admission he was reliant on pace, but when that faded, he couldn’t/wouldn’t adjust. While Beckham would famously stay behind after training and practice his crossing, Sharpe was presenting Junior Gladiators and The Making of An Audience with The Spice Girls. Indeed, in his book he mocks the players at United who would put the extra hours in rather than go out on the lash:

“…watching videos of our own performances, reading statistics on the West Ham right back and going to bed with liniment on may well have been how Phil Neville coped with the situation, but I’m not him.”

 “Practicing long throws, Gary Neville’s idea of fun”.

For all his protestations, it suggests much that he eulogises his time on Celebrity Love Island: a gig that brought fame for doing little more than lounging around a pool with scantily clad TV presenters: “It was great to have whole days with nothing to do but laze and banter the time away…for better or worse, everything that happened in football brought me to this.”

There isn’t anything wrong with that of course, and the man himself says he regrets nothing. It’s just a shame, for fans like your correspondent, who pretended to be him in the playground (my first ever pair of shinpads were Sharpe-endorsed Sondicos) that football turned out not to be Lee Sharpe’s idea of fun.

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1st March 1995

FA Cup 5th Round Replay

Southampton 2-6 Tottenham

His first touch was almost perfect. (more…)

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13th November 1991

1992 European Championship Qualifying Group 7

Poland 1-1 England

For whatever reason, the mystic footballing illuminati seem to enjoy lumping England and Poland together in qualifying groups for international tournaments. (more…)