The futility of loyalty in the modern game

To paraphrase Yeats, romantic football is dead and gone. It’s with Raneiri in the grave...

Recent events in the footballing world would have us all believe that the sport has hit barrel scraping lows.

How dare a player laugh while their team is losing? How dare a player speak of their admiration of another, richer club? How dare a player decline a contract extension — they make more in a week than I’d make in a year? How dare the club sack that manager that achieved the impossible? How dare the club not sack the manager who’s had bad results?

Reoccurring through this turbulent news cycle is one thing — the concept of loyalty. The loyalty of the players to the coach, of the players to the team, of the manager to the fans, of the fans to the manager. A loyalty which, I believe, in football at least, has never existed.

It’s said that gone are the days of the one-club man. The romance of a local boy come good. From a family of life-long supporters, good stock, working class, a real football man rises, a Francesco Totti, a Matt Le Tissier, a Phil Thompson. All the adages that make up the notion of a working-class hero.

Joined as an apprentice, graduated to the first team, decade long stalwart before thankfully departing and returning to his people in the crowd at a match. They are truly a dying bread — isn’t that terrible? Doesn’t that show the game has become overly commercialised, too results focused, based on a hunger for silverware rather than pride in one’s humble beginnings?

It’s a game for the fan, a distraction — an escape from the mundane or misery of their everyday life, making football a crucial touchstone for the everyday. But for the players on the pitch, it is still more. It is a job, a livelihood, for many it will be the main purpose of their whole life, their dream fulfilled. Are they wrong for seeking the best for their life, for their dream? Should they be chastised for pursing the best outcome for themselves financially, to strive for excellence in their chosen career?

In nearly any other profession, such behaviour is understood, even lauded. Why would a person accept less when they could get more? In football, an industry where players and fans alike know exactly how much money the clubs have from their commercial partnerships and television deals, it is no different.

It’s only natural that players want a bigger piece of the pie. After all, no one is paying for their tickets or premium television subscription to see Ed Woodward sit in the directors’ box at Old Trafford. If that involves moving to another club, stalling in contract negotiations or even being seen to be amused at your club’s defeat, so be it. Yet, these actions by players are despised.

Invariably the day will come, when even Leo Messi will be tossed onto the scrap heap. It has happened to all the greats, once they’ve passed their use-by date, they are discarded with as much vigour as when they were originally snatched from obscurity as teenagers.

An aging but still great Johan Cruyff was unceremoniously cast aside at his beloved Ajax. Both Ronaldo & Iker Casillas were both shunted towards departures at Real Madrid following years of fine service. More recently Steven Gerard, without whom the Mersey giants and his childhood club would never have won their fifth European Cup the fans so cherish, was gradually marginalized over a season until his lack of future at the club was crystallised with a less than stellar contract offer.

He left and sought one final contract abroad to add to the kitty that must sustain his family for the remainder of his life — was this disloyal? The same process is now well underway at Liverpool’s rival Manchester United. Their captain and record goal scorer, Wayne Rooney, is destined to leave in the summer. While many attendees at Old Trafford will be happy to set the back of him, eager to transfer their once fervent loyalty to his replacement — does Rooney deserve more loyalty?

To gracefully play out the remaining days in his career as a United hero, always granted that privilege for the great service he granted winning every trophy he could for the fans? I would venture that many will say no. When it comes to this sport, loyalty does not really exist.

In the end, the star player, the beloved manager or anyone directly employed by the game for that matter, is disposable. They are eternally treated as a commodity by the club, by the fans looking for a new star striker or sick of a run of poor form. They forget the local lad in the youth ranks, about to be consigned to the junkpile, his dream over, his “loyalty” not rewarded.

Romantic football is dead and gone, it never existed in the first place.