The consummate pro
Wrynose plans stymied by the elements, I took Sunday off to watch Jez run the line at Liverpool versus Newcastle.
By and large, football people are a great bunch, and true to form we had a good day out. A sandwich or two at half time, photos taken alongside the Champions League trophy, and shoulders duly rubbed with a few former players and a smashing guy who turned out to be the Everton scout.
The game today wasn’t too clever, though. I don’t usually care who wins – we just go to be entertained and to support the third (and best) team on the pitch, the officials – but Newcastle were a total let down. Their most professional performance came from Alan Shearer, messiah-in-waiting (but don’t hold your breath).
There he was in his white shirt, like the white horse at Wembley, waving every time the ‘Shearer’ chant went up and scowling every time Liverpool attacked and exposed his team’s frailties. And all the time playing an outstanding game of Failing Manager Footsie with the fourth official.
All losing football managers do this: They deliberately stand just outside their technical area and wind up the fourth official. Usually the official will give the transgressor a few minutes to get it out of his system, before finally doing as required and telling him to keep inside his area. This typically leads to a ‘discussion’ wherein the manager questions the official’s parentage and with a lot of arm waving demonstrates to the arena that he is the most committed man on his team.
When the game is rubbish this sort of diversion is almost as good as when the rival mascots have a fight. And if you’re very lucky you’ll see your multimillionaire Armani-besuited manager go on to do his impression of Kevin the sulky teenager. Absolutely priceless.
