So sorry Hod, it’s in Rod we trust
In his book A Football Man, John Giles explained why Glenn Hoddle, even after 50 England caps, was still regarded as “promising”. “When he had the time and space he could have a series of matches in which he was outstanding. But this would lead to closer marking and because of his lack of sharpness in tight situations, he couldn’t lose his marker. So he would become anonymous for a few games,” wrote Gilesy.
“Opponents then relaxed a bit, giving him the freedom and space to show his class.”
It took slightly longer than when he was a player, but English football might just be about to switch off, forget the damage Hoddle can do, and give him the opportunity to express himself all over again.
So used have they become to summers of introspection and recrimination and wondering why John Foreigner is able to pass and move, the English have been easily sucked into another helping in what should have been a gap year for gloom.
The calamitous effort from Stuart Pearce’s team in the U21 Euros reopened every debate they’ve had since Tomaszewski turned them away from the 1974 World Cup.
Even as Psycho attempts to stab everyone he can in the back before he goes, they are scouring the place for an ideas man to replace him. And the clamour has gone up for Hoddle.
In part, at least, this is down to the happy convenience that Hoddle was a pundit at their latest festival of ignominy. There is nothing that captivates the English more — or ourselves, for that matter — than one of their own stating baldly that they are useless.
So they were impressed with the harsh word of Hod. And the sins of a past life have been absolved.
Of course there is also a strong hint of desperation. A sense that they have tried everything and all they can think of now is the devil they know.
That same sinking feeling is not unknown to the good people in charge at many League of Ireland football clubs. A feeling that has seen so many of them turn to Roddy Collins.
Ten years after the original fly-on-Hadrian’s-wall documentary of Roddy’s eventful time at Carlisle United, Irish football’s greatest survivor was back on TV this week in The Return of the Rod Squad. The first of four episodes was broadcast last Monday on Setanta Ireland, focusing on Roddy’s brief spell, last year, at the helm of Monaghan United. It was as entertaining as its predecessor.
Glenn Hoddle was well known for a certain level of self-regard, as lyrically assessed by Tony Cascarino: “If he had been an ice-cream, he would have licked himself”.
Cas also described his former manager as “the unfunniest man I have ever known”.
Fanciful notions are a given with Roddy, but there is invariably a side-serving of comedy — and a sprinkling of self-awareness to keep you onside.
“I was the best header of a ball in Europe, better than Joe Jordan,” we heard on Monday.
“That’s probably why I’m half brain-damaged.”
Back in Cumbria, the mood had been bullish. There were plans to manage Celtic and later, when the time was right, Ireland.
A decade on — just like so many of us — dreams have been dashed, needs must and Roddy makes do. He spoke of his time away from Irish football, when even Leinster Senior League sides had turned him down.
“If I had spent seven years in prison in solitary confinement, it wouldn’t have been as heartbreaking.”
If too much time spent considering the mystical cycle of life eventually undid Hoddle with England, Roddy too has reflected on the mysteries of cause and effect.
“I don’t know about this karma you talk about but I have this karma that this is going to be the biggest for me. I’m going to bury the last numerous years. I feel it in my gut.”
Whatever you make of him, you can only envy that optimism, after all the knocks.
Hoddle had the luxury of waiting around until he came into fashion again, Roddy has always dusted himself down, pressed the suit and tried to put himself back in style.
And in the downbeat surrounds of Gortakeegan, Roddy’s instinct, as always, was to put the good side out. A lick of paint and new roof tiles for the dressing rooms his first priority.
“Football is not about 11 players on a football pitch. It’s about a small community that drives on together. So it has to be right.”
You never truly got the impression Hoddle considered football a community effort. If his words about the less-advantaged cost him dear; ultimately his management career was undermined by the growing impression that Hoddle felt nobody was quite as advantaged as himself. He could not relate to the less gifted.
When a Spurs psychologist once asked what he felt like on match day, Hoddle replied “Lord of the Manor”, then wrote the phrase down and carried it in his wallet.
It is hard to see the Lord of the Manor tow portable floodlights behind his car for a makeshift training area in the Phoenix Park.
Unfortunately, we know how this spell back in the temporary spotlight ended for Roddy, but he has since bounced back in Athlone. A living lesson in resilience.
If Hoddle’s great asset was his vision on the pitch, there was one standout line from the original Rod Squad, that must have helped fortify the survivor in rough times.
“Other people see the league table, I see the big picture.” It’s partly why Rod — more than Hod — always deserves and demands one more chance.
It was Limerick’s week and we should congratulate them. But we won’t, because if the past has taught us anything, the last thing Limerick need now is more congratulations, before the job is even half done.
Instead, to Tipp and the growing, gnawing fear among Premier followers that another decade is set to follow a well-established pattern. Joy. Bullishness. Setback. Bullishness. Despair. Blame. Bloodletting. Despair.
I suppose it is the same everywhere, but in Tipp the week after a beating also tends to observe a practised template.
The initial swirl of contradiction and 20-20 hindsight. Too much tippy-tap. Too many balls without a message. Why didn’t yer man go for his own score? Why did yer man go for his own score, instead of laying it off? Kelly is gone. Why didn’t he have Kelly on for the frees? And on it goes. A county of Ray Houghtons.
There would, ordinarily, be gripes about soft frees, though Brian Gavin has largely escaped blame, perhaps fortunately given the 10 minutes after John O’Dwyer’s goal. Oops, there we go… Next come the rumours. We’ll leave them there.
If the English chastise themselves, every second summer, and wonder why they must always knock it long; in Tipp, the fundamental crisis is usually more basic — when they do hit it long, why is nobody able to catch it? And that invariably leads on to mean talk about lack of courage and dismissive jibes about young guys who have given so much. It is around that point where you’d like some supporters to remember, like Roddy does, that this is, or should be, a community effort.
Perhaps the best way to break the cycle would be to skip the blame game and get behind them.
Today is the anniversary – not just of Ronnie’s shinner – but of the most costly ‘danger here’ of them all. Credit to George for lessons learned over the years.
The demise of Premier Soccer Saturday has egg-chasing fingerprints all over it.
Leaving a letter in somebody’s locker! Is this what they mean by Tour School?
The great shame of the week was not that David Warner thumped a Pom in a bar, but that they were all out, in the first place, in an Aussie theme pub. What a cliché.
