Larry Ryan: Living in the past - sport's futile chase of former glory

In Erik ten Hag, Manchester United need a builder of something new rather than a restoration expert

Ajax's Dutch coach Erik Ten Hag gestures on the touchline   (Photo by Ian KINGTON / IKIMAGES)

Former glory. It should really be the name of a band.

Google it and you’ll find success stories. The 1979 Volkswagen Camper discovered in a field and lovingly restored to, yes, its former glory. The crumbling Victorian mansion given fresh life. An overgrown flower garden reclaimed from wilderness.

There are industrious folk out there, skillfully refurbishing and retouching and recycling.

The Book of Psalms even gives us a plea for divine assistance in this popular venture.

Now, Lord, do it again! Restore us to our former glory! May streams of your refreshing flow over us until our dry hearts are drenched again.

Or as Johnny Hates Jazz interpreted it: “I wish that I could turn back the clock.”

They will kneel in their droves now and offer their prayers for Erik ten Hag, as he begins the biggest restoration job of them all. To make Manchester United great again. They will send him on his way with good intentions, with money and some power and a certain amount of trust.

And they will give him time, like Gaybo on the Late Late when he’d welcome those intrepid hopefuls with their wrecked antiques, when he’d chuckle and poke at the wretched debris of a mahogany writing desk, as if it was United’s defensive line for Luis Diaz’s opener on Tuesday night.

Except we’ll be checking in daily with Erik. And people will want to see United at least stand up on its original carved cabriole legs by Christmas at the latest.

And the vast team of United antiques experts working in punditry will not be as kind or diplomatic as Gaybo’s go-to judges if the French polishing isn’t up to scratch.

“This isn’t the Manchester United I played for.” 

Those were the sad words of a subdued Roy Keane that ushered out the strange Ralf Rangnick era. A spell that has vindicated many suspicions about consultants and what might happen if they were asked to do a bit of real work while they are here, consulting.

Perhaps the most optimistic words Ralf has uttered during his stay is the assessment that it should be possible to get the job done quicker than the 30 years it took Liverpool.

“It is not that complicated, it’s not rocket science,” Ralf assured us, with the air of a man in no hurry. “But in order to have the best possible wind, you need to know where your destination haven is. If you don’t know that, it’s always difficult.” 

And that would appear to be the chief complication that comes packed with former glory — when you’re forever looking back it’s that bit more difficult to plot a course forward.

It’s a complication not helped by sport's relatively recent obsession with DNA. A conceit that there must be some intangible quality about your organisation that earned you all that success — and entitles you to more.

It shouldn’t be rocket science when you can throw a billion or so at it. A persuasive coach with a clear idea, who’s a bit of a salesman. The recruitment of talented, hungry young players on their way up. The odd experienced head. Ideally, a local hero to coax patience from the faithful. And the perseverance to stick to a plan.

But former glory clouds all this. Navel-gazing your DNA sends you lurching in all directions, twisting and turning to remember the way things were. That old saw: comparison is the thief of joy.

For years, Liverpool lost themselves in the belief that there was some mysterious property in the boot room that they’d just misplaced.

The consultants arrived at Arsenal this week, by all accounts, searching for our old friend ‘values’ and the lost ‘Arsenal Way’. At least they appear to be concentrating on off-field activities, which might minimise damage. Though to get a true picture of how things were they might have to consult staff the club laid off during the pandemic.

It’s always the way. Meath football fans lament the fire of the late 80s, the Tipp hurling family spent much of the famine years pining for Hell’s Kitchen. Cork look to be experiencing something similar now with the hurlers.

Naturally, it took Cork longer than most to reach this state of ennui, even in their severest drought without an All-Ireland. Probably it was partly an honest conviction that things will be grand, the mushroom factor and all that. But there has always been a nice balance to Cork nostalgia, win or lose. Even while they were winning All-Irelands, they could casually remember when they used to win them better.

But they have been dragged into it too lately, this introspection, probably by outsiders. Though maybe it started when they began talking self-consciously about Corkness.

It always ends the same way, these existential quests for former glory.

Softness is detected. Character flaws are blamed. The evidence varies. A white cup final suit maybe, or a regularly changing hairstyle, or just an inability to win your own ball.

And it’s always tempting to reach back, to wrestle with the hands on the clock. To give King Kenny one more chance. Or to console yourself listening to Keano or Scholesy recall when United used to smash people.

But in reality, isn’t it usually fresh ideas rather than old ways that arrest decline?

In their unlimited heartbreak, they demanded the Limerick Way, but Kiely and Kinnerk came up with new plans to end their long wait. Babs ended the famine, not by rising dust in the square, but by scouring neglected places for talent and oiling slick forward play. It was hardly gegenpressing they misplaced in the boot room.

And if Ten Hag finds success, it probably won’t look like the Manchester United Roy played for. To get dry United hearts drenched again, Erik might even need planning permission to demolish. And space from everyone to rebuild rather than restore.