Colin Sheridan: 'No Dickheads Policy' usually points to presence of a few
Manchester United’s recent declaration of non-dickheadedness is just another volley of point-proving shots fired in the Post Ronaldo era.
Last week, in a move marinated in rich irony, Manchester United let it be known they have formally adopted a “No Dickheads Policy”. On the face of it, this should spell trouble for any dickheads on the payroll at Old Trafford, and for any dickheads hoping to join them. But, I’m not so sure. If history is anything to go by, promoting - or rather, self promoting - a No Dickheads Policy, usually means there’s a few dickheads behind the strategy. Maybe dickheads in suits instead of shorts and studs, but dickheads nonetheless. A dickhead by any other name, as the fella says, is still a dickhead.
The NDH Policy was first popularised by the All Blacks around 2014, who, under team-building guru Gilbert Enoka, made famous performative acts of humility such as star players sweeping the sheds after victory, and skipper Richie McCaw eschewing help from hotel porters so he could carry his own bags from lobby to bus. Forget generational talent and genetic superiority, no, it was the lack of egos that made them great. That, and their code of conduct, a set of 15 guiding principles, commandments really, that are to young All Blacks what the sobriety prayer is to addicts. “Follow the whanau…” they were told, and the rest would take care of itself.
Unsurprisingly, it caught on. Maybe the All Blacks always had a NDH policy, but until it became marketable it was more on an aria, a wolf whistle, certainly not advertised and sold as a motivational package which could be yours for a substantial fee. The Dublin footballers, arguably the greatest Gaelic football team in history, became disciples of the NDH Policy, sweeping sheds and sharing all wealth earned on the back of their sky blue brilliance amongst their dickhead-free squad. One could say it’s easy to practice selective socialism when you’re the richest in the world you live in, but, they won, a lot, and despite displaying understandably copious amounts of dickheadedness in the dying moments of All Ireland finals, they did so openly swearing by their code. Say it enough, and you become it.
Newcastle and their manager Eddie Howe, too, have made much noise about their own NDH policy. Unsurprising, really, given the club's owners have implemented it remorselessly at “state level”, holding any dressing room divas accountable with corrective actions that range from public stonings to, well, death.
Again, as someone who has put together and led teams that have worked in quite difficult environments, I understand the central idea of a No Dickhead Policy. No sane leader looks to recruit trouble. The problem is that once you publicice it for credit, it is entirely diminished by the very thing you hope to contain; ego. Manchester United’s recent declaration of non-dickheadedness is just another volley of point-proving shots fired in the Post Ronaldo era. What every promotion of it will fail to address is that, had Ronaldo been at the peak of his powers, there is virtually no level of dickheadedness that would go untolerated. United signed him knowing all too well what he was, and the moment he reached the point of irrevocable decline, they tossed him. That’s not enlightened leadership or culture creation, it’s capitalism. Mikel Arteta, too, has received justified praise for his handling of Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang, a player he off-loaded at great financial cost to the club in order to save the cultural alignment of his impressionable dressing room. But, if Aubameyang - a player with a reputation for disruption who Arsenal chose to make club captain - had been playing well and scoring goals, his bad behaviour would have been an acceptable burden for Arteta to carry. Promoting a no dickheads policy in professional sport is disingenuous. It should be read as a “No Shite Dickheads” policy. Personally, I’ll support the first team honest enough to promote a “Some Dickheads Policy”.
Back to Manchester United. For a club that built an empire with Alex Ferguson as Ceaser and players like Roy Keane, Eric Cantona and Nemanja Vidić as generals, suddenly deciding you’re not employing dickheads is a little like Ferrari discontinuing their classic F40 in lieu of a fully electric, hatchback variant. In duck-egg blue. Every team has a dickhead. Every good one anyway. Every believable one. Perhaps instead of writing WE HAVE A NO DICKHEADS POLICY on a whiteboard on the dressing room wall, teams should quietly enable their managers to develop the emotional intelligence to better assess those they employ and coach, and adapt their philosophy accordingly. It might get less likes, but it also might win more trophies.
As a people, we veer wildly from being woefully self-congratulatory to dreadfully hard on ourselves. It’s a condition likely born from our legacy as an oppressed people - isn’t everything? - and enduring 300 days of rain a year. Oscar nominations for complete strangers are deemed worthy of a national holiday, a collective celebration of our unique artistic sensibilities. Conversely, GAA controversies such as the one that dominated last Sunday's All Ireland club final are enough to threaten the Good Friday Agreement, a totem of our lackadaisical attitude to hard decisions, a symptom of our post Civil War hangover. When it comes to stuff that doesn’t really matter, we are a people of extremes. So, when the Republic of Ireland football team struggles to beat Malta and Armenia it is only natural we descend towards a deep despair. The future is bleak, and there are a million reasons for it, all of which we blame ourselves for. Step out of the shadows Evan Ferguson. Barely old enough to vote, he has this month emerged as the future of Irish football, the panacea to our predisposed misanthropy. With one flick of his neck, the Brighton striker has erased the pervasive melancholy and replaced it with unadulterated excitement, the type of which you thought yourself too old and cynical to experience again. Suddenly, where and who Albion play matters a great deal. Roberto de Zebri is as important a person to you now as Christine Lagarde ever was. His utterances carry as much weight as the European Central Bank talking about interest rates. Any comment on Ferguson can change the mood and alter the cadence of the week. It’s an unfair cross for Ferguson to bear, but one he seems plenty strong to carry. A swallow does not a summer make, but seeing one is enough to remind you how sweet the sun can be.
For fans of supposedly cursed teams, there was a sad inevitability to the Buffalo Bills virtual no-show against the Cincinnati Bengals in last weekend's AFC Divisional Round at a snowy Highmark Stadium. This was, like so many before, supposed to be their year, with an elite quarterback and a maturing supporting cast, things were finally coming together for the NFL’s most loveable losers. Add the emotional momentum of Damar Hamlin’s recovery from an onfield cardiac arrest and you could be forgiven for believing it was written. Alas, as Mayo fans know only too well, nothing is actually written. Only the result. The Bills lost 27 to 10 and September has never felt so far away. Hope, once again, slaying all before it.
“One of Golf's good guys'' might sound like a dubious moniker, but in the case of Max Homa it would be transferable to any sport where there may actually be some competition. Homa claimed his sixth PGA Tour victory at the Farmers Insurance Open on Saturday night, a welcome victory for a player who’s willingness to engage fans and media in an honest and relatable way has made him one of the most popular on tour. “It’s a beautiful game”, Homa said post-triumph, “Sometimes you’re just one good swing away from being good again.” In one quote he captured why golf is such a wonderful sport to play.
