Colin Sheridan: It's just who Spurs and Brighton are, mate
WHO THEY ARE: De Zerbi has gone from being Pep’s successor to - perhaps!- contemplating the Ireland job
Remember the halcyon days of early September 2023, when Brighton were flying high in the Premier League, Roberto de Zerbi was the next coming of Christ, and Evan Ferguson, fresh from bagging a hat-trick against Newcastle United, was staring down a 20-goal season? It was a glorious time. Anything was possible, especially for the dreamers who choose to ignore the inevitability of Manchester City’s monetised monopoly of glory and joy and promise and random acts of brilliance.
Brighton shone brightest then, not just because of their manager and their teenage sensation of a striker, but they had a Japanese winger Kaoru Mitoma who they plucked from a Buddhist monastery in Kyoto where he studied his PhD on dribbling and the afterlife of cherry blossoms. It was a beautiful story of hope and happiness and origami. Brighton and Hove Albion were a panacea to the modern ills of the beautiful game. What has happened since? Life, that’s what.
Before kickoff against Aston Villa yesterday, De Zerbi’s team sat 13th in the table, albeit with a couple of games in hand on Fulham, one place above them. In the form table, which has a sample size of the last five games, they sit 19th, wedged between Uniteds, Manchester and Sheffield. Misery loves company I guess, and there’s no other way to describe the second half of Brighton’s season other than brutally disappointing.
Ferguson has disappeared into some kind of witness protection programme designed specifically for Irish strikers of immense promise (an initiative founded by Leon Best some years ago), De Zerbi has gone from being Pep’s successor to - perhaps!- contemplating the Ireland job, and Kaoru Mitoma undoubtedly wishes he were back in Kyoto, reading Murakami and working to reverse his ukemi, the Japanese art of falling, something his team have become far too proficient at.
There is an argument that Brighton will end up exactly where they should end up by season's end, even out-performing expectations, according to their reported wage bills at least. Information released last week placed them with the 14th highest wage bill out of 20 teams, with Fulham one place above them. In that regard, De Zerbi deserves credit for keeping a relatively low-key squad competitive in the top half as long as he did. Brighton began the season like a pasty white Irish buck at the start of the Dublin marathon, sprinting alongside the Ethiopians so his wife could get a picture. By Christmas, they had slipped to ninth. Injuries, Ferguson’s disappearance, Mitoma’s ukemi, De Zerbi’s incessant overthinking, each one has been a factor in a fall that never looked likely in October, but makes us all feel a little foolish now.
Not half as foolish, surelsy, as Spurs, Ange Postecoglou and his band of acolytes. Postecoglou chose early to pin all his hopes upon his mantra of “it’s just who we are, mate.” It’s a fresh take on Woody Allen’s “the heart wants what it wants,” or, perhaps less offensively, the “I’m just as God made me, Sir” the embattled hotel receptionist offered a bunch of overly demanding rock stars in This is Spinal Tap.
IJWWAM (it’s just who we are, mate) works just fine when you beat Burnley 5-2 and Newcastle 4-1, but it rings a little hollow when you lose 4–0 to Newcastle, 2-1 to Liverpool and 2-0 to Chelsea when on the run-in to a season when Champions League football is only within reach because of the even more absurd ineptitude of Mauricio Pocchetino and Erik ten Hag.
I dare any of you to try the IJWWAM defence the next time you tell herself you’re heading out for a litre of milk, only to return at 2am, a gallon of porter on board and a tattoo of Ronnie O’Sullivan on your ribcage.
Spurs, somehow, find themselves fifth, unlikely to either usurp Aston Villa above them, nor be caught by Newcastle or Manchester United below them. It’s just who Spurs are, mate. Fifth. The “friend zone" of Premier League positions. They’ll hang on in there, hoping that the love of their life has enough bad breakups that she eventually turns to Spurs, her old faithful friend, ever willing to offer a moisturised shoulder for her to cry on in times of distress, but never brave enough to just go get her.
Ten Haag and Poch justifiably bear the brunt of an impatient media and disenfranchised fanbases. At least one of the two will likely lose their job because Champions League football must surely be regarded as a minimum for clubs whose wages bills rank as first and fourth. Football is a business, after all, and placing seventh and eighth respectively does not represent an acceptable return on considerable investment. Huge clubs with huge egos and huge problems. Postecoglou, a High Performance podcaster's dream guest, must surely offer up a nightly prayer of thanks that both teams are so utterly inept. Unless, of course, they’re playing Spurs, who defend corners like the FAI defend their managerial selection strategy.
It’s just who they are, mate.
Kyrie Irving is my favourite basketballer to watch, and has been for a very long time. The problem is, since leaving Cleveland for Boston, he’s been more prolific off the court, than he has been on it. His time at the Celtics was beset by wince-worthy ego trips. His cameo in Brooklyn dogged by his conspiracy theories regarding Covid-19 and bizarre accusations of antisemitism.
Conversely, he was one of the first and remains one of the few elite American sportsmen to adopt a pro-Palestiniann stance, a middle finger to the corporate establishment so ubiquitous in professional sports.
Now, at Dallas with the equally gifted Luka Doncic, Irving is finally back letting his otherworldly handles do the talking. On Friday night, the Mavs closed out the LA Clippers in Game 6, advancing to the Eastern Conference semi-finals, where they’ll face the number one seed Oklahoma. Irving was unstoppable against the Clippers, his second-half highlight reel a collection of magical moments. In full flow, Irving’s alchemy is effortless, his footwork balletic, his handles sublime. It’s been his teamwork, however, that has seen his efforts this season compare favourably with any of his previous eight. He looks and sounds happy, his partnership with Doncic appears an authentic one. His body language, positive. There’s no sign of the quiet-quitting of Boston, nor the truancy that dogged his time in Brooklyn.
This is the most bought-in he’s looked in years, and it’s truly a beautiful sight. Dallas may not have the depth to trouble the Thunder or Denver, but in Kyrie the Alchemist, they have one of the sport's true originals. Whether the earth is flat or round matters little to the purity of his play. Catch him while you can.
Mark down the night of August 6th on your calendar, for it will be then, under a flood-lit Parisian sky that the Olympic 1500m men's final will take place, pitting - God willing - two of the greatest middle-distance runners that have ever laced a pair of spikes in Josh Kerr and Jakob Ingebrigtsen.
Both athletes have given in-depth interviews recently, during which one could say shots were fired, but then that’s been the norm for a while.
The Norwegian Ingebrigtsen is much more of a trash-talker than the Scotsman, but both seem all too aware of the other. All it really means is, come the night of August 6th, the talking will stop, and the running begins. It’s rare to know in advance that history beckons, that night it’s almost a certainty. Three-and-three-quarter laps of it.
What do the GAA think when they see a packed Cusack Park on a warm, summer day? Do they think we need to do more of this? Pack county grounds, the home advantage with the lower-seeded team, or, do they think, next chance we get, let's put more games into a third-full Croke Park that will have the atmosphere of a morgue, and the watchability of a slaughterhouse? Some things are too obvious to ignore. The Croke Park persistence has gone on long enough. Spread the love, and you just might improve the game. Sometimes giving people what they want is much easier - and more beneficial - than you think.
