PERHAPS it’s expecting too much for a football manager to produce a clam, collected and rational analysis of a match within minutes of its end.
Just like boxers who tend to be so full of adrenaline after a fight that they can usually do no more than offer hitherto concealed respect for their vanquished opponent, shout their own superiority or thank their particular deity, the tension of the previous 90 minutes (or 96 if you’re at Old Trafford) will often warp our club bosses’ judgement and lead them to make pronouncements they may later regret.
While the likes of Neil Warnock and Sam Allardyce use criticism of referees as a calculated tactic to divert attention from their own or their team’s inadequacies, others like Arsene Wenger reveal their paranoia and rant about the global conspiracy to eliminate entertaining football.
And our own manager? Well, Rafa’s chosen approach in times of pressure is to spout fluent gibberish. Whether it’s repeating the same phrase to distraction, or smiling enigmatically like a goateed Mona Lisa and issuing baffling statements, if something’s bugged him, you’re in for a few moments of toe-curling embarrassment as the interviewer’s microphone is dangled under his nose.
After Sunday’s tangle with the 11-man tag team of Blackburn, we got a little bit of both. Clearly and justifiably irritated by the over-physical approach of Allardyce’s charges, our leader’s smile served merely to emphasise the simmering bile lurking just below the surface.
Clipped, trite responses let you know that he was trying very hard to be polite, while really he would like to pin you against the wall, force your eyelids open with matchsticks, and show you endless replays of incidents which illustrated his point until your pupils bled.
Briefly he let his guard down, with references to the assault by Nzonzi on Lucas, before hastily retreating behind more banal utterances.
Now I don’t pretend to understand what particular character traits this shows, if any; for all I know, it may have its origins in a lack of confidence in being able to fully express himself in a foreign tongue, and a fear that he may say something outrageous which would land him in hot water.
What I do know is that it does him no favours, and exposes himself and the club to potential ridicule. When given time to reflect, he can produce analysis and retorts that get his point across much more eloquently and effectively: his subsequent taunts of Allardyce and his team’s style of play, comparing them to Barcelona, dripped with sarcasm and mocked his attempts to play the wounded party.
But these heat-of-the-moment, terse and frequently childish outbursts do him no credit.
If he’s unhappy with the refereeing, the opposition’s physicality or his own team’s shortcomings, I’d prefer him to come out with it rather than hide behind heavily ironic statements like “the referee was perfect” when asked to comment on sendings-off or similar perceived injustices.
Hard work can pay dividends off the field as well as on it, and some coaching in handling the media may both take the pressure off him and show the club in a more sympathetic light.
