Celebrate Good Times

 

                                                                    Photo: BBC Scotland

Last week was one of those ‘international break’ interludes which means the top flight of Scottish football had a break while the lesser mortals in the lower leagues carried on as usual. 

Scotland were involved in what is now euphemistically termed a ‘double header’ with games against Cyprus and Spain at the National Stadium. Against all odds, Stevie Clarke’s men bagged six points to start the European Championship qualifying campaign with a bang, following up a laboured 3-0 over Cyprus with a brilliant 2-0 win over European ‘heavyweights’ Spain at Hampden - a game sure to live long in the memory.

The fixtures against Cyprus and Spain evoke memories of previous Scotland victories over said opposition and, moreover, the celebrations which followed. Back in early February 1989, Scotland travelled to Cyprus for a World Cup qualifier. The Scots were favourites to win. I can just about remember Scotland hammering the Cypriots 8-0 at Hampden in another World Cup qualifier in 1969 - Colin Stein scoring four goals. Stein had also scored in the fixture in the Mediterranean island where the Scots won 5-0 four months earlier.

Fast forward twenty years and we looked forward to Scotland repeating these easy victories. However, the Scotland team in 1989 was a different composition to the one that ended the decade that was the swinging sixties. While the team that cruised to that 8-0 win included the likes of Billy Bremner, Billy McNeill, John Greig, Willie Henderson, Alan Gilzean, Eddie Gray and Charlie Cooke as well as the aforementioned Stein, the 1989 version wasn’t quite as endowed with such talent. Nevertheless, when Maurice Johnston gave the Scots the lead after just nine minutes in the heat of Limassol, we sat back and waited for the goals fest. But we Scots know it never pays to get overconfident where the national football team is concerned…

Cyprus equalised six minutes later, and the game was level at half-time before the metaphorical roof fell in for the Scots three minutes into the second half when Cyprus took the lead. Scotland manager Andy Roxburgh cut a sorry figure but, thankfully, not for long as Richard Gough equalised six minutes later. But surely even a draw against the group’s so-called minnows – a group that also contained Norway, France, and the former Yugoslavia, - would seriously damage Scotland’s hopes of reaching the World Cup finals in Italy the following year.

Step forward Richard Gough once more. With time added on at the end of the game standing at a remarkable six minutes, the Rangers defender headed home a dramatic and, some might say, scarcely deserved winner for the Scots. Cue the normally placid Roxburgh leaping on to the pitch dancing like a demented gazelle on heat.

Scotland did qualify for the 1990 World Cup finals in Italy – but then they brought on the Costa Ricans…

What Scotland 1989 could have done with was a player with the sublime ability of Kenny Dalglish. Five years earlier, ‘King Kenny’ scored one of the most memorable goals seen at Hampden when he dinked past two Spanish defenders in the penalty box before firing a brilliant left foot shot into the top corner of the net to seal a 3-1 win over Spain in another World Cup qualifier, this time for the 1986 finals in Mexico. A young Maurice Johnston had scored twice to put the Scots in control, but Dalglish’s superlative strike put the Scots in dreamland.

Scotland manager Jock Stein wasn’t the sort of character to dance jigs of joy on the touchline but the celebratory atmosphere amongst the ecstatic Tartan Army was palpable to say the least. It gave the Scots real belief that they could qualify for the finals two years later which, of course, they did. These were the days, younger readers, when Scotland regularly qualified for the final stages of World Cups.

Jim Bett, who had a pivotal role in the game, recalled the fans backing at Hampden and said they were like an extra man for the Scotland team. He believed with such a backing they could have beaten anyone at Hampden that evening. Certainly, the celebrations went on long into the night, even with it being a ‘school’ night.

Now, Scotland have been celebrating another win over Cyprus and a sensational triumph over Spain. We Scots know better than anyone not to count our chickens but we can genuinely believe we will be at the finals of the European Championships in Germany in 2024. Can't we? Can we celebrate good times?

On second thoughts, perhaps I should have waited until after the games against Norway and Georgia in June before posting this…

 

Twitter @Mike1874

fitbason.blogspot.com

Harry's Game

 

                                                                        Photo: BBC

Being someone with maroon leanings, not only am I glad of the respite from the cinch Premiership this weekend, but I am also looking forward to FC Edinburgh’s game this Friday evening against Queen of the South at the Meadowbank Maracanã. I’m particularly keen to be reacquainted with one player in the visiting team, who made a significant contribution to one of the best days of my football supporting life. Sadly, he didn’t fulfil the promise that was expected, perhaps unfairly on one so young. But in Gorgie he will forever be remembered for one game in particular…

T'was the week before Christmas 2017. I took my then 12-year-old grandson Jack to Tynecastle with, it has to be said, some trepidation. Hearts were playing Celtic in the Premiership. Now, I have seen some poor Hearts teams over the years and this one five years ago was in the distinctly average category. Although the Maroons were fifth in the league, their performances had hardly set the heather on fire and going into the game against the league leaders the home team had been hit by something of an injury crisis meaning there were to be first team debuts for a couple of untried 16-year-olds.

Celtic, on the other hand, were creating all sorts of records and generally blowing away the opposition on a weekly basis. Under manager Brendan Rodgers, the Hoops were on an incredible unbeaten run of 69 domestic games stretching back two seasons. They were two points ahead of second placed Aberdeen and had two games in hand. Surely, it would be a case of how many goals Celtic would score against a depleted Hearts team?

On our way to Tynecastle, I explained the situation to young Jack who nevertheless retained the admirable optimism of someone still to experience the bitterness of life and following Hearts in particular. I suggested that, when the scoreline reached 4-0, we would leave and head for the bus home. He agreed and we pondered at which point in the game this would be. Hopefully, we would still be there for the start of the second half…

One of those 16-year-olds making his debut was Harry Cochrane. He was slightly built and looked more like Jack’s age. I did wonder about the wisdom of Hearts manager Craig Levein thrusting such a young lad into the cauldron of a home game against Celtic.

With our expectations at zero as the game kicked off, we were pleasantly surprised when Hearts made a decent start. Celtic dominated possession, as you would expect but the game was still goalless halfway through the first half, much to our surprise. Surely it would only be a matter of time before we saw the first goal. In the 26^th minute we did – and the crowd of over 18,000 were stunned as it went to the home team. Not only that but it was fresh-faced Harry Cochrane who buried a low shot beyond Celtic keeper Craig Gordon – whatever happened to him? – from the edge of the penalty box.

As is my custom I turned to young Jack and opined ‘it won’t last’. But I didn’t expect the next goal to be from Kyle Lafferty to put Hearts 2-0 ahead. And this before half-time.

Having seen my optimism burst on far too many occasions in over fifty years, I still expected Celtic to turn things around in the second half. They began the second period with all guns blazing and a goal duly arrived just three minutes after the re-start. But it came for Hearts when David Milinkovic took advantage of poor Celtic defending to, incredibly, put Hearts three goals ahead. Jack asked if my pessimism was still intact. I replied I would accept a 3-3 draw…

Celtic threw everything, including the metaphorical kitchen sink at Hearts but the home defence stood firm. Young Cochrane looked dead on his feet and another goal did arrive with fifteen minutes left – astonishingly it was another for the home side when Milinkovic scored with a penalty kick. One of the most remarkable games in Premiership history ended Hearts 4 Celtic 0. But we didn’t leave at 4-0 – we stayed to milk the celebrations at the end.

Naturally, big things were expected of Harry Cochrane thereafter, but it didn’t quite work out for him at Tynecastle. After a couple of loan spells at Dunfermline Athletic and Montrose, Cochrane is now at Queen of the South.

It remains an anomaly that one of the poorest Hearts teams I have seen in over fifty years produced arguably the best league result in that time. Whatever else Harry Cochrane does in his career he will never forget that Sunday lunchtime in Gorgie in 2017 when he helped deliver a Christmas present Hearts fans could only have dreamt of!

 

Twitter @Mike1874

Get Yer Official Programme

 

Regular readers of this column – and I thank you both – may have a notion that I tend to look at the past through rose coloured spectacles. Those far-off days of decades ago long before football became the corporate beast it is now; when teams took to the field in plain shirts with not a sponsor’s name to be seen; when you didn’t need to buy a ticket in advance – just handed over your cash to the friendly old man at the turnstile - and when you had to buy a match programme in order to get the half-time scores from around the country. I still miss those half-time scoreboards…

I’m currently reading Cliff Hague’s excellent book ‘Programmes, Programmes!’ which not so much wallows in nostalgia but nearly drowns in it. A Manchester United fan who actually hails from Manchester, Hague writes affectionately about how he still treasures his ticket stub from the 1968 European Cup final (although he felt the need to add ‘Champions League’ in brackets) between United and Benfica played at Wembley Stadium. It cost the princely sum of £2 and the match programme set the author back one shilling – that’s five pence, young ‘uns. Of course, everything is relevant. The pay packets (in the days when we had such a thing) didn’t exactly bulge for the working class in this country more than half a century ago. But it’s a sobering thought that the price of a ticket for a European Cup final in 1968 wouldn’t even get you a pie at a domestic league game today.

Hague also writes about the programme for Manchester United’s first home game following the Munich air disaster in 1958. Twenty-three people died when the plane carrying Manchester United players and officials and members of the press back from the club’s European Cup quarter final in Belgrade crashed on take off from Munich airport where it had stopped to refuel. Atrocious weather conditions with snow and ice on the runway meant the pilots had tried three times to take off but the plane failed to clear the runway on the third attempt and more than half the forty-four passengers onboard perished, some immediately, some days and weeks later. The programme for United’s game against Sheffield Wednesday merely left the names blank on the team sheet, a poignant indication of the tragedy. The importance of the programme is forever a reminder of a tragedy that destroyed one of football’s greatest ever teams, the legendary Busby Babes – although manager Matt Busby survived the crash.

Programme collecting has always been popular among football fans so it’s disappointing to read of some clubs who have stopped producing them, in paper format at least. Some have gone digital in producing programmes which may reduce a club’s carbon footprint but takes away, in my view, from the matchday experience. In days of yore one would leave the pub after partaking of a half pint lager tops and push through the turnstile five minutes before kick off (after greeting the friendly auld fella at the gate – Ed) and stand on the often open terrace. The programme would make a good read at half-time along with a pie and a cup of Bovril (other beverages were available)

One could catch up with the manager’s thoughts on the previous game. Whenever I went to Tannadice, reading Dundee United manager Jim McLean’s thoughts were often enough to have one crying into one’s Bovril but usually a manager’s ‘notes’, as they were often described in the programme, contained the usual cliches about ‘treating today’s opponents with respect and how it will be a tough game but the boys are ready for the challenge’

Scrolling through the digital version on your mobile phone doesn’t quite have the same effect and, try as I might, I just can’t write the team changes or the half-time scores on my mobile phone screen…

Much to the dismay of many, some clubs – and I’m talking about you, Hibernian FC – have even stopped producing any programme, digital or paper, which is a real shame. 

Cliff Hague’s book is a wonderful recollection of times gone by and some programmes such as the aforementioned Manchester United one against Sheffield Wednesday are a moment in history.  Yes, everyone needs to keep a tab on their carbon footprint and paper is a commodity that is easy to cut back on now we’re in the digital age. But producing football programmes on recycled paper may be a way of offsetting that.

Much of what gave me huge enjoyment when I first began going to the football more than fifty years ago has disappeared. While I don’t miss some of it – open air toilets which amounted to little more than a brick wall with a drain – football programmes are an essential element of going to the game.

Please don’t let this disappear.

Twitter @Mike1874

fitbason.blogspot.com

The End is Near, but Dignity is Distant

 

                                                            Photo: Aberdeen FC

At the end of January Hibernian entertained Aberdeen in the cinch SPFL Premiership. A fixture between two of Scotland’s biggest clubs is usually keenly anticipated but there was an extra edge to this particular game that had social media in a frenzy.

The nature of the game these days is that a run of defeats instigates a ‘crisis’ with calls for the manager’s head and, occasionally, the collective heads of the board of directors. Hibs and Aberdeen both went into this fixture on a run of form for which the phrase downward spiral had been invented. Intriguingly, both sides had won just twice in their preceding ten games, losing seven of them.  

A pall of gloom had descended on Easter Road the previous week following their elimination from this season’s Scottish Cup after a chastening 3-0 defeat from city rivals Hearts. Hibs manager Lee Johnson was under fire from an increasingly angry support.

However, if the disappointment at Easter Road was palpable it was nothing compared to what was happening 130 miles north in the Granite City. Aberdeen’s form since the cinch Premiership resumed after the Qatar World Cup had fallen quicker than the temperature in my house when I upset my wife (a fairly regular occurrence) Their record away from Pittodrie was abysmal although surely they would put things right when they visited West of Scotland league side Darvel in the Scottish Cup? After all, there were five divisions separating the two teams with most of the Ayrshire lads having worked in their days jobs in the hours leading up to the game.

What happened, of course, was the biggest shock in the long history of the Scottish Cup. Darvel deservedly won 1-0 and the Dons were out on a night of humiliation, the worst result in their history. The press and the supporters, as is the way of these scenarios, waited for what surely had to be the announcement of the sacking of Dons manager Jim Goodwin the following day. But what they got, 48 hours later, was a statement from the club saying Goodwin was staying but an immediate improvement was required.

That improvement had to occur at Easter Road where the Dons met fellow ‘crisis’ club Hibernian. The media lapped it up of course and the game was dubbed ‘El Sackio’ which, in my view, reflects rather sadly on society. Social media went into overdrive, the press were circulating Easter Road like vultures round a carcass and all prying eyes were fixed on the two managers.

Hibernian’s 6-0 hammering of the Dons meant there was no way back for Jim Goodwin and the sight of him walking forlornly across the Easter Road pitch minutes after the game had ended, stepping over an advertising hoarding en route to a waiting car to whisk him away meant one could only have sympathy for the amiable Irishman. Granted, some Aberdeen fans, particularly those who held up a banner at Easter Road proclaiming ‘Goodwin Out’ may have had little sympathy but this is a man’s livelihood we’re talking about, a young man with a young family enduring, like the rest of us, very difficult economic times. He may well have been paid the rest of his contract which had around 18 months to run but the diatribe fired towards him was akin to a baying mob after a murderous villain.

Goodwin’s ignominious exit brought to mind the fate of another former Aberdeen manager, Steve Paterson, who was sacked by the Pittodrie board of directors in the summer of 2004 and smuggled out of the ground in the boot of a Mercedes car to avoid the attentions of the baying press. Paterson had well-documented problems with alcohol but it says much about our society that he had to be smuggled out like someone having been given a life sentence for a heinous crime.

On the other side of the coin, Livingston manager David Martindale has been lauded for producing a team which is in the top half of the league and is challenging for a place in European competition next season. Given the size of the club and the budget being a fraction of other more fashionable clubs, it’s a remarkable achievement. But even Martindale is wary of the pitfalls of football management. He spoke about Jim Goodwin’s dismissal to Sky Sports News saying it is the way football is nowadays – you get a job, you lose a job.

Aberdeen’s last two managers have both been fired before a year was out on their respective contracts. Football has changed so much in the last few years and the advent of social media has given more power to the supporters who demand immediate success. As in any profession, failure or perceived failure can see the incumbent pay the ultimate price. But dignity and respect is the least anyone deserves. As we strive for an equal, inclusive and fair society that’s something the football world in particular should consider.

Twitter @Mike1874

fitbason.blogspot.com

Tell Him He's Pele

 

Photo: The Telegraph

The end of 2022 brought some sad news to the world of football. The death of Pele, one of the greatest players – arguably the greatest – of all time affected people not only in his birth country of Brazil and the world over but particularly people of my generation, those brought up in the 1960s and 70s.

My first memory of a major football competition was the 1970 World Cup finals played in Mexico. I was just eight years old and living in Aberdeen, having left Cumbernauld the previous year after my parents split up. In our rented accommodation in the Granite City we had a small, 14 inch, black and white portable television (ask your grandparents about black and white televisions, young ‘uns) There were only three television channels in the UK back then but as our cheap telly couldn’t receive BBC2 we had to make do with BBC1 and ITV which, in Aberdeen, came in the guise of Grampian Television. As part of the ITV network, Grampian showed the World Cup finals along with the BBC and this was something new and exciting for me.

The 6-hour time difference between Mexico and darkest Aberdeen meant I was allowed to watch some of the games albeit it was rather grainy black and white pictures. Half a century ago, the satellite technology wasn’t quite the standard we have today and the sound quality as well as the picture wasn’t great. But despite the grey pictures matching the grey buildings of Aberdeen, I did manage to watch the brilliant Brazilian team, of which Pele was the talisman.
At that stage in my life I had only ever been to Brockville, Tynecastle and Pittodrie and I had never seen anyone there do the things that Pele was doing with and without a football. I was mesmerised by Brazil, not only Pele but Jairzinho, Carlos Alberto and Tostao.

They were like magicians, gliding across the field teasing and tormenting their opponents. Not only that but there was a sportsmanship and Corinthian spirit shown by Pele that now sadly seems confined to a bygone age. Pele’s death last month was an excuse for the English media to show that well-worn clip from the World Cup of 1970 of England goalkeeper Gordon Banks pulling off a brilliant save from Pele’s downward header, thereby preventing a certain goal. Rather than vent his frustration, Pele applauded the save. After the game he swapped shirts with England captain Bobby Moore and their warm embrace and appreciation for each other’s talents was a splendid message for youngsters like me watching in awe. Simple gestures such as this taught respect.

Pele’s decision to retire from international football two years later deprived the world of seeing this gifted player at the next World Cup in West Germany in 1974. He was 33 at that stage but still surely good enough to grace the world stage.

His impact on the game was extraordinary. Fans the world over yearned to play like Pele, score as many goals as Pele and simply to be like Pele. Edson Arantes do Nascimento was one of the greatest players of all time and labelled ‘the greatest’ by football’s world governing body FIFA.  He was an icon of the 20th century.

An indication of the universal popularity of the great man came during a league game in Scotland in 1992. Partick Thistle striker Colin McGlashan took a serious head knock during their game against Dundee. The Thistle physio ran on to attend to the stricken player and shouted across to manager John Lambie ‘I think it’s concussion, boss. He doesn’t know who he is.’ Now in these enlightened times, a stretcher would be called for and the player would have to adhere to strict concussion protocols, likely having to miss the next game. Thirty years ago, things were somewhat different.

Lambie bawled his instructions. ‘Tell him he’s Pele and get him back on his feet!’

I wrote earlier this season about how two Scottish football icons of the 1970s – Hearts Drew Busby and Aberdeen’s Davie Robb – were both taken from us within a few weeks last summer. 2022 left it late to claim the biggest football icon of all. But the memory of Pele will never diminish. His gift, his sportsmanship, his life ethos, will be kept alive forever.

Much was made of the alleged rivalry between Pele and another great player who was taken from us just a couple of years ago. But Pele didn’t see the Argentinian genius Diego Maradona as a rival, particularly as they were from different eras. When Maradona died at just 60 years of age, Pele expressed his sadness and said he looked forward, one day, to playing alongside him in heaven.

It’s an image to gladden the heart in these difficult times.

 

Twitter @Mike1874

Side By Side

 

As someone who was born in the swinging sixties and who vaguely remembers the summer of love and flower power, I have been known to look at football in the past through rose-tinted spectacles. My 17-year-old grandson dons a look of despair when I utter the words ‘I remember when I were a lad’ but I have to admit I don’t miss things like standing on an open terracing in the pouring rain and toilets which were little more than a brick wall with no roof and an overflowing drain of…well, you know.

However, I do regale young Jack with tales of standing on said terraces next to fans of the opposing team. Hearts and Hibs fans of my generation will tell you of standing alongside each other at Tynecastle and Easter Road and enjoying the game in each other’s company. The notable exception in my case was New Year’s Day 1973 but I won’t go into this…

I was reminded about this about a month ago when I took my seat at Meadowbank Stadium to watch FC Edinburgh take on Airdrieonians. There was a sizeable travelling support from North Lanarkshire and while there were some Edinburgh fans to my right, to my left sat around half a dozen aficionados of Airdrieonians who arrived about five minutes before kick-off having clearly sampled the hospitality of the splendid Artisan hostelry along the road.

‘Are you an Edinburgh fan?’ asked a rather large gentleman, bedecked in a red and white scarf and seemingly from a similar generation as myself.

‘Well, er...’ I replied, coughing nervously.

He put his hand out to shake mine and said ‘dae ye mind if we sit here?’

‘Not at all, my good fellow’ I replied, ‘you and your associates are most welcome’

He turned to his mate. ‘Whit did he say?’

‘He said it’s fine’ his pal confirmed.

Over the course of the following ninety minutes my Airdrieonians associate and I regaled stories of years gone by whilst keeping a close eye on what was happening on the field. I have to say he was very good company even if one of his pals had perhaps imbibed on a pint of ale too many at the Artisan as he bellowed his irritation at his favourites every couple of minutes or so.

However, the conversation was amiable enough and the Diamond geezer in the next seat told me he had been following his team since the late 1960s, around the same time as I had gone to my first football game. As someone with maroon tendencies, I was particularly pleased when we got on to discussing the sublime talent that was Drew Busby. ‘Buzz bomb’ as he was affectionately known was an icon of Broomfield, Airdrie’s former ground around fifty years ago before he moved to Hearts for what was a sizeable fee in 1973. Busby, who passed away earlier this year, remains a Hearts hero of mine, as I have mentioned in these pages before, so I was delighted to discuss the great man with a like-minded fan. He also concurred that Hearts had also tried to sign Busby’s strike partner Drew Jarvie at the same time, but he headed to Aberdeen.

We chatted about others who shared the Hearts-Airdrie connection such as Alex Macdonald, Sandy Clark, Gary Mackay Walter Kidd, Kenny Black, Jimmy Sandison, and Alan ‘Nipper’ Lawrence who once graced this very stadium in the colours of Meadowbank Thistle.

Of course my new found Airdrie chum didn’t share my delight at the outcome of the game although he did ask if he could look at my FC Edinburgh's award-winning programme. At this point I didn’t want to point out the Mike Smith mentioned in the programme was my good self in case he took umbrage at what was written but he did say the programme was one of the best in League One.

At the final whistle we shook hands and he made to catch up with his loud-mouthed and clearly upset pal who was still bellowing at the players as they came off the park at the end of the game.

It was a lovely reminder of days gone by when fans of opposing teams could stand or sit side by side, enjoy the game and share good-natured banter without the need to resort to verbal or, in the dark days of the 1970s and 80s, physical violence. ‘You’re gonna get your ****ing head kicked in’ was a common chant at many football grounds forty and fifty years ago but thankfully rarely heard these days.

I’m looking forward to renewing our acquaintance when Edinburgh visit the Excelsior Stadium in the day after New Year’s Day. I may even buy him a pint after the game.

Okay, I’ve taken that too far…

 

Mike Smith

 

Twitter @Mike1874

Very Annoying Results (VAR)

 

                                                            Image: Sporting News

It is an argument, which has been the talk of football fans throughout the land – and, following the World Cup, the globe. Video Assistant Referee – VAR. Has it benefitted our game? Or will it, without wishing to be overly dramatic, be the death of it? 

VAR has been used in English football for some time now and the concerns raised there have now spread north of Hadrian’s Wall since it was introduced into the Scottish Premiership in October. It was hailed as a technique that would revolutionise football, ensuring controversial decisions were kept to a minimum and that it would prove to be a boon for our game. Fewer mistakes. More correct decisions. Fewer unjustified defeats. Simple. Except this hasn’t quite worked out the way the football authorities had hoped. Sadly, thus far, it has proved to be the opposite.

Technology seems to have taken over our lives. The seemingly endless yearn to replace humans with robots is a sad reflection on present day society. Supermarkets are now festooned with self-service checkouts; damn it you can’t even go for a pint of milk without some robotic voice telling you there’s an ‘unexpected item in the baggage area.’ Some football clubs are even going down the machine route with the humble turnstile operator now replaced by a machine looking for a bar code on your match ticket/season ticket card. At least FC Edinburgh’s esteemed programme editor can still be found collecting money at the gate from fans, greeting them with a welcome and a cheery smile (are you talking about me? Ed)

Now it seems the machines are taking over that most crucial of match day functions. No, not the gate money. The role of the referee who, despite what you may think, is only human.

And there’s the rub. Football is a game played by humans. Humans, by their very nature, are prone to make mistakes. Everyone does, it’s part of life. Even my wife has admitted to making mistakes, namely the day she married me but that’s another story. Football referees are prone to making more mistakes than anyone. Again, it’s in the very nature of their profession. Football is a high-pace game and referees, and their assistants can’t see everything that goes on over ninety minutes (or 100 minutes if you’re officiating at the World Cup in Qatar…)

Making mistakes is part of football. Players are dropped for making them. Managers are sacked for making too many of them. And poor referees are subjected to vitriol most weeks by fans of all teams although this merely illustrates they are doing something right. It’s what makes football the game it is. At least that’s the way it used to be.

VAR was first used in 2017 with the intention of taking some of the pressure off the poor harangued referees and making life better for everyone. The vast sums of money in the game these days mean an erroneous offside decision, blatant penalty denied or incorrect sending off can affect results and possibly mean the difference between winning a trophy or, worse, relegation potentially costing a club millions of pounds. And, subsequently, the wealth of a club owner or shareholders, or venture capitalists on the other side of the world. At our level, a referee’s mistake may cost FC Edinburgh three points and ruin the weekend for hundreds of Citizens. But at the highest level of the game a referee’s error could potentially affect a considerable financial investment.

However, the underlying factor with VAR is that the decisions are still overseen by human beings meaning mistakes are still prevalent. The expectation among fans is that VAR should be eliminating mistakes, but human beings still set the guidelines. Therefore, we have a ridiculous scenario of mistakes remaining in games even after someone in a television studio some distance away has studied the action after an excruciating amount of time. Japan against Spain in the World Cup anyone?

And this is my main gripe about VAR. It is killing the art of goal celebration. The robotic tendencies of VAR mean that decisions are scrutinised to the nearest millimetre. Your team scores a vital goal near the end of the game, your star striker wheels away to take the acclaim of celebrating supporters and your joy is unconfined. Until a man in a box miles away wags his finger and says to the referee through an earpiece ‘nah, the striker’s fingernail strayed momentarily into an offside position. I don’t think the goal should stand but go away and have a look yourself.’

VAR is paralysing the passion of football. We will very soon be at the stage where when a goal is scored, we won’t be jumping on the fan sitting next to us in delight. Instead, we’ll be looking to a giant screen waiting for our joy to be banished.

What do you want from watching football? A game with passion, excitement, tension and, yes, mistakes? Or a soulless, nervous, hesitant passionless reaction which will rip the heart from the game?

I know which I would prefer…

 

Mike Smith

 

Twitter @Mike1874