Recently, I had an all-too-brief conversation with Lawrie McKinna over Twitter concerning his fellow Scots David Mitchell and Ian Ferguson - and it went a little like this;
“Lawrie, I’ve got some Celtic shirts for Mitch and Fergie this Christmas, do you fancy one for yourself?”
“Bad idea and don’t send one to me either ha ha, we have a couple of Celtic fans who I speak to every week and we have a good laugh”
“Fair enough; I just figured it would make a good alternative to coal, which can be expensive to source this time of year in the UK”
“You should send them some shortbread as coal is usually at new year when you first-foot someone”
“Sorry Lawrie, but I think our cultural differences regarding coal at Christmas are starting to show here”
I never did get a reply to that...
Suffice to say, I’m probably not going to be on anyone’s Christmas list this year at the Scottish-Australian Coaching Kinship - or SACK, for short. All year I’ve written in terms of faint hope, cynical predictions, and - more recently - dire reality about the SACK conspiracy that’s currently ruining my football club courtesy of Messrs Mitchell and Ferguson. Unfortunately, Tony Sage doesn’t seem to have browsed this deep into the tangled tubes of ‘teh interwebs’, because surely if he’d come across my articles we wouldn’t be knee deep in something resembling West End Bitter.
Then again, that might not be a safe assumption. When Sage took over the club he inherited the FFA-appointed Ron Smith and decided sticking with him was a better option than paying out his contract. When it came to appointing a successor, he took the cheap option of employing the services of David Mitchell, Smith’s assistant. When SACK number one saw his time finally run out, Sage had the opportunity to scout the country, if not the world, and find the best possible replacement. Instead, he again took the cheap option and employed SACK number two; potentially suggesting some kind of SACK-Sage alliance. Now for a guy who made his fortune through excellent business sense and outstanding acquisitions, this does seem a little out of character. When you think about it, we’ve gone from employing an FFA caretaker coach to an FFA caretaker coach’s assistant, to the FFA caretaker coach’s assistant’s assistant! What’s with that?
But what gets my goat more than anything else is the club’s constant PR spin about how well they’re going to do, which is all well and good if you can deliver - but utterly laughable when you have won one game in sixteen, sit rock bottom of the table, and have an unlicensed driver at the wheel. First we’re going to give the top two a really good shake. Then the top four, aiming for a home final. Then the top six, making the finals. Then it’s “still possible” to make the finals. Finally, it’s “still mathematically possible” to make the finals. Oh dear god - does any phrase annoy supporters more than that gem? Watching the post-match fallout with Ferguson trotting that line out reminds me of a DVD of my favourite Scottish comedian, Frankie Boyle - If I Could Reach Out Through Your TV And Strangle You, I Would.
Cold, Biting Reality
It’s negative two outside as I type this - there’s frost on my window and snow blanketing everything, with a bitterly cold wind blowing flakes against the pane. But it’s not the weather which chills me the most- it’s the stark reality that we may very well be collecting the wooden spoon for the first time in our decade and a half in Australian football. Sure, better A-League sides than us have been in this position - Adelaide finished bottom last year and twice-winners Sydney are not too far away this season - but we’re supposed to be better than them, dammit!
Sadly, the truth is we’re not - and this is a reality that has taken its time to set in. In the past, we were owned by the FFA. We were coached by Ron Smith. We were fighting for our very existence. The salary cap wasn’t being utilised. The players were monkeys that were paid peanuts. The existence of the New Zealand Knights hid just how bad we were. We had a list of excuses as long as our collective arms. But now it is painfully clear that the emperor has no clothes - and he’s been walking around naked for a hell of a long time, and I don’t need to point out how cold it is out there.
We’ve got Tony Sage - and his money. Our immediate financial future is secure (by A-League standards) thanks to excellent corporate sales and membership levels. We have more coaching staff than we’ve ever had in the A-League. We’ve broken club records for player wages. There are three (not counting Tando Velaphi) ex-Socceroos on our books. There’s an ex-England and Liverpool striker. We’ve got players who have come from the Premier League, SPL, and Bundesliga. And, ladies and gentlemen, we are utterly shite.
Yet still Tony Sage retains delusions of grandeur. This was supposed to be year two of his grand three-stage plan - 1) make the finals, 2) win the league, 3) dominate Asia. How ridiculous this all looks now. Ian Ferguson can’t seem to coach his way out of a paper bag, let alone take on people like Rini Coolen or Graham Arnold. The Mariners, so long derided as the ugly ducklings of Australian soccer, spank us mercilessly every time we play. Yes, we drew 1-1 with them just recently at nib; but does anyone truly think that it was because we played well, so much as them playing bad? That game should have been well and truly sewn up at the 60 minute mark; yet as always we lose all concentration and let a team score in the last five to ten minutes of a half.
Sure, the Glory have looked better recently, but you can hand all credit to youth coach Gareth Naven for that. Scotty Neville, Josh Risdon, Howie Fondyke, Tommy Amphlett, Ryan Pearson, Andrija Jukic, Tonchi Skorich - and practically any other youngster that has injected life into our season - has been born and built up in his youth team. The only thing Mitchell and Ferguson have done is teach them how to kick their balls longer and drift out of position more frequently.
It’s now more clear than ever that Glory need a total clean-out of their backroom staff. Victor Sikora was labelled injured at the very beginning of the season - a six-week injury brings the opportunity to obtain a short-term injury replacement. We’re now 21 games into the season and we still don’t have an injury replacement. What an absolute joke. Sikora’s total minutes for the club this year, as sourced from PerthGlory.com.au? Zero. Absolutely freakin’ zero. What have our medical staff been doing? Did they honestly say to the coach at the beginning of the year, “he’ll be ready in five weeks”? Or have we known this all along, and taken no corrective action? Let’s not even mention the Chris Coyne fiasco...
Jolly Good-for-nothing Fatarse
Frankly, this is all Santa’s fault. Last Christmas it seemed he had rewarded Glory fans for being good little girls and boys with a gift of Daniel McBreen, Steve McGarry, and A-League finals football. Unfortunately, this delicious outer layer of sweet Christmas chocolate gave way to a centre of cold hard coal - in the form of the disasterous 2010/11 campaign, culminating in the ultimate punishment that is Ian Ferguson as Perth Glory coach - one who Tony Sage has signed on to continue his excellent job into next season.
What the hell did we do to deserve this, you pig-nosed, obese and most likely diabetic Arctic resident? Did you take the numerous references to a fat bastard throughout the year to heart? Does Mrs Claus happen to be Archie Thompson’s mum? Or do you just happen to like Sydney FC? Perhaps you own shares in Allia Holdings, or FIFA, or just happen to be Frank Lowy’s mate (you seem about the same age). Whatever the crime, surely this is a most disproportionate punishment?
Now we’re heading for the greatest Christmas present of them all - a nice big wooden spoon, which Fergie will probably be most pleased to receive given that the bloke running the two dollar shop nearby has been steadfastly refusing to graft his prices down on his high-quality cooking utensils. Mitch and Munro are probably first in line for the haggis - though they’re all no doubt disappointed they haven’t sewn the spoon up for Christmas. After all, having a new year’s meal would give them ample opportunity to invite Ernie and Lawrie over for a good first-footing.
Merry Christmas To All
Allow me to sign off 2010 - and a serious amount of 442 work, be it in print, World Cup blogs, or these regular articles - by wishing all football fans, be they bitter or newborn, a very Merry Christmas. Enjoy the festive season, have a great new year’s eve, and I’ll see you in 2011. Oh - and I hope Santa gives each and every one of you the same kind of disaster that we Glory fans have had in 2010 ;)
As for you St Nick, it’s been a grand old joke you’ve played on us. Now can we have our real presents? You know, the ones that involve “wins” and a SACK-less Glory? Because if you don’t, you might get a nasty surprise. You see, I’m flying out of Heathrow (should your snow demon children ever stop crapping on it) and I’m heading to Scandinavia for Christmas. And the North Pole isn’t very far away...
That’s right Santa. I’m coming to punch you in your ruddy face.
Merry Christmas!
P.S - and don’t think that a 4-2 win is going to change my mind. Try and ruin my blog mere hours before I submit it, will you? Cheeky bastard...
