Banksy (53 page)

In recognition of the efforts of the Stoke team of 1972 in winning the League Cup, in 2002 the club gave every member of the side a ticket for life at Stoke City and I was made president of the club in succession to the late Sir Stanley Matthews. I regularly attend matches at the Britannia Stadium, but also travel with my son Robert to watch Leicester City whenever we can. I also make the occasional nostalgic trip to Chesterfield – I’m not the sort of guy who will ever forget his roots and Chesterfield were, after all, the club that gave me my chance in league football.

In addition to attending a lot of games, I watch as many televised matches as I can. As you’ve probably gathered, I have plenty of views on the state of the game today, particularly where goalkeeping is concerned. Though before I air those views, let me say this: the standard of football today is no better or worse than when I played. But, my word, it’s certainly different…

Football has indeed changed. Many of these well-documented and widely debated changes have been to the great benefit of the game, though we have seen a number of developments in recent years that I believe have been detrimental to the game. Compared to my days, the game today is quicker, players are fitter and teams better organized, irrespective of the level at which they play.

There is one change, however, that has received little attention, despite having a key role in changing the way football is played – the ball itself.

When I started my career at Chesterfield, the ball most often used was a Webber Premier. This was a leather-panelled caseball, an improvement on the lace-up Tomlinson ‘T’ and Tugite balls used in the thirties, forties and early fifties. The Webber Premier had more leather panels, so kept its shape irrespective of how wet conditions were. It was advertised as being waterproof, but had to be rubbed with Chelsea dubbin to make it so, and even then would soak up some moisture on rainy days. Inside the leather casing the ball contained a valve bladder, which also added to the weight. The official weight of a football in the fifties was set at 16 ounces (454g). On very wet days, however, this type of ball was often considerably heavier due to the moisture and mud it collected.

The Webber made life for a goalkeeper relatively easy owing to the simple fact that, when struck, it travelled true. The Webber never deviated in the air; consequently when diving to make a save, especially from a shot hit from some distance, if I had anticipated correctly, more often than not I would make the save.

In the sixties the Webber was replaced by the Mitre Permawhite Super, an altogether lighter (and whiter) ball. The white
panels of this ball were laminated leather, which did away with the need to dubbin. The Mitre and its competitor made by Stuart Surridge were very good balls but the big difference from a goalkeeper’s point of view was that both deviated slightly in the air. Not a lot, but by enough to increase the uncertainty when executing a save.

The ball in general use as I write is much lighter than its predecessor; the type used in the 2002 World Cup is lighter still. When struck with force it deviates in flight, both swerving and dipping. This is a nightmare for goalkeepers, and often they cannot anticipate the exact height a shot will be when it reaches the goal. It is little surprise, then, that goalkeepers can be made to seem incompetent, even foolish, when attempting to make a save.

When Rivelino swerved a Brazilian free kick round the defensive wall in the altitude of Mexico ’70, the world gasped. Goals like that are knocked in every week up and down the country these days, and not because all those players possess the skill of Rivelino. Today’s ball may well make for more spectacular football and enables David Beckham to hit superb forty-yard crosses into the penalty area and sublime crossfield passes, but it stacks the odds against the poor goalkeeper.

The ball used in Japan and Korea in 2002 was so light that at times it was impossible for goalkeepers. When England secured their place in the quarter-finals by beating Denmark, many commentators rightly praised England but also made a point of mentioning how poor the performance of the Danish goalkeeper, Thomas Sorensen, had been. True, he didn’t have the best of matches, but the light ball and wet conditions played their part in that. England’s opening goal came when Rio Ferdinand headed the ball at him in a downpour and Sorensen fumbled the ball over the line. That lightweight laminated ball in such wet conditions must have been like a bar of soap. Despite three attempts to grasp the ball, he just couldn’t get a firm hold. When Emile Heskey’s first-time shot on the run from twenty yards
gave England their third goal one commentator remarked, ‘You have to ask questions of the goalkeeper.’ Heskey hit his shot low and hard. The ball swerved one way then the other before bouncing on the sodden turf just in front of the diving Sorensen. Then, instead of rising a few inches, it skidded low under his body. What may have looked like a straightforward save to that commentator was anything but.

In the same match a Danish player cut in from the right and hit a stinging shot towards David Seaman’s left-hand post. David does not have the nickname ‘Safe Hands’ for nothing. He had got his angles and positioning spot on, which made it appear as if the Danish player had shot straight at him and it would be perfectly straightforward for David simply to gather the ball into his midriff. But he beat it out with both hands. Why did he do that? Because he couldn’t be confident of taking the ball cleanly.

Seaman did exactly right. The ball was travelling at considerable speed and he was obviously wary of the fact that it could deviate in the air at the last moment. The conditions were very wet, so rather than risk fumbling the ball and presenting an oncoming Danish player with the chance of a goal, Seaman made a blocking save. The TV commentator said, ‘A great save from Seaman.’ It was, but he never picked up on the fact that the England keeper had decided to block rather than attempt to hold the shot.

After the game a reporter asked Seaman about the quality of his opposite number’s performance, particularly on two of England’s goals. He refused to be drawn, simply replying, ‘Well, conditions were very difficult out there.’ They were and he knew it. Apart from the fact Seaman would not want to criticize a fellow professional, his guarded reply to the question had more than an element of ‘the goalkeepers’ union’ about it. Given the lightweight ball and the extremely wet conditions, I should imagine that at the back of Seaman’s mind was a large dose of ‘There but for the grace of God …’

The innovatory light ball also played a role in the downfall of
England in the 2002 World Cup. David Seaman cannot be blamed for conceding what proved to be Brazil’s winning goal in the quarter-final. Video footage from behind Ronaldinho clearly showed the ball heading beyond the left-hand post before curving so much that it ended up in the right-hand corner of the goal.

When defending an angled free kick from thirty yards out a goalkeeper has to anticipate the ball’s trajectory. A free kick flighted from that distance is usually aimed at a point just beyond the six-yard box, where opposing forwards can run on to it. When the ball was struck David Seaman had to come off his line and gamble that he would reach the ball before the Brazilian forwards. Consequently he took three paces forward, which was the correct thing to do. He was simply caught out by the way the ball arced so severely in the air. As soon as the ball left Ronaldinho’s boot, Seaman was sunk. He had played the percentages and lost.

To add to Seaman’s problems, Paul Scholes had, quite rightly, positioned himself in front of Ronaldinho as he ran to take the kick. However, as the Brazilian struck the ball Scholes moved just a little, perhaps blocking Seaman’s view for a vital split second. A goalkeeper must be able to judge the pace of the ball in order to determine its probable flight, and I don’t think David could see it at the point of contact. He may have been unsighted for a split second only, but, as he and England found to their cost, such margins can be crucial.

Both Seaman and Scholes were blameless: it was just one of those things. A goalkeeper has only brief moments to weigh up his options and act, and circumstances conspired to make Seaman’s usually solid judgement go awry. That can happen even to the best goalkeepers, of which he is undoubtedly one.

Following the game Seaman was inconsolable, but his performance after conceding that goal was an object lesson for any would-be goalkeeper. If you feel you have made an error, you have to push it to the back of your mind for the rest of the game.
A lesser player might have let that goal play on his mind, and could have let in two or three more as a result. Not Seaman. He contained his emotions until the final whistle. Such an attitude is the mark of a top-class keeper.

When asked to define a great player Sir Matt Busby said, ‘The great players have great games in the great games. When it really matters, they perform.’ And that sums it up. It’s no good saying, ‘If we played them again tomorrow we could beat them.’ It’s today that counts. Perhaps England didn’t have enough players who fulfilled Sir Matt’s definition of greatness in the 2002 World Cup.

In May 1966 the top five teams in the FIFA rankings were Portugal, Brazil, England, West Germany and Argentina. In July England beat three of them in the space of seven days to win the World Cup. We didn’t have it easy. As both Pelé and Gerd Muller have said, winning the World Cup is the hardest thing to do in football. With FIFA’s top-ranked teams (France, Argentina and Italy) out of the competition, England had a great chance to do just that in 2002. That they didn’t take that chance might haunt those players for the rest of their lives. Football is a team sport, and it was the team that failed against Brazil, not David Seaman.

Nevertheless, I remain very hopeful for the future. We have some excellent young players who should be even better, more experienced internationals by 2006. The nucleus of the 2002 squad will remain part of the England set-up for some time to come. So long as they maintain their development and, just as important, their desire to land the biggest prize in the game, England can go all the way in Germany in 2006. Should that happen, no one will be more delighted than the Class of ’66.

I think the decision to introduce a very light ball for the 2002 World Cup was crazy. The new ball would obviously have been subjected to many tests, but it was a completely new phenomenon for the players, all of whom had to spend time adjusting their
game. But it was the goalkeepers I really felt for as time and again I watched the ball deviate two or even three times in the air.

Of course we all want to see more goals, but spare a thought for the man between the posts who has put in years of specialist training only to find that a hard job has become even harder overnight.

If FIFA want to create more goals, rather than introducing a balloon for a ball they should have concentrated on other areas. On shirt pulling, for example. I’ve lost count of the number of times I have seen a player bearing down on goal with the ball at his feet, or running into the penalty area to meet a cross, who has been pulled back by his shirt. Such fouls are intended to prevent a certain goal. Clamp down on foul play and gamesmanship and there would be no need to manufacture goals by ‘doctoring’ the ball. Like everyone else, I want to see more goals, but not by making goalkeepers look foolish.

At a time when managers and coaches have finally realized the importance and value of having a good goalkeeper in their team, FIFA are turning the art of great goalkeeping into a lottery.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – few sides win the Premiership in England unless their goalkeeper has enjoyed an exceptional season. When Blackburn Rovers won the title in 1995, their goalkeeper Tim Flowers had a super campaign. Likewise, Manchester United in the nineties had the outstanding Peter Schmeichel, and the well-documented errors of Fabien Barthez were at least part of the reason for their defensive frailty and consequent failure to retain their title in 2001–02. In contrast, David Seaman’s return to top form underpinned their usurpation by an excellent Arsenal side.

Another major difference in today’s game is the quality of the pitches. Today’s pitches are used almost exclusively for first team games. Rarely these days does the reserve team of a Premiership club play on the home pitch – most have arrangements with clubs in lower leagues to use their grounds for second-team
games. Along with the reduced wear and tear, drainage is also far more efficient today. When I played, midwinter pitches often resembled quagmires and the ball picked up mud as well as moisture, making it very heavy to kick and well-nigh impossible to swerve and bend. I’m a great admirer of David Beckham but today’s true playing pitches and the lightweight ball do give him an advantage. When pinging a cross into the goalmouth with the inside of his right boot, the ball curls away from the goalkeeper. This is very difficult to defend, although, credit to Beckham, he has practised his art to near perfection. A cross played into this ‘zone of uncertainty’ between the goalkeeper and his central defenders, because it swerves away from the goalkeeper at the last moment, is a particularly fruitful attacking option and Manchester United have scored a good many goals as a result of this.

David is a great player, but he is fortunate to be playing at a time when conditions are so complementary to his undoubted talents. On pudding-like pitches and with a heavy ball he might have been merely a good one. As I said, football today is no better or no worse than when I played – simply different.

I love the modern game. I like the way it is played, more often than not, in a cavalier and entertaining manner. Foreign players have exerted a positive influence, especially in the Premiership, but I do worry that their sheer number is impeding the development of home-grown players. Cream will always rise to the top – young players like Danny Mills, Ashley Cole, Joe Cole, Steven Gerrard and Michael Owen are living proof of that – but it is the influx of foreign imports in the lower divisions of English football that gives me real cause for concern. Often a Nationwide League club will buy a player from Eastern Europe simply because he is happy to settle for wages below that of a domestic player. Such journeymen do a job, but are invariably a short-term solution. Wages apart, many managers know they have only two, maybe three years to bring success to a club. Once again, the short-term solution is to buy a foreign player since it can take anything up
to four years before an exciting academy player makes the first team. That is, four years of investment in time, expertise and money. What is the point, so the pragmatists argue, when a manager can buy a player for £400,000 who will do the job straight away? Or, as if often the case, there isn’t even a fee to pay, as he will arrive free on a ‘Bosman’.