By Oli Dinsmore ⋅ July 11, 2008 ⋅  Print This Post ⋅ Post a comment

England, Global, La Liga, Liverpool, Manchester United, Premier League, Serie A

It’s hard to be critical in a constructive way when faced with people like Sepp Blatter.

He is to football what George Bush Jr. is to politics. And ,like Bush, you wonder how on earth he has retained his job for so long. For this alone, Blatter must surely be applauded. He’s managed to stay at football’s top table, unchallenged, for years. Amazing. Whatever happens to dear Sepp, he can surely guarantee continued prosperity by penning a book entitled ‘Keeping A Top Job When You Haven’t Got a Scooby’ or just ‘Sepp Blagger – The Farcical Years’ .

If his latest comments are genuinely designed to protect players then why didn’t he pipe up when Owen Hargreaves wanted to leave Bayern a couple of years back? Why didn’t he come out in defence of Gareth Barry when he recently signalled his desire to move to Anfield? There are so many examples of players wanting to leave their clubs but Sepp has spoken up now. Why? Possibly because he dislikes English football? Possibly, he craves the limelight that the use of the words ‘Cristiano Ronaldo’ will bring? Who can really say with any confidence what goes on inside his head?

If he didn’t already sound ridiculous by getting involved in the Ronaldo affair he further disgraced himself by likening football players to slaves! What sort of slavery is this then? And where can I sign up? It must be hell doing an hour of hard labour on the training pitch 5 days a week. As if that wasn’t enough you are asked, no ordered, to play up to two games a week! Then there are the multitude of willing women that gravitate towards you because of the slavery. The cars, the sponsorship deals. I shudder to think about the daily horrors of a footballer’s life. I could go on, but Blatter’s words are so ridiculous, not to mention tasteless, that they don’t need my sarcasm to highlight the point (not just yet anyway). How we’d laugh if a tabloid could set Sepp up in some kind of Max Mosley style situation. How much pleasure would that bring to the football world? Shall we do a poll?

Would you like to see Sepp caught up in a sex scandal with some mature women dressed in ‘tight’ football kits and ornamental slave chains.

If anything could make us feel better about the credit crunch that would surely be it.
Blatter is the epitome of a man whose power has gone to his head. No longer bound by concerns over making a mockery of his organisation, he just spouts whatever passing nonsense comes into his head at any given time. The other employees at UEFA and FIFA must spend the majority of their time undertaking damage limitation exercises. ‘Oh no, what’s the old, mad codger said now’, must surely be a regular comment amongst his peers. If he hadn’t been quoted apparently making exactly the opposite point about player-power a few years ago, his sentiments might carry a little more weight. Not much, but a little. And if he hadn’t alienated half of the world population by commenting that female footballers should wear tighter kits to better show off their bodies, we might say that this is just a blip, a moment of madness.

But you join up the dots and realise that Blatter is a bit of a nut job. So let’s start a discussion about getting someone more responsible into the hotseat of world football - the game that we, the public, spend so much money to enjoy. Why should we have to put up with this nonsense? The issue isn’t slavery, it’s insanity. Meantime, let’s imagine what these afflicted players must go through day to day.

The Diary of a modern slave/footballer

Monday – They made me get up at 0830 to be at the ‘training ground’ at 1000. That’s what they call it here. A ‘training ground’. We work right through until midday, then we’re told to leave, without so much as a thank you. The downright cheek of these people is what most riles me and my slave brothers.

Tuesday – You guessed it. We have to do the same all over again. I feel so tired after the session that driving my Ferrari home holds no pleasure whatsoever. I go for a pedicure but that really hurts too. It’s beyond degrading. I feel ashamed to show my face in Starbucks. There is no joy. No laughter. No peace.

Wednesday – We are told we don’t have to ‘train’ today (that’s what they call it – ‘training’). Of course, it’s not a day off, as such, because we have to play a game in the evening, which involves covering every blade of grass on a huge pitch for 90 minutes whilst 70,000 people scream your name like you’re a piece of meat. I’m not sure how much more I can take. I don’t write this because I want your pity, I’m doing it because people need to know what it’s truly like. The world must never be allowed to forget what is happening here.

Thursday – I’m effectively running on empty but this means nothing to the bosses, and we are expected to ‘train’ all over again for two hours, with only a few minutes every now and then to recover from the perennial torture. There really is no respite. Of course, I take it all out on my supermodel girlfriend when I get home. I try to explain that my fatigue and bad mood is due to the way I’m treated, but she isn’t interested and leaves me. I’m left with no alternative but to call a top quality escort agency and order a new woman. Evil seemingly knows no bounds.

Friday – Exhausted from my travails in the bedroom, I am ordered to ‘train’ once more. My hamstrings are like jelly and my feet are killing me. They don’t even allow us to drink water. Instead we are forced to consume expensive ‘energy drinks’. That’s what they call them – ‘energy drinks’. God only knows what’s in them. There surely must be some law against this. It’s 2008 for the love of sweet Jesus! I go for lunch at the best place in town but my scallop starter and fillet steak do very little to interrupt the overriding feeling that I’m just a badly oiled cog in a brutal machine. The steak isn’t even cooked properly. Don’t these idiots know the meaning of the word ‘rare’? There’s blood on the hands of the industry but none on my plate. It’s like everyone is in on the joke. But I’m not laughing, I can assure you.

Saturday – Five day week? You’re having a laugh aren’t you? Saturday just brings more pain, more baying crowds. More, more, more. In the entire week they have paid me just £100k after tax. Where is the humanity in the world? Where is the compassion? Why am I being persecuted? Why me? If there is one person that can bring an end to this horrendous plight, it’s that extremely coherent bloke, Sepp Blatter. But, far from being heralded as the hero that he is, people are laughing at him, making a mockery of his intelligent and brave words. Has the whole world gone mad? Please help me Sepp.

Sunday – You won’t believe this but we were actually told to rest today. Many weeks they will make us ‘play’ on The Sabbath but this week they have relented. I decide to cheer myself up by spending a huge chunk of my risible wage on the basics – namely £50k on diamonds. They can take my life, but they will never take my earrings!! That’s a clever reference to Braveheart. You see? They haven’t broken my spirit just yet. The animals.
If anyone is reading this, if it makes the slightest bit of difference and brings this torture to an end one day sooner then it will have been worth it. At least then my suffering will not have been in vain. Oh god I’m tired. I’m going to have to pop to Waitrose and get loads of Deli. I’ll probably be too tired to eat it. The horror. The horror. The Horror.

Tags: Cristiano Ronaldo, Gareth Barry, Real Madrid, Sepp Blatter

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