‘We all have our reasons for loving things the way that we do.’ A line uttered by Colin Firth in the cinematic adaptation of Nick Hornby’s ‘Fever Pitch.’ The line, narrated by the character Paul Hayward, portrayed by Firth, refers more generally to the milieu of football itself. I think the same sentiment applies for football players.
A man of my maturity (41 in May if you must know) will publicly reject the idea of having favourite players. Experience robs you of your innocence, players betray you, hurt you and, frankly, over an extended period of time they can all blur into one. If I try to picture Carlos Vela’s face in my mind’s eye, I end up with a badly constructed AI version that amalgamates the various features of Fran Merida, Jose Reyes and Paolo Vernazza.
Experience also teaches you to hold back a little when it comes to assessing the players you are most fond of. A controversial transfer to a rival has a funny way of diluting your affection for someone. History tends to be a better judge and, you know what, sometimes it isn’t too. Sometimes nostalgia causes you to omit some key details, but it doesn’t really matter in this context.
Laser eye surgery and criminal convictions demand unerring and unbiased accuracy. Which football players you have retained a fondness for is all the better for being an inexact science. Some of it will come down to taste, of course. Some of us like centre-backs who look like they would bite the head off a live bat to win a throw in (more on which anon).
Some of us like playmakers with untucked shirts who don’t know what a bleep test is. Some of us love triers who perform beyond their abilities and some of us like players who are a bit crap but very willing. (Football lore demands we call them ‘cult heroes’). There are other factors to consider too.
If you play football you probably identify with the players who played in the same position that you did. I was very much a deep lying playmaker so the current Arsenal manager was someone I took a shine to during his time as a player at the club. Then there are other, more cerebral, factors that can govern where our affections lie.
Maybe you are attracted to the story of a player, the guy who played non-league into his 20s and suddenly catapulted to the big time. (So good, they named him thrice). It could be that you enjoy the way a particular player relates to the fans, be it through a clenched fist, a toothy grin or because he takes his kit to away games in a 5p Tesco’s bag. Or perhaps your favourite player fought some unforeseen demon, like alcoholism for example, to rise back to the top of his game, holding big shiny trophies aloft in the Highbury sunshine after an iconic left-footed volley sealed the deal.
Often, a player can touch all your warm and fluffy spots because he stands out from the team that he represents. As a 7-year-old, I fell in love with Anders Limpar because he had an ungainly, tousled mullet and wore his kit untidily but produced feats of magic. George Graham the player would have identified with Limpar, George Graham the coach grew frustrated with him.
Limpar was the runt of the litter and that left an impression on me in the same way that Ian Wright cocking an ear to the opposing fans, often literally groin thrusting in front of them, did. Likewise, sometimes the player that embodies your team becomes your favourite. The Invincibles team contains plenty of choice when it comes to deciding the one you remember most fondly.
For me it will always be Patrick Vieira because I felt he embodied everything about the team that made them such a force, a midfielder who was, at once, iron fist and velvet glove. He could rattle an opponent’s bones with an extended limb and equally he could caress the ball out of the air and manipulate it onto the end of his boot (or onto that big old blob of vaporub on his chest) with a balletic movement.
I loved Limpar because he slightly went against the grain of the team he was in. I loved Vieira because he exuded all of the team’s traits in one composite body. How a player is- or isn’t- replaced can also impact your memory of them. Marc Overmars proved to be an incredibly productive player for Arsenal but his departure proved to be the midwife to the silky, dreamy presence of Robert Pires (I have been obliged to include this by the editor) so the memory of Overmars is dimmed.
Whereas the likes of Fabregas and Vieira, for instance, were pined for long after their exits because their departures left a void unfilled. In the case of Fabregas, he captured the hearts of so many not because he embodied the team (he did not, he was miles and miles better than the vast majority of his teammates) but because he held the hopes and dreams of a ‘project’ to indulge modern vernacular.
I very much liken Fabregas’ tenure at the club to another darling of a longer lost past- Liam Brady. Brady is arguably the greatest talent ever unearthed from the Arsenal academy. He also played during one of the driest eras of Arsenal’s history. Like Fabregas, he left too soon because the club was in a tight spot and the allure of a richer, more competitive club proved too great. He also only won a single FA Cup when his efforts deserved more.
In the current team, Bukayo Saka is certainly the poster boy for the Arsenal ‘project.’ Hopefully, he won’t meet the same fate as Brady and Fabregas, I envisage much more of a Tony Adams style dynasty for him (with a couple of Champions Leagues thrown in). But I think the player I have the strongest affection for (Saka aside) is Gabriel Magalhães.
I think he sort of does and doesn’t define everything I love about this team. He certainly shares a grit and determination I see reflected elsewhere in the team but for him, it is a defining trait. The threat he carries at setpieces means he is no stranger to a goal celebration, yet the man will happily celebrate shepherding the ball out for a goal kick with the same relish as a North London derby winner. I bet he clenches his fists and bears his pearly whites when he nails a tricky reverse parking job.
I also think his presence taps into something I yearned for in the pre-Arteta era. I was raised during the peak years of the famous back five, I learned to appreciate a good defender and good defending. I don’t think it’s a huge coincidence that same of my favourite players from the ‘Mid-Wenger’ era were players like Laurent Koscielny and Bacary Sagna.
I think I cradled them so much because we just didn’t seem to have enough of that type of defender during that era. In that sense, Gabriel defines a part of my lost youth and something I missed during adulthood. A defender who loves defending in a team that is good at defending and takes it seriously, that not only looks to be good at setpieces, but seeks to be excellent at them. I am pretty certain that ‘Magalhães’ is Portuguese for ‘Keown.’
In a sense, Gabriel embodies this team but he also embodies what some of the teams of the immediate past lacked. I liked the Arctic Monkeys when they emerged, I like their music. But Alex Turner just never had the Brown / Gallagher / Gillespie swagger that transforms merely liking a band to loving a band.
Gabriel, to me, seems to be a reconnection to that. Time, subsequent events and eventual nostalgia may see me attach my emotions to a different player from this team but a sense of the past, and what I disliked about it, informs my current crush. Because we all have our reasons for loving things the way that we do.
