A Football Report

By Cristian Nyari

Football is an institution, in more ways than one.  And there are few more anti-establishment players than Luis Suarez.  Not just because of his on-field theatrics and eccentric personality, but because he is the antithesis of the politically correct ideology that permeates football around the world.

Luis Suarez is perceived as a threat to that institution and is, rightly or wrongly, vilified as a result.  In a way, you can call Suarez the Che Guevera of football.  Although simplistic, it serves the purpose of this piece, namely to symbolize the relationship between Suarez and the institution as that of a ubiquitous rebellious figure against an inequitable structure.

Before we move on, It should be prefaced that the use of “Anarchism” here does denote the narrow and misunderstood semblance of left-wing political radicalism or pure anti-authoritarianism.  Instead, like Anarchy as a doctrine—a philosophy that cannot be strictly defined and is always in flux—it is generally speaking the opposition or resistance to an unjust organizational hierarchy. For our purposes, that is a football world seemingly unified against a single player.

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By Owen Morgan

It seems an age has passed since Liverpool visited Old Trafford and emerged rampant 4-1 victors; In fact it was less than four years ago in March 2009. The crushing pressure of the modern football industry means that a club cycles through teams with relative frequency, only four of the Liverpool squad from 2009 are still at Anfield, yet even so the gulf between the two clubs has rarely been greater.

However, under Brendan Rodgers, Liverpool slowly, tentatively, seem to be gaining ground. Despite wasting the prolific talent of Nuri Sahin, the woes of the second Dalglish era are gradually being covered over and there are signs, although they were second best on Sunday afternoon, that the jigsaw that is Brendan Rodgers’ Anfield ‘project’ is starting to take shape.

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By Ogo Sylla

The holding midfielder, or defensive midfielder, or number 6 as we can also call it, is a thankless task that often gets overlooked in today’s football of marauding fullbacks, twinkle-toed playmakers and dead-eye strikers. However what is most underappreciated about the number 6 (as we will refer to it from henceforth) are its complexities that most fail to recognize. In fact, the failure to do so can be key to why some sides may struggle to find the right balance. Indeed, the defensive number 6 sits – on a tactical sense – at the heart of the game and at the center of the pitch where everything goes through him. It is for this reason that it is important to recognize the many intricacies of that position and its numerous roles in order to better appreciate it.

It is important difference – albeit just a seemingly semantic one – between a holding midfielder and defensive midfielder. But these are just types of the number 6, which can be broken down in three different roles: the destroyer, the deep-lying playmaker (regista), and the volante. The destroyer is exclusively a defensive midfielder, while the regista is a holding midfielder. The volante, however, has the particularity of belonging to both types of the number 6. Being such a special case, we will touch on the role of the volante last. 

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By Jordan Brown

In the flawed, but truly engaging drama Another Happy Day, Ezra Miller’s wonderfully screwed up young Elliot sits down for breakfast with his Grandmother—Ellen Burstyn—and in contemplation of their family’s issues states, “If we came down here for a funeral instead of a wedding, we might actually all be getting along. Now it begs the question, ‘What does that mean?’ And the only conclusion I’ve been able to come to is that death is actually a more unifying force within a family than love. Now that’s a mindblowing concept.”  The Elliot in the film has known nothing but years of tense relations and family drama—a young man caught in the tidal cycle of family fault and recrimination, and it has turned him into a cynic. Ellen Burstyn, in her response, springs his trap, “Well now, Elliot,” she says, “perhaps it’s just the way you were brought up.” The scene closes with Elliot’s wry response, “I am myself and my circumstances.”

The banner headline early in this week of football was the emotional release of the independent Hillsborough investigation’s findings. The true causes of the tragic death of 96 fans in Sheffield were released, and a remarkable step towards vindicating the memories of those lost in the disaster was taken. The footballing community was united in its support and condolence to the city of Liverpool. My time spent on Twitter and Facebook scrolling through media and fan reactions proved that in the long and terrible grief of those affected, we were all tied—the outpouring camaraderie was powerful—if not unique. Miller’s character touched on what is a fundamental truth of human nature: we are united in tragedy.

Sir Alex Ferguson’s letter to the Manchester United fans, a strong case for rivalry as natural but never personal in enmity, was timely and well-said. The praise of its release prior to today’s Liverpool vs. Manchester United match was universal—as it should’ve been. Attempting, as I was, an ocean away and a generation apart from the significant moment that the Hillsborough represents in global football, I found myself wondering if we’re about to miss an incredible opportunity—a watershed moment where we realize what was truly on offer for us this week amongst all the emotion and muted tribalism.

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