It is definitely, definitely not the case that the teams in La Liga are better. Photo: David Ramos/Getty Images
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Why are we messing up at top-flight football? I have all the answers

Champion of Europe? Not these days. Hunter Davies explains some of the reasons England aren't quite the footballing force they once were.

Why are we so bad? At this time of the year, England used to have four teams left in the quarter-finals of the Euro championship, two or three at the semis stage, sometimes an all-England final. This year: nothing, nada, disparu. Our four world-class Premiership clubs are long goners. The great brains of the football world have been wrestling with this most vexatious question, muttering into their fashionable beards that it’s a big ask, but now we have some answers...

We are not bad. It’s just that we are in the presence of greatness. Living at this time are some players of genius, so bow down before Messi, let us praise Ronaldo and let’s be grateful that our rough, simple lads get to play on the same turf, even if they spend most of the game lying down, the ball having passed through their legs, again. For last Sunday’s Clásico between Real Madrid and Barça, I stood during the whole game. Respect.

The pendulum will swing. It can’t go on like this. These bad spells never last long. Look at the England national team – why, it was only yesterday they won the World Cup, hold on, correction, 49 years, OK, forget England: that particular pendulum has somehow got stuck on the marker saying “Shite”, so we’ll move on...

Too many bloomin’ foreigners everywhere. They come over here, take all our street-sweeping jobs, provide brilliant service in Pret a Manger and sleep with all our English girls, so how can our lads get in any of our Prem teams? Have you noticed how they arrive in the Prem with big reputations, come to save us, show us how, yet the moment they put on the shirts of Man United, Man City or Spurs, they prove to be rubbish? A plot, obviously. “Are you a double agent in disguise?” they now sing on the Shelf at White Hart Lane.

Too well paid. How can they concentrate when they’re worrying about their HSBC account in Jersey, their five gardeners, three brand managers, two lawyers, two accountants and three French hens bought for tax reasons?

Not paid well enough. They’re being really horrid to Raheem Sterling at present, refusing him £150k a week. Liverpool are just so mean, just because he’s young and inexperienced. Why, it’s ages since he was in short trousers. How can he do his best if he’s worrying about where his next Bentley is coming from?

And the next haircut. People go on about rugby players not needing to bother, but come on, they look pathetic, bits all over the shop. Our footballers do have standards. Having that sharp parting made fashionable by Giroud is not easy. Fans don’t realise it takes surgery to get the line right. And a quiff at the front, or plastered up in the air, as the players do at Newcastle. You need a cool cut to hold your head up in a Prem dressing room.

Surrounding the ref. They also go on about rugger players never arguing with the ref. How craven is that? Far better to have a co-ordinated verbal assault on the ref, all the players going blue in the face. Takes ages in training, which is why they have little time for working on all that soppy stuff they do in Europe, such as passing the ball.

Easier in Europe. Oh yes, it is. Bayern Munich, 10 points ahead in Germany, often field only five players, sometimes just the wives of the first team, and still they hammer everyone. In Spain, Real Madrid and Barça are level pegging, but down at the bottom, dear me, it’s like a Sunday league, or playing Carlisle United. In our wonderful Prem, richest, most competitive in the world, it’s war every week.

The general election. Our lads have been distracted all season, worrying about the result. Once that’s over, you’ll see.

England are ahead of the game. In everything, being an advanced civilisation. Did we not have the Industrial Revolution first, and suffer the consequences first? Did we not give cricket, rugby and football to the world, then politely stand back while others did them better? See, we are the winners, really. Calm down...

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 March 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Easter Double 2015

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Andy Burnham and Sadiq Khan are both slippery self-mythologisers – so why do we rate one more than the other?

Their obsessions with their childhoods have both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

Andy Burnham is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s widely seen as an unprincipled flip-flopper.

Sadiq Khan is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s the hugely popular mayor of London, the voice of those who’d be proud to think of themselves as the metropolitan liberal elite, and is even talked of as a possible future leader of the Labour party.

Oh, and also they were both born in 1970. So that’s a thing they have in common, too.

Why it is this approach to politics should have worked so much better for the mayor of London than the would-be mayor of Manchester is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. There are definite parallels between Burnham’s attempts to present himself as a normal northern bloke who likes normal things like football, and Sadiq’s endless reminders that he’s a sarf London geezer whose dad drove a bus. They’ve both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

And yes, Burnham apparent tendency to switch sides, on everything from NHS privatisation to the 2015 welfare vote to the leadership of Jeremy Corbyn, has given him a reputation for slipperiness. But Sadiq’s core campaign pledge was to freeze London transport fares; everyone said it was nonsense, and true to form it was, and you’d be hard pressed to find an observer who thought this an atypical lapse on the mayor’s part. (Khan, too, has switched sides on the matter of Jeremy Corbyn.)

 And yet, he seems to get away with this, in a way that Burnham doesn’t. His low-level duplicity is factored in, and it’s hard to judge him for it because, well, it’s just what he’s like, isn’t it? For a long time, the Tory leadership’s line on London’s last mayor was “Boris is Boris”, meaning, look, we don’t trust him either, but what you gonna do? Well: Sadiq is Sadiq.

Even the names we refer to them by suggest that one of these two guys is viewed very differently from the other. I’ve instinctively slipped into referring to the mayor of London by his first name: he’s always Sadiq, not Khan, just as his predecessors were Boris and Ken. But, despite Eoin Clarke’s brief attempt to promote his 2015 leadership campaign with a twitter feed called “Labour Andy”, Burnham is still Burnham: formal, not familiar. 

I’ve a few theories to explain all this, though I’ve no idea which is correct. For a while I’ve assumed it’s about sincerity. When Sadiq Khan mentions his dad’s bus for the 257th time in a day, he does it with a wink to the audience, making a crack about the fact he won’t stop going on about it. That way, the message gets through to the punters at home who are only half listening, but the bored lobby hacks who’ve heard this routine two dozen times before feel they’re in the joke.

Burnham, it seems to me, lacks this lightness of touch: when he won’t stop banging on about the fact he grew up in the north, it feels uncomfortably like he means it. And to take yourself seriously in politics is sometimes to invite others to make jokes at your expense.

Then again, perhaps the problem is that Burnham isn’t quite sincere enough. Sadiq Khan genuinely is the son of a bus-driving immigrant: he may keep going on about it, but it is at least true. Burnham’s “just a northern lad” narrative is true, too, but excludes some crucial facts: that he went to Cambridge, and was working in Parliament aged 24. Perhaps that shouldn’t change how we interpret his story; but I fear, nonetheless, it does.

Maybe that’s not it, though: maybe I’m just another London media snob. Because Burnham did grow up at the disadvantaged end of the country, a region where, for too many people, chasing opportunities means leaving. The idea London is a city where the son of a bus driver can become mayor flatters our metropolitan self-image; the idea that a northerner who wants to build a career in politics has to head south at the earliest opportunity does the opposite. 

So if we roll our eyes when Burnham talks about the north, perhaps that reflects badly on us, not him: the opposite of northern chippiness is southern snobbery.

There’s one last possibility for why we may rate Sadiq Khan more highly than Andy Burnham: Sadiq Khan won. We can titter a little at the jokes and the fibs but he is, nonetheless, mayor of London. Andy Burnham is just the bloke who lost two Labour leadership campaigns.

At least – for now. In six weeks time, he’s highly likely to the first mayor of Greater Manchester. Slipperiness is not the worst quality in a mayor; and so much of the job will be about banging the drum for the city, and the region, that Burnham’s tendency to wear his northernness on his sleeve will be a positive boon.

Sadiq Khan’s stature has grown because the fact he became London’s mayor seems to say something, about the kind of city London is and the kind we want it to be. Perhaps, after May, Andy Burnham can do the same for the north – and the north can do the same for Andy Burnham.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.