Class conscious - Andrew Martin finds class in football managers

Football players have no taste, and can't talk, unlike (some) of their managers

Straining, in my satirical novel Bilton, to come up with a preposterous name for a mid-market colour-supplement magazine, I thought of Easy (Like Sunday Morning), and I now see that Conde

Nast has produced a magazine called Easy Living. Irrespective of

the publication's merits - and there is a very interesting item on how to colour-coordinate your bookshelves - did the editor not worry that the title implied a blueprint for life after a lobotomy?

A better use for Conde Nast's money might have been a mag on football managers. As far as I'm concerned this is my idea, although such a magazine may exist somewhere. It certainly ought to. It would probably have to be called Coach. This is already displacing the word "manager", which is too suburban to encompass the growing glamour of modern football coaches.

The increasing importance of the coach - and I write having just read a thousand-word profile of Jose Mourinho in the news pages of the Guardian - is a function of the embourgeoisement of football. It has been apparent for a while that the players are not a sufficient repository for the dreams of your average middle-class, middle-aged, male fantasist. The players have no taste, and they can't talk, unlike (some) of the coaches. Mick McCarthy, for example, who is the manager of Sunderland, once said: "Anyone who uses the word 'quintessentially' in a half-time team talk is talking crap." He is one of the managers I follow; Kevin Keegan was another one, until his sad retirement.

A third, though for slightly opposing reasons, is Bryan Robson.

I have watched, or listened to, hours of interviews with the former "Captain Marvel", waiting in vain for some tiny spark of life. But I admire his stoicism as he watches his teams draw nil in terrible northern weather when only a victory will do.

Speaking of touchline deportment, Coach would carry a feature every week in which a manager describes the clothes he wears in . . . not the dugout, please, but the "technical area". Graeme Souness would discuss how he colour-coordinates that burnt orange scarf of his which, on the face of it, you'd have thought a problematic shade. Some of the brainpower behind GQ could be diverted to Coach, so that there could be an analysis of Mourinho's loafers which can be seen from all angles, top and bottom, as he bounds across the pitch after a victory.

The average Premier League manager occupies a fascinating place in our social hierarchy. He is often a footballer made good, and so attracts the respect we accord both sportsmen and executives. He is not only frequently called "mister" by his players, but has also earned the right to be listened to across society. I once went to a London theatre-world party where, although there were many famous actors present, the man everybody wanted to speak to was Arsene Wenger.

Kevin Keegan once said he wouldn't mind becoming Prime Minister and I would certainly have voted for him, although I'd have insisted on a strong man at Defence. Keegan would have been Labour, obviously, just like that great autodidact Brian Clough, who was the first Labour-voting celebrity of whom I was aware, and whose social egalitarianism sat so oddly and attractively with his incredible big-headedness. Once, asked whether he was the best football manager in the country, he replied: "Well, I'd say I was in the top one."

Leading football managers' interactions with the players are a dreamlike parody of shop-floor confrontations. Players are given a talking to, or otherwise disciplined; the manager is himself sacked by the directors; and yet all involved have the safety net of being millionaires. No wonder the job specification is becoming more demanding. I'm not sure that Stuart Pearce will inherit the Man City job he so desires, because he isn't very beautiful. And how many languages can he speak, exactly?

This article first appeared in the 21 March 2005 issue of the New Statesman, What Britain really thinks

The Science & Society Picture Library
Show Hide image

This Ada Lovelace Day, let’s celebrate women in tech while confronting its sexist culture

In an industry where men hold most of the jobs and write most of the code, celebrating women's contributions on one day a year isn't enough. 

Ada Lovelace wrote the world’s first computer program. In the 1840s Charles Babbage, now known as the “father of the computer”, designed (though never built) the “Analytical Engine”, a machine which could accurately and reproducibly calculate the answers to maths problems. While translating an article by an Italian mathematician about the machine, Lovelace included a written algorithm for which would allow the engine to calculate a sequence of Bernoulli numbers.

Around 170 years later, Whitney Wolfe, one of the founders of dating app Tinder, was allegedly forced to resign from the company. According to a lawsuit she later filed against the app and its parent company, she had her co-founder title removed because, the male founders argued, it would look “slutty”, and because “Facebook and Snapchat don’t have girl founders. It just makes it look like Tinder was some accident". (They settled out of court.)

Today, 13 October, is Ada Lovelace day – an international celebration of inspirational women in science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM). It’s lucky we have this day of remembrance, because, as Wolfe’s story demonstrates, we also spend a lot of time forgetting and sidelining women in tech. In the wash of pale male founders of the tech giants that rule the industry,we don't often think about the women that shaped its foundations: Judith Estrin, one of the designers of TCP/IP, for example, or Radia Perlman, inventor of the spanning-tree protocol. Both inventions sound complicated, and they are – they’re some of the vital building blocks that allow the internet to function. 

And yet David Streitfield, a Pulitzer-prize winning journalist, someow felt it accurate to write in 2012: “Men invented the internet. And not just any men. Men with pocket protectors. Men who idolised Mr Spock and cried when Steve Jobs died.”

Perhaps we forget about tech's founding women because the needle has swung so far into the other direction. A huge proportion – perhaps even 90 per cent - of the world’s code is written by men. At Google, women fill 17 per cent of technical roles. At Facebook, 15 per cent. Over 90 per cent of the code respositories on Github, an online service used throughout the industry, are owned by men. Yet it's also hard to believe that this erasure of women's role in tech is completely accidental. As Elissa Shevinsky writes in the introduction to a collection of essays on gender in tech, Lean Out: “This myth of the nerdy male founder has been perpetuated by men who found this story favourable."

Does it matter? It’s hard to believe that it doesn’t. Our society is increasingly defined and delineated by code and the things it builds. Small slip-ups, like the lack of a period tracker on the original Apple Watch, or fitness trackers too big for some women’s wrists, gesture to the fact that these technologies are built by male-dominated teams, for a male audience.

In Lean Out, one essay written by a Twitter-based “start-up dinosaur” (don’t ask) explains how dangerous it is to allow one small segment of society to built the future for the rest of us:

If you let someone else build tomorrow, tomorrow will belong to someone else. They will build a better tomorrow for everyone like them… For tomorrow to be for everyone, everyone needs to be the one [sic] that build it.

So where did all the women go? How did we get from a rash of female inventors to a situation where the major female presence at an Apple iPhone launch is a model’s face projected onto a screen and photoshopped into a smile by a male demonstrator? 

Photo: Apple.

The toxic culture of many tech workplaces could be a cause or an effect of the lack of women in the industry, but it certainly can’t make make it easy to stay. Behaviours range from the ignorant - Martha Lane-Fox, founder of, often asked “what happens if you get pregnant?” at investors' meetings - to the much more sinister. An essay in Lean Out by Katy Levinson details her experiences of sexual harassment while working in tech: 

I have had interviewers attempt to solicit sexual favors from me mid-interview and discuss in significant detail precisely what they would like to do. All of these things have happened either in Silicon Valley working in tech, in an educational institution to get me there, or in a technical internship.

Others featured in the book joined in with the low-level sexism and racism  of their male colleagues in order to "fit in" and deflect negative attention. Erica Joy writes that while working in IT at the University of Alaska as the only woman (and only black person) on her team, she laughed at colleagues' "terribly racist and sexist jokes" and "co-opted their negative attitudes”. 

The casual culture and allegedly meritocratic hierarchies of tech companies may actually be encouraging this discriminatory atmosphere. HR and the strict reporting procedures of large corporates at least give those suffering from discrimination a place to go. A casual office environment can discourage reporting or calling out prejudiced humour or remarks. Brook Shelley, a woman who transitioned while working in tech, notes: "No one wants to be the office mother". So instead, you join in and hope for the best. 

And, of course, there's no reason why people working in tech would have fewer issues with discrimination than those in other industries. A childhood spent as a "nerd" can also spawn its own brand of misogyny - Katherine Cross writes in Lean Out that “to many of these men [working in these fields] is all too easy to subconciously confound women who say ‘this is sexist’ with the young girls who said… ‘You’re gross and a creep and I’ll never date you'". During GamerGate, Anita Sarkeesian was often called a "prom queen" by trolls. 

When I spoke to Alexa Clay, entrepreneur and co-author of the Misfit Economy, she confirmed that there's a strange, low-lurking sexism in the start-up economy: “They have all very open and free, but underneath it there's still something really patriarchal.” Start-ups, after all, are a culture which celebrates risk-taking, something which women are societally discouraged from doing. As Clay says, 

“Men are allowed to fail in tech. You have these young guys who these old guys adopt and mentor. If his app doesn’t work, the mentor just shrugs it off. I would not be able ot get away with that, and I think women and minorities aren't allowed to take the same amount of risks, particularly in these communities. If you fail, no one's saying that's fine.

The conclusion of Lean Out, and of women in tech I have spoken to, isn’t that more women, over time, will enter these industries and seamlessly integrate – it’s that tech culture needs to change, or its lack of diversity will become even more severe. Shevinsky writes:

The reason why we don't have more women in tech is not because of a lack of STEM education. It's because too many high profile and influential individuals and subcultures within the tech industry have ignored or outright mistreated women applicants and employees. To be succinct—the problem isn't women, it's tech culture.

Software engineer Kate Heddleston has a wonderful and chilling metaphor about the way we treat women in STEM. Women are, she writes, the “canary in the coal mine”. If one dies, surely you should take that as a sign that the mine is uninhabitable – that there’s something toxic in the air. “Instead, the industry is looking at the canary, wondering why it can’t breathe, saying ‘Lean in, canary, lean in!’. When one canary dies they get a new one because getting more canaries is how you fix the lack of canaries, right? Except the problem is that there isn't enough oxygen in the coal mine, not that there are too few canaries.” We need more women in STEM, and, I’d argue, in tech in particular, but we need to make sure the air is breatheable first. 

Barbara Speed is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman and a staff writer at CityMetric.