The English religion, it is sometimes said by people wondering why men don't go to church, is football. For the benefit of my American readers, or people from Gloucester, Northampton or St Helens, I should explain that I'm talking about foot-ball here, the game that one plays with one's feet, hence the name.
One part of the older, traditional religions of the British Isles, before the English arrived to introduce the Church of England and subsequently football, was human sacrifice. In order to ensure that the crops grew the following year, the Celtic folk would build giant Wicker Men, fill them with prisoners, and set them on fire - as shown in that seminal film where Christopher Lee cons Edward. Woodward into dressing up as a fool and then sets fire to him while the brass band plays "Summer is y-cumen in" or somesuch culturally inappropriate song.
For my American readers, I should explain that this is The Wicker Man. Not the one with Nicholas Cage. Ridiculous film that is. Imagine - a religious commune run by a scary woman, where the men are all useless drones. Where could they have got that kind of idea?
In more recent years, due a misprint, the Wicker men transformed into "wicket men" - a group of Novices, dressed ceremonially in white, who are slaughtered when they are unable to cope with the magic of "spin bowling".
For my American readers, cricket is... no, sorry, I couldn't possibly explain.
The English religion of football is based on a four-year liturgical cycle. In some respects it resembles the Fisher King of Arthurian legend, that man on whose welfare the state of the kingdom depends.
The nation engages a council of wise fools, the "FA", to find the man with the greatest tactical and magical skills. It must be a man. The English will not allow women to take this role due to a belief that they don't understand the arcane mysteries of the Laws of the Game- in particular "The Offside Rule".The FA are allowed to scour the world for this role, or sometimes just Middlesborough. When they find him, they pour gold over his head until he accepts the role.
The "England Manager" will initially be recognised by the nation to be gifted with second sight, profound wisdom, genius and an ability to solve the "Riddle of Gerrard and Lampard". His every touch will be regarded as magical, to be confirmed after two years when, after a goalless draw with a team from a small former Soviet Republic, the team narrowly qualify for Europe. He will then be declared "unlucky" to have gone out to Germany or, as it may be, Italy.
But this is the high spot of his powers. From now on, everything he does goes from genius to foolishness. He will repeatedly be compared with an ancestral sage of near god-like powers named "Ramsey" and seen to fall short. The only one still convinced of his powers, he will make bizarre claims to be able to divine the sins of people in former life. He may drop people in good form, play Wes Brown instead of Jamie Carragher, or believe in an antiquated formula known as "4-4-2".
The end of the Manager's reign is always bizarre, shambling oblivion. Managers have taken obviously injured players to tournaments in the belief that they can be miraculously healed; claimed to have fountains of youth in which Beckham can regain his youthful ability or paired Emile Heskey with Wayne Rooney. They may unexpectedly take Lineker off when we need a goal, or pick players who have never even played for their clubs. Some may even start to resemble turnips, or other root vegetables. When they raise an umbrella above their heads in a futile attempt to keep the anger of the gods from falling on them, the nation knows that it is time. The well-being of England is once again at a low.
Eventually The Manager is sacrificed to that god-like pantheon "The Press". Supernatural beings that are said to be able to know a man's very thoughts - or at least his phone messages. The Press accepts the sacrifice, and makes one demand of the FA. If the last Manager was English, they demand the mystic powers of a foreigner. If the last was foreign, they request the traditions and ancient powers of a Briton. They belief that there is one mage - the O'Neill of legend - who can combine both these threads. And yet the O'Neill can never be found when he is needed.
Enough. Time has once again come full circle. The sacrifice is made. A new Manager will be appointed, all nature will be reborn and the cycle can begin again.
One part of the older, traditional religions of the British Isles, before the English arrived to introduce the Church of England and subsequently football, was human sacrifice. In order to ensure that the crops grew the following year, the Celtic folk would build giant Wicker Men, fill them with prisoners, and set them on fire - as shown in that seminal film where Christopher Lee cons Edward. Woodward into dressing up as a fool and then sets fire to him while the brass band plays "Summer is y-cumen in" or somesuch culturally inappropriate song.
For my American readers, I should explain that this is The Wicker Man. Not the one with Nicholas Cage. Ridiculous film that is. Imagine - a religious commune run by a scary woman, where the men are all useless drones. Where could they have got that kind of idea?
In more recent years, due a misprint, the Wicker men transformed into "wicket men" - a group of Novices, dressed ceremonially in white, who are slaughtered when they are unable to cope with the magic of "spin bowling".
For my American readers, cricket is... no, sorry, I couldn't possibly explain.
The English religion of football is based on a four-year liturgical cycle. In some respects it resembles the Fisher King of Arthurian legend, that man on whose welfare the state of the kingdom depends.
The nation engages a council of wise fools, the "FA", to find the man with the greatest tactical and magical skills. It must be a man. The English will not allow women to take this role due to a belief that they don't understand the arcane mysteries of the Laws of the Game- in particular "The Offside Rule".The FA are allowed to scour the world for this role, or sometimes just Middlesborough. When they find him, they pour gold over his head until he accepts the role.
The "England Manager" will initially be recognised by the nation to be gifted with second sight, profound wisdom, genius and an ability to solve the "Riddle of Gerrard and Lampard". His every touch will be regarded as magical, to be confirmed after two years when, after a goalless draw with a team from a small former Soviet Republic, the team narrowly qualify for Europe. He will then be declared "unlucky" to have gone out to Germany or, as it may be, Italy.
But this is the high spot of his powers. From now on, everything he does goes from genius to foolishness. He will repeatedly be compared with an ancestral sage of near god-like powers named "Ramsey" and seen to fall short. The only one still convinced of his powers, he will make bizarre claims to be able to divine the sins of people in former life. He may drop people in good form, play Wes Brown instead of Jamie Carragher, or believe in an antiquated formula known as "4-4-2".
The end of the Manager's reign is always bizarre, shambling oblivion. Managers have taken obviously injured players to tournaments in the belief that they can be miraculously healed; claimed to have fountains of youth in which Beckham can regain his youthful ability or paired Emile Heskey with Wayne Rooney. They may unexpectedly take Lineker off when we need a goal, or pick players who have never even played for their clubs. Some may even start to resemble turnips, or other root vegetables. When they raise an umbrella above their heads in a futile attempt to keep the anger of the gods from falling on them, the nation knows that it is time. The well-being of England is once again at a low.
Eventually The Manager is sacrificed to that god-like pantheon "The Press". Supernatural beings that are said to be able to know a man's very thoughts - or at least his phone messages. The Press accepts the sacrifice, and makes one demand of the FA. If the last Manager was English, they demand the mystic powers of a foreigner. If the last was foreign, they request the traditions and ancient powers of a Briton. They belief that there is one mage - the O'Neill of legend - who can combine both these threads. And yet the O'Neill can never be found when he is needed.
Enough. Time has once again come full circle. The sacrifice is made. A new Manager will be appointed, all nature will be reborn and the cycle can begin again.
Cry God for Harry, England and St George.........
ReplyDeleteLaughing so much! Thank you! X
ReplyDeleteNever expected to so much enjoy a post about football - in which I have no interest whatsoever.
ReplyDelete