Football pundits

At the 2006 World Cup, Martin O’Neill took the Mumbling-Idiot Football Pundit Rulebook and ripped it to bits – as befits a man who drinks petrol for fun and spent his downtime stalking the studio like an avenging justice, casually breaking stuff and seething with barely suppressed bestial rage at an ignorant, heartless world.

O’Nails, officially the world’s hardest man, rocked the Match of the Day universe by seeking to pass on genuine knowledge and insight. He also eschewed the cardinal rule of exhibiting a general, false bonhomie; instead he seemed actively to despise his colleagues.

The former Celtic and now Aston Villa manager was
never happier than when taking former England captain Alan Shearer to pieces on live TV. Toying with the ex-Toon striker as the gods are wont to do with men, O’Nails said Shearer’s name had ‘cropped up’ at his recent interview for the job of England manager. ‘Have you worked with Shearer?’ asked the FA. ‘Would you consider doing so?’

‘I said no. Now that I have [worked with you], the answer would still be no.’

At half-time during the Germany–Portugal play-off for third place, O’Neill recounted Hollywood screenwriter William Goldman’s famous remark that ‘nobody knows anything’. Not seeking to alienate viewers, he was careful to explain exactly who Goldman was – mentioning his most
famous screenplay, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
Lineker and the two Alans looked a little shellshocked.
Shearer said the story was as boring as the game’s first half.
O’Neill shot back with the veiled but tragically unfinished:
‘Well, maybe you should spend more time watching films and less . . .’

When Ian Wright interrupted O’Nails as he was explaining the finer points of a Holland v Serbia & Montenegro game with, ‘So, you like to talk about S&M? Eh? Eh?’, O’Neill looked a small step away from chinning him.

As a manager, you could imagine him stamping his authority on the dressing room by freaking out the players– by standing up in front of the chalkboard and arguing . . . with himself. ‘You want to spend more time watching football and less time shouting at yourself . . . Yeah? Well, fuck you.’ And so on.

Where was I? Oh, yeah – with the exception of O’Nails, pundits are generally idiots. Football punditry is a world where Peter Schmeichel, asked to explain why a Blackburn Rovers player received two yellow cards but was not sent off, will oblige by repeatedly shouting throughout the action replay: ‘Look at that! Look at that!’ Or former England striker Mick Channon can make it through the entire 1986 World Cup finals without once correctly pronouncing the name of England’s current star striker, Gary Line-acre. The same standards applied to other areas of media punditry would have financial reporters on Newsnight disclosing:

‘The Bank of England, though, you’ve got to say, they’re a different class. They’ve got everything. Interest rates. Pace. Lots of money. Sensational.’ Or minor authors turning up half-cut on Start the Week and saying: ‘Books? Yeah.’

(Actually, in the case of Start the Week, that would be an improvement.)

Ian Wright, for instance, loves England like only a nutter loves England. He made his name as an pundit during ITV’s coverage of the 1998 World Cup, where he spent England’s rollercoaster second-round defeat to Argentina sulking (1–0 Argentina); jumping up and down while grinning (1–1); jumping up and down while shouting randomly generated vowels (1–2); standing with both hands wedged firmly into his armpits, refusing to speak (2–2); sticking his bottom lip out like a six-year-old (England defeated on penalties).
His greatest moment at the Beeb was his reaction to England’s first defeat in 473 years to Northern Ireland. Asked for the in-depth analysis he was paid to give, he just said: ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

In Germany, he was rarely used for games not involving England. Presumably as he’d only say things like: ‘You’ll have to ask someone else because I don’t give one. Come on England!’

Alan Hansen’s analysis, meanwhile, can always be distilled thus: ‘They’ve got pace, power, desire, pace, desire, passion, drive, pace, passion, power, pace, drive, pace, power and power. And power. And pace . . . And power.’

Funnyman presenter Gary Lineker (‘We’ve got the big three in action tonight: West Brom, Norwich and Palace!’) was probably just relieved that, with the World Cup not having handles, this was at least one tournament where he doesn’t look like the trophy.

Over on ITV, we had Andy Townsend and Ally McCoist perched behind a lectern on the touchline sporting the finest suits Ciro Cittero have to offer. Viewers had to keep reminding themselves it wasn’t the adverts and had nothing to do with homeowner loans.

After one disappointing Spanish display, Townsend was asked whether Spain’s complicated ethnic politics may have contributed to the team’s failure to gel. It was irrelevant, he said: ‘The coach should sort it out.’ Ruud Gullit suggested it was ‘a bit more complicated than that’. ‘The coach should sort it out,’ repeated Townsend – conjuring up images of Spanish coach Luis Aragones, perhaps aided by the ITV Sport team, launching a Truth and Reconciliation process for the Franco dictatorship.

Maybe they could get Everton Giant Peter Reid in to help? Reid celebrated England’s 2002 World Cup defeat of Argentina with some refreshing cold drinks. However, unlike everyone else enjoying the carnival atmosphere that morning, he was booked to appear later that evening as an expert pundit on Match of the Day. He was nothing if not honest as he slumped on the edge of the sofa: ‘I’ve had a few drinks,’ he admitted. ‘’Scuse me if I slur m’words.' Sadly, he clammed up for the entire hour of broadcast, only coming to life right at the end when asked for his opinion of Brazil. ‘Sorry, were you talking to me? I’ve missed my cue again, haven’t I?’