Marina Hyde on how awful we are to footballers:
… in many quarters, outrage ensues. If it’s not Grealish, it’s Jack Wilshere having a fag in a pool in Vegas and I imagine it’ll be only days before Raheem Sterling lets himself, the headmaster and the whole school down. They’re “the type” aren’t they? The Victorian division between the deserving and the undeserving poor has been updated to give us deserving and undeserving footballers, and their comparatively tame transgressions have become the mood music of the close season. Yet voicing disapproval about footballers smoking or drinking on holiday is like live-tweeting Take Me Out. Even if you have nothing better to do, you should seek to give the impression that you have.
*checks webpage header*
Goodness me, I really am reading the ‘Guardian’!
There’s a turn-up for the books, eh?
I always imagine this type of “football lover” as only a slightly less ghastly version of Papa Lazarou in The League of Gentleman, who would kidnap women while leering: “YOU’RE MY WIFE NOW.” Whenever their club signs a new player, these guys watch the telly footage of them holding up the shirt and rasp: “YOU WORK FOR ME NOW.”
Except they don’t. They play football for your club, at the market rate, and they’re really not morally obligated to spend their time off servicing your dim-bulb role model fantasy, 93% of which is predicated on the fact that you have unresolved issues about young working-class men getting rich. If they want to pass out in Playa de las Américas, get over it. Or go into analysis.
Excellent advice, Marina!
Now, why does that somehow not apply to Tom Hopper, Adam Smith and James Pearson..?