Max GalysIn his first ever piece of writing, the former Arsenal man reflects on the things that make football beautiful…
It was just another cold, wet morning after training at London Colney.
Shook the grass off my boots and headed into the boot room like every other day. Left the GPS in the box as usual and sat down to take a breather. Through the glass door, I could hear Mr Wenger having a conversation. I can’t remember who he was talking to, but when The Boss spoke, I always listened.
These magic words stayed with me through life.
“Football is like art, like dancing or writing; it’s one’s self-expression. And that’s why it’s beautiful.”
I’m sure some of you have seen or heard a variation of this same quote somewhere. But trust me, hearing it from the man himself is like comparing fine wine to a San Miguel. The latter being the correct choice, obviously. Playing under him was a masterclass season after season, and not so much for what he said but for what he didn't. This was a man who truly believed what he preached, who created a space where freedom and self-expression bloomed, where players could connect with their own nature and capabilities and develop more natural and collective synergies with their peers.
That was more than a decade ago, and since then, football has changed quite a lot. Every new season, the main artists in this show become more and more tampered by technical ramble. Big data. Fantasy Football (the single most damaging tool made to individualise a sport that is and will always be a true collective effort) with its numbers that are decided by a fella that only knows about squash. And, of course, the outrageous Expected Goals.
I guess, like all things in life, the game evolves and reinvents itself. We will always want to keep cheering every weekend, even after our team has five defeats in a row on their backs, but trying to decipher the unpredictability of football through numbers, valuing players for single actions that don’t mind the real work they do, and developing technologies that leave machines to make decisions for us—is a suicide for a sport that’s played, watched, and lived with the most human of all things; our heart.
Let me paint the picture for you with a quick and personal example.
To read the rest of this amazing article, head over to the MUNDIAL website…
