Nick Wright previews this weekend's clash between York City Knights and Hull FC
Alex Reid looks at whether the once ever-present appearance of English clubs in the later stages of the Champions League is set to become a thing of the past
Craig Dobson looks at QPR's decision to sack Neil Warnock and replace him with Mark Hughes
James Tompkinson reviews an excellent pre-season victory for the York City Knights against Yorkshire rivals Leeds Rhinos
Yes, you can take heart from your football team’s performances, or your favourite player’s tenacity, but ultimately there’s only room at the top for one champion. However, one source of happiness remains undiminished, no matter how bad your side’s season has been: we can all revel in the unadulterated bliss of sporting schadenfreude.
We all know that the Premier League has gotten pretty predictable, and unless you support Manchester United, Chelsea or Liverpool then at the start of the season any dreams of championship glory are unlikely to trouble the rest of us in the real world. In a league of twenty, there is comfortably room to accommodate a dozen mediocre sides with little to play for but pride – or at most a place in the inaugural Europa League, a tournament so tantalising that Tottenham’s Harry Redknapp has already written the revamped competition off as a “distraction”.
So what’s there to enjoy in these last few days of the season, with the champions crowned and the vast majority of teams already on holiday mentally, if not physically? (Incidentally, Joey Barton’s predilection for Her Majesty’s travel agency remains perplexing, although Ledley King seems impressed enough by the facilities that he seems to have planned a short stay himself.)
The answer is unanimous, even if some are less willing to admit it than others: the real final-day drama for those marooned in mid-table comes with the wait to see if your most disliked team goes down. Do you hate Hull? Are you seething at Sunderland? Barmy over Boro? Narked at Newcastle? All four teams will be sweating it out on the final day of the season, after a serious of trips, stumbles and flat-out failures that left none of them able to definitively rule themselves out of the relegation scrap before game number 38.
Nothing quite beats a good, hard chuckle at somebody else’s misfortune
It might seem a bit negative to pin your hopes on the relegation race rather than the title tussle, but deep down you just know that nothing quite beats a good, hard chuckle at somebody else’s misfortune. Wouldn’t it just be perfect if Newcastle, mysteriously still a ‘big club’ despite not having won a trophy since before Alan Shearer was born, were finally taken down by the geordie messiah himself? Of course it would, but no more so than if Hull’s bronzed berk Phil Brown was able to get his side relegated and undermine his fine early work with the Tigers in a manner that hasn’t been seen since the release of The Godfather Part Three; this truly is a vintage year for vindictiveness.
Of course, it might struggle to top last year when we consider Europe. This year’s Champions League final, between Manchester United and Barcelona, has little to offer misery merchants – if United prevail, it’s the first back-to-back win since 1990 and if Barcelona take the trophy, then it’s a fitting reward for a fantastic, free-flowing team that have been a credit to the sport. Where’s the fun in two equally honourable outcomes? Remember last year – we were spoilt for choice. There was Didier Drogba getting himself sent off and seemingly costing his team the match. Then it went to penalties, when Cristiano Ronaldo missed his kick and proceeded to whimper until the shoot-out concluded.
However, these were all mere morsels to whet our appetite for the most delectable treat of all: England’s Brave Lion John Terry, readjusting his captain’s armband as he prepared to score the kick that would secure Chelsea’s first ever Champions League trophy…before slipping, missing and then sobbing like a victorious Eurovision contestant.
If you scoffed at the claim of schadenfreude reigning supreme, then ask yourself how you reacted when you saw Terry take that tumble. Sympathy? Did you feel his pain, his shame, the bitter tears stinging his face on that cold night in Moscow? Or did you scurry over to your computer to see if somebody had uploaded it to YouTube yet?
A footballer crying is the holy grail, but in the league we have to settle for fans. A week from now, some scamp’s face-paint stripes will be turning to streaks on Match of the Day as they wave goodbye to the Premier League. After the underwhelming season so many fans have had, it’s all they’ve got to look forward to.
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