Tuesday 9th October marked a watershed in shirt
sponsorship deals; when it was assumed by fans and media commentators alike
that all questions of just what was ethically repugnant and morally
reprehensible to sports fans had finally been answered, new depths were
plumbed. I’m talking about the decision of Meath’s county GAA board to strike a
deal with Tayto Park (www.taytopark.ie), the potato crisp Disneyland just outside
Ashbourne off the N2. In County Meath, they may have a high transfat snack
product on their shirts, but they also have the East Meath Credit Union
providing affordable financial solutions for ordinary people in that area.
Meanwhile,
the clownish circus at the bottom of Barrack Road that simply keeps on creating
copy for the Fourth Estate, announced that squalid loan sharks Wonga
had handed over something in the region of £24m to get their names on
the front of Newcastle United shirts, rumoured to be made by Sondico in future,
from the start of the 2013/2014 season. However, as a simpering codicil to the
deal, the ground would be renamed St. James’ Park, which was all anyone had
called it any way, other than quisling apologists for the Ashley administration.
Indignation swiftly followed; some of it opportunistic and false, especially
among the jaded NUJ contingent and some of it passionate and heartfelt in the
NUFC family. Attending Whitley Bay 4 Marske United 0 that night, I spent much
of the time with The Independent’s Martin Hardy, who reacted with genuine
disgust to the news and fair play to him for that, as many of his colleagues
saw the deal as simply another wearisome opportunity to give the club, and
especially the support, an on-line shoeing.
As ever, the international break had been viewed by the
current “owners” of the club as the appropriate time to launch yet another
initiative that seemed, on the surface, designed, as per usual, to piss off the
fan base and allow for some shallow handwringing and petty point scoring by the
various hacks and scribes on both local and national titles. The
Grauniad’s self-mythologizing narcissist David Conman took time out
from retweeting obsequious praise of his latest dull book to fire off some
sombre and shallow pronouncements that were gobbled up by similar ahistorical
chuckleheads, meaning they could temporarily abandon their endless questioning
of the validity of Graham Carr’s role and his 8 year contract.
Of course, criticism of Pardew and his team’s similar long
term deals has pointedly been lacking; then again the chance of another day’s
work experience at Darsley Park and an opportunity to hobnob with the first
team squad may mean it’s hard to judge people who’ve splendidly indulged you in
the past. This is especially important when one considers that the new sponsors
have offered to set up meetings with fans’ leaders in the future, considering
some of the fiercest critics of this deal are ones who’ve been the most keen to
spend time with club top brass, from Chris Mort onwards, at various times in
the past; perhaps they may exploit any opportunity to hook up with the current “owners”
or their underlings, not to mention Wonga apparatchiks in the future. Who
can tell?
Much of the criticism, both from fans and journalists, has
centred on the “morality” or otherwise of the deal and Wonga as a company. It
seems that the use of such terms within the context of football arguments has
steadily been gaining popularity, perhaps since the 1998 News of the World sting involving Hall fils and Shepherd that became known by
the vile soubriquet, Toongate. I am not happy with the
loose bandying about of the term “morality,” as it generally seems to be a
lazy, catch-all explanation by many users for why the opposing point of view is
wrong, rather than looking in detail at the mechanics of the deal. Money
lending is wrong, according to both Christianity and Islam; this makes it
immoral to adherents of these religions. Yet much of the criticism of this deal
is based either on aesthetic grounds, in terms of the media profile and public
image of Wonga, or because of the business practices of a company that
charge 4,217% on their pay day loans.
The former argument is specious, as it presupposes that
other companies, regardless of their business practices, will be more
acceptable, because of their advertising campaigns or the product they sell. In
harking back to the days of Northern Rock, surely far more NUFC
minded people suffered penury and financial hardship as a result of that,
previously long-respected and popular local business hitting the buffers than Wonga?
The latter argument is about the ethics of how the sponsors operate;
undeniably, Wonga prey upon vulnerable people in this harsh economic climate
and that stinks. It’s a repulsive way to make a living and my conscience wouldn’t
allow me to drive people to the verge of destitution as a way of making a
living.
Sadly, we are talking about capitalism; a system without
conscience existing purely to make money for the ruling elite by exploiting the
working class. Pre-paid electricity and gas meter cards that are set at a
tariff considerably higher than the ordinary charges for punters paying monthly
by direct debit, cash machines in corner booze shops that charge £3 for the
privilege of accessing the customer’s money, endless parades of fast food
outlets offering diabetes, obesity and early death to young and old alike, sub-standard
health, education, welfare and housing facilities; Cash Convertors (sponsors
of Hull City don’t forget) on every high street; this is the reality of poverty
under capitalism. Let us not delude ourselves, Wonga are no better or
worse than any other financial corporation or multinational company operating
in the world today; many of who, such as Capital One with the League Cup or our soon to be ex-sponsors Virgin
Money, have taken the cynical opportunity of associating their
rapacious brand with a football club.
Let’s be clear about this; “morality” and capitalism are
mutually exclusive terms. As fans, we have the right to object, vociferously if
needed, about the deal, but it can’t end with just a few random moans and
groans. The deal must not be viewed simply as another snide attempt to wind us
up by Ashely and Llambias, so getting angry about it is pointless; look at
things from a wider perspective. We must be tough on poverty and tough on the
causes of poverty, to bastardise a phrase; save questions of “morality” for
discussions about why John Terry got away with a 4 game ban for racially
abusing Anton Ferdinand. Fair play to PFA leader Clarke Carlisle for putting
his head above the parapet and announcing he feels the ban is
disproportionately minor for the transgression Terry was found guilty of;
racism in the game is decidedly immoral.
On Tuesday afternoon, I was approached by The
Independent to provide a 400 word comment piece on the Wonga
deal. I took the opportunity, with some misgivings, as I prefer not to
react to events immediately, but to take a longer term view on them. Xhou Enlai’s
1971 comment when asked about the importance of the French Revolution of 1789, it’s too early to tell, being a
particular favourite of mine. However, with apologies for the telegraphed
nature of my thoughts imposed on me by the constraints of the word limit, this
is what I had to say -:
The news that
Newcastle United’s first team shirts will next season carry adverts for Wonga has left me feeling particularly
underwhelmed; I neither rejoice nor despair at this deal with a crowd of
on-line usurers of dubious provenance. Frankly, having seen the effects of last
summer’s pitiful lack of investment in the squad in the shape of a 3-0 loss to Manchester
United exposing further our stretched, injury ravaged squad in dire need of a
right back and centre half, I am forced to state that there are more things to
worry about in this world than the morality of the company sponsoring my
football team. After the international break, our team travel to Wearside; that
fixture is occupying more of my thoughts that next season’s shirt sponsor. If
this sponsorship brings in 3 new players in January, I’ll willingly suspend my
disapproval.
In terms of damage to
the north east region, I’d imagine the products that rolled from the former Scottish & Newcastle Brewery
opposite the ground blighted more lives, both instrumentally and influentially,
than Wonga has, thus far. I don’t
wish to be flippant but mere outrage at this sponsorship deal is simply a waste
of breath; rather like the mendacious, provocative renaming of St. James’ Park,
the machinations of the current owners will be met initially with an indignant
clamour that gives way to a contemptuous distaste. No-one ever referred to the
ground as anything other than St. James’ Park anyway.
As regards the
betrayal of those suffering under the yoke of poverty, or whatever else this
deal is supposed to have resulted in, it seems fair to ask just where were the
howls of derision in the environs of Bloomfield Road or Tynecastle when Wonga struck deals in the past. If this
arrangement means my team can dismantle their local rivals 5-1 in the cup
final, as Hearts did last season, then I say bring it on, even if Hibs are my
Scottish team.
Frankly, as a Marxist
and a passionate believer in supporter ownership, I can’t imagine a situation
whereby I would approve of the business practices of any commercial partners,
though this old punk would die happy if Rough Trade records decided to sponsor
my club.
I don’t think I expressed myself particularly eloquently,
but at least The Independent didn’t traduce me in the way the loathsome Grauniad
did back in 2007.
In many ways, it is more than annoying that the Wonga
deal has been announced at this point in the season, as it deflects attention
from the football activities of the club which, during the period since I last
commented, have seen the team take steps forward, backwards and sideways akin
to a series of complicated dance steps that remain impossible to learn. Away
points at Everton and Reading were garnered in a pair of 2-2 draws that
combined abysmal opening halves, astute tactical readjustments and a brace of
Demba Ba goals in each. Equally important, the rub of the refereeing green has
been with us on each occasion, making displeasure at Cisse’s “goal” versus
Manchester United less than credible, as we remain 2-1 up on dodgy decisions.
Perhaps it is true; the big clubs, like us, get all the decisions against the
smaller ones. I have to say that Demba Ba’s honesty about his handball goal at
the Madjeski proved yet again that the man is an absolute gentleman; what a
wonderful ambassador for the club he is.
Europe has been intriguing. Last Thursday’s 3-0 battering of
Bordeaux, easily the season’s best performance, was as heralded as it was
unexpected. I’d gone there in full expectation we would lose 2-0 as Bordeaux, despite
their collapse after the second goal went in, are a handy outfit. The youngish
nature of the crowd, on the back of dirt cheap tickets for under 18s, added
some sparkle and verve to the atmosphere, as well as allowing me to get in for
£5; it wasn’t a deliberate fraud on my part, just an administrative error,
acting as an example of my technological incompetence when buying tickets for
Ben and his mates on line. Somehow I ended up with an extra one about four rows
behind them; still it was nice to be back in the Gallowgate centre, without
wanting to repeatedly ploat the gobshites who used to sit behind me in the
face, as obviously they weren’t there. They’d have hated the comfortable win
and encouraging performance. While Tiote is more Rambo than Rimbaud, he put his
“Season in Hell” behind him to run the game, with his withdrawal for Gosling
being akin to replacing Unknown Pleasures on the turntable
with Black
Lace’s Greatest Hits. On National Poetry Day, it was fitting that Yohan
Cabaye’s glorious cross field ball to Obertan that set up the opener was as beautifully
crafted as Baudelaire’s verse. The less said about the bladdered streaker who
emerged from the Strawberry Corner after Cisse wrapped up the scoring the
better; suffice to say our visitors from the Gironde no doubt viewed this
spectacle of contemporary interpretative dance with Gallic indifference, as the
rest of us cringed.
Prior to this, the banal 0-0 away to Maritimo had seen 2
points tossed away in what appeared to be a belated pre-season friendly; a
shadow squad playing in an almost empty ground with a tea-time kick-off, while
numerous chances are spurned with indulgent smirks by the perpetrators. While
Vukic continues to underachieve and Marveaux and Gosling demonstrate they
provide nothing for the team, bizarrely, only Rob Elliott, seen as the weakest
player in the first team squad at the season’s start, has enhanced his
reputation, both in Funchal and in the predictable 2-1 loss at Old Trafford in
the League Cup. Apparently, it’s the Capital One cup now, but I’m
choosing its original name, more out of habit than indignation at the thought
of moneylenders cosying up to the Football League’s temple. In all seriousness,
when Newcastle qualified for the Europa League at the end of last season, my
first thought was how it would mean another season of failure in the League
Cup; don’t get me wrong, even if we’d put out a first choice XI and won in
Manchester, the next round’s draw at Chelsea would have probably seen us out on
our arses. Unfortunately it now means, the season will consist of attempting to
qualify for a Europa League competition we seem indifferent to this time
around; Newcastle United could be renamed FC Tautology.
On the basis of home league performances, we will struggle
to match last season’s league placing, but we knew that when the chance to
augment the squad was passed up in the summer. The 1-0 home win over Norwich
wasn’t the most convincing, but thankfully we were only up against Comrade
Chris and his meagre store of tactical acumen; in the absence of Peter
Lovenkrands, he was only able to bring on Grant Holt. Just when we looked
vulnerable, and the unnecessary indulgent arrogance of allowing Cisse to take a
penalty that would have won us the game seemed ready to haunt us, the Canaries
restricted themselves to blasting aimless high balls to someone who looks like
an extra from The Bill and we saw the game out. I didn’t make the Manchester
United game, selling my ticket on to the incoming Boyle & Maynooth Flying
Column, but, farcical defending in the opening 15 minutes apart, it was a far
better performance than the Norwich one. That is of no consequence in the long
run as three points were lost, almost entirely down to weaknesses in the team. To
be frank, I’ve conceded loads of goals like the one Harper let in from
Cleverley; then again, I’m 48 and play in division 4 of the North East over 40s
league. Looking at the current playing
staff,it is blindingly obvious a centre back, a right back and a striker would
do wonders for the squad; you know it, I know, Pardew knows it, probably even
Llambias knows it. The time to buy them was last summer; we didn’t and we’ve
failed to progress.
With the Mackems on the horizon, January’s window looks a
long way off; 17 games away to be precise, 13 of them in the league. In this
context, it’s hard not to demand the club spends big to make up for the smug
prudence of the summer; perhaps Wonga can forward us the money. I
wish I was joking…
Excellent read.. thank you
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