There’s a sickening irony about writing this. Coming as it does, hot on the heels of the GAA post about Meath’s disappointing beginning to their Allianz National Football League campaign.
For those overseas or not familiar with GAA, players and mentors are amateurs, in name at least, though hopefully someday soon that might change. Still, in the aftermath of yesterday’s setback, some of the reaction has been hysteric, disproportionate and bordering on abusive.
Yet all those involved in representing Meath yesterday – players, mentors and backroom team, will be back to their lives outside of what at the end of the day is a hobby for them.
A pastime. Supposed to be fun. Today, they’ll be back foddering cattle or milking cows to feed us, studying or teaching or conducting medical research or making their contributions to the world in whatever they do outside of sport.
And tomorrow night the process will begin all over again. Out in the mud and wet and cold. Busting themselves for nothing more than the enjoyment of and pride in representing us, their people. Treasure them. They are indeed a rare breed.
At the same time as those in green and gold were getting their asses handed to them on a plate, Greater Manchester Police were arresting a 20-year-old male. Accused of assaulting and/or raping his partner.
The victim being in such a bad way after the attack that she, depending on which way you look at it, drew strength from letting the world know what had happened to her or wanted to highlight that this does happen in the hope that it might save some other woman or give them the strength to act in their own best interests.
Either way, her strength and bravery in coming forward was as laudible as it was amazing. Look, as I am discovering on the journey which began for me nearly four years ago, couples have arguments and spark off each other from time to time.
Indeed, very early on in our daliance, Susie actually encouraged me to stand up for myself more and stop blindly agreeing to and with everything. But there’s a line not to be crossed. Ever. Take a step back, never forward.
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Mason Greenwood was living the dream of every kid that ever kicked a ball. To play for your team, which just happens to be one of the greatest sporting institutions in the world. Wearing the most iconic jersey number that club has. And doing so on merit.
Except he didn’t merit it. Didn’t live up to the standards of it. Didn’t treat it with the reverance the garment deserved. Sullied it in fact. Didn’t understand, appreciate or respect the indefinable status associated with the No. 11 jersey within the annals of Manchester United Football Club.
Whatever travails the late, great George Best encountered throughout his tumultuous life could be and were forgiven on the grounds that what the Northern Irish genius was dealing with was an illness, Alcoholism. Even when Ryan Giggs tarnished his reputation with nefarious behaviour it didn’t seem as bad from the club’s point of because he had left Old Trafford before the story came out.
But this, this is unforgivable. To hell with those who ‘Greenwood’s career has been ruined’. The victim’s life has been destroyed. Her anonymity lost – whether intentionally otherwise. The really sad thing about the episode – aside from what the victim went through, is going through and will continue to go through – is that it may take something like this for people to accept that some top sportspersons and what I like to term ‘plastic celebrities’ are spoilt, entitled and grossly removed from reality.
Whilst obviously adhering to the stance that the accused must be presumed innocent until proven otherwise, from a Manchester United perspective, they need to repair the reputational damage – which will be considerable – as soon as is possible. Beginning with but not stopping at getting Greenwood out of the club post haste.
Aside from that, there’s also the matter venerated No. 11 shirt. Presuming the disgraced poster boy is defenestrated, United are then left with something of a dilemma – give the number to another player – if it were me it’d be Edison Cavani – or to stand the jersey down until the end of the season. The idea of retiring it altogether cannot be entertained given the status it commands at the club.
Knowing the way things are going at what was once the Theatre Of Dreams, the Brains Trust couldn’t be counted upon to get the day of the week right. After all, Donny Van Der Beek has to be the greatest farce of a signing since William Prunier or Joel Cantona.
That is not in any way the fault of the Dutch footballer himself. Rather, a damning indictment of the downright insulting way the lad was treated during his time at the club. Cynics will assert that he didn’t do much to aid his cause, but this corner would contend he didn’t get much much of a chance.
Now, the gifted midfielder with buckets of still untapped potential has been let leave the club while other imposters not fit to carry a United gearbag and hasbeens about as useful as flat batteries remain, drawing money for being useless.
Repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting different results is said to be the definition of stupidity. However, now they have a lot more than stupidity on their plate. The world will be watching how they deal with it with a microscope.
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