Poetic Silence

Dylan's Nobel had left me confused. After all what gets more mainstream than this? There are those who read books and there are those that sit around listening to songs. The former, more decorated, share trophies and grace cocktail receptions. The latter, more worn and eventually weary, share cigarettes and call shindigs parties, and listen to Amy Winehouse songs. The latter doesn't have many icons...at least those that are alive. And here is the Nobel committee, what do you call it, co-opting somebody from the other team. It is the equivalent of a star goal keeper being poached by the rich club across town. Eventually, the goalie will have to leave...but it hurts more if he jumps at the offer and becomes a good boy. In that, I have a lot to thank Dylan for. Just the delay, the wait...it is not fair to ask more from him. Don't know how the Nobel committee does these things. When you decorate a singer (rocker, poet, powder messiah, call him what you may) who sang lines galore of amphetamine and shit, guess you already know what this is: poetic silence. 

Why football fans should celebrate Portugal’s Euro 2016 win

In the France – Germany semifinal, Germany had 68% of the possession and five shots on goal compared to France’s six. Let us remind ourselves: this at a big international tournament’s semi final. It would be easy to assume that Germany was playing at home. With the fantastically skillful footballers at their disposal, Germany bombarded France with their precision passes and cross-field balls whipped in and controlled with admirable skill. The hosts were quite content to neutralize Germany’s attack, concede ball possession and hit on the break with their own impressive arsenal of international football stars. Deschamps’ ploy worked. Germany played their possession attack but couldn’t find a way past Lloris. Germany playing their game allowed France to play theirs (not much of a game, really, but you get the drift).

Being in the small minority on the ‘Portugal will win’ side in my WhatsApp group of football fans was not a bleeding underdog’s bet. It was simple analysis. Senhor Fernando Santos wasn’t the manager of an immensely talented squad, and has rich experience in making a fist of just that – ask Greece football fans. He wasn’t going to set up Portugal to dominate possession, he was going to set up Portugal to survive. When two teams, even the one with the superior arsenal, set up to survive the football match and not to adorn it with attacking splendor, we get a battle of attrition. At that battle of attrition, Portugal always had a good chance.

What happened? Portugal had 48% possession to France’s 52% - not bad for a team that wasn’t ‘supposed to be there’. Was it incisive possession leading to lots of goal mouth action? No. Portugal played out one or two dozen passes on average across the back four every time they got the ball. This is not beautiful to watch and won’t keep you awake early on Monday morning when you are already worn out, battling Monday blues. These passes are meant to wear out and/ or irritate your (supposedly superior) opponents. They are supposed to award your team mates some well earned seconds of rest from all the running they do to ensure no chinks open up in the face of an opponent’s mesmerizing skills. They are supposed to test your opponents’ resolve and desire to win the match by playing better football. They are meant to test what your opponent will do with the 20% extra possession they have in comparison to the semi-final. Each pass is, on television, an easy task. But say that to the defender whose passes got intercepted.

Well, on the day, unlike Germany or Bayern or Spain or Barcelona or Atletico or RMA, France never really applied the pressure that high up the pitch. At best, this was out of respect for Portugal’s skills at making the killer pass. At worst, it was terrible tactics and a callous attitude in a big final. Whatever the reasons were it is unbecoming of a home favorite to be so dreary and formulaic. The dreary and formulaic have been defended stoutly as ‘what was needed to win the trophies’. Deschamps brings that (lack of) spirit to French football like Dunga did to the Brazilian game. Lets us not forget that after initial successes, Brazil now don’t win matches. Neither do they play good football. Nobody mourns when they lose. France, sentimental favorites when they step on the field, will soon lose that status if they already haven’t.

By convincingly outplaying France, Senhor Fernando Santos has thrown international football a lifeline. Perhaps, he has hastened the day when French football will have to stare the devils down and begin playing football. They have the players. It is only wishful thinking what this group of players, or perhaps the core of this group of player with other selections, could have achieved under Domenech (or might under ZiZou). On the other hand, it gave me a chance to enjoy what Pepe (that permanent persona non grata) brings to a team and to the game of football. He marshalled that back line which not only resisted the few French thrusts but also held the ball for long enough for the game to drag into extra time. Of course, we all know when the ‘Ugly Duckling’ became a ‘Beautiful Swan’. To be favorites in a football match is a responsibility that this German team, erstwhile Spanish outfits, 80s Brazil and possession proponent clubs fulfill. Football matches may not always be about the results. In any case, it is better somebody mourns at your demise!

Let me summarize. Football is struggle. It cannot really ‘unite countries’. Some football matches may ask basic questions that challenge our worldview…individuals and groups may take that introspection and do great things – like uniting countries. It is not enough for the favorites to show up. They need to take on the responsibility and be the fundamental ingredient of a great game of football. Any team that is capable of struggle can win a football match. Pepe can do things nobody may notice, but greatness is often simple things executed over and over with belief and resilience. Every now and then, a coach and team show us how it is done. Senhor Fernando Santos & Portugal – chapeus fora! Thanks!

Ronjan, Cruyff and Learning to Love Football in the 80s

Ronjan (pronounced ‘Ronyon’) had blue eyes, blond hair and walked nonchalantly to join a group of Indian boys playing football on the beach. He was probably 8 then and the rest averaged 11. Whereas some of these Indian boys were only a little older than him, he firmly was the kid. Now, this group had never really refused the company of anybody who had wanted to play. Not even when 'Baboosh' who did wheelies on his cycle before descending to play with the mortals, turned up and chose the team he wanted to play with and made some positional adjustments – all before the first kick of the ball. Back to Ronjan. That here was a kid with the latest Adidas football used in World Cup ’82 clinched the deal that would anyway have been clinched.

Ronjan played well – stopped the ball, kicked it with some sense of aim and ran all the time – and earned the somewhat begrudging respect of the Indian boys. He did things which the other were not used to. For instance, even when his team lost the ball, he wouldn’t scurry back to protect the goal like the rest. Rather, he took up position somewhere near half way. Much later on we realized that he was thinking a few steps ahead of us. He only spoke English and introduced his favorites – Beckenbauer, Cruyff and others. Basically it grew the pantheon of football heroes to the number four. Pele, of course was one of the other names which was conveniently close to the Tamil ‘pela’, somebody who showed off. It should come as no surprise that Baboosh was fully convinced that he was Rossi.

Born to a Bengali man and a German woman (blonde and blue eyed), Ronjan spent three to four months of the year in Madras (that’s what it was in the 80s). At his home there were videos – football training videos and old television footage that he invited us to watch. Quickly the group got divided into fans of Beckenbauer and Cruyff. For some it was the color of the jersey, for some the identity of the winner, for a few the athleticism of play (which meant they didn’t take sides) and for some the ballet like aesthetic of No. 14 orange jersey. Football was becoming complicated, simple, plain and beautiful…all at the same time. That was around when color television came to India. And with it came Becker and Maradona. India won the Cricket World Cup in England. Right after school everyone played cricket. And though it is difficult to put a date to it, for some playing football all evening at the beach became something you just did. A few were really good at it but most of us were just having a good time. Along came football shows discussing the games of the 70s.

The pantheon grew. Ajax, Barcelona, the coach on the sidelines, stadium tragedies, people in tears because the team they love lost, people in tears because the team they love won, and what not. It was just as well that a little 8 year old had already gotten us hooked. I think it is impossible to rationally quantify the impact that Ronjan and Cruyff had on that group of Indian boys, just happy that it all happened.

RIP Johan Cruyff. RIP.

For India passport holders, is MBA an attractive industry (career)?

Please get in touch with me if you want to discuss any aspect of this '5-forces' analysis further.