Terry’s Spectacular Meltdown: It’s Not Terry’s, It’s Ours

I feel sorry for John Terry.Yes, I realise that in the midst of a recession, taking pity on those poor millionaire footballers who are spoilt for choice with Page 3 girls might not be fashionable. But hear me out.Being a Manchester United fan, when word of Terry’s off-the-field indiscretions first hit the papers I was naturally overjoyed. “Good enough for the smug git,” I thought. All the while revelling in the hope that his and Ashley Young’s inability to keep their pants on may somehow deal a fatal blow to Chelsea’s title aspirations.Then as the weeks went on, the story appeared to get all the more ludicrous. Never mind the fact that, prior to Bridge-gate, Terry had to deal with revelations of his parents’ antics and the consequences of undercover News of the World journalists. After the Wayne Bridge saga hit the headlines, we had Craig Bellamy’s outburst, the bizarre shirtless interview, the removal of his international captaincy and, now, the mowing down of a club security guard. No matter what move Terry seemed to make to keep his name out of the press, it was the wrong one.In fact, his actions have all the hallmarks of a good old celebrity meltdown. Winehouse and Spears, eat your heart out.Is this what we want from our footballers though? The papers only fill column inches to suit public demand, after all. Are we, as a sporting fanbase, now thirsty for blood? Isn’t missing a Champions League Final penalty enough to suffice anymore? Do we require every aspect of his personal life be dissected piece-by-piece by the media now?Because, make no mistake about it, A is directly connected to B here. I’m relatively certain that the aforementioned Chelsea security guard would be sitting at home enjoying a cuppa with his family now had the papers not gotten wind of the Wayne Bridge scandal. After all, Terry’s reckless driving was caused by him attempting to avoid a melee of public and press clamouring to see what his next move or comment would be. Ask and you shall receive.
One could easily argue that this is all Terry’s doing. The public and media never forced him to make advances towards Vanessa Perroncel. He could have easily thrown a hoodie on before addressing MOTD camera crews.That doesn’t make us an innocent party, though. Why did we choose to place so much emphasis on whether or not two players, who obviously dislike each other, shook hands before a match? Why were people queuing up in their hundreds to bombard Terry’s car home following another match? Why can’t we just focus on a player’s performance on the pitch instead of worrying about what goes on behind closed doors?
Now we’re discovering something that should have been obvious from the get-go: footballers don’t react well to pressure on their personal life. Why would they? Their media training consists solely of them saying “At the end of the day,” ad nauseum and crediting any personal achievements towards the collective unity of the team. They’re not media moguls like Simon Cowell or Katie Price. They are overgrown boys who have been plucked out of a natural maturing environment and pampered with millions to devote their lives to kicking a ball around a field. They are spoiled kids who were earning six-figure salaries weeks after they’d previously been earning pocket money. I don’t say ‘spoiled kids’ in a bitter or negative way, I say it out of compassion. What more do we expect of these people? How would each one of us poor unfortunates have reacted if we were aged 17, on £20,000 a week and had models throwing themselves at us? Their indiscretions are only so flagrant because they know no better.
Football has become a money machine. We, the public, throw so much money at it that millionaire businessmen swarm and consume all in sight. They snap these kids up at ridiculously young ages, entice them with all the luxuries this world has to offer and then we slam them and spit them out when they take advantage of being spoiled. We then poke and prod at their tattered-reputations in the hope that they’ll only continue to dig their hole deeper. And at the end of the witch hunt, we leave their lives in shreds and go hunting for blood elsewhere. To condone our blood-thirst, we say “Oh but they’re millionaires, they can handle it.” Not realising that this capitalism-on-crack sport may not leave them short on bus fare, but what of personal dignity? What of human compassion? Do personal wealth and sporting acclaim really negate the richness of life itself?
The saddest aspect of it all is that there appears to be no change in sight. While FIFA is led by Sepp Blatter the sport will continue to be governed by a man who is opposed to experimenting in even basic, necessary changes that are easily at the sport’s disposal. If change doesn’t directly suit FIFA, it’s not worthwhile. Meanwhile, UEFA President Michel Platini continues to huff and puff, but the powers that be are ensuring he’s not blowing any houses down for the foreseeable future. The current model makes too much money for anyone to concern themselves with the long-term damage to both its clubs and individual players.So we will continue to allow South American players to be exported in their early teens only to turn into personal wrecks like Ronaldo and Adriano. We will continue to look the other way while owners like Sulaiman Al Fahim and Thaksin Shinawatra leave the sport’s door open for financial destruction and corruption. We will continue to let the world’s finest players spend their way into a downward spiral. We will continue to let clubs linger in debt despite the fact that even those in the richest league in the world are now going bankrupt. And so on and so forth.
As long as the public keeps spending, those in power will continue to blow the sport’s bubble until it eventually bursts.
At the start of the season, we all raised an eyebrow when one young Irish goalkeeper, Shane Supple, made the controversial decision to retire from a promising career despite no obvious reason for doing so. He was tipped to be a future Ireland Number One and would be playing under his fellow countryman and legend, Roy Keane.
With all of the above in mind, though, I think I can finally understand his decision now. Maybe one day, given the benefit of hindsight, we may all be able to appreciate Supple’s vision. Instead of continuing on a risky journey towards gold beyond his wildest dreams, he jumped from a sinking ship while he still could. He didn’t choose football. He chose life. Perhaps even a millionaire like John Terry can appreciate that right now.