From a sporting standpoint, I do not begrudge the Irish their disappointment. Their efforts to overcome a vastly superior opponent were undone by a blatant infraction of the rules, and as a result, they won’t be going to the World Cup (assuming that they would have won the penalty shoot out.) Again, they have every right to be angry, even irrationally angry. Where I take issue with the hyperbolic outpouring around Ireland’s defeat is with the treatment of it as anything other than a partisan reaction.

Let’s assume for a moment that the small team eliminated thanks to an obvious handball wasn’t Ireland, but Bosnia Herzegovina, in their playoff with Portugal. I don’t doubt that people would still be upset. I do question whether the vitriol in the Irish and British quarters that we’re seeing directed against France, UEFA, and FIFA would be present. I personally think that absent partisan feelings, the reaction would be more along the lines of detached disapproval.

Refereeing errors that occur in high profile matches, in general, don’t really exist on a case by case basis. I believe the reaction follows a loose set of guidelines, depending on the identity of the teams involved.

When Spain and Italy were expelled from the 2002 World Cup thanks to some truly appalling refereeing decisions, there was a sector of public opinion that accused the Spanish and Italians of bitter, unsportsmanlike conspiracy mongering. Even though the officiating in those games was just as bad as the France – Ireland match, the fact that a small underdog benefited at the expense of big opposition altered perception of the incident.

Similarly, there are Chelsea fans who still murmur about match fixing when discussing their failed attempts to win a penalty against Barcelona in the dying moments of last season’s Champions League semi final, even though the conventional wisdom regarding that match is that there were no clear cut penalties, and that if Chelsea had been more positive, they might have claimed victory before they were ever in that situation.

What we have with France – Ireland is an underperforming major power benefiting at the expense of a plucky upstart. That plucky upstart also happens to exist in the footballing culture of a media juggernaut. What’s giving this particular situation legs is that it fits into the time tested narrative of ‘our brave lads’ being cheated by dastardly foreign types. I would imagine that the media rush to get the first shots across the bow made newsrooms resemble a cross between Battle Royale and 28 Days Later. That the foreigners in this situation happen to be the perennially easy target France only adds to the feeding frenzy.

By all means, be disappointed, be angry, but recognize that for the rest of us, this incident is going to exist purely as a historical footnote sooner rather than later.

But seriously, that this scaled down super league concept should be met with anything other than the derision that killed it the first time around, comes as something of a surprise to me. What’s not surprising is that many people are desperate for a change in European competition’s status quo. Since the clubs involved in the North Atlantic proposal are, historically, big names that the financial reorganization of the last fifteen or twenty years has been especially damaging to, people are willing to, at the very least, consider anything that would help them.

Why return to an idea rife with problems and complications that have never been fixed in the first place though?

For starters, the North Atlantic league would sacrifice the domestic competitions of all the involved clubs by removing the biggest names. Killing off the rest of the Dutch and Belgian leagues so that PSV or Anderlecht might regularly make the Champions League quarter finals doesn’t really seem like an especially productive or moral (stop laughing) path to go down. The decision to bet the house on the current top dogs also precludes the serious development of any new contenders. Ten years ago, Standard Liege, Belgium’s strongest club, certainly wouldn’t have been involved in any North Atlantic discussions. Those who are tempted to usher the big clubs towards the door (I’m thinking mostly of Scotland here) in hopes of a more competitive domestic league might also be in for a rude awakening. As part of a super league, the big clubs, even from a distance, would be in a position to financially dominate their former domestic rivals. The best developing players would have even more of a reason to leave as quickly as possible for greener pastures, while whoever topped the leftovers would be the champion of the dregs, which doesn’t sound like an altogether ideal situation.

A more pressing issue than the moral implications of this proposal is the question of how profitable a North Atlantic league would actually be. Based on the current status quo, even a reorganization of big names like Anderlecht, Ajax, Celtic, Porto, et al would still lack the star power that attracts casual fans from New York to Malaysia to leagues like La Liga and the Premiership. This problem is potentially compounded by the relatively recent conversion of many football fans. As ludicrous and depressing as it sounds, to someone who didn’t have regular media access to football coverage before a certain point in time, arriviste clubs like Chelsea are kings compared to a bunch of nobodies like Ajax. The same problem occurs with a generation gap. Does the average fan born in 1990 know or care much about Van Gaal’s Ajax, let alone the faded photograph, 1970s incarnation? Personally, I feel that any potential audience for this venture would already consume any available coverage of the clubs involved. The attraction of a new, global viewership is by no means assured.

The other major problem with the proposal is the problem that has plagued every potential super league, even the theoretical one consisting of the elite clubs. How is a match between two mid table super league teams, with nothing at stake and no tradition behind it appeal to anyone? I think this is the billionth time I’ve made this argument, but unless the empty seats in the stadium are covered with advertisements, I don’t think anyone that benefits from or cares about a potential Rangers v. Feyenoord match for 8th place.

Ultimately, resurrecting the North Atlantic league would be ceding the initiative of European restructuring to the big clubs that already dominate everything. The message sent out is that the big clubs are never going to be reined in, and that the best we can hope for is to graft a few new names onto the periphery. At a time when UEFA is making an attempt to increase the presence of smaller nations in European competition and reduce the direct link between bank balances and on field success, this would be an especially foolish move to make. There might be something to be said for geographically based mergers of top divisions for the sake of raising the standard of play, but throwing the biggest names together in a cash grab isn’t the right way to do it.

In club land, the international breaks are something like an enforced naptime. But, in anticipation of the Uruguay – Argentina match that might send the Argentines crashing out of the 2010 World Cup, I have been thinking a lot about Schadenfreude. If Argentina did fail to qualify, I would have a good laugh, although, as I am not English or Brazilian, I’m not really sure why I would want to. I suppose seeing a traditional, major power humbled is enough of a warm and fuzzy result for neutrals to get behind. So without further ado, here are seven other occasions on which the misfortune of others provided me with some form of entertainment and happiness.

AC Milan 3 – Manchester United 0: 2006-07 Champions League Semi Final

The 2006-07 Champions League campaign was the beginning of some Premier League halcyon days in the competition. This turn of events was not handled altogether gracefully in many quarters. The loudest triumphalism came after Roma imploded at Old Trafford. The particular circumstances of the match were quickly forgotten for the sake of a ‘the Italians couldn’t handle our mighty warriors’ narrative. When Manchester United were paired with AC Milan in the semi finals, there were some ill advised statements about ‘burying Italian football’ strewn about. A narrow first leg victory for United only upped the ante. Cue a torrential downpour at the San Siro, a masterclass from Kaka and Clarence Seedorf, and a big time self satisfied smirk for all of us continental loving, wine sipping weenies.

Senegal 1 – France 0: 2002 World Cup Group Stage

There’s no denying that the France team that won the 1998 World Cup and Euro 2000 was an incredible collection of talent. At the time though, the sheer number of narrow escapes they had along the way never really sat right. By the time the 2002 World Cup rolled around, I was pretty sick of hearing about how wonderful France was and how there was no reason they shouldn’t win another tournament and establish themselves among the immortals. Their aimless stumbling around in the opening game against Senegal was a source of great mirth, made even more amusing when it became evident that they really weren’t going to get the goal back. Given the turn that football has taken since the turn of the century, it seems petty and churlish to begrudge that France side their success now, but at the time, it sure did feel good.

Germany 1 (6) – England 1 (5): 1996 European Championship Semi Final

Euro 96 was my first experience with the culture of English national team support. I was too young in 1990 to grasp a concept like that, Euro 92 only existed in print form, and they weren’t at the 1994 World Cup. I was naïve enough to be utterly scandalized by their behavior. Why would English fans act this way based on a single, thirty year old triumph, I asked. When they eliminated Spain thanks to some host friendly officiating, matters got a little more personal. When the anti-German tabloid frenzy kicked off, I could only conclude that a nation had gone mad. (Would they start up about re-colonizing us if they ever played the US in a competitive match again?) The game was, of course, nerve wracking, but once order was restored with the German shoot out victory, I thought, in my childish wisdom, that maybe this would be an important lesson in level headedness for the future. Well, like they said on the Simpsons, ‘that’s why you’re still kids, because you’re stupid.’ At least the world was spared any more Britpop about the subject.

Manchester United 1 – Arsenal 0: 2004-05 Premier League

Even fans with marginal to zero interest in the Premier League have their patience tried by the new breed of smug, aesthete Arsenal fans. Naturally, the unbeaten run of ‘the invincibles’ was a dark time. Despite the fact that they had a number of close shaves along the way and the fact that they had not and would not prove themselves in Europe, the arrogance increased with every passing addition to the streak. The controversial 03-04 match against Manchester United at Old Trafford was, perhaps, the closest call for Arsenal. Ruud Van Nistelrooy missed a late penalty that would have stopped the unbeaten run in its tracks. After the miss, Van Nistelrooy was hounded off the field by a gang of Arsenal players, led by the maniacal Martin Keown, who accused the Dutchman of diving earlier in the game, which resulted in Patrick Viera’s dismissal. It was only fitting that when Arsenal were finally silenced that it occurred at Old Trafford, from a controversial penalty decision, with the goal scored by Ruud Van Nistelrooy.

Espanyol 2 – Barcelona 2: 2006-07 La Liga

Barcelona’s revival, led by Ronaldinho on the field and Frank Rijkaard from the bench was a natural counterpoint for the bloated failure of Real Madrid’s galaticos. A problem arose when the accolades heaped on Barcelona became just as annoying as anything the galacticos were capable of dishing out. By 2006-07 changes were afoot in Madrid. Fabio Capello was appointed to lead a very pedestrian Madrid back to the title. Their determined and often ugly charge to the top of the league was more admirable than anything that we had seen from Madrid in years. On the second to last day of the season, Madrid trailed Zaragoza and Barcelona led Espanyol; it seemed like Barcelona would escape after all. Madrid and Espanyol grabbed late equalizers in their respective matches within seconds of each other, setting off delirium and sending the cosmic message, ‘that’s enough for now Barca.’

AS Monaco 3 – Real Madrid 1: 2003-04 Champions League Quarter Final

Ah, the simpler times of the David Beckham era galacticos, when Fiorentino Perez could promise with a straight face that this incarnation of Real Madrid would provide transcendental, psychotropic beauty that would unite all football fans in worship of Real Madrid. That got unforgivably irritating in, about, three seconds. Still, Perez pressed onwards, dismissing concerns about the defensive frailties of his new squad as cold, egghead killjoys. For a large part of the season, Madrid threatened to run the table, so when they stumbled in quick succession against Real Zaragoza in the Copa Del Rey Final, and Monaco in the Champions league, there was notable relief. Of course, what made the Monaco result even more fun was that the decisive goal was scored by Fernando Morientes, who was integral in taking Monaco to the final, and was deemed insufficiently marketable for Madrid.

Bayern Munich 1 – Hamburg SV 1: 2000-01 Bundesliga

I’ll probably never be forgiven by some people for enjoying this one, but I never could stand Schalke their need to be loved, and the sense that they deserve to win something for just being so historical and devoted. Anyway, on the final day of the Bundesliga season, Schalke needed to beat Unterhacing, and Bayern couldn’t win against Hamburg. That combination of results would give Schalke their first championship since 1958. Schalke’s victory concluded while the Bayern-Hamburg match was deep into added time, deep enough that Schalke’s pitch was invaded, balloons were released, and tears of joy were shed. Then Hamburg’s goalkeeper handled a back pass, resulting in an indirect freekick inside the 18 yard box. Steffan Effenberg laid the ball off for Patrik Andersson to score with the last kick of the game. Bayern take home yet another title. Did I mention that this all unfolded on Schalke’s stadium monitors while they were in the middle of celebrating? No wonder schadenfreude is a German word.

I’m wondering if we’ll actually see Partizan in serious trouble with UEFA (they’ve been expelled from the UEFA Cup before because of crowd trouble) because of this incident, or if it will be treated as yet another individual case that just coincidentally occurred around a football match. Serbian police have already made arrests, and have, overall, taken a harder line on hooliganism in recent years, but I can’t help but think that focusing on individual perpetrators, after the fact, while rightly punishing the individual criminal, isn’t going to curb football violence.

In the context of these violent fan groups, the individual is ultimately of less importance than the group and the club itself. Anything suffered while ‘on duty’ for the club is likely to be viewed as some sort of perverse honor.

Obviously, social problems in Serbia go far beyond football. Matters are, of course, complicated by the fact that actual wars have occurred there in recent history. I’m far from an expert on the sociology of the situation, but I would imagine when so much international football hooliganism is seen as recreational in nature by the participants, that this notion would be amplified in a country that has been involved in some truly brutal fighting.

It seems ridiculous to talk about bans or point deductions at a time like this, but there’s no way on earth that the act of attending a football match could put someone in actual, mortal danger should be tolerated for a second.

This interpretation of events does as much for reinforcing the ironclad, financially based caste system among the clubs of Europe as it does for the purposes of information. By taking pains to make sure we know that the big brand names aren’t involved, it’s almost as if the competition is divided into the ‘real’ portion where the teams you know and love face off against each other, and the pointless, substandard portion featuring unknown minnows. Casting the early qualifying rounds as a kind of obligatory, burdensome sideshow for the little guys is, on some level, helping to create the very atmosphere in which corruption seems justifiable on some level to the eventual participants.

Since match fixing is a serious breach of sporting morals and rules regardless of who commits it, the names should ultimately be of secondary importance. Granted, there is an obvious difference in impact when names like Juventus, Marseilles, or Genoa are involved than, hypothetically, the champions Belarus, but the fact that match fixing is allegedly occurring in Europe’s biggest competitions should balance out the difference in name recognition.

Hopefully the recent reorganizations of the qualifying process will remedy this atmosphere. We probably remain a long way off from a return to the days of seeing the super rich clubs in danger of being knocked out by a relatively unknown Eastern European opponent, but the new format has certainly made reaching the group stages a plausible goal again, which should remove any modicum of an excuse for engaging in match fixing.

Cristiano Ronaldo, Didier Drogba, Francesco Totti, Hernan Crespo, Arjen Robben: all talented, renowned international footballers, yet the sight of their names is no doubt making some readers percolate with rage. These men are some of the more prominent players that have been branded with the label of ‘diver.’ Their talents will be forced to coexist with the stigma of that label in the eyes of many fans. Some, with a more puritanical streak, will claim to have their experiences watching these players to be forever soiled by these claims of simulation.

Sometimes, a player does not even need to be accused of multiple infractions against honesty. If a player succumbs to gravity during a particular moment in the spotlight, they can just as easily carry the ‘diver’ label with them. Slaven Bilic against France in 1998, Fabio Grosso buckling under Lucas Neil’s slip and slide demonstration in 2006, Diego Simeone’s reaction to David Beckham’s enfeebled lashing out, and, of course, Rivaldo’s ‘please, not the face’ incident in 2002 are all singularly infamous tumbles. These incidents will invariably come up at some point during a discussion involving any of the above players.

There’s no doubt that diving has become the ultimate taboo in the world of football ethics. Each new, high profile incident is met with fervent calls to stamp out this scourge on the football landscape. Personally, I’ve never understood the need to go beyond the current punishment of public scorn, and a yellow card for a player caught in the act. I would be more willing to throw this difference of opinion in the ‘live and let live’ category if it weren’t for the fact that, very often, a diving player is treated more harshly in the court of public opinion than a player who has committed a brutal and/or reckless foul.

When clear intent is combined with serious injury, as in the recent assault on Anderlecht’s Marcin Wasilewski by Standard Liege’s Axel Witsel, or the vicious elbow to the head delivered by then Manchester City player Ben Thatcher on Portsmouth’s Pedro Mendes during the 06-07 season, the public is quick to offer a rightful condemnation. In other instances, where injury results from ineptitude rather than intent, many fans are less forthcoming with condemnation. Arsenal’s Eduardo has arguably received more criticism for his dive against Celtic in the Champions League playoff round than Birmingham City player, Martin Taylor, did when he broke Eduardo’s leg in two places. In fact, when we reach the extreme end of this situation, we’ll find that some of the most dangerous players are celebrated as cult heroes. How Roy Keane, for example, managed to suffer no lasting damage to his reputation, even after admitting to intentionally maiming Alf-Inge Haaland is beyond me.

So, I have to wonder, is on-field passion leading to some misplaced priorities, or are external notions of morality intruding on the way we view the acts of diving and fouling?

The on-field frustration with diving is fairly obvious. Even the immediate response is intertwined with an external factor though, a sense of justice. Fouls are immediately punished; free kicks, penalties, and/or cards are awarded; justice is meted out on the spot. It’s no coincidence that Harold Schumacher’s leaping challenge/assault on Patrick Battiston in the 1982 World Cup semi-final is such a popular choice for the most heinous foul in the game’s history. Not only did it result in serious injury to Battiston and affect the result of the game, but it went completely unpunished by the referee. The sense of justice being criminally undermined is palpable. (The fact that Schumacher was unrepentant and that the West German team was already massively unpopular after their ‘fixed’ first round match with Austria certainly didn’t help matters any.) Of course, most fouls are far more routine, and do not have a dramatic effect on the game’s result or cause injury, and are therefore easy to overlook in the long run. Diving, on the other hand, is not designed to be overlooked. It is a simulation of a foul designed to bring play to a halt and give an advantage to the diver’s team. As a simulation of a foul, it is also, essentially, a false accusation, which is inherently unjust. When a dive directly affects the result of a game, as it often can, the beneficiaries of the dive are said to have perverted justice by benefiting from an event (a foul) that never actually happened. Compounding the sense of injustice is that the dive usually goes unpunished. Even if it is retroactively punished, the match result that the dive affected cannot be unchanged.

It would seem that the on-field ramifications of diving and fouling go a long way towards explaining the attitudes taken towards these respective actions. The problem I have in this particular area is that I consider the interpretations of what happens on the field to be irrevocably biased by preconceived notions. Let’s say the following scenario occurs in two different matches: a desperate lunge by a defender in the 18 yard box fails to make contact, but the striker hurls himself earthwards and wins a penalty. Is someone in the vehemently anti-diving camp likely to criticize either of the defenders for being positioned so poorly that they were reduced to making a ludicrous, clumsy challenge, or would two more diving cheats be added to the master list? My guess is that the defenders will be given the benefit of the doubt both times, because the reaction against diving is rooted in the powerful influences of traditional masculinity and morals.

We’ve all heard the cliché ‘football is a man’s game.’ Man’s game means tough, physical and aggressive. The implication is that if you can’t handle these man’s qualities, then you aren’t a man or shouldn’t be playing football. The phrase is meant to protect the excesses that spring forth from these qualities. It doesn’t require an overly long process of deduction to recognize that the archetypical, physically imposing tough guy is a revered character in many quarters. The unwritten rule surrounding this type of tough guy is that the tough guy sets the code of conduct for all interactions; if someone should break this code, even unwittingly, they have provoked the ire of the tough guy themselves, and deserve no sympathy when physical retribution is exacted. (I think we saw this dynamic come into play in the Keane/Haaland affair.)

Diving is very much the opposite of traditional, macho behavior. It would be un-macho to let on if one were actually injured, never mind to fake injury for sympathy or material gain. Many of the visceral reactions to diving cast further aspersions on the diver’s masculinity, very often through use of the word ‘bitch.’ Viewed through the lens of masculinity, not only is diving a problem by itself, but it also subverts masculine values by seeking to punish traditional masculine behavior. Cue one of the many laments from former players or ‘old time’ fans about how ‘they’ve turned football into a non-contact sport.’ The impulse towards misguided nostalgia for ‘hard men’ like Graeme Souness, Chopper Harris, Claudio Gentile, and Vinnie Jones, among others, is rooted in support for a more macho time. This nostalgia can also give rise to revenge fantasies. When former Chelsea star Peter Osgood wished that Francis Jeffers ‘would get really hurt’ after Jeffers took a simulated spill against Liverpool, it wasn’t just an attack on Jeffers alone. The long term result of Jeffers getting really hurt would be an example offered to other potential divers. ‘If you persist in this behavior that we don’t like, you will probably get really hurt too.’

So masculinity has provided a possible explanation for the hatred of diving, and the sympathy towards clumsy, but not necessarily malicious challenges. (Incidentally, I would be very interested in hearing a female perspective on this from any fellow bloggers or readers as, obviously, the expectations of traditional macho behavior do not apply.)

I believe the other element that leads to such a strong bias against diving is an issue of ingrained morality. Diving is an act of devious intelligence or cunning, which is a trait that has been historically looked down upon. The negative interpretations of cunning attribute these schemes as a form of dishonesty and weakness. You aren’t strong enough to waltz in with ‘plan A’ and get what you want, so you’re reduced to skulking around in the shadows. Think of Cassius and his fellow conspirators against Julius Caesar or, Sisyphus in Greek mythology, who made fools of the gods with his trickery on a number of occasions.

These critiques of cunning, I think, mutated later on into outright accusations of unnatural behavior, such as the Faustus/Doctor Frankenstein warnings against gaining ‘forbidden’ knowledge. In either case, the criticized actions stem from a dissatisfaction with what opportunities are available through ‘official’ channels. So the moral is that it’s apparently far better to be satisfied with being honestly incompetent than to gain access to greater advantages through unapproved means. Perhaps that’s why we hear the all too familiar refrain when a bad foul occurs, ‘he was only trying to win the ball,’ and rarely hear the sensible counter ‘he was only taking advantage of his opponents ham-fisted, lurching incompetence’ when a player dives over a convenient, outstretched leg in the penalty area.

Ultimately, I don’t really want to defend diving, just offer an alternative take on it. I posit that diving is not a scourge that needs to be stamped out like racism, match fixing, or financial doping, it’s just a part of the game like time wasting or boring defensive tactics: very annoying when it happens against your team, but something we can all live with.

Sometimes, the rule breaking by the rich and powerful is so blatant that even the proper authorities cannot ignore it, and are compelled to actually enforce the laws on the books. I suspect this is how we arrived at Chelsea’s transfer ban, and the investigations into the dealings of Manchester City and Manchester United. I am unsure whether to be distressed that poaching has become so commonplace that FIFA and UEFA had to become involved, or merely relieved that they actually went through with it. In either case, the prospect of limiting underage player poaching has given rise to some fairly ridiculous notions and arguments meant to shield the Premier League from some rightful criticism. That legal action has been taken at all must have come as quite a shock in certain corners of England, because a hasty torrent of corporate scandal defense attorney type arguments has been assembled to throw between English clubs and the oncoming freight train of sanctions.

One common argument I have seen is a piece of false equivalency based on a misunderstanding of what player poaching actually entails. The favored example in this argument is Real Madrid’s epic length pursuit of Cristiano Ronaldo. The basic premise is that Real Madrid pursued Ronaldo through the media, even though Manchester United hadn’t explicitly offered him for sale to anyone, so Madrid were also guilty of poaching. The critical difference, of course, is that Madrid’s tactics, while irritating, were intended to create an atmosphere in which Manchester United would want to sell the player. Granted, this practice is morally dubious at best, but it does result in one club receiving a transfer fee for the lost player. This is not the same thing as a club like Lens developing a player, from early childhood, in its academy, which for a club the size of Lens is a major point of investment for their comparatively limited budget, and losing the player for no compensation to a club like Chelsea, who claim that French/EU law does not exist.

The main point of contention in this situation is whether or not the pre-contract agreements that underage players have to sign, professionally, with their developing club when they reach legal age constitutes a legally binding document. I am not an expert on European law, so I can only speculate based on a cursory reading of the EU regulations. The EU is clear on the principles of providing minors with ‘working conditions appropriate to their age.’ The actual application of these principles is left to individual member states, which brings us back to the pre-contract. I have also seen the argument made that, because minors are prohibited from signing a professional contract that the pre-contract is a) somehow illegal, or b) is irrelevant in terms of breach of contract. I’m not entirely sure how one side in this conflict can unilaterally declare the other’s legal system null and void. It seems like a pretty obvious place for a higher governing body to intervene, and according to their intervention, Chelsea has acted illegally.

Another old chestnut is that the rich and famous clubs doing their bargain shopping really have the best interests of the underage players at heart, and that the small clubs are only trying to hold on to them as long as possible in order to gouge the rich clubs later on in a legal sale of the player’s rights. There’s a nasty implication on the part of the big clubs that the clubs without international retail outlets and annual Champions League spots are engaging in skullduggery by guarding their own interests. Obviously, the small clubs want something in return for their investment as much as the big clubs; in my opinion, this is a matter of proportion. If a young, French hopeful doesn’t cut it as a professional at Auxerre Le Havre, the trauma is mostly confined to football. Having a big club spirit the same young hopeful away to a foreign country essentially makes him a full time professional on the spot, regardless of legal contract status. In that situation, the prospect of failure becomes very dire, as the only reason the player and his family are there in the first place is football. What happens to that set up if the kid is, ultimately, a failure? We don’t often see or hear of what happens in that situation; I have no idea what would happen to a hopeful in the reject pile, which is actually kind of disquieting.

Finally, there is an even older chestnut in store whenever something goes wrong for English clubs: conspiracy. After the Spanish-Franco-Swiss conspiracy to keep Chelsea out of the Champions League final, you might have thought that those continental masters of the cloak and dagger would lay off Mother Albion for a while, but no; they’ve gone for the kill. There’s probably not a rational answer to satisfy this conspiracy theory. I think it’s just a matter of old impulses being transferred to new targets. In the good old days, when an English team lost in Europe, you could just take a page from the book of Shankly and blame it on cheating ‘fancy men.’ Now that English teams are the fancy men, the blame has moved up to the administrators.

This situation has the potential to become a lasting precedent for protecting the interests of smaller clubs, so hopefully it won’t be watered down on appeal. We’ve become accustomed to a handful of clubs being able to buy any player they want on demand, let’s not extend that tolerance any further. The number of truly exceptional underage players who can step right into a first team is not high enough to begin justifying the widespread speculation, in the financial sense, of human assets under the guise of savvy buying.

As for the continued protestations coming from London and Manchester, I know it’s flippant, but my response is, in the words of Howard Cosell, “like what Rhett Butler said to Scarlett O’Hara.”

More words have probably been wasted on football hooliganism than any other subject having to do with the game. While some of these studies have been interesting work, the majority of writing on this subject, particularly the gleeful first hand accounts and the equally gleeful ‘field studies’ of many a thrill seeking sociologist, has been terrible. Just as terrible is the knee jerk reaction to any instance of crowd trouble which leaves the complainant sounding like the wretched offspring of John Calvin and Richard Nixon (and depending on the location of the incident, a dash of Colonel Blimp.)

There were, of course, two serious instances of crowd trouble during Europa League ties last week. Rioting Dinamo Bucharest fans forced the abandonment of the game against Slovan Liberec after the Czech side took a two goal lead in the 88th minute. In Prague, Red Star Belgrade fans decided to attack everything within their field of vision while they congregated before kick off.

Both incidents carried some immediate consequences. Dinamo Bucharest will learn their fate tomorrow before a UEFA committee; it is very likely that they will be expelled from this year’s competition, and the possibility of a further ban exists. In Prague, 150 Red Star fans were detained, although the number that ended up with formal charges shrunk to twelve. As the violence in the Czech Republic did not disrupt the actual match, the individual legal troubles of those who face criminal charges will have to suffice as a punishment.

Obviously these events were unfortunate. What is also unfortunate is the rapid placement of these events at the feet of Eastern Europeans (or Italians, or South Americans for that matter). It would be deliberately obtuse and factually incorrect to deny that Eastern Europe has had a problem with hooliganism in the twenty years since the end of communism, but, in my opinion, the focus placed on geography in hooliganism is not entirely appropriate. Hooliganism is nothing that jumps from one place to another. In theoretical terms, it is a universal problem. All the locality determines is the specific form that hooliganism will take. Therefore, preventative measures, from UEFA, should be in place. These preventative measures should then be supplemented by local governing bodies.

The specific factors of location, like the sociopolitical motives behind the hooliganism of a particular location, are necessary for a complete examination, but too often, we skip ahead to these local factors while ignoring the basic premise of football hooliganism. The ludicrous, blame shifting responses of governmental authorities, especially in the UK, in the past are partly to blame for the extreme focus on sociological factors. The view that football itself was somehow responsible for trouble was taken seriously for far too long. It was necessary and correct to point out that hooliganism was not occurring in a vacuum.

I think the universal factors behind hooliganism are, basically, as follows. If football is allowed by the authorities, civic, football administrative, or both to exist as a convenient theatre for violence, the culture of violence will establish itself and escalate. When the culture of violence establishes itself, it also reproduces itself. Once this happens, the atmosphere created by the violent fans becomes the normalized state of affairs. If regular, non-violent fans remain, they are to adhere to the conditions established by the violent fans. Italy is an excellent example of this set up. Take, for instance, the infamous 2004 Rome derby, which was abandoned by threat of violence from both Roma and Lazio ultras. The number of fans in attendance who simply wished to see a football game, one of the major world derbies at that, were, like the players and officials, powerless to intervene in a culture where the ultras have a wildly disproportionate amount of influence. The story, naturally, would be reported as something like ‘Italian fans force match abandonment.’ Besides having their football culture dictated by violence, the regular fans are now lumped into one nebulous category.

If we wish to contain the prospect of crowd trouble without waiting for every country on earth to eliminate the factors that cause their individual hooligan problems or resorting to a draconian vigilantism which encourages police to attempt to beat and batter hooliganism away, the punishment for hooligan incidents must come, first and foremost from football’s governing bodies. In the case of last week’s problems in Bucharest and Prague, Dinamo and Red Star Belgrade should both be expelled from this season’s Europa League, as Feyenoord were in 2006-07, with further punishment pending, based on any recurring history of offenses. Of course, this would have to be a universal standard. If the potential hooligans were aware that their violence, stupidity or any combination thereof would directly affect their club’s on field fortunes, the threat would probably be far direr than the threat of tear gas and baton charges.

The key to making expulsion/point deduction a universal punishment for serious hooligan incidents is the establishment of sensible universal standards. Punishing a club in that manner for an isolated fight or a single coin thrower would not only be stupid but counterproductive in combating hooliganism, as it would allow the hooligans to wrap themselves in the exuberant passion of other fans, and claim that gray bureaucrats are trying to stamp out something that makes football enjoyable and memorable for so many people.

One thing is clear. The status quo of hand wringing and after the fact, reactionary punishment is not working in terms of preventing trouble.

A behavior that most, if not all, fans engage in is the development of an affinity or an aversion to clubs that have little or nothing to do with their ‘regular’ club based on seemingly random reasons. The world of football is far too vast to follow impassively. I actually began an abortive attempt to discuss the adoption and repulsion of random clubs before I realized that the various criteria that sway our opinions are, themselves, too vast to cover in a single piece of writing, and that it would be better to write about these reasons individually.

The first basis for random club affiliation I would like to work with is the development of an opinion based on aesthetics, i.e. the club’s crest and/or kit. It’s safe to say that pretty much everybody has strong opinions on this subject. I’m not readily familiar, however, with how many cases of artistic value judgments making the leap into a definitive personal opinion of a club there are. I recall reading about someone’s dislike of Arsenal inspired by their classic red and white shirts, but that’s all that springs to mind currently.

While watching Hertha-Hanover on Saturday, I was somewhat perturbed when I noticed that Mainz had taken the lead against Leverkusen. Simply put, I do not like Mainz at all. The odd thing is that before I actively disliked Mainz, the only thing I ever thought about them was how awful their crest is. For the record, Mainz do have one of the worst crests in football; it takes several viewings just to make sure that it does, in fact, form an M and not a cryptic inverted peace sign or Y. I know that my personal dislike of Mainz has no basis in historical rivalry or recent grudge; I just cannot stand the sight of their crest, and over the years this has grown into a dislike of the entire club.

On a more positive note, I’ve come to like French club RC Strasbourg based entirely on their crest. Strasbourg are, currently, a club that intermittently bounces between Ligue 1 and 2; even in their days as a solid member of the first division, they weren’t exactly the highest profile club. Furthermore, it must be, at the very least, five years since I’ve seen one of their games. This all irrelevant though. In the 1990s, Strasbourg revamped their crest, which featured a stork and the city’s cathedral. The new crest was a striking, modern design which featured an abstract pointed, crescent image, inside of a circle, which was supposed to represent both the stork and the cathedral. The modernist redesign proved massively unpopular, and the club has since reverted back to the traditional design, but their relatively brief flirtation with abstraction has got me looking out for Strasbourg’s results to this day, even though I couldn’t name their current squad if you paid me.

The mechanics behind these opinions are certainly an interesting thing to ponder, because there are, naturally, many more instances of reactions to the aesthetics of a club not influencing the overall opinion about it. I’ve always liked Grasshopper Zurich’s visual identity, for instance, but I can’t say that I’m at all bothered about their on-field results.

I wonder if the opinion is something that takes immediate hold in the viewer, because reactions to art are personal and often instinctual, for lack of a better word. The alternative, I suppose, would be that the attachment to or dislike of a club in this situation is a kind of learned behavior. We do not start off with an intention of deciding to like or dislike a club based on aesthetics, but when we see the club paired up, in the real world, with other clubs, this flimsy impression is stronger than no impression at all and conditions us against the club. Germany and France being home to leagues that I follow closely on a week to week basis does give some credence to the learned behavior aspect.

I guess there’s no definitive conclusion to be drawn here, other than the one about me having too much time on my hands, but if anyone has their own examples of liking or disliking a club in this way, I would love to hear them.

An 11-1 aggregate score is bound to attract attention, even when it takes place in early Europa League qualifying rounds between two teams that even the most dedicated observers are unfamiliar with. FC Zestaponi, the club that administered this beating to Northern Ireland’s Lisburn Distillery, definitely fits this description.

The amount of background available about the club is not very detailed; the club’s English language website and, of course, Wikipedia, appear to be the only sources of information. FC Zestaponi was founded in 2004 with the backing of the city’s Ferro-Alloy plant. As the city itself is home to a fairly large metal producing industry, during the Soviet era the city’s club was Metallurg, I assume that the plant counts as a major backer.

The official site touts the contribution of the club and owners towards Georgian football as a whole and its investment into the sporting infrastructure of the city, especially in regards to upgrading the stadium. This kind of local investment can only be a good thing. Readers of Jonathan Wilson’s Behind the Curtain will probably remember the story of WIT Georgia, who were forced to move a 2001 Intertoto tie against Austrian club SV Reid on the grounds that their home stadium did not actually constitute a stadium.

If recent history is any guide, Georgian teams have not fared well against more capable opposition, so Zestaponi, in all likelihood, face an uphill battle against Helsingborg in the next round.