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January 12, 2016

Oh well, Michel!

A guest contribution by Rainer Kalb on the fall of Michel Platini.

Michel Platini 1984 and 2016.

So you finally threw in the towel. You don’t want to become FIFA president any more. You say it’s no longer possible because of the ‘time frame’. In legal terms, this is perfectly correct. But time cannot really be ‘framed’, it’s fluid, isn’t? No one knows this better than football functionaries among whom you’re still very youthful at age 60. After all, Blatter only became a thing of the past at age 79.

As a young boy in Lorraine you were always looking forward to watching the Bundesliga highlights on the Sportschau. Today you must feel a lot of bitterness towards Germany. The Germans robbed you of the World Cup twice:  in 1982 Harald Schumacher brutally eliminated your friend Patrick Battiston in the World Cup semi-final in Sevilla; and four years later, again in the semi-final, a certain Wolfgang Rolff, today simple assistant coach in Hanover, took you out, just like he did in the European Cup final of 1983, when Hamburg won against Juventus thanks to Felix Magath’s goal.

And today – if your appeal does not miraculously reinstate you – it’s a German judge who thwarted all your ambitions by law. And now that Sepp Blatter has neutralized your friend and ally Wolfgang Niersbach, you lost your last support in Germany.

I presume you feel like good old Heinrich Heine, who sighed from his Parisian exile in 1844, ‘When I think of Germany in the night, I am deprived of my sleep!’

You’re going down with Blatter now – but how stupid must one be to fall into a trap Blatter did not even set? You told me once you were earning more money at UEFA in a month than in your entire first year as professional footballer in Saint-Etienne. But why then did you have to take the two million Swiss francs? Why the greed? You don’t even have the time to spend that money with all your obligations and travels!

For me, you will remain, along with Pelé, Beckenbauer and Cruyff, one of the best footballers ever. I will always remember how at Euro1984 you scored 9 goals in 5 matches as a midfielder. No one will ever come close to this. Certainly not Blatter. Like you recently said, he only ‘adorned himself’ with you, but would never let you ‘cast a longer shadow than he did’.

As a faithful companion of yours since 1981, I sincerely hope you will be allowed to watch at least one match at the French Euro this year. You already expressed, in one of your quips nobody understands but everybody appreciates, how strongly you feel about this: ‘If needs be’, you said, ‘I can always drive the car of Jacques Lambert’, the head of the organising committee with whom you already staged France 98.

But being a driver may no longer be the social group you belong to. And not all the drivers get to see the matches. When the terrorists blew themselves up in Saint-Denis on 13 November, the only victim around the Stade de France was a chauffeur, waiting for his clients because he did not have a ticket himself.

Rainer Kalb’s previous contribution can be found here.

Post by Albrecht Sonntag in the category Football Politics - No comment

December 15, 2015

Unsubscribe!

Football is a financial bubble. It has always been. Since the beginnings of professionalism, players’ wages have been perceived as shockingly high and club management as shockingly irresponsible. Over the last twenty years, the inflation of the amounts of money injected into European football has accelerated exponentially. And each time you’d expect the bubble to finally explode, it happily continues to swell.

For the summer of 2016, one may anticipate new summits of obscenity. Thanks to the new contract between the Premier League and its broadcasters, the financial means made available to the most mediocre of English clubs will inevitable provoke grotesque transfer fees across the continent.

In an ideal world these additional millions would be reinvested in the training of home-grown talent, in infrastructures for grassroots football, in the reduction of stadium ticket prices, or even – let’s dream a little – in socially relevant projects funded on a genuine strategy of corporate citizenship…

Alas! There will be none of this (except some alibi gestures). The history of football teaches us that each new level reached in terms of revenues is immediately fed back into players’ salaries. Agents of second-lever players will see their income increase substantially. The dealers of luxury sports cars in Stoke and Norwich will be delighted to manage the influx of twenty-year old footballers who don’t know what to do with their money. And if you happen to be the owner of a sextape involving a French international you’ll be in a position to significantly increase your gains from blackmail.

If only this game was not as telegenic! After all, it is television that is at the origin of this never-ending inflation. Football and television are like the junkie and his dealer (although it is no longer clear who is the junkie and who is the dealer).

Very frankly: don’t you feel sometimes like bursting the bubble? Simply for the pleasure of saying ‘Stop!’ to an inflation that has become absurd? If you do, unsubscribe. Just do it. It’s feasible. I pay no subscription, and I have no detoxification syndrome whatsoever. If you miss a new marvel of Lionel Messi, some friend from Turkey or elsewhere will send you the Youtube link the next day. Or you let your office colleagues describe it to you at the coffee machine – your blissful ignorance will even create social bonds! Call me a condescending snob, member of a disconnected cultural élite, but I am just no longer willing to participate in greasing the wheels of this money-printing machine.

Unsubscribe! Do it for the sake of the clubs! These clubs that always find a way to imagine themselves under such an unbearable competitive pressure that they quickly need a fix of some more dozens of millions. They will curse you for it at the beginning, but they will be grateful in the long run.

Over the last two years I have finished each talk I had the opportunity to lead with an actor of European professional football by asking him or her whether they did not see their own business as a bubble ready to burst. And they all, without exception, confirmed to me how absurd and insane the bubble was, almost begging for someone to explode it for them.

Take the burden off their shoulders – unsubscribe!

Read the French original in Le Monde.

Post by Albrecht Sonntag in the category Governance - No comment

December 10, 2015

What would Mr Thackeray say?

‘Vanity Fair, where you light on the strangest contrasts laughable and tearful:
where you may be gentle and pathetic, or savage and cynical with perfect propriety…’

Vanity Fair, Chapter XVII

In the middle of the 19th century, William Makepeace Thackeray published a long serialised novel in the satirical magazine Punch, which he named Vanity Fair. He borrowed his title from John Bunyan’s allegory The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678), where ‘Vanity Fair’ is one of the stations on the journey of redemption towards the ‘Celestial City’. It may be assumed that W.M. Thackeray chose this title because it not only allowed him to resume his vision of the human condition in a snappy expression but at the same time positioned himself as a detached and sarcastic observer of the human species, made up by individuals frantically running around in their absurd search for self-esteem and pride.

What would he say today on watching an event like the European football championship? Would he see, like in his famous novel, a ‘vain, wicked, foolish place, full of all sorts of humbugs and falsenesses and pretensions’ or would he be inclined to show more leniency in his judgement? Would he point out, with the biting irony that characterised his writing, the excessive proportions of this mega-event ? Would he see nothing but a big bustling fair of stereotypes upheld against better knowledge, a carnival of emotions shamelessly unleashed in public, a festival of the permanently noisy display of imaginary loyalties?

Or would he detect, behind the Babylonian confusion, the joyful celebration of an extraordinary game and the simple pleasure of the masses to find themselves, for once, united by shared passion?

William Makepeace Thackeray never knew modern football. He died at age fifty-two, in December 1863 in London, exactly at the same moment where, at the other end of town, the eleven representatives of pioneering football clubs and schools were about to come to an agreement on the rules of this new game which they had set out to codify a few weeks earlier. If he had attended one of their meetings at the Freemasons’ Tavern in Covent Garden, could he only have imagined what kind of ‘vanity fair’ this new sport would produce one and a half centuries later?

It is perfectly possible, though, that the Victorian novelist, had he been miraculously ‘beamed’ to the Poland of 2012, would not have felt out of place. After all, he certainly was, together with the London society of his times and his famous colleagues Charles Dickens, Charlotte Brontë or Lewis Carroll, an arduous visitor of the Great Exhibition of 1851, the first ever ‘World Fair’. A genuine mega-event avant la lettre, hosted in the spectacular ‘Crystal Palace’ which received his nickname from the satirical plumes of Punch, where Thackeray had just published his novel. One may therefore assume that the great writer would readily engage in dressing parallels between the ‘Great Exhibition’ of 1851 and the great European football exhibition of 2012. Both can be perceived as great opportunities for the host nations to showcase their achievements and indulge in a good dose of self-celebration – a ‘Vanity Fair’ in the crudest sense of the word. He would no doubt be impressed by the number of travellers converging on the host cities from all over the continent. True, he might be intrigued by the fact that the centre of interest of this huge fair was only a ball game, and a rather simple one at that. But then again, would it not only be logical that the industrial machines and inventions of the 19th century were finally replaced as the object of worship by something even more trivial or ‘vain’? As a matter of fact, it would only strengthen his point about the inherent stupidity of mankind, a vision that left him, in his own words, ‘more melancholy than mirthful’.

It is striking to see to what extent the great literary works of the 19th and early 20th century may provide us with keys for the understanding of contemporary society. If these novels and their characters still have something to say about the society we are living in, it is not only because their authors had outstanding skills of psychological empathy with their protagonists, but also because the psycho-social programming of the human mind, its desires, fears and aspirations, do not seem to have changed that much since the days of Thackeray. Large social groups still have the same hunger for collective pride, which is still mainly satisfied through the identification with nation-states. They still have the same need for the ‘social self-love’ that Emile Durkheim considered inseparable from the very existence of nation-states; they still have the same urge to claim their community’s singularity that Isaiah Berlin identified as one of the most irrepressible drives of modern history.

Our new book on The European Football Championship brings together seven different accounts of visitors to the ‘Vanity Fair of European Football’ that took place in Poland and Ukraine in summer 2012. What they have in common despite their different national origins and their respective focus of interest is the impression of witnessing a period of transition and uncertainty. A period in which feelings of belonging are still framed by the stronghold of national identity, but where loyalties and identifications, but also dominant ideologies, are permanently negotiated and even publicly debated. A moment in time where representations of self and other are increasingly fluid, but where ‘blind spots’ stubbornly persist. A phase in which collective stereotypes, self-perceptions and ‘vanities’ are considerably weakened by large-scale phenomena like migration, cultural globalisation and supranational integration.

The ‘Vanity Fair of European Football’ thus reveals itself as an ideal laboratory for the social scientist, where individuals and groups converge to redefine themselves and interact with each other, where, as Thackeray said, ‘the strangest contrasts laughable and tearful’ are laid out before the eyes of the researcher. It is certainly a place that William Makepeace Thackeray would have very much appreciated visiting. Behind his sarcastic description of the manifold weaknesses and follies of the human species that he examined like a biologist examines insects under his magnifying glass, Thackeray had a great compassion for their vain pursuits. With such interest for detail, capacity for empathy, and sense of humour, he would most certainly have made an excellent football anthropologist.

More on the book here.

An interview with the co-editors here.

Post by Albrecht Sonntag in the category Competitions, Identities, Public Sphere - No comment

November 18, 2015

The many lives of a song

On Saturday, 11 July 1998, I was sitting with my wife in one of the small cafés around the picturesque old port of Honfleur in Normandy, enjoying an afternoon coffee in the sunshine. A young father passed by, pushing the pram with his baby, lost in his thoughts, and quietly humming … la Marseillaise !

We had a large grin on our face. Only two weeks before, this would have been unimaginable. The young gentleman wasn’t probably even realising he was repeating in his head the national anthem one day before the much-awaited final against Brazil in Saint-Denis.

Within one magical week, the national anthem, this hoplelessly outdated 200-year-old ‘war song’, had become the irresistible hit of the summer, like the ‘Macarena’ or the ‘Lambada’ some years earlier.

A few days before I had attended the semi-final against Croatia in the Stade de France and had already been surprised to see people whom I had I known as rather laid-back, almost ‘blasé’, post-national citizens of the new Europe, howl bellicose rhymes about ‘impure blood watering the furrows of our soil’ as if their life depended on it.

One has to admit that the Marseillaise (which paradoxically was written in Strasbourg and got its name from the Parisians) is a musical master-piece. Easy to sing along despite a rather complex melody. The refrain ‘aux armes, citoyens!’ can be shouted at the top of one’s lungs without any risk of sounding false, and the opening line has a kind of eternal Mozartian beauty which even seduced the Beatles.

But that does not change the fact that it’s a war song, with war lyrics. And any kind of glorification of war, even if understandable in its historical context, was felt to be strangely out-of-date with the spirit of the 1970s and 80s. In these years the Marseillaise was cheekily parodied or seriously criticised rather than staunchly defended. Serge Gainsbourg released an ironic reggae version, the singer-songwriter Renaud declared that even in reggae-style it ‘made him want to vomit’, and the brilliant satirist Pierre Desproges regularly used the song’s old-fashioned lyrics for his absurd prose. Michel Platini famously said that over his entire active career, he had never sung the Marseillaise, because ‘this war anthem has nothing to do with the game’. And during the interviews I carried out for my PhD thesis several respondents referred to the Marseillaise as ‘barbaric’ or ‘ridiculous’.

In 1998, however, the Marseillaise was re-appropriated by the French. It was the times of rehabilitation of national symbols. The French were  in need of reassurance, destabilised by globalisation, and at the same time determined not to leave these symbols to the extreme right. Since then, the Marseillaise has become mainstream. At solemn occasions, people even sing it with their hand on their heart, a gesture which to my knowledge has no tradition in France and must have been copied from the Americans. One of the funniest performances ever was the improvised one by the French team two years ago after their stunning 3-0 victory against Ukraine that qualified them for the World Cup.

Some months later, in Brazil, when France played Honduras, the loudspeakers failed and the match was kicked off without the national anthems. Everybody had a laugh. But when I wrote a column in Le Monde the next day, just asking, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, whether we really needed these pre-match anthems, I touched a sensitive chord, at least according to the readers who tracked me down on my personal mailbox in order to let me know what a depraved, élitist cosmopolitan I was.

In its long, tumultuous history, the good old Marseillaise has had many different lives. It was written as a marching song for an army of ‘citoyens’ willing to defend their newly-won freedom in the 1790s; a century later it was a solemn reminder of revanchist duties during the third Republic; it became a slightly grotesque reminder of by-gone times of nationalism in the 1970s; and it was rediscovered as a convenient rallying cry of folklore patriotism at football occasions. Over the centuries, its old-fashioned lyrics had become ever more abstract. Who would have thought that the lines about ‘tyranny’s blood-stained banner’ or ‘those ferocious soldiers who cut the throats of your sons and women’ would come back to haunt the French in such a concrete, literal manner?

Yesterday evening, in Wembley, without any doubt the best possible place on this planet to play a football match after what happened last Friday, the Marseillaise started yet another life, as a transnational anthem for liberty, deploying all its evocative power. An overload of emotion. But a very important foto for the European family album! It will be difficult to hear the Marseillaise at future occasions without thinking of this moment. But perhaps, if we are very lucky, some young father, next June, will hum it innocently while pushing his tram. The day before the France-England final, in Saint-Denis.

Post by Albrecht Sonntag in the category History, Identities, Memory - No comment

November 17, 2015

So futile, so necessary

Football means nothing. It is a fantastic game, and its symbolic complexity allows individuals and groups (and researchers!) to project a lot of things onto it, but it does not carry any deep meaning as such. As Borja Garcia never tires of pointing out, football makes people happy precisely because it’s a futile thing and a provider of profoundly social events. Just like rock music in a Paris theatre, or other forms of trivial entertainment.

Wembley, Paris.

Which is exactly why  ideological fanatics hate it so much. The other reason why the Stade de France was a target for the terrorists on Friday night is the fact that football brings together such a large number of people in a relatively small place. Shared moments of futile amusement is probably what makes a city ‘the capital of abomination and perversion’, as the terrorists described Paris.

Which is exactly why it makes sense to play the England-France in Wembley tonight, even though nobody really feels like playing. The match will be a cathartic moment for a very large number of people after three days of shock and silence. It will allow the spectators to somehow publicly manifest their solidarity as representatives of a free Europe and simply as friends. Over the last three days, so many individuals have helplessly repeated in front of cameras and microphones that the only thing to do now was “carry on with our lives”. The Wembley match is a symbolic, large-scale confirmation of this attitude.

And the players, these spoilt brats of the entertainment industry, who would of course all have liked to go home to their families and digest this night in the catacombs of the Saint-Denis arena, have intuitively understood that they have an eminently social role to take. Neither the French players nor their German counterparts, who will play an entirely meaningless match against the Netherlands, seem to have hesitated.

Both England vs. France and Germany vs. Netherlands are among the fiercest rivalries of football history. Normally, a lot of prestige is at stake. Tonight, no one will think about rivalry and prestige, and the term ‘friendly’ will all of a sudden make sense. Just a shared moment of football, so futile, so necessary.

Post by Albrecht Sonntag in the category Posts - No comment

November 16, 2015

Can we still believe in (football) miracles?

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Trevor Francis, Bryan Clough and John Robertson, by Hans van Dijk / Anefo [CC BY-SA 3.0 nl

Let’s play a game. Do you know which team is currently in the 13th place of your country’s football second division? We are talking here of Queens Park Rangers in England, Laval in France, Alcorcón in Spain, Arminia Bielefeld in Germany, or 1461 Trabzon in Turkey. What future do you think that such a club will have in the next few  years? Imagine, for a moment, that this clubs fires the manager and decides to employ a young coach that was sacked by his previous employer only after 42 days in charge. Would it be possible for QPR, Laval or Arminia Bielefeld to earn promotion to the top tear, win the league, two League Cups, qualify for Europe and win two back-to-back UEFA Champions Leagues?

Not a single chance! Is, quite probably, your answer? And you are quite surely right. However, there was a time in which this was possible. In fact, there was a time in which this indeed happened. It was in the late 1970s, the club was Nottingham Forest and the young manager a striker turned coach from Middlesbrough by the name of Brian Clough, aptly assisted by his lieutenant Peter Taylor.

I write these lines after watching, for the second time, I Believe in Miracles, the recently released documentary by Welsh director Jonny Owen. In the movie, Owen looks back at the extraordinary achievements of Nottingham Forest during Clough’s peak years. Clough arrived to Forest in February 1975, with the team lingering in the bottom half of English football’s second tear. In the space of five years the reds from Nottingham went on to win a league and two European Cups. They also set a record for consecutive unbeaten matches in the top division – 42 matches – only surpassed by Arsene Wenger’s Arsenal a quarter of a century after. Forest and Clough did all this, moreover, whilst maintaining five players of the original 1975 second division squad (Viv Anderson, Martin O’Neill, Ian Bowyer, Tony Woodcock and John Robertson). Using Clough’s own words, I would not say this is the best football achievement in history, but it surely is in the top one.

[Read more]

Post by Borja García in the category Governance, History, Memory - 1 comment

November 1, 2015

Sound assumptions, false conclusions

It is only recently that the excellent German intellectual weekly newspaper DIE ZEIT – whose outstanding quality was recently (and rightly) praised by our friend Simon Kuper – introduced a football page. Yet another proof of the game’s increasing socio-cultural and political impact. The page still has to find a stable quality: the interviews are generally very good, but I am afraid not every article is a highlight – sometimes it’s simply well-formulated trivialities, sometimes the texts are simply beside the point. But once in a while it provides tasty food for thought.

The picture from the 1930 World Cup final that illustrated the article in DIE ZEIT.

The recent article ‘After the earthquake’ (DIE ZEIT No. 42/2015, from 15 October), by journalist Cathrin Gilbert and Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht, the renowned literature theorist and philosopher from Stanford University, is a good example for the latter case.

With regard to the current FIFA scandal(s), they go beyond condemning the obvious in an attempt to design a fundamentally new approach to global football governance. According to them the perspective must change completely: rather than overloading football with a symbolic meaning it does not inherently possess, but which opens the door to all kinds of political and economic manipulation of the game and its governance bodies, they call for a new ‘sobriety’.

What is needed, according to Gilbert and Gumbrecht, is a professional management of football by ‘cold specialists’, who unlike the ‘hot amateurs’ who run the game in the national and international federations – all the Platinis, Beckenbauers, Blatters or Niersbachs – are not flawed or hampered in their decision-making by their own ‘emotional investment’.

The author’s basic assumption that ‘football does not have any higher, intrinsic values’ is sound. But the conclusions they draw from it are wrong.

Firstly, their claim that the components of football tradition (old clubs, legendary stands, etc.) are ‘only a souvenir of football history, but no longer a central phenomenon’, i.e. simply ‘elements of nostalgia that enhance the attractiveness of the event in the stadium’, is misleading. Just because something is more imagined than real does not mean it is not of utmost importance to those who believe in it.

Secondly, the alternative they describe – taking inspiration on the American model of professional sport, complete with closed leagues, franchises, salary caps, draft and occasional updates of the rules – would turn out, as much as Professor Gumbrecht admires its efficiency, to be very counter-productive when applied to European football – especially for ‘cold specialists’ who aim at maximising its entertainment impact and business potential.

Thirdly, the authors’ declaration that national teams have become obsolete seems simply runs against evidence. They describe the World Cup as a ‘grotesque exception to the kind of football that has conquered the world’ and ask the rhetorical question whether ‘the double-coding of football’ – in club competitions and national teams – is still necessary.

My answer is very simple: ‘Yes, it is. Maybe not necessary, but very efficient. ’ We’ve had this discussion in the 1990s, but the popular response to the French World Cup and the following ones have clearly shown that there is not only room for two footballs, but that they actually need each other (1).

We are living the age of two footballs and it happens to be an age of unprecedented popular and economic success for both club football and national teams. In the wake of the paradigm shifts of the 1990s, they have undergone a ‘mutually beneficial divorce’, which has helped them to adapt remarkably smoothly to the dialectics of cultural globalisation between enjoyment of postnational, multicultural creolisation and the longing for nostalgic, cultural singularity (2).

Epitomised in the English Premier League and the UEFA Champions League, postmodern club football stands for unlimited mobility and multiculturalism, while at the opposite end of the football spectrum the national teams represent strong roots and a kind of imaginary, untainted, not-for-profit cultural ‘purity’. Their perceived antagonism has not only stabilised, but actually reinforced their appeal (and their revenues). Football’s global community of fans wants both. They are, as I put it at the WCSF conference in Copenhagen last May, at the same time ‘smart consumers and hopeless romantics’ (3).

All of us are, to various degrees. It’s the human condition in the times we have been put in. And football is a lovely looking glass for observing ourselves.

(1) See my chapter ‘France 98 – a Watershed World Cup’ in: Kay Schiller and Stefan Rinke (eds), The FIFA World Cup 1930 – 2010. Politics, Commerce, Spectacle and Identities. Göttingen: Wallstein-Verlag, 2014, pp. 318-336.

(2) See the final chapter of my book Les identités du football européen, Presses universitaires de Grenoble, 2008, or my article in Les Cahiers du Journalisme No. 19, 2009.

(3) ‘Smart consumers and hopeless romantics’ is also the title of my forthcoming contribution to the conference proceedings.

Post by Albrecht Sonntag in the category Competitions, Governance, Memory - No comment

October 4, 2015

The Winterkorn’s Tale

A guest contribution by Rainer Kalb on the links between Volkswagen and the Bundesliga.

Martin Winterkorn.

What’s in a name? Saint Martin, who had marched a long way from Hungary via Italy to France, still did less kilometers in his life than an average Volkswagen Diesel. When he died in November 397 A.D., his body was not carried by a diesel transporter either, but in a bark on the river Loire to Tours, where he was buried.

Saint Martin is most famous for having cut his cloak in two in order to share it with a beggar. Question: will Martin Winterkorn, who earned 16 million Euro per year, share anything with anybody? He was supposed to sign a new two-year contract as Volkwagen chairman, bringing in an even richer harvest. But then winter broke out in Wolfsburg, and his golden indian summer was over. Still he insists on generous payments after having had to resign over the emissions cheating scandal.

What does this mean for VfL Wolfsburg? Despite the optimism of director Klaus Allofs who believes that his football business will continue as usual under the new Volkswagen boss named Müller – albeit unfortunately not Gerd or Thomas – nothing will be the same as before.

In what world does Allofs think he lives? When a huge industrial company has to pay fines of billions of Euros, when eleven million cars must be recalled and fixed, when sales are likely to collapse and massive compensations to be paid, when suppliers will be suffering and people will lose their jobs, VfL Wolfsburg, the costly toy of Volkswagen, will have to give away more than half a cloak in order to preserve a reason for being. Even in the Champions League half of the fans turn their back on them. Aspiring young professionals in Niedersachsen may be well advise to head for good old poor Braunschweig in second division rather than Wolfsburg.

The VfL will become an excellent point in case for the 50+1 rule, staunchly defended by the DFB and the League, which guarantees the majority of voting rights to club members rather than investors. Wolfsburg will illustrate just how quickly a corporate-owned club can be drawn into  downward spiral.

But the Wolfsburg earthquake will even be felt in Munich. Not only because Audi, Volkswagen’s accomplice in cheating, holds almost ten per cent of FC Bayern, but because Martin Winterkorn holds a comfy chair in the record champion’s supervisory board. Can anybody let me know how a guy who presumably knew nothing about what happened at Volkswagen, may be in a position to ‘supervise’ what’s going on at Bayern?

Karl Hopfner, the honorable Bayern president, observed that Martin Winterkorn sits on the board as a private person and not as a representative of VW and/or Audi. But that’s fairly thin ice he’s walking on. Bayern may be able to support Rummenigge the luxury watch smuggler and Hoeness the tax dodger, but should it support someone who is at least morally responsible for eleven million frauds? As a trustworthy private person?I beg to differ.

Rainer Kalb’s previous contribution can be found here.

Post by Albrecht Sonntag in the category Governance - No comment

September 11, 2015

A kick-off to a particular kind of Europeanisation

Over the last twenty years ‘Europeanisation’ has become a key concept in European Studies, almost a research field of its own. The current meaning of the term must have been introduced around 1994 in a seminal JCMS article by Robert Ladrech (possible that there are some earlier occurrences that I am unaware of). Prior to this rather recent semantic shift, ‘Europeanisation’, both in its English and French version, was a term used mainly in the 19th century, in contexts of cultural hegemony. The Oxford English Dictionary of 1989, for instance, defines it at ‘to make European in appearance, form, habit, or mode of life’ and cites some literary quotes concerning the ‘Europeanisation’ of India, Egypt or Japan.

I was therefore quite surprised to bump into it in a newspaper article dated 5 September 1955. The text in question is the report on the first football match of a pan-European club competition, known then as ‘The European Champions Clubs Cup’ and today as ‘The Champions League’. At the end of his match analysis in L’Equipe, the French sports daily who was behind the whole idea of this competition, Gabriel Hanot expressed his fear that ‘national competitions might be sacrificed to the Europeanisation of football’.

Sporting 1955Funny enough, the ‘Europeanisation of football’ has now become a serious object of study. And the fear that the Champions League might one day eclipse all other competitions and become a closed league of ‘super-clubs’ is still regularly voiced today. In 1955, the match between Sporting Portugal and Partizan Belgrade (final score: 3-3) was of interest to insiders only. Major media did not care at all. In comparison, the space devoted last week across all media in France, Germany, Britain or Spain, to an event as secondary as the simple draw for the first round group stage gives testimony to the degree this Europeanisation of the football horizon has reached.

One aspect of the match in question deserves to be mentioned in particular: the fact that in its very first official game the European Cup was able to cross Cold War borders and bring together a team from the Western edge of the Continent with one from behind the Iron Curtain. Salazar’s Portugal and Tito’s Yugoslavia did not even have diplomatic relations, which complicated the travelling (the Partizan players had to insert a stop-over in Paris) but by no means prevented the match from taking place. For the Cup’s organisers, it went without saying that Central and Eastern Europe needed to be present in this new competition, and besides Partizan, teams from Budapest and Warsaw also competed (Dynamo Moscow had declined the invitation, apparently for meteorological reasons).

Today we’re in a miniature Cold War again, with Russia and the EU imposing sanctions on each other. France will have to reimburse around a billion Euros to Russia for not delivering the two Mistral war ships it had already built on command of the Russian marine. But that will not keep Paris Saint-Germain from travelling to Donezk (of all places) this autumn to play their Champions League game against Chaktior, while Olympique Lyon will play Zenith Saint Petersburg.

But as in 1955, football somehow manages to ignore the political circumstances. It pursues its own Europeanisation agenda, kicked off in Lisbon exactly sixty years ago.

Post-scriptum 1: Re-writing history by omission?

I was of course not the only one to recall this landmark event last week, when I wrote a column in Le Monde. Quite a few blogs in various countries posted something on this ground-breaking match. UEFA also published an in-depth article on its own website.  And guess what? They managed somehow not to mention L’Equipe. Am I alone in thinking a short reference to those without whom the match would not even have taken place would have been appropriate?

Post-scriptum 2: Anecdotal coincidences

How fitting that almost to the day sixty years after this historic kick-off, the FREE project presented its last panel at the annual UACES conference, where its first outlines were defined in September 2008 in a pub in Edinburgh (note that the local flagship club, Hibernians, was one of the sixteen participants of the first European Cup in 1955, making it to the semi-final where they were eliminated by French champions Stade de Reims). In 2015 the loop-closing FREE panel took place in Bilbao, a stone’s throw away from San Mames, the stadium of the local  Athletic FC. In other words: the only place across all Europe where the Bosman Ruling had no effect whatsoever :-)

Post by Albrecht Sonntag in the category History, Memory - No comment

August 23, 2015

Magic, not religion

A guest contribution by Katarzyna Herd, PhD candidate in ethnology at the Department of Arts and Cultural Sciences of Lund University.

In the autumn of 2012, when studying Applied Cultural Analysis at Lund University, I was accepted as an intern at Malmö FF. Shortly afterwards I saw my first match live, and that left me with many questions. Simply, I could not make sense of the intense emotional involvement, of the loud singing and flares, of about 16,000 people adorned in white-blue scarves who would voluntarily spend their evening in cold rain screaming abuse at referees and players, and leave frustrated and upset only to return a week later to shout, hop, and suffer more mental torture.

Magic made in Malmö.

As the internship drew to an end, I found myself confused but also addicted to this strange scene. Thus, my MA thesis called Dream Factory: Magic and Myth-Making in Football turned out to be an attempt to understand what football as a socially constructed space is, and what role it has in its local environment. The fieldwork was collected during eight months that I spent in Malmö FF, using ethnographic methods like interviews, go-alongs, observations and focus groups. The material included in the thesis shows how creative, flexible and rich this environment is.

Theoretically, the analysis is based on magic and myth-making. I used the concept of magic as presented by Marcel Mauss in his book The General Theory of Magic (1972). Mauss places magic between religion and technology. He distinguishes magic from religion in that its rites serve technical objectives, unlike religion which carries the notion of the sacred. Magic employs gods and demons, but these are treated as tools, not sacred beings to be worshipped. Magic is also context-based as a magical rite cannot happen just anywhere. That is why some of the behaviour that would be unacceptable in other circumstances appears during matches, as for example aggression, but also men hugging and singing become parts of the rite.

It is clear to me that football, contrary to the common cliché that compares it to a religion, relates to magic. Rather than worship, all different groups involved in football co-create their different rites while performing them. They use each other as means to achieve their objectives. Being ‘magicians’, those involved believe in their powers and they all try to claim ownership over their creations. It is common enough to hear supporters say that they are the club, not the fast-changing players or the management. The reference to magic may also explain how a collective phenomenon can assume individual forms as football offers a plethora of possibilities to get engaged on a personal level.

The local football club supplies its spectators with a possibility to create stories and histories. The relative vulnerability of the football club opens up possibilities for creative struggles and interpretations, and invites spectators to use all possible forms to express themselves, show their views and make the emotional side of football visible.

The depth of football’s history and context makes it into a perfect battleground for myth-making. No matter whether the focus of the different groups involved lies on football skills, financial benefits, making of banners, local patriotism or violence, all are able to tear a bit of the club for themselves and add their own interpretation of what football really means. As the French sociologist Henry Lefebvre wrote, every society needs a space where one can perform an act of rejuvenation, crown a king, and sacrifice a deity. On a match day, at a stadium, you can have that all.

Feel FREE to download the complete master thesis
under https://lup.lub.lu.se/search/publication/3954704 .

Post by Albrecht Sonntag in the category Identities - No comment

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