/ 23 January 2004

Itchy, twitchy business

Nobody spreads panic quite like a man of his word. Louis Saha ensured that he would be departing as soon as he proposed to see out the full term of his agreement with his club: ‘If Fulham love me that much, they are going to have to cope with me until the end — and then I will leave them for zero euros,” said the forward early last week.

The sale of Saha to Manchester United for an estimated £10-million has now been agreed. His employers valued him so highly, they could never have borne the thought of enjoying his talents all the way through to the close of his contract in 2006.

Our bond with key players is full of contradiction because lumbering emotions have yet to catch up with the business practice of modern football.

Fulham manager Chris Coleman could be accused of deceitfulness for his ‘over my dead body” reaction when the transfer of Saha was first mooted, but it is more accurate to treat the manager’s words as the visceral reaction of a person aghast at the prospect of losing his leading scorer. Despite the emoting, events trundled along a predictable course.

Even the substantial claims of a rival interest from Chelsea may only have guaranteed that he fetched up at Old Trafford. Owner Roman Abramovich can be cast as a bogeyman figure who will snatch away a rising talent unless a club moves at high speed — and vast expense — to take him into protective custody.

In a depressed market Fulham get a good price for a forward who has not, until now, been part of France’s plans at international level. After Rio Ferdinand, Diego Forlan and others, United are getting used to paying a premium on their signings, and at least they now have a partner for Ruud van Nistelrooy.

Even though Fulham will miss Saha, their dispute with him was tied up purely with issues of timing. The relevant parties usually draw up a contract in the expectation that they will breach it at a suitable moment.

The club envisages raking in cash eventually through a transfer, and the player assumes that he will move on in due course. It is only a matter of agreeing on a date and Saha vexed Fulham because he got prematurely itchy feet.

It is the scheduling that causes most of the animosity. Charlton sound as if they half-expect Scott Parker to leave them for Chelsea, but there is raw resentment principally because his five-year deal at The Valley started barely six months ago.

At the other end of the scale Liverpool are on tenterhooks over Michael Owen because, unless he reaches a new agreement soon, they must either transfer him or face losing the attacker for nothing at the close of next season. Steve McManaman, of course, walked out of Anfield on such a basis.

With the removal of compensation for a club that loses a player at the end of his deal, both parties are bound to start making tough calculations about their relationship. The rational part of the mind appreciates that this all makes perfect if unfortunate sense, but pragmatism has its limits.

It seems to be impossible for a fan to watch a player for any length of time without imagining that he, too, has an emotional attachment to the cause. Players often do possess a certain fondness for their club but it seldom overrides all other considerations, as it does for a supporter.

People feel miserable, angry or betrayed when the scheming starts over stars like Saha and Parker. Every spectator is a throwback. No matter how young they may be, they all identify with an era when a footballer was still an employee of the club even after his contract had reached its end.

It is as if the crowd has been transported intact from a period before 1961, when football’s maximum wage of £20 a week meant that there was, in theory, scant incentive for a player to switch to another team.

The sport is now in the tricky position of taking realistic decisions while paying lip-service to the notion of untarnished loyalty. The Premiership has transformed almost everything, yet it depends on the traditional bond between supporter and club. If there is not to be utter disillusionment, people’s hearts will have to be re-engineered so that they can enjoy the skills of a Saha without assuming that he will be around for long.

Spectators need to have a harsh desire just to live for the moment. They ought, in fact, to be a bit like footballers. —