Titus Chalks Premier-League-Kolumne (1)
A credible side – no team
Text: Titus Chalk Bild: Imago
Seit zwei Wochen läuft die Premier League – und sie ist vielleicht nicht mehr die »beste Liga der Welt™«, aber sie ist vermutlich die unterhaltsamste. Unser Kolumnist Titus Chalk wirft an dieser Stelle jede Woche einen Blick drauf.
After consecutive frugal summers in which only one club – the saucy, Abu Dhabi-backed zillionaires of Manchester City – have been able to buy big-name players, there has been a sense of slight regression in England. A little of the hubris, a little of the lustre has faded. English clubs failed to boss the Champions League with the same authority last season, our beloved wallies in white flopped in South Africa, and now want-away stars like Cesc Fabregas and Javier Mascherano are making eyes at that loaded Latin lover, La Liga.
On top of that, after four 6-0 thrashings in the first two weekends of the new season, there is embarrassment in the air. This is supposed to be a hyper-competitive league, with finely drilled teams the length of the table, not some training ground cakewalk. That said, few neutrals are complaining: the brilliant spankings dolled out by Chelsea, Arsenal and – bizarrely – freshly promoted Newcastle have enlivened a new season that threatened to have too many players on tired World Cup legs creaking around the pitch.
ManCity – no team
The thrills of the frantic English league have been enhanced by the collective amnesia of back fours around the country, though their memories will no doubt come flooding back in the next couple of weeks after a few double training sessions and rollockings from the Gaffer. Apart from at Wigan that is. Impressively, going back to the last game of last season, Chelsea have now scored 20 goals in three games: 14 of those were against the Latics.
But back to Manchester City. Though unable to chalk up six against Liverpool on Monday night (they »only« managed to win 3-0), they are starting to look like a credible side. I hesitate to use the word »team«, because that implies some kind of collective spirit – and only time will tell if they have one of those. Roberto Mancini faces a Herculean challenge keeping all his players happy and his ability or otherwise to do so will define City’s season. There is no doubting though, that the established order in the Premier League is changing and the Big Four – that tag used to describe Manchester United, Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool – is in danger of becoming a redundant concept.
No-one to replace Giggs and Scholes
What we don’t know quite yet is what we will have in its place: a Big Five? If Liverpool finish seventh again and fail to find extravagantly wealthy new owners almost certainly not. A Big Two? If the title again goes to United or Chelsea with some combination of the other sides and/or Tottenham in the top four, why not? And just how much longer will Manchester United be in the club at all? When Ryan Giggs (36) and Paul Scholes (35) retire, Sir Alex Ferguson will almost certainly join them, well aware that despite years of trying, United has found no-one to replace them. The club faces a real risk of being scrubbed off the Big Whatever guest list for some time.
It is precisely this brutal readjustment of power that could make the season such an entertaining one – there is a real sense that teams are not only fighting for three points, but jockeying for position in the New League Order like feuding superpowers. The only certainties are that this being the Premier League, the revolution will be televised, the Reds will be a menace, and Harry Redknapp will remain er…non-aligned. Strictly no Communists. And Wigan to go down in flames.
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Die Titus-Fussballing-Eng-zyklopädie
An dieser Stelle erklärt Titus Chalk die englische Fußball-Kultur auf Deutsch;
Folge 1
The Joy of Six
Die obligatorishe Überschrift für jedes Bericht eines Spieles, dabei das Ergibniss 6-0 war. Warum? Weil – ha, ha – »Six« wie »Sex« klingt. The Joy of Sex war eigentlich ein berühmtes Buch von 1972, das über Männer mit glanzende Bärte und Frauen mit diche Schamhaare geht. Jeder Fussballjournalist hat als Kind dieses Buch versteckt im Zimmer seiner Eltern gefunden – und träumt noch so einer schöner struppiger Love-Gott sein.
