TFN’s Alastair Nasmyth returns with an alternative method for football transfers…
The World Cup is over and the Brazilians are sweeping up the ticker tape (and sweeping away the tiki-taki) whilst trying to overcome one hell of a hangover. After valiantly fighting off her attentions for a year with protests and riots, a few misplaced Caipirinhas and they’ve woken up next to the FIFA fat girl. Giving in to their better instincts they took the rotund Mrs. Blatter back to their place and just as the passion mounted the mood was killed when it was suggested their German friend got involved. As the haze lifts, one can only imagine what the mixed emotions of self-loathing at their elimination and pride at actually hosting the event will feel like.
For all nations involved their country’s stories in the World Cup are like those of an emotional relationship ending in anything from heart break, renewed optimism, devotion or the feeling of time wasted on someone undeserving. These intense emotional indulgencies aren’t just limited to international competitions of course, many of the nuances of love and lust are mirrored in football’s other particularities none more so than the flirtatious transfer window.
Twice a year, like CSI investigators picking through a crime scene, journalists (and one can’t help but wonder if the ones who are involved can actually refer to themselves as such) search for amorous advances in press releases and Twitter accounts, while compiling motives based on how big a suitor’s transfer war chests might be. Some players like to play the come get me game. Luis Suarez has been strutting around in a proverbial short skirt and crop top for the last month saying no with his mouth but yes with his eyes as he attended the debutants ball in Brazil. Others are more traditional and get their agents to arrange their marriages, although the dowry does seem to pass the wrong way. All of this is elevated to a position of false theatre by the round the clock monitoring of player movements and managing director’s flight schedules. The inanity of the manufactured drama makes Eastenders seem like The Wire!
To save us all from the none-drama of the impending transfer sagas that will no doubt ring in the new season, the current transfer system should be replaced by Tinder. Rather than using the back pages of newspapers to let Lars Bender know that Arsene really, really likes him, they should embrace the matchmaking app and find out if they really are compatible. The general public don’t want to hear the contrived romantic advances of players looking for more money trotting out lines like: “I’ve always respected the history of the club and it would be a dream for any one to play at a club like this one”, whilst running their hands up their legs and gently tossing their hair back. Tinder on the other hand seems to be perfectly suited to such vacuous sentiment.
Whilst lounging by the pool on international duty one can see the modern footballer idly swiping away at potential partners. It would also remove the ugly money grabbing from view of the fans, preventing the tainting of the idealized image of their heroes in the same way that Tinder has removed personality from the courting experience. Michael Owen’s agent famously created a sales brochure for his client, for which he was derided, but his only mistake was that he didn’t make it sexy enough. More Instagrams of Michael on holiday in Miami, selfies with Jake Humphrey or a neck nominate from Robbie Fowler perhaps.
