Christmas & Thirsty Euros REDUX
Christmas & Thirsty Euros REDUX
It's Chriiiiiiiiissssstmaaaaaassssssss!
The Week In Ball
Hello friends.
It's very nearly Christmas, no-one knows what the fuck is going on anymore either with football or life in general, so I'm going to do a superquick round up of this weekend's action before leaving you with a little bit of reading matter for the holiday period.
This week in the Premier League 60% of the games were called off, leaving just four being played.
Arsenal destroyed Leeds on Saturday evening with goals by three of the wunderkind: Saka, Martinelli x 2 and Smith Rowe. Martinelli in particular is on fire at the moment and I LOVE it and I love him. I've always rated him and felt sad he's been so ravaged with injury but now he's hit his stride and it's a beautiful thing to behold. That Arsenal played better and beat a fellow top four contender in West Ham last week, without the former captain Aubameyang seemed telling. I've been prepared to give Auba as much slack as possible knowing that he's dealing with an unwell family member but it's starting to feel like there's much more to it than that.
Whatever's going on we're fourth now (and will be for Christmas) and it feels fantastic.
On Sunday, Man City made light work of Newcastle allowing defenders Joao Cancelo and Ruben Dias to score to not only cement their position at the top of the table making them most likely to go on and win the league, but also meant my Fantasy Team got some well needed points in this weirdest of gameweeks. God bless Free Hit.
In the only non-televised game Chelsea were held by a solid Wolves after a disallowed goal. Their wobble continues but we also know they're a squad of strength and depth so it's fair to assume that sooner or later they'll come good.
Finally, the most incident filled game of the weekend was Spurs v. Liverpool. Playing their first game since the beginning of the month with a team that surprised, Spurs certainly came at Liverpool all guns blazing. I really don't want to delve too deep into the incidents which will have been discussed ad infinitum but I think it's becoming ever clearer that we have a consistency problem with the reffing in this country. Of course you're never going to please everyone or even anyone when you're a ref but when decisions both on field and those made by VAR seem nonsensical, biased or just wrong there has to be some kind of review of the fitness of the current crop of officials.
Over in Europe, Dortmund and Barcelona kicked off at the same time as Arsenal on Saturday, making my phone go crazy when each one of them decided to score on 16 minutes. Dortmund's was chalked off and they went on to lose to Hertha Berlin (Hertha! Embarrassing!) 3-2, with Barcelona also taking it to the wire before an 85th minute goal from Nico Gonzalez and another 3-2 scoreline.
Barca's second was a fantastic goal scored by my Spanish son Gavi, who for his troubles then got slapped around the face by Jordi Alba...
Look at that goal though. The cheeky backheel, the way he turns and wriggles away from the defender, the movement into space and the knowledge of where to hit the ball. Glorious.
In Italy, Napoli regained some ground, beating Milan who had a last ditch goal disallowed due to the silliest offside I've ever seen in my life. That you would consider Giroud, flailing around on the floor, as a threat to goal is truly the maddest thing I've heard. And I watched the Premier League this weekend.
Inter remain top after beating beleaguered Salernitana 5-0 on Friday and now face Torino on Wednesday before Serie A shuts up shop.
The Road to the Thirstiest Euros Ever
Back in the Summer, during the heady days of Euro fever, I wrote a long piece about lust, football and Jack Grealish. It's one of my favourite things I've ever written, made me go a bit mad and pitch it as a short book to Ink404's Inklings series (it didn't get picked up, I think the thought of having to make it ten times then length would've scared me shitless if I'd actually had to do it) but also got shared and read more than any other piece I've done. Since I published the newsletter it was in I've almost doubled my subscriber count so here it is again, edited and republished for you to read over Christmas if you fancy.
As you may recall, I mentioned several times in my Euros updates that Euro 2020 may have been the most handsome tournament ever. According to my Twitter timeline it was certainly the thirstiest, but was it a simple case of pandemic frustrations or was there more to it?
For as long as I can remember Football has provided us with a slew of handsome men to swoon over, to fantasise about, to skew our club loyalties as our heads get messed up by a nice arse. However, I think it’s fair to say that, as a whole, the players of the past don’t really stand up to the current crop of athletes.
You can call it recency bias, which is certainly a factor, tastes change, but it’s clear to me that a lot of my wild, irrepressible crushes from the 90s were in fact the result of teenage hormones and the standard of players wasn't actually all that. I mean, I properly loved Andrei Kanchelskis and I look at him now and… yeah…
That isn’t to say there haven’t been some timelessly handsome men in the game: think George Best, Paolo Maldini, Ruud Gullit and while that’s by no means an exhaustive list, to even come up it was a bit of a struggle and you’ll notice for example that the late 70s/early 80s isn’t represented. So what happened to dial up the levels of handsomeness in football?
In the 90s there were two massive shifts in the game that changed football from an extremely masculine sport to one with a much wider and more female appeal. Coupled with some wider societal changes along the way and we can start to piece together the reasons for reaching Peak Thirst.
Firstly, there was the establishment of the Premier League in 1992. Pumped up by Sky, the game was distanced from the tragedies and hooliganism of the 80s and rebranded as something glamorous and exciting. A televisual spectacle. Add increased ticket prices to this and suddenly it was accessible mainly to those with a bit of money to spare, shifting the traditionally working class demographic. The top of the game became gentrified and sanitised.
The second was the 1995 Bosman Ruling which, according to Wikipedia, “banned restrictions on foreign EU players within national leagues and allowed players in the EU to move to another club at the end of a contract without a transfer fee being paid.”
This opened the door to players moving between countries to play their league football and arguably, along with the appointing of foreign managers, notably Arsène Wenger, gave us the diversity in the Premier League that we see today and allowed us to watch and enjoy foreign players week in week out instead of just during international tournaments.
And then there was David Beckham.
Beckham burst into my consciousness on August 17th 1996 when he scored from the halfway line in a game against Wimbledon on the opening day of the 96/97 season. “WHO WAS THAT?!” I shrieked silently at the television, while swooning over the floppy hair and cheeky grin.
Beckham was different to most of those who’d gone before him. He wanted and understood fame. He was part of one of the biggest couples in pop culture. Sure Kevin Keegan had once advertised Brut, but that was with Henry Cooper, a boxer, and Brut was a man’s fragrance. Beckham on the other hand changed his hair more often than his boots, he wore a headband and a sarong, he experimented with fashion. He was, and still is, incredibly, breathtakingly handsome and not a little bit beautiful .
Combine this with Euro 96, “Cool Britannia” and ladette culture and there was a noticeable shift into the mainstream for football and all those who played it. (Which is not to say it was ever a niche game but it had previously had a certain reputation with only occasional breakout stars who you probably only saw once every two to fours years at a tournament).
In 1999 Thierry Henry signed for Arsenal and Va Va Voom was born. The floodgates opened to an endless supply of sophisticated, beautiful foreigners; Robert Pires, Robin Van Persie, Fernando Torres, Freddie Ljungberg and more.
We became used to looking at football for fantasy figures, there were players who would regularly top polls of sexiest men ever/alive/of the year. Players did fashion spreads and were regulars in teen magazines. They were on billboards and in commercials. Some were English but they were often foreign, most probably French. The majority of English players took a while to catch up on the fashion and beauty game. They instead used their wealth and popularity to attract women, without necessarily having the looks to back it up.
In 2006 this culminated in the "WAGs" and their glamorous lifestyle but if you look at who they were the WAGs of, well… you can make an argument for Frank Lampard sure, Beckham definitely, but Rooney? 17 year old Theo Walcott? Peter Crouch? John. Terry.
I’m going to be honest here and say it only got worse for England in that department.gave us the hottest and best Spanish side there’d ever been (Torres, Ramos, Pique, Fabregas, Casillas), some cute Germans were on the way up (Neuer, Khedira, Draxler, Höwedes, Kroos, Hummels), eventually destroying Brazil 7-1 and winning the World Cup in 2014 and frankly you can always rely on the French and the Italians to pull at least one stunner out of the bag. Yet England remained, generally, a team of “just some blokes”, and not even especially charismatic ones at that.
When the 2016 Euros rolled around there were hints of improvement. The team seemed younger, more fun, more hopeful and endearing. There was Dele and Dier and their enduring bromance, there was Henderson, Lallana, Stones and pretty much making his debut, 18 year old Marcus Rashford.
There were others in the team who seemed like decent guys with none of the baggage of the years that were marred by the presence of John Terry. They were a team to root for and it was a decent enough tournament.
Then something unprecedented happened. After Roy Hodgson, Sam Allardyce was appointed England manager. It’s difficult to say what might have happened under his stewardship and we’ll never know because he was sacked having only managed the team for one game. This left the door open for mild mannered, penalty missing, Company Guy and U21 manager Gareth Southgate to take the reins and guide England to World Cup 2018.
From memory, 2018 was a weird one. It started, for me, as just another tournament. I was excited as I always am but I don’t remember feeling particularly strongly about the England team. There is a tweet out there where I make a wild declaration about four players I don’t like but I retract 75% of those (the one who’d remain is Vardy because, well, he’s Vardy) and stick to my main point of “thinking about who in the current squad I actively dislike and actually, I mostly like them”.
However by the end of the tournament we’d made the semi-finals and the country was in love with the group of players and more importantly with the kind, intelligent and passionate manager.
This group seemed, even more so than in 2016, fun and sweet and perhaps most importantly they were good. They won a competitive penalty shoot out for goodness’ sake.
Looking at the squad list, for the first time in many years, or maybe even ever, the number of hotties outweighs those who fall short of that moniker. For my money the only ones who don’t make the grade are Phil Jones, Jamie Vardy, Gary Cahill, Ashley Young and Nick Pope. There are arguments to be made for all of the others and even those will have their admirers.
But apart from occasionally having my tweets liked by accounts called “MrsJohnStones” that were clearly owned by teenagers, I don’t remember there being outrageous levels of thirst. Naturally, because it’s who I am, I would have spent some time lusting over various players from both England and the other nations but it certainly wasn’t to the extent we saw this year.
Which brings us to Euro 2020. A major tournament being held while the biggest health emergency for a hundred years ravaged the world. A major tournament where the majority of the leagues the players were drawn from had been played without crowds. Where the supporters had spent a good part of the last 18 months at home, without loved ones or normality.
During that time I feel like we somehow became closer to the players. There wasn’t much around to keep us entertained but football persevered. These boys and men were there for us week in, week out providing 90 minutes of escapism. And it was non-stop. The pandemic forced the hand of the broadcasters and all bets were off. No more 3pm blackout, instead we were treated to being able to see every single game if we wanted. Throughout 2020 I saw these players more than anyone else bar my husband.
We also watched as many of the players became outspoken advocates of social justice causes. Marcus Rashford of course is the most notable example of this and Jordan Henderson is a prominent LQBTQ+ ally and supporter of the NHS. Then there was the knee. After the worldwide explosion of outrage following the death of George Floyd and others, the captains of the Premier League, led by Troy Deeney, took the decision to follow in the footsteps of Colin Kaepernick, and take the knee before every game to protest injustice. Tyrone Mings spoke clearly and eloquently about racism, Ben Mee was strident in his condemnation of an offensive banner flown over Turf Moor and after the debacle of the Super League Patrick Bamford expressed a hope that the energy put towards rejecting that would be put towards fighting racism.
TL:DR, these were a bunch of good boys.
Which brings us to the thirst. Again, like in 2018, this was a group of fun, hope filled players. They said and did the right thing. Gareth was a tried and trusted manager hoping to recreate or better the World Cup performance. Before the tournament even began he was reignited as a 'middle aged crush'. There were exciting new prospects like Saka, Sancho and Bellingham. The established players like Kane, Henderson, Stones and Maguire were likeable and solid. Pickford grew his hair and kept many clean sheets and it elevated him to an unlikely sex symbol. They were helped no end by an excellent social media presence on Twitter, YouTube and TikTok.
Speaking of which, I think it’s important here to mention the role of social media in making us all lose our collective minds.
Twitter, Instagram and probably Snapchat (which, full disclosure, as an elderly person I have no experience of) have put celebrities at our fingertips more than ever before. We’re now privy to the personal lives of these people in a much more intimate and truthful setting. Sure we all post our best sides online but we’ve still been allowed a behind the scenes glimpse into the lives of the famous beyond the sanitised versions presented in Hello! or in puff piece documentaries. And the youth of the players mean they understand this, they’ve grown up with the internet and know no other way, they’re savvy in its language. They know to post shirtless pictures or workout videos or to give us brief glances at their relationships with other players or their families. They’re ours like never before.
Of course the thirstiness hasn’t been limited to the England squad. Every single team has at least one player that fits into the Hottie category and others became so throughout the course of the competition. For my money there was Goretzka and Neuer, Marcos Llorente and Pau Torres, Donnarumma, Xhaka, Wijnaldum and a good proportion of the French team. Llorente and Goretzka in particular are both skilled in posting the kind of thirst traps that they know we want.
And then there’s Grealish. Jack Peter Grealish. A man who oozes charisma, who has a seemingly charmed existence and a face that says no thoughts trouble him. He is, perhaps, the ultimate example of what a person needs to be to reach the Thirst Apex.
The thing about Jack Grealish is that he exists in that sweet spot between the masculine and feminine and the down-to-earth and impossibly glamorous. I mean look at those legs. Thick, hairy and muscular, they’re the epitome of a strong male physique. But his face is beautiful. Consider those long eyelashes, the full, deep pink lips and the soft expression when he smiles. You can project him into almost any kind of fantasy; top, bottom, romantic, dirty, he could be queer, he could be straight. Like the best boyband members he’s unthreatening while encouraging maximum desire. He’s a blank canvas for lust.
He also exudes an aura of someone who’s so comfortable with himself and his sexuality that maybe you would be in with a chance; a Brando-esque vibe of wanting to fuck everyone.
Then there’s his accent, the heavy Brummie tones spoken slowly and deliberately, which ground him and make him appear normal and accessible. His relationship with his family, including a sister with cerebral palsy who he says is his ‘best friend’ and the sad death of his brother when he was small softens him and balances the pictures of him holidaying on yachts, or partying in Mykonos while wearing Gucci and Chanel.
It should have come as no surprise that he received the attention he did, including the infamous “Mrs Grealish 69” shirt. He gives us everything we want in a modern footballer. He's the perfect himbo.
So we’ve reached Peak Thirst. Through the various changes to football over the years, via the wider societal impact of the internet, shifting acceptance of gender expression and social justice movements we have a collection of men who appeal to the widest possible audience and within that a figurehead who manages to encompass all of these things in one neat and incredibly alluring package. It was no wonder we were doomed to a month of slavering, inescapable lust. All I can hope is that the energy is kept as we move into the new league season.
Extra Time
As I finish writing this it's been announced that all Premier League fixtures will be going ahead as planned and, presumably, where possible.
From a personal point of view, as someone who isn't working for the rest of the year and was looking forward to a bumper selection of EPL matches to watch, this is great. From a human and practical point of view however... ehhhhhh I dunno? It doesn't seem right does it? But then the crammed festive fixture list has never seemed particularly good for anyone other than the fans and the TV companies, has it?
Anyway! Despite the ongoing pandemic, let's try and keep it light... I'll be taking a well earned break next week to watch said football and then, depending on how much I eat and drink, there may well be a bumper New Year issue on the 3rd or 4th.
If you miss the content in the meantime, why not check out my Moment of my fave football tweets of the year?
So, I hope you manage to have the best Christmas period you can, whether you're specifically celebrating the holiday or just enjoying some time off. I hope you can be with who you want to be, eat and drink what you want to drink and do what you want to do. More importantly I hope Father Christmas brings you your heart's desire!
Until next year then, a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, thank you as always for subscribing and supporting me and I wish you lots of love and good vibes for 2022 <3 <3
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