Farewell, Mark Schwarzer, and thanks.

I still get goosebumps.

It’s been nearly eight years since the greatest moment in Australian football, and whenever that shining, glorious shootout against Uruguay crosses my mind, I allow my mind to wander fondly around the memories.

Last night I watched that video again.

First came the goosebumps, prickling as if to reinforce the importance of what I was witnessing. Then, even though I’ve watched that film ten times or more, my temperature rose and my heart began thumping louder and faster.

As Marcelo Zalayeta strode to the spot, my eyes began to water.

Again.

No sporting event has left such an imprint on me as that shootout. It might be the most important Australian sporting moment this century, fuelling an Australian interest in soccer only Jonny Warren thought possible. The strength of the A-League and the Socceroos’ prominence in the Asian Confederation are thanks to that one Australian team and the feats of Marc Bresciano, John Aloisi and Mark Schwarzer.

When the maudlin mood takes me, the first and defining image I come to isn’t of Aloisi’s bare-chested sprint around the Sydney Olympic Stadium but Schwarzer, eyes closed, torso extended and fists pumping, howling in inarticulate elation.

Looking back, these seven minutes of footage completely represent the Socceroos involved. Tony Vidmar, rock solid and no fuss, perhaps the guy most integral to Australia’s 2006 qualification, did precisely what was required but fades into the background (he never played for the Socceroos again). Mark Viduka’s career is summed up by his near miss. Harry Kewell returned from an overstated injury to provide an element of sublime talent that Uruguayan goalkeeper Fabian Carini barely saw. Lucas Neill doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Aloisi, always the last forward used but forever effective, delivered the final blow as he would seven months later against Japan.

And Schwarzer, the man on whom that ultimate triumph was built. Longtime rival for the gloves Mark Bosnich might have saved one of those two penalties; contemporary Zeljko Kalac would have been lucky just to get near one. But Schwarzer, ever unflappable, ever uncompromising, simply outwilled his Uruguayan opponents.

That magical night cemented Mark Schwarzer as my favourite Socceroo; chances are he will never be replaced. And now, in the shadows of his third World Cup, he’s gone.

While too much is made of Australia’s Golden Generation, it is true that the nation has never had more talented teams than those in which Mark Schwarzer played. It is testament to the man that for the majority of his career, he was the first player picked; the player around whom his country's best were assembled. No matter how intimidating the opposition, there was a certain surety Australians felt with the big guy between the posts. More importantly, his teammates felt the same way.

Mark Schwarzer was the single most important (and approachable) Socceroo of his generation; honest, hardworking and, by dint confidence in him, capable of inspiring teammates into greater performances. He is, without question, the best goalkeeper – and perhaps the greatest player – Australia has ever produced. Certainly no other shot-stopper will be boast his resume, nor be remembered as fondly.

Thank you, Mark Schwarzer. Australian football wouldn’t be what it is without you.

Farewell, David Beckham, and thanks

David Beckham has retired from professional football at the age of 38.  The former England captain and fashion icon leaves the game a ten-time league champion in twenty seasons – winning six titles with Manchester United, two with Los Angeles Galaxy and one each with Real Madrid and Paris Saint-Germain.

He will be remembered for a great many things – scoring from midfield to announce his arrival, romancing a Spice Girl and transcending his sport more than any other footballer.  In some ways it’s a pity that his global fame has overshadowed his formidable footballing ability, for he was a truly outstanding midfielder for Man U.  He was absolutely brilliant with his dead-ball delivery and could deliver a Hollywood assist better than anyone of his generation outside retirement companion Paul Scholes. 

A cross from David Beckham?  On time, every time.

He will go down as the defining player of his generation, a name for the ages carrying greater widespread appeal than those who accomplished more on the field like former teammates Ryan Giggs, Raul and Andrea Pirlo.  The names forever linked with football from the late 90s and early 2000s will begin with David Beckham.

(c) Balanced Sports - from author's own collection

While his mystique was awe-inspiring, he was hardly an overpowering or dominant player.  Aside from those elegant, glorious set pieces, David Beckham rarely inspired fear in the manner of Ronaldo, nor did he befuddle like a Ronaldinho or Messi.  Indeed, it might be his greatest achievement that he leaves the game as his generation’s defining (and most marketable) player without actually being amongst the very best of the era.

Beckham’s singular talent wasn’t for football or a particular skill within it, but an immense charisma that saw everyone seek his approval (aside from one or two particular managers).  So powerful was the impression left by his simple and dignified affect that he belongs in the Athletic Charisma Hall of Fame alongside the likes of Michael Jordan and founder member Muhammad Ali.  While these two boasted a more primal and combative magnetism, Beckham’s appeal is based around a graceful and understated – almost minimalist – style.

The other skill that David Beckham perfected was an ability to make money.  This is inextricably linked to his other singular asset: his bearing created a demand that expanded his pocketbook exponentially.  It’s hard to rationalize an athlete making the lucrative money he has, and even harder to justify.  However, considering the amount of rabid publicity he and his family endured, he deserved every penny.  Even in his last season, he earned £30 million – including a rich contract for a dozen appearance from PSG’s bench that only further heightened his public appeal. 

He leaves the game with as much class as he entered it.  When a young David Beckham sent a 45-yard ball floating past Wimbledon ‘keeper Neil Sullivan, the football world opened up to him and anything seemed possible.  Now, as he now walks into a much larger world, the same could be said again. 

Anything is possible.

Farewell Sir Alex Ferguson

It was unexpected, quick and most suitable.

Sir Alex Ferguson didn’t need a cavalcade of fanfare as he announced his retirement today after twenty-seven years as manager of Manchester United, but a simple celebration befitting an uncomplicated man.  Rather than engendering endless speculation by pre-empting his retirement or embarking upon a final series of signature mind games, Sir Alex has chosen a dignified departure. 

Though it has emerged that Everton’s David Moyes will almost certainly take over as the Red Devils’ boss – a move marked clearly with Sir Alex’s fingerprints – today isn’t a day to fete the new, but to remember the older – a man who was quite simply the best.  Despite battles lost, the war was an overwhelming triumph choreographed by a director gifted so supremely with vision, flexibility of thought and strength of character.

These adjectives will be three of the thousands used to describe him today, such is his renown and ability.  He is the defining character in the history of the English Premier League, a league which owes its popularity in large part to the inexorable United sides that accumulated thirteen titles from twenty-one.

It’s odd to think that perhaps his greatest strength was that flexibility.  Over his tenure, Sir Alex earned a reputation for uncompromising forthrightness, a character trait that hardly suggests a man given to adaptability.  However, his pile-driving outward manner masked a communicator not only able to relate effectively to players born across six decades, but to spur – or cajole – whatever greatness lay within.  The sport bears little resemblance to the one he himself played north of the Wall; the circus surrounding it even less, but he has been ever-present – a man defying time and tempering.

His longevity pays ultimate tribute to a pragmatic tactical flexibility.  Over the course of his reign, Sir Alex has not only replenished United’s stocks but also regenerated from within.  The most recent revival saw the dour Champions of 2011 moulded into a collection of title-winning freewheelers.  Neither was “vintage”, but both were utterly effective.

Sir Alex Ferguson’s legacy will include two Champions League wins, thirteen Premiership titles (and sixteen overall), a European Cup Winners’ Cup and five FA Cups.  It is inconceivable in the disposable culture of today’s football that these accomplishments could be surpassed by one man and a team crafted, refined and re-refined. 

However, it is unfair that he will be measured by quantifiable achievements.  The past twenty-seven years have been his greatest bequest: the Fledglings, a magical evening at the Nou Camp and an inherent confidence that triumph lay only ninety minutes away. 

None are more impressive than the figures who dominate our formative years; they linger in memory having immortalized deeds never to be surpassed. Sir Alex Ferguson is the only manager that most living Manchester United – and football – fans have ever known.  For anyone aged under thirty-five, he will forever prowl the sidelines at Old Trafford as his bronzed likeness glares down from a pedestal fronting Old Trafford’s entry gates.  Flickering shadows will replace him, some of whom will succeed.  But none will match the deeds, or be remembered as fondly, as Sir Alex Ferguson.

Simon Katich retired because Australia wanted him to

Simon Katich announced his retirement from First Class cricket earlier this week, ending a career that began when Mark Taylor and Paul Keating occupied the most coveted offices in the country. He leaves with a reputation as a hardworking player who moved up the order as his career progressed, starting at six and finishing facing the new pill.

Katich also leaves with a reputation for spirit; something which would surprise those who watched his Test debut during the 2001 Ashes series. Apart from his crablike wander across the stumps in playing each delivery, the most recognisable incidents from a long and quite distinguished career involve his 2009 bust-up with Michael “Bingle” Clarke in the sheds and his press conference last year, where he said what others dared not upon his axing from the Cricket Australia contract list.

Were he still opening the Australian innings with Shane Watson or David Warner, it's doubtable Katich would have retired. He felt he still had more to offer the Australian team and his stats backed him up. Western Australia certainly thought he had something left, as they wanted him to play 2012-13 for the Warriors.  The pay's also pretty good. 

Courtesy: crickblog.com

 The enmity with Clarke contributed to Katich's replacement and almost certainly left him jaded and fed up with the politics inherent in Australia's only truly national game. Although maturing, Simon Katich had earned his place ... only to be dropped simply because of his age.

Ricky Ponting and Michael Hussey fight the same battle every time they step onto the field. Both are older than Katich and appear near the end, but have no firm plans for retirement. When either fails, a gestalt Salomé appears, composed of a collective press, who screams persistent nonsense about ageing heads on salvers. The promise of youth is decried, a glorious future is prophesied – without admission that promise is all many Australian youngsters have to offer.

In a world culture where stardom starts early and young is better, Australia's sporting hierarchy leads the world. Since the country's failure at the 1976 Montreal Olympics, Australia has prided itself on world's best youth development; in cricket, this has manifested in the once-vaunted Australian Cricket Academy, an offshoot of the Australian Institute of Sport.

In Aussie Rules football, the dominant sport, the average age of last year's Premiers, Geelong, was 26.6 years old and considered almost supremely old. The year before, the average age of the Collingwood's Premiership side was 24. This led the expansion Gold Coast Suns to select a squad with average age of just 21.2 years last term. Players are often given only one chance and if renewal is required, players at age 24-26 are the first to go. Precious few delisted players are later re-drafted; an anonymous teen's promise now supersedes proven capabilities of the known foot soldier.

The trend has begun to reverse somewhat as veteran players like James Podsiadly and Orren Stephenson are drafted for short-term impact and clubs countenance that there is life in the lower leagues past the age of 21, but this  psychologically-straitjacketing desire for youth still prevails.

Australian football clubs have cottoned on that fans want one of two things: wins, or hope for the future. If you aren't challenging for the title, you regenerate the entire playing list on the back of high draft picks and hard work. Players emerge to stardom early, destroy their bodies and retire to the paddock of fond memories by age 31. With the success of young teams like Hawthorn and Essendon, the Australian public is prepared to sacrifice mid-term results – wholesale – in the ostensible guise of long-term progress.

This simply doesn't work on the cricket field. The best players should represent their country until their position becomes untenable. Due to the persistent averageness displayed by Phil “Snicker” Hughes, Usman Khawaja, Chris Lynn et al., Katich, Hussey and Ponting should have been left to judge themselves. Creating space for young players to grow is a ridiculous argument – if the players can't dominate the Shield, there's little or no reason to suggest they will perform consistently at Test level. Adam Gilchrist, Justin Langer and Glenn McGrath called time at the right moment – why should we treat Hussey and Ponting any different? Plus, although the dollars on offer cloud the decision, who else is better to judge?

Some athletes pick the correct time to go, while others hang on too long – here, cricketers could take a lesson from AFL players – but to simply remove Katich from national contention was ill-advised and affronting. At worst, a perilous drop in form deserves the oft-cited “tap on the shoulder”; Katich didn't receive even this much dignity in June 2011.

At least on Monday, his announcement carried a nobility not afforded by his former employers.

Paul Scholes Retires

Paul Scholes has retired and suddenly, Manchester United's summer transfer activity has become much more frantic. The Great Ginger One has been irreplaceable for nearly twenty years and it is now that Sir Alex is finally forced to choose a successor. It speaks volumes of Paul Scholes that the search for his replacement will include only the world's very best players. They still may not fill his shoes.

That's because Paul Scholes leaves behind a very unconventional set of footwear. Part of his appeal has been not his wonderful play, but the combination of factors which made his career unique - endearing "local lad" status, a combination of skills ranging from truly sublime passing to simply awful tackling, his generation - the last of Fergie's fledglings, his reserved off-park nature and finally, most importantly, the fact he never rocked the United boat. Paul Scholes, while being amongst the best midfielders in the world, always had a great sense of where he belonged in the game: no transfer requests, no major protracted contract snits, no dramas. The Great Ginger One was a one-club man, content - and what's more - proud of it. He just fit in.

Paul Scholes' ability to pick out a pass may be his defining on-field feature, but that can be replaced. His innate knowledge of how to fit in around Carrington can't be taught, meaning his replacement is unlikely to go down in United folklore as he has done. No matter his onfield exploits, his mix of on- and off-field character means for a special place in the Red Devil army's hearts. The Great Ginger One knew how to fit in: to a system, a formation, a team, a brotherhood, a city and a family.

It's that knowledge of fit that empowered him to walk away when the time was absolutely right. As he timed passes, he timed his retirement. It's been obvious to all who watch United that the great man was slowing down, no matter how spectacular his first two months of season 2010-011 were. As much as it pains to admit, he didn't deserve a starting berth during Saturday's Champions' League final and even had his play warranted it, he wouldn't have been able to maintain the frantic pace for much over 60 minutes. His legs have gone and it's the right time for him to move on. For him to stay - which he'd be welcome to do, of course - he would perhaps hold United back.

Harsh words? Perhaps. Ring of truth? Unfortunately, yes. Scholes would have been welcome to continue - indeed Ferguson has tried to convince him to play on several times without luck - but to do so would involve Scholes' inclusion in United's 25-man squad and perhaps prevent United reinforcing the centre of midfield. Paul Scholes, with his innate "feel for the game", felt he could reasonably give no more to the team as a player. As such, the honourable decision was to move on.

When discussing The Great Ginger One, it's impossible to forget his skills. As soon as he burst onto the scene in a League Cup match against Port Vale in 1994, his armoury was nearly complete, boasting constant movement, a short-range game and longer passes which moved as if directed by radar. Add to that a fearsome shot and defensive ... err ... excitability (?) and it's no wonder Fabio Capello attempted to persuade him to end six years of International retirement and go to the World Cup at age 35. Capello thought him one of England's best centre mids: given the Three Lions' performance, he may have been right. Again, Scholes was aware of the fit, however - such a demanding campaign would have played major havoc with his (and therefore United's) early season form.

Paul Scholes will continue as a coach at United and for that, we should be glad. Don't expect visibility, but bet on improvement in United's youngsters. As Wayne Rooney said last week, "He doesn't say much, but when he does, you listen". Paul Pogba, Ravel Morrison and Tom Cleverley would do well to heed a man like The Great Ginger One. While his playing days have drawn to a close, his contributions to Manchester United are far from over.

Image one courtesy: http://www.soccerbyives.net/, second courtesy: mirror.co.uk

Brett Favre: A matter of definition

After watching “The Wrestler” last night, it occurred to me that the battle between what's best for you and what defines you as a person is something which most athletes fight against throughout their careers. In the movie this battle is unsubtly portrayed as Randy “The Ram” Robinson is forced to reconsider his future due to health problems – the drama that nearly won “The Wrestler” several Oscars comes as he tries to reintegrate into a society that replaces peer and fan accolades with normal human relationships.

I can't help but think this is partly what haunts Brett Favre. Once you could know with absolute certainty that he'd start 16+ games in the green and gold, but over the past few years he's been traded to New York (seriously, can you think of a larger paradigm shift than moving from Green Bay to New York City? I can't), retired, unretired, signed as a free agent with the Minnesota Vikings, flirted with retirement, held out and finally come back to the Vikings apparently re-energised and ready for a twentieth NFL season.

His consecutive streak of starts remains unbroken after Thursday's loss at New Orleans, but Favre continues to ride the Pro Football bus. The most decorated QB of the past two decades, Favre is perhaps one of the most complex men in the league no matter how simple and corn-fed he and his agent have made him out to be. His life took a new turn in 2010 as he became a grandfather, the only one in the pro football today.

There can only be two reasons for his continued NFL existence – he still loves the game as much as ever, or that he's scared of the future. Sure the money is nice, but for a man who's made more money than Gordon Gekko – to continue the movie theme – surely it can't be the determining factor. And nothing in sports is as cut and dried as it seems, especially with Brett. The guess here is that his decision to go around again stems from both Column A and Column B. There can be no question that he loves the game, but I'd bet my last dollar that Favre's defined himself in his own brain, his own ego, as a quarterback. He's done this since high school football. It's fair to surmise he has minimal idea what his life will involve once he finally hangs up the helmet for good.

And to be fair, this doesn't just happen with pro athletes although they do form the most striking example of post-career blues. I once knew a therapist in Melbourne – call him Lal – who'd worked in the same area for nearly seventy years. He tried to retire and hand over control of his practice five separate times to his successors, moved down to his beach house and promptly returned in less than two months to demand reinstatement at the head of the clinic. At last count, he was 93 and had finally retired for the sixth time. It turned out he got bored easily. Can you imagine how bored one must get after nearly thirty years of adrenaline highs?

In sport though, the contrast can be even more stark. Anyone who retires from their local sports club can depart appreciated, but the level of adulation that John Public receives after fifteen years sterling service at Dumbarton FC could only be the most poor imitation of what pro athletes go through. When you get to the Pros, the volume is turned up to eleven: there's more money, there's more and prettier women, and the lifestyle involves greater excesses. The comedown off the NFL high – especially one that's lasted twenty years and four different cities – is something to be feared.

This problem of definition tends only to raise it's head later in an athlete's career. But should it occur earlier, these issues with self-definition can haunt an athlete's legacy forever. One of the more well-rounded athletes of recent times was basketball's David Robinson. Robinson retired in 2003 after winning his second NBA Championship with the San Antonio Spurs and has never looked back. That he had foundations and several business interests from an early age perhaps detracted from his NBA career – the main criticism of him while in the NBA was that basketball wasn't a matter of life and death to him – but it did make for an easier transition into retirement and normal life. To paraphrase, the road to retirement is paved with good intentions. Robinson will forever be labelled as never reaching his potential because the game just didn't mean enough to him. Several coaches have said that he was amongst the most talented players ever, but failed to live up to his potential. But should we as fans look down on him for those same reasons or celebrate a man who realised more and earlier than the rest of us that sport is an outlet, a means to an end?

With Brett Favre, it isn't the Liberatore Conundrum (http://balancedsports.blogspot.com/2010/07/liberatore-conundrum.html) all over again, not even close. Favre is an offensive player whose skill is delivering the ball rather than stopping an opponent. But I can't help but feel sad looking at a player and realising he knows everything there is to know about one sport but he's yet to discover that there's more to life. What becomes even more tragic is when onfield performance begins to suffer and the last limping seasons become defining memories. This isn't a major concern yet given the strength of his offensive line and his characteristic poise. To that end, Favre is coming off one of his best ever statistical seasons. But even after such a dominant season to find him having second thoughts about continuing makes me think his heart really isn't in it but he knows little else.

Does this reluctance to walk into the sunset show up as a black mark on his career? I don't think so. Firstly, his performance hasn't slipped that much and it's unlikely to slip much more (unless his offensive line stinks) because he plays predominantly from the pocket. Favre's singular strength has always been the combination of accuracy and head smarts and this means he could even play for another year or two yet. But when you think about a generation-defining player, usually the lasting memories you have tend to be those of their final moments. Michael Jordan, author of several of the greatest moments in basketball history: “The Shot”, “The Pass”, “The change-hands”, “The Shrug” finds these all superseded by one defining memory: of him at the foul line with arm extended. “The Other Shot” against Bryon Russell and the Utah Jazz has become Michael Jordan's piece de resistance, the final morsel to be savoured before retiring, not his early high-flying days or his nasty Washington Wizards coda. More than anything else though, Michael Jordan's had a curious off-field persona ever since his days with Chicago and all of this is masked by the happy, vibrant memories he gave us while playing for the Bulls.

Perhaps this is closer to the truth as to why Favre sat on the fence so long before coming back. One of his last acts in an outstanding potentially-final season was to throw the ball away under pressure in last year's NFC Championship game against the Saints. Perhaps, like MJ, he understands his own legacy and feels that his messy exits from Green Bay and the Jets could mean his off-field persona is forever marked somewhere between indecisive and spoiled. Perhaps he feels he needs a happy ending before finally walking into the sunset.

Perhaps.