Defending: The Dying art of the English game

It was a wonderful week for English sport, which only served to remind Fifty Shades of Grey that when you phone for a plumber, you’re likely to get a Polish chap called Tadeusz, Grzegorz or Pavel.

How so? Well, stick with me and we’ll work through this together.

Fresh from the North Korean book of Dodgy Victory Claims came the hailing of England’s World Cup qualifying group draw in Montenegro, followed by the praise to the skies of the third Test draw against New Zealand, which clinched a series draw.

Yes, mighty England had managed to reach in with a toothpick and winkle out a draw from between the molars of the gaping maw of victory from a visit to a country that didn’t even exist until 2006. Meanwhile the cricketers fought a braver rear-guard action than at Rorke’s Drift to hold off the fearsome might of the Black Caps – ranked only slightly higher than Zimbabwe in world cricket.

So, in a nutshell, bunting was hung and church bells rung on the strength of cricketers from a country with a population of 58 million not losing to a country which has more sheep (12m) – than human beings (3m), while players parading their skills in the self-proclaimed ‘Best League in the World’ could not beat those from a country with a population less than that of Leeds.

What made it worse was that in both cases, it was England who were hanging on by their embossed and buffed manny-peddied fingernails, not the opposition.

So what lessons do we learn from this, Oh wise one?

Several things, not the least that a) we shouldn’t believe our own hype, b) we shouldn’t think that countries where the population is spread thin on the ground are just there to provide batting/bowling/shooting practice, and c) we are not as good as we think we are.

Fifty Shades will save that for another occasion a bit nearer the Ashes to dissect in greater details England’s cricket performance.

But away from Alastair Cook’s torpid captaincy that would not have inspired your granddad out of an afternoon nap, it’s a nagging question that throbs like a zit on the back of your neck, as to why England struggle to win a Test match without a South African bolstering the batting line-up.

No, instead, Fifty Shades will turn his flinty gaze towards a more pressing question, of why England is not producing footballers in the positions it needs them most, principally in the centre of defence.

England went into the game with central defensive pairing of Joleon Lescott and Chris Smalling. Lescott has been frozen so far out of the Manchester City’s first team that his journey back might have included an overnight stop on the International Space Station, while Smalling is fourth choice at Manchester United.

The fact that neither looked comfortable in a second half where England crumbled like a damp Hobnob does not bode well, but if these two were Roy Hodgson’s first choice on the night, it begs the question of where the other central defenders were – or are.

John Terry is still on the naughty step, while Rio Ferdinand is now heading towards the international wilderness after faffing about.

Take these two out of the equation, though, and you’re suddenly hearing the sound of a barrel being scraped.

There’s Phil Jagielka (Everton) and Chelsea’s Gary Cahill, and perhaps Michael Dawson at Spurs, but are these the central defenders you would want potentially facing Messi, Neymar, van Persie, Aguero and David Villa in Brazil next year, when they struggled against the likes of Mirko Vucinic, Simon Vukcevic and Stefan Jovetic?

The simple fact is, England does not produce central defenders.

A quick trawl through the Premier League underlines the paucity of the type of England-ready central defender you could throw in and trust to do a good job.
Manchester United have a smattering of English defenders in Ferdinand, Smalling and Phil Jones, but across the city the reigning Premier League champions have just one, the untrustworthy Lescott.

Chelsea boast Terry and Cahill, but after that, you’re struggling. Clubs may have English central defenders, but they would be very risky bets at international level.
Spurs duo Dawson and Steven Caulker are hardly defensive rocks around which to build a solid defence, and the English roll-call is not that encouraging elsewhere.

There are four Premier League clubs – Arsenal, Fulham, Southampton and Wigan – who have given up the ghost and have no recognisable English central defenders while other clubs have English defenders who you wouldn’t recognise.

Would you pit Stoke’s Ryan Shawcross or Andy Wilkinson into the international mix? Are Newcastle’s Mike Williamson, James Perch and Steven Taylor up to World Cup snuff?

Could you dare throw Sunderland’s English central defensive Keystone Kop trio of Wes Brown, Matt Kilgallon and Titus Bramble into the maelstrom of international football?

With the greatest of respect, you could not offer an England international cap to the likes of Garry Monk (Swansea) or Reading’s Alex Pearce or Adrian Mariappa.

Look throughout the self-styled ‘Best League in the World’ (which doesn’t have a representative in the last eight of the Champions League, of course) and you’ll find that the central defender of choice is foreign.

There was a time when it was argued that English clubs went for foreign defenders because they were cheaper, but no more. Now, it’s purely a question of choice.

So why are good international class English central defenders as rare as rocking horse droppings?

For the same reason that it’s difficult to find an English plumber (see, I told you we would get there eventually) – we don’t produce them.

The day that apprenticeships ended in this country was the day that Pavel the Polish Plumber packed his adjustable spanner, washers and plunger in his toolbag and caught the 8:50 Gravy Train from Krakow to Camden to fit the walk-in showers and unblock the loos of middle England.

With the same short-sighted thinking that scrapped apprenticeships and stopped the production of English plumbers, so the supply of English central defenders was choked off as effectively as flushing a dead dog down a toilet.

And it’s not going to get any better. If you think the supply of English central defenders is poor now, just look out the window at what’s happening.

The Football Association’s prime strategies are driven by a numbers game designed to make football as big a participation sport at possible. You can link that in to a desire to stay onside with any government who is keen to prevent a population of bloaters clogging up hospital beds with clogged-up arteries and keeling over from heart attacks.

The FA’s desire to apple-shine with Government and get more people playing is to change the game into the golden goose that is Small-Sided Football.

The FA argue – with some justification – that the way to produce future generations of skilful, crafty and aware footballers is to introduce them to the game through small-sided games on small pitches.

And goodness knows it served nobody’s purpose to stick kids of eight or nine on full-sized pitches with full-sized goals, where the best players were invariably the stronger ones who could lump the ball the furthest and hardest.

Unfortunately, small-sided football does not breed defenders. In an environment where the object is to outscore the opposition basketball-style, defenders are surplus to requirements. Which eight-year-old wants to hang around at the back stopping the opposition when the glory is to be had lashing in goals at the other end?

Fifty Shades is already feeling the effects of this with the Sunday League team he lords it over. Ask a player under the age of 20 where he plays and he will invariably say; “Midfield” or “Up front.”

Very few will claim to be defenders, a direct product of the short-sided football they have been weaned on.

The art of defending is being lost amid the greater desire to make sure that every kid who plays get as many touches of the ball as possible, and if England is short of international class defenders now, it’s a scary thought where we might be in 10 years’ time.

Perhaps if Pavel the Polish Plumber can pack his football boots in with his plunger, he might get a game.

By John May

Follow @maisy68