Football tactics are constantly evolving thanks to pioneering managers such as Arthur Rowe (push-and-run), Rinus Michels (total football) and Tony Pulis (find-someone-who-can-throw-really-far). It can be argued that in this sense the modern English game has lagged behind a bit – a cyclical criticism that often breaks the surface of public consciousness after a humiliating summer spanking by tactically astute Germans.
Over the past few years, it’s evident that the average English football punter has started to take knowledge of tactics a little more seriously. This is reflected by a proliferation of websites and blogs dedicated to the subject, such as http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/football-tactics and www.zonalmarking.net. Last week I was at AFC Wimbledon against Morecombe and picked up a new Dons fanzine, “Wise Men Say”. The editors had obviously picked up on this new found appetite for tactical knowledge and dedicated six pages to an interview with the club’s academy director to help readers savvy up in this area. The article was genuinely insightful, covering a broad range of tactical titbits ranging from the defensive idiosyncrasies of the Spanish national team to the utilisation of natural rotation in the AFC Wimbledon under 15s. Frankly, after the game I thought they should’ve stuck the under 15s out instead, as the first team played like a pub side that had been on the piss all night.
So where has this hunger for tactical knowledge come from? Personally, I think many of us have had to admit that we don’t know as much about tactics as we like to think. Maybe that’s putting it too nicely: We’ve finally realised that we’ve all been shouting at managers/players and TV screens for years without having a fucking clue what we’re going on about, hopelessly deluding ourselves that a few years under our collective belts playing schoolboy football makes us all oracles of the game.
Our ignorance runs deep. Like many kids, I grew up playing 4-4-2. You knew your position and you stuck to it – rigidly. As left-winger, my job was to attack the flanks when we had the ball, and mark the opposition’s right winger when we didn’t – simple. When I was 13 I was switched to striker. This job was even easier – hang around on the halfway line and chat to the centre backs –usually about Byker Grove or “fingering” girls – until one of our midfielders hoofed the ball over the defensive line for me to chase. I actually wasn’t a bad player at that level and got picked up by a scout for my local side, Crystal Palace. When I got to the training session I was in for big shock – this was proper football. We played mini-games where we were taught about positioning, movement and switching fluidly between attacking and defensive formations. Still pretty basic stuff, but neuroscience compared to what I’d been taught before. Unfortunately, I was used to being a big fish in a small pond and I suddenly felt like I was now swimming out of my depth. I stupidly decided to knock Palace on my head and return to blissful ignorance.
Playing at schoolboy level helped me enjoy football more, but the Tesco Value tutorage I received from unqualified coaches only gave me a limited understanding of the game. As the frailties of England’s flat 4-4-2 became exposed by more advanced nations, I - along with many others - suddenly realised at age 30 that my knowledge of the game was already archaic. Thankfully, it seems that the quality of coaching has vastly improved since I was a kid. They are being taught the game in a structured way rather than just being stuck in a position and told “off you go” (while the coach goes for a snout) – so hopefully they won’t be left behind in the same way my generation was. As for me, like many other fans, I’ve been hitting the books to make up for lost time and have started to see the game in a new light after all these years. And, of course, I now have the right to tell Harry Redknapp EXACTLY what to do.
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