The magic of Leicester City goes well beyond football

Ed Smith in The Guardian

The Premier League has become a case study in capitalism – which is why this underdog team’s success matters

 

Leicester’s manager Claudio Ranieri celebrates with players at the end of the Premier League game with Swansea City on 24 April. Photograph: Rui Vieira/AP

Saturday 30 April 2016 09.00 BST


Great sport strikes an optimal compromise between excellence and surprise. The pure randomness of throwing dice is never going to draw a crowd. But if the “best” team wins every time, and there is no room for luck and uncertainty, then the drama becomes both boring and depressing. We turn to sport for inspiration and reassurance as well as virtuosity.

Football is inherently good at surprise – one reason it’s the world’s favourite sport. Because the value of an individual goal is so huge (even a run in baseball isn’t as important) luck and unpredictability are hardwired. A shot hitting the post, a single refereeing decision, a goal against the run of play: these allow football to sustain justified faith among underdogs, both on the pitch and in the stands. On any given Saturday, the favourite is less likely to win at football than in any other sport.

The problem, however, is that over the course of a long season, this unpredictability disappears. The same teams keep winning. The rich ones. That’s why the success of Leicester City, who could win the Premier League title this weekend, has breathed fresh life into football.

One telling tribute has come from a segment of principled Arsenal followers. I know several who transferred their allegiance to Leicester, even when their own team still had a shot at the title. Madness? Perhaps. But their logic was in the spirit of Arsenal’s manager, Arsène Wenger. The phrase “financial doping” – the idea that sporting success that has been bought by a super-rich owner is at best semi-legitimate – was first attributed to Wenger in 2005. Leicester stand 17th in the league in terms of wage spending, first by points ranking. By Wenger’s own logic, a Leicester triumph would be more virtuous than victory for his Arsenal.

Not everyone has joined the party. Successes such as Leicester’s, gift-wrapped for screenwriters, inevitably inspire a rationalist backlash. “Debunking” the Leicester miracle has now become a popular intellectual counter-rhythm, as though the romantic bandwagon needs to be kept in check.

The revisionists have proposed that Leicester’s success is about systems, not romance. Leicester have invested in marginal gains, ranging from a pioneering scouting system to rotational fouling, aimed at reducing yellow cards. This savviness, however, doesn’t undermine the story at all: doubtless David had a very elastic sling when he felled Goliath. Besides, we do not have to turn Leicester into saints to marvel at their success.

The Premier League has an especially bad track record at producing improbable title winners. In its 23 seasons, it has coughed up only five champions – with the four giants of Arsenal, Manchester United, Chelsea and Manchester City sharing 22 titles, and a single triumph for Blackburn Rovers (even that victory was powered by an injection of cash).

The league’s first two decades were dominated by successive duopolies (Manchester United and Arsenal, then Manchester United and Chelsea), so much so that England’s top tier was less like a sports league and more like the Oxford-Cambridge boat race. Once, while I was giving a speech about competitive equipoise in sport, I read out the successive winners of the Premier League: one, then the other, then the first one again, then the other one. It became so repetitive that it felt only marginally different from saying “Oxford, Cambridge, Cambridge, Oxford.” So while improbable things certainly do happen, they have proved remarkably reluctant to happen inside English football.

The idea of an establishment, or at least the dominance of entrenched interests, has become the prevailing theme of our times. It is a slippery concept and often mishandled, but sport has done little to undercut the gloomy narrative of the top 1% greedily carving up the booty. There is an 89% correlation between wage spending and league position, as Simon Kuper and Stefan Szymanski identified. Put differently: financial doping works.

A connected point is the burgeoning influence of possessing a glamorous sporting history. It is reputation that drives the club’s brand, magnifying its financial clout. Super-clubs such as the New York Yankees or Manchester United support Thomas Piketty’s theory of capital: they are able to exploit past successes to ensure they keep a grip on present advantages. The sale of Yankees baseball caps is remarkably resilient, even when the team is having a bad season – which inevitably reduces the probability of bad seasons happening. Owning history in sport is like owning London property: you’re pretty much made.

Sport’s embrace of ultra-professionalism has created new ways for money to express an advantage. In the late 1970s Brian Clough’s tactical and psychological skills made Nottingham Forest champions of Europe. Since then, rich teams have benefited from the new layers of professionalism – physiotherapy, prehab and all the rest – making it harder for the enlightened maverick to stand out.

Elite football, in fact, could almost be a case study in late capitalism. The game as now played (loosely analogous with absolute standards of living) has undeniably improved at dizzying speed. In terms of skill, speed and attacking flair, is it easy to forget how much the game has evolved. The greatest leap forward was the proliferation of the yellow card, which gave the attacker the advantage, not the thug in long spikes. A leading commentator told me that when he watches archives of 1970s football, he estimates that half the players would today be sent off for violent fouls.

Yet while the game itself dazzles, the top flight has become an increasingly closed shop. One former footballer, now a leading figure in the sports industry, confided recently: “Each season, I am 1% more in awe of what happens on the pitch. And 1% more disgusted by the industry behind it.” Football has delivered magnificently as a spectacle, but failed at sport’s version of social mobility. Until now, that is.

And that’s why Leicester’s success matters beyond the game itself. Sport has never been a level playing field, but it does rely on an essential splash of surprise. There is room for some dynastic continuity, but not a rigid caste system. And every now and then in life, just as in football, an outsider has to steal the show.

12 British quirks

 Avoiding terms of address

British speakers of English try to avoid addressing each other by any sort of title. While speakers of French politely address strangers as "monsieur" or "madame", the British are tongue-tied at the point of interaction, hoping that simple proximity will indicate to whom they are talking. These days, it's considered condescending to use "sir" or "madam", unless the speaker is in a clearly-defined "service" role. To fill this gap, the locals have developed various colloquial circumlocutions. In London, for example, "guv[nor]", "mate" and "squire" are employed by males (according to complex rules) to address unknown males, with "darling" or "love" (rather questionably) filling the gap for males speaking to females. Further north, "petal" is a possible variant on "love", while in western Scotland "pal" is used to address unknown males. In south Hampshire, the guv/pal equivalent is the linguistically intriguing "moosh". What the British never, ever do is follow the American tradition and address those driving taxis as "driver", those serving at table as "waiter" or those working the hotel switchboard as "operator". To our ears, this is the height of condescension, verging on rudeness, and will ensure that the cab stops on the wrong side of the road, drinks orders are unfilled and the call is misrouted. Y'all remember that now.

Nick Stevenson, London

Tea

As any self-respecting Brit will tell you, there is not a lot that a cup of tea can't fix. Rough day at work? Put the kettle on. Broken heart? Pour yourself a cuppa. Alien invasion? You'll be ready for an apocalypse as soon as you've had your brew. But it's not all so straightforward. Choosing how to take your tea is a deceptively complex task - it's almost a political statement. Black with lemon immediately identifies you as a frequenter of Sloane Square, daaaaahling. Lots of milk and more than three sugars? You must be a builder - we'll assume you want a fry up on the side. If you take your char(coal) with minimal milk and maximum brewtime, we'll know you were born and bred up north, pet. Even new-fangled inventions such as camomile, peppermint and dandelion tea have their place in society (among new age hippies). The British relationship with tea is so important that employers have traditionally allowed their staff tea breaks to enjoy some alone time with their beverage of choice. We even have a mealtime named after it. So you see, tea is more than a drink to us Brits - it's a way of life. Phew, I'm feeling rather emotional after that - now, where's my mug?

Sian Morgan, London

Garden types

Many Brits aspire to having a garden, and some are a delight to behold, with roses, lavender, a lovingly mowed lawn and a water feature. Others, especially front gardens, never realise their full potential and are used instead for car parking, or displaying the colourful array of containers in which domestic rubbish is required to be placed for collection. Gardens are usually enclosed by a fence, a wall or a hedge. The latter may be a source of conflict between neighbours, with disputes about its exact location, extent or height leading to acts of vandalism, physical attacks, court cases and occasional homicides. Some gardens are populated by gnomes. These small plastic figures assume a variety of poses, and may even be seen "fishing" - although not necessarily within reach of water. They, too, can lead to hostilities - gnomes have been knocked to the ground, mockingly re-sited, even stolen. Some Brits have allotments as well as, or instead of, gardens - these are detached plots, located elsewhere. Allotment-owners are a friendly but often competitive breed. A local allotment and garden Show is a good place to witness these characteristics - and also marvel at colossal cabbages. Britain's gardening "elite" have their gardens listed in a special yellow book and open them to the public.

Pat Richardson, Richmond, Surrey

Saying sorry

Visitors should be wary of the word sorry - it has endless nuances. For instance, if I inadvertently step on your toe we should both immediately say sorry. I'm sorry for having stepped on your toe - you say sorry to imply it was your fault really, or at least no one is quite sure, so both should say sorry. It also means no hard feelings. But when I say "sorry to bother you, but…" I'm not really apologising, just prefacing a request for some trivial favour, or bit of information. Such as: "Sorry to bother you, but do you have the time?" However, if you hear "sorry?" as a question you're most likely being asked to repeat something not quite heard or understood. But don't get carried away with your new knowledge. If someone pronounces sorry a "so-ree" with a strong emphasis on both syllables then that is bad news. They are not sorry at all, just being sarcastic. Maybe someone has mildly offended them - perhaps by accusing them of the unforgivable sin of queue-jumping. Their "so-ree"then means "shut it mate". But occasionally, very occasionally, sorry really does mean sorry. If someone says: "I'm so sorry to hear your mother has died" they probably are sorry. Not always, but probably.

Mike Pollak, Birmingham

White van man

The 21st Century incarnation of the "man on the Clapham omnibus", who has an opinion on everything and will kindly share it with you whether you wish to hear it or not. In previous generations he took the guise of Essex man - hard working, hard drinking, Sun reading, football supporting but to his eternal credit it was all about wife Shaz and two little cherubs, Chelsea and Dwayne. The steady stream of white vans that will accompany the participants and delegates along the Olympic Route Network - seemingly not owned by any company or corporation - are filled with the men described above. And yes they are men. For no woman could easily slip into this world of well thumbed Nuts magazines strewn across the top of the dashboard beside crushed polystyrene cups that once contained tea of an unrivalled colour and strength. Ironically these are the very men without whom the Olympic Park would still be just a pipe dream, a drawing on an architect's board. Visitors to our great land will take some convincing but these people are the unsung heroes, the thing which keeps Britain great. Cash is the preferred method of payment and their "building" skills are dubious. But we are a better place for having them.

Brian Hopcroft, Harlow, Essex

The sporting 'if only'

In every major sporting tournament, the British are always optimistically hopeful that this year our lad will win. Commentators and pundits come up with all kinds of reasons to show why this year will be different from last and we enthusiastically lap it up in the hope that maybe, just maybe, they might be right. We love to support the underdog which, coincidentally, is usually our own player. The more our man wins, the more we begin to speculate that he is going to win the Big One yet his final defeat in the final rounds doesn't so much surprise us, as resign us to the thing we are now so used to. Any win from decades past is held as a golden age when sportsmen were honourable and footballers didn't fall over. Every match has an if only moment: "If only he hadn't missed that shot", or "if only he'd been a stronger player" which helps justify why our sportsman lost and encourages us to remember that next year, just next year, he might win. And the next year the pundits remind us of last year's "if only" moment and we're off again, supporting a man who will probably never quite make it. Still, as long as we beat the French.

Rebecca Stevens, Cambridge

The War

The War - always meaning World War II - is as alive in the collective British consciousness as if it only ended five years ago. A melange of manic cheerfulness, stiff upper lips, atrocious food, doodlebugs, and muddling through. Equally evocative are the sounds of the time - big band dance numbers, and the warbling note of the air raid siren - and ladies' fashions - severe, economically cut, but with a certain dour style, and neat, off-the-shoulder hairdos, topped (in my mother's case) with a jaunty WAAF forage cap. It is an awful example of how propaganda can take hold and become history. History is laid down by the survivors - the images we all remember so well were composed with a good deal of thought by the powers that be - the Ministry of Information and the BBC - with a definite end in mind; to endure, to tough it out, to hang on until things got better. Something very similar was attempted during the Cold War, but met with far less success - the Cold War was nasty but theoretical, whereas WWII was nasty but actually happened. As a Baby Boomer, I just remember the post-war atmosphere - grey, tatty, somewhat regimented. We ate baked cod, mashed potatoes and boiled carrots off plates that did not match.

Luce Gilmore, Cambridge

The love-hate relationship

The art of the love/hate relationship has been taken to new heights/depths by the great British public. France, Germany, modern architecture, Americans, tradition - all have come in for a drubbing at the hands of the British populace while we simultaneously sup French wine, munch German sausage, defend London's skyline to anyone who dare deny its beauty, buy and do all things American and cling to traditions with no discernible purpose in the modern era. Even the London 2012 Olympic Games has acquired its fair share of naysayers and doom-mongers. Yes, the British are a people with conflicted souls and we're not afraid to show it. We dislike everything until someone else professes to dislike it too; then we love it with all our national heart, defending it with some of the most irrational arguments and justifications ever heard. The international traveller to London this summer may find the love/hate relationship difficult to master, risking falling afoul of the "rules" by joining in with the discord only to have the tables turned on them as the hate turns to love in an instant and we start defending the very thing we previously disparaged. Couple the love/hate relationship with the famous British self-deprecation and you end up with the archetypal London taxi driver.

Chris Angel, Woking, Surrey

Greetings cards

Although the first mind-boggling experience for any foreigner visiting the UK is to wash your hands - why on earth two taps - it's the greeting cards that are a true mystery. It is considered very bad manners not to respond to even a minor favour with a "thank you" card, be it accepting your parcel from a postman while you're not at home, giving you a lift to the station or sending you a birthday card. It is sometimes argued that you should reply to a "thank you" card with a "thank you for the thank you card" card, although the choice of those on the market is still rather scant. Other significant cards that are enthusiastically used by - it has to be said - mainly English and sometimes British women, are "Get well soon!" and "So sorry you're leaving" (not necessarily in that order). Among men it is more popular to sign rather than to buy and send greeting cards. Men who do not have a woman to send cards do not bother even with birthday cards. The excessive use of the greeting cards as well as the popularity of eBay are two of the reasons why Royal Mail still exists. But that's a story for another 212 words.

Agnieszka Rokita, Long Buckby

Cricket

Despite being loved and played in England and those parts of the world which used to be pink on the map (Canada excepted), cricket is both the nation's summer game and a cause of bafflement for the rest of the world. Questions naturally arise about the game - how can a match last for five days and yet still end in a draw? Note that a "draw" is not to be confused with a "tie" which is a completely different kettle of fish. Then there is the small matter of cricket language. For example, the majority of the batting side sit inside a dressing room. The two that are actually out batting are said to be "in", until they are "out" when they return indoors. Fielding positions are a minefield of the obscure. Why is there a fielding position called "third man" when there are no first, second or fourth men? As for the rules of the game themselves, there are 42 laws of the game. Unfortunately each law has dozens of clauses. For example, there are 11 ways in which a batsman can be given out. Unfortunately only the most ardent quiz nut knows them all. As for googlies, silly mid-off, and lbw, I'm afraid 212 words is simply not enough.

Neil Hancox, Ware

The two-fingered salute

What some foreigners, especially Americans, don't know is that asking for two beers by raising two fingers - with the back of your hand to the person that you are facing - is considered a rude gesture. Legend has it that the gesture originated in the Hundred Years War that was fought between England and France in the 14th Century. One of the English military advantages was the longbow and skilled archers. As an interesting side note, all able-bodied men were required to practise archery on Sundays, and several sports including football were banned because they interfered with archery practice. The legend goes that when an archer was captured by the French, they would chop off the two fingers on his right hand that he used to draw the bow, thus rendering him useless as an archer. Therefore, brandishing those two fingers to the French became a gesture of defiance. These days, it's a general-use rude gesture similar to the one-fingered salute that's favoured in America, which is also used here. So when asking for your two pints of lager in the pub, if you feel the need to raise two fingers to illustrate your request, please make sure that you have the back of your hand facing yourself, not the barman.

Tamara Petroff, Maidenhead

Anoraks

In Great Britain an "anorak" is not just an item of clothing, but a person completely obsessed by a little-known subject. These people will go to conventions - and I have heard it said that the collective noun for anoraks is a "convention" or a "parliament" - on such subjects as aircraft, railway trains, politics, kites, golf and many other subjects. The term anorak originates from trainspotters, who can be seen at Britain's railway stations wearing rather dirty weatherproof jackets with a notebook and pen in hand. The more fanatical and fussy of these people are known as rivet counters and are admired by fellow anoraks. Anoraks often appear on the BBC Radio 4 Today programme. They talk endlessly about the minutiae of politics and even get rivet counters, the party leaders, on to the programme, for this the BBC employ anoraks to carry out the interviews. Some anoraks specialise - the aircraft anorak is a good case. They are either military or civil aircraft spotters. The military spotters have a reputation for getting arrested for spying. The civil spotters can often be seen on a bus going or coming away from Heathrow Airport discussing the various aircraft they have seen lately. Anoraks are harmless and visitors should not be scared of them.

Doug Jones, Harrow, Middlesex, UK.