Ramachandra Guha in Cricinfo
Watching Virat Kohli play two exquisite square drives against Australia in March 2016, I tweeted: "There goes my boyhood hero G. R. Viswanath from my all time India XI." Those boundaries formed part of a match-winning innings of 82 in a T20 World Cup quarter-final, and they confirmed for me Kohli's cricketing greatness.
I had first been struck by how good he was when watching, at the ground, a hundred he scored in a Test in Bangalore in 2012. Against a fine New Zealand attack, Sachin Tendulkar looked utterly ordinary, whereas the man who, the previous year, had carried Tendulkar on his shoulders in tribute was totally in command. Two years later, I saw on the telly every run of his dazzling 141 in Adelaide, when, in his first Test as captain, Kohli almost carried India to a remarkable win.
The admiration had steadily accumulated. So, as he struck the miserly James Faulkner and Nathan Coulter-Nile for those two defining boundaries in that T20 match in 2016, the sentimental attachments of childhood were decisively vanquished by sporting prowess. Virender Sehwag and Sunil Gavaskar would open the batting in my fantasy XI; Rahul Dravid and Tendulkar would come next; and Kohli alone could be No. 5.
That was two years ago. Now, after the staggering series of innings he has played since - not least that magnificent 153 in India's most recent Test - I would go even further. In all formats and in all situations, Kohli might already be India's greatest ever batsman.
Their orthodoxy and classicism, which served Dravid and Gavaskar so well in the Test arena, constrained them in limited-overs cricket. Sehwag had a spectacular Test record, but his one-day career was, by his own exalted standards, rather ordinary. Tendulkar was superb, often supreme, in the first innings of a Test, but he was not entirely to be relied upon in the fourth innings, or even when batting second in the 50-overs game. Besides, being captain made Tendulkar nervous and insecure in his strokeplay. On the other hand, captaincy only reinforces Kohli's innate confidence, and of course, he is absolutely brilliant while chasing.
"No one in the entire history of the game in India has quite had Kohli's combination of cricketing greatness, personal charisma, and this extraordinary drive and ambition to win for himself and his team"
I have met Kohli only once, and am unlikely to ever meet him again. But from our single conversation, and from what I have seen of him otherwise, I would say that of all of India's great sportsmen past and present, he is the most charismatic. He is a man of a manifest intelligence (not merely cricketing) and of absolute self-assurance. Gavaskar and Dravid were as articulate as Kohli in speech, but without his charisma. Kapil and Dhoni had equally strong personalities but lacked Kohli's command of words.
I was witness to the reach and range of Kohli's dominating self in my four months in the BCCI's Committee of Administrators. The board's officials worshipped him even more than the Indian cabinet worships Narendra Modi. They deferred to him absolutely, even in matters like the Future Tours Programme or the management of the National Cricket Academy, which were not within the Indian captain's ken.
In any field in India - whether it be politics or business or academia or sport - when strength of character is combined with solidity of achievement, it leads to an individual's dominance over the institution. And the fact is that, on and off the field, Kohli is truly impressive. No one in the entire history of the game in our country has quite had his combination of cricketing greatness, personal charisma, and this extraordinary drive and ambition to win for himself and his team. The only person who came close, even remotely close, is (or was) Anil Kumble.
Kumble was, by some distance, the greatest bowler produced by India. He was a superb thinker on the game. Moreover, he was well educated, well read, and had an interest in society and politics. And he was not lacking in an awareness of his own importance, although he carried his self-belief in a Kannadiga rather than Punjabi fashion.
It may be that Kumble alone is in the Kohli league as a cricketer and character. That perhaps is why they clashed and perhaps why Kumble had to go.
But why was he replaced by someone so strikingly inferior, in character and cricketing achievement, to the team's captain? A person with no coaching experience besides? Only because, like the BCCI, the chairman of the Supreme Court-appointed Committee of Administrators surrendered his liberties and his independence when confronted by the force of Kohli's personality. As did the so-called Cricket Selection Committee. Ravi Shastri was chosen over Tom Moody (and other contenders) because Vinod Rai, Tendulkar, Sourav Gangulyand VVS Laxman were intimidated by the Indian captain into subordinating the institution to the individual. The unwisdom of that decision was masked when India played at home, against weak opposition, but it can no longer be concealed.![]()
Had the BCCI thought more about cricket than commerce, we would not have had to go into this series against South Africa without a single practice match. Had the selectors been wiser or braver, India might not have been 2-0 down now.
Some Kohli bhakts will complain at the timing of this article, written after the Indian captain played such a stupendous innings himself. But this precisely is the time to remind ourselves of how we must not allow individual greatness to shade into institutional hubris. Kohli did all he could to keep India in the game, but the power of an individual in a team game can go only so far. Had Ajinkya Rahane played both Tests, had Bhuvneshwar Kumar played this Test, had India gone two weeks earlier to South Africa instead of playing gully cricket at home with the Sri Lankans, the result might have been quite different.
The BCCI and their cheerleaders brag about India being the centre of world cricket. This may be true in monetary terms, but decidedly not in sporting terms. From my own stint in the BCCI, I reached this melancholy conclusion: that were the game better administered in India, the Indian team would never lose a series. There are ten times as many cricket-crazy Indians as there are football-mad Brazilians. The BCCI has huge cash reserves. With this demographic and financial base, India should always and perennially have been the top team in all formats of the game. If India still lost matches and series, if India still hadn't, in 70 years of trying, won a Test series in Australia (a country with about as many people as Greater Mumbai), then surely the fault lay with how the game was mismanaged in the country.
To the corruption and cronyism that has so long bedevilled Indian cricket has recently been added a third ailment: the superstar syndrome. Kohli is a great player, a great leader, but in the absence of institutional checks and balances, his team will never achieve the greatness he and his fans desire.
When, in the 1970s, India won their first Test series in the West Indies and in England, Vijay Merchant was chairman of selectors. When much later, India began winning series regularly at home, the likes of Gundappa Viswanath and Dilip Vengsarkar were chairmen of selectors. Their cricketing achievements were as substantial as that of the existing players. They had the sense to consult the captain on team selection, but also had the stature to assert their own preferences over his when required. On the other hand, the present set of selectors have all played a handful of Tests apiece. The coach, Shastri, played more, but he was never a true great, and his deference to the captain is in any case obvious.
In Indian cricket today, the selectors, coaching staff and administrators are all pygmies before Kohli. That must change. The selectors must be cricketers of real achievement (as they once were). If not great cricketers themselves, they must at least have the desire and authority to stand up to the captain. Likewise, the coach must have the wisdom and courage to, when necessary, assert his authority over Kohli's (as when Kumble picked Kuldeep Yadav, a move that decided a Test and series in India's favour). And the administrators must schedule the calendar to maximise India's chances of doing well overseas, rather than with an eye to their egos and purses. (The decision not to have an extended tour of South Africa was partly influenced by the BCCI's animosity towards Cricket South Africa.)
Only when India consistently win Tests and series in South Africa, and only when they do likewise in Australia, can they properly consider themselves world champions in cricket. They have the team, and the leader, to do it. However, the captain's authority and arrogance, so vital and important to his personal success, must be moderated and managed if it is to translate into institutional greatness.
Kohli is still only 29. He will surely lead India in South Africa again and he has more than one tour of Australia ahead of him. Two years ago he secured a firm place in my all-time India XI. My wish, hope and desire is for Kohli to end his career with him also being the captain of my XI.
Gary Younge in The Guardian
Kings were put to death long before 21 January 1793,” wrote Albert Camus, referring to Louis XVI’s execution after the French revolution. “But regicides of earlier times and their followers were interested in attacking the person, not the principle, of the king. They wanted another king, and that was all.”
One of the biggest mistakes the critics of Jeremy Corbyn, the Labour leader, made from the outset – and there are many to choose from – was that his victory was about him. They refer to “Corbynites” and “Corbynistas” as though there were some undying and uncritical devotion to a man and his singular philosophy, rather than broad support for an agenda and a trajectory. If they could get rid of the king, went the logic, they would reinherit the kingdom. With a new leader normal service could resume. Labour could resuscitate its programme of milquetoast managerialism, whereby it was indifferent to its members, ambivalent about austerity at home, and hawkish about wars abroad.
This week’s resounding victory of a slate of leftwing candidates to Labour’s national executive committee, the party’s ruling body, has put that assumption to rest for the moment. There is now a reliable majority on the NEC who back both democratising the party, to give members more control, and pursuing policies against austerity and war and for wealth redistribution.
Corbyn has been accused of tightening his grip on the party so that he may purge critics and promote cronies. The logic is perverse
That this should have happened in the week of Carillion’s collapse has a certain symmetry. Carillion took billions in public funds for public projects, paid its executives and shareholders handsomely, and has now left taxpayers to pick up the pieces in a system of private finance initiatives introduced by Conservatives but championed and vastly expanded by New Labour.
It was anger at this kind of rank unfairness, the inequalities it both illustrated and imposed after the economic crash, that explains not just Corbyn’s victory but the rise of the hard left across Europe and in the US.
The contradictions inherent in Corbyn’s rise are finally ironing themselves out. In 2015 he won not the leadership but the title of leader. Unlike Podemos in Spain or Syriza in Greece, his ascent was not the product of a movement that could sustain his challenge from the margins; instead he emerged from a wider, inchoate sense of frustration and alienation that propelled him to the top within the mainstream. Without the consent of MPs he lacked the authority that would endow that title with power and meaning in parliament. Outside parliament he lacked the kind of organised support that could buttress his position against this hostility. This left him embattled, isolated and, to some extent, ineffective, since his primary task was not to exercise leadership but to cling on to it.
'I'm JC': Jeremy Corbyn on ageing, infighting and his Tory 'friends'
Last year’s general election changed all that. Labour’s gains, with its highest vote-share since 2001 leaving the Tories without a majority, proved that there was a broad electoral constituency for his redistributive, anti-austerity agenda. In so doing it showed that the membership was far more in touch with the needs and aspirations of the electorate than the parliamentarians.
Now, with the shadow cabinet no longer in open revolt, the parliamentary party quiescent, if not onside, and the party machine no longer obstructive, at almost every tier the party has either come around or made its peace with him. Meanwhile, outside parliament, Momentum – the leftwing caucus within the party that supports Corbyn’s agenda – has become more organised and less fractious, providing a more coherent plank of support beyond Westminster. Finally, Corbyn can do what he was elected to do – lead on the agenda he has laid out.
Leftwing control of the NEC was one of the last pieces to fall into place. Since the three candidates who won this week were backed by Momentum, and one – Jon Lansman – is its founder, this latest shift will inevitably provoke some bedwetting.
Those who have got everything wrong about Labour over the past two years will, of course, get this wrong too. We must once again brace ourselves for rhetorical hyperbole. Corbyn has been accused of tightening his grip on the party so that he may purge critics and promote cronies. The logic is perverse. The Stalinists, in the minds of his most feverish critics, are the ones who keep winning internal elections hands down; the democrats are those who launched a coup against the popular choice.
Jeremy Corbyn speaks to NHS staff at Park South community centre in Swindon. Photograph: Andrew Matthews/PA
The obsession, among parliamentarians and their courtiers, is that this latest development will lead to a wave of deselections (or purges) in which MPs hostile to this new orientation will be forced out. There is some irony in the notion that those who tried to depose an elected leader with a huge mandate might bristle at the prospect of being removed by an election.
For now, that fear seems unfounded. While Momentum certainly believes MPs should be more accountable to their local parties, there is little evidence that this is a strategic priority (which doesn’t mean some local chapters might not pursue it). Corbyn’s team is not keen either, believing the pain rarely justifies the gain.
This is a relief. Another election could be upon us at any moment. The party does not need more trauma. Moreover, the gains are likely to be minimal. Corbyn is not king; his word is not law. The moment has tipped in his favour, not swung to him completely. And while the party may have made its peace with him, Momentum still sits outside its comfort zone. According to the website Labourlist, of the 24 key marginals to be contested so far, Momentum candidates have won in just five, while a further six have gone to candidates from the “wider Labour left”. The rest have been taken by “trade unionists, longstanding local campaigners and former [candidates]”.
Momentum’s focus is instead on funding organisers to transform the party into a social movement by connecting it with local campaigns – be they over caretakers’ pay, or cuts to schools and hospitals. For those whose understanding of politics and power is limited to elections and parliament, this will seem at best a waste of time. But anything that engages members, be they new or longstanding, in activities that make Labour more dynamic and receptive to the outside world should be welcomed.
This would fulfil one of three central challenges for Momentum in the foreseeable future. The second is to deploy all its resources – digital, human, organisational – to help Labour win at the next election. The third is to establish some independence from the Labour leadership, so that it can continue to advocate for a left agenda, should the party come to power. However confused the left might be about where power resides, the right understands that a range of vested interests, from big business to hot money, can force parliament’s hand and thwart the popular will.
Like most radical governments, Labour will have to negotiate between the powers that be and the forces that made them possible. Corbyn is not king. It was pressure from below that made him possible. It will be pressure from below that keeps him viable.
Larry Elliott in The Guardian
Carillion’s collapse was capitalism in action. Profits are the reward for taking risks, and sometimes the risks materialise. Carillion’s problem was not that its profits were too high, but that they were too low when things started to go wrong. In a free-market system, it’s that simple.
Except that it isn’t quite that simple in this case, because much of Carillion’s work was for the government: building roads and hospitals, running prisons, providing school meals. Whitehall didn’t want the company to go bust, so bunged it a few new contracts when it was already in trouble in the hope that something would turn up. Instead, Carillion staggered on for six months as a zombie company before the banks pulled the plug.
What’s more, the directors of the company took steps to shield themselves from financial risk. The Institute of Directors – which strongly believes in free markets and the profit motive – described a 2016 change to pay policy that made it harder to claw back bonuses as “highly inappropriate”, which of course it was. The company’s workforce, its subcontractors and its pensioners have not been so fortunate.
PFI has been an attempt to prove that it is possible to get world-class public services on the cheap. This is a delusion
Jeremy Corbyn says the demise of Carillion is a watershed moment, and he could well be right. The reputation of business is already at a low ebb and the Carillion saga has everything to get the public fired up: mismanagement, dividends for shareholders and boardroom fat-cattery leading to job losses, pension cuts and more expensive public services. Voter resistance to local councils taking previously outsourced services back in house is likely to be minimal.
The time has come to have a hard look at the private finance deals that have been the vehicle of political choice for delivering infrastructure projects – and, increasingly, public services – for the past quarter of a century. Public-private partnerships started as an accounting wheeze in John Major’s government when it needed a way to prevent spending on capital investment boosting high borrowing built up in the early 90s recession.
‘Gordon Brown (left), chancellor under Tony Blair (right), needed to find a way of building new schools and hospitals promised in opposition.’ Photograph: WPA Pool/Getty Images
But the Conservatives became less wedded to them when an improving economy led to an improvement in the public finances as the 90s wore on. It was Labour’s arrival in office in 1997 that gave private finance a new lease of life. Gordon Brown, Tony Blair’s chancellor, pledged to stick to the tough spending targets inherited from the Tories for two years, but still needed to find a way of building the new schools and hospitals promised in opposition. PFI (the private finance initiative ) – under which the private sector would pay for a new project up front and be paid back by the government over the coming decades – was the answer.
PFI, essentially a live-now pay-later approach, was always an expensive way to fund infrastructure, and the private sector did well out of them.
Life became a lot tougher after 2010, when the coalition government decided its first priority was to reduce a budget deficit at 10% of GDP. Spending on infrastructure was cut, and private sector contractors such as Carillion found Whitehall more miserly when negotiating contracts. Local government, which bore the brunt of government spending cuts, came under pressure to outsource services to save money.
Austerity and PFI was an unhappy marriage. To be sure, taxpayers saved money by getting the private sector to provide services more cheaply. But savings came at a price. Prisoners turned up late for court appearances; schools were built to a lower specification; PFI contractors cut corners to save money whenever they could because the bids put in to win contracts were barely enough to cover their costs. This was a race to the bottom, and Carillion won it.
George Osborne, who masterminded the coalition’s austerity strategy, says the problem was a failure to use more small- and medium-sized companies instead of relying on the big beasts. This is absurd: only large outfits could contemplate taking on large PFI contracts. And in many cases, multifaceted companies such as Carillion used profits from one sector to subsidise losses elsewhere in their portfolios.Q&A
How are you being affected by the Carillion liquidation crisis?Show
There are lessons to be learned from Carillion’s collapse, but the idea that SMEs should be building billion-pound hospitals is not one of them. Lesson one is that governments can have austerity or they can have PFI, but not both together. For the past eight years, it has been possible for the state to borrow for long periods at historically low interest rates. This would have been – and still is – a more cost-effective way of financing big infrastructure projects.
London libraries assess impact of Carillion collapse
Lesson two is that the state is not well equipped to manage big infrastructure projects. There are plenty of examples – the abandonment of the NHS IT project at a cost of £12bn, for example – of official incompetence. Whitehall’s handling of Carillion has left a lot to be desired. No matter what Labour says, the private sector will inevitably have a big role in the delivery of major projects. Even under a Corbyn-led government, there would inevitably be a role for it.
Given that, lesson three is the need to rethink company law. Trade unions felt the full force of the law when they were deemed to have acted badly in the late 70s and 80s; a similar approach for corporate wrongdoing is long overdue. It might simply mean enforcing existing laws more strongly, but the step that would send a shiver through boardrooms would be the end of limited liability for directors of limited companies. Limited liability is supposed to encourage entrepreneurship. In Carillion’s case it seems to have created moral hazard.
The final lesson is for the public. PFI has been an attempt to prove that it is possible to get world-class public services on the cheap. This is a delusion. If we want world-class public services, one way or another they will have to be paid for.
Henry Mance and George Parker in The Financial Times
Britain has incurred billions of pounds in extra costs for no clear benefit by using the private finance initiative (PFI) to build much of its infrastructure, the National Audit Office has said.
Recent PFI contracts — for schools, hospitals and other facilities — are between 2 and 4 per cent more expensive than other government borrowing, and involve significant additional fees, the watchdog said in a report published on Thursday.
The GMB union said the NAO’s report showed that PFI was a “catastrophic waste of taxpayers’ money” and projects were “financial time bombs”.
Political criticism of PFI has intensified this week following the liquidation of Carillion, a leading provider. Jeremy Corbyn, the Labour leader, told parliament on Wednesday that Carillion was evidence of a “broken system” and “costly racket”, and called for some companies “to be shown the door”.
Although Theresa May, the prime minister, accused Labour of opposing “the private sector as a whole”, some Conservatives have joined in criticism of PFI.
Former cabinet minister David Willetts, a one-time Treasury official, was a key promoter of the scheme, but this week admitted that some recent projects had gone awry. Carillion’s collapse exposed cases where, in the end, the risk reverted to the government, which had to maintain public services, he said.
Labour has promised to bring many PFI contracts back in-house “if necessary” if it wins the next general election. But terminating PFI deals could involve billions of extra fees because most contracts do not include break clauses.
In one example, Liverpool City Council is due to pay a further £47m in fees for Parklands High School in Liverpool, even though the school cost only £24m to build and was shut after 12 years owing to poor teaching standards.
“Many local bodies are now shackled to inflexible PFI contracts that are exorbitantly expensive to change,” said Meg Hillier, chair of the Commons public accounts committee.
Breaking these contracts would involve settling interest rate swaps. The largest 75 PFI schemes would cost £2bn to break, a quarter more than the outstanding debt, even before compensation to shareholders is considered, the NAO said.
PFI can be attractive to government as recorded levels of debt will be lower five years ahead even if it costs significantly more over the full term of a 25-30 year contract,
National Audit Office
Stella Creasy, a Labour MP, said the government should negotiate directly with PFI providers or impose a windfall tax on the special purpose vehicles (SPVs) involved. “It might seem that our hands are tied, but they’re not. What we can do is use our tax system,” she said.
PFI was devised in the UK in 1989 but its use jumped while Tony Blair was prime minister in the late 1990s and early 2000s.
It refers to deals where SPVs are set up to finance construction projects. The SPV borrows money to fund the construction, but that debt is mostly not included on the public sector balance sheet. In the last financial year, Britain paid £10bn in PFI fees; future charges amount to £199bn spread over the next three decades.
“PFI can be attractive to government as recorded levels of debt will be lower over the short to medium term (five years ahead) even if it costs significantly more over the full term of a 25-30 year contract,” said the NAO.
Off-balance-sheet public-private partnerships, such as PFI, now represent 1.7 per cent of Britain’s gross domestic product, the third highest ratio in Europe, behind Portugal and Hungary.
The NAO report detailed how the government’s decision-making was slanted in favour of PFI. While the US and Germany compare the cost of private finance with government borrowing costs, Britain’s value-for-money assessment compares it instead with the government discount rate of 3.5 per cent, which is significantly higher.
Overall, any public body “has an incentive to show that private finance offers better value for money than the [public sector comparator] as unless alternative capital funding is made available the project is unlikely to proceed,” the NAO said.
The NAO found that, after former chancellor George Osborne’s relaunch of PFI in 2012, the “fundamentals of the financing structure and contract remain the same”. Ms Hillier said she was concerned the Treasury had not addressed “most of [PFI’s] underlying problems”.
The Treasury argued that PFI contracts have benefits — including making the private sector bear the risk of cost overruns, and introducing an incentive to reduce long-term running costs.
But the NAO collated evidence suggesting that such benefits have failed to materialise. It cited research by the Treasury select committee, which found PFI projects charge higher prices to cover unforeseen costs, and by the Department for Education, which found a school’s construction cost was not affected by how it was financed.
On the question of efficiency, three government departments surveyed by the NAO said operating costs were higher under PFI, while one department said the costs were the same.
The additional costs of PFI were easier identify. Deals and equity investors in agreements signed since 2013 are forecast to receive returns of between 2 and 4 per cent above government borrowing. But on some deals the level is above 5 per cent. In addition, PFI contracts entailed other costs — including fees for arranging the borrowing, which average around 1 per cent of the principal, and management fees, amounting to 1-2 per cent of the total payment.
The value of new PFI deals peaked in 2007-08 at £8.6bn and has declined since, a trend that the NAO attributed to the greater cost of private finance after the financial crisis.
John McTernan in The Guardian
What has outsourcing ever done for me?
In a parody of the Monty Python skit from Life of Brian, that is what critics and commentators are asking about the collapse of Carillion – formerly one of the UK’s biggest companies.
The answer – the true answer – is that we should always be grateful that private companies have delivered better public service for less money. And therefore have done three important things for us all.
First and foremost, it has delivered vital public services – and delivered them well. Notice that in the fallout over the collapse of Carillion few questioned the quality of what it has been doing in the public realm. From the NHS to HS2 the company’s record of delivery is positive.
Second, the company has taken risk out of the public sector and absorbed it themselves. It is one of the oldest criticism of public private partnerships that the transfer of risks is never achieved properly – profits, we are told sanctimoniously, are privatised, while risk remains nationalised. In the case of Carillion we can see that is utterly and demonstrably false. How? In the simplest possible way – the company has gone bust. There can be no starker demonstration that risk has been fully transferred than to see it crystallise – which has just happened.
And last, but not least, we have had a bargain – we have paid substantially less for services than they cost to deliver. How can we be sure about that? Again, it is the collapse that is the proof. If the directors had driven exploitative bargains with the public sector then they would be driving round in Maseratis rather than polishing their CVs and wondering how to explain their catastrophic failure to future prospective employers. Saving money in the provision of public services is a good thing. On the one hand, there are always too many demands to answer. On the other, at a time when the public books still have a massive overhang of debt following the Great Recession, every little bit of efficiency helps.
The problem is that we are all a little squeamish. Companies going out of business is part and parcel of how capitalism works – it is essential that there is both creativity and destruction. For individual workers whose pay and pensions depend on the continued success of the company that is disruptive.
But where public services are being delivered, government is continuing to underwrite employment and contracts will be taken over by another provider – public or private. This is, remember, the tightest labour market since the mid-70s. There is no reserve army of labour to take over these jobs at a lower price. After some turbulence, things will settle down again. Shareholders will have lost a lot of money. And senior managers will have lost jobs. Forgive me for not weeping over either of those facts.
The alternative is worse. Far worse. It is that repeated failure is bailed out – and, in effect, rewarded rather than punished. What does that look like? The life of the average government department. Millions of people are being immiserated by the failures of universal credit (UC). And this is not because of flaws in the new system but because of features of the new benefit. UC is failing and the only people paying the price are hard-working families who can least afford it.
The same is true of the Home Office. If the same combination of malignity, incompetence and out-and-out racism was being demonstrated by any private company it would not only be in court repeatedly, it would be bust. As it should be. The lack of contestability and accountability in direct government provision of services is a huge problem. Having a small amount of it brought into the system by contracting out is a powerful public good.
Kate Burgess in The Financial Times
Following the collapse this week of Carillion, with less than £30m in the bank and liabilities of more than £2bn, the board of the construction company has been accused of being either deluded or just plain inept.
On paper, the directors looked well qualified to steer the outsourcer. As chairman, Philip Green was a former chairman of United Utilities, the UK’s largest listed water company. Not only had he run a large contracting company, he was also a fully paid-up member of the great and good as a former adviser to then prime minister David Cameron on corporate responsibility.
The directors did not lack experience, sitting on boards from Royal Dutch Shell to Premier Farnell.
Alison Horner, head of the remuneration committee, was formerly operations director at Tesco and a non-executive director of Tesco Bank. The head of the audit committee was an accountant, as were three other directors.
And none were entrenched. The chief executive, Richard Howson, who joined Carillion’s board in 2009, was the longest-serving member.
The board ticked all the boxes in terms of good governance. Carillion’s non-executive line-up included two women. The average age of directors was about 54 years, or 57 excluding Mr Howson (48), and Zafir Khan (also 48), the finance director appointed in January last year.
Yet just a year ago, the board cheerfully signed off statements from Mr Howson that debt would be below £300m within months.
With hindsight, the board fell into a series of textbook traps that have, over the years, felled many a construction and contract business:
- Failing to halt acquisitions and the build up of liabilities
-Signing off aggressive accounting policies that allowed revenues to be booked early and costs to be delayed
-Not tapping shareholders for help and instead continuing to pay out dividends even as cash haemorrhaged out of Carillion
- Signing off on hefty pay packets and bonuses for top executives even when they scored zero on key performance targets introduced to instil capital discipline
-Allowing clawback conditions to be changed a year ago, striking out corporate failure as a reason to take back bonuses
The board had seemed to be everything UK investors might want for a youngish business in a youngish sector. Carillion may have been formed from the construction divisions of Tarmac, Wimpey, Alfred McAlpine and Mowlem, which have been around for decades, but the company itself was formed in 1999. It engaged well with investors, even those who had shorted Carillion stock. Notably, shareholders approved directors’ elections without a murmur.
It is worrying to think the construction company’s board was such a model of good governance. If the line up had been different, would another cast of characters have done any better?
And how many other supposedly well-run boards are presiding over impending corporate disasters elsewhere?
Sid Lowe in The Guardian
Ronaldinho. See? You’re smiling already. Just thinking about the things he did and the way he did them, the way he was, gets you giggling. Look him up on YouTube and maybe you’ll fall for him all over again, a bit like all those defenders. Watch for long enough – it won’t take long – and you might even feel like standing to applaud, just like the Santiago Bernabéu did, an ovation for a Barcelona player, as if for all the rivalry they hadn’t so much been beaten by his genius as shared in it. Sergio Ramos was on the floor, they were on their feet. Cameras zoomed on a man in the north stand with a moustache and a cigarette hanging limp from his lip. Bloody hell, did you see what he just did?
Golden Goal: Ronaldinho for Barcelona v Chelsea (2005)
It’s a question that was asked a lot. What Ronaldinho did, no one else did. And it wasn’t just what he did; it was the way he made people feel. Nostalgia, memories, are about that: not so much events but emotions. Watching Ronaldinho was fun, it made people happy. Those may be two of the most simple, childish words of all but they are the right ones. Football stripped right down to its essence: happy, fun.
Funny, too.
There may never have been a player who made the game as enjoyable as Ronaldinho, in part because he played and it was a game. “I love the ball,” he said. One coach, he recalled, told him to change, insisting that he would never make it as a footballer, but he was wrong. It was because he played, because he enjoyed it, that he succeeded: the grin on his face was not just there after he won the league, the Champions League, the World Cup and the Balon d’Or, it was there while he won them. It became contagious. “He changed our history,” Barcelona midfielder Xavi Hernández said.
One Real Madrid director claimed that Madrid hadn’t signed him because he was “too ugly” and would “sink” them as a brand. “Thanks to Beckham, everyone wants to shag us,” he said. He, too, was wrong: everyone wanted to embrace Ronaldinho, enjoy him. The long, Soul Glo hair, the goofy grin, that surfer’s “wave”, thumb and little finger waggling – a gesture so his, so symbolic of Barcelona’s revival that is was fashioned from foam and sold in the club shop.
An entire publicity campaign was built around him, the embodiment of “jogo bonito”. He might not have been beautiful but his game was and no one was more attractive, a marketing dream Madrid missed. Almost a comedy cartoon character himself, he inspired the “BarcaToons” and on Spain’s version of Spitting image his puppet giggled and laughed and repeated one word over and over: fiesta!. “I am like that,” he admitted.
On the pitch, too, an extension of that expressiveness. “When you have the ball at your feet, you are free,” Ronaldinho wrote in an open letter to his younger self, repeating a mantra: creativity over calculation. “It is almost like you’re hearing music. That feeling will make you spread joy to others. You’re smiling because football is fun. Why would you be serious? Your goal is to spread joy.” He said that was the way his father, a shipbuilder and football fan who worked weekends at Gremio’s ground, had told him to play. His older brother Roberto was at Gremio too. And then, growing up, there was Bombom, his dog. He also played.
Ronaldinho’s brother was his idol but he ended up better than him. He was better than anyone at the time: you genuinely wondered if he might end up better than anyone else ever. It didn’t last long enough for that but it lasted because he did things you’d never witnessed before, skills most never imagined let alone replicated, and that emotion remained. “His feet are so fast he can touch the ball four times in half a second. If I tried to do what he can do, I’d end up injuring myself,” Philippe Cocu said.
He might not have been beautiful but his game was and no one was more attractive, a marketing dream Madrid missed.
For three years no one could match the wow, the wonder, the silliness, the jaw-dropping, laugh-out-loud daftness of it all. The back-heels, step-overs and rubber ankles, the power too, the change of pace, the passes without looking. The passes with his back, for goodness sake. The free-kicks over the wall, round the wall and under it. Nutmegs, lobs, bicycle kicks, everything.
An advert featuring Ronaldinho showed him ambling to the corner of the penalty area, pulling on new boots, flicking a ball into the air and keeping it there. Strolling around the area, he volleys the ball towards goal. It hits the bar and comes straight back to him, he controls it on his chest, swivels and volleys it goalwards. Again, it hits the bar and comes back. He controls it again and, still without letting it drop, hammers it goalwards a third time. For a third time, it thuds off the bar and sails straight back. Without letting the ball drop, he strolls back to where he started, sets it down and smiles. On the boots is stitched the word “happiness.”
Ronaldinho surrounded by four Celtic players during a Champions League match in March 2008. Photograph: Dave Thompson/PA
It is quite astonishing; it is also a fake, a montage. Or was it? There was a debate. You didn’t know – and that was the point, the measure of him. The fact that anyone could even begin to believe that such a nonchalant demonstration of mastery might be genuine was eloquent – and only with Ronaldinho would they. That didn’t happen, no, but the Bernabéu ovation did. So did the shot thundering in of the bar against Sevilla – at 1.20am. The goal against Milan. That toe-poke against Chelsea. “It’s like someone pressed pause and for three seconds all the players stopped and I’m the only one that moves,” he said.
The Brazilian legend Tostao claimed: “Ronaldinho has the dribbling skills of Rivelinho, the vision of Gerson, the spirit and happiness of Garrincha, the pace, skill and power of Jarzinho and Ronaldo, the technical ability of Zico and the creativity of Romario.” Above all he had one, very special ability: he made you smile.