Mesut Özil is slowly disappearing from China. An online forum dedicated to him has closed. He has been scrubbed from the version of Pro Evolution Soccer, the video game, that is available in the country. Arsenal’s last Premier League game, at home to Manchester City, was not broadcast on Chinese television. It is not clear, yet, how long the blackout will last.
His offense was simple: he spoke. Last week, Özil released simultaneous statements on his Twitter and Instagram feeds, criticizing the Chinese government’s mass detention of Uighurs, a largely Turkic Muslim minority in Xinjiang province, in the China’s northwest. He called on Muslims across the world to speak out against the policy. “Muslims are silent,” he wrote. “Don’t they know that consent for persecution is persecution itself?”
China reacted furiously — organically, as well as officially. When the Chinese Football Association responded that Özil had “hurt the feelings” of the Chinese people, it was easy to assume the people, in this context, meant the state. Not so: there appeared to be genuine outrage among fans at Özil’s comments.
Arsenal’s immediate response was not to support its player, but to try to douse the flames. It distanced itself from Özil’s comments. All views expressed were his own and not those of his employers and all that. The club, a statement read, was studiously apolitical.
A few days later, Jürgen Klopp, the Liverpool coach, was asked a question about human rights in Qatar. He is there, with his team, for FIFA’s Club World Cup. Liverpool faces Brazil’s Flamengo in Doha on Saturday, the champion of Europe against the champion of South America.
Klopp must have known the question was coming. He was, certainly, forewarned enough to parry it away. “This is a real serious thing to talk about,” he said. “The answers should come from people who know more about it. I have to be influential in football but not in politics. Anything I say wouldn’t help; it would just create another headline, positive or negative.”
Klopp, for what it is worth — and to his credit — has never been shy in expressing other political views. We know that he is left-leaning. We know that he believes in the welfare state. We know that he is fervently anti-Brexit. Still, Özil’s experience might indicate why Klopp, on this occasion, decided to stay out of things. It is without question the path of least resistance.
Unfortunately, that is no longer really enough. The last two decades might, in time, come to be thought of as elite soccer’s colonial period. It has taken it upon itself to expand — rapidly, relentlessly and aggressively — into every market it can find (often subduing the local soccer culture in the process). FIFA has handed the World Cup to Qatar. UEFA has awarded showpiece finals to Azerbaijan.
Europe’s clubs and leagues, meanwhile — to borrow a line from the novelist Jasper Fforde — have adopted cancer’s attitude to growth. They trail around the world on preseason tours, flog merchandise wherever they can, emblazon the names of any company that can afford it on their jerseys. They plant their flags in any territory they think can make them money with all the determination and moral authority of the scramble for Africa.
The Premier League has allowed its teams to be sold not just to oligarchs and vulture capitalists but to nation states: it is, after all, “ownership neutral.”
All of them take huge pride in the cultural phenomenon of which they are a part. They talk of soccer’s social role, its developmental benefits, its unifying potential. Soccer is often used as a tool of soft power, but it is a form of soft power, too. The Premier League, again, delights in the fact that it ranks alongside the BBC and the Royal Family — well, maybe not Prince Andrew — as one of Britain’s great exports.
All of that, though, comes at a cost. It is not possible to reap all of the rewards without acquiring some of the risk. Soccer’s thirst for growth, for new worlds to conquer and markets to exploit, has forced it into countless grubby compromises. It plays games in stadiums built by slave labor. It serves as an advertising vehicle for launderers of cartel money. It kowtows to despots. It shields its eyes from human rights abuses, and says it is only a sport. It says it is apolitical.
At a certain point, though, declaring yourself apolitical is, in itself, a political act. To willfully ignore something is to tacitly accept its existence. European soccer is willing to see the benefits of its power — the wealth that flows from it — but it has, thus far, refused to accept any of the responsibility.
That is not to say it is a straightforward issue. As one club official said, where do you draw the line? Do you refuse to tour the United States because migrants are being detained at the border and young black men shot by police? Should we suspend the Premier League until the Conservative party’s ideological austerity is at an end? Should Brazil be excluded from the World Cup as long as Jair Bolsonaro is president?
It is hard to draw the line. It might, in a way, even be admirable for European soccer to feel that, as a representative of the West, it is in no position to lecture anyone. But that does not mean it should be allowed to retreat into silence. It does not have the right to be ethically neutral, too. Özil is right: silence on persecution is a form of persecution. It is soccer’s duty, at times, to speak.
A Curtain Call for the Clásico Era
You may, in a quiet moment over the final few days of the 2010s, like to try and name a composite team of the decade, a select XI of the players who have had most impact in the last 10 years.
Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo would be in there, of course, perhaps playing up front with Luis Suárez or Robert Lewandowski. Your midfield might well comprise Luka Modric, Sergio Busquets and Andres Iniesta, though there is a case to be made for Toni Kroos. In central defense, for all Diego Godín’s merits, it probably has to be Gerard Piqué and Sergio Ramos. Marcelo and Daniel Alves are the standout fullbacks.
You will notice a theme here. There can be little doubt that this has been the decade of Real Madrid and Barcelona. Between them, they account for six Champions League crowns, and all but one Spanish title. We have been blessed, really, to witness two such historic teams running basically concurrently.
It was intriguing, then, that the final Clásico of the decade this week seemed to be such a pale imitation of what has gone before. That is not to say the two current teams are bad; one will be Spanish champion this year, and neither should be ruled out of winning the Champions League (though, personally, I would be more inclined to back Manchester City or Paris St.-Germain.)
Neither, though, is what it was. Neither can, realistically, claim to be the best team in the world at this point. Soccer’s pinnacle now resides in the Northwest of England. If the Clásico is the game that has defined the decade, this felt like confirmation that decade is now past.
Mikel Arteta: Ripples and Ramifications
I first sat down to interview Mikel Arteta nine years ago. He would have been 28 or so, and he talked about all of the things that he still wanted to achieve in his playing career. Even then, though, it was blindingly obvious that he would be well-suited to management: fiercely intelligent; impeccably educated at La Masia, Barcelona’s academy; articulate and charismatic; clear in word and thought.
The surprise, then, is not that Arsenal is set to take a risk on him as its new coach at a delicate moment in its history, but that it did not do so earlier: he was a contender for the job until the very minute that Arsenal decided that, no, actually, Unai Emery was a better bet. Arteta will bring with him defined principles, fresh thinking, and no little romance, as a former player. The Emirates has found that in rather short supply recently.
There are no guarantees, of course. Arsenal’s squad is poorly balanced, though it has plenty of young promise. Even the most cerebral players do not necessarily make good managers. The club remains poorly run, lacking direction; its recruitment process alone is testament to that. It is, make no mistake, a risk for Arteta, as much as for Arsenal. Failure in his first job may preclude him fulfilling his promise.
Two other notes: First, it is hard to believe that Arteta would have left Manchester City, and his post as Pep Guardiola’s assistant, if he believed Guardiola would soon be departing himself. Arteta would have had designs on that job. His decision may suggest that Guardiola will be around for longer, perhaps, than many expect.
And second, Arteta was a popular member of the staff at City. Guardiola’s presence is so overwhelming that the assumption is that his absence will make no difference, but losing an assistant manager halfway through a season is hardly ideal.
In Case You Missed It
Arsenal’s deciding to appoint Arteta means one job being ticked off Massimiliano Allegri’s list for the summer. It will be fascinating to see where he ends up in June: few coaches have his résumé, but he does run against the grain a little. He doesn’t sell himself as a philosopher or a visionary. He doesn’t think managers need to be tactical geniuses. He may be right. But the question is: which club will agree to pay soccer’s pre-eminent anti-genius millions of dollars?
And not content with bringing down sport’s rich and corrupt and powerful, my colleague and hero Tariq Panja is now all over the falcon hospital beat. Yep: falcon hospitals.
Correspondence
Thanks to all of you who got in touch to educate me on the intricacies of German jersey iconography, and to Darren Katz and Andy Brouse in particular. It turns out that Bayern Munich started the tradition, largely for space reasons, but that most (though not all) German teams followed suit because the team should always be more prominent than the individual. Well done, everyone. And also the good folks at Google, presumably.
William Connors points out that I might have mentioned his team, Freiburg, and the excellent season it is enjoying. I can only apologize, and say that trying to talk to Christian Streich has been on my to-do list for about two years.
Gino Picano, meanwhile, feels Atalanta has been misrepresented (by me). “Atalanta has less of a crumbling stadium issue and more of a building a new stadium moment,” Gino writes. “The first time my team makes the Champions League, you made us out to look like paupers.” He is right: Atalanta is renovating its home, and expects the work to be complete by 2021. I stand by the idea that, by Champions League standards, Atalanta is a pauper, though. That just makes its achievement all the more remarkable, and I would expect it to overcome Valencia for a place in the quarterfinals, too.
That’s all for this week. I will be on Twitter over the holidays: soccer does not stop for Christmas. If you find yourself bored while cooking a turkey, try listening to Set Piece Menu, a podcast of which I am precisely one quarter. If you get any especially good gifts, tell me at askrory@nytimes.com. And what better present could there be than just giving your friends and loved ones this sign-up page here.
Have a great week. Eat lots.
Rory
Source: Soccer - nytimes.com
