Thierry Henry was caught in slow-mo reply handling the ball (twice) in a crucial game against Ireland last week, leading directly to France’s winning goal and eliminating Ireland from the World Cup Finals in South Africa next year. A storm of invective has poured down on Henry’s head, but virtually all the actors in this saga have diminished themselves and international sport is – once again – exposed as a degrading spectacle that has less to do with heroic endeavour and more to do with gamesmanship, hypocrisy and chauvinism.
Henry first. He cheated, no two ways about it. His first touch may have been accidental, his second most certainly was not. His actions are fractionally mitigated by the fact it happened in the heat of the moment, rather than in the premeditated fashion of, say, taking illegal performance-enhancing drugs. But cheat he did.
His dishonesty was joined by a lack of moral courage when, realising that TV cameras had caught is malfeasance in every excruciating detail, he issued a highly qualified apology in which he appeared to blame…the referee. Maybe the referee was incompetent, but Henry acted to willingly deceive him. Still it continued: when the storm of controversy really exploded, he added disingenuousness to his list of qualities: by calling for a replay after FIFA had ruled one out. Brave? Mais non, mon ami.
For some reason Irish politicians got involved and ranted about injustices towards smaller countries. You can bet that Irish politicians care not one jot for the sport of football, or the fans, but politicians are adept at riding waves of national hysteria to further their own advancement, and so it was here.
For many Irish, this has been a chance to wallow in victim status, to dredge up past injustices throughout their history and to draw a parallel with a football match. It’s pathetic – but not entirely surprising. This is international sport, after all. If war is the continuation of politics by other means, then sport (or rather international sporting competitions) are the continuation of war by other means.
Of course, Ireland’s complaints reek of hypocrisy. Maybe the replay principle could be applied consistently, because if it were, it might be to Ireland’s disadvantage. Georgia were victims of a penalty injustice on the 11th February which Ireland gladly accepted; and Montenegro would probably like a replay for the 0-0 game on the 14th of October when Irish player Paul McShane handled the ball in the area and didn’t tell the ref it was a penalty. Fair play? Ireland are no saints.
Remember when England were eliminated from the 1986 World Cup by Maradona’s “Hand of God”? England were aggrieved but didn’t ask for a replay. No formal complaint was made, they just got on with it. At the time FIFA praised England for the manner in which they accepted their defeat. The score should have been 1-1 but England just accepted it. Ireland would do well to conduct themselves with dignity instead of wallowing in self-pity and demanding a replay. I’m sure most Irish people aren’t like that, but this is what happens when sport becomes a metaphor for national honour, or national victimhood. It’s a shame that some England fans still can’t let the 1986 handball go and still dredge it up, but that’s what happens when sport is so tightly woven with nationality. Most England fans I meet now, however, acknowledge that Maradona’s skill as a footballer outweighs the injustice of that incident. It will be interesting to see whether Ireland fans are still banging the ‘injustice’ drum 25 years later.
It's not just Henry, or the French (or the Argentinians). Cheating, gamesmanship and the absence of honour and integrity now seemed to be an ingrained part of just about every sporting event, across many cultures. Even the Irish players seemed to accept Henry’s cheating. Listen to what Damian Duff had to say: “If it was down the other end and it was going out of play, I’d have chanced my arm. You can’t blame him. He’s a clever player but you expect the ref to see it, it was so blatant.” There you have it. In a way you have to admire Duff’s honesty. He would gladly cheat, he’s says, so he politely declines to condemn Henry. Amazing.
In reality is a storm in a teacup. Who cares who won, and how, and whether it was by means fair or foul? But as I argued in my piece on ‘abolish international sport’, where ‘national’ teams are involved, chauvinism and grandstanding are never far behind.
If Henry had taken the unlikely (perhaps very unlikely) action and stopped play, admitting his foul, he would have been lauded as a true sporting great and a role model, even if his team had lost. His honour would have been salvaged. But here’s the thing about cheating: the inescapable law of karma. What goes around comes around. It always does. It has to. So now Henry will be forever vilified as a cheat, his reputation lies in tatters, his sponsorship deals on the line, his very name synonymous with duplicity. It won’t stop there. His children will read about their father’s dishonour. They too will have to live with it. What an awful fate, all for one lousy goal.
It’s horribly unfair to Henry, of course – because as Damian Duff so shamefacedly explained, they all do it; they just hope they get away with it. But Henry also has to accept that the higher the stakes, and the higher your profile, the greater the scrutiny.
Sport should be about the human spirit, endeavour, training, determination and achievement. But it has become a win-at-all costs gladiatorial battle, inflamed by international contests with their national anthems and flags, and egged on by huge salaries and corporate deals. In the grand scheme of life it is not as important as the many pressing international issues of the day. It can unite, and entertain, but the pressure to be ‘winners’ means that something far more important than winning has been lost: integrity. Without it, sportsmen (and women) are nothing.
From doping in the Tour de France, to fake blood injuries in rugby, from diving footballers to ball-tamperers in cricket, sport has become demeaned. Players are so desperate to win that they will seek unfair advantage by whatever means they can. In athletics I have heard the argument that all sprinters know the other guys take drugs, so they feel if they don’t do the same then they are being cheated. I never used to understand what teachers used to say about cheating: “You’re only cheating yourself”. But now I do: if you have a gold medal round your neck, but you broke the rules to get it, then you know in your heart that you are not really a champion. You have to lie to your children when they ask you how you won it. What a burden.
Some people say that why not just abolish testing and let athletes take whatever drugs they like. It would be the death of sport because the competition would be between rival laboratories and doctors, not athletes.
In the world of mixed martial arts contests, a fighter was recently disqualified for taking steroids. Bas Rutten, a veteran fighter, said that the individual concerned wasn’t really a mixed martial artist because he didn’t have enough confidence in himself, his abilities and his training – he was so unsure of himself that he felt the need to add a bit more to his engine by taking drugs. It’s true. You could say the same about cheating footballers. They are not real sportsmen.
Magnanimous in victory, generous in defeat. It marks a higher calibre of person. Some players are only gracious when they’re winning: take Serena Williams, for example, and her foul-mouthed outburst. Some players’ skills are nullified by their violence, like Roy Keane, who is a thug and a coward. Other cowards, like Sir Alex Ferguson, look for excuses to explain away defeats. We need sportsmanship, not gamesmanship. Money and international contests have helped demean sport.
Competitive sport should be encouraged. It is, after all, a form of entertainment. But ‘international’ events should be abolished and the strictest rules imaginable should be introduced to stamp out cheating and its close cousin, gamesmanship. But it needs to go deeper than that. Children across the world should be taught that honour and integrity are the hallmarks of a great human being, which is so much more important than being a winning sportsman. And that while one should strive to win, being a good loser is a lot harder than being a good winner.
Henry first. He cheated, no two ways about it. His first touch may have been accidental, his second most certainly was not. His actions are fractionally mitigated by the fact it happened in the heat of the moment, rather than in the premeditated fashion of, say, taking illegal performance-enhancing drugs. But cheat he did.
His dishonesty was joined by a lack of moral courage when, realising that TV cameras had caught is malfeasance in every excruciating detail, he issued a highly qualified apology in which he appeared to blame…the referee. Maybe the referee was incompetent, but Henry acted to willingly deceive him. Still it continued: when the storm of controversy really exploded, he added disingenuousness to his list of qualities: by calling for a replay after FIFA had ruled one out. Brave? Mais non, mon ami.
For some reason Irish politicians got involved and ranted about injustices towards smaller countries. You can bet that Irish politicians care not one jot for the sport of football, or the fans, but politicians are adept at riding waves of national hysteria to further their own advancement, and so it was here.
For many Irish, this has been a chance to wallow in victim status, to dredge up past injustices throughout their history and to draw a parallel with a football match. It’s pathetic – but not entirely surprising. This is international sport, after all. If war is the continuation of politics by other means, then sport (or rather international sporting competitions) are the continuation of war by other means.
Of course, Ireland’s complaints reek of hypocrisy. Maybe the replay principle could be applied consistently, because if it were, it might be to Ireland’s disadvantage. Georgia were victims of a penalty injustice on the 11th February which Ireland gladly accepted; and Montenegro would probably like a replay for the 0-0 game on the 14th of October when Irish player Paul McShane handled the ball in the area and didn’t tell the ref it was a penalty. Fair play? Ireland are no saints.
Remember when England were eliminated from the 1986 World Cup by Maradona’s “Hand of God”? England were aggrieved but didn’t ask for a replay. No formal complaint was made, they just got on with it. At the time FIFA praised England for the manner in which they accepted their defeat. The score should have been 1-1 but England just accepted it. Ireland would do well to conduct themselves with dignity instead of wallowing in self-pity and demanding a replay. I’m sure most Irish people aren’t like that, but this is what happens when sport becomes a metaphor for national honour, or national victimhood. It’s a shame that some England fans still can’t let the 1986 handball go and still dredge it up, but that’s what happens when sport is so tightly woven with nationality. Most England fans I meet now, however, acknowledge that Maradona’s skill as a footballer outweighs the injustice of that incident. It will be interesting to see whether Ireland fans are still banging the ‘injustice’ drum 25 years later.
It's not just Henry, or the French (or the Argentinians). Cheating, gamesmanship and the absence of honour and integrity now seemed to be an ingrained part of just about every sporting event, across many cultures. Even the Irish players seemed to accept Henry’s cheating. Listen to what Damian Duff had to say: “If it was down the other end and it was going out of play, I’d have chanced my arm. You can’t blame him. He’s a clever player but you expect the ref to see it, it was so blatant.” There you have it. In a way you have to admire Duff’s honesty. He would gladly cheat, he’s says, so he politely declines to condemn Henry. Amazing.
In reality is a storm in a teacup. Who cares who won, and how, and whether it was by means fair or foul? But as I argued in my piece on ‘abolish international sport’, where ‘national’ teams are involved, chauvinism and grandstanding are never far behind.
If Henry had taken the unlikely (perhaps very unlikely) action and stopped play, admitting his foul, he would have been lauded as a true sporting great and a role model, even if his team had lost. His honour would have been salvaged. But here’s the thing about cheating: the inescapable law of karma. What goes around comes around. It always does. It has to. So now Henry will be forever vilified as a cheat, his reputation lies in tatters, his sponsorship deals on the line, his very name synonymous with duplicity. It won’t stop there. His children will read about their father’s dishonour. They too will have to live with it. What an awful fate, all for one lousy goal.
It’s horribly unfair to Henry, of course – because as Damian Duff so shamefacedly explained, they all do it; they just hope they get away with it. But Henry also has to accept that the higher the stakes, and the higher your profile, the greater the scrutiny.
Sport should be about the human spirit, endeavour, training, determination and achievement. But it has become a win-at-all costs gladiatorial battle, inflamed by international contests with their national anthems and flags, and egged on by huge salaries and corporate deals. In the grand scheme of life it is not as important as the many pressing international issues of the day. It can unite, and entertain, but the pressure to be ‘winners’ means that something far more important than winning has been lost: integrity. Without it, sportsmen (and women) are nothing.
From doping in the Tour de France, to fake blood injuries in rugby, from diving footballers to ball-tamperers in cricket, sport has become demeaned. Players are so desperate to win that they will seek unfair advantage by whatever means they can. In athletics I have heard the argument that all sprinters know the other guys take drugs, so they feel if they don’t do the same then they are being cheated. I never used to understand what teachers used to say about cheating: “You’re only cheating yourself”. But now I do: if you have a gold medal round your neck, but you broke the rules to get it, then you know in your heart that you are not really a champion. You have to lie to your children when they ask you how you won it. What a burden.
Some people say that why not just abolish testing and let athletes take whatever drugs they like. It would be the death of sport because the competition would be between rival laboratories and doctors, not athletes.
In the world of mixed martial arts contests, a fighter was recently disqualified for taking steroids. Bas Rutten, a veteran fighter, said that the individual concerned wasn’t really a mixed martial artist because he didn’t have enough confidence in himself, his abilities and his training – he was so unsure of himself that he felt the need to add a bit more to his engine by taking drugs. It’s true. You could say the same about cheating footballers. They are not real sportsmen.
Magnanimous in victory, generous in defeat. It marks a higher calibre of person. Some players are only gracious when they’re winning: take Serena Williams, for example, and her foul-mouthed outburst. Some players’ skills are nullified by their violence, like Roy Keane, who is a thug and a coward. Other cowards, like Sir Alex Ferguson, look for excuses to explain away defeats. We need sportsmanship, not gamesmanship. Money and international contests have helped demean sport.
Competitive sport should be encouraged. It is, after all, a form of entertainment. But ‘international’ events should be abolished and the strictest rules imaginable should be introduced to stamp out cheating and its close cousin, gamesmanship. But it needs to go deeper than that. Children across the world should be taught that honour and integrity are the hallmarks of a great human being, which is so much more important than being a winning sportsman. And that while one should strive to win, being a good loser is a lot harder than being a good winner.
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