Undeniably, Winston Churchill was not of the socialist persuasion – something we are both aware of. This well-established fact is recognised even by the distinguished history professors of Cambridge University to whom, at the tender age of 18, I rather perplexingly stated “…in essence, Churchill was a socialist in his own way”. This completely novel notion, never before spoken or contemplated by me, came into existence as the words escaped from my lips. The concept – that Churchill was a socialist – is one so far removed from the truth that I feel compelled to emphasise it, even two decades later.
In the aftermath of my jarring statement, I was ushered towards an alternate educational establishment to continue my history studies – a fair response, all things considered, and one that proved beneficial for all parties. The recounting of this episode has often left people curious as to why I did not immediately rectify my error. The simple explanation is that a mind capable of such a blunder is not simultaneously capable of correcting it on the spot. This interruption can be seen as the mind recoiling into its most basic survival instinct under the immense strain of stress and fear.
While I am able to construct prose, winning accolades year after year, oral communication and the art of conveying a persuasive argument remain elusive skills I have yet to master. This roundabout and deeply personal explanation may shed light on my identification with Lee Carsley’s experience.
In the aftermath of their victory over Finland, Carsley stated that he had made his intentions as evident as possible – a statement that, sadly, might indeed be accurate. Despite his stellar reputation as a person and an esteemed coach, he, like so many, struggles with the art of public speaking. This attribute, while often overlooked, is of utmost importance for any potential England manager. Perhaps, in this field, he may just give Fabio Capello a run for his money.
It’s a common belief among supporters that football journalists tend to harshly criticize England managers, eager to add insult to injury. However, Carsley has been granted a generous favour by the press group in a significant way. Imagine reading a Carsley’s response, transcribed verbatim, it would be like experiencing the unique blend of a James Joyce novel and a pounding headache.
Consider his comments from Sunday night. Here, Carsley tries to explain his own remarks made just a few minutes before on ITV, where he seemed to withdraw himself from the England job permanently. “Yes, that’s.. um.. the point I was..umm.. I was.. heading towards. Sort of like the ‘hopefully’ statement. It’s a world-class job.. um.. among the finest in football. The person chosen would have to be top-notch,” he stated.
Carsley often stutters. He has a tendency to repeat and contradict himself. Sometimes he says something he regrets instantly, like revealing that the formation without a striker against Greece had been prepared only for 20 minutes. At times he loses track of the original question and veers off onto a completely different topic. This doesn’t reflect on his intelligence, education, background, or coaching skills, let alone his personality. I can relate to Carsley because I find myself in similar situations. This resembles a nerve-wracking game, a frightening questioning session where different men, their faces illuminated, ask him, “But what is it that you truly desire?”
This is unusual in contemporary football, where it’s almost an expectation for managers, even the unsuccessful ones, to be articulate communicators. More like tracksuit clad televangelists. The job essentially involves delivering powerful speeches from interviews, team talks, to press conferences; an act of persuasion. You can delegate training to your coaches, analysis to researchers, recruitment to scouts and sports director, and the football to your players. But when you’re on the podium, there’s absolutely nowhere to hide.
It could be argued that the role of the England football manager comes with an intensity and scrutiny unlike any other, with seemingly every word analyzed and dissected out of proportion. The position carries an expectation of leadership not merely in actions but rhetoric too. Take Gareth Southgate as an example, he may not have started out as a confident speaker, yet over time, he refined his speech to the point where he was proficient at saying a lot without revealing too much. Compare this to Alf Ramsey, an eloquent and compelling speaker, whose speeches were smoothly delivered with carefully placed pauses. Glenn Hoddle, on the other hand, possessed an exceptional knowledge of football but was an ordinary communicator, which was his downfall in the end.
However, by the time most managers achieve the loftiest positions in club football, they’ve usually managed to polish their communication skills and shape their public image under the intense pressure of the job. But then you have individuals like Carsley, who found his first major role to be under the brightest spotlight, who’d rather be perfecting skills on the training ground than answering queries about national anthems or the prospect of being the next England boss. Perhaps his seeming randomness in his responses might be relatable as it would be a typical reaction under such a highly unusual circumstance.
It may be a reflection of our talk-obsessed era that Carsley’s reputation is being defined as much by his words as by his footballing prowess. Maybe Carsley is correct in stating that the position deserves a highly decorated, world-class manager. Or that the performance against Greece was so abysmal that he should never again step foot in an England dugout. Possibly this entire ordeal has disillusioned him from taking up any future high profile managerial role. And maybe, that is for the best. However, as someone who struggles with rhetorical speeches myself, I can’t help but relate to Carsley’s predicament. – Guardian