You don’t need to try all that hard to list the many and varied things which have sucked the fun out of modern football like a particularly strong Dyson.
(Draws breath)
Ridiculous wages. European Super League entitlement. Bored millionaires versus bored millionaires. V-A-godforsaken-R.
The Premier League inserting its Premier League self into every Premier League sentence written about the Premier League game Premier League.
The Premier League inserting itself into the lower-league cup. Bloated academies, reckless stockpiling.
Sportswashing. Oligarchs. ‘Fan tokens’. Shady crypto deals.
Crafted social media apologies. We go again. Fans were class. Can you tweet something like…
Thoughtless television scheduling. Thoughtless cup tie staging.
World Cups submerged in corruption. The Champions League buried in greed.
Dodgy owners, executive climbers, merchants of bull and bluster. Numpties stealing things from stadiums. Cretins confronting players on the pitch.
One-eyed managers. No-eyed referees. The whole, self-regarding seriousness of it all. The utter relentlessness of the game, each bit massively mattering to someone, presumably (copyright Mitchell & Webb)…
Sorry about that. Now, where was I?
Ah yes, Dynel Simeu. Is it just possible that one man, one loan player at Carlisle United, can restore the sense of fun to football on his Jack Jones?
He’s making a good go of it. Watch him scampering across the pitch, in his coat, to celebrate Carlisle’s equaliser at Tranmere.
See him leap atop Tobi Sho-Silva. See the 20-year-old be first and closest to United’s fans, gesturing jubilantly, looking very much like he’s having the time of his young life.
See the man doing what he’s doing and know it’s one thing in the game that isn’t practised, PR-coached, done with a frown or furrow.
See him mirroring the surging passion in some of those away sections where the Blue Army have marched under Paul Simpson of late.
Yep. This is what it should look like. This is what, as often as possible, the game should feel like: not spreadsheet-controlled, image-managed, analytically measured, pitched only for engagements and likes.
It’s off the cuff uproar, a one-person clamour. And it speaks to all of us.
Think, after all, of how you’d react if you were fortunate to score a last-minute goal for the Blues, or were next to the person responsible.
Wouldn’t be polite handshakes and we-go-again, would it? Some part of yourself would be cut completely loose.
So let’s say it’s highly and endearingly refreshing for this particular player, who has known the nurturing luxury of Premier League academies on most of his football road so far, to be living it up so much here in Cumbria.
Simeu, whilst improving considerably on the pitch, is also a photographer’s dream in these mad moments. When United score, or win, I doubt it takes Barbara Abbott and Richard Parkes, our fantastic freelancers, much time to be ready for the scenes about to follow.
Hence, there is now a growing gallery of Simeu celebrations, from the eyes-to-the-sky elation at Barrow to the boisterous coat-wearing hysterics at Tranmere, to the arm-pumping roar at Leyton Orient.
All in all, how can you not love the sight of it all, especially given the game today appears to have all the wealth it wants but all the sterility, too?
Simeu, speaking to the media recently, says he is attempting to be a “sponge” during his time at Brunton Park, taking in all he can.
Well, he’s also giving, too – giving something important back. When Simpson said this loan spell would be like a “university” to Simeu, he probably didn’t mean fresher’s week.
Yet there the man goes, out of his seat, dancing on the tables, showing us how much it means. Showing us how happy the ridiculous sport of football is making him.
One dares to wonder what will happen if Simeu himself puts the ball in the net to win a game for United before the end of this season. There is probably not a stadium in League Two that could enclose him.
If it’s at the Waterworks End at Brunton Park – no chance. He’ll be halfway across Stoney Holme before anyone can catch him. At the Warwick Road End, he’d probably shin up the stand, vault over the three blue triangles and land somewhere near the Beehive bar.
Away grounds? Ha, good luck with that. Harrogate’s EnviroVent Stadium is small enough for a wildly celebrating Simeu to clear with a few steps. Even the daunting slopes of Bradford’s Valley Parade would have a job containing him if he sticks home the winner on May 7.
Don’t know about you, but I reckon the sport needs a hefty dollop of this. It needs to take itself just a tad less earnestly and remember that, after all, it’s still a child’s game, still schoolyard fun, still something best enjoyed and suffered with maximum emotional engagement and, now and again, a little unscripted wildness.
Across football’s sometimes staid canvas, Simeu at Carlisle has thrown bucket after bucket of differently-coloured emulsion. More power to his flailing elbows, pumping legs and brilliant, beaming face.
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