IT IS ONLY right, as we stand on the threshold of football’s big summer party, to pause and think of Michel Platini.
Under the terms of his ban from any football-related activities, the disgraced former Uefa president and instigator of the new, expanded 24-team format, will be allowed to attend Euro 2016 matches, but not in any official capacity.
It was meant to be his greatest triumph: he’d brought the tournament he’d won as a player in 1984 back to his home nation and shaped it anew. Now here he is, begging to be let in, the man who sent out the invites arguing with the bouncer at the door.
Platini’s expansionist idea was enthusiastically adopted back in 2008 by Europe’s squeezed middle. “That’s democracy,” said Platini savouring the political loyalty he’d secured in the face of criticism that Europe’s showpiece tournament was being watered down. Platini’s understanding of democracy did for him in the end; or at least the 2 million Swiss Francs paid to him from the Fifa coffers in 2011 by a re-election seeking Sepp Blatter did.
AP / Press Association Images
AP / Press Association Images / Press Association Images
So what has the Great Expander left us with? Critics fear that Euro 2016 will be a ponderous blimp of a tournament, belching out eight teams after two weeks of low-quality skirmishing. And the sleek perfection of the 16-team format has been lost with this messy, lop-sided third-place qualifier business.
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As well as its inelegant construction, there’s the dilution in quality. While the 16-team editions usually had at least one gatecrasher (Latvia in 2004, co-hosts Austria in 2008, Ireland, alas, in 2012), the general sense was of a thoroughly elite competition. You got your colour and novelty at the World Cup; the Euros were serious business. Timewasters need not apply.
But that sense of hard-edged competitiveness and a relative cultural homogeneity meant that, Denmark in 1992 aside, the Euros have lacked the heart and spectacle of the World Cup. The absence of South American and African influences in particular have made it feel – notwithstanding the quality of football – less like a celebration and more like a Davos summit. Even Greece’s victory in 2004, the great fairytale of European Championship history, was a triumph of the functional over the fantastical.
So it could well be that, by opening itself up to Europe’s plucky scrappers, the tournament will become a softer, warmer thing.
It certainly won’t be as ‘good’, based purely on the distribution of star quality across the 24 finalists. Reading through team profiles, it is striking how many nations fit the same description:
[INSERT COUNTRY HERE] have no star players, but are well organised under [INSERT GRIZZLED VETERAN COACH'S NAME HERE] and will be hoping a strong team spirit can take them [INSERT UNREALISTIC EXPECTATIONS HERE].“
Albania, Hungary, Iceland, Northern Ireland, Republic of Ireland, Romania, Slovakia, Turkey, Wales if Gareth Bale twangs a hamstring; all are more graft than glamour, all have cause to be thankful to Platini’s democratising spirit.
But while the prospect of watching all that honest endeavour might not seem appetising, these countries, or at least some of them, may be the stories that make Euro 2016. For five of them – Albania, Iceland, Northern Ireland, Slovakia and Wales – this will be a first European Championships, with the attendant excitement and giddiness that brings. Their squads and supporters represent fresh blood to a tournament too long like an exclusive gentleman’s club, the preserve of the well-bred and privileged.
Many of the lesser countries have pulled themselves up by the bootstraps impressively to take their place on the big stage. The story of Iceland’s football revolution – cavernous indoor facilities in every town, more qualified coaches than puffins – is the best of them all, a seemingly impossible feat for a country with a population of just over 300,000 souls perched in the north Atlantic.
Peter Dejong
Peter Dejong
Northern Ireland topped their group under the shrewd stewardship of Michael O’Neill, the extra spots in France a chink of light that his team sped improbably towards after 30 years in non-qualification darkness. Albania meanwhile have carefully plundered their ethnic diaspora, with eight foreign-born players in their squad, co-incidentally the same number as Ireland who, as we know, have been adept at that business for decades.
The prospect of Euro 2016 qualification gave hope to countries for whom international football campaigns traditionally represented a grim trudge towards failure. Having reached the finals, they now see the knockout stages within reach, with 16 of the 24 teams getting through. It’s possible that some will be inspired to push their luck even further.
While major tournaments are, on the face of it, defined by which heavyweight nation sits triumphantly on the throne at the end, in reality it is the strength of the supporting cast that makes them. This European Championship is bigger, broader and arguably better than ever. It’s the year of the little guy; the People’s Euros.
That’s democracy, as Platini, straining to see from his restricted view seat behind a pillar, would undoubtedly say.
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Greater depth of feeling will be the fruit of Platini's expanded tournament
IT IS ONLY right, as we stand on the threshold of football’s big summer party, to pause and think of Michel Platini.
Under the terms of his ban from any football-related activities, the disgraced former Uefa president and instigator of the new, expanded 24-team format, will be allowed to attend Euro 2016 matches, but not in any official capacity.
It was meant to be his greatest triumph: he’d brought the tournament he’d won as a player in 1984 back to his home nation and shaped it anew. Now here he is, begging to be let in, the man who sent out the invites arguing with the bouncer at the door.
Platini’s expansionist idea was enthusiastically adopted back in 2008 by Europe’s squeezed middle. “That’s democracy,” said Platini savouring the political loyalty he’d secured in the face of criticism that Europe’s showpiece tournament was being watered down. Platini’s understanding of democracy did for him in the end; or at least the 2 million Swiss Francs paid to him from the Fifa coffers in 2011 by a re-election seeking Sepp Blatter did.
So what has the Great Expander left us with? Critics fear that Euro 2016 will be a ponderous blimp of a tournament, belching out eight teams after two weeks of low-quality skirmishing. And the sleek perfection of the 16-team format has been lost with this messy, lop-sided third-place qualifier business.
As well as its inelegant construction, there’s the dilution in quality. While the 16-team editions usually had at least one gatecrasher (Latvia in 2004, co-hosts Austria in 2008, Ireland, alas, in 2012), the general sense was of a thoroughly elite competition. You got your colour and novelty at the World Cup; the Euros were serious business. Timewasters need not apply.
But that sense of hard-edged competitiveness and a relative cultural homogeneity meant that, Denmark in 1992 aside, the Euros have lacked the heart and spectacle of the World Cup. The absence of South American and African influences in particular have made it feel – notwithstanding the quality of football – less like a celebration and more like a Davos summit. Even Greece’s victory in 2004, the great fairytale of European Championship history, was a triumph of the functional over the fantastical.
So it could well be that, by opening itself up to Europe’s plucky scrappers, the tournament will become a softer, warmer thing.
It certainly won’t be as ‘good’, based purely on the distribution of star quality across the 24 finalists. Reading through team profiles, it is striking how many nations fit the same description:
Albania, Hungary, Iceland, Northern Ireland, Republic of Ireland, Romania, Slovakia, Turkey, Wales if Gareth Bale twangs a hamstring; all are more graft than glamour, all have cause to be thankful to Platini’s democratising spirit.
But while the prospect of watching all that honest endeavour might not seem appetising, these countries, or at least some of them, may be the stories that make Euro 2016. For five of them – Albania, Iceland, Northern Ireland, Slovakia and Wales – this will be a first European Championships, with the attendant excitement and giddiness that brings. Their squads and supporters represent fresh blood to a tournament too long like an exclusive gentleman’s club, the preserve of the well-bred and privileged.
Many of the lesser countries have pulled themselves up by the bootstraps impressively to take their place on the big stage. The story of Iceland’s football revolution – cavernous indoor facilities in every town, more qualified coaches than puffins – is the best of them all, a seemingly impossible feat for a country with a population of just over 300,000 souls perched in the north Atlantic.
Northern Ireland topped their group under the shrewd stewardship of Michael O’Neill, the extra spots in France a chink of light that his team sped improbably towards after 30 years in non-qualification darkness. Albania meanwhile have carefully plundered their ethnic diaspora, with eight foreign-born players in their squad, co-incidentally the same number as Ireland who, as we know, have been adept at that business for decades.
The prospect of Euro 2016 qualification gave hope to countries for whom international football campaigns traditionally represented a grim trudge towards failure. Having reached the finals, they now see the knockout stages within reach, with 16 of the 24 teams getting through. It’s possible that some will be inspired to push their luck even further.
While major tournaments are, on the face of it, defined by which heavyweight nation sits triumphantly on the throne at the end, in reality it is the strength of the supporting cast that makes them. This European Championship is bigger, broader and arguably better than ever. It’s the year of the little guy; the People’s Euros.
That’s democracy, as Platini, straining to see from his restricted view seat behind a pillar, would undoubtedly say.
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column Euro 2016 France Iceland Michel Platini