Football, as presented for public consumption by the TV media in the UK, is in love with its own past, when its present-day has never been a higher-quality offering.
This is why for Sky, football started in 1992 - that is, as far back as their archives coverage allows; and for the BBC, it starts in August 1964, when Match of the Day first aired, when Liverpool were reigning champions (for the first time in nearly 20 years) and when that city was viewed from the faraway London media bunker almost exclusively as the cradle of Beatlemania. Liverpool were to be unhorsed as English champions that season by Busby’s United v2.0, with all the sentimental power that that Old Testament narrative had over a public who’d never been able to watch v1.0 on the telly before the Munich air crash had scattered that young team’s potential. Little wonder that those first narratives were the ones with the deepest roots; likewise, as
@Lovebitesandeveryfing writes so eloquently on page 1200 of the United thread, Sky started its footy coverage at a time when both Sir Bacon-Face and the 1990s’ version of Busby Babes were coming good - which became the New Testament on which the present-day religion is founded. It’s a sorry tale.
Reasons for optimism though lie in the fact that people nowadays - especially young people, and people who don’t live in the UK - consume top-level English football increasingly through means the TV companies daren’t admit. Those people aren’t influenced by old-school analogue media banging on about the Theatre of Dreams or the Spirit of Shankly. They follow teams that are good NOW.
Reasons for pessimism - this being a Manchester City forum, after all - are the fear that we might actually BECOME the media darlings we complain about not being, coupled with the fear that collectively we’ll refuse to acknowledge that that is what’s happening even when it is.
Meantime, bring on Red Star and Nottingham Forest. What a time to be a Blue. When John Benson took over from John Bond in the dug-out the joke was that we were too broke to change the initials on the manager’s tracksuit. They’re not fucking laughing now.