Something very interesting about the current state of the national team and inflation prices for english player. Good read.
Ilori’s arrival is a sad sign of the times for English football
Rory Smith
June 17 2013 11:06AM
His name is not especially relevant. Nor is his position, or his cost, or his nationality, or the colour of his skin or who he plays for now or where he will be transferred in the future. It is not about him, or them. But it is useful, when discussing an abstract, to focus on something specific, and specifically real. The best way of understanding the forest is to look at a single, individual tree.
With that in mind, let us consider Tiago Ilori.
Tiago Ilori is a 20-year-old central defender currently employed by Sporting Clube do Portugal, the team generally, mistakenly known as Sporting Lisbon. He has made just a couple of dozen appearances for their first team, played a few times for their second team, and has won a handful of caps for some of Portugal’s age-group teams, too. Despite that comparative inexperience, at some point in the coming days and weeks – as long as Sporting prove amenable – Liverpool intend to pay somewhere between £3 million (the buyer’s estimate) and £8 million (the vendor’s) for his services.
There are a number of possible reactions to that sentence.
The first, for Liverpool fans, is excitement. Any new signing at any club engenders a feeling of tingling anticipation, a hope that, at last, that glaring weakness has been rectified or that underpowered front-line strengthened. That sentiment is heightened when the new arrival comes from foreign shores, and is extended yet further when he is shrouded in mystery.
There is a limit to how much you can expect from a player you have seen toiling in midfield for Sunderland or as West Brom’s second-choice left-back. Familiarity, in a sense, breeds contempt. You know, more or less, what they are capable of, what they will bring to your team. It is hard to get too excited.
The exotic import, one with an unfamiliar face and an unpronounceable name, though, is different. They bring with them untold promise, the sense of almost limitless possibility. Even if you have seen them play in Spain or Italy or Russia or whatever, you do not know quite how good they might turn out to be here. They cast a spell on our imaginations.
Look at Georgi Kinkladze, or Michu, or Hotshot Hamish: they were obscure when they first arrived on these shores, too. Maybe Ilori can be like that. Maybe he will be the rock on which a title-winning side is built. Maybe he is the new Beckenbauer. Maybe. Maybe.
From the outside, though, such heady optimism is likely to be altogether more baffling. Why are Liverpool spending all of this money on a player who, simply put, cannot possibly be ready for the first team? If Ilori was good enough to play in the Barclays Premier League, he would have managed more than 20 games in Portugal by the age of 20. Liverpool need to attend to their present before they start thinking about the future, surely?
This segues seamlessly into a third response: disappointment at the arrival of yet another foreigner in the Premier League, one more import whose presence will stymie the development and stifle the opportunities of a young English player. In a summer when England’s Under-21s have been so roundly humiliated in the European Championships, such a point of view feels in tune with the zeitgeist. English football is rotting at its core. Something must be done! Ban the foreigners! Revoke all passports! Close Dover! Leave the EU!
This call to arms, though, misses the point. England’s failure at international level does not coincide with the mass influx of foreign players into this country. Look at the 1970s, when two World Cups went by without the national side present at a time when English club football was at the strongest point in its history.
The presence of imports is not the cause of England’s lack of quality; it is a symptom of it. Liverpool want to pay somewhere in the region of £3 million to £8 million for an untested Portuguese centre back because they have adjudged him better than any English central defender in that price bracket.
That is not to say that there are no English defenders better than Ilori, but that those of similar ability would cost far more. Premier League sides look abroad for players because of gross inflation in the domestic market.
It is this which stops the best teams in the country stocking their squads with Englishmen: the greed of club owners right down the leagues in charging absurd premiums for home-grown talent. Why give a rival £15 million for a player when, for half that amount, you can get the same quality and not fill an opponent’s coffers? Until that pattern stops, until there is an element of self-policing, clubs will look abroad, where there is value to be had.
That is not the only structural problem in English football that must be addressed if the likes of Ilori – and all of the players he stands for, of whatever nationality – are to thrive.
The Premier League’s big beasts stockpile bright young players, whole squadrons of them, bought early and in bulk in the hope that one of them might prove a bargain. Some, the ones whose talent burns brightest, fulfil their potential. The vast majority, though, fall by the wayside. Partly, that is unavoidable: not everyone can make it, even when they have reached the rarefied heights of Chelsea’s or Tottenham’s reserve team. But the drop-off rate could be improved, vastly, by a change in the way we approach youth development.
Two years ago, Liverpool last signed another hugely promising central defender. Sebastian Coates arrived from Nacional in Uruguay for £7 million in August 2011, just weeks after being voted the best young player at the Copa America. He prompted all of the excitement and hope and expectation that Ilori has trailed in his wake, too.
Coates will leave Anfield this summer. Liverpool will not recoup £7 million on him, much less make the profit they would require to cover the costs of his wages for two years. Was he a bad signing? Was that young promise all an illusion? Did he just get lucky in the Copa America? Was he a myth?
No, of course not. Coates has talent, but like all talent, it needs to be nurtured. The best way to do that is to play. Coates did not. He sat on the bench for much of his first year, and often did not manage that in his second. Without action, without oxygen, he stagnated, and withered.
In Spain, he would certainly have played, even if it was just for the B side of Barcelona, Real Madrid, Sevilla or Valencia. In Germany, too, where Bayern Munich and Borussia Dortmund have B teams playing competitive football. In Italy, he might have been half-owned by Genoa – say – and half-owned by AC Milan. He would have played at Genoa while Milan waited to see if he grew into a player of sufficient quality to grace the San Siro. The shared ownership system means big clubs do not always have to pay a premium for talent, but ensures that young players can still play.
England has no such provision. Roberto Martínez, now the Everton manager, has long identified the hiatus in a player’s development between the ages of 18 and 22 as the point where English football struggles; teams can get prospects through their academies, but have no way of finessing them into the first team. They sit, and they wait. Some get a chance, but most disappear. Liverpool will have to hope Tiago Ilori does not just become another name, another lost hope.
Ilori’s arrival is a sad sign of the times for English football
Rory Smith
June 17 2013 11:06AM
His name is not especially relevant. Nor is his position, or his cost, or his nationality, or the colour of his skin or who he plays for now or where he will be transferred in the future. It is not about him, or them. But it is useful, when discussing an abstract, to focus on something specific, and specifically real. The best way of understanding the forest is to look at a single, individual tree.
With that in mind, let us consider Tiago Ilori.
Tiago Ilori is a 20-year-old central defender currently employed by Sporting Clube do Portugal, the team generally, mistakenly known as Sporting Lisbon. He has made just a couple of dozen appearances for their first team, played a few times for their second team, and has won a handful of caps for some of Portugal’s age-group teams, too. Despite that comparative inexperience, at some point in the coming days and weeks – as long as Sporting prove amenable – Liverpool intend to pay somewhere between £3 million (the buyer’s estimate) and £8 million (the vendor’s) for his services.
There are a number of possible reactions to that sentence.
The first, for Liverpool fans, is excitement. Any new signing at any club engenders a feeling of tingling anticipation, a hope that, at last, that glaring weakness has been rectified or that underpowered front-line strengthened. That sentiment is heightened when the new arrival comes from foreign shores, and is extended yet further when he is shrouded in mystery.
There is a limit to how much you can expect from a player you have seen toiling in midfield for Sunderland or as West Brom’s second-choice left-back. Familiarity, in a sense, breeds contempt. You know, more or less, what they are capable of, what they will bring to your team. It is hard to get too excited.
The exotic import, one with an unfamiliar face and an unpronounceable name, though, is different. They bring with them untold promise, the sense of almost limitless possibility. Even if you have seen them play in Spain or Italy or Russia or whatever, you do not know quite how good they might turn out to be here. They cast a spell on our imaginations.
Look at Georgi Kinkladze, or Michu, or Hotshot Hamish: they were obscure when they first arrived on these shores, too. Maybe Ilori can be like that. Maybe he will be the rock on which a title-winning side is built. Maybe he is the new Beckenbauer. Maybe. Maybe.
From the outside, though, such heady optimism is likely to be altogether more baffling. Why are Liverpool spending all of this money on a player who, simply put, cannot possibly be ready for the first team? If Ilori was good enough to play in the Barclays Premier League, he would have managed more than 20 games in Portugal by the age of 20. Liverpool need to attend to their present before they start thinking about the future, surely?
This segues seamlessly into a third response: disappointment at the arrival of yet another foreigner in the Premier League, one more import whose presence will stymie the development and stifle the opportunities of a young English player. In a summer when England’s Under-21s have been so roundly humiliated in the European Championships, such a point of view feels in tune with the zeitgeist. English football is rotting at its core. Something must be done! Ban the foreigners! Revoke all passports! Close Dover! Leave the EU!
This call to arms, though, misses the point. England’s failure at international level does not coincide with the mass influx of foreign players into this country. Look at the 1970s, when two World Cups went by without the national side present at a time when English club football was at the strongest point in its history.
The presence of imports is not the cause of England’s lack of quality; it is a symptom of it. Liverpool want to pay somewhere in the region of £3 million to £8 million for an untested Portuguese centre back because they have adjudged him better than any English central defender in that price bracket.
That is not to say that there are no English defenders better than Ilori, but that those of similar ability would cost far more. Premier League sides look abroad for players because of gross inflation in the domestic market.
It is this which stops the best teams in the country stocking their squads with Englishmen: the greed of club owners right down the leagues in charging absurd premiums for home-grown talent. Why give a rival £15 million for a player when, for half that amount, you can get the same quality and not fill an opponent’s coffers? Until that pattern stops, until there is an element of self-policing, clubs will look abroad, where there is value to be had.
That is not the only structural problem in English football that must be addressed if the likes of Ilori – and all of the players he stands for, of whatever nationality – are to thrive.
The Premier League’s big beasts stockpile bright young players, whole squadrons of them, bought early and in bulk in the hope that one of them might prove a bargain. Some, the ones whose talent burns brightest, fulfil their potential. The vast majority, though, fall by the wayside. Partly, that is unavoidable: not everyone can make it, even when they have reached the rarefied heights of Chelsea’s or Tottenham’s reserve team. But the drop-off rate could be improved, vastly, by a change in the way we approach youth development.
Two years ago, Liverpool last signed another hugely promising central defender. Sebastian Coates arrived from Nacional in Uruguay for £7 million in August 2011, just weeks after being voted the best young player at the Copa America. He prompted all of the excitement and hope and expectation that Ilori has trailed in his wake, too.
Coates will leave Anfield this summer. Liverpool will not recoup £7 million on him, much less make the profit they would require to cover the costs of his wages for two years. Was he a bad signing? Was that young promise all an illusion? Did he just get lucky in the Copa America? Was he a myth?
No, of course not. Coates has talent, but like all talent, it needs to be nurtured. The best way to do that is to play. Coates did not. He sat on the bench for much of his first year, and often did not manage that in his second. Without action, without oxygen, he stagnated, and withered.
In Spain, he would certainly have played, even if it was just for the B side of Barcelona, Real Madrid, Sevilla or Valencia. In Germany, too, where Bayern Munich and Borussia Dortmund have B teams playing competitive football. In Italy, he might have been half-owned by Genoa – say – and half-owned by AC Milan. He would have played at Genoa while Milan waited to see if he grew into a player of sufficient quality to grace the San Siro. The shared ownership system means big clubs do not always have to pay a premium for talent, but ensures that young players can still play.
England has no such provision. Roberto Martínez, now the Everton manager, has long identified the hiatus in a player’s development between the ages of 18 and 22 as the point where English football struggles; teams can get prospects through their academies, but have no way of finessing them into the first team. They sit, and they wait. Some get a chance, but most disappear. Liverpool will have to hope Tiago Ilori does not just become another name, another lost hope.