Paolo di Canio was hired as a man of steel... if only the club had shown some mettle
Dan Jones
Published: 26 September 2013
Updated: 09:30, 26 September 2013
So I suppose now we know how fascism begins: they start by taking away the ketchup. I am talking, of course, about Paolo di Canio, sacked this week as head coach of Sunderland for a long list of offences, most of which can be filed under the sub-heading ‘Being Paolo di Canio’.
Under this sub-heading come specific misdemeanours, ranging from ‘not being sufficiently competent or experienced to manage a struggling Premier League side’ to ‘upsetting people by being an intolerant control freak’ and, fatally, ‘being generally unsympathetic to the emotional concerns of mediocre players earning salaries way beyond the merit of their talent’.
Having won only three of 13 games in charge of Sunderland and showing very little sign of improving the ratio, I suppose there was a case for replacing the Italian, as Sunderland’s owner Ellis Short did this week.
The problem is that Short appears to have whacked Di Canio not after a considered period of reflection or even perseverance but after a group of players mutinied, boo-hooing to the club’s chief executive about “brutal” and “vitriolic” criticism. I rather hope the club understand why there are not an awfully large number of excellent candidates lining up to take the job.
As you may recall, when Di Canio was appointed back in April there was the most godawful racket: a hysterical debate about whether “a fascist” should be in charge of an English football club, as though Di Canio was not just quite a severe man with some (private and/or disavowed) right-wing beliefs but a living expression of neo-fascist evil — Mussolini reincarnate, Uncle Jack from Breaking Bad, the very personification of the reason grandpa fought Hitler.
Of course, the point is Di Canio was hired specifically to stamp a bit of fascistic discipline on Sunderland. Some of the greatest managers in the history of football have been defined by their unpleasantly authoritarian approach to management: the ‘hairdryer’, let us say, is not the tool of the progressive liberal left.
Sunderland had decided that since the softly-softly approach of Martin O’Neill was about to catchee relegationy, it was time for something different. This was a shift in management styles, as a character from The Thick Of It once memorably said, “from touchy-feely to smashy-testes”.
And what the club desired, they got. Military discipline, atomic rollickings in public for underperforming players, strict and petty rules, a rigid hierarchy of precedence around the training ground.
It all seems to be summed up by Di Canio’s canteen rules: no coffee, no mobile phones, no Coca-Cola. Apparently, most galling to a group of well-paid athletes, the ketchup (typical sugar content 23 per cent, typical sodium content seven per cent) and mayonnaise (typical fat content 71 per cent) were taken away. In other words, this was six months in boot camp but not like when they go to Barbados on the X Factor.
It turns out that players today do not like being told what to do and told off in public when they don’t do it. At Sunderland they began very swiftly to bleat about the “sanctity of the dressing room” being violated by the televised tellings-off; then ran to the boss’s boss to demand that the nasty man was taken away.
What is wholly bemusing is that the players were given an audience. Chief executive Margaret Byrne and Short appear to have had an attack of the funk and sacked Di Canio for doing exactly what they had employed him to do in the first place. We can leap around and whistle ‘told you so’ as much as we like but it is no good for football when the monkey bites the organ grinder.
No one with an ounce of sense or pride can surely wish to touch the Sunderland job. The club have been through five managers in five years, with no apparent consistency in purpose or vision, and it is stocked with a group of hastily assembled and not enormously good players who have just been shown that they can effect regime change by yelping about their self-esteem.
On the other hand, I guess football is a business swelled by people with considerably less than an ounce of sense and an equal number who find that pride is easily swallowed in return for a nice, fat contract. I’m sure by the time you read this Sunderland will have appointed a new boss, who will be gone within 12 months.
Di Canio, meanwhile, stands alone and bewildered: the professional a******e sacked for being too a******e-ish. I mean, what’s a fella to do?