Up for the Cup? Not in Norwich's case...

Amidst this thoroughly dispiriting season for Norwich City, with the Canaries beginning to flirt with a hitherto unthinkable relegation battle, much if not all of the goodwill Delia Smith's board had earned from the fans over several years earlier this decade having been lost, Robert Earnshaw falling victim to a long-term injury, and Darren Huckerby now understandably feeling the need to voice his and other players' mounting concern over the chronic lack of leadership at the club, it could easily go unnoticed that this weekend, with the FA Cup fourth round now almost upon us, a real opportunity to at last give the supporters some reason to be cheerful is about to present itself. Rest assured, this blog will be devoting plenty of time to discussing the many current problems at the club over the weeks and months ahead - but today, this supporter wishes to take readers on a trip down memory lane, in order to ask the question: just what is it about Norwich City and Cup competitions?

I first started following Norwich in the late 1980s. Back then, of course, they were enjoying a hitherto unprecedented spell of success in the top flight: and Cup runs, if not quite the norm, tended to be enjoyed with considerable regularity. The club enjoyed one of its finest hours when lifting the Milk Cup at Wembley in 1985, and over a period of four seasons between 1989 and 1992, two FA Cup semi-finals and one quarter-final were reached too: indeed, incredible as it seems now, I can just about remember Bob Wilson, then presenting the BBC's Grandstand, recommending the Canaries as a decent bet to win the world's oldest cup competition as third round weekend arrived in 1991/2.

But on that thoroughly miserable Hillsborough day in April 1992 - when Norwich, with everything in their favour, and destiny apparently awaiting, turned in a performance of stunning incompetence before tens of thousands of their supporters in losing to a desperately moderate Sunderland - something fundamental seemed to change. Of course, the heady days of moving eight points clear at the top of the Premier League in Autumn 1992, and even more so of glory in Munich and Milan, were still ahead: but ever since John Byrne's early goal (offside, but it's a measure of the poverty of City's performance that hardly anyone bothered to utter a word of complaint) eliminated Dave Stringer's bedraggled lot, the Canaries have become a virtual caricature of themselves whenever involved in one of the two domestic knock-out tournaments.

The flip-side of being a club which, in theory at least, prizes attractive, entertaining football above all else, is to have a soft centre at times: but in Norwich's case, it's almost ridiculous how often this has proved the case since Hillsborough '92. Think the shambolic capitulation before a live BBC audience against Spurs the following year, or Manchester United's stunningly easy cruise at Carrow Road in 1994: after which, Ruel Fox was almost immediately sold to Newcastle, and the disintegration of the club - which had started when Mike Walker resigned a few weeks earlier - suddenly began to gather alarming degrees of momentum. Think too the 5-0 thrashing at Goodison in the 1995 fifth round, a display which confirmed the extent of the disaster which, having crept up almost unnoticed, was about to overwhelm John Deehan's men.

Indeed, whereas Cup competitions provide excitement, or at least some degree of relief, for supporters of so many other clubs, in Norwich's case they have provided not only constant disappointment, but at times too an eloquent commentary on the struggles which were either ongoing or about to follow. FA Cup humiliations at Grimsby and at home to Brentford, and perhaps worst of all, a League Cup exit against lowly Barnet, were horrendous reminders of how far the club had fallen since Jeremy Goss and Mark Bowen famously led them to victory in the Olympic Stadium.

And still more frustrating were the missed opportunities: an insipid League Cup exit at Bolton in 1995, with only a near-catatonic Swindon standing between them and a place in the final: a tie which could've provided a gateway to glory, but is instead remembered for Ian Culverhouse ridiculously being sold on the eve of the game by his utterly foolhardy manager, and Mark Robins absurdly being dropped: meaning the club went into its most important game of the season with - wait for it - Rob Newman as its chief marksman. And similarly, with doomy inevitability, last-minute defeat at Birmingham a year later, with only a shambolic Leeds to get past in order to return to the Wembley showpiece. Indeed, it's often forgotten that not only did Martin O'Neill's exit that year effectively end Norwich's hopes of returning to the top flight: it also cut a very promising cup run off in its tracks too. O'Neill went on to take Leicester to two triumphs in the competition: what might he have achieved had he been able to stay at Norwich?

At least, as the club's fortunes began to pick up under Nigel Worthington's stewardship, there was the excuse that Cup competitions needed to be sacrificed in order to maximise Norwich's chances of success over a gruelling 46-game campaign. But even then, it hardly justified a succession of miserable League Cup exits against Brentford (again), Northampton and most infamously, Cheltenham: a game when, with echoes of the mass downing of tools which heralded Worthington's long-overdue departure against Burnley earlier this season, the players, to the dismay of the poor unfortunates who paid to watch, did not try a leg. Now, soft-centred Norwich had been replaced by 'concentrate on the league and who cares about the Cups?' Norwich: but what about the supporters? Did their dreams not matter in any of this?

Sunderland, Bolton, Tranmere, Birmingham, Millwall: all these clubs have reached the final of a major domestic competition from a lower division within living memory. Many more have at least got to a semi-final: Wycombe (twice), Chesterfield and Stockport, indeed, have done so while residing in one of the bottom two divisions. A simple browse through the current inhabitants of the Premiership and Championship reveals desperately few without so much as a last four place to their name over the past fifteen years: Norwich are not only one of them, but in that time have been knocked out by a lower division side on no fewer than ten occasions. And not once - not a single time - have the Canaries recorded an upset of their own: nine times they have had the chance, and on each occasion they failed, with only the draw forced with Chelsea in 2002 standing out as some sort of tangible achievement.

It is, by anyone's definition, an absolutely shameful record, and a slap in the face to supporters who, surely, have a right to expect some sort of Cup run from their favourites at least every now and then. Even when City at last got back to the fifth round in 2003, the feeling was one of deep frustration - the display in defeat at Southampton was creditable enough, but when you consider that Saints had not one Premiership side to face en route to the final: it could only be marked down as yet another priceless opportunity squandered.

All season long, we have been told how much better the team should be doing: all season long, it has flattered miserably to deceive. Well, now the excuses stop: for a trip to Blackpool, however awkward, simply must be successfully overcome on Saturday. Looking at the remainder of the draw, there is, somewhat unusually, a fair chance of the Canaries continuing to avoid top flight opposition should they reach the last sixteen - and there is still the nagging sense that, even without Earnshaw, Norwich's first choice XI has enough about them to worry and even beat most Championship sides and perhaps even the odd struggling Premiership team on their day. If the season isn't to descend into total despair, City have one final chance to show their worth: the law of averages suggests they're many years past the point of being due some success in this most venerable of competitions, and they owe it to the fans - indeed, to themselves - to deliver.

Canaries drift on: but to where?

The day after it was announced that, from next season, even the bottom placed finisher will receive almost £27m of Premiership prize money as a result of a yet more lucrative global television rights deal, it is surely all the more necessary to remind ourselves of what life continues to be like for the clubs struggling desperately to return to the top flight. Such are the realities of the English game nowadays, when a side suffers relegation, it is imperative it bounces straight back at the first attempt: for the repercussions of failure are invariably harsh and long lasting. Manchester City, Sheffield Wednesday, Nottingham Forest and Queens Park Rangers all either dropped into the third tier or - in the case of the twice former European champions - are still scrambling to climb back out of it, Leeds United look set to emulate them in this unhappy fate, while others such as Coventry City and Derby County have suffered years of interminable toil as they battle to recapture former glories.

Norwich City, too, fell into a six-year malaise of mid-table monotony or worse after falling from the top tier at arguably the worst possible time: 1995, just when English football's modern day economic boom was beginning to gather pace. And sadly, after the Canaries' brief resurgence under Nigel Worthington, history would appear to be repeating itself - with Norwich's spineless second half collapse against Plymouth Argyle last Saturday leaving the side with a pathetic recent record of nine points from the last 33, and beginning to peer anxiously over their shoulders towards the drop zone.

Following Worthington's ludicrously belated departure at the end of September, few City supporters doubted the difficulty of the task facing new manager, Peter Grant: with precious little available to spend, and the club's parachute payments about to run out, it was up to him to make the most of what he had while gradually beginning to build his own team. To this end, striker Chris Brown and midfielder Luke Chadwick have both recently been unveiled, and goalkeeper David Marshall's on-loan capture from Celtic was confirmed only yesterday; with Robert Earnshaw and Youssef Safri likely to depart Carrow Road in the summer, along, surely, with a number of others too.

But for all Chadwick and Brown certainly have genuine talent, and for all Marshall's temporary recruitment will surely help shore up a defence behind whom Paul Gallacher has often looked uncertain for much of the season to date, in many ways, the names of the players brought in are simply a reminder of how far the club has fallen over recent years. To be sure, it is a far cry from when the purchases of Adam Drury, Gary Holt, Mark Rivers and Marc Libbra represented a clear change of strategy and provided the impetus for the club's revival to at last begin in 2001; and even further from when the loan acquisitions of Darren Huckerby, Peter Crouch and Kevin Harper, and especially the permanent purchases of Huckerby, Leon McKenzie and Matthias Svensson took the Canaries over the top and bounding joyfully back into the promised land in 2003/4.

The argument is often made that, however dreadfully disappointing the past two seasons have been, the club is in a far better overall state than when Worthington took over from the hapless Bryan Hamilton a little over six years ago. Take this rather curious recent piece by Mick Dennis: never mind the football, it seems to be saying, feel the quality of the new Jarrold Stand, hotel, restaurant and friendly ticket office staff! But the last time your correspondent glanced at the table, Norwich had fallen three points behind Crystal Palace, the very club Dennis appeared to gazing down loftily upon; and of course, have lost both games against a desperately average Eagles side this season too.

Moreover, while it must be acknowledged that Worthington was charged with clearing out a squad bloated by the acquisitions of some of the most preposterous figures ever to wear the Canaries' colours (step forward Fernando Derveld, Raymond De Waard and Steve Walsh), the club's current squad is not only desperately thin, but alarmingly lacking in quality too. At the back, while the improvement of Jurgen Colin has been one of the season's few pleasant surprises, Drury - once one of the most promising left backs in England, and an integral part of City's success during Worthington's first three full campaigns in charge - has continued a decline which set in during the sojourn in the top flight two years ago, and is plainly struggling for confidence; Gary Doherty gives his all, but still fails to convince; and time has sadly but inevitably caught up with Craig Fleming, who nevertheless must be lauded for his magnificent service for the club over the past decade.

In the middle, Dickson Etuhu shows fitful inspiration, but fails to even approach the consistency a player of his potential influence ought to be capable of, Andy Hughes is wholehearted, but often utterly out of his depth, Carl Robinson continues to be one of the most infuriatingly unreliable players this fan has witnessed, while even Huckerby flits in and out of games, and carries nowhere near the authority with which he bent this division to his will three seasons ago. If it weren't for the marvellous Indian summer being enjoyed by Dion Dublin, and especially the goals of Earnshaw - astonishingly still the Championship's leading scorer in a team which has sunk to 17th place in the table - one wonders where Norwich would find themselves; and with it confirmed only this morning that Earnshaw is expected to be out for several months with a serious groin injury, we are about to find out too.

Does any of the above smack of a club in a completely transformed position compared with the days immediately following Hamilton's ignominious period in charge? Does its most recent set of accounts, the announcement of which was accompanied by the stark warning that, "Failure to win promotion at the end of 2007 will reduce our income by a minimum of £7m following the loss of the Premier League parachute payments. While the club remains in the Championship it will be necessary to balance the cashflow and generate surplus funds for future player acquisitions by selling assets" suggest anything other than a grim future ahead? It must be concluded, surely, that it does not.

Grant, too, is painfully aware of the lack of competition within his squad: as his furious comments following Saturday's miserable defeat amply demonstrated. Doubtless, further new arrivals can be anticipated before the transfer window slams shut at the end of the month: though whether they are of the quality or potential to help propel City back up the league, and provide real hope for the immense challenges which lie ahead, is of course the real question. Moreover, while it would be outrageously harsh to hold the manager responsible for a desperately weak squad inherited through no fault of his own, and created both by the board and his predecessor, after a relatively encouraging start to his spell in the hotseat, it has to be acknowledged that he has failed to convince since: the quality of football has been dreadfully poor at times, the team has often played with little sense of structure, or clearly defined roles, and he has continued to straddle a dangerously fine line between the honesty and directness which initially proved such a refreshing change from the uninspiring dirges offered by Worthington, and simply undermining and alienating a playing staff short not just on numbers, quality or form, but above all confidence as well.

In a nutshell, a manager can only deliver the sort of stinging public broadsides at his players which have already become the pugnacious Scot's trademark if he can be confident of taking his squad with him. Throughout his career, for instance, Martin O'Neill has tended to mix occasional strong criticism of players when clearly warranted with a staunch defence of their performances to the press on many other occasions; but in Grant's case, all too often he seems unable to control his desire to vent his spleen following City's latest disappointment. Describing his players as "very, very weak", and guilty of "passing the buck to everyone else" is a dangerous game to play: partly because it may only be a matter of time before certain amongst his team might begin to ask themselves whether he is failing to take ultimate responsibility as their boss; still more because, as Drury's utterly deflated words following Saturday's debacle bear eloquent witness to, this is a team now woefully lacking in belief or inspiration. If verbal kicks up the proverbial have failed to work so far, what makes Grant so confident that they will succeed now?

Norwich now face four critical league matches which will determine whether they move back into the uninspiring, but at least comfortable waters of mid-table, or begin to be dragged into a relegation battle which surely none of even the most pessimistic of observers deemed to be possible before a ball was kicked back in August. On current form, and even against opponents who have drifted down the league after a remarkable start, it is difficult to see them taking much from this weekend's awkward trip to Turf Moor; and the home match with Wolves, while certainly winnable, doesn't offer much in the way of comfort either. In the potentially disastrous absence of Earnshaw, it are the subsequent two fixtures against Leeds and away to Luton which really stand out: both offer the opportunity to move clear of danger, but equally, one point or fewer from these games could mean big, big trouble ahead.

In spite of all that has been written in this piece, Canaries fans can at least take solace from the lesson drawn from their side's continual toil of the late-1990s and around the turn of the century: namely, that it is simply staggering just how poor a team needs to be, or how shambolic a club's off-field affairs need to become, for a club such as Norwich to be relegated from this league. And however dispiriting this season has undoubtedly become, and even if their top scorer does not kick another ball in anger over the remainder of the campaign, it must be acknowledged that, as yet, Norwich do not conform to the requirements of either category. This observer does ultimately expect the team to stay up: indeed, there are at least six clubs in the division which I still cannot foresee City finishing below. That said, there must be a very real fear that, in the inevitable absence of key players following the cost cutting which is bound to occur in the summer, things could easily get considerably worse: and in any case, the real issue here is just how a club which ran out at Craven Cottage just twenty months ago with its Premiership survival in its own hands found itself in such a position in the first place. And for that, the board are very much culpable.

Nobody doubts how difficult it is for clubs such as Norwich to compete effectively in an era when the gap between the top flight and the rest becomes dramatically wider year-on-year; nor can anybody question either the commitment or good intentions of those charged with leading them to success. But the Canaries utterly failed to make the most of a wonderful opportunity which presented itself to first survive and then begin to establish themselves back in the big time; and worse, at precisely the point when it literally could not afford to take its collective eye off the ball, it did exactly this, with bells on.

This is a club which, in spite of everything, astonishingly continues to attract the third highest average attendances in the entire league: the writer hopes it won't be considered an abandonment of his duty of objectivity to suggest, in the strongest possible terms, that such remarkable loyalty deserves far, far better. But sadly, thanks to the mistakes and inertia of those in charge over the last two years or so, it is increasingly difficult to envisage it being tangibly rewarded, in the foreseeable future at least: indeed, the consequences of the board's collective paralysis are, all too clearly, already being demonstrated.

Mourinho: In defence of the Special One

Few footballing figures of recent times have so polarised the opinions of fans and media alike as Jose Mourinho. At his very first press conference after being unveiled as Chelsea's new manager in June 2004, when referring to himself as a 'special one' and remarking that "we have top players and, sorry if I'm arrogant, we have a top manager", it was clear something truly different had arrived in English football: and as his team proceeded to take the Premiership by storm, smashing the Manchester United/Arsenal duopoly which had held sway for much of the previous decade, the fascination of many observers continued to lie not so much in his utterly dominant side, as in Mourinho himself. Many accomplished managers have preferred to allow their players to hog the limelight, but not the extraordinary Portugese: whether perched by the touchline in a particularly sharp suit, or indulging in psychological mind games with rival managers, Mourinho represented his own personal revolution. Thanks to him, football management was now suddenly as glamorous and sexy as being a top player: indeed, to adopt a phrase once employed regarding Bill Clinton, men wanted to be him, while women wanted to be with him.

Of course, his apparent arrogance (though in reality, it has rarely been anything more than immense self-confidence) would have seen him come a spectacular cropper had his team not delivered as swiftly as it did: not that there was ever much danger of that under such a shrewd operator. Mourinho landed the Chelsea job on the back of his astonishing Champions League triumph with Porto, who remain the only club from outside Europe's true elite to have taken the crown since the competition's expansion at the turn of the decade: and the methods he had used to achieve such success in Portugal were quickly brought to bear at Stamford Bridge.

Above all, he demanded relentless hard work and an 'all for one' attitude from his players, with anyone not prepared to toe the line (such as Hernan Crespo or Adrian Mutu) quickly shown the exit door. Blessed with an unprecedented degree of spending power thanks to owner Roman Abramovich's largesse, the manager was nothing if not mindful of what had occurred over the preceding decade at Internazionale, and was beginning to happen at Real Madrid too: with expensively-assembled star players falling out with their coach and indeed themselves, and forming destructive, ego-ridden cliques which had a ruinous impact on morale and team spirit. Given the extraordinary levels of remuneration, to say nothing of the lavish lifestyles enjoyed by today's top players, it has arguably never been more difficult for a manager of an elite club to motivate his team in order to win matches and trophies: and moreover, with his enormous budget came a very high level of expectation from his board too: nothing less than the Blues' first Championship in fifty years, and in time, the European Cup as well, would suffice.

Mourinho, in other words, may have faced very different demands from those occupying the attention of the vast majority of his fellow managers throughout England's four divisions: but in their own way, these were just as difficult and challenging. Particularly astute was his desire to maintain a relatively shallow squad, with just two top players competing for each position: again, a strategy followed in order to prevent the kind of trouble which bloated, bickering units had created in Milan and Madrid, and had led to years of underachievement at Barcelona prior to Frank Rijkaard's appointment there as coach. He also adopted a relatively simple playing system of 4-5-1/4-3-3 (albeit one he could swiftly change during a match should circumstances demand it), which was at its most effective when Arjen Robben and Damien Duff provided speed and width from the flanks: and ultimately, this system swept all before it, was emulated by rival managers across the Premiership, and provided a secure structure from which Chelsea cantered to two successive titles.

Of course, once it became clear that the Blues' pre-eminence was likely to last, and they were no longer perceived merely as a 'breath of fresh air', public attitudes to the coach quickly began to change. Now, his frequently provocative comments - almost always made in the name of getting under the skin of rival managers and especially of deflecting pressure away from his players and onto him - began to infuriate, rather than amuse: and certainly, it must be acknowledged that he hardly helped himself at times. In accusing referee Anders Frisk of colluding with Rijkaard during half-time of the first leg of the tempestuous Champions League tie against Barce in 2005, yelling obscenities at Liverpool players during the Carling Cup Final the following month, droning on endlessly about how the same opponents' winner in that season's European Cup semi-final was 'not a goal' (always while neglecting to mention that had it been disallowed, Chelsea would have been reduced to ten men with almost the entirety of the second leg still to play, not to mention the highly dubious legality of John Terry's decisive goal against the Catalan giants two rounds earlier), and arguably worst of all, making disgraceful insinuations regarding Reading's Stephen Hunt's entirely accidental challenge on Petr Cech earlier this season (not to mention utterly unsubstantiated allegations about the quality and speed of the Berkshire club's medical response), Mourinho has all too often completely crossed the line: and appeared to many observers as though he wanted to win at all costs, regardless of who was hurt or trampled upon in the process.

Equally though, it is difficult to see how, in the case of such an inimitable, complex character, we could get one without getting the other: with Mourinho, it is surely a question of accepting the good along with the bad. For as well as the deeply unsavoury behaviour outlined above, the manager has often demonstrated both humour and a highly perceptive intelligence during interviews and when holding forth at press conferences: a stark contrast from the all-too-predictable platitudes invariably offered by his colleagues. And away from the pressures of football, he is actually a thoroughly decent man, who has done a lot of unreported work for charity, and has often credited his happy family life for providing the grounding he - indeed, we all - need(s) in order to succeed.

In essence, the key to understanding Mourinho is to see that, in his view, management is all a game: and while he is often guilty of playing that game too hard, there is no question that he does it extremely well. Moreover, this writer will be arguing later in the year that, if England are to stand a chance of at last winning a major international competition, its footballing culture needs profoundly to change. The Chelsea manager's emphasis on caution, and especially the theatrical antics of players like Robben and Didier Drogba, have often exasperated; but arguably, until the English club game fully embraces that which has been pursued for decades both on the continent and in South America, the national team will surely continue to come up short: whether in being wound up by macchiavellian Portugese or Argentine opponents, or in its tactical and technical deficiencies being exposed by Brazilians or Italians. Mourinho is simply a product of his footballing culture: and given it is one which has provided arguably the world's best manager, not to mention a national team which has eliminated England from both the last two major tournaments, it is a bit rich to start lecturing others on the virtues of 'fair play'.

In the opinion of this correspondent, it is necessary to outline the above in such detail because, in football just as in life, we often don't realise what we have until it is gone. And, as is increasingly clear both from reports in the press over recent weeks, not to mention his alarmingly pale, drawn appearance, not only does the Chelsea board plainly not realise what it has, but Mourinho will indeed soon be gone: if not within the next few weeks, then certainly come the summer. Almost from the outset of his third, and far and away most troubled season in charge, there has been the sense that something was different: not merely in the occasional vulnerability of his team, but in the mounting perception that he was being increasingly undermined from above. Abramovich craves Champions League success above all else; and although the coach's desire for an efficient playing system, and to avoid recruiting the kind of star players who could imperil the squad's morale, had been entirely vindicated domestically, there was a clear sense that Chelsea plainly lacked something extra when eliminated by Barce in last season's competition.

Moreover, both Abramovich and chief executive Peter Kenyon have their sights set ultimately on hegemony within the global footballing marketplace: and Chelsea's style, which while effective, can be painful to watch at times, paled in comparison with international competitors such as Barcelona or Manchester United. So last summer, the owner began to enforce an apparent change of strategy which, however well-intentioned it may have been, bore worrying overtones to that which turned Real Madrid into a laughing stock under Florentino Perez' chronically misguided command. Both Michael Ballack and Andriy Shevchenko were acquired, the latter plainly thanks in no small part to his wife's close relationship with Abramovich's wife: but it seems doubtful in the extreme whether Mourinho was genuinely happy about it. Moreover, control over Chelsea's transfer policy gradually started to slip away from the manager, and towards Frank Arnesen, the club's Sporting Director: almost imperceptibly, individuals who were critical to the club's continued upward mobility were now pulling in different directions.

Both Ballack and Shevchenko have, so far at least, proved extremely expensive flops; but in order to incorporate them, Mourinho was forced to abandon not only his preferred 4-5-1, but also his profound belief that the only star should be the team itself. Sven-Goran Eriksson's time in charge of England was undone by his unfathomable, self-defeating desire to pick the best individuals, rather than the best team: now Mourinho appeared to be doing the same, although whether it was his idea in the first place is the real question here. Indeed, the rather curious 4-1-3-2 which was often deployed as a result (as opposed to a simple 4-4-2, which would at least have continued to place an emphasis on width) seemed to this observer to be a calculated attempt by the manager to draw attention to the fact that this system wasn't what he wanted: others had forced it upon him.

And while Mourinho has continued to express public support for the still under-performing Ballack, he has clearly come to view Shevchenko as both appallingly lazy, and a drain on team morale. Hence his desire for a new striker to be signed during the transfer window: which, astonishingly, his board rebuffed. According to reports from a variety of this weekend's newspapers, proposals to either recruit Tottenham's Jermain Defoe in a swap deal with Shaun Wright-Phillips, or merely loan Milan Baros from Aston Villa, were blocked by a group of directors infuriated that the club had fallen behind Manchester United in this season's title race, and who instead instructed the manager to play Shevchenko in a 'proper manner'. To make matters worse, in order to help the misfiring Ukrainian, the board proposed that Mourinho's assistant, Steve Clarke (not only a highly trusted and loyal deputy, but a favourite of the fans thanks to his long, dedicated service as a player) be dismissed, with a Russian-speaking Israeli coach (presumably Avraham Grant, currently working at Portsmouth) appointed in his place.

Hardly surprisingly, an infuriated Mourinho baulked at such a suggestion: if Clarke was to go, he would do so too. He was also disappointed in his entirely correct demands for central defensive cover to be brought in for his injured captain, Terry. Deals for Micah Richards, Oguchi Onweyu and Jorge Andrade were all knocked back: and only the Brazilian international, Alex, was offered instead. But this was because Alex was a favourite of Arnesen's: he has never been rated by Mourinho, and having been burned already by Shevchenko's acquisition, he was not about to be so again.

What is astonishing about all this is the Chelsea board's apparent belief that they somehow know better than their manager. Mourinho would hardly be likely to offer Abramovich business advice; yet his directors still seem prepared to dictate to a coach who has won four consecutive championships, the European Cup, the UEFA Cup, and has not lost a league match at home in well over four years. Kenyon, who recently travelled to China in order to launch the club's first website in Mandarin, has Mourinho to thank for the international recognition which the club now enjoys: to lose him would all too easily begin to threaten the project which both Abramovich and the chief executive have prioritised: namely, to turn Chelsea into the world's leading club.

Many reading this will doubtless wonder what all the fuss is about. Surely, a man who has been blessed up to now with a budget which dwarfs those of his rivals, has simply been told that it is not a bottomless pit, and is merely now subject to the same restraints with which all other managers in England have to work under? But no club can possibly succeed on the pitch amid a climate of turmoil and broken relationships off it; and no manager, whoever he might be, can work effectively when his decisions are continually being undermined.

Reports over the New Year suggested that Mourinho was given a severe boardroom dressing down simply for the crime of presiding over his first indifferent spell of results during his time at the helm: but however much money it might spend, the reality is that no club in one of Europe's most competitive leagues can possibly win the title ad infinitum. Motivation and form levels inevitably dip, rivals catch up and enjoy periods of brilliant form themselves, and injuries to key players occur too.

United's rampaging domestic form thus far this season has been close to revelatory: yet just as an injury to Roy Keane midway through 1997/8 proved pivotal in Arsenal having the chance to wrest the Premiership crown from Old Trafford, so arguably the single most important moment of the entire campaign to date was Cech's injury at Reading. At least Mourinho had an accomplished reserve in Carlo Cudicini, but he immediately became a victim too: and how can any manager possibly plan for having both his main two goalkeepers forced out of action? If the third choice 'keeper was genuinely top class, he'd already be playing for another club in the first place: and all the manager could do was entrust his faith in Henrique Hilario, who while certainly giving his all, has proved out of his depth, and plainly affected the confidence of the defenders in front of him too.

That Mourinho can actually be blamed by his board for an entirely unforeseeable chain of events - one which, lest we forget, has also seen injuries to Terry and Joe Cole - takes one's breath away. In reality, it is remarkable that his side has continued to pick up as many points as it has: with Drogba's irresistible form as strong a testament of his manager's excellent coaching as the progress of players such as Terry, Cole, Robben, Cech and Frank Lampard has been in preceding seasons. It should also be remembered that the squad's morale has been undermined by a decision taken, at least in part, from outside Mourinho's sphere of influence: and with Shevchenko at last dropped yesterday in a direct challenge to the board, the result was a 4-0 victory over an admittedly weak Wigan side, and the Blues' best performance in many weeks.

Reports this morning suggest Mourinho's brilliant attempt to emulate Claudio Ranieri and win the sympathy vote of both his fans and the public at large have won the day: that Abramovich has been faced down, and the manager will be allowed to bring in a central defender at least, and perhaps a striker too. It would also be entirely in keeping with his career thus far if the manager - who thrives upon creating siege mentalities in much the same way as Sir Alex Ferguson has continually done both at United and Aberdeen - is now able to galvanise his squad so effectively that they both hunt down Ferguson's team in the league, and deliver Abramovich's longed for Champions League triumph too: indeed, Mourinho is clearly motivated above all by the prospect of lifting the European Cup with clubs from Portugal, England, Italy and Spain, before ending his career by leading his country to its first world title.

Nevertheless, it is now impossible to envisage him remaining at Stamford Bridge beyond the season's end; and as the Chelsea board may well discover, there is no guarantee at all that whoever succeeds him will enjoy anything like the same levels of success. Indeed, there is a growing contradiction between their goal of transforming the Blues into the biggest club in the world with a desire to cut costs: given the historical and commercial advantages which clubs such as Real Madrid, Barcelona and Manchester United will inevitably continue to enjoy, how can the former possibly be achieved if the latter is put into practice too? And in any case, it is arguably Abramovich and Kenyon's obsession with marketing the club more effectively - and hence, in signing internationally-renowned players such as Shevchenko and Ballack - which created all this in the first place.

Whether he moves to Real or Inter, Mourinho will doubtless continue to prosper: he is simply too good a manager not to. But in his absence, Chelsea supporters will be left with the worrying realisation that Abramovich's ultimate goal is bound to be thwarted if a new strategy of promoting players from within is embarked upon. And if the owner realises he cannot achieve what he above all desires, what then? That he has already been prepared to undermine such a brilliant manager is alarming enough: unless he learns from his mistakes, and leaves the running of the team to its coach, the club could quite easily begin to encounter difficulties which would make its recent handful of disappointing results look like what a more sensible board should have always regarded them as in the first place: a picnic. If Abramovich genuinely believes that another manager can be expected to operate under such pressure, while still being expected to deliver championship after championship, one thing is certain: he will be in for a very rude shock.

Exit Le Guen, re-enter Smith - but who's REALLY to blame for the turmoil at Ibrox?

When, in March of last year, Rangers confirmed that they had recruited Paul Le Guen to replace Alex McLeish as manager at the season's end, it seemed a genuine coup. Le Guen's capture of three successive French titles during his time at Lyon had made him a much sought-after man, who could, it was thought, take his pick from many of Europe's top clubs. That he ultimately chose Rangers seemed an exciting confirmation of Ibrox chairman Sir David Murray's ambition: here, surely, was the man to restore the Glasgow giants to their once unquestioned pre-eminence within the Scottish game, and make long-overdue inroads in continental combat too.

This observer, certainly, assumed the highly-regarded Frenchman would, given time, gradually turn the Gers' flagging fortunes around. Yet, as so many Old Firm managers have discovered in the past, time is a rare commodity where either Rangers or Celtic are concerned. John Barnes actually made the best start in statistical terms of any Parkhead boss in history: but as the Bhoys' great rivals disappeared into the distance early in the New Year, it was his unhappy fate to discover how quickly boardroom and fan support can turn into opprobrium - with the infamous Scottish Cup elimination by Inverness Caledonian Thistle proving the straw which broke the camel's back. Le Guen did not even last as long as his club's entry into the Cup: exiting by mutual consent last week, with Murray's lack of backing for the manager's stance in his much-publicised standoff with captain Barry Ferguson apparently proving decisive.

Given all that has been written, not least on this very blog, about the ongoing culture clash at Hearts under Vladimir Romanov, one is immediately drawn to the stark contrast between Murray's refusal to accept the ostracisation of Ferguson and the Jambos' decision to strip Steven Pressley of the club captaincy and release him. The Rangers chairman plainly felt extremely uncomfortable about publicly humiliating a highly popular, talismanic player, whereas Romanov's message was that no individual, however popular, however much service he might have given, was to be considered indispensable: especially not if he was thought to be an obstruction to the changes which the Tynecastle supremo wishes to bring forth. And it must be acknowledged that, however controversial Pressley's parting of the ways with the Edinburgh club was, and however angry many Hearts supporters were at the time, events since have, so far at least, largely vindicated the club's decision: with a hitherto troubled season at last beginning to flatline, the squad seeming more at ease with itself than in many months, and ten points from a possible twelve having been accrued, not to mention a smooth passage past Stranraer as the defence of the Scottish Cup began on Saturday.

Yet one also cannot help but wonder whether the decision to dispense with Le Guen's services hadn't already been taken before Ferguson was apparently stripped of the armband. Certainly, reports confidently (and, as will be confirmed within the next 48 hours, correctly) predicting Walter Smith's return to Ibrox appeared within hours of the Frenchman's departure: indeed, rumours had been circulating precisely to that effect during the previous week. Smith was a remarkably short-priced favourite for the job with the bookmakers as soon as Le Guen's exit was announced: and the almost immediate signing of Andy Webster - never someone who particularly interested Le Guen - would surely not have been made without the consent of any new manager. The evidence, in other words, strongly suggests that Le Guen's battle of wills with his captain was not so much an attempt to at last instill his ideas and values upon the club, as merely the final, valedictory throw of the dice of a man who already knew his time was up.

Moreover, as a number of reports confirmed in the broadsheet press over the weekend, Le Guen had in fact been struggling to overcome the resistance to his methods of players like Ferguson and Kris Boyd ever since his arrival: indeed, just as the Hearts dressing-room had developed into a number of debilitating cliques - one featuring Lithuanian players, another, senior Scottish professionals - so the Ibrox squad had rapidly polarised into one pitting Scottish players against Le Guen's mainly continental signings such as Filip Sebo, Karl Svensson and Lionel Letizi. Le Guen wanted a vastly more rigorous training regime, and the end to what he clearly perceived to be a drinking culture at the club: but the likes of Ferguson and Boyd plainly felt differently. Of course, had the Frenchman delivered rapid results on the pitch, he would have had a far better chance of taking the squad with him: but when these failed to materialise, the relationship between him and a number of players became ever more strained.

It is important to underscore here just what a massively difficult task Le Guen undertook when agreeing to become McLeish's successor: for the Rangers of 2007 are anything but the often hugely impressive side of the 1990s. This is a club which at different times in the not-too-distant past boasted individuals such as Paul Gascoigne, Brian Laudrup, Ally McCoist, Andy Goram, Ian Durrant, Terry Butcher and Trevor Steven: yet as it subsided to a miserable third-place finish last season, had suddenly become reliant on the likes of Thomas Buffel, Marvin Andrews and Charlie Adam. How had such a state of affairs come to pass?

The answer lies partly in the lack of resources - and especially of television revenue - which continues to undermine all Scottish clubs; but more in a catastrophic period of overstretch embarked upon by Murray and Dick Advocaat in the late 1990s and early this decade. Advocaat joined Rangers at a time when the breakaway Scottish Premier League had just been formed, complete with a four-year television deal with SKY, football as a whole continued to enjoy a boom which had begun in the aftermath of Italia 90, and many clubs believed the future lay in selling their own rights to telecommunications companies. Cable organisation NTL became the sponsors of both Celtic and Rangers, and the Scottish Media Group made an £8m investment (over half of which was made up of convertible loan stock) in Hearts.

Against this backdrop, Murray believed the time was right to attempt to gatecrash Europe's true elite: but in the continued absence of anything like the revenue enjoyed by clubs in England, Spain, Italy or Germany, there was never the remotest chance that his plans could succeed. At Hearts, chief executive Chris Robinson absurdly believed a mere £8m could bridge the yawning chasm to the Old Firm, even when a Champions League qualification berth wasn't even available yet to the side finishing 2nd. With Celtic and especially Rangers spending far more, third place, and with it a probable early UEFA Cup exit (both of which would have been perfectly attainable on a far lower wage bill), remained the limit of what Hearts could realistically hope to achieve: but by the time this was realised, SMG had entirely predictably decided not to convert their loan, which quickly became a monumental, near-fatal albatross around the club's neck.

And similarly, Rangers - while already Scotland's dominant club - faced an unbridgeable gap to those clubs enjoying bountiful domestic and Champions League riches year-in, year-out. An excellent Gers side featuring players such as Stefan Klos, Jorg Albertz, Andrei Kanchelskis and Rod Wallace swept all before it in the SPL, and gave a good account of itself in Europe too: but there it faced the combined might of Bayern Munich and Valencia, both of whom reached the last four of that season's Champions League, and would contest the final the following year too. Rangers, albeit a little unluckily, were eliminated following the group stage: exactly what would have occurred in any case on a much lower and more sustainable wage bill.

The transfer fees and wages now being paid by the club made sustained European success not just desirable, but entirely necessary: but it was impossible to attain. To make matters considerably worse, Celtic now finally got their act together, and recruited the brilliant Martin O'Neill, who within a matter of weeks had left Advocaat's team trailing in his wake. Now, even Champions League qualification of any description was under serious threat: which explains the disastrous decision to spend a ludicrous £12m in acquiring Tore Andre Flo from Chelsea in November 2000.

But it made little difference: O'Neill's Celtic were suddenly pre-eminent, while Rangers began to implode amid a sea of competing egos and injuries to key players. Only when Advocaat departed midway through the 2001/2 season was the club's spending (which included a bewildering £6.5m on Michael Ball in Summer 2001) at last reined in: but in the meantime, its debts had soared, and would eventually peak at a whopping £90m. So belatedly, over-priced, under-performing players at last began to be sold off: but even though the title was snatched on goal difference in 2002/3, the damage had already been done. Thanks to the disastrous mistakes which had been made, and which had nothing whatsoever to do with him, McLeish could not hope to shop in the same market which, thanks to his board's relative parsimony, O'Neill occasionally enjoyed: yet he still had to deal with the expectations of a fervent support who could not possibly tolerate the prospect of their club playing second fiddle to their great, eternal rivals from across the city.

Indeed, it is to the highly underrated McLeish's immense credit that he was somehow able to match his far more celebrated rival's haul of seven trophies despite a slightly shorter period in charge: but this statistic, however impressive, papers over more than a few cracks. In reality, but for a couple of bounces of the ball here or there, Celtic would now be well on their way to securing seven titles in a row: and have become every bit as dominant as Rangers were over the previous decade.

Football fans often forget how much success on the pitch owes to financial stability being achieved off it: and while Rangers' achievement of nine championships in a row between 1988 and 1997 was undoubtedly remarkable, it was thanks both to their own sensible economic strategy, as well as their great rivals being in a state of continual chaos, with the gates to an almost-derelict Parkhead very nearly locked for good in early 1994. Similarly, Celtic's pre-eminence now owes a huge amount to the foundations laid in place by former chairman Fergus McCann, who attracted an unfathomable degree of fury amongst Bhoys supporters while modernising the club, transforming the stadium, and building a team which recaptured the title in 1998, and then began its period of dominance under O'Neill two years later; while it has been their rivals' turn to suffer the consequences of economic folly.

That is the background against which Le Guen became manager: and although Rangers' debts have been reduced considerably, they are still playing catch-up to a Celtic whose board remember all too well their near-death experience of thirteen years ago, and have carefully followed a strategy which, while often infuriating their supporters, and even at times O'Neill, is likely to provide for both stability and success for many years to come. Only because Celtic's finances are relatively healthy was Gordon Strachan's board prepared to at last loosen the purse strings in order to sign Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink and Thomas Gravesen: but this was not a luxury available to Le Guen, who focused instead on signing cheap, young foreign imports with an emphasis on building for the long term.

In light of all this, it is astonishing that Murray was not prepared to offer Le Guen his full, unwavering support for the sweeping changes which the manager correctly deemed to be absolutely necessary. Last season demonstrated with abundant clarity that Rangers were off the pace, and required a radical change of approach: such change is often painful and demands patience, both from the supporters and especially from the board. It should also be remembered that, however much Le Guen's acquisitions struggled to adapt to the peculiar demands of the Scottish game, his side was still very much on course to achieve 2nd spot and Champions League qualification, and had demonstrated surprising levels of progress in the UEFA Cup.

Arsenal's board displayed qualities of patience and vision when Arsene Wenger's first fifteen months in charge proved difficult; and Liverpool's directors maintained their faith in Rafael Benitez while his side struggled badly to gain a foothold in the Premiership during his initial season at the helm. Both were rewarded, and there is no reason to believe those in charge at Ibrox would not have been as well, had they provided the backing which a coach of Le Guen's repute surely warranted. If the manager deemed individuals such as Ferguson and Boyd to be a bar to his ideas bearing fruit, his board should have supported him: instead, in turning tail only midway through an inevitably problematic first season, they took the easy way out.

Smith's imminent return surely suggests that those players most opposed to Le Guen's way of doing things have very much won the day: but without real change, how can Rangers hope to close the gap on their rivals? The club are still paying heavily for colossal errors of judgement made seven or even eight years ago, and it is absurd to expect an immediate transformation against such a grim backdrop. If Rangers supporters are looking to find the individual or individuals responsible for their proud club's current state, they should look not at Le Guen or McLeish, or even at Ferguson or Boyd, but to the very top: to their chairman.

Sir David Murray may be the man who together with Graeme Souness transformed the club in the late 1980s; he may be the owner who oversaw nine-in-a-row; he may even be the man who returned in order to help reduce the Gers' enormous debts over recent years. But he was also responsible for the monumental blunders which landed the club in such a mess in the first place: and in failing to back a manager who was sensibly attempting to build for the long term and gradually sort that mess out, he has been guilty of diverting the fans' attention towards an all-too-easy scapegoat. It is now Smith's remit to revive the club and restore past glories; but with a chairman like Murray still in place, it must be doubted whether such a task can be accomplished: whoever the manager might be.

An apology: and the year ahead on The Big Feller

Dear all,

First, profuse apologies are due for the lack of activity on this blog over the past month. While many people's festive periods were, I trust, full of glad tidings and good cheer, mine involved tending to some extremely difficult family circumstances which are now, I hope, on the mend. And with those dealt with, I'm at last able to begin refocusing both on this website, and on finishing my PhD.

My aim is to update this blog at least twice a week, and I have plenty of pieces planned: one on Rangers which will follow later on today, an article on the inimitable Jose Mourinho and the current difficulties of his Chelsea side, and also a feature on Wealdstone, the non-league team I followed in my youth. We will also be dipping into the Six Nations and Rugby World Cup, reporting on how the cricketers recover from the Ashes debacle, and keeping a close eye on the progress, or possible lack of it, of Steve McClaren's England side towards Euro 2008. Plus, of course, there will be the usual regular updates on the goings-on at Carrow Road and Tynecastle.

Huge thanks to all who've logged onto this site and read or commented on my articles so far: your feedback, whether positive or, ahem, not-so-positive, has been massively appreciated. Particular apologies are due to the select band who, I know, frequent this site particularly regularly, and have been greeted for the past month with an article dated December 10: such tardiness may be typical of a student, but is hardly ideal for a budding journalist! I promise to do rather better from now on.

Best wishes to all for the year ahead: whatever team you follow (even if it's Ipswich or Hibs!), may it prove a successful, points-laden and perhaps even silverware-adorned one. And may we all continue to be entertained, infuriated, uplifted and deflated by whatever sport we hold particularly dear: the debates that it engenders are, surely, what it's all about, and it's a pleasure to be able to engage in a few such discussions with people from all over the world on messageboards, in chat rooms, and even on this very website.

Have a good one, everybody: and now (and not before time), it's on with the show...