One of the most poignant images from the 2010 Play-Off Final defeat was the sight of a distraught Michael Chopra, inconsolable and lost in his own world of profound grief, such was the disappointment that he had been unable to help his fans and his adopted city achieve its ultimate dream. At that moment he cemented his place in our hearts and in Bluebirds folklore.
However, the full story when
later revealed was far less prosaic.
Chops was understandably upset at
the failure to achieve a personal ambition (weren't we all!) but it transpired
that promotion and the attendant personal riches were more a necessity than an
aspiration. It was well documented that he had received treatment for a
gambling addiction and had gone through a rehab programme in 2008. We assumed
all was well. Not so, apparently. We know now that his debts were so great that
he needed the crutch of a Premier League wage just to survive. And some pretty
tasty underworld gooks were closing in.
The subsequent move to Ipswich
has done little to ease his worries. In October 2011 he was booked into the
Sporting Chance Clinic for another shot at redemption, just as his club were
stumping up £250k to keep a well tooled-up pack of wolves from his door. And at
the end of last year he was one of a group of punters who were charged in
connection with 'suspicious betting activities'. He's announced this week that
he won't be contesting the charges on the grounds that "It is well publicised that I have a gambling addiction problem
and I see any such sanctions as being a useful mechanism in helping me to
address these problems" (If Chops penned that himself then I'm up for this
year's Pulitzer Prize for Outstanding Contribution to Sports Journalism).
We wish him well in the battle
with his personal demons but look forward to seeing him trudge disconsolately
off the field later today.
It might be a tad unfair to imply
that Chops and footballers in general might not be the most naturally
intellectually gifted, socially adept individuals. This misses the point. After
all, they mostly keep their brains in his boots and use their natural abilities
and personal strengths to great effect, achieving more in their chosen field
than most of us could dream of. It's a wild abstraction to imply that those
that have dedicated themselves to sporting pursuits are somehow intellectually
deficient. But still the perception persists, Brian.
For every Ronaldo ('We lost
because we didn't win') there's an Iain Dowie with his Masters in Aeronautical
Engineering or a Clarke Carlisle cogitating on Question Time and Countdown.
Footballers are at worst naive and unworldly.
Although they have been known to
say some monumentally stupid things:
'They're the second best team in the world, and there's no higher
praise than that' - Kevin Keegan
'He dribbles a lot and the opposition don't like it - you can see it
all over their faces' - Big Ron
'The minute's silence was immaculate, I have never heard a minute's
silence like that' - Glen Hoddle
'I couldn't settle in Italy. It was like living in a foreign country'
- Ian Rush
'My parents have been there for me, ever since I was about 7' -
Beckham
So scoff, but be grateful for 'What I know about morality and obligations, I owe to football' - Albert Camus, French Philosopher and Goalie.
The Tractor Boys have been slowly pulling themselves away from trouble,
having been reinvigorated by the arrival of the former Wolves management team
of Mick McCarthy and Terry Connor. Their early season form had seen them drop
to the foot of the table under Paul Jewell but in recent weeks they have shown
signs of turning the corner.
It was clear from today's performance that they have benefitted from
McCarthy's experience and his ability to ensure that his team get the
fundamentals right. They were probably the most efficient outfit seen at the
CCS this season, defending tight, not allowing our flair players to get into
the game, and dangerous on the break. There were times in the first half when
Noone collected the ball in a threatening position only to be smothered by four
of five defenders. They didn't allow us any time on the ball and quickly took
control of midfield, marshalled by the excellent N'Daw who provided the
highlight of a drab affair with an impudent early strike from 30 yards which
beat Marshall but smashed against the post.
The atmosphere was subdued from the start. The bitter January winds and
swirling sleet showers made for an uncomfortable afternoon in the stands, the
dampened enthusiasm providing a great leveller as the home fans struggled to
get behind the team.
In the first half we looked capable of forcing an opening particularly
on the left side with Taylor, Conway and Bellamy forming some neat triangles. Upfront
Gestede was winning good ball with Bellamy in the role of predator looking to
feed off the scraps. Unfortunately the use of the centre forward battering ram
disrupted our natural game and on too many occasions Marshall cleared from
defence, bypassing our engine room. Gratifyingly, Malky was again brave enough
to make a half time change, bringing Mason on to put Plan B into effect.
Ipswich however continued to contain any threat. The excellent Bellamy was
at his fully committed very best, giving a spirited performance chasing down and
doing his best to unsettle the Ipswich back four, never giving up on a
seemingly lost cause as we searched in vain for the required breakthrough but
even he couldn't find a way through. He had one great opportunity, put clear by
Mason, but as he and those of us in line with the action waited for the
linesman's flag, he was denied by a well-timed last-ditch tackle.
In the event, the closest we came was a misdirected header by Blues
defender Orr which sailed over his keeper, landing on top of the net. Ipswich
in fact came very near to snatching victory with the last move of the game, a
missed opportunity that left Mick McCarthy theatrically vexed in incandescent photogenic
rage, his silvery mane lighting up the night sky and providing a colourful denouement
to a damp and dreary day.
One moment of (cruel) humour as the returning Chopra took to the field
on the hour. He was politely applauded by an appreciative fair-minded crowd, a
welcome slightly soured by Canton End chants of 'Whose that coming out of
William Hills?' and 'He bets what he wants, Michael Chopra, he bets what he
wants'. I bet that was just what he wanted.
