May I have a word about… the lexicon of the World Cup

Julen Lopetegui: his sacking was ‘a crime against the state’.
Julen Lopetegui: his sacking was ‘a crime against the state’. Photograph: Juan Medina/Reuters

Well, are you in a state of nervous excitement at the football tourney at long last under way in Russia? (If you’re not and find the whole circus too painful for words, I would gently advise that you avert your gaze now.)

Anyway, what a sensational effort from the Spaniards to sack their manager before a ball had been even been kicked in anger or a player booked for simulation. The reaction of the Spanish press to the news that Julen Lopetegui had signed on as Real Madrid manager (is there a better definition of a poisoned chalice?) has been greeted with anything other than equanimity.

El País reacted thus: “Contracts in football may be made of Plasticine, but two days before a World Cup, you cannot risk being seen as a pyromaniac in your own home.” Worthy, I think you’ll agree, as a contender for mangled metaphor of the week. Not to be outdone, El Mundo thundered: “This is a crime against the state, against public order, because one club can never torpedo the flagship of Spanish football.” For unbridled use of hyperbole, another award winner. Most damningly of all, Lopetegui was described as a “former journeyman goalkeeper”. Which is deeply unfair to true journeymen.

I was reminded of their true worth when talking to a master carpenter recently, who wore his previous tag of journeyman with considerable pride. He had been taken on as an apprentice carpenter and over many years had become a master of his trade, learning ancillary skills along the way.

He rightly bemoaned the fact that this definition of the word has been superseded by the more commonplace meaning we have now, of a plodder, someone able without being inspired, dull but dependable. Nothing at all like the master carpenter, in truth.

Anyway, back to the football. Try this for size from England’s Dele Alli: “When you’ve got the Three Lions on your jersey, you’ll play anywhere you’re needed. It’s the battleground.” Not fully Iberian in its intensity, but a damned fine piece of homegrown nonsense, nonetheless.