Allardyce’s Public Audition Reminiscent of X-Factor Failures
“Let me throw a mathematical dilemma at you – there’s 500 left, well how come the odds of you winning are a million to one?”
Interspersed with the groups of attractive women, the opera-signing grannies and the adorable teenagers are those talent contest singers whose solitary act is utter humiliation on national television. They don’t set out with this goal of course but their blinkered eyes and selective hearing mean they don’t quite hear and witness what is so bleeding obvious to the rest of us. It is not ego but disillusion which drives these people into that audition room. Because somehow, someone, somewhere has told them they have an angelic voice and a face sculpted inside heaven itself. In reality, they are the ones to blame for this country’s high precipitation rate and their boat races could only be cherished by their own mothers.
The dream is soon dashed, often quite abruptly by the ruthless judges. Outside they scream conspiracy and vow vengeance. Rather than limping away with the tail between their legs, the embarrassment is compounded as the disillusion is heightened.
Sport is of course filled with those lucky few who’ve made it to their appropriate level as a result of their talent. The pretenders and con artists have (Ali Dia aside) been wheedled out long ago.
But it seems Sam Allardyce is quickly sacrificing any dignity he may have had in order to achieve the public humiliation suffered by these talentless talent contestants.
Allardyce believes he is not just capable of managing Inter Milan and Real Madrid, he believes he would win the league and double EVERY time. Now if Sam was a rip roaring success we could say that he was egotistical in the same way that Jose Mourinho is and Brian Clough was. But Allardyce is more like those blissfully unaware X-Factor flops than Kanye West. Without success egotism is simply disillusion.
But there is an ulterior motive to Sam’s outlandish beliefs. For the English F.A. are searching for someone to save fair England from their current demise. Word has travelled through the land that the only man capable of removing the sword from the stone is English. Fair Fabio, the Italian knight wasn’t able to get England out of the rut so the pretender has to be English, apparently. Being one of the few who isn’t excluded by such a distinction, Sam has taken it upon himself to embark on a rather public two-year interview.
The biggest hindrance to Sam’s quest is that the ‘X-Factor’ in this case might be managing a big club or it might be managing teams in European competition. Whichever it is, Sam falls woefully short on both counts. It isn’t like Allardyce is the last kid to get picked; he’s just nowhere near the first. You’d pick Allardyce because he can kick the ball further than anyone else and possibly because he could beat the living daylights out of anyone who happened to be quick or skilful. At performing barbaric acts, he is effective. But for managerial pedigree, you’d look elsewhere.
Yet like those klutzes auditioning for Simon Cowell, Allardyce cries conspiracy. Overlooked for the top jobs, he shrieks. No money where I am, he laments.
He is oblivious to the fact that his style of football is akin to those window-shattering vocalists. Somehow, someone, somewhere, must have told Allardyce he’s a great manager.