Earlier this week, I laid out my case that the sole source of value in football is in competition. Football cannot exist without competition, but football is also competition’s ideal medium. The two go hand-in-hand.
But, perhaps more controversially, I also believe that to maximize that value, clubs should be as competitive as possible for as long as possible and as publicly as possible.
I’m going to spend this post unpacking this statement a bit, because it may sound like I’m saying clubs need to do everything in their power to win. That’s nearly right, but it’s not quite the same thing.
For example, Leeds famously once tried to do everything in their power to win, including racking up transfer fees and player wage bills, in the hopes of qualifying regularly for the Champions League. That famously didn’t pan out, and Leeds was relegated more than once, making them decidedly less competitive. A brief (if glorious) flash in the pan, while memorable, is not as valuable as being consistently competitive over a long period.
And—here’s where I might get raked over the coals—I believe that while winning is a laudable goal in football, it’s not as valuable as being (or the appearance of being) competitive.
For example, if it emerges that Sir Alex Ferguson bribed the referees to win all those titles during the 1990s, it significantly devalues Manchester United’s achievements in that era. Rigging the game is counter to the competitive spirit (this is not a moral statement, but a statement of fact). A game in which one side is clandestinely breaking the rules is no longer held in the same esteem as a genuinely competitive side, who did all they could within the bounds of the sport to win.
Well, you might argue, isn’t spending limitless owner equity just another form of cheating? Why do we laud Man City’s achievements under Sheikh Mansour, when not every club has access to the same resources?
The answer is because most of us understand, perhaps if only implicitly, that having wealthy owners is fair game, i.e. it is part of the whole footballing competition. There is no rule about who can own a club and how much they can spend (FFP just dicates that your spending not reasonably exceed your revenues), and so it is fair game.
What is also fair game, in my view, is lobbying for the rules to be changed to favour poorer clubs, for example, pushing UEFA or the FA to institute a luxury tax to balance things out.
But, and this is the crux of what I want to get at today, clubs should view these ostensibly non-footballing activities to be just as competitive as scoring goals, recruiting good players and developing future stars.
And what’s more, rather than grumble and groan when rich clubs do everything in their power to cement their power (without breaking any footballing rules or laws), they should view their opponents’ off-the-pitch activities as competitive, too.
Football as a neverending struggle (M & W were right)
This is a subtle but liberating realization. Because once you realize that rich clubs aren’t going to suddenly (or ever) realize the errors of their ways, aren’t going to realize it’s better for the good of the game not to break away and start their own league, you can begin to get real about what it will take to compete with them.
That means putting differences aside with fellow minnows and uniting together to force change. Not because it’s the right thing to do, but because it’s the competitive thing to do.
Far too often, problems arise when the people who run clubs view football through a moral lens. They convince themselves that the sport is about glory, about winning, about fairness, and so believe their feelings of shock and disgust alone are sufficient to turn the tide back against the superrich clubs that are hoarding more and more of game’s limited eyeballs (and cash).
But, in reality, real change comes through competitive struggle. Part of that struggle may involve concessions, compromise, and collegiality, but it is still a struggle. And it is without end (amen). Once you view the footballing landscape through a competitive, rather than moral, paradigm, your long-term goals fall into much sharper relief, and the realm of options to become more competitive significantly widens. Decisions become more ruthless but more effective.
Finally, clubs must realize that what makes them popular isn’t winning, but the appearance of being more competitive. Winning is strongly correlated with competitiveness, but it is not the same thing.
A club that appears to do everything in its power to stay up but is relegated anyway is perceived as more valuable to ordinary fans than a once-great club that stumbles to a mid-table finish—at least for a short time. At the same time, big, rich, historically good clubs have bigger followings because fans perceive they have a greater potential and resources to compete over the long term. That's why Leicester City didn’t garner millions of new fans once it won the Premier League in 2015.
While fans’ relationships with clubs are complex and involve a sense of loyalty and tradition, they all revolve around the primordial desire for competition for its own sake. It’s reflected in that old supporter cliche, in which the guy in the pub declares “I don’t need my club to win the league, but I do need them to go out there and fight for every ball, every touch, every fifty-fifty.” Clubs that truly understand what this kind of competitiveness means in practice, on and off the pitch, will be at a considerable advantage.