When I was a lad, my Mum used to tell my siblings and I not to answer the door whilst she was out. Looking back, I think this was to avoid the bailiffs taking all of our stuff. One day though, my attention was drawn to a light knocking. I defied Mum’s orders and enthusiastically swung open our front door to see who was on the other side.
It was a travelling gypsy.
She looked exactly as you would imagine; gold teeth, red headscarf, wispy grey hair and scrotum-like skin. She seemed pleasant enough, but her mood rapidly deteriorated when I refused to buy one of her lucky charms; I’m pretty sure it was a dried apricot suspended from a paperclip. After a few expletives, the withered old boot attempted to put a curse on me.
“I can see the future,” she exclaimed, “and it’s now bleak for you my boy!”
She turned around furiously, for dramatic effect I presumed, forgetting that she had pulled the garden gate closed behind her on the way in. I can still hear the sound of her bony leg crashing into the metal.
“You can’t see that far into the future then?” I responded. I was delighted with myself. For a twelve year old, this was a pretty witty one-liner.
Later on, I began to panic. What if I had been cursed? What if I awoke from my slumber that evening, only to find that my beautiful face had been replaced with that of Iain Dowie? The panic soon wore off after a heart to heart with my Mum, which culminated in her cracking me round the legs for opening the door in the first place.
I started to ponder the plausibility of foresight throughout my teenage years, and it became a little bit of a fascination. This may, or may not explain why I suddenly became hot for Mystic Meg, although I suppose the alternative was Russell Grant.
I imagined the money I could win on the horses, or the lottery. I could also choose which United matches to avoid completely.
To be honest, it was the Premier League and all its glorious unpredictability that eventually led me to the conclusion that foresight wasn’t for me. The tension of not knowing what will happen next is what makes football so compelling.
Imagine sitting through the epic Liverpool versus Newcastle matches of 1996 and 1997, all the while knowing what was about to happen in those final few minutes? Or experiencing the Manchester Derby in 2009, or Arsenal’s unbelievable 4-4 draws against Newcastle and Tottenham, whilst already being aware of the late drama that was to follow? No thanks.
Sport is so addictive because you can never be completely sure what is about to happen, especially when watching the England cricket team.
It’s for this reason that I take such objection to many published football writers today, especially where the Premier League is concerned.
There is an arrogance that comes with their expertise, as if they themselves can see into the future. It’s never “this MAY happen”, more “this WILL happen”.
Surely they must realise that they are setting themselves up for a spectacular fall when their nailed on prediction comes back to bite them on the crystal balls?
It’s one thing making such predictions over a pint in the pub, when you can deny all knowledge of ever making such a ludicrous statement. But when your articles and tweets are being saved left, right and centre, then you need to be a bit more careful.
I’m all for people predicting the outcome of football. Whether it’s using stats to arrive at the probable conclusion, or just a gut feeling, everybody does it.
As long as there is an admission that things could differ massively to the original hypothesis of course, a disclaimer to bail you out should things go spectacularly wrong, which they often do.
There’s a strange obsession to be right in today’s society, and somewhat superior to your peers. People take great delight in pointing out when people have published statements that end up being completely incorrect. Not that I’m into that kind of thing, but I’ve posted a couple of links that you might want to check out at the bottom of this article.
I certainly don’t have the gift of foresight, but I do predict that as long as this arrogance remains amongst ‘celebrity’ journalists, they will continue to be hunted down by the Twitterati each and every time they are wrong.
So my advice to these journalists is simple: admit that there is a chance, even the slightest chance, that you could be wrong whilst writing these articles.
Oh and of course, avoid walking into any metal gates on your way out.
Oliver Holt, Mirror – Fergie should have quit in 2002:
http://absolutelyunited.com/redcan/208/2006/10/01/the-mirror-oliver-holt/
Alan Smith, Telegraph – Why Arsenal will win the league (2014):
Henry Winter, Telegraph – Fergie must go in summer (2005):
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/columnists/henrywinter/2369465/Ferguson-must-go-in-the-summer.html
