A mercenary industry where cold hard cash supersedes loyalty

This week, my football column in The Argus focuses on Manchester City and on what money is doing to the game:
Even to people who have no real love for the English Premier League, a game to keep an eye on this weekend is Arsenal’s visit to Manchester City, as the juxtaposition between the two clubs is really interesting. One has a manager who, rather than spending the big bucks, likes to bring unknown players through the ranks, while the other is football’s equivalent of a Lotto winner going on a spending spree. It’ll be intriguing to see what happens and I’m probably not alone when I say that I’d really like Arsenal’s lovingly nurtured team to take City to the cleaners.

To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about Manchester City. On the one hand, I want them to fail miserably. The way they are cherry-picking players by throwing silly money around is indicative of just what is wrong with the game nowadays. Money is a disease that is eating football from the inside out. It is creating a mercenary industry where cold hard cash supersedes loyalty and success must be attained immediately or the manager is given the sack (with a tasty golden handshake) at the first opportunity. All the while fans are finding themselves progressively more alienated. How much longer can we be expected to love a game played by petulant millionaires while we struggle to afford the ever increasing ticket prices? To see City pay £24m for Jolene Lescott, who is probably worth less than half that, shows just how distorted things are becoming.

On the other hand though, I certainly don’t begrudge Manchester City fans the newfound excitement that all these signings has brought them. It can’t be easy living in the shadow of Manchester United, and it would be nice if the top four’s monopoly was compromised. I suppose though, that the reason I’m not sure how I feel about Manchester City is because I realise that my problems with their wealth are born largely out of jealousy. In truth, it’s hard to be too resentful when I know, in my heart of hearts, that if an insanely rich Sheikh threw a gazillion pounds at my team, my outlook would be very much different. We’d all love it if success was achieved organically; if our club climbed the leagues through hard work and a sensible business model while retaining a sense of community, but if a place among football’s elite could be fast-tracked by an Arab with more dosh than sense, would you hear me moralising about how money is ruining the game? Of course not, I’d be too busy deciding which of our new superstar signings’ names I was going to have printed on the back of my replica shirt.