What's So Beautiful About The Beautiful Game?

Unless you've been residing on the moon over this past week, then you will have been fully aware that Liverpool would be entertaining Manchester United at Anfield. It was promoted for days and days across media outlets incessantly, not least by Sky Sports, and was billed as a bigger game than El Clasico. Make of that what you will.

I used the word entertaining just now, and what I saw on Merseyside on Saturday was as far removed from that as I can imagine. Both keepers made good saves, but there was little in the way of goalmouth action, United only amassing six touches in the opposition penalty area all game, one every fifteen minutes. Unsurprisingly, the game finished 0-0; all the hype, talking, debating and scrutiny washed away without any real incident on the pitch. Sky certainly know how to plug their products, but this one wasn't worth the effort. It will be consigned to the reject bin and simply forgotten, even more so when Sky advertise their next big blockbuster. They even made Everton go to Brighton at 1.30pm on a Sunday lunch-time in order to fulfill international broadcasting commitments. The game wasn't legally available to watch live in the UK. The Premier League really has sold its soul to the devil. Everything is up for sale. Nothing is sacred anymore.

I'm sat writing this after watching Derby clinch a hard fought victory over fierce rivals Nottm Forest. It was a game full of passion, noise and atmosphere. Not the greatest in terms of quality I admit, but a damn sight better than the offerings on show at Anfield some 24 hours earlier. I find myself increasingly choosing to watch Championship and lower league games on the TV now over a Premier League game. I was sick to the back teeth of hearing about Liverpool vs United even before the first whistle was blown. It was almost a little personal victory in a way when the game finished 0-0; a case of 'I told you so'. 

The fact that Sunderland now find themselves in the second tier, means that Championship games shown on TV hold more interest for me. Couple that with the fact that I'm becoming increasingly disillusioned by the mass riches on offer in the top flight and Sky's constant morphing of our game due to the money that they pump in to it, the Premier League has becoming less appealing. 

After relegation, it is easy to label me as bitter, as we no longer dine at the top table of English football, but I can assure you that is not the case. I have become increasingly frustrated at where our game is heading for a number of years now. Chelsea and Manchester City buying titles. Wages going through the roof. Tourists and middle-class supporters infiltrating our grounds and crucifying our atmospheres. Transfer fees becoming ever more obscene. These days it seems £80m is the new £30m. Richard Scudamore's 39th game, ticket pricing and the inability for most players to identify with the man on the street absolutely rankles with me. I don't care about whether Virgil Van Dijk throws his toys out of the pram, or whether The Special One has fallen out with Louis Van Gaal in the corridors of Anfield. You can even sell the shirt space on the club's kit if you like; Angry Birds anyone? 

Some fans are even dropping down the pyramid in a bid to find a sense of belonging. They want to view the game in its purest form, not a mutation of the club the once loved. It is only when you see the likes of Troy Deeney give away his shirt at the end of a game to a young fan that your faith in the game is temporarily restored. We haven't totally lost our grip on the beloved game just yet.

I realize that I sound old, bitter and twisted. The fortunes of my own club have clouded how I have viewed our game, particularly over the past eighteen months or so. Sunderland's relegation and inability to win a home game for ten months has obviously had a detrimental fact on how I feel about the beautiful game. Our game. The only way that can change is winning, it is as simple as that. Trekking over to the Stadium of Light has been a chore for us all. The ironic cheering which preceded our goal at home to QPR is not something that I have heard too many times before. One win is all it takes for some of us to regain our optimism and fall in love with our club once again. Having that celebratory beer after a game has become an altogether more alien feeling. The quicker it returns, the better, for my own sanity at least.