D'ya Know What I Mean?

This blog has recognised the established well of words and phrases that everyone in football, from the top of the football pyramid to the bottom, draws from to express themselves. Many of these phrases originate in football, and the odd one has even crept into general usage outside of the game's bubble.

However, there seems to be an elite group of words and phrases - which are used consistently by football figures- that have been uprooted from their historically mainstream context, never to return. These phrases are now very rarely used in "real life", and have been well entrenched in the football lexicon, but still look far too sophisticated for the (relative) morons that are using them. Would the club chairman of a lower-echelon feeder club really be able to define the word "derisory" if it hadn't been commandeered for the purposes of publicly pouring scorn on a transfer bid from one of the big boys? Of course not - the club's owner has seen "derisory" used thousands of times before by equally unknowing supremos.

These phrases cover every nook and cranny of the sport. We have previously documented the glorious variety of verbs for shooting at goal, the majority of which seem to be nearly obsolete elsewhere in society. When did rifle become a verb, for example?

Goalkeepers often elect to punch - when did you last elect to go to the pub? Custodians between the posts are often grateful to their stalwart centre-half for marshalling their obdurate defence. At the other end of the pitch, profligate strikers can squander gilt-edged chances, their embarrassment only spared by the linesman's flag should they have been adjudged offside.

More successful attackers take advantage of slide-rule passes from midfield schemers, cutting a swathe through the opposition defence, and finishing with aplomb (or, perhaps, an impudent chip). Seriously, what else on the planet has ever been done with aplomb? Every football fan knows what aplomb means in their world but they daren't use it at work, as it would sound ridiculous.

You know when a defender keeps an attacker at arm's length while the ball trickles over for a goal-kick? That's shepherding that is. Apologies to anyone reading this who is, or knows, a shepherd, but you're unlikely to encounter anyone doing any genuine shepherding. Ever had anything rescinded, other than a harsh red card? Ever lambasted someone for being lacksadaisical at work, only to see them turn on a sixpence and maraud out of the door? No.

When football has failed in its attempt to lay claim to non-football phrases, it simply corrupts them and makes off with awkward counterfeit versions. "Champing at the bit" has been warped by visibly confused footballers into "chomping on the bit". No-one seems to know if it's "stomping ground" or "stamping ground", either.

If you have any to add, comment below or tweet me at @FootballCliches - I'm feeling lacksadaisical.

Body Talk

The Angle... usually concerns itself with the spoken clichés of football's protagonists but the 2010/11 season's rabid obsession with Fernando Torres's body language has turned attention to the non-verbal collection of textbook footballer mannerisms.

The Grimace

Other than genuine physical pain, there are two opportunities to grimace for the modern footballer. The first, and most common, grimace-inducer is a squandered goalscoring opening. Be it a gilt-edged opportunity or simply a real chance - but not an absolute sitter - the miss is often accompanied by something like this (hands-on-head optional):

The grimace in this situation is likely to be an expression of ruefulness, pre-empting the co-commentator's pondering over whether the chance-misser will "rue" the missed chance "later on". No other misdemeanour in football can be rued, it should be added. Non-goalscoring errors may cause the player/manager to "live to regret" them, though.

The second grimace in football is even more apologetic in nature. When a selfish striker opts to shoot from an impossible angle, with a teammate in a better position, his penance is expressed with a grimace similar to that above, plus a guilty palm of acceptance in the direction of the angry, snubbed colleague.

The Beleaguered Manager Clap

Time is running out for a team to save themselves in an important game, and the manager has run out of ideas. Having stood forlorn on the edge of his technical area, he remembers he has one more in his locker - the encouraging clap. Barrel successfully scraped, he crosses his arms once again, resigned to defeat. Let's call it The Avram.

The Unrepentant Trudge

When players are sent off, they seem unable to leave the pitch without slightly undressing themselves. This can range from the mere untucking of the shirt, via ripping off the captain's armband in disgust, to full (and unexplainable) upper-body nudity:

Real Concern

Despite the plague of playacting that is creeping into the modern game, it is still very clear when a player has suffered a serious injury. Assuming his leg hasn't suffered a very obvious Busst-esque redesign, the injured player must first signal his desperate plight - while cheating fakers roll, writh and perform triple Salchows, genuinely injured players lie prostrate except for a desperate arm in the air. At this point, no medical attention is allowed onto the field until at least half-a-dozen players display real concern (the more opposition players involved, the more real the concern) by waggling both wrists in the air in a frenzied come-hither gesture:

Checking For Blood

After a clash of heads, one or both of the victims are likely to be seen to pat the affected area and check their hand for any signs of blood. A reasonable enough act of self-preservation. Except, for some reason, it's always done about twelve times in quick succession. You're OK mate, honest. Stop checking.

Goal Kick Perfectionists

To the casual onlooker, a goal-kick remains one of the most rudimentary aspects of the modern game - a straightforward punt to get the ball back in play. Goalkeepers, possibly because they are so mad, are very much their own worst critics though. Just as TV prepares to cut away from the close-up shot of the 'keeper hoofing it down the pitch, every now and then you see a custodian chastise himself for a poor kick. No-one else seems to give a shit.

The Medium of Mime

The saturation of television football coverage is perhaps the reason for many of these mannerisms, none more so than appeals to the referee.

First up is a classic of the genre - claiming not to have heard the whistle when penalised for kicking the ball away. First, the player will nonchalantly point to his ear, confident that the referee will take no action. If the official takes action, more zealous pointing to the ear (or both ears, in extreme cases) may be necessary.

Cue video of a mystified Robin van Persie appealing to not just one referee, but around 90,000:

In its defence, this appeal often takes place in the roaring cauldrons of European football, where language barriers further warrant the need for visual aids.

A more comical, frivolous act of mime we see each week in our Anglophone domestic leagues is the ball-shape. To support his claim that he got at least some of the ball, the tackler will make a circular shape with both hands (more than once, if he really means it). As a general rule, the bigger the ball-shape he makes, the more convinced he is that he got the ball. Rather belatedly, this spectacle is being replaced by the rather more understandable grabbing of the actual ball, held out in a desperate plea to the referee to change his mind.

It's not clear why, where possible, the players cannot communicate these appeals verbally. It has even reached the point where the ridiculous, pantomime act of waving an imaginary card (which has now achieved an absurd level of taboo) is seemingly more of an offence than actually asking the referee to book a player.

"Where's the Talking?!"

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This is a piece about Sunday league football.

It will not make any reference to hangovers (Haha! Some of them go out the night before and are still drunk when they turn up!), fat players (LOL! They aren't professional athletes!) or crap pitches (ROFL! The public playing surface isn't completely flat and abundant with grass!)

English football, from top to bottom, has always been characterised by its intangible, unquantifiable (unless you count bags as suitable units of measurement) qualities of spirit, passion, grit, determination and, less notably, "talking".

Talking is easy. Not talking enough is generally agreed in Sunday league to be highly counter-productive. Players are urged before kick-off for "lots of talking", especially "back there". Not talking is an accusation that can only be levelled at a whole team (or at least its rearguard), rather than an individual (unless it is the captain, who must shout indiscriminately for ninety minutes, for that is his job.)

To avoid this indictment, a lexicon of largely useless phrases has emerged, which can be called upon whenever it is necessary to fill a period of relative silence. Everyone knows them, everyone understands what they are vaguely supposed to mean, and almost nobody questions them. Now, clichéd as they are, many bellowed phrases you hear on a football pitch - "Man on!", "Out we go!", etc - are useful instructions. Nothing wrong with those. The following set of on-pitch rallying cries, however, must not escape scrutiny:

1. "We've Gone Quiet"

Going quiet, as highlighted earlier, is the sign of a malfunctioning team. No-one is talking, which means we all might as well go home. A period of notable quietness is ended only when the captain draws everyone's attention to it: "Come on lads, we've gone quiet!". It can, at the shouter's discretion, be bookended with "...haven't we?", to offer the illusion of a debate where one is really not available.

Apart from functioning to actually end the quietness, this is accepted as an open invitation to call upon phrases 2-8 in this list.

2. "Straight In"

A staple instruction that can be used only at a very specific moment - namely, the opponents kicking off the game. "Run after the ball!", it demands, "Chase it when they kick it backwards!". Only the strikers need to, of course, and the moment quickly passes. Getting "straight in" is not a continuous requirement, but merely an opening gesture of intent, which is guaranteed to be unfulfilled.

Often accompanied by a mindless, yet somehow entirely appropriate-feeling, clap of the hands.

3. "Two On The Edge"

When a corner is awarded, it is everyone's job to pick up their man. One player has the added task of spotting a particular discrepancy in this complex marking system, in that there are two unattended opponents lumbering into the penalty area. In extreme circumstances, there may be "three on the edge" - an unthinkable catastrophe which is met with a suitably incredulous cry of "I've got three here!". The lack of concentration may be down to the defence's preoccupation with the big man, the tall (i.e. lanky) opposing centre-back/estate agent, who has arrived with a look of great purpose from the back.

4. "All Day"

An utterly irritating phrase (specifically designed to be so) used by smug opponents to declare your attacking efforts as weak and unlikely to succeed even if repeated. Often said twice in quick succession - as a speculative effort flies high, wide and [not at all] handsome - to compound the humiliation.

5. "It's Still 0-0"

Football is an overwhelmingly childish pursuit. Much of football supporting is based on schadenfreude and suffering the taunts, in return, when your own team is humbled.

To combat this threat, some employ an overly defensive stance, hoping that an audible absence of pride will pre-empt any possible fall. And so, if a Sunday team races into an early lead, one stern-faced, armband-toting try-hard will attempt to construct a parallel universe in which the game is, in fact, goalless. The job is not done, he says, a point he may return to when the final score is 7-4 or something similarly amateur.

6. "Box 'Em In!"

A cult classic, in my eyes. Satisfies two fundamental criteria: 1) A laughable attempt at tactical insight, and 2) Exclaimed almost instinctively, EVERY SINGLE TIME. The ball goes out for an opposition throw-in, deep in their final third, and it is universally accepted that they do not have the adequate technical skills (or simply the upper-body strength) to play/hurl their way to safety.

7. "[Shirt Colour] Head on This!"

Possibly the most pointless one of all. For the uninitiated, this cryptic command is for your teammates to meet an imminent opposition hoof with their head before the other lot can. No accuracy is required but congratulations are available for heading it really, really hard, straight back where it came from. "WELL UP!" you are told, with your name declared in full if the game is particularly tense. More forward-thinking Sunday league players concern themselves with the second ball, which is often simply another header. Third balls remain an untapped, bewildering resource, possibly due to Chaos Theory.

8. "Away!"

Loosely translated as "Now look here, teammate - I neither want nor trust you to play your way out of trouble. Please dispose of the ball as quickly and as far away as possible." Failure to do as directed leaves one open to castigation for "fannying about with it there". Professional footballers, it should be noted, do not officially fanny about but simply dally, hesitate or dwell on the ball.

Meanwhile, back on recreation grounds up and down the country, players might be allowed to fanny about if they are deemed to have an adequate amount of:

9. "Time!"

The ball drops from the air and a player finds himself in acres of space. Pointing this out to him might seem a good idea. It'll calm him down, allow him to get his head up and play a pass, rather than treat the ball like an unpinned grenade.

However, when ten other players scream "Time! Time!" in unison, it tends to have quite the opposite effect. The futility of the situation is laid bare when, after relinquishing possession easily, the player is offered a final, withering, retrospective observation.

"You had time."

10. "Where Was The Shout?"

The ultimate act of Sunday League buck-passing. A player is unceremoniously dispossessed from behind, to howls of derision from his teammates. Accompanied by a despairing flap of the arms, the player begs of his colleagues: "Where was the shout?"

There wasn't one.

Because they've gone quiet, haven't they?

Adam.
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