Bordering On The Ridiculous

In the olden days, managers either resigned, or they were sacked. There was something noble about the resignation of a football manager. The admission that they weren’t quite up to the job. The falling on the sword in order to spare the greater dignity of The Club. The flipside to this was the sacking which, in all honesty, was just as dignified. The manager, a beaten man, would be forced out of The Club, a broken man, with a hangdog expression replacing the alternate faces of despair and ecstasy that had characterised their time in charge. Even in the cases of managers that were despised, there was an element of almost endearing pathos about their final trudge from the board room, boots slug despondently over their shoulders, the stale aroma of shattered dreams still lingering in the air. In recent years, however, the lines have become more and more blurred. Managers don’t seem to get sacked these days, and neither do they resign. The mots du jour are “mutual consent”, as if every manager’s tenure ends with all parties sitting around a table, nodding their heads sagely and deciding that, you know, perhaps this just isn’t working out after all. It’s the sporting equivalent of Bruce Willis and Demi Moore’s divorce. As more and more of these departures have been announced, we have started to wonder why this very...

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