Converted
As in, “Berbatov stepped up and coolly converted the penalty.”
A term wilfully appropriated from rugby (as opposed to, presumably, american football), and transplanted with the subtlety of the proverbial ear upon a mouse’s back, onto a footballing incident.
Many other sports-based phrases have swum their way, salmon-like, upstream against the tide of good style to seed themselves within either the football lexicon, or everyday parlance: assist (from basketball), step up to the plate (baseball), throw in the towel (boxing), or under par (golf).
I suppose people know what it means and that it therefore serves its purpose, but where will this cross-pollination end…
Potential future developments:
“The goalkeeper was completely deceived by Beckham’s curveball free-kick.”
“That’s a delightful lob from Defoe – Advantage Pompey!”
“And here we see Cristiano Ronaldo, on the oche, about to take this penalty kick.”
Showing posts with label Language of Football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Language of Football. Show all posts
Saturday, 15 March 2008
Tuesday, 4 March 2008
The Language of Football: Part 5
Dispossessed
As in, “Titus Bramble has been dispossessed on the edge of his own area.”
I always thought that the word dispossessed referred to a class, typically human beings, that were no longer owned, nor taken responsibility for, by the system in question’s patriarchs; for example, a society’s homeless population. Martin Luther King’s reference to “the tired, the poor, the huddled masses...” always came to mind. Indeed, the OED says that the dispossessed are people who have been deprived of land or property, which is consistent with this idea: without land or property, society has effectively disowned you.
Rather more prosaically, football commentators routinely employ it to mean someone who’s had the ball taken off them. It is not difficult to imagine the rather ungainly path of reasoning that might lead to this conceit:
1. you possess something
2. me take it away
3. you dispossessed!
I found that the OED does actually dignify this usage with an entry these days. However, I think that it’s more the weight of relentless, bloody-minded, usage than literary merit that has forced the dictionary compilers’ hands here.
So, you decide which implementation of dispossessed to champion: Martin Luther King’s, or Martin Tyler’s.
Potential future developments:
“This game is suffering from a poverty of entertainment.”
“Chelsea can’t buy a goal; three points are going begging here.”
“Peter Kenyon needs to remind them that charity begins at home.”
“Wright-Phillips has been sent off – he’s been effectively disenfranchised.”
As in, “Titus Bramble has been dispossessed on the edge of his own area.”
I always thought that the word dispossessed referred to a class, typically human beings, that were no longer owned, nor taken responsibility for, by the system in question’s patriarchs; for example, a society’s homeless population. Martin Luther King’s reference to “the tired, the poor, the huddled masses...” always came to mind. Indeed, the OED says that the dispossessed are people who have been deprived of land or property, which is consistent with this idea: without land or property, society has effectively disowned you.
Rather more prosaically, football commentators routinely employ it to mean someone who’s had the ball taken off them. It is not difficult to imagine the rather ungainly path of reasoning that might lead to this conceit:
1. you possess something
2. me take it away
3. you dispossessed!
I found that the OED does actually dignify this usage with an entry these days. However, I think that it’s more the weight of relentless, bloody-minded, usage than literary merit that has forced the dictionary compilers’ hands here.
So, you decide which implementation of dispossessed to champion: Martin Luther King’s, or Martin Tyler’s.
Potential future developments:
“This game is suffering from a poverty of entertainment.”
“Chelsea can’t buy a goal; three points are going begging here.”
“Peter Kenyon needs to remind them that charity begins at home.”
“Wright-Phillips has been sent off – he’s been effectively disenfranchised.”
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
The Language of Football: Part 4
Stonewall
As in, “Andy Johnson is not a diver, it was a stonewall penalty.”
Stonewall, according to the OED, means “to delay or block by refusing to answer questions or by giving evasive replies.” That doesn’t really fit in with common football usage.
Perhaps it’s a covert reference, or subtle tribute, to either the eponymous riots in New York in 1969, or the gay rights group that formed in their aftermath. Perhaps the gay and transgendered diners in the Stonewall Inn fled from raiding policemen attempting studs-up sliding tackles? Were drag queens brought down onto the Manhattan sidewalks by blatant blouse-pulling? This one remains, for now, a mystery.
Sir Bobby Robson once rather charmingly referred to a penalty as being “stone bonkers.” The significance of this we can only muse upon, privately.
Not to be confused with:
Dry Stone Wall – a structure that Jose Mourinho once accused Martin Jol’s Spurs team of building across their goal in an attempt to stop Chelsea scoring – successfully. This method of perimeter construction is traditional in the North West London area where it is used to prevent sheep from wandering onto the North Circular Road.
Stony-faced – default adjective to describe Sir Alex Ferguson after a Rooney dive has failed to earn a penalty.
Stoned – Paul Merson, “off on another one of his mazy runs”?
As in, “Andy Johnson is not a diver, it was a stonewall penalty.”
Stonewall, according to the OED, means “to delay or block by refusing to answer questions or by giving evasive replies.” That doesn’t really fit in with common football usage.
Perhaps it’s a covert reference, or subtle tribute, to either the eponymous riots in New York in 1969, or the gay rights group that formed in their aftermath. Perhaps the gay and transgendered diners in the Stonewall Inn fled from raiding policemen attempting studs-up sliding tackles? Were drag queens brought down onto the Manhattan sidewalks by blatant blouse-pulling? This one remains, for now, a mystery.
Sir Bobby Robson once rather charmingly referred to a penalty as being “stone bonkers.” The significance of this we can only muse upon, privately.
Not to be confused with:
Dry Stone Wall – a structure that Jose Mourinho once accused Martin Jol’s Spurs team of building across their goal in an attempt to stop Chelsea scoring – successfully. This method of perimeter construction is traditional in the North West London area where it is used to prevent sheep from wandering onto the North Circular Road.
Stony-faced – default adjective to describe Sir Alex Ferguson after a Rooney dive has failed to earn a penalty.
Stoned – Paul Merson, “off on another one of his mazy runs”?
Monday, 25 February 2008
The Language of Football: Part 3
Game On!
As in, “Game On!”
Principally used during commentary on matches involving “big” teams, as these are guaranteed to produce higher-quality and more exciting football. This will usually have been confirmed via the preceding weeks’ television build-up.
The phrase "Game On!" will be ejaculated, with masculine triumphalism, not upon commencement of the game, nor even when the first goal is scored, but typically when the first equaliser is scored. It’s as though the commentator (burgeoning hysteria barely concealing his relief that the hype may about to be justified) is announcing: “Look! Two of the best teams EVER! ON THE PLANET! And they can BOTH score goals! HANG ON EVERYBODY!”
The use of this phrase also infers that the dour, ultra-defensive fare witnessed prior to this moment was merely a football version the spectacle preceding many Tour De France stages (no, not ceremonial syringe-swapping), where the riders trundle along for a few miles prior to the commencement of actual racing, in a part warm-up / part PR exercise.
Logically, at 1-1 the likelihood of any given outcome is the same as it was at the kick-off. Yet we’re supposed to believe because both sides have now scored, that the intensity and excitement levels are about to become almost unbearable - heck, your television set might even explode - and that we now undeniably have “A GAME OF FOOTBALL ON OUR HANDS.”
Not to be confused with:
Game Over! - announced by the commentator when he wishes to inform us that, by virtue of the intricate relationship between the score, the respective teams’ abilities, and the remaining playing time – a relationship only he can properly evaluate - the result of this match cannot and will not change.
As in, “Game On!”
Principally used during commentary on matches involving “big” teams, as these are guaranteed to produce higher-quality and more exciting football. This will usually have been confirmed via the preceding weeks’ television build-up.
The phrase "Game On!" will be ejaculated, with masculine triumphalism, not upon commencement of the game, nor even when the first goal is scored, but typically when the first equaliser is scored. It’s as though the commentator (burgeoning hysteria barely concealing his relief that the hype may about to be justified) is announcing: “Look! Two of the best teams EVER! ON THE PLANET! And they can BOTH score goals! HANG ON EVERYBODY!”
The use of this phrase also infers that the dour, ultra-defensive fare witnessed prior to this moment was merely a football version the spectacle preceding many Tour De France stages (no, not ceremonial syringe-swapping), where the riders trundle along for a few miles prior to the commencement of actual racing, in a part warm-up / part PR exercise.
Logically, at 1-1 the likelihood of any given outcome is the same as it was at the kick-off. Yet we’re supposed to believe because both sides have now scored, that the intensity and excitement levels are about to become almost unbearable - heck, your television set might even explode - and that we now undeniably have “A GAME OF FOOTBALL ON OUR HANDS.”
Not to be confused with:
Game Over! - announced by the commentator when he wishes to inform us that, by virtue of the intricate relationship between the score, the respective teams’ abilities, and the remaining playing time – a relationship only he can properly evaluate - the result of this match cannot and will not change.
Friday, 22 February 2008
The Language of Football: Part 2
Mazy Run
As in, “Giggsy is off on another one of his mazy runs.”
Mazy doesn’t appear in the OED. Presumably, it’s being employed here as an adjective to describe something that resembles a maze. Like a run.
Via this phrase, then, the commentator is suggesting that the player in question, whilst in possession of the ball (one would hope), appears, by virtue of their non-linear progression, as though they are running though a maze.
It is usually employed in a complimentary manner. However, not all mazy runs are created equal: have you ever seen Diomansy Kamara play? Upon receipt of the ball, the head typically goes down, the brow furrows, and he’s off - locked on to some mysterious ultrasonic frequency that only he can receive and decipher. Intent on reaching some elusive destination that only he appreciates the significance of. If only it were the goal.
Potential future developments:
Primark Run – player bustles his way through a group of closing defenders in a similar manner to a teenage girl entering a clothes store on the first day of the sale;
Clapton Run – player weaves in and out of defenders as though dodging bullets on Lower Clapton Road.
As in, “Giggsy is off on another one of his mazy runs.”
Mazy doesn’t appear in the OED. Presumably, it’s being employed here as an adjective to describe something that resembles a maze. Like a run.
Via this phrase, then, the commentator is suggesting that the player in question, whilst in possession of the ball (one would hope), appears, by virtue of their non-linear progression, as though they are running though a maze.
It is usually employed in a complimentary manner. However, not all mazy runs are created equal: have you ever seen Diomansy Kamara play? Upon receipt of the ball, the head typically goes down, the brow furrows, and he’s off - locked on to some mysterious ultrasonic frequency that only he can receive and decipher. Intent on reaching some elusive destination that only he appreciates the significance of. If only it were the goal.
Potential future developments:
Primark Run – player bustles his way through a group of closing defenders in a similar manner to a teenage girl entering a clothes store on the first day of the sale;
Clapton Run – player weaves in and out of defenders as though dodging bullets on Lower Clapton Road.
Thursday, 21 February 2008
The Language of Football: Part 1
A toe-dip into the strange argot of the modern-day football commentator.
Big Ask
As in, “Jamie, can you possibly suppress your familial loyalties for the sake of professional impartiality when conducting your near-forensic level analysis of games involving Super Pompey?”
Jamie: “It’s a big ask, Richard.”
A surreal notion, this one. Its origin is unknown to me, but it’s presumably a contraction of: “That’s a very big thing to ask someone to do and expect them to achieve.”
In view of the overabundance of profound, luminous insights that most pundits are aching to share with us, such time-saving grammatical techniques are perhaps forgivable.
Not to be confused with:
Big Ron - ex football pundit, presently engaged in a legal battle with the 1970s for ruining his media career.
Big Ask
As in, “Jamie, can you possibly suppress your familial loyalties for the sake of professional impartiality when conducting your near-forensic level analysis of games involving Super Pompey?”
Jamie: “It’s a big ask, Richard.”
A surreal notion, this one. Its origin is unknown to me, but it’s presumably a contraction of: “That’s a very big thing to ask someone to do and expect them to achieve.”
In view of the overabundance of profound, luminous insights that most pundits are aching to share with us, such time-saving grammatical techniques are perhaps forgivable.
Not to be confused with:
Big Ron - ex football pundit, presently engaged in a legal battle with the 1970s for ruining his media career.
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