First we had endless weeping over Tiny Theo. And now it’s the turn of those little French tinkers. First they get a helping hand to get to the World Cup and now they just keep on whining.
Mutiny, factions and secret dealings, the French camp seems to resemble a political plot from the dark diplomatic corridors of 24. Apparently the French players are bickering, exalting player-power and undermining Domenech’s already tenuous grasp on authority.
Reports suggest a vocal bunch is attempting to dictate team-selection – principally regarding Henry’s inclusion – and refusing to pass to certain team-mates (not quite so 24 then, more primary school playground).
The clique seems to be mostly an (ex)Arsenal based faction, centred around Henry, Sagna, Diaby and Gallas, though not exclusively. So why do they think they know better than their national coach? Because they probabdo? Perhaps they want Arséne? I don’t know, but Domenech is certainly not well respected by the players, fans or pundits.
He may have taken France to the final of the World Cup last time around, but the grace this granted him is running out. Crashing out at the Euro 2008 group stages, a stuttering World Cup qualification and controversial selection choices, is coupled with Domenech’s personal idiosyncrasies. As a keen astrologer, he allegedly overlooked players for the national team due to their star signs and, in a moment of Alan Partridge-esque discomfiture, there was the infamous marriage proposal; taking place live on TV following the defeat to Italy and France’s premature departure from Euro 2008.
He is, in France, largely an immensely unpopular character. But he’s in charge, he’s the national coach and football management is principally a dictatorship. So, unless there’s going to be a 1789-style French revolution, with a squad uprising against the Ancien Régime, fighting for freedom and taking Domenech’s head to the guillotine, just get on with it, think yourselves lucky to be there in the first place and eat these crumbs like good little starving eighteenth-century peasants, yeah… actually, Rebel, Revolt, take the bastards down!
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