Welcome to the second Football Daily Christmas Awards. This is the bit where, in our old guise, we would bang on about becoming so jaded that we’d lost count of how many years we’d been churning out this old tat. Hmm, all of a sudden, the penny’s beginning to drop. So OK, here we are, refreshed and ready to go! Pour yourself a pint of wine, throw your boots up on the desk, decompress, de-depress, and enjoy!
THE JOEY BARTON AWARD FOR SERVICES TO GENDER EQUALITY
Luis Rubiales, whose touchy feely kissy kissy lifty uppy alpha-maley crotchy grabby tighty trousery andrewtatey bampottery at the Women’s World Cup final ensured the Spanish side’s groundbreaking achievements were lauded even more than they would have been anyway. Hell, winning a World Cup on its own terms is impressive enough; highlighting that Jenni Hermoso, Olga Carmona et al did so despite the systemic misogyny at the Spanish FA – which included a lack of professional facilities and the manager rummaging through their hotel rooms, and culminated in Rubiales making such a show of himself at the final – proves the victory was another level of achievement altogether. That they’ll be remembered long after sorry-sack Rubiales and his cronies are forgotten really doesn’t need to be said. It’s still satisfying to say and remind yourself of it, though. SM
THE JOSÉ MOURINHO AWARD FOR FORCING THE CHAIRMAN’S HAND
Antonio Conte’s self-checkout as Spurs manager was a masterpiece of the genre. After Spurs flubbed a 3-1 lead at soon-to-be-relegated Southampton, Conte finally articulated eight months of repressed disgust. He started with a relatively calm five-minute rangefinder in which he said the Spurs players were selfish and lacked heart. At this point he was still in a job, but then an intrepid hack asked whether the insecurity around Conte’s future might be affecting performances. After trying and failing to count to one, Conte discharged contempt like never before. He repeatedly scalded the media for giving the Spurs players “an alibi”, then, in case anything had been lost in translation during his first evisceration, called his players a bunch of losers who couldn’t play under stress. The only sadness is that nobody took a video of Conte’s reaction when, a month later, Spurs went 5-0 down at St James’ Park, after 21 minutes. RS
THE BENJAMIN BUTTON AWARD FOR MOST TODDLERESQUE POST-MATCH TANTRUM
After Crystal Palace’s narrow home defeat by Spurs, Sky’s Emma Saunders gently tossed Roy Hodgson a respectful opening softball – “What is your overriding emotion?” – only for it to be sent whistling back past her lugs by the self-styled avuncular nice-guy. “I’ve got to say I don’t really know how to answer that question. I’m finding it harder and harder to answer questions, because they’re not specific enough for me.” When then asked whether he felt frustration at Palace’s inability to find the net until stoppage time, the 76-year-old Hodgson replied in the excess-levels-of-1970s-supermarket-own-brand-orange-squash-before-teatime style: “Well, again, I don’t quite know what to say to that … [pouts sarcastically] Yeah, we should have scored five or six against them I thought. I mean I dunno, what do you want me to say?” A bravura playthings-out-of-perambulator performance that made Jürgen Klopp’s 12.30pm-infused back-and-forth with Marcus Buckland look like a tribute to Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. SM
THE STOCKLEY PARK AWARD FOR A CLEAR AND OBVIOUS ERROR
VAR. It’s not too late, you know. RS
THE JOHN MILTON AWARD FOR LANGUAGE EVOLUTION
PGMOL boss man Howard Webb, whose monthly VAR chats with scumbag-averse Michael Owen became the most improbable appointment TV of the year. Not content with talking with his hands to a hypnotic degree, Webb introduced a new verb while explaining the protocol that led to the Luis Díaz controversy when Liverpool lost at Spurs in September. “At that point Darren [England, the VAR official] loses sight of what the on-field decision was, sees the clear picture with Díaz in an onside position and quickly check-completes it.” Webb’s challenge for 2024 is to turn “oh *expletive*” into a verb. We fear he’ll have plenty of opportunity. RS
THE WILD MAN FISCHER AWARD FOR QUICKEST HOP ON AND OFF OF THE MANAGERIAL MERRY-GO-ROUND
Long gone are the days when the managerial merry-go-round was hogged by the likes of Steve Bruce, Sam Allardyce, Peter Reid, Mark Hughes and Bryan Robson. They’ve been displaced by a new generation of upwardly failing middle-management types, such as Brendan Rodgers, freshly relegated with Leicester and now dismantling Big Ange’s work at Celtic with startling efficiency, and Steven Gerrard, whose reward for being seriously shown up by Unai Emery is a £££££s contract with Al-Ettifaq. Most successful of all in this respect, though, is Michael Beale, who has got himself a new job at Sunderland despite managing to make the aforementioned Gerrard look competent, for goodness sake, and his successor winning his first trophy at Rangers within 10 weeks of Beale being booted down Edmiston Drive on the seat of his British breeks. This state of affairs snaps into better focus if you re-read the entry while listening to the titular Wild Man Fischer song. SM
THE PHILLIP SCHOFIELD AND HOLLY WILLOUGHBY AWARD FOR PATIENTLY QUEUING UP FOR A RIDE ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND
Mauricio Pochettino, Brendan Rodgers, Erik ten Hag, Steven Gerrard, Eddie Howe, Michael Beale, Mikel Arteta. All within the next 12 months, you see if we’re wrong. Frank Lampard’s already grabbed his seat, natch. SM
THE ROY KEANE AWARD FOR PRE-MATCH AGGRESSION
Brighton manager Roberto De Zerbi has been described by Pep Guardiola as “one of the most influential managers of the past 20 years”. Not content with introducing a unique style of play, De Zerbi redefined the pre-match handshake when Brighton went to Spurs in April. He had been irritated by some pre-match comments from the Spurs manager Cristian Stellini that he thought were disrespectful; still, as he emerged from the tunnel at the Where Is That Bloody Sponsor Stadium, he did his best to adhere to the meaningless protocol and leave it at that. But as De Zerbi shook Stellini’s hand, his mouth opened all by itself and dispensed 50 grades of shade in the direction of an increasingly confused Stellini. Before De Zerbi knew it he was jabbing his finger in the direction of Stellini’s breastbone with increasing malevolence. The two managers were sent off in the second half of the actual game, mainly because the referee couldn’t work out who else to finger after a rumpus that emptied both benches. De Zerbi’s verdict after the game? “Normal situation.” RS
THE JULIAN NAGELSMANN AWARD FOR FACEPLANTING OFF THE OLD METAPHORICAL SKATEBOARD
During 2023, the German men’s national football team lost to Belgium, Poland, Colombia, Japan, Turkey and Austria with a cumulative score of 5-15. The Germans famously have a word for finding pleasure in other people’s misfortune – laffenatdaftküntzen [subs please check] – so we’re not going to pass up the opportunity, especially not at Christmas. Ho ho ho! If anything, they’ve got worse since jettisoning the hapless Hansi Flick for Julian Nagelsmann, so Nagelsmann is the first recipient of his own award. Of course, all of this can only mean one thing: they’re going to lose to a rampaging Scotland in the opening match of Euro 2024; they’ll squeak through the group at Scotland’s expense thanks to last-minute own goals in the Scotland-Hungary and Switzerland-Germany games; and they’ll go on to win Euro 2024, probably at England’s expense in the final. This will of course be dressed up as English heartbreak, but we know who the true victims of this outrage will be. Oh Gareth! Oh Jude! Oh Steve! Oh McTom! SM
Deutscher Fußball-Bund HQ. Photograph: Kirill Kudryavtsev/AFP/Getty Images
THE CLIVE ALLEN AWARD FOR SCORING AN AWFUL LOT OF GOALS AND WINNING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING
His career’s not over yet, of course. But we can only report things as they stand, so this one goes to Harry Kane, who having scored 280 goals for Spurs at the rate of 0 medals per goal, joined Bayern Munich in the summer. With glorious comic inevitability, Bayern, having won the last 10 Bundesligas in a row, are now second behind a club nicknamed Neverkusen. We’re all thinking it, aren’t we, so there’s no need to say it. Of course, Bayern have a habit of pulling medal after medal out of the fire, so nobody should panic yet. But just in case … and factoring in what we’ve already predicted about Euro 2024 … perhaps Harry should give Michael Ballack a call. He managed to turn this sort of thing round late in his career, after all, perhaps he can offer our hero a few nerve-calming tips. Yes, just in case. SM
THE SARAH PALIN AWARD FOR FOLKSY CHARM
There’s only one winner of this. “I just copy Pep, mate.” To be fair, Big Ange’s easy-going shtick is probably more genuine than the perma-confused newspaper-devouring former governor of Alaska’s down-home patter. Almost certainly. Let’s just wait for another five-game winless run to properly stress-test the theory, though. SM
THE DICK VAN DYKE AND JULIE ANDREWS AWARD FOR HOLLYWOOD GLAMOUR
Duncan Ferguson at Inverness Caledonian Thistle, finally bringing some showbiz glamour to the banks of the Moray Firth after 29 nondescript years (and no, James Vincent poking home from five yards against Falkirk in front of 37,000 fans at the 2015 Scottish Cup final doesn’t count, great as it was, it just can’t). It’s the first time Super Caley have dipped their toe into the glittery pond of celebrity, and what an outcome: arriving with the team on a run of nine defeats in 10 games, Big Dunc immediately snapped it with an unbeaten sequence of four wins and three draws. The Caley Jags have since reverted to type with three losses in four, and aren’t out of the Championship relegation woods yet, but they’ll stay up easily under the big man, we’ll be bound. Even if they don’t, it’s just great to see Big Dunc where he feels happy again. You see, Forest Green, situated bang-slap in the middle of picture-postcard England, just wasn’t right at all. Much better for the Braveheart-shaped Ferguson to pitch tent in the Highlands, where the vibes are much more appropriate: ie just about as Not English as you can get in a place that isn’t his former home of Merseyside. SM
THE DAVID LYNCH AWARD FOR CHILLING USE OF HAIR
Erling Haaland turning into Killer Bob from Twin Peaks by letting his hair down in the second half of the Premier League decider at the Etihad, moments before scoring the goal that left Arsenal’s title hopes wrapped in plastic. RS
THE MARTIN LEWIS AWARD FOR MONEY-SAVING EXPERTISE
Brighton, whose secret transfer algorithm continues to turn water into Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Grand Cru 1945. Tony Bloom, the Brighton chairman, has become the Colonel Sanders of the Premier League. The Bloomball ethos peaked in September when Brighton won handsomely at Old Trafford with a starting lineup that cost less than £20m, or [insert body part] of [insert underachieving Manchester United player]. RS
THE FELIX BAUMGARTNER AWARD FOR RAPID DESCENT
On 11 January, Southampton wrote themselves into the history books, albeit just at Fairly Significant Footnote level, by dispatching Manchester City from the Milk Cup. It was a deserved victory, and one which looks like denying what would have been a clean 2023 sweep for City of league, cup, Carling Cup, Big Cup, Charity Shield, Super Cup and (let’s face it) Club World Cup. An indelible achievement for Saints, and one for boss Nathan Jones to scrawl on his CV too, though what happened next is probably best left off. One month and one day later he was sacked; the following weekend he was turning out on the left wing for Cranbourne against Wareham Rangers in the Dorset League, a plummet of 11 tiers in six days. Not quite as dramatic a descent as Felix Baumgartner’s famous sound-barrier-bothering sky-dive from the edge of space in 2012, but then Red Bull had given Baumgartner pressure suits and parachutes and stuff. Poor Nathan had nowt. No wonder he went off injured early doors. SM
THE PADDY MCGUINNESS AWARD FOR MOST-MISSED TV HOST
Jake Humphrey left BT Sport after a decade in the host’s chair, thankfully with his head remaining attached to his still un-wrung neck, having sailed fairly close to the wind on a number of occasions during unwise verbal back-and-forths with various still-spry-and-sprightly former professional athletes. Humphrey, who stepped away from football presentation to invent the radio and yarp on about getting up every day at 5am for a fulfilling morning repast of water, has since denounced “the lads-y banter thing”, as if it was some other live broadcaster who once accused David James of not being a goalkeeper, criticised David Ginola’s perfectly acceptable fashion choices while fingering the rips in his jeans, or teased Martin Keown for being late for work, only to find out it was because someone had jumped in front of his train. Oh Jake. Imagine how much sharper he’d have been had he got up at 4.50am! TV’s loss is podcasting’s loss. SM
BUMPER ONE-OFF FESTIVE TV & RADIO SPECIAL: ALL THE HIGHLIGHTS FROM THE CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR PERIOD
Right, aye. You are joking, aren’t you?
MAIL! MAIL! MAIL!
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