BANK: Find the real thing without feeling messy

BUDAPEST. Build a team of Gyökeres, Isak, Kulusevski – and then remove Gyökeres, Isak and Kulusevski.

What’s left?

A little authenticity. It’s not that little.

Dejan Kulusevski walked on crutches, sparrows swooped past at low altitude, the scent of grass was in the summer air and the national team was gathered on Bosön.

It’s not the national team center that Kim Källström and the others dream of, but it’s what they have. A gathering point for Swedish sports, with a yoga group behind one sideline, hockey trunks in a conference room, martial artists hanging out in the reception.

After all the cancellations, these matches have turned into… the June tour?

The national team’s training is filmed from a gist of scaffolding, which made me think that PSG has invested in a hypermodern scissor lift that allows Luis Enrique to inspect the training from a height of five meters.

It’s been almost a week since he made Paris European champions, I sat in the stands in Munich and was excited.

State-owned Qatari club PSG had crushed Qatari partner Oaktree Capital-owned Inter 5–0, but it was still permissible to feel that way.

Modern football has become so much about finding that button: finding something that is authentic, that allows you to enjoy the spectacle without just feeling tacky.

In the hours and days following Paris’ display against Inter, there was talk of authenticity in France.

Ultras and football fans in the provinces wondered, in short, what the hell was going on when the streets of Nantes, Sedan or Bordeaux were filled with PSG shirts, with away fans cheering for Paris.

Was it real? Huh?

We had the same discussion here in Sweden the other week, an old debate about whether it’s fake or real when Swedes put on an Arsenal shirt.

Is it real, huh?

Many years ago I read a Norwegian sociology study that showed that Scandinavian supporters of English teams were obsessed with authenticity. It was almost more important to a 22-year-old Liverpool fan from Bergen that there was scouse in the LFC dressing room than it was to someone born on the Mersey.

You can’t judge, or even rank, feelings, many say. I, a member of an English club for 35 years, can think that feels good. My joy is my joy, my identity is mine, I choose it myself.

Two objections, only.

Partly: how does the Swedish Manchester United supporter feel about the images of a section of the stands at Old Trafford that has been completely taken over by fanatical fans who have traveled to the stadium from Asia, standing there with iPhones in their hands and blissful smiles? Is their love or right to the club worth less than Johan’s, just because Johan is from Köping and speaks English without an accent?

I don’t think Johan thinks so. I think Johan thinks it dilutes the authenticity of his United, and I think Johan – who doesn’t necessarily have to be racist – doesn’t think at all the same way about Asians as when he takes a selfie of himself in a United shirt.

Modern football is based on globalizing supportership, broadening the customer base and knocking out competitors who have less appeal. Like CS Sedan or Girondins de Bordeaux, or like Västerås SK and Halmstad.

Everyone can have whatever sympathies they want, I love my London club – the irony is that on the day too many in the stands come from Kinna in Västergötland rather than from north London, my love would thin out. It wouldn’t be genuine anymore.

I think this, the desperate search for authenticity, says a lot about the new football.

Because the real thing is in short supply, we need to invent images of the real thing.

pictures

Arsenal understands that there are commercial interests in bringing the clock from Highbury’s Clock End to the Emirates Stadium. Tottenham understands that it strengthens the brand by burying Bill Nicholson’s ashes at their new stadium.

Is it real? A feeling? Or an investment? While the genuinely likeable group of players in Paris lifted the CL trophy, it was a certain kind of story that spread the fastest around the world.

Rafael Pol cried at the final whistle, the PSG assistant lost his wife six months before the final. The images were difficult to defend against, something with the contrast between joy and loss. And then of course Luis Enrique’s incomprehensibly tragic story, his daughter Xana who died of cancer, only nine years old. He has spoken so strongly and beautifully about it before, said what there is to say.

But now he was asked questions by journalists, once and twice, and I had a hard time freeing myself from the feeling that it was also speculation. A hunt for content, a search for an emotion. Could you maybe cry a little in front of the cameras, mister?

Will it be real?

Is it strange if you lump it together with everything else that happened out there on the CL field. CBS’s stuffy studio, where Micah Richards, Jamie Carragher and Thiery Henry are pushing the tannery to full speed because a nice atmosphere is expected. MMA fighter Khabib Nurmagomedov, who refuses to shake hands with women and who wished President Macron’s life after Islamist terrorist attacks in France. Cool guy. iShowSpeed is everywhere, non-stop, even though no one over 20 can stand his moronic screaming. Rio Ferdinand who, with a teenage giggle, films David Ginola from a distance and posts the film on social media for likes.

Laughter is speculation, emotions are filtered. That’s why it felt so redeeming to see Désiré Doué’s wonderful maturity during and after the match, Ousmane Dembélé’s total loyalty to the idea of football as a team game. In front of that, you can feel admiration and joy, regardless of what lies behind it. It’s like watching Krutov play Makarov through Larionov and somehow becoming… happy with the art, beyond the system.

the art

Now the camp is over, the national team will soon be in Budapest. National team football is, with or without injured superstars, a breathing hole. More here is genuine, immaculate. No player is signed, all the players want to be there. Even though they are worn out after a whole season, even though they may know they won’t be allowed to play a minute, they want to spend these days representing Sweden.

It’s real. John Mellberg’s slightly cautious appearance now that he’s with the big boys is touching. It’s fun to hear Emil Holm make a fuss like the next generation’s Pontus Jansson when it’s time to play square or juggle pig.

Sweden will face Hungary and Algeria, everyone wants to show what they can do.

It’s not much more than that. And it’s much more than that.