The latest fashion amongst the more "intellectual" end of football journalism seems to be a renewed awe for the "ball-playing" midfielder. Much as any self-respecting music critic will profess a love for a band's early b-sides rather than the famous songs which are good, so a pretentious football writer will effuse praise on a Pirlo or a Xavi, rather than players who actually score the fucking goals.
Witness the Guardian's man-of-the-match rated performance for Carrick. Apparently he "Dictated the flow, covered superbly and composure shone" (which is grammatically inconsistent at best) despite the fact he "Had crowd (sic) on his back for three bad passes". Maybe that crowd have seen him play more times than you, Andy Hunter, and know a stinker when they see one.
Now I am a fan of the anchor-role; the string pulling, linchpin of a side. Paul Scholes, for example, is certainly one of the greatest English players of the last 20 years. He has a knack of knowing what the right pass is, be it 5 yards or 50. In the case of Carrick, however, I just don't see it. We know about the long list of weaknesses in his game: tackling, pace, heading, finishing etc. But even his supposed strength of passing seems no better to me than a Lampard, Gerrard or Barry never mind a Scholes, Hargreaves or Anderson, whom he must battle for a place in the side.
I'm watching you Carrick and I'm not afraid to say it. The Emperor has no clothes!
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