The Premier League? Not Even Close.
Monday, 06 October 08, 05:23 PM
by Stuart Gillespie
Ever since I attended my first, and until yesterday only, Premier League game, I've been sceptical of the Sky-led 'Best League in the World' hype.
It was Wigan vs Portsmouth at the JJB. The fog was so thick you could barely see the fans in the opposite stand. Chris Kirkland was cheered every time he managed to avoid dropping the ball. Glen Johnson put in one of the worst individual displays I've seen at any level. Only a late Lee McCulloch goal broke the palpable depression at the ground.
Sure, I was unlucky on this occasion, and you do see the odd classic in the Premier League, but I've also seen plenty of crackers following St Johnstone in the Scottish First Division.
And while I admit that there are some sights you just don't get north of the border - Arsenal or Manchester United in full, breathtaking flow, for instance - more often than not Premier League games feature several of the elements said to blight Scottish and lower league football: 11 men behind the ball, route one football, profligacy in front of goal, inept defending, horror tackles and so on.
To borrow a metaphor from Jose Mourinho, the buses that many teams park in front of Big Four goals may be full of players who would walk my team's league, but they're unable to display these talents from their own six-yard box, throwing themselves in front of Cristiano Ronaldo shots.
And when the top teams are pitted together the saliva-inducing aesthetic feasts we are promised rarely occur - often the sides simply cancel each other out.
With all this in mind, I didn't have high expectations for my trip to Upton Park to watch West Ham vs Bolton.
As it happened, yesterday's match wasn't too bad, though certainly not as good as you'd expect from 'The Best League in the World'.
The atmosphere was fairly decent and Gianfranco Zola has got his team attempting to play passing football. Trouble is, many of his players are simply not good enough to emulate their Arsenal and Manchester United counterparts, and the decidedly stodgy Bolton triumphed without contributing much in the way of attractive football.
The saving grace was a wicked bender of a free kick by Matthew Taylor - fitting, sardonic karma for the witless West Ham fans who had been riffing tritely on matters relating to sexual preference since his introduction as a substitute.
Oh, and Robert Green, like Kirkland, was cheered every time he managed to avoid dropping the ball.
I'll stick to St Johnstone, thanks.
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