Who needs a manager?
One area of responsibility that hasn't moved away from the manager's shoulders perhaps should. Footballers take to the field and either play badly or play well, score or miss, win or lose, but it's the manager who has to answer for them.
Who needs a manager, anyway? No, seriously, who needs one? Leeds United need one, technically, which is why Victor Orta is flying all over Europe trying to find one, while Andrea Radrizzani is stopping just short of tweeting Victor's jet tracking information but can't be far from that now. But after eleven months with a manager didn't turn out so well, aren't things actually going quite well without one now? So. Problem solved. Who needs a manager?
Michael Skubala is impressing in his caretaking role, handling the press with appealing aplomb, and overseeing the team through a performance and a draw at Old Trafford that were better than anyone expected. He wasn't alone at Old Trafford, though. In the technical area he was part of a 'staff team', with Jesse Marsch's (ex? could be awks) bestie Chris Armas and the Under-21s assistant Paco Gallardo. And on the pitch he had Luke Ayling, the night's captain playing his heart out, with Tyler Adams and Weston McKennie asserting themselves in midfield, and "even Max Wober, even Illan," said Skubala, "they're all good leaders." Liam Cooper and Stuart Dallas were supporting from the bench, too, important voices in the dressing room.
What this started to resemble, in my mind at least, was something so old-fashioned it might just be time to bring it back into style. Something pre-war, in fact. It's a boggling fact that, until the 1970s, coaching from the sidelines during games was technically against the laws of association football. Managers could make substitutions — eventually — but they were expected to decide tactics during the week, then leave it up to the captain on the pitch to make necessary changes during the game. This was a hangover from the top-down system that was the norm before 'personality' managers came into vogue in the 1950s and 1960s, whereby before World War Two clubs were managed by a secretary, the squad was put through its paces by a trainer, the team was selected by a committee, and games were the domain of the captain.
In the middle of the twentieth century managers like Don Revie, Bill Shankly and Matt Busby were among the first, in this country anyway, to usurp the power of the boardroom. Their specialised knowledge outgrew the old selection committees who recognised, often reluctantly, the success of more scientific approaches. Responsibilities were transferred from the boardroom to the manager's cupboard — buying players, for example. Ultimately it was still the board's bank account. But they'd given the chequebook to the new 'boss' so he could choose his own.