Staying Sober with Tony Adams

Sober by Tony Adams is really a follow-up to Adams’ much-praised 1999 book Addicted, both written with Ian Ridley. The moving moment he gave up booze in 1996 is still included in Sober, where Adams tells his therapist that, “I know how to get drunk and how to play football, but I don’t know who I am.” 

But most of the book is about Adams' career post-Arsenal. For the gossip-lovers he talks about dating Caprice and his eventual ending of their relationship before meeting the less celebrity-conscious Poppy. He covers his fine work with addicted sports stars at Sporting Chance and his time at Portsmouth, where it’s often forgotten that he was Harry Redknapp’s coach when Pompey won the FA Cup. When Tony took the manager’s job it proved a poisoned chalice, with the club’s financial crisis hitting home and Adams soon sacked.

He remained open to new ideas and countries and after that embarked upon an adventure, moving to Gabala in Azerbaijan and helping build the club up from a low base to a Europa League side. He’s involved in all aspects of the club’s infrastructure and the strain takes a toll; he nearly dies from a heart problem and has a stent inserted. He’s since worked in China and at Granada in Spain. Adams also deals with Arsenal’s curious reluctance to have him involved, and it seems Arsene Wenger might be a little wary of having a questioning voice on the coaching staff.

Adams comes across as an intelligent, enquiring man, and a little evangelical at times about Alcoholics Anonymous, which has left him open to the football world’s opinion that he is a bit “weird”. Perhaps he is too honest to be a manager, as his AA principles don’t allow him to tell lies. But with his defensive knowledge you do feel some club is missing out on a good coach and leader, and also a man who can really help modern footballers deal with their demons.

Body language and modern football: Sanchez and Arsenal no longer hand in glove

Perhaps football clubs should now employ body language experts as well as sports psychologists. Alexis Sanchez is rumoured to have had a training ground row with his Arsenal teammates, resulting in his demotion to the bench against Liverpool. The Chilean's apparent discontent was first identified during glove-gate at Bournemouth. Despite the Gunners recovering from a 0-3 deficit to draw 3-3, at the final whistle Sanchez was spotted throwing his gloves to the ground in the manner of a 'terrible twos' tantrum. 

Short of ripping up a snood in the noughties you couldn't hope for a better display of modern footballing stroppiness. The Sun reported that he was also seen 'waving his arms and shouting to himself' and stormed off down the tunnel looking a bit cross. The Guardian wrote that after being subbed at Swansea Sanchez was seen to "trudge off head down, and sit sulkily without acknowledging his manager." He then pulled a coat hood over his head and hid. And now he's been caught possibly sniggering behind his hand after being subbed in the 5-1 home humiliation by Bayern Munich.

These days footballers' body language is examined with the assiduity we used to apply to Hollywood divas. Every Diego Costa scowl or bib toss is analysed. In 2015 West Brom's Saido Berahino was accused of not smiling when he scored a hat-trick against Gateshead in the FA Cup. While West Ham's Dimitri Payet was also accused of not celebrating by some fans when West Ham equalised against Man United in a League Cup tie this season. 

OOH AAAAGH CANTONA
Call me old-fashioned, but couldn't we have a return to the more traditional body language of footballers? When Eric Cantona was upset by a red card you didn't have to analyse what he did with his collar — he simply kicked a Crystal Palace supporter in the head. West Ham's Paulo Di Canio made rotating signals with his arms suggesting that Harry Redknapp substitute him when he was denied a third penalty appeal against Bradford in 2000. Kevin  Keegan and Billy Bremner ostentatiously threw their shirts to the ground after being sent off in the 1974 Charity Shield. No mistaking how they felt there.

While if Wimbledon's Vinnie Jones was feeling a little nervous he launched himself like an Inter City 125 at Liverpool's Steve McMahon in the 1988 FA Cup Final. If he was feeling a bit more playful he just grabbed Gazza by the testicles.

These days Match of the Day 2 is left analysing facial tics and glove-hurling. Don't mess around with gloves Alexis. If you feel upset with one of your team-mates go at it like team-mates Lee Bowyer and Keiron Dyer did during their infamous Newcastle bundle of 2005 — the sort of body language no-one could misinterpret.

The key question for Arsenal: what happens to Wenger's duvet coat?

In all the articles on the Wenger succession at Arsenal one crucial question has been missed. What happens to Arsene Wenger’s duvet coat? You know the coat, the padded winter number that Arsene has terrible trouble zipping up, the one that stretches down to his calves. As someone once quipped, he resembles a particularly well-insulated boiler. Arsene looks eminently capable of spending a night alone in the French Alps with just his coat as a bivvy-bag.

If the duvet coat is to go to Arsene's successor then he has to be a very tall gaffer indeed, a man in the Jurgen Klopp or Peter Crouch mould. The coat would simply envelop diminutive bosses like Antonio Conte so the Gunners’ board should immediately being a height requirement into their planning. They can probably rule out Big Sam on the grounds of busted seams.

Other clubs have made similar mistakes. Part of the problem with the botched departure of Alex Ferguson from Manchester United was that David Moyes was not handed Fergie’s black Crombie, worn in his latter-days over a black zipped-up polo-neck, the one that made him look like an elderly Glaswegian bouncer as he squared up to Roberto Mancini.

Wenger’s duvet coat has proved so vital to Arsenal in winning the Wenger Cup (fourth place) over the last decade that it might even be given its own role after his retirement. Perhaps with advances in technology, some sort of Wenger-bot could be created to fit the duvet coat. It could sleep at the training ground and appear in the directors' box, occasionally kicking a water bottle and telling journalists that in England we are always one game away from a crisis. As indeed are Arsenal, unless they identify a plan for the duvet coat.