And just like that, the hopes of a nation were dashed. The optimism the nation had crashed against a blue wave as Curacao drew 0-0 with Jamaica at the National Stadium to qualify for their first World Cup. The stadium was rammed to capacity, no seating available, standing room non-existent as people pressed against each other by the railings in the walkways, and parents deftly handed kids to one another as whole families scaled the stadium walls.
This was history in the making, one way or another, and the public wanted in on it. With the country reeling from Hurricane Melissa, this was a time to turn our minds away from reality, if only for 3 hours. The Jamaica Football Federation (JFF) called on fans to fill the stadium and get behind the team; they held their end of the bargain, and for 90 minutes, you could not hear yourself think. However, when the final whistle blew, you could literally hear a can drop beside you as the fans tried to process what they had just witnessed.
The performance itself was embarrassing. The team played with no sense of urgency, little to no pressing of opponents, a refusal to fight and win second balls, and an inability to think on the field. They failed to shfit from a strategy and tactics which were clearly failing. A lot of ink has been spilt on the ineptitude of the coach, some bordering on slanderous. Yes, he is no Pep Guardiola, but some of us remember knowing just what he did with lowly Middlesbrough and how highly he was talked about in coaching circles during his heyday. He is no bum, but he is also not an innovator. He’s a creature of habit and comfort; what you see is what you get, and we saw that during the Nations League and Gold Cup, where the team played like a Steve McClaren team of old, which is useless in the modern game.
Blame should obviously and first lie with the JFF for appointing him, and then not removing him after the summer debacles. I don’t blame my dog for being a dog, I don’t question why tiefing Joe stole, I don’t ponder why the devil is evil, it is just their nature, and to question it is to question the purpose of life, a futile task. The JFF had ample opportunity to remove the man and replace him with someone who could build a squad and utilise the strength and talents brought by these players. This could have been a locally based coach like Theodore Whitmore, or even bite the bullet and go for Miguel Coley, who was overlooked in favour of McClaren.
The JFF dropped the ball big time and now finditself in another unfortunate position with them having to transition Technical Director RudolphSpeid into the post of acting head coach. Now the accusations are of corruption, a stitch-up, a move the late Dick Cheney would be proud of. Head the selection team, search far and wide for an option, only to then realise that you, the man doing the searching, are best suited to do the job.
While I do get the suspicion — my eyebrow also raised when I read of his appointment —what was the JFF and Mr Speid to do, who were they going to realistically hire? While I don’t like it, Speid isn’t a joke coach on the local scene; he is experienced and has won what there is to be won. He also knows the squad and pool of players who will be playing the 1-2 playoff matches; that can be viewed as a plus or a minus because these players have shown themselves to be misfits.
The JFF has found itself in a damned if you do, damned if you don’t scenario of its own doing when it comes to the coach. If we win the playoffs, that won’t be enough for the public to forgive the JFF and Speid for the debacle, and there will be calls by fans for him to go. If he fails, then that ends any thought of him managing the national team. He has studied his strategy and tactics, it seems, and brought in the fan favourite Miguel Coley as his assistant, to do the job long term.
However, if he fails, Coley also fails; if he succeeds, then it is possible that Coley’s potential to get the job is neutralised.
That, though, is where the failures of the JFF end; the debacle we saw on November 18 was solely down to the players. Anyone who has played any sport knows that the coach’s job,more or less ends once the players enter the field of play; this is even more true for international football, where players literally only have a few days with the coach on the training field. Once the players, in this case, cross the white line, it is up to them. If they see that the strategy and tactics the coach wants aren’t working, it is up to them to adjust and adapt on the field.
Any international-level player who requires a coach to tell them, for example, that long balls are not the solution and that you must try to pick the opponent apart with wing play after 20 minutes of failure in playing the long ball, should not be anywhere near a football field. Any player who needs a coach to tell them to press opponents in a do-or-die match needs to be banished from the team. Any player who needs external encouragement to receive the ball in a quick fashion in a World Cup qualifier needs to never play football again. The players have let us all down so badly that words don’t do it justice. We expect incompetence from the JFF; that is not new, though it is upsetting. We at least expected the players to show professional pride, but it seems we expected too much.
And to be honest, how could we expect any different when some players don’t respect the game or the fans? A lack of respect is the only explanation as to why some players went out on a drinking bender the night before the match, and after that tepid, uninspired performance, when the country was in mourning, they could go to a strip club — and not even the best one— as if to rub salt in the wounds.
The team, barring a few players simply because they are young, is a write-off, and does not deserve to qualify for the Big Game. There are no leaders in the current setup, just a bunch of playboys and prima donnas who have somehow believed the hype that they are good. Since someone needs to say it, I will; the players aren’t that good, they are at best middling players, players who can do a thing for a second division club or some awful team in Europe. If they were good — the locally born ones — they would be playing at a higher standard.
As for the overseas-born players, you guys just suck. You do, and that is not an insult; you tried and couldn’t cut it for teams like England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, or even the US, so in a last-ditch effort to leave a mark on the international stage you opt, late in your career, to play levels below your dream. Mason Greenwood is the case in point. He has refused all call-ups because he knows the level we play at as a nation is not good, and he believes that his talents should be showcased at a higher level. When he eventually realises that the door is closed on him from the English FA, only then will he turn begrudgingly to the JFF and make his debut at 26-27.
The worst thing that can happen to Jamaican football is for us to qualify for the World Cup, as it would cement our bad habits and paper over cracks, leading us to ignore them. It hurts, but on balance, we don’t deserve to be there, and we should be focusing on building a team for 2030.
The 2030 mission must include the JFF imposing a standard and system of football in the youth tournaments it controls, forcing the parish FAs to comply with it, and inculcating that system in the national youth and senior programme. It must hold camps for locally based players to get into that system, and if they are still beholden to getting the diaspora to help, get them young. To be blunt, we do not want or need 26-27-year-olds who are not good enough for England making their debut for us; they need to be young and, more importantly, want to play for us.
Will it be easy? No. It will be difficult, as much money has been spent and goodwill burnt in this failed project. But if it is done, if we focus on building a decent programme, we would reap immeasurable rewards. Supporting Jamaica is never easy, and now is no exception. We had a simple group and blew it, and now our fate is in the hands of a sporting god who is more capricious than the sea. It is our bed, we made it, but my god does it hurt. Let us learn from this and make sure these mistakes are not repeated.
