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The latest horror in China's soccer mess
By Ni Tao |
March 25, 2010, Thursday
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Print Edition
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FOR those fans still nursing any hope in a renaissance of Chinese soccer, the recent crackdown on match-fixing and corruption in the game came as a shot in the arm - albeit one long overdue.
Yet amid signs the sport is finally getting a new lease of life, a controversial plan from the country's top soccer official threatens to undo all the efforts that have been made to rid the game of mediocrity and scandals.
On Friday, Wei Di, new head of the China Football Association (FA), created an uproar at a press conference in Xianghe City, Hebei Province, when he announced the plan to have China's men's Olympic soccer team join its top-division league, which kicks off March 27.
The plan has drawn fierce criticism after it surfaced online early last week as a trial balloon to gauge public opinion. It was even dismissed by Wei himself as a long shot one day before its formal introduction.
All the jeers and sneers, however, failed to deter Wei from having his way. To the dismay of its critics, Wei's plan went much further than its earlier version.
According to the updated plan, not only will China's Olympic squad be playing China Super League matches, but also the country's under-21s and under-17s squads - whose youth and teenage lineups aren't tough enough for the notorious violence inside Chinese stadiums - will be pitted against Series A and Series B clubs, composed mainly of adult players.
The biggest paradox of Wei's plan lies in its assumption that clubs are to field the internationals who will challenge their club teammates.
Anyone with a modicum of knowledge about modern soccer will be quick to pooh-pooh Wei's grotesque idea. His preferred arrangement of mingling national teams and domestic teams in the same leagues is the first of its kind in the world.
But that's not how Wei felt about his unrivaled genius in finding a neither-fish-nor-fowl approach to reviving Chinese soccer. His case for national teams joining domestic leagues has a seemingly pragmatic ring: national squad footballers sidelined in their own clubs can find the chance to perfect their skills.
Unfazed by a volley of slurs, Wei reportedly told a stunned audience that "unlike what people say, I haven't been kicked in the head by a donkey to come up with this solution to the soccer morass."
What consequences his derring-do might bring about are not his concern. Most of the 10 ordinances included in Wei's plan are potentially problematic: national squads would only play away games; they are to receive double pay from the FA and clubs they come from, and so on.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to spot flaws in such arrangements. How can fair play be expected of internationals when they take on their own clubs? And I doubt aspiring players would find modest FA pay packages worth striving for. Moreover, as a wild card, national teams' presence could greatly complicate the race for league titles or struggle against relegation.
Former director of China's Water Sports Administration, 56-year-old Wei has no track record in soccer. Two months into his term, this "interim" leader has flaunted his ambitions for the revival of Chinese soccer on his watch. After all, success in overhauling soccer - a Herculean task that failed time and time again - is a sure ticket to higher office.
Buoyed by China's first victory over South Korea in 32 years in a February 10 match, Wei believed he had accumulated enough good will for a hard sell. That is, what works for water sports also applies to soccer.
Wei's plan echoes the calls of some demoralized fans for reverting Chinese soccer back to where it started - a heavily state-governed sport where vast resources were pooled to ensure its success.
Popular disgust with sleaze plaguing Chinese soccer has fueled a certain nostalgia for its past glory, when state-trained Chinese teams reigned in Asia, as opposed to their also-ran status now.
But it is one thing to wax nostalgic, quite another to champion a doomed throwback. What Wei doesn't understand is that soccer is not like water sports, or table tennis, or whatever event China excels at by mobilizing the entire country's resources. Soccer flourishes on a free-ranging training philosophy.
Under the state-backed system, footballers made to repeat a repertoire of skills are nothing more than industrial goods off the production line. This severely constrains their creativity and character. No, China's Lionel Messi can never be nurtured this way.
Wei invited ridicule when he asked, "Why should China look up to major European soccer leagues as the model?"
This question says a lot about his ignorance of soccer, and even more about his hubris. And this is from the same man who only recently vowed, "I will unswervingly advance professional soccer as the priority of my work."
To be fair, Wei is not alone in making retrograde moves in the name of improving the sport. His predecessors all had their share of making life more difficult for the game in China. But none of them perhaps can be said to have changed Chinese soccer more dramatically than Wei.
Karl Marx once said: History repeats itself, first as tragedy, then as farce. For Chinese soccer, however, history is often a sad combination of both.
Yet amid signs the sport is finally getting a new lease of life, a controversial plan from the country's top soccer official threatens to undo all the efforts that have been made to rid the game of mediocrity and scandals.
On Friday, Wei Di, new head of the China Football Association (FA), created an uproar at a press conference in Xianghe City, Hebei Province, when he announced the plan to have China's men's Olympic soccer team join its top-division league, which kicks off March 27.
The plan has drawn fierce criticism after it surfaced online early last week as a trial balloon to gauge public opinion. It was even dismissed by Wei himself as a long shot one day before its formal introduction.
All the jeers and sneers, however, failed to deter Wei from having his way. To the dismay of its critics, Wei's plan went much further than its earlier version.
According to the updated plan, not only will China's Olympic squad be playing China Super League matches, but also the country's under-21s and under-17s squads - whose youth and teenage lineups aren't tough enough for the notorious violence inside Chinese stadiums - will be pitted against Series A and Series B clubs, composed mainly of adult players.
The biggest paradox of Wei's plan lies in its assumption that clubs are to field the internationals who will challenge their club teammates.
Anyone with a modicum of knowledge about modern soccer will be quick to pooh-pooh Wei's grotesque idea. His preferred arrangement of mingling national teams and domestic teams in the same leagues is the first of its kind in the world.
But that's not how Wei felt about his unrivaled genius in finding a neither-fish-nor-fowl approach to reviving Chinese soccer. His case for national teams joining domestic leagues has a seemingly pragmatic ring: national squad footballers sidelined in their own clubs can find the chance to perfect their skills.
Unfazed by a volley of slurs, Wei reportedly told a stunned audience that "unlike what people say, I haven't been kicked in the head by a donkey to come up with this solution to the soccer morass."
What consequences his derring-do might bring about are not his concern. Most of the 10 ordinances included in Wei's plan are potentially problematic: national squads would only play away games; they are to receive double pay from the FA and clubs they come from, and so on.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to spot flaws in such arrangements. How can fair play be expected of internationals when they take on their own clubs? And I doubt aspiring players would find modest FA pay packages worth striving for. Moreover, as a wild card, national teams' presence could greatly complicate the race for league titles or struggle against relegation.
Former director of China's Water Sports Administration, 56-year-old Wei has no track record in soccer. Two months into his term, this "interim" leader has flaunted his ambitions for the revival of Chinese soccer on his watch. After all, success in overhauling soccer - a Herculean task that failed time and time again - is a sure ticket to higher office.
Buoyed by China's first victory over South Korea in 32 years in a February 10 match, Wei believed he had accumulated enough good will for a hard sell. That is, what works for water sports also applies to soccer.
Wei's plan echoes the calls of some demoralized fans for reverting Chinese soccer back to where it started - a heavily state-governed sport where vast resources were pooled to ensure its success.
Popular disgust with sleaze plaguing Chinese soccer has fueled a certain nostalgia for its past glory, when state-trained Chinese teams reigned in Asia, as opposed to their also-ran status now.
But it is one thing to wax nostalgic, quite another to champion a doomed throwback. What Wei doesn't understand is that soccer is not like water sports, or table tennis, or whatever event China excels at by mobilizing the entire country's resources. Soccer flourishes on a free-ranging training philosophy.
Under the state-backed system, footballers made to repeat a repertoire of skills are nothing more than industrial goods off the production line. This severely constrains their creativity and character. No, China's Lionel Messi can never be nurtured this way.
Wei invited ridicule when he asked, "Why should China look up to major European soccer leagues as the model?"
This question says a lot about his ignorance of soccer, and even more about his hubris. And this is from the same man who only recently vowed, "I will unswervingly advance professional soccer as the priority of my work."
To be fair, Wei is not alone in making retrograde moves in the name of improving the sport. His predecessors all had their share of making life more difficult for the game in China. But none of them perhaps can be said to have changed Chinese soccer more dramatically than Wei.
Karl Marx once said: History repeats itself, first as tragedy, then as farce. For Chinese soccer, however, history is often a sad combination of both.
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