The truism that tells us people become more conservative with age is just a polite way of saying existing gets inexorably worse. First you’re forced to understand the propensity of things to go wrong and then you grasp just how wrong wrong can be, all the more so if you have children. There’s not much fun to be had when age meets legacy – a circumstance more commonly known as egomania – and it just seems easier to play life safe.
In many ways, sport is similar: doubt leads to wariness leads to negativity, the worst possible mindset when you need to flow. And no one is immune. Roger Federer is not only the best tennis player ever but among the best anythings ever, a status he started to assert while winning his first grand slam at Wimbledon in 2003. In particular, his semi-final and final performances were sensational; he trusted his talent and went for more or less everything, a method that sustained a generation of unparalleled success.
Nowadays, though, he handles pressure situations – or, put another way, matches against Novak Djokovic – differently, dominating rallies before losing them without even trying to hit the lines. And understandably so; if you gamble and fail, it’s inescapably your fault but if your opponent is too good, well, what can you do?
The significance of this change is amplified by the success of Stan Wawrinka, a fantastic player but, even now, one less reliable and athletic than Federer. So, when drawn against Djokovic, he simply attacks everything, and has beaten him en route to winning both his majors. Which isn’t to say that playing percentages can’t work, just that if a superior opponent has a reasonable day, it almost definitely won’t. On the other hand, if you’re bold and get it right, any opponent, whoever they are, has a problem.
The quandary of experience was nicely summarised by Sean Payton, the coach of the New Orleans Saints. Preparing his players for the 2009 NFC Championship game, he spoke to his players about Brett Favre, the Minnesota Vikings’ veteran, genius quarter-back:
“When you get older in life, you tend to get very careful and a little more fearful. You start thinking about your own mortality. If it rains outside you might not go to the store, especially at night. You figure you’ll just wait it out. You might have somewhere to go and you tell yourself: ‘I don’t want to go there’. You don’t want to get in a wreck.
“If you keep hitting him he’ll make a mistake. If we keep putting pressure on him he’ll start being careful, he’ll start doing anything he can to avoid getting hit and he’ll make a mistake. I promise you, if we hit him for four quarters, he’ll turn into that old man who’s scared of the rain.”
In the event, Favre played a fantastic game but threw a crucial interception in the closing stages, and the Saints advanced to the Super Bowl. “I’ve felt better,” he said afterwards. “It was a physical game. A lot of hits.”
That’s age; and then there’s legacy, by definition invoking our fanatical desire to outlive death, while taunting our compulsive fear of what happens when it happens. Through the 1990s, Manchester United played some spectacular football, most notably in winning an unprecedented treble in 1999. But the following season they were eliminated from the Champions League by Real Madrid, caught on the break twice in quick succession; never again were they as balls-out.
In 2002, the away goals they conceded to Bayer Leverkusen led to their last-four elimination; a loss that hurt their manager more than most, costing him an appearance in a hometown final. So, that summer he appointed Carlos Queiroz as coach and the Portuguese’s defensive emphasis meant United became even more cagey.
It was not until 2007 that they contended for the trophy again, by which time their record in the competition was the sole blemish on Ferguson’s remarkable career. But their defence was decimated by injury when they met Milan in the semi-finals, and they went out after conceding five times across the two legs.
So, when they reached the same stage a year later, the approach was different. Even though Barcelona were in disarray at the time, United went to Camp Nou and fielded Wayne Rooney as an auxiliary right-back, slinking away with a 0-0 draw. Then, in the very first minute at Old Trafford, Lionel Messi almost scored the away goal they had barely bothered to investigate, and United’s progress from there required an unusually brilliant goal followed by an unusually brilliant defensive effort – and even then, a half-decent header at the death from Thierry Henry would have rendered all of it wasted.
Arsène Wenger is another to become less daring with the passage of time. In the early part of his Arsenal career, his teams took titles by force, aggressive and magnificent in spirit and style, but since then things have changed.
As with most things, the difference cannot be attributed to a single factor. Others caught on to his French supply line just as it ran low and Wenger’s best players passed their peaks just as his spending power dried up and that of others exploded. But this still does not explain why he filled his squad with posing choristers who run slow and act slower, preferring possession to penetration and ergonomics to edge.
Particularly telling is the fact in the 12 years since Arsenal last won the league, Liverpool have twice come far closer than they have managed. In 2008-09, the naturally cagey Rafael Benítez let Steven Gerrard and Fernando Torres get on with it and his team finished four points off the top in second place, the division’s leading scorers. Then, in 2013-14, Brendan Rodgers’ side surprised everyone by going even closer, scoring 101 times in the process.
The champions that season, thanks principally to their 102 goals, were Manchester City – managed by Manuel Pellegrini, 60 years old but without a major trophy to his name. Two years earlier, City had won their first title since 1968, the goal difference that secured it reflecting the zeal of a team who knew their moment had come; two weeks after a 6-1 win at Norwich came an ultimately decisive derby victory in which their enterprise was the most obvious difference between the sides.
Just as teams looking to wrest a title tend to go like mad, those looking to protect them are often more circumspect. On his way to ruling the UFC’s welterweight division, Georges St-Pierre won 11 of 14 fights inside the distance but eight of his nine successful defences went to a decision; before claiming the WEC featherweight strap, José Aldo won six straight fights by TKO but six of his next nine fights went to the scorecards; of Jon Jones’s first 13 victories, only two saw the final bell but his eight bouts as light-heavyweight champion yielded only four finishes.
Again, there were various factors at play – most obviously, every fight was against a contender. But equally obviously, all snatched their belt in bold, risky, devastating style, which they then tempered to secure their legacy.
Which brings us to Claudio Ranieri, previously in contention to win six major league titles, previously failing to win six major league titles. In 2004, his Chelsea team played Monaco for a place in the Champions League final, where they would meet Porto or Deportivo La Coruña. After 53 minutes of the first leg, Monaco’s Akis Zikos was sent off, so Ranieri brought on Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink, a third striker, for Mario Melchiot, a defender, before changing Scott Parker with Robert Huth to restore a back four. It didn’t work: Fernando Morientes scored a superb goal, Marco Ambrosio let through a soft one, and somehow, the tie was close to over.
Predictably, disdain was directed at Ranieri for getting involved when things were already going well; the mess fit nicely with his media image as the bumbling Tinkerman. The reality, though, was somewhat different. Perhaps if Ranieri had foreseen the red card he would not have subbed Jesper Gronkjaer at half-time – without him, Chelsea had no means by which to stretch the game – and perhaps the initial change of formation was a mistake. Nevertheless, the scores were still level when he corrected it, and Monaco’s goals came via brilliance and error, but even if the specifics were wrong, the intention was absolutely right.
Twelve years on, Ranieri finds himself needing a maximum 17 points from a possible 21 for Leicester to be the unlikeliest champions in a generation; he can taste the immortality. And as such, he finds himself tempted by caution.
Before Christmas, Leicester played 17 times, scoring 37 and conceding 24; since Christmas, they have played 14 times, scoring 17 and conceding seven; since winning at Manchester City at the start of February, they have played six, scored seven and conceded 4.
Clearly, there are several reasons for this: Leicester’s finishing hasn’t been as sharp as earlier in the season, while, at the back, it took Ranieri a while to find his best combination and coach them to do what he wanted. On top of that, opponents no longer underestimate them and also know they are best combated by a defence who sit deep.
Even so, that does not quite explain the difference expressed by numbers and detected by eyes. What Leicester may achieve remains fun to watch; Leicester are no longer fun to watch.
The history of the Premier League teaches us that in general, it does not pay to become involved in too many tight games. In 26 seasons, only three champions won by the odd goal more than Leicester already have; Leicester have already drawn more times than all of them. And all of those teams had all-time great players and managers, while Leicester do not. Of course, it can still be close when teams go out attack but a conservative approach means it is almost necessarily so.
Accordingly, Ranieri will be best served by ordering his team to play with adventure. They have a lead, the easiest run-in of the three challengers and a squad who have never experienced such hankering or thrill. Attacking options by no means guarantee glory and success but they represent the best chance of seizing it – and not only in sport, either.
