It’s been rapturously greeted by just about every strata of Australian sport: Tim Cahill, the prodigal son, our legend, “our Timmy”, has finally deemed the Australian domestic league worthy of his footballing presence. Whatever it was that the A-League didn’t have in February, it has now. And even you can’t help but read his statements in those monotone, UK-translated voices from bad Champions League magazine shows, he’s saying the right things and we’re very lucky to have him, it seems.
That’s what the relationship balance feels like, anyway. The A-League as the nervous teen, trying to find the right way to look and the right things to say, forever making clumsy overtures to the most attractive person in class. They grew up together but the A-League never felt good enough. Some muscles then appeared and the object of desire faded from the social heights they once straddled. The boy finally, inexplicably, gets the girl. Now what?
One only need witness the broad indifference to Manchester United’s £93.2m payment for Paul Pogba to understand that footballing punters don’t particularly care how these things come about anymore. Transfers are strange and complicated and besides, it’s not our money anyway. Just get the shiny player and let’s get on with the football.
However unlike Manchester United, a club with huge, independent pools of cash from which to draw, Cahill’s return is being subsidised in part by the A-League. Under the guest player rule (also known as the Tim Cahill rule), the league can add $1m to the contracts of big-time players. Importantly, all clubs have agreed to this rule, presumably convinced that such measures are ultimately in their collective interests. Why the A-League compels itself to tip in $1m to Cahill’s contract when his employers, the City Football Group, just paid £47.5m for Everton’s John Stones, is worth exploring. You’d hope junior registrations aren’t subsidising Cahill’s contract.
But it doesn’t matter, because Cahill is here, and we needed him. For the A-League, his arrival represents critical sizzle ahead of crucial broadcast rights negotiations. CEO David Gallop admitted as much. He noted the rule’s potential to improve the standard of A-League play, but also called out the “marketability and visibility” that the rule offers.
Marquee players often deliver a promotional sugar hit, sometimes extraordinary performances, but rarely do they offer both. Cahill’s case is curious: it’s tempting to cast him as a grizzled veteran after one more pay-packet, but this is a guy still banging them in at international level. He has legitimate and reasonable aspirations to play at a fourth World Cup. For Gallop, Cahill’s value is obviously box-office. For Cahill, it’s a little more complicated. A number of his contemporaries – players from the “golden generation” – have attempted the same move, with fairly negligible success. Stadiums will fill regardless of his performance in the short-term, but whether or not they’ll fill in the long-term is directly connected to how dominant he is on the field. With four goals from his 17 starts at his last club, Huangzhou Greentown, corner-flags nationwide watch with bated breath.
As ever, celebrity is the currency of success. And for the A-League, the formula seems simple: celebrity means eyeballs, which means sponsors, which means money, which means you can pay celebrities. And so it goes with Tim Cahill. Running deeper, however, is the ongoing sense of validation that Australian domestic football seeks. Does Cahill’s arrival spell credibility for the A-League? And if he struggles, like Harry Kewell did, where to next?
For a league looking to gain domestic and international credibility, Cahill’s capture is double-edged. For years, Australian football has endured global condescension for its perceived naivety and an inability to mix it with the heavyweights. Sometimes our own players – especially those that have made it overseas – reinforce that perception. The notion the A-League is a step down for Tim Cahill and a step up for the A-League rightly rankles some, and while our most celebrated footballer brings undeniable box office appeal, there’s something satisfying in the knowledge that it is his on-field exploits that will shine the brightest light on how Australian football should view itself.
