There is a wonderful old sketch in The Goon Show when Throat, Neddie Seagoon and Justin Eidelburger, played by Spike Milligan and his partners in anarchy, Harry Secombe and Peter Sellers, intend to steal Napoleon’s piano and arrange to meet outside the Louvre on the second stroke of midnight. Except Seagoon arrives on the third stroke. “You’re late,” Eidelburger says. And the explanation is a thing of beauty. “Sorry,” Seagoon says, “my legs were slow.”
Vincent Kompany, one imagines, knows the feeling. It’s just not so funny in his case when his legs are not what they were and he is at a stage of his professional life when, to borrow an old line from Paul Gascoigne, the injuries no longer come in threes, they come in 33s. Or more, to be precise: Kompany’s latest setback is his 34th in Manchester City’s colours, and potentially the most damaging when the club have a new regime that gives the impression there is no place for sentimentality.
It is certainly startling to tot up the numbers of games Kompany has missed, the repetitive nature of his injuries and the seemingly endless churn of rehab, comebacks, breakdowns and sapping disappointment, and not be weighed down by the suspicion that a club with City’s ambitions will eventually decide there is no way back. Kompany’s 14 different calf injuries have accounted for 333 days of absence during his time in Manchester. Among the other ailments, there have been six spells of absenteeism with hamstring issues, four with groin problems and three with both knee and thigh injuries. Since August 2014, Kompany has missed exactly half of City’s first-team assignments. It is a cruel thing to say but Roberto Mancini had the wrong man when Micah Richards was hurt in one game and the Italian, showing all the tact for which he was renowned, tapped the glass in front of him. “Swarovski,” he said – meaning the player was made of crystal.
Pep Guardiola is not so bruising in his public statements but it would be easy to understand if Kompany is filled with insecurity given the speed at which City’s new manager has moved Joe Hart off the premises, ostracised Yaya Touré and made it clear he is unmoved by what has gone before. Guardiola did not even inform Touré – a mandatory pick if you were asking this correspondent for the greatest ever City XI – he was not in the club’s Champions League squad. He has asked for an apology from the player’s agent but would it really make a jot of difference if the opinionated, arrogant, selfish, gaudy, trash-talking Dimitri Seluk – and these are just his good points – sent him flowers every day for the next month? The truth is Guardiola has zero intentions of playing Touré anyway. He bends for nobody. And if Kompany isn’t worried, he probably should be.
Guardiola could certainly be forgiven for wondering whether he can ever properly trust Kompany and it isn’t easy making a case on the Belgian’s behalf when he even comes out unfavourably in a comparison with the player who went through his professional life being called Sicknote. Darren Anderton hated that nickname and with good reason bearing in mind he made 299 top-division appearances for Tottenham Hotspur – a club record, believe it or not, in the Premier League era and more than Gareth Bale and Hugo Lloris put together.
Kompany has the worse attendance record, whereas Anderton’s reputation was warped by injuries in the buildup to Euro 96 and the 1998 World Cup. He actually played until he was 36, finishing one short of 500 career appearances. Yet when he went back to White Hart Lane as a guest last season the half-time announcer could not resist making a joke about him not being fit enough to take part in the crossbar challenge.
In Kompany’s case, it isn’t easy questioning Guardiola’s methods on the back of 10 straight wins but was it really sensible of City’s manager to expect the player with the worst injury record in the Premier League to play a full match on his first appearance for five months? Last weekend, Guardiola talked about the 30-year-old being ready for 15 to 20 minutes as a substitute. Something clearly changed and the EFL Cup tie at Swansea City was in its final moments when Kompany went down in that now-familiar slump – head lowered, arms over knees, filled with anguish, this time because of another groin injury.
This is not the first time either that City could be said to have over-exerted their player. “Normally you get a period to settle back in, perhaps play a couple of practice games and get yourself 100% right,” Kompany, having missed almost five months of last season, said after returning to the side in March. Not on this occasion, though. Instead, the manager, Manuel Pellegrini, put him through five games in 16 days, playing every single minute. The sixth, three days later, was the second leg of a Champions League tie against Dynamo Kyiv, when City were as good as through because of a 3-1 win from the first game in Ukraine. Pellegrini did not see it as a chance to rest his player and, seven minutes in, Kompany felt the tell‑tale flash of pain in his lower leg. He has managed only two full games since and it is mismanagement as well as fragility.
What has not come out previously is that, in the buildup to the Manchester derby two weeks ago, he and Aleksandar Kolarov, one of the players who has taken Kompany’s place, clashed on the training ground. It didn’t seem to disrupt City too badly and it was the sort of confrontation that often happens in football – a late tackle, angry words and then, for a few seconds, two players confronting each other like warring stags. Yet it was unusual for Kompany to be involved and it would not entirely be a surprise if that was linked, in part, to the stresses of his current situation.
Paul Lake’s autobiography certainly sheds a light on the grievous effects of being a non-footballing footballer. Lake was an extreme case from a different era, with a mangled knee that eventually finished a career of brilliant promise, aged 27. His book, I’m Not Really Here, is a compelling read and particularly when he talks about the ordeal of turning up for matches at City, and the ritual torture of watching other players running out in their sky‑blue shirts while he wondered if he would ever get that privilege again.
Lake tended to avoid the dressing room like the plague because “the fact you have zero team involvement and you’re more familiar with the physio room makes you feel like an outsider, an intruder even.” It became so hard for him to watch games he would try anything to distract himself, even if that meant memorising the telephone numbers on the advertising hoardings, or looking for famous faces in the crowd.
Sometimes he was asked to perform the half-time draw in one of the suites at Maine Road. Supporters would ask when he might be fit again and he would go into autopilot. “I’d trot out my trusty ‘back in six weeks’ reply even though I had no idea when – or if – I was ever going to play again.” One autograph-hunter approached him with the request: “I can’t see you ever playing again, mate, but can you sign this ball for me anyway?” Another memorable line was: “Wouldn’t mind your job, Lakey, being paid to do fuck all.”
At one point the police found Lake on a motorway bridge. He was not planning to jump but he did have full‑blown depression and his story has made me realise that all of us should have a little more understanding about how difficult it must be for an elite footballer whose body is repeatedly failing him.
In Kompany’s case, he is missing out just at the point of the Abu Dhabi era when the club might be embarking on their most exciting adventures. At his peak, he had legitimate claims to be thought of as the outstanding centre‑half in the Premier League. But those days already feel a long time ago and the harsh reality of football life makes it difficult to be optimistic on his behalf.
At least Barton can laugh at himself
My favourite part of Joey Barton’s autobiography relates to his transfer from Newcastle to QPR, driving to London to complete the formalities when he and his agent, Willie McKay, get within 10 minutes of the club’s training ground and the call finally arrives that the player has been waiting for all of his career.
If you have followed Barton’s recent pronouncements you will realise he has, to say the least, a rather generous view of his own ability (and plainly it’s a mystery to all of us that he has not won 100 England caps as part of that all-conquering midfield partnership with Steven Gerrard he once envisaged).
It clearly isn’t ideal, therefore, for such a talented player to be heading to QPR when someone with these gifts would surely be much better suited to one of the top clubs. But then, suddenly, the phone rings and Barton, sitting in the passenger seat, cannot help but notice “Sir Alex” pop up on the screen of his agent’s phone.
After a few pleasantries, the most successful manager in the business asks to be put through to Barton and it is that familiar Govan growl on the other end of the line. “I’ve seen what you’re up to on Sky. Don’t go doing anything silly now. Why don’t you come here and we’ll have a conversation?”
The two men talk about Barton’s potential role at Old Trafford, the extent of his ambitions and what they can achieve together, before Ferguson rings off with a promise to sort the money. “Hallelujah!” Barton writes. “Finally a big club, and a great manager, had come to their senses. I would give Manchester United’s midfield a bit of bite, an injection of urgency. ‘What are you waiting for?’ I asked McKay. ‘Turn the bloody car round.’”
That was the point McKay cannot keep up the pretence any longer, burst into laughter and explained he had a mate called Joe with an impression of Fergie that was close to perfection. “There would be no curtain call at Old Trafford, the Theatre of Dreams,” Barton laments. “My destination was a run-down former students’ sports ground on the Heathrow flight path.”
If nothing else, it shows he has the ability to laugh at himself.
It does, however, remind me of Ferguson’s real feelings when the player was linked with a move to Old Trafford a few years ago. Ferguson looked bewildered. “What kind of manager do they think I am?” he asked of the newspaper in question.
