‘Slide-rule pass’ and nine other genuinely great football cliches

One of the great books of Western civilization is Adam Hurrey’s Football Clichés. It’s a wry and dry look at the language we use (and use, and use) to talk about the game, and will get you laughing and shaking your head at commentators, footballers and yourself. If you haven’t read it, do so as soon as possible.

There’s no way I can match Hurrey as a writer on clichés, but I admit I’m equally fascinated by the subject. That’s because while we all agree that clichés are there to be derided, we more rarely admit that clichés are there to help us out, and even entertain us. What makes them useful and enjoyable is that they’re little prepackaged expressions that tell us a lot in a small space and/or evoke amusing images. If I say ‘Simon Mignolet looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights’, you know exactly what I mean. You can also treat yourself to the image of the Liverpool keeper standing in the middle of the road as a largish truck bears down on him.

In other words, clichés become clichés because they tell us something we want to know, and do it efficiently and evocatively. Unfortunately, in the case of most clichés, at some point they cease telling useful truths and become simply rote formulas, substitutes for original or interesting thoughts or images. That’s when the ridicule is most satisfying.

Everyone has their pet peeve clichés. One of mine is ‘he knows where the goal is’, which is just another way of saying he’s a good striker. Of course he knows where the goal is, it’s been right there all along. He’s a good striker, we get it.

Another is ‘in the middle of the park’, which sort of gives you useful information, and I wouldn’t mind it so much if it weren’t the only part of the park ever mentioned. You never hear ‘on the left of the park’, ‘two-thirds of the way toward the right edge of the park’ or anything else like that. Nor does the use of ‘park’ make you imagine a place where deer roam freely. Just ‘in the middle’ would do fine.

One more: the ref’s ‘controversial’ call. Nine times out of ten this is a euphemism for ‘obviously erroneous, as shown by replays from 26 different angles’. Refs have an absurdly difficult job, and I get the gentle treatment thing. But ‘controversial’ implies that there’s a genuine controversy, when in fact there’s none at all. Let’s call a trowel a trowel.

But my main point is that clichés can be both informative and fun. Accordingly, here’s a list of Ten Clichés I Like, in the hope of getting everyone out there to contribute their own, either in the comments or the mailbox.

‘thumping header’
What’s great about this cliché is the sound of the word ‘thumping’, which perfectly captures the impact of a head hitting a ball with power. When a header’s been thumped, it stays thumped. Goal.

‘he leathered the ball’
Similar in meaning, but different in effect. ‘Leathered’ may not capture the sound, but it gives the shot a nice old-fashioned feel. It brings us back to a time when the game was simpler (it probably wasn’t), more honest (it probably was), and less moneyed (paging John Nicholson).

‘he received his P45’
I like this because it makes sacking seem like a reasonable business transaction, rather than a brutal act of malice. In the USA, the expression is ‘received his pink slip’. But the American ‘pink slip’ is just a notice on any colour paper saying ‘you’re sacked’; the P45 is a real document that contains all sorts of information important to the sackee. I’d much rather receive a P45 than a pink slip.

‘textbook header’
Occasionally you get ‘textbook’ other things, but it’s usually a header. Neat, because it reminds us there are approved techniques that players can study and learn. Football isn’t just spontaneous inspiration; it takes plenty of practice to perfect specific skills. I also like the image of Wayne Rooney sitting at a desk late at night, adjusting his lamp, turning the pages slowly.

‘he’ll be disappointed with that’
At first glance, this is one of the silliest of expressions. If he misses the target from six feet, of course he’ll be disappointed. In fact, he’ll always be disappointed unless the ball actually goes into the net.

At the same time, if used properly, it can tell us a lot. It can tell us that, in the opinion of the speaker, the chance was of the kind on which the striker in question would have been expected to at least test the keeper. That’s non-trivial, and if the commentator has played the game and/or knows his Expected Goals, the cliché is a useful prelude to more thorough analysis. (Not that this ever happens.)

‘slide-rule pass’
A bit of nostalgia here, because I’m old enough to have actually learned how to use a slide rule. At the age of nine it seemed a magical implement, with barely-understood scales with mesmerising markings. I used to spend hours making calculations that had absolutely no practical purpose. There was also the wonderful feel (probably sort of sexual, but I was too young to realise it) of sliding the bar back and forth. I haven’t owned or used a slide rule in maybe 50 years, but when David Silva makes that kind of pass to Sergio Agüero, I’m nine again.

‘transfer saga’
A saga is long, with many many heroic adventures, and what more can we ask of a transfer story? I imagine Icelandic bards singing the glories of late-night negotiations and fax machines. Even better if the player is Gylfi Sigurdsson.

‘he has that in his locker’
I’m semi-ashamed of this one. It doesn’t tell us anything we don’t know already – it just means ‘he’s capable of that’. Since it’s usually something he’s just done, of course he’s capable. But the ‘locker’ image is hard to resist, because it helps non-athletes like me live the vicarious life of the footballer. We can also envision the player rummaging in the aforementioned receptacle, tossing out the less relevant skills (the backheel, the penalty simulation) before finding the 30-yard swerving drive he’s looking for.

‘arrowed in’
A phrase which usually describes a shot (‘he arrowed in a 30-yarder’), but which I like best when describing a player’s movement, as in ‘he arrowed in on goal.’ It’s packed with information: the player has achieved control of the ball and has shifted direction to go straight at the opponent, almost always the keeper, almost always at an angle. He’s closing fast, too. Then there’s the archery metaphor, where William Tell, Robin Hood, or even Simon Terry, accoutered in the costume of your choice, is letting fly with frightening, ruthless precision.

‘you’ve seen them given’
For me, the greatest of all football clichés. It’s also one of the most frequent, precisely because it’s so darn good. In just four words, it tells us that in the judgment of the commentator, the contact in question was a borderline penalty, and although none was awarded this time, is the kind of contact which referees have been known to deem a foul. Which also tells us that the purported fouler was lucky. And that a lot of people are going to be angry tomorrow morning. And in fact are angry right now.

Don’t forget the picture it provides, too. When a referee gives a 50-50 penalty, we see him going through the decision-making process, reaching a conclusion, and extending the arm to point to the spot. It all happens in a second or less, and is often a crucial moment in the contest. It’s high drama, and ‘you’ve seen them given’ encapsulates it in the shortest possible space. And best of all, it’s just one more way to bring Mike Dean into our lives.

Peter Goldstein