Dogs of War belong in the past.

"The shit's chess, not checkers!"

Denzel Washington, Training day.


The comparison was fitting and stark. Stationed at the heart of Real Madrid's midfield Wednesday night in the Champions League semi-final against Barcelona was the central defender Pepe. Nothing too strange about that, centre-half's often step into the middle if an injury or tactical situation demands it. But Pepe is no Paul Magrath or Mathais Sammer. His rangy running, brash attitude and snap tackling was deployed against the Barca maestros to disrupt. A piranha dropped into a serene aquarium.

Screening in front of the Barca back four was Sergio Busquets. The Spanish world cup winner is an essential cog in the Barca machine. He has effortlessly kept his place this season despite competition from Argentine captain Javier Mascherano. There are few, if any, better ball winners than Mascherano but that is not enough today. He has struggled to adopt to the Barca passing game, the movement and one touch nature of it is often too much even for a player of his undoubted class. Xavi praises Busquets first touch and how he is always on the half-turn ready to move the ball. His ability to retrieve the ball without making a tackle and thus possibly conceding a foul is also an invaluable tool in an ever more disciplined game.

Pepe best encapsulated Jose Mourinho's approach over three of the latest clasicos. After the drubbing inflicted on his side last November the manager reverted to type and played two dogs of war in the centre of midfield. Having bowed to pressure to go téte a téte with Barca and suffer for it, he was out to stop and then mug a clearly superior foe. What the special one underestimated was the chances of a red card changing the game. With a player like Pepe snapping at the likes of Xavi, the chances of a booking or worse increased ten-fold. It is hard enough to live with Barca with eleven men never mind ten.

Destructive teams can work. That was best captured in last weeks Copa Del Ray. But that is a one off situation. Ten, fifteen years ago, players like Pepe and Lassana Diarra would get away with shunting a passing team off the ball. There are many that claim the game is too sanitised, that any semblance of a harmful tackle is dealt with too harshly. But the advantage it carries is negating the influence of destroyers. Jose Mourinho certainly didn't think Pepe's challenge merited a red card but upon repeated viewing the decision is justified. Had it been Granero challenging a decision would not be needed.

Busquets rarely, if ever tackles with the regularity or force that the likes of Pepe does. He doesn't need to. He best represents the change of midfield players. With the laws as stringent as they are now, where even intent in the tackle is enough for a sending off, the calm interceptions of Busquets are the way forward. He shadows a move waiting to pounce. Pepe and his ilk smash the glass to take the loot, Busquets unlocks the front door. He will likely face Micheal Carrick in the final. Another exponent of calm.

The board is set. Take note Jose.

Sporting lessons for Enda.

Sport and Politics. For better or worse they are inexorably linked. This week alone has seen some members of the current Superbowl champs, the Green Bay Packers line out in defence of Wisconsin public sector unions in their match up with Republican governor Scott Walker.

The shares of Juventus in Italy slumped last week as protests against Muammar Gaddafi intensified in Libya. Gaddafi’s investment vehicle owns 7.5% of the old lady of Serie A. His son once had a spell at Perugia. Just picture those negotiations.

There were few sporting angles during our own election. Some campaign posters, especially of soon-to-be Taoiseach Enda Kenny, talked of teams. Enda constantly exclaims the value of the team. Of putting the best around him and letting them get on with the job.

He, to use a football parlance, lost some of the dressing room last year as a section of young bucks launched a putsch. But he repelled them with some loyal lieutenants and restored order. Those dressing room leaks shored up for good after.

In a snapshot of a review of the immense “The Club” by Christy O’Connor, the great Tom Humphries explains that “To understand Ireland, you need to understand the GAA, to understand the GAA, you need to read this book” No vote required on that. It is a book dripping in the blood, sweat, and tears of a parish. You can smell the deep heat and hear the rattle of studs as St Josephs prepare for battle. In the many team talks that ensue, expletives are thrown with the force of a fist, emotion and pride bubble, and then explode to the surface.

Perhaps a bit of that is needed today. Some simple pride. Our new leader was a keen footballer back in the day for his club Islandeady. His father was an All-Ireland winner with Mayo. Enda was something of a fitness fanatic in his early days, forgoing alcohol to remain in peak shape. Here though, is perhaps the most important bit as he faces the impossible job: He was the talker, the leader.

One of those trusted lieutenants of his Phil Hogan told The Irish Times of Enda at half-time “ “I played football with him years ago, and the speeches he gave at half-time were inspirational . . . He wouldn’t send you back out through the door, he’d send you out through the wall.”

So perhaps it should have been Enda giving the pep talk last year as the IMF rolled into town and ultimately rolled over the government. Maybe that interest rate might have been lowered had they faced a pack of Enda-inspired dogs, straining at the leash, a crazy look in their eye as the numbers were crunched. Looking back, it wouldn’t have done any harm anyway.

Of course the great motivators in sport need more than talk to inspire the troops. Martin Johnston will roll into the Aviva after Enda has toasted the White House on St Patrick’s Day. Johnston infamously made Mary McAleese walk on the dewy surface at Lansdowne road the last time the chariot was swinging towards a grand slam. The result is usually glossed over on this side of the pond. 6-42. Conceivably there is a lesson there too for Enda. The next time Triochet arrives make him wait at the airport.

Aaron Sorkin is probably the pre-eminent screenwriter of his age. He is also a sports nut and will write the script for “Moneyball” Michael Lewis seminal tale of how Billy Beane analysed, scrutinised and mobilised numbers to make the Oakland A’s baseball team successful again. Now Enda isn’t a numbers man we are told but sure Brian Cody doesn’t do the video analysis for Kilkenny does he? Delegation. Its all about the team.

Sorkin is most famous for the West Wing. There are many sporting metaphors used during the show. “Error-free ball” for a senate confirmation. “Slam Dunk” if a bill will sail through (With his majority Enda can adopt this, “over the bar” or something) But one sticks out. Having devilishly stolen the limelight from President Bartlett over a weapons bill, Vice-President Hoynes tells an irate Bartlett advisor “Welcome to the NFL” An unforgiving, unrelenting place where mistakes are punished.

Welcome to Ireland 2011. Get that team around you Enda, The country is two down, but its half-time and you have the floor.

Ben’s “redemption” had nothing to do with last night.

The scene was set, two minutes on the clock. The Pittsburgh Steelers down by six to the Green Bay Packers in the fourth quarter of SuperBowl 45. A Hollywood ending was in store. The Steelers would do what they do. Grind down the field. Pop it to big Ben Roethlisberger and he would find a way to win.

Ink would be spilled and blogs filled with the redemption play. His throw to the end zone that would banish that bawdy Georgian night last March which led to an charge of sexual assault from a twenty-year old college student against him. A charge that was dropped by the authorities and ultimately only cost Roethlisberger four regular season games due to suspension from the NFL.

His suspension mirrored that of another pyrotechnic quarter-back Michael Vick. Having served eighteen months in prison for his part in a dog fighting ring Vick earned this years NFL comeback player of the year. He has garnered praise not only for his astounding performances for the Philadelphia Eagles but also for his work with anti-dog fighting organisations.

Vick is the prime example to some in America of how the prison system should work. He committed crimes that were withering in their cruelty but he served his time and has worked hard to make himself a better person and with that a better player. That may be a utopian view but it can be argued. Big Ben is an altogether more grey case.

Sport, we have been led to believe, shows the character of someone. The Chicago Bears quarter-back Jay Cutler was straight up lacking balls for some, because he went off injured in the NFC championship game against Green Bay three weeks ago. I myself, have to admit, questioned his fortitude as pictures of him ambling around on the sideline were beamed back from Solider field.

We have all heard about Brett Favre or Roethlisberger playing with injures. In the first quarter last night Ben was feeling his knee-something Cutler failed to do to convince the likes of me- but then went on a storming run to pick up the first down. Character? Balls.

Just as no-one can question Cutlers bravery because he didn’t sell his injury effectively, can anyone say Roethlisburger is a better or worse person today because he lost a football match. Vick has at least shown he is trying to change. All Roethlisberger has shown this season is he is a very good quarter-back. Had he thrown the winning touchdown pass last night do the questions or the allegations ( He is also being sued by a Nevada hotel employee for sexual assault, a case going back to 2008) disappear? Of course not.

Football is perhaps the most macho of sports. Quarter-backs look up from beneath their face-masks at packs of ravenous hunters with eyes only for them. Roethlisberger is from the Favre gunslinger school. Inviting them into the pocket and dodging their shots.

They get hit, they get up, they play on. But Big Ben hasn’t sold the reformed character yet. He may never do, but one things for sure the win/loss column has no bearing on it.

Six Nations Preview.

Ireland : With France and England at home, this is Ireland’s best chance of repeating the grand slam. But injuries have crippled the side and concerns about scrum-half and the perennial lack of a specialist seven could scupper any title bid. Miniscule chance of the slam, marginal one at the championship.

The coach: It is crunch time for Declan Kidney. Nothing he can do about injuries, but the selection of O’Callaghan and O’Leary against Italy smacks of conservatism. It may feel like an eternity in Rome on Saturday.

One to watch: Mike Ross. Ireland may have found the answer to their tight head woes. Should the Corkman stabilize the scrum, Sean O’Brien and co can wreak havoc from the base.

England: Which one will you get? The free-flowing tyros who so impressively swatted aside Australia last November, or the team that melted against South Africa? If the former, than genuine slam contenders. The latter will do well to stay above Scotland.

The coach: It is to Martin Johnston’s credit that he has tried to move away from a forward dominated game but England’s midfield lacks any class. Friday night lights in Cardiff could well decide their season and Johnston’s coaching career.

One to watch: Ben Youngs. Already a household name, Youngs combines lightening pace with an intuitive rugby brain. Needs Toby Flood and co to attack the gainline though.

France: Where to start? The only thing you can be sure about with the French is that you won’t be sure just what they are going to do next. From the sublime to the faintly ridiculous. Should the right team be picked they win. Simple as. Not much chance of that happening though.

The coach: There may be a method to Marc Liévermont’s madness. Should Le Bleus win the big one in September, he will be remembered as a crazy genius. Until then, he’s just crazy.

One to watch: Maxime Mermoz. Selected ahead of the legendary Yannick Jauzion for the Scotland match, the Perpignan man is in the form of his life. His partnership with Aurélien Rougerie has limitless potential.

Italy: They will be brave, they will scrummage like beasts and they will ultimately fail. Nick Mallet has done an admirable job with the Auzzuri but the lack of quality in the backline means another wooden spoon awaits. They will give Ireland a fright however.

The coach: Mallet has maximised the resources at his disposal. He will target the Ireland game as his best chance of a win and to gain any possible edge for a quarter-final knock-out down under in September.

One to watch: Sergio Parisse. Stating the bloody obvious I know, but it is glorious to watch the No:8 rage against the light. Expect barnstorming runs, soft hands and astounding athleticism. He may even throw in the odd drop-goal.

Wales: Any ambitions of a title were probably cut short in the valleys when Adam Jones and Gethin Jenkins were ruled out through injury. They will hit England with everything they have got Friday night however and should they prevail then who knows?

The coach: Warren Gatland likes a verbal spat with the opposition as highlighted with his pop at English hooker Dylan Hartley. He should concentrate on keeping his job as his win ratio is getting negative fast.

One to watch: James Hook. Liable to throw an intercept pass but also capable of genuine class. The Osprey man wants to play at ten and is bound for France to do so. He needs to make his mark in the centre or at 15 for Wales to be a force.

Scotland. Commitment, passion and the catchiest of all the anthems wont be enough for the Scots to challenge for the championship. But undoubtedly awkward opponents for all but France who they just cannot beat.

The coach: Andy Robinson has done a very good job with Scotland. Test wins in Argentina are rare as are any slayings of Springbok’s but he has not got the required class in his backs to take them up another level .

One to watch: John Barclay. How Ireland would love this guy. A seven with the perfect mix of groundhog abilities and rangy running. He will be to the fore of everything good in navy.

Mayweather v Pacquaio needs to happen

LAST YEAR DAVID Remnick of The New Yorker edited a collection of the magazines finest sports writing. It is something to be treasured.

Such seminal gems from the likes of John Updike transport you to places like Fenway Park in the 1960s, misty-eyed at Gods who don’t return letters.

In amongst this collection is an epic centred on the ring. A.J Liebling invokes Ahab and The White Whale while writing on the heavyweight championship fight between Rocky Marciano and Archie Moore.

We are on his shoulders watching the two touch gloves “When the principals shook hands, I could see Mr Moore’s eyebrows rising like storm clouds over the Sea of Azov. His whiskers bristled and his eyes glowed like dark coals as he scrunched his eyebrows down again and enveloped the Whale with the Look, which was intended to dominate his willpower.

“I was sitting behind Marciano’s corner, and as the champion came back I observed his expression, to determine what effect the Look had upon him. More than ever, he resembled a Great Dane who had heard the word bone.”

Any writer would struggle to capture a moment of tension like that today but the problem would not be for lack of poetry. More lack of personality between the combatants. Boxing more than ever needs a fight to rekindle the wider publics interest in the sweet science.

There is only one that would be worthy of Liebling’s prose.

As Manny Pacquaio continued slicing through the weight divisions, reducing each step up to that of a step ladder, fight fans have yearned for him to clash with Floyd Mayweather. They are complete opposites in style and personality. Humble and brash.

A perpetual machine against the minister of defence. It is a fight that would render any other sporting event this year to the undercard but can it happen?

The answer is maybe. It has been long and often tiresome saga between the two. Claim and counter claim have jabbed from each side. Money, venue and blood tests proved the initial obstacles but they have given way to severe legal problems for Mayweather stemming from assault allegations against him from his ex-girlfriend and a security guard.

If proven guilty of these charges the undefeated star could face up to 30 years in jail.

It is almost impossible to see Mayweather fight in the first half of this year because of this. Pacquaio is scheduled to meet Shane Mosley on May 7 in a fight that has drawn criticism from some boxing commentators. Mosley is 39 and is far from the force he was but promoter Bob Arum had little to choose in picking an opponent for the Pac-man.

The feeling in some quarters is Pacquaio’s camp are trying to draw Mayweather out particularly as they have been highlighting the Mosley punch that nearly floored Mayweather in May of last year. “Pretty Boy” eventually won the bout with a unanimous decision. But if Pacquaio knocks out Mosley, he can claim with some justification he would do the same to Mayweather.

This would-be fight has already gulped a sea of ink and we haven’t even re-negotiated yet. If somehow, those choppy waters are navigated then the most mega of fights can take place. The destination would be worth the trek. The cerebral Mayweather ducking and diving waiting to pounce. The bullish Pacquaio, a whirl of fists, built for submission.

If it happens, it will be the biggest, but it could be the greatest of them all.

Fight fans, I don’t care where you are, here’s to our dreams

Hail little Leo, but save sympathy for Xavi.

In the end it was fitting. Lionel Messi centre stage, Xavi Hernandez watching him. It wouldn’t surprise anyone had Xavi directed him up there. Some of the football cognoscenti wanted the Catalan schemer rewarded for a year in which the two best sides in the world danced to the hypnotic beat of his passing. If not this year then when?

When would football’s top brass salute the man who treasures the ball above all others? A man who regularly completes more passes in a game than the opposing team combined. One who weaves and darts about the pitch creating quick-fire triangles despite pit bulls snapping at him.

In any other year, perhaps in any other generation Xavi would have won comfortably. But we live in the age of Leo. We have witnessed the birth, the initial steps, the ascent and now conformation of a legend. Fifty three goals in fifty two appearances in 2010. Many of them bewildering in inception and bewitching in execution.

South Africa is the stick to beat him with but Messi played well this summer. The reason for his lack of goals was he was trying to be Argentina’s Xavi as well as Messi. That and some simple bad luck in encountering a goalkeeper in Nigeria’s Vincent Enyeama who described his own performance against Argentina as “divine” as he repelled an almost possessed Messi time and time again.

He has two more world cups at something approaching his peak in which to silence any internationally influenced doubters. To excel at tournaments such as the world cup a player needs to be injury free, playing as part of a settled team and be well coached. Messi had only one of that three criteria.

Xavi it must be noted plays alongside team-mates in Sergio Busquets and Iniesta in the centre of the Spanish midfield. That is not to downplay his monumental level of performance but it is undoubtedly a factor in the maintenance of his club form with the international side.

Messi’s level for Barcelona has not dipped for over two years. The have been sporadic disappointments when a system such as Inter Milan’s last April chokes him of space but in the main it has been a whirl of goals and assists. His shredding of Arsenal in the champions league quarter-final has already donned a mythical edge. Left-foot smash into the top corner followed by a right foot smash into the top corner. A full pelt scoop over the keeper for the hat-trick. A mere shot through the legs for four.

It has become almost mundane now, watching his brilliance every weekend. His duel with Cristiano Ronaldo atop of the picchi standings is compulsive viewing. Perhaps the difference between the two is best summed up in their free-kick approach. The brash Ronaldo with the gun slingers run-up and often scattergun result. Messi, with a careful stroke, like a golfer in a bunker teasing it towards its destination.

It is a duel that will drink ink for years but my money is on the Argentinean to stay centre stage. After all, he has Xavi directing him.

The Premier League's night of long knives.

The final weekend of the regular season in the National Football league ends on black Monday. It is the day traditionally used for teams to dismiss their head coach.

The Premier league has no equivalent, there is no set period where a win/loss record is tallied and the hard data makes the call. Even so January fifth may go down as black Wednesday for four premier league managers.

Avram Grant had seemingly pulled his West Ham side from the brink over Christmas with a healthy points return of seven from nine but a five nil shellacking from Newcastle has sealed his fate. The former Chelsea man has never seemed comfortable in a relegation slugfest. His luck in taking over Jose Mourinho's Chelsea and thus leading them into a Champions league final was just that, luck. He has never had the forceful personality nor the midas touch needed in the transfer market for the Hammers job.

Gerard Houllier took a major risk in replacing Martin 'O Neill at Aston Villa. The Villa owner Randy Lerner had made it quite clear that belts would have to be tightened at Villa Park and O' Neill knew that beyond the Villa first eleven quality was scarce. Houllier, it must be said is a long-term manager. He will have a vision, a grand plan but can Villa afford to wait out the season with the spectre of relegation hanging over them? Th Frenchmen will have to be practical with the pennies in the coming weeks. If he gets any.

Roy Hodgson has had the look of man facing the gallows for quite sometime now. He took the job at the behest of deeply unpopular owners, he inherited a dis-jointed and ultimately poor squad and replaced a popular manager. His signings such as Christian Poulsen and Paul Konchesky have failed miserably. He has failed to inspire the misfiring Fernando Torres and his selection and tactics have been baffling at times. Old Trafford awaits on Sunday for Liverpool with their old foes smelling blood. It may very well be do or die for Roy.

Carlo Ancelotti should not be a man living in fear of the sack. He took Chelsea to the double last season, despite not having anywhere near the funds his predecessors had. Yet with the champions losing to Wolves, it is not inconceivable that Roman Abramovich may look to bring in an temporary manager for the rest of the season. He has previous in this, replacing Felipe Scolari with Guus Hiddink halfway through the 08-09 season. The Italian needs funds to supplement and in some cases replace some of his ageing squad. Should Roman keep the chequebook closed however than Carlo could be saying arrivederci.

Some of the above may survive, they may even prosper and look back on January fifth as the dark before the light. But it is unlikely. The dye has been cast with all four. It could be a bright summers day when the axe falls, but it was a black night in January that has in all probability sealed their fate.