Jonathan Liew's Blog, page 5

Women’s Euro 2025: countdown to kick-off as tournament begins in Switzerland – live

News, previews and more as the tournament beings

Mail Will | Interactive player guide | Wallchart

The narrative arc of women’s football in Switzerland is a familiar one: from apathy to hostility to mockery to inertia to change. Now the country will host one of the biggest events in the sporting calendar…

Speaking of predictions, be sure to let me know your picks for;

Tournament winners

Finalists

Top goalscorer

Player of the tournament

Dark horse

Breakthrough star

A moment to sense the sheer scale of progress: Euro 2025 set for kick-off | Jonathan Liew

The narrative arc of women’s football in Switzerland is a familiar one: from apathy to hostility to mockery to inertia to change. Now the country will host one of the biggest events in the sporting calendar

In 1957 the Swiss newspaper Sport published a short editorial under the headline “Women’s Football?” Furious that a women’s friendly between Germany and the Netherlands was being hosted in Basel, the writer mocked: “This event is not about football, but rather should be classified as an exhibition or circus performance.”

On Wednesday evening, in front of a sell-out crowd, Switzerland will play their opening game of a home European Championship that will be one of the biggest sporting events held in the country. Sport newspaper, sadly, will be unable to chronicle the event, having folded in 1999. Life moves on you pretty fast.

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Cristiano Ronaldo’s £492m Saudi deal: two cynical regimes form a strategic alliance | Jonathan Liew

In the social media age, football is a fraction of the Portuguese Übermensch’s appeal and he is untroubled by his paymasters’ morals

The winners of next season’s AFC Champions League Two, Asia’s second-tier club competition, will receive about £1.8m. The winners of the Saudi King’s Cup will receive just over £1m. Prize money for the Saudi Pro League is not disclosed, but by the most recent available figures (for 2022-23) is in roughly the same area. Weekly attendances at the King Saud University Stadium, where top-tier ticket prices start at about £12, range between 10,000 and 25,000, although of course you also have to factor in pie and programme sales above that.

And so you really have to applaud Al-Nassr’s ambition in handing an estimated £492m to Cristiano Ronaldo over the next two years. Even if they sweep the board at domestic level, if they fight their way past Istiklol of Tajikistan’s 1xBet Higher League and Al-Wehdat of the Jordanian Pro League, if they extract maximum value from merch and sponsorships, you still struggle to see how they can cover a basic salary that comes to £488,000 a day, even before the bonuses and blandishments that will push the total package well beyond that.

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Delap is Chelsea’s shiny new toy but uncut gem Jackson offers rare point of difference | Jonathan Liew

While battle lines are drawn between the two strikers with very different journeys to the top, there is a way both can thrive

“They are quite similar,” Enzo Maresca said last week of Liam Delap and Nicolas Jackson, but of course nobody wanted to take any notice of that bit. Already battle lines are being drawn, positions entrenched. Delap or Jackson. Jackson or Delap. One must survive. One must go reluctantly on loan to Serie A. Those are just the rules.

On these terms alone, it’s been a very good week for Delap. Against Flamengo in the Club World Cup on Friday, he was preferred up front, and played with bristling, controlled aggression for more than an hour before making way for Jackson. He then watched as his replacement lost possession with his first touch, went studs‑up with his second, was sent off and scapegoated for Chelsea’s 3-1 defeat, and later issued a grovelling apology on social media for his actions.

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Xabi Alonso seeks meaning of ‘Madridismo’ on return to chaotic and toxic Real Madrid

Club World Cup offers new coach a first chance to measure task ahead at a club that has become angry and unmoored

Of course he has been taking part in training. Quite frankly, it would have been deeply and offensively off-brand for Xabi Alonso not to have joined in. Darting around in the roasting heat, physically moving players into his desired positions, pinging pinpoint passes in his classic Predator boots: it was Alonso in his purest essence, and as the new Real Madrid coach oversaw his first sessions at Valdebebas this week it was hard not to feel that on some level nature was healing.

As a player Alonso was a difference-maker, a details man, a midfielder who adored the ball and tried to leave nothing to chance. As a coach, the same traits define him. Sessions are high-intensity, fast-paced, but almost always with the ball at feet. He intervenes constantly, always correcting, always cajoling, and in case of doubt he can always grab a ball and illustrate the point himself. Zinedine Zidane would occasionally participate in training if numbers were short. But with Alonso it is almost as if he needs to be involved, that playing and coaching are simply two ways of painting the same picture.

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Eberechi Eze offers England’s brightest spark amid end-of-season gloom | Jonathan Liew

Amid the tired legs and loose passes of Senegal defeat, the Crystal Palace star enjoyed his best England game to date

The beer cups are not yet being hurled. Tabloid editors have not yet decided which root vegetable would Photoshop best on to his face. Helicopters are not yet being dispatched to take aerial shots of his house. We are still probably at least two defeats away from our first second world war-themed front page.

But perhaps in hindsight, this was the week Thomas Tuchel finally became the England manager. The night he finally felt the weight of the hairshirt. Finally glimpsed the depth and darkness of a job in which all defeats are humiliations, where the default temperature is set permanently to “scorn”, where every decision is a betrayal of somebody, somewhere.

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Ange Postecoglou’s triumphant sacking holds the key to modern football | Jonathan Liew

The Australian’s fluctuating fortunes at Spurs expose how much the game has become an act of persuasion

Enjoy your launch. And for Ange Postecoglou, who always bristled at the idea that his wealth of coaching experience had somehow been earned in inferior competitions, perhaps his departure from Tottenham really can be a kind of springboard: to one of these prestigious, equally demanding leagues he keeps talking about. Maybe the struggling Gamba Osaka. Perth Glory could well have a vacancy soon. Motherwell are still looking. A step down? That’s just your old-world, Eurocentric, Prem-brained snobbery showing right through there, mate.

And so to Postecoglou’s many rhetorical elisions can be added another: the triumphant sacking. Perhaps it was only in this universe – the post-truth universe – that such a feat was even conceivable. Along with the Europa League trophy he so stunningly spirited to north London, this may turn out to be the defining legacy of the Postecoglou interregnum. There have been better Premier League managers. There have been more charming and more entertaining Premier League managers. But there may never have been a manager better at defining his own terms of achievement; a managerial reign so evidently built upon a towering silo of nuclear-strength bullshit.

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Sinner’s mechanical excellence malfunctions against human ingenuity of relentless rival

World No 1’s spellbinding effort dismantled by Alcaraz in the fifth set to conjure theatre in Paris and a rivalry for the ages

By the end, it felt cruel to want more. Look at the state of these men: bedraggled and dishevelled, dragged into a place of wildness and madness, of mental atrophy and physical dismay. You, on the other hand, have spent the last five and a half hours sitting on your couch, eating snacks and gorging on the finest sporting theatre. You want this prolonged for your entertainment? You want more of this? And of course the only real answer is: yes. Yes, please.

Twilight zone at Roland Garros. Two sets each, six games each: the shadows ravenous, the noise bestial, every thrill laced with a kind of sickness. By the end, admiration began to meld with pity. Pity for their teams and families, trapped in the convulsions, feeling a spiralling hypertension with every passing moment. Pity for the tennis balls, being smacked and beaten mercilessly across the Paris night. Pity for the watching Andre Agassi, who you could swear had hair when this match started.

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Bruno Fernandes staying means Manchester United face all kinds of trade-offs | Jonathan Liew

Signing Matheus Cunha and Bryan Mbeumo are leaps of faith, as is hoping Ruben Amorim can solve all the problems

In publicly rejecting the overtures of the Saudi Pro League, Bruno Fernandes has made it clear he wants to continue playing football at the highest level. That he wants to challenge for trophies. That he has no interest in wasting what remains of his peak years jogging around aimlessly in the service of a vast public relations project, providing lucrative content for a cruel and heartless regime. Despite all this, he’s more than happy to remain at Manchester United for now.

There were other angles to this decision. In a sense, Al-Hilal’s courtship of Fernandes represented a kind of catch-22 for United, desperate to reinforce their underperforming squad while remaining compliant with profitability and sustainability rules. Only a player who truly loved United could contemplate leaving in order to help balance the books. But in signalling his willingness to leave, Fernandes merely demonstrated why United could not possibly let him go.

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Joe Root’s greatness is shining anew in the evening of his white-ball career | Jonathan Liew

England talisman’s majestic innings against West Indies shows he still has worlds he wants to conquer

The winning moment is perfect. Perfect in concept, in balance, in execution, in placement, in flourish. The ball disappears through mid-on, and before it has even reached the boundary the lid is off and the smile is unsheathed, and for some reason it matters a great deal that the stroke to complete a towering one-day chase of 309 is not a wallop or a swipe, but an artful on-drive for four.

But then for all his brilliance, there has always been a pleasingly jarring quality to Root in limited‑overs cricket, even a kind of quiet defiance. His match‑winning 166 against the West Indies on Sunday was perhaps his greatest white-ball innings, but above all it was simply a Joe Root innings, all gentle nudges and classical drives, timing over power, manoeuvrability over muscularity, a triumph of pure talent.

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