Watching footballers being young forever can make you feel old - The Square Ball 29/9/21
RISE OF THE RE-GENS
Written by David Guile
For some, it’s the discovery of that first grey hair. For
others, it’s when part of your body decides it doesn’t like you any more and
starts hurting for no apparent reason. For me, the moment I became most aware
of my own mortality was during a six-a-side match at Goals in Kirkstall, when a
kid who could have passed for twelve came off the bench and megged me on the
way to scoring.
The instant the ball went through my legs and the little
shit gambolled around me like a spring lamb, my life flashed before my eyes. A
disappointing amount of it (in fact, pretty much all the adult bit) was spent
waiting for Leeds to return to the Premier League, grinding down the
starry-eyed optimism of childhood, year by year. Now I’m old, bitter and
broken, and I’m watching the rise of the next generation with envy.
Here we are in the future, and the rise of the re-gens has
begun in earnest. If you’re not familiar with the term ‘re-gen’, it’s from the
popular 1990s football management simulation, Championship Manager (yes, I know
it’s called Football Manager now, but, as we’ve already established, I’m too
resentful to pander to young people by updating my references). As the game
progresses, old, retiring players are replaced by re-gens — fictional,
computer-generated youngsters who will eventually, if you play the game for
long enough, replace the game’s entire database of real players.
Each re-gen is assigned a first and second name, selected at
random from the database of real players. Sometimes these can be mildly amusing
(Harry Potter, Steven Stevens, Alan Allen). Sometimes it will throw out a
proper gem (Odysseas Breakspear, Collins Awankah, Dick Monster). Most of the
time you’ll get a combination of a common first name and a familiar surname,
giving the impression that a player’s family dynasty is continuing within the
game.
At Leeds United, life has begun to imitate art. Charlie
Cresswell has already managed to do something that his father, Richard
Cresswell, could not, by appearing for Leeds in the Premier League. Look closer
at our youth ranks and you’ll see other, newer re-gens sprouting, like Keenan
Carole. A speedy winger like his father Seb, who represented Leeds in our
League One days, Carole Jr featured from the bench in our Papa John’s Trophy
meeting with Tranmere’s senior side.
An even younger re-gen caught the eye in the same match,
pivoting away from his marker and feeding a delicate through-ball to Amari
Miller, who reduced the deficit. Archie Gray, son of Andy, grandson of Frank
and great-nephew of the legendary Eddie, is just fifteen. Eyes will be on him
and his younger brother, Harry, as they seek to become the third generation of
Grays to represent Leeds in the top flight.
Then there’s Leo Hjelde, recently signed from Celtic. To my
knowledge he has no family connection to Leeds but warrants a mention because I
distinctly remember signing his father, Jon-Olav Hjelde, on CM 99/00, and also
because his name is one of those incongruous transnational mash-ups that the
game engine loves to assign to new players. See also Crysencio Summerville,
another young man in possession of a big future and also possibly the most
‘re-gen’ name of any Leeds player, past or present. Keanu Reeves was right;
we’re living in a computer simulation and we don’t even know it.
All of this is a roundabout way of saying that football is
making me feel bloody ancient, because even the re-gens themselves are starting
to be replaced. D’Margio Wright-Phillips, son of Shaun and grandson of Arsenal
great Ian Wright, now seems to be on the verge of breaking into Stoke City’s
team. I’ll be honest, the thought of one of my childhood icons having an adult
grandson (and conceivably becoming a great-grandfather in the near future) has
messed me up a bit. But apparently that’s how time works. Sooner or later
everyone you idolised as a child ends up either old or dead, and eventually the
same happens to you. There’s your motivational quote for the week. You’re
welcome.
As you age, the dynamics of being a football supporter
change. You start off as a child looking up to fully grown adult men, maybe
hoping to emulate them when you’re old enough. When someone the same age as you
breaks into a matchday squad for the first time, it’s exciting. Then you blink,
and suddenly half the squad is younger than you, and then you blink again and
now it’s the whole squad and they’ve all got weird haircuts with bits shaved
out of the sides, and they’ve never heard of Tamagotchis or The Office or Jamie
Theakston. And, worst of all, Spurs have appointed a child as interim manager,
which is weird and uncomfortable because you never conceived of a time when you
would be older than the Spurs manager, back in the days when Gerry Francis did
the job looking like a harassed badger. And you start to feel as though your
moment has gone, and the world has left you stumbling in its wake, like Gary
Cahill forlornly pursuing an elven-footed Raphinha.
It’s fine, really. That’s just the way the world goes. And
it’s actually quite nice to see the names of our childhood heroes echoing down
the ages. There’s a certain romance in the idea of Erling Haaland returning to
the city of his birth to play for the supporters who once cheered on his dad,
Alfie. Also, I’m sure I’m not the only Leeds fan watching the progress of
twenty-year-old Kelvin Yeboah, nephew of Tony, at Sturm Graz. These names will
always evoke happy memories; memories of a time when football was different,
and, I’m going to say it, better.
