Mateusz Klich is home - The Square Ball 22/12/21
ON JEST BARDZO SPOKO
Written by: David Guile
The first thing to say about this article is I almost didn’t
finish it. I started in the immediate aftermath of the Chelsea game, when I was
still angry. I actually did some research for once, digging out some really
good quotes about Gustave Le Bon and the theory of deindividuation. Then Phil
Hay wrote a customarily brilliant piece of his own, introducing it as ‘an
article about how much of an arsehole you’d need to be to chase Mateusz Klich
off Twitter’. That pretty much summed up what I was trying to say, minus the
froth and the pseudoscience, and it made my own article feel rather redundant.
Cheers, Phil!
After that, with indecent haste, Manchester City happened.
It left us with other things to talk about. The best thing you can say about
that kind of performance is collective failure sometimes takes the heat off
struggling individuals. Maybe that’s why Twitter didn’t seem quite as toxic as
it did in the wake of the Chelsea defeat.
Or maybe it’s because two of the most maligned individuals,
Klich and Tyler Roberts, have now closed their Twitter accounts and therefore
aren’t available to receive any more direct abuse. That’s not a satisfactory
resolution, which is why I decided to come back to this article. The sheer
awfulness of the Manchester City and Arsenal defeats have, understandably,
shifted our focus, but the issue of fans tweeting abuse directly to our own
players isn’t going away, and we’ll still be having these conversations long
after the echoes from these two hidings have died out.
There are three principal ways for you to abuse a
footballer, and each has its pros and cons. The first is to attend the match
and shout directly at the player. The big pro for this is that it’s quick and
easy, assuming you’re happy to buy a match ticket for the privilege. The cons
are, a) the player almost certainly won’t hear you, and b) the supporters
around you certainly will, as one halfwit discovered while being ejected from
the Arsenal game for racially abusing their players. This method comes with a
degree of accountability, so it might not be for everyone.
The second and least popular method is through the medium of
writing. You simply scrawl your grievances onto a sheet of paper, with or
without spell checking them, then dig through your drawers to find where you
put those envelopes for last year’s Christmas cards, then remember you don’t
have any stamps and make a quick detour to the shops, then search the net for
the club’s postal address, then find a postbox and put your creation in. The
obvious con is that by the time you’ve done all of these things you’ll have
forgotten what you were angry about.
The third method is sending it through social media. This is
ridiculously easy: a quick search to bring up their Twitter handle, type your
message and hit send. Ping! You’re done, before those feelings of righteous
anger have had a chance to drain away, leaving your brain to ponder whether
what you just wrote was a rational adult reaction to a team losing a game of
football. Now you can sit back and wait for the likes and retweets to assemble,
like an army marching behind you, proclaiming and amplifying the bold,
controversial opinion that you, and only you, had the guts to put out there.
You rock!
Avatars play a part in the way we interact online. It’s easy
to insult an avatar. You won’t see its face change as it reads your message. It
won’t punch you in the nose if it doesn’t like what you say. And anyway,
fundamentally, an avatar isn’t you. The Joanne Harris novel BlueEyedBoy puts it
nicely when it compares avatars to ‘the shield designs of medieval times… they
serve as both a defensive tool and the image of ourselves we show to the
world’.
I’ve previously written about my apathy towards Kalvin
Phillips’ Twitter account because it’s so starchy and regulated it no longer
feels like there’s anything of Kalvin left in it. Likewise, my account isn’t
really me — it’s a cartoon horse that talks a bit like me and gives a voice to
the whimsical, daft, Leeds United obsessed side of my personality. Twitter is just
a series of performative interactions between people playing fictionalised
versions of themselves to gain validation from strangers. It’s frenziedly
addictive, poorly regulated and full of public figures. How did we ever expect
this to turn out well?
Mateusz Klich’s Twitter account was one of the better ones.
I don’t know him personally, but it seemed authentic; you never got the sense,
as you do with some footballers, that a PR firm was scrutinising every word of
his tweets. The funniest part of promotion night was watching him upload
celebratory pictures and videos while visibly descending into inebriation. His
place in our history is secure; his goal against Stoke closed one era and
opened a glorious new one.
He closed down his Twitter account on Saturday, 11th
December after conceding a late penalty against Chelsea, then receiving a
barrage of hostile tweets telling him to ‘go home’ and worse. I’m not sure
whether the fans who tweeted him were ignorant of his place in the club’s
history or simply believed it’s acceptable to treat a player like this the
minute they begin to outlive their use. If I was a player in that Leeds United
dressing room I’d be furious on Klich’s behalf, and worried about what could be
in store for me, because if Mateusz Klich can get that kind of treatment after
all he’s done for Leeds United, anyone can.
Whether Klich is capable of returning to his previous form
is immaterial. He has far too much credit in the bank to be made to feel
unwelcome here. We can debate for ages about the wisdom of professional
athletes having a social media presence, or whether they should be ‘big enough
to take it’, or where to draw the line between criticism and abuse. All of
these are longer debates, but this incident has spotlighted a deeply unpleasant
‘what have you done for me lately?’ attitude pervading a small minority of our
support. It was the same minority calling for us to cut Adam Forshaw loose as
he struggled to recover from injury. It’s not sentimentality to feel that’s
wrong, it’s basic decency.
Anyway, telling Klich to go home is ridiculous, because it
ignores one vital fact. Look at the mural on the North East corner, painted
with his own hands. He is home.
If there’s the tiniest glint of a good news story amid all
this, it’s been the outpouring of support for Klich, both online and at
matches. It’s frustrating that we’re no longer able to communicate this to him
by Twitter, but I hope he knows he’s still valued. It takes no bravery at all
to send an abusive message from behind an avatar. It takes all the courage in
the world to step out in front of 40,000 supporters, own up to your mistake and
attempt to repair it.
Lastly, and this is addressed to the tiny fragment of the
fanbase who sent the abuse — do yourselves a favour and log yourself out for a
bit. Switch to the pen and paper method. It’ll take longer, but you’ll at least
give your brain a chance to kick in and assess whether you really, really want
to go down this route. The internet’s for grown-ups.