UK Edition
Across his 21 years in the Premier League, Arsene Wenger has never had a breakfast conversation like it. Speaking last week at an event organised by the Football Writers’ Association to raise funds for the Grenfell Tower appeal, the Arsenal manager recalled what had happened to him over his morning coffee when he was in South Africa watching the 2010 World Cup.
After visiting the breakfast buffet at his hotel, he had sat down next to a fellow guest who turned out to be a journalist from Kenya. As they exchanged pleasantries, the man – who had immediately recognised him – asked him if he appreciated how significant a presence the Premier League was in the country’s daily life.
Wenger replied that, yes, he knew the competition was big across the world. Not like it is in Kenya, the man insisted. In Kenya they live and die by the results from England. Literally.
After all, he said, his cousin was an Arsenal fan. And after Arsenal had lost to Manchester United in the 2009 Champions League semi-final, he was so distraught he had hanged himself. He was found the next day dressed in his Arsenal replica shirt.
Wenger, a man who has never been known to refuse to answer a question, had absolutely no reply.
Wenger said it really took him aback. It made him appreciate what a responsibility he had. He had long known what he did was important, far more than just a bit of light entertainment.
He knew that it could provoke people into exaggerated responses, like hiring a plane to trail a message over the Emirates Stadium or shouting into the Arsenal Fan TV camera or exchanging tweets with Piers Morgan. But this was something more. What happened to that Kenyan fan may have been an isolated, extreme response.
But it made Wenger realise that such is the level of commitment and involvement in the game, across the world personal well-being is at stake on every result he and his team achieve. It meant what he does matters.
Not just to him and his team and the club’s bottom line. But it sent ripples outwards, affecting people’s lives. What he does on a Saturday, or Sunday or Friday night, has meaning everywhere from Nuneaton to Nairobi. In truth, it is a level of accountability few of us – unless we are a Prime Minister or a heart surgeon – can ever contemplate. Nothing we will ever do can match that sort of obligation.
Wenger’s anecdote deserves the widest possible circulation in the game. What it insists is that – even as the Premier League grows ever more globally significant, as its power and prestige gathers momentum, as its financial muscularity provides ever greater consequential personal reward – those involved should never be frivolous or dismissive about their responsibility.
The money they receive is the result of their profession’s importance. Nobody in the Premier League can claim to be reluctant role models when they are banking the returns from international renown.
Jonjo Shelvey stamping on Dele Alli, Diego Costa moaning about the lack of respect inherent in his manager sending instruction via text message, Danny Rose complaining that £60,000 a week really is not a return worthy of his talents: it all matters, it all has consequence. Somewhere in the world someone is watching. And taking it to heart.
When every result counts the consequences of winning and losing can be grave