Arsène Wenger's pint-sized Arsenal come in well under the radar
The Arsenal manager's apparent prejudice is just another kick in the teeth for the marginalised tall men of sportThe ability to make people feel bigger is generally seen as a positive attribute in a football manager. "Bill Shankly made you feel 10 feet tall" former players will say admiringly. If Arsène Wenger wants to feel 10 feet tall all he has to do is stand next to his forward line. Wenger seems determined to have the smallest team since the Wembley Wizards. Over the past few years he has been carrying out a process of miniaturisation in north London. Vieira, Henry and Adebayor have gone and in have come Eduardo, Rosicky and Arshavin. The more people tell the Arsenal manager he needs to buy someone muscular and imposing, the more determined he seems to field 11 pixies.
Perhaps there is a tactical reason for this. Possibly Wenger is football's answer to Cus D'Amato. Just as the great US boxing trainer spotted that huge modern heavyweights were vulnerable to a short guy getting in underneath their guard and unleashed Mike Tyson on the world, so the Frenchman is looking to undermine the likes of John Terry and Rio Ferdinand by fielding a set of strikers who can look right up the legs of their shorts. Or maybe Wenger is just trying to save money for his cash-strapped club – because obviously if you can buy all the squad's boots in the children's department you are going to save quite a bit in VAT.
I can't help wondering, though, if the Alsatian isn't simply a closet heightist. Wenger is, admittedly, pretty tall himself, but he may be one of those tall people who is in denial, perpetually responding to remarks that he is lofty by replying "No I'm not. I've just got big bones". As someone who has been able to whisper in a giraffe's ear without a springboard since he was 15, I have some sympathy. It is not always easy to face up to being tall – most mirrors are hung at such ludicrously low levels.
In fairness, Wenger would only be reflecting his sport's endemic heightist attitudes. "Such a good touch for a big man", the football commentators say, "So quick for a big man". So quick for a big man, indeed. Do these people ever watch athletics? I mean, Usain Bolt isn't exactly Ronnie Corbett, is he?
The perils of ordinary life are bad enough for those of us who suffer under the certain knowledge that our nasal hair will never sprout unnoticed. We have to cram ourselves under desks and bend double to reach work-surfaces. When it comes to sport, however, things are far, far worse. The tall person is the constant victim of athletic sizual stereotyping, forced to deny his or her true nature and always play at centre-half. While the short or the medium are allowed to jink and shimmy, those who find ourselves in the unfortunate position of always seeing eye-to-eye with Martin Keown must content themselves with being solid, commanding or towering. They will never know the freedom that results from being mercurial.
There are no greater exponents of this casual sizeism than the manufacturers of sports clothing and equipment. The people who make cricket whites, for example, labour under the illusion that the basic human shape is cubic. According to their philosophy If you have a 38in inside leg measurement you must also have a 38in waist. This is by no means true. As a consequence I, and no doubt hundreds of others like me, including Tim Tremlett in all probability, spent my teenage years torn between trousers that reached the top of my boots but had to be held up with braces and those that, while they didn't ever threaten to fall down around my ankles, didn't reach them either. Eventually I settled on the latter as marginally less embarrassing.
The shirt was another matter. In order to get one that was long enough to tuck into trousers I had to opt for a collar size marginally higher than Ian Bell's batting average. When I put on the shirt and sat on the floor I was often mistaken for a half-erected tent.
The shirt billowed, the trousers flapped at half-mast. As a result I invariably took the field looking as if I was making a bold but ill-advised bid to popularise culottes and a cape as suitable garments for our summer game. When play commenced things deteriorated still further, especially if it was windy. In even the slightest breeze my shirt became a sail. Bowling was almost impossible. With the wind in my favour I sped to the wicket at such velocity it was a minor miracle if I released the ball before colliding with first slip. If the breeze was against me I executed a kind of cricketing moonwalk, apparently advancing while actually travelling backwards. Of batting I will say nothing save that the average pad provided ample protection for my shin but left a yard or so of sensitive, bony thigh exposed and that even using the longest willow available left me with a batting stance that was once likened to the crouch of a constipated toad.
This is the kind of thing tall sports people have had to endure over the years. And now Wenger seems determined to make things worse by axing big players altogether. I think it is time a halt was called and he bought back Patrick Vieira. And you'd better agree. Because if you don't, next time you're at a match I'm going to come and sit in front of you.
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