Ben Ballance

Every soccer fan has those players he or she holds onto dearly. We cherish these players– feverishly googling their names every so often for the latest updates, gossip, and hopefully, laudatory articles. We confess these secret loves to only the most trusted of confidants and since only my mum reads this blog, I will reveal one of my own here: Owen Hargreaves. I can’t really explain why. Perhaps it’s his long curly locks, or his most un-English talent at scoring penalty kicks, but he has always been a player I have secretly rooted for, whatever team he was on, whatever team he was playing against. I’ve even daydreamed about us being friends should a chance meeting ever occur. [1] .

Hargreaves is a tragic outsider. A footballer who was never adopted by his chosen nation. Instead, he was considered a curious combination of un-English determination and technical ability, caught betwixt and between footballing cultures. Born in Canada before moving to Germany to join Bayern Munich at the age of 16, he never lived in England before making his national team debut. His performances in the 2006 World Cup notwithstanding [2] (for which he was voted as being England’s player of the year), his place in the England national side was always questioned, particularly as Steven Gerrard and Frank Lampard, with the full weight of Premier League marketing behind them, seen by the public as more glamorous choices. During that World Cup, a bizarre tale of Hargreaves, in a fit of pique at his own performance midway through the tournament, driving solo across Germany to clear his head, caused much bemusement in the English press.

2006 was the peak of the “WAG” phenomenon in the media following the English team. That bizarre time when far more interest was placed in the wives and girlfriends of the players that the tactical and technical merits of each player and how these merits might fit together to form a team. A naturally reserved personality, Hargreaves’ low profile seemed to count against him in this regard. His eloquence in interviews ran counter to the testosterone-soaked dimwitted-ness of his teammates and the media coverage that seemingly promoted them.

His move to Manchester United at the beginning of the 2007-08 season, was supposed to be his chance to force himself into the minds of the English football public: a chance to see his value as the primary ball winner in a team featuring the offensive threats of Rooney, Ronaldo, and Tevez. Indeed, his first season went perfectly with United going on to win the league title and Champions League with Hargreaves himself scoring an excellent free kick to secure a vital League win against Arsenal at Old Trafford— one that effectively secured United the title.

But then came the knee troubles, described by renowned knee wizard, Dr. Richard Steadman, as among the worst he’d seen, the result, as Hargreaves postulates, of rushing back from a broken leg suffered in the season prior to his move to Manchester. Limited to only three total appearances in the 2008-09 season, news for us secret admirers was limited to infuriatingly oblique articles about his slow return to fitness with no firm timelines given.

The following campaign wasn’t much better. His lone league appearance that season, which would be his final one at Manchester United, came as an aborted start at home against Wolves in November of 2010: appearing for only five minutes before hobbling off with a hamstring injury. It was an astonishing selection by Ferguson, especially given his injury history and somewhat akin to the guy running your rec league team suddenly putting the permanently hung over guy up front on his own against the best team in the league. Such a wild decision belied Alex Ferguson’s exasperation with Hargreaves’ injury troubles. This frustration would again rear its red-faced head in Ferguson’s autobiography, describing Hargreaves as one of his worst signings and making some rather peculiar comments about his character, claiming that, “Owen had no confidence in himself whatsoever. He didn’t show nearly enough determination to overcome his physical difficulties, for my liking. I saw him opt for the easy choice too often in terms of training.” [3] Though Ferguson rails against pretty much anyone not named Paul Scholes in his book, he is particularly harsh in his treatment of Hargreaves.

Then came perhaps the best insight into Hargreaves’ inner life. A series of homemade videos appeared on YouTube showing him performing a series of physical exercises without any great context or commentary. These 23 short clips, filmed somewhere in Hargreaves’ nation of birth, Canada, show a man proving to other clubs as well, one suspects, to himself, that he is still a capable athlete. They are, of course, highly meme-worthy, far too unpolished and raw and personal for this cynical age. I remember first watching these with a mixture of embarrassment and pity for this formerly great player. It later emerged that these clips were simply uploaded to a public space in order to be easily accessible to prospective clubs following his release from Manchester United in June 2011. That they were so public speaks to the lack of PR layers surrounding the man– his earnestness left painfully exposed.

The clips, however, ultimately had their desired effect as Hargreaves signed for United’s fierce rivals, Manchester City on the last day of the transfer window in August 2011. The outlook appeared optimistic, especially after a superb long-range effort against Birmingham City in the League Cup. However, the appearances simply never came in the first team, though his fitness issues were supposedly behind him.Released by Manchester City at the end of the ’11-12 season, rumors circulated about training with Queens Park Rangers with a view to signing with them. These unfortunately came to nothing, however, as Hargreaves began his media career as an analyst for BT Sport. No official announcement has ever been put forward, but once a player slips into the cushtyness of a once-a-week studio gig, it’s difficult seeing him make the long journey back to playing condition. For now, we secret members of the Owen Hargreaves Fan Club can only dream of what might have been and enjoying the occasional absurd in-studio rabona.