The Numbers Game

I've been a bit lax updating the blog of late (an excuse that seems to get trotted out by about one in every three online writers, so apologies for the tedium), but I've been meaning for a while to write something on a subject close to my....well, not heart -- more head. It combines two of my favourite things -- sport and numbers -- although not in a particularly traditional way.

It's a question that gets asked on such a regular basis that it's become almost a non-question -- a topic that serves only to service a nation's journalists and commentators (oh the irony of spending yet more [virtual] column inches on this): why are the England football team perennial underachievers?

I have a possible answer, and it has nothing to do with Fabio Capello, the Lampard/Gerrard combination, striking partnerships, or the captaincy merry-go-round. (Though don't get me started on the many hideousnesses of John Terry...) It's the numbering of the England players' shirts.

(Stick with me.)

In club football in this country (this sample is taken for two reasons: it's what I know most about; and it's where the vast majority of the players in recent England squads ply their trade), players are assigned -- or choose -- a squad number. Wayne Rooney and Frank Lampard are #10 and #8, numbers corresponding to their positions, but the aforementioned racist thug (sorry, I'll keep quiet) is #26.

Often there are personal reasons for this. Although my gag reflex prevents me from spending any more time googling Terry, I believe the choice of #26 relates to his admiration of an ex-player with a similar number. This is also the reason for Cesc Fàbregas's #4 shirt, in honour of the great Spanish midfield maestro -- and, incidentally, management wunderkind -- Pep Guardiola. And the story of David Beckham's various shirt numbers -- #7 at Manchester United, after Best/Cantona; #23 in more recent years, in honour of Michael Jordan -- is practically a feature-film narrative in its own right.

But whatever the reasons, each individual player has his own number. He has a shirt he can call his own -- the shirt, quite literally, has his name on it.

Not so when he plays for England, however: the 11 starting players, on the day, are allocated the numbers 1 to 11. This gives rise to the following extremes:

• if a player has a less-than-regular role in the team he can never be sure of his shirt number
• a bit-part player feels immediately like a first-choice player

Not such a bad thing, you might think: why should a regular starting number matter to a player? And surely an instant feeling of belonging is good for morale?

Well, not entirely.

To suggest that the number of his shirt doesn't matter to a footballer, at least at some level of the unconscious mind, is to deny his humanity. (No jokes about Wayne Rooney and potatoes.) Human beings, at the most basic level, need to feel wanted; they need to feel they have a role; having an assigned shirt number taps into this essential need.

And while a one-off international -- I have a feeling that, after his comments about Gareth Barry, Joey Barton is likely to remain in this category -- may benefit in the short term from the instant feeling of being a part of the team, what does this mean for the recent occupant of the same shirt? How, for instance, does Frank Lampard feel about seeing 'WILSHERE' on the back of the white #8?

There are other problems. Club football is the 'day job' of the players; when they step up to international level, surely the system should do everything possible to ensure they're able to play in the same way? Instead, each match is a one-off -- a busman's holiday, granted, but still a holiday.

To take simply the most obvious example, Lampard and Gerrard, who have driven their respective clubs' midfield engine rooms for the best part of a decade, wear the same number: the attacking-midfielder-with-a-licence-to-roam-from-box-to-box's #8. What happens when they're made to play in the same team? Who -- both metaphorically, and literally -- is the team's #8? The age-old 'why can't L&G play together?' debate may have more to do with Gerrard's mental struggle to accommodate seeing another #8 on the pitch than one might think.

This is all speculative, but there may just be something in it: numbers matter. (If you remain in any doubt, count the number of #7s on display for Manchester United in this testimonial.) I reckon Fabio Capello could do worse than break out the squad numbers from now on -- maybe Darren Bent could start to replicate his consistently awesome club form of recent years if he were allowed to wear 'BENT 39' for his country...