The notion of "club DNA" is nothing more than a convenient narrative device used by clubs and fans alike to justify their successes and provide a sense of continuity amidst constant change. The idea that a particular brand of football, or certain values and history, defines the essence of a club has become a tired cliché.
Real Madrid's recent coaching appointments have highlighted this phenomenon. For eight months, Xabi Alonso was at the helm before being dismissed in a blaze of controversy. His replacement, Álvaro Arbeloa, is a former player who now finds himself tasked with reviving the club's fortunes after a tumultuous tenure under his predecessor.
The emphasis on "Madrid DNA" – a phrase coined by Arbeloa himself – suggests that there's some sort of magical formula at play. It's an easy way to explain successes and failures alike, implying that the club is somehow cursed or blessed with a particular brand of footballing excellence.
But what exactly does this "DNA" entail? Is it the style of play employed under Matt Busby and Alex Ferguson, who revolutionized the sport in their respective eras? Or is it something more intangible – a sense of swagger, a commitment to winning at all costs?
One thing's certain: there are no clear-cut answers. Clubs like Manchester United have struggled to define their own "DNA," relying on vague notions of tradition and excellence that can apply to any number of teams.
Take the example of Ruben Amorim's departure from Old Trafford. His dismissal has been spun as a liberation, freeing the club from its supposed "Portuguese yoke." But what does this really mean? Is it the style of play employed by Amorim, or is it something more superficial – a perceived cultural affinity with a particular group of players?
The truth lies elsewhere. The only reliable predictors of footballing success are abundant wealth and good decisions. It's not about "club DNA" or some mystical formula; it's about throwing money at the problem, hiring top-class coaches and players, and making smart decisions off the pitch.
And yet, this narrative remains stuck in the mud. We continue to wax poetic about club "DNA," while ignoring the uncomfortable reality that football is a product of human ingenuity and circumstance – not some sort of alchemical potion brewed up by the club's marketing team.
The likes of Real Madrid, Manchester United, and their ilk will continue to peddle this myth, using it to justify their successes and paper over their failures. But for those willing to look beyond the rhetoric, the truth is far more prosaic – a tale of human error, flawed decision-making, and an endless pursuit of greatness in the face of uncertainty.
Real Madrid's recent coaching appointments have highlighted this phenomenon. For eight months, Xabi Alonso was at the helm before being dismissed in a blaze of controversy. His replacement, Álvaro Arbeloa, is a former player who now finds himself tasked with reviving the club's fortunes after a tumultuous tenure under his predecessor.
The emphasis on "Madrid DNA" – a phrase coined by Arbeloa himself – suggests that there's some sort of magical formula at play. It's an easy way to explain successes and failures alike, implying that the club is somehow cursed or blessed with a particular brand of footballing excellence.
But what exactly does this "DNA" entail? Is it the style of play employed under Matt Busby and Alex Ferguson, who revolutionized the sport in their respective eras? Or is it something more intangible – a sense of swagger, a commitment to winning at all costs?
One thing's certain: there are no clear-cut answers. Clubs like Manchester United have struggled to define their own "DNA," relying on vague notions of tradition and excellence that can apply to any number of teams.
Take the example of Ruben Amorim's departure from Old Trafford. His dismissal has been spun as a liberation, freeing the club from its supposed "Portuguese yoke." But what does this really mean? Is it the style of play employed by Amorim, or is it something more superficial – a perceived cultural affinity with a particular group of players?
The truth lies elsewhere. The only reliable predictors of footballing success are abundant wealth and good decisions. It's not about "club DNA" or some mystical formula; it's about throwing money at the problem, hiring top-class coaches and players, and making smart decisions off the pitch.
And yet, this narrative remains stuck in the mud. We continue to wax poetic about club "DNA," while ignoring the uncomfortable reality that football is a product of human ingenuity and circumstance – not some sort of alchemical potion brewed up by the club's marketing team.
The likes of Real Madrid, Manchester United, and their ilk will continue to peddle this myth, using it to justify their successes and paper over their failures. But for those willing to look beyond the rhetoric, the truth is far more prosaic – a tale of human error, flawed decision-making, and an endless pursuit of greatness in the face of uncertainty.