How Do You Solve a Problem Like Luis Suárez?

He may have already won the PFA Player's Player of the Year award (the votes were sent in before Liverpool's clash with Chelsea on Sunday afternoon), and if it is revealed he has earned the respect of his fellow footballers at at the end of the season, the FA will undoubtedly be left red-faced as the controversial Uruguayan has caused outrage in the Premier League yet again with his apparent attempt to bite Branislav Ivanović.

Obviously, within the last 24 hours there have been innumerable calls to ban and fine the 26 year old attacker, and people are well within their rights to wish this. The video footage is damning, and Suárez of course has previous history in using his teeth to harm an opponent; many of you will remember that he sank his teeth into Ottman Bakkal during his days in the Eredivisie with Ajax. It goes without saying that this kind of behaviour is inexcusable on the football pitch, and many would not bat an eyelid were Liverpool to say 'enough is enough' and move the South American on for a giant fee in the summer.

To do so would be a huge mistake. My problem with this idea of Suárez is that many feel that he is a Machiavellian malefactor, always looking to cause trouble, incite mayhem, and endanger the game of football. This is definitely not the case. I doubt there is a professional player on earth who contains a pathological desire to play in such a way, and it certainly isn't Suárez.

His is an enviable talent; his close control is an absolute joy to behold, his movement is as swift and deadly as a rattlesnake, and his penchant for the outrageous and unthinkable are the reason Liverpool have looked more threatening this term. His problem however, seems to lie with a case of a quick temper, and seeming ignorance of the world around him whenever he steps on the football pitch.

Growing up playing as such a nimble trickster would no doubt have bought fouls in from every angle, and the retaliation that Suárez is accustomed to dishing out is a manifestation of this. We in England saw the same problem with one of our own young, sparkling talents, Wayne Rooney. Cast your minds back to the World Cup in Germany, 2006, and the quarter-final against Portugal. Rooney tries to fight his way past a persistent Ricardo Carvalho who tugs and tugs at the white England shirt until Rooney can take no more. In retaliation and frustration, he plants his foot between the legs of the Portuguese defender, in an act that made men around the world wince, regardless of nationality.

He was a young man who saw the red mist far too frequently, and it is a credit to Sir Alex Ferguson and the Manchester United management that he has managed in recent years to reign in the raging temper within. Without them, it could be argued Rooney would have descended down a long path to self-destruction on the football field, an erratic talent that some would deem to volatile to deal with.

Which brings me back to Suárez. What is clear from his violent and dangerous outbursts is that he has a clear problem with controlling his anger on the football pitch. When things are going right for him, there is no smile bigger than his on the pitch. But when he is having a frustrating afternoon, it feels as if the papers are on their haunches in anticipation, ready to pounce and prepare their headlines for the following morning's sport sections.

I honestly believe it is a matter of education for Luis Suárez. I don't see evidence that any manager in his past has actively tried to deal with his anger problem, which is a sad indictment on modern football. Either they were too scared to try, for fear of offending him and losing him to another club, or for fear of nullifying the unpredictable spark that sets him off like a whirling, shrieking Catherine wheel on the football pitch. This is set to be a testing time for Brendan Rodgers, his current manager, who wishes to start a new dynasty of success at Anfield. Aiming to sort Suárez out should be his number one priority.

For the Premier League's sake, I hope Rodgers has the ability and bravery to stick with Suárez and try to educate him in a better way. Anger management courses, one-to-one talks to remind him of the fact he is a role model, family interventions - whatever it takes. It would be too sad to see such a great talent go to waste when we should instead be aiming to help him better himself; not just as a footballer, but as a man.

Michael Owen: Thanks for the Memories

When I was nine years old, my family and I went to Fuerteventura on holiday. I hadn't really gotten into football at this point; while I played for a local football team, I wasn't a fervent follower of the game as most of my friends were, and didn't really care to watch any games on the telly when they were on.

One of the key moments that set me off on a love of football was a game which will remain etched in the memories of many an Englishman as one of the finest nights that we have ever witnessed as Three Lion's devotees. And it was in a bar in Fuertaventura at nine years old that I witnessed a rampant England side destroy Germany by four goals. Michael Owen, who announced his retirement today, scored a hat-trick. And in that bar, whilst Owen experienced the euphoria of netting three goals for his country, I fell in love with football.

I expect many people of my generation will feel a tie to Owen; while we were growing up and learning the ways of the game, he was making a name for himself at Liverpool and on the international scene. Everyone loved Owen at school; he scored goals (lots of them), and he was a exemplary role model for anyone who loved playing football. Polite and down-to-earth, you would have never guessed he played for a top Premier League club.

And just as we were on the cusp of realising that we will never get to play for our country, or even for a team better than our own village outfit, Owen started to succumb to the injuries that sadly blighted his career in what should have been his peak years. After scoring 118 goals in 216 appearances for Liverpool, he moved to Real Madrid, where it must still be said he scored a respectable amount of goals for the amount of appearances he made from the bench (13 in 36 games), but after that is where the hamstring problems which he suffered from since his years at Liverpool began to rob him of playing time both domestically and internationally. His move to Newcastle United was interrupted by a cruciate injury which kept him out for nearly a year, and many on Tyneside were happy to see the back of him after he left. I was on hand to see him score one of his goals for Newcastle at the RICOH arena when he popped up to score an injury-time winner to send Coventry out of the League Cup. Heart-breaking though it might have been, I'm eternally glad I got to see him score a goal in the flesh.

After the departure from Newcastle, there was no real hope of Owen ever establishing himself on the international scene again. His record of 40 goals in 89 England appearances was remarkable, nearly a one in two ratio, and had he been able to shake off the injuries he incurred, there is no doubt he would have been the country's top marksmen ever. For all the scepticism over his Premier League career as well, he is the league's seventh highest scorer, and doesn't look like being overtaken any time soon.

The out-of-the-blue contract offer from Manchester United in 2009 caught many by surprise, but again, Owen was able to score goals for the Red Devils, including a crucial goal in the Manchester derby that I doubt many people (except City fans) would not have been delighted to see him score.

What next for Owen then? As is common knowledge, his connections within the horse racing scene should keep him busy, but I suspect he will want to come back to football at some point. I can't see him coaching or managing, but a job within the media looks increasingly likely. Unfortunately, on the few times I have seen him as a pundit, he doesn't seem to come across as an engaging individual. However, on his Twitter account and blog, he remains a reliable source of clever and insightful views on the game, and a humble one to boot. It should not be viewed as a great failure if he doesn't step into television punditry; some people use their voice and mind far greater through writing than their mouths (advice I wish some pundits would take nowadays, and accept that just because they appeared on TV as a player does not mean they can appear as a personality to the same effect), and I believe Owen might be one of these people.

Whatever he decides to do, I know that countless tributes to him will be pouring in across the country, and abroad too. Owen was once the best in the world at what he did; he lit up games with his lightning pace and predatory finishing, and I really do hope he manages to score just a few more for Stoke this season if he is given a chance.

It may be tempting to ask what might have been if he could have kept fit, but to do so would be doing a disservice to him and his career; his footballing candle may have burnt quickly, but it burnt brightly, and while he is still on Stoke's books, I wouldn't bet against there being a few sparkling embers before he hangs up his boots at the end of the season.

Good luck, Michael!

Terrace Tongue-Twisting

Last Saturday I was lucky enough to be invited to Craven Cottage to watch the Premier League clash between Fulham and Stoke. Many (probably all) of you will read that and think 'lucky?!', but it did contain one of the goals of the season - a sumptuous Berbatov volley - and it was great to go to a  gorgeous ground I hadn't been to before and spend a fantastic day in the company of some die-hard Fulham fans.

One thing that did strike me during one of the chants that was ringing out around the Cottage was how unintentionally funny one of football's staple songs can be. Listen in around football grounds around the country and you will hear it sung loud and proud by partisan fans who love their team and their manager.

'Martin Jol's Black and White Army!' You all know the one. All your team needs is 1. a manager, and 2. team colours. I have heard the chant in a variety of guises over the years at Coventry City (currently trying to find our tenth manager in 10 years) with a particular favourite being 'Micky Adams' Sky Blue Army!' No silly extra syllables, no frills; just our manager and our colours. Easy

Not so funny so far. Where this chant gets ridiculous is when the syllable count starts to weigh a bit heavy. I was at the Stadium of Light with some Villa supporting friends in 2009 when they started singing 'Martin O'Neill's Claret and Blue Army!' I wanted to join in, but my tongue didn't feel up to the challenge. I said earlier that if you listen hard enough, you'll be able to hear this chant at most grounds around the country; all I could hear on that night in the North-East was 'MarneeClabooo Army', with a slight Brummie twinge to it.

I feel sorry for the fans who have had to abandon this chant because they bring in a manager whose name is just too long and impractical; I haven't heard West Ham sing 'Sam Allardyce's Claret and Blue Army' since they appointed him, and it is easy to see why. There might be fears the Upton Park faithful had all developed a speech-impediment over the course of an incredibly long (read: long-ball) season.

Sometimes it's not even a question of how long the manager's name is. Tony Pulis must be a nightmare for Stoke fans, with 'Tony Pulis's Red and White Army!' That combination of 'l's and 's's is enough to rival 'She Sells Sea Shells' for a spot on the world's most spit-flecked tongue-twister.

So for now, I'm happy that Coventry have been kind in appointing managers whose names are simple and easy to fit in to this chant. God forbid they should be too forward thinking and appoint a foreign manager with radical new tactical ideas, who can take us back to the glory days of the Premiership and deliver us from this windswept, barren wasteland that is League One. His name might just be too long. And the thought of matches without a '[Insert manager's name here] Sky Blue Army' is just too much to bear.

Having said this, I'm expecting Paul Peschisolido to be named as our new boss shortly.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back: Robbie Rogers and Football's Fight Against Homophobia

Yesterday the world of football would like to believe it witnessed a first. Indeed it is a first in the eyes of many, many who will not have been old enough to remember, or have chosen to forget what came before.

Yesterday, Robbie Rogers, a 25 year old footballer from America, who made four appearances for Leeds United and six for Stevenage, announced he was gay on his personal blog. And while many will believe he is in fact the first professional footballer to do so, this is not the case.  Justin Fashanu, an English footballer who played for many clubs including Manchester City and West Ham United, was in fact the first prominent footballer to announce he was gay to the press and the public.

His peers were disgusted. His own brother disowned him.

He committed suicide by hanging himself in a lock-up in Shoreditch in May 1998.

That was nearly 15 years ago. Thankfully, society and football seem to have moved on from these shameful times, when it was considered that only men can play football and 'poofs' were not welcome on the pitch. But it is still worth noting that until Rogers decided to make public his sexuality yesterday morning, since Fashanu, no figure in male football had ever come out as gay. Other sports have had their watershed moment in the fight against homophobia; ex-Welsh rugby player Gareth Thomas came out in 2009 and in 2011, England cricketer Steven Davies announced he was gay. But football has had to wait until now to claim that its participants can come out without fear.

Yet as tempting as it may be to jump on the bandwagon and announce that football can finally  claim to be on the right path to inclusivity (one can almost hear Sepp Blatter salivating over the prospect of a press conference stating football has vanquished its last great social taboo), it must be noted that Rogers has retired from football, at least for the present time. Whilst he posted on his blog that it was 'time to discover myself away from football', nobody would begrudge his decision if he were to stay away from the game permanently. Yes, it is a fantastic and important moment in the history of football, but can anyone say with any strong conviction that the reason Rogers has quit the game has nothing to do with fearing the abuse and heckling he would endure?

The fact is that until gay footballers feel safe enough to reconcile playing football with their personal life and feelings, then the sport cannot claim to be the 'beautiful game'. Nor can it be said that everybody can speak within its 'universal language'. Football should be a game where everybody should feel comfortable with who they are; whether you are black or white, woman or man, adult or child, gay or straight. And if you cannot speak its language without fear of being made to feel like you are not wanted, then this is not a sport: it is a disgrace.

Robbie Rogers deserves the congratulations he is receiving for being brave enough to come out, especially from within a sport that has a dire history in its treatment of gay participants. But we must not think that the fight against homophobia is over within football. You might argue that until today, it had never really begun.

Coventry City: Destined Never to Escape the Merry-Go-Round

Today, Coventry fans up and down the country (that is, if there are many left) were devastated by the news that manager Mark Robins has all but been confirmed as the new boss of Huddersfield Town. It is a hard pill to swallow; having recently been dealt a cruel blow in the Johnstone's Paint Trophy Northern Division Final losing 0-3 to Crewe Alexandra, and slipping up further in the race to the play-offs in losing 0-1 to Yeovil, the news that Robins was to leave for pastures new has been the bitter icing on top of the stale cake that has been this past week.

What actually rankles more than Robins leaving is the fact that it has not been long since he stated his desire to build on the early success that he has tasted at the club. A meeting with SISU officials just last week was said to be about discussing long-term goals for the club that would help aid the rise through the league system that is so badly yearned for at the RICOH arena. The question now is whether Robins left because he was not given assurances about the changes he wanted to implement, or whether his head was turned by a more lucrative offer from Yorkshire. It seems until there is transparency from both parties, supporters will be left none-the-wiser about who to aim their ire at.

The shame for the Sky Blues is that the current situation shows no sign of ending; without a manager with a sense of loyalty and love for the club, chances are that higher-placed clubs will have no problem in plucking their man from the depths of League One. The buy-out clause remains a devastating Catch-22 situation as well: any manager who sees Coventry as a stepping-stone will insist on a smaller buy-out clause. If this condition is not met the manager will not sign; yet if it is, the risk of him being poached by a wealthier club if he performs well increases manifold.

And this is unfortunately the situation that Coventry have found themselves in with Robins. Huddersfield stumped up the offer at the second time of asking, and that has resulted in the Lancastrian clearing his desk at the club's training ground. No doubt when the next manager is chosen (and there may not be many interested in taking the job), if he starts to outperform within his meagre surroundings, the vultures of the Championship, or even higher, will come-a-calling.

While we sing together, we will never lose. It seems that until we get a manager who is prepared to sing with us, and for us, we are destined to remain an ever-present stop on the managerial merry-go-round.

Ending an Era, Beginning Another

Finally! This is something I have been meaning to do for too long, longer than the inevitable Fergie time on a Sunday evening if Manchester United are losing by one goal. I set up a blog before, but never had the chance to do anything with it. Again, it was supposed to be on football (it was called Tony Pulis Sympathiser: everyone's favourite pragmatist has too many critics), but, owing to University work and other writing commitments, it is currently lost in the web somewhere, floating through cyberspace with all the rest of the dead blogs out there.

It is time to start afresh: in less than four months I will be leaving the University of Southampton, leaving myself with far too much free time  to fill. I want to earn some money to go to the World Cup in Brazil, but I also want a platform to muse about football as a whole.

Hence Cracking Jabulanis. Not just a reference to one of the worst footballs of all time, but a nod to when I was playing football once and a friend shouted 'Cracking Jabulanis!' at a particularly good-looking woman passing by. Sexist and puerile it may have been, but it brilliantly illustrated the way in which football permeates into the public consciousness.

So as I come to the inevitable conclusion of my University life, expect to see me ramble on here about anything to do with football; I have no limits to what interests me about the Beautiful Game, from my beloved Coventry City F.C. to the far reaches of South America and Brazilian football.

And if you do end up reading any of my stuff, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Likewise, if you think I'm talking bollocks, don't hesitate to let me know!