In Defence of the Mercenary: Why Ronaldo Was Right To Join Real Madrid

As Cristiano Ronaldo basked in the limelight on the Bernabeu pitch at his introduction this summer, accusations of disloyalty and ingratitude had already been levelled by many United supporters, while the attendant media lamented yet more evidence of the loss of morality in modern football, sacrificed on the pagan alter of greed and ambition.

While Florentino Perez’ latest spending spree terrorized European clubs, Manchester City represented the temptation-in-chief domestically, enticing Emmanuel Adebayor, Gareth Barry, Jolean Lescott and others to Eastlands.

Similar transfer sagas have hogged the headlines with increasingly frequency in recent years. Dimitar Berbatov is unlikely to ever be welcomed back to White Hart Lane following his very public courtship of Manchester United, while Arsenal stalwart Patrick Viera was a permanent fixture in the transfer rumour mill before his eventual departure to Juventus.

If widespread reports are to be believed, Liverpool talisman Steven Gerrard nearly joined Chelsea during the summer of 2004.

Undoubtedly, the career choices of football players have forever been dictated by asking themselves two questions: Who can I play for, and how much will I get paid for doing so?

Regardless of the undeniable joy in playing your favourite sport for a living, professional footballers are by definition dictated by their career. Like all employees, they may be tempted by the prospect of plying their trade for greater remuneration or in the company of more skilled colleagues.

Viewed in this context, the principles dictating the career choices of a footballer are little different to that of any other professional.

What invests the rational career choices of the professional footballer with such great significance is the irrational and unrestrained passion of football’s fans.

While players can be considered rational agents in what happens to be a high-profile occupation, football fans are possibly as far removed from rationality as any otherwise sane human being can be.

Just as the most blatant dive was clearly a penalty to 30,000 home fans, the departure of a favourite player to a rival or a bigger club for more money or the chance of a winning a trophy is the greatest crime that can be committed and is taken as a personal insult to the fans who turn up week in, week out, rain or shine.

Every team has a Judas who betrayed them for money, a former hero now villain who committed the cardinal sin of changing companies for a pay rise.

While the parochialism and partisanship of many football fans can be dismissed out of hand by the outsider, there is a grain of truth to be sifted out from amongst the vitriol and occasional pig head that greets the returning traitor.

By definition, any player who moves on to bigger or better things owes something to the team they have departed, regardless of the terms they leave on. In order to get their dream move they must have been playing regularly and someone must have taken a chance on them. The fans will argue that match tickets, programmes and merchandise paid their wages.

So the player in question owes something to the club they have left and also to the fans who subsidised and galvanised them on their way to the top. When you love a player and hang on their every touch, there is never a good time for them to leave and never a good manner of departure.

But remember a phrase the tabloid-skimming football fan in the street should be all too familiar with: ‘Today’s newspaper, tomorrow’s fish and chip wrappers.’ So it is with the football player.

Players, no matter how talented or popular, are a finite asset to a club. They arrive, improve, reach their peak and then decline and become surplus to requirements. A player is always expendable. Those with half a brain realise this and if they don’t, their agent certainly does.

Sir Alex Ferguson has spent 23 years at Old Trafford proving that no one is bigger than the club: Steve Bruce, Bryan Robson, Mark Hughes, Paul Ince, Jaap Stam, David Beckham, Roy Keane and Ruud Van Nistelrooy. When they got too old or too big for their boots (or both, in the case of Keane), they were out the door.

So most players know that no matter how much the good times keep rolling, their days are numbered from the moment they first pull on the shirt. Injury, loss of form, a change of manager—anything can cause a dreaded fall from grace.

When they sniff half a chance of a better deal, they had bloody well better take it then and there, because it might not come around again.

While the fans will always jeer and hiss when a departed favourite returns to their old stomping ground in the colours of the opposition, how many spare a thought for the journeyman pro who never really shone and is now scraping a living in the lower leagues?

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