Review
Culture
Football
Sport
5 min read

Shootout: what penalties say about life

Football is a global language and the shootout is the end to Shakespearian tragedy.

Simon is Bishop of Tonbridge in the Diocese of Rochester. He writes regularly round social, cultural and political issues.

A footballer takes a penalty kick.
England v Columbia: 2018 World Cup shootout.

It is hard to pity entitled, overpaid footballers.  Until, that is, it comes down to penalties after extra time.  Even when you do not care who wins, the drama of the penalty shootout is so intense and all-consuming that every heart rate quickens. 

Is there a more exquisite form of sporting torture? 

Sport is laden with cliché, and the refrain, ‘it’s come down to the lottery of penalties’ is an established part of the lexicon.  But is it just the spin of the roulette?  That you can’t prepare effectively for the cauldron of the stadium?  

Not according to Geir Jordet, it isn’t.  The Norwegian Professor of Psychology and Football is on a mission to convince the world there is lots you can do to get ready and those that don’t are more likely to fail. 

There is skill involved in taking a penalty, an ability that can be honed with practice.  Individual players can be trained to take their time (but not too long), to establish a routine that helps them take control of the situation, to take careful breaths, and to focus.  They can be helped with blocking out the trash talk of opponents, especially goalkeepers, who subtly try to get under their skin in the seconds leading up to a penalty.  Extensive research can be carried out by data-rich backroom staff to help with preparation.  And behind all this is the recognition that taking a penalty is a team effort, not an individual one.   

This latter observation feels especially counter intuitive.  There is nothing more lonely than the appearance of one man or woman taking the long walk from the centre circle to the penalty spot.  But teams can support one another with words of encouragement and touch.  Not just in the grasping of each other’s shoulders in the centre circle, but in reaching out to those who both score and miss.  One reason Geir Jordet advises that the manager should choose penalty takers rather than look for volunteers is that they then can take full responsibility for the outcome.  It is hard to believe there are still times when a manager looks around at players after extra time, hoping to see in the eyes who is up to the task.  These duties should be sorted out in advance, with back-up plans for when players are injured or substituted.

Deciding war between opposing tribes based on an individual contest was quite common in the ancient world – effectively moving to the penalty shootout before the game, to save the effort.

Jordet, in his stimulating book Pressure: Lessons From The Psychology Of The Penalty Shoot Out says that anxiety is normal and should be embraced.  Greater openness round mental wellbeing is allowing the modern professional to admit this.  Erling Haarland, one of the world’s most accomplished goal scorers, has shared the fear he regularly feels round taking a penalty; it is hard to imagine a player from the 1970s saying the same. 

Missing a penalty in the shootout is inevitable; the only way it can conclude.  And statistics show that the world’s greatest players, like Lionel Messi, are not notably better at converting penalties than others.  On average, the best players have around an eighty percent success rate (which, significantly, is one missed penalty out of five in a shootout).  As in other professions, the best results are achieved by creating systems and cultures that can adapt quickly and honestly to errors and learn from them without humiliating those who fail. 

Reading the book cast my mind back to the archetypal shootout between David and Goliath.  Deciding war between opposing tribes based on an individual contest was quite common in the ancient world – effectively moving to the penalty shootout before the game, to save the effort.  Perhaps David should have lost it, and not just because of his size.  Beforehand, he had a serious bust up with his side and those who did not see him as a team player.  Then Goliath trash talked him like Emi Martinez is famed for with Aston Villa and Argentina.  And finally, he ran up to take his shot very quickly, without much reflection.  But then again, Geir Jordet would be the first to point out that preparing badly for a contest does not mean you can’t win it – just that you are less likely to. 

Football is a global language and the penalty shootout is like the cataclysmic end to a Shakespearian tragedy.  English fans are long suffering audiences of this trauma – from Italia 90 to Wembley 2021, via the 1996 Euros when football was coming home until a last minute wrong turning.  But many other nations have under-achieved at penalties, like Holland and Spain and, more recently, France.  Roberto Baggio of Italy missed the decisive penalty in the first World Cup Final to go to penalties in 1994.  He says of it:  

‘I failed that time.  Period.  And it affected me for years.  It was the worst moment of my career.  I still dream about it.’.   

The personal stakes are as high, if not higher, than the nation’s.   

We are left with the feeling that hugely divergent outcomes can emerge from the smallest and most random of causes.  The human tendency is then to rationalise the outcome in ways that make it seem inevitable.  Geir Jordet is aware of this in football, but in other walks of life, we continue to build up wobbly cases on shallow evidence as a way of warding off anxiety or the fear that others will think we are clueless if we admit to the existence of chance.  Most people are right less than eighty percent of the time; something we might hold in mind when the next England players make that solitary walk to the penalty spot.  

Review
Addiction
Culture
Feminism
Music
5 min read

The idolatry of Beyoncé: her tour hits town with eight golden calves in tow

We all desire to be perceived as more talented, confident and beautiful.

Lauren Windle is an author, journalist, presenter and public speaker.

Beyonce marches along a stage catwalk as photographers stare from below.
Taking to the stage.
Beyoncé.com.

I suspect if you asked British millennial women to name their queen, more would say Beyoncé than Camilla Parker Bowles. Such is the allure and popularity of the woman who commands legions of fans, ‘the BeyHive’, and has been dubbed ‘Queen B’. Now this pop monarch is on the move and she’s brought her royal tour to London.  

Last night the Cowboy Carter tour lit up Tottenham Hotspur Stadium in an ostentatious display of stars, stripes and glitter. I joined the throngs of fans who packed out the arena to hear the hits from Beyoncé’s first country album, protected from the rain by only their sequin-lined cowboy hats. 

A massive screen provided video entertainment during costume changes. It depicted her two settings; siren and saviour. In some of the imagery Beyoncé was veiled or illuminated by bright white lights, in modern iconography that would previously have been reserved for the Blessed Virgin Mary. During her song Daughter, with lyrics: ‘Cleanse me, Holy Trinity’, she was backdropped by stained-glass church windows. 

Beyoncé is hardly the first to draw from the style of religion in her work (see: Madonna). But, when I came back from the bathroom, the performer was midway through her song Tyrant, riding a gold mechanical bull while surrounded by eight double-headed golden calves. That’s when I realised, we’re not even pretending this isn’t idolatry anymore. 

As a recovering addict (arguably the most extreme expression of idolatry), I am interested in the processes behind idol worship. I have spent weeks studying Aaron’s ill-fated decision to melt down gold jewellery into a calf at the request of the Israelites who thought Moses, and God, were taking too long up Mount Sinai, followed by the disastrous repetition of history under King Jeroboam I.

We take these cautionary tales and usually apply them to the metaphorical calves in our own lives, but still the golden calf endures as the ultimate symbol of idol worship. Would Beyoncé have known this? Almost certainly, given the other Christian imagery sprinkled throughout the show. 

The Queen 

For those only vaguely aware of Beyoncé, I’ll explain how the global obsession came about. She was raised by parents who were committed to her success. Her mum made all her costumes while her dad formed and managed the girl band Destiny’s Child, of which Beyoncé was the lead singer. She famously grew up honing her singing talent while on a treadmill to ensure that she would maintain her voice during energetic dances on stage.  

Destiny’s Child enjoyed a huge amount of success, even if their message of female empowerment was confused. They started with the expectation that a partner would pay their ‘bills, bills, bills’, then sung of their desire to ‘cater’ to their men, before a violent U-turn declaring themselves to be ‘independent women’. The mixed messaging didn’t put off their fans, but it was when Beyoncé teamed up with her now husband, Jay-Z, that she experienced a meteoric rise to fame and became the breakout solo artist from the band. 

She has experienced some scandal over her career, most notably in 2014 when CCTV footage was leaked of her sister Solange attacking her husband Jay-Z in a lift. It was rumoured that this was in response to his infidelity but no formal statement was made. Beyoncé, like our former Queen, lives by the mantra ‘never complain, never explain’. 

Over the years, as the record sales have grown, so has her cult-like status. ‘You have the same number of hours in the day as Beyoncé’ is used as a motivational tool (although I can’t say it’s ever worked on me). Some have even hi-jacked and modified the French national motto to: Liberté, Égalité, Beyoncé. Her allure is increasingly less about her music and more about what she embodies; the ability to seemingly have everything – motherhood, a stratospheric career and the dream face and body. 

The problem 

To be clear; I don’t think admiring Beyoncé or enjoying her music is a bad thing. I am the one who paid more than £200 to go and do just that. But, with a few notable exceptions, almost everything we idolise fundamentally has the capacity to be a force for good in our lives, if it’s kept in its right place. It’s the classic Christian cliché; don’t let a good thing become a God thing. Take food, exercise and your phone, these can all do immeasurable good in enhancing your quality of life, but when they become an idol, they can also do immeasurable harm. 

It is often said that we become what we worship. Well in the context of idolising Beyoncé many people would say that’s a fate they would happily welcome. But the reality is darker than that. 

What are we really saying when we idolise Beyoncé and bow down to her golden calves? I would suggest on the surface it’s a desire to be perceived as more talented, confident and beautiful. It’s the panic that we should be perfect, especially given that Beyoncé achieves that perfection in the same twenty-four daily hours that we have. It’s a deep longing to be desired as she is, to be popular as she is, to be regularly affirmed as she is. 

Let’s go deeper. Does God say that we need to have visible talent in order to be valuable? No. He says we are all a part of a body with our own unique skills that contribute to the entire organism. Some of those skills will be discrete and often overlooked by people, but that makes them no less valuable to God. Does God say we should be beautiful? No. Jesus wasn’t exceptionally physically attractive, as far as we know. If anything the Bible warns against putting stock in such a fleeting resource. Are we called to be confident in ourselves? No. But we are told that flourishing comes from a confidence in God. 

My fear is that if we chase visible talent, we will always feel that we are lacking and unrecognised. If we chase beauty, we will always feel ugly and if we chase Beyoncé-level confidence, we will always feel small. The idol that should theoretically inspire us to greater things, ends up leaving us feeling boxed in by unhelpful and unachievable goals. It leaves us caged by the comparison and always a step behind. 

Adding to the heartbreak, the thing that we’re emulating and idolising, is never as satiating as we believe it to be. Had I stormed the stage, I would have found those calves to be moulded from plastic and sprayed gold. Just as I would find the performer to be a bit tired and flawed like the rest of us. The reality is, even Beyoncé won’t live up to the idol of Beyoncé. While in contrast, the correct focus for our worship, Jesus, will only ever get better with closer inspection. 

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