At first sight, QPR’s disciplinary code reads like something out of a satire on authoritarian government. You wonder how players are supposed to express themselves as entertainers while carrying about a behavioural ball and chain. But how much of it doesn’t make sense?
Discipline has to be part of professional football, just as it must be the bedrock of such infinitely more important activities as education and military service. If a foreign player cannot arrange an up-to-date visa, he’s a distraction. And a lot of the rules — like no headphones on match days — are just an enforcement of good manners.
I know I’m not alone in hating it when customers wear headphones or conduct mobile-phone conversations while being served in shops — so what’s wrong with banning such rudeness towards team-mates or the coaching and medical staff of your club, which, if properly run, should have the atmosphere of a family?
Disapproval of indoor headwear makes sense, too, although I wouldn’t restrict it to baseball caps and I’d definitely add dark glasses…
Okay, maybe it’s as well I’m not in charge of a football club. But some of the strictly football-related provisions in the document, which footballers of other clubs will not find unfamiliar, make absolute sense: the fines for diving, for example, and dissent. When applied by employers rather than outside authority, they are less likely to be shrugged off.
And I love the swingeing financial punishments for professional fouls. Take note, Arsenal, and consider how fitting it would be if Per Mertesacker had been hit in the pocket for, in effect, denying his team-mates any realistic hope of a bonus from their match against Chelsea. The more you think about it, the more you realise QPR are merely seeking self-discipline.
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