A wondrous madness descended upon Leicester yesterday. So many dressed in blue walking with heads held high, ready to smile on anyone who smiled. Three hours before kick-off they congregated outside the King Power stadium, some with tickets, some without but everyone pleased just to be there.
Max Boyce, the Welsh comedian, used to say that on the greatest sporting occasions it is important to be able to say, “I was there.” Far more than the 32,000 who had tickets turned up but they too will be able to say they were there. They queued for programmes, formed another long line for the merchandise story.
Andrea Bocelli, the world- renowned Italian tenor, asked if he could come and sing before the game. Bocelli became completely blind after a football accident at the age of 12, but he, too, has been swooned by the romance of Leicester City’s rise.
Only one foreign football game, Barcelona against Real Madrid, attracted a bigger pay-per-view audience in Italy this season than Leicester City’s recent victory over Swansea.
An estimated 650,000 Italians watched that game, but not one of them as devoted as true blue Leicester fan, Niteen Chauban from Narborough.
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He was due to be in Berlin last evening, at an Adele concert, celebrating the 10th anniversary of his marriage to his wife Zabin. The flights were booked and the concert tickets were bought long before Leicester got their hands near that Premier League trophy but when the picture changed, Niteen found himself in a rather tricky situation.
Of course, he tried to make it seem like it was a heart-wrenching decision but it wasn’t. A long-time Foxes fan, he told his wife he could not miss the presentation of the trophy to Wes Morgan. She understood and got a friend to take his place. Perhaps this was another reason for Bocelli to volunteer his services. You can watch Leicester get the trophy and hear a better singer than Adele.
This frenzy that has gripped a city was perfectly reflected in the club’s deputy chairman Aiyawatt Scrivaddhanaprabha, who is also a son of the owner Vichai, saying that maybe the King Power Stadium is no longer big enough for Leicester City. This is a 14-year-old stadium and Aiyawatt’s suggestion was a 10,000 increase in capacity or even a new stadium.
Strange but wonderful times. Twenty minutes before kick-off, Bocelli walked on to the pitch with Ranieri, his right hand clasping the manager’s arm, and as the 57-year-old tenor began to sing, the stadium went quiet with anticipation. Alongside Ranieri, he performed Nessum Dorma which was appropriate: Nessum Dorma, No One Shall Sleep. Not in this city, not this weekend.
It felt right. The tenor who had lost his sight as a boy performing for men whose football paths haven’t been smooth.
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Even Ranieri, not just turfed out of his last job as manager of the Greece football team but heckled as he left the building. “An unfortunate mistake,” said the president of the Hellenic football federation.
Vardy, the non-league graduate, Albrighton and Fuchs arrived from clubs happy to let their contracts run down, Simpson the full-back that no one seemed to want, Schmeichel the goalkeeper who could never be as good as his old man. But this motley crew came together and made themselves a team where the sum was greater than the individual parts.
All of this was on show yesterday in a game that wasn’t a contest. Leicester were the playful kitten, Everton the ball of wool.
The bit that was hard to fathom was how easily the visitors accepted subservience. Whatever fight this team had has been lost along the way and good players have timidly let their standards fall.
You watched John Stones for Leicester’s first goal and wondered what has become of this talented defender.
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Stones was close to Jamie Vardy as Andy King delivered the cross but, at the last second, he moved two or three paces towards the ball, leaving Vardy unmarked. There are other ways of committing football suicide but none quite as quick.
That set the tone and Everton just didn’t have the desire to re-set it.
“Every stand in the stadium was a sea of blue, the noise level never dropped, and it seemed the word “Champions” was in every chant
In the easy circumstances of a one-sided match, Leicester’s determination to keep playing in the right way was admirable. They created five or six chances in the first half but they never let dominance degenerate into showboating. N’Golo Kante won tackle after tackle and then did what he always does, passed the ball to a better-placed teammate. Shinji Okazaki chased every ball like he was still trying to win his place in the team. Christian Fuchs blazed a free kick high over the bar and berated himself as if he’d just butchered an important opportunity.
By then the opposition had given up, but not given up conceding penalties. When Vardy missed the second, the Leicester crowd just laughed. By then it was 3-0 and the game wasn’t as interesting as a man in the West Stand. For a very good reason, he took off his top late in the second half. On his back there was an enormous tattoo, Leicester City, 2015-2016 Champions, with a not as impressive reproduction of the Premier League trophy. But that wasn’t the thing, as he was keen to tell those around him. “Got it in January,” he said, pointing to his body art.
As expressions of belief go, that was right up there.
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Through all of this, Roberto Martinez looked on hopelessly. You can change a team’s shape from the technical area and ter words of encouragement but you can’t alter a team’s mindset. If it’s not in the mood to play, it’s not going to play. Managers needing players to help keep them their job walk the tightest of tight ropes.
Towards the end, it was best to sit back and just savour it. Every stand in the stadium was a sea of blue, the noise level never dropped, and it seemed the word “Champions” was in every chant: “Stand up for the champions,” and all that.
Very late in the game, Kevin Mirallas got past Kante for once and then Marcin Wasilewski before slipping the ball under Schmeichel for a goal that for the visitors was not even a consolation. Their challenge had been abject. But it did silence the crowd until the tattooed man stood up and sang, “There’s only one Jamie Vardy.”
Soon we were back to the “champions” chants and the crowd just wanted the presentation. They had come not for a contest but a coronation. And goodness knows, they got exacyly what they expected.