Opinion matters? Why sometimes there's nothing wrong in sitting on the fence when it comes to sport

The Jonathan Liew column: From radio phone-ins to online polls to social media campaigns, our opinions are perpetually being sought, solicited and groomed - but for what purpose?

Modern football has found itself saturated with pundits each offering their own unique opinion on the game (Getty)

This week’s column was going to be about Karim Benzema. As you may have read, the Real Madrid striker is currently engaged in a long-distance feud with British crisp magnate Gary Lineker over whether he is a genuinely great player, or merely a functional operator elevated to greatness by his highly decorated companions. “A tad overrated,” was Lineker’s verdict on Benzema. “I am embarrassed for him,” Benzema retorted. “Over-sensitive,” was Lineker’s comeback.

And so, with temperatures rising, I prepared my arguments. I kept one eye on Benzema throughout Real’s game against Tottenham on Wednesday night. I pulled up statistics, did some background research, considered the issue from all angles. And then I came up against a heavy, insurmountable obstacle: I didn’t care. In the slightest.

I’m sorry, everyone. I really tried. But for the time being, both the alt-Benzema and anti-Benz factions, as well as Benzema himself, will have to get by without my endorsement. Feeling strangely liberated, I began compiling a list of other things in football on which I have absolutely no opinion. Whether Carlo Ancelotti is “a fraud”. Whether Jurgen Klopp is “a fraud”. Who’s better out of Lionel Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo. Whether Harry Kane is world-class. In fact, whether anybody is world-class. The definition of “world-class”. Kits in general. Arsenal in general.

Gary Lineker vs Karim Benzema? Who cares. (Getty) (Getty / Jeff Spicer)

One of the less charming characteristics of football these days is the idea that everyone must have an opinion on everything. From radio phone-ins to online polls to social media campaigns, our opinions are perpetually being sought, solicited and groomed, promised a great night out and a hearty dinner. Have your say. Pick a side. Put your money where your mouth is. And so we have created a climate in which the humble opinion - football’s basic building block, its most elementary particle - has become not merely an adjunct to the game, but a game in its own right, and one anybody can play.

Alongside this phenomenon has risen another: the evolution of broadcast punditry as a sort of performance art, a high-stakes opera in which the object is simply to have the strongest opinion in the shortest space of time, like Maria Callas and Giuseppe Di Stefano dramatically arguing over whether Ronald Koeman got a fair crack of the whip at Everton. Watch someone like Chris Sutton on BT Sport, or listen to Danny Murphy on Talksport, or Robbie Savage on whatever Robbie Savage does these days, and you are confronted with the discomfiting spectacle of a man whose livelihood quite literally depends on wringing every last drop of opinion out of himself, like juice from a shrivelled date.

Chris Sutton is a man whose livelihood quite literally depends on wringing every last drop of opinion out of himself (BT Sport)

“Honestly, Darrell, it’s the worst performance I’ve seen in 35 years of watching football,” Sutton will say. “Maybe even the worst thing I’ve ever seen, full stop. I’ve seen natural disasters, human disasters, maritime disasters, and I’d thought I’d seen it all, until I saw Hearts trying to defend that corner. I’m appalled.”

You sit there, agape. And you think: can this man really, possibly believe the words extruding from his mouth? Or is my incredulity somehow the point of the exercise? Is this simply a game being played to perfection: the 147 break, the nine-dart finish, the grand slam of Punditball? In many ways, it’s a distinction barely worth making.

Of course, it’s worth noting that often the best pundits in any field - Gary Neville, Jamie Carragher and Jermaine Jenas in football, Michael Atherton and Rob Key in cricket, Butch Harmon in golf, Michael Johnson in athletics - actually try to steer away from the simple conclusion, eschew the easy headline, resist the bald opinion in favour of its wiser, less garrulous cousin: insight. For the rest of us, cast adrift in a sea of tendentiousness, not choosing - not participating, not picking a side - can occasionally feel like a valid choice in itself, perhaps even its own subtle act of rebellion.

Gary Neville offers more than just opinion but genuine insight (Getty)

Especially when you lump in all the myriad other choices with which we are assailed every hour of every day of our existence. Chicken or pasta? Bus or walk? Download update now or later? Save “Document 1” before you quit? Give your soul to Jesus or burn in the fires of eternal damnation? It’s a big world out there, and there are enough real decisions to make without having to worry about the trivial ones.

Of course, I know how this looks. The irony of a newspaper columnist using a newspaper column to launch a spirited attack on the culture of opinions is assuredly not lost on me. But perhaps there is a lesson for all of us here: a simple reminder of the joys of equivocation. I don’t know. I don’t care. You could make a case for both sides. It's complex. It’s too early to say. Wait and see. Hitch up your belt and climb back on the fence, the view’s gorgeous from up here.