Aston Villa sack Tim Sherwood: A victory for business over entertainment?

As Aston Villa tore through Liverpool at Wembley to clinch their place in the FA Cup final for only the second time since 1957, Tim Sherwood must have felt invincible. These were the days when Villa fans saw light at the end of a long, long tunnel, when Sherwood’s restorative powers knew no bounds, and when the act of hurling a gilet felt like throwing down a gauntlet to all those who dared challenge Sherwood’s managerial integrity. Those days were just six months ago, but for poor old Tim it must feel like years.

In modern football ten matches without a victory is enough to topple any Premier League manager, but given the proximity to those swashbuckling days in spring this dismissal feels particularly uncaring. Yet it comes as no surprise. The 71 per cent increase in TV revenue has escalated the necessity of Premier League survival in an age where corporatisation of our sport – creating businesses out of football clubs – has placed profit margins at the forefront of boardroom priorities.

But for mid-sized clubs like Villa – who can only realistically hope for exciting football and occasional cup runs – does this fixation on profitability clash with football’s basic premise of being entertaining?

The case of Sherwood’s dismissal feels like a particularly jarring intersection of these two opposing forces. This was a manager whose passionate fist pumps and wild, atavistic tactics chimed well with fans that, like Sherwood himself, are chasing a romanticised dream of aesthetics and adrenaline. It was doomed to fail from the start.

As part of the new £5.136 billion TV deal, the Premier League will hand out £100 million to the team that finishes bottom of the table in 2016/17 - instantly catapulting them into the top 30 richest clubs in the world. What’s more, parachute payments to relegated clubs (currently amounting to £32 million) are anticipated to rise to at least £80 million over two years; dropping out of the Premier League this season could lead to permanent exclusion from a mini-league of teams likely to yo-yo as the country’s top two divisions become severed.

Unsurprisingly, a fear of narrowed profits has created panicky, short-term business models built on reactionary sackings and impact appointments. At Villa, there is a sense of treading water in the interest of profitable stasis.

It is this very division of the rich from the poor that has dampened the ambitions of fans who recognise that title challenges are no longer possible. And indeed there is a certain existential crisis in confronting the emptiness of mid-level clubs’ ideal scenarios: it requires double-think to continue with unflinching support for a cause that is inherently limited – to take pride in winning a match, despite knowing that the ultimate win is impossible. A top ten finish, qualification for Europe’s second best tournament, and a cup triumph: these are the stunted dreams of modern fans.

Tim Sherwood almost ticked two of those boxes in the space of three months, and yet a distant threat of relegation was enough to see him handed his P45. He also brought to Villa Park an excitement and unpredictability that had been absent since the days of Martin O’Neill; despite the bizarre tactical decisions that led to a dreadful run of one point from 27, Villa under Sherwood was a lot of fun.

Tim Sherwood (GETTY IMAGES)

And isn't fun what football is supposed to be about? The Premier League is a business undergoing exponential growth purely because of its ability to induce joy in the spectator and yet, paradoxically, the lopsided wealth it creates in English football may be encouraging boardrooms to sacrifice this pursuit in favour of pragmatism. When football clubs become businesses, players become commodities, and fans become customers, chairmen only commit to selling a brand – not to entertaining us.

For Villa fans, the dreary cycle of post-FFP quick-fix management continues, with little sign of long-term escape from the relegation quagmire. Some may welcome the departure of a topsy-turvy manager, but it is worth remembering that the lows are inextricably linked to the highs, and stagnancy is death.

Except that it isn’t. In the corporate boardroom, where inflating TV deals make relegation survival the sole priority, standing still is akin to progress. It is unsurprising that, more often than not, these ideals clash with spectators’ expectations of ambition and excitement.

Tim Sherwood’s dismissal seems a particularly pertinent example of what happens when entertainment is corporatized. Wembley trips and Premier League goal-fests are the primary reason for our continued love of the sport, but they are not the reason why billionaire businessmen enter the game.

With FA Cup finals a rarity in Birmingham, Villa fans may feel that the chaos and fun of Sherwood’s reign was worth the risk of a scrap at the bottom of the table. Randy Lerner was never likely to see it that way.