Wayne Rooney heads the winning goal against Aston Villa
in the League Cup final. Photograph: AKIRA SUEMORI/AP
The Germans have a knack for bestowing their football players
with pithy nicknames: Kaiser for Franz Beckenbauer, Bomber for Gerd
Müller and Afro-Paule for the magnificently hirsute Paul Breitner.
But my favourite has always been Kopfballungeheuer, the Header
Beast, for Horst Hrubesch, the striker with an amazing gift for
scoring headed goals with bullet-like power and precision.
Trawling the internet after the Carling Cup final I was
intrigued to note that a website had marked the development of one
of our own and decided to elevate him on to the tubby Hamburg
forward's pedestal. There's only one Kaiser but the match report's
headline, Kopfballungeheuer Rooney, suggests that Manchester United's No10 has stolen
Hrubesch's moniker and mantle.
Over the past few months Wayne Rooney has become remarkably
adept at scoring with headers. He has showcased a full range of
deft, cushioned deflections, ones drilled powerfully off his
forehead, loopers off the side of his head and snide, little
glancers. Against West Ham United he even managed one from the most
sublime category, the diving header, and though it does not rank as
high as Allan Clarke's for Leeds United in the 1972 FA Cup final
win over Arsenal, Keith Houchen's for Coventry City against
Tottenham Hotspur at Wembley in 1987 or the majestic, graceful
swoop of Michel Platini's goal for France against Yugoslavia in the
1984 European Championship, it did illustrate how much progress
Rooney is making in refining his repertoire.
In the defeat of Milan at San Siro he even showed that he is
perfecting the scientifically dubious art of hanging in the air.
Everton's Tim Cahill is the current master of that and it allows
him to spring up a split-second earlier than his marker anticipates
and gives him an advantage over defenders whose height would
normally allow them to snuff out the Australian's aerial threat.
Gary Speed also used to be very good in the air, brilliantly timing
his run and jump, bravely craning his neck to nip in front of a
centre-half's challenge and taking a smack in the back of the head
as an acceptable price to pay.
Courage on the field comes in many forms – risking taking a kick
in the tackle, being hungry for the ball however tight the
situation and having the technique and temperament to
deal with it without panic – but it would be difficult to
dispute that those players who were willing to launch headfirst
into challenges were the most intrepid of all. Some, of course, had
to, having realised they were far more comfortable heading it than
kicking it. Andy Gray or Lee Chapman, for example, must have
regularly had grass burns on their noses so low did they stoop to
head crosses in preference to throwing out a foot at the
ball.
Duncan Ferguson was a fearless attacking header of the ball and
so was Jack Charlton. Earlier in his career Charlton sometimes
played as an emergency centre-forward but the majority of his
hundred-plus goals for Leeds and England were scored with his head
from set-pieces while playing at centre-half. No wonder the
opposition referred to him as the "effing giraffe". Even if at the
age of 74 he was pushed on to the pitch at corners like a siege
engine I would not put it past him to remain pretty effective.
Give him an opportunity with his head and he would usually bury
it but he was less confident with the ball at his feet. During the
1966 World Cup final, with the score at 1-1, he was disturbed to
find it approaching him in West Germany's penalty area on the
rebound from Wolfgang Weber's block. At first, in Brian Glanville's
evocative phrase, "it rose tantalisingly in the air as though on a
jet of water in a shooting gallery". But when it dipped and
Charlton realised he was going to have to kick it he felt frozen.
To his immense relief Martin Peters took the initiative and, with a
crisp half-volley, put England ahead.
Heading is a skill that does not enjoy the same cachet as
passing and shooting, especially among those puritans and pedants
who say things such as "it's called football for a reason". Indeed,
there's that old north-west English insult for someone who is a bit
daft – "head-the-ball".
Rooney has shown, however, with his dedication to practice and
numerous games of head tennis and headers and volleys that honing
his craft and broadening his armoury brings huge rewards. Given his
unrelenting quest for improvement one can only speculate what he
will turn to next – cultivating scoring with his thighs and knees
or, like Ian Rush towards the end of his career, polishing his
ability to bundle the ball over the line with his arse. Now, that
would really make him the complete player.
