READING what both Mohamed Salah and James Maddison have had to say this week had me in a right rage.
We all know Salah, who detonated a bomb under boss Arne Slot in the bowels of Elland Road last weekend, only speaks when it suits himself.
And then, a couple of days later, out came Maddison on Monday Night Football complaining about former Tottenham chief Ange Postecoglou.
Go back to the end of last season, when Postecoglou was on the verge of leading Spurs to a trophy, and Maddison was hailing Big Ange.
Which is it then? Either way, what Maddison offered up was the same thing we get from 99 per cent of modern players: A load of b*******.
Fans end up swallowing all the rubbish that players come out with, falling in behind them because they’ve put out a post saying they love the club when really they’re in a mood with the manager.
At the end of the day they are telling plain lies. They don’t want to tell you what is actually going on because they are scared of scrutiny and putting pressure on themselves.
The problem when it comes to pedalling prepared, polished rubbish in the first place is that fans, and the internet, will remember it.
And when players get called out on things down the line, they can’t hack it. All they want is to be told how great they are.
Those who do deign to give us their thoughts on a game will often take three or four, contractually obliged, questions and offer up nothing in any of the answers.
Tell them they are brilliant and it will be straight on their social media, ask why it wasn’t so good today and they will most likely turn into Salah and throw a wobbly.
The Liverpool superstar has walked through hundreds of mixed zones, where players stop to talk to reporters — but really, send a message to fans — after games.
Has he ever fronted up after a bad performance, or even a good one? No, he has only ever stopped when it suits his needs and there is a personal angle to it.
He looks a prize whopper for going nuclear against Slot and then posting a pathetic picture of him training alone while his team-mates were in Milan, winning.
There has always been a case of this in dressing rooms.
At Watford, when we won the 2019 FA Cup semi-final against Wolves, you couldn’t move for players wanting to chat to the press — even some who didn’t play!
When we got walloped 6-0 by Manchester City in the final, it was an awful lot quieter but I still stood up and answered questions.
It is what you should do as players, but so many now rely on their own social media — a snap of them in a five-star hotel to make things look rosy, posted by someone else no doubt. Look at me.
Next stop, boredom
Even strikers nowadays refuse to reveal how many goals they want to score in a season in case they fall short and think they’re a failure. It is always 20, by the way. Unless your name is Erling Haaland.
But no one in the Premier League appears to even have the minerals to put that on the record.
All of this winds up taking the Premier League in one dreadful direction.
Next stop, boredom.
If all we are ever going to hear from players and managers is these pointless platitudes, crafted by some PR bod in order to upset as few people as possible and enlighten even less, we’re all going to switch off.
Fans are already feeling a million miles away from their heroes on the pitch, so why not let them in a bit?
The majority of players are great blokes — I know that from a long career playing — but never show it. And that kills me.
It could be killing them too, because the odd bit of colour and light can give fans something to cling to, a reason to love and support you — which can go a long way.
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