Effra looks at West Ham’s most perplexing player in a perplexing Premiership season.
Perhaps no player epitomises the still incomprehensible craziness of the West Ham soap-opera like Bobby Zamora does. Heâ€™s scored a couple of wonderful games in big games, and heâ€™s got a few mighty flukes and the non-goal of the season to his name. Over the past ten days heâ€™s made John Terry look poor against Chelsea and heâ€™s been made to look poor by journeymen Sheffield United defenders. Heâ€™s shown some great touches and heâ€™s failed to control the simplest of passes.
Under both managers heâ€™s sometimes not even made the bench and on occasions he has kept Tevez out of the side. Heâ€™s now injured and heâ€™s playing his best football of the season. He is mates with Reo-Coker and Anton but he doesnâ€™t quite seem one of the Bentley boys. He has celebrated goals by pulling his West Ham badge on his shirt and shouting â€˜my club, my clubâ€™, and he has celebrated them by cupping his ear at fans who have dared to criticise him. Heâ€™s driven us to complete distraction with his misses, and heâ€™s been the author of the remnants of hope to which incredulously we are still clinging.
I donâ€™t think Iâ€™ve ever been as perplexed about a player as I am by Bobby. I wonder how many times this season Iâ€™ve thought that he isnâ€™t good enough for the Premiership and I wonder how many times this season Iâ€™ve reminded someone, who was making just that point to me, that his starts-to-goals ratio in the Premiership over the past two seasons really is impressive. Look at the cold facts and he is, as we sing at Upton Park, better than Jermaine and yet everybody knows that somehow that is not true.
Of all the players we could have chosen to have so much of our fate in his hands, Bobby would never have been my man. But this is West Ham in 2007 and only the script that is guaranteed to make us all demented will do.