Triesman (It's Just A Story)

My dad once wrote a letter to Jeff Powell of the Daily Mail - Powell's blinkered burblings ended with what he no doubt saw as a telling phrase 'the accountants are killing football'. Being an accountant my dad took exception to this and handwrote a neat three page letter telling Powell exactly where he was wrong. Given columnists live to provoke and regard letters of complaint as badges of honour, I'm sure Powell was delighted at that. But it was the first sign of my dad's disillusion with a paper he'd bought for years. Eventually Paul Dacre's Thatcherite cocktail of hysteria, heavy bias and sensationalism wore him down and he switched to The Times, a paper which might have moved downmarket from the height of its broadsheet reputation, but at least didn't act like a tabloid wanting with all it's black heart to be a broadsheet.

Me? As someone who suffered the Mail as a newspaper growing up I avoid it like the plague. It's rare I'll venture forth to the sanctimonious right wingery of the Daily Mail website - I know by now they're expert in pushing buttons and pontificating righteously. But someone linked to Patrick Collins of the Mail on Sunday castigating Lord Triesman for his indiscretion in being entrapped and making ill advised comments, a story published by the Mail on Sunday after two other newspapers had rejected it.

Let's put this in context first, unlike the Mail. Melissa Jacobs, 29 years Triesman's junior, wormed her way into his affections until she recorded a juicy conversation he thought was private. Said conversation obviously contained the allegations he made regarding the Russians and the Spanish, and several other comments. And she hawked them round until she found someone willing to publish, as I've already said she was turned down at least twice. That paper, obviously was The Mail on Sunday which went with it in the 'news' section - news section in Sunday tabloids generally being reserved for scandals.

Let's deal with Triesman first. As far as I can see he's committed no crime greater than being a fool for a younger woman. It happens, he's not the first and he won't be the last. What he said, even if a joke, was daft and, let's be honest, not particularly funny. It's a businessman cracking a joke about finance - it's not funny to outsiders. It's also, as the Mail signally fails to point out, the kind of distrust of foreigners they specialise in and encourage. But thousands of us probably commit similar indiscretions in conversations daily, Triesman's crime was to cross an ambitious woman looking to get her name in the papers and makes some cash.

Ah yes, Melissa Jacobs. The Mail's ridiculously flattering about her, emphasising her 'flowing flame red hair', 'ivory skin' and 'slim physique'. And it never questions one of her claims, but instead reprints damning extracts regarding the alleged affair on her blog. Call me cynical if you want, but exactly what made her decide that said conversation was so worthy of being aired in a major British newspaper where it'd obviously sell. Having never met Ms Jacobs, I have no idea on her morals, but doesn't her conduct rather suggest a) she'd shag anyone and anything to get to the top and get rich and b) she's really not trustworthy? Fair enough if that's the way she wants to live her life and make her money, unlike the Mail I refuse to judge her harshly without knowing details, but in whose interest is it for the story to be leaked? Answer - Ms Jacobs, for publicity and bank balance. Let's face it, if the right people were friends with the Mail on Sunday editor, she'd be dismissed to a certain Kanye West and Jamie Foxx tune.

And so to the last party in this sordid triptych. The Mail on Sunday, the sort of paper that, if it were anthropomorphised, would be the ill informed yet highly opinionated gobshite you'd cross the road to avoid. I've no objection to the existence of the Mail, clearly it serves a market that's not me and serves it very well and I choose to ignore its often borderline BNP ranting. Unless it's on occasions where it's inexcusably inflammatory and ill-informed. Even the Mail publishing the Triesman story might have passed me by but for a quick Googling of the story on the day it broke directing me to the story and Collins' piece on it.

Firstly, the story itself. The Mail's quite entitled to publish what it wishes, the story's been confirmed as the truth. It's simply the absolute lack of foresight that amazes me. Certainly a major story such as this will garner a few extra sales and extra hits for the Mail website. For a few days. And then it'll calm down and things will go back to normal levels. But the Mail's been rather guilty of exceptionally short term thinking here. Firstly, a story such as this clearly damages the 2018 World Cup bid of which Triesman was chair. Guilt by football association. Despite Triesman's quick and honourable resignation, the bid's obviously somewhat tainted. So, in the event that England's most serious bid for the World Cup since the 1960s fails, would the Mail sell itself as the paper that undermined the possibility of the World Cup coming to England before most of those with any interest in seeing it come here are old and grey? Might be popular with a certain section of the Mail's target audience that it's managed to keep a lot of damned dirty foreigners out, but it's rather doubtful whether they've weighed up the long term benefits to the British economy of a World Cup being hosted here, or even the potential sales boost they themselves might have from a whole month of one of the two most prestigious sporting events. Essentially, the Mail here is the kid who told tales at school, no matter how trivial they might be and is worthy of exactly the same respect and trust.

But that's not what got me. As I say, it's the Mail's choice, and if it wants to sabotage the World Cup bid then no problem, I'm sure they can deal with the consequences. It's Collins' somewhat sanctimonious response to it that annoyed me more. 'Loose tongued'? I'm not entirely certain he's the one with the loose tongue - sorry, loose tape recorder. Do we all need to say absolutely nothing in private conversations with people we've had a long term relationship with and think we can trust now? Triesman was certainly guilty of bad judgement in where he placed his trust, and foolish in what he said, but Collins avoids mentioning how the information was acquired not does he question the legitimacy of placing a private conversation in the public domain. Now he's an old Fleet Street hack, so he may not see that question through being in the system for so long, or regard it as legitimate journalism, but the article essentially absolves Jacobs or the Mail on Sunday for any blame in harming the World Cup bid by omission. Perhaps no more than you'd expect as he's writing in the same paper, but it's a little rich to wail, gnash teeth and rend your clothes when your employer's played such a significant role surely? Unless, of course, it's all a supremely subtle dig at his own paper that I'm missing. But given his past form, I deeply doubt it.

Anyway, the upshot is that I actually left a comment on the Mail website, along with several others. And, unusually for the internet, it was relatively mild and well reasoned. Shocked me to check that my comment, along with a couple of others had all received large amounts of thumbs up, and we were all of the same mind. It's little things like that which make you think there is some hope for humanity and that even users of the Mail website do have some sense after all.

All of this does leave a question mark over the 2018 bid - we won't know how much damage has been done, if any, for quite a while yet. But if England loses out to the Russian bid, would the Mail sell itself as the paper which lost a World Cup? Or if the bid's successful will it adopt the standard jingoistic position and forget it ever said anything? Let's see, on past form which way would it jump? Pissing in then, at the first hint of success, pissing out?

And in case you're wondering, yes, I did start with this one because I was dying to use that pun.