TIPPING POINT: Given the levels of stupidity on display in English soccer over the weekend, Harry Redknapp's peculiar nous could be just what the national team need

THERE’S A theory that every development, be it social, political or artistic, is just a reaction to what has gone before, leading inevitably back to the beginning. And you have to say there is a certain synchronicity to having Harry Redknapp on the verge of becoming the England football manager. We have after all been here already. The circle is complete.

Like ’Appy ’Arry, Terry Venables was a cheeky-chappie too; a bloke who looked like he knew his way round a market, came from Spurs, and conducted a rather sulphuric relationship between his personal finances and officialdom.

Ultimately the whiff of sulphur got to be too much. Venables resigned and the FA chose the more cerebral approach of Glenn Hoddle in an attempt to get a supposed golden generation of players to perform up to their potential. But Hoddle’s narcissism always made him a ticking time bomb before his religious beliefs blew up in his face.

Then Kevin Keegan was entrusted with the gig, straight-forward, in-your-face Kevin whose driving passion left little or no room for reason to grab a hold of the reins occasionally. So the FA turned to Sven-Goran Eriksson, a man whose passion quotient seemed entirely consumed by the pursuit of Scandinavian blondes, judging by his somewhat somnolent approach to half-time team talks.

That meant foreigners were out, although Shteve “Dutch” McClaren did try to bring a continental accent to his friendships with “Lamps,” “JT” and the other lads. But when it quickly became clear that Shteve had about as much control of the players as Charlie Sheen does over his appetites, then foreigners were back in favour again, hence Fabio Capello.

Actually there are a few of us that thought Capello was the answer to the perennial question as to why England so consistently under-perform. A hard-ass authoritarian Italian not prepared to take any crap from pampered, over-indulged prima donnas, Capello brought pristine continental credentials with him and ended up doing what Graham Taylor used to – hitting it long to the big lad up front. And no one likes that.

If a pedigree moulded in Milan and Madrid ends up indulging in the same lumpen tactics as one forged in Watford, then it can be argued the only difference between them is a certain Latin sheen. Which might beg the question: how much impact can a coach actually have?

In fact place it in a big picture and it is a long, cold shower for those who place an almost messianic importance on the role of coach, whatever the sport.

’Appy ’Arry though will be happy to leave such philosophical musings to some other time. The Tottenham manager is having the time of his life right now. Spurs ripped Newcastle apart at the weekend, a few days after their manager walked vindicated from court, just hours before being more or less presented with his dream gig by Capello’s resignation.

He’s like a ruddy-faced relic, demanding to be rubbed. The only problem is rub him soon – getting the England job usually removes the gloss from even the shiniest reputation.

The reasons are as obvious to everyone here as they are across the water. The gig is like a Las Vegas rollercoaster with the absolute surety that the only thing lying in wait at the end is ignominy. It’s either “top-of-the-world- Rule-Britannia” stuff or “we’re-so-crap-there’s -no-hope.” At the moment football in England is wallowing in sorrowful introspection, with players apparently unable to put one foot in front of the other. In many ways, it’s a perfect set-up for a newcomer.

And crucially what ’Arry has going for him is an ability to get inside the head of the modern day footballer. Never mind the suspicion that once in there, there isn’t much competition for space. Failure to comprehend the wilfully adolescent instincts of these modern day phenomena has the potential to bite a manager in the ass. That reality was highlighted yet again at the weekend.

It was hard to visualise how Premier League footballers could delve even further into the vat of petulance and stupidity that constitutes much of the modern game but Luis Suarez managed it. Patrice Evra hardly covered himself in glory either. But the reverberations of this entire sorrowful episode have the potential to ripple much deeper than the current tabloid outrage.

Whatever about Suarez’s future at Anfield, Kenny Dalglish’s management will also come under the microscope. The Liverpool legend is half a decade younger than Redknapp but crucially was absent from the game’s coalface just as the silliness truly took hold. His attempts to defend his player on Saturday might have been instinctive but Dalglish ended up looking desperately out of touch, and even spiteful. King Kenny looked lost.

Whatever though about Dalglish’s failure to grasp the significance of Suarez’s actions in the wider social context of racism, the impact of all this on the reputation of Liverpool football club could be immense.

Alex Ferguson’s post-match comments no doubt contained their usual trace of self-servitude. However, it is hard to argue with the point about Suarez and the history of a truly great football institution. The continued backing of the Uruguayan and Dalglish’s steadfast support of him might be the done thing in purely football terms but it is offside in every other meaningful way.

Let’s not forget that after a prolonged investigation, Suarez was found guilty of racially abusing a fellow professional. His defence that the word used is not offensive in South American terms was found not to stand up in a European context. For him to then blatantly snub that same player, and be effectively backed up in that action by his manager, is a shocking reflection on the club they serve – even allowing for the subsequent apologies they both issued.

Maybe reports that the British prime minister David Cameron is planning a “football racism summit” at Downing Street will shock Liverpool into realising this is not something that can be confined to the famed Anfield boot room, even if such a thing exists anymore.

That belonged to an earlier era, a simpler one in purely football terms, but one which included one of their own, John Barnes, having bananas flung at him. Football’s wider modern day social significance may be a mystery to many but doesn’t stop it from being a reality. And while any political move such as the one proposed by Cameron generates immediate suspicions of grandstanding, it does reflect the profile of the game now.

Harry Redknapp might not be able to navigate a bank statement very well but his record in man-management is proved by the improvement he has generated in almost every team he has been in charge of. That testifies to a mind a lot more shrewd than the “Del Boy” caricature suggests. A touch of Cockney cunning and nous is hardly anything new. But in the minefield of English football right now, it could be just what is required.