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The Roar

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Leicester aside, next season will be business as usual in the Premier League

N'Golo Kante during his time with Leicester. (AP Photo/Rui Vieira)
Expert
4th May, 2016
26
1268 Reads

The Leicester City storm struck, suddenly and sublimely, and only now – as our ears ring and our hearts thump in the raw, glorious wreckage of the aftermath – can we truly see how singular it is.

It wasn’t forecast – a quick look at every single pre-season prediction article emphatically proves that, just skip straight to the “relegation favourites” section – nor was it even anticipated, intuitively, in the gut or the gammy knee.

It began inconspicuously, a fluttering leaf plucked by the wind from a tree, a ruffling field of wheat sprayed suddenly with a cold handful of rain.

The Foxes only had three wins in their first seven games, but the explosive potential was there, as 4-2, 2-2, 3-2 and 5-2 scorelines littered that opening stanza.

Then the winds really started, with eight wins in their next ten games, as the old, comfortably nailed-down Premier League concepts were lifted slightly off their foundations, gold-plated smirks trembling, scepters rattling.

Like the memorable bovine-themed scene in Twister, Ruud van Nistelrooy’s consecutive games goal-scoring record flew by, dazed and mooing as it was swept up and consumed by this irresistible maelstrom.

There was a brief lull, that many smugly – and incorrectly – identified as the end to this plucky team’s run. It was, in fact, only the eye of the storm passing over, as after a period of one win in four matches between Christmas and mid-January, the tempest returned, with the Foxes unbeaten for the next month.

From all areas of the team, forceful pressure was applied.

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Kaspar Schmeichel, with that barrel chest, batted away shots on his goal with contempt. His father must be bursting with pride.

Robert Huth, all gristle, hardened connective tissue and menace, shouldered and elbowed opposition strikers into pulpy jelly.

N’Golo Kante, far and away the most prudent midfield tackler in the world, nicked the ball away from countless rivals, with supernatural ease.

Riyad Mahrez, leaning drolly on the hard running of Jeffrey Schlupp and others, sparkled and dazzled, every step-over a breathtaking, Astaire-like soft-shoe into the sublime upper tiers of athletic, rhythmic movement.

And then, of course, Jamie Vardy, the jet, whose finishing over this last, tense stretch has been so vicious, so unerring, those legs of his might have been bolts of lightning.

No stone was left unturned, no tree left unsplit, and as it dawned on everyone that there would be no shirking of this, Leicester only tightened their resolve.

Their final run of games has been a masterful clinching of a title, to the point where, when the treasured footage of Vardy, Mahrez, Kante, Wes Morgan and the rest celebrating their triumph finally arrived, it almost seemed inevitable. As the mighty squall whoops and hollers off over the sea, the scattered remains have begun to twitch, fumbling with numbers like 5000-1, babbling almost, clearly having difficulty adjusting to this harsh, new paradigm.

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Except there is no new paradigm, at least not one that can be confirmed yet. As golden an opportunity as this is, it feels that, with a near-clean slate on which to rebuild, the same old structures will be re-erected, the same old clubs will spend the same old oceans of cash, and the familiar status quo will be reasserted.

Of course, Leicester have been defying the doubters all season, so they may well win the league again. But it would be foolish to rely on next season’s Chelsea being the same pallid team they were this term, or for Manchester City to announce halfway through the 2016-17 campaign that Pep Guardiola is to be replaced at the end of it, or for Liverpool not to have further evolved into a Jurgen Klopp-monster of running, pressing and scoring, or, indeed, for youthful Spurs not to have matured and grown as a result of their harrowing experiences this season.

Arsenal, Manchester United, West Ham, Southampton: the list of genuine threats is a long one, and with new managers and new money, it would be a surprise if 77 points with two games to go is enough to clinch next season’s premiership.

Furthermore, as horrible it is to say so soon after they’ve done the near-impossible, the threat of this team being broken up is a real one. Leicester have suffered fewer injuries than any other team this season, with squad continuity a hallmark of their success. The removal of just one of Vardy, Mahrez or Kante from the squad – regardless of the money it takes to crowbar them away – could be a blow that brutally winds.

Bids will come, particularly for Mahrez and Kante, and Leicester’s resolve will be tested. Champions League football, and the allure and money that brings, will help them keep hold of their stars, as well as attract more. But new stars, from abroad, will also arrive at other teams. The Premier League is still very much a buying league, and covetousness abounds.

Perhaps this sort of experience is just as rare as it seems, something that might happen once every 20 years, if that. The terrestrial lords, whose palaces have been blown down, will welcome another two decades of mundane stability, but those who have been forced underground by the might of the ruling classes need to cherish this moment, if only vicariously.

This season might be flawed, but it is a paragon of sporting exhilaration, of underdog miracles, a season to be treasured, kept safely in the tissue-paper lined memory boxes of every football fan who was fortunate enough to witness it. There will be stories told, wistfully and wet-eyed, of the deeds of Vardy and co.

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Next season may return us to business as usual, but we’ll never forget Leicester’s wondrous title, and our hands, in the years to come, will trace nostalgically over the scars this great storm left on the aristocratic structures of English football.

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