Tim Cahill's sponsored celebration was another reminder that football no longer belongs to the fans

Hands up who remembers the good old days? By the ‘good old days’, obviously, I mean that time when footballers were ‘proper men’, as your dad called them, when Maggie T was leading class warfare against those pesky communists, and when Twitter was something only birds did.

Admittedly, I have no recollection of such a time. Probably because I was barely a twinkle in my father’s eye. But that’s irrelevant. I’ve heard enough stories over the years to appreciate that football was a different animal back then - as was the society it belonged to.

Now, instead, this generation has to make do with Paul Pogba-shaped emojis, Jake Humphreys and, in the latest confirmation that the game is going down the shitter, players who model their celebrations according to sponsorship agreements. Whatever next? Glass tunnels where fans can pay their weight in gold to peer in and watch the Premier League elite swan gracefully around before kick-off like fish in an aquarium. Oh wait.

Yes, football really has reached its zenith. It’s been a 100-odd years in the making but we’ve finally perfected the game down to a T, and we’ve got Tim Cahill to thank for it.

Having scored the winning goal against Syria in his side’s World Cup play-off, the age-defying Australian ditched his usual celebration to promote his personal sponsor, travel outlet TripADeal. Against a team that defied its war-torn background to come within reaching distance of the World Cup and, in doing so, serve a timely reminder of the sport’s capacity to uplift and inspire, Cahill brought his own special touch to the celebrations.

It’s safe to say, though, that Syria’s crestfallen players probably won’t be booking a holiday any time soon through TripADeal which, as the company proudly boasts on its website, specialises in making “dreams come true”. The irony. So, yes, the joke really is on the people and players of Syria. We’ve got modern football, in all its Kafkaesque glory, to thank for that.

But Cahill’s celebration will come as nothing new to those fans who, over the decades, have watched their game morph into something unrecognisable from when they first took to the terraces to watch the ‘proper men’ in action.

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Before Cahillgate, we, as English football-watching fans, were treated to another first this season: sponsored sleeves. Admittedly, these aren’t ending the World Cup dreams of war-torn countries and then encouraging them to take a well-deserved holiday, but it all points to the creeping corporatisation of the modern game nonetheless.

In this brave new footballing world, dominated by extortionate player transfers, £5.1bn TV deals, social media and globally-orientated image branding, the narrative has shifted from romance to riches as the game’s defining idiosyncrasies continue to fade to grey.

As seen with the rise of the corporate concrete bowl – the Emirates, Wembley et al – and the ‘chop-and-change’ landscape of modern management, it seems there’s little room left for sentiment which, now more than ever, is seen to hinder rather than help a club's business model.

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It’s unsurprising then, that, certainly in the case of the sport’s biggest, most commercially attractive clubs, the game's very spirit has found itself drugged up to its eyeballs, pushed into a corner and left to drown in its own drool.

In an interview from last season that largely passed under the radar, a young Liverpool fan spoke eloquently of the demise of this ‘spirit’ and, in its place, the spread of market forces and gentrification.

“It happens to every club. Most modern football clubs are just so sanitised and moving away from their roots massively,” he lamented. “I think it’s a sign of the times, not just Liverpool but modern footy in general. Liverpool is just like a tourist club now and I think most of the top six are tourist clubs.

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“I think a lot of it is he’s [Jurgen Klopp] sick of people turning up to Liverpool, making a little song and dance of it, taking a selfie stick to the game - you see people leaving [during the game] coming back with pizza. I just think where has the club gone.

“It’s not footy. You used to stand 90 minutes on the terraces, get curry and chips, and then you go home. You don’t be getting salt and pepper chips at half time. It’s not a gourmet thing. It’s not a day out. It’s you supporting your club because it’s your club, your team, your city. It’s everything.”

“You’ve really fucking depressed me,” the interviewer said in response. He’s not alone.

We’re told that this is the lay of the land now and to simply accept it. But at what point does it all stop? Cahill’s celebration was just another reminder that football no longer belongs to the fans who, over the years, have coloured it with such tradition, passion and vivacity, but those in power that pull the financial strings.

But the saddest thing of all is that it worked. TripADeal were proud enough of their stunt to post an (eventually-deleted) image boasting of Cahill’s celebration. Tim himself was happy enough to do it and we, stupidly, have just given them the free oxygen of publicity that they so craved. As dirty as if feels, it’s a job well done for someone somewhere deep in their corporate bowels. Perhaps the game is just gone.