WHEN is a fascist not a fascist? When he is new Sunderland manager Paolo di Canio, of course.

The furore that erupted with the appointment of Italian-born Di Canio as Sunderland manager in succession to the sacked Martin O’Neill finally provoked the former Lazio, Sheffield Wednesday and West Ham player to declare he was not a fascist.

This, after previous claims by him that “he was a fascist, but not a racist” and several photos of him giving a straight-armed salute to ultra fans in his native Lazio.

If that wasn’t a fascist salute then it was so good an impression that it should book him a slot on any Who Do You Do programme involving take-offs of political leaders.

And that’s not even considering the inky matter of a tattoo on his arm allegedly saying “Dux” a reference to that guardian of libertarian values, Benito “Il Duce” Mussolini.

But amid all the declamation from as differing personalities as former Labour leader in waiting David Miliband, the Bishop of Durham and the Durham Miners’ Association, Senor Di Canio came out to declare on the Black Cats website: “I am not political, I do not affiliate myself to any organisation. I am not a racist and I do not support the ideology of fascism. I respect everyone. I am a football man.”

Those last five words are the new catch-all whenever football again demonstrates its amazing propensity for expediency. It’s as if “I am a football man” is a mantra that excuses all kinds of misdemeanours.

In this instance it has been used to excuse Di Canio of his extremist views. It excuses Sunderland for not taking into consideration the baggage Di Canio inevitably brings with him, or even to question whether such an appointment might rile followers whose relatives fought against fascism in European and then global conflicts from the 1930s onwards.

“I am a football man” would seemingly be absolution as to why when Di Canio was managing Swindon, to no little manner of success, that his now alleged political beliefs did not come under closer scrutiny.

Is rumoured adherence to fascism not as abhorrent in the lower leagues? Does it worsen the higher up football’s strata it travels? Seems so, given how his political angling was well-documented before he shipped up at Swindon.

In all honesty Di Canio should have been “outed” for his alleged leanings when he was in charge of the lowly Robins. Remember the governing power of the game is the FA, whose own charter proclaims a desire to combat, even erase, all discrimination.

If you enter into political ideology you may well argue, quibble, rant – all erroneously in my view – that fascism does not equal racism.

Try telling that to the victims of Mussolini, Hitler, even of England’s very own Sir (sic) Oswald Moseley.

It’s not about glitzy uniforms, or making the trains run on time, or strong leadership, or a national identity. Fascism is an unrelenting drive for ultra-nationalism at the expense of the weak, the poor, the dispossessed, anyone with a contrary view. Object and you are crushed – that’s fascism.

The uproar that greeted Di Canio’s appointment was wholly justified, if a tad tardy in that if our FA mandarins had anything about them, they would have brought the issue to book during his fledgling managerial career at the County Ground.

But this is the same FA who, despite their so-called “fit and proper person test”, still allowed Thaksin Shinawatra to take control of Manchester City; who have seen the disgraced Carson Jeung in command at Birmingham; and who consistently do little to limit the wholesale plundering of the game’s most successful clubs by profiteers be they from overseas or just over here.

Declaring how you are “a football man” somehow just does not cut it.


Anyone for cricket… brrrrr

AS cold hard facts about football’s regular exercises in expediency go on, so too do other traditions. This week, the nation’s cricket clubs gathered for their respective media days for new kits, new sponsors and new photo shots.

And from Sussex to Derbyshire, Lancashire to Yorkshire, they lined up shivering, breathing into cupped hands. Clad in as many layers as they could cram on, as the cruellest tendencies of April’s elements bit hard.

The big bowl off – the big freeze.