THE WARRIOR'S CODE - the bad guy makes the girl's heart beat faster

I wonder how many people witnessed the actions of Diego Costa last week and immediately thought about a night out in that notorious Limavady nightclub, the Gorteen? THE Gorteen House Hotel is a place that will live long in the memories of all those that passed through its hallowed doors down through the decades. For city folk try and imagine a night club somewhere between Sugar and the Telstar, and add a dollop of the old Venue. It was the place to see and to be seen on a Friday and Saturday night, if dancing or a little romancing was on your mind. I was fond of both; saw plenty of the former and very little of the latter. Cultchies from far and near would congregate looking for drink, a smoke or a fight, and the accents would be as thick as the yellow urine on the floors of the girls’ toilets. Don’t ask me how I know that. Anyways I got to thinking about the Gorteen during the week. A very young and naive Warrior’s Code, at the Gorteen one night and full of Royal Dutch lager, had taken a liking to a fit young filly. He finally summoned up the courage to speak to the lady in question, unconcerned by the fact that his breath smelled like the battered sausage supper recently devoured at Tommy’s Chipper. Anyways, with the ‘Erection Section Pt 2’ fast approaching, the sands of time were quickly running out on young Doherty to make his move. Unfortunately, during the course of the ‘chat up’ it became clear that this would not be our hero’s night. The young lady, it became apparent, had her heart set on another man. And not only that, this love rival was a bit of a notorious rogue around Limavady parts. With one last throw of the dice, and thinking only of the young woman’s honour, Warrior’s Code try to dissuade the young lady from the course she appeared set on, explaining that his guy she fancied was, for want of a better word, a bit of a gangster. “I know” came the surprising reply from the lovely lady, “but it’s the bad guy that makes the heart beat faster.” He ain’t no angel

That almost forgotten little memory came to mind last week when I witnessed the antics of Chelsea striker Diego Costa. The Brazilian-born Spanish international moved to West London from Atletico Madrid back in the summer of 2014 and enjoyed a fine opening season with Chelsea after scoring 20 Premier League goals. However, his time in England has been marred by controversy and has been in the thick of several scuffles and even awarded a ban for three games due to stamping on Liverpool’s Emre Can last year. It seems Costa did not learn his lesson and The FA retrospectively banned him once again this week after he was caught on camera pushing Laurent Koscielny in the face during the clash with Arsenal. Having made a watery defence of their Premiership title this season so far, Chelsea manager Jose Mourinho needed something to jolt his beleaguered side into action. And the spaghetti- western faced gunslinger Costa provided that something against Arsenal. And while Costa’a actions were roundly pilloried, the Chelsea faithful fell even more in love with him. Diego Costa may very well have a face that you would never tire clashing, but you can be sure the Chelsea striker will get his retribution in first. But the Chelsea scoundrel is far from being alone. Every club needs a bad guy, a player that will push the boundaries of what is acceptable. A player that will do anything to win. A player that the fans will adore. What Liverpool fans wouldn’t give to get their former enfant terrible, Luis Suarez back. The sporting world may have decried his flesh biting antics but the supremely talented Uruguan was the main reason Liverpool got so close to winning the league two years ago. Perish the thought. When playing for Sheffield Wednesday the mercurial Paulo Di Canio opted to push referee Paul Alcock to the floor after he was shown a red card for brawling against Arsenal. He was later awarded the Fifa Fair Play award for refusing to score while the goalkeeper lay injured. Like Darth Vader himself, there was a little good in this particular rogue after all. And my own beloved team, Manchester United, has enjoyed a real rogue’s gallery of bad boys down through the years. Who can forget Roy Keane’s tackle on Alf-Inge Haaland in 1997? An assault, as journalist Paul Hayward put it, “so vindictive that it would have aroused the interest of the constabulary had it been made in an ale-speckled pub that Saturday night.” Not forgetting George Best. One of the all-time great footballers enjoyed the ale far too much - claiming “I spent most of money on booze, birds and fast cars – and squandered the rest.” And United can perhaps boast one more - the greatest rascal of them all, certainly in the Warrior’s Code’s time as a United supporter. Eric the Red

Certainly one of the most extravagantly gifted players of the Premier League era, monsieur Cantona didn’t do anything lightly. We perhaps shouldn’t have been surprised then when he opted to torpedo himself – studs first – into a mouthy Crystal Palace supporter’s chest. A nine-month worldwide ban followed, but when he returned in the 1995-96 season ‘King Eric’ was crowned FWA Footballer of the Year. But the fans took to him to their hearts as they had taken to no other footballer since Best. They loved Cantona’s imperious posture - head up, back ramrod-straight and feet splayed at 10 to two, like a ballet dancer. They loved his stealth and his incessant use of the back heel - a risky device, frowned on by most English coaches, but one which can alter the whole pattern of play. They loved his spectacular goals. They even loved the way he wore the collar of his No 7 football shirt turned up. And his team-mates loved the unselfish way he would seek them out with a pass like a sudden dagger-thrust. Within four months of his Leeds debut, the club had won the championship for the first time since 1974. But only weeks after the start of the next season, amid rumours of dressing-room conflicts, he was being hurriedly sold across the Pennines - to Manchester United, Leeds’s bitterest rivals. Six months later, his new club had won the championship for the first time since 1967. Cantona had made the difference. After scoring goals in both his first two games, King Eric was left out of the French national squad by a manager who said that he was ‘in poor form’. He responded by telling a national television audience that the manager was a ‘s**tbag’, and was rewarded with a one-year ban from international selection for his troubles. Cantona retired from football at 30 years of age, having scored 80 goals for United in five years, many of them spectacular. He was no saint, far from it. But by God he made my heart beat faster.

Read the Warrior's Code in the Derry News every Mon morning. Dead on.