On paper, a career path that begins at Lille, saunters over to Newcastle, flies by Lear Jet to Paris Saint-Germain, and then yo-yos back to England and to Crystal Palace, it all looks like a clear oscillation between the tiers of European football.
Yohan Cabaye had secured a moneyed move to England in 2011, becoming another talented object of Newcastle United’s brief Gallic-themed fetishism, and while on Tyneside he rose in stature, becoming a leading midfielder in the world’s most watched league. His move to PSG two seasons ago was met with a sort of deflated resignation by those at Newcastle; it was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. Newcastle were then – and still are now – a club permanently on the verge of crisis, with one foot forever dipped in a wallowing pool of supporter mutiny and abject football. PSG, while, obviously, not specifically in need of Cabaye, had nonetheless thought it prudent to hoover up another asset to sit – utilised regularly or not – alongside Javier Pastore, Ezequiel Lavezzi, et al.
There is no doubting that the portion of Qatar oil money that Cabaye was receiving at PSG was substantial, probably enough for a few lifetimes. There are few people who would willingly walk away from money like that, let alone the Champions League involvement and near-guaranteed league titles that PSG offer. And so, when Cabaye reunited with his old Newcastle gaffer, Alan Pardew, now at Crystal Palace, it was surprise. The £12 million fee seemed about right, and certainly the club was experiencing an upswing in fortune, monetary and otherwise, but they were still only a year removed from being in the Championship. For a player of Cabaye’s pedigree, not yet 30, to go directly from a team with Champions League ambitions, to a club that could boast Tony Pulis and Ian Holloway as their two most recently departed managers, was a rare thing indeed.
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But perhaps it shouldn’t be, and Cabaye’s joyous start to life in London should stand as a splendid example of how rewarding a move of this kind can be. Palace were forced to break the wage structure in order to accommodate Cabaye’s salary, but the outlay has paid dividends; they sit fourth on the table with a quarter of the season gone, and show no sign that they will drop out of the top ten in the foreseeable future. Around Cabaye Pardew has placed a frightening arsenal of muscular wingers, in Yannick Bolasie, Wilfried Zaha and Bakary Sako. These are players that are deadly when bursting through the line of defence and, as such, need to be given a firm pad from which to launch: Cabaye provides just that. The Frenchman has quickly become a vital cog in Pardew’s team structure. As regrettable for Australians as Mile Jedinak’s demotion is, it is clear that the effect of Jedinak’s robust enforcing can be achieved via James McArthur’s slightly more subtle approach, a style that melds beautifully with Cabaye’s metronomic shuffling. The Palace of Pulis was a team built on obdurateness; Pardew’s Palace is far less rampart-esque, more a forward-facing collection of piston-powered prongs, with the steady, patient hand of Cabaye poised over the controls.
Pardew has no qualms placing such importance, both tactically and financially, at the feet of Cabaye. Earlier this month, after Palace’s win over West Brom, Pardew spoke on the subject:
“If you increase the wage structure because someone has come in and they don’t deliver, then you have got a problem. But they [the rest of his team] can all come and knock on my door on Monday and ask for more money, saying ‘I want Yohan’s money’, and they’ll get a simple answer: ‘You’re not as good as him’.”
Indeed, and Cabaye has lived up to this grand assessment, leading his team in scoring, as well as the entire league in interceptions recorded so far this season. As the Glacé cherry on top, he scored a smashing goal for France over the international break. Life, for Yohan, is good.
With the European Championships approaching, in his home nation no less, Cabaye must have felt horribly impotent wasting away those precious game minutes on the bench at PSG. When the opportunity arose for him to rejoin Pardew – a manager he obviously likes and admires – he took it. To hell with those who catcall “slumming it!”, for their cries have been drowned out by the roars of the fantastic masses at Selhurst Park. They have a new talisman, who is living up to the billing, and is leading their club to new Premier League heights. The grass can be greener, it seems, even if you have to go downhill to get to it.
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