Leicester City boss Claudio Ranieri’s tears prove some in the sheds still share fans’ emotional connection

LEICESTER City manager Claudio Ranieri’s tears help restore faith that some of those in the sheds are still as emotionally invested in a club’s fate as the fans.

I’m late to Leicester. It wasn’t until I saw the tears in manager Claudio Ranieri’s eyes after Leicester City’s 2-0 victory over Sunderland last weekend that I became entangled in the sports story that is captivating the football world — which, as the true believers constantly remind us, is the entire world.

It was one thing to see long time Leicester fans, and a few wearing suspiciously new shirts and scarfs, rejoicing in the miracle of the once relegation threatened club’s breathtaking climb to the top of the English Premier League.

Even before it was apparent the Fox’s fairytale would not fracture Leicester’s bandwagon had been replaced by a convoy of full laden semi-trailers.

No minnow-done-good story is now complete without a Leicester comparison. Australian Open champion Angelique Kerber is the Leicester of tennis, Danny Willett is the Leicester of The Masters, Pinot Gris is the Leicester of wine.

But Ranieri’s tears gave the story a dimension even beyond the club’s astonishing feat. They restored faith in the increasingly farfetched notion that those in the sheds are as emotionally invested in a club’s fate as those in the grandstands.

There are still sportsmen whose personal sacrifices or heart-on-sleeve approach demonstrates a continued emotional attachment between participant and club.

When the AFL’s most beloved player Bob Murphy’s knee buckled beneath him last Sunday as he suffered a season-ending injury, the hearts of the most cynical observers leapt into mouths. One-team captain of an often battling club, poet laureate and football romantic, Murphy is living proof sportsmen do not necessarily consider themselves tradeable commodities or mere performers in an entertainment industry.

But in the EPL, where the gap between rich and poor is vast and the price of the competition’s excellence is the ruthless turnover of players and managers, you could be forgiven for thinking the only romance is the type that makes the front pages of London tabloids.

Jamie Vardy was playing non-league football until his mid-20s.

Before Leicester’s run, the greatest emotional outpouring was for Manchester City’s tumultuous last gasp title win in 2012. Wonderful for fans yet, boiled down, a victory for Manchester City’s Abu Dhabi oil money over Manchester United’s billionaire American shareholders.

So Ranieri’s emotional response to a victory that inched Leicester within touching distance of the title added an extra ingredient — or, more pertinently, an extra topping — to an already compelling tale.

It is already lore that when Leicester leaked goals early in the season Ranieri promised to buy his players pizza if they kept a clean sheet against Crystal Palace. But Ranieri made the players make their own pizzas when they got to the restaurant because ‘’you have to work for everything’’.

Such homespun wisdom is not uncommon. You can imagine Ange Postecoglou having the Socceroos make their own souvlakis or Wayne Bennett putting the Broncos to work on the backyard barbie.

But Ranieri’s intimate relationship with his players contradicts the stereotype of his ego-driven league. A world where Jose Mourinho preening for the cameras is the more common expression of managerial excellence.

Leicester City fans are living the dream — and their side is everyone’s second team.

Most obviously, Leicester’s tale is compelling because we have paid, trained, zoned and drilled the upsets out of so much of our sport. Professionalism and precision are ever harder to break down with heart and soul.

When the amateurs of the USA upset the Russian machine in the 1980 Olympic ice hockey final, the commentator famously exclaimed ‘’Do you believe in miracles?’’ In many sports now the answer is “Are you kidding?’’

Australian football clubs of various types talk of creating their own miracle by replicating the Money Ball tactics that made the lowly Oakland Athletics a contender in the hyper-rich Major League Baseball. But the salary cap systems used to keep clubs in competitive balance and financially viable means our fairy tales are partly manufactured.

The North Queensland Cowboys are small in catchment area, but — give or take an Eels third party deal — equal in their ability to lure and retain top talent. Leicester’s story combines wise recruiting, victory in the face of super rich opposition, inspirational leadership and, most poignantly, a welling emotion shared by fans, manager and players.

Given his tears at Sunderland you imagine Ranieri will be sobbing on the sidelines if the title is clinched. A few of us closet romantics might join in.