The beautiful, bestial game
Michael Henderson
IT's only May and yet Charlie Spencer, fearless theatre critic, self-confessed 'unrepentant rocker' and contributor to this magazine, is in mid-summer form. He called last week for the banning of Association Football on aesthetic grounds, arguing that the social problems linked to the sport put it beyond the limit of human tolerance.
That is a mighty bow to draw: yet he has a point. He has several points. Far too many of the people who attend football matches are revolting, and the yobbery that accompanies their travels is unacceptable. Moreover, it is lost on the moral pygmies who run the game, for whom money is the only thing that counts. And, as Frank Zappa once said, 'When money talks, nobody questions the accent.'
For those who don't know, the yobs had a wonderful time last week. Manchester United supporters, unable to hold their beer, went wild in Germany. Then followers of Cardiff City and Millwall (no, nothing changes) lived down to their reputations. In Millwall's case the hooligans did their best to wreck the houses, cars and lives of people who live near the ground, injuring dozens of policemen and their horses. Astonishingly, the club chairman went on the radio to say that the perpetrators of this violence were not true supporters. Ye Gods!
Yes. it is true that football has done more than anything to establish the cult of stupidity in British life. One has only to consider the phenomenon of David Beckham to see that the game occupies an unhealthy place in what is known as 'modern culture'. As a footballer. Beckham is outstanding. As a man, he seems intent on proving beyond doubt that he has a brain full of rocks.
So Charlie's right, up to a point. Football is played, managed, administered and watched by people that no sensible person would willingly befriend. But he's not entirely right. It's the most popular game in the world, because it's the simplest, and not all fans are hooligans, even though it sometimes appears that way. With a World Cup upon us we're going to read and hear an awful lot about the sport in the next two months. much of it written and spoken by people who know next to nothing. Radio Five Live, for instance, has estab lished its reputation as a wholly uncritical supporter of the game. Every presenter has his or her team, and every guest is required to express an allegiance to one club or other.
People have commended — or blamed — Nick Hornby for the enthusiasm of the middle classes for the game, but that is not fair. It's certainly true that Homby's 1992 book, Fever Pitch, was overrated, but he shouldn't have to carry the can for the excesses of others. Homby's team, Arsenal, won the FA Cup last week. In the past Arsenal's successes have been resented because the club's tradition was built on little more than blood and sweat. In short, they were boring bastards. This year it was different, partly because Arsene Wenger, the manager, has persuaded the players to take the brakes off, and partly because Tony Adams, the captain, is expected to retire at the end of the season,
Adams once represented everything most loathsome about football. He was a drunk, crashed cars — and he played for Arsenal. But he will retire in glory, having turned round his life in a way that offers an example to sportsmen everywhere. After the muck and nettles of Millwall, Cardiff and Cologne, it is worth remembering one man's valour, as recognition that sport can also bring out the best in humankind.
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