Spectator Sport
This wisdom of crowds stuff has always seemed a bit double-edged: for every silent and courageous candlelit throng gathering outside the cathedral in Leipzig in the 1980s before eventually bringing down the Berlin Wall, there are always far more examples like the braying boo-boys at Twickenham last weekend doing their bit to damage our reputation for sportsmanship.
But if Britons have been collectively enlightened and witty enough to vote in their thousands, week after week, to keep John Sergeant in what is after all a dancing contest, not a political reporting contest, then let’s hope that the people mobilise once again in the name of a different cause: ensuring that Rebecca Adlington, and not Lewis Hamilton, wins the BBC Sports Personality of the Year.
It’s extraordinarily galling to plug the BBC, as they spend so much time doing it themselves, but let’s go with it just this once — it matters. If Becky is going to win, she needs to triumph over adversity all over again, facing down the petrolhead lobby and the might of the bookies.
I’m sure few of us would begrudge Hamilton anything. But spare a thought for the wonderful Miss Adlington who, with her global smile and almost demented passion for shoes and shopping, represents the high point of our civilisation. She’s the first British swimmer to win two Olympic golds in 100 years. And though her Lottery funding has doubled, from £12,000 to £24,000, she still can’t buy somewhere to live. So, while Lewis sips chilled isotonic vitamin drinks in his tax haven, she’s renting a place in Nottingham with her boyfriend. And she does really want to win — bless her mighty shoulders. She makes a good case, too. Hamilton competes every year; she only has a chance in the real big time every four years. Hamilton is backed by an enormous team; Adlington is more or less on her own. I hope Spectator readers will hit redial, and help to give the great Becky A the prize she so richly deserves.
Unlike Adlington, Brian Mawhinney is unlikely to win many popularity contests. He’s the fierce Ulsterman and committed Christian who was Tory chairman in the 1997 wipe-out. Since then he’s been chief (rather effectively in fact) of the Football League. He’s currently engaged in a peculiar spat with Trevor Brooking (who of course would win almost any popularity contest) about funding for young English footballers. It’s basically a row about cash, but maybe here the nice guy isn’t right.
Money really shouldn’t be the issue. The car park in the Ivory Coast where Didier Drogba honed his skills, the narrow backstreets of Marseilles where Zinedine Zidane first weaved his magic — they weren’t exactly state of the art. And even if we built exact replicas at FA academies, most kids would be too busy playing Fifa 09 in their Nintendo Wiis to use them.
We have great facilities here. And anyone who is really good will quickly get the chance to play with the best footballers from around the world. In the meantime catch a glimpse of Jack Rodwell, who’s 17, at Everton; Arsenal’s boy wonder Jack Wilshere, 16; Danny Welbeck, 17, at Man U; Michael Mancienne, Chelsea’s 20-year-old defender; or West Ham’s local lad Freddie Sears, 18. All English and all wonderfully gifted. Our national side may have had its problems, though they’re easing back under skilful new management, but the football future looks very shiny.
Previous page
