Footie's Mr Toad
MICHAEL HENDERSON
Commentating on sport is a difficult task. When do you let the images speak for themselves, and when is it appropriate to reinforce the visual with a few words? And which words, what tone of voice? On the whole, the people who do it do it pretty well, and some of them are outstanding. Radio requires different talents, a different imagination, and the best commentators can make the listeners feel as if they are present at the event. Alan Green, the BBC's football reporter, is one of them. He employs a vivid style which, on a good day, suits the game he is talking about. But, on a poor one, he comes across as an overwhelming bore, and the FA Cup final saw him in his least impressive colours.
His main problem is one of inflated importance. He uses the first-person singular so frequently that he has become known to his colleagues as the Oculist', Indeed, there are days (and nights) when the listener may think that the players have kindly agreed to put on a game for his benefit. When Arsenal and Southampton lined up in Cardiff. and Green tore a strip off some 'self-important nitwit', he may well have been providing a frank self-portrait. In fact, he was referring to the publicaddress announcer who made the mistake of addressing the crowd just as the crumpet-faced Ulsterman was preparing to address his own audience.
And just how did he address them? By talking about himself. 'I'm looking forward to this.' he told listeners, as the game was about to kick off. Who was looking forward to it? I am. Oh yes, of course. Not the 70,000 spectators, or the combined television and radio audience of several hundred millions in Britain and beyond. No, Mr Toad was looking forward to his afternoon, no doubt dressed up like a washerwoman. One of these days, he may treat us to a discourse on the waterways of England.
Having said beforehand that he hoped the referee would be invisible, he found that 'only six minutes have gone and I have to mention him'. Who has to mention him? I have. Green dislikes referees so much that he has to talk about them all the time. It is not just boring. It is deeply unimpressive. Scoring points off referees is the easiest thing in the world, even if it makes Green feel virtuous by appearing to stand up for 'the fans'.
When he is not hectoring the referee and dazzling the rest of us with his intimate knowledge of his beguiling personality, Green will sometimes affect ignorance ('What do I know?'), but that is merely another form of vanity; often the worst kind. He is an incorrigibly vain man and yet he is only a football commentator. Should he, perhaps, find another vocation?
Toad's chums in the commentary box are Ratty and Moly, in the form of Mike Ingham and Jimmy Armfield. Ingham, the BBC football correspondent, is reluctant to offer opinions and, by sitting on his bat while Green is busy trying to belt every ball for six, he tends to build a more substantial innings. Armfield is a courtly, manifestly decent man, incapable of being unkind to anybody, even to Green, when he barges in to cut Armfield short with some fresh absurdity.
Somebody ought to get hold of this braggart, remind him what he does best, and instruct him to stick to it. And that is not driving wildly down country lanes, disturbing the peace of villagers in his spanking new motor. Pam, parp!
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