Morning Call: pick of the papers

The ten must-read comment pieces from this morning's papers.

1. Lib Dems won't knife Nick Clegg – well, not quite yet anyway (Observer)

The misjudgments they have made in office have not been the leader's alone – as Vince Cable surely knows, writes Andrew Rawnsley.

2. The rich are doing their bit. Are you? (Sunday Times) (£)

Voters must be educated about the fact that there really are costs to the benefits they receive, says Dominic Lawson.

3. Dogged and decent, Chris Grayling shows how to get reform right (Sunday Telegraph)

The Paralympics should inspire politicians to continue the fight for a fairer benefits system, writes Matthew D'Ancona.

4. Our schools are being undermined by a constant rhetoric of decline (Observer)

We should stop running down the manifest improvements in the country's education system, argues Matthew Taylor.

5. Dirty ads and debate can still win it for Mitt (Sunday Times) (£)

Romney should not be underestimated, warns Andrew Sullivan.

6. We'll go down as the nation that smoked itself stupid (Mail on Sunday)

I can't fathom the double standards over cannabis, says Peter Hitchens.

7. It's thrilling to see science take centre stage in the national conversation (Observer)

To witness Stephen Hawking at the Paralympics is to be reminded of Britain's pre-eminent scientific status, says Paul Nurse.

8. We should tune in to the Romney and Ryan show (Sunday Telegraph)

The myth of a democratic socialist society funded by capitalism is finished, argues Janet Daley.

9. Stop huffing — we all called for this crackdown on immigration (Sunday Times) (£)

The economic benefits of foreign students to Britain are highly debatable, insists Minette Marrin.

10. The Chinese puzzles of chairman Tim Yeo (Sunday Telegraph)

Tim Yeo is urging ministers to assist British firms in doing 'low-carbon' business in China, but has failed to mention that he is chairman of one such firm, writes Christopher Booker.

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If there’s no booze or naked women, what’s the point of being a footballer?

Peter Crouch came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

At a professional league ground near you, the following conversation will be taking place. After an excellent morning training session, in which the players all worked hard, and didn’t wind up the assistant coach they all hate, or cut the crotch out of the new trousers belonging to the reserve goalie, the captain or some senior player will go into the manager’s office.

“Hi, gaffer. Just thought I’d let you know that we’ve booked the Salvation Hall. They’ll leave the table-tennis tables in place, so we’ll probably have a few games, as it’s the players’ Christmas party, OK?”

“FECKING CHRISTMAS PARTY!? I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS PARTIES THIS YEAR. NOT AFTER LAST YEAR. GERROUT . . .”

So the captain has to cancel the booking – which was actually at the Salvation Go Go Gentlemen’s Club on the high street, plus the Saucy Sporty Strippers, who specialise in naked table tennis.

One of the attractions for youths, when they dream of being a footballer or a pop star, is not just imagining themselves number one in the Prem or number one in the hit parade, but all the girls who’ll be clambering for them. Young, thrusting politicians have similar fantasies. Alas, it doesn’t always work out.

Today, we have all these foreign managers and foreign players coming here, not pinching our women (they’re too busy for that), but bringing foreign customs about diet and drink and no sex at half-time. Rotters, ruining the simple pleasures of our brave British lads which they’ve enjoyed for over a century.

The tabloids recently went all pious when poor old Wayne Rooney was seen standing around drinking till the early hours at the England team hotel after their win over Scotland. He’d apparently been invited to a wedding that happened to be going on there. What I can’t understand is: why join a wedding party for total strangers? Nothing more boring than someone else’s wedding. Why didn’t he stay in the bar and get smashed?

Even odder was the behaviour of two other England stars, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson. They made a 220-mile round trip from their hotel in Hertfordshire to visit a strip club, For Your Eyes Only, in Bournemouth. Bournemouth! Don’t they have naked women in Herts? I thought one of the points of having all these millions – and a vast office staff employed by your agent – is that anything you want gets fixed for you. Why couldn’t dancing girls have been shuttled into another hotel down the road? Or even to the lads’ own hotel, dressed as French maids?

In the years when I travelled with the Spurs team, it was quite common in provincial towns, after a Saturday game, for players to pick up girls at a local club and share them out.

Like top pop stars, top clubs have fixers who can sort out most problems, and pleasures, as well as smart solicitors and willing police superintendents to clear up the mess afterwards.

The England players had a night off, so they weren’t breaking any rules, even though they were going to play Spain 48 hours later. It sounds like off-the-cuff, spontaneous, home-made fun. In Wayne’s case, he probably thought he was doing good, being approachable, as England captain.

Quite why the other two went to Bournemouth was eventually revealed by one of the tabloids. It is Lallana’s home town. He obviously said to Jordan Henderson, “Hey Hendo, I know a cool club. They always look after me. Quick, jump into my Bentley . . .”

They spent only two hours at the club. Henderson drank water. Lallana had a beer. Don’t call that much of a night out.

In the days of Jimmy Greaves, Tony Adams, Roy Keane, or Gazza in his pomp, they’d have been paralytic. It was common for players to arrive for training still drunk, not having been to bed.

Peter Crouch, the former England player, 6ft 7in, now on the fringes at Stoke, came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage