The Labour leadership: who the newspapers are supporting

The Staggers takes a look at which candidates the national newspapers and their columnists have back

 

On Wednesday 1 September the ballot to choose the next leader of the Labour Party opened and the Labour leadership battle moved into its final stages.

Despite the distraction of Blair's memoirs, some newspapers and commentors have still found the time to declare their support for a preferred candidate, starting with our endorsement of Ed Miliband and our coverage of Jon Cruddas's endorsement of David Miliband.

Here is a round-up of the newspaper editorials:

The Observer chose this Sunday to declare in favour of David, claiming that:

. . . there is a breadth and subtlety to David Miliband's campaign that elevates him above his rivals. He is unquestionably loyal to the Labour tradition, but loyal also to the politics of winning general elections.

The Guardian meanwhile has chosen to sit firmly on the fence, stating that:

The truth is that both reaching out and moving on are essential, which is why neither is yet the obvious winner. In the three weeks of voting, it is to be hoped that one brother or the other will prove they can manage both at once.

The Independent has plumped for David, stating:

David Miliband has stressed repeatedly that Labour must appeal beyond the core vote if it has any chance of being a credible challenger at the election. In making this point he has not stayed in what his brother describes as a New Labour "comfort zone". If he had done so, he would deserve to lose.

The Times (£) editorial was short and pithy, but still came out strongly for David in the end, noting:

Mr Miliband understands that Labour needs a credible line on the deficit; he has tried more than any other candidate to appeal to the electorate as a whole. He is the only candidate who commands the personal authority to be a credible prime minister and Labour can be a serious opposition only if it is seen as an alternative government. There is only one candidate who comes close to answering that description: David Miliband.

The Financial Times, despite coming out for David, has been disappointed by the leadership contest:

The quality of the leadership debate has been dispiriting. It has been too inward-looking and deferential to the core vote. The candidates have largely failed to articulate a clear vision of Britain's future that could serve as a road map back to power.

The columnists and bloggers have shown a little more variety:

Jackie Ashley (the Guardian) strong supports Ed, but is afraid that he is too dependent on the unions:

He could become the "public-sector leader" or the "northern leader" rather than, as he wants, the leader of the "squeezed middle".

Johann Hari declares his support for Ed as well, but adds this warning:

It's not enough to say the debate should be solely "future oriented". The next Labour leader will face similar decisions. What he did in the past will shape what he does in the future.

Matthew Norman (of the Independent) is strongly convinced that Ed is the man for the job and argues:

It isn't that he speaks something far closer to English than the strangulated, triangulated patois of sonorously meaningless cliché that is his brother's lingua franca, although that certainly helps as well.

It's not even that he conveniently splits the difference between David's Blair Gold tribute act and Balls's core vote-protecting, comfort blanket statism, though that helps even more. It is simply that he had the cobblers to stand for the leadership at all, knowing that this must threaten one of the central relationships of his life.

Finally, Jonathan Freedland does as good a job as ever at sitting on the fence:

In an ideal world, there would be a combined Miliband name on the ballot, blending the strengths of both. As it is, there are two imperfect, all too human individuals. Since only one can triumph, it is incumbent on the eventual winner to take on the arguments and qualities embodied by his defeated brother. The party has been offered an either/or choice. But the truth is, it needs both.

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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