Morning Call: pick of the papers

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

Morning Call: pick of the papers The ten must-read comment pieces from this morning's papers. 1. 2012: the year we did our best to abandon the natural world (Guardian)

Emissions are rising, ice is melting and yet the response of governments is simply to pretend that none of it is happening, says George Mobiot.

2. Now's the moment for mindfulness (Telegraph)

Make a fresh start in 2013 with the acclaimed technique that clears your head of information overload and allows you to focus on the present, says Judith Woods.

3. We risk a repeat of Dr Beeching’s mistakes (Times)(£)

The man who closed railway lines was right to make cuts, but missed the need to invest in a modern network, says Andrew Adonis.

4. In 2013, seismic events will shape the Middle East (FT) (£)

The region offers no respite to international or local actors, writes David Gardner.

5. Women: don’t even think of applying to this orchestra (Times)(£)

One female player had nine years on probation after having children, writes Neil Fisther.

6. A US warning for the Conservatives: pander to Ukip at your peril(Guardian)

Courting Tea Party voters cost Romney the election. If Cameron isn't careful, Farage's party could cause similar havoc here, says John Kampfner.

7. The Magna Carta: an old piece of parchment that made England a nation – let's celebrate it(Telegraph)

The 800th anniversary of Magna Carta, in 2015, is fast approaching, and we should do it justice, says Philip Johnston.

8. Forty years on, the benefits of EU membership are no longer compelling (Independent)

Then we thought it was a matter of economics, not politics - and we still do today - but the rest of Europe doesn't, says Dominic Lawson.

9. 2013 brings grounds for Tory optimism (Daily Mail)

The Mail remains optimistic that 2013 could be a good year for David Cameron and his party.

10. The lost boys of Sudan's civil war (Independent)

Thousands of children were separated from their families and forced to become soldiers in a country ravaged by war, reports Dan Howden.

 

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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

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 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times