Even now, I still fantasise about being a footballer
I’d have little chance at Man City, but Spurs? No problem. I am sure my tortoise could get a game…
ByDive into the world of football with our collection of columns from Jonathan Liew and Hunter Davies, as well as longer-read features from guest writers.
I’d have little chance at Man City, but Spurs? No problem. I am sure my tortoise could get a game…
ByHis decision to leave was so sudden, something must have tipped him over the edge.
ByAs commanding as he was modest, the Liverpool manager brought greatness to the game. His departure is hard to bear.
ByLet me count the ways in which football has reinvented itself since 1848…
ByThe podcaster and sports broadcaster on what he’s learned from high achievers and why men need mental resilience.
ByHis rage is an increasingly common and very male affliction.
BySo far we’ve seen Dickensian midfielders, a blizzard of coaching jobs, and the return of peep-hole socks.
ByWatching a game is a private pleasure, I don’t want to listen to any banal observations – I have enough…
ByIn her book the Lionesses coach shows composure and compassion – but the art of football management remains a puzzle.
ByWearing a flat cap and ancient raincoat he was calm, quiet, unflashy – a gentleman player.
ByVideo refeering is sucking the joy out of the game.
ByAlso this week: a brawl at Lord’s and the US-Saudi golf rivalry.
ByNetflix reveals a footballer betrayed by celebrity.
ByLife is about endless upheavals, but some – like Harry Kane in lederhosen – are hard to take.
ByEven with the Prem to distract me, I am still anxious about how the England women’s team are coping.
ByUnderinvestment in women’s sporting gear extends to football boots designed for men being accused of causing ACL injuries.
ByHow fitting, how healing, if it had been women who ended English football’s 57 years of hurt.
ByThe Tory MP keeps betraying his Labour roots.
ByTalking about the game only makes the Labour leader and politicians look dumb.
ByGary Lineker’s new podcast offers a stale standard of analysis that barely hovers above that offered by the drunkest bar-propper…
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