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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.
The songs were mainly the same we all sing, such as “Here We Go, Here We Go”, with French words – most of which were, I presume, obscene.
The first view of the new stadium was a disappointing, shapeless mishmash. But inside, oh my goodness, it is all of a piece, a perfect whole, a theatrical marvel.
I had an idea I thought was brilliant, the story of two things that began in the same year, 1863 – the London Underground and the Football Association.
No wonder José described himself as the Special One, a phrase redolent of worship.
The perception of how men should act and look has rather moved on – if a bit slower in football than elsewhere.
The clubs are clearly struggling. I was shocked when they only managed to give retiring chairman Richard Scudamore £5m as a parting present. Cheapskates.
Almost one in five adverts during last year’s World Cup were for betting firms. Nearly 60 per cent of clubs in England’s top two divisions have the name of a gambling firm on their shirts.
In my day, the scorer got a quick handshake from the captain, then players returned to the centre. Now it’s like an orgy.
He is one of nature’s prefects. It’s hard to imagine him as young and daft and foolish, doing really stupid things.
Season’s greetings, bottle of wine, will you still need me, will you still read me, when I tell you what the season has provided so far?
