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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.
Crowds can be witty and spontaneous, but also elliptical and complicated, booing players for sins committed ages ago, or for ancient quotes attributed to them.
From 35 onwards, for most of our stars, then and now, their purpose, position and pleasures in life are over once they retire.
With lesser clubs, we just say they are playing rubbish.
Commentators pick on any passing trivial incident in a desperate attempt to turn it into a running story.
Managers work round the clock, they are never not managing. A player’s life, by comparison, is easy. They train from ten to 12 each day and that’s it.
So far this season looks much like last; the same two teams hovering at the top. Hard to think that either Man City or Liverpool will come a cropper – not till the very end.
As the season draws to a close, it’s time for the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the NS’s annual Hair of the Season award (and other footballing highlights).
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.
