Tottenham On My Mind Meets Jimmy Greaves

June 14, 2010June 14, 2010 / Alan / 5 Comments

At my age I’m fairly certain of what’s important in life. If I haven’t figured it out by now, frankly it’s too late. But even for someone as jaundiced and careworn as I, there are still moments when those priorities become crystal clear. Last Thursday, when my train halted in Kent as St Pancras was evacuated for a bomb scare, my groan turned heads in the carriage. If it had been work, an interview, a woman even, I would have remained stoically philosophical. But this, this meant something, because I was on my way to meet Jimmy Greaves.

I don’t do heroes. I admire certain people for who they are and what they do but in the end they are all flawed, just like you and me, and I’m no hero. But Jimmy Greaves was the closest I have ever come to idolising a fellow human being. As an impressionable football mad only-child growing up in the late sixties, Greaves was the biggest star of many in that Tottenham team. Kids aren’t fussed about records, they have no perspective of history, so I didn’t care that he was our best ever scorer. What mattered was, Greaves delivered. He always scored, or so it seemed. The ball in the box, is he on the end of it, yes and must be a goal.

Jimmy Greaves in His Prime

More than this, he did so with style, and even this sheltered boychick knew it, just by looking. Greaves was different, and ever since I’ve searched for flair, the distinctive individual. It’s hard trying to explain his football to those who never saw him. Goodness knows I’ve tried with my kids, but there is no one in the modern game to say even, ‘Jim was a bit like him’. Was he fast? Not a sprinter, but he outpaced defenders with the ball at his feet, gliding over the turf with perfect balance, the ball two feet in front of him. Was he quick in the box? Apparently not, but he got to the ball first, so often. Powerful? Not really, but the ball sped into the net, passed rather than belted. In these days of inflated superlatives, Greaves was unique and remains so. His was a frail, almost shambling figure who was transformed when the ball was at his feet.

I never dreamt for a moment that I would ever have 15 minutes on my own with the great man, but if it had crossed my mind, the setting would not have been as surreal as the back upstairs table at Burger King, Leicester Square. I shake hands with the PR guy (Jim’s flogging World Cup burgers), glance around and there in the corner, lost amidst the indifference of tourists and office workers gulping down a bite or two before moving on to something better, is a small, rotund man, healthily tanned, chatting quietly into a microphone. One of the game’s greatest goalscorers sits anonymous, surrounded by discarded burger wrappers and plastic carriers.

As he greets us there’s a touch of weariness around the eyes. It’s been a long day already, we are the last in line, two packed into a single slot as time has almost run out, and there’s a car waiting for a radio interview so it’s not over. Yet there is genuine warmth in his firm handshake and a willingness in his tone to talk football. “Ok here we go chaps, how are you, all right? Start, don’t worry.” A legend takes the trouble to make me feel relaxed.

First up, some punditry, and he’s refreshingly honest. Asked how England will get on in the World Cup, he replies cheerfully, “No idea.” He elaborates with care.

“We’re a fair side, don’t think we are a great side. There are 10 teams as good as us, a lot depends on how the competition goes. With a bit of luck and staying injury free, who knows. I’m sure Capello would like to start with the team he feels can win it and finish with that same team.”

I wondered about his appetite for the game these days. Does he still watch a lot of football?

“I don’t watch a tremendous amount of football”, he admits, kindly lining up the recorder closer to him to ensure nothing is missed. “These days mostly the top teams, obviously the World Cup. Haven’t thought about it really, it starts tomorrow and we’ll start watching it. No point in getting excited until it starts. England have as good or bad a chance as anyone else.”

Still on the World Cup, what’s his solution to one of our biggest conundrums, who partners Rooney up front? His response is characteristically forthright.

“Crouch. Don’t see how anybody could be anti with his goalscoring record. We’re talking about a guy who has a great goals ratio. Surely front runners are there to score goals. There’s talk of Heskey making Rooney a better player, well, I don’t really hold with that. Otherwise Alex Ferguson would have bought Heskey a couple of years ago.”

He paused. “It’s every player’s responsibility to do his best and Rooney would know that, whoever he plays with. Let’s wait and see.”

Greaves at a Do Recently

Some of my correspondents last season would not be so certain of Crouch’s abilities, but Jimmy was having none of that.

“Need more? Need more what? He’s scored plenty, more than Rooney. Play him, it’s that simple.”

Time to talk Tottenham. I wondered what he thought of the current team.

“Yeah, Harry’s got a good team there. I don’t know what he’s got in terms of money to spend but they’ll have a good season next year. I can see a good future for Tottenham.” He chuckled, “it’s the first time you’ve been able to say that for a while.”

Regarding any of the modern players who stood out, he was less certain. Eventually he said, “I like the Croats he’s got, they are good players and reliable.”

Jim’s an engaging storyteller and appears more relaxed with reminiscing. He needs little prompting to warm to his subject, in this case Harry’s credentials as a young manager. They played together for a while at West Ham – was Harry always cut out for the comfy heated touchline seat?

“No not at all. The first time was when I was doing a job down in Oxford and I met up with Bobby Moore. Harry was there, I said ‘how are you mate?’ He said he was helping Bobby. What are you doing in non-league, where do you want to go? He said, ‘I want to be a manager, you’ve got to start somewhere’. He started there and has gone from strength to strength.”

Up and running now, there’s no stopping him.

“Bob didn’t have a clue really. With respect, Bobby was a world class footballer and suddenly trying to buy players and know the level of non-league football. Barry Fry, he knew every name of every footballer and every non-league club in the country because that’s where he was.”

Not thought about being a manager yourself, Jim?

“No, never fancied being a manager because I didn’t see a career in football after I retired. If I’d known that you could get millions for being absolutely crap and getting the sack, I’d have been in like a shot.”

Greaves was a fine striker but who was the man he most enjoyed playing with? He had no hesitation.

“Alan Gilzean. I had a great partnership with Bobby Smith. When I first joined Tottenham, Les Allen was centre forward because Bobby got injured. People think I took his place for a while but I didn’t. Les went to centre forward. I had a good relationship with Bobby Smith because we played for England together. Gilly was absolutely phenomenal. We had a great relationship, we could read each other’s minds. Yes, Alan without a doubt, phenomenal touch.”

I expressed my anxieties for Gilly, the subject of a forthcoming book, ‘In Search of Alan Gilzean’, who has largely disappeared from view amidst concerns for his health.

“I know where Gilly lives,” he scoffs. “He’s fine. He can’t understand what the fuss is all about.” He warms to his theme. “I was chatting to Steve Perryman about 3 or 4 weeks ago. Steve sees him quite regularly. He’s happy, just doesn’t want to get involved in anything. He can’t understand this rumour about being a recluse.” So there you are.

At this point the PR intervenes, but Jim wants to make sure we have our time. “Hurry up, any more?”

I squeeze in a quick question about then and now. Does he envy the money of the modern players?

“At the end of the day I was a professional footballer. It would be nice to be on the wages that they’re on but I’ve got to work for Burger King instead!”

As the PR ushers him away, Jimmy remains a true gent. “Thank you, there you go chaps. Sorry we didn’t have longer really.” You and me both, Jim.

He makes time to sign two programmes for me, the first of the game in 1969 against Newcastle where I saw him run 50 yards to score, the second a photo of the goal in the programme of the next home game. No chance for me to ask if it was his favourite, or indeed anything much about his time at Spurs, but despite the urgings of his PR, he took the time to sign it carefully, a full signature rather than an impatient scribble. I assured him that they will not appear on ebay. “I’ve heard that one before” and with another chuckle he looked up and was gone.

On the way out my son pointed to a Chelsea fan in the burger queue, late teens or early twenties, standing near a undignified cardboard cutout of Jimmy grinning and holding the sponsor’s product. We couldn’t resist. ‘Jimmy Greaves. He’s upstairs! Greavesy!’

The guy looked puzzled, as if he was trying to figure out the words of a foreign language. He then turned away and he and his mates shook their heads in sadness. Greaves is one of their finest goalscorers too, but they’ve never heard of him.

It was a privilege to meet him, for which I’m eternally grateful, my only regret being that I didn’t have the full time with him, one to one. Not because I was denied the opportunity to obtain a better interview or ask a searching question, but simply because talking with Jimmy Greaves is an absolute pleasure. Maybe heroes don’t disappoint after all.

I didn’t have the chance to ask Jimmy about the one matter that fellow Spurs fans seemed most concerned about, his omission from the Spurs Hall of Fame. He’s not been honoured, whereas Freund has. Peter from Spurs Odyssey did ask him about it. Full details in his superb piece (link below), but the gist of it is that he won’t do the dinner. He believes that players should be honoured for their achievements on the pitch, enigmatically adding that this did not seem to be the case.

Thanks to Jack Clothier at Cow PR and to Burger King http://whopperlegend.com/ where you can watch a video and enter a competition to watch the World Cup Final with Jimmy Greaves.

Thanks to the lovely Dan at the excellent Tottenham Blog, link in the sidebar. For more, Peter Garnett on the Spurs Odyssey site is required reading http://www.spursodyssey.com/0910/pjmetjg.html

The Season That Keeps On Giving

May 17, 2010 / Alan / 20 Comments

2009/10 – the season that just keeps on giving. Bathed in a warm rosy glow, I’m still reliving the great moments of the last month or so. It’s a feeling that I hope never ends.

I’ve rhapsodised about our miraculous achievements and swooned at the mere thought of players who have not only played scintillating football but have in different ways overcome through sheer bloody minded determination handicaps that prevented them from showing their true potential. Mostly mental, some physical, Dawson, King, Bale, Gomes, Huddlestone, in this age of money-motivated mercenaries, all could have sat back and waited for a lucrative transfer but their pride in themselves and in their club left them bursting for a chance. All of them took it, all have earned my undying admiration.

Over the season I’ve analysed the players and tactics, as I’m fond of doing, but now, at the close, I’ve watched Spurs regularly since 1967 and there’s a couple of simple things to say, so we realise just what we have, to savour it all the more.

The coverage of the modern game is so comprehensive. We see everything in slow motion, 37 times and only then do the pundits solemnly adjudicate, but this doesn’t mean that we see everything clearer. Of course the game is won and lost in fractions of a second, in subtlety and nuance, but too often we end up with unrealistically excessive expectations of what human beings are capable of. This creates an unnecessarily critical perspective, which in turn detracts from the pleasure we take from football and footballers.

Listen next time to the analyses of any match by any of the major TV stations. I guarantee that negatives rather than positives will predominate. It’s not about what players did, it’s where they failed. In particular we have the cult of the penalty. Usually they go straight to the replays of those given or denied. Match-turning moments they may be, but they are just that, moments in a much wider spectacle that ebbs and flows over 90 minutes. Yet you would be forgiven for believing that football is primarily about the creation of penalties or penalty appeals, rather than a stunningly beguiling mix creativity, nerve and physicality.

This is all part of the game, but please remember to enjoy what you have, because you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. Younger players suffer particularly. I wrote about this a few months ago http://wp.me/pzmOo-7c – a few games in, they’re learning and making mistakes but find themselves virtually written off in many quarters.

It’s been our privilege as Spurs fans to see some cracking football this season, as well as some total dross, but enjoy the good times for all they are worth. Know what you have and take the utmost pleasure in being part of it. And in that spirit, no analysis, merely a few straightforward comments.

Ledley King is one of the best centre halves I have ever seen. He would go straight into my best ever Spurs team. His intelligence and timing is peerless in the current Premiership and my only sadness is that his injury has prevented him from playing more frequently.

Gareth Bale is one of the best prospects in any position that I have ever seen from someone of his age. The combination of skill on the ball, pace and power is a force of nature. He has much to learn but if he fulfils anything like his full potential, he is a world-beater.

Heurelho Gomes – I would not swap him for any keeper in the Premier League. Luka Modric – the player to build a team around. Top, top quality.

So my first season of blogging has come to an end. I’ll carry on over the summer, something at least once a week. And maybe get round to updating the Harry quotes page…There will be a few more thoughts about this season – I’ve not talked enough about Harry lately – plus anything else that crops up that is Tottenham related.

There may a few additions to ‘Always On My Mind’, tales of footballing obsession, and you may have noticed through the teary beery CL haze that there’s a World Cup on. I’m part of the Guardian fans’ network and no doubt will shoehorn in any Spurs reference, however tenuous.

Finally, thanks to everyone who has read the site this season, in particular my sincere gratitude to those who have bothered to comment, especially those who do so regularly and so cogently. Check out the comments sections – often people have taken the time and trouble to write extended and insightful pieces. Ever thought of starting a blog? Anyone can do it….

Regards,

Alan

Morris Keston – Superfan

May 4, 2010June 6, 2010 / Alan / 4 Comments

Imagine sitting, say, on a train or in a pub. You’re having a relaxing chat about football with one of your best mates. He’s brought along a couple of other people, you’re introduced and get on really well with them. The conversation and the beer flows, a good time is had by all. It’s a familiar enough story for most of us, one of the pleasures of being a fan, and something we share with long-time Spurs fan Morris Keston. The only difference is that he’s sitting next to Bobby Moore, who’s brought along half the 1966 World Cup squad for company.

Since he began supporting Tottenham Hotspur in the mid forties, Morris Keston has watched them nearly 3000 times. He’s followed them all over the world, whether it be a major final or a meaningless friendly, not that any Spurs match is meaningless for Morris. He curses his triple by-pass operation because it broke his run of watching every home game since the early fifties, but he missed just the one game. Not only that, during this period he’s known most of the Spurs and England players and counts everyone from Moore, Greaves and Hurst through to Jennings, Venables and Crooks as personal friends. You name them, he name-drops. The book’s title is no publisher’s hyperbole – Superfan he most certainly is.

Most Spurs fans of my generation have probably heard of Keston. Often interviewed over the years, he’s featured in the Glory Game, Hunter Davies’ classic inside story of the club’s season in the mid 70s, where he incurs the wrath of the board because the players chose to attend his ’67 Cup Final celebration party rather than the club’s official function. I always regarded him with a mixture of envy and resentment. Although I’d kill for the chance to mix freely with my heroes, as an equal, I begrudged the wealth that bought the travel, the parties and, frankly, access to the club. The reality is somewhat different. Keston is indeed a successful businessman but he started from nothing. Brought up in the Jewish community of the East End, he was evacuated during the war but suffered from malnutrition because the care he received was so poor, a not untypical story that remains largely hidden because it is at odds with the myths of Britain in wartime. His mother figured he would be safer in the comfort of his family, despite the rigours of the Blitz, so he spent the rest of the war in London, earning a scholarship and beginning a lifelong obsession with football. Leaving school at 14, he was sacked from his first job in a barber’s after he refused to work on Saturday afternoons. Eventually he got into the schmutter business, schelpping around the country for a fortnight at a time, taking in third division reserve games and any football that he could, and co-ordinating his return to London with the home fixture list.

There’s little more about these fascinating early years here, a shame in my view but then again that’s not the story. Or rather stories: this book is a series of entertaining tales and anecdotes about Keston’s relationship with football and the people in the game. They are mostly Spurs related but not all. He knew directors and players at other clubs clubs including Chelsea and Stoke, and was personal friends with almost all the Boys of ’66. Oh, and for good measure Frank Sinatra and Muhammad Ali. As you do.

Some remind me of those speech bubbles in Roy of the Rovers, where they begin by summarising the plot in case you missed last week’s episode- Voice in the Crowd – ‘Melchester have to win this 3-0 after the bruising encounter in Poland where Blackie was butchered then sent off’. Second Voice: ‘Yes, and the club will go bust if we don’t reach the next round and Roy’s girlfriend was run over by the team bus’. But never fear – like any good storyteller Keston is quickly off and running. It’s an easy, pleasant read that rattles along, and will undoubtedly carry you along with it.

His access was astounding. Moore, Hurst, Greaves and others regularly popped in for a for a cup of tea during the 1966 tournament. He stayed in the same hotels and travelled on the same planes when Spurs and England went abroad, and could get a seat in the director’s box for most games, the only exception being at the Lane, where the Wale family who ran the club in the 60s and 70s regarded him with suspicion. He sat alongside Terry Venables (Uncle Terry to his children), holding a seven figure cheque as they waited in vain for a call that would have transferred ownership of the club from Irving Scholar. Business and financial advice to a legion of players, chairing testimonial committees, negotiating transfers, all in a day’s work. And those parties.

Perhaps the most telling anecdote comes not from the author himself but from Graham Souness, who Keston helped out as a cocky 16 year old tyro. Now Morris had nothing to gain from that, no prestige or kudos. No one knew who the hell this anonymous apprentice was. He did so because he wanted to, because he cared about the club and the young players. And yes, the parties, but the players came round for a cuppa and a slice of his long-suffering wife’s apple crumble. He entertained in his home, with home-made cooking, and although it’s not acknowledged specifically here, that’s the real secret of his appeal. He emerges not as a glory hunter but as a homespun, friendly and generous bloke, often a little star-struck, who is deeply in love with football and Tottenham in particular.

It will appeal more to the older Spurs fan and it’s great fun. There’s little analysis of how the game has changed over the years – that’s not the aim of the book. However, ultimately it’s a tale of a bygone, arguably better era, where you could turn up on the turnstile and get in, where players were open and willing to chat rather than be surrounded by a forcefield of PR and agents, where players understood that they and the fans are one and the same, not a different class.

The Amazing Life of Morris Keston – Superfan by Morris Keston and Nick Hawkins Published by Vision Sports Publishing.

Look out for book signings with Venables, Jennings, Hurst and others in and around London

What Do Gomes, Dawson and Bale Have In Common?

April 23, 2010 / Alan / 7 Comments

I’ve been reflecting on this tumultuous week past for Tottenham Hotspur. I say reflecting: what I really mean is, I’ve been thinking of little else. Work has suffered, naturally. Days like today, when I have been office and computer based, have passed in a giddy and unproductive haze, just remembering. From my office window I’ve not been dissuaded by the slice of daylight above the large breezeblock wall, even though it frames the twin chimneys of the cement factory, and still I gaze dreamily into space.

Talking with people, the other major component of my role, has however been a belter. I’ve been on scintillating form, even if I say so myself. On the ball, sharp as a pin, empathetic and witty, where logic has failed to win the day, sheer charm has taken over. Perhaps work would fund a portion of my season ticket, if not in gratitude then as an investment in my future performance levels. I’ll run it past the chief exec and let you know what he says.

I can’t recall a week quite like it since I’ve been a fan, which is 1967 onwards. Not one with both the sheer joy of the victories against Arsenal and Chelsea but also containing such extremes of despair and elation. All suggestions welcome. One that comes to mind is the ’81 cup final, when the replay was on the Thursday following the first drawn match. The anticipation of what was my first final gave way to the realisation at some point in the second half that actually we were going to lose, then the ecstasy and overwhelming relief of our fortunate equaliser. Then that goal at 2-2 in the replay, the absolute pinnacle of being a Spurs supporter.

But of the all the things from this remarkable special history-making sodding brilliant week, one provides a glow so warm you could toast your marshmallows on it – the performance of players who in many quarters had been written off. Not good enough for Spurs, won’t take us to the next level, total waste of money. Get rid. At one time or another, these and other charges were levelled at the three supernovas in a galaxy of stellar performers, Gomes, Dawson and Bale.

Less than three weeks ago the mighty brains of the Sky pundit panel solemnly identified Gomes as Tottenham’s weak link. We who knew differently had faith, but the image lingered of the kindly face of this gentle and loving family man contorted into a rictus grin of terror every time he emerged from the safety of his line to deal with a cross. It was not so much the fumbles, although they were agony enough, it was the look of sheer bewilderment that followed that truly worried us.

So we roared our approval at his gravity-defying leaps into the top corner, gasped as his reactions palmed away goal-bound shots, cheered with gratitude as, one on one, in the tangle of long limbs the ball bounced to safety. Above all, in all this was the element of delight and pleasure that he had become one of ours, his struggle to demonstrate his skill and determination complete, and all this on our behalf. Show them, son, you show them all, every last one who sniggered as we suffered, you’ve shown them.

Dawson’s mask of devoted concentration broke towards the end of the Chelsea game. Ever alert and steely-eyed, he bent to pull up his socks, necessary as his mental exercise to gather himself and stay focussed, and he grinned. He finally took pleasure in his own performance as well as that of the team, as his name was belted out from all four stands. From a gawky clumsy and ungainly oaf to John Terry’s replacement. The Park Lane spotted it first, then the football media have followed this week.

We can only imagine how hard he has worked this season. Recovering from injury is difficult enough, but then he found himself out in the cold and watching from the sidelines as without him we secured a low goals against tally. He waited, and when his chance came, he made damn sure that he took it. Nothing was going to be left in the dressing room. In the past he’s held something back for fear of making a mistake, but his wholehearted approach is precisely his biggest strength. He let rip in a series of fearless performances, the background to which must have been not only the need to avoid jeopardising the team’s success but also the worry that this could be his final opportunity, with five centre halves in the squad and a manager impatient for progress. He is nothing short of outstanding.

And Bale, the terrified hesitant youngster or scourge of the best defences in the league, a rabbit stuck in the headlights or the most dynamic full back around? This force of nature was comparatively recently in danger of being consigned to the dustbin of Spurs history, the overflowing section labelled ‘Promising youngster – Failed’.

I’ve mentioned before a 5 Live commentary of a cup match when he came on as sub. The commentators could hear the bench screaming at him to get forward, in a game that carried little pressure, but he was immobile, unsure about how to react. Again he has suffered the pain of serious injury that for young players can leave emotional scars more lasting than the physical damage, but given the chance presented by BAE’s injury, he was determined to take it.

One of the things about writing on the net is that your opinions hang around in the ether for eternity and come the day of reckoning, all will be taken into account. A couple of years ago on MEHSTG I described Bale as a world class prospect, but I never realised that he was this good, and frankly, neither did he. We’ll gloss over the ‘this is JJ’s year’…for two years running…

Three magnificent footballers, who I dearly love and cherish, who should never leave us. They’re ours – we’ve watched them grow and mature, now as part of our family we can marvel at their talents.

In closing, a reappraisal. We were awful against Portsmouth but perhaps in the light of subsequent events my verdict that they lacked the resilience to perform at the top was harsh. They could have done more, should have taken hold of that game without playing well. However, in hindsight many of them were not fully fit yet they gave everything in terms of energy and commitment. Corluka was obviously totally gone but he kept moving and tried his all. I don’t believe that the Arsenal and Chelsea performances emerged solely from the motivation of defeat at Wembley. Deep down, it came from a commitment to doing their very best for Tottenham Hotspur, and you can’t ask for anything more.