Glorious – Gazza In His Own Words. Read the Review, Win the Book!!

Last summer I heard rumours that Paul Gascoigne was dead. Unlike the rest of the rubbish that circulates the ether, sadly this had the ring of truth. He had been looking more pale and drawn than ever and the stories more bizarre, if that were possible.

Gazza stopped being daft as a brush years ago but the nation kept on laughing. One of the finest footballers of his generation, he’d become a figure of ridicule, easy meat and easy laughs from comedians getting fat on the proceeds of panel shows. In football, mental health problems are taboo. He’d sunk so low that he was denied even his illness. On the contrary, his suffering was exploited by reporters after a story and chairman offering him work.

Mercifully, he’s survived. It’s impossible to know if the empathy from Spurs fans played the tiniest part in keeping him going, but I can’t ever recall such a wave of goodwill towards an ex-Spur. He’s hidden away in Bournemouth, out of rehab but still being supported well, slow progress but steady.

The book is a lavishly illustrated conversation with Paul about his entire career, just turn on the recorder and out streams an engaging, flowing account of his life from the man himself. After a while, close your eyes and you can imagine him in the room, chatting over a cup of tea. This plus the hundreds of colour photos make it a pleasant, welcoming read that tells you about the man’s football career without stretching the reader too far.

The therapy that has played a part of Gascoigne’s rehabilitation enables to him to reflect on what’s gone wrong in an honest, self-aware manner without becoming maudlin or self-indulgent, as is the fate of many other celebrities who have been through the same process.There’s no evaluation, either from an outside voice or from Gascoigne, and nothing about his mental health or his career, if you can call it that, since retirement. This is purely and simply about football. The reader is left to provide the context and whilst many familiar episodes are covered, like the dentist’s chair, escaping the boredom of international tournaments and high jinks at Rangers, there is a refreshing lack of spin or image. This isn’t Gazza – daft as brush, Gazza – the alcoholic or even Gazza – the idiot. It’s just Gazza. He acknowledges in a matter of fact way that he should not have done certain things but what comes over is the total lack of malice in anything that he did. He never had an agenda, a grudge or sought to exact revenge. Most of the time he got into trouble because just the opposite, he never had a plan or thought anything through, but you sense this is why, despite all the things he has got up to, no one in football seems to have a bad word to say about him.

In fact, he comes over as boyish, getting into the same scrapes as a man as he did as a lad. His mind wandering onto other things, football mostly when he should have been studying, losing Kevin’s Keegan’s boot as an apprentice then forgetting his own boots before a crucial game in Euro ‘96. Same response – he can’t tell anyone so it’s a farcical attempt to cover it up, in the case of England playing the entire first half in Sheringham’s spare boots, which were the wrong size.

He confirms what Spurs fans already know, that he played the best football of his career whilst at White Hart Lane. So it’s a little disappointing that the space given over to Spurs is much less than that devoted to England or Rangers. I guess the publishers understand the market. Also, many anecdotes will have a familiar ring for anyone who has read Hunter Davies’ excellent book on Gazza.

The section on Spurs focuses on his remarkable contribution to the 1991 cup run. At the time it seemed to me that he single-handedly inspired the team to Wembley. In reality, the famous victories in the semi-final against Arsenal and the final were founded upon excellent teamwork, and Gascoigne praises the unsung Paul Stewart in particular for “covering the space for me” as Gazza was knackered, either because he was playing in pain through injury or because he prepares for a vital cup-tie by playing 15 sets of squash with John Moncur the night before as he can’t sleep. But the inspiration and glory are rightfully his. A hat-trick against Oxford, a scintillating winner away to Portsmouth, another versus Notts County, all tricky ties, plus the free-kick that will ensure his legendary status for as long as anyone talks about Tottenham Hotspur. Typically he doesn’t dwell on it – cue anecdotes involving nurses, hospitals and testicles – but the effort he made to play through injuries and then to sweat blood to get fit after surgery is nothing short of heroic. He did that for the good of playing football. He did that for us.

In any walk of life, the very greatest tread a fine line between the bold and the reckless. To be original and different, the individual has to think and do something that is fresh and new. What is to our heroes an act of bravery, to us mere mortals seems like the height of foolishness. Gascoigne treads that fine line throughout his career and this book helps you walk with him. The character traits that made him infuriating and a magnet for trouble are the very same that enabled him also to attempt the most outrageous feats on the pitch, and because he was so, so wonderful, he succeeded where most would fail.

Gazza’s an entertaining companion and this is a engaging read in time for the Christmas market. It’s not a confessional, but if there is a message from a fallen hero to the young players of today, it’s not about the dangers of the booze, the sycophants or the lack of support of family and friends, it’s that players should love and cherish the game. If that’s Gazza’s legacy, then this book is a success, for it is above all else about a man who just wants to play football. Rather than the grey, bewildered figure of fun blinking uncomprehending in the spotlight, running on empty, please remember him as he should be remembered, the breath-taking talent of the one of greatest Tottenham players there has ever been.

A couple of my other pieces on Gazza here, about his career, and here, about mental health, Chris Evans and Danny Baker

Glorious – My World, Football and Me by Paul Gascoigne   Published by  Simon and Schuster

WIN A COPY

My copy actually, read once, one careful owner, and the biryani stains will come out with a bit of soap and water.

To win answer this question:

To persuade Gazza to sign for Spurs and not Fergie, Irving Scholar sealed the deal with a few extra items that don’t normally feature in transfer negotiations. Name any of them.

If you need a nudge in the right direction, one item Gazza would be delighted to receive these days and would put to good use in his leisure time (and before you start, he’s off the booze)

E-mail your answer to: alan@tottenhamonmymind.com

Closing date: Tuesday 1st November, 8pm, all correct entries into a hat, first one out wins

And while you’re here, 1 family, 3 generations of Spurs fans are taking part on Saturday in a Family Hike in aid of the British Association for Adoption and Fostering.

You can sponsor us here: Just Giving – Family Hike for BAAF

Just a quid would be great.

Martin Cloake On Danny Blanchflower, Spurs’ Geezers and the Current State of Play

Dead easy, this interviewing malarkey. Turn on the recorder, sit back, arrange the gems in some semblance of order and there you have it. At least you do when you speak to someone with the infectious enthusiasm of Martin Cloake. A leading authority on Spurs in print, many books written alongside co-author Adam Powley, his ardent passion for the club as journalist and fan remains undiminished.

His latest venture is an E-book called ‘Danny Blanchflower’, the first in a series of Sports Shots, extended essays that permit the analytical depth of a book but are accessible and readable for those of us without the time or cash to invest in the longer form on a regular basis. It’s new, it’s exciting and Martin is an evangelist for the medium

“What we have is a set of ideas about the growth of e-readers. This series of Spurs E-books which we hope will be part of something bigger, is tapping into people. Longer than an article, shorter than a book.”

Powley and Cloake have spotted a gap in the market. Given the amount about the club on Amazon, Kindle has been slow to catch up. “If you look at the Kindle store, put Tottenham Hotspur in, there’s not a lot of stuff there. It’s a market that people are using. We may be arrogant enough to think we are good enough but we have written books that people buy. We’ve had very good feedback, so we thought let’s put it out there and see how it goes.”

“Blanchflower is the first one, one on Hoddle which has just been completed. We’ll see how they sell and at the moment we’re looking at individual player profiles but depending on how this goes we may expand into other areas. What we don’t want to do is do something that we could do with a publisher. Horses for courses.”

Martin is at pains to stress that he is neither neglecting nor in competition with existing publishing methods. During our discussion he repeatedly emphasises his admiration for Dave Bowler’s book about Blanchflower and for those of us who see the name Cloake or Powley as the kitemark of quality when it comes to Spurs’ writing, the news that they have an excellent relationship with their publishers Vision and Mainstream means there’s probably more of the good stuff to come.

The e-book is something different. “What we can do with the e-books is to get something into the public domain relatively quickly. We are doing a lot of the marketing ourselves anyway. We have the technical expertise to put this up. It’s a much more complicated process than you would imagine”

He’s researched this carefully, noting that whilst there’s some evidence that on desktops people read long-form journalism, on mobile devices they won’t sit and read the 50,000 words in a book. My mind wanders to a blogger’s comment on twitter recently about how he rejected an idea for a post because it would have absorbed 1500 words, whereas readers stop after 300.  Which if true means two thirds of anything I’ve written has been a waste of time, including this piece, but Martin’s energy pulls me back from the brink.

“To justify charging, it can’t be a blog post so we’ve gone for about 10 -12,000 words, shorter than a book, longer than an article. We’re still having a debate,” he muses. “Maybe we shouldn’t be obsessed by the length at all. It’s as long as it should be.”

It certainly works for me in terms of price, length and quality of content. It covers both Blanchflower’s career and the character of the man himself, as well as making pertinent links with contemporary football plus an evaluation of his lasting contribution to the game. £2 on my iphone, read on the train, thanks very much. Perfect. This is precisely the author’s intention.

“We will make sure there is plenty of information and some original comment as well. We’re conscious that a lot of content on the web is recycled, it’s easy to stitch stuff together and put it out there. That’s not the way we want to work. Without sounding high-falluting, we seem to have built up a reputation as people who do things that are high quality. It’s hard to build up a reputation and the quality of the content is what we hope is the thing that sells the books. Quick and quality reads that people can hang on to.”

For the first book in the series, Blanchflower was the natural choice because of his  influence not only on Spurs but also on Martin as a fan. “I’ve always had a bit of an obsession with Danny Blanchflower. I never saw him play – my first game was 1978, 1-0 against Bolton, Don McAllister diving header” We pause momentarily to consider the frankly frightening prospect that this journeyman defender could have been a formative influence on the young impressionable schoolboy, even at this, his finest moment in a white shirt. Less diving, more toppling earthwards, but who am I to say because we are both sufficiently obsessive to remember it.

Moving on swiftly. “I was aware of Spurs since the early 70s when I lived in Haringey. When I started looking at the history of the club, the Double and Blanchflower comes up fairly quickly. He’s a fascinating figure for me. Working as journalist, it became not just the player but the man himself. His journalism was very good. He was very much of a different generation. If we ever got the chance to sit down together we may not have seen eye to eye but I think he is a fascinating character for football as well as Spurs. You’d be hard pushed  to find a more significant figure. Just look at what he was about, what he did and represented.”

“I genuinely do believe that the team was part of something which completely changed the way British football operated. It finished the process started by Arthur Rowe’s push and run team in the early 50s. It changed English football for the better, taking it out of its insularity. Blanchflower was a real thinker and was attracted to us because the club was about changing the way English football was played. He’s a man ahead of his time.”

This boyish passion plus the ability to situate Blanchflower in a broader context makes the e-book compulsive reading. Forget the idea that this is a mere potted biography. It says more about its subject and the English game than a hundred best-selling autobiographies of modern players.

“Football can be self-important and we all slip into it, but Blanchflower wasn’t trying to be important, just a professional getting on with this job who thought about things.” Martin warms to his theme of the bigger picture. “I have 2 young boys. There’s a danger that being clever is seen as wrong, at school we took the pee out of swots. but Danny showed that ordinary people can be very intelligent, that it’s right to search out knowledge to improve things, to be good at something and think about how it was done. There’s a danger that people see intelligence as being elitist, a bit posh, so wrong and dangerous.”

Influential figure that he was, Blanchflower was met with considerable suspicion by chairmen and officialdom in general, threatened by his combination of prestige and intellect. He was overlooked for jobs in the game, including perhaps at Tottenham. Any antipathy was not helped by his public platform in journalism: Martin rates him highly in that respect too.

Blanchflower wasn’t averse to using the press for his own ends. There’s nothing new under the sun and Spurs are juggling with these issues at the moment, except it’s the manager rather than a player who is arguably using the media to influence club policy. Martin felt it was less sophisticated in Blanchflower’s day.

“He would never admit he was using the press but used a nudge and a wink as leverage to get what he wanted. He wasn’t afraid of speaking his mind.”

Inevitably when two Spurs fans get together, the discussion turns to Redknapp. Martin’s sense of dynamics of the club’s history once more enables some context for Harry’s proclamations, which I for one have criticised over the last few months, August in particular.

“The press loved Venables – he always had a quote. He defined his position regarding the chairman, and you can’t blame him for that.” Redknapp is doing the same, in other words. Martin goes on, “Redknapp is unfairly criticised sometimes. His relationship with the media protects us sometimes.”

Compare the reaction to a few bad results this season at, say, the Emirates or Everton with the silence that greeted our run of one win in 13-odd games last season. However, as Martin shrewdly concludes, “As the great philosopher Ronan Keating once said, ‘you say it best when you say nothing at all’. It would be fascinating to sit down in a few years time with the present regime, it would be a great interview but I can’t see it happening”.

So how would it turn out if you did a ‘Boys From White Hart Lane’ with the current team? Martin can’t resist the idea but envisages problems that encapsulate the different status of the modern players and their relationship with outsiders.

“ You just wouldn’t be able to do it. You wouldn’t get access to players. They [the BFWHL squad] didn’t earn a lot. We tried to make sure everybody was looked after. These guys don’t need the money and they don’t need to talk to anybody. With the best will in the world they are on a different level. I’d love to sit down with Gareth Bale, watch that guy, you can’t take your eyes off him during a game. He seems fully grounded. Top of my list for BFWHL 2011! Benny is a hugely underrated full back and a fascinating character who understands where he comes from, that football is part of something much bigger. The squad seems to be full of likeable individuals. Luka has blotted his copybook but there are no whinging, unpleasant, offensive characters as in other teams. Van der Vaart seems like a good guy. Gomes, I’d like to sit down with him. No shortage of candidates and if they read your blog and they want to write it, give them my name and address, I would love to do it! I’d really love to get the real story, the inside story.”

Much as I like the idea of Bale or Gomes coming across TOMM and being inspired to unburden themselves, it’s unlikely, but if it does, Martin, you’ll be the first to know. Co-authors, OK?

What’s next? As you would by now expect, there’s no shortage of ideas. “Spurs have a rich history of players and personalities. Read these [i.e the ebooks] and find out a bit about the person, what they were like as a player and what they meant, but also look at the wider influences. I’d like to create a space for a debate, possibly a website for the books, forums maybe. Interactivity – the days when journalists or experts handing down wisdom from on high have gone. It’s about having that conversation with the audience who often know more about particular areas than you do. There’s also the opportunity to stretch the remit to include other teams and their players, other sports too, and perhaps other writers.”

Next up, Glenn Hoddle. “Ask any Spurs fan who was the greatest ever, he’s there but he had a lot more criticism than people care to remember. Spurs fans and football in general used to moan about him because he didn’t tackle back.” Like I say, nothing changes. One of my earliest memories at Spurs was hearing fans pile into Martin Chivers.

“He’s accused of being aloof, but just ask the other players about him. They are a bunch of geezers but they are amazed that there could ever be any animosity. Why would there be? They say he was brilliant and we were there to make sure that he could do the things he did. Good guy, we got on with him.”

I look forward to it.

 

Danny Blanchflower by Martin Cloake, edited by Adam Crowley, is available on Kindle from Amazon, £2.99

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Danny-Blanchflower-Sports-Shots-ebook/dp/B005G6TFEK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1317823559&sr=8-1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John White: The Ghost of White Hart Lane by Rob White and Julie Welch

On my daughter’s mantelpiece sits a photo of her son, then aged about 3, walking along the beach with his father. Taken from behind, they are unaware of the camera’s presence. Their stance and gait are identical. Size and stature come from shared genes, the rest, the bit that matters, just happens.

For Rob White, denied the chance to bond with a father he never knew, there’s a gaping hole where that bit that matters should be. The story of his dad, John White, the former Spurs and Scotland international who rose from working class poverty to become one of the most distinctive players of his generation before dying in a tragic accident, is dramatic and fascinating in itself. Yet this is no ordinary biography. His story is interwoven with Rob’s search not just for his father’s ghost but for his own identity.

Rob was born a few months before White was fatally struck by lightning, sheltering alone under a tree on a golfcourse during a thunderstorm. White was in his prime: 26

The Ghost of White Hart Lane

years old, a Double and Cup Winners Cup behind him, the man around whom the incomparable Bill Nicholson intended to rebuild the ageing Tottenham team.

The touchstone for Rob’s quest is a dusty box tucked away at the back of the loft. As a boy, he scrapes off the dirt and prepares himself for the wonders within, like an archaeologist about to enter a hitherto unknown Egyptian pyramid. Inside, he sifts through the cuttings and medals, tries on his father’s tiny boots, size six and a half. Tries to conjure up his father’s spirit.

The search continues into adulthood. There’s no shortage of material as White was well liked and respected by his fellow professionals. Much is made of the camaraderie and team spirit of the Double side and he is still deeply mourned by those who knew him in the game. His close friends Cliff Jones and Dave Mackay in particular remain bewildered by his absence.

Little wonder White was so popular. On the field, not only was he supremely talented, a superb passer of the ball with excellent control, he was also tireless and unstinting in his work on behalf of the team. From boyhood backstreet kickabouts to the great stadiums of Europe, you underestimated him at your peril. This small man had the heart of a lion and lungs to match, with a phenomenal workrate. He made himself constantly available for his teammates for Spurs and Scotland, ready to pick up a pass and move it on. To his opponents, they simply could not get near him. He appeared and was gone again in the blink of an eye, hence the nickname the ‘Ghost’.

Despite Welch’s meticulous research and consummate storytelling, there’s a sense of never quite defining the man. Contradictions appear. Diffident in company, he was also an inveterate joker and confident in his ability. This little boy lost in the Spurs dressing room when he came to London from Falkirk in 1959 could easily delight crowds of 65,000 at the Lane, 160,000 at Hampden Park, yet each winter, after Christmas, his mood and form dipped until the spring.

This may be because White, a loving father and husband and good friend to many, always held something back, a reserve shaped perhaps by self-protection at the loss of his own father at a young age and of a series of rejections in his formative years because people were unable to see beyond his small stature. However, his childhood in a caring extended family dominated by matriarchal figures instilled a powerful determination, epitomised by a ferocious desire for supreme fitness. He played football all the time, in the back yards and on the green, challenging his brothers, both of whom good good enough to play professionally, to races and keepie-uppys, delighting in the fact that he beat them every single time.

 

John White - Spurs and Scotland

Along the way there are solid gold nuggets of Spurs history. The Double, John’s rise to prominence and his growing influence is well chronicled and there’s a touching piece on Tommy Harmer, whose talent deserved more but who peaked in the mid 50s, between the great Tottenham teams of Push and Run and the Double. Blanchflower’s status and role in the club is perceptively defined, as is his decline, memorably instanced by the image of White steaming past him on a pre-season training run.

As with other biographies from this era, there are frequent reminders of how much the game has changed. White played for Spurs on a weekend pass from the army as he had to complete his National Service. The players lived up the road from ground. When sacked as manager to make way for Nicholson, Jimmy Adamson had been at the club for 51 unbroken years. White’s transfer was facilitated by a Scottish journalist, Jim Rodger, who took no fee – all he wanted was the scoop.

However, in other ways, at Tottenham nothing alters – Blanchflower, arguably the most influential midfielder in our post-war history, dropped for not fulfilling his defensive duties. The team criticised post-double because they were ‘only’ third or fourth.

Admirably the book leaves the reader in no doubt as to White’s ability. The only modern comparison is made, surprisingly perhaps, not with a midfielder but with Dimitar Berbatov, who like White has a picture of the game in his head and can anticipate several passes ahead. In my mind’s eye, the similarity with Luka Modric is inescapable, both small but tough, tireless with superb touch and almost prescient vision.

All this information and more unfolds for Rob as he grows up. The most poignant passages concern his search for connections with his father as a child. He watches the few snatches of film available of John in action, then convinces himself he runs in the same way as he studies his refection in shop windows. Mackay takes him under his wing. He’s allowed on the team coach, into the dressing room, not just to hear about White’s exploits but to experience the smells and sounds of the dressing room, the pre-match tension rising as kick-off approaches, the evocative clatter of studs on concrete as the players run out.

It’s comforting for a child to have so much information about a lost father. However, this is tempered with unease and frustration as the man eludes his grasp, walking beside him through his life yet when he reaches out to touch his presence, there’s nothing there, a ghost.

Rob is still searching into adulthood. He hears the stories, even sees a medium. His family are there for him, yet adulthood brings initiation into family secrets. Far from offering resolution, there is deeper mystery in the news of a half-brother from a fleeting teenage army relationship.

My first Tottenham game was in 1967 so I never had the privilege of seeing White play. Talk to fans from the Double era, they laud the greats, Mackay, Blanchflower, Smith up front, then invariably turn to the best footballer of them all, ‘John White, now there was a player’, and with a gentle shake of the head, tail off into wistful silence. The least known of this team, the book is a fitting tribute to his supreme talent and should bring him the recognition he deserves.

You find the man, however, in Rob White’s disarmingly open and honest search for his identity. His loss is laid bare as he works through familiar grieving patterns. Anger at what he can’t have. He can’t know his father, turn to him for advice or, as an adult, give a him a Christmas present. Seeking information, from people who knew his dad, family, press cuttings. Agonising over the might-have-beens and if-onlys. On the day of his death, if Jones or Jimmy Robertson had accepted his invitation in the dressing room after training to play golf, if Jones had run back with his trousers that he accidentally picked up, thus delaying him for precious moments…

This excellent book succeeds in being both a fascinating portrayal of a fine footballer and a profound, touching insight into how our origins shape our sense of self, of interest to all fans whether they support Spurs or not.

Rob’s a season ticket holder in the Park Lane now. I hope he enjoys the game and the club still. One wonders if, perhaps in the intensity of European games under lights in this venerable old ground, he catches a glimpse in the corner of his eye of the spirit of a true Tottenham great, his father. For me, there’s only one more thing to say about this book: having read it, I ache to see John White play.

The Ghost of White Hart Lane by Rob White and Julie Welch      Yellow Jersey Press

In Search of Alan Gilzean

Looking back, Gilly almost ruined things, just as it all began. The impeccable touch, leaping headers and sharp finishing – even as a teenager I knew this was class. Trouble was, unconsciously I compared everything that followed with this benchmark, little realising that what I took as a wide-eyed youth to be the norm was in reality the gold standard, never to be surpassed. It took many years and a great deal of heartache before the penny dropped.

Even in his prime, Alan Gilzean did not look like a professional athlete, let alone one of the finest strikers the club has ever seen. Thinning hair slicked back and a shambling, slightly stooping gait made him look older than he was. He didn’t so much run as ambled, for all the world suffering from the hangover that surely must follow his legendary appetite for alcohol. Yet appearances can be deceptive because Gilzean is the very epitome of the modern centre forward, a man who scored goals and made them too.

In Search of Alan Gilzean

He had no pace to speak of but the mind was keen and clear. In the hurly burly of a frantic penalty area, the greatest remain calm and still. Let the others move, then the space is revealed. Gilly would be there, pouncing on a loose ball or touching home a cross.

Sometimes he would wait, then move a fraction ahead of the rest. Possibly others had tried the near post glancing header before but if so I don’t remember and anyway, Gilzean perfected the art. Other more orthodox crosses, he leapt, soaring from a standing start, so sure and certain was the contact that I swear I heard the smack of leather on bald pate above the celebrations of the crowd.

All truly great players possess a distinctive move, unique and unforgettable that marks them out as extraordinary. For Gilly it was the glancing header. Long ball or cross, he would step in front of the defender then rise to meet the ball, sometimes body tall and taut, at others contorted in effort but with the sole aim of head to ball for the perfect touch. If Chivers was stampeding through or Greaves loitering with intent, it arced precisely into their grateful stride. The accuracy was astonishing and there is nothing like it in contemporary football. If as an admirer states he was “Nijinsky in studs”, then Crouch is a three legged carthorse on his way to the glue factory.

On the cover is an iconic image. Gilly leans laconically against a post, legs crossed, maybe a slight smile playing on his lips. The area must be bulging with bodies but he’s alone, a master of his own time and space. Don’t be fooled – in the mud on shorts and legs lies evidence of sweat and labour. My own favourite photo came from an early 70s programme. Jennings saves his second penalty in the game at Anfield. As Beal and Knowles rush in to congratulate him, Gilly is already wheeling away with not a flicker of emotion on his face. It happened, now let’s get on with it.

He was an easy man to underestimate, but try telling that to the defenders who faced him. Many give testimony to his prowess in the book. He seldom blew his own trumpet, preferring to slide away after training, usually to the pub. Hunter Davies in the Glory Game concluded that he saw football as a job and that he didn’t like the game, but that was mistaken. He loved playing but could leave it behind at the club gates.

Part biography, part detective story, James Morgan’s excellent book is propelled by his quest to solve the mystery of why so little is known or remembered about a footballer who was prodigiously successful on both sides of the border. A lifelong Spurs fan, he involves the reader not only in his search for the great man, rumoured to be a destitute recluse, but also in his dogged pursuit to right a profound wrong and secure a place for Gilzean in the Scottish Hall of Fame.

Gilzean was born and brought up in Coupar Angus, a small Scottish town. A natural sportsman, he played with distinction for Dundee, for whom he totalled 113 goals in 134 appearances. When the time came to leave, Bill Nicholson’s Tottenham was always his preferred destination and he turned down several more lucrative offers, including one from Italy. Much was made at the time of his disloyalty in letting Dundee down. However, he made his move only after careful deliberation and at the age of 26, hardly a money grabbing tyro.

A great favourite of Billy Nick’s, he completed 10 years with Spurs, during which time he adapted his game to create two superlative partnerships with Greaves and then Chivers, no mean achievement as their styles could not have been more different. In the process, he selflessly put aside his own glory for the sake of the team, converting from an out and out striker into the perfect partner.

Gilzean’s apparent indifference on the field hid a fierce competitor who worked hard at his game. What emerges most from the many entertaining stories told by those who knew him and played alongside him was how well he was both liked and respected. His taciturn appearance belied a man with a playful sense of humour. His team mates revered his awareness and touch: he brought out the best in them, and they are grateful. When I interviewed Greaves recently, without hesitation he named Gilly as the greatest he played with.

Morgan is a fine storyteller, weaving his tale with the same dexterity as his subject demonstrated on the pitch. With thorough research and the copious use of anecdotes, he allows the reader to build up a detailed insight into the character of a man who hid from the limelight. Like any good mystery writer, he maintains the air of anticipation to the end and I found myself rapidly turning pages as the denouement of a possible face to face meeting approaches.

Along the way, there’s plenty of entertainment as he reels out stories from a bygone age of football. Gilly was a fearsome drinker with an eye for the ladies, and used to frequent the Bell and Hare with Mackay, Jones and others, chatting to the fans while Bill Nick turned a blind eye. It’s a different world, with home being an average semi in Enfield, outrage from Dundee when in the mid sixties he demanded an increase on his weekly wage of £25 (John White was on £85, after all…), reporters nicknamed ‘Scoop’ and, most tellingly in this age of the celebrity footballer, a move to London would mean greater anonymity, compared with small town life.

A passionate fan, Morgan need agonise no more that his subject has not received due credit for his achievements as his highly readable account has set the record straight. Not only an antidote to every ghostwritten, mind-numbing footballer biography that you have ever read, it’s a fitting tribute to a truly wonderful Tottenham Hotspur player.

As a kid, I didn’t know much about football and even less about life but I knew one thing about Gilly, the King of White Hart Lane: he had style, and when I watch our team, I search for it still and let me tell you, it’s hard to find. The very best thing about this book is that if you never had the privilege of watching him play, you’ll understand.

In Search of Alan Gilzean by James Morgan   Back Page Press

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Morris Keston – Superfan

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