Читать книгу The Magnificent Sevens - Frank Worrall - Страница 11

(1969-83)

‘Getting knocked out of the European Cup feels like the end of the world. You just want to crawl into a corner and die.’

GEORGE BEST, 1969

‘The first 27 years were sheer bliss and the last 27 have been a disaster.’

GEORGE BEST, 2000

The decline kicked in quickly after the European Cup Final victory of 1968. There had been signs that Best was living a hectic life during the previous months but it was as if the club’s – and his own – success kept him in check. As soon as their joint fortunes began to ebb quickly away, so did George’s willpower and desire to maintain his particular level of genius. As we have already noted, the relative decline of United, the Busby empire and George Best shows the strength of the link between all three, a link that was beyond the power or skill of any one man to break.

In later life, George would admit that he had no fond memories of the celebratory events that followed the final, because he drank himself into oblivion. He said, ‘I went out and got drunk … to be quite honest I don’t remember very much about the victory night. I was celebrating and I had every reason to. The skinny, shy little boy who came off the ferry from Belfast seven years before had done his job … and more. If you look at the results leading up to the game at Wembley, at the goals that were scored, and who scored them, at the final itself, you will see the contribution I made.’

Now no one is arguing against the idea that George deserved to celebrate – even if he ended up completely wasted – after such a night. Most footballers would. But there is a certain hard-to-like arrogance and overblown ego that accompanies his comments that, once again, highlight his problem. As my psychoanalyst friend says, ‘An addict – whether it be drugs, alcohol or whatever – has two sides to them. The lovable, almost humble side – the one that is never bloated with ego; and the other rather more unpleasant edge, the one that is ego-ridden, the one that sees the addict blowing his or her own trumpet with rather an unpleasant, “look-at-me” approach. It is a mix of on one side the low self-esteem of the addict, on the other the massive ego, that makes him or her want to prove they are the best.’

I can understand what she is saying in terms of George’s state of mind the night of the European Cup Final. He would go on to say, ‘It adds up to one thing – if I hadn’t been playing for them, I don’t think Manchester United would have won the European Cup.’ There is a stark difference between George Best and Roy Keane – Roy survived the anguish of not playing in United’s European Cup-winning side of 1999. He reconstructed himself and, essentially, he became the very essence of a team player.

George Best, on the other hand, imploded after the 1968 triumph, and it was his immature personality and distorted view of himself and his team-mates that sped him down that road to destruction. Is he right that United would not have won the European Cup in 1968 without him? He scored one goal; Charlton grabbed two. OK, George was the star, but United won it without Denis Law that night – just as they won it without Keano in 1999, playing with a midfield that lacked balance and penetration. No, I think there is every chance United would still have won that night at Wembley.

Georgie-boy was rapidly becoming too big for his boots. And the tragedy for him and United was that Busby was too tired and burnt out to keep him on the straight and narrow any more. After 1968, Busby seemed to see him like a prodigal son, as someone whom he knew was riddled with faults, but someone he loved like no other. He turned a blind eye when Best went AWOL or when he didn’t cut it in training. Why?

Despite his undoubted craft and inner resilience – what you might term his toughness – at heart, Sir Matt Busby was a cerebral man. When he was made a Freeman of the City of Manchester in 1967, he said this in his thank-you speech: ‘Football’s great occasions for me are unequalled in the world of sport. I feel a sense of romance, wonder and mystery, a sense of beauty and poetry. The game becomes larger than life. It has something of the timeless magical quality of legend.’ It is not difficult to extend that love of ‘the timeless magical quality of legend’ also to include his favourite footballing son, Georgie Best.

Busby’s own son Sandy explained it this way. ‘I think Dad found something of the Duncan Edwards in George … the same brilliance, the same mastery of all the football arts and, in those days at least, the same professionalism. That sounds daft now, but in those days George lived for football, nothing else … just like Duncan. Dad nearly did give up after Munich; Duncan’s death was a terrible shock, and it was only Mum who talked him round. But it was Bestie who restored his faith in football in many ways.’

One particular way in which Best restored Busby’s faith was by helping ease the screaming demons of Munich in his own head by playing a key part in bringing home the European Cup. The pursuit of the trophy had become Busby’s great obsession – he led English teams into Europe against the great reservations of the domestic football authorities. He would later admit to feeling guilty about surviving the crash that had killed so many of his Babes – Geoff Bent, Roger Byrne, Eddie Colman, Mark Jones, David Pegg, Liam Whelan, Tommy Taylor and superstar-in-the-making Edwards – especially as he had been the man who had dragged English football into the maelstrom of European competition.

After the crash, doctors in Munich had insisted the news of the deaths be kept from Busby as he recovered from what had been life-threatening injuries. Later, he would recall the anguish he felt as he learned the full tragic truth from his wife Jean. ‘I said, “What happened?” She said, “Nothing.” So I began to go through the names. She didn’t speak at all … she didn’t even look at me. When they were gone, she just shook her head. Dead … dead … dead … dead … dead … dead … dead … dead.’

Devastated by the loss of his babes, he vowed never to return to football. ‘Well, Matt, just please yourself…’ said his wife. ‘But the boys who have died would have wanted you to carry on.’

It was only after winning the European Cup that he finally felt some sort of peace, admitting, ‘That moment when Bobby Charlton took the Cup, it, well … it cleansed me. It eased the pain of the guilt of going into Europe. It was my justification.’

Busby also believed strongly that George Best would not have strayed so dangerously had Duncan Edwards survived Munich. Edwards would undoubtedly have been the skipper of the side that George excelled in, and Busby was confident he would have kept the wayward Irishman in line, ‘He was like George in a lot of ways. The bigger the occasions, the better they both liked it. While other players would be pacing up and down the dressing room rubbing their legs, doing exercises and looking for ways to pass the time, Duncan and George would always remain calm. They would glance through a programme or get changed casually and wait without a trace of tension.

‘Duncan was a good type of lad. When I brought [centre-half] Ronnie Cope into the team for that last match at Highbury, I asked Duncan to keep an eye on him and he revelled in that responsibility. Off the field, Duncan did not want to know about the high life. He just wanted to train, play or go back to his digs or home to Dudley. He lived for his football. Maybe some of that would have rubbed off on George if Duncan had survived Munich.’

Given the nature of his own personal exorcism, it is easier to understand why Busby took his hand slightly off the tiller at United after 1968. But for United and Best, the consequences would be little short of disastrous. Without a clearly defined path, United would struggle to regain the glory days; in fact, they were on an inexorable journey of decline that would lead to relegation from the top flight, while George – now working without Busby’s discipline – would accelerate towards his own personal oblivion, missing training, getting drunk, fighting, running away and getting involved in some outrageous love affairs, including a just-married bride whom he took upstairs from a hotel bar while his team-mates plied her husband with drink.

In much the same way as you could argue Ferguson should have retired from Old Trafford in 1999, so Busby should have walked away in 1968. The reason why neither left is also much the same – who could possibly have taken over? The club had been built up by Busby, then was rebuilt by Ferguson three decades later. Who had the qualities and talent to walk in their shoes? Nowadays, you could make a case for Martin O’Neill; back then, the only man suitable was the late, great Jock Stein. But, after giving the nod to United in the early Seventies at a secret motorway rendezvous, he then changed his mind at the last minute when his wife Jean demanded he stay at Celtic Park because she simply could not bear the idea of moving away from Glasgow.

At the start of the 1968–69 season, the problems at United were crystal clear – the club needed direction from the manager and some inspired buys in the transfer market. In the previous four years, Busby had splashed out just once – for goalkeeper Alex Stepney. It meant there was nothing to keep the players on their toes – the established stars knew they would play week in, week out, as there were no serious rivals breathing down their necks.

The season would be a wash-out for George. He was sent off for fighting in the World Clubs Cup against the South American champions Estudiantes of Argentina. United’s league form was poor and they finished the campaign in eleventh place. They got as far as the semi-finals in the European Cup and, by the end of the season, the glory days were clearly at an end.

George wanted Busby to buy class acts – he knew that Mike England and Alan Ball wanted to come to Old Trafford. Instead, they would end up at Spurs and Everton respectively – and Busby would plump only for winger Willie Morgan. The boss also laughed off George’s suggestion that he should be made captain of the team. George could see the downward trend, and his views are eerily similar to those voiced by Keane at Old Trafford. George said, ‘I think quite a few players thought we had done what we set out to do, and relaxed a bit. I certainly didn’t see it that way. I was only 22 … I wanted to keep winning things, and felt we had every chance of retaining the European Cup.

‘My goals became all important, because others weren’t scoring them so frequently. Instead of revolving around me, the team now depended on me and I lacked the maturity to handle it. I began to drink more heavily and, on the field, my list of bookings grew longer as my temper grew shorter.

‘When the bad times started, I couldn’t bear the thought of going out on the pitch. I used to drink so I didn’t have to think about it. Which came first? The bad times then the drinking, or the drinking then the bad times? I’m still sure it was the thought of playing in a bad team, of not winning anything, of not having a chance to play in Europe that drove me to it. All right, you could say that if I’d trained and lived properly, United might have stood a better chance of doing well. That’s true, but I just couldn’t see myself doing it single-handed.’

It would be 31 years before the club were once again crowned champions of Europe and, just eight months after the 1968 triumph, United would announce that an exhausted Busby would move upstairs at the club. Chairman Louis Edwards said, ‘Of course, we knew that it had to come but this does not mean that Sir Matt will be any less involved with Manchester United. In fact, the post of General Manager carries even wider responsibilities….’

Indeed, it did – for Busby’s hapless successor, Wilf McGuinness, it would take on the form of a poisoned chalice. Every time he made a decision – including dropping George for poor commitment at training or going AWOL – Busby would overrule him. It would be the same problem for McGuinness’s successor Frank O’Farrell, and the situation was only truly resolved when Tommy Docherty – hardly a shrinking violet and certainly not in thrall to Busby – took command.

I asked a couple of United experts – Andy Bucklow and Martin Creasy – what they made of the messy end of the Busby reign and how the restructuring at Old Trafford upset George. Bucklow is a senior journalist on the Mail on Sunday, and has followed United’s fortunes for 40 years. He had some sympathy for Busby’s situation in dealing with Britain’s first pop star footballer, but felt he should have built his team around George. Bucklow told me, ‘It has become common legend down the years that an increasingly benign Busby was too tolerant of his errant, adopted son Best, a tolerance seen by many as an indicator of the decline of the great man’s managerial powers. There is, no doubt, a generous dollop of truth in that. George – and his increasingly challenging boozing and birding activities – certainly broke the mould when it came to the disciplining of star players.

‘Sir Matt’s mettle had been tested before, certainly, most notably by the transfer demand from another member of the Holy Trinity, Denis Law, and, even earlier, by his no-nonsense dealings with Johnny Giles, who was summarily dispatched to Leeds following a row over being played out of position.

‘Indeed, during the transitional days of the early Sixties, some of the other more experienced players bought in were openly disrespectful of Matt on coaches going to away games. But these were all football-related activities. Best’s off-field behaviour, just as much as his sublime skill, transcended all that had gone before from any previous member of the awkward squad, but Busby should have clamped down on him much harder, and much earlier.

‘For all Sir Matt’s experience, he never did quite get a handle on Best as the first of the pop star footballers. Sir Matt’s later dealings with Best would have been an irrelevant footnote in history had United enjoyed any sort of continuing success after the 1968 European Cup Final win. The old man’s failings were more down to failing to build for the future with the Irishman at the fulcrum of a new team, not being too accommodating of his greatest player. Had that happened, Best, as he later admitted himself several times, would have had the incentive to carry on, providing countless more treasured memories for the archives.’

Martin Creasy is a United nut – what you would call a ‘superfan’. He has followed the club since the 1960s and has been a season ticket holder since he was a youngster. The first time he witnessed the sublime skills of Georgie-boy was at Stamford Bridge in the 1967–68 season ‘when he was kicked all over the park by Chopper Harris and it finished 1-1. George played a part in United’s goal, which was scored by an 18-year-old Brian Kidd.’ Creasy makes the important point that ‘the fact that the number 7 shirt at United is iconic at all is down to George Best. Every subsequent superstar number 7 was proud to wear the shirt in his honour,’ and goes on to defend the Irishman’s reputation. He told me, ‘George was clearly irked during his retirement years when people would say to him that he blew his United career because of the playboy partying and boozing. He would reply that he spent his 11 best years at Old Trafford, a lot more than most players, and he went on to play for years after that.

‘As fans, we were regularly put through the wringer as George’s personal life unravelled. But, on reflection, I don’t think there would have been a happier ending for United, or Georgie’s Old Trafford career, if nothing stronger than orange juice had passed the Belfast boy’s lips. United were in terminal decline after 1968 and even Besty at his mesmerising best could have done nothing about that. If he was going off the rails, the team was already heading for the buffers. There’s no way he could have carried that team. It was a combination of things – lack of motivation, ageing players, injuries – they all played their part.

‘It became obvious that achieving Sir Matt’s dream of winning the European Cup was enough for those players. The blood, sweat and toil and emotional rollercoaster that ended on that glorious May evening at Wembley in 1968 just couldn’t be followed.

‘When a player of George’s calibre implodes the way he did, the first person under the microscope is the manager. Sir Matt felt the same as a lot of his players. He had completed the dream and he was starting to feel old in an age when the coach was coming to the fore. He believed United needed a younger man at the helm with the energy to get out on the training ground with the players.’

But wasn’t Busby too lenient with him when he skipped training after heavy drinking sessions? Creasy said, ‘People always said Sir Matt had an iron fist in the velvet glove, but it was never apparent in George’s case. He must have been tearing his hair out. He certainly tried everything – sending Georgie back into digs with a landlady as he did when he was a teenager. George even stayed with Paddy Crerand and his family for a while, but that didn’t work either. Frank O’Farrell and Wilf McGuinness had no chance of getting through to George, who had been treated more like a son than a player by Sir Matt. Maybe that was the problem, although the only two people who can answer that one for certain are sadly now no longer with us.’

Of course, George knew that the years after 1968 were wasted in terms of career progress. He would say, ‘In the end, I became a monster to myself [but] I gave millions of people hours of pleasure for years.’ Indeed he did, and the fact that he could still turn it on and enchant the fans after 1968 seemed to bring him some solace, although he would always feel he – and United – could and should have achieved much more.

One of those magical days when he proved he could still turn it on like no one else came in the FA Cup fifth round tie at Northampton in 1970. Inevitably, all eyes were on Georgie-boy after he returned from yet another suspension – this time George had been banned for knocking the ball out of referee Jack Taylor’s hand after a League Cup semi-final defeat to Manchester City. Some players return from suspension a little rusty, and it takes them a little while to adjust back into the hurly-burly of top-rank competition. Not George. With a point to prove, he scored six goals that day, the pick of them being the final one when he left a defender for dead and then dribbled round the keeper. Stopping the ball on the goal line, he saluted the United fans like an all-conquering matador before rolling it into the net.

But the days of joy would be fewer and fewer and it would eventually all end in tears at Old Trafford one bleak midwinter’s day in 1974. McGuinness and O’Farrell had come and gone, Busby had returned for a temporary stint at the helm, and then, finally, the United board made an appointment that made sense. Enter the Doc, a brash, abrasive Scot, the man who would take United down, but bring them back stronger, the man who would bring the smiles back to Old Trafford with his brilliant, adventurous team of 1976. Gordon Hill and Stevie Coppell would spend their time marauding down the wings and Stuart ‘Pancho’ Pearson grabbed the goals up front with Sammy McIlroy.

The Docherty era meant a new start at United, a sweeping away of the cobwebs that had gathered as the Busby years had ended in rusty lethargy. For George, though, the new regime would spell the end. Eleven years at the club and not so much as a word of thanks from the new boss, let alone the offer of a testimonial. Yet, looking look back on the bust-up between George and Docherty, many feel – including me – that the Doc got it right. Not easy to say, or to admit, as we are not talking about any journeyman player here. George had given his heart – and talent – to Manchester United, and may have been able to offer even more in the ensuing years.

The time had come for someone to finally stand up to George and say, ‘Look, you can still be the greatest player in the world or you can piss it all up against the wall by continuing as a spoilt playboy. Which is it to be?’ Docherty was the man who finally had the guts to tell Georgie the truth rather than wrap him up in cotton wool, protecting him from the realities. The facts were undeniable – George was out of control; his excesses had to be curbed once and for all. Credit to Docherty for his bravery, and for seeing the bigger picture, that of United’s long-term goals.

Inevitably, the pair would disagree about the catalyst that led to the final parting on 5 January 1974. Docherty claimed George had missed training due to a New Year’s Eve party that had extended into 2 January, and claimed that when the Irishman eventually did materialise, he had a girl on his arm and stank of booze. George denied all the allegations, saying the Doc had given him an extra day off and that he did not arrive with either a girl nor boozed up.

What’s absolutely clear is that after United had beaten Plymouth Argyle in the FA Cup on that 5 January, Best sat alone in the empty stands at Old Trafford, tears streaming down his face. He knew the game was up; he had threatened to quit in the past, and had even announced his retirement at a press conference in Marbella in May 1972, just days short of his 26th birthday. But this time it was for real and his tears were a mix of regret, at what had been and what should have been, and rage. He would later lay the blame for his ignominious departure firmly on Docherty’s doorstep, saying, ‘Tommy Docherty is the reason I finally, unequivocally, quit Manchester United … I walked out on the club I loved, that had been my family, my life for 11 years, because of Tommy Docherty.’

OK, Bestie was one of the kindest, most generous people you could have hoped to have met when not sozzled, but when under the influence he was, without doubt, stubborn, proud and unwilling to budge an inch … no wonder it all ended up pear-shaped.

But Docherty certainly was not the cause of George’s downfall; George himself was the only man responsible for that. At the time, he could not – would not – see it. In later life, he would admit he had often looked at life through the wrong pair of glasses, but he would never forgive the Doc. My psychoanalyst friend tells me that ‘at times of complete breakdown – rock bottom – addicts will sometimes find a way to free themselves of their demons. Alcoholics will go to AA, drug users to NA; it is a window for release, brought about by the complete hopelessness of one’s situation.’

Fair enough, so if George hit rock bottom during his life, surely the first occasion would have been around the time of January 1974? But his despair was not enough to ‘save him’. ‘Some people have such a strong ego, such a strong, overblown sense of self-pride, that they will not try to find a way out,’ says my friend. ‘They do not think there is anything that wrong with their life – their illness, whether it be alcoholism, drug abuse or co-dependence, is so powerful that it keeps them in a state of denial.’

And so it proved with George. He left United to spend more time trying to fill the aching hole inside him with purely hedonistic solutions – more women, more drink, more highs. His career as a serious work of art was over; post-’74, he became a rolling, drunken mercenary of a footballer, parading his fading talents to the highest bidder, whether that be in Scotland, America or the lower leagues. It was a criminal waste of his talent.

There followed spells with Stockport County, Fulham, Hibernian, Los Angeles Aztecs and San Jose Earthquakes, before George finally retired from the game in 1983 after a brief stint with Bournemouth. Brian Glanville summed it all up like this: ‘He had prematurely retired, and when he returned to play for Fulham and in Los Angeles, his girth had increased, the dynamic acceleration had gone and the game was deprived of his marvellous virtuosity.’

Of course, there were also still moments of joy – as we have already mentioned, George would claim his goal for San Jose against Fort Lauderdale in 1981 was his finest ever. George was 35 by now, a little more rotund, a little slower, but the natural skill was still there. He took the ball from a team-mate in the centre circle and then took on a handful of Fort Lauderdale opponents. As he edged towards the box, another three defenders approached – he swerved around them as if they simply weren’t there and then lifted the ball over the hapless goalkeeper. Every time I see it, it reminds me of John Barnes’s goal for England in the Maracana in Brazil – only it is a better goal than even that piece of genius.

The pick of George’s lost years would probably be 1976 and 1977, when he joined Fulham. Brian Glanville says, ‘In late 1976, he went back to England [from America] and, along with Bobby Moore, turned out for Fulham, playing 42 games in two seasons and scoring eight goals. He was inevitably slower, but still skilful and adroit.’

Five years after he had left United, George Best would ask the club for a testimonial. They refused. The decision would create a chasm that would see George stay away from Old Trafford for the best part of two decades and increase his resentment at what he saw as the cold-shoulder treatment from the club. While I think Docherty was right to kick him out in 1974, I believe George had a strong case to be granted a testimonial in 1979 – and one can understand his bitterness.

He played for the club from September 1963, when he made his début, until 1 January 1974, when he turned out in his last match, the disappointing 3-0 Division One defeat by Queen’s Park Rangers at Loftus Road. It was a total of 11 years’ service, but the United board refused him a testimonial on the grounds that he had not played enough games in that timespan.

It was a ridiculously unfair decision; players are usually granted a testimonial after ten years of service, and George had given one more. Moreover, the club’s reasoning was hardly logical when you consider that Paddy Crerand had been given a testimonial – and yet had played 160 games fewer, and for only eight years, from 1962–70. George would eventually find allies back in Belfast who were willing to help him out – the Football Association of Northern Ireland.

In 1988, a testimonial match was held for him at Windsor Park, Belfast. Among the crowd were Sir Matt Busby and Bob Bishop, the scout who had discovered George, while those playing included Ossie Ardiles, Pat Jennings and Liam Brady. George scored twice, one goal from outside the box, the other from the penalty spot. With the help of the £72,000 raised by the testimonial match and dinner in Belfast, George was finally able to sort out a life that had been shattered by financial and emotional problems in the 14 years since he had quit United.

It was good of the Irish FA and the locals to treat him so warmly. He had not always had the interests of Northern Ireland at heart during his career – in fact, it would be the truth but a massive understatement to say that his career for his country never managed to achieve anything like the supreme class of the one he had for Manchester United. Without doubt, he was the greatest player to ever pull on the green shirt of Northern Ireland, but he would appear for them just 37 times, scoring 9 goals. The first of those caps arrived on 15 April 1964 when, aged 17, he played, along with Pat Jennings who was also making his début, in Northern Ireland’s 3-2 victory over Wales at Swansea. The last game was against the Dutch on 12 October 1977, when, aged 31, he played in the 1-0 defeat at Windsor Park.

Two highlights stand out for me in what was a generally undistinguished international career – the games against Scotland at Windsor Park in 1967 and against England in 1970. George tormented the Scottish defence in that British Home International Championship encounter in 1967, single-handedly destroying them with a dazzling display of skill and mischief and laying on the winning goal for Dave Clements. The brilliant Scottish defender Tommy Gemmell suffered a personal nightmare against George that day. He said, ‘George Best was the greatest player I ever faced and, drunk or sober, he could take you to the cleaners. Do I remember it [the match]? I’ll never forget it. If ever a defender was destroyed by an attacker it was [then] … The unfortunate defender was me, the attacker was George Best and the details are still seared on my mind after all those years. It was a muddy pitch but it would not have mattered what the state of the surface had been, the outcome would still have been the same, because the Belfast-born George Best – starring for one afternoon only in his native city – was simply tremendous.

‘I started the game at right-back and Bestie began on the left wing. He tore me apart. Inside, outside, I couldn’t even catch him to kick him.’

Then Georgie-boy had the audacity to take the mickey out of the great Gordon Banks in another Home International in May 1971, which England won 1-0. Banksie, the goalkeeper who had thwarted the great Pelé with that miraculous, low, right-handed save in the World Cup a year earlier, almost conceded a bizarre goal against George. The mischievous Georgie was lurking as Banks prepared to punt the ball upfield. The England keeper tossed the ball into the air and, as he draw his leg back, Best nipped in and lifted it into the air. As Banks looked around helplessly, Georgie nodded the ball into the goal. The referee disallowed it for foul play, but Banks would later admit he was lucky to get away with it.

That was the beauty of George Best. Reputations on the pitch meant nothing to him; he simply weaved his own magic, oblivious to rivals with world-class pedigrees who would try to stop him. More was the pity – given the isolated incidents of extraordinary skill and perception – that he never put his heart into playing for his country. It was as if he could not always raise his game because the standard of his team-mates did not match up to his own stratospheric levels, just as he had complained about turning out with a fading team at United in the early Seventies. On another level, his lack of commitment would cost him in terms of posterity, with some critics arguing that he could never be compared to, say, Pelé and Maradona because he had never cut it at international level.

At the time, with mounting problems in his life both in and outside football, his role in footballing history was one of the last things on George’s mind. He became one of the first people to have ‘Antabuse’ pellets sewn into the lining of his stomach – the drug that they contained – Disulfiram – was supposed to make him violently sick if he drank alcohol. But two separate attempts at the implant treatment, in Scandinavia and the USA, failed to stop him drinking and, by the mid-1980s, a bookmaker George knew offered him odds of 6-4 on making it to his 40th birthday.

The game for George had now become more about survival than establishing a permanent legacy. George’s sad decline was lived out in the full glare of publicity and, despite the best intentions of many who sought to save him from himself, George careered inexorably off the rails. He was once the world’s most gifted and lauded footballer, and could now do little to avoid becoming the most pitiful.