Читать книгу Jack and Bobby: A story of brothers in conflict - Leo McKinstry - Страница 12

Nostalgia can be a dangerous emotion. In retirement, the great player watches as his career become one long series of triumphs. His medals and cups are endlessly celebrated, his virtues continually lauded. In such romantic storytelling, even the few setbacks are treated as challenges that were heroically overcome on the march towards inevitable glory.

But at the time, the picture can be very different. Without the benefit of hindsight, the player’s progress seems more stumbling, more complicated. Nothing is fixed about the route to success. When failure is encountered, there is no certainty that he will overcome it. From the contemporaneous angle, a run of poor performances – glossed over decades later – can seem like the death-knell for a career.

Thus in 1990 Alex Ferguson was seen as a failure as United manager. After four years in charge and without a trophy to his name, his future at Old Trafford looked doomed. No-one would have been surprised if he had been sacked then. Yet now he is widely regarded as the greatest manager in the history of British football. Similarly, when Tottenham sold Pat Jennings in 1977 for just £45,000, thinking he was finished, little could the club have imagined that nine years later he would be one of the stars of the 1986 World Cup. And Peter Reid looked an injury-plagued footballer of unfulfilled promise before Howard Kendall turned him into the lynchpin of his all-conquering Everton side. Ironically, it was Everton that had released Reid five years earlier, thinking he would not make the grade.

The same could be said of the Charlton brothers. Today, they are amongst the most revered figures in football, holders of more than 140 England caps between them, World Cup winners and acclaimed international ambassadors. But, in the early 1960s, anyone making a prediction of such a future for Bobby and Jack would have been met with incredulity, even though the pair had been involved in top-flight football for a decade. Bobby was seen as a troubled soul, an enigma, who had failed to live up to his potential. There were complaints about his workrate, his lack of vision, his mercurial nature. ‘The problem of Bobby Charlton’ was raised frequently in the press. Looking back, it is amazing to read an article like that written by Peter Lorenzo in the Sun in October 1964, less than two years before the World Cup victory, when the decision to drop Bobby from the England team led him to ask: ‘Is this the end of the road for Charlton?’ In this piece Lorenzo argued that Alf Ramsey may be ‘finally convinced that the undisciplined skills of Charlton are luxuries England can no longer afford. In the past three seasons his scoring rate has declined. I wonder if we shall ever see the Bobby Charlton of old? Unless we do, I think his international days are over. Against all his qualities stands an unforgivable soccer sin, the inability to perform or contribute as a member of an England team. As an individualist, Charlton can be supreme. As a team man he is the Prince of Unpredictables.’

Lower down the scale, Jack was having just as many problems as his brother. His early years at Leeds had been characterized by rows with players on the field and with managers off it. In the late 1950s and early 1960s his belligerence became even worse. Pig-headed, boorish and aggrieved, he made life awkward for all around him. Full of his own opinions, he was intolerant of the views of others, almost becoming something of a bully. ‘You’ve always got plenty to say for yourself, Big Man’, the little Scottish forward Jim Storrie, would tell him. So infuriated did Jack become with Storrie that, on one occasion in the baths, he grabbed Storrie and almost thumped him. He hated being part of a mediocre team, yet he did little himself to raise the standards. Despising his managers and coaches, he refused to take training seriously. Instead of listening to their advice, he did his own thing, charging around the field or remaining static as the mood took him. He was no more diligent about fitness sessions. One time the Leeds players were out on a cross-country run, panting as they struggled up a hill. Then a lorry came past, and there was Jack, sitting in the back, cigarette in hand, just waving at them. It was not the sort of gesture likely to enhance his popularity. ‘He was a one-man awkward squad,’ wrote the late Billy Bremner, Jack’s captain during Leeds’ years at the top. ‘There was a time when he was ready to feud and almost to fight with anyone who crossed his path. He was at odds with club, manager, coaching and training staff.’

Nor was Jack anything like the commanding centre-half he was to become in the mid-1960s. Jimmy Dunn, who left Leeds in 1959, says, ‘When I was with him, I would never have thought he would become an international, not at all.’ In fact, Jack was a pretty moderate player, who only stood out because of his height and the amount of noise he made on the pitch. Ian St John, the renowned Liverpool striker and later ITV commentator, told me this story: ‘When I was at Motherwell, I played in a friendly against Leeds. Jack was at centre-half and it was the first time I had seen him. We had a good team and we put seven past Leeds. I got a hat-trick and Jack was useless, absolutely useless. I asked myself afterwards, “Is he really Bobby Charlton’s brother?” It was always good to play against Jack then, because you were usually guaranteed a few goals.’ In a match in 1960, when Leeds were beaten 3–0 by Wolves, Eric Todd of the Guardian