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FootnotesWhy the modern footballer’s biography can't live up to those of ex-pros from the pastBy Steve Brumpton
The identity of the player in question is largely irrelevant. The more clubs they’ve had then the more towns they will have to stop in for a signing but other than that once a player has had a long and successful career then with the aid of a decent ghost writer there should be enough material to easily pad out 300 pages. When the ex-pro in question is a genuine personality with enough anecdotes to rival a stand up comic and more clubs than Jack Nicklaus then you have a true classic in the league of Mickey Quinn’s ‘Who Ate All The Pies’. In recent years, inspired by the brand-Beckham phenomenon, footballing autobiographies are coming out earlier and earlier in player’s careers. There appears to be a greater market for a player who is at the height of his fame than one being sent out to pasture. So why not release an autobiography so early? Tabloids and glossy weeklies are continually profiting from their fame so why not the players and publishers too? There is one good reason why not. The modern footballer in mid-career has absolutely nothing to say. The players that release autobiographies at a relatively young age have all started with big clubs since their pre-teens. You don’t get in the England squad at 22 if you are still playing on Hackney Marshes at 18. As a result they have all been groomed in academies where their rise has been nurtured by experienced coaches. Rags to riches story so it may be, but there are only so many pages you can drag out of moving your mum from a council house to a country home. The struggle and drama in these stories is limited and as detached from reality as the players themselves. The path from playing field to premiership is clinical and controlled. Michael Owen wrote his first autobiography when he was just 24, and had, at that time, only ever played for one club. He freely admits he’s never read a book and has only ever seen five movies. What a fascinating man. Give me a drunken former Scottish international who’s played for five clubs and now makes a living being regularly late or inebriated on national radio. That’s a story that deserves publication. Thankfully Highdown have done just that. It is not just the questionable quantity of stories that can have happened to a cosseted youth that leads me to think they should keep their memoirs on ice but the lack of any perspective to look back with at least a modicum of detachment. These are young men with wallets as large as their egos and for the most part I’m sure they really can’t appreciate how fortunate they are. How could they? There is also a simple inescapable truth that people like to read about other people’s problems. From Eastenders to Jodi Picoult we crave the misery of others. As a society we are fascinated by failure and the downfall of celebrity. For these young men, however, the lows are yet to come. The career ending tragedy or the ambition left unfulfilled all lies ahead of them. These books are incomplete. Their story just isn’t over yet. The tabloids have ensured that we are kept well informed when it comes to the misdemeanours of footballers from this new glamour age. From Rio Ferdinand’s missed drugs test to Wayne Rooney’s penchant for elderly masseurs there is already some scandal that we would love to know more about. Can these players with reputations, careers and young families really afford to be truly honest? Players who do reveal their true motivations that lay behind the headlines can face suspensions or worse. When Roy Keane revealed his horror tackle on Alf Inge Haarland was intentional he was hit with a ban from the game. Dutch international defender Jaap Stam wrote that his manager had brought him to Manchester United after an illegal approach and he soon found himself heading for Manchester airport. Football writers like football pundits need to be detached from the game. They need to be free to criticise and comment on others with no fear of retribution or reply. No one wants to read the kind of sycophantic rubbish like Steven Gerrard’s gushing praise of Peter Crouch. Others have used the autobiography as a shield to defend them from a public perception. While Rio will no doubt tell us why exactly he missed that infamous drugs test, Ashley Cole rambles on at excruciating lengths to convince us his nickname of ‘Cashley’ is undeserved. This sort of point scoring, PR and backslapping is best left to the
sports pages. The obligatory newspaper serialisation is the natural
home for the few chapters of genuine interest. An autobiography should
be the story of a life. Come back when you’ve lived, loved,
lost and failed. Then tell it all, empty every skeleton from its closet
and dish all the dirt you can find. Maybe then the players from the
glamour age will be able to match their predecessors word for word. Have your say
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Once
upon a time a footballer’s autobiography was as much a part
of his retirement from playing as the testimonial and appearing as
a pundit. The ex-professional of the 70’s or 80’s would
hang up his boots and reach for a pen to record his memoirs. The formula
was often simple but effective. Take one working-class upbringing,
add dedication and one sagely mentor then follow his rise to the first
team. We then chart his career highs and lows and find out what it
was really like to be winning, losing, drinking and gambling with
one of the countries best loved sides. Throw in some humorous anecdotes,
a moral dilemma and a few home truths and we generally get an engaging
account of the life of a famous ex-pro. 
