Search: 'Paul McGrath'

Football, Faith and Me
by Linvoy Primus with Peter Jeffs
Legendary, £18.99
Reviewed by Matthew Brown
From WSC 252 February 2008 

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The autobiographies of footballers tend to be much the same: the humble beginnings and boyhood dreams, the youth-team triumphs and early rejections, the lower-league obscurity and later successes. This one is no different, tracing the ups and downs of Linvoy Primus’s life story from his east London childhood to rejection by Charlton to the comings and goings of form, injury, managers and team-mates as he slowly moved up the ranks from Barnet to Reading to Portsmouth.

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by Paul McGrath
Century, £18.99
Reviewed by Peter Daly
From WSC 239 January 2007 

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When Paul McGrath was 19, he embarked on “a journey of unimaginable strangeness” that lasted almost a year. He did so without leaving his hospital bed. In fact, he did so almost without moving a muscle – it was a psychological voyage, see, during which a confused and frightened McGrath lay for so long with his legs locked tensely together that he would suffer from knee pains for ever more. That’s just one of the reasons it’s amazing he went on to have a football career, let alone a glorious one.

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Man and Bhoy
by Neil Lennon with Martin Hannon
Harper Sport, £17.99
Reviewed by Robbie Meredith
From WSC 241 March 2007 

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Irish footballers have been among the most prominent exponents of the mea culpa sports autobiography in recent years. Tony Cascarino and Paul McGrath have produced open and apologetic works detailing personal failure, far in tone from the bland self-justification inherent in most of the genre.

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The Autobiography

Norman Whiteside
Headline, £18.99
Reviewed by Joyce Woolridge
From WSC 249 November 2007 

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It’s June 1991, and Norman Whiteside won’t get out of bed. His fearless attitude on the pitch inspired a Manchester United fanzine, The Shankhill Skinhead, but he spends his “bed-in” crying, unable to come to terms with the reality that he is finished as a footballer at 26. So begins Determined, his autobiography, and he spares readers none of the harrowing details as he traces how a series of medical decisions, made in good faith and often the standard treatment then available, had, as he puts it, “done for him” by the time he was 18. By that tender age he is unable to rotate his hips, giving him his trademark robotic-style run, has lost his pace, and has a knee in which bone grinds against bone. Chips will henceforth regularly flake off into the joint, causing excruciating pain, swelling it up to the size of a swede, necessitating further surgery. Injuries used to be discussed in macho style in football autobiographies, an inevitable consequence of a man’s game, the honourable scars of battle. The recent trend of revealing the pain, both physical and mental, of professional football is refreshing and welcome, if often difficult to read without wincing.

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Dear WSC
As a born cynic (and Northerner) this is very hard for me, but with regards to Colin Smith’s letter in WSC 245 I feel I must write in defence of the new Wembley. I wanted to hate it, I really did, but after attending the Blackpool v Yeovil play-off final I, or should I say we, as the friends I went with felt the same, just couldn’t find anything to complain about. OK, maybe that’s hyperbole – the empty ring of Club Wembley seats was a bit annoying on the eye, as was the over-exaggeration of the stewards when a nearby bloke pulled a cigarette, and not an Uzi, out of his pocket. But outrageously priced food and drink? I don’t know where Mr Smith got his hotdog from, but I paid £5 for the most edible burger I’ve ever had inside a football ground, and as for £3.50 a pint being extortionate even for London, I take it that he didn’t sample the delights of Soho after the match. It seems we’ve turned into a nation of whingers who will complain just for the sake of it – take the furore over the 2012 Olympic logo. For once, let’s just give credit where it’s due. Yes, it was vastly over time and even more over budget; yes, I’ll miss the internationals being played around the country; and an even bigger yes, I’ll miss falling out of a pub and being in my seat within ten minutes à la Cardiff. But the new Wembley is a fantastic stadium, unrecognisable from the eyesore it replaced. And things could be worse – I’m going to have to go to Deepdale and Turf Moor next season.
Jason Taylor, Hadfield

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