Search: 'Paul Dalglish'

Having a famous dad can be good for your job prospects but sometimes a name is simply that. Caroline Bailey looks at the stuttering career of a stubborn footballer

When it comes to pushy parents, Kenny Dalglish may not be up there with Joan Crawford, but his son Paul’s privileged career in football has become something of a byword for nepotism. Despite not being able to get into the first XI at college, Dalglish Junior signed schoolboy forms for Blackburn while his father was the manager. He went on to serve his apprenticeship at Kenny’s old club Celtic, spent two barren years at Liverpool where Kenny had won three European Cups, and was then signed for Newcastle by – well, you can guess the rest.

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The Biography
by Joel Miller
John Blake, £17.99
Reviewed by Paul Doyle
From WSC 247 September 2007 

Buy this book

Good things about this book include: the high standard of spelling; functionally correct grammar; and the fact that if you dropped it from a great height on to the head of the person who recommended it to you, it would do serious damage. Beyond that, the highest praise you could give it is that it reads like an extended Wikipedia entry, a broadly efficient collation of information already in the public domain. If you think that makes it worth almost 18 of your English pounds, then you presumably pay for WSC with wheelbarrows of gold. Well done.

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Fergie very nearly lost his job before any of his league titles. But as Ashley Shaw informs us, he was saved by the Palace

Let’s hope Sir Alex Ferguson enjoys his 20th anniversary a good deal more than his third. Back in 1989 the knives were out after an horrific start to the season, which included a notorious derby defeat and an early exit to Spurs in the League Cup.

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Cameron Carter explains that although we all know and love the FA Cup, John Motson can always be on hand to remind us of this

Spring is a time when wet-nosed lambs and weak young sitcoms stumble into the world. Yet May began and ended with the spectacle of grey-faced middle-aged footballers in sluggish pursuit of the charity pound. On May 1, the Marina Dalglish charity match on Sky One featured most of the Liverpool and Everton teams who contested the 1986 FA Cup final. Now, most charity events involve the entertainment operating at about 30 per cent below par, but these people were really trying. They just couldn’t do it any more. An injured Gary Lineker turned up briefly to kick off, like a vicar at a fete with another parish to get to, after which the 90 minutes crawled by in a pageant of zonal marking, square balls and limping, quickly regretted runs off the ball. Fortunately, a goal was scored just before the end – at least a yard offside, but hotly undisputed as its annulment would have meant extra time and, presumably, a slowing of the pace.

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Dear WSC
In response to a letter published about the term “mullered” (Letters, WSC 228) and the origins of the word, at the risk of turning WSC into an episode of Balderdash & Piffle, I always felt it appropriate for the term to be linked to fabled West Germany forward Gerd Müller and the team of the early 1970s. Despite being too young to recall “Der Bomber” in his heyday, checking out old videos of him in action (hardly ever leaving the penalty area in a fashion Gary Lineker could only dream of) and a check of his goalscoring feats – 68 goals in only 62 international matches – it seems to tally with my favoured definition of “mullered”, to be comprehensively beaten in a surprising and unimaginative manner. The only other time I have heard of the term “mullered” is in relation to drinking too much alcohol which, sadly, may be linked to the end of Gerd’s career.
Jonathan Paxton, via email

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