It is fashionable, in the wake of all those rowers and cyclists and runners, abled and otherwise, who do what they do for something — glory, pride, joy of physical exertion? — other than for money, to disparage football, and to regard it as somehow vulgar and its practitioners over-indulged.
Despite the fairytale exploits of Chelsea and Manchester City at the end of last season, football is seen as having a lot of catching up to do. It is, after all, almost impossible not to be cynical about a sport that rewards its players so extravagantly. This book reminds us that football too has its virtues.
Duncan Hamilton’s father, James, a lifelong Newcastle supporter, a miner, who died in 1997, did not at all begrudge modern players their huge rewards, but he demanded from the greatest players not only a level of skill far above the average, but a demeanour to match.
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