Archive | March, 2018

Lionesses learning how to roar? Events have overtaken my trite blogging!

15 Mar

A few days ago I penned a slight piece about the English women’s soccer team being required, by new coach Phil Neville,  to ‘watch in pain’ as the USA lifted the Shebelieves trophy. The italizised version (see below) appears a silly irrelevance now.

The attempted murders of Sergei Skripal and his daughter have signalled the attendant dangers of a warfare beyond our sight and control. Big power games are being played and we are the powerless majority. The haughty arrogance of the Russian State appears chilling and uncaring of the values to which humans should adhere. Their supremacy – and the unquestioning certainty of it – comes before any other consideration.

The deaths of two household names, Ken Dodd and Stephen Hawking, have provoked eulogising and respect. I never quite ‘got’ Ken Dodd but he’s been around the whole of my life singing Tears and waving a tickling stick. He entertained millions in a classically British fashion. The last of the music hall comedians, they say. Apart from Einstein there is no other scientist whose name trips off the tongue around the world more often than the remarkable Hawking. Compare him with Vladimir Putin. Compare him , for that matter, with anybody. His influence on young and old, his extraordinary spirit, never mind his genius, will live on .. and on. The BBC got it right when they led with the news of his death over and above the shabbiness of Russian dark dealings.

We should turn to the spirit of Hawking at times like this. My daughter and son-in-law have both been seriously ill of late. Now, thankfully in recovery, they owe their health to the skill of doctors and the wonders of science. Compare the consultant who treated my daughter’s  virulent bacterial infection with Vladimir Putin.

The shenanigins  of the superpowers persuade us to hibernate in the warmth of the mundane. The winter Paralympics and the doughty-spirited Brits struggling to justify their funding in sports which are, mostly, alien to our culture; the multi-millionaire Mourinho’s press conferences saying very little about not very much at all; the thrill of Lionel Messi; Six Nations rugby; Dancing on Ice. When I’m down I turn to sport and books. I’m on Martin Amis’s The Rub of Time – a collection of articles and observations on everything from a wonderful observer. Brilliant.

I’m OK with the truth. So many of those to whom the people of the world look up – or are forced to- want to construct their own truth. Stephen Hawking showed us all that the search for truth is everlasting and inexhaustible. That we are all on this planet together and should behave as if we are all part of the same enterprise.

I am not a man of God, nor particularly a member of the St. Paul fan club. However, being the age I am and with my upbringing and career in education, I have read and listened to many a Bible reading  and prayer. One of many texts that comes to mind so easily is Paul’s letter to the Philippians. Often used in prayer – well it used to be – I offer it here.

‘…whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue and if there be any praise, think on these things.’

I apologise for the bathos of what follows.


The USA women’s soccer team have just won the Shebelieves Cup by beating England in the final game. Well-deserved. Phil Neville, the new Manager-Coach of the Lionesses insisted that his team stayed out on the pitch to watch the cup being presented to the victors. He ‘wanted the team to feel the pain’ ; it would thus make his women more competitive in next year’s World Cup.

Phil didn’t suggest that it was simply good sportsmanship to applaud the USA’s triumph. Good manners, even. The recently accepted common behaviour in soccer and some other male team competitions is for the vanquished to leave the stage to lick wounds; fans of the defeated too. In some cases – recent Ryder Cups for example, the winners have revelled in victory with demeaning relish. Tennis is one of the exceptions  – perhaps the one-on-one gladiatorial nature of it produces a greater respect, an honourable appreciation of the opponent.

Eddie Jones’s dreadful treatment at the hands of inebriated Scottish rugby fans may be a sad sign of the times. Interestingly he pointed out that the intemperate language of partisan media commentators had not helped the cause of commonsense. Gavin Hastings had talked of relishing ‘rubbing English noses’ in defeat. A phrase to excite, indeed but part of the growing hype which surrounds major televised sport. Drama and controversy has to trump playing the game in the right spirit.

Having watched and coached young sportspeople for umpteen years, there is little doubt that I have observed better sportsmanship and respect for referees from women. There are exceptions of course. I, Tonya, the film about the bitter rivalry between American ice skaters, Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan shows just how female gamesmanship can get out of hand. And how!

Most males have the instinct for honour but they need to be led by captain, coach, teacher, parent. Somehow women, although just as competitive, see a bigger picture when the fat lady sings.

There were plenty of heroes around when I was growing up and, as readers of my pages will know, I idolised the best of them: Bobby Charlton. These days the honourable leaders are thinner on the ground and being gracious in defeat – and generally – is a commodity in short supply. There is a huge amount of psychological point-scoring in the global game of soccer but there are many mangers and players I still admire. Roy Hodgson for one.

I like Phil Neville and he will do a fine job. ‘Feeling the pain’ may well be a good idea but in the precious moments after a great sporting struggle, disappointment should give way, for a few short minutes, to congratulation and commiseration. Equality in all its fair forms is necessary and right but Lionesses might beware of accepting all male sporting mores.

Roar on Lionesses. Have edge, enjoy the cut and thrust of battle but when you hear the final whistle, do the honourable thing.

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