On a recent visit from his home in Spain, my father-in-law brought a small piece of paper torn from a notebook – an heirloom, really – discovered at the bottom of a box hidden for years in the back of his storeroom.
‘Para Lucia, con amor’ are the words inscribed upon it. The signature below is that of none other than Pele.
It is a little message of affection to my wife, written by the great man and given to her as a young girl when he was working at an engagement with her dad many moons ago. An undisputed treasure.
Lucia’s father, Graham, has spent the best part of 40 years in and around football, landing a job as an interpreter at FC Barcelona just in time for Terry Venables winning their first title in 11 years in 1985 and later moving on to roles in the media and technical departments of UEFA.
That piece of paper, transported in a small cardboard folder with other mementoes from the mists of time, formed the basis of many conversations and recollections during his stay over new year. My wife’s many years feted at the Nou Camp as a child before eventually working there herself, Christmas cards from Gary Lineker and, then, our first-born being taken to the stadium just weeks after making an appearance at Hospital del Mar on the seafront to be tossed into the air by Gerard Pique’s grandfather Amador, an ex-player and former vice-president.
Now getting ready for high school in Scotland, my eldest had his grandad visit his class to tell some stories about his time in the sport. One lad wanted to know Graham’s Best XI, so he took the question away with him with the promise of delivering an answer within 24 hours – and we convened in the local the following day to bounce some ideas around.
A treasured note from Brazil legend Pele to Gary Keown’s wife Lucia when he was working at an engagement with her dad
Brazilian football legend Pele won three World Cups and remains an icon of the sport
Lord, can there be any better way in which to spend a winter’s afternoon than sitting in front of the fire in the pub, sculling four or five pints, talking about the players who shaped the way you view football and then trying to squeeze them into a team, in positions in which they have some history of actually playing?
Texts were sent to friends and family for their first-picks. The replies rolled in all day, tweaked and twizzled and swirling between confidence and self-doubt. It was wonderful.
For the record, the final selection, in a ridiculously attacking, probably unworkable, 4-2-3-1 formation, was: Schmeichel; Carlos Alberto, Baresi, Beckenbauer, Maldini; Xavi, Pirlo; Cruyff, Maradona, Messi; Cristiano Ronaldo.
Yes, that’s right. No Pele. All that love from him and no love back in the end.
Of course, this piqued the interest of my youngest, whose fanaticism for football mirrors my own at his age. His bedroom is littered with football cards. His favourite video game allows him to select players from yesteryear in his side and, for months now, our chats have tended to go along very similar lines. In between mouthfuls of dinner. Every night of the week.
Who was the best between Maradona and Messi? Was Gerd Muller Bayern’s best-ever striker? How come Gianluigi Buffon can score worldies if I put him in midfield when I’m playing FC25?
Aware of the need to stay grounded in grim reality, mind you, to know that football is about much more than World Cups and the Ballon d’Or and thunderbolts from 25 yards, he gets me to take him to St Johnstone matches.
We invited grandad along for a day out at a home match against Dundee in the freezing cold. The first game together for all four of us – me, Graham and the two boys. Three generations. Something special. Made all the more memorable by the fact my old jalopy broke down in the car park and Lucia had to drive to McDiarmid Park to rescue us.
Celtic fans could miss a trip to Munich because a supporter threw a smoke bomb at Villa Park
Stuart Kettlewell, meanwhile, recently resigned as Motherwell boss after receiving abuse from supporters
As a treat at the end of the school holidays, I offered to take the wee barra to Ibrox to see Saints. He fancied watching the game from the home end, though, to make the most of his first visit to a proper, big stadium. So, we got seats in the heavens in the centre of the Club Deck – so high that he was almost scared to stand up without holding onto the seat in front – and enjoyed a full day out with a trip on the train, a burger and then a wee birl on the subway for good luck.
It was on the way back, on the concourse at Queen Street Station in Glasgow while plotting our route home, that the importance of all this football-related activity over the festive season hit home. What going to football is all about. Other than the football itself, of course.
Out of nowhere, an older man, maybe in his mid-60s, approached us. ‘I’m sorry to be a pest,’ he said, in a most polite, genteel fashion, ‘but I just felt I needed to come over and talk to you.
‘I was sitting across from you on the underground and I heard you and your boy talking about all the players he liked and what he thought about the game and it just reminded me of the days when I took my son to the football every week.
‘He’s in his 30s now. But seeing the two of you took me back there. It was such a special time.’
I shook his hand, thanked him and felt really quite emotional as I watched him walk, alone, towards the exit. Because he had spoken, in those fleeting moments, to such a great truth.
There really is nothing like taking your kids to the game. Or chatting with your mum and dad about your sticker collection. Or going with your in-laws to the juicer to talk about football games from 40 years ago and absolutely nothing other than that.
It’s about creating memories, strengthening bonds, sharing experiences. It’s beautiful. And it’s why the weeks since those times with Graham here have brought such sadness.
Young fans were left traumatised by hooligan behaviour during Rangers’ match at Old Trafford
Celtic supporters aimed anti-royal chants at Prince William during the side’s Champions League clash against Aston Villa
It was hard not to think of your own kids when reading in the Manchester media of the children left traumatised at Old Trafford – and feeling they don’t want to go back – because of fighting between rival supporters in the home end during Rangers’ Europa League match at United.
It’s hard not to feel sorry for the parents and children looking likely to be robbed of the chance to go to Celtic’s biggest game in years in Munich, that most glorious of cities, because some folk just can’t and won’t stop throwing flares on the park. Likewise, it’s hard not to wince at the example being set to some of those kids by supporters marching through Birmingham singing about the IRA and chanting about the Queen’s death in front of Prince William.
There’s also the small matter of Stuart Kettlewell’s departure from Motherwell. We don’t know the whole story behind the abuse he received. His resignation seems a rather extreme reaction.
However, reading about his three young sons and young daughter feeling they no longer wanted to go to the games struck a chord. That their memories have now been sullied. That work may have to be done to return them to this sport that offers so much.
Listen, fans shouting for the removal of a manager is perfectly fine. Football becomes nothing without paying punters being able to express views on their club’s direction of travel. Emotions are everything. It all becomes sterile and ungenuine without them.
The young team will always enjoy a bit of a mess around when they start going themselves too. All part of growing up. All part of the journey.
It’s just a matter of recognising when that all goes too far, though. Of recognising that we all have a role to play in preserving those special traditions that make football an arena for all generations and all peoples, for togetherness.
Of treating it with the affection it deserves. Con amor, to coin a phrase. Because football is something we all should love. And something we all have an obligation to protect and nurture for the generations coming behind us.
Head of Refereeing Willie Collum has apologised for several VAR mistakes during the season
SFA need to take responsibility for the continuing failure of VAR
Mistakes happen. Human nature. Cool the beans. Move along, please.
That was the gist of it when lesser-spotted SFA chief executive Ian Maxwell appeared from the cupboard under the stairs in December to address the reasons why Rangers didn’t get a penalty in the Premier Sports Cup final when Celtic’s Liam Scales almost pulled the shirt off Vaclav Cerny’s back in the box.
Willie Collum, his head of refereeing, put his words – and his peculiarly lax attitude – into greater context shortly afterwards when admitting the mistake was ‘unacceptable’.
This VAR stuff is getting beyond unacceptable now, though, isn’t it? Way beyond it. Way beyond human error and all the rest of it.
Look at the week just gone. Hearts score a goal at home to Kilmarnock through a move that begins with Elton Kabangu miles offside and then barging into a home defender to stop him heading the ball clear.
Then, Mohamed Diomande of Rangers gets his red card for what referee Nick Walsh felt was a swipe at Kevin Holt overturned. Not at the time, though. On appeal.
It’s becoming a pretty long list, this. St Mirren won an appeal over Marcus Fraser’s sending-off at Dundee United in December. Motherwell’s Dan Casey had a red card against Kilmarnock downgraded to yellow as well.
Human error is understandable when committed in real time. It’s when several different Grade 1 officials have access to video reviews and still can’t make the right decision that the problems really start.
Collum has been open and transparent in his new role and that’s good, but Kilmarnock manager Derek McInnes nailed it at Tynecastle last weekend. We need the decisions to be right at the time rather than the subject of some grand mea culpa days later.
Otherwise, why, as McInnes inquired, are clubs paying the money for this technology?
Whether it is Collum or Maxwell or whoever, someone at the SFA is soon going to have to be held properly accountable. Turning up and brushing all this off as if it is nothing to get in a flap about is no longer an option.
This VAR stuff is getting beyond unacceptable now – way beyond human error and the rest
Rangers should accept an offer for Cyriel Dessers if it comes – he’s had too many nightmares
No ifs or buts… Dessers must go
Cyriel Dessers had a splendid game against Union Saint-Gilloise in midweek. He did as much as anyone to drive Rangers to the last 16 of the Europa League.
But, please, Ibrox fans, spare us another wide-ranging debate about whether he should be kept and whether he’s better than everyone thought and whether there might just be some worth in holding onto him.
He’s been here long enough to form an opinion. He’s missed too many sitters. Blown too many one-on-ones. Had too many nightmares.
He is also 30 years of age. If Rangers get anything like a decent offer for him before the transfer deadline tomorrow night, he’s got to go. End of story.
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