An antidote to all those tedious stories about Beckham, Abramovich and their billions... A profile of Abdullah Ben Kmayal - known to the locals as "Ben" - the driving force behind a coaching project in one of London's most violent districts:
Earlier this season, Ben learnt that he would be unable to call on the services of the central midfielder of his under-18 team, a talented footballer he had earmarked to train up as a coach to help develop the young players. The lad had been ambushed by a local gang, shot 16 times, machine-gunned in the street...Gang culture is corroding the fabric of the place, leeching the life out of every tower block and stairwell. It was here last year that local gangsters burst in on a christening party and shot a woman dead even as she cradled the baby who had just been christened. The youth who pulled the trigger was 17 years old.
Nelson Mandela once remarked that "sport can change the world, it has the power to inspire in a way that little else does". Nowhere in this country can sport have quite as big a challenge to inspire as it does in North Peckham. Yet, thanks to Ben and Greenhouse Bethwin, here of all places it seems to be working its magic.
EXTRA TIME: The little boy in Thursday's photo is now the big lad on the terraces. That's my eldest, just below the word "sport", after Wycombe Wanderers scored their equalizer against all-conquering Chelsea in this week's Carling Cup semi-final. He's managed to get a ticket for the second leg, too. Until just over a year ago, I used to allow him to flit past me occasionally when we played in the park. Now I'm like an elderly part-timer confronting Christiano Ronaldo.
Talking of quixotic tasks, Dave Hill gamely defends Becks:
Judged for what he is rather than for what he's not, he passes many tests that others fail. Compared with, say, Ashley Cole, his quest for wealth and hunger for acclaim have been marked by a genial graciousness.
Finally, the magnificent Harry Redknapp, celebrating his thousandth game as a manager, looks back to yesteryear:
There have been a million changes. We used to train twice as long. There were no fitness coaches or dieticians and the physio was an ex-player. I remember in the medical room at Bournemouth the old physio was Arthur Cunliffe, who played for England, and we got a new ultrasound machine. In those days you had nothing and he kept rubbing it on the players' legs. I looked at the machine and said, "I think there is supposed to be a light coming on." He didn't realise it hadn't been switched on and he'd been using it on the players for three days. They were coming out, saying "that's better". That was how it was.
There wasn't anything about diet, you ate anything. When I played they would have crates of beer on the train after matches and even when I went back as manager at West Ham...
Average players can earn a fortune now. At the end of the season you used to be two minutes in the manager's office, he'd give you £5 a week rise and you were happy. Now it drags on for months and the players have all got agents. Managers don't get involved with that side of it. Djimi Traoré signed this week, he goes to meet the chief executive, Peter Storrie, and I couldn't even tell you what his wages are.
PS: I don't know how I overlooked it before, but James Hamilton's sports blog More Than Mind Games is a beauty. Lots of thoughtful soccerisms. And don't miss the quaint Wimbledon tournament footage from the Sixties.
Dave Hill goes on to comment:
"And then there was his use of the "s" word: "soccer" this, "soccer" that. David, pet: we both know that's not proper English, ain' it? We both know you only said "soccer" to please the Yanks."
..which is both ignorant ("soccer" is a term of English coinage, and until fairly recently, common English use: Matthew Turner has just shown me its use in the London Times in 1935) and to say the least of it, mildly bigoted.
Posted by: James Hamilton | Saturday, January 13, 2007 at 07:27 PM