There’s a certain sort of chap who, when he hears you mention football, gets all earnest and starts talking about flat back fours. You try to stop him, attempting to steer the conversation away from tedious tactics and back on to the important stuff, such as the fact that there’s only one team in the top four English divisions whose name, when spelled in capital letters, contains no curves. He’ll look confused, disorientated, maybe even a little bit angry. Either he’ll persist with his talk of formations, or walk away completely.
The correct reaction, of course, is to say: ‘Really? That’s brilliant. Let me try to work it out.’ This is when you know you’ve found a kindred spirit: an unmanly man. We’re the sort who often like ‘manly’ things, but for unmanly reasons. We know that football is about the fun stuff, the humour, the personal stories. That’s what life is about, and just because a topic has ‘male’ connotations, it doesn’t mean the rule doesn’t apply. I know little, and care even less, about the respective merits of a false nine and a true centre forward, but I get hugely excited by the story of Paul Gascoigne and the marching band. During the warm-ups for England games at Wembley, Gazza would try to hit the band with shots from distance. He bagged the bass drum a couple of times, but his dream – sadly never realised – was to get the ball into the tuba. This is a perfect piece of trivia: funny in itself, but also a poignant metaphor for Gascoigne’s entire existence. (If you’re still going with the ‘capital letters’ thing, by the way, it’s a London team.)
Women’s reactions can be even worse. You’ll mention a manly topic – cars, say – and she’ll assume you’re about to deliver a lecture on torque and miles per gallon. She’ll assume, in other words, that you’re a bore. But actually I don’t understand, or want to understand, any of that nonsense. And I don’t want the woman thinking I do. I love things like the Bentley badge, which although it looks symmetrical actually has ten feathers on the left and 11 on the right, to foil would-be counterfeiters. Or the reason for the name Volvo: the company originally made ball bearings (the word is Latin for ‘I roll’). If the woman realises this is what you’re all about, good news – she’ll be interested in talking to you. But if she latches on to the initial mistaken assumption, you might as well give up. (Still stuck? The team aren’t in the Premier League.)
Probably the biggest discrepancy between cliché and reality comes with the Apollo moon programme. I happen to think this is the most incredible thing mankind has ever done. But not because of G-forces or payloads or rocket thrust. All that stuff can stay where it belongs, in Dr Freud’s in-tray. No, the reason Apollo moves me so much is that it’s packed with metaphors for the human condition. All the astronauts said that what they found most powerful about going to the moon was looking back at Earth. It’s like T.S. Eliot in the Four Quartets: ‘We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.’
I know little, and care even less, about the respective merits of a false nine and a true centre forward, but I get hugely excited by the story of Paul Gascoigne and the marching band
Similarly there’s a point in the documentary In the Shadow of the Moon that always has me in tears, the bit where they’re talking about the second stage firing during the launch sequence. This is after they’ve taken off, when another rocket fires to give them a further boost. To me this symbolises a child leaving home – it’s learned to walk, now it’s off to discover things for itself. Leaving home is something I once did, something my son will eventually do, and that footage of the second stage always makes me think of those moments. Try to explain that to a manly man and his eyes will glaze over. Mention it to a kindred spirit, be they male or female, and you’re set for the evening.
It’s this attitude that explains why my favourite moonwalker is Alan Bean. He was on Apollo 12, the one after Neil and Buzz, and happy to have therefore escaped the limelight. I was lucky enough to interview Bean for The Spectator on his 80th birthday in 2012, and his comments were typically profound. On the power of determination, for instance. Analysing what causes success, he said: ‘You don’t want it to be talent, because then you’re stuck. You say, I’m 6ft 4in but I’ve always wanted to be 6ft 8in – well, then you’re screwed. I wanted always to be something you can accomplish with determination and persistence.’ And he made it – he got to the moon. Knowing that his achievement had earned him a gold Nasa badge, he left his silver one on the lunar surface, where it remains to this day. (OK – final clue on the football team – it’s a single-word name.)
Finding a fellow unmanly man, or a woman who appreciates unmanly men, is one of life’s joys. It leads to wonderfully enlightening and spirit-lifting conversations. It’s just that along the way you have to encounter the opposite. And then find a way of escaping from all the talk about spanners.
Finally – if you haven’t got the team yet – it’s Millwall.
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