It is one of the joys of sport that friendships forged in changing rooms and on playing fields can be immediately rekindled decades later. Conversation flows like a tap turned back on. My old Westminster School team celebrated an anniversary recently. Players flew in from Dallas, Miami and Tallinn or tubed it from Hampstead and Wimbledon. We had a team photo taken in front of the altar in Westminster Abbey (after asking some tourists politely to move). We had a tour of the school, admired the investment in science and arts blocks and especially in the restored and extended pavilion fronting the pitches behind Tate Britain. Standing on our old field, we reminisced about our defender who refused to head the ball and our striker who kept disappearing north to watch Leeds United and returning on a night train to be in Abbey for assembly first thing.
Talking of trips down memory lane, quite a few football clubs host sessions to help those with dementia by screening footage of old games. It’s very moving to watch empty eyes fill with life when recognising favourite players. Tottenham Hotspur send first-teamers to a nursing home in Enfield with photos of club legends. Many of those struggling to recall their children’s names instantly remember Jimmy Greaves. It’s a football-wide initiative the government should consider rolling out nationwide.
Jack Grealish is such a likeable character that I hope he succeeds in relaunching his career at Everton on loan from Manchester City. He once excitedly told me that he loves Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and watches it four or five times every Christmas. He’s done the Home Alone tour, booked into the Plaza, and even had a go at the 16 ice cream scoops ordered from room service by Macaulay Culkin in the film.
Grealish is a good player at risk of being forgotten as an elite talent. Everton offers an opportunity and a great new stage. If he doesn’t seize it, Grealish will be left home alone as the England squad head out to New York and elsewhere in the United States for the World Cup next summer.
Revelling up: one of the many reasons to welcome back the Premier League this week. Promotion to the world’s most followed sports competition is rousing, both emotionally and economically, to cities such as Leeds and Sunderland and towns like Burnley. Local universities receive more applications; tourism and the hospitality sphere benefit hugely; not to mention the boost to civic pride. Few government schemes, cultural campaigns or tourism drives can rival the impact on a community of Premier League status.
It’s always a bit of a risk making predictions for the season, but here goes… players’ behaviour will improve for the first month; there will be protests over ticket prices, owners and kick-off times; more moaning and debate about VAR; Liverpool will win the title; Florian Wirtz will be Footballer of the Year; there will be more scrutiny over an increase in knee injuries; and all fans of all clubs will sincerely believe all officials, media and authorities are against them.
I grew up in a modern house in Highgate made of glass and steel that featured regularly in the colour supplements, was regularly used for advertising shoots and also regularly broken into. I miss the house. It was undeniably stunning and a happy family home, but I don’t miss that era of the late 1970s when crime in London was pervasive. I don’t miss being home alone when somebody tried to come through the front door with a sledgehammer. So I don’t buy this ‘London is Falling’ doomsday talk. The capital has its problems – phone-snatching, gangs, the drug trade and the threat to women walking home at night – but people seem to have short memories when it comes to this topic. Headlines don’t always reflect reality. It’s not the 1970s. London remains a great city for energy, culture, shopping, music and comedy clubs, pubs and restaurants, parks and, of course, sport, with such legendary venues as Wembley, Wimbledon and Lord’s. Those who think it has fallen should get out more.
Books have lead-in times to publication so long you can sometimes forget you’ve written them. I helped Duncan Ferguson, the ex-Scotland international footballer and ex-jailbird, with his autobiography. I sent the manuscript before Christmas, resumed other work, then six months later the book came out. Oh yes, I remember that, better check how it’s doing. A book about stray dogs beat it to the top spot in the Sunday Times bestseller list in the first week, before my forgotten hardback friend saw them off.
Henry Winter is a football writer and broadcaster.
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