Read Online Always Managing: My Autobiography by Harry Redknapp - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harry Redknapp
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Channon, Alan Ball, all whooping it up in the champagne bar. I sat having a cup of tea with George, out of the way. That was what he was like. He didn’t like being the centre of attention.
There is a long country lane, about three miles, as you drive away from Salisbury and, when the racing was over, we passed two punters walking along it, looking a bit down on their luck. ‘Pull over,’ said George. ‘Look at them. That could be you and me, Harry, couldn’t it? We should give them a lift.’ George wound down the window. ‘You all right, lads? Come on, get in.’ They jumped in the back, took one look at George and couldn’t believe it. They were both football fans, both had done their money, and now they were getting a lift with George Best. By pure coincidence one even lived in Bournemouth, so we ended up taking both of them all the way home. George chatted to them all the way. They couldn’t believe what was happening; they hung on his every word. After they got out, George watched them go. ‘There but for the grace of God, eh Harry?’ he said. People used to get him wrong. Take his genius with a football away and he was the most down to earth guy you could meet. It was his talent that set him apart. He was a flash footballer, not a flash character.
Bobby was a brilliant player, but he was a defender. George was a forward and the best of all time for me. I’ve never seen anyone in this country who had his skill with a football. I remember inone of his first seasons, Manchester United beat us 6–1 at Upton Park and he was just unstoppable. There used to be a Salvation Army band that played on the pitch before games at West Ham, and they stood in the same spot, out by the wing, every week. A few months into the season that patch was a quagmire. No grass, just thick mud. It used to drive me mad trying to play through it, but George never had a problem. He would glide over it and do things with the ball that were just incredible. When he went past people, there was nobody in his class. I remember Ron Harris of Chelsea would try to snap him in half every time they played: he would hit him from the side and how George rode those tackles I just don’t know. I think he was just so determined to get the last word as a player. He loved scoring against Chelsea, loved getting one over on Ron.
I think they were our first football superstars, Bobby and George, and that had an effect on both of them. Players are used to it now. Every match is on TV all around the world and everyone in football is used to being recognised – stand still for five minutes and a string of people come up to you. It must have been hard for Bobby and George, because celebrity was so new. They wanted to go to the places we had always gone – to the Black Lion in Plaistow or down the road to the local – and that made it difficult. These days, the smart players go to exclusive places where they won’t be bothered. They might be drinking £300 bottles of champagne but they are kept apart. They wouldn’t be seen dead in an old fashioned boozer like the Blind Beggar in Whitechapel. I know the image they had, but I never thought of George or Bobby as West End people, really. I think Kenny Lynch was as near as Bobby ever got to having a showbiz mate. Maybe it was because Bobby stillhung around with his mates from the East End that he never fitted in once he stopped playing.
If I try to piece together why the people at the top in football seemed to reject Bobby, I can only think that it was his reputation for liking a night out that played its part. Ron Greenwood was manager throughout his time at West Ham, but he didn’t involve Bobby after his retirement as a player, not even when he went on to manage England. I don’t think Ron approved of Bobby’s lifestyle, really, the drinking culture that existed in football in those days. He knew Bobby was part of the little group that would be in the Black Lion by 5.30 p.m. after home games, and that
There is a long country lane, about three miles, as you drive away from Salisbury and, when the racing was over, we passed two punters walking along it, looking a bit down on their luck. ‘Pull over,’ said George. ‘Look at them. That could be you and me, Harry, couldn’t it? We should give them a lift.’ George wound down the window. ‘You all right, lads? Come on, get in.’ They jumped in the back, took one look at George and couldn’t believe it. They were both football fans, both had done their money, and now they were getting a lift with George Best. By pure coincidence one even lived in Bournemouth, so we ended up taking both of them all the way home. George chatted to them all the way. They couldn’t believe what was happening; they hung on his every word. After they got out, George watched them go. ‘There but for the grace of God, eh Harry?’ he said. People used to get him wrong. Take his genius with a football away and he was the most down to earth guy you could meet. It was his talent that set him apart. He was a flash footballer, not a flash character.
Bobby was a brilliant player, but he was a defender. George was a forward and the best of all time for me. I’ve never seen anyone in this country who had his skill with a football. I remember inone of his first seasons, Manchester United beat us 6–1 at Upton Park and he was just unstoppable. There used to be a Salvation Army band that played on the pitch before games at West Ham, and they stood in the same spot, out by the wing, every week. A few months into the season that patch was a quagmire. No grass, just thick mud. It used to drive me mad trying to play through it, but George never had a problem. He would glide over it and do things with the ball that were just incredible. When he went past people, there was nobody in his class. I remember Ron Harris of Chelsea would try to snap him in half every time they played: he would hit him from the side and how George rode those tackles I just don’t know. I think he was just so determined to get the last word as a player. He loved scoring against Chelsea, loved getting one over on Ron.
I think they were our first football superstars, Bobby and George, and that had an effect on both of them. Players are used to it now. Every match is on TV all around the world and everyone in football is used to being recognised – stand still for five minutes and a string of people come up to you. It must have been hard for Bobby and George, because celebrity was so new. They wanted to go to the places we had always gone – to the Black Lion in Plaistow or down the road to the local – and that made it difficult. These days, the smart players go to exclusive places where they won’t be bothered. They might be drinking £300 bottles of champagne but they are kept apart. They wouldn’t be seen dead in an old fashioned boozer like the Blind Beggar in Whitechapel. I know the image they had, but I never thought of George or Bobby as West End people, really. I think Kenny Lynch was as near as Bobby ever got to having a showbiz mate. Maybe it was because Bobby stillhung around with his mates from the East End that he never fitted in once he stopped playing.
If I try to piece together why the people at the top in football seemed to reject Bobby, I can only think that it was his reputation for liking a night out that played its part. Ron Greenwood was manager throughout his time at West Ham, but he didn’t involve Bobby after his retirement as a player, not even when he went on to manage England. I don’t think Ron approved of Bobby’s lifestyle, really, the drinking culture that existed in football in those days. He knew Bobby was part of the little group that would be in the Black Lion by 5.30 p.m. after home games, and that
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