Is He Brain Dead? No, He’s A Footballer
by Ian R Thorpe
2007-09-19
CREATIVE COMMONS: Attribute, non commercial, no derivs.
KEYWORDS: sport, celebrity, television, book, humour, humor
Though this story does not directly concern him, it’s been nice to see fellow Guardian reader Graham Le Saux plugging his book this week. On being asked by one interviewer how much his career had been affected by his being branded a “poof” by team mates and opponents for his love of literature and theatre and his refined tastes in news media, Le Saux replied that he had not so much chosen the wrong career as the wrong paper.
Was that any reason for the legendarily thick Robbie Fowler to try to provoke Le Saux by bending and spreading the cheeks of his arse in front of the other player. You notice a marked difference in the level of wit here.
Graham Le Saux is no more gay than he is thick. But one must wonder about the arse –baring, macho – posturing, gang – banging stereotypes of the game. Given the homoerotic nature of team sports we would think they ought to be smart enough to go easy on the bonhomie in the showers. But football is a profession in which stupidity is regarded as a state to be aspired to.
Which brings us nicely to the story of the thickest footballer in the history of everything, ever. Stephen Ireland was selected to play for Northern Ireland against Czech Republic. Now maybe he was confused by the fact that he is called Ireland and was due to play for Ireland but for some reason he did not fancy the game.
So Stephen put his outsized intellect to work and came up with a brilliant get out. He would tell them his Granny had died. Said Granny was a tad pissed off when she read in the paper that she was dead. For obvious reasons one does not expect to be around to read of one’s own death.
“I’m not dead, he’s telling porkies, he’s a naughty boy,” she said in a press release, “I had a bit of a cold but it’s better now.”
Without breaking his stride Stephen slipped this one. He’d made a mistake, he told reporters, it was his other Granny who had dies and as he had never liked her much, if he had not been confused he would have been willing to play.
Stephen’s other granny was more than a tad pissed off, no
t only was she not dead but she had learned, along with the rest of her community, that the Grandson she had doted on had “never liked her much.”
A much more intelligent Irishman, Oscar Wilde, might have remarked at this juncture, “To lose one Granny is unfortunate, to lose two, especially when they are both at home, begins to look like something only a footballer could come up with.
Young Stephen was not finished however. By this time he was either totally confused or desperate not to play for Ireland ever again because he said “Silly me, it was my Grandad’s partner who died,” or words to that effect.
Grandad’s partner was not dead. Grandad said Stephen would be if he ever showed his face round there again.
Traditional football-manager-philosophy has it that the game is not over until the final whistle blows. Had our hero ignored this and heeded the street – philosophy that goes, “when you can’t see out of the hole you’re in, stop digging,” he might have saved some dignity.
In a last bid to force a draw in stoppage time Stephen came up with the excuse that he had lied because his girlfriend had just had a miscarriage and needed his support and he wanted to shield her from the media.
It would have been the prefect excuse had the girlfriend popped up and confirmed the story. Unfortunately neither team – mates, friends nor undead Grannies have ever heard of any girlfriend let alone a pregnant one.
We predict Stephen will be greeted with chants of “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” from the terraces. Who knows, this may even attract the attention of Robbie Fowler who has been looking out for another player who had the hots since Graham Le Saux knocked him back.
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