You may well think, maybe, what on
earth is Hego doing reading, never mind reviewing, this book? Well the answer is quite
simple. My mother, bless her cotton socks, bought me this blessed tome for Christmas, well
before Waddler became a pariah. By the time I had read same, and got down to scribbling a
few notes for a review for the mag, the Waddler had become a non person in the Claret
annals. Until the last AGM, I had forgotten all about this little gem all together, until
Barry Kilby tried deliberately to lose the raffle. No matter how many times he drew the
tickets out of the bag, the paperback version of this spectacular monument to Burnley FC
history lured itself to our illustrious Chairman Barry. Given therefore the palpable close
relationship of our Chairman to the Waddler, a fact of which BK was previously unaware,
thought I would resurrect my notes, as I particularly like the cut of BK’s jib.
Strangely for a soccer biography, the book is actually quite well
written. Relatively. Surprisingly, given Stein’s close relationship to the great
vileness, the book throws up many interesting (?) insights into his character, warts and
all, of which Frank Teasdale, and indeed the rest of us, were unaware. On second reading,
about as powerful as the Time Bomb Korma from the local Gadhaffi takeaway, particularly
the latest addition on his time at the Turf. Not my fault, honest, was the cry from the
managerial seat!
There is no doubt at all that Waddler has been football mad all his
life to the exclusion of all else, including an elementary education. Even the easy
sections of the infamous Garden Gnome colouring book were a mystery to the pebble dashed
mind. Unusual for a footballer, what! Early failures at Coventry, Su'lan' (oh dear) and
Newcastle (oh deary me) did not deter him from success as a player leading to the pinnacle
of his career at the Turf.
The following points which I have picked out of the text in no
particular order, seem obvious to us all now, but are all the more interesting for having
been written by his friend and agent, before he came to rest at the Turf.
Shy, distant character, introspective, suspicion of strangers,
inability to make friends with any ease: ideal man management material obviously. The
Richard Burton of Soccer.
Hard core of very close tried and tested friends from the early
days including the inevitable Gascoigne, Cowans, and of course the even greater vileness
Roeder, confidant and chief leg waxer of the Waddler. Note Keith Mullen, and not the
detested Howey, was actually his best man.
Finally my favourite, and one of the things I will always remember
him for, "The fans were chanting abuse, but I’m not the sort of person who
reacts to that!"
All sounds pretty familiar, doesn’t it?
Inevitably one of his best ever goals was against us in 1982 for
Newcastle in a 3-0 win at St. James’ Park. Beat the mighty Alan Stevenson from 35
yards, which is some feat in itself. Also particularly like the quote, "There’s
an enormous similarity between the worlds of pop music and football." This from the
man who duetted with the equally detestable Eileen Drewery poodle in ‘Diamond
Lights’.
The only slightly surprising bits were his admiration as a
footballer of Terry Hibbit (?) and Clive Allen, the latter during his 49 goal season at
White Hart Lane, and his war of words with David Pleat of all people.
Well, there we have it, warts and all. Feel I have been pretty
reasonable to the man and his book, although can’t think why. If you want to read it,
however, suggest borrowing from myself or Barry Kilby (if he hasn’t thrown it away
already), to avoid contributing to the Waddler’s coffers.
