Touched by genius
WINNING the 1966 World Cup made Sir Alf Ramsey the most famous manager in English football history. It also brought him to his knees, broke his heart, his spirit and then his mind.
Despite leading and inspiring England to such glory, Ramsey never received official recognition for what he achieved.
It was as if the Football Association of those years resented him, and cruelly refused to recognise his triumph by having a replica winners’ medal specially cast for him.
It would have cost them little more than £200, but despite various campaigns to acknowledge what he had done for England, Ramsey remained bitterly disappointed until his death.
The final against West Germany, which England won 4-2 after extratime, confirmed Ramsey’s greatness as a manager, tactician and leader of men.
But in those distant days there were no substitutes, only 11 medals were awarded. In later years, the FA relented and the reserves received their just deserts. But not Ramsey.
“I would have thought it possible the Football Association could do something for me – after all it was a marvellous occasion for the country,” he once told me.
“What moved me most about winning was the joy it brought to people, and that spread throughout the game in this country.”
But the FA remained implacably opposed to any suggestion of a special medal. There were those who disliked Ramsey, a man who did not suffer fools gladly, and there were plenty of those he dealt with.
As Ramsey grew older and England’s achievement came into sharper focus, so the refusal to acknowledge his greatest day began to eat away at him. He became withdrawn, angry, refusing official invitations to Wembley, cutting himself off from those for whom he felt such contempt.
His salary as England manager was only around £10,000 a year. But for Ramsey a winner’s medal was worth its weight in gold. Further snubs followed. He was sacked in 1974 and never asked to work with his beloved England again. That left him as close to tears as I have ever seen him.
There were dark forces at work. The FA wanted him out because he had refused to go along with the sponsorship of the England shirt. The very thought of it appalled him, even though it would have been a sizeable commercial deal.
In those days it was a white jersey with the three lions on the breast. Blue shorts, white socks. It was understated and classic. Having treasured it as a player he now revered it on his own team.
So the FA used a World Cup qualifying failure to bring in a manager more compliant about the commercial world. Soon the shirt was adorned with red and blue stripes and logos. The final insult came before the 1996 European Championship. The plan was for the heroes of 30 years earlier to be paraded before the Wembley opener and Alf to walk out and join them.
He would only do it if I would accompany him on to the pitch. His memory had started to go, he would have to be told who he was meeting. That was to be my job, and Alf looked forward to meeting his players once more. The FA refused, denying a man clearly unwell one final moment with the team he so loved. It left him bewildered.
It is true Alf could be rude, abrupt and unhelpful, but he also had a compassionate side few ever saw. Once, trying to explain the problems I faced when as a young man my local team Charlton were showing interest, I had nobody to turn to for advice. My father was too eaten up with cancer to take much interest.
I explained to Alf that much of my early life was about working things out for myself, making my own decisions. Alf was appalled. “In future if you need somebody to turn to, you must come to me. I’ll be your father,” he said.
I did make one more attempt at trying to persuade the FA to honour Ramsey. The newspaper I then worked for had a large medal struck for Alf inscribed with the words ‘From a grateful Nation’.
I flew out to America where Alf was on holiday to present it to him, plus a large cheque from a fund set up generously by the editor. Alf was by then in the twilight world of dementia. He was charmingly gracious, but the look in his dark eyes was that of a man at the end of his tether. Saddened, crushed. It was too late, his memory was gone, and he died soon after.
A fine man had not been treated with the respect he deserved. At his Ipswich funeral there were only a few minor FA councillors. Not until Wembley was rebuilt was a bronze head and shoulder bust of Alf installed at the stadium. But a medal? That was never
forthcoming.
Kenneth Wolstenhome commentated for the BBC, while Hugh Johns was the ITV commentator. Wolstenholme felt aggrieved in later life when the BBC used his ‘They Think It’s All Over’ line as the title of a quiz show.
The attendance was 96,924 with the cheapest tickets available for just 10 shillings (50p). It was only in 2009, after a petition to award Jimmy Greaves a World Cup medal, that all the England squad were awarded a World Cup winners’ medal. Goalkeeper Gordon Banks (left) did not start wearing gloves until the 1970 World Cup in Mexico. He used to chew gum and then spit on his hands, a tip he was given by Bert Trautmann.
After the Jules Rimet trophy was stolen in the build up to the World Cup, FA officials paid for a replica to be made and it was this trophy that the players paraded around the pitch.
Players’ wives were barred from the after-match reception for the winners, which took place at the Royal Garden hotel, with the West German players and the losing semi-finalists.