Every one’s a WINNER
BUT SERIOUSLY by John McEnroe (W&N £20) The follow-up volume to 2002’s best- selling Serious, and every bit as entertaining. Mcenroe is just as brash and as opinionated as you might expect, but he has a saving grace: behind all the bluster, he seems to be a genuinely nice bloke.
I have read enough sporting autobiographies over the years that shimmer with self-regard, but given he’s been extremely rich and world-famous since his teens, Mcenroe’s humility seems genuine and his sense of humour rarely leaves him.
The solidity of his relationship with singer Patty Smyth — 23 years and counting — is clearly vital. Patty herself is a fiery woman, and one wouldn’t want to be in the same postcode when they have an argument. You can’t help wondering: which of them drives, and which map-reads? And can I ride in a different car, please? A CLEAR BLUE SKY by Jonny Bairstow & Duncan Hamilton (HarperCollins £20) The problem with almost all autobiographies of young sportsmen is that they have barely lived any sort of life yet, and so have very little to write about. But Jonny Bairstow is an exception.
The england wicketkeeper is the son of another england wicketkeeper, David, who committed suicide in 1998, when Jonny was eight. To say that this has affected his life since would be a grievous understatement.
There’s something else that makes this book rather special: its ghostwriter. Duncan hamilton is as skilful a writer as cricket currently has to offer, and this book is a curious amalgam of two styles: the young, callow player and the middle-aged wordsmith, who actually saw the elder Bairstow play in his prime.
hamilton has got Bairstow to talk about his father’s death in a way that ordinary ghostwriters simply would not. It’s an exceptional book in every way. ALI: A LIFE by Jonathan Eig (Simon & Schuster £25) A MonuMenTAl, thigh-crushing biography of the great fighter which is just full of extraordinary facts.
Ali’s trainer Angelo Dundee was an FBI informant. his second and third wives talk about living in something like a harem, where they were expected to put up with Ali’s numerous mistresses. Ali’s speech slowed by 26 per cent between the ages of 30 and 40, a time when speech shouldn’t slow at all. he began showing signs of cognitive damage much earlier than was previously realthan ised. But then he was punched more than 200,000 times in his career. Indeed, he was struck more by his opponents than they were struck by him.
he kept fighting because he needed the money, having blown tens of millions of dollars on divorces, paternity cases and bad business deals.
But at his peak he was glorious. ‘A fighter with an unmatched combination of speed, power and stamina, with a freakish ability to absorb punishment and remain standing.’
There are few tales more cautionary than this. QUIET GENIUS by Ian Herbert (Bloomsbury £20) Alex FerguSon won 28 trophies in 27 years. Brian Clough won 11 in 18 years. Bob Paisley, manager of liverpool in their golden age of the late Seventies and early eighties, won 14 in nine years.
Why isn’t he up there in the pantheon? Because he was a quiet man, says Ian herbert; an introvert who saw no need to showboat and was happy to let his players take the strain of the publicity. Paisley wasn’t much interested in tactics; he believed in getting the right players and giving them the freedom to do what they wanted. Sounds simple. So why hasn’t anyone else managed it in the 20 years since he died? SAY GOODNIGHT, JV by John Virgo (John Blake £18.99) WhY do we watch snooker? Because, more than any televised sport other possibly golf, the mental battles these players fight, day in, day out, are etched on their faces for all of us to see.
John Virgo wasn’t quite of the top rank as a player, but his wit and intelligence made him many fans, and his post-retirement career in broadcasting came as no surprise to anyone.
This autobiography is a terrific read, ranging well beyond the sport that gave him his livelihood, and imbued with great humour and an unabashed fondness for the world of snooker.
Which turns out to be exactly what we all hoped it would be: a surprisingly small world where, just occasionally, lifelong friendships are formed, all based on the shared love of a game that is, fundamentally, ridiculous. IN HIS OWN WORDS by Graham Taylor (Peloton £19.99) When graham Taylor died suddenly in January aged 72, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one surprised by the groundswell of affection and respect for Watford’s old manager. In the days and weeks afterwards, it emerged that Taylor was that rarity in sport: a genuinely kind, thoughtful man everyone loved.
This memoir is especially poignant as he thought he’d be alive when it came out, but it’s a superb book in any case. It helps that he has a brilliant story to tell, and as it is written in his own prose and not by a ghost writer, it doesn’t have that journalistic, manufactured feel we’re all so wearily used to.
So it rambles in places, but it also grips like a vice. Taylor’s early managerial career is enthralling, and although he later came a cropper as england manager, so has everyone else over the past 50 years.
But it’s the clarity of thought and expression I really liked. he recognises that you can never truly ‘ crack’ football, but that shouldn’t stop you having a go. What better philosophy of life is there than that?