A football shirt should not make us see red
People are getting very cross about a cross. In case you missed it: the world of football fashion has created a heated debate which has reached the level where no political interviewee can last more than 60 seconds without being asked about it. The St George’s Cross on the back of the collar of the new England kit (inset) is half red, and half navy, purple and light blue. Nike said it was a “playful update”. I listened to a few radio station phone-ins about it yesterday and the words “disgrace” and “woke” were used. One man claimed that this was “everything that was wrong with this country”. The Prime Minister said “don’t mess” with the England flag and Sir Keir Starmer encouraged Nike to “change it back”.
Shirt-based fury is nothing new – football fans have been getting angry over kit changes for years. But this seems a little more deeprooted than arguments about the badge being too big, too small, on the wrong part of the shirt or the colour being the wrong shade – or fury over the style of the collar. The FA top brass had to defend their decision yesterday, saying they understood what the flag “means to our fans” and reiterating that it would be “displayed prominently at Wembley” when England play Brazil this weekend – in the new kit.
It is easy to understand why, particularly in today’s climate, this has become such a significant issue. You get the feeling that somebody, somewhere, should have spotted that and intercepted the fireball. I really like the look of the new kit, but I am easily pleased. The 1980s were a rich decade for shirts, with the stand-out being the one from the end of the decade which had – would you believe it
Fans with the new England kit at Wembley yesterday
– a popper on it. That was the one Terry Butcher famously covered in blood.
I have fond memories of the Euro 96 belter with the central badge – apart from the grey monstrosity we wore against Germany – and the shirt with the red stripe down the front
which David Beckham modelled when he swept in the free-kick against Greece in the World Cup qualifier in 2001.
I have quite a collection of Italian shirts from the 90s, but I slightly regret telling Clarence Seedorf about my mild AC Milan obsession when we worked together on the World Cup in Brazil in 2014. I think he thought I was a little odd.
A football shirt was also central to perhaps the most embarrassing moment of my career. A few years ago, I interviewed Pelé in Manchester. He is the only person I have ever asked to sign a shirt.
I took a famous yellow Brazil top with me and asked the big man to scribble on it. The shirt came in a really cool leather
New York Cosmos bag and, as I turned back from putting the shirt behind me, Pelé was also signing the bag. For some reason I still can’t explain, I said: “Not the bag, Pelé.” Smiling, he said: “No one has ever asked me not to sign something before.” I now have a bag with a “PE” on it – which is handy because I use it for gym. Shirts are meant to be about memories. They tie us to occasions. They are stained with triumph and disaster and drenched in moments of high drama. The last thing they should do is make us angry.