Crouch on his way to becoming a national treasure
The affable veteran striker’s judgment of his public profile is proving as sure as his control, writes Alan Tyers
Roy Keane felt that Crouch, grinning in an Aston Martin, had ideas far beyond his station
In terms of current footballers you would not mind having a pint with, one man towers above all. That is Peter Crouch – and yes, as a member of the sportswriting profession, I would indeed have been immediately struck off had I not crowbarred in mention of his six foot seven-ness at the first opportunity.
Where many of his fellow players evoke feelings of jealousy, rage or simply dismay, Br’er Crouch, with his heart, humour, height and robot celebrations, is on his way to being a national treasure.
The big man is difficult to miss at the moment. He has recently released a most enjoyable autobiography, called How to be a Footballer. He is the star of a BBC podcast, titled with an appealing selfdeprecation “That Peter Crouch Podcast”. He has carved out an affable, amusing social media niche, assuming that such an elongated individual would fit in a niche (a gully? A fissure?). He even pops up occasionally to make observations about football, including a shrewd take on Gareth Southgate’s eyebrowraising long-term deal from the Football Association last week. He is surely only a tuxedo expedition to High and Mighty menswear away from the next Strictly Come Dancing, should he be keen to roll out his rumba.
His footballing career has been a curio, and then a pleasure, and now the highest shelves of British light entertainment and post-playing celebrity are his, should he wish to reach for them.
When Crouch the player was developing, like a shy but surprisingly effective sunflower, they always said the same thing: “Good touch for a big man.” This the old pros would mutter in suspicious wonderment, as if Crouch were from a different species of mammal, rather than simply being about 10 per cent taller than the average footballer. As he matures, his judgment of his public profile is as sure as his control.
Although only 37, the Crouch who emerges from the book and the podcast evokes vaguely old-fashioned qualities: appreciative of his fortune, hard-working, eager to do his bit and make the best of himself.
He has the ability to tell an anecdote against himself, for instance when relating that Prince Harry had asked him about his marriage to the beauty, Abbey Clancy: “Crouchie! How did you bag Abbey?”
Other highlights include a hapless early-career attempt to bond with Roy Keane over cars that ended with withering dismissal from “Furious Roy”, who felt Crouch, grinning smugly in an Aston Martin, had ideas far beyond his footballing station. Crouch was so mortified he sold the car the next day for a £25,000 loss.
While Crouch obviously enjoyed, and continues to enjoy, the luxury of a career in the Premier League era, his early days in the game seem more like Seventies football than the pampered, bling-laden snowflakes of today.
Meetings with Stan Ternent in a Little Chef off the M6; recovering from Gerry Francis’s brutal “Terror Tuesday” training with the whole QPR squad having all-day sessions in an Irish pub on the Uxbridge Road: there is a reassuring throwback quality to all this, evocative of the days when footballers were well-paid lads who enjoyed their success but remained recognisable humans rather than the cash-guzzling little monsters they are often portrayed as today.
Hopefully Crouch will continue to do his thing on the pitch for a while; then we can look forward to his appearances on the punditry sofa… or punditry chaise longue.