LVG should Zend his stars for a knees-up
FOUR of us from the most successful side in Tottenham’s history were able to pay our respects to our old team-mate Ron Henry at his funeral on Wednesday.
And what was incredible was that the camaraderie we built up back in the ’60s still endures today.
I was with Peter Baker, Terry Dyson and Cliff Jones, who all played in the Double-winning side with Ron. Pat Jennings, Phil Beal and Johnny Pratt, who joined the team a little later, were also there.
Like many funerals, it was sad and joyous at the same time. And, of course, it was great to see the lads – Big Pat hugging you with his big hands and Jonesey, who gave the eulogy, spoke very well.
What’s great when we catch up these days, whatever the occasion, is that the feeling you get when you see each other is one of great warmth and well-being.
It’s a spiritual feeling, I suppose, but one which was brought about by practical means.
I was thinking about it on the way home and how we built that camaraderie between us, and the different methods used to reach the same goal these days.
I’d read a day earlier that Manchester United manager Louis van Gaal is bringing in a Zen master to work with his players – you what? – and I have to say I can’t imagine how that would have gone down all those years ago.
Apparently, Wayne Rooney and Co will be taught meditation skills to help them deal with the emotional and mental sides of the game – which is a bit different to what we used to do.
Ted Drake used to take the Chelsea lads down to Broadstairs for a couple of days, get us in the hotel, on the golf course, we’d have a good knees-up and sort out the little differences which might have festered over half a season.
It was the same at Spurs – we ironed things out between us more often than not without even the manager being there – and certainly without a Zen master.
Players come from all over the world these days, from different cultures. They speak different languages, have different beliefs, whereas our sides were mostly English, Welsh, Scots and Irish lads.
By and large, we shared the same principles and passions, so it was probably a bit easier to bring people together back then.
But, still, those trips to Broadstairs worked wonders and everyone came away knowing where they stood. In a way, I blame The Beatles for all of this spirituality.
As far as I know, the Maharishi was a banjo player in Camden High Street until John, Paul, George and Ringo made his acquaintance, but when they started trying to discover their spiritual awareness so did everyone else.
It’s something that has been creeping into sport for some time, but I still don’t know why.
I mean, how many psychiatrists and profilers were on England’s plane to Brazil last summer, because they did well, didn’t they?
As far as I can tell everything is practical, not spiritual, you just have to work things out, and the only person who can really help someone is themselves.
I suffered from alcoholism and I’ve met enough shrinks in my time to realise that, actually, I’m probably quite a sane bloke.
I had one quack confiding in me that he had a drink problem and even though I ended up advising him he still took his fee.
I digress. What seems to be happening nowadays is that sport is trying to kid itself a little bit, it’s trying too hard and thinking about things that don’t exist.
It’s trying too hard to be perfect, which is daft because it never will be. If it was, it would be boring. And where would the spirit be then?
I suffered from alcoholism and I’ve met enough shrinks in my time to realise that I’m quite a sane bloke
Jimmy Greaves was talking to Sunday People Sport’s Tom Hopkinson