Bobby’s Books | Bobby FC Bobby’s Books Published by BBC Books – ISBN 978-1-84990-988-4 Reviewed by Richard DJJ Bowdery BBC Books have scored again. Following hard on the heels of ‘Match of the Day: 50 Years’, comes this latest trip down football’s memory lane. ‘Match of the Day 365’ is a compilation of iconic moments from the Premier League era, spanning its first 22 seasons. Written by MoTD commentator Steve Wilson, it’s a fascinating reminder of what we watched, read and talked about in the pubs and on the terraces. Set out in bite-size chunks, there is a story for each day of the year along with a paragraph or two on other notable events. Although there is some cross-over between the two books, it doesn’t diminish the attraction of this latest offering which provides a wealth of stories that fans of the ‘beautiful game’ will want to revisit again and again – and what memories they are. Who can forget?

• that cheeky shot from the halfway line which announced to the world a special footballing talent (17 August) • one keeper’s kick that was even longer but achieved the same result as it bounced into the net over the opposing keeper’s head (2 Nov) • the emotional Italian who pushed over a referee – the ref seemed to go down in stages (26 September) • a manager’s rant to the TV cameras as pressure mounted on his team’s push for the League title (29 April) • a European comeback by a team who were dead and, almost, buried at half-time (25 May) • the tears of a clown when a penalty shoot-out lost us the chance of glory – if only his legs were two inches longer (26 June) • a Kung-Fu kicking Frenchman who later talked of sardines and trawlers (25 January and 31 March). With this type of book there is bound be stories that didn’t make the cut – a debate you can have with your fellow fans. But the book does what it says on the cover.

And regardless of whether or not you agree with Steve Wilson’s choice of stories, you’d be hard pushed not to smile and even chuckle as you reminisce on an era that brought a fresh start for the English game. All in all it’s a book every fan, who lived through this new dawn, should own, and every future fan should be encouraged to buy: so they can read for themselves what makes the Premier League probably the most talked about league in the world. Published 3 September 2015. Published by Ebury Press. ISBN: 978-0-09191787-6 Harry Redknapp is one of those football managers who falls into the Marmite category – you either love him or hate him. There is one thing that is certain though; life has never been dull at any of the clubs he has managed over the past 30-odd years. Within the game Redknapp is highly respected and regarded as a far more astute tactician than those who have painted him merely as a wheeler – dealer wide-boy.

Above all though Redknapp believes that even though the role of a football manager has changed since he started at out as Bobby Moore’s assistant at Oxford City in the late Seventies many of the principles remain the same, with man management the key. Harry’s autobiography “Always Managing” is a jocular journey through his career which started as a young winger at West Ham in the Sixties. After his playing career fizzled out in the United Sates, Redknapp was jobless for a while and was working as a mini-cab driver. But after the strange period with Moore at Oxford, Redknapp got a break at Bournemouth, before emerging as a top level boss with West Ham, Portsmouth (twice) Southampton, Tottenham and QPR. Redknapp parted company with Rangers earlier this year when it was clear that the club lacked the squad to stay in the PL. He had led them back to the top flight having inherited an over bloated, over-paid squad when he succeeded Mark Hughes two years ago. One of the constant themes in the book is that ultimately, no matter how good a manager is, success can only be achieved when a club has enough quality players in it’s squad for the level they are playing at.

He suggests that had Jose Mourinho taken over QPR when he did then he would have been unlikely to keep them up either. Inevitably this book is laced with humour and some wonderful anecdotes. Redknapp also addresses the issue of the High Court Case over tax (he was cleared of all charges) and how that affected him getting the England job ahead of Roy Hodsgon. Redknapp concludes: “Football, like life, isn’t always about winning – the Premiership, the Champions League and the rest of it.” “For most of us, like life, it’s about staying afloat and doing the best with the hand you have got, looking to build something worthwhile, never giving in, and trying – amidst all this – not to forget to love every minute of it.” BB Rating: 9.5/10 The Second Half by Roy Keane with Roddy Doyle Published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson ISBN-13: 978-0297608882 It might seem an odd choice to have a novelist, dramatist and screenwriter as collaborator for a famous footballer’s memoirs.

It might seem even stranger given that the footballer in question is Roy Keane and his previous autobiography Keane: The Autobiography (published in 2002) was ghosted by ex-Millwall legend turned journalist Eamon Dunphy. But this different approach – and I’m sure it is completely different, though I must confess I never read Keane – works very well. In fact, as one might expect from a dramatist collaborator, the book reads more like dialogue than prose. It’s as if Keane is regaling his mates in one of Cork’s hostelries with stories of his life since the 2002 autobiography. The Second Half has much less of a hard edge about it than I had expected. Indeed Keane isn’t afraid to bare his soul as can be seen when he lets on how he’d cried in his car, after Manchester United said they were letting him go. It left a question hanging in the air: “Had United’s ‘enforcer’ gone soft?” Not a bit of it.

The crunching tackles came thick and fast as he laid bare his views on some of United’s coaching staff and former team mates, his punch up with Peter Schmeichel, and how he didn’t sign Robbie Savage because of a voice mail message. As you may expect there is quite a bit of swearing; but then you’re in a bar and the Guinness is flowing so what do you expect? If I have any criticism, it is that the book ends on a whimper, as if Roy just got off his stool, ambled towards the exit and disappeared into the night air without so much as a ‘see you soon lads.’ You’re left with a nagging feeling that more could have been said. The book would have been better for it. Although the legal eagles may well have insisted on sanitizing certain stories. But that is only a minor complaint. For the most part it doesn’t fail to deliver, it’s a good, illuminating read on the man and the football industry. You come away having viewed Roy Keane in a different light: much more of a human being and much less of an aggressive caricature.

And reading between the lines I’m sure I could detect the reasons why Roy Keane gave up his role at Aston Villa – though at the time the book was published he was still coaching at Villa as well as working with the Irish national team. I wait eagerly for ‘volume 3’ to see if my assumptions were correct. BB Rating: 8/10 Published by Yellow Jersey Press ISBN-13: 978-0224091725 To bastardize a Winston Churchill quote: Bobby Moore was a gentleman, wrapped in a facade inside an enigma. In other words he was a very private man. Brian Glanville, the doyen of football writers, knew Moore for nearly 40 years, but wasn’t sure he really knew him. Michael Parkinson, who made a career of getting beneath the surface of his interviewees, has said: “You loved him because he was so friendly but, when you stopped to think, you realized you knew bugger all about him.” Even in his darkest hour, stricken with terminal cancer at the young age of 51, he kept his illness secret, only making it public shortly before his death.

Credit, therefore, must go to journalist Matt Dickinson who, with this biography, has succeeded in peeling away the layers that surrounded the legend, to reveal a life that was by turns heroic and tragic. But in dealing with the life story of Bobby Moore, who has been called the ‘patron saint of English football’, the author could have veered towards sycophancy. Instead we are presented with an honest, even-handed assessment of Moore from what must have been hours and hours of research carried out among family, friends, other journalists and former teammates and colleagues from the world of football. As you would expect from such a renowned wordsmith the biography he crafts is both engaging and illuminating. For instance, were you aware that Moore suffered from testicular cancer in 1964? Or that as Southend manager he turned up to one match, drunk? Or that Elton John approached him about managing Watford? The book highlights Moore’s highs and lows in detail, from his receiving the World Cup from Her Majesty the Queen to his being ejected from Upton Park for not having a valid ticket.

In between we read about West Ham manager Ron Greenwood’s desire to build a team around ‘Mooro’; Moore’s business ventures which involved some shady characters; the arrest in Bogota prior to the 1970 World Cup Finals for allegedly stealing a bracelet; how Moore was snubbed by club and country after his retirement; his attempts at football management; the divorce from his childhood sweetheart; and how cancer finally took the life of this icon. BB Rating: 9/10 BOBBY’S Roy Dalley Gives His Take on ‘Bobby Moore: The Man in Full’ by Roy Dalley. One suspects if you dumped a fluffy white cat onto Matt Dickinson’s lap he would pass an audition for the next James Bond movie. He’s the journalist who emerged from the disgruntled press pack to apply the coup de grace to Glenn Hoddle’s tenure as England manager when his critique of Hoddle’s rather extreme interpretation of Karma was splashed on the front page of The Times. As if to prove he hasn’t mellowed, Dickinson stuck the boot into Brian Clough on the Times’ sports pages last month while almost everyone else paid nothing but tribute on the 10th anniversary of his passing.

And he as good as admits his forefinger was hovering above a metaphorical big red button as he sat down to research and write Bobby Moore The Man In Full. Dickinson writes in his Prologue: “He is held up as a man without blemish but could he really be that perfect? Could anyone? To me, the idyll seemed implausible. It wasn’t that I thought the eulogies were untrue; rather I could not believe they represented the whole truth. There is chaos and complexity in every life. Shit happens, even to saints.” Uh oh. Certainly it soon becomes apparent that Moore was blessed and cursed in equally monumental measures. Music folklore contains the legend of Robert Johnson, a blues guitarist and singer of modest repute, who only found his chops and success after selling his soul on a crossroads in the Mississippi Delta. It’s just as preposterous, of course, to suggest Moore found his own crossroads somewhere in the Thames Delta, yet there is no doubt his rise and fall contains all the chief ingredients required of a Hollywood film script. Moore was born into a world at war in an area a few miles east of London that was heavily bombed by the German Luftwaffe.

(Talk about trying to get your retaliation in first.) He was a chubby schoolboy who suffered from taunts of ‘Fatso’ from the back of the class, and the scouting report that earned him an apprenticeship at West Ham was hardly glowing: “Whilst he would not set the world alight, this boy certainly impressed me with his tenacity and industry.” But the planets seemed to align in Moore’s favour. First he was thrust into the orbit of one of the game’s most progressive and imaginative thinkers in senior pro Malcolm Allison. The random good fortune of geography meant he got lifts home from training from Big Mal, which doubled as confidence boosting exercises as Allison opened Moore’s eyes to new possibilities on the field of play. That luck was multiplied when Ron Greenwood arrived as manager and effectively changed the way the game was played in England to accommodate Moore in the first-team, parachuting him in as a second central defender in an era commonly deploying only one centre-half between two full-backs. The rest, as they say, is history… but Dickinson is quick to remind us that the brightest light produces the darkest shadow. Battles with cancer, Greenwood, the bottle, England manager Alf Ramsey, and even the Colombian Police, would follow.

Then there were arson attacks on no less than three of Moore’s business premises as he tried to rebuild his life after the game he served so well effectively washed its hands of him. Moore’s contemporaries queue up to offer their loving reminiscences and anecdotes, yet also speak of a private man seemingly cocooned by his thoughts and fears. Perhaps Moore really was fully aware of his destiny all along? He seemed lost in his thoughts on the couple of occasions I encountered the great man. The first time was after a midweek match at Brentford sometime in the very late 70’s or early 80’s, and although his star was inexplicably on the wane it felt incongrous to see him standing alone at the rear of the main stand, staring at nothing in particular. Coincidentally I was with Rob Shepherd, founder of Bobbyfc, who I had to cajole into going over to introduce ourselves, at that time a couple of teenage football-writing wannabes. Shep, I can reveal, is no shrinking violet (on another occasion we bumped into Little Richard while he was flogging his autobiography and Shep demanded: “Oi Little, Little!

Gissa book!”) but such was his awe, as a West Ham fan, he took some persuading. The last time I saw Moore was in the press room at QPR during the 92-93 season. It was an area about 20 feet square with a bar in the corner pumping out free pints of Guinness (QPR’s shirt sponsors at the time) and populated by about 20 journalists. Moore, as is the wont of all great footballers, had found space, though now it was in order to stand alone, leaning with his back against a wall, almost hiding under a cap with his collar turned up. His skin was yellow. I sat quietly and stole glances and wondered if I should ask if he’d like a cup of tea or something, yet his body language suggested, very politely, to Leave Me Alone. He was only weeks from making his final pass though we didn’t know it. But it was obvious something was seriously wrong and it was also heart breaking. Moore, as always, kept his woes to himself, but who can blame him for that having already given everything of himself to his country?

Like that famous image of Moore held aloft by his team-mates with the World Cup in his clutch, he remains the England captain head and shoulders above all other England captains. As Michael Caine pointed out: “It was the cometh the moment, cometh the man. It’s a bit like a messiah. You know, out of the gloom of the fifties… he just came, like a gleam of light.” (*Dickinson, thankfully, plays a blinder in what is I daresay a fair representation and portrayal. The book jacket informs of a £20 cover price though I got mine in a supermarket for just nine quid. Yet after reacquainting myself with Moore once again I can think of no good reason not to send the balance to the Bobby Moore Fund .) @RoyDalley Published by Taschen ISBN 978-3-8365-4797-0 For those who lived through the seventies, The Age of Innocence will evoke memories of an era when football seemed simpler, less aloof and less remote from the fans.

A time when, for instance, a West Ham fan could pop down to an East End pub and find Bobby Moore at the bar buying drinks for Harry Redknapp and Frank Lampard Snr. In short, a time when you could reach out and touch your heroes. This book beautifully captures that age and will appeal not only to those who witnessed it first-hand but also to those who love the game, its history and its flamboyance. It opens with introductory essays from four of football journalism’s top writers: • Brian Glanville who recalls the European Cup in the 70s • David Goldblatt who considers how the game become truly global during this time • Rob Hughes who looks at the World Cups played in that decade • Barney Ronay who considers this age of innocence. Then it allows the photographs to do the talking. And at over 300 hundred pages this weighty tome is full of them, reproduced in both colour, and black and white. What memories they evoke. Who can forget Pele and Bobby Moore embracing at the end of the Brazil versus England game during the 1970 World Cup?

Or Bobby Charlton leading out his Manchester United team mates in his 606th and final league game for the Red Devils, in 1973? Those moments in time are reproduced here in all their glory. There is even a picture of Jack Charlton having a crafty fag during training – a ritual that Bobby FC covered in its This Was the Week column. But the book doesn’t restrict itself to the English game. There are plenty of images from around the world of football including (and this is one of my favourites) a shot of Diego Maradona in 1977 with his head under a hair dryer fixing his perm, while reading a soccer magazine. Other football greats are captured through the lens of a camera including Eusébio, Franz Beckenbauer and Johan Cruyff, as well as great teams such as Holland, Italy and Argentina. Although many of the pictures feature players in the heat of battle, quite a few show the quieter, less intense side of football. For instance, there’s a picture of Helmut Schőn, West Germany’s World Cup winning coach, watering his garden a few weeks after his 1974 triumph.

Then there is perhaps the world’s greatest player, Pele, caught on camera during a TV interview with the legendary Johnny Carson on his The Tonight Show. There is even a very topical shot: the Russian army in the stands at Dynamo Kiev’s stadium during an international against France, held in what is now the Ukraine. It begs the question, what would happen to the players from the USSR if they lost? If I do take issue with this coffee-table book at all, it is where it’s billed the 70s as ‘footballs most beautiful era’. Yes there was some wonderful moments but it was also a time of cynical aggression on the pitch and violence off it. This ugly side of the game is not really shown in any depth, though, to be fair, it does include one or two representative pictures. My favourite element in the book is where the words and pictures gel so perfectly. The picture is of George Best and the words sum it up so wonderfully. Turn to page 79 and you’ll see George standing alongside a sleek sports car, outside his boutique shop.

Then flip (well perhaps not, it is a big book) to the back cover and you’ll read his quote: “I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered.” Magical. The book closes with a 1970s dream team selected by one of the contributors. I won’t spoil it for you by naming the eleven but I’m sure many may well disagree with the line-up. What I will say is that two British players are included. I defy anyone to question their inclusion. This is a publication you can turn to again and again and never tire of recalling those wonderful memories of a bygone age when football really did seem so much simpler, less aloof and less remote. BB rating 8/10 Today is Bobby Robson day. It is five years since Sir Robert died. The FA has established an annual tribute day to remember the great man and also support the Bobby Robson cancer trust. Read below the fine tribute his official biographer Paul Hayward wrote in 2009. And for the whole story we recommend you buy the book (ISBN 978034 082 23477).

Sir Bobby Robson: Brave Player, Great Coach… But Most of All a True Gent. by Paul Hayward, Sir Bobby Robson’s Official Biographer One word captures the people’s view of Sir Bobby Robson. He was easily and universally recognised as a gentleman, which was no small feat in a sport with an increasingly wonky moral compass. The two elder statesmen of our national game have been the two Sir Bobbys: Charlton for his achievements on the field and his ambassadorial aura, and Robson for his endless love of coaching and being around players. Sir Bobby Robson and his wife Elsie. Robson’s nirvana was a 7am alarm call and a cup of tea with his beloved wife Elsie followed by a long and intense session on the training pitch. The medical records are unavailable, but many suspect he was born in a tracksuit. He could be profound, fierce, angry, sad, insightful and entertaining in a single answer. Often he would illustrate his point by turning the kitchen into a training pitch.

With a fine comic sense and an actor’s gift for delivery, Bobby would set off on a tale about how, on foreign trips, he would write the name of the Ipswich team hotel on the shirt cuffs of chairman John Cobbold, who was partial to a wander and a drink. Then he would recall how the great Corinthian of the boardroom would tell him after a defeat: ‘Bobby, today it wasn’t our turn, but we’ve given the other team the pleasure of winning. That’s something.’ Robson would chuckle at that. The idea of losing charitably was anathema to him, because behind the avuncular exterior he was demonic in pursuit of success. Yet he also understood the value of civility and honour in an industry of careerists and carve-ups. One morning I arrived at his London home to find him frantically calling a local radio station and failing to get through. He said he had been ringing for almost an hour but had succeeded only in listening to countless bars of Mozart. ‘Why?’ was the obvious question.

It turned out that a stranger on a bike had stopped him in the street the day before and told him that if he (Sir Bobby) called the radio station and vouched for the celebrity sighting, a sum of money would go to charity while the cyclist would be eligible for a £1,000 prize draw. On the back of this chance collision with a stranger, Robson was quite willing to spend the whole morning trying to report the meeting so the charity would get its money and the young man would have a chance of scooping the pot. Bobby Robson playing for Fulham in 1953. Walking 100 yards with him would take an hour, because builders would come down from scaffolding and taxi drivers would halt to salute him. Sure, they admired his achievements on the football field, but the deeper attraction was his decency, his consideration for others. He had an ego like the rest of them. No manager could survive almost 40 years in the dugout without one. There was a hardness about him, too: a product, perhaps, of his early years below ground in the Durham coalfields. He could be severe with players or journalists who crossed him.

He also had a keen sense of his own market value. An initial offer of £400,000 a year in 1999 to manage Newcastle was rejected on the grounds that Alan Shearer was then earning around £3million. As the negotiations opened, Robson would not allow his love for the club to override his professional pride. Acquisitive though he was, he would never trample on others to reach the top, or forget that manners are one of the simplest and most lasting measures of a man. In one sense, his was a career of nearmisses. As a player he spent most of his 17 years among the rakes and rogues of Fulham: a fun-loving club where an injured player would be turfed off the treatment table to accommodate a team-mate’s greyhound who needed urgent physio for a race at the weekend. Robson guided England to the semi-finals of the World Cup With England, Robson was injured before the 1962 World Cup, which opened the door to a certain Bobby Moore, and looked back with anguish at his narrow failure to make the victorious 1966 squad. His 20 caps were no consolation as Moore lifted the trophy.

Robson said: ‘I confess I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I was in the top division with Fulham. I felt I could handle anyone. I could have played that day in 1966.’ As England manager he survived eight years and was denied a World Cup final appearance by a penalty shootout in the semi-finals of Italia 90. In 1986 in Mexico, he preferred to ascribe Diego Maradona’s infamous goal to the ‘hand of a rascal’. But after tolerating vicious personal abuse with characteristic grace, he left the England job as the country’s most successful manager since Sir Alf Ramsey, by virtue of that World Cup semi-final. The pattern was repeated in large parts of his managerial career. At Ipswich, where he worked miracles in a sleepy Suffolk town, he won the UEFA and FA Cups but missed out several times on the English league championship. At Portman Road, he was the unofficial lord of Suffolk, running the club from top to bottom while the Cobbolds sipped their gins and tonic and upheld sporting values from a vanished age.

He won league titles in Holland and Portugal, but finished second with Barcelona in his only year at the Nou Camp (1996-97). Typically, though, he assembled a Barca side who scored 137 times and won two cups. Another of Robson’s enduring legacies is his devotion to adventurous, attacking football. Robson lifts the UEFA Cup For him, football had a duty to excite. His teams expressed his character: energetic, fun, indefatigable. He was too proud to admit it publicly, but his time at Newcastle United scarred him to his bones. When chairman Freddy Shepherd sacked him four games into the 2004-05 season, it’s no exaggeration to say Robson entered a period of bereavement. Many of us wondered whether he would ever recover from being first undermined and then fired by the club he had queued to watch as a small boy with his father immediately after the war. ‘I’ve been sacked for finishing fifth,’ he would complain. ‘Fifth!

In my last three seasons there we finished fourth, third and fifth!’ He left it to others to point out that Newcastle then came home in 14th place in Graeme Souness’s first season in charge. Robson’s five years on Tyneside cast an unflattering light on the modern footballer and he was frequently bemused by the antics of Kieron Dyer and Craig Bellamy, who got into a fist fight with Sir Bobby’s No 2 in a departure lounge on the way to a European game. He was baffled by the superstar lifestyle, the egocentricity of some modern players. Robson, after all, had travelled home by train and bus after playing for England in front of 80,000 spectators at Wembley. He vividly remembered having to take his shoes off to ease his blisters as he limped the final few yards from the bus stop after scoring for England against Scotland in 1961. It was not that he romanticised the era of dubbin and modest wages. More that he always thought the game was more precious than any material gain it might bring. Though the Newcastle experience broke his heart, retirement was unthinkable.

It would have separated him from who and what he was. And yes, he did occasionally struggle with names, however much he objected privately to people thinking he muddled them up. Once or twice he called me Peter. But I didn’t mind. He could have called me anything. To me he represented most of what is great about football. More importantly, he was an inspiration as a man. ISBN-13: 978-0552157421 The final chapter of Jamie Carragher’s Autobiography begins: “I stare at my medal collection and there is a gaping lingering hole. It’s a void I fear will never be filled before that dreaded moment when I wear the red shirt for the last time…” Carra was published in 2008. The opening lines of that the Walk On chapter have proved profound and prophetic. A year on from Carragher’s decision to hang up his boots Liverpool are on the brink of winning that elusive title for the first time in almost two generations. As a pundit Carragher has no doubt been kicking every ball when he’s not on camera.

Liverpool’s exciting assault on the title, led by his bosom buddy Steven Gerrard, must make part of Carragher gleam with pride and another part secretly hurt – endure bitter regret even – that he didn’t battle on for just one more season and be part of this team that is now on the brink of ending 24 years of hurt… even a bit part. After all Carragher continues: “I’m fixated by this goal, consumed by the determination to bring the title back to Anfield… Winning the title has become Liverpool’s obsession… it will sicken me not to achieve it.” The honesty and colour of the language sums up the book which, ghosted by journalists Henry Winter and Chris Bascombe, is one of the best player/football books to come out in recent years. Carragher’s raw honesty comes to the fore as he confronts so many issues about his club career; his thoughts on England, Hillsborough, the wider issues of how the game has evolved since the Nineties and one spine-tingling chapter about the miracle of Istanbul. This is not just a compelling read for Liverpool fans but football fans in general.

BB Rating: 9/10 ISBN-13: 978-0747561798 The English invented the game but soccer’s spiritual home is Brazil. That’s what make this summer’s World Cup finals so exciting. And the countdown has really started in earnest. We are now within the final 100 days on the road to Rio. Worryingly much of the stadia and infrastructure is behind schedule. There remain profound worries about security issues too. But the prospect of a soccer fest played to the rhythm and syncopation of the samba beat in the background is as intoxicating as several large Caipirinha’s. For once England’s expectations are so low but that doesn’t seem to matter quite as much as it did. The cosmopolitan nature of the Premier League means that as an audience there is a greater understanding and appreciation of the global game and it’s players in this country. Even the most one eyed patriot will still be intrigued and probably enthralled with what Ronaldo or Lionel Messi get up to as much as whether Daniel Sturridge can gel with Wayne Rooney.

And of course how the Brazilians will cope with the pressure of winning on home soil, an achievement they failed to do in 1954 when they were defeated in the final by Uruguay, will be fascinating to watch. Since then Brazil have become the undisputed masters of the Copa Mundial – The World Cup – having won the Jules Rimet trophy three times and the subsequent trophy twice . The Brazilian skill and style known as the Jogo Bonito (The beautiful game) is revered. To fully understand it and how it evolved from the days of Garrincha and Pele through to Zico and now Neymar then have a read of Futebol: The Brazilian Way of Life by Alex Bellos. It is a wise way to warm up for this summer’s finals. As Norman Cook aka Fatboy Slim says on the cover credits: “It vividly captures the romance and passion that we expect from the Brazilians, as well as entertaining us with tales of their occasional absurdity. Immensely enjoyable.” He might have added: “Go read it; right now!” BB Rating: 8.5/10 Football Triva Name 5 teams playing in the English league with an X in their name. 1.

Exeter 2. Halifax 3. Oxford 4. Wrexham 5. Crewe Alexandra. Name the player who never played for any professional league team but played alongside Bobby Moore in his last game against Germany? -Sylvester Stallone in 'Escape To Victory'. Name the player who played in the third division while he also captained England. -Ian Botham (Scunthorpe). Which player played in all 4 divisions of the football league in the 2000/20001 season Tony Cottee (Leicester City (Premier), Norwich City(1st), Barnett(3rd), Millwall(2nd) TALE OF THE SEA (to use this copy this and put lines where the clubs are) The sun shone BRIGHTON the day my sister, my mother and myself set sail for the ORIENT in a very old ship, its HULL already riddled with holes. The four CREWE members who had been with the company for years were: Don, Mont, Kirk and Bart (who unfortunately could not speak ).

Not having been paid FORFAR too long they were very unhappy and became disillusioned and on the second WEDNESDAY of the voyage they obtained arms by breaking into the ARSENAL and mutinied. Although they treated my MOTHERWELL, they did not take to my sister at all and DONCASTER adrift on a raft. I was terrified and hid in my cabin with the BOLTON the door. The crew raided the larder, but all they found was some smelly OLDHAM. So hungry were they that they ate almost the FULHAM. Then seeking to quench their thirst, they forced open the drinks cabinet. Finding that they did not STOCKPORT they opted for a small drink of whiskey. "Right," said Kirk, "with TOTTENHAM in hand, I'll climb the rigging to see if we can sight land." "Watch you don't FALKIRK " said his mate. Meanwhile the others had found a CHESTER treasure. It was easy to open as the chain securing it had only one LINCOLN. At this moment the ship began to sink.

MONTROSE quickly "Get DUMBARTON deck to give me a hand." he shouted, and together they lifted the LUTON to a raft. Having mother and me with them, they drifted for days before seeing an island with a FOREST. After locating the PORTSMOUTH we went ashore to find that the island was uninhabited. There were signs however, that someone had been there recently as a NEWCASTLE had been built next to the harbour. There had obviously been a fire as BLACKBURN marks were clearly visible on all the buildings and a horrible smell of smoke hung in the AYR. It broke our HEARTS to see the disarray. "I wonder where this road LEEDS us ?", said Kirk, and although the crew were very tired they PRESTON with their search for survivors. Then we suddenly fell and found ourselves falling to the bottom of a deep pit with a BLACKPOOL of water at the bottom. At this moment I awoke ! LEICESTER be any of you worried, it had all been a terrible nightmare, caused I think by READING "Treasure Island" before I went to sleep.

England Players - Bobby Robson 4 14 348 21 May 1961 - Portugal 1 England 1 , Estádio Nacional,Lisboa WCP AD Start 4 15 349 24 May 1961 - Italy 2 England 3 , Stadio Olimpico, Roma tour AW Start 4 - 350 27 May 1961 - Austria 3 England 1 , Praterstadion, Wien AL squad member 16 351 28 September 1961 - England 4 Luxembourg 1 , Arsenal Stadium, Highbury WCP HW Start 4 17 352 14 October 1961 - Wales 1 England 1 , Ninian Park, Cardiff BC AD Start 4 18 353 25 October 1961 - England 2 Portugal 0 , Empire Stadium, Wembley WCP HW Start 4 19 354 22 November 1961 - England 1 Northern Ireland 1 , Empire Stadium, Wembley BC HD Start 4 Age 

29 20 357 9 May 1962 - England 3 Switzerland 1 , Empire Stadium, Wembley Fr HW Start 4 - 358 20 May 1962 - Peru 0 England 4 , Estadio Nacional Coloso de José Díaz, Lima Fr AW squad member - 359 31 May 1962 - Hungary 2 England 1 , Estadio Braden Copper Co., Rancagua WCF NL injured squad member 4 - 360 2 June 1962 - England 3 Argentina 1 , Estadio Braden Copper Co., Rancagua NW - 361 7 June 1962 - Bulgaria 0 England 0 , Estadio Braden Copper Co., Rancagua ND - 362 10 June 1962 - Brazil 3 England 1 , Estadio Municipal, Viña del Mar NL Notes With his rumpled features and crooked smile, he could look crushed and weary, but when Bobby Robson began holding forth on his beloved game, those rheumy eyes would sparkle and his overwhelming enthusiasm would captivate all but

 the most cynical of listeners.

Almost always, despite the endearing malapropisms with which his conversation was scattered, his homespun philosophy would offer an oasis of wholesome sanity in the self-obsessed world of modern top-flight football. Robson was the doyen of the British game, a national institution whose public image had been comprehensively rehabilitated since the days of his unfair and frequently hysterical media maulings during his reign as England boss in the 1980s. In fact, he was an immensely able, honourable manager who never deserved the tabloid-fed calumny which descended on his head. His international record bears favourable comparison with all but one of his predecessors - Sir Alf Ramsey, whose side lifted the World Cup in 1966. Eventually, when his career could be placed in perspective, and particularly following his emotional stint in charge of his childhood favourites, Newcastle United (1999-2004), his public stock rose tremendously.

Their approbation, and the chance to guide his country's fortunes, sprang from his achievements at club level with unfashionable Ipswich Town, for whom Robson had operated on a comparative shoestring to create delightful sides which could hold their own, and sometimes more, against the finest in the land. Once ensconced on the international front, he never brought home a trophy, but Robson's England endured horribly unlucky elimination from successive World Cup tournaments and had their moments of triumph along the way. In addition, it should not be forgotten that the north-easterner had been a good wing-half-cum-inside-forward who won a score of caps at a time when there was no shortage of high-quality performers in both positions. Robson hailed from the mining community of Sacriston in Co Durham, the fourth of five sons of a father who missed only one shift at the coalface in 51 years. Having noted the bleakness of that life, young Bobby was determined to avoid the pit and did so at first by becoming an apprentice electrician at his neighbourhood colliery. Of course, Robson's ultimate salvation was football. It was both his obsession - later he would describe it as his drug - and what he did best.

After starring at schoolboy level, he was given trials by Middlesbrough and Southampton, both of whom rejected him. Nothing daunted, the 15-year-old inside-forward continued to impress and two years later a posse of clubs was hunting his signature. Robson chose Fulham, enlisting with the Londoners in May 1950 and making his First Division debut within a year. He revelled in the friendly atmosphere fostered by the chairman Tommy Trinder and shone in an enterprising line-up which also included Johnny Haynes. Despite relegation in 1952, Robson made steady personal progress, a confident but level-headed young fellow who brought both skill and industry to his twin roles of creating and scoring goals. Inevitably he attracted attention from the top grade and in March 1956 he joined West Bromwich Albion, a successful club at the time, for a then-hefty 25,000 pounds. When England recognition arrived in November 1957, Robson responded with two debut goals in a 4-0 rout of France, suggesting that a lengthy international stint was in prospect.

But selection policy was markedly inconsistent in those days, the team being picked by committee, and soon he was discarded. It was to be two years before he regained his place. During 1960/61, Walter Winterbottom's England team enjoyed a glorious undefeated sequence, winning seven games and drawing one, scoring 44 goals in the process. Sadly, they peaked too soon for the 1962 World Cup, just before which the 29-year-old Albion skipper was dropped, never to play for his country again. However, international football had not seen the last of Bobby Robson. West Bromwich, though, had. During his Midlands sojourn he had supplemented what was then a paltry income for a married man with two (later three) sons by coaching schoolboys. But with the lifting of football's maximum wage restrictions in 1961, the way was clear for clubs to reward their players more handsomely. Some did, Albion didn't and Robson demanded a transfer, returning to Fulham for 20,000 pounds in August 1962.

Back at Craven Cottage, he flourished in a mainly defensive role, bringing class to an indifferent side's annual struggle to avoid demotion from the First Division. Meanwhile, having been encouraged by Winterbottom to develop his coaching, Robson assisted Oxford University, and when he retired as a player in 1967 he set his sights on management. After rejecting offers to coach Arsenal and who became the player-boss of Southend United, he took charge of Vancouver Royals with the great Hungarian hero Ferenc Puskas before returning to Fulham in January 1968 to take over an ailing club. Robson was unable to prevent relegation and, despite major reorganisation of his staff, the Cottagers performed poorly in Division Two and the rookie manager strove, at times, to exercise authority over former colleagues. Following a row with a director, Robson was sacked in November and found himself on the dole. However, his luck was about to turn. After scouting briefly for Chelsea, he became boss of Ipswich Town in January 1969, thus beginning one of the most fruitful periods of his life. Not that it was all plain sailing at Portman Road.

Despite establishing a rapport with the generous-spirited Cobbold family, who owned the club, Robson began by presiding over several disappointing seasons at the wrong end of the First Division. He had inherited a weak side and there were confrontations with players, including one bout of fisticuffs, as he settled in. When a vocal minority of Ipswich fans demanded his sacking, Robson feared the worst. Instead, the board persevered with their man, and, gradually, the tide turned. Despite not having the cash to compete on equal terms with rich clubs, he assembled a first-rate team, built around the likes of Mick Mills, Kevin Beattie and Allan Hunter. In 1973 they finished fourth in the table, equalling the feat in 1974, then improving to third in 1975. Thereafter they finished out of the top six only once in a decade, missing the title only narrowly on several occasions. They did have their moments, however, winning the Uefa Cup in 1981, though for the sheer joy it brought, even that could not equal their heady and massively popular victory over Arsenal in the 1978 FA Cup final.

An operator of Robson's calibre was bound to receive periodic offers. But as the chances to leave Portman Road came in, so he spurned them. He could have gone to Leeds, Newcastle, Barcelona and Manchester United among others; but instead he remained loyal to Ipswich and the Cobbolds, treating them as they had treated him. It did him huge credit. However, there was one temptation from which Robson could not walk away. He had been interviewed for the England post when Don Revie upped sticks in 1977 and had run the international "B" team between 1978 and 1982. When the opportunity of the top job came his way in 1982, he accepted. He got off to a solid start, despite early vilification for the axing of Kevin Keegan. But, predictably in view of England's failure to reach the 1984 European Championship finals, his "honeymoon" was woefully short. After one Wembley defeat by Russia he was spat on and showered with beer, but that was nothing compared to what certain newspapers had in store.

Chief persecutors were The Sun, which produced badges proclaiming "Robson Out, Clough In", though that, in its turn, was mild compared with what would follow later letdowns. Around this time Robson was head-hunted once more by Barcelona, but he demonstrated his strength of character by refusing the Spaniards for a second time. In the short term he was rewarded by one of the finest results England have ever managed, victory in Brazil, but by now all attention was centred on the 1986 World Cup. England duly qualified, then stuttered in their early matches in Mexico before recovering, thanks largely to Gary Lineker's hat-trick against Poland, to reach a quarter-final against the eventual champions, Argentina. That day Robson's men were undone by Diego Maradona, who scored twice in his side's 2-1 win. The first was the infamous "Hand of God" goal, and the second was a work of pure genius. England threatened a draw, but couldn't quite achieve it; they had been unlucky, but Robson deserved praise for orchestrating a noble effort.

It wasn't quite like that in 1988 when England lost all their games in the European Championship finals and returned home from Germany in disgrace. Now Bobby Robson's relations with the press hit a new low. He was castigated mercilessly, being told to "Go in the Name of God". Then, after a drab showing against Saudi Arabia, this was amended to "Go in the Name of Allah". Very droll. Clearly there was a limit to what one man could take and, after England scraped into the 1990 World Cup finals in Italy, Robson announced that he would quit after the tournament. The build-up games inspired little faith but the team progressed, with a measure of good fortune, to a semi-final confrontation with West Germany. Here, for the first time, they played like potential champions, with the maverick Paul Gascoigne showing signs of realising his phenomenal potential. But just as Robson was poised on the threshold of emulating Sir Alf Ramsey by reaching a World Cup final, luck deserted him. The Germans having taken a fortunate lead, England equalised through Lineker and proved the stronger side, only to die the most dreaded of soccer deaths, by penalty shoot-out.

At least, however, an emotional Robson could bow out on a decent note. It was the least he merited after eight years in which he had presided over 47 victories, 30 draws and only 18 defeats, as well as carrying out vast amounts of unsung youth coaching work. If there were ever any doubt about his ability, it was laid to rest emphatically in his subsequent career. He led PSV Eindhoven to two Dutch titles, thus laying to rest the championship bogey that had haunted him at Ipswich. Then came a move to Sporting Lisbon, which ended surprisingly in the sack, and a more successful spell with Porto, whom he guided to a European Cup semi-final in 1994 before winning two more titles. After undergoing a second cancer operation in 1995 (the first had been in 1992), Robson recovered rapidly and turned down the chance of managing Arsenal. Still, though, his drive remained strong and a year later, aged 63, at last he accepted an invitation from Barcelona.

In his first term, despite the recruitment of the star Brazilian striker Ronaldo, the side made an uncertain start and as the pressure of colossal expectation mounted, Robson ran into political problems with the autocratic club president Josep Nuñez. By New Year 1997, the Ajax coach Louis van Gaal had been lined up to replace Robson at season's end, but the Englishman embarrassed his employers by inspiring his men to double glory, Barcelona beating Paris St-Germain to lift the European Cup-Winners' Cup and Real Betis to take the Spanish Cup. Now he was impossible to sack, so when van Gaal arrived for 1997/98, Robson was shunted "upstairs" who became the director of recruitment, a glorified chief scout, a post he held for a year before taking over again at PSV. In 1999 he returned to England and accepted a Football Association offer who became the mentor to the next generation of England coaches, but in September he got the call from the club he had loved as long as he could remember, Newcastle United.

At St James' Park, where he replaced Ruud Gullit, he found a strife-torn club at the foot of the Premier League; morale was low, indiscipline was rife and there were wounds to heal. He began by restoring Alan Shearer (who had been dropped by the Dutchman) to the side and the England centre-forward responded by scoring five goals in Robson's first home match, an 8-0 annihilation of Sheffield Wednesday. The new boss immediately infused the place with his infectious enthusiasm. He overhauled the coaching regime and began team-building, at first without much money, but eventually with a substantial budget. He transformed United's fortunes. In that first campaign they reached the semi-finals of the FA Cup and enjoyed an enlivening Uefa Cup run. Then, after another season of consolidation, they topped the table in December before finishing fourth in 2001/02. The following summer Robson, who had been appointed CBE in 1991, was knighted. Newcastle rose to third in 2002/03 and attained the second group phase of the Champions League.

In 2003/04 they made an appearance in the Uefa Cup semi-finals, where they lost to Marseille, offering compensation for dipping to fifth place in the League. All the while Robson represented traditional and sensible sporting values while continuing to radiate his passion for the game, and at times he was understandably perplexed by the boorish or careless attitudes of some of the young millionaires in his charge. Some observers doubted whether a septuagenarian was capable of controlling the volatile likes of Craig Bellamy and Lee Bowyer, and on the eve of the 2004/05 season, Robson's position was undermined by the chairman, Freddy Shepherd - one of the directors caught mocking the fans so disgracefully - who announced that Robson's contract would not be renewed in the spring. At the end of August Robson was summarily sacked by Shepherd, but on the day of his departure it was his and not the chairman's dignity which shone through the storm clouds gathering over St James' Park.

Even after that, after everything, Robson remained eager to be involved in football, and in January 2006, now aged 73, he was named as consultant to the new Republic of Ireland boss Steve Staunton. Soon, there followed a third successful cancer operation, though his vulnerability was underlined that August when, after being appointed honorary president of Ipswich Town, he fell ill 10 minutes into their game against Crystal Palace. Robson stepped down from his Irish role in November 2007, and in March 2008, as he launched a foundation at Newcastle's Freeman Hospital to help in the fight against cancer, he spoke of battling the disease for the fifth time. Already the new charity has raised more than 1.3 million pounds and he was still campaigning for it indomitably on Sunday, when he attended a fundraising game, a re-run of the 1990 England-Germany semi-final, at St. James' Park. Bobby Robson was a sensitive and decent man, a truly accomplished manager who rose courageously above an army of petty tormentors.

Though he never achieved his ambitions of lifting the World Cup or the English League crown, he came close enough to earn real and lasting honour in the game to which he devoted his life. - The Independent Obituary ___________________ ALASTAIR BARCLAY Taken from the 1973 Bonnet Guild Festival Guide It could not be justifiably said that Stewarton is a famous football town. While certain teams in the past have done exceptionally well by winning various cups etc., it must be admitted that our town cannot compare with other places of similar size up and down the country. Nevertheless, the Bunnet Toun has, on occasion, produced some excellent soccer talent and although most of our successful teams hung up their boots many years ago we've still had our moments of glory. You've got to go back a century to the early days of organised football to discover that Stewarton had no fewer than three clubs, which wasn't bad for a population of 3,000. The names of those at that time were: Stewarton, Stewarton Cunninghame and Vale of Annick and all were members of the Ayrshire Football Association.

Of all the towns in the County, only Kilmarnock with five clubs and Ayr with four, had a larger representation. And incidentally, one of the Kilmarnock clubs was Killie of Rugby Park fame. DARLINGTON Probably the best known local club was Stewarton Cunninghame which was formed in 1876. In this club's early years their headquarters or "club hoose" was situated in Lainshaw Street while their ground was one mile away at High Cross Farm which was quite a distance for the players to run out. The Vale of Annick, formed in 1879, had their pitch at Causeyhead, Darlington with a club house in the vicinity. Perhaps I had better explain for the benefit of new Stewartonians that Darlington, or Daurlintoun as it was called — and still is by some - is that district of Stewarton now better known as Dean Street and the actual football park was situated where the Merrygreen houses now stand. The oldest club was Stewarton which came into existence in 1875 with a pitch at Standalane and a club house at the Railway hotel which no doubt was fully utilised for after-the-match refreshment.

Later Stewarton added the term "Juniors" to their title and, with the Cunninghame, played in the Ayrshire Junior League. In 1903, the Juniors opened a new ground at Hillhouse and celebrated the occasion that same year by winning the Ayrshire Junior Cup beating Darvel 2-1 in the final. The Juniors eventually managed to get a pitch in the town, named Cochrane Park after their benefactor and greatest supporter, Mr. Gabriel Cochrane, who was a well-known celebrity and proprietor of the Railway Hotel, which used to stand at the Cross before "progress" intervened. This park was on the piece of ground behind what is now Carrick Precision Tools building. About the same period (pre-World War 1), the Cunninghame also secured a new ground at Rigghead where the High School now stands. DONATION I'm informed by those who were about at the time that there was a tremendous local rivalry between the two teams which was not always confined to the field of play.

The story goes that whenever the club funds of, say the Juniors, were getting a bit low, the wily officials used to approach prominent local business men with a view of securing a donation. First of all they might call on Gibby Cochrane and tell him that they had received a donation of£3 from Peter Welsh, the proprietor of a public house further down the street. Not to be outdone by his rival in the trade, Gibby would oblige with a fiver. Later the same approach would be made to the unsuspecting Mr. Welsh staling that Mr. Cochrane had donated £5; and so on ............ After the first world war, only the Juniors were reformed and for a short time they played under the new title of Stewarton Thistle before reverting to the more popular name of Stewarton Juniors and many older Stewartonians still recall some exciting matches at Bumside Park at Kirkford.

DECLINE However, by the mid-twenties junior football had ceased to exist in the town and it has been said that the reason for this decline in football interest was directly connected with the decision of the majority of the townspeople at that time to vote Stewarton "dry." It seems that this not only discouraged visiting supporters from following their teams to Stewarton but it drove the home fans out of the town on a Saturday afternoon. In 1930, the local branch of the Y.M.C.A. formed a team to play on the then new Strandhead Park and only three years later won the Scottish Churches Cup, a great feat indeed. Another notable achievement occurred in 1930 when the local school team won the Kilmarnock and District Schools Cup. Stewarton Armatures - 1948 During and after the war, various teams continued to represent Stewarton including Stewarton and Dunlop Youth Club, Stewarton Amateurs, the British Legion and Strandhead Rovers. But the man who did more to put Stewarton on the football map in recent times was Rabbie Wilson who ran youth teams for twelve years.

Says Rabbie: "It all started when Bill Fleming and I organised a team to represent the United Free Church Youth Fellowship. After this, we were eventually talked into running a youth team which we entered in the local league." Playing under the name of Stewarton United, Rabbie and Bill at one period had two teams under their control Under 16s and Under 18s, and they won several Ayrshire Cups and reached the semi final of the Scottish Cup and also did well in boys Club football. "We got a lot of help from different people, " said Rabbie, including Jimmy Brown and Alec Rollo of Killie who took a keen interest." Many of the Stewarton United players eventually signed for junior clubs and one or two made the grade as seniors including Andrew Porter who went to Watford and Davie Mitchell who signed for Stoke City and was unfortunate to incur a serious injury to his back; After a spell with St. Mirren, Davie is now playing great stuff with Clydebank. LEGEND Have any other Stewarton players reached the top in football?

Well, although our town cannot match certain other towns and villages in parts of Ayrshire and Lanarkshire, some fine players have emerged from the shadows of Mackie's Lum and the Viaduct and the hum of hosiery machinery. I suppose that Stewarton's brightest soccer star was the one and only Davie Russell who was one of the top names in English football long before Bobby Moore ever put a curler in his hair. Davie, who became something of a legend in his own time, played for Preston North End in 1888 when they won both the English League and the English (sorry F.A.) Cup in the same season. In the 1920s, Willie McDonald and my father Tom Barclay played together for St. Mirren and won Scottish Cup medals. About the same period, Willie Maxwell was a Hibernian player. A decade later that flying winger, Willie (Sonny) Sim gained Scottish junior caps and a Scottish Junior Cup medal with the great Arthurlie team of the late thirties. Wee Bobby Ferguson was a senior with Fulham and Teddy Craig also played in English football for some years. Two local men, Alex.

Currie and James Ferguson played at different times for Queens Park and another amateur, Billy Neil was a 'keeper with Kilmamock before joining Rangers and although he never quite made the "big time'., he won two Amateur International caps for Scotland and finished up with Stirling Albion. And Stewart Brown had a good few seasons with Motherwell and then Stranraer. Of course, there's Stewarton's most famous football "import," the one and only Jimmy Brown, formerly of Hearts, then long-time Killie star who finished his career with St. Mirren. Another "import" was Bert Kinnell of Dunfermline and Partick Thistle and Jock "Pints" Smith was a Rangers player in the twenties. SERIOUS MATTER But we must not forget the ladies, who, it must be admitted, made Stewarton famous football-wise more than any male section of the community. It all started about twelve years ago when the Broadhurst family, and I include the family names of Bennett, Fleming and Stewart, formed a girls soccer team more or less for laughs.

It wasn't long however, before it became a very serious matter indeed and under the names of Stewarton Ladies or Stewarton Thistle and with a few girls from other places, the team got better and better. Later it became Stewarton Lees Ladies and the success continued until the end of last season when it lost its Stewarton connection. During their great run, the ladies won the Scottish Cup, the European Cup and were runners-up in the British Cup and several of the players, including Rose Reilly and Elsie Cook won representative honours. Just recently, the two girls made a tour of North Africa with a select team. CONVERTED After Rabbie Wilson quit due to illness and to become a St. Mirren scout, Davie Moncur was in charge of the young players of the town for a spell and then for si; years until the early 'seventies, John Roy and Willie Gilliespie took over and eventually converted from Youth to Amateur football and changed the name to Stewarton Thistle.

John told me — "For the first few seasons we did quite well, but during the last two years, we had to pull the players oot o' the pubs wi' a long hook before the games - just like the old navy press gangs. It would have been comical if it hadn't been so serious," he laughed. I must add that Jimmy Brown helped us a lot as he was not only a great coach but he ran raffles, etc. and helped financially." Today, Rigghead, run by a committee headed by Michael Hughes and Andy Love, is the only official football team in the town and they are in the second division of the Ayrshire Amateur League. There are also teams of various ages representing Stewarton High School and two years ago the Under 15s reached the final of the Ayrshire Schools Cup. What about the future? Well, I hate to end on a pessimistic note but there's really not much hope that Stewarton will ever again attain anything in the football world until something is done to improve facilities and provide pitches.

It is a sad fact but there were more football parks in the town fifty or a hundred years ago for a population of 3,000 than there are today with around double that number. And Strandhead is not, and never has been a good playing pitch. The new Centre is providing wonderful INDOOR activities for the community. What is needed now is an outdoor sports complex with two good football fields, plus a few kick-about play areas in different parts of the town. There is only one ray of hope. If Knockintiber (population 500) can win the Scottish Amateur Cup, maybe it could be Rigghead's turn next year.

Question: With which football team did Bobby Moore end his English league playing career
Answer: Fulham