Authors are bastards, aren't they? I could never be a novelist; killing people off every five minutes like that;making the healthy poorly and the wealthy poor. I've seen enough of death and illness already, thank you very much. In any case, it's always there, you never have to look too far to find it. Even here, in a book nominally about the beautiful game, the Reaper's not had to wait too long to get up off the bench and join the fray; Rhys Jones, Puerta, there'll probably be more. Like those black socks that Manchester United used to wear to to commemorate the Busby Babes they lost in the Munich air disaster, the game has a shadow as well as a ball at its feet. So you have to talk about it, sure you do; it's just that you have no need to make it up.
I meant this to be about the act of writing and remembering, not a grim treatise on the inevitability of death. But
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
Hear Bob read extracts from his diary of the 2007-08 season, "The Road to Moscow"!!
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