A sporting moment?

For many of us interested in sport, our thoughts this past month have been focused on the men’s football World Cup. I hesitate to add to the comment online and in the ‘papers except to say that I was shocked by some members of the Argentine team mocking their crestfallen opponents, the Netherlands, on the pitch after their quarter-final match. I was also perturbed to see Ronaldo leave the field quickly after the Portugal semi against Morocco without, it seems, shaking hands with his opponents or consoling team mates. Perhaps this came later? In contrast, the sportsmanship of the French in the ways they approached the English team after full time, and also the genuine support offered to the distraught by the coaching team and other players, were heart warming. Images, too, of the Japanese tourists helping pick up litter in the stadia and the bravery of the Iranian team speaking out about the treatment of women in their country, brings much uplift to the human condition.

The ‘professional’ foul

In thinking about sporting behaviour, I don’t suppose I am alone in hoping that one day in the so-called ‘Beautiful Game’, there will be a move to be more honest on the pitch. The ‘professional foul’ is clearly a misnomer, a euphemism for cheating, and it always baffles me when a ball goes out of play and inevitably players from both sides claim the throw-in or the corner kick when in most cases it must be very obvious to the players immediately involved who it was who last touched the ball. What a moment it would be when a professional footballer actually ‘owns up’ to having touched the ball last and asks the referee to change the decision that initially went in his or her favour! And don’t let me start on the way referees themselves are abused, hassled and intimidated by so-called ‘sportsmen’.

True sportsmanship

Whilst of a very different era, and no doubt our minds are impacted by images in the film ‘Chariots of fire’, it is abundantly evident that Scottish athlete Eric Liddell was the consummate sportsman in all senses of the word. At church two weeks ago, I met a 90-year-old lady who had been interred with Liddell in China in the 1940s, a prisoner of the Japanese. Two things stood out in our conversation: Liddell could have been released (after Churchill’s intervention) in a prisoner exchange. He chose instead to have a pregnant woman take his place. The other incident especially referred to by the lady I met was Liddell’s willingness to put aside long-held beliefs about Sunday sport and to organise games on the Sabbath for other internment camp children. As we go through the week ahead and endure the Press ‘noise’ over the victors in the World Cup final, let’s consider afresh the legacy, compassion and sportsmanship of athletes like Eric Liddell and be thankful for positive role models.

A child of the Commonwealth

I was born high up on the Jos plateau in Nigeria, raised in Ghana until I was 19 years of age, schooled in Scotland, the land of my father, and occasionally holidayed in London, from where my English mother hailed. As an adult I have worked both sides of the Border and also taught for nine years in India – and thus have five Commonwealth countries close to my heart. (And this doesn’t account for visits to Canada, Malta, Gibraltar, Cyprus, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, South Africa…)

Trackside at the Games

As a volunteer at the 2022 Games in Birmingham, I was part of the Photo Team, a component of the media group. This gave me privileged access at both the marathon and the athletics (in the Alexander Stadium) not only to ‘trackside’ views, but also to the photographers and other journalists. It was a joy talking with people from around the Commonwealth, most of whom seemed delighted to have someone to talk with about their work and their countries.

Three encounters

Three encounters among many stick with me. There was the young lady photographer from Nigeria who was anxious about reaching the right spot to photograph a medal ceremony. I chatted to her and mentioned that I was born in Jos. Her eyes widened as she said, ‘Jos? But, you’re…’ – and I finished off the sentence for her: ‘Yes, I’m white!’ There was no racial undertone in any of this but simple, almost childlike, incredulity which then gave way to warmth and excitement. Next was the conversation with the single media representative from Gibraltar. ‘What are your medal hopes?’ I asked. He laughed. ‘No medal hopes but lots of opportunities for personal bests. For us in Gibraltar, this is the pinnacle of sport as we won’t otherwise be singularly represented in a global event. We simply enjoy the taking part’. And then thirdly, there was the chit-chat with the photographer from Botswana who was positioned at the ‘head on platform’ overlooking the finish line. As the men’s 4 x 400 metre relay final unwound, he became more and more excited. The Botswanan athletes moved up into the lead at one point before having to settle for silver. His excitement was such that I expect all his photos of the finish were actually a blur!

The Friendly Games

I could go on to tell of the Australian gentleman who bounced up to me as I made my way down to trackside with a photographer to say, ‘That’s my son in the decathlon high jump’ – he just had to tell someone! (His son won bronze overall.) And then there was the visitor in the queue for the shuttle bus who spoke with me and another volunteer to ask how we were feeling about the Games and to thank us both profusely. I know it’s almost trite to say that these are The Friendly Games, but I have found them to be so. It has been a privilege to witness genuine, childlike, joy over the past ten days and to acknowledge that for the vast majority of the athletes from the Commonwealth nations this has been their one moment in the spotlight – and they have revelled in it whilst embracing everything and everyone around them. As a ‘child of the Commonwealth’, it has brought to me a lot of satisfaction, too, and just a few pin badges!

Weird stories – and opportunities

Towards the end of January, and I set out on what, in recent times, was a ‘weird’ opportunity: to visit some TISCA (The Independent Schools Christian Alliance) schools in person and to hold regional meetings without depending on Zoom and a screen. And what a joy it was!

The strongest shot in tennis?

Revd Martin Poole, a governor at Ballard School, spoke at the South regional gathering at Castle Court Prep School. His enthusiastic accounts of sharing stories at school assemblies ranged from showing us how to ‘tell the Bible’ using the fingers of one hand (a thumbs up for encouragement, an index finger to point to things needing attention, the middle finger – taller than the others – to be Jesus, a fourth – the ring finger – for commitment, and then the little finger for prayer), how to divide 19 camels fairly between a sheikh’s three sons (my maths was mightily challenged) and also how to use sport to tell the gospel. The latter illustration was very effective: what’s the strongest and often the winning shot played in tennis? This is, of course, the serve. Our service as Christians is often what draws others to Jesus.

The meeting at Castle Court was also remarkable for the overflowing excitement shared by staff from several schools, but especially Castle Court, of being able to have fellowship together (over a very fine meal I should add). Some schools have been unable to have in-person staff meetings until very recently and whilst we remain in awe of what technology can do to bring us together, there is nothing to replace seeing others face-to-face.

Weird stories

On our tour we took in two other schools before going to King’s Bruton for the South West regional meeting. We were treated to BBC sitcom writer James Cary’s musings on weird stories in the Bible. Here’s what Revd George Beverly, chaplain at King’s, wrote after the event:

Have you ever considered how the Bible is jam-packed with weird accounts: Baalam’s donkey talking! The transfiguration! Absalom’s long hair getting tangled in a tree, leaving him stuck hanging until he was captured! The physical resurrection of many bodies from tombs in Jerusalem when Jesus Christ rose back to life – and they walked around Jerusalem talking to people – a bit like zombies!

What do we do with such accounts? Shy away from them? Focus on the more “rational” sections of Scripture? Try and explain them away as deceptions that tricked supposedly gullible people thousands of years ago? No – none of those are wise or responsible approaches to make. We believe in a God who made the very laws of science, who is all-powerful and created everything. Thus, He is not constrained by such laws. The very fact He brings about miracles, shows he is God. And on Thursday evening, it was lovely to welcome James Cary, Christian writer, speaker and comedian to speak at TISCA (The Independent Schools’ Christian Alliance) regional meeting hosted at King’s. James sits on the Church of England’s Archbishops’ Council, hosts numerous podcasts and writes comedy for the BBC (e.g. Miranda, Hut 33, Bluestone 42, Think the Unthinkable) often alongside Milton Jones. James commended us to not shy away from the weird and controversial aspects of Scripture. God has given us these passages and they richly overflow with the message of His gospel love. Moreover, as teachers/chaplains/staff in schools, we are surrounded by children and teenagers whose world is immersed and full of an obsession with the weird and wonderful. Consider: Star Wars, Marvel, Narnia, Harry Potter and so much more. Best of all, as we engage with Scripture’s stranger segments, it often prompts genuine discussion and enquiry between pupils and staff – and isn’t that wonderful! What could be more important and fascinating than debating and discussing the message of the One who claims to hold the answers to life’s biggest questions?!?!

So, our challenge to all is to seize opportunities to engage in the weird and wonderful in the Bible – and to do the ‘weird thing’ of meeting up again in person! (COVID secure, of course…)

(Lead article in the Spring 2022 edition of ‘TISCA News and Views’)

Nurturing talent

How do we recognise and nurture talent and potential?

Sporting opportunity

As a Prep School boy in Scotland, I was a keen sportsman but not especially talented. I can remember one of my Schoolmasters, looking at a rather gangly 12 year old, tall for his age but somewhat uncoordinated, and saying: ‘Reid. Keep working hard at your rugby and you’ll get in the 1st XV and get your ‘colours’. He was right on both counts although my ‘colours’ were only awarded after the final match of the season!

The following term, this same Master spotted that I have a little talent at cross-country running (a sport I went on to develop significantly at my secondary school). Once again he encouraged me by setting a target of getting into the top three when the end of term school event took place. Again he was right to set the goal. I may, of course, have managed this without his interest and challenge – but I doubt it.

Professional sport scouts

Scouts for professional football spend less time these days on the side of muddy pitches looking for talent and much more in front of screens analysing data. Nonetheless, they still have to spot potential. In a course run by the Professional Football Scouts Association, they start with the photo seen above of a team of young kids in red and white shirts. It’s from the 1990s and they are on a dirt pitch in less than salubrious surroundings. ‘If you were a scout, which of these ten players would you most be interested in?’ You might pick the lad in the front row with the wide smile as he looks like he’s enjoying himself and so could have a good mentality. What about the boy standing taller than the others: he is presenting himself with confidence? How many would be drawn to the lad on the back row, far left, with his shirt hanging off his shoulders? He’s smaller than the others and has a shy smile. This young man is the future football megastar – Lionel Messi!

Nurture well

Let’s nurture well all those in front of us – at home, in school, at work, in a hobby setting, at church – and be prepared to be at pleasantly surprised by the outcome!

Dealing in Hope

Napoleon once said that ‘a leader is a dealer in hope’. During the Tokyo 2020 Olympics I have been following the progress of the Indian women’s field hockey team. (I served in India for nine years and all three of my children played representative hockey there.) I have been inspired by the incredible story of hope from Rani Rampal, the Indian ladies’ hockey captain. In her own words…

“I wanted an escape from my life; from the electricity shortages to the mosquitoes buzzing in our ear when we slept, from barely having two square meals to seeing our home getting flooded when it rained. My parents tried their best, but there was only so much they could do – Papa was a cart puller and Maa worked as a maid.

There was a hockey academy near my home, so I’d spend hours watching players practise – I really wanted to play. Papa would earn Rs 80 a day (under 80 pence) and couldn’t afford to buy me a stick. Every day, I’d ask the coach to teach me too. He’d reject me because I was malnourished. He’d say, “You aren’t strong enough to pull through a practice session.”

So, I found a broken hockey stick on the field and began practising with that – I didn’t have training clothes, so I was running around in a salwar kameez. But I was determined to prove myself. I begged the coach for a chance.

But when I told my family, they said, ‘Girls are supposed to do household work – and we won’t let you play in a short skirt.’ I’d plead with them saying, ‘Please mujhe jaane do. If I fail, I’ll do whatever you want.’ My family reluctantly gave in.

Training would start early in the morning. We didn’t even have a clock, so mom would stay up and look at the sky to check if it was the right time to wake me.

At the academy, it was mandatory for each player to bring 500 ml of milk. My family could afford only 200 ml; without telling anyone, I’d mix the milk with water and drink it because I wanted to play.

My coach supported me through thick and thin; he’d buy me hockey kits and shoes. He even allowed me to live with his family and took care of my dietary needs. I’d train hard and wouldn’t miss a single day of practice.

I remember earning my first salary; I received Rs 500 (under £5) after winning a tournament and gave the money to Papa. He hadn’t ever held so much money in his hands before. I promised my family, “One day, we’re going to have our own home,” I did everything in my power to work towards that.

After representing my state and playing in several championships, I finally got a national call up at the age of 15! Still, my relatives would only ask me when I was going to get married. But Papa told me, “Play to your heart’s content.” With my family’s support, I focused on doing my best for India and eventually, I became the captain of the Indian hockey team!

Soon after, while I was at home, a friend papa used to work with visited us. He brought along his granddaughter and told me, ‘She’s inspired by you and wants to become a hockey player!’ I was so happy; I just started crying.

And then in 2017, I finally fulfilled the promise I made to my family and bought them a proper house. We cried together and held each other tightly!

And I’m not done yet; this year, I’m determined to repay them and Coach with something they’ve always dreamed of — a gold medal from Tokyo.”

They didn’t win Gold this year (GB won the bronze medal match against the Indian ladies) but I wouldn’t be surprised if they do in 2024 in Paris if they all demonstrate such determination and passion as Rani Rampal. She is truly ‘a dealer in hope’ and has now inspired many to dream their dreams into reality.

Love conquers all

In the wake of the last-gasp failed penalties at the Euro football finals a week ago, most of us were appalled at the racist comments on social media and then the defacing of footballer Marcus Rashford’s mural which followed. (For those reading this who are not British, Marcus Rashford is a Premiership and England footballer – soccer – who is black and has been vocal on a number of key social issues in the UK, not least securing school lunches in the holidays for the most disadvantaged children.) However, I was then moved this week by the positive response to the defacing of the Marcus Rashford mural in Manchester – messages of hope, love and reconciliation with pictures of hearts, flags and flowers. In Proverbs 16:7 we read: ‘When the Lord takes pleasure in anyone’s way, he causes their enemies to make peace with them’ – and I pray this happens with those who have lashed out with abuse, unkindness and hatred.

One of the greatest examples of someone who responded with love in the face of hatred was Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth President of the USA. Born into poverty, Lincoln was faced with adversity throughout his life. He lost eight elections, failed twice in business and suffered a nervous breakdown. He could have quit many times – but he didn’t, and because he didn’t give up, he is now considered to have been one of the greatest presidents in the history of the United States of America.

One of Abraham Lincoln’s earliest political enemies was Edward Stanton. In one speech he called Lincoln a ‘low, cunning clown’. In another he said, ‘It’s ridiculous to go to Africa to see a gorilla when you can find one just as easily in Springfield, Illinois’. Lincoln never responded in kind and, when elected President, he appointed Stanton as Secretary of War, explaining to the incredulous that ‘he’s the best man for the job’. Years later when Lincoln was slain and his body lay in state, Edward Stanton looked down with tears in his eyes and said, ‘There lies the greatest ruler of men the world has ever seen’. His animosity had been broken by Lincoln’s long-suffering, non-retaliatory spirit.

It is so easy to gloss over the poetry of Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 13, but let’s remember that these are the words of someone who was frequently thrown into prison for doing good, given 40 lashes five times, beaten with rods three times, shipwrecked three times, starved, denied water, stoned and left cold and naked (cf 2 Corinthians 11). As we re-read what Paul wrote about love, let’s see what we can do to apply at least one of these actions to our daily lives – and thus be part of the fight to ensure love conquers all:

‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails’ (1 Corinthians 13: 4-8 NIV)

The Beautiful Game?

End of the season

And so we have reached the end of the English Premier League season – almost a year on from when it started. It turned out to be the longest season ever but won in almost the shortest time by Liverpool FC – and with nearly the highest points total (99) of all time. My wife and I have just won our family’s Fantasy Football league (of 10 sides) and wrested the trophy (a rather over large tea mug) from our younger daughter. It was close, though, with a mere 21 points in it after the final whistle.

The Saints

My sporting tastes now are quite wide and varied but football was my first love. When home ‘on leave’ from Africa, my Dad would take me to our team’s ground at Love Street in Paisley, Scotland – home to St Mirren FC. (My Dad was selected to play for St Mirren as a goalkeeper just as World War II was finishing and so the team is close to his heart.) As a youngster I would get in to Love Street for free so long as I was light enough for him to lift me over the turnstile. Then it was down to the front of the terraces, wearing my black and white scarf, to cheer on ‘the Buddies’ – or, more easily, ‘the Saints’ as this went better with our song, ‘Oh when the saints go marching in‘. We rarely did particularly well, but the pennant in my office reminds me (in my own handwriting) that we did win the old First Division in 1977 and then the Scottish Championship in 2018.

Embarrassing

It was in another competition, however, that I had a most embarrassing moment. In September 1977, just four days before our wedding, I took my fiancee and my Dad to watch St Mirren play Fulham (in London) in the first leg quarter-final of the Anglo- Scottish Cup. We arrived a few minutes late at Craven Cottage and cheered on the team in black and white to a first half goal. It was only in the half-time break that we realised we had been cheering on the wrong team (Fulham play in black and white and were, of course, the home team). We switched allegiance to the correct team for the second half (playing in red) and were again rewarded with a goal. So, whilst my lovely wife has continued to rib me about this to this day, we did at least have the fun of supporting the winning team in each half (and St Mirren did go on to be runners-up in the final that season).

Religious fervour

St Mirren’s trophy cabinet may be smaller than most, but watching the final matches of this season in England reminded me of the passion, which is close to religious fervour, that many people put into their football teams and which I sometimes witnessed on the Love Street terraces – and certainly when I occasionally ventured to Ibrox to see Glasgow Rangers play. The Swedish band, Rednex, released a country-dance song in 2008 called ‘Football is our religion‘ and Pele once famously said, ‘Football is like a religion to me. I worship the ball and treat it like a god‘. His arch rival for the title of the greatest player of all time, Diego Maradona, once confused his own hand with God’s – to England’s dismay. There has, of course, been a long history of the involvement of Christianity and association football. In the Nineteenth Century, ‘Muscular Christianity’ encouraged the game for its physical and social benefits and churches established several of what we would regard today as some of the leading UK clubs: Celtic, Everton, Manchester City and Southampton (the ‘other’ Saints), to name but a few. St Mirren is named after Saint Mirin (an Irish missionary monk who died in c 620 AD) and St Johnstone is named after St John the Baptist. In Northern Ireland, Glentoran FC had a sign with ‘Jesus’ on it at its Oval ground until, moving with the times we might say, an advertising hoarding claimed that space. Its rival club at Portadown FC, however, proudly displays the sign, ‘Life without Jesus makes no sense‘.

You’ll never walk alone

I suppose I risk the wrath of millions of football fans the world over to say that whilst football is ‘only’ a game, the ‘game of life’ is indeed meaningless without Jesus. Bill Shankly would have had us believe that football isn’t a matter of live and death – but is actually much more important than that. I wonder. The ‘Beautiful Game’ is taking a break now in the UK – at least as far as the professional form is concerned – and I hope (and pray) that this is time for its players, organisers and supporters to consider where God’s hand really is, who the true Saints are and that even football has to face up to the fact that ‘Life without Jesus makes no sense’. Liverpool FC’s anthem, ‘You’ll never walk alone‘, contains the lyric, ‘At the end of the storm, There’s a golden sky‘ . Let’s indeed ‘walk on, with hope in (our) heart‘ and remember that we do not walk alone – if only we acknowledge, ‘Life without Jesus makes no sense‘.

What’s in a number?

Just recently a friend shared with me that on April 29th this year it was the 87th anniversary of the Everton v Manchester City FA Cup final. What was the fascination with this match? It was the first time players wore numbers on their shirts: Everton wore numbers 1-11 and Man City numbers 12-22.

VE Day commemoration

Many of us have also just held socially distanced street parties to commemorate another date – the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II in Europe. We celebrated on May 8th 1945 but the Russians on May 9th (as the Soviets were not happy with the Western Allies coming to terms with the German surrender a day early). My Mother recalls being in school at this time and sitting in her Geography lesson while the teacher moved flags around on a large map depicting the position of the various armies as peace approached. My Dad says he can’t remember VE Day – he was working in the shipyards on the Clyde – but it’s possible he was in the pub! (Very sadly for him the last days of the war were blighted by the death of his two cousins: they were helping out at a First Aid station when a German bomb aimed at Coates’ Mills in Paisley missed its intended target and hit their post instead.) For many, such as my wife’s family, the end of the war in Europe was a false dawn: my wife’s grandfather was still a POW of the Japanese and did not get back home until well into the Autumn of 1945 – and only then could they properly rejoice.

School numbers

At my two schools I was allocated numbers: in my Prep School I was number 58 (and apparently the 58th boy to join this new boarding school in Ayrshire) before becoming number 677 at my senior boarding school in Edinburgh (where the numbers were allocated according to your House). Having numbers meant it was easier for parents to mark up clothing and seemed to go well with the fact that you were generally known by your surname – Reid in my case – for much of your school career. (Boys with brothers, such as my best friend, Tom, had attributions after their surname: Tom’s eldest brother was Davidson Major, his second brother was Davidson Minor and Tom was Davidson Tertius.)

More Maths

We are living today in a time of crisis and once again numbers have become all important. (Not that I’m someone who’s any good with numbers: when I first took O Level Maths – yes, I am that old – I just managed a pass with a grade 6. My Maths teacher was furious: ‘Reid, you’re in set 1. You can do better than this – take the exam again next term’. I did so and promptly got a grade 7, a fail.) The Prime Minister and his medical experts are talking about the R number (sounds like an O Level equation – help), countries are being compared according to the number of virus-infected patients and, tragically, the number of those who have died. It’s all like some macabre league table. It is all too easy to become a statistic and for us to feel insignificant and of no account.

Not a number but a name

And so I am reminded of the New Testament story of Zacchaeus. Whatever our faith position, it’s a great encouragement to read of Jesus calling out to a man who, for fear of those whose numbers he’d been fiddling as a tax collector, had effectively been self-isolating. Jesus calls him down from the sycamore tree and addresses him by name – a person whom He had never met before. Moreover, the Bible assures us that not one sparrow falls to the ground without God knowing about it – and that every hair of our heads is numbered. This is the God who goes after the one missing sheep to return it to the fold with the other 99 – and the God who welcomes the prodigal back home with open arms.

So, how ever you are feeling today, let’s remember that we are not just a number. Our ‘football shirts’ have our name on the back – with God’s name as the sponsor on the front! Oh, and by the way, Everton beat Man City 3-1 back in April 1933 at the FA Cup Final (and my Liverpool family are Everton season-ticket holders)! Stay safe and well – and remember that you are named and loved.

With thanks to Alex Aldous, chaplain of Prestfelde School, for the football numbers and idea

Unsung Heroes

SPOTY

I watched SPOTY – the BBC’s annual Sports Personality of the Year – last weekend and, like so many, was amazed by the breadth and range of sporting success (and some failure) enjoyed by British athletes of all disciplines in 2019. I was especially struck afresh by the importance of the ‘quiet word’, encouragement and ‘behind the scenes’ support given by coaches, family, friends and others – the ‘unsung heroes’. Whilst my own sporting journey to date has been modest, to say the least, compared to all that was on display in SPOTY, I can testify to something of what the writer to the Hebrews refers to as ‘the cloud of witnesses‘ (in Hebrews 12 in the New Testament).

Early sporting interest

My parents come to mind initially. We were very fortunate to live Overseas until I was 18 years of age and my Mum and Dad taught me firstly to swim (apparently I could do this before I could walk and would worry bystanders by doing most of it underwater) and, secondly, to play golf. I didn’t enjoy golf initially but their encouragement and example ensured I didn’t easily give up and then in my teens the golfing ‘bug’ stuck and I was on the course daily during the holidays. I wasn’t able to play regularly thereafter but now that I am semi-retired my youthful skills are being resurrected and I can still hear their words of exhortation.

Perseverance is key

Next I recall a schoolmaster, John England, who watched me playing rugby when I was about 12 years old. As a gangly youngster I was placed in the second row of the rugby pack but was able to show a turn of speed if given space. Mr England advised me to stretch out a bit – and not give up – and suggested that with perseverance I’d confirm my first team place and gain ‘colours’ (a badge and special socks, as I recall). The very next match I remember scoring a try and, although we lost, his confident prediction was borne out. Moreover, the following term, commenting again positively on my running, he challenged me to win the school cross-country championship. Actually I came third but his belief in me ensured that at secondary school I continued cross-country running under the guidance of former Scottish Commonwealth Games runner, Fergus Murray. By then I was shortening much of my focus to middle-distance running and the highlight, aged 18 years, was to run a 400 metre race against senior opposition (including two international athletes) at Meadowbank Stadium in Edinburgh. I came last in the race but at least I had been encouraged to aspire!

Admonition can help, too!

It was at secondary school that I received another type of encouragement in my sports’ playing. This time, also aged 18 years, I was admonished by a Scottish rugby international (and later BBC commentator), Ian Robertson. It was during a 7-a-side practice when an opponent swept passed me. Instead of trying to chase him down I pulled up assuming there was no chance of catching him. Mr Robertson, our coach, ‘let me have it’ and I never forgot the importance thereafter of ‘keeping on going’ even if the odds appeared stacked against me. In fact this advice paid off handsomely that summer in the school Sports Day. My Housemaster, David McMurray – another fine sportsman who encouraged me in croquet, golf, hockey and athletics – had a quiet word with me towards the end of the Inter-House championship. Our House was lying second by a couple of points and we still had the final event to run: the 6 x 200 yards relay. I was on the final leg for my House. Mr McMurray pointed out that if I was to come in the top three then we would win overall. Despite the other final leg athletes being better sprinters, I somehow managed second place and the Cup was ours!

Throw off everything that hinders

It’s not for me to trot out more examples from my past of encouraging words and cajolements on the sports-field (and there are others who have made a great impression on me). Suffice it to say, that as the writer to the Hebrew has said, it’s vital than in all that we do – sporting or otherwise – to ‘throw off everything that hinders‘ and to run the race of life with perseverance. A kind word, a smile, an encouraging letter or card – even a carefully judged and appropriate criticism passed on in love – can make all the difference. Why not try it today and be an unsung hero?

Nil Satis, Nisi Optimum (nothing but the best is good enough)

The longest match of the season

I attended the longest Premier League football match of the season yesterday – some 104 minutes and 52 seconds. I’d like to say that it was one of the best sporting occasions (‘nothing but the best’) I’d witnessed in recent times and that the extra minutes gave real value for money – but sadly this was not the case. There were, however, bright moments to ponder and a sense that human dignity and respect transcends a game.

I rarely get the opportunity to attend a live football match and they always bring back memories of being lifted over the turnstiles by my Father at Love Street back in the 1960s, a time when youngsters could get into matches for free if they were light enough to be lifted over the barriers. Goodison Park, where I was yesterday, whilst immeasurably swankier that the old St Mirren FC ground at Love Street, Paisley, still exhibited the traditional trademarks: the heroes of bygone eras on the walls of the stadium; the raucous programme and scarf sellers (one bearing the names of the Everton ‘Holy Trinity’); the ‘pie and pint’ deal; the predominantly male crowd; the muffled loudspeaker announcements; the chants and songs…

The rituals of the stadium

I’m always struck that for some, if not all, the football stadium is the Temple, the Church, the place of fellowship and of worship. Yesterday was no different: we had a former Everton star paraded at half-time and applauded; a photo of a young fan, whose life had been cut short several years ago, on the large screen under the initials RIP and the reverential clapping timed to coincide with his age and the time of his death; the military servicemen and women laying wreaths ahead of Remembrance Day whilst the Last Post was sounded and the crowd fell silent; the ritual with the ball on the pedestal before the start of play. ‘Nothing but the best is good enough’ – and many of these rituals are indeed ‘the best’.

So much is so very good

And so much also is good – very good. There was the focal point outside the stadium where money and foodstuffs were being collected for the hungry. A local church was open to provide refreshment and offer solace. A handicapped child was wheeled onto the hallowed turf by one of the Everton players and given a place of honour in the handshakes before the match began. The ‘Everton Remembers’ banner was unfurled as we shared solemn moments remembering our War dead. And, perhaps most poignant of all, the respectful applause by the Spurs’ supporters – all on their feet – to honour Andrew Gomes of Everton FC who suffered a horrendous ankle break following a challenge by a Tottenham player. ‘Nothing but the best’ was indeed being exhibited in some of the behaviour around the ground even if the football on it, hardly enhanced by some baffling VAR moments (and hence, along with the injury, a cause of the lengthy game), meant that in leaving the ground the conversation was not about the quality of the match but about all that had marred it – and concern for the injured player.

A motto for life

Nil Satis, Nisi Optimum – surely an admirable motto for all of life? I hope that what’s most remembered from the unremarkable football yesterday is the obvious concern the Everton players had for their fallen comrade, the incredible distress displayed by the Spurs’ player whose harsh tackle had led to the injury and the unity, if only for a few moments, of the whole crowd in applauding the injured player off the field.