Living on the Deadline

Frank Malley

Description

How did a lad born 50 yards from Wigan Pier come to travel the world covering the biggest stories in sport for a quarter of a century? From Sydney to Rome to Tirana to Tokyo, Living on the Deadline reveals what it's really like to be an international writer on the road. As a columnist with the Daily Express and chief sports writer with the Press Association, Frank Malley has amassed a wealth of poignant and humorous anecdotes while reporting on World Cups, Ryder Cups, tennis Grand Slams and Ashes Test matches. Along the way he has sailed with Ben Ainslie, kicked with Jonny Wilkinson and faced Greg Rusedski's 149mph serve. His memoir, full of wry observations, contains unique glimpses into the grandeur of George Best's funeral inside Stormont Castle, the up-close brutality of Mike Tyson, the heady emotion of the London Olympics and Wigan Athletic's historic FA Cup victory.

Informations

• Publié par: Pitch Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 09 mai 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781909626768
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

First published by Pitch Publishing, 2014
Pitch Publishing
A2 Yeoman Gate
Yeoman Way
Durrington
BN13 3QZ
www.pitchpublishing.co.uk
Frank Malley, 2014
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A CIP catalogue record is available for this book from the British Library
Print ISBN 978 1-90962-646-1
eBook ISBN: 978-1-90962-676-8
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CONTENTS
Dedication
Foreword by Sir Bradley Wiggins
Acknowledgements
Introduction
1. The Road From Wigan Pier
2. The First Post
3. Long Time No Sea
4. The Growler
5. The Black Lubyanka
6. ‘A Drop Or Two Of Acid’
7. Simply The Best
8. ‘Je Cherche Hotel Qui S’appelle Whatsitsname’
9. ‘Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life’
10. Game, Set And Match
11. The Hazy World Of Prince Edward
12. The Great, The Greater And The Greatest
13. ‘Don’t Help Me – I Live Here’
14. A World Of Wisdom
15. The Day The Earth Moved
16. My Part In Winning The World Cup
17. Sweet And Very, Very Sour
18. Ali And McEnroe Come To Dinner
19. What A Load Of Istanbul
20. Thanks For The Memories
21. ‘We Love You Monty’
22. We’re On Our Way To Wembley
23. The Reds And The Dead
24. You Can’t See China From The Moon
25. Merry Christmas – From Gordon And Sarah
26. The Hand Of Clod
27. A Mean-Spirited, Cynical, Disgrace Of A Football Match
28. Return Of The Bean Counters
29. London Calling
30. I’m A Believer
Postscript
Bibliography
Photographs
To Carole and Michael
Travel broadens the mind.
Sport strengthens character.
Home nurtures the soul.
All royalties in aid of Multiple Sclerosis Therapy Centre
There are 60 plus MS Therapy Centres in the UK providing treatment and palliative care for sufferers of Multiple Sclerosis. All are entirely self-funded and rely on charitable donations for their operation and development.
FOREWORD BY SIR BRADLEY WIGGINS
I ’M a massive fan of cycling history. But I also love sport in general and I reckon the next best thing to earning your living from playing sport must be earning your living from watching it.
Frank Malley was one of the first journalists to interview me after I won my gold medal at the Olympic time trial at London 2012 and there’s a picture in this book of us together at the finish at Hampton Court. He reminded me there that not much more than a decade before I had been chopping carrots at the Cumberland Hotel in London and I suppose that’s the power of sport. It can change lives.
Cycling is quite popular now. It’s mainstream and it’s all very space-age but 20 years ago when I was growing up in London it was very different. Back in the early 1990s I was the only person out on a bike going round the Serpentine in Hyde Park. I’d been inspired by watching the Barcelona Olympics and so I persisted with it and told my teacher at school that I wanted to win Olympic gold and to wear the Yellow Jersey in the Tour de France and she thought I was bloody mad.
This book is full of stories of sportsmen a bit like me who chased their dreams as a kid and eventually saw them come true.
At Hampton Court, with the Olympic gold medal around my neck just a week after I had won the Tour de France, I said life was never going to get any better than that.
I guess that is what Jonny Wilkinson also must have thought when he kicked the drop goal which won the Rugby World Cup or Sir Steve Redgrave when he won his fifth Olympic gold medal or Steven Gerrard when he lifted the European Cup for Liverpool in Istanbul, all of which feature in the pages which follow.
But in the end most sportsmen go on, not just because of the money, but because they also love what they do. Getting people to love sport is a passion of mine.
Frank’s memoir makes a fascinating read. I hope you enjoy the stories.
Sir Bradley Wiggins
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I WOULD like to say a big thank you to the following people whose help, friendship and passion for journalism and sport have played their part, either wittingly or unwittingly, at key moments in my career:
Bill Anderton, David Reynolds, Peter Aspinall, Mike Taylor, Andy Collomosse, Drew Mackenzie, David Mankelow, Jimmy Armfield, James Lawton, Andy Elliott, Geoff Critchley, Chris Gill, David Emery, Clive Goozey, Peter Tozer, Charlie Sale, Peter Watson, Paul Potts, Martyn Ziegler, Simon Stone, Chris Wiltshire, Mark Bradley, Patrick Collins, Andrew Baldock, Peter Whitfield, Mark Staniforth, Mark Garrod, Tony Roche, Dave Rogers, Chris Skudder, Bob Millward, Scott Dougal, Mitch Phillips, Mike Collett, John Anderson, Stephen Bierley, Julian Guyer, Richard Williams, Ian Chadband.
A special thanks to David Balmforth for his endless ideas and unstinting enthusiasm and to the unsung travel managers, too numerous to list, who got me from A to B – usually in one piece.
Sincere thanks, too, to Press Association Images who supplied the photos and to Paul and Jane Camillin at Pitch Publishing for having faith in the project and helping me share my reminiscences with a wider audience.
Frank Malley, 2014
INTRODUCTION
A N English missionary alighted on a secretive and primitive tribe in the depths of the Aboriginal bush and after determining that they were a peaceful people he urged the chief to allow him to address them en masse.
‘I come from a land where all men are treated equally,’ he cried ‘I have come to tell you how you could have a better life.’
‘Woolamoola!’ replied one of the natives in the front row and the rest took up the chant. ‘Woolamoola! Woolamoola!’
Encouraged by the enthusiastic response the missionary warmed to his task.
‘I want to bring you schools so you can educate your children.’
‘Woolamoola!’
‘I want to show you that you do not have to be poor and hungry. You can have prosperity.’
‘Woolamoola! Woolamoola! Woolamoola!’
The missionary beamed, his voice rising and his hopes soaring.
‘You can live in peace and harmony where there is no differenc between black and white and justice reigns supreme,’ he shrieked.
And the cry came back louder than ever.
‘Woolamoola!’
‘And now,’ said the delighted missionary, ‘may I look at your cattle.’
‘Of course,’ said the Aboriginal chief, ‘but careful you don’t step in the woolamoola.’
Apologies for the old joke but it comes to mind every time I hear bankers arguing they deserve their massive bonuses or politicians saying their ambition is to serve the public when everyone knows most have a raison d’etre which starts and stops with number one. Mostly, however, I mouth ‘Woolamoola!’ when someone says sport doesn’t matter.
I know we are all different and I have nothing against those who would not be seen dead at the races or watching the tennis and who doubtless believe modern-day football is the root of all evil and agree with Mark Twain’s assertion that ‘golf is a good walk spoiled’.
I just think they are wrong, which is probably not that surprising considering I have managed to carve out a career as a national sports journalist over the past 30 years.
Reporting the action. Interviewing the protagonists. Travelling the world. Leapfrogging from one huge sporting event to the next huge sporting event.
Is it the best job in the world? Who knows? That is subjective. After all, one man’s computer programming heaven is another man’s idea of terminal boredom.
There are probably people who have dreamed of being actuaries and traffic wardens and parole officers and weather forecasters since before they were able to say meteorologist. And good luck to them.
For me, however, there is nothing more thrilling than witnessing top-class sport and having the privileged position of the best seats to observe it.
As a sports journalist for the Daily Express and chief sports writer at the Press Association, the respected national press agency of the United Kingdom, travelling has been an integral part of my career, even if I did find it a tad annoying when my mother-in-law unfailingly urged me to have ‘a good holiday’ seemingly every time I left on a working trip which required so much as an overnight stay.
Perhaps that is why when anyone asked what I did for a living I was always slightly reticent with my answer.
The fact was that watching sport had always been my hobby as well as my job. If people really wanted me to elaborate I told them enthusiastically that I covered World Cups and Olympic Games and Ryder Cup golf and Champions League finals and England football and Six Nations championships and world title fights and FA Cup finals and other stuff such as the Wimbledon tennis and Ashes Test matches and the occasional Grand Prix.
‘What, off the telly or something?’ they would ask.
‘No, I go wherever the sport is being played in the world.’
‘And they pay you to do that? That’s not a real job.’
Except that it was. A job which was often fraught, invariably frantic, but never boring. A job in which from one week to the next I could never be entirely sure which town or country or continent I would wake up in with someone on the end of a telephone screaming for me to file copy.
‘When do you need it?’
‘Like now, like yesterday!’
I called it ‘Living on the Deadline’. It was a wonderful job. Best of all, it was my job.
1
THE ROAD FROM WIGAN PIER
I T all began with a knock. ‘Rat-a-tat-tat.’ Actually it was more like three knocks ‘Rat…rat…rat’, slow and ponderous on account of the fact that a couple of butterflies were exercising their wings in my stomach and I was far from su