Has sport got out of control?
When I was a kid I used to steal my mother’s greaseproof paper and trace pictures of the Liverpool team of the early ’80s out of soccer magazines and newspapers. I don’t know whatever happened to my greaseproof collection of great reds but when it is found the experts will place the most value on the Stevie Nicol portraits. I was convinced at the time that Steve Nicol was the greatest sportsman to have ever lived. The only honour good enough for the man was to be the most traced greaseproof star in the Liverpool panel.
In New York a couple of weeks back I saw an old guy on the television wearing a version of the hairstyle that Stevie Nicol had when he got famous. The old guy was a bit beaten up and it was hard to tell if the hair was even greaseproof — it seemed to have a lot of product in it to keep it shooting up straight out of the man’s head. He had a goofy pair of glasses on and was wearing a tan which looked a bit runny. Sean Connery is the only Scot who can be convincing when it comes to having a tan. When the caption came up it said, Steve Nicol. Ah, no.
