Colin Sheridan: David Beckham was hiding in plain sight in Qatar
EVERYWHERE: A mural of David Beckham near the Khalifa International Stadium, Al Rayyan, Qatar. Pic: Mike Egerton/PA Wire
As a footballer, David Beckham often managed the impossible. He was the first footballer of the television age to develop a âwand of a right footâ, a label previously reserved exclusively for left-footed playmakers. He was impossibly vain at a time when footballers still took baths together and moisturiser was the devil's milk.Â
He was impossibly cool, defying haters by wearing sarongs and head-to-toe leather and headscarves and cornrows. He was a gay icon, becoming Brad Pitt in a pair of Predator boots. He often came across as impossibly vacuous, too, as shallow as a puddle, an empty vessel of a man obsessed with self-image, rescued only by being impossibly good at taking free-kicks.Â
It says a lot about him then, that after almost thirty years in the spotlight, he may have managed his most impossible feat yet; making Qatar, the nefariously rich gulf state, feel like the rest of us. According to Tariq Panjaâs reporting in the , the country reportedly paid him something north of $150 million to promote their World Cup, only for him to effectively no-show. He phoned it in. Becks âquiet quitâ.
Despite being ubiquitous across sky-scraper length billboards in Doha, Beckham himself was conspicuously hard to find during the tournament, and even harder to hear. He refused to attend promotional events if media were present (oh, the irony), he dodged all requests for comment on a myriad of obvious issues, he even blocked Naser Mohamed, a physician who claims to be the first and only openly gay Qatari, who had the temerity to tag Beckhamâs Instagram account in a post detailing the dangers facing homosexuals in the gulf state.
Beckham, undoubtedly aware of the damage his association with Qatar was doing to his all-important brand, eschewed the high road - return the money, or justify taking it - for the path of least resistance (and most profit) - take the money and run.
To be fair to the old Qataris, weâve all been there. You have a couple of 8% IPAs on a Friday night and before you know it youâve ordered something online and youâre excited about it. The delivery date is a little while away, but that only adds to the anticipation. You get email updates charting the progress of your purchase. Your order has been placed! Your order is being processed! Your order will be dispatched. Your order has been dispatched. Your order may arrive on this date. Make sure you are home.
You stay home for weeks. Silence. Your order doesnât arrive. You check your bank account and sure enough, the money has gone. You email the vendor and eventually you get a response telling you that, hey, sorry about this but the size you ordered was out of stock, but, no presh! We found something similar and weâve dispatched that to you now! Itâs all good. Youâre disappointed, but the tenor of the automated correspondence is polite and youâre inherently conflict averse, so you let the first delay slide and hope for the best. You ordered something, paid legitimate currency for it.
There are regulatory bodies that govern such things, right? You choose to ignore caveat emptor, putting your faith instead in human nature, that the honest exchange of money for service will be enough. That people are good. That the world is a fine place and worth fighting for. Because of this, you believe your Nike Waffle Ones, UK size 10.5 will eventually show up, and when you get that text from Dave from DHL to say he will be delivering a package between 1.37pm and 5.12pm today, you feel a tingle of excitement the likes of which you havenât felt since you ordered the Apple Airpods that didn't arrive on time either, but when they came they worked beautifully for six whole weeks before the right one crashed and you couldnât muster the testicular fortitude required to initiate the returns process, which, you know through experience, is as stressful as the American withdrawal from Kabul last August, just not half as quick.
Well, we now know thatâs exactly how the Qatariâs feel about David Beckham. Their very expensive purchase that eventually got delivered, did not work, and is impossible to return. To paraphrase Gianni Infantino: âToday, we are all Qatar!â. Suckered by their own desire to buy happiness, they thought they were getting a pair of golden balls, they got an $150 million cardboard cut-out instead.
If GAA trends operated like Wall Street, then speculators would be buying a lot of Galway football stock right now. The year started with an NUIG team led by Mhaigh Cuilinnâs fabulous Kelly brothers, winning a first Sigerson Cup in 20 seasons, the only team to hold David Clifford scoreless (from play) in the process.
There followed a successful National League campaign for the county team, which saw Padraic Joyceâs men win Division 2, an appropriate preamble to an All-Ireland football final run that saw them definitively usurp Mayo as the westâs best team. Hindsight is all-knowing, but with 10 minutes left against Kerry, Clifford aside, that was a game there for Galway to win.
The split season gave us a second taste, and on two fronts. Maigh Cuilinnâs quiet creep to the top of Connacht club football leaves a tantalising prospect of a showdown with the countryâs second best footballer Shane Walsh in an All-Ireland club final, should the Connemara men account for Glen on January 8, and Walshâs new club Kilmacud do the same to Kerins OâRahillys.
Walshâs form since September has backed up his magical display against Kerry and laid waste to the justifiable suspicions that he was too streaky a player to carry a team.
The Kellys on the other hand, have long established themselves as the masters of the mundane. They epitomise the spirit of a club on the rise, buoyed by a young, hungry population, and a support that seems to grasp their time may well be now.
As a collective, the potential of the Kelly brothers and Walsh seems almost infinite. As opponents, the spectacle could be a game for the ages. Regardless of how both start 2023, those inclined will look to diversify their portfolios with some maroon bonds.
Aversion to outsiders seems to be a very English affliction. Wordcount and ascribed purview preclude me from dissecting the fallout from our old enemiesâ reaction to Meghan Markleâs perceived attempt to overthrow the empire by marrying one of the establishment. This is an accusation which prompted Jeremy Clarkson to write in : âI hate her. Not like I hate Nicola Sturgeon or Rose West. I hate her on a cellular level.â He goes on to encourage public shaming of Markle, and urges the public to âthrow lumps of excrement at herâ.
Charming. Recently sacked Eddie Jones may well empathise with Markle. The prosecution of his tenure and his eventual demise was greeted with similar levels of vitriol from the âoldâ English press.
Perhaps it is because he had the impudence to question the power private schooling has over rugby in England. Perhaps because, like Meghan, heâs mixed race and an outsider.
Either way, you canât help hoping Englandâs loss will be someone elseâs gain.
A quiet word of sympathy to the family of Mick Nestor, a stalwart of Offaly GAA and public life, who passed away last weekend.
As a player, referee, and administrator, the Clara man gave decades of loyal service to his native club and the Faithful County before a life-changing accident confined him to a wheelchair. Unable to continue serving the GAA, he turned his misfortune into an opportunity for others, co-founding the Offaly Centre for Independent Living in 1996.
A reluctant activist, he was a proud man, utterly of his time, whose ability to articulate his opinions (particularly on Mayo football) with as few words as possible, will forever be unsurpassed. A teller of hard truths, he will be missed by all who knew him.
