February 17, 2011
By Staff Reporter
Every piece of old highlight reel that took our breath away and bolstered the claims of his greatness seemed counterbalanced by depressing photographs of him heading to prison, admissions of wife-beating, and so much other sordidness.
Maybe he was a man more sinned against than sinning, but even after reading so many different versions of his life story, he appeared, like every other victim of alcoholism, somebody to pity rather than revere. It was easier to believe every tall tale we were ever told about Christy Ring or Mick O’Connell because they never became caricatures of themselves. There might be a pitiful lack of footage of them both still extant, but they existed to us, anyway, as great, if in both cases, occasionally eccentric sportsmen.
How could you equate the Best we see dancing around Wembley in the grainy footage of Manchester United beating Benfica in the 1968 European Cup final with the smiling scarecrow leering from the Sky Sports studio? Especially when you knew that Sky had a replacement ex-footballer in waiting every Saturday to take over in the event that drink got the better of their first choice and he didn’t bother turning up.
He divided people along generational lines. Those who saw him so lavishly decorate the game in the sixties tended to adore him to the end. Those who know him only as the blathering tosspot — from that infamous episode of “Wogan” onwards he degenerated — were increasingly sickened by his antics. Even during his last illness, there was a suspicion he’d soon be back peddling the same, tired, vulgar yarns about his carousing in some class of biography or other.
Now he is finally gone, it appears slightly blasphemous to speak so dispassionately of the greatest player ever to emerge from this island. One of the greatest ever to play the game, his CV was only ever really lacking an appearance at World Cup finals — a small, yet significant detail.
In his wonderful 1981 polemic, “How Not To Run Football!” Derek Dougan put a striking painting of Best, a Christ-like figure nailed to a cross, on the cover and contended that the lack of a proper international outlet contributed massively to his former Northern Ireland team-mate’s downfall.
“If there had been an All-Ireland side, I am sure that George would not have gone off the rails,” wrote Dougan. “His erratic behavior was sometimes caused by frustration. Here was an absolute genius without the international showcase he needed. Restricted by nationality, he remained an outsider, never able to reach the center of the top international footballing events.”
Like the old saw about him or Pel