da dobrowin： In 1987 I turned 13 and was deemed old enough to be initiated into the sweary, stubbly, beer-stained throng of the Kippax. Previously my older brother had reluctantly been forced to accompany me in the main stand at Manchester City, singing the songs under his breath amidst the cologne and driving gloves, just waiting for me to evolve from being a pipsqueak so we could watch the footy together properly.
da 888casino： The milestone also allowed me to join him for away days and most Monday or Thursday mornings in school I would gabble excitedly to anyone within ear-shot about travelling on the Football Specials; about the songs and the peripheral aggro; about the plastic bananas; about West Brom and Swindon and Bradford. Exploring those places and experiencing those experiences at such an innocent age enriched me beyond explanation. They made me.
1987 was also the year that Paul Stewart signed for City from Blackpool. Due to his bullish endeavour in a position I wanted to excel at for my school team – but wasn’t considered good enough – he almost immediately replaced Imre Varadi as my favourite player. A season later he banged in 24 goals, a spree of lethal energy, and to this skinny kid who thought only of City and his The Smiths cassette collection, Stewart was promoted from favourite to hero.
I’d been smitten before of course, but that was with players who, almost literally at my age, were from another world. Brazil. Italy. This was brilliance right in front of my eyes.
Despite his goals City missed out on promotion that season meaning his departure was almost inevitable and as sad as it was waving him off to Spurs consolation came in knowing that our Class of 86 were beginning to fulfil their vast potential. There was the silky, raw magnificence of Paul Lake, Andy Hinchcliffe, Ian Brightwell, the classy stewardship of Stevie Redmond. Whilst out on the wing, skinning full-backs for giggles, was David White.
City had always cherished wing-play, so much so that the club became synonymous with the craft: and here was one of its finest exponents, a local lad who was exhilarating to watch. Blessed with blistering pace and the rare ability to retain awareness whilst at full tilt, Whitey was all motion and adventure and played a significant role in the promotion-winning side of ’89. Indeed it was his cross that set up the final-day goal that made it happen. Four months later, a young side with Manchester in their bones decimated United 5-1 at Maine Road. To condense a thousand words into five, it was a perfect day. It was Whitey who crossed for the fifth, a bullet header by Hinchcliffe that will always nestle just under Aguero’s injury-time strike as the most iconic City moment in modern times.
When he made his international debut for England three years later I felt a vicarious pride that was entirely new to me.
This week Paul Stewart and David White – along with former Crewe players Andy Woodward and Steve Walters – have publicly made it known that they were sexually abused as children by coaches entrusted with their care. At the same age when Paul and David were making me feel alive and helping me come out of my shell, they were enduring a vile betrayal of trust that robs and pollutes such maturation; that would have been beyond my comprehension at that stage of my life and can only be conceived now because you grow up and realise life is much more than travelling the country with your brother and watching your team beat another. The world can be a horrible place.
Even so, I can barely imagine what each went through at an age when the world owes you protection and I certainly cannot fathom the depths of courage required to retain your pure love of the game and go on to excel and achieve and entertain.
After the four former players spoke out, the NSPCC set up a hotline that received over 50 calls in the first two hours, a figure that has reportedly risen greatly since. The hotline – supported by the FA – concerns the abuse that has been inflicted within the confines of the game but the positive effects from the candid bravery of Woodward, Walters, White and Stewart will undoubtedly have a wider reach.
Out there, right now, will be children who are presently hidden away from help in a secret hell of abuse. While they will be too young to recall the players in their prime – or even previously know of their existence – the fact that it’s high-profile footballers speaking out might encourage them to do likewise.
It only takes one match to burn a thousand trees. Four have been struck this week.
As a kid, David White and Paul Stewart were my heroes. Now as a grown-up I think they’re pretty incredible, too.
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