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Featured Categories : Sports, Hobbies & Games : Football : Clubs : Nottingham Forest
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The BBC's Barry Davies said on the commentary, "What a penalty! What a great penalty!" It was not a great penalty; it was a shite penalty but the goalkeeper had gone the wrong way.
The penalty in question was against Germany in the 1996 European Championship, and the blunt assessor of its merit was the penalty-taker--international stalwart and sometime England captain Stuart Pearce. Since 1990, when he missed a penalty that ushered in England's exit from the World Cup, Pearce and spot-kick calamity had been inextricably linked in the public's mind. England's battling left-back had buried that hoodoo in spectacularly emotional fashion against Spain in the previous round, and it's typical of this diffident, self-possessed player that one match later he was dismissing the plaudits.
Backbone of the defence and a regular in the line for the treatment table--from his days as a part-time electrician playing for non-league Wealdstone to his Indian summer in the Premiership with current club West Ham--Pearce's career has been a sustained battle to overcome the limitations of his body and blunt the more extravagant abilities of the flair players who lay siege to his goal week in, week out.
In a story of extraordinary achievement--and equally conspicuous misfortune and failure--as both player and manager, Pearce recalls the legends and also-rans he has met along the way, offering no-nonsense portraits of the likes of Brian Clough, Glenn Hoddle and Rudd Gullit, and an insider's take on the realities of the professional game. The fans who have cherished his do-or-die on pitch heroics may find Pearce's real-world motivations surprising.
Psycho is an entertaining, revealing portrait of an English sporting icon--with Pearce on his love of punk music, his short-lived career as a juvenile delinquent and tales of a hen called Chicken Kiev, as an added bonus.--Alex Hankin
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Whether it was winning league championships, landing back-to-back European Cups or riding the tidal wave of booze that washed him out of the game in 1993, there has never been any question of Brian Clough "quietly" getting on with things--and retirement hasn't changed that, as his boisterous new autobiography Cloughie--Walking on Water demonstrates.The man who in the twilight of his successful and controversial managerial career habitually proffered a paternal cheek for embarrassed reporters to kiss goodbye, has clearly lost none of his distaste for any convention he hasn't started himself, or his delight in causing a stir. The book is crammed with frank opinions, fruitily expressed: from analysing today's game (Arsene Wenger's all-conquering Arsenal: "a bad-tempered, bad-mannered team" that "leave a nasty taste"); pithily settling ancient scores (on how he became Hartlepool manager: "Their chairman, a little bloke called Ernie Ord who turned out to be an absolute shit, offered me the job."); or taking the "broad view" of the game in general (coaches stepping up to be managers: "by and large these are men who tend to drown in their own self-delusion").
Certainly, much of the history in this book got pretty solid coverage in his original autobiography nearly 10 years previously, but an older, wiser Cloughie has had time to consider matters. On the whole he's still sure he was right all along, but now there are counter-melodies to the familiar trumpeting. Some bitterness, some regret, too, at cruelties he perpetrated, or allowed to stand; at his swan-song season, when, grip loosened by drink, he let his beloved Forest slip out of the Premiership; and mostly that he never orchestrated a reconciliation with deceased sidekick Peter Taylor, after a petty dispute had poisoned the most important relationship of his football life.
It's this flavour of lament in the blend of rheumy-eyed reflection and full-flowing rant, that reminds us they just don't make them like Brian any more. Yes, Cloughie sometimes loses its way--lurching from one subject to another, or going back over the same ground—-and the trademark boasting has long since become a rather boring self-parody, but the light still burns, and it's not hard to feel grateful for that. --Alex Hankin
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Whether it was winning league championships, landing back-to-back European Cups or riding the tidal wave of booze that washed him out of the game in 1993, there has never been any question of Brian Clough "quietly" getting on with things--and retirement hasn't changed that, as his boisterous new autobiography Cloughie--Walking on Water demonstrates.The man who in the twilight of his successful and controversial managerial career habitually proffered a paternal cheek for embarrassed reporters to kiss goodbye, has clearly lost none of his distaste for any convention he hasn't started himself, or his delight in causing a stir. The book is crammed with frank opinions, fruitily expressed: from analysing today's game (Arsene Wenger's all-conquering Arsenal: "a bad-tempered, bad-mannered team" that "leave a nasty taste"); pithily settling ancient scores (on how he became Hartlepool manager: "Their chairman, a little bloke called Ernie Ord who turned out to be an absolute shit, offered me the job."); or taking the "broad view" of the game in general (coaches stepping up to be managers: "by and large these are men who tend to drown in their own self-delusion").
Certainly, much of the history in this book got pretty solid coverage in his original autobiography nearly 10 years previously, but an older, wiser Cloughie has had time to consider matters. On the whole he's still sure he was right all along, but now there are counter-melodies to the familiar trumpeting. Some bitterness, some regret, too, at cruelties he perpetrated, or allowed to stand; at his swan-song season, when, grip loosened by drink, he let his beloved Forest slip out of the Premiership; and mostly that he never orchestrated a reconciliation with deceased sidekick Peter Taylor, after a petty dispute had poisoned the most important relationship of his football life.
It's this flavour of lament in the blend of rheumy-eyed reflection and full-flowing rant, that reminds us they just don't make them like Brian any more. Yes, Cloughie sometimes loses its way--lurching from one subject to another, or going back over the same ground—-and the trademark boasting has long since become a rather boring self-parody, but the light still burns, and it's not hard to feel grateful for that. --Alex Hankin
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The BBC's Barry Davies said on the commentary, "What a penalty! What a great penalty!" It was not a great penalty; it was a shite penalty but the goalkeeper had gone the wrong way.
The penalty in question was against Germany in the 1996 European Championship, and the blunt assessor of its merit was the penalty-taker--international stalwart and sometime England captain Stuart Pearce. Since 1990, when he missed a penalty that ushered in England's exit from the World Cup, Pearce and spot-kick calamity had been inextricably linked in the public's mind. England's battling left-back had buried that hoodoo in spectacularly emotional fashion against Spain in the previous round, and it's typical of this diffident, self-possessed player that one match later he was dismissing the plaudits.
Backbone of the defence and a regular in the line for the treatment table--from his days as a part-time electrician playing for non-league Wealdstone to his Indian summer in the Premiership with current club West Ham--Pearce's career has been a sustained battle to overcome the limitations of his body and blunt the more extravagant abilities of the flair players who lay siege to his goal week in, week out.
In a story of extraordinary achievement--and equally conspicuous misfortune and failure--as both player and manager, Pearce recalls the legends and also-rans he has met along the way, offering no-nonsense portraits of the likes of Brian Clough, Glenn Hoddle and Rudd Gullit, and an insider's take on the realities of the professional game. The fans who have cherished his do-or-die on pitch heroics may find Pearce's real-world motivations surprising.
Psycho is an entertaining, revealing portrait of an English sporting icon--with Pearce on his love of punk music, his short-lived career as a juvenile delinquent and tales of a hen called Chicken Kiev, as an added bonus.--Alex Hankin
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