The Final Whistle

I won’t deny that George Best was a talented footballer who entertained millions in his time but I wonder at giving the man the equivalent of a state funeral with flags flying at half mast, a quite unprecedented step.

We appear to have reached the stage in our society where “Celebrities” and I use the term loosely are celebrated as if they are divinities and those who make a real contribution to society or mankind, can, in contrast, expect a quiet family service, a few badly sung hymns and a simple grave.

Personally and given the choice, I’d prefer the latter service but I assume that already, David if not Victoria Beckham, may be eying up a vacant space in Westminster Abbey, thinking ahead to the final whistle and that great changing room in the sky.


It should be remembered that George Best was a footballer - albeit a good one - for only seven years.

The rest of his life was spent abusing it; drink and drugs, parties and women. A life which, to all intents and purposes, was wasted.

Added to which he received an organ transplant; an organ which could have gone to someone else far more deserving.

He should be remembered according to his true abilities, but with the warning attached that a short period of active life should never create a good legend, more a warning to othether of what could go wrong.


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