Books & Poetry

The first thing that whets the appetite about Richard Williams’ collection of essays on football’s greatest number 10 is his list of those who didn’t make the cut. If the likes of Zico, Ardiles and Dejan Savicevic can be relegated to the bench, then clearly he’s picked quite a line-up.

Luckily, he doesn’t disappoint. The first name on the teamsheet, Hungary’s ‘Galloping Major’ Ferenc Puskas, is emblematic of the care Williams has taken to place these players not just in the context of the history of football but also of their countries’ sporting and political landscapes. And he never loses sight of the fact that the real appeal of such players is their ability to make you gasp, hold your breath or exhale it wordlessly while shaking your head. For every passage on the sight of Roberto Baggio heartbroken and alone in the Pasadena heat there is another rhapsodising on the sheer poetic brilliance of Michel Platini.

Williams’s personal favourites are clearly the suave, aristocratic Rivera of Milan; the overlooked Netzer of Germany; and Uruguay’s willowy Enzo Francescoli. In invoking these players, he recalls a time before saturation football coverage when a cool haircut or an exotic club name set these Fancy Dans apart from their parochial English counterparts as much as their mercurial skills. That there are no Englishmen in these pages comes as little surprise. The careers of Hoddle and Le Tissier suggest that England coaches have in the past valued team players over supremely gifted individuals. Gazza might be the one exception, but his story we know all too well. The current World Cup will see the retirement of the best playmaker of the last 20 years, Zinédine Zidane; but with Riquelme, Kaká and Andrea Pirlo around, the future of the number 10 looks as bright as its past.