Georgie Boy

It appears that George Best is on the verge of meeting his maker, although given the ‘Barney Rubble’ like resilience of the man we can’t be sure that he’s about to breathe his last.

Some people are so preternaturally gifted that it’s possible to forgive them almost anything, even if they waste much of their talent and devote an inordinate amount of their time to behaving like a total arsehole. Best didn’t entirely squander his gift, mesmerising crowds during the seven years when he displayed his footballing genius at the highest level.

We probably all know someone who, despite their myriad faults, is still ultimately loveable. They can be as unreliable and unpredictable as they like, they will still provide excellent company and generally brighten up the lives of everyone with whom they come in contact. Best was like that. The elfin grace that he displayed on the football pitch seemed to extend into his day to day existence. The friends that he made over the years generally remained friends, even if they did despair over his wayward ways.

Flawed sporting heroes are usually the most attractive. It’s their human fallibility that appeals to us, appearing as a counterweight to the privileges that their position affords them. Personally I’d much rather spend an evening with George Best than with the inarticulate David Beckham, or the cretinous, ‘Shrek’ like Wayne Rooney.

George Best was destroyed by alcohol. Interestingly, his mother didn’t take a drink until the age of forty, but still ended up dying from liver disease. I’m convinced that there must be a genetic element to alcoholism. The same genetic inheritance that produces a sporting genius can lead them into alcohol or drug dependency.

I’m too young to have seen George Best play, but my uncles did. Judging from the veneration in which they hold the man I very much doubt that we’ll see such a perfectly rounded talent again.