Never mind the pomp and paraphernalia surrounding the coronation of King Charles III this weekend, courtesy of the royal family and sponsored by his subjects (that’s us). We football fans know there are plenty of other concurrent crownings going on in the world as the game comes to its domestic league climax and champions are celebrated across Europe.
I imagine Wrexham’s citizens are still in a state of euphoria at their return to League Two, a fairy-tale sponsored by Hollywood’s actor owners, Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney. Whilst their players party in Las Vegas, it should be remembered that Notts County, who ran them close all season, now face the play-off lottery, but that’s football.
Further afield – and a long way south – we now know that Napoli have clinched Serie A to become champions of Italy. Victory sealed, the city let loose and it’s been touching to see photos and watch footage of their supporters in a state of disbelief mixed with ecstasy. It’s 33 years since the team won that league (twice) led by their legendary captain Diego Maradona. Maverick he might have been but the player is still revered for what he did for the city. Images of him abound in public spaces and there’s even a shrine dedicated to him, crested by a sign reading ‘Dios’ (Spanish for God).
Ever since I couldn’t get to visit Naples due to a cholera outbreak there, I’ve had a soft-spot for them as opposed to any of the richer teams in the north such as the Milan clubs. (I’m inclined to that under-dog persuasion pretty much wherever the game’s played. So it’s Borussia Dortmund not Bayern Munich, Barcelona not Real – Royal – Madrid, any team in France bar PSG, and any team in England other than the usual suspects.) Cholera, back in the Seventies and beyond, was one of those things the city in the south of Italy was famous for. Crime, organised and otherwise, is also associated with the place. Anyhow, after sleeping out in Rome (being a student at the time) waiting for any transport to take us Naples way, we gave up. The nearest I’ve come to it since then is via my brother-in-law who was born and raised in Naples.
Their blue and white flags will be fluttering in the city well beyond the weekend. For a club that went bankrupt after those golden Maradona years and languished in Italy’s Serie C (the lowest professional league), this season’s success represents a monumental triumph for the team. Cakes, drinks, ice-cream and probably pastas have been dedicated to the players and the piazzas have been crowded with people singing and dancing and hugging one another. A kind of coronation close to home and their hearts and genuine jubilation all round.
It’s a reminder of what football can do: bring people together from every social spectrum, instil pride, and let people dream. As the long-time football correspondent Hunter Davies had it recently: ‘In football, even the lowliest clubs have their time in the sun, however brief’. He cites the time Carlisle FC sat on top of the English First Division in 1974. That prompted me to recall the rise and fall of Northampton Town because I remember it well and because it’s the birthplace of my wife (who has no recollection of their fortunes then).
In a decade, the Cobblers rose from Division Four (League Two these days) to the First, where they spent the season 1965-66, before slipping back down to the bottom league. It was the only taste in their history of the good life at the top.
Naples to Northampton to Nottingham and Forest. Last week, a close friend sent me a copy of Nottingham Post’s ‘Cloughie’, a ‘souvenir edition celebrating a Forest legend’. It’s packed full of evocative photos for Reds’ fans, remembering their greatest manager, thirty years on from his retirement at the City Ground. In unashamed adoration, the tone is set from the beginning: ‘His golden imprint on Forest still endures … and there will never be anybody like him’. There he is, giving a thumbs-up to the crowd, looking youthful and bursting with energy on his arrival at Forest, applauding his team, holding trophies aloft, sharing the good times with Peter Taylor, eye-balling a player from the dugout, dressed in his trademark green jersey. And oh-so-familiar player faces abound, caught in celebration (frequently) and action.
The paper is peppered with his quips, from his drive to get quick results, ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day. But I wasn’t on that particular job’, to his tongue-in-cheek self-importance: ‘Ah yes, Frank Sinatra. He met me once, y’know?’. And there he is, surrounded by fans at his send-off and turned into a statue of reverence on the last page, hands held aloft, and now for all to see and appreciate at Slab Square. Born and raised in
Nottingham, I’ve feasted on the words and images of the Post’s publication for days. That was a long moment in the sun for Forest and Brian Clough is as good as crowned Sun King in the city!
*Article provided by Stephen Parker (Nottingham Forest Correspondent).
*Main image @Copa90 a mural in Naples celebrates the long awaited passing of the baton.
