POLITICAL FOOTBALL
Harold Wilson invented political football. The Labour leader, prime minister from 1964 to 1970 and 1974 to 1976, carried a photograph of the Huddersfield Town side that won three successive league titles in the 1920s, in his wallet. The affection was genuine – he cheered them on from the terraces at the Kirklees stadium before his father lost his job in the recession – but the gesture was also virtue signalling proof that he was a man of the people. He once showed the photo to Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev who, assuming Wilson wanted an autograph, dutifully signed it.
That was hardly the worst own goal scored by a prime minister playing political football. David Cameron blamed a “brain fade” after publicly encouraging an audience to support West Ham even though he had previously declared his allegiance to Aston Villa, saying his uncle – and club chairman – Sir William Dugdale had first taken him to a match when he was 13.
This all smacked of Roger Nouveau, the Arsenal fan on The Fast Show (“I used to support Manchester United but then you had to support them where I came from – Hampstead”). Tony Blair was unjustly accused of being another Nouveau fan when Newcastle’s Sunday Sun, after a misheard radio interview, quoted him as watching Jackie Milburn at St James’s Park, at a time when he was four – and living in Australia. The iconic footage of Blair and Newcastle manager Kevin Keegan playing keepy uppy now seems a relic of a more innocent, optimistic era. Blair’s successor Gordon Brown played the man of the people card, stressing his lifelong support of Raith Rovers although, as with Wilson, his passion was absolutely genuine.
As indeed was John Major’s worship of Chelsea. He began supporting the Blues in 1954/55, when they won their first league title, a triumph which probably gave the 12-year-old future prime minister absurdly inflated expectations. In 1995, there was a rumour that he was actually a Gooner but, having been dubbed ‘boring John Major’ by the media, couldn’t afford to be associated with George Graham’s ‘boring boring Arsenal’. It sounds unlikely. Surely his advisors would have recommended a different team? Many football fans agreed with Terry Collier (James Bolam) who remarked, in a 1971 episode of Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads: “Chelsea stand for everything I hate about modern football”. (Pub trivia bonus: Rodney Bewes – the other likely lad, Bob – was a Chelsea fan.)
One way to win at political football is not to play it at all. Wilson’s predecessor at No10, Sir Alec Douglas Home, a decent right-armed, medium fast bowler – and the only prime minister to play first-class cricket – never publicly adopted any team. Neither did his fellow Conservative Edward Heath, who beat Wilson in 1970. The spurious urban myth that Heath supported Burnley is based entirely on the fact that he opened a stand at Turf Moor, but he was a Gooner, albeit a low key-one. When Wilson boasted that England only won the World Cup under Labour, Heath grumbled: “That’s like me taking credit for Arsenal winning the double.”
All of which brings us to Sir Keir Starmer who hasn’t been given a free VIP box by Arsenal as prime minister but has been offered seats in the director’s box because, for reasons that are blindingly obvious to everyone but the swivel-eyed loons who write Daily Mail editorials, he can’t use his regular season tickets. Nor is the Labour leader a football luvvy: he began playing when he was 10, initially for amateur club Boulthurst Athletic, later for Homerton Academicals, in midfield and upfront.
In his fantasy five-a-side political football team, Starmer selected Clement Attlee, who played for Fleet Town in the 1920s (he was staying with his aunt, who lived next to the ground) before becoming a lawyer and Labour prime minister (1945- 1951). Conventional political history portrays Clem as too focused on rebuilding Britain to fret about sport. Yet a ticker tape machine in his office kept him appraised of county cricket scores and, appreciating football’s morale-boosting appeal, he often attended matches with foreign secretary Ernest Bevin.
The game could be good for politicians’ morale too. The day after his bruising summit with Adolf Hitler in Munich in 1938, Neville Chamberlain sought distraction at the Valley where he watched Birmingham City, his hometown team, roar back from 3-0 down to draw 4-4 with Charlton Athletic.
In contrast, Winston Churchill regarded watching football primarily as a patriotic chore. On being presented to the England team, he invariably, Stanley Matthews recalled, shook their hands for slightly too long, called them troops, wished them well and broke any awkward silences by admitting he didn’t really like football, preferring polo. Classic Churchill really: completely authentic and rather rude.