PSYCHO 1 - PRETENDER 0

For some years now, I`ve not been at all sure about David Beckham.   In his younger playing days he was a highly talented player for Manchester United and England, with the memories beginning, I suppose, with that imperious goal he scored from inside his own half against Wimbledon all those years ago.   It still sticks in the memory.

After that, he enjoyed many triumphs at Old Trafford until being thumped in the face from a boot hurled at him by the impossible Ferguson.   He left after that and then played for Real Madrid, Los Angeles Galaxy, Milan on loan and along the way he acquired 115 caps for England for whom he was something of a talisman, a hero, a marquee player until his international career came to an end in 2009.  

As a footballer, he has an enviable record of achievement and I`ve no quarrel with that.   But it`s his antics away from the football field that have made me unsure about him.   First his marriage to the pouting Posh Spice, their £125million fortune and their property portfolio which included Beckingham Palace in the Hertfordshire heartland.   Then there has been his constant change of image, like Madonna and other fallen angels who deem it necessary to change their style so people don`t get complacent about them.   We`ve had the daft haircuts, the grotesque tattoos and more recently the facial hair; we`ve had the topless fashion shoots and more endorsements than my driving licence.

But one thing Beckham has been superb at is hobnobbing.   It seems he`s been everywhere where it has mattered - booting the ball into the crowd at the end of the Beijing Olympics; being part of the `bid group` for the London Olympics and England`s woeful World Cup bid; lighting the Olympic Torch at Lands End.   He`s hobnobbed with royalty, lords a leaping and ladies dancing. In short  he hobnobs for England.   He`s already been given an OBE for his prowess as a footballer and there is much expectation among those who know about these things, not least his dearly beloved, that he will shortly be knighted for services to hobnobbing and become Sir David, which will please the establishment figures and Lady Posh no end.

All of whom are reportedly `stunned` that the Great Britain Olympic Team manager Stuart ("Psycho") Pearce has had the temerity to leave Beckham out of the Olympic Football team.   Ah, but Stuart Pearce is different, you see.   Not for him the limelight hogging, the gong hunting, the hobnobbing.   No tattoos on him, no fancy haircuts, no image changes.   He just gets on with being a football man and has selected his team, sans Beckham, on the basis of who is best going to represent the country on the field of play. For Stuart Pearce knows full well the difference between selecting a team on merit and selecting one based on patronage and mawkish sentimentality.


And so Beckham, the once revered international footballer turned great pretender and his quest to gain yet more recognition, has hit the buffers of Pearce`s realism, for which I for one am truly thankful.