I’m in a pub watching Monday Night Football, when Wayne Rooney appears. He’s not playing, he’s a pundit, an analyst. His presence elicits some kneejerk comments from a group of mainly metropolitan, mainly, I’m afraid, teachers, watching.
“I’d be surprised if he could string two words together,” says one.
“He probably doesn’t have two cerebral hemispheres to rub together,” says another.
This profound wit elicits shallow mirth. He’s a footballer – ergo, thick and inarticulate. And working class, Northern and of Irish descent – a perfect hat-trick! Ripe for ridicule – “the spud-faced nipper”.
He also became, through sheer hard work, raw ambition and a quite phenomenal talent, one of the best players we’ve ever produced. Still, the casual condescension and meringue-headed ignorance persists and shocks.
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