A review by mike_baker
How Not to Be a Professional Footballer, by Paul Merson
3.0
My team, Middlesbrough, signed Paul Merson when we got relegated in 1997. A direct replacement for Juninho, it quickly became apparent that Merse had a fraction of the Little Fella's silky skill, but bagging an Arsenal footballer with league titles under his belt was nevertheless exciting, and he definitely played a big part in getting us promoted. When he moved on, to Aston Villa the following season, it was acrimonious because their manager John Gregory was such a dislikeable chap and it felt like the player had been tapped up, but mainly I think because we'd grown to love Merse and didn't want him to go.
What was less well known about him, though it had been all over the tabloids, was his close relationship with the booze, the bookies and the coke, or at least the extent of his addiction. Knowing that, in hindsight the player's decision to move to Boro and work for a renowned lad's lad like Bryan Robson was probably not the best, compounded by the later signing of Paul Gascoigne and, to top it all off, getting the pair to share a house. The story of how Merson made it through his year and a bit at the Riverside, giving in to temptation far too often, is covered here in frank detail. What's worse are the impressions he had of the set-up, the contrast with Arsenal that showed just how a genuinely big club operated against the 'suck it and see' approach adopted by Robson.
Elsewhere, what I like about the book is the colloquial style, the number of sentences that start with 'Mate' or 'Oh my God', as though Merse is at the bar, telling us his story in person rather than on the page. There's no attempt at literary thrills, just a lad chatting about episodes from his life in a way that's tinged with regret though never apologetic. Merson's someone who knows he had what most of us can only dream of possessing and pissed it away. The anecdotes are laddish, rarely genuinely funny and occasionally very dangerous, such as the 'red wine sleeping pills' game he's encouraged to play with Gazza, but then tales of drinking constantly to excess and chucking thousands on the gees are never really meant to be humorous, are they?
There are some smart observations about life at Arsenal, his love for George Graham - I hesitate to use the word 'respect' because it seems the manager tried to rebuke Merson for his antics many times and it was never a lesson that was learned. It's nice also to find someone who had time and good things to say for Glenn Hoddle's time as England manager, not to mention Eileen Drewery and her 'healing hands.'
The impression I'm left with is of someone who hasn't really learned a thing from his experiences, apart from where Charlie's concerned thank goodness, and there's actually something rather refreshing about that. I couldn't blame him if he lamented the lost millions, the element of wasted talent and messing up the chances he was given, but instead Merse blames no one, cites it all as the product of personality flaws and lives to fight another day. At the end of the book, I liked him a lot more than before I picked it up.
What was less well known about him, though it had been all over the tabloids, was his close relationship with the booze, the bookies and the coke, or at least the extent of his addiction. Knowing that, in hindsight the player's decision to move to Boro and work for a renowned lad's lad like Bryan Robson was probably not the best, compounded by the later signing of Paul Gascoigne and, to top it all off, getting the pair to share a house. The story of how Merson made it through his year and a bit at the Riverside, giving in to temptation far too often, is covered here in frank detail. What's worse are the impressions he had of the set-up, the contrast with Arsenal that showed just how a genuinely big club operated against the 'suck it and see' approach adopted by Robson.
Elsewhere, what I like about the book is the colloquial style, the number of sentences that start with 'Mate' or 'Oh my God', as though Merse is at the bar, telling us his story in person rather than on the page. There's no attempt at literary thrills, just a lad chatting about episodes from his life in a way that's tinged with regret though never apologetic. Merson's someone who knows he had what most of us can only dream of possessing and pissed it away. The anecdotes are laddish, rarely genuinely funny and occasionally very dangerous, such as the 'red wine sleeping pills' game he's encouraged to play with Gazza, but then tales of drinking constantly to excess and chucking thousands on the gees are never really meant to be humorous, are they?
There are some smart observations about life at Arsenal, his love for George Graham - I hesitate to use the word 'respect' because it seems the manager tried to rebuke Merson for his antics many times and it was never a lesson that was learned. It's nice also to find someone who had time and good things to say for Glenn Hoddle's time as England manager, not to mention Eileen Drewery and her 'healing hands.'
The impression I'm left with is of someone who hasn't really learned a thing from his experiences, apart from where Charlie's concerned thank goodness, and there's actually something rather refreshing about that. I couldn't blame him if he lamented the lost millions, the element of wasted talent and messing up the chances he was given, but instead Merse blames no one, cites it all as the product of personality flaws and lives to fight another day. At the end of the book, I liked him a lot more than before I picked it up.