Gazza's tragic tale

"My imperfections and failures are as much a blessing from God as my successes and talents and
I lay them both at his feet" (Mahatma Gandhi)


We often refer to the ‘theatre of sport’ and this could be because at the heart of it we endlessly come across characters who define dramatic conventions.

One of the most fascinating theatrical characters, particularly prominent in Shakespearean drama, is the notion of the tragic hero.

The idea of the great man with a tragic flaw that ultimately proves his downfall, but has so much to admire and – dare we say it – to identify with.

In sport we are equally intrigued, even obsessed, with the idea of the flawed genius.

Yes we can respect the likes of Michael Schumacher, Pete Sampras and Steve Waugh with their winning-is-everything mantra, but it is all too easy to lose interest after a while as these characters become somewhat one-dimensional.

What we really want to see are the Cantonas, the Maradonas or the Ronnie O’Sullivans, seemingly masters of their trade and all they survey yet, at the same time, constantly brimming on the edge of self-destruction.

These are the real heroes, the rounded characters, the people who make the best stories.

It is hard not to feel a sense of guilt then when we hear this reckless nature, the artistic temperament that we once so admired, has taken over a sportsman when his playing days are over.

Paul Gascoigne, forever Gazza, was one of those sportsmen who just didn’t ‘do’ predictable.

His career fluctuated constantly between soaring highs and plummeting lows, we never knew when one chapter would end and the next rebirth or fall would occur.

We loved his wild, irascible nature but we never questioned it, it was so hard to think about where it would take him when his career was over.

Gazza’s famous tears in Italia ’90 was not just a sign of a man who wore his heart on his sleeve and cared about the game, it was the sign of a man who cared about nothing else.

The loveable Geordie’s puerile nature simply lived off the rush of adulation he received when he went out to strut his stuff, as with so many former pros, he has found nothing to replace it.

It was not just the good times that he seemed to enjoy but he appeared a man who relished the hard times, when people doubted him and he had to prove himself all over again (never was this more gloriously emphasised than that goal and celebration in Euro ’96).

Ian Wright was another footballer with a similar childlike nature who lived for the hero worship from his fans. It appears he had just enough savvy about him to carve out a career in television that has gone some way to replacing that feeling.

Poor Gazza, being less articulate and with several more demons in his closet, couldn’t make it work.

He also found that managing was no substitute for the adrenaline rush he got from playing, something he clung onto as long as possible with spells at the likes of Burnley, Boston and Gansu Tainma in China.

In his hour of need Gazza’s many friends in the game seem to be taking it in turns to pledge their support to our fallen hero.

The tragedy here is that none of them seem to be able to offer what Gazza needs.