TOP TEN SPORTSMEN
So here it is. The sportsmen who I have admired most in 42 years of sport. I have restricted myself to only one player per sport and there are no women in my list. This is for a very simple reason. Women are just not very good at sport despite their best efforts. They try hard and seek to emulate the men but they are not worthy of their own list. They lack coordination, stamina and other than beach volleyball really don’t make for great sporting spectacle. (This is clearly a joke as I am a huge fan of women’s sport and they will get their own list, and soon).
I have judged this list based on sporting achievements but not everyone on this list is a champion. I have picked them simply because they have entertained me, or because they have had an impact on the way I approach either sport or life. They are icons, men who have given their all and more in the pursuit of perfection. I have used a sporting compass to draw this list up, not a moral one, for some of their indiscretions away from the sporting arena are heinous and indefensible.
There will be a cry of uproar that certain sports have been overlooked, or certain sportsmen but this is my list. You want to draw up your own then feel free. So have a read and feel free to comment. I love a good debate.
(10) Sir Steve Redgrave
I am not a huge fan of rowing. In fact I know very little about it other than the Varsity race on the Thames, where my wish every year is to see the boats sink and the toffs get wet. I know what a cox is, I have met enough in my life, and I know the difference between winning and losing a race, that’s it. I also know though that to be an athlete, even the most mediocre of one, takes tremendous effort, discipline and self-belief. To do this when you have Type 1 diabetes is not just amazing, it is awe inspiring. To battle this insidious condition and compete at the highest level of a sport that requires enormous strength and stamina, well, it is almost impossible. Almost, because Mr Redgrave did just that not once but five times becoming an icon amongst sports fans and catapulting what many thought of as a jolly pastime into the mainstream media. He battled not only the most competitive rowers from around the world, he did it against all odds and he won.
His first gold medal came in Los Angeles in 1984. Considering the dedication needed to achieve just that one medal nobody would’ve blamed the man for retiring but that would be the mark of a champion, not a legend. So to Seoul and the infamous Ben Johnson Olympics, and yet another gold. Four years on and Barcelona would be the scene of victory. A hat trick of gold medals and surely time to call it a day. Age shows no respect to sportsman and why risk losing his golden haul and finishing second? Because this man just wanted it more than the others. At the age of 34, Sir Steve took his fourth gold medal at Atlanta. He infamously stated afterwards “I’ve had enough. If anyone sees me go anywhere near a boat they have permission to shoot me.”
So in Sydney 2000, the Millennium Games, the world was unsure whether this most famous of Olympians would be shot at dawn or catapulted into history. There could be no doubt! By the slimmest of margins, that fifth golden medal was earned and with it the respect not just of those around him, but sporting fans from around the world. This was an achievement that will be very hard to ever equal, let alone surpass. To win five gold medals in consecutive Olympiads is not the stuff of dreams for even the most wide eyed child doesn’t have the imagination to dream with such grandeur.
Even in retirement Sir Steve achieved what healthy men half his age would struggle to accomplish, completing marathons and other endurance events. Winner of the Sports Personality of the Year award, in 2000, surely nobody can doubt either the durability, courage or achievements of this sporting great.
Here is a list of his most notable rowing achievements.
Olympic Games
- 2000 – Gold, Coxless Four
- 1996 – Gold, Coxless Pair
- 1992 – Gold, Coxless Pair
- 1988 – Gold, Coxless Pair
- 1988 – Bronze, Coxed Pair
- 1984 – Gold, Coxed Four
World Rowing Championships
- 1999 – Gold, Coxless Four
- 1998 – Gold, Coxless Four
- 1997 – Gold, Coxless Four
- 1995 – Gold, Coxless Pair
- 1994 – Gold, Coxless Pair
- 1993 – Gold, Coxless Pair
- 1991 – Gold, Coxless Pair
- 1990 – Bronze, Coxless Pair
- 1989 – Silver, Coxless Pairs
- 1989 – 5th, Coxed Pairs
- 1987 – Gold, Coxless Pairs
- 1987 – Silver, Coxed Pairs
- 1986 – Gold, Coxed Pairs
- 1985 – 12th, Single Sculls
- 1983 – Single Sculls
- 1982 – 6th, Quadruple Scull
- 1981 – 8th, Quadruple Scull
(9) Ayrton Senna
The diminutive South American who was taken from us far too soon. There was a passion in this boy from Brazil, injecting emotion into a sport that so often lacked the key component that draws those in to behold more than the sport itself. People loved him. He had something that has not really been emulated since. Yes, there have been far more successful Formula 1 drivers. Schumacher and Vettel spring to mind from the modern era but they lacked something that Senna possessed in abundance, the charisma to match the skill, the ability to take risks rather than rely on mechanical superiority. You had a feeling that it would not matter to Senna whether he was driving a Ford Fiesta or a milk float, he would want to be the first across the line in every race.
It seems almost comical to think of this three time world champion once racing in anything other than the very finest of machines but like many in his sport he started competing in go karts and moved through the ranks. When a talent is that prodigious though, and it was, advancement is rapid and by the time Senna died at Imola in 1994 he had won a staggering 41 races out of the 161 he had started as an F1 driver. In half of those 161 races he finished in the top three. That in itself is a record that stands up amongst the very best to ever sit behind a steering wheel.
His on track jousts with Alain Prost are the stuff of legend and the battles were not just confined to the track. On numerous occasions tensions spilt over into their everyday lives. In 2010 there was a fantastic documentary released, simply entitled Senna. It was both emotional and telling for you could see that he was viewed in some circles as an upstart but he was far more than that. His own death he chillingly predicted, and that was perhaps the most haunting aspect of all. The day prior to the Grand Prix in San Marino, Roland Ratzenberger had been killed in a crash. The day before Reubens Barrichello had walked away from a similar crash. Even on the morning of what would prove to be his last race Senna had discussed the reformation of a F1 Drivers Association to improve safety standards in the sport. He was told when he visited the site of Ratzenbergers crash by an eminent doctor that he should retire, but Senna simply couldn’t. To deny himself the chance to race would have seemed like an act of self betrayal to a man who needed to race his own demons. The world of sport wishes he had taken that advice because hours later he was dead.
A true global sports icon leaves a legacy, and Senna did just that. In the years preceding his tragic death drivers died almost every season. It was seen as almost acceptable. These drivers were paid huge amounts of money and sometimes they died in their pursuit of that bounty, So shocked was a watching world at the death of this man at the age of only 34. that a sport that was once riddled with fatalities didn’t suffer one more for over twenty years until the death of Jules Bianchi last year. Huge improvements were made to the safety of not just the tracks but the vehicles and the equipment they used. It should never have needed the tragedy but that it did, is testament to the effect this man had on his sport. When his funeral took place, it was most fitting that his once fierce rival Alain Prost should be a pallbearer.
Senna holds these Formula One records:
| Most wins leading throughout a Grand Prix | 19 |
| Most consecutive pole positions | 8 (between 1988 Spanish Grand Prix and 1989 United States Grand Prix) |
| Most consecutive front row starts | 24 (between 1988 German Grand Prix and 1989 Australian Grand Prix) |
| Most consecutive wins at the same Grand Prix | 5 at the Monaco Grand Prix (1989–1993) |
| Most pole positions at the same Grand Prix | 8 at the San Marino Grand Prix (1985-1991, 1994) |
| Most consecutive pole positions at the same Grand Prix | 7 at the San Marino Grand Prix (1985-1991) |
| Highest percentage of front row starts in a season | 100% (in 1989) |
(8) Jonah Lomu
Many a fellow Welshman will criticise this choice and I can understand why, such are the number of truly great Welsh players to have graced rugby over the years. I am not choosing this sportsman as a nostalgic doff of the cap to sentiment as a result of his death today (as I write this paragraph). The reason he got the nod above so many other true greats in his sport is because he made me like rugby. He made a lot of people like rugby. It was thinking of his loss today that inspired me to write this particular blog.
He was different to what had gone before. He was the antithesis of everything that had been seen as a winger prior to his arrival on the scene, and the blueprint for so much of what was to follow. Many people who follow rugby point to the changing of the code from an amateur sport to a professional one as the reason rugby is now the dominion of highly honed athletes and not the realm of the fat or the fast that was so commonplace before. It is only my opinion, but I think the sport can hold this All Black up as the real reason. He showed the world that you could be colossal in size and fleet of foot, that you could have an artist’s hands but a blacksmiths arms. To watch him run in his early days was a sight to behold as it almost defied logic. His ability to simply run through opponents was legendary but also masked his actual ability as a ballplayer. He was the role model for the wings we take for granted today. Yes, there have been small wingers since, with Shane Williams a prime example, but the current crop of six foot plus muscle men who charge up and down the wing owe it all to Jonah Lomu. As a consequence, every position on the field now realised that fitness and strength were not merely an added nicety in the game, they were essential if you now wished to compete.
Taking the rugby world by storm, Lomu shot to prominence during the 1995 World Cup. Scoring eight tries in the tournament he seemed to almost demolish England singlehandedly during the semi-final running in four tries. The one try is still shown on almost all compilations of great tries as he simply ran over Mike Catt on his way to the try line. By the time of his premature international retirement on health grounds he had set the record for the most tries scored in World Cup history, a record only tied this year.
Despite the poor health that resulted in not just a curtailed rugby career but a kidney transplant, it is entirely fair to say that this Kiwi giant was the first global rugby superstar. Yes there have been more accomplished players, more skilful players but the fact remains that whether as a result of a larger TV audience, a higher profile for a changing sport or simply chance, Lomu was and will remain the man who changed the face of rugby, and rugby will forever be better for it.
(7) John McEnroe
Super Brat. The tennis player that the world loved to hate. Not me, I loved him. Tennis is a strange game these days, with players devoid of any charisma whatsoever. Yes, I know, Roger Federer is a lovely bloke but he is as much fun as a night out with David Cameron. Djokovic is the man who Steve Davis calls boring and for all his success, Andy Murray brings as much charisma to the court as the ball boys. Not a slight on these stars, they are fantastic players and far more talented than I could ever dream of (though even I can move more gracefully than the flat footed Judy Murray). I am not ridiculing their achievements but there was a time, from the mid-seventies to the early nineties when tennis was also fun to watch.
Tennis stars were superstars and they played hard and partied hard. Nastase, Gerralitis, Borg, Connors, all were great sportsmen but all had an edge on the court, whether they were the joker or the villain. One stood out though. The left handed New Yorker who could strike a tennis ball as cleanly as any of them. That he was a great player was one thing but he was TV gold because you never, ever knew when he was about to explode. Court violation Mr McEnroe was a common call in those days and none more so than when he played at the All England club at Wimbledon. There was something that made his foul mouthed abuse and tantrums almost surreal when they happened on the grass courts, amongst the posh and the pampered.
Haranguing of umpires, informing them that they were ‘the pits of the world’ or telling them ‘that they cannot be serious’ were often seen as the venomous attitude of a man not fit for centre stage. The exact opposite held true in my eyes. Here was a man who was clearly the ultimate competitor. He wanted to win not just every match but every game of every set. His rants were seen as disrespectful but to me they were nothing more than the will of a man on the edge, who simply had to win. Remember this was long before Hawk Eye or whatever computer system was used to replay if a ball had touched the line or not. Those decisions could often result in the difference between victory and defeat and they mattered more to him than anyone else. It was this sense of injustice against a bad call, this sheer determination to be the best that I admired so much. When he played he played not against one opponent but against the world.
He was underrated by so many not because of his lack of talent, that was undeniable, but because they simply wanted him to lose as they felt his behaviour was not worthy of victory. In a Wimbledon semi-final he was actually booed onto the court. Can you imagine that happening now? In a sporting era where mediocrity is lauded all too often it seems almost unfair that a true genius should be remembered for swearing more than for his touch around the net.
At his peak he was almost unbeatable, almost. His biggest opponent was often himself. When you hold his record up against the best in the game, his stands up with the very best of them. 170 weeks as the number one player in the world and that during a time when Borg was still more interested in lob shots than tequila ones.
McEnroe won Wimbledon in 1981, 1983 and 1984, as well as winning four US Opens. He also won 9 Grand Slam doubles titles and helped the USA to 5 Davis Cup titles. I can be entirely serious when I say that Mr McEnroe, for all his apparent faults, will always be one of my sporting heroes.
(6) David Beckham
Remember please, I am writing here of sporting icons, not sporting greats as such. If a list of the greatest players to ever grace a football pitch were to be drawn up Beckham would not get anywhere near it. He did not have a tenth of the natural ability that true legends of the sport had. To compare him to a Puskas or a Pele, a Maradona or a Messi would be embarrassing. As a footballer I once summed him up as this, can’t tackle, can’t head, has no pace and his positional sense is pathetic. What Beckham had though were two things that set him apart and made him a global icon like no other at his peak. He had a right foot that could hit a football onto a gnats left testicle from forty yards and the heart of a lion.
Some will remember him bursting into the public eye as young, floppy haired kid who had the audacity to lob the Wimbledon keeper from the halfway line. These type of goal are not that rare, they just capture the headlines. To me there are three incidents that I am certain I am not alone in remembering that highlight just why a nation hated him just before the world fell in love with him. France 1998 and England are inevitably being tipped by the press to win the tournament. Anyone outside of La La land knows there is more chance of Dale Winton giving up his false tan. In a second round match against Argentina, a young Beckham was fouled by the Argentinian Dennis Wise, Diego Simeone. Laying on the floor the prostrate Beckham swung a leg at Simeone with the power of an Ed Milliband speech and Simeone collapsed like a deckchair. A red card was issued and England lost the game. They were out of another World Cup.
The next day the red tops went into overdrive. Beckham was a pariah. I think the headline in one paper read ‘Ten Brave Lions, One Silly Boy’ or something like that. Beckham, married to a Spice Girl, a handsome man and to the average forty year old beer bellied football supporter was now public enemy number one. Effigies of him were hung from lampposts, and when the following season started the vitriolic abuse that was hurled at him was beyond what can be termed as part of the game. Chants wishing his family would die of cancer and where people would like to stick parts of their anatomy into Posh Spice were sung with abandonment of the notion this was a young kid who had made a mistake.
A sensible man would have left the country. Yes, he was playing for the most successful club in the UK at the time but he had more than enough offers to ply his trade at some of the top European clubs. He didn’t leave though. He battled on for the next three years and that leads up to the second moment I recall with fondness. By now he had become captain of his country and England were playing a final world cup qualification match against Greece. A draw would be enough to see them qualify. In true hyped up fashion England were abysmal and losing two one with moments to go. In pivotal moments of history, whether sporting or otherwise only men with the heart and complete self-conviction will put their very soul on the line. From the right foot of such a man came a free kick that considering the pressure of the moment, the previous years of abuse and hate, one could have forgiven if it had been crossed into a congested penalty area and hoped for the best. It was never an option. It was dispatched into the top corner of the net and in that moment, that very moment a villain became a hero. The celebration was one I will never forget because that free kick is still one of the most courageous things I ever saw on a football pitch. The release of emotion was tangible and that is what makes true sporting icons what they are.
That willingness to completely trust in their own ability when others doubt them, to ignore the scorn and the ridicule that failure could bring because to not try, to not back themselves in that moment, would be an act of cowardice, This innate inner strength to do the unthinkable, to achieve the impossible separates the legend from the also ran.
Fast forward to the World Cup and as is so often the case, England were drawn against Argentina, this time in the group stages. In a tense match England won a penalty and there was never any doubt about who would take the spot kick, or the outcome. Again, the celebration that followed was testament to the man. He may have been accused of many things in his career, but there are few if any who wore the shirt of their nation with such pride.
In the following years his career took several different paths, including a spell at Real Madrid before the infamous move to the USA. You know something though, he deserved that chance after all he had given to his country. Off the field Beckham has been incredibly successful but for all the riches he has accrued, for all the fast cars and fancy homes you knew that he played the game with the love and the commitment of a ten year old at their local club side. That is what makes him an icon and someone who has my utmost respect. He never forgot his roots.
| Years | Team | Apps† | (Gls)† |
| 1992–2003 | Manchester United | 265 | (62) |
| 1994–1995 | → Preston North End (loan) | 5 | (2) |
| 2003–2007 | Real Madrid | 116 | (13) |
| 2007–2012 | LA Galaxy | 98 | (18) |
| 2009 | → Milan (loan) | 18 | (2) |
| 2010 | → Milan (loan) | 11 | (0) |
| 2013 | Paris Saint-Germain | 10 | (0) |
| Total | 523 | (97) | |
| National team | |||
| 1992–1993 | England U18 | 3 | (0) |
| 1994–1996 | England U21 | 9 | (0) |
| 1996–2009 | England | 115 | (17) |
(5) Sir Ian Terence Botham
Beefy Botham, a man who took the stoic, tiff upper lipped cravat wearing, cucumber sandwich eating, gentlemanly sport of cricket into the modern era. One of those characters that is larger than life and for whom sport was played for the fun of it, not for the financial gain.
When people talk of Botham they often refer to the infamous Headingly test when England were forced to follow on and Botham decided to smack the legendary Aussie pace attack all over Yorkshire. I am not quite old enough to have seen this happen live but have of course seen the highlights on numerous occasions. Some hail it is as the greatest ever comeback from an England team in any sport. This is not why I look at Botham as an icon. Botham did something that very few people could ever do, he made a sport that was seen by some as a curiosity, into a sport that people took an interest in. Botham played in an era where the England team were not the best in the world. The West Indies were almost unbeatable during the late seventies and eighties. Talismanic players such as Viv Richards (godfather to Botham’s son and a lifelong friend), Joel Garner the big bird, Curtley Ambrose and ‘Whispering Death’ Malcolm Marshall were all ably skippered by Clive Lloyd and nobody put up a fight, until Botham arrived on the scene. He very rarely, if ever, conquered the Windies but he tried. He always gave his best.
His off field antics were the stuff of legend, a beer swilling, pot smoking womaniser who was just as likely to feature on the front page of a newspaper as the sports pages at the back. This largesse and lack of respect for authority saw Botham as an object of controversy for most of his career. His spell as captain of England was a disaster and more than once he was the scapegoat for an underperforming team. This does a huge disservice to a man who was a genuine all-rounder. He never flattered to deceive, he always gave his best. At one stage of his career he was the leading wicket taker in test cricket, not a bad accolade for a player who was often looked to be the leading batsman in the team as well. My overriding memories of his career came in the mid 80’s when he took on the Australians, and won. With an awful, highlighted mullet hairstyle Botham was phenomenal. He took wickets at will and batted like a demon. The following year he received a two month ban for putting too much herb in his roll up cigarettes. His comeback at test level was against Australia and the first ball he received from Aussie paceman Craig McDermott he smacked straight back over his head for six. That summed him up. He played cricket not too entertain fans, that was merely a by-product, he played because he loved to play. This is a common theme amongst my icons. They reaped financial rewards of course, they played at the top level, with huge success, but the reward was not in counting coin but in competing, in taking the fight to their chosen field and giving every last ounce of spirit and passion they had.
I am not usually one to comment on a player for what they achieve away from their sport but Botham does deserve special mention. His endurance walks in aid of Leukaemia Research were prime time news spots. He may have been a sports star in a sport that had few, he may have been a captain’s nightmare at times but he was also a genuine man of the people. He had the personality and the honesty that made him stand out as someone who was human. He was not a machine, he had injuries, he suffered from poor form and he often got himself into trouble but he was likeable. He was someone whom you would have wanted to be on your side in any battle. His heart was worn on his sleeve and he was outspoken. He left his beloved Somerset when they cancelled the contracts of two of his closest friends as a matter of principle. When hit in the mouth by a bouncer as a young player, he spat out his broken teeth and carried on.
(4) Alex Higgins
Alex ‘Hurricane’ Higgins was a one off. There was never anyone like him before in his chosen sport, there will never be anyone like him again. Much like Botham, he transformed his sport turning a minority pastime into one that could never be the same after his coming. He was termed the peoples champion because that was what he was. He would rather lose playing the game he loved in his own manner than win by playing the more boring, traditional way. If there was a chance of potting a ball, he to the risk, even if a miss would cost him the frame. His style was unorthodox to say the least, but that was part of the appeal. People wanted to watch him.
Higgins was a character at a time when his sport lacked any whatsoever. He won his first world championship the year before I was born in 1972 but by the time he won his second in 1982 I was old enough to realise the significance of his victory. Perhaps the most memorable image from the final was not the lifting of the trophy but the moment he was handed his baby daughter and when he embraced her, I am almost certain there were tears running down many faces, not just his. This snapshot in time was
He battled addiction his entire career in a manner that was at the time unheard of and almost unparalleled. He would start a match relatively sober but by the end of it be absolutely steaming drunk. He would smoke 60 cigarettes a day and he was not adverse to stronger drugs than just alcohol and nicotine. His detractors were keen to point to his poor disciplinary record, made more notable by the increasing popularity he had brought to the sport. They claimed that Higgins showed no respect to authority, that he was a troublemaker and a man who wanted to court controversy. The very reverse was true. Higgins was an incredibly shy man, a man who wanted nothing more than to be liked, He was, but he was becoming bigger than the sport could allow and the men in control had no idea how to tame his wild side. He once head-butted a referee. This would be horrendous in any sport but in a sport in which players wore waistcoats and bowed to the audience, it was just unthinkable. People forgave him, but the starch shirted administrators and governing body of his sport never could.
I cannot condone his despicable behaviour away from the smoke filled auditoriums where he plied his trade, but these events came as a result of the years of substance abuse and the clearly were symptoms of the deterioration of his mental health. He was convicted of assault, affray and numerous other offences after he faded from the public eye and his legacy is not one to boast about I accept but I am talking of my favourite sporting icons here, not looking for a role model for my personal life.
There is an argument put forward that snooker became so popular during the late 70’s and 80’s because of the advent of colour TV sets and the introduction of the show Pot Black. There is an element of truth in this certainly, but even that would not have been enough to account for the meteoric rise of the sport in the public psyche. Alex Higgins was the one that put snooker on the world map. Had there been no Higgins there would have been no Jimmy White and no Ronnie O’Sullivan. That is a fact. Yes, he was a sad parody of the swashbuckling antihero of his heyday when he succumbed to illness in 2010 but for those few years when he ruled the world, he was an icon in the truest sense.
(3) Daley Thompson
Francis Morgan Ayodele Thompson, in my humble opinion, was the greatest athlete these shores have ever seen. He was not the master of one event, but ten. To become a decathlete and compete on the world stage, takes inordinate skill, superhuman strength and sporting talent that most cannot even begin to imagine,
Thompson had a far from perfect upbringing. This was not the cossetted child that was encouraged to succeed through the best training money could provide and access to world class training facilities. It was the sheer determination and strength of character to prove his worth. He rallied against authority and was seen as anti-establishment in many quarters. It is worth remembering two things prior to any attempt to criticise his sometimes nonchalant approach to the award ceremonies he was so often part of. A father is a crucial role model to a child, and Thompson’s father was taken away from when he was just twelve, the victim of a shooting. Thompson was also black. Today it is the rarity as opposed to the norm, for a person’s colour to have any bearing on their achievements but this was a different era in racial terms.
Viv Anderson, the Nottingham Forest full back had become the first black player to represent England only as recently as the late seventies, and was often pelted with bananas at first division football games. So to see an athlete eclipse the sporting world was hard to accept for many even in his own country. It is truly remarkable that by the time he retired from sport he had not just achieved so much on the track and field, but that he was an unwitting pioneer in the whole of British sport in their acceptance of black sportsmen and women.
Thompson won two consecutive gold medals at the 1980 Moscow Olympics and the 1984 Los Angeles games. Both those Olympiads were beset with political overtones, being boycotted by Superpowers and their cronies set against the cold war backdrop. This should not deflect from either victory for there was only one man on the planet that could ever hope to get close to Thompson in his prime. The moustachioed West German, Juergen Hingsen, was a world record holder and the world points record changed hands between the fierce rivals several times, but when it came to the big championships Thompson always had the edge. This was not coincidence and is one of the reasons I respected him so much. Hingsen knew before the event began that he was second best such was the confidence and the charisma that exuded from Daley. He may have had the cheeky chap look of Richard Pryor on steroids but his level of fierce competiveness was simply too much. The image of Thompson that caused such controversy was when he whistled his way through the national anthem having won yet another gold medal. To take offence at this is actually a parody of what he had achieved. He was not striking a chord for Britain, or for black people, or for his hometown club. He was not interested in any of that. He was an athlete, and unlike team sports, it matters very little which country you represent. The honour comes not from the colour of your vest but the colour of your medal.
The winning of the medal is not the culmination, the ceremony in which it is awarded merely a spectacle for the crowd. The achievement is in becoming the champion of the world, the very best athlete in the toughest of athletic disciplines. Thompson was not mocking the English monarchy or the people of his nation, rather the antiquated notion that the award meant more than the achievement in the first place. It was never about the perceived glory, it was about proving something to himself, that he deserved his place at the top of the world. He was just that, the greatest athlete of his generation.
(2) Eldrick Tont Woods
The Tiger. Only my opinion, but the greatest golfer to ever play the game. People point to Nicklaus’ major record as the benchmark but I disagree. Tiger played in a different era and faced the type of competition that simply wasn’t around in the days of Nicklaus. I know Nicklaus also won the Masters at the age of 46 but the course was pretty much the same as it was when he won his first over twenty years before.
So revolutionary and unheralded was the domination that Tiger exerted on golf that courses and equipment were changed to counter his big hitting. Of course it didn’t work. Tiger did not rule golf for all those years because he could simply hit a golf ball a long way. He won because he practiced until he gleaned every last ounce of potential from his talent. He was the very epitome of professionalism. Of all the icons I have listed, Tiger is the only one I ever met. In the mid noughties the American Express World Championships were held at the Grove in Hertfordshire. I was stewarding at the event and as luck would have it, or because I was a twenty stone skin skinhead at the time, I was given the honour of walking the course in Mr Woods’s group. Inside ropes access to watch your hero. He completely destroyed the opposition and for all those who point out that golf is not a sport, I disagree. Tiger was and is an athlete, first and foremost. His physique was as honed and cut as any footballer or rugby player. What stood out other than his incredible mastery of the course, was the following he had. This was a tournament where sentiment mattered little. You had to be in the world’s top 50 to even stand a chance of playing. The ‘gallery’ as a golfing crowd is known was huge but they all wanted to see just one player. It was telling that as his group moved onto an adjacent fairway to Colin Montgomerie, there was a cluster of around fifty people watching the surly Scotsman, Fifteen thousand were following Woods.
I have talked of legacies before, and in some cases they do matter. For the feminists they may well point out to his extramarital affairs but I can’t allow this to detract from what he did to a sport I love. He transformed almost every aspect of the modern game beyond recognition. Golf was in a lull, it needed someone to become a hero and boy did this man step up to the mark. Multi million pound purses for events are now seen as normal but this happened because the introduction of a black golfer as the world’s number one brought viewing audiences both for live events and with TV coverage to undreamed of proportions. He shook the very foundations of sport as a whole, not just golf. Ludicrous sums of money were now added to purses as sponsors wanted to jump on the Tiger Woods bandwagon. The riches on offer to the world’s best today are directly attributable to this man. He was at his prime virtually unbeatable and in a field of 144 players that takes the kind of mental resolve that separate greatness from sporting immortality.
He holds so many records that it is almost impossible to list them but I will try and pick out a few individual moments that sum up to me how truly great a player he was. The most often shown highlight in his career is surely ‘the chip’ on the 16th at Augusta National on the way to yet another Masters triumph. In a battle down the home straight against an in form Chris DeMarco Tiger produced a shot that was unthinkable and when the ball stopped on the edge of the hole with the sponsor’s symbol showing, it seemed like an eternity before it dropped. I have had the good fortune to walk the hallowed turf at Augusta and a thousand players could not have reproduced that shot. I was a scratch golfer for a year, and that shot was as close to impossible as I have ever seen. It took genius just to attempt it.
The major victories in Woods’ career, and the Tiger Slam where he held all four major titles (though not in the same calendar year) are the stuff of legend. World golf fans attach most importance to the British Open and the Masters, but my favourite major victory of this golfing God was in the US Open at Pebble Beach in 2000. US opens are often won with scores over par, but Woods finished on twelve under, a full fifteen shots clear of two players tied for second place. This set numerous records but highlighted one other thing, Woods was the best player on the planet bar none. He was the best putter of a golf ball I think I have ever seen, not in terms of percentages perhaps, but in terms of clutch putts. The number of par putts he made from between 6 and 20 feet defy logic. If he needed to make a putt, whether in a tournament play off or just to keep a round on track he would invariably make it.
After his second round at the Grove, Woods moved immediately from the scorer’s tent to the practice green where he took 100 putts, each six foot away from the hole. He missed one. This is why he was the best, because perfection was the only thing that mattered. Woods has been accused of lacking charisma at times, but that is merely a smokescreen put up by his detractors to deflect from his image. He was simply the best player to ever pick up a club but that is debatable to some. What can never be debated is that the impact Woods had on his sport was the largest it had ever witnessed. The young pretenders of today may one day surpass his achievements on the course, but to the game in general, they can never hope to compete.
To get close to his records will be hard enough though and here is why…
| Number of wins by tour | |
| PGA Tour | 79 (2nd all time) |
| European Tour | 40 (3rd all time) |
| Japan Golf Tour | 2 |
| Asian Tour | 1 |
| PGA Tour of Australasia | 1 |
| Other | 16 |
| Best results in major championships (Wins: 14) | |
| Masters Tournament | Won: 1997, 2001, 2002, 2005 |
| U.S. Open | Won: 2000, 2002, 2008 |
| The Open Championship | Won: 2000, 2005, 2006 |
| PGA Championship | Won: 1999, 2000, 2006, 2007 |
| Achievements and awards | |
| PGA Tour Rookie of the Year | 1996 |
| PGA Player of the Year | 1997, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2013 |
| PGA Tour Player of the Year | 1997, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2013 |
| PGA Tour leading money winner | 1997, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2013 |
| Vardon Trophy | 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2005, 2007, 2009, 2013 |
| Byron Nelson Award | 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009 |
| FedEx Cup Champion | 2007, 2009 |
(1) Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr – Muhammad Ali
Some people are arguably born great whilst others have greatness thrust upon them. Some are fortunate that social and political changes collide and shape their future. For Ali, he embraced them all.
Boxing is a dangerous sport, its very nature demanding both bravery ad resilience to take a beating and stand there and then take more. To become a champion takes more than just determination and mental toughness, it takes courage and conviction, and nowhere can a lack of heart be more dramatically exposed than in the boxing ring.
It also takes far more skill than the armchair fan can appreciate. Ali had the heart of a champion certainly, but he was more than a gutsy fighter like Mike Tyson whose aggression was his key strength, he was one of the most skilled boxers to ever pull on a pair of gloves. He won his first world title aged only 22 when he beat Sonny Liston in a fight nobody other than Ali himself thought he could win. Ali always thought he could win, He still does. He was more though, so much more than just a good boxer. He was the champion of not just the people, but of the entire world and he was, despite the rhetoric that is often used when describing him, very much his own man.
In the build up to the fight with Liston, Ali launched into a tirade that is now one of the most famous in sporting history when he declared ‘I’m going to float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, your hands can’t hit what your eyes can’t see’. This outburst coupled with his taunts prior to the fight that Liston was ‘an ugly old bear’ and that once he was beaten he would donate him to the local zoo. This could have backfired, for despite his Olympic Light Heavyweight medal this was a world champion who was a brutal fighter. Had Ali lost the fight his brashness would have surely haunted him and made him an object of ridicule, scorned throughout the world of boxing. What Ali knew years ahead of anyone else though was the huge impact of psychology within sport. His confidence and predictions of early knockouts, whatever his opponents claimed, would have had a huge bearing on their approach to the fight, undermining their confidence and ensuring Ali always had an edge.
Of course he still had to fight his opponent and he had the best trainer in the business in Angelo Dundee. For the next decade and a half they were the best team in sport. Ali converted to Islam, and his faith was an issue when he fought previously unbeaten heavyweight Ernie Terrell. Pre-fight Terrell had made a point of referring to Ali as ‘Clay’ which Ali now referred to as his slave name. To add further fuel to the fire, the WBA had stripped Ali of his title (there were only two boxing organisations in those days) as a result of his decision to join the Nation of Islam. Though it could never be proved, there was a feeling that Ali deliberately prolonged the fight to cause further injury to his adversary, taunting him repeatedly between punches with cries of ;What’s my name, Uncle Tom’?
This was not the only time Ali would refer to a black opponent as someone who had sold out. Before defeating Floyd Paterson he had called him ‘a white man’s champion’. Of course, this was at a time in the US when race was a huge issue with segregation and racial discrimination an overriding political theme against the backdrop of communism and the threat of nuclear war. There was also the small matter of Vietnam, and it was this that led Ali to a four year exile from the sport he loved so much. He simply would not bow to the authorities draft demands, citing his religion as a reason not to fight. He was famously quoted as saying ‘No Vietcong ever called me a nigger’. When his return to boxing was announced few considered Ali could return to his previous form and it seemed they may be right. Ali was quickly the number one contender and was matched against Joe Frazier. Perhaps Ali overplayed the race card, for his taunting of Smoking Joe was at best, ill-advised and harsh. He referred to him as ‘Uncle Tom’ and said ‘the only people rooting for Joe Frazier are white people in suits, Alabama sheriffs, and members of the Ku Klux Klan. I’m fighting for the little man in the ghetto’. Frazier won a unanimous points decision.
A string of fights followed and Ali headed towards another bout with Frazier, despite having his jaw broken by Ken Norton in a defeat. In the rematch it was Ali who claimed the title, with his own unanimous point’s verdict. This brought about one of the most famous bouts of pugilism ever, The Rumble in the Jungle. Ali versus George Foreman in Kinshasa, Zaire. Foreman was a clear favourite but Ali was no ordinary fighter. Using his trademark ‘Rope-a-Dope’ tactic Ali allowed Foreman to throw punch after contested punch against him, whilst backed onto the ropes. Foreman did not manage to land a clean hit, and as a result tired rapidly in the humidity. Ali then began to fight back and did the unthinkable, he stopped Foreman and for the second time was World Champion.
In another named classic, ‘The Thriller in Manilla’ Ali battled Frazier for a third and final time. He won. Frazier’s corner refused to allow him to fight on for the final round as booth Smoking Joe’s eyes were swollen shut. This was the last real swansong for Ali, as a new generation of fighter as emerging. Ali lost to underdog and rank outsider Leon Spinks in Las Vegas and even when he recaptured his title in the rematch, it was clear that Ali’s domination of the sport he loved so much was at an end.
Perhaps the saddest thing to witness was the physical deterioration thaw now so evident in Ali. Gone was the quick fire tongue, and the hands that were once lightning fast were now noticeably slower. Was this a result of a boxer who had spent too long in the ring? Probably a huge instrumental in the later diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease but a terrible sight to behold.
Ali was and is in my mind the greatest sportsman of all time. He was an icon to a race, a religion, a sport and a way of life. He was at his prime the pinnacle of sporting prowess. If I could have seen one man, only one, perform at his peak in any sport, Ali would be that man.
Leave a Reply