This book casts a sceptical eye on the game of football in this country. It looks at the game as it really is, through the gaze of an outsider, who grew up loving the game but who has been turned off by the excesses of players, managers, broadcasters and fans, and increasingly by the rich men who own and run the clubs.
As a South African rugby man who has always taken an extremely cynical view of football, it's something of a miracle that I so much as picked up a book on the subject. Although I will never consider the 'spectacle' of grown men (mostly millionaires) flinging themselves to the ground, bursting into tears and then abusing the referee in cringeworthy fashion to be a topic I want to read about, this title grabbed me. Here, at last, was an author who appeared to agree with my sentiments on the 'sport' and had gone so far as to write them down!
I am neither old enough nor British enough to remember the nobler times Henderson describes from his childhood. For me, football was already 'fouled up' when I came across it and took an instinctive dislike. (Particularly when my best friend insisted on switching broadcasts of cricket matches in our country to soccer transmissions from a far-off one.) But I was curious to find out how it got into the embarrassing state I had always assumed was fundamental to its DNA. And I enjoyed doing so.
As you would expect from a book with this style of title, it's a perfect read for the bus or the train. Each villain in the destruction of the game - be it England's appalling fans, the 'petulant' Didier Drogba or the 'immensely self-satisfied' David Baddiel - gets a vignette of three to four pages. Little to no prior football knowledge is assumed. That makes it a book anybody can dive in and out of for a quick laugh and - in my case at least - to learn something new. You could even read a chapter or two out loud at the dinner table and get a few chuckles.
That's primarily because taking the mick out of people is a rich source of comedy. Especially when almost all of those people are talented and rich, which as ever makes them more than fair game. Henderson blends the intelligent vocabulary of a professional sports journalist with some unequivocal (but family-friendly) British put-downs. In the context of the former, the latter have all the more impact.
Having never understood why people in Montreal and Mongolia and Cape Town give a flying fig what some domestic soccer team in Manchester is doing, nor why anyone wants to watch a game where one lucky touch can mean the better team doesn't win, I am not in any position to comment on the factual accuracy of Henderson's selection. What I can say is that those who made his list aren't going to enjoy reading the chapters dedicated their way. (Though several of those highlighted are in little danger of ever picking up a book, by the sounds of it.)
While I did flick past the occasional description of who scored what against Watford in 1973 - the on-field stuff in other words, but that's just me - I enjoyed the primary focus on misdeeds, destruction and human failings. Like most of us, I'm not immune to the pleasures of a well-written slagging-off. Most of all, though, I just enjoyed solidarity with a writer who had - having forged an early affection for the game on the terraces at Burnden Park - come around to my point of view.