Hastily-penned tributes to the departed (mostly footballers and musicians).
Brian Wilson
1942-2025
As a vocalist, composer and studio innovator, Brian Wilson was a pop genius of inestimable influence. But perhaps his biggest contribution to our culture was the creation of a mythical world that, to this day, exists in our collective imagination. That world was a version of southern California which, through the Beach Boys’ early hits, was presented as a sun-drenched playground where summertime (and perhaps even youth) appeared everlasting. Wilson’s musical influences were evident on the Beach Boys’ first records, where Chuck Berry riffs and tight doo-wop harmonies were layered to produce a Spector-lite sound that came to epitomize West Coast teenagerdom. While the group’s carefree image as fun-chasing kids in striped shirts stuck, their music soon began to plunder new emotional depths. By 1964 Wilson had stopped writing about surfing, hot-rods, and drive-ins. He abandoned performing and began to focus on the uncharted flip-side of adolescence: insecurity, vulnerability, uncertainty, depression. It was this shift towards non-single material (along with a creative rivalry with the Beatles) that resulted in the modern concept of the pop album. It’s perhaps no coincidence that several of my favourite Beach Boys songs — “Don’t Worry Baby,” “Please Let Me Wonder,” “God Only Knows” — were originally B-sides. Wilson’s California had become a spiritual state of mind. The sun began to fade on the Beach Boys after the completion of Pet Sounds in 1966. The LP failed to muster much enthusiasm upon release, but today it’s widely recognised as a landmark pop recording. I first heard it as a teenager (perhaps the ideal age) and it had a profound effect on me, even thirty years after the fact. Its immediate follow-up, Smile, was never completed, due mainly to Wilson’s descent into drugs, delusion and paranoia. His persona became that of an eccentric, bearded, washed-up hermit, and his struggles with mental illness, therapy, and seclusion in the decades that followed often threatened to overshadow his musical legacy. Yet somehow Wilson emerged (not entirely unscathed), and in later years rode a perpetual wave of adulation. Not bad for a guy that only tried surfing once.
Sly Stone
1942-2025
Sly Stone’s commercial peak ended some years before I was even born, but his socially conscious blend of gospel pop, psychedelic soul and hard funk influenced a generation of musicians, and defined an era. If anything, Sly & The Family Stone’s relatively brief tenure atop the pop charts has only enhanced the group’s historical significance: there are few other acts whose sound evokes so immediately that very specific cultural moment, as the naive idealism of the sixties ceded to the seventies’ jaded cynicism. It wasn’t just Sly’s genre-defying music that inspired — just as many of his songs preached an urgent need for peace and equality, his band exhibited the exact same aspirational values of inclusivity. In a decade when segregation was a dangerous reality (and not just within the music industry), The Family Stone was multi-racial, multi-gender, and in both appearance and performance exuded an endearing eccentricity and an infectious, almost childlike glee. Following the typical drug problems and personnel changes, Sly dissolved the band in 1975, later staging a series of comebacks (with predictably uneven results) before disappearing from the spotlight. But his music has never left the airwaves, and more than half a century later its message is no less relevant, or uplifting. When I saw Prince at Madison Square Garden in 2011, the last song he performed that evening was a cover of Sly’s “I Want To Take You Higher.”
Bruno Pizzul
1938-2025
“Commentators are like referees: if they have a good game you don’t notice them.” I don’t remember where I read this quote, or to whom it is attributed, but it often comes to mind when I watch football on television these days. Whatever its provenance, it could have easily been applied to Bruno Pizzul. For a generation of Italians, Pizzul was the singular voice of the national team, commentating at five World Cups, and every Italy match between 1986 and 2002 (UK fans: imagine John Motson, Barry Davies and Brian Moore rolled into one). I didn’t even grow up in Italy, but I spent enough summers there for Pizzul’s distinctive tone to be synonymous with those aspirational Azzurri sides and the epic tournaments they came so close to winning (his words at the end of the 1994 final have been seared into my brain since I was 15). In this sense Pizzul was the broadcasting equivalent of the humble Bialetti coffee pot: simple and functional, a reliable presence in every Italian home and one of the few things that all Italians could agree upon. Pizzul’s life in football began on the pitch as a defensive midfielder, a number 4, or “mediano,” as they say in Italy. It’s the sort of unsung position you’d expect Pizzul to have filled, one for which calmness and consistency are essential traits — exactly the attributes he exuded later as a commentator. His professional playing career took him far from home, to Catania in Serie B, with whom he won promotion in 1960, before helping the side finish eighth in Serie A the following season. He later returned to his native Friuli, but a knee injury at Udinese forced him into early retirement. After completing a degree in jurisprudence, Pizzul was hired by RAI in 1969, through a competition open to recent graduates. His big break arrived unexpectedly at the 1986 World Cup, where upon arriving in Mexico City his predecessor, Nando Martellini, became ill with altitude sickness. Pizzul was thus thrust into the hot seat, where he remained a comforting constant for the next sixteen years. More significantly, he also came to represent a football and an Italy that are no more.
Gene Hackman
1930-2025
If you went to the cinema with any regularity between 1967 and 2004 it’s likely that on at least one occasion you saw Gene Hackman up on the big screen. For almost forty years he was a practically unavoidable movie presence, making 76 films in that period and shifting between leading man and character actor with a rare fluidity. As eclectic as he was prolific, Hackman seemed equally at ease in dramatic or comedic roles. But he excelled in portraying morally ambiguous characters, iconic parts that helped define him as an archetypal antihero for the gritty seventies, the decade that made him a Hollywood star. In the sixties he’d enjoyed a stage and television career — by the time fame hit he was already in his forties. A former Marine from the midwest, Hackman’s popularity was also down to his relatability as a sports-loving, beer-drinking, girl-chasing everyman of the American midcentury. Aside from the often dark humour that wriggled beneath the surface of many of his performances, Hackman rarely revealed even a trace of youthfulness. Even as a younger actor, it’s hard to imagine him as anything other than a man coloured by life’s experiences. To me, his very appearance on the screen was often a glimmer of comfort, and a reassurance that a film was worth watching. For this reason I always liked him, also because he was one of the few actors with whom I share a birthday.
Johan Neeskens
1951-2024
I’m too young to have seen Johan Neeskens in his prime (he joined the New York Cosmos the same year I was born), but as a young student of football history, his name was unavoidable. The midfielder’s penalty in Munich in 1974, converted before a West German player had even touched the ball, is still the fastest goal scored in a World Cup final. There was something inherently Dutch about that goal’s odd mix of violent urgency and seeming nonchalance, but it was also a reflection of Neeskens’ straightforward approach. “If you’re not sure, just hit the ball as hard as possible,” he advised. “If you don’t know where it’s going nor will the goalkeeper.” Much of Neeskens’ grit and determination stemmed from his difficult upbringing — he came from a broken home and grew up sleeping in a corridor. Tenacious and tireless, Neeskens was the archetypal “box-to-box” midfielder, years before the term became part of the footballing vernacular. As the less-famous Johan in both the Dutch team that dazzled in 1974 and the great Ajax side that won three consecutive European Cups in the early seventies, his name became synonymous with “Total Football.” But unlike many components of those teams, Neeskens wasn’t a product of Ajax’s famous youth system; rather he moved to Amsterdam from his hometown club, Racing Club Heemstede, where he started out as a right-back. After World Cup ’74 Neeskens followed Cruyff to Catalonia, earning the nickname “Johan Segon” from Barça fans. He responded by stating he was happy to be the second best player in the world. Four years later a not-fully-fit Neeskens and the Netherlands reached a second World Cup final (this time without Cruyff) in Argentina, losing again to the host nation. A World Cup qualifier at Parc des Princes in 1981 was Neeskens’ last game for his country. Neeskens was assistant coach of the national team at Euro ’96, France ’98 and Euro 2000. If only that generation of Dutch stars had followed his penalty-taking philosophy: the Netherlands were knocked out in shootouts at all three tournaments.
Salvatore Schillaci
1964-2024
Salvatore Schillaci’s moment on top of the world was as fleeting as it was unexpected, but for Italians — and for those of us whose lives were forever changed by Italia ’90 — he defined not just a summer, but a feeling. Emerging from relative obscurity to become the hosts’ unlikely hero and the event’s top scorer, the Sicilian striker’s meteoric rise and equally swift decline means he will always be remembered for his exploits during that World Cup. No Italian player, not even Paolo Rossi in 1982, became as closely associated with a single tournament. Like much of the rest of the world, I first became aware of Schillaci on day two of Italia ’90, a Saturday night. With less than twenty minutes to go at the Stadio Olimpico, and the match with Austria still goalless, Azeglio Vicini summoned his substitute. Schillaci responded by looking down the bench, pointing an index finger to his chest and mouthing, “Io?” Within minutes he’d scored the winner — from that moment nobody would ever forget him. “Totò” started the final group match against Czechoslovakia, giving Italy the lead after nine minutes and setting in motion a scoring streak that continued through the knockout phase, taking the Azzurri to the brink of the final. That series of matches is still recalled fondly in Italy as “le notti magiche,” a reference to the official World Cup song. Born in a poor neighbourhood of Palermo, Schillaci was the ultimate underdog. His spontaneous celebrations (arms aloft, eyes bulging, mouth agape) that followed each goal seemed to reflect his own sense of disbelief. Italy is a young country still staunchly adherent to its regional culture, language, politics, food… and football. For a month in 1990, a humble former tyre dealer was able to unite these disparate identities towards a common dream, in a manner still yet to be repeated. Later that summer my brother and I befriended some boys from Turin while camping near Venice. We used to play football with them under the umbrella pines. When we arrived home the oldest boy, Vito, had sent us a postcard of Schillaci, his gently smiling face tinged with melancholy. On the back was written a simple message: “Viva Totò.”
Sérgio Mendes
1941-2024
As a pianist, bandleader and composer, Sérgio Mendes was responsible for what I’d consider some of the most sophisticated and sublime pop music ever made. But though Mendes became known for introducing Brazilian sounds to the U.S. charts, he initially trained as a classical pianist. But this was Rio de Janeiro in the late-fifites, and the allure of jazz — in particular the new sound of bossa nova — was hard to resist. Under the mentorship of Antonio Carlos Jobim, Mendes began performing in clubs with his own band, Sexteto Bossa Rio. In 1964 Mendes moved to Los Angeles, where he formed a new group, Brasil ’65. This outfit cut albums for Capitol and Atlantic but sales were poor. Mendes’ fortunes began to change after he was encouraged to hire a lead vocalist that could sing in English as well as Portuguese. Chicago native Lani Hall won the audition and the group’s lush signature harmonies soon developed. The new line-up, now known as Brasil ’66, was signed to A&M Records, and their self-titled debut went platinum, in large part on the strength of the single, a cover of Jorge Ben’s “Mas Que Nada.” More albums — Equinox, Look Around, Fool On The Hill — followed in quick succession, and after some personnel changes Mendes later reformed the group as Brasil ’77 and then Brasil ’86. There was something for everyone on a Brasil ‘66 record. As well as Mendes’ original compositions, the group’s material spanned eras and continents: on a single side of an LP you might find a new version of a Brazilian folk song, a Tin Pan Alley standard, a recent Brill Building hit, and a reimagined Beatles cover. Mendes reigned in an age of mainstream variety shows, all-round entertainers and chiffon cocktail parties, but his music could never be filed under the category of “easy listening.” When I first moved to New York the Brasil ‘66 records were impossible to avoid at my local used LP emporium, Academy Records on East 12th Street, and I picked them up immediately for next to nothing. To this day their unique, joyous and evocative sound instantly transports me to my old apartment on East 11th Street.
Sven-Göran Eriksson
1948-2024
Farewell to Sven-Göran Eriksson, who died today aged 76. Here he is as a 39-year-old, shortly after arriving at Fiorentina in the summer of 1987. Though Eriksson’s coaching career took him to four continents, he spent the majority of his peak years in Italy. Before his spell in Florence he’d taken over from a fellow Swede, Nils Liedholm, at Roma in 1984. He spent the bulk of the nineties at Sampdoria and Lazio, where he won the last ever European Cup Winners’ Cup in 1999 and the club’s second scudetto in 2000. The number of Eriksson’s players from this period that went onto become top level coaches themselves is a testament to his impact and influence on the game. By his own admission, Eriksson was a “distinctly average” right-back, playing for a decade in Sweden’s lower divisions. During this time he also obtained a degree in economics and worked as a P.E. teacher. He retired in 1975 and began coaching at Degerfors. A promotion to the second division in 1978 caught the attention of IFK Göteborg, where he won a league and cup double in 1982. That same season Göteborg became the first Swedish club to win a European title, defeating Hamburg 4-0 over two legs to lift the UEFA Cup. Success continued at Benfica, where Eriksson won two consecutive Primera Divisão league titles. He returned to the club in 1989, winning another championship and losing the 1990 European Cup Final to Milan. In early 2001 Eriksson left club football to become the first foreigner to manage England (where he was already a familiar face, at least to viewers of Channel 4’s Gazzetta Football Italia). The highlight of his tenure was probably a 5-1 win in Munich that September as part of the qualifying campaign for the 2002 World Cup. In terms of performances and results, Sven’s England were a reflection of their coach: respectable and consistent. Despite boasting a so-called “golden generation” of players, they were knocked out in the quarter-finals at three consecutive major tournaments. Eriksson announced his terminal illness in January, and spent some of this year making a documentary about his life, released just a few days ago on Amazon Prime. I think I’ll watch it tonight.
Anouk Aimée
1932-2024
Anouk Aimée died today in Paris aged 92. Here she is aged 27 with co-star Marcello Mastroianni on the set of La Dolce Vita. In her role as the elegant and enigmatic Maddalena, Aimée’s was the most intriguing and alluring character in that film — and she didn’t even have to climb into the Trevi fountain (though she did drive a Cadillac). Her stylish turn as the jaded socialite essentially provided a blueprint for what Guardian critic Peter Bradshaw called a “modish ennui” in Italian cinema of the period, best exemplified by Michelangelo Antonioni’s celebrated trilogy. In this sense Aimée was to Federico Fellini what Monica Vitti was to Antonioni. Aimée worked with Fellini again on 8 1/2, this time playing Mastroianni’s wife, Luisa, in another performance tinged with distant melancholy. Her contemporary intellectual look — closely cropped hair and chic glasses — contrasted perfectly with her husband’s simplistic male vision of the ideal woman (portrayed by Claudia Cardinale). Whenever I think of that film it’s always Aimée’s forlorn face that I picture. I have posters of both La Dolce Vita and 8 1/2 appended to the wall of my shed, but ironically, Aimée’s likeness doesn’t appear on either (the cinema-going public were more easily lured by Anita Ekberg, evidently). Fellini himself called Aimée one of cinema’s “great, mysterious queens,” saying that she “represents the type of woman who leaves you flustered and confused — to death.”
Paul Auster
1947-2024
In 2004, not long after moving to Florence, I met an American art student named Jessica. She’d responded to an ad I’d posted looking for a roommate, but there was no internet in my new apartment which, by the time I read her email, I’d already settled into. Jessica and I decided to meet anyway, at an afternoon screening of Dali’s Un Chien Andalou. She told me she’d be wearing a chartreuse sweater, which made her easy to identify. After the infamous eyeball-slicing scene we made eye contact and ran through the rain to a nearby café. Though we never lived together, Jessica and I ended up dating for a while. She gave me a copy of The Red Notebook, a compact compendium of true stories by Paul Auster. I knew Auster as the screenwriter for the pair of Wayne Wang movies, Smoke and Blue in the Face, but it seemed appropriate that someone I could have just as easily never met should introduce me to an author for whom chance and coincidence were frequent themes. I found Oracle Night at a used bookstore called Paperback Exchange, after which I sought out Auster’s work wherever I could. What I enjoyed most about Auster was how he played with the conventions of genre. Several of his writings shifted subtly from fiction to non-fiction, and first-person to third-person, sometimes within the same story. In one instance a fictional character with his own name appears. On my birthday in 2017 Hillary and I saw Auster at the 92Y, where he read from his latest novel, 4321. I’d lent my original copy of The New York Trilogy to a friend, so I bought another which he kindly signed for me. Some years before that I picked up a large red volume of Auster’s Complete Prose at the Strand. It contains two memoirs that I’ve read repeatedly as a source of both comfort and inspiration. Last month I began a memoir class at Gotham Writers Workshop. This week was my turn to submit a ten-page draft, so last night I stayed up late cranking out a typically verbose tale concerning a period of my life in Florence. Even now when I think of my room I can still picture every detail, including that copy of The Red Notebook that for two years rested on the rattan chair that served as my bedside table.
Andreas Brehme
1960-2024
Andreas Brehme, the man whose late penalty secured a third World Cup for West Germany in 1990, died today aged 63. Brehme was only tasked with the responsibility because captain Lothar Matthäus was still breaking in the brand new boots he’d been forced to change into at half-time. But there were few players more reliable than Brehme behind a dead ball. I’ve watched a lot of football since that summer, but I’ve never seen another player quite like Brehme. Though nominally a left-back, he could play on either flank or in midfield. Part of what made him so versatile was his complete ambidexterity. He slotted home his penalty in Rome with his right foot, as he believed it was more accurate. But he tended to take free-kicks and corners with his left, which he claimed was more powerful. Franz Beckenbauer once said, “I’ve known Andy for twenty years and I still don’t know which is his natural foot.” Brehme was born in Hamburg in November 1960, at precisely the same time that a fledgling five-piece combo from Liverpool was tearing up clubs on the Reeperbahn. He emerged at Kaiserslautern before joining (in classic German fashion) Bayern Munich. But at club level Brehme is best-remembered for the four years he spent at Inter, with whom he won a record-breaking scudetto in 1989. The threesome Brehme formed at the club with international teammates Matthäus and Jürgen Klinsmann was in neat parallel to Milan’s three Dutch stars. At the height of their fame, the two trios squared up at their “home” stadium of San Siro, as West Germany and the Netherlands met at Italia ’90. Brehme scored his side’s second goal, a characteristic curling (right foot) shot from the edge of the box. In 1992 Brehme left Italy, and after a single season at Real Zaragoza returned to Kaiserlautern, where he spent the next five years. Though the side was relegated in 1996, they won immediate promotion back to the top flight, and then finished the following season as unlikely German champions. It was the first and only time a newly-promoted team has lifted the Bundesliga title, and a fitting end to Brehme’s playing career.
Kurt Hamrin
1934-2024
Swedish legend and Fiorentina’s all-time leading goalscorer, Kurt Hamrin, died in Florence today aged 89. Born in Stockholm in 1934, he rose to prominence at local side AIK before moving to Juventus in 1956. After a single season in Turin the right winger was sent on loan to Padova. In the summer of 1958 Hamrin was an integral part of the Swedish side that hosted the World Cup, scoring four times en route to the final, which Sweden lost to Pelé’s Brazil. After the tournament, instead of returning to his parent club he signed for Fiorentina. Hamrin spent the next nine years in Florence, helping the club to its first (and so far only) European title in 1961, the inaugural Cup Winners’ Cup against Rangers. Though Fiorentina’s two scudetto triumphs (in 1956 and 1969) occurred either side of Hamrin’s time in Florence, he scored an extraordinary 208 goals for the club, a record that still stands. If you’ve watched Fiorentina in recent seasons you’ll know that Hamrin’s tally is unlikely to be surpassed any time soon; Gabriel Batistuta’s total of 207 seemed almost in polite deference to the great Swede. In 1967 Hamrin joined Milan (with whom he won the European Cup in 1969), and later Napoli, before ending his career back in Sweden with IFK Stockholm. After retirement he returned permanently to Florence, where he remained for the rest of his life. Incidentally, following the death of Mario Zagallo last month, Hamrin was the last surviving player that took part in the 1958 World Cup Final.
Luigi Riva
1944-2024
Though he retired in 1976, Luigi “Gigi” Riva is still Italy’s all-time leading scorer and Cagliari’s greatest ever player. Riva’s power, athleticism and ferocious left foot led journalist Gianni Brera to dub him “Rombo di Tuono” (Rumble of Thunder), a nickname that stuck with the forward for the rest of his life. Riva refused handsome offers to leave Sardinia, and after retiring served briefly as Cagliari president (the club retired his number 11 shirt in 2005). From 1988 to 2013 he was an important presence at major tournaments as part of the national team’s staff, whether consoling Roberto Baggio at Giants Stadium or celebrating with the Azzurri in Berlin. Though he became a beloved symbol of Sardinia, Riva moved to the island with trepidation. He hailed from Leggiuno, on Lake Maggiore in the province of Varese, and began his career at Legnano in Serie C, before his unlikely transfer to Cagliari in 1963. The side gained promotion to the top flight the following year, and a year after that Riva became the club’s first player to represent Italy at international level. Riva’s performances in Serie A helped Cagliari to a second-place finish behind Fiorentina in 1969. The following season the club went one better, winning their first and (so far) only scudetto. This photo was taken a couple of months later, at a corrida in Mexico, as the Azzurri paused their preparations for the 1970 World Cup in order to experience some local culture. Once the football action started Riva struggled in the group phase, but scored twice in the quarter-final against the hosts, then got Italy’s third in their epic semi-final with West Germany at the Azteca. It was technically Riva’s first World Cup, though he’d been invited to the 1966 tournament in England as an extra reserve. In 1968 he won the European Championship on home soil, scoring the first goal in the replay of the final with Yugoslavia in Rome. Riva scored his last goal for Italy in 1973. He took part in Italy’s disastrous 1974 World Cup campaign in West Germany, but was dropped for the final group match, a defeat to Poland. Half a century later, his record of 35 goals (in just 42 games) for his country has yet to be beaten.
Franz Beckenbauer
1945-2024
German football’s greatest icon, Franz Beckenbauer came not only to symbolise his nation’s most glorious footballing achievements, but also embody its abiding characteristics. Speed, efficiency, power, control, innovation: these words might have been applied to Beckenbauer, but could have just as easily been pulled from a BMW ad. After all, Beckenbauer wasn’t just German — he was Bavarian. Beckenbauer’s career, both on the pitch and on the bench, coincided with periods of unprecedented dominance for both club and country. Though he became forever tied to Bayern Munich, young Franz grew up supporting their city rivals, 1860. It was only after a tussle with an 1860 opponent during a youth tournament that he opted to join then-unfashionable Bayern, making his debut for the club in 1964. By decade’s end “Der Kaiser” had led Bayern to its first domestic titles and, by the mid-seventies, three European Cups in a row. Prior to Fabio Cannavaro in 2006, Beckenbauer was the only defender to have been awarded the Ballon d’Or, yet he started out as a centre-forward. He was the young star of the 1966 World Cup, scoring four times from midfield and marking Bobby Charlton out of the final. Soon he’d retreated to central defence, from where he effectively invented the modern libero position. At Mexico ’70, Beckenbauer famously dislocated his shoulder in the second half of an epic semi-final with Italy. But West Germany had already made their two permitted substitutes, forcing him to play on through extra-time with his arm in a makeshift sling. The 1972 European Championship was Beckenbauer’s first international title, to which he added the World Cup at Munich’s Olimpiastadion two years later. After spells with the New York Cosmos and Hamburg, Beckenbauer retired in 1984 and was immediately put in charge of the national team. Despite no previous coaching experience the appointment paid off. West Germany were narrowly defeated by Argentina in the 1986 World Cup final, but got revenge on the same opponents in an ill-tempered final four years later. That result in Rome meant Beckenbauer had become only the second man to win the World Cup as both a player and a coach.
Mario Zagallo
1931-2024
I’ve always loved this photo. It shows Garrincha and Pelé helping Mario Zagallo to his feet after he’d scored Brazil’s fourth goal in the 1958 World Cup final against hosts Sweden. Brazil are wearing blue shirts that their kitman had hastily procured from a shop in downtown Stockholm just hours before the match kicked off, after both sides had shown up at the Råsunda Stadium in Solna with their yellow home shirts. And so began the tradition of Brazil wearing blue as an away kit. In 1962 Zagallo won the World Cup again when Brazil (in their usual yellow) beat Czechoslovakia in Santiago de Chile. He retired from playing in 1965 and thus didn’t take part in Brazil’s disappointing 1966 World Cup campaign in England. Zagallo immediately began a long second career as a coach, and by the end of the decade was already in charge of the national team. In Mexico in 1970, he led the Seleção to its greatest triumph, and in doing so became the first man to win the World Cup as both a player and a coach. He was still only 38. Zagallo’s Brazil finished only fourth in 1974, and it was another twenty years before they lifted the trophy again. In 1994 Zagallo was an assistant to Carlos Alberto Parreira, and in 1998 back in the hot seat himself, leading Brazil to another final (which they lost to hosts France). His last involvement with the national team was as a technical assistant in 2006. In total Zagallo took part in seven World Cups, including five finals. I haven’t looked it up but I imagine Franz Beckenbauer is next in line (five World Cups, four finals). Though Bora Milutinović can’t be far behind…
Matthew Perry
1969-2023
Matthew Perry was always my favourite “friend.” As the sarcastic and insecure data processor Chandler Bing, Perry may have represented only one-sixth of Friends’ attractive ensemble, but he seemed to enjoy the bulk of the script’s best lines. Legend has it he contributed many of these himself; I once read he was the only cast member granted access to writers’ meetings. Perry was not only the funniest of the six — at just 24 he was also the youngest (Lisa Kudrow was already 30). Since Friends ended it’s become fashionable to put the show down — especially among those New Yorkers who blame it (along with Sex & The City) for contributing to the city’s demise — but I will always maintain that the first season was as close to perfect as sitcoms get. I rewatched “The Blackout” episode on a flight a few years ago, the one where Chandler gets trapped in an ATM vestibule with the model Jill Goodacre. I remembered all the dialogue but my failure to stifle laughter still turned my fellow passengers’ heads. But as Friends became a cultural phenomenon and its cast stratospherically wealthy, so it became increasingly evident that Perry was not a well man. By season three he appeared quite thin, and his fluctuating weight over the course of the show’s decade on the air seemed at times to correlate directly with its own dips in quality. Even at the height of his fame, Perry was open about his health issues and spells in rehab, and in 2022 published a revealing memoir of his career and lifelong battle with addiction. I’ve also watched some incredible recent interviews with Perry on YouTube, in which he speaks about this complex subject with a detail, candor and wit that is both brutal and moving. He seemed so resolute, like a man who recognized his own fortune and whose life’s purpose had become to help other people facing the same indiscriminate and unrelenting disease. Perry initially moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in tennis, having been a top-ranked junior player. In fact, the closest I came to brushing shoulders with him was at the U.S. Open in 2011, when his familiar face popped up on the big screen during a match between Federer and Tsonga at Arthur Ashe stadium.
Bobby Charlton
1937-2023
Born in Ashington, Northumberland in 1937, Bobby Charlton signed for United in 1953 and made his debut for the club in October 1956 against, appropriately enough, Charlton Athletic. Matt Busby’s United side won the first division title in 1957, but the following season Charlton was one of 21 survivors of the Munich air disaster; among the 23 victims were eight members of the promising young team nicknamed the “Busby Babes.” Still only 20, Charlton overcame that trauma (and minor injuries) to make his international debut at Hampden Park just two months later, and was part of the England squad that went to that summer’s World Cup in Sweden. He played in every match at the 1962 World Cup in Chile, scoring in a group stage victory over Argentina. By 1966 Charlton had established himself as one of the sport’s top players, instantly identifiable the world over thanks to both his trademark combover and an unstoppable shot from distance. He scored in the group match against Mexico, and got both of England’s goals in a memorable semi-final with Eusebio’s Portugal. He had a quieter game in the final, having been marked out of the match by a young Franz Beckenbauer. His performances earned him the FIFA award for player of the tournament and that year’s Ballon d’Or. In 1968 he scored twice more at Wembley, as Manchester United became the first English club to win the European Cup, defeating Eusebio’s Benfica. Charlton played in his final World Cup in 1970. On the plane home from Mexico, following a quarter-final exit to West Germany, he asked Alf Ramsey not to select him again. Charlton left United in 1973 after falling out with teammates George Best and Denis Law, effectively ending his playing career. He returned to Manchester as a director in 1984, and remained an ambassador for the club and city for the rest of his life. Only Ryan Giggs has made more appearances for United, while Charlton’s goalscoring records for both club and country were only surpassed after another prematurely balding England forward named Wayne Rooney came along.
Trevor Francis
1954-2023
This photo of Trevor Francis was taken during a summer ritiro with Sampdoria in the mid-eighties. Francis joined the newly-promoted side in 1982, and in 1985 helped secure the club from Genoa its very first trophy, as Samp beat Milan over two legs to lift the Coppa Italia. That wasn’t Francis’ only claim to fame. He gained attention in 1970 when, as a sixteen-year-old, he scored four times for Birmingham City in a match against Bolton Wanderers. In February 1979 his transfer to Brian Clough’s Nottingham Forest made him Britain’s first £1 million player. A few months later his diving header in Munich won the European Cup for Forest against Malmö. Forest retained the trophy the following season, but Francis missed the 1980 final due to a persistent Achilles tendon injury. He moved to Manchester City where he regained enough form to make England’s World Cup squad. Francis scored twice in Spain during the group stage, against Czechoslavakia and Kuwait — goals that prompted his move to Italy. After four years at Sampdoria, Francis spent single seasons at Atalanta and Rangers, before settling into a successful player-manager role, first at QPR and then at Sheffield Wednesday. In 1993 Francis took the Owls to Wembley twice, where they lost the finals of both the League Cup and FA Cup to Arsenal. He retired as a player in 1994 aged 40. He later managed Birmingham City and Crystal Palace. Polite, thoughtful and articulate, Francis’ personality was probably always better suited to a career in media rather than management. He was a frequent co-commentator for live matches on ITV, and often lent his experience of the Italian game to Serie A coverage on both Sky Sports and Channel 4. Though to be completely honest, whenever I think of Francis I still hear the theme song that played over the closing credits of the BBC sitcom, Only Fools and Horses: “And at a push some Trevor Francis tracksuits from a mush in Shepherd’s Bush…”
Silvio Berlusconi
1936-2023
He was described as “a genius,” “a visionary,” and “the man who destroyed Italy.” Like him or loathe him, for better or worse Silvio Berlusconi shaped a nation, perhaps like no other figure in the history of modern western democracy. For nearly half a century, this cruise ship crooner turned self-made media magnate turned world leader dominated almost every aspect of Italian life. He transformed Italy’s television, football and politics, and in doing so transformed Italy itself. An Italian friend once told me, “The reason Italians break laws so much is because we have so many.” For three decades, Berlusconi’s entire political existence seemed to hinge on this philosophy. Whether skirting laws or rewriting them for his personal benefit, he consistently evaded prosecution, despite myriad allegations and trials brought against him. Emerging from the ruins of Italy’s postwar political system, Berlusconi was an anti-politician, a charismatic outsider who thrived on image and the cult of the self: he had never held office before when he became Prime Minister in 1994. His entrepreneurship in both media and sport served him well, despite an array of conflicting interests. As premier Berlusconi could now add the state-operated RAI network to the private Mediaset channels he already owned, which meant 90% of Italian television was under his influence. His populist stance was further evidenced by the name of his party, Forza Italia (it was a World Cup year, don’t forget), and his habit of reducing hot topics to footballing analogies. Berlusconi’s tactics prevailed: his three spells as prime minister made him Italy’s longest-serving postwar leader. In his final term his frequent public gaffes, mounting scandals, and an endless stream of legal trouble irreversibly damaged an already complicated legacy. Contemporary Italy’s most concerning issues — from its stagnant economy, social decline and tarnished global image to its current neo-fascist government — are a direct consequence of over thirty years of “berlusconismo.” The Berlusconi era may have technically ended today, but its enduring effects will probably outlast us all.
Tina Turner
1939-2023
Tina Turner began life picking cotton with her family in Tennessee, and ended it as a Swiss citizen living in a château on Lake Zurich. What happened in between could have been a movie or a musical: in fact her life became the inspiration for both. As a singer, performer, survivor and force of nature, Turner personified the trademarks of rock and roll that she herself helped to define: relentless energy, raw emotion, sensual vulnerability and wild abandon. But even as her dresses got skimpier and her hair got bigger, her famous legs always remained planted, closer to the southern roots of her music. In 1967 she became the first woman and first black person to appear on the cover of Rolling Stone (issue 2). By that point the woman born Anna Mae Bullock had become Tina Turner, a name given to her by Ike Turner, who trademarked it so he could use it for another singer should Tina leave him (as previous singers had). After sixteen abusive years, Tina eventually left Ike too, fleeing on foot across a Texas freeway with 36 cents in her pocket — but not before the duo had become arguably the era’s most successful and hardest-working R&B act. The pair divorced in 1978. Tina was allowed to keep her name, but was still receiving food stamps when she hit forty, playing small clubs to pay off debts and resurrect her stuttering career. Then in 1984 she enjoyed her biggest solo success with the album Private Dancer. Suddenly this 44-year-old black woman was a pop megastar, muscling onto the airwaves of MTV alongside acts who weren’t even born when she’d cut her first hits. But Turner refused to call it a comeback because she said “Tina had never arrived.” In 1985 she performed at Live Aid in Philadelphia with Mick Jagger (this was during his ill-conceived solo career), whose on-stage shimmying she had greatly influenced (she and Ike had first opened for the Stones in 1966). She also starred in that Mad Max movie (which I’ve never seen) and recorded the theme song for the James Bond film Goldeneye. Incidentally, “What’s Love Got To Do With It” is one of two songs I vividly recall hearing at my dad’s 40th birthday party in 1988 (the other is “Rebel Rebel” by David Bowie).
Harry Belafonte
1927-2023
In his own words, Harry Belafonte was “an activist who became an artist.” These days it seems every artist also calls themselves an “activist,” to the point where the word has lost a lot of its power. Without wanting to discredit their good intentions, its use can sometimes come off as a bit performative. What made Belafonte such a brave pioneer was that he put a budding career — and his very life — on the line by standing up for injustice. Inspired by his mentor Paul Robeson, Belafonte starred in several films in the fifties that tackled the subject of race in a thoughtful and modern way. But he was soon blacklisted during the McCarthy era for his prominent role in helping to organize (and bankroll) some of the more large-scale efforts during the Civil Rights campaign. Though Belafonte was a well-known face and benefactor of the movement, he maintained his status as part of the establishment in both Washington and Hollywood. He performed at JFK’s inauguration and in February 1968 stood in for Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show for a week. Among his guests were Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy. Through the turbulent sixties he had become a friend and confidant to both; by the summer both had been assassinated. Ten years ago for my birthday Hillary gave me Belafonte’s autobiography. It’s called My Song and provides a detailed account of his early life and boundless work, as well as a sobering evocation of the seemingly disparate worlds he managed to straddle so successfully. It’s really fascinating. That a Black, Caribbean-American from Harlem was able to do this with such grace for decades without negatively impacting his image or legacy says everything about Belafonte’s talent, charm, and unwavering dedication to the fight for just causes. I can’t think of another figure in popular culture who has ever done that quite so well, for so long.
Wayne Shorter
1933-2023
As a composer and an improviser, Wayne Shorter was always innovating. His work conquered new musical ground and explored uncharted dimensions, both technically and emotionally. I first became aware of Shorter through Weather Report (the fusion group he co-founded with Joe Zawinul) and more conventional “pop” acts. He played on ten Joni Mitchell albums and made guest appearances on records by Santana, Steely Dan and even the Rolling Stones. It was only after I left home that I began investigating his work more closely. As a young musician on the bebop scene in his native Newark, Shorter gained early notoriety for his unconventional approach to performing, earning the nickname “Mr. Weird” (he even painted it on his saxophone case). He graduated from NYU in 1956 before joining Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers in 1959, with whom he gained international renown. Over the next decade he was instrumental in shifting the direction of jazz, both as a member of Miles Davis’ “Second Great Quintet,” which he joined in 1964, and as a solo artist. Once I’d moved to New York I was able to get hold of the albums Shorter made for Blue Note during this fervently productive period. The Japanese woman on the cover of Speak No Evil is Shorter’s first wife Teruko Nakagami (the couple separated in 1964 and she later married actor Billy Dee Williams). Shorter and his second wife, Ana Maria Patricio, had a daughter who died of a seizure in 1986. In 1996 Ana Maria was killed, together with the couple’s niece, after boarding doomed TWA Flight 800 to visit Shorter on tour in Italy. In 2013 I was listening to Native Dancer, Shorter’s 1974 collaboration with Milton Nascimento, on some very expensive equipment at an audiophile friend’s house in the Catskills, when he casually revealed he’d actually met Shorter on one occasion. I asked him what he was like and he said, “Cool guy… but a total weirdo.” That summer I had the considerable fortune of seeing Wayne Shorter perform at the Montreal Jazz Festival. It remains the most intense concert experience of my life.
Just Fontaine
1933-2023
I never saw Just Fontaine play — he retired in 1962. But for a young student of World Cup history his name was unavoidable. The French forward scored 13 goals in just six games during the 1958 edition in Sweden. These included a hat-trick in France’s opening game with Paraguay and four in the third-place match against West Germany. It’s a single-tournament record that still stands: Gerd Müller’s ten goals in 1970 are the closest anyone has since come to equalling it. Born in Marrakesh to a French father and a Spanish mother, “Justo” began playing for local outfit USM Casablanca until he was recruited by Nice as a 20-year-old. On the Côte d’Azur he won a French first division title before joining international teammate Raymond Kopa at Reims, where three more championships followed. The side reached the 1959 European Cup Final, losing to the era’s all-conquering Real Madrid for the second time in three years (ironically, by that point Kopa had transferred to Los Blancos). In 1960 Fontaine suffered a double fracture of the left leg, only to break the same leg on his return to action months later. Forced into retirement at just 28, he co-founded the Union Nationale des Footballeurs Professionels (UNFP), becoming its inaugural president. After hanging up his boots he became a representative for Adidas, moving to Toulouse where he opened two sports stores called Justo Sport. Having also obtained his coaching credentials, he briefly managed the French national team in 1967 but was let go after just two friendly matches, both of which ended in defeat. So it came as a surprise to most in 1973 when Fontaine was appointed sporting director of Paris Saint-Germain by fashion designer turned football chairman Daniel Hechter. After helping guide the young club to the first division, Fontaine returned to coaching in 1978 with Toulouse in Ligue 2. In 1979 he took over the Moroccan national team but quit the position just before the 1980 African Cup of Nations after being involved in a road accident. By 1990 both of Fontaine’s eponymous stores had closed, but he continued to own two Lacoste shops in the area.
John Motson
1945-2023
Hired by the BBC in 1968 as a sports reporter for Radio 2, John Motson replaced Kenneth Wolstenholme on Match of the Day in 1971 and went on to become a familiar voice of football for a generation of viewers. In a career spanning several decades he commentated on over 200 England matches, 29 FA Cup finals and six World Cup finals. For a brief spell in the mid-nineties he lost these gigs to his “rival” at the BBC, Barry Davies. Many fans still revere Davies for his wry detachment, but while he exuded middle-class erudition, and was equally at home commentating at Wimbledon or various Olympic sports, “Motty” was more of an everyman. Renowned for his sheepskin coat and encyclopedic knowledge of the game, Motson commentated exclusively on football and spent evenings before matches compiling statistics and laminating teamsheets. This meticulous preparation and nerdy devotion led to derision among critics and viewers alike. But Motson also understood the power of silence, and was able to describe fast-paced sporting action with a straightforward economy, letting images speak for themselves. He excelled at major tournaments, and had the fortune of witnessing two of the most dramatic international matches in history: Italy’s 3-2 defeat of Brazil at the 1982 World Cup, and France’s extra-time victory over Portugal by the same scoreline at Euro 84. Motson himself often cited both as career highlights, and in both cases the excited tone and crackling energy of his voice — relayed via a telephone line from Barcelona or Marseille — still makes the hairs on my neck stand up. It seems a far cry from today’s tongue-tied commentators who rarely pause for breath, their speech peppered with pre-written overtures so portentous they often sound like they’re reading from the Old Testament.
Burt Bacharach
1928-2023
Burt Bacharach, pop’s master songsmith, was born in Kansas City, Missouri, and graduated from Forest Hills High School in Queens. Like some future notable fellow alumni (including both Simon and Garfunkel plus all four original Ramones) Bacharach’s enduring impact on popular music is impossible to quantify, unless you’re talking about the 73 US and 52 UK hits he wrote that landed in the Top 40. After studying music in Montreal and a requisite spell stationed in Germany, Bacharach was working as Marlene Dietrich’s music director when he met lyricist Hal David at the Brill Building in 1957. It was there that the pair embarked on a songwriting partnership that churned out an extraordinary sequence of hits for other artists, most notably Dionne Warwick, who was signed to the duo’s label and thus given first priority on new numbers (Bacharach later called her a “muse”). Bacharach’s compositions were unusual in both chord progression and structure, often taking unexpected and dramatic twists to echo or contrast the romantic anguish at the centre of David’s lyrics. This device married perfectly with his lush, orchestral jazz arrangements and came to define the sophisticated pop sound of the era. But Bacharach’s timeless work transcended every genre, and he was soon in demand on Broadway and in Hollywood. You can probably think of multiple recorded versions for each of his most famous songs, but a cursory glance at a list of titles penned by Bacharach reveals a catalogue of standards that have been covered by everyone, from the Beatles to Issac Hayes to, er, Atomic Kitten. In the mid-nineties renewed interest in the swinging sixties provided Bacharach with something of a career resurgence. He made cameo appearances in the Austin Powers movies while his poster can be spied on the cover of Oasis’ debut album. But he continued to create memorable work. Just last week I relistened to Painted From Memory, his 1998 collaboration with Elvis Costello — still one of my favourite things by either artist. It was released the same month I started university and offered a welcome escape from many a grey autumnal afternoon…
David Crosby
1941-2023
Success and fame made David Crosby an icon, but he always remained an iconoclast. As a founding member of the Byrds, and later Crosby, Stills & Nash (and sometimes Young), his warm and inimitable sound defined a place, and several eras: folk-rock, psychedelia, the singer-songwriter movement, the supergroup. To this day the trademark characteristics of his music — intricate vocal harmonies and expansive, unconventional compositions — still evoke a distinctly Californian brand of counter-culture. Born in Los Angeles in 1941, Crosby enjoyed a comfortable upbringing. His mother descended from the Van Cordlandt family in New York and his father gave up a career on Wall Street to become an Oscar-winning cinematographer in Hollywood. But by his own admission, young David was thrown out of every fancy school he attended, later dropping out of a drama degree to check out the burgeoning scene in Greenwich Village. A lifelong political activist, opinionated and witty, Crosby never sold out, and never stopped speaking his mind, even though this tendency sometimes got him into trouble. In fact, he became almost as famous for his real life problems as for his music. His notoriously fractious relationships with his former bandmates have been well documented, as have his addictions to cocaine and heroin. In 1985 he spent nine months in a Texas state prison on drugs and weapons offences, a literally sobering experience that pushed him towards a healthier lifestyle. After contracting Hepatitis C he underwent a liver transplant in 1994 (paid for by Phil Collins) and was also a diabetic. But when I saw him perform at the Clearwater Festival in 2015 his voice sounded as good as ever, resonating clearly and soaring into the summer evening air. After a twenty-year solo hiatus, Crosby became highly active in the studio in the last years of his life, often working with his son and recording five albums in under a decade. I just relistened to his most recent release, 2021’s For Free (whose title is a Joni Mitchell song and whose artwork is by Joan Baez), last week.
Gianluca Vialli
1964-2023
A thoroughly modern centre-forward of rare athleticism, Gianluca Vialli represented a generation of Italian players and fans, and came to define a golden era in Serie A. He was also a thoughtful and good-natured man whose style and humour — even in the face of life-threatening illness — made him an icon of the game in Italy and abroad. Picture Vialli and you may see a mop of dark curls, a militaristic crew-cut, or a closely shaven head (there was even that time he bleached his hair blond). But whichever version you recall best, goals and trophies remained two reliable constants. Given his fondness for silverware it’s perhaps no surprise that Vialli enjoyed an affluent childhood, growing up as the youngest of five in the sixty-room Villa Affaitati, a 16th century residence near Cremona. His professional career began at local side Cremonese, with whom in 1984 he helped earn promotion to the top flight for the first time in 56 years. Vialli signed for Sampdoria that summer, but confusion still surrounded his position until Azeglio Vicini converted the young winger into a “prima punta.” Having effectively reversed roles with Roberto Mancini, “i gemelli del gol” (as they were quickly dubbed by the Italian press) soon developed a unique understanding on the pitch and a lifelong friendship off it. What followed were seasons of unprecedented achievement for the club, culminating in an historic scudetto in 1991. Sadly for Vialli, his experiences with the Azzurri were less fulfilling, despite featuring in three major tournaments during the same period. A record transfer to Juventus in 1992 made Vialli the most expensive player in the world (if only for a few weeks). He won everything in Turin, and after lifting the Champions League in 1996 joined Ruud Gullit’s Chelsea. Further domestic and European titles ensued, and in 1999 he retired from playing having taken over as player-manager. Vialli remained based in London for the rest of his life, where in the summer of 2021 — as part of old pal Mancini’s Italian coaching staff — he finally found the international success that had eluded him as a player with his home country, in the national stadium of his adopted one.
Pelé
1940-2022
It’s common for Brazilian footballers to go by a simple mononym, but in the case of Edson Arantes do Nascimento it was fitting. Like Elvis or Ali, his fame transcended his chosen field, and like Marilyn or Mao, he became an icon of twentieth century culture. For a man that was named after Thomas Edison it’s perhaps also appropriate that his stage name should end up in lights. Pelé was football’s first international superstar, and his stunning rise and commercial ubiquity defined the notion of the modern celebrity athlete. His personal trajectory was the archetypal Brazilian soccer star’s rags-to-riches tale, and his unprecedented successes with the national team remain the cornerstones of that country’s footballing mythology. Pelé started out kicking a sock filled with newspaper, shining shoes and selling stolen peanuts at the railway station in Bauru to afford his first pair of boots. Twenty years later he ended his career on the synthetic turf of Giants Stadium, before hitting the tiles at Studio 54. Most of us have only seen a fraction of the 1,279 goals he scored in between, though some of the audacious attempts on goal that didn’t go in remain as indelible as those that did. Declared an “official national treasure,” at his peak Pelé was prevented by Brazil’s head of state from transferring from Santos to a more high profile European club (he joined New York Cosmos in 1975). After his retirement Pelé served as the game’s de facto global ambassador, and was embraced by every kind of establishment, from sporting bodies to corporations, and even governments. Pelé appeared on billboards for Pepsi and MasterCard, cut records with Elis Regina and Sérgio Mendes, starred in a movie with Michael Caine, had his portrait made by Andy Warhol, visited multiple occupants of the White House and even juggled footballs with Johnny Carson. In 2001 he said, “There are three icons everyone knows: Jesus Christ, Coca-Cola, and Pelé.” It was an almost Lennon-esque quip laced with hubris and cynicism, but also truth. For sixty-five years wherever Edson went, Pelé followed. Edson may have died, but I wouldn’t be surprised if people are still worshipping “O Rei” in 2000 years…
Queen Elizabeth II
1926-2022
Queen Elizabeth II was born in 1926 — the same year as Miles Davis and Marilyn Monroe. When I was born she was still only 52, but already seemed an old lady (she reminded me of my grandma). Though to be fair to Elizabeth, it’s hard to remain youthful when youth is taken from you. She had to carry the weight — both institutional and literal — of the crown her entire adult life. Elizabeth II’s was the longest reign of a British monarch, but despite her longevity, and for all the technological and social advances she experienced during her life, in the end she was no more understood, accessible or knowable than her immediate predecessors. Everything we knew about off-duty Elizabeth II — the corgis, the headscarf, the wellies, the Land Rover — was reduced to cliché long ago. She was an ever-present twentieth-century figure but for me it sometimes felt that the woman herself only existed as an icon: a familiar face in profile on a coin or a stamp, or for fifteen televised minutes on Christmas Day (I don’t think she ever attended a Cup Final in my lifetime). Of course, this was by circumstance and design. But I think it’s a shame that she always seemed chiefly concerned with upholding an archaic status quo above all else, relinquishing opportunities to evolve with the country in a way that might have addressed the monarchy’s eternal image problem and improved its tenuous relationship with the public. To me, today felt like a significant day in history rather than a sad one. The prospect of her death always loomed large in the British consciousness, probably because of what it would mean for first-born Charles. Now, the burden that has hovered over him his whole life finally rests on his 73-year-old shoulders. What must he feel? Sadness? Resentment? Relief? My hope is that King Charles III will harness his emotions and wrangle the monarchy into something resembling modern relevance, or at least drag it kicking and screaming into this century. It could certainly use another purpose besides readymade tabloid fodder. Though if there’s one thing that Elizabeth II’s reign may have taught us about the royal family, it’s that you should never hold your breath.
Ray Liotta
1954-2022
Ray Liotta was a prolific actor but whatever I saw him in — Something Wild, Field of Dreams, Unlawful Entry, Cop Land, Heartbreakers, Marriage Story, even that police series with J.Lo — he was always watchable and occasionally riveting. Too intense and edgy for conventional leading man parts, Liotta also possessed a slightly comical, maniacal laugh which perhaps contributed to his being typecast in roles as a bad cop, menacing tough guy or twitchy psychopath. But many people will likely remember him best for his career-defining portrayal (both on screen and in voiceover) of real-life hoodlum turned FBI informant Henry Hill in Goodfellas. Aside from being perhaps the last great movie directed by Martin Scorsese, Goodfellas is probably the most technically stunning piece of cinema I’ve ever seen. There are at least half a dozen memorable moments from the film that illustrate the point, but the famous tracking scene as Henry and Karen (Lorraine Bracco) take a side entrance into the old Copacabana club on East 60th Street (shot to the Crystals’ 1963 hit “Then He Kissed Me”) perfectly captures the actor’s charm and magnetism and the seductive power of his character’s mob lifestyle. Liotta’s transformation from silk-suited young wiseguy to coked-out wreck is a remarkable performance. What’s more remarkable is that even while Hill is robbing airlines, doing drugs, serving time, cheating on his wife, or beating the shit out of his neighbours, this utterly amoral character manages to remain totally likable throughout. At the start of the film he’s a wide-eyed outsider who wants in; by its end he’s a paranoid insider who desperately wants out. In this sense Liotta’s protagonist represents the audience: we enter with him on a dark, dangerous, but wildly entertaining journey of the soul into the New York underworld and emerge two hours (and a couple of decades) later on the other side, a little worse for wear but with our innocence somehow intact.
Jimmy Greaves
1940-2021
British football fans of my generation likely know Jimmy Greaves as the good-humoured television pundit with a big moustache, a fondness for a pint (or twelve), and a catchphrase (“It’s a funny old game”) that was somehow both meaningless and profound. So it’s worth remembering that “Greavsie” is still the greatest goalscorer in the history of the English top flight with 357 goals. Most of these were scored during the nine seasons he spent at Tottenham, though he’d already proven himself a prolific marksman at Chelsea, where he began his professional career as a 17-year-old. In between his successful spells at the two London clubs Greaves was tempted by a lucrative move to Milan, where he soon discovered Italy’s strict training regimen to be in direct conflict with his lifestyle, and returned to England after half a season. In 1970 Greaves moved to West Ham but spent most of the seventies combating alcoholism while scoring goals in the lower divisions. He retired in 1980 and remained sober for the rest of his life. Remarkably, though Greaves won his last international cap in 1967 he remains England’s fourth highest goalscorer with 44 in a mere 57 matches, including a record six hat-tricks. He played in all four of England’s games at the 1962 World Cup in Chile, scoring once and even rescuing a stray dog that wandered onto the pitch against Brazil by getting down on all fours (legend has it Garrincha kept the furry invader as a pet). Greaves remained first-choice striker under Alf Ramsey when England hosted the competition four years later. 1966 could (and perhaps should) have been Greaves’ tournament, but in England’s third group match against France, a dangerous tackle by midfielder Joseph Bonnel left a gash to the centre-forward’s shin that required 14 stitches. Geoff Hurst started in Greaves’ place for the quarter-final against Argentina and… well, you know the rest. Ironically, Greaves was fit again in time for the final with West Germany, but Ramsey preferred not to alter a winning team. A funny old game, indeed.
Charlie Watts
1941-2021
Charlie Watts was always my favourite Stone. He loved jazz and clothes and cricket. I once read an interview in which he recalled buying Miles Davis’ album Milestones because he liked the green shirt Miles wore on the cover. Watts’ famous quip concerning his quarter-century as drummer with the Rolling Stones (“Work five years and twenty years hanging around”) has been oft-quoted, but it summed up his attitude towards the pop culture carnival that was life in the world’s greatest rock and roll band. Cool and detached, Watts’ image was always somewhat at odds with the Stones’ notoriety and reputation for debauchery. Rather than take part, he observed the frenzied circus that followed the group with a wry amusement (or even bemusement). He hated girls chasing him down the street, and remained faithful to his wife Shirley for 56 years. After leaving art school he worked as a graphic artist at an advertising agency and was playing drums in Blues Incorporated when he met the founding members of the Rolling Stones. He soon joined the fledgling combo and played his first gig with them in February 1963. After fame hit Watts continued to put his graphic design experience to good use, devising album artwork, press materials and the band’s increasingly elaborate stage sets. He was a creature of habit: he sketched every hotel bedroom he’d ever slept in on tour since 1967, but in the eighties “became a completely different person.” He emerged from serious addiction as a beloved elder statesman of rock, a dapper English gentleman who frequently appeared on best-dressed lists. Earlier this month the Rolling Stones announced that Watts’ wouldn’t be joining the band on its upcoming North American tour due to an unspecified medical condition, prompting fans to question if the Stones could still be the Stones without their beating heart. I was reminded of an anecdote from 1984, when an intoxicated Mick Jagger phoned Watts’ hotel room at five in the morning, asking, “Where’s my drummer?” Watts got up, shaved, put on a suit and cologne, walked downstairs and punched Mick in the face. “Never call me your drummer again,” he warned. “You’re my fucking singer!”
Gerd Müller
1945-2021
I never saw Gerd Müller play — he retired when I was two years old — but like Just Fontaine, Geoff Hurst or Jairzinho, his name was unavoidable for a young student of World Cup history. Nicknamed “Der Bomber,” Müller was an opportunistic but atypical forward, whose short legs and low centre of gravity gave him an advantage against taller defenders, even in aerial situations. He scored a record 365 Bundesliga goals for Bayern München, and 68 times for West Germany in just 62 appearances; a goal-to-game ratio that no player since has come close to matching. Ten of those — including the extra-time winner in the quarter-final against England and two during the epic semi-final defeat to Italy — came at the 1970 World Cup in Mexico, a performance that earned him the Golden Boot and the Ballon d’Or. Four years later on home soil he scored four more, including the winner in the final, as West Germany lifted the World Cup for a second time. That victory over the Netherlands came in a stadium Müller knew well, Munich’s Olympiastadion, and also reflected a transfer of power between European football’s most potent forces. Ajax won three European Cups between 1971 and 1973; between 1974 and 1976 Bayern repeated the feat, the last time any club has achieved such dominance in the competition. In 1979 Müller, like many of his generation, moved to the NASL where he spent two seasons with the Fort Lauderdale Strikers. Following his retirement, Müller slipped into a period of alcoholism; it was the encouragement of his former Bayern teammates that set him towards recovery. He worked with the club as a youth coach, but was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease in 2015. Only in recent years have Müller’s longstanding goalscoring records begun to topple, though some still appear unattainable even for the likes of Messi, Ronaldo or Lewandowski. Those players have challenged our existing ideas of excellence, consistency and longevity, which makes some of Müller’s statistics all the more extraordinary. Today’s a great day to remember that in football, as in everything else, it’s impossible to make sense of the present without first understanding the past.
Paolo Rossi
1956-2020
There are some players for whom entire careers become forever associated with a single tournament. Paolo Rossi was a prolific Serie A goalscorer and took part in the 1978 and 1986 World Cups, but he will always be remembered for his six goals that led Italy to victory in 1982, a triumph that was as unexpected as it was spectacular. Rossi’s exploits in Spain also earned him the Golden Boot and, at the end of the year, the Ballon d’Or, but all these achievements had seemed unthinkable just a few months earlier. The forward had spent the previous two seasons banned from football, having become embroiled in the Totonero match fixing scandal while at Perugia. He only returned to action in April 1982, making just three league appearances for Juventus before joining Enzo Bearzot’s squad. The Azzurri started slowly with three uninspiring draws, but in the second round they sent home the defending champions, Argentina. Next, Italy needed to beat the overwhelming tournament favourites, Brazil, for whom a draw would be enough to reach the semi-finals. In one of the World Cup’s most thrilling and dramatic games, the Italians won 3-2. Rossi scored all three. He put two more past Poland in the semi-final and nodded in the first in Italy’s final success over West Germany in Madrid. In 1991, I visited the house of a friend-of-a-friend in Tuscany, whose son had in his possession the white number 20 shirt worn by “Pablito” in the 1982 World Cup match against Cameroon. It wasn’t framed or anything, just hanging from a coat hanger on his bedroom wall. My knees went weak. That was the closest I got to Rossi, though to be fair Brazil’s defenders struggled to get much closer. The 1982 World Cup, and that match in particular, has since entered Italian folklore, and can be referenced with an abstract economy — twenty years after the tournament Rossi wrote an autobiography entitled, I Made Brazil Cry.
Diego Maradona
1960-2020
If there’s a term that’s over-used in today’s hyperbole-saturated football conversation, it’s “genius.” But for Diego Armando Maradona no other word does the player justice. In a turbulent career packed with high drama and stunning subplots, Maradona’s natural talent and extraordinary technical ability were never in doubt — he could do more with a piece of fruit than most players could with a football. But what really set him apart was his personality, and the fact that he achieved what he did with the odds stacked firmly against him. Today’s stars are coddled from a young age — not Diego. Born into abject poverty, he left Buenos Aires at 21, but was booted (literally) out of Barcelona before washing up at another port, Naples. It was here that he enjoyed his greatest success and found a city that shared his underdog mentality. Within three years Napoli were Serie A champions. Maradona had an uncanny knack of galvanizing teams and elevating those around him almost to his level. He won where winning was not a given, and invariably did so on muddy pitches while being kicked by one defender and having his shirt pulled by another. Yet he was also a man of wild contradictions. No player had more impact on a World Cup than Maradona did in 1986, but for all the skill he displayed in that tournament he also admitted to scoring a goal with his hand. Throughout his career he brought joy to millions but his own life was addled by drug abuse. And despite his assured status in the pantheon of greats, he always remained an outlaw, a folk anti-hero who was never entirely embraced by football’s establishment. The news that Maradona had died felt monumental, but did not come as a shock; his health had been a source of concern ever since he retired from playing. For many, especially boquenses and napoletani, Maradona had long been considered something of a deity, a saviour in shorts to whom murals are dedicated and shrines are built. In life, he was already a sort of myth or footballing saint, a mystical figure from a not too distant past, who finally in death represents a game that no longer exists.
Jack Charlton
1935-2020
The son of a Northumberland coal miner, Jack Charlton left the north-east as a teenager to pursue an opportunity at Leeds United, where he remained for his entire playing career, racking up a record 762 appearances for the club in the centre of defence. Unlike his gifted younger brother Bobby, who starred for England at the 1958 World Cup, Jack didn’t make his international debut until he was almost 30. He even admitted to feeling he was constantly in Bobby’s shadow, once stating, “My brother was good at playing football, I was good at stopping people playing football.” Their styles may have differed, but both Charltons were integral to England’s 1966 World Cup victory. Jack didn’t retire from international duty until after the 1970 World Cup, announcing his decision to Alf Ramsey on the plane home from Mexico. Remarkably for the era, Jack played for another three years at club level before finally hanging up his boots at the age of 38. At some point not long after that my grandparents met him while on holiday in Malta. Charlton immediately went into management, and fans of my generation probably remember him most for his ten-year tenure as manager of the Republic of Ireland, whom he led to three major tournaments. “Big Jack” was a likeable if sometimes irascible presence, never disguising his impatience for the media nor his fondness for fishing and Guinness. At the 1990 World Cup, prior to a quarter-final meeting with Italy in Rome, the Irish party visited the Vatican and was even granted a private audience with Pope John Paul II. His Holiness mentioned to Pat Bonner that he had also played as a goalkeeper in his youth back in Poland; Bonner may have still been thinking about this when he failed to hold Donadoni’s shot, allowing Schillaci to score the game’s only goal. Later, on the bus from the stadium, Jack managed to puncture the air of disappointment with typically blunt humour when he blurted, “Even the fucking Pope would’ve saved that!”
Milton Glaser
1929-2020
New York is a city of designers, but no designer epitomized the culture and spirit of New York quite like Milton Glaser, who died today on his 91st birthday. Like much of Manhattan’s mid-century creative talent, Glaser was a first-generation kid from the outer boroughs. Born in the Bronx in 1929 to Hungarian Jewish immigrants, he graduated from Cooper Union and also studied under Giorgio Morandi in Bologna. On his return from Italy in 1957 he and Seymour Chwast co-founded and directed the influential Push Pin Studios, whose design and illustration work helped redefine visual culture over the next twenty years. Glaser was a prolific poster designer, and produced the psychedelic swirly-haired print that came packaged with Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits in 1967. With Clay Felker the following year he co-founded New York, the archetype for city magazines, for which he also drew the masthead and designed several famous early covers. Glaser set up his own studio in 1974 and a year later was hired by a bankrupt and crime-ridden city to design a logo to help improve the town’s image. Glaser’s “I ❤️ NY” graphic — appropriately sketched in the back of a yellow cab — proved popular among New Yorkers and outsiders alike, functioning as a badge of honor and/or show of allegiance for either party. Few other visual icons outside national flags and corporate marks have been adapted, appropriated, spoofed, sold and stolen to such an extent over the last four decades, but the symbol’s persistence is testament to its enduring design and iconic appeal. In the eighties Glaser’s connection to his city was maintained through clients including Carnegie Hall, Lincoln Center, Metropolitan Opera, New York Film Festival, and even the United Nations. More recently he designed promo posters for Mad Men and created the branding for Brooklyn Brewery, which can be admired up close in the fridges of every corner deli from Riverdale to the Rockaways. Glaser embodied the New York of his lifetime, imbuing his work with the city’s defining traits: energy, beauty, wit, resilience, and a healthy dose of chutzpah. Is there anything New York ❤️’s more than that?
Little Richard
1932-2020
I was born twenty-three years after Little Richard had his first hit but found his music electrifying and exhilarating (for a while I used “Long Tall Sally” as the alarm on my phone, much to my wife’s displeasure). I always loved his early rock ’n’ roll sound: the rollicking piano, the stand-up bass, the sax breaks. Then of course there was his voice. If Chuck Berry was a loquacious lyricist of staggering clarity and detail, Little Richard was the opposite: his raucous, rat-tat-tat vocal delivery punctuated by gospel shrieks and sexually-charged yelps sometimes amounted to little more than gibberish, but it spoke to a generation. I often wonder how exotic and exciting this must have all sounded to a young person sitting by a radio in 1956. I picture doors being blown off their hinges (figuratively and literally) and parents fleeing the room with hands over their ears. But imagine if they could have also seen him. Sixty years later and the very idea of a southern black man in lace and make-up would still have the power to outrage and ignite. This flamboyant style, both musically and sartorially, would influence countless great musicians — Paul McCartney admitted to writing “I’m Down” solely as an excuse to do his best Little Richard. But none of them had the opportunity to make the same kind of impact. As Richard once said of Prince, “I was wearin’ purple before you was.”