The Silent Witness: Sometimes Encouragement Is Better Than Advice

West Ham fans at a game on 1 March 1930 pass a young boy to the front of the stand. Getty Images

'The only thing to do with good advice is to pass it on. It is never of any use to oneself.'
Oscar Wilde

My father was not one to offer advice to his children. True, he was wont to cite trusty aphorisms: ‘You can’t go wrong with a Cotes du Rhone,’ ‘Just the sight of water is very relaxing,’ and such likeAnd he would happily demonstrate how best to hold a pint jug. But, generally speaking, Dad did not volunteer sage life lessons or the wisdom of his extensive experience. Perhaps he didn’t feel qualified.

His was a style of passive parenting that has since gone out of fashion. He was certainly a constant presence at home: grumpy in the morning, watching sport on telly in the afternoon, eating dinner from a tray in the evening – and smoking Embassy throughout. But he was, for the most part, a silent witness to our adolescence.

So it was a surprise to see him one Saturday morning standing on the sidelines of one of my schoolboy rugby matches. He’d previously expressed little interest in my sporting adventures, and he’d not told me he was attending this fixture.

There was a cluster of other parents nearby. The usual suspects - goading, chiding and instructing at the top of their voices.

‘Watch the blind side!’
‘Take him round the legs!’
‘Test them with high balls!’

Dad stood separate and apart, taking a puff on his cigarette, keeping his own counsel.

Towards the end of the game I looked up and he was gone. He’d probably slipped away for a quiet pint in the New Inn.

Nonetheless, my father’s visit to the rugby had some effect. Although he had not offered any particular instruction, I ran faster, dived further and pushed harder that morning – all in the hope of impressing him. His silent presence had been an encouragement.

'Good advice is something a man gives when he is too old to set a bad example.'
Francois de La Rochefoucauld

I was chatting recently with my old friend, the magnificent BBH Creative Director Nick Gill. He told me that occasionally nowadays he is asked to meet a new, younger occupant of the Creative Director’s chair. His approach to these meetings is simple:

‘I always offer encouragement, not advice.’

Perhaps Nick senses that new leaders have their own ideas, their own plans, their own way of working. They want to create their own culture, set their own direction, leave their own mark. And they’d like to make their own mistakes too.

'I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes.'
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sometimes advice, however well intentioned, can be confusing, misleading, patronising even. The lessons of the past may not necessarily map the future. Sometimes it’s better to offer words of encouragement and support. Or, like my father, simply just to be there.

'The people sensible enough to give good advice are usually sensible enough to give none.'
Eden Phillpotts

'Penetrating voices going through my head,
I haven't listened to a thing they've said.
Always there waiting with the answers,
Won't suffer the consequences.
Torn between the two,
Right or wrong,
There is no answer.
Don't tell me what to do.
It’s my choice.
I'll take it.
I'll chance it.
Don't dictate.
Don't dictate,
To me.’
Penetration, ‘
Don’t Dictate’ (M Chaplin)

No. 380

Designing the Beautiful Game: Play Better, Look Better, Earn Better

Photo credit: Puma archive

'Behind every kick of a ball, there has to be a thought.’
Denis Bergkamp

I recently visited an excellent exhibition exploring the role of design in the development of football. (‘Football: Designing the Beautiful Game’ is at the Design Museum, London until 29 August.)

On entering the gallery you encounter a Zambian ball made from a maize meal sack tied with string. It serves to reinforce the simplicity of the game that has made it so broadly popular.

'One of the reasons football is the most popular sport in the world is because the weak can beat the powerful.’
Marcelo Bielsa

You can see displays of historic balls, boots, banners and badges; archaic shinpads, pumps and goalkeepers’ gloves; the Acme Thunderer, the world’s original sport whistle, invented by a Birmingham toolmaker in 1884.

You can admire George Best’s first pair of boots – on the sides, in neat white painted letters, he recorded the games in which he scored. You can marvel at number 10 shirts worn by Platini, Messi, Zico and Maradonna.

'It’s true I don’t know much about the players here, but they definitely know who I am.’
Zlatan Ibrahimovic (on joining PSG in 2012.)

You can learn that the iconic Brazilian strip, incorporating the four colours of the national flag, was designed by an 18 year old newspaper illustrator. He was responding to a competition after the humiliating loss to Uruguay in the 1950 World Cup Final, when the team wore an all-white kit.

You can observe design’s impact beyond the pitch: from a rudimentary rattle to the reviled vuvuzela horn; from promotional posters to match day programmes and fanzines. There’s Coventry’s splendid Sky Blue programme, which won a D&AD prize in 1972. There are displays about innovative stadium architecture: the San Siro, the Allianz Arena, Tottenham Hotspur and Forest Green Rovers. 

I noted with a pang of melancholy that Spurs’ sophisticated acoustic modelling has not been applied at West Ham’s London Stadium. Indeed, as far as I could see, the Hammers’ main contribution to the exhibition was a hooligan calling card…

One of the two match balls used in the 1930 World Cup final, supplied by Argentina and used in the first half. Credit: Neville Evans Collection

'Before you can coach others, you must learn to coach yourself.’
Johan Cruyff

Football has been so popular that from the early days there were games based on the game. The oldest version of table football was manufactured in Preston in 1884. Then came blow football, Subbuteo and on through to today’s videogames. I enjoyed spotting a couple of photographs, by Julian Germain, of Superhero Subbuteo figures that were painted by BBH’s magnificent copywriter Nick Kidney. 

'Football is the ballet of the masses.’
Dmitri Shostakovich

I was particularly struck by the way that, over the years, design has moved football forward in small increments.

You can trace the development of shirt construction from collared flannelette to crewneck cotton to high tech elastane  - lightweight, breathable and sweat-wicking.

'In football everything is complicated by the presence of the opposite team.'
Jean-Paul Sartre

You can see how the design of footballs progressed: from heavy spheres made with an animal bladder wrapped in thick leather, to panelled balls with large seams. In 1931 the Argentine Superball, inflated using an air valve, dispensed with the leather lace, thus making it easier to head. 1974’s adidas Telstar, comprising 32 panels of white hexagons and black pentagons, was conceived to be more visible on TV. Subsequent balls, made with thermally bonded synthetic panels, have sought to deliver better boot contact and ‘truer flight.’

Note how new technology has changed the game itself, making it faster, more fluid and more skilful. Note too how in recent years marketing has moved the focus onto commercial optimisation. 

'I wouldn’t say I was the top manager in the business, but I would say I was in the top one.’
Brian Clough

Designing the new Brazilian kit. Courtesy of Felix Speller

Consider the evolution of the boot. 

The first footballers wore high-cut, leather work-shoes. By the 1880s players were nailing studs onto their soles to give secure footing on soft ground. Soon the footwear had reinforced toes and ankles. Manufacturers recognised the power of player endorsement to sell boots to a broader public. In the early 1900s MJ Rice & Son launched Steve Bloomer’s Lucky Goal Scorers. In the 1930s a lower cut, lighter boot, more suited to drier conditions and dribbling, was developed in southern Europe and South America. This ‘Continental’ style was adopted by Stanley Matthews, who in the early ‘50s promoted a pair for the mass market in collaboration with the Coop.

'We don’t want our players to be monks. We want them to be better football players, because a monk does not play football at this level.’
Bobby Robson

In 1952 the Puma Super Atom became the first boot with screw-in studs. West Germany were losing the 1954 World Cup Final 2-0 at half-time to favourites Hungary. Adi Dasler (the founder of adidas and brother of Puma founder Rudolf) suggested fitting the team’s boots with longer studs more appropriate to the rain-soaked conditions. West Germany went on to win 3-2 and the match was dubbed the ‘Miracle of Bern.’

'Football is a simple game. Twenty-two men chase a ball for 90 minutes and at the end the Germans always win.'
Gary Lineker

No. 2 Captain America aka Steve Rogers, Full Back. Figure by Nick Kidney / photo by Julian Germain

The 1968 Puma King featured a flexible sole and lightweight nylon screw studs. In 1970 Alan Ball wore boots painted white by Hummell, the first soccer footwear to be neither black nor brown. Subsequently, as pitch conditions improved and the need for protection diminished, boots were given lightweight kangaroo and textile uppers. There are now laceless models to enable a cleaner strike.

'Everything I know about morality and the obligations of men, I owe it to football.’
Albert Camus

It seems clear that football’s progress was driven by a combination of performance enhancement, scientific invention and commercial ingenuity. Marketing expanded the focus beyond the elite players on the pitch, to the broader playing community and indeed to non-playing spectators.

Design helped football and footballers play better, look better, earn better.

'Aim for the sky and you’ll hit the ceiling. Aim for the ceiling and you’ll stay on the floor.’
Bill Shankly

Of course, sometimes design and marketing have gone too far. Their voices have become too powerful. Too many unnecessary strips, unconvincing endorsements and uncalled for innovations have tested fans’ loyalty.

When the adidas Jabulani was introduced at the 2010 World Cup to a corporate fanfare, players complained that it had unpredictable movement. In 1995 the majority of Premier League club sponsors came from the technology and telecom sectors. In 2010 they came from financial services. By 2021 it was mostly betting. And when in 2013 Hull City's owners proposed changing the club's name to Hull City Tigers, supporters staged a protest with a banner proclaiming 'a club, not a brand.'

Designers and marketers need to remind themselves that, as Jock Stein said:

‘Football without fans is nothing.’

 

'In the marble halls of the charm school
How flair is punished.
Under marble Millichip, the FA broods
On how flair can be punished.
Their guest is a Euro-state magnate
Corporate-ulent.
How flair is punished.
Kicker, kicker conspiracy.
Kicker, kicker conspiracy.’

The Fall, ‘Kicker Conspiracy’ (M Smith)

No. 373

The South Indies: When Over Thinkers Under Perform

Moore’s tackle on Jairzinho

Moore’s tackle on Jairzinho

‘Football is the most important of the less important things in the world.‘
Carlo Ancelotti

I think the South Indies football team mattered more to me than it really should have.

Through the week I washed the kit, recruited players and popped out to Soccer Scene to buy random bits of equipment. I woke up in the middle of the night pondering league tables. I plotted innovative formations on the back of envelopes, but ended up concluding that, erm, 4-4-2 probably best suited our resources. 

We were in many ways a typical amateur side. Our fixtures tended to be on Saturday mornings when many of our personnel were nursing hangovers. Our home ground was the astroturf at Market Road - where Australians sold their VW Camper Vans and local kids hung round to nick our balls. 

Like most such squads, we were a mismatched assortment of characters and talents. John did warm-up exercises that the rest of us scorned for being too ‘continental.’ Dylan was a philosopher off the pitch and an enforcer on it. Tim played with the enthusiasm of a 20 year old, though his body had moved on a decade or so. Andy was quiet, but lethal. Matty kept goal, but not his temper. Striker Kweku had the disarming habit of chatting amicably to opposition Defenders. Vinny played like a troubadour social worker and Tony like a novelist with a fine appreciation of history. Thommo was stylish. Caz was obdurate. Dave was rustic. Doug was contrary. Steve was tidy. And Shamik was late.

‘If I have to make a tackle then I have already made a mistake.’
Paolo Maldini

My own skills as a Centre Back were rudimentary. Slow, lumbering, physical. More comfortable with the ball in the air than on the ground. Whenever a Striker approached me in possession, I could hear over my shoulder Thommo shouting: 

‘Stand up. Stand up, Jim!’

I hesitated and held my ground. I stared the Striker in the face as he contemplated his next move. 

‘Don’t dive in!’ Thommo cried.

For a brief moment the Striker and I were frozen to the spot, each ready to spring into action. Time stood still. 

I felt the same way about this bloke as I did about all Forwards. I resented his speed and agility, his refined skills and youthful good looks. He needed to be taught a lesson. Perhaps, re-enacting Bobby Moore’s tackle on Jairzinho in the 1970 World Cup, I could slide in to dispossess him, with balletic grace, with pinpoint precision.

And then, suddenly, he feinted as if to go one way and went the other. I sensed him accelerate past me as I struggled to build up momentum.

It was now or never. 

And so, with a rush of blood to the head, I made my move. 

Thud, clatter, crash. 

I’d taken him down. 

Penalty.

I looked up from the astroturf to see Thommo frowning at me with accustomed disappointment. 

'Football is a game you play with your mind.’
Johan Cruyff

A little while ago I read an article about the science of spot kicks (‘Want That Penalty?’ The Times, 7 May).

It transpires that, if you’re taking a penalty to win a match, you can expect a 90% success rate, compared with only 60% if you’re trying to avoid defeat. In a shoot-out, striking the first penalty elevates your chances of winning to 60:40. Keepers should waste between 1.7 and 4.5 seconds before the kick is taken.

There’s clearly a good deal of psychology involved.

A recent study published in the journal ‘Frontiers in Computer Science’ monitored the brains of footballers when they took spot kicks. 

22 players were fitted with a cap with sensors that measured oxygen levels in different parts of the brain. Those who missed their penalty tended to have activated cerebral areas associated with long-term planning. By contrast, those who scored had employed unconscious neural pathways. They had performed the task automatically, with well-rehearsed movements.

The research concluded that players miss penalties when they over-analyse the outcomes. Over thinkers under perform. They would do better to employ ‘neural efficiency theory,’ responding to pressure by switching some parts of the brain on and others off.

’The best decisions aren’t made with your mind, but with your instinct. The more familiar with a situation you become, the quicker, the better your decision will be.’
Lionel Messi

It’s easy to imagine such findings having application in business.

Inevitably we spend a good deal of the working week plotting and planning, calculating and co-ordinating. We repeatedly rehearse our arguments, review the pros and cons of various strategic routes, in order to equip ourselves to make the critical calls. But as we approach the key meeting, we should not be too preoccupied with the consequences of our actions. We should be confident, focused on winning, set to seize the initiative. At the decisive juncture in the negotiation; at the point of making the crucial creative recommendation; at the climax of the presentation, we should switch from a mindset of preparation and projection to one of instinct and intuition. We should concentrate on the situation and not the stakes.

After the game we’d adjourn to the Hemingford Arms. Caz, in his genial way would talk to the opposition at the bar and smooth over grievances and misperceptions. The rest of us would sit in a huddle in the corner, re-enacting the highlights, exaggerating our heroics, appointing the scapegoat - usually me.

'My heart was broken.
Sorrow, sorrow.
My heart was broken.
You saw it, you claimed it,
You touched it, you saved it.
My tears are drying.
Thank you, thank you.
My tears are drying.
Your beauty and kindness
Made tears clear my blindness.
While I'm worth
My room on this Earth,
I will be with you,
While the Chief
Puts sunshine on Leith.’

The Proclaimers, 'Sunshine on Leith’ (C & C Reid)

No. 325

A Family Outing to the Beach: There’s a Gap in the Market, But Is There a Market in the Gap?

IMG_0498.jpeg

'I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.’
John Masefield, ‘Sea Fever'

All through the school holidays we’d been pestering Dad to take us to the beach. He was somewhat reluctant, I suspect because he regarded summer as a time to be watching cricket on TV. 

And then one day, out of the blue, he announced:

‘It could be a good day to go to the seaside.’

I was a little confused. It was not the blistering hot day I had imagined. Rather it was overcast and blustery outside. Perhaps he’d been studying the weather forecasts and knew something we didn’t.

Mum packed some cheese and pickle sandwiches into the blue tartan picnic basket and prepared a Thermos of sweet tea. Dad ensured he had a supply of roll-ups to sustain him. We four kids picked up a few buckets and spades, and crammed into the back of the ageing Austin Cambridge (no seatbelts back then, of course). 

And so we all set off down the Arterial Road to the coast. The thrill of it all!

My friends at school had entertained me with stories of days out in Southend. I could expect a crooked house and a carousel at the Kursaal amusement park; candyfloss and kiss-me-quick hats on the pier. There would be crowds of carefree holidaymakers, abundant fish and chip shops, seagulls soaring up above. The town would be teeming with life.

When we’d been on the road for some time, Dad announced that we were not in fact heading for Southend, but nearby Walton-on-the-Naze. 

‘It won’t be so busy.’

He took us to a rather secluded part of the coast. It wasn’t really a beach - more rocks and pebbles than golden sand. And there was no one else there. 

This didn’t seem to trouble Mum, who made herself happy poking around among the shallow pools for elegant rocks and ancient fossils; nor Dad, who just stood there, admiring the view and puffing on his roll-ups.

‘I’ve always found water very relaxing,’ he sighed.

There’s a tatty old photograph of the family on the deserted beach at Walton-on-the-Naze that day. I used to keep it pinned to my desk at work.

Martin and I wear home-knit sweaters and school shorts, and Martin has adopted the confident squatting pose of a footballer from the Soccer Stars sticker album. Sarah and Anne are wrapped up in neat anoraks, and Anne seems to be carrying a Filofax 10 years ahead of her time. We’re all sporting sandals. Mum gives Sarah a tender embrace. 

Dad was probably happier taking the shot than appearing in it. He tended to avoid crowds and he had naturally shunned the hustle and bustle of Southend. No doubt he had calculated that a pebble beach on an overcast day would be more peaceful than a sandy shore on a sunny afternoon.

Of course, he was right. It was certainly tranquil. But to me as a child he seemed to have got it all wrong. This certainly wasn’t the day out at the seaside that I had envisaged.

There’s an old marketing saying: ‘There may be a gap in the market, but is there a market in the gap?’

The aphorism is designed to remind us that the existence of an empty space in a sector does not necessarily entail commercial opportunity. That space may be deserted for a reason.

We spend a good deal of time seeking out the roads less travelled; the unusual, uncommon and unfamiliar. We like to discover new territory, to pioneer new frontiers. But we must always ask ourselves: is there a good reason for this absence, this inaction, this stillness?

A year or so after our trip to Walton-on-the-Naze, one of Dad’s mates from the pub took Martin and me to Southend. We rode on the dodgems and ate candyfloss. We gambled on the slot machines and tottered around the crooked house. That day I had my first hamburger. It was at a Wimpy, and was washed down with an extravagant milkshake.

It was bliss.

'Somewhere beyond the sea,
Somewhere, waiting for me,
My lover stands on golden sands
And watches the ships that go sailin’.
Somewhere beyond the sea
She's there watching for me.
If I could fly like birds on high,
Then straight to her arms,
I'd go sailing.’

Bobby Darin, ‘Beyond the Sea’ (A Lasry / C Trenet / J Lawrence)

No. 323