The Footballing Maverick, we love them, we admire them, we even want to be them.
We flaunt in front of the mirror sometimes imagining what it would be like to meet that cross, steering the leather spherical ball into the wanting onion sac…
We’ve all had the dream but these guys live it.
I’m talking about The Bartons, The Mcdonalds, The Bowles, The Marshes, The Spencers, The Birchams.
The sort of player who grabs the game by the scruff of the neck and makes that slight difference that wins football matches. They don’t even need to be the most gifted of footballers, but their presence alone whilst you watch the teams warm up give you…hope.
Hope, being a QPR supporter is paramount and the afore-mentioned names are a few who have given me that sense, similar to the incurable optimism of purchasing a pre-match burger from the Loftus Road catering team.
Growing up and watching the SuperHoops throughout the early nineties now seems to have been a privilege, an age where football was still clinging onto the tackle and still carrying the title of a Gentleman’s sport.
I’m afraid to announce that those days are dead and buried, but does this age of the footballing pantomime still hold a light to the Footballing Maverick…?
Joey Barton did a good job of it for us, cavorting around the pitch, tackle here, tackle there. It sparks the mind to suggest that “We’re not here to be bowled over” and I for one love them.
Who can we rely on with this current crop I ask you?