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Alan Ball 1945-2007

Dave Bowler

4/26/07

It’s always a shock when a hero, especially a sporting hero, passes away. Sportsmen, bursting with health, vigour, athleticism in their prime, seem somehow immune to the ravages of time. Yet, like us all, they are not. The fella in the dark shawl with the scythe is waiting for them, just as he’s waiting for those of us who haven’t considered running anything more strenuous than a bath in years.

When they pass at the scandalously early age of 61, it’s more sickening yet. And when we find that another of the immortals, a 1966 World Cup winner, isn’t so immortal after all, then the fabric of the universe starts falling around your ears. What hope is there for the rest of us if even people like Alan Ball, a footballer who expressed perpetual motion on the field, don’t go on forever?

In the wider sense, in the sense of history book and legend, of myth and folklore, Alan ball is immortal. Today, as news of his passing was made public, there were the images flitting across our TV screens, images that will be shown forever, the red shirted, ginger sprite dashing across the Wembley turf, running and running and running, breaking up play, starting it again, fetching and carrying, making things happen.

Those World Cup legends of 1966, they will be forever remembered, but some have grabbed the limelight more than others. Geoff Hurst, the hat trick hero. Bobby Moore, the graceful, elegant captain. Bobby Charlton, a majestic player, perhaps England’s finest ever. But on the day of days at Wembley Stadium, nobody was better than Alan Ball, nobody did more to secure the Jules Rimet trophy.

With West Germany having snatched it out of English hands with the last kick of normal time, the odds were stacked in favour of Franz Beckenbauer’s side. But from the outset of extra time, Ball chased everything down, began to orchestrate the play, gave Ramsey’s “wingless wonders” real width, created opportunities, not least for Geoff Hurst to smash home the third goal, the decisive goal.

Ball was made to play international football in the era of the white heat of technology, because he was modern, he was noisy and he was effective. The fiery persona, the ginger hair, the spitting and snarling that he sometimes fell victim to in his overwhelming desire to win - he became only the second man to be sent off while wearing the three Lions - that all belied a highly gifted footballer, a player of good touch, great vision, a range of passing and an handy eye for goal.

Ball came to prominence at Blackpool - he was still there when he won the World Cup - but moved on to Everton for a record £110,000 in August 1966. At Goodison, he was part of the Toffees’ own holy trinity, the magnificent midfield of Ball, Kendall and Harvey, he was instrumental in taking the “School of Science” to the League Championship in 1970, before Everton doubled the money in selling him to their successors as champions, Arsenal, in December 1971.

Like other former England men Peter Osgood and Kevin Keegan, Ball then enjoyed an Indian summer to his career on the south coast, inspiring Southampton to promotion to the top flight, establishing the Saints there by sheer force of will.

A mixed career in management followed, some highs, some lows, but it is as a player that he will long be remembered. For all his technical gifts as a footballer, it was his enthusiasm, his love of the game, his obvious delight in being out there on the grass that really marked ball out as something special. Never underestimate his ability as a player, but never forget either that it’s those men who make the absolute most of those gifts, those who truly love what they do who go on and become legends.

Alan Ball may have passed away, but as long as we play the game of football, he will be immortal.