sportsman, statesman, gentleman

A statue was unveiled in Coleraine this afternoon. Created by Ross Wilson, it was of a local football player who died two years ago. Bertie Peacock played for Northern Ireland and Celtic, managing his country (and Colerine) in the 60s. He was a legend – but not in the way that ‘legend’ has come to be defined.

Think of legends in the modern era and names such as Beckham, Zidane, Ronaldo etc come to mind. These are men who have made a fortune out of the game, married famous, beautiful women (in the case of Vicky B that’s maybe a matter of opinion, I’ll maybe substitute famous and rich women in her case) and live their lives under the intense glare of media scrutiny. Modern “legends” often appear more often in the gossip sections of the tabloids than in the sports section. It could be suggested that they have sold their souls to the devil that is celebrity. I, of course, would never make such a sweeping judgement, but it could be suggested by others perhaps.

Perhaps the most famous local sporting legends, George Best and Alex Higgins, were undoubtedly amazing talents. They could be, irrefutably, described as geniuses in their respective fields. They could also have been described as having major flaws that, again, led them to appear outside the sports pages. We love them for what they were able to do, we loved them because they grew up in places we recognise, but we pity them for what they allowed to happen to themselves. We feel admiration for their rise to fame and we feel pity for their decline into infamy.

The concept of “legend” has certainly evolved through the ages. Which brings me back to Bertie; a man who doesn’t fit either of the previous definitions. He was a naturally gifted player who became an immensely respected leader who went on to leave a legacy to his profession through the founding of the Milk Cup, an international youth football tournament in Northern Ireland.

According to historical references (my dad and the maths teacher from across the corridor from my previous classroom) footballers in Peacock’s day were a different breed. They travelled on the bus to the matches, hung around for a drink with the fans in the local, got stick from their mates at work on Monday morning if they’d played badly at the weekend. They talk fondly of a time when the players of Coleraine football club were a local bunch – born and raised within a few miles of the ground. They lived among the fans – they were fans themselves. Now I know Peacock can’t claim to have been born and raised among the fans when he moved to Celtic – but I know the fans in Glasgow took him as one of their own and respected him as much as we did over here – of course it helped that he captained them to league and cup glory in his time there.

I didn’t know the man personally (The thing for which I most admire him, leading Coleraine to their only league title, took place three years before I was born) but I know enough people who consider him a close friend and who can think of no bad thing to say about the man to know that he was truly special. As far as I can tell he didn’t marry a super model, didn’t own a super car, didn’t get Christmas cards from film stars. Yet I’m glad they unveiled a statue of him in Coleraine. In the way that Joey Dunlop represented greatness in Ballymoney and was rightly remembered and honoured by the town, Bertie Peacock embodies qualities that the residents of Coleraine could do worse than to use as an example. Just look at the base of the statue for examples - sportsman, statesman, gentleman.