Ted Grainger

Last week, the greatest English striker of all time, Harry Kane, won the most prestigious award for a footballer, the Ballon d’Or. I have to say, I am delighted for him. When he first started his professional career, I don’t think there was any indication that he was destined for success. Only the heroes of ’66 are entitled to rival Harry Kane I remember when he came on loan to my team, Leicester, in 2013. Aged 19, he was fairly unremarkable. He made thirteen appearances after joining in January, and eight of them were from the bench. He managed two goals. When Leicester did not make the move permanent in the summer, there were not many of us who were disappointed.

In the past few days, the good people of Football Twitter have rediscovered a Guardian article from 2014. Dick Bate, former manager of the England Under-17s, recalled an occasion from the 2002 European Championships in which a young Wayne Rooney, at a meal with the entire squad, stood up and read a self-composed poem called When Saturday Comes. In this poem, Rooney expressed his pride in representing his nation. This has got me thinking: are footballers truly thick? Have we judged Rooney unfairly? That is certainly the prevailing sentiment. Admittedly, I have not been able to obtain a copy of When Saturday Comes, to determine whether it is actually any good.