Philip Kerr - January Window

Traynor and Zarco were also filmed in the doorway of Hangman’s Wood holding up Traynor’s new silver goalkeeping shirt with his name on the back. That’s the thing I hate most about football: the clichés. You can’t blame the players for that — they’re just kids, most of them; Traynor’s only twenty-three and he doesn’t know any better. No, I blame the fucking reporters for asking the same old tired and predictable questions that produce these clichéd answers.

Things got a little more interesting when Bill Fleming, an old warhorse of a reporter from STV in Glasgow, suggested that it was extremely insulting to Scots viewers to have what Kenny Traynor was saying ‘translated into English’, as if they were ignorant of the language. Zarco paused for a short moment and then asked me to translate what Fleming had said, which got a big laugh. I think he understood perfectly well, but Zarco’s comic timing was always excellent. He waited for me to repeat Fleming’s complaint and then smiled.

‘I don’t mean to be insulting,’ said Zarco. ‘But I have been told that it’s not just the Portuguese who have a problem understanding Scottish people. It’s English people, too. So where is the insult in having a translation? That is something I don’t understand. Scott Manson is from Scotland and I understand everything that he says. You, Mr Fleming, you are from Scotland but I don’t understand anything of what you say. You say you speak English, and I will take your word for it, but this is not how it sounds to me. Maybe the problem is not with me but with you, my friend. Maybe you should learn to speak better English, like Scott here. Perhaps this is something Kenny will also achieve while he is playing at London City. I don’t know. I hope so, for his sake. To make yourself understood in a foreign country is not so difficult, I think. Everyone here seems to understand me all right. But I’m no Professor Henry Higgins and I don’t care about the rain in Spain. For sure I can help to make Kenny a better goalkeeper, but I’m the wrong person to offer him speech elocution on how he can make himself understood. Maybe if he opens his mouth a little when he speaks it will be better, I don’t know. You should try that yourself, Bill.’

To his credit Kenny Traynor kept on smiling good-naturedly while his new boss was speaking. Lots of people were laughing but they did not include Bill Fleming.

Later that day I found myself translating again, this time from German. Our new star striker, Christoph Bündchen, came to see me in my office at Hangman’s Wood. He spoke good English but told me that he preferred to speak in German, in case anyone overheard our conversation.

‘Is something the matter, Christoph?’

‘No, not at all,’ he said. ‘But I wanted to have your advice about something.’

‘Sure. What is it?’

‘First of all I want you to know how much I love this club, and how much I like living in London.’

My stomach lurched a little; Christoph Bündchen was quite likely a star striker in the making, and one we had bought cheaply, but where was this going? What was he going to tell me? That he was a compulsive gambler like ‘Fergie Fledgling’ Keith Gillespie? A secret boozer like Tony Adams? A compulsive gambler and a secret boozer like Paul Merson? Or had he already been tapped up by Chelsea — who had form for this, of course — or one of the other big clubs? Not that I had much time for the FA’s farcical rule against tapping up: good players were always going to be tapped up. Tapping up — approaching a player contracted to another club without its permission — has always been part of the game. I smiled thinly and tried to contain my jangling nerves.

‘That sounds ominous. Please don’t tell me you want a transfer to another club. You’ve only just got here and made your mark. We need you, son.’

‘This is very difficult for me, Scott.’

‘Look, if it’s about pay then I’ve already spoken to Zarco. He’s confident that we can get you another ten grand a week.’

‘Thank you, but it’s not about money. Or a transfer. It’s about something else. I don’t really feel I can be who I am. I’m different from these guys.’

He folded his arms defensively, stood back on one heel and then tapped his lips with a forefinger, like Samir Nasri making his famous shush gesture. (I still don’t get why he does that — who the fuck is he telling to be quiet? The fans?)

‘Different? How?’

‘When I was playing in Augsburg I was living in Munich.’

‘I know. That’s where we met, remember?’

‘Yes, but do you want to know why I was living in Munich?’

For a brief moment I wondered if he was a neo-Nazi and then rejected the idea; Christoph only looked like a Nazi.

I shrugged. ‘Munich is a nicer city than Augsburg. At least that’s my own impression.’

‘Have you heard of a part of Munich called the Glockenbachviertel?’

‘Yes, I think so. It’s the trendy part. Lots of art galleries. I often used to go there and look for paintings.’

Christoph nodded. ‘There are lots of gay people living in that part of Munich.’ He paused for a moment. ‘That’s why I was living there, Scott. Because I couldn’t live the way I wanted in Augsburg. What I mean to say is I was living in Munich with a man.’

I felt my spirits sink. This was going to be coaching football at its most challenging. The only gay footballers who’d ever stepped out of the closet as far as I was aware were Thomas Hitzlsperger and Justin Fashanu, and Fashanu committed suicide, which wasn’t exactly an encouraging precedent for anyone else in the game who felt moved to declare his homosexuality.

‘Right. I see.’

‘It’s just that Mr Zarco said some things the other day on television about the Qatari World Cup — about having gay friends — which was very encouraging. And I thought that perhaps it might be all right to be gay at this club. Unlike my last club, where I had to live a kind of lie about who and what I was. Which is hard, you know?’

I winced a little at the mention of Zarco and the Qataris. Since his comments about the 2022 World Cup the London City press office had been besieged with threats from anonymous Arabs; we’d had three bomb threats at Hangman’s Wood. Meanwhile the Qataris continued to deny any impropriety and FIFA’s executive committee in Zurich had complained to the FA about Zarco; as a result of this the FA had felt obliged to cancel their invitation to Zarco to become a member of its England team think tank. Zarco’s response to all this would certainly have been to repeat his allegations had Phil Hobday not told him to button it.

‘Look, Christoph, if you’re asking me for advice on being gay, I can’t give you any. I have one or two friends who are gay but none of them are in football. But if you’re asking me what I think you’re going to ask me...’

‘Should I tell the guys in the team I’m gay? That’s what I want to know. That’s what I’d like.’

‘Then the answer is no, absolutely fucking not. Don’t ask me to justify it, Christoph, because I can’t, but being gay is just not acceptable in football for the simple reason that the game is the last bastion of open bigotry and homophobia. There are no openly gay footballers in any of England’s top four divisions. Of course that’s not to say there are no gay players. Everyone knows who they are, or thinks they do, but those players keep it quiet for one simple reason: fear. Not of the other players, but fear of the abuse an openly gay player would receive from the fans. Right now there are lots of fans on terraces all over England who still sing songs about the Munich air crash and about the Hillsborough disaster, and who make gassing noises towards Tottenham fans who are all presumed, wrongly, to be Jews. In my time in football I’ve heard these bastards sing songs about Sol Campbell’s mental breakdown, Dwight Yorke’s disabled son, Karren Brady’s miscarriage, the floods in Hull, and the excellent public service done by various murderers including Harold Shipman and Ian Huntley. All of which means that there’s quite enough shit that they can throw at you already without giving them anything more. That’s why you can’t tell anyone, Christoph. Wear a pair of rainbow football laces if it makes you feel any better; there are at least some straight players who’ve done that. Otherwise you have to keep this quiet. You’ll be committing career suicide if you say something now. I know this is not what you wanted to hear, but I’m sorry, that’s just how it is.’