Anything goes in The Snug, General Discussion's rebellious little brother. An off-topic den of iniquity where any subject not covered elsewhere may be discussed. Well, anything except golf, Star Wars and Arsenal.
This is doing the rounds on FB at the moment. A touching moment related to a previous Jordan P video I posted about how people, especially young people, need just a touch of encouragement and support to do well in life.
On this day in 1991, Arsenal signed Ian Wright for £2.5m. It was a lot of money in those days – the club had never paid as much – but over the next seven years he proved himself worth every penny and more. It wasn’t just his 185 goals, then a club record, or the trophies they helped win. It was the way he played the game: his passion, his exuberance, his commitment, his charisma. Thierry Henry, who would eventually supplant Ian as Arsenal’s all-time top scorer, said ‘I fell in love with Arsenal because of Ian Wright.’
But Ian would not have been a professional footballer, let alone an Arsenal legend, had it not been for one man. As a boy of eight or nine, young Ian had been both troubled and trouble. He’d do anything to avoid going home, because home was where the hate was. His mother told him she wished she’d had him aborted, his father had walked out several years before, and his stepfather ‘wasn’t a nice fella. He didn’t like me at all. He was a rough-voiced, rough-talking guy, a real bully: big-built, raving, hard-gambling, weed-smoking, very strong man.’
Starved of affection and attention at home, Ian would act up at school. It was Turnham Primary School in Brockley, south-east London, and he was often disruptive and hyperactive: not a bad kid, not a mean kid, but one bubbling with rage at things he could scarcely understand, let alone articulate. When his teachers couldn’t control him, which was often, they would send him to the PE teacher Sydney Pigden.
Syd was himself no stranger to trauma. His wife had died not long before, they had lost their only son in infancy, and both his own parents had died when he was 15. While serving in the RAF during World War Two (he’d flown Spitfires, Hurricanes and Typhoons and had taken part in the Victory flypast over Buckingham Palace after the war’s end), he and a friend had tossed a coin to see who would take a new aircraft up for familiarisation. Syd had lost. The plane had malfunctioned in mid-air, and his friend had been killed.
Still a competitive footballer in his forties, Syd was a firm believer in the power of sport to improve lives. ‘At first I was afraid of him,’ Ian said, ‘but he soon became my mentor and a massive influence. He was hard but fair, and he taught me how to channel my energy into something more positive. When I had what he used to call the ‘heebee-geebees’, full-on rage like a little Tarzan or something, he’d sit me down, he’d talk to me, explain to me how to communicate. He taught me how to read and write properly. He turned me into a monitor so I would go around with the school register, I would be the milk monitor guy, I would take messages to the teachers.
‘He was the first dominant male figure in my life who had time for me and cared for me. If I wasn’t good in class he would tell me that I wouldn’t be allowed to play football on a Saturday, and that was quite an incentive. All I wanted to do was dribble round everyone and score goals, but he taught me the importance of passing and being less selfish with the ball. And he had a similar message in terms of my school work. I couldn’t just be loud and talk over teachers because it wasn’t fair on them, or the other kids. He taught me the importance of working as a team. He believed in me and never gave up. It was like a chain reaction and others started to believe in me too. I improved in class and teachers and other adults started to respond better to me.’
It’s the holy grail of teaching, isn’t it? Not exam results or league tables, but to be the one who actually makes a difference to a child’s life, who helps them achieve their potential or saves them from disaster. When the endless paperwork swamps you and the terrible pay gets you down, that’s the light in the darkness: the one who knows that without you they wouldn’t be what they are.
From afar, Syd watched with pride at what that troubled young man became: not just an Arsenal player but an England one too. He saw how Ian would stroke the ball into the net rather than blast it, just as he’d taught him all those years before in Brockley: look for the space, make it beautiful. He heard the fans with their chant – ‘Ian Wright-Wright-Wright’ – and smiled at the way Ian shone in the light of their adoration.
After Ian retired, a TV company made a documentary of his life called ‘Nothing To Something’. Unknown to him, they contacted Syd and asked him to appear. It would be a surprise, to say the least. Ian and Syd hadn’t seen each other in almost 25 years: more than that, Ian had been told by an old schoolfriend that Syd had died.
The footage starts with Ian in the empty stands at Highbury, looking out over the pitch where he’d scored so many of those 185 goals. While he’s lost in reverie, Syd comes up the stairs behind him. Ian half-turns, gives a bland smile, turns back again – and then does the most classic double take, the smile replaced by sheer astonishment as he whips his head round to look at Syd properly.
‘Hello, Ian,’ Syd says. ‘Long time no see.’
Ian Wright, motormouth, the man with an answer for everything, is totally speechless. He stares for a moment and then takes off his flat cloth cap, so instinctively that he’s probably not even aware he’s doing it.
‘Mr. Pigden,’ he blurts. Not Syd, or Sydney, or some kind of nickname. Mr. Pigden, just as he had called him at school. Proper respect.
Syd holds his hand out. Ian looks at him, and at the camera, and at Syd again. ‘Someone said you was dead,’ Ian says, and the emotion cracks his voice into zigzags.
Syd laughs. ‘As you can see I’m very much alive, and I’m so glad you’ve done so well for yourself.’
Ian doesn’t reply. He can’t reply, because now he has the cap over his face and he’s sobbing hard. He turns and hugs Syd, and because Syd’s standing a row or two above him, Ian buries his head in his old teacher’s chest, just as though he were a child again. They hug, and then they disentangle, and they look at each other with such tenderness and love that the camera feels almost intrusive.
‘Uncontrollable crying because of how happy I was to see him,’ Ian said afterwards. ‘That was when I realised how much of an effect he had on my life.’
They never lost touch again. When Ian saw the scrapbooks of the Victory flypast, Syd told him it had been the second proudest moment of his life. The proudest? Ian’s England debut against Cameroon.
Syd Pigden died last December aged 95. He spent his final years in an old people’s home down near Ladywell, where Ian was a regular visitor. Towards the end the dementia had set in for good, but perhaps in a moment of lucidity he would have seen ‘A Life In Football’, the autobiography of the boy whose life he’d turned around, and opened the front cover to read the dedication inside.
Tenbury am sorry that you found any of that particularly upsetting, am pretty sure its not meant to upset anyone.
I guess describing various stages and symptoms of depression can resonate with some of us.
Those black dog days where we cant be arsed to eat, wash or even get out of bed.
Keep talking guys.
mushy wrote:Tenbury am sorry that you found any of that particularly upsetting, am pretty sure its not meant to upset anyone.
I guess describing various stages and symptoms of depression can resonate with some of us.
Those black dog days where we cant be arsed to eat, wash or even get out of bed.
Keep talking guys.
No ,no, you were right to post it BECAUSE it's so true.Upset is neither here nor there, and it was probably ill use of language, I was trying to say how true it was.
Even now, and I'm pretty high, I try to shower at least twice a day ,and wash my hands and face frequently.From experience, when I'm down I won't do it for weeks on end.
Not just that,the distraction is so important, that's why I love this site.
Tenbury wrote:No ,no, you were right to post it BECAUSE it's so true
Indeed. That's what this thread is all about. Being open and honest with our own battles without being judged and looking out for the little things that can help.
There is a new campaign called 'Ask Twice', highlighting how when we ask someone if they are OK the normal reply is 'I'm fine'. Even when we are not fine.
The Ask Twice campaign encourages us to do just that, ask twice as you are more likely to get an open and honest answer if you ask the same question twice. https://happiful.com/78-of-brits-say-th ... ssion=true
Still smashing my head against the brickwall with regards to freedom of information stuff, picked up historic medical records today not easy reading in the slightest. Seems their is a missing NSPCC report that could be vital, finally found my abusers date of birth today was in the medical report.
Am getting some support now with this wife noticed a down turn in my mood, been snappy and moody, feel the police have been lazy and just get emails saying have you found any more reports yet, nothing like they are actually doing anything to help. so think im frustrated
On olazipine and metrazipine and seem to be doing a job.
the thing i find most staggering is every single one of his kids where abused all show signs of physical abuse and some of the girls sexual abuse. Yet he wasnt once prosecuted by the police due to lack of evidence that it was him, now this man had 4 kids after i was born and already had atleast 3 and all of them faced child abuse and where placed in care.
No ,you're not missing anything, just what the hell was going on?
If you can find the strength, and I'm sure you can , you should pursue this , this piece of sh*t should never be released, and you,although I'm sure it doesn't feel like it right now, will be able to come to terms with it all far better.If it takes a loving family, some meds, and the odd rant on here to help you through it, well so be it.
In all sincerity, you have my utmost respect.Best wishes.
I'm finally taking some advice to post so here it goes. .
I'm currently 37 and I've been self harming for over twenty years, since my early teens. I have so many scars on my arms, legs and chest that when I meet new people I wear jumpers and always trousers, never shorts. It always stops the inevitable questions about what is wrong with my arms. I have used knives, razors, broken glass, an iron and a soldering iron once.
Trouble is I don't ever feel like I can stop because I have such a low opinion of myself and I really don't know how to turn it around. If I didn't have a job I don't think I'd ever leave the house. People also say that I have ocd which is possible, but everything should have it's own place should it not? I also got stuck checking the door handle was locked for about ten minutes one day, this was highly embarrassing for me. Also we've been on holiday a few times over the years, and this is the first time we had to get a flight and it was so difficult for me, so bad in fact that on the way back home I almost had a breakdown because we had to go through passport control on both sides. That really upset me that I can't even go on holiday like other people.
I'm not the most confident person and I rarely talk to people for a few reasons, the first is that I am painfully shy, I also don't have a loud voice so people don't hear me, On top of that i have a minor speech impediment which I am quite self conscious about. The one problem I have is that people don't really listen to me which is most frustrating, this is even if I know what I'm doing or where I am going.
The thing is people always turn to me for advice, but when I do give it to them they never listen. How can I change that?
I also do not enjoy my job, which is probably the same for many of you and, I work harder than anyone else and I'm treated like the worst employee ever. I've not had a sick day or been late in my whole adult life either but does that count for anything? Eff no. I've tried to leave but I never get responses from any of the jobs I have applied for.
Sorry for the long rant, not sure I feel better for it but I do think this thread is too important not to have posted. I do recommend that you do post if you need to. Like I've said before, I read this thread almost every day and it helps me because at least I know I'm not the only one who struggles.
Been trying to send you a pm.( Only seems to work in response).
What treatment (s) are you getting?
[Goes without saying, you're a lot braver than you think....look what you've already achieved]
Things can be turned round...they really can.Best Wishes.
