A wonderful hatchet job 
The PFA, privacy and the public case of Paul Gascoigne's mental health
The sorry plight of former England midfielder who has checked into an American rehab centre
Marina Hyde
When a personal email from the Professional Footballers' Association boss Gordon Taylor drops into your inbox, the sender's name appears as "GORDON TAYLOR OBE". I know this because the footballers' union chief once emailed me after something I'd written and, while I suspect what follows is unlikely to draw a further missive – unless it's an invitation to the high court – the self-regard sticks in the mind. Of course, it's not unique in public life: the late Wendy Richard, who enjoyed a "difficult" reputation in showbiz lore, was given to signing her credit card receipts "Wendy Richard MBE". But it is certainly a useful character note as Mr Taylor makes another of his pastoral forays on to the airwaves.
The occasion that has precipitated Gordon's latest silence-breaking is the endlessly sorry plight of Gazza, whose most recent manifestation has since seen him check in to an American rehab centre. Or perhaps the occasion that accelerated Gordon's silence-breaking was some tweets from Peter Schmeichel, in which the former Manchester United goalkeeper declined to acknowledge the man reputed to be the highest paid union official in the world as the spiritual heir to the Tolpuddle Martyrs. "Gazza needs help," wrote Schmeichel. "Come on PFA & (PFA chief executive) Gordon Taylor, time to step up … I think the footballing community, as the family we sometimes claim to be, must do more to help Gazza and others like him. Instead of getting great deals on cars & other luxury goods for members, PFA should commit more time and funds to help the like of Gazza."
Well. It is true that the PFA's own website announces that helping commercial organisations "fully exploit the potential of the players" is "a key aspect of the work of the union". But any slight to his personage is like the Bat-Signal to Mr Taylor, who swung into some of the most questionable defensive action since Mr Schmeichel's own attempts to deflect Ian Wright from troubling his goal.
"Peter doesn't know what we've done for Paul," he bristled to the Press Association, "a lot of which has to be confidential." You'd certainly hope so. But you'd be amazed how much doesn't have to be confidential, at least according to Gordon's ruling. As the days wore on, in fact, you could scarcely move for the union boss granting interviews concerning Gazza's mental state and past treatment in what appeared to be the noble cause of self-defence.
"I've spoken to Paul at the weekend, and he's said it's just a blip," he told Five Live listeners, thoughtfully telegraphing the details of his telephone conversation with a man demonstrably in desperate mental health. "We just don't want this to be another George Best tragedy." To underscore this point similar thoughts were published on the union's website, where, among other displays of professional care, Gordon warns: "If we are not careful, it is going to be akin to George Best."
Elsewhere Taylor had his clinical hat on. "He sounds as if he needs almost a 24-hour watching brief at the moment," ran what was beginning to sound like a 24-hour broadcasting brief, and you have to admire the confidence of a man willing to preface a psychiatric diagnosis with the words "sounds as if".
"The last time we had him in for detox," came another detail on Gazza, "he checked himself out earlier than he should have."
So much detail. Perhaps I am out of touch with current schools of thought on the treatment of mental illness but, unless one of the better medical institutions has just published some groundbreaking research on the benefits of a snippy takedown of tweeters and blabbing to the media, is this what might be regarded as too much detail? You could understand the media's interests may deem Gazza's anguish public property; as his union chief, Taylor should take an altogether more seemly path.
It was Gordon, I can't help recalling, who might have blown the whistle on the phone-hacking scandal he might reasonably have expected to have extended beyond his case and into the lives of his membership, had he not opted to take hundreds of thousands of pounds from News International and agree to keep schtum. Odd how a pastoral crusader so fastidious about his own confidentiality can appear so cavalier with that of some of his most high-profile members.
Only recently Taylor responded to some baiting by Joey Barton by bringing up the player's own troubles: "We spent money on [Joey] because we tried to help him at the Sporting Chance Clinic with anger management, and people spent hours and hours with him to try to get him back on track."
Ouch. Sharing even broad details of members' treatment once is unfortunate. Twice begins to look like a certain carelessness. Alas, our hero remains in what the armchair pros call denial.
"Joey can say what he likes," ran one of his salvos to Barton. "I've got a thick skin." In truth, his epidermis appears so gossamer-sensitive that he is football's equivalent of the Bubble Boy. In fact, I think all of us who love Gordon and want to help him would like to see him safely cocooned against the prickling barbs, even if that meant that he was unable to venture forth into the public arena ever again. And he can have that long-range, pseudo-medical diagnosis for free.
The sorry plight of former England midfielder who has checked into an American rehab centre
Marina Hyde
When a personal email from the Professional Footballers' Association boss Gordon Taylor drops into your inbox, the sender's name appears as "GORDON TAYLOR OBE". I know this because the footballers' union chief once emailed me after something I'd written and, while I suspect what follows is unlikely to draw a further missive – unless it's an invitation to the high court – the self-regard sticks in the mind. Of course, it's not unique in public life: the late Wendy Richard, who enjoyed a "difficult" reputation in showbiz lore, was given to signing her credit card receipts "Wendy Richard MBE". But it is certainly a useful character note as Mr Taylor makes another of his pastoral forays on to the airwaves.
The occasion that has precipitated Gordon's latest silence-breaking is the endlessly sorry plight of Gazza, whose most recent manifestation has since seen him check in to an American rehab centre. Or perhaps the occasion that accelerated Gordon's silence-breaking was some tweets from Peter Schmeichel, in which the former Manchester United goalkeeper declined to acknowledge the man reputed to be the highest paid union official in the world as the spiritual heir to the Tolpuddle Martyrs. "Gazza needs help," wrote Schmeichel. "Come on PFA & (PFA chief executive) Gordon Taylor, time to step up … I think the footballing community, as the family we sometimes claim to be, must do more to help Gazza and others like him. Instead of getting great deals on cars & other luxury goods for members, PFA should commit more time and funds to help the like of Gazza."
Well. It is true that the PFA's own website announces that helping commercial organisations "fully exploit the potential of the players" is "a key aspect of the work of the union". But any slight to his personage is like the Bat-Signal to Mr Taylor, who swung into some of the most questionable defensive action since Mr Schmeichel's own attempts to deflect Ian Wright from troubling his goal.
"Peter doesn't know what we've done for Paul," he bristled to the Press Association, "a lot of which has to be confidential." You'd certainly hope so. But you'd be amazed how much doesn't have to be confidential, at least according to Gordon's ruling. As the days wore on, in fact, you could scarcely move for the union boss granting interviews concerning Gazza's mental state and past treatment in what appeared to be the noble cause of self-defence.
"I've spoken to Paul at the weekend, and he's said it's just a blip," he told Five Live listeners, thoughtfully telegraphing the details of his telephone conversation with a man demonstrably in desperate mental health. "We just don't want this to be another George Best tragedy." To underscore this point similar thoughts were published on the union's website, where, among other displays of professional care, Gordon warns: "If we are not careful, it is going to be akin to George Best."
Elsewhere Taylor had his clinical hat on. "He sounds as if he needs almost a 24-hour watching brief at the moment," ran what was beginning to sound like a 24-hour broadcasting brief, and you have to admire the confidence of a man willing to preface a psychiatric diagnosis with the words "sounds as if".
"The last time we had him in for detox," came another detail on Gazza, "he checked himself out earlier than he should have."
So much detail. Perhaps I am out of touch with current schools of thought on the treatment of mental illness but, unless one of the better medical institutions has just published some groundbreaking research on the benefits of a snippy takedown of tweeters and blabbing to the media, is this what might be regarded as too much detail? You could understand the media's interests may deem Gazza's anguish public property; as his union chief, Taylor should take an altogether more seemly path.
It was Gordon, I can't help recalling, who might have blown the whistle on the phone-hacking scandal he might reasonably have expected to have extended beyond his case and into the lives of his membership, had he not opted to take hundreds of thousands of pounds from News International and agree to keep schtum. Odd how a pastoral crusader so fastidious about his own confidentiality can appear so cavalier with that of some of his most high-profile members.
Only recently Taylor responded to some baiting by Joey Barton by bringing up the player's own troubles: "We spent money on [Joey] because we tried to help him at the Sporting Chance Clinic with anger management, and people spent hours and hours with him to try to get him back on track."
Ouch. Sharing even broad details of members' treatment once is unfortunate. Twice begins to look like a certain carelessness. Alas, our hero remains in what the armchair pros call denial.
"Joey can say what he likes," ran one of his salvos to Barton. "I've got a thick skin." In truth, his epidermis appears so gossamer-sensitive that he is football's equivalent of the Bubble Boy. In fact, I think all of us who love Gordon and want to help him would like to see him safely cocooned against the prickling barbs, even if that meant that he was unable to venture forth into the public arena ever again. And he can have that long-range, pseudo-medical diagnosis for free.
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