Book Review by Pete Kalu In the 60’s and 70’s there were so few black people on television that whenever a black face hit the small screen, the shout went out in my house, ‘there’s a black person on the television!’ and everyone would gather round, fascinated. It was the same with footballers – few were seen until Brazil and the 1970 World Cup(*1). I’ve often wondered what those early solitary black British footballers felt as they moved from training ground to dressing room to manager’s office to pitch, to life –after-football . This is the greatest reveal Onuora’s book holds. Finally, we hear from them. Onuora has had the ear of most of the highest profile black footballers. They have spoken to him frankly and their stories often hold great poignancy. He’s also recorded the experiences of journeymen black footballers (all of whom had more talent in their little toe than most of us have in both feet). It makes for a revealing read and a courageous book. Onuora shows how back in the days it was a widely held opinion that black players had no brains and lacked courage. This view, often shared by Chairmen of clubs and team managers- people who could put those prejudices into practice, had a pernicious effect on team selection all the way up to the highest level. As a kid I often wondered why certain players were not in the England football team. Onuora quotes an explanation that is alleged to have come from the former England team manager, Graham Taylor (Taylor has subsequently denied making the statement) – that the then FA powers-that-be did not want too many black players in the England team. Whether hypothesis or fact, the explanation provides a simple, “good-fit” logic for some of the glaring omissions of that era at England level. (I have no room here to show Onuora’s excellent dissection of the appalling treatment at England level of Britain’s greatest ever black football player, John Barnes.) Looking back, the 70’s and 80’s black players’ heads-down approach mirrored the heads-down approach we kids had to adopt to racism in those times. Banana throwing. Name-calling. Monkey noises. As on the playground, so on the pitch. My heart sank when I watched a match at Man City’s old ground and saw the treatment City supporters meted out to John Barnes. I never went back to Maine Road. Yet, according to Onuora, City’s supporters of that time were by no means as racist as those of Everton, Chelsea, Milwall, Leeds… it’s a long list. Football was often described then as a man’s game. Players glorified in nicknames like ‘Chopper’. Getting fouled and not complaining was how you proved you had hairs on your chest. Getting racially abused was a badge of honour to a real man, black footballers were told by senior (white) players. This hyper-masculinity cult carried into the manager’s office and the dressing room. The typical manager had a box of insults and swear words to throw around when needed. So a black player of the opposing team might be called a ‘black bastard’ or a ‘fucking nigger’ and players be exhorted to kick shit out of him. It wasn’t just a tactic. Former football manager turned pundit, Ron Atkinson’s 2004 broadcast description of Marcel Desailly as a ‘fucking lazy, thick nigger’ when Atkinson thought he was off-air was revelatory of ingrained attitudes not mere mind games or verbal slips. All in all, what the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s players went through is a sorry tale. Perhaps it sounds ludicrous to young ears some of the stereotyping – that black people could not endure the cold, that they had no tactical brains, that they hadn’t the cool head needed for playing midfield or centre of defence. And yet this was the dominant thinking. Of course it affected black footballers at professional level, but it also had an impact all the way down to schools football where young black footballers suffering the same stereotyping – they were natural wingers or strikers, not defenders or midfielders, magicians not artisans. Thank God for Brazil. The significance for black British footballers of the Brazil World Cup victory 1970 is well highlighted in the book. For many black players pre-2000, Brazil provided the alternative narrative. Pele’s poise, technique and intelligent link-up play was light years ahead of the European times. Onuora argues how, strangely, the sea change in British attitudes at Board and Administrator level, appears to have been ignited by a complete outsider: Eric Cantona. What many black footballers must have been tempted to do, Eric Cantona did. The enigmatic Frenchman Cantona, who transformed Manchester United into the world beating side it became, was not a ‘heads-down’ kind of guy. He skipped the class in deference. And drop-kicked a racist fan after being taunted one time too many. Onuora takes us through the subsequent official agonising and the final commitment to change that sparked off the climate of anti–racism that virtually eliminated racist name-calling and behaviour on the terraces. In the final section of the book, Onuora holds the mirror up to the game’s current administrators. He asks whether the earlier (for the most part successful) commitment to change fans’ behaviour has been replicated at boardroom and administrator level. Has the racism of the institutions that run football been challenged? He points out how few black managers get appointed...