Harry Redknapp
There are moments during our lives when the heroes we've idolised from a far seem to become distant with every day. Sometimes those same legendary names pass almost modestly and unobtrusively through our lives, always lifted onto the highest plateau and never really recognised for who they really are. It is quite often the case they suddenly appear on the front or back of our books, the finest print of our newspapers and then just plastered all over the front covers of your favourite magazine.
You never really think for a minute that you'll ever bump into the aforesaid idol or those you may have admired quite extensively whose image would suddenly turn into real life. And then you meet one man who ticks all of those boxes and then walks into your fondest dreams rather like Roy of the Rovers or Dan Dare. For a minute or two, you had to stop and wonder if indeed you were fantasising which of course you weren't. He was there in the flesh, never a cartoon or caricature because that would have been an insult to the man's reputation. Redknapp is the epitome of a statesmanlike figure, an exemplary ambassador for his sport.
That man of course is of course Harry Redknapp. Harry Redknapp, undoubtedly one of the most charming, urbane, chattiest, most chipper of all footballing legends had made it all seemed possible. From the moment my lovely wife Bev and I walked onto our cruise vessel the Sky Princess, Harry Redknapp was the most delightful company you'd ever hoped he would be. Redknapp always had the gift of the gab, a priceless story teller, the most outstanding bon viveur and the funniest raconteur of them all. It almost felt as though everything we'd heard and seen about the man was so completely true that of course he was a natural in the field of public relations.
We were walking along our cabin corridor when suddenly the Prince of Poplar in London's East End appeared and immediately acknowledged your immediate overtures. Yes Harry, West Ham had indeed won their first home match of the Premier League season and Newcastle had been well and truly beaten. After a couple of friendly words of introduction you felt just blown away and just as overawed as you'd been when Sir Geoff Hurst had signed your book as part of a memorable wedding anniversary present from our daughter Rachel.
Then the following day we once again crossed paths with this most eminent and distinguished of all footballing men, a man so modest and self effacing and self deprecating that you almost felt that even though he has now reached the pinnacle of his career, Redknapp remains grounded, firmly rooted. Here was a man without any airs or graces, cosmetic falsehoods, not even the remotest hint of arrogance. There are no signs of the pretentious posturing or showbiz affectations that you would normally associate with any major celebrity.
He is singularly charming, excellent company, bubbly, always positive, never despondent and always extolling the virtues of the Beautiful Game. There is nothing of the prima donna about him, no pomposity whatsoever and a former manager and player who could probably talk about the game to anybody well into the wee small hours of the morning. My wife and even had a private audience with him and here was a man of genuine small talk, cheerful and witty badinage, admirable honesty and authenticity.
After spending most of his playing career at his beloved hometown team West Ham, Redknapp moved into management almost seamlessly. Beside the salubrious seaside, Redknapp gave dedication to the cause at Bournemouth. His most significant achievement and high point at the Vitality Stadium was a standout FA Cup third round victory over Ron Atkinson's Manchester United. Giant killing had visited Bournemouth for one splendid afternoon roughly 40 years ago and Harry was carried shoulder high.
Ten years later the club whose shirt he'd always graced came calling. When Billy Bonds needed an assistant at West Ham he didn't need to look any further than Harry Redknapp. After Bonds had left the club, West Ham turned to Redknapp to don the managerial track suit. Redknapp obliged with magnificent and triumphant days at the old Upton Park. He guided them into European football and guided the club to one of its highest positions in Europe.
Sadly, after an unfortunate behind the scenes argument with club director Peter Storrie, Redknapp departed the club in what seemed like acrimonious circumstances. And yet, as we now know, the man with claret and blue running through his veins had always had the best and most vested interests of the club at heart and left almost reluctantly.
In the early 2000s, Portsmouth inquired about the former West Ham legend and the rest is well documented history. In 2008 Portsmouth won the FA Cup in the most remarkable of circumstances. The Pompey chimes resounded around Wembley and opponents on the day Cardiff City could hardly have believed that they too were sharing a magical moment with Harry Redknapp. Fratton Park has since sadly encountered life in the lower divisions and are now trying to recapture those halcyon days once again.
Then there were the Spurs years for our and your Harry Redknapp, an irresistible force. It was hard to imagine that Redknapp could even contemplate joining West Ham's so called London rivals but Redknapp arrived at the old White Hart Lane like a fire fighter called out while the flames were still licking and slowly demolishing Tottenham. At this time several years ago, Spurs were in a desperate state of disarray, languishing near the bottom of the Premier League with a miserly two points. By the end of an extraordinary season of evolution and revolution, Redknapp had waved the metaphorical magic wand and taken Spurs into Europe. It was a season that defied description and belief.
There followed the TV pundit days, of pulling up outside football grounds on transfer window day and then informing the rest of the captive Sky TV audience that Redknapp was about to do business, engaging in those classic headline making transactions, winding down his car window and neither denying nor admitting to speculation. Harry was and will always remain down to earth, amiable to anybody who just wanted to thank him and full of humbling humility, never fazed by setbacks and determined to achieve whatever challenge and objective may have come his way.
And so for the rest of our relaxing cruise in both Portugal and the Canaries. For the first two days or so we were greeted by wild rain squalls on the main desk. Madeira had been a pleasant and easy going in the Botanical Gardens and the most gruelling of climbs up steep slopes that were reminiscent of a mini Mount Everest. By mid day, we were puffing and panting for breath and beginning to wonder whether it had been worth it. But it had been because we were in this one together for this had been good exercise and ultimately rewarding.
Onwards we moved out to three days out at sea. For the first couple of days, hardy and intrepid passengers on the main deck were tugging at blue blankets to keep out the wind and chill. Now there followed a collective determination to keep warm. At one point it looked as if everybody was competing to see who could lift up the said blankets to the top of their necks. But then the warm sunshine came out as we approached the Canaries, Lanzarote and Tenerife, all flying visits but nonetheless immensely enjoyable.
In the distance there were the dormant volcanoes and conical shaped mountains that provided the most dramatic backdrop to these glistening islands in the sea. The combination of ash and grey concrete on the ground may have been slightly disconcerting to some but here was a landscape to be preserved for posterity on a million Smart Phones. We saw, came and conquered and were never disappointed.
So it was that we headed for home, three more days at sea, at times unnerving and turbulent but somehow a joy to the soul. We will never forget those permanently majestic marble pillars inside the ship, floors and statues in marble, endless lines of five star restaurants, luxurious living, musicians tenderly manipulating delicate violins and double basses and cellos, tea dance music that still inhabit Park Lane hotels, pianos that are evocative of any era in modern times, the jazz vibe at the Take Five stage. Then there were the hilarious quizzes, huge bundles of fun wrapped up in frivolity.
But just to make the whole cruising experience such a unique one we witnessed the most eye catching sight of them all. The art gallery was just a kaleidoscope of colour, paintings that caressed the eye and made you think of the most profound of thoughts. There were famous American artists as well as global practitioners who seem to use their canvas as one blissful release of creativity. And so my wife and I sailed back towards Southampton and home full of presents for our beautiful grandchildren, full of appreciation for the finer things in life and love for both our family and the world. Of course life is sweet.
