Bigmouth Strikes Again

You shouldn’t get too close to your heroes apparently. Something about the inevitability that they’ll disappoint you.

Nonsense! And characteristically British.

Sure, getting too much insight can be dispiriting.

I tried to read Morrissey’s self titled autobiography this year.  My son gave it to my for my birthday. He’d thought about his present, knew how much I loved The Smiths at the age that he is now.

I was touched by his gesture. The care that he’d taken. But the book was impenetrable, inaccessible, tortured and narcissistic. My God.

There’s something different about athletes.

I’m sure there are exceptions but there seems to be a humility about them which comes from their gratitude at being given a gift and the support which they’ve had to help them realise their talent.

They’ll happily give their time around major events. They’re free with their advice, support, encouragement. And that percolates down through the sport.

The culture in running is that you are never alone. Even when you are literally… on your own. So you run your race and you know that there’s a community who will appreciate the effort you’ve put in.

And that’s how it should be.

I read a review of Morrissey’s first attempt at fiction today. It wasn’t the best. The headline reads ‘Heaven Knows He’s Lost It’.

And the sub-heading reads: ‘Morrissey’s disjointed, stylistically inept first attempt at writing a novel is a complete catastrophe.’

I still love you Morrissey! Don’t give up! And if it becomes too much, go for a run.


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