The Times football pull-out this morning devoted a full page to Stephen Constantine, an Englishman abroad. As frequently happens, the piece tied in with the publication of what still is supposed an autobiography.
Steve has managed more national football teams than any other Englishman – Nepal, Malawi, Rwanda, Sudan, India twice – and worked in several other countries, including Iran.
It’s a tremendous story – The Times call it “remarkable” – told at pace with verve, great skill and passion. Steve Constantine’s not the author, though, he’s the subject. The author’s Owen, my younger son.
Though credited equally on the book’s cover, lads like him will otherwise barely get a word in edgeways. The photograph atop today’s blog means that you’ve just seen a ghost.
Steve Constantine had a difficult though football mad childhood, lived with his father in Cyprus after his mother died, slept in garden sheds and an abandoned car when that didn’t work out. He also spent several years in America, basically bumming about the place but always seeking employment through football.
Though he never quite made it as a player, he became a highly qualified coach, had brief backroom spells at Millwall and Bournemouth but unable to get a manager’s job in England looked to the big wide world. Still does, though his wife and three daughters split their time between the family home in Cyprus and her mother’s in Brighton.
It’s been a long and oft-lonesome road, countless hours spent in apartments or hotel room playing Championship Manager – or whatever these things are now called – on his laptop.
They’re good mates now, he and the bairn, hopeful that the book will at least make the William Hill Sports of the Year long list because those long listed win a £500 free bet.
Chip off the old bloke? Honestly, it’s a great read.
From Delhi to the Den is published by deCoubertin at £12 99 and available through Amazon and all the usual places.
*Two more things about that photograph, firstly that the positioning of the lad’s right index finger over his co-author’s name must be assumed coincidental. Secondly, he appears to be wearing a Richmond Mavericks shirt, complete with the sort of Latin motto which recent columns have been discussing. I forget the Latin but the alleged translation is “They don’t like it up ’em.” More of all that in the next day or two.
Grass Routes 