The Voices of Football

The first people I associated with football were the guys on Grandstand, Match of the Day and The Big Match. It was perhaps more about the face than the voice. During the Seventies, Frank Bough was the anchorman, the one with the mic in his ear as the scores came in on a Saturday afternoon, and the bulky figure of Sam Leitch presided over the early afternoon Football Preview segment. However, David Coleman had wielded power at the Beeb for a long time, presenting Sportsnight on Wednesday evenings and commentating at all the major occasions, from the Olympics to Cup Finals. He possessed a natural, unflappable style, his voice rarely showing much emotion. He even had his own catchphrase: “One-nil”. No matter the circumstances or quality of the goal, the opener was invariably greeted with those two words.  Had he been at the mic for Man City’s injury time Premier League-clinching moment, instead of Martin Tyler’s ecstatic “Aguerooooooo” I daresay the astonishing season climax would be remembered for eternity for a flat, forlorn “3-2”.

On Sunday afternoons, we would tune to ITV for LWT’s The Big Match, presented by Brian Moore with the more opinionated Jimmy Hill adding his tuppence-worth at his side. Even when John Motson and Barry Davies took over as principal commentators on MOTD – and we would always watch the Wembley showpieces on the Beeb – I’d have to grudgingly admit that Moore was their superior. He combined the old-school voice of Coleman with knowledge not only of football but also what the football fan would be thinking and feeling.

I recall sometime in the early Nineties one lunchtime eating in Broadcasting House’s top-floor canteen – sorry, restaurant – when I observed at an adjacent table the holy trinity of Motty, Davies and Moore in conversation. Presumably they’d been involved in a Radio 4 programme but I’d love to have been close enough to eavesdrop on those three legendary voices.

For at least two decades, it felt that Motson, Davies and the equally versatile duo of Tony Gubba and Alan Weeks were permanent fixtures in the BBC commentary boxes, with Archie Macpherson’s cheery Scottish accent, warm coats and uncontrollable hair brought in for Celtic and Rangers fixtures. Motty may have become the favourite amongst ordinary fans but I have always found him too irritating, either stating the obvious or, increasingly, finding bizarre ways of doing so. Phrases along the lines of “Was that a foul?” or “Unless I’m very much mistaken that was a goalkeeping error” really irked me, and his bias during England internationals crossed the line. Of course that probably endeared him to many supporters but I prefer my commentators to play it straight, not to the gallery. He kept going until the age of 72, by which time his eccentricity had taken over. It was time to go.

One man I had heard on Channel 5, Jonathan Pearce, annoyed me even more. His sudden bursts of deafening exuberance whenever a goal was scored were such that when he moved to MOTD I was horrified. However, I learned to appreciate his commentaries and obvious affection for the sport to such an extent that since the Noughties he has been one of my favourite football voices.

There were many Saturdays when Dad tuned to BBC Radio’s live Saturday afternoon broadcasts for commentaries. Peter Jones - not the tall, suave Dragon’s Den squillionaire, I should add – was the main man for many years. Unlike his successor, Alan Green, Jones was universally popular until his untimely death in 1990 aged just 60. I also liked listening to the more distinctive voice of his contemporary, Bryon Butler.

These days I confess I struggle to identify the different commentators I hear on MOTD or Sky Sports. Like most commercial radio presenters, they seem to have been manufactured on the same assembly line somewhere in the Home Counties. It doesn’t make them bad at their job – far from it – but something unique, offbeat or any distinguishing feature would be welcome provided it wasn’t at the expense of professionalism or knowledge. I guess that’s why the sidekick has become integral to the commentary box experience. Putting aside their respective strengths and foibles, at least the likes of Mark Lawrenson, Glenn Hoddle and Alan Smith are easily recognisable.

It seems that a prerequisite for pundits and co-commentators is to have played the game at the highest level. I tend to disagree that only ex-internationals are qualified to voice sensible opinions on football. However, provided they are articulate with a neat turn of phrase and ability to bring their personal experience to bear, I have no objection. Some are really good, of course. It’s even reached the point that I forget that Lee Dixon, Danny Murphy or even Gary Lineker were once stopping, creating or scoring for the best clubs in the land.

For intelligent humour, I don’t think you can beat Jeff Stelling’s handling of Sky’s live Soccer Saturday. I never thought I’d heap praise on anything from the Murdoch stable but once I warmed to The Simpsons anything was possible. Stelling, his studio sidekicks and the location reporters now seem part of my extended family. They even include the obligatory eccentric, the one you can’t decide whether to love or hate. Chris Kamara just about sits in the former camp. His “Unbelievable, Jeff!” catchphrase is over-used but there’s always something to make you chuckle, even when the goal alerts at the foot of the screen show QPR going 2-0 down at home.

However, for outlandish whimsy I’d place Stuart Hall at the summit. I know he’s since been outed as a poisonous pervert but the former It’s a Knockout presenter was a football reporter par excellence. His summaries on BBC Radio were more Shakespearean soliloquy than post-match review, a few minutes of wondrous wordsmithery that made me want to stand and applaud instead of hang around for Six-O-Six.

However, perhaps the voice that became a greater part of my football-related TV life than any other belonged to a man you never saw until he died. I’m talking about Len Martin. For 37 years he read the classified results on Grandstand, and for me the score could not possibly be accepted as truth unless I’d heard it from Martin’s dulcet tones. For many, the greatest was James Alexander Gordon, Len’s counterpart on BBC Radio, or perhaps his successor Tim Gudgin, but for all the Moores and Motsons, Halls and Hills across the past fifty years, Len’s the boss!