About a week before the Champions League final last summer, I and a few hundred other journalists headed to Real Madrid's Valdebebas training ground on the outskirts of the city for the club's pre-match media day.
After an open training session, Madrid introduced several players for an interview and to the surprise of most of them, Jude Bellingham soon appeared to take his place on a podium in front of an enthusiastic crowd of reporters.
Bellingham was only 20 at the time, but he was almost as good behind the microphone as he was on the pitch in his debut season for Real, when he took Spanish football by storm with a string of great performances and crucial goals.
Bellingham was charming and confident beyond his years. He was witty and smart and self-deprecating and outspoken and confident and dynamic. He had everyone hanging on his every word. His performance on stage was a masterclass in the art of communication.
So when I arrived at Wembley a few hours before the final and saw Jude's father, Mark, wandering around the hall, I thought it might be nice to tell him how impressed I had been with his eldest son and how much I admired him.
I've gotten along well with a few soccer dads in the past. More my age range, after all. Neville Neville was a diamond of a man and I loved the company of Joe Cole's dad, George, Peter Crouch's dad, Bruce, and Jamie Carragher's old fella, Philly.
I was told Mark could be hostile. I was told that he was not a fan of the print media, to say the least. Of course he is far from alone in this, but I still thought it was worth a try. I occasionally write critical things about players. It would be nice to restore balance.
It turned out not to be my best idea. Maybe a few hours before the biggest game of his eldest son's life wasn't the time to approach someone with misguided attempts at intimacy.
I went over to where Bellingham's father was sitting and introduced myself. I told him how much I admired his son. “Which son?” he said. This wasn't going to end well, I knew that right away.
“I've got two sons, you know,” said Mr. Bellingham, his voice dripping with contempt. Within five seconds he had gone from zero to angry. His youngest son, Jobe, who is himself building a fine career at Sunderland, sat in front of him.
I apologized and said I meant his eldest son and that it was a stupid mistake. “Yes, it was a stupid mistake,” Mr. Bellingham said. “A lot of people make that mistake and it really drives me crazy.”
Reasonable. And I should have drifted off in defeat at that moment. But instead I dug my hole a little deeper. I told him that my best friend had been taught French by Mr Bellingham's father at Southend High School for Boys in the 1980s and that he was one of his favorite teachers. True story.
I know, I know. I should have already put my shovel away and resorted to damage control, but now it was too late. Mr. Bellingham looked away while I was still talking, partly bored, partly disdainful of this gimp standing next to him.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he said, making it clear that this was very much an ex conversation. My time was up. I walked back to the press box.
I thought for a moment about one of my favorite sports columns, a piece written by TJ Simers of the Los Angeles Times after a particularly heated argument with LA Dodgers baseball player Andruw Jones.
“Look at your stomach hanging out of your shirt,” Jones tells him at one point. “You'll probably die tomorrow.”
“Not before I wrote this column,” Simers says back.
I would like to report a similar quality of reply, but I failed that test.
I was eaten and spit out. It was so bad that it was quite funny and somewhat spectacular. I heard my own teenage son's voice in my head telling me, “You've just been sent to the burn unit.”
It was something and nothing. It's my fault for approaching a man who had no interest in talking to me. He doesn't like the press and sees no need to cover it up. I invited it to myself.
There is just one concern, and it emerged at the end of November when Bellingham's eldest son said at a press conference ahead of Madrid's Champions League defeat to Liverpool at Anfield that he felt he had been made a scapegoat for England's inability to win Euro 2024.
That comment surprised and disturbed many people. Bellingham has had another fantastic year. He won the Champions League and went on to make two standout contributions to England's journey to the European Championship finals, with stunning goals against Serbia and Slovakia. His second season at Madrid got off to a slow start, but his class has proven itself again.
Maybe I was blind to it because I'm such a big fan, but I wasn't aware that anyone in the written or broadcast media had singled out Bellingham for criticism over the summer. The opposite actually. It's a love in. A one-sided love-in, since Bellingham doesn't want to speak to the English press, but a love-in nonetheless.
So the idea that he had been made a scapegoat seemed curious. He talked about 'losing his smile' because of it. He talked about how he felt like “the whole world was crumbling down on me” because of the criticism he felt he had received.
He spoke like a young man whose joy in the game he so majestically reveres is already curdling at the age of 21. He spoke like a man who sees enemies everywhere, when the reality is that there are so many people who are fascinated by his talent.
If I could express one football wish for 2025, it would be that Bellingham rediscovers the joy of football when he is back in the shirt of the national team. I hope he thrives under new England manager Thomas Tuchel.
Maybe he needs to feel like the world is against him to make the most of his talent, but I hope this doesn't become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hope people continue to appreciate him for the wonder of his abilities.
Bellingham is one of the best talents we have produced in the last 25 years. Our goal is to win the World Cup in 2026 and if we get even close we will be heavily dependent on his contribution.
The hope is that we will see him, Cole Palmer and Trent Alexander-Arnold, established over the next twelve months as the triumvirate on which England's challenge in the US, Mexico and Canada will be built.
So I continue to cheer for Mark Bellingham's eldest son. And his youngest, by the way. And in the meantime, I'll try to revive my ability to speak politely. Looks like my icebreakers need some work.
Comments