Three steps to fitness . . . then the Corinthian spirit fails me

Hugh Macdonald

Chief Sports Writer

Saturday 11 August 2012

MY reader has already been appraised of my three-step plan to fitness.

Socrates will, forever, hold a place in the hearts of Corinthians supporters and yours truly . . .

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Hugh MacDonald

But I will repeat it anyway. The first step is going to the gym. The second step is standing on a piece of equipment. The final step is to take three steps on it.

This dedicated regime has furnished me with a body that has more blubber than a whale with an over-eating disorder after a weekend away with the boys. Indeed, it has left me with more blubber than Kate Winslet winning an Oscar.

But visits to the gym have one benefit: they allow me to wear a fitba' strip once again.Men of my age should only wear a strip on two types of occasion. The first is in their dreams, when they are scoring the winning goal in a cup final. The other occasion is when they are pounding a treadmill. Speaking personally, the embarrassment of a man reaching retiral age while wearing a football strip is the least of one's worries when the gym offers ritual, regular humiliations on such a scale that a masochist would pay for them.My strip is special. It is a Corinthians jersey. This is not the Corinthians as in playing the game for the game's sake and shaking hands and never questioning refs' decisions. Never had any time for that nonsense. Football should be played to win, only necks should be shaken and the whole point of having a ref is to shower him with so much abuse that he believes he is married and has come home with lipstick on his collar and a wallet so anorexic it could cat-walk in Milan.My Corinthians strip is the proper one, the Brazilian blend, the wonderful club of Sao Paulo. The top is white but is covered in so many logos that it has the same effect on one's eyes as a tab of LSD. I suppose. The strip was given to me by a mate who knows that Socrates is one of my heroes. I refer not to the philosopher as I am, like most of the intellectual produce of Possil, more an avid admirer of Augustine of Hippo and particularly his anti-Pelagian writings, the discussion of which brightened many a damp night at Saracen Cross.Socrates, my hero, was a 6ft 4in midfielder who glided across the park sweetly, like a swan through custard. He could pass, score goals and find space. He was less keen on extensive running. Box to box to him was what a spoiled wean did on Christmas Day. His magnificence was most conspicuous when he was one of a 1982 Brazilian vintage that was sparkling, if ultimately unsuccessful. This team, the Dutch of 1974 and the Hungarians of 1954, vie for the title of best side not to have won a World Cup.But Socrates was more than a player, he was a personality. While with Corinthians, he co-founded a democracy movement in opposition to the military government. His heroes were Fidel Castro, Che Guevara and John Lennon. Which is a helluva half-back line.Socrates was also a pub player in essence. And in Brazil. He drank like Ollie Reed on Hogmanay. He liked a fag, too. He puffed like the Vital Spark in a heavy swell. His smoking was particularly praiseworthy given he was a doctor, and they are always the first to hear any rumours, however scurrilous, about fags being bad for health.It was this combination of fitba' genius allied to punter fallibility that made him so intriguing, so quintessentially admirable.The mixture of cultures is wonderful. The sublime athlete who likes a bevvy. The doctor with a fag. Imagine Leonardo Da Vinci playing darts or Nureyev indulging in line dancing. It does not quite fit the profile.Yet the greatness of Socrates was not just that he could play like an angel while partying like a diabolical earthling. He also could comment on philosophy, politics and art. He died in December, dreadfully young at 57, on the very same day that Corinthians won the title. The mourning is deep and sustained but is leavened by the thought that Socrates had the best of it. He lived his life to his own imperatives. He spoke out on any and every topic. He played at the very highest level. And he wore a Corinthians shirt in glory, not in the gym.

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Three steps to fitness . . . then the Corinthian spirit fails me

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