Is Sir a sport? The truth about Paul McCartney and Tom Jones

Can you imagine a young Paul McCartney beetling around the country following his favourite football team? I certainly can't.

That’s not to say that sport and music don’t mix – just that Mac the Knight seems about as steeped in the beautiful game as old codgers like myself are besotted with rap music.

Yet various websites would have it that Sir Paul is a keen Everton fan.

The reality, however, is not exactly engraved in blue-and-white stone. ‘‘Here's the deal,’’ the great man explains. ‘’My father was born in Everton, my family are officially Evertonians, so if it comes down to a derby match or an FA Cup final between the two, I would have to support Everton.

"But after a concert at Wembley Arena I got into a bit of a friendship with Kenny Dalglish, who had been to the gig, and I thought 'You know what? I am just going to support them both because it's all Liverpool and I don't have that Catholic-Protestant thing.'

"So I did have to get special dispensation from the Pope to do this but that's it, too bad. I support them both.
"They are both great teams. But if it comes to the crunch, I'm Evertonian."

Personally, I would have thought that master musicians of McCartney’s talent would be too driven by their first love to be sidetracked by such trivialities as football. And it’s clear from his comments that Paul is a bit of a sporting fence-sitter, anyway.

At least his explanation sounds marginally more sincere than fellow Beatle Ringo Starr’s assertion that he’s a Liverpool supporter because ''I like the colour red”, which  presumably he also bangs the drum for every red-shirted team from Arsenal to Aberdeen. Well, I love the colour purple but that doesn’t mean I support the team they call the Royals – be it the monarchy or Reading FC.

Great Scott! Tom Jones as I remember him in Pontypridd

The only celebrity I actually KNEW before he was famous is another shining knight, Tom Jones (yes, I am that old!). I gave him his first-ever write-ups in the Pontypridd Observer a couple of years before he hit the big-time – in the days where he sang around the South Wales clubs under his stage name of  Tommy Scott.

Whilst Tom may have been built like a sportsman, I can assure you he never showed the slightest interest in football, rugby or any other sport. And believe me he definitely was neither gay nor a wimp.

Cardiff City, the nearest professional football club to Pontypridd, were in the old First Division - the equivalent of the Premier League. But although I was a keen Bluebirds fan myself, the only birds Tom was interested in were certainly not blue. Nor had he any time for Spurs, Manchester United Spurs or any of the other big-name teams of that era.

The sporting fraternity sometimes wheels the great man out onto the green, green grass of home to sing at the occasional Wales rugby international and what have you. But while the old Jones heart may still beat for his homeland, I doubt that Sir Tom's head really cares about match results, whatever the shape of the ball.

Having said that, many celebrities are completely smitten by sport - and particularly football. Some to the point that their names are synonymous with their favourites - for example the oasis of Gallaghers at Manchester City and Mick Hucknell’s simply-red love affair with Manchester United.

Others, I am convinced, just attach themselves to the mast of the big-name clubs for effect. Teams like Manchester United and Arsenal, for example, have such large fan bases that showing token support for them might just persuade a few extra fans to buy their CDs and albums.

Conversely, when I was young (and there aren’t many people alive who remember that!), major pop stars  were rarely linked with sports teams. Presumably with professional footballers no better off financially than miners or postmen, there was no glamour spin-off for the marketing people.

Indeed, I can’t remember Elvis Presley, the biggest name in music during that era, having any particular sporting allegiance. And the only British top-tenner I recall with strong football ties was Gerry Marsden of Gerry and the Pacemakers fame.

Until he came on the scene, if you weren’t a fan of Hollywood musicals, the song You’ll Never Walk Alone would have meant nothing to you.to the vast majority of people.

Now Marsden’s name is likely to live as long in the Anfield memory as those of Bill Shankly and Dalglish.

And thereby hangs a tale – because some sources insist that until Liverpool fans adopted his 1963 smash hit as their club anthem, Gerry was in fact an Evertonian.

Perhaps it’s time he had a chat with Macca and Ringo.

Headline non-news: Does ANYONE Care What Katie Price Did Today?

I spent nearly 20 years working for The Sun, Daily Mirror and Daily Star – but I rarely read Britain’s red-top rags these days.

It’s bad enough that they cost four times as much here in Spain as they do in the UK. But seeing the rants of  a talentless ‘celebrity’ plastered all over the front pages day after day is enough to make me wish I was blind.

You know who I’m talking about – and I shudder to even mention her name. Every day without fail there is a new ‘‘story’’ about Katie Price and her latest husband/separation /lover/divorce/motoring conviction/attempt to pick her nose.

There’s no story at all really – it’s just publicity for publicity’s sake of someone whose only assets are a distorted set of surgically-adjusted boobs. As for her over made-up face, I sense a new Jacky Stallone or Donatella Versace in the making. (God, those two actually make me look pretty!),

Whilst I quite like Peter Andre – and he does have a decent voice (well, decentish!) - we all know his appearance on the reality show which led to his romance with the aforesaid Ms Price was orchestrated to revive his flagging singing career.

Rather than ‘I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here’ a more appropriate title for the show would have been ‘‘I Used To Be A Celebrity – Get Me In There!’’

OK, the romance that subsequently developed in the Australian jungle was a story of sorts. But how on earth did it develop into the current interminable TV and tabloid soap opera?

Have news values really sunk to an ebb where the day-to-day movements of a mouthy model heading for botoxville are more headline-worthy than events that change the world?

The tabloid press has gone crazy to the point that when Price and Andre inevitably split up, any man who moved in was destined to become a celebrity whether he liked it or not. As well as contracting foot-in-mouth disease from the irritation once known as Jordan.

Enter a transvestite cage fighter (anything for publicity) called Alex Reid, whose biggest claim to fame was that he was once a contestant on the Gladiators TV show. Cue an instant red-top revolution as the back bench eyed a new target to continue the obligatory promotion of Betty Big Boobs with the Thick Lips and Too Much Slap.

Anonymous Alex was suddenly Awesome Alex, albeit a multi-talentless addition to the growing volume of A-list nobodies.

Andre had Priced himself out of the picture (and conveniently into his own fly-on-the-wall series. But for his successor in the love-hate stakes, the ‘‘Reid all about it’’ headlines were more than enough reward for Alex’s self-sacrifice as Caring Katie’s new puppet.

I have long since stopped reading the titillating trivia, though it’s virtually impossible to avoid catching glimpses of headlines that highlight Price’s latest publicity-fuelled tirade.

I’m not sure whether the obsession with the lives of so-called celebrities is the fault of the media or just an example of the diminishing intellect of the UK public.

It’s not as if one needs any particular skill to become a celebrity. The fact is that in 21^st century Britain, ANYONE can become one.

At times, it really is a case of the less talent the better – as portrayed by the late Jade Goody, whose only assets were her ignorance, big mouth and a Big Brother with the frightening ability to change people’s fortunes forever.

Looking at the seedy background the poor girl emerged from, it’s encouraging to think that someone like Goody can be turned at the drop of a switch into a celebrity with millions in the bank. But I find it uncomfortable that the media has the power to create instant celebrities – and then destroy them just as quickly.

There was a time when the essential ingredient to become a celebrity was talent. Whether you were an actor, singer, comedian, sports star, you name it, there was no way into the public eye unless you possessed genuine talent.

When I was a teenager, I had a friend in South Wales who spent years performing around the clubs in the hope of making it as a professional singer. In the end, Tommy Woodward made it bigtime as the one and only  Tom Jones – because he had genuine talent.

Around the same time, one or two dodgy bands made the hit parade on the back of good management and sound effects. But generally it was a case of anonymity for life for most of us – including those with a lot more talent than the vast majority of reality show ‘celebrities’.

Had she been born 30 years earlier, Katie Price would no doubt have made a living as a model. No more than that.

But at least she wouldn’t have knocked  the Bay of Pigs and Watergate off the front page of the Daily  Mirror.