Monday, 9 January 2012
From there to here
From there to here. It's a bit of a leap but eventually it had to be done. In between that here and now were a thousand words like "No" and "Soon", a thousand phrases like "Why am I doing this?" and "What's it for?" and a thousand sulks like "I don't want to be a blimmin academic anyway". But I had to do it and I knew I'd do it. You see, I'd signed a contract. I had to do it. Also I was working with two other people and I couldn't just turn round to them and say "No, I'm not doing it. I've changed my mind" because life doesn't work like that.
One day I had a fantasy that I won the Lottery and paid them off so that they'd do my stuff - for a fantastically good rate, of course. I was a Lottery winner after all - the book would get written, the work would get done and no one would lose. It was a fantastic plan and it would have worked if only I'd won the Lottery. Actually I did the Lottery and I chose the right numbers. It was the machine that pulls the balls out. That chose the wrong numbers.
In the end, of course, I did it. And predictably enough, I enjoyed it. The chapter got done - published on my website:
http://www.jednovick.com/Jed_Novick/Odd_Bits_Of_Writing/Entries/2012/1/7_DAVID_BECKHAM.html
The rest of the book got done, too. Chapters commissioned, written, pulled in, edited, finished. Done. OK - I've got one small thing to do - a 'bridge' chapter on Spanish football - but basically it's done.
Monday, 4 April 2011
The Dubai pitch
So I decided to respond to one of those "Call For Papers" shouts. Well, Dubai in November. What's not to like?
David Beckham and The Celebrity Phenomenon
By Jed Novick, Senior Lecturer at Brighton University
It was 17 August 1996, the first day of the 96/97 football season. Manchester United were playing Wimbledon at Selhurst Park. It was a bright and sunny day. Lovely, but largely unremarkable. United were quickly 2-0 up. No surprises. A routine day and a routine match.
But routine things didn’t happen when Manchester United played at Selhurst Park. It was there the previous season, that Eric Cantona launched his infamous kung fu kick. That had also been a routine match.
David Beckham picked up the ball just inside the United half of the pitch. Until that moment Beckham had been a promising young player, one of a crop of promising young players at United. A right-sided midfield player with one good foot and not much in the way of pace.
As Beckham looked up, he saw Wimbledon keeper Neil Sullivan had wandered off his line. He pulled his right foot back and… that was when it happened. That was the moment The God Of Celebrity decided to sprinkle his fairy dust on David Beckham. In the 59th minute of that routine match on that routine day, David Beckham did something extraordinary. Or, rather, something extraordinary happened to David Beckham.
As his perfectly placed shot dipped over the hapless Sullivan and into the Wimbledon net, Beckham turned round and raised his arms. His floppy fringe framed his boyish face and, as one, the world was drowned in the sound of clicking cameras.
David Beckham was something new. We’d not seen anything like Beckham before. There’d been football icons – George Best being the most obvious example – but Becks was completely different. Best, a celebrity in spite of himself, was on auto-destruct. Becks is on auto-survive, a celebrity because of himself. Becks is the pop star who doesn’t make bad albums, the film star who can open a film anywhere in the world, the ad man’s dream.
As a footballer, he’s reached the top. He’s played for the three biggest clubs in the world – Manchester United, Real Madrid and AC Milan. He’s captained England. He’s got the record number of England caps for an outfield player.
He’s the Roy Of The Rovers who has somehow managed to throw away the rule book.
He’s cut through – seemingly effortlessly - the often brutish macho world of professional football. He popularized the notion of metrosexuality. In a world where there has been but one ‘out’ gay player – the late Justin Fashanu- Beckham has openly courted the gay world. And we’re not just talking about a designer sarong. He’s appeared on the cover of gay magazine Attitude. Topless. He’s posed outrageously in underpants. He advertised Police sunglasses looking like one of The Village People. He’s half of a pop star couple who captained England while sporting a Mohican haircut. He has somehow managed to transcend every prejudice, every barrier, every hostility.
It’s easy to talk about a pop star or an actor being ‘metrosexual’. But this is a professional footballer and we’re talking about a world where not so long ago a player was nearly destroyed for reading The Guardian.
And all the time he was doing this, he was England’s captain, one of the most feted footballers in the world.
Note we don’t say “one of the best footballers in the world”.
Those who previously held the position of “most famous” in the football world – Pele, Cruyff, Maradona – attained their fame on the basis of unparalleled skills and achievement. They were the most famous because they were the best. Much the same may be observed of the most famous from other sports – Ali, Jordan, Senna, Federer, Woods. However much the media built the image, the underpinning was the same – they were the best.
Beckham is a very fine player, undoubtedly. But who would claim he has ever been better than very good? Would he rank even among England’s best 20 players of all time, or the best 10 in the world over the past decade?
But Beckham is not just a footballer. He’s a footballer plus. He’s a cultural phenomenon, an icon. Someone who is now taken so seriously that when England needed a final PR push in the 2018 World Cup bid, three men were selected: Prince William (the heir apparent), David Cameron (the Prime Minister) and David Beckham.
Sport and celebrity. No one else has ever managed to ride these two horses at the same time without falling off.
So how has he done it? This paper looks at how a merely very good London-bred and Manchester-based footballer became a cultural icon – a junction box for a range of forces that included the rising fashionability in football from the early 1990s on, the ever-intensifying nexus between football and commercialised popular culture, the rise of the cult of celebrity and astute media manipulation by Beckham and his management. It looks at him in the context of these developments, recognising that neither marrying a pop star – as the studiously unmodish Billy Wright did in the 1950s - nor becoming a fashion exemplar, as George Best was in the 1960s, is unprecedented.
Here, Jed Novick, sport journalism lecturer, pop writer and co-editor of The Cambridge Companion to Football, looks at the cult of Beckham and the rise of celebrity- and wonders how one man can be so many things to so many people. And we haven’t even mentioned Simon Fuller yet.
David Beckham and The Celebrity Phenomenon
By Jed Novick, Senior Lecturer at Brighton University
It was 17 August 1996, the first day of the 96/97 football season. Manchester United were playing Wimbledon at Selhurst Park. It was a bright and sunny day. Lovely, but largely unremarkable. United were quickly 2-0 up. No surprises. A routine day and a routine match.
But routine things didn’t happen when Manchester United played at Selhurst Park. It was there the previous season, that Eric Cantona launched his infamous kung fu kick. That had also been a routine match.
David Beckham picked up the ball just inside the United half of the pitch. Until that moment Beckham had been a promising young player, one of a crop of promising young players at United. A right-sided midfield player with one good foot and not much in the way of pace.
As Beckham looked up, he saw Wimbledon keeper Neil Sullivan had wandered off his line. He pulled his right foot back and… that was when it happened. That was the moment The God Of Celebrity decided to sprinkle his fairy dust on David Beckham. In the 59th minute of that routine match on that routine day, David Beckham did something extraordinary. Or, rather, something extraordinary happened to David Beckham.
As his perfectly placed shot dipped over the hapless Sullivan and into the Wimbledon net, Beckham turned round and raised his arms. His floppy fringe framed his boyish face and, as one, the world was drowned in the sound of clicking cameras.
David Beckham was something new. We’d not seen anything like Beckham before. There’d been football icons – George Best being the most obvious example – but Becks was completely different. Best, a celebrity in spite of himself, was on auto-destruct. Becks is on auto-survive, a celebrity because of himself. Becks is the pop star who doesn’t make bad albums, the film star who can open a film anywhere in the world, the ad man’s dream.
As a footballer, he’s reached the top. He’s played for the three biggest clubs in the world – Manchester United, Real Madrid and AC Milan. He’s captained England. He’s got the record number of England caps for an outfield player.
He’s the Roy Of The Rovers who has somehow managed to throw away the rule book.
He’s cut through – seemingly effortlessly - the often brutish macho world of professional football. He popularized the notion of metrosexuality. In a world where there has been but one ‘out’ gay player – the late Justin Fashanu- Beckham has openly courted the gay world. And we’re not just talking about a designer sarong. He’s appeared on the cover of gay magazine Attitude. Topless. He’s posed outrageously in underpants. He advertised Police sunglasses looking like one of The Village People. He’s half of a pop star couple who captained England while sporting a Mohican haircut. He has somehow managed to transcend every prejudice, every barrier, every hostility.
It’s easy to talk about a pop star or an actor being ‘metrosexual’. But this is a professional footballer and we’re talking about a world where not so long ago a player was nearly destroyed for reading The Guardian.
And all the time he was doing this, he was England’s captain, one of the most feted footballers in the world.
Note we don’t say “one of the best footballers in the world”.
Those who previously held the position of “most famous” in the football world – Pele, Cruyff, Maradona – attained their fame on the basis of unparalleled skills and achievement. They were the most famous because they were the best. Much the same may be observed of the most famous from other sports – Ali, Jordan, Senna, Federer, Woods. However much the media built the image, the underpinning was the same – they were the best.
Beckham is a very fine player, undoubtedly. But who would claim he has ever been better than very good? Would he rank even among England’s best 20 players of all time, or the best 10 in the world over the past decade?
But Beckham is not just a footballer. He’s a footballer plus. He’s a cultural phenomenon, an icon. Someone who is now taken so seriously that when England needed a final PR push in the 2018 World Cup bid, three men were selected: Prince William (the heir apparent), David Cameron (the Prime Minister) and David Beckham.
Sport and celebrity. No one else has ever managed to ride these two horses at the same time without falling off.
So how has he done it? This paper looks at how a merely very good London-bred and Manchester-based footballer became a cultural icon – a junction box for a range of forces that included the rising fashionability in football from the early 1990s on, the ever-intensifying nexus between football and commercialised popular culture, the rise of the cult of celebrity and astute media manipulation by Beckham and his management. It looks at him in the context of these developments, recognising that neither marrying a pop star – as the studiously unmodish Billy Wright did in the 1950s - nor becoming a fashion exemplar, as George Best was in the 1960s, is unprecedented.
Here, Jed Novick, sport journalism lecturer, pop writer and co-editor of The Cambridge Companion to Football, looks at the cult of Beckham and the rise of celebrity- and wonders how one man can be so many things to so many people. And we haven’t even mentioned Simon Fuller yet.
Thursday, 6 January 2011
Abstract - Version 1
David Beckham and The Celebrity Phenomenon
That David Beckham has been arguably the most famous footballer of the past decade represents an authentic cultural phenomenon. Those previously held that position attained their fame on the basis of unparalleled skills and talent. They were the most famous because they were the best.
David Beckham is different. He’s undoubtedly very good - captain of England, second highest number of international caps and winner of numerous trophies – and has played for the three biggest clubs in the world, but it would take the most besotted admirer to claim that he has been better than very good.
Yet his fame, which shows every sign of outlasting his playing career, is undoubted. From national vilification (after the 1996 World Cup, effigies were hung outside pubs), he is now a serious political figure, an ambassador for both 2012 Olympic and 2018 World Cup bids, and preferred in a 2010 poll by around 12 per cent of Guardian readers as the next England manager.
This article looks at how this very good footballer became a global cultural icon – crossing sexual boundaries and using image like no one before him, a junction box for the ever-intensifying nexus between football and commercialised popular culture, the rise of the cult of celebrity and astute media manipulation.
That David Beckham has been arguably the most famous footballer of the past decade represents an authentic cultural phenomenon. Those previously held that position attained their fame on the basis of unparalleled skills and talent. They were the most famous because they were the best.
David Beckham is different. He’s undoubtedly very good - captain of England, second highest number of international caps and winner of numerous trophies – and has played for the three biggest clubs in the world, but it would take the most besotted admirer to claim that he has been better than very good.
Yet his fame, which shows every sign of outlasting his playing career, is undoubted. From national vilification (after the 1996 World Cup, effigies were hung outside pubs), he is now a serious political figure, an ambassador for both 2012 Olympic and 2018 World Cup bids, and preferred in a 2010 poll by around 12 per cent of Guardian readers as the next England manager.
This article looks at how this very good footballer became a global cultural icon – crossing sexual boundaries and using image like no one before him, a junction box for the ever-intensifying nexus between football and commercialised popular culture, the rise of the cult of celebrity and astute media manipulation.
The original chapter description
David Beckham and The Celebrity Phenomenon
That David Beckham has been arguably the most famous footballer of the past decade represents an authentic cultural phenomenon. Those who previously held that position in the football world – Pele, Cruyff and Maradona among them – attained their fame on the basis of unparalleled skills and achievement. They were the most famous because they were the best. Much the same may be observed of the most famous from other sports – Ali, Jordan, Senna, Federer, Woods. However much the media built the image, the underpinning was the same – they were the best.
David Beckham has been a very fine player, captain of England for several years, close to the all-time caps record and a winner of numerous trophies with Manchester United. But it would take an utterly besotted admirer to claim that he has been better than very, very good. Would he rank even among England’s best 20 players of all time, or the best 10 in the world over the past decade ? One has to doubt it.
Yet his fame, which shows every sign of outlasting his playing career, is undoubted. Just as striking is the manner in which a man once regarded as an examplar of the unintelligent sportsman is now taken so seriously, an ambassador for the England 2018 bid, a marginal player still taken after injury to the 2010 World Cup with the England party, preferred in a poll by around 12 per cent of Guardian readers (a group who might be assumed to be more immune than the norm to the pull of celebrity) as the next England manager.
So how has he done it? This chapter looks at how a merely very good London-bred and Manchester-based footballer became a cultural icon – a junction box for a range of forces that included the rising fashionability in football from the early 1990s on, the ever-intensifying nexus between football and commercialised popular culture, the rise of the cult of celebrity and astute media manipulation by Beckham and his management. It looks at him in the context of these developments, recognising that neither marrying a pop star – as the studiously unmodish Billy Wright did in the 1950s - nor becoming a fashion exemplar, as George Best was in the 1960s, is unprecedented. It illustrates these insights with comparisons to previous football celebrities such as Wright, Best, John Charles, Pele, Stanley Matthews and Bobby Moore and contemporaries like Wayne Rooney, Zinedine Zidane and Lionel Messi.
That David Beckham has been arguably the most famous footballer of the past decade represents an authentic cultural phenomenon. Those who previously held that position in the football world – Pele, Cruyff and Maradona among them – attained their fame on the basis of unparalleled skills and achievement. They were the most famous because they were the best. Much the same may be observed of the most famous from other sports – Ali, Jordan, Senna, Federer, Woods. However much the media built the image, the underpinning was the same – they were the best.
David Beckham has been a very fine player, captain of England for several years, close to the all-time caps record and a winner of numerous trophies with Manchester United. But it would take an utterly besotted admirer to claim that he has been better than very, very good. Would he rank even among England’s best 20 players of all time, or the best 10 in the world over the past decade ? One has to doubt it.
Yet his fame, which shows every sign of outlasting his playing career, is undoubted. Just as striking is the manner in which a man once regarded as an examplar of the unintelligent sportsman is now taken so seriously, an ambassador for the England 2018 bid, a marginal player still taken after injury to the 2010 World Cup with the England party, preferred in a poll by around 12 per cent of Guardian readers (a group who might be assumed to be more immune than the norm to the pull of celebrity) as the next England manager.
So how has he done it? This chapter looks at how a merely very good London-bred and Manchester-based footballer became a cultural icon – a junction box for a range of forces that included the rising fashionability in football from the early 1990s on, the ever-intensifying nexus between football and commercialised popular culture, the rise of the cult of celebrity and astute media manipulation by Beckham and his management. It looks at him in the context of these developments, recognising that neither marrying a pop star – as the studiously unmodish Billy Wright did in the 1950s - nor becoming a fashion exemplar, as George Best was in the 1960s, is unprecedented. It illustrates these insights with comparisons to previous football celebrities such as Wright, Best, John Charles, Pele, Stanley Matthews and Bobby Moore and contemporaries like Wayne Rooney, Zinedine Zidane and Lionel Messi.
Day One
So that was the two day WAP course. Writing For Academic Publication.
This is the deal. I'm going to write my Beckham chapter properly, in a clear academic style. I'm going to find a way of merging my natural style with its new academic environment. I'm going to find a way of burying my suspicions and my cynicism about academic writing and I'm going to create an acceptable hybrid. Something that does all the quoting other people stuff with a zip and (hopefully) a style. Something we all like.
So what did I learn? I found out lots of things about structure, about how to look for information, how to access Google Scholar. I learnt about helps and hindrances and about the fishbone model.
I learnt that sometimes good enough is good enough.
I learnt that it's a PhD, not a Nobel Prize.
My favourite quote of the two days: "I don't fictionalise about vampires".
I learnt the correct structure for the content of my piece.
What we learnt was this:
Title
Abstract
Introduction
Theoretical Perspectives/Literary Review
Methodology and Methods
Results/Findings/Data
Conclusion/Summary/Recommendations
Appendices/Statistics/Illustrations
References
But all I wanted to see was this:
Title
Glass of red
Write
Glass of red
That's my kind of theoretical perspective. Actually, that's my method. And there's nothing abstract about that.
This is the deal. I'm going to write my Beckham chapter properly, in a clear academic style. I'm going to find a way of merging my natural style with its new academic environment. I'm going to find a way of burying my suspicions and my cynicism about academic writing and I'm going to create an acceptable hybrid. Something that does all the quoting other people stuff with a zip and (hopefully) a style. Something we all like.
So what did I learn? I found out lots of things about structure, about how to look for information, how to access Google Scholar. I learnt about helps and hindrances and about the fishbone model.
I learnt that sometimes good enough is good enough.
I learnt that it's a PhD, not a Nobel Prize.
My favourite quote of the two days: "I don't fictionalise about vampires".
I learnt the correct structure for the content of my piece.
What we learnt was this:
Title
Abstract
Introduction
Theoretical Perspectives/Literary Review
Methodology and Methods
Results/Findings/Data
Conclusion/Summary/Recommendations
Appendices/Statistics/Illustrations
References
But all I wanted to see was this:
Title
Glass of red
Write
Glass of red
That's my kind of theoretical perspective. Actually, that's my method. And there's nothing abstract about that.
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