Motty and Me
Joe Marshall- @AllSportJoe
As a sport, I feel like football is currently in the midst of permanent mourning. In recent times we have lost legends such as George Cohen, Siniša Mihajlović and of course, Pelé. Let’s also not forget Christian Atsu, who lost his life tragically in the recent earthquake in Turkey. Football, as a concept, is naturally divisive. Every aspect of the sport is designed to pit individuals and teams against each other, causing rivalry and conflict. However, nothing unites football supporters like tragedy and sadness, and in the last few months, we have experienced an awful lot of it.
The most recent passing is that of iconic football commentator, John Motson. No one’s death is more important than another’s, but despite the terrible losses of the aforementioned soccer superstars, I was never compelled to immediately write about them or their legacy. As soon as I heard the awful news about ‘Motty’, I knew I had to put my thoughts into some sort of physical form.
I felt a connection to Motson that I simply didn’t feel towards any of the players that we have lost lately. I respect the legacy of Cohen and the 1966 heroes, and I of course marvelled and the excellence of Pelé, but these figures weren’t as central to my core football memories as Motson. And for that reason, Motson’s passing feels more personal, than any of the others’ did.
Motson’s voice is synonymous with my earliest footballing memories. Growing up in a household without Sky, football belonged on the BBC, and therefore it belonged to Motson. His voice was ubiquitous with my early football experiences, whether that was on Match of the Day, live FA Cup games, or England internationals and tournaments. The world of football commentary wasn’t as diluted as it is now, and despite there currently being dozens of extremely competent commentators out there, I can’t remember any of them helping me fall in love with football as much as Motson did.
When F1 commentary legend Murray Walker passed away a couple of years ago, I was again hit with a pang of sadness, as a voice that narrated my blossoming love for a sport was no more. So much of what I know about Formula One is thanks to Walker, just like an unimaginable amount of my football knowledge probably stems from Motson’s glorious wisdom.
Lots of modern commentators seem to strive to say the right thing at the right time, and with good reason. Many iconic lines of commentary have gone down in football folklore. Think Peter Drury in THAT Roma game. But with Motson, for me, and especially at the age I was at when I first heard him, it didn’t matter what he said, or even how he said it, all that mattered is that he said it. His warm, comforting voice narrating a sport that I was naively captivated by, was all I needed.
Many people will have their “Motty moment”; that could be Gerrard’s FA Cup final equaliser against West Ham, or Ronnie Radford’s goal for Hereford, but I genuinely don’t have one. Growing up, football was about the grander spectacle. I wasn’t so much in awe of the ‘moments’; I loved the sport for the bigger picture. All that mattered when football was on, is that I could sit down and watch 90 minutes and enjoy each and every one of them. It can’t be underestimated how much of a role Motson played, probably subconsciously at the time, to my enjoyment.
I don’t think I ever saw my team commentated on, live at least, by the great man, and this probably adds to his gravitas. Football wasn’t on TV in my household to the extent that it is in most households in 2023, therefore I could feasibly go a few weeks without hearing his voice. This didn’t mean that he became a stranger, and he always felt so exclusive yet so accessible. He was a grandparent that you rarely see, so full of knowledge and wisdom, whilst carrying a tone that was always comforting and familiar. I felt safe when I heard his voice. Motson is there. It must be time for football. Regardless of the outcome of the game, thanks in part to Motson, and in part to my humble youth, it was still always just a game.
Non football fans may wonder why the world is so grief-stricken for a man whose appeal largely boils down to merely a voice (although the sheepskin coat was iconic). They may understand why the world mourns great players, but may fail to relate to the sadness felt by many for a man with a microphone. However, for so many football fans, my age especially, he was the primary connection between football as an abstract concept of 22 men running around, to a living, breathing thing, full of emotion and passion.
My footballing consumption has moved way beyond the point where one man is the sole voice of the sport, thanks to the sheer amount of coverage we get. In fact, there probably won’t be another generation of football fans with such a collective appreciation of one voice defining the beautiful game. Everything that made me fall in love with football, England games, old VHS tapes, the early FIFA video games was narrated by one man. Would I still love football if it wasn’t for Motson? Probably. But nothing can take away those memories. The beginning of my football fascination was down to him.
Walker is F1. Golf is Alliss. Football is Motson.
Rest in Peace.