'sportswriters," remarked Tex Cobb, the American heavyweight boxer of many moons ago, "are probably the only individuals in our universe who actually have less constructive jobs than I do. I don't do nothin' but hit people. And they don't do nothin' but talk about what I do."
His was one of the more memorable lines among the infinite cannon that fondly heap scorn upon the lark of following sports/games/fun for a living. It will never be a pursuit that can be described as necessary to the progress of mankind. If the world had to choose an occupation that was expendable, erasable from the global vocabulary, sportswriting, sad to say, would probably rank fairly high in the firing line with haute couture designers and independent politicians. Nobody needs them.
Anyone who has ever sat in a press box at any game that is even midway towards approaching enthralling will have felt a shiver of pure pleasure for that very reason; sport is a luxury in life, a deflection from the general woes, warmth and duties that pre-occupy us. So to be privileged enough to be stuck in the heart of these events and to be the medium through which the players and managers vent - or not - their emotions is a delight. And, of course, the wine on tap is an added bonus.
As long as there are sports, there will be sportswriting. Because there is rarely anything new to say about sport, which is at heart tautological, most of what is written is both forgettable and quickly forgotten. Of course, the same applies to all fields of journalism.
But sometimes, given an opportune merging of story, personalities, time, luck and editorial space, sportswriting can reach a perfect pitch and sometimes hold a resonance that lives long after the details of the actual sports event have grown dim.
On very rare occasions, this applies to the disposable medium of newsprint; more often, it occurs in longer magazine pieces and in sports books. Although we are still fairly impoverished in this country when it comes to choices in that category, there is nonetheless a reasonable selection of new material available this year and on-line browsing provides a comprehensive library of the best international writing.
The big noise on the home front for 2001 has been Laura Hillenbrand's Seabiscuit: The True Story of Three Men and a Racehorse, (Fourth Estate £21.60), winner of this year's William Hill award. Already destined for screen adaptation by Universal studios, with, no doubt, lots of soft-focus Robert Redford, this is a diligently researched and evocative portrait of the collaboration between Charles Howard, Red Pollard and Tom Smith that brought about a rare feel-good story in Depression America.
Seabiscuit's ascent from two-bit races to national icon captured the public imagination and this revival of that story comes as a timely morale boost. Seabiscuit finishes ahead of the year's other racing offerings by several lengths.
Boxing, as ever, has the strongest contenders. In recent years, it has become clear that the top boxing writers who covered the sport in the mid-70s are unable to shake themselves from their obsession with the fight game of that time. Hence, this year's big revision comes from Mark Kram, with Ghosts of Manila - the Fateful Blood Feud of Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier (Collins-Willow £19.95), yet another angle on the immortal "thrilla".
"We went to Manilla as champions, Joe and me," Ali would later reflect, "and came back as old men."
Kram, one of boxing's most eloquent commentators, examines the consequences of the fight on both men and also questions the unbridled devotion heaped upon Ali in recent years. A more recent but equally seismic fight occurred between Gerald McClelland and Nigel Benn at London Arena in February 1995. The ferocity of that meeting left McClelland brain damaged. Kevin Mitchell, in an extension of a superb feature he wrote for the Observer sports magazine, examines the backgrounds of both men around the framework of that night. War, Baby: the Glamour of Violence (Yellow Jersey £12.70) is an unflinching deposition on the mindset of each fighter, the circumstances that preceded that meeting. Sympathetic it is not.
For those wishing to add to their Ali library, Muhammad Ali: Through the Eyes of the World (Sanctuary £25.40) is an expensive-looking collection of celebrity reminisces about the great man.
It has been something of a vintage year for golf. The Mystery of Golf, Arnold Haultain's classic study of the game, has been re-issued by Souvenir Press £12.99), with a foreword by John Updike.
Now that Tiger Woods has decided to play on earth again, the publication of The Chosen One: Tiger Woods and the Dilemma of Greatness (Simon and Schuster, Price Not Available) by David Owens is timely.
Based on an essay for The New Yorker, this is a natural sequel to Gary Smith's definitive 1996 Sports Illustrated piece and examines the adjustments Woods made to golf and life after his coronation at the 1997 US Masters.
The flip-side of the coin is captured in Bud, Sweat and Tees: A Walk on the Wild-Side of the PGA (Simon and Schuster £19.05), by Alan Shipnuck, a funny and honest account of two lost souls on golf's breadline, Steve Duplantis and Rich Beam. The author spent a year watching as they chased late bars, early flights, girls and, somewhere deep in their subconscious, golf's big-time.
Equally well received has been James Dodson's gentle homage, The Dewsweepers - Seasons of Golf and Friendship (Random House £19.05), an intimate account of regulars at the Onantango club in up-state New York. The group of men, ranging in age from 30 to 70, meet regularly for dawn tee-offs and Dodson chronicles their daily lives, with golf as the common thread among them. In the same style as Dodson's affectionate Final Rounds, this is written for and about the mortal golfer of the lonely fairways.
Being a Lions year, there is no shortage of rugby books. By happy coincidence, many of the touring players felt that the time was right to unburden themselves of their philosophies on the game. Most prominent was Jonny Wilkinson: Lions and Falcons: My Diary of a Remarkable Year, (Headline £24.15), a formulaic report of his involvement with Newcastle, England and the Lions in a season when he emerged as one of the most remarkable outhalves of all-time.
Better fun might be The Tangled Mane: The Lions Tour to Australia 2001 (Bloomsbury £16.99), a reflection by Eddie Butler on how last summer's astonishing tour shifted the boundaries of the game. Also available is the bittersweet Henry's Pride - Inside the Lions Tour Down Under (Mainstream £20.30), in which embattled Lions coach Graham Henry attempts to pass the buck for failure elsewhere.
David Walmsley's The Lions of Ireland (Mainstream £10.15) is again on the shelves, with Brian O'Driscoll and company comparing their experiences with the Irish Lions of generations gone.
Most of the soccer writers are keeping their ink dry until the fallout of Japan and Korea 2002. As usual, anyone who has kicked a ball at any level has written an autobiography but the only one worth pursuing is Full-Time (Simon and Schuster £8.85), Tony Cascarino's excellent collaborative effort with Paul Kimmage, a final furlong faller to Seabiscuit at the William Hill awards.
A warmly recommended retrospective is Geoff Dawson's Back Home: England and the 1970 World Cup (Orion £18.99 stg). Ostensibly a depiction of England's contribution to that epic tournament, it is equally concerned with capturing the mood of England at the time and will strike a chord with The Kinks generation.
The title Manchester United in Europe - The Compete Journey 1956-2001 (Hodder and Stoughton £24.10) already has a wistful air to it. Given the turmoil at the club, which is getting more column inches than the turmoil in Afghanistan, fans might cling to this as a bible of disappearing glory. Between them, David Meek and Tom Tyrell capture the early Busby years to the Incredible Treble of 1999. For United boffins only.
Literary commentators everywhere were mildly surprised by the runaway success of Toby Young's tell-all, How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. One explanation for the high sales could be that people thought they were buying Ger Loughnane's biography.
Predictably enough, the inimitable Clare spinner of words and tales has raised a few hackles and demons with his memoir, The Raising of the Banner (Blackwater £16.45), with John Scally. The disappointment is that the pair decided to concentrate solely on Loughnane's unforgettable days as manager of Clare. Fascinating as this era was, the truth is that Loughnane himself was the appeal. GAA fans have had seven years of Ger in macrocosm; the time was ripe for the opposite.
The other big managerial confession was that of Pβid∅ ╙ SΘ in Pβid∅ (TownHouse £16.49) with Seβn Potts. The Kerryman's relationship with his homeland of Ventry is central to a sports life that continues to be extraordinary. Much was made of ╙ SΘ's exclusion of the so-called Maurice Fitzgerald Affair, but that should not be allowed to overshadow what is an entertaining exploration of one of the GAA's most forceful characters.
It was with coy blushes and fluttering lashes that this department took the fateful decision to add to the Titanic of pre-Christmas book releases with The Irish Times Sporting Year 2001 (Gill and MacMillan, £17.99), a must for all Indo sports readers.
Speaking of which, Irish Independent sports editor PJ Cunningham has released AN Other, 15 GAA Short Stories (Kilkenny Printing £9.99), an evocative collection informed by his experiences of growing up in rural Offaly and by his affection for the association. The other GAA release is Brian Carthy's serial, The Championship (Sliabh Ban £11.99), the RT╔ man's detailed report on the hurling and football summer.
Two photography collections stand out. Ray McManus's latest edition of A Season of Sundays (Sportsfile £23.75) is easily the finest. While the action shots of last summer's games are as sharp as ever, it is the oblique eye that excites the most.
An overhead shot of Trevor Giles emerging from the tunnel on All-Ireland final day, Sligo's all-black gear hanging in an empty dressing-room, the inside of the scorekeepers' box and Brian McEniff kicking ball again are each images that are quietly brilliant.
Football: The Golden Age (Cassell and Company £38.40) is a series of haunting stills collected by John Tennant. Especially poignant are "Anfield boot-room" from May 1980, and two images of the Shrovetide football match in 1950s Derbyshire.
There is an inexhaustible supply of words about the hybrid of sport and vulcanised rubber that is Formula One. One of England's best sportswriters, Richard Williams, has devoted more time to fast cars than is healthy. The latest addition to his titles is Enzo Ferrari (Yellow Jersey £22.85), profiling the emergence of an icon of materialism. Although the subject matter is narrow, William's style and research render it rewarding.
Sportswomen are poorly represented this year and the most notable book on female athletes, Venus Envy: A Sensational Season Inside the Women's Tennis Tour (Harper Collins, price not available) is not especially flattering. The women's tour has fully eclipsed the insipid men's game now in terms of drama and personality, and L Jon Wertheim uses his access as a full-time tour correspondent to capture the behind-the-scenes rivalries.
As ever, the best books on sport deal with the marginal issues. The consistently excellent Best American Sportswriting (Houghton and Mifflin, PNA) is now celebrating a 10th anniversary issue and weighs in with heavy-hitting pieces.
The Proving Ground - The Inside Story of the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Race (Little Brown and Company, PNA), is another angle on that year's ill-fated voyage that cost six sailors their lives. Of the 115 boats that started, only 43 finished and G Bruce Knight describes the nightmare hours of those caught in the storm.
Finally, John Edgar Wideman's Hoop Roots (Houghton Mifflin, PNA) is a meditation of the now celebrated academic's 50-year relationship with basketball. It is less about the roots of the game than Wideman's need to use the game as a refuge, as a means to forget and let all else fall away.
Which is, at the end, the same story that all sports books purport to tell.
