Tuesday, December 13, 2011


This is some book. As a lifelong fan of Douglas Thompson, the Jimmy Greaves of pulp fiction, I am not surprised he brought to life one of football's famously reclusive personalities.

King of the King's Road - no suggestion here of the nasty rumours sweeping the net about Frank's leanings! - and a vital player in England's bid for victory at the 2006 World Cup, Frankie Lampard is a footballer of genuine, dynamic majesty, limited only as Douglas says by his penchant for stodgey food. The East End boy who's become a West End star, he's hailed by fans, women, critics, players and managers worldwide as a player of great value.

So does this book tell us anything new? Yes and no. Yes, we learn that Franky is a rich chap and no we don't know what makes him tick. Even so it's a great beach read. Personally I think Douglas should stick to novels which is where his strength is. Why waste such talent on a footballer of such limited brain power? Douglas was built for bigger things than this.

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