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London.
"Plus ça change…
It’s called diving today. Permit me to
sprawl out the dictionary definition: “Diving is an attempt by a player to gain
an unfair advantage by falling to the ground and possibly feigning an injury,
to give the impression that a foul has been committed.”
I think I prefer the Victorian
nomenclature.
“Coward’s Fall.”
Here’s an instance, as regaled by William
Stewart. It’s a tale that was told to him by the Anglo-Welsh artist Frank
Brangwyn. Brangwyn was born in Belgium but this is a classically London – Cockney
– vignette.
When Brangwyn’s family moved from Belgium
to London they settled “out west” – in Goldhawk Road, Shepherd’s Bush.
Recalling – somewhat tenderly – a memorable incident from that London childhood
time, Brangwyn told Stewart that one night, while playing with some pals in
Wood Lane, they came upon a baked-potato cart standing outside a pub, the
‘tater-man’ being inside. Sure enough, one thing led to another.
“Boy-like, they started playing round the
cart, and, becoming a bit too boisterous, pulled out and dropped a tray of
potatoes into the gutter. There was a mad rush to get away, for, hearing the
crash, the ‘tater man’ dashed out of the pub, and, realising what had happened,
gave chase. Armed with his whip, he was soon in contact with the slowest of the
small boys, on whom he bestowed a curse and a slash of the whip. Some of the
boys managed to elude the pursuer by dodging down side-turnings, until only
Brangwyn was left. Gasping for breath and overcome by terror, he knew the
‘tater man’ was rapidly gaining ground. Tearing off his cap and throwing it
away – an action supposed to promote acceleration – and finding this useless,
he made one last effort by resorting to what was known to Victorian boys as the
‘Coward’s Fall’ – a never-failing appeal to the spirit of true sportsmanship.
Throwing himself on the ground, he gasped out, ‘You can’t hit a man when he’s
down.’ But this appeal found no response in the sportsmanship of the ‘tater
man,’ who yelled, ‘Can’t I, begord, watch me.’ Brangwyn not only watched him
but felt him, not only then but for days after.”
Marvellous tale. Love that “tearing off his
cap and throwing it away – an action supposed to promote acceleration.”
The 21st century London version of that is
youths on stolen motorcycles ostentatiously removing their helmet and flinging
it over their shoulder when the police are in hot pursuit. It’s not done to
promote acceleration. Rather to demote acceleration. On the part of the police.
The helmet comes off the police break off the chase. The kids know that will be
the response so that move has become part of their armoury, pretty much a
fool-proof tactical manoeuvre.
And why do the police break off the chase?
Well, you can probably guess. There have been a whole lot of helmet-less head
injuries – serious, sometimes fatal helmet-less head injuries – resulting from
a thief trying to get away on a hot bike and the police giving chase.
Fatalities, kids turned into vegetables, etc. Enter ambulance chasing lawyers.
Yup, you got it. Scotland Yard’s finances taking a beating from expensive law
suits, etc. Upshot: orders from on high – “they take the helmet off break off
the chase.” The kids know that’s the score, so the helmets come off.
That’s London in the second decade of the
21st century. Just another charm on the same London bracelet of the youthful
Brangwyn a century ago trying to avoid the clutches – and the whip – of
“justice” by “tearing off his cap and throwing it away in order to promote
acceleration.”
And the Victorian Coward’s Fall? Well,
think any number of 21st century Premiership acrobatics at White Hart Lane or
Loftus Road or Emirates Stadium or The Den or Stamford Bridge or you name it.
"Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose"
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