I’m so pleased that Maureen Hunt and Bernie Smith have given me the opportunity to write a few words about my friend and business partner George Best. George and I shared a friendship that spanned over 40 years, and lasted until the day he died. He was a true friend in every sense of the word.
I still find it hard to believe that George is no longer with us, no longer phoning me at all hours of the night and day just to chat. I spent some of the best times of my life in his exciting and charismatic company and miss him like mad. I think everyone who ever met George was enthralled by him.
I remember him being invited to No. 10 Downing Street in the 1960s, when Harold Wilson was Prime Minister. George was in the company of lots of other invited stars from sport, stage, screen and television, but everyone seemed intent on talking to him… and he couldn’t quite understand why. ‘I couldn’t believe it, Waggy,’ he told me later, in that quiet unassuming way of his, ‘everybody wanted to talk to me. They didn’t know how star struck I was of all of them.’
But that was Bestie for you. He had no edge, no flash; he was just an ordinary guy with a talent that was so special. He was a wonderful person, and as a footballer he had no equal. George had a confidence on the football field that defied description. He could do anything with a football, and play in any position. Alex Stepney, Manchester United’s goalkeeper, once enthused, ‘You want to see him during training, Waggy, when he plays in goal. He’s a better keeper than I am.’
Over the years when I’ve watched him play, I’ve never failed to marvel at his balance, his pace and his never-ending ability to beat an opponent in a new and exciting way. George had everything: he had two good feet, was as brave as a lion, was as strong as an ox and was a fantastic header of the ball. He had everything required to be the best footballer in the world… and, for me, he was. George Best was the best. I’m so proud of him and what he achieved in his short football career. I’m also proud of George Best the man, with his quiet genuine manner and casual attitude towards fame and life in general. That’s something he never lost throughout his life. George was one hell of a good human being.
That said, George was Britain’s first superstar footballer and he received neither advice nor help of any kind on how to deal with the pressure superstardom heaped on him. I only wish I could have done more to save him, especially in the latter years, but, as anyone who knew him will tell you, George was his own man and did things his own way. I used to have a go at him whenever I thought he was out of order, but it was all to no avail. So much so that he’d complain, ‘You’re like my conscience, Waggy, always sitting on my shoulder telling me how things should be done… you’re a proper nuisance.’
Sir Bobby Charlton said at the time of George’s death, ‘We at Manchester United have learned from our experience with Eric Cantona, we had to treat him differently, make allowances. If, instead of being hostile to George – which I was – we had leaned a bit his way and tried to help him, who knows?’ For my part, despite his consistent disregard for the advice I used to offer him, I did my utmost never to judge him… at the root, George and I were true friends and I loved him as a friend should… and, in return, I know he loved me. That was always the basis of our friendship.
George and I met in 1965, when he was beginning to make the headlines on the back pages of Manchester’s sports papers. It was at the end of the 1964/65 season after Manchester United, with a rampant George Best, had claimed the league title. He was 19 years old and I was 20. That was the beginning of a relationship that would see me travelling around the world with him. During the intervening 40-odd years, we’ve shared some amazing journeys to places such as Spain, South Africa, Mexico, Canada and the United States – to name but a few. During that time, life was so eventful and so exciting. We had a fabulous time together.
In May 2003, George, in the company of our mutual friend Michael Parkinson, gave an after-dinner speech at my hotel in Ramsbottom, Lancashire, in aid of ‘The Foundation for Liver Research’. After the dinner, my wife Jane was taking George and his wife Alex back to Manchester Airport for their return flight home, when I suddenly remembered I’d forgotten to ask him for some autographs for friends. I rang George in the car and explained I’d promised the autographs to some people. ‘Sorry to be a nuisance, George,’ I ended. ‘But, Waggy,’ George playfully replied, ‘you’ve been a nuisance for 40 years, why would you want to change now?’ I could hear them laughing in the car. That was the George I knew and loved.
As far as I’m concerned, nobody can say a bad word about George Best. I feel so privileged to have known him and to have been a part of his life. George did so many good things that went unheard of – visits to hospitals to brighten the lives of sick kids, helping charities whenever he could; all unreported because he wanted it that way.
I’m delighted to have been asked to write this foreword and tell you a little bit about him. I only wish that George Best was still around, so I could continue being a nuisance to him.