Category Archives: sport

Dear Football

Posted on by
3

This is a love letter. To the ‘Beautiful Game’, as they call you.

We’re certainly in love with you at Shrewsbury.  Salopians had a hand in drafting the original rules of the game.  Blackburn Rovers took their colours from Shrewsbury School. 

We’re in a long-term relationship: it’s a faithful marriage that is also a love affair.

History records that only four schools have won both the English Schools’ U18 FA Cup and the Independent Schools FA Cup.  Shrewsbury is one of them.  Having reached the final of the ESFA in 2023, our boys went one better the following year, winning the Cup in a thrilling final at the Bet365 stadium (home of Championship side Stoke City) in May 2024.

Football – like all competitive sport – feeds on hope.  It brings so many of life’s emotions into its rectangle of grass.  At its best, it creates meaning, belonging, joy. Moments of shared disappointment and despair too. Controversy. Disputed decisions. VAR…

The exquisite simplicity of the scoring system amplifies this commotion of emotion.

Defeat stings. The last minute goal. The dip in form. The injury list. The dodgy signing. The clean sheet sullied. The open goal missed. The penalty fluffed.

And the penalty saved!

Because always, it seems, the wellspring of hope is refreshed. The love flows again.

Moments of individual brilliance. The training ground move that clicks. The team goal. The giant-killing. The comeback. The eerie silence, all eyes fixed, breath held, as ball heads toward net. The 98th minute winner. The ecstasy!

At its worst, of course, it can attract jingoism, tribalism, ugliness, violence.  Dissent and disagreement. Disrespect for authority. There are times when we might wish for more ‘rugby-style’ respect for the ref. There are times when we might feel the game is going to the dogs. That money, TV rights, and all the trappings of fame, the daily media circus, have made the game lose its way.

Football is a results business, as the coaches, managers and pundits often say. The ability to grind out wins may trump playing the game beautifully. But, it is the way we play that really matters – surely…? (Tell that to Shrewsbury Town, currently rooted to the foot of the League 1 table [12 December 2024] with 11 points from 18 games….).

All the more significant then, that at Shrewsbury School, it is not so much the results that we celebrate – though there is much to cheer in both our girls’ and boys’ programme.

Rather, and above all, it is the culture on and off the pitch that makes me rejoice.  The values upheld by the coaching staff.  The loyal but respectful support of the crowd.  The commitment to passionate but fair play.  The attitude to training. 

The beautiful fact is that everyone, at whatever level, boy or girl, junior or senior, can always improve.

And so, we stay in love with the beautiful game.

Shrewsbury School crowned ESFA U18 National Champions | News | Shrewsbury School

Afternote:

All games are beautiful to me! See Dear Cricket. And others to follow…

Dear Charles – on the origin of ‘On the Origin…’

Posted on by
Reply

On the 166th anniversary (24 November 2025) of the publication of the world’s most famous science book (what are the other serious rivals for this title?), a few short reflections on the work that made your name a global badge of courageous learning.

Firstly, the title: it’s something of a mouthful.

‘On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life’. I think I read that you (and your publisher, John Murray) toyed with at least seven different options. Nowadays, many will refer to your book as ‘the origin of species’. Not many will have read its title fully – never mind its contents. And yet, the ideas created new worlds of thinking.

Secondly: the ‘great delay’.

Famously, you waited 20 years to publish. Two decades. Was this a matter of deliberation? ‘Should I? Shouldn’t I?’ Was it a matter of fear? Or was it a scholarly commitment to getting it right? Commenting on the effect of this lengthy keeping under wraps, you said you didn’t regret holding it back. Indeed, that it was all the better for the waiting.

In these times of instant, unfiltered communication, the astonishing length of this wait strikes me yet harder. And the risk too, surely – as others were also onto these ideas – Alfred Russell Wallace, for example. Others could have eclipsed you, Charles. How did you hold onto something so explosive for so long?!

Thirdly: the courage.

This surely relates to the delay. You knew that what you were proposing was seismic. You knew that when it was finally released, it would catapult you into unquantifiable territory. This third thing then, is a thing of courage. To travel, to gather evidence, to consider and ruminate, and write new worlds. And to have the courage to publish.

Fourthly: your own origins. At Shrewsbury School.

Although it is said that you found your school days at Shrewsbury hard going (too much Latin, not enough free thinking), I like to imagine that you would relish the contemporary whole person education on offer today. You would love the ‘serious fun’, the dialogue, the championing of the individual. As it was, the educational grounding you were given provided the boundaries and limits against which you ultimately pushed. Perhaps the relative confinement of formal education back then was essential to your origins as a thinker?

Storms followed you. Billions of words have been written and said about your masterwork. I add these tiny droplets to this vast ocean. 166 years on, I celebrate the ground-breaking power of the 20 year-delayed 150,000 words that set sail under your epic title:  ‘On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life’.

166 years on, children from all around the world can come to Shrewsbury School to find our more – and visit our unique collection of Darwin-related items. Including first editions of your most famous work…

2025 Edition

Dear Emma

Featured

Posted on by
3

It seems that the whole world wants a tiny slice of your time and your head must be spinning. Yet, as with everything else apparently, you have it all under control.

18 years old, Grand Slam champion, instant global icon. Seeing how you played; seeing how you talk about how you played, sends us all to raid the thesaurus.

Gutsy, courageous, spirited.

Composed, cool-headed, calm under pressure.

Exuberant, joyful, zesty.

Authentic, grounded, genuine.

The real deal.

A champion.

Already an icon.

See the source image
Emma Raducanu – Image from SkySports

Your style of play makes you a mesmerising watch. Your conduct off the court is equally compelling.

Few will experience the scrutiny that you have already been exposed to – and at such a young age. Not many have accomplished a breakthrough quite as explosive as yours. And at the age of 18.

I think back to my 18 year old self. Best not to dwell too long on the messy mix of self-doubt and self-righteousness; flashes of confidence undercut by a need for acceptance, validation, the applause of the crowd. Faults and double faults smoke-screened by bluster. It was all McEnroe and not enough Borg in my case. (That dates me). It was the line judges. The racquet. The sun in my eyes. The cross wind that made me fluff the ball toss. Yes, it took me a long while to take responsibility.

Then there’s you. Not only a champion, an athlete, a history-maker, an achiever of sporting miracles. But also, it seems, utterly unfazed by the feverish swirl of the moment. You are at home with yourself and your surroundings. Poised. At one with yourself. Real.

We have a saying at my school – Intus Si Recte Ne Labora: “If right within, worry not“. In your game, you have to stay within the lines. Yet you do it with such freedom. You make exceptional look so easy. Something so sublime, so uncomplicated in its excellence is the fruit of hard work; of gifts diligently cultivated.

You praised your parents – for their strong values and demanding standards; you deflected glory onto your team; the support of others. All true, and deserved praise, no doubt.

But let’s be honest. This is about you. You radiate something purely brilliant. You are right within. And you will inspire others – many many others – to discover and share their light.

Character as true and as luminous as yours can only come from within. From the person you are. You have lit up the sporting world. As you go on, surely to further glories, I hope your unique light shines on unfiltered and true.

Dear Cricket

Featured

Posted on by
11

This is a love letter.

You know the old saying: ‘Out of sight, out of mind”?  Well, that couldn’t be further from the truth for me.  The longer you are away, the more I miss you.  Every saying has its opposite.  With you, it’s definitely a matter of ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’.

It’s just not the same without you.  Summer is on its way and the stage is set.  And yes, of course, I completely understand why you can’t be here.  It’s not your fault.  You are a stickler for the rules and are rightly taking your responsibilities seriously.  I know we need to do the right thing and stay apart.

My head tells me this.  Of course, it does.  But my heart?  It longs for you.

I miss the sight of you.  The theatre of green in which you play out your many acts.  The drama of each moment, rich with potential, as something might happen, or not, with the very next ball.  The eager mobilisation of the players, white-clad on the green grass, at the end of the over.

I miss the sound of you.  The thud of ball on ‘deck’; the solid ‘thock’ of willow on leather that sets off a soothing ripple of applause.  The charged, low rev, anticipatory silence between balls.  The slow-moving silence of quiet overs, where sleep seems just around the corner.  The eruption of a wicket.  The sporting greeting of seeing a new adversary to the crease.  The push and pull of players calling to each other.  ‘Come on buddy’.  ‘Next ball’.  ‘Nice areas’.  You can be quite noisy too.  Remember Saturdays at Headingley.  Quite the party animal…

I miss the shape of you. Whether it’s the Friday night friskiness of T20 or the sedate Sunday best of a test.  Or on your days off, casually attired in the back garden.  You look great in anything, really.  I was looking forward to seeing you in your new Hundred get-up. 

I miss the smell of you.  Cut grass.  Linseed oil.  The occasional waft of beer or ice cream on a gentle summer breeze.  Other people’s fancy picnics.

I miss the way you talk.  All stats and facts; and poetry and jokes and random diversions; the idle chat; the shared speculation. 

And, your greatest charm: uncertainty of outcome.

View of the playing fields at Shrewsbury. A perfect setting in which to watch and play cricket.

It’s true, I’m remembering the very best of you.  The perfect days we had together.  You do have your moments: rainy days when the covers stay on and you refuse to come out to play; dull days when you can’t find a way to make life interesting.  Honestly, though, those grey days don’t linger in the memory. 

And until you do, I’m going to read your old love letters.  I shan’t dwell on the difficult days.  I’m going to look at photos and films of what we did last summer.  Lord’s, then Headingley.  Wow.  Or our trips to Australia – say, Melbourne 2010?  Other happy times at home: Edgbaston or Old Trafford in 2005.  Or back again to Headingley, in 1981, when we were just starting out together.  Ah, those early days… 

And so on, I’ll keep playing back the memories until you’re back here by my side.

A summer without you?  It’s just not cricket.  So, please, come back soon. 

[Written during the first COVID-19 Lockdown of 2020. A summer when there was no cricket in England – even though it is a game well-suited to social distancing!]