A special player — on and off the pitch

DANCING SHOES: THE GEORGE BEST STORY, Lowry, Salford
BEFORE George Best came along, football had been that sport stocky men with heavy boots played on Saturday afternoons (or in short bursts on the BBC on Saturday night).

There had been great players before: his beloved Manchester United was made up of several of them. But George was the first soccer superstar, no question.

The slight teenager made his first appearance for United aged 17 in 1963 and took remarkably few years to become European Footballer of the Year. Maybe that was his undoing: far too much, far too quickly, at a time when no-one really knew how to handle the pressure.

Whatever it was, you are pretty much left to wonder for yourself how Best the boy became the louche who partied 24-hours-a-day and eventually drank two livers away. In Martin Lynch and Marie Jones’ play, he just did.

But that doesn’t make it a bad evening; far from it. What “Dancing Shoes” loses in considered analysis it more than makes up for in rough and ready energy; a charm in leading man Aidan O’Neill and a very hard-working supporting cast that renders the lack of depth irrelevant. This musical comes to praise Bestie, not to dissect him.

In its early scenes the show reminded me of the childhood sections in Willy Russell’s Blood Brothers: not as polished, but just as much fun. And later, when George heads for Manchester, his camaraderie with fellow trainees and feistiness with fellow Belfast boy Harry Gregg as well as legendary manager Sir Matt Busby are all galloped-through with a lightness of touch and deference to Best’s then-growing iconic status.

There are scenes in his club, Slack Alice, with his women, and touching scenes with his family and friends back home. The songs aren’t up to much but don’t outstay their welcome. What there is very little of is football, but we don’t miss it.

And there are treasurable scenes, especially one in which Paddy Jenkins assumes the flamboyance of the drugs and booze-addled meltdown that was Alex Higgins in a sort of “who’s got the worse disease” scene.

“I’ve got bronchial pneumonia...” says George. “That’s naff all...” says Higgins (and I’ve cleaned that up).

I’m not a big soccer fan but I admire greatness. What this strongly entertaining evening does is give George his due, even if he never gave it to himself.