The King is dead, long live the King!

On the 29th day of December 2022 the greatest footballer in the history of the beautiful game closed his eyes and took his last breath.

“The King” died. As can be expected, my first emotion was one of a depressing sadness, then the medical person in me recalled that this great man was no longer suffering, no longer in pain, no longer to grin and bear the ravages of chemotherapy that the attempts by all to prolong his life left him alone to bear. He is no longer in pain, the pain that began as his skill and prowess as a magician on the football field forced him to receive medical treatment after nearly every game that he played.

In the World Cup in England in 1966 the relentless attack — not on the player but his knee — forced him to “promise” never to play in another World Cup. Thankfully, that was one of the few promises that he broke, and football fans around the world were eternally grateful. The world will know of all his football exploits — from his embarrassment of a goalie after scoring from almost the half line to his mesmerising runs in every country that he played, including Jamaica.

But there is another side of this GOAT (greatest of all time) that affected me many years ago during a tournament in Trinidad. I was the ‘drug tester’ at a tournament upon completion of which there was the usual official dinner where the winners and outstanding performers would be recognised and rewarded. I was early to the function and took a seat in the centre of a large round table with places set for eight people. The head table was on a raised platform with places for the designated heads of the football associations of the competing nations, along with the centre spot reserved for the man himself — the King.

As the room filled with guests and officials there was a marked hush as the King and his entourage entered. Spontaneous cheers erupted as the King made his way to his seat. After he was seated the room became eerily quiet as we awaited the start of the programme. Then, the King beckoned to an aide and (as I was later informed) asked why the centre table directly in front only had one guest. The King was told that the only occupant at the table was the “disgusting” drug tester. No one, apparently, wanted to be near such a disgusting person. Well the King got up and came to sit beside the disgusting drug tester, striking up a conversation, in English, as to where the tester was from and other small talk. Soon the table was filled with other officials who apparently now realised where their designated seats were. The King eventually went back to the head table, with the disgusting drug tester now among friends who all seemed to be experts at small talk. I have never forgotten that moment.

As a disgusting drug tester I was used to being treated as a pariah whenever I arrived at a venue to do testing. But, the action of the King on that night in Trinidad did a lot to convince me that there were some in sport who only voiced support of drug testing while making life very uncomfortable for those who carry out the tests. But, here was the world’s greatest footballer, by his actions, supporting the efforts of the authorities in identifying and sanctioning those that use, and support the use of, performing-enhancing substances and methods in sport.

The King was more than a great footballer — he was a man! He will forever be my King.

Dr Paul Wright, an orthopaedic surgeon, sports medicine specialist, and horse racing industry official, works in the private and public health sectors.