IN THE FLOW

A meeting in heaven between Sir Alf Ramsey and Jimi Hendrix.
 
JIMI: Hey man, Sir Alf, how’s it goin’? Everythin’, uh, outta sight?”
 
SIR ALF: Indeed. As well as can be expected. All things considered.”
 
JIMI: How’s the team comin’? How’s the Big Guy doin’? Gotta be a trip coaching the Son of God, man.
 
SIR ALF: Well yes, He’s a good captain. No Bobby Moore though. Still has a lot of trouble with the dead ball. Keeps bringing it back to life.
 
JIMI: Bummer
 
SIR ALF: And I just can’t get Him used to only having ten teammates. Keeps asking for twelve. Told Him, this is not the Galillee League now. Big game coming up against Archangel United. My spies tell me they have a couple of good wingers.
 
JIMI: Sounds like you don’t have a prayer, man.
 
SIR ALF: On the contrary, we have too blessed many. Can’t hear yourself think sometimes, much less drill the finer points of the offside trap.
 
JIMI: Are they experienced?
 
SIR ALF: Not really, no. John the Baptist is prone to panic in defense, loses his head. Thomas seems to lack confidence. And how can anyone trust Judas?
 
JIMI: Chill out, Sir Alf. Like I was just telling Brian Jones, time is on our side, yes it is. As in Eternity, man.
 
SIR ALF: Is it though? I have a feeling we’ll need to win in regulation time. I mean, just how do you play extra time in Eternity? But that’s not why I asked to talk to you.
 
JIMI: Yeah what can I do to help man?
 
SIR ALF: Well, I hear that you used to be something of a voodoo child
 
JIMI: Shush man, like cool it. I don’t like to talk about that stuff up here.
 
SIR ALF: Oh, yes of course. How silly of me. Sorry. It’s just that I need you to try and influence one of the living.
 
JIMI: The living?
 
SIR ALF: Let me explain. Ever since 1966 the England national soccer team haven’t won anything. Frankly they’ve been mediocre at best and often downright terrible.
 
JIMI: Yeah, ’66 was a good year for me too, man. Came to London, first hit record.
 
SIR ALF: You see there’s this mortal who believes that his guitar playing can influence the way a team he’s watching plays. He thinks that if his playing flows perfectly then so will England’s play. I believe it’s called (glances round nervously) sympathetic magic. I need you to touch this boy’s playing the next time he watches an England game. Just give him five minutes of your flow, right on 40 and 85 minutes if you can manage it.
 
JIMI: Uh, I dunno Sir Alf, man. Sounds kinda desperate. Like clutching at straws.
 
SIR ALF: Oh believe me, a large part of managing the England team consists entirely of desperately clutching at straws.
 
JIMI: Well, I’ll see what I can do. Never easy getting through to the living though. Now if you’ll excuse me while I kiss the sky …
 
 
I have a 1994 black, American-made Fender Stratocaster that I like to play while I’m watching soccer games. When my blues riffs are in the flow, even in pale imitation of his Jiminess – Hendrix be his name – then Manchester United’s play will be flowing. Their defense will be rock steady, the midfield will be in the right key, and their strikers will be on song. But a bum B natural where there should be a B flat and Paul Scholes will play an uncharacteristically sloppy ball and gift the opposition. If I want to see Valencia tear into a startled formation of defenders I know I had better be spraying out riffs like a drug-crazed rabbit chasing an amphetamine-fueled carrot. My hammer-ons, pull-offs and string bends are the marionette strings that cause those mesmerizing feet to caress, stroke and wave over the ball like a master magician about to produce an eighty mile an hour cannonball into the roof of the net.