Banksy: My Autobiography by Gordon Banks
By Gordon Banks
For ten years Gordon Banks used to be commonly said to be the simplest goalkeeper on this planet, and, might be, the simplest there is ever been. in addition to gamers like Bobby Moore, Banks was once first on Sir Alf Ramsey's teamsheet - England's number 1 in either 1966 and 1970. yet in his best, months after being named 1972 Footballer of the yr, it used to be all lower brief while Banks misplaced an eye fixed in a motor vehicle crash. He defied clinical opinion by means of struggling with his long ago onto the soccer box finishing his occupation fidgeting with different legends like Pele, George most sensible and Franz Beckenbauer within the fledgeling North American League. This publication is the tale of a real English hero and an account of England's best footballing years.
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To watch a team called Millspaugh. I was standing on the touchline waiting for the match to start when the Millspaugh trainer approached me. ’ he asked. The Millspaugh goalkeeper hadn’t turned up. Would I fancy a game? My fatigue vanished and I immediately raced home to collect my football boots. The trainer gave me a goalkeeper’s jersey, but no shorts or football socks – the players, it seemed, provided their own. It was too late to go back now, so I played in my working trousers and everyday socks.
She never talked about her work there or the people she worked for. I suppose she felt it her duty not to gossip, not to ‘carry tales’ as she called it. The family must have treated her well – she certainly wouldn’t have stayed in that house if she hadn’t been treated with respect. The only regular time Mam spent away from the daily chores of our house was when she went to do similar work in the Big House. Looking back, Mam’s quality of life must have been pretty awful. Dad rarely took her out, even for an hour to the local pub.
All your experience and technique takes over. The skills I had acquired through countless hours of practice and study had become what psychologists call ‘overlearned’, or, in layman’s terms, second nature. I suddenly found myself at a forty-degree angle with my right hand stretching out toward the post, my eyes trained on the quickly descending ball. One thing did flash through my mind: If I do make contact, I’ll not hold this. Instinct, over-learning, call it what you will – I knew that if I made contact with the ball, I had to get it up in the air.