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If the Sun really wants to help Paul Gascoigne, it should leave him alone If the Sun really wants to help Paul Gascoigne, it should leave him alone
(2 months later)
The Sun has decided to save Gazza. Its front page photographically records his recent dive into the gutter (or his "shocking relapse" as the paper primly puts it). A headline request is directed to England (less, of course, Liverpool, where they still use the Sun for toilet paper): "Our plea to pubs, shops and fans: Don't give Gazza drink". The page itself comprises a "cut out and keep" poster of Gazza warning landlords and shop assistants not to serve him and wannabe friends not to stand him a drink. "Once, Gazza inspired the nation," reads the accompanying editorial. "Maybe the nation can save him".The Sun has decided to save Gazza. Its front page photographically records his recent dive into the gutter (or his "shocking relapse" as the paper primly puts it). A headline request is directed to England (less, of course, Liverpool, where they still use the Sun for toilet paper): "Our plea to pubs, shops and fans: Don't give Gazza drink". The page itself comprises a "cut out and keep" poster of Gazza warning landlords and shop assistants not to serve him and wannabe friends not to stand him a drink. "Once, Gazza inspired the nation," reads the accompanying editorial. "Maybe the nation can save him".
Paul Gascoigne, for whom one feels genuinely sorry, poor sod, finds himself in a horribly difficult and very dangerous place. He currently occupies the position of the British people's "beloved drunkard". That slot used to be occupied by George Best. Before that, Oliver Reed – he who claimed to have drunk 100 pints of beer over a weekend (there's a biography of him just published, What Fresh Lunacy is This? that meticulously chronicles Ollie's heroic drinking). One could extend the BD list: Peter O'Toole, Richard Burton, Keith Moon, Amy Winehouse (beloved drunkenness is an equal-opportunity position). All of them could claim, in their swilling days, the title Gazza now holds.Paul Gascoigne, for whom one feels genuinely sorry, poor sod, finds himself in a horribly difficult and very dangerous place. He currently occupies the position of the British people's "beloved drunkard". That slot used to be occupied by George Best. Before that, Oliver Reed – he who claimed to have drunk 100 pints of beer over a weekend (there's a biography of him just published, What Fresh Lunacy is This? that meticulously chronicles Ollie's heroic drinking). One could extend the BD list: Peter O'Toole, Richard Burton, Keith Moon, Amy Winehouse (beloved drunkenness is an equal-opportunity position). All of them could claim, in their swilling days, the title Gazza now holds.
What BDs have in common are two things. Their excesses are hugely deplored, but hugely publicised. Their relapses are paparazzi gold. They are stalked by men with invasive lenses. The Sun's front and inner pages must have hit their "repro budget" massively. But, what the hell, everyone's interested in Gazza – the man whose golden feet represented England – lying legless in the dog droppings and other drunks' vomit.What BDs have in common are two things. Their excesses are hugely deplored, but hugely publicised. Their relapses are paparazzi gold. They are stalked by men with invasive lenses. The Sun's front and inner pages must have hit their "repro budget" massively. But, what the hell, everyone's interested in Gazza – the man whose golden feet represented England – lying legless in the dog droppings and other drunks' vomit.
We love our iconic drunks: those who, so to speak, "drink for England". They don't, as do nasty drunks sitting alongside us in the underground carriage, frighten or disgust us. Just the opposite. We feel real tenderness for them. One doesn't need Sigmund Freud to explain why we have this ambivalent attitude to our BDs.We love our iconic drunks: those who, so to speak, "drink for England". They don't, as do nasty drunks sitting alongside us in the underground carriage, frighten or disgust us. Just the opposite. We feel real tenderness for them. One doesn't need Sigmund Freud to explain why we have this ambivalent attitude to our BDs.
This, one thinks (as one merrily exceeds those measly 21 units the 'authorities' allow us), is what a "real alcoholic" is. Not us. I'm safe. Tolstoy has a bitter paragraph about friends visiting the dying Ivan Ilich. There is a spring in their step as they leave him, thinking "it's not me, it's not me". That's what the 10% of the population who are problem drinkers (300,000 of them, presumably, Sun subscribers) will think.This, one thinks (as one merrily exceeds those measly 21 units the 'authorities' allow us), is what a "real alcoholic" is. Not us. I'm safe. Tolstoy has a bitter paragraph about friends visiting the dying Ivan Ilich. There is a spring in their step as they leave him, thinking "it's not me, it's not me". That's what the 10% of the population who are problem drinkers (300,000 of them, presumably, Sun subscribers) will think.
Chances are, if he goes on this way, Gazza won't last much longer. Every time a "periodic" falls off the wagon they hit the ground harder. And if he really wants to drink, flapping posters on the pub and off-licence wall will have even less prohibitory effect than those pious "UR16?" queries. Amazon, for God's sake, delivers the stuff (no delivery charge in the UK).Chances are, if he goes on this way, Gazza won't last much longer. Every time a "periodic" falls off the wagon they hit the ground harder. And if he really wants to drink, flapping posters on the pub and off-licence wall will have even less prohibitory effect than those pious "UR16?" queries. Amazon, for God's sake, delivers the stuff (no delivery charge in the UK).
How, then, to save Gazza? Dr Bob and Bill W would tell you. The only way is to give the man what the media expressly don't intend to give him: anonymity. The core principle of AA, is that your chances of recovering are best if you attend meetings stripped of identity. That way you don't drag a Marley's chain of shame and misdoing behind you. But there's not the slightest hope of Paul Gascoigne getting that anonymity – he's the nation's beloved drunk, he's a story – and the biggest of all will be that last, lethal, binge. The dreary routine of Gazza cleaning up, Gazza on the sauce again has become popular theatre. If we really want to help him, leave the man alone.How, then, to save Gazza? Dr Bob and Bill W would tell you. The only way is to give the man what the media expressly don't intend to give him: anonymity. The core principle of AA, is that your chances of recovering are best if you attend meetings stripped of identity. That way you don't drag a Marley's chain of shame and misdoing behind you. But there's not the slightest hope of Paul Gascoigne getting that anonymity – he's the nation's beloved drunk, he's a story – and the biggest of all will be that last, lethal, binge. The dreary routine of Gazza cleaning up, Gazza on the sauce again has become popular theatre. If we really want to help him, leave the man alone.
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