The reaction to the article I wrote about Jack Grealish last week has been massive, with many agreeing he needs to curb his partying ways to ensure he gets the most out of his talent – but plenty disagreeing as well.
I’ve actually been appalled by the number of pundits, professionals, former professionals and supporters who fell into the latter camp, and who have spent the past few days lapping up pictures of him partying in Las Vegas and cheering on Jack The Lad. I can guarantee him now that those same people will be the ones hammering him for being a lush when he has a dip in form.
The twenty-something Daves, who can’t wait to pat you on the back at a bar and offer to buy you a drink, are, more often than not, the first to boo you at games, coat you on social media and sell you out for a few quid if opportunity knocks. I know this because, as I said in the piece, I’ve been where he is now. And only those who care about Jack – and about his family – will give it to him straight, which is why I don’t mind doing it.
