The Universal Language of Yeboah — YEP 18/1/25
Our helper
Words by: William Almond
Yeboah, an Akan name, means ‘our helper’. Tony Yeboah was a
pioneering African footballer whose brave and outspoken stance against racism
in European football no doubt helped other African players who came after him.
But there are people much better placed than me to talk about that incredible
impact. Tony Yeboah helped Leeds to a 5th-place finish and UEFA Cup
qualification in his first season. But you already know all that. Tony Yeboah
has always helped me in a much more banal way, yet it’s something for which I’m
eternally grateful.
Tony Yeboah is the king of small talk.
When, inevitably, someone at the pub asks who the most
famous living person is — is it the Pope? The Dalai Lama? Messi? Ronaldo? — I
am forced to say that, in my experience as a Leeds fan, the most famous living
human being is Anthony Yeboah.
Because it doesn’t seem to matter how much the person you
are struggling to talk to knows about football, they have almost always heard
of Tony Yeboah. They have seen, at an absolute minimum, two of his goals. And
as soon as you say you’re a Leeds fan, Yeboah’s box has been opened. And no
matter how stilted the conversation was before, now it is flowing.
There is a unique look that appears in people’s eyes when
they talk about Yeboah. Often when people remember something from the past
which they loved — a TV show or a childhood toy — there is a wistfulness in
their expression. I loved, yes, but I lost. With Yeboah there is none of that.
Perhaps it is that Yeboah — particularly as remembered through his most famous
goals — was such an instinctive, dynamic player. When people remember him, they
remember him without baggage, because he played like he had none.
I’ve seen that look appear on faces in cramped hostel dorms
while trying to negotiate the initial awkwardness of the fact we will all now
be sharing our most intimate moments with eleven complete strangers. I’ve seen
it appear while leaning on the end of the bar at a birthday party, on the
fringes of the conversation, chatting with a friend’s friend’s boyfriend. I’ve
seen it when hopelessly lost, alone in the countryside, trying to convince a
stranger that no, I’m not trying to rob them and yes, I do just need that phone
charger for five minutes. I’ve seen it appear while standing on a rural street
in Tanzania, and while ordering food in a fish restaurant in Hanoi.
I can’t say for certain why everyone knows and loves Yeboah,
although I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. I’m sure he’s a lovely
bloke. I think ultimately though it’s probably rooted in the simplicity of
those two goals. There is something elemental about twatting a ball as hard as
you can and then that ball bouncing off the underside of the crossbar and into
the goal that everyone can understand. It quite literally pushes at the very
boundaries of what is possible. (I’m not going to compare it to the moon
landings.)
One more lick of paint is a cliche, and an outdated one, but
what if a slightly disgruntled shift worker at the factory that produced the
goalframe had churned out one with an imperceptibly sagging crossbar. All it
would take was the lino doing pre-match checks of the goal with half a mind
already on the afterparty, and that ball would have bounced out and away. A
shot recorded in the stats, but essentially forgotten forever.
That didn’t happen though. And now everyone knows who Tony
Yeboah is, and small talk is solved. I was three years old when Tony Yeboah
left Leeds, so I never saw him play in the flesh, but he has followed me around
for almost all of my thirty years. Of course he achieved much greater things in
a phenomenal career, but I will be forever grateful for that. Cheers, Tony. ⬢