The ill-advised words that will forever haunt Dawson

The day after Matt Dawson's literary endeavours in a rival newspaper had him up before the Lions management on a charge of conduct prejudicial to good touring order and discipline, I unearthed a small faded document of the sort once routinely issued to members of England's football squad. It was an itinerary that concluded with the stern warning, set in bold type, that players were not permitted to comment on team affairs or incidents in matches.

Doubtless, there are people who look upon this as a denial of free speech, and to some extent they are right. However, sports performers of the day, all of whom were subject to similar restrictions when on international duty, seemed to accept it as a safeguard against outbreaks of emotional disturbance. At a time when the financial rewards in sport did not provide for even a comfortable retirement, the very idea of players contributing signed articles to newspapers would have caused apoplexy among the authorities.

Times have changed, maybe for the worse, maybe for the better. But certainly different values have come to exist since rugby union embraced professionalism. It is in this context that Dawson has to be judged, even if the judgement finds him out as a player with his mind as much on the perks as brethren in other games.

Whether Dawson would have been so eager to criticise punishing fitness routines, hard-headed coaching and the apparent establishment of an élite group had he been closer to Test selection is a matter for conjecture. Dawson was not alone in finding fault but, as Michael Lynagh said on television this week, he will not easily live down the reputation formed by indiscreet publication of his views.

Since it is common today for newspapers of every kind to carry columns by sports performers, it should be made clear that few of the big names involved have happened upon a talent for journalism, although there are notable exceptions. For example, until he was cruelly cast aside by an editor who had no feel for the essential romance of sport, only its shallower values, the late Tottenham and Northern Ireland captain Danny Blanchflower composed terrific columns for the Sunday Express when it was a proper newspaper. Like his books, they were all his own work.

Blanchflower, incidentally, did more than anyone to gain footballers the right to free speech that now enables them further profit from their prowess. Called to account by the directors of Tottenham – a miserable bunch – after he was hired by a daily newspaper, Blanchflower not only stood out against their opposition but refused to submit his column for their approval. One big difference between Blanchflower and Dawson is that he did not require a ghost writer. Another is that while he was prepared to express quite controversial views about the wider issues of sport (he campaigned vigorously for the removal of the maximum wage in football) he never embarrassed the coaches with whom he worked.

From time to time down the years, ghost-writers have made sports performers look pretty foolish. When, in retirement, the great Tom Finney was employed by the News of the World, his ghost began a report of a game dominated by Liverpool as follows: "Bill Shankly's red army went to the top of the First Division yesterday with a performance reminiscent of Russian tanks rolling into Prague... writes Tom Finney as told to..."

Blanchflower apart, one or two old players could turn a phrase. The late Newcastle and Sunderland hero Len Shackleton frequently did when employed by the People. It was in the dark winter of one season that Shackleton turned his caustic wit on a Sunderland inside-forward whose preferred direction of passing was square across the field. Shackleton's report began with the words: "At 4.30 yesterday George Herd played his first forward pass of the season." Looking back on a miserable derby between his old clubs, Shackleton wrote: "Newcastle and Sunderland are going places next season – Grimsby, Barnsley, Port Vale..."

In the sweet long ago, trying to earn a crust, I produced columns for the late Wolverhampton Wanderers manager Stan Cullis and Denis Law that were syndicated in provincial newspapers. Cullis was convinced that he was reading his own work, not my doctored version. Law had no such illusions.

"Yes, that sounds good," he would say when an idea was put to him. Then came the day when Pat Crerand intruded upon one of our conversations. "You'll have to stop writing this stuff for Denis," he said. "People are starting to think that he knows something about the game."

Another story goes that the author George Plimpton was so taken by a column under Max Faulkner's name that he included it an anthology of golf writing. Faulkner described going to the first tee in the 1951 Open at Royal Portrush, holding a two-shot lead, when a boy stepped forward in pursuit of an autograph. Reaching for a ball, Faulkner inscribed it with the phrase: "Max Faulkner, Open Champion". One night in a New York restaurant, Plimpton came across Faulkner's celebrated ghost. "Marvellous tale," he said. The ghost smiled back. "Total balls," he said, "made the whole thing up."

That's the trouble with ghost-written articles. You can never be sure that you are getting the truth. The truth about Dawson, his own words or not, is that his outburst was unforgivable. It will take more than Tuesday's match-winning pressure kick to put that right.