By Mike Nevin
FIRST of all, let me say this; Mark Lawrenson was a brilliant footballer. A brilliant, talented, committed footballer who wore the Liver Bird with absolute distinction.
We noticed when his wrists went a bit limp as he galloped back into back into his own half to partner Jockey Hansen, but he was forgiven on account of the preceding masculine, rapier-like charge from defence.
We ignored the dodgy local rumour mill, given credence by Lawrenson’s tragic, George Michaelesque barnet and his obvious love of two of the daftest-looking fucking dogs ever born of a litter. We ignored this because he was a class act in a red shirt.
A footballer’s’ time is called quickly, in Lawrenson’s case even more prematurely so when an Achilles injury cut short his career. A brief, unsuccessful sojourn into management followed, made memorable only by the unfortunate association with that mad bastard, Robert Maxwell.
Then, slowly, indeed stealthily, Mark Lawrenson, ex-Liverpool and Republic of Ireland toggerist of the finest repute, via the medium of Football Focus, once the classy preserve of Bob Wilson and Jimmy Hill, and later, the Match of the Day couch, morphed into the dreadful creature we know now only as “Lawro”. Among a myriad of singularly-named “stars”, only “Bono” rivals “Lawro” for cuntishness.
It would be easy to stop at is his clichéd mispronunciation of the not so difficult word, “moment”, as part of the stock-in-trade, blood-curdling phrase “at the meeerment”. I suppose he can be forgiven for this on the basis that he’s got a voice that if it were a handshake, would be described as a “wet kipper”.
However, let’s not stop there.
Instead let’s explore how this miserable, sour-faced wool, really gets our goat. Well for a start, he’s fucking shit at his job, in particular as a supposed foil to the Beeb’s proud array of oh-so un-rehearsed, new-age commentators. Instead of adding some tactical insight to a commentator’s description of the action, “Lawro” prefers to be heard moaning away in the background, sounding vaguely like Quentin Crisp, about just how shit it is to be there.
Occasionally – for our benefit apparently – he’ll amuse himself with low-level puns, that if heard among a group of mates in a Liverpool pub would grant the reply, “Oh just fuck off, you unfunny twat”
Not for Lawro then, an appreciation of being paid for working in a fantastic, vibrant arena, watching professionals operating at the highest level of their sport.
If listening to co-commentator “Lawro” is more painful than snapping your banjo string; when sat on a Footy Focus couch, he’s even more excruciating. In tandem with his old sidekick on Match of the Day, he’s made me start to hate the hitherto smooth-as silk Hansen, who I now visualise as a wooden, ventriloquists’ dummy spouting repetitive shite about “pace and strenth and talent and ability”
Being on “panel” comes with the immediate drawback that you can actually see “Lawro”. This in itself is enough to make you want to top yourself.
Adhering perfectly to his blag-Irish, Preston background his dress sense is criminal – God-awful stonewash jeans, tucked into lurid shirts that would be knocked back by semi-naked Somalian refugees.
And then, to top it off, there’s his actual face. A congenital downturned mouth, making him one of the 3 men remaining on this earth who should have realised they actually suit a muzzy. (The other two are Sam Allardyce and a fat guy who lives on the outskirts of Bosnia-Herzegovina).
Add to this, nightmare inducing, massively-oversized teeth (some of which are false) and guarantee if you ever have the misfortune to dream about “Lawro” there’s a chance you’ll pass away in your sleep.
His lank, greying hair is a disgrace as well, but no more than a clear refusal to gen up a bit and earn the small fortune he earns from his dopey BBC paymasters.
Mike is the co-author of ‘On the March with Kenny’s Army’ – The definitive social and sporting account of Liverpool FC’s League and Cup Double season 1985-86 and you can pick up your copy here
I was in stitches reading this, so so true.
The other two are Sam Allardyce and a fat guy who lives on the outskirts of Bosnia-Herzegovina
Funny and true
You forgot to mention that, despite winning trophies with LFC and being heralded as a hero for years, he does not have a good word to say about Liverpool Football Club. He hasn’t for as long as I can remember. He instead chooses to spend his time highligting our mistakes, villifying our players and bemoaning our manager(s) and tactics.
He also appears to think that Man Utd and Alex Ferguson can do no wrong.
We’ve fallen from grace sure enough, but a little loyality wouldn’t go amiss…”Lawro”
LCG that is very true and I think more then others Lawro has forgotten that football has moved on and the club has been destroyed almost to the brink of liquidation so he needs to get off our backs and give more support to the club that’s made his life aswell as he served our club, both go hand in hand. Lawro may want to look down the M62 and view Mr Neville, he even got his first decent haircut in his life just because he wants to be good at his job and do all he can to work on his public image , Take Note “Lawro” and its a sad day when I have to go that low.
The effective seperation of player and human embarrasment into 2 beings… Brilliant Mike
I am in so much pain from laughing so hard that I think I’ve got a hernia.
I want more, MORE I tell you…
Leave Bono out of it though.
“Among a myriad of singularly-named “stars”, only “Bono” rivals “Lawro” for cuntishness.” Bahahahahahaha.
“merment” ….Was waiting to see if anyone brought up his quashed vowel pronunciation.
Re Bono and any wanker who forgets his name I now declare we should from here on in call him Bone-o. That should annoy the cunt that he is.
Not happy with the blag-Irish and I hope I’m backed up on that one. At least he doesn’t call England WE (i haven’t heard him say it) unlike others I won’t mention.
Ditto. I think blag-Irish is unfair. He was great in the green shirt. It should also be noted that while Lawro’s tone is a pure whine, his written copy as featured in the Irish Times on international matters (probably told over the phone to a hack, but still) was actually quite good. Not sure about the repeated digs at Lawro’s supposed effeteness either. Have to say I hadn’t really noticed.
Meeerment, fucking hysterical.
So true, so hilarious, so brilliant to read that Mike. I had the misfortune to bump into him at my daughters end of year school awards – he has one of those squashed New Range Rover things – says it all!
“Among a myriad of singularly-named “stars”, only “Bono” rivals “Lawro” for cuntishness.”
Forget his looks, forget his accent, all you need to remember is: “Good, we can get on with the football now”
He also says ‘even stevens’. I honestly think he’s the only person on the planet who says that since 1986.
In Dortmund, while I was enjoying our post victory celebrations in 2001, I caught out of the corner of my eye, a trio of former playing legends walking along the touchline, seemingly making for the exit.
The three, Dalglish, Hansen and Lawrenson joined in the celebrations aplauding the crowd and fist pumping in our general direction as they passed.Kenny had a smile on his face as wide as the goal he walked behind, and Hasen too was briming with joy. They were one of us for that brief moment.
Then I clocked Lawro’s coupon. He was smiling too, but in a fashion that is distinctly Lawro. It was the smile we all reserve for well meaning relatives when they hand us a really shit christmas present. I cant ever remember wanting to punch someone so much in my entire life. The meeeerment was ruined.
Fuck you Lawro!
Maybe, just maybe, the bitterness stems from the manner of his retirement from the game. Liverpool v Wimbledon, March 1987, Lawro, catches his studs in the Anfield turf and ruptures his Achilles tendon. Against medical advice, he attempts a comeback, but eventually has to retire, he is only 29. He had many more years left to offer, Bob Paisley, wrote that he saw him running around with trophies for a few years to come. His loss was never identified as a priority, and with the retirement of Alan Hansen in 1990, it would be many years before we signed players who came remotely close to the class of Lawro and Jocky