'That can't be George Best, he's drinking tea!' quipped Joanni Lane, the wife of horse trainer and former Jockey Club steward Geoff Lane, as she looked on at a Wednesday night race meeting at Happy Valley in the early '80s. 'It is, and yes, he is drinking TEA!' I replied. At the time George, or Besty as we called him, was a guest of Caroline Hill Football Club, who then played in Hong Kong's First Division. The grand old lady of Hong Kong football, Veronica Chui Yiu-kam, had invited him out on a short contract accompanied by his manager, Bill McMurdo. Knowing Mr McMurdo from Scotland and Besty from when I had a short stint in the North American Soccer League, when he played for the Los Angeles Aztecs, I was asked by Mr McMurdo to find suitable ports of call for George that didn't involve alcohol. Aware that George had a penchant for the horses, a night at the races in the Hong Kong Football Club box seemed a perfect choice. Once people in the box knew it was George despite the cups of tea, he happily signed autographs and chatted, while for good measure backed three winners. Later in his tour George turned up on a Sunday morning at So Kon Po for a friendly soccer match that I had arranged. My side comprised current and former players plus jockeys and businessmen. Our opponents were the Royal Navy, based at the then HMS Tamar. George, who had a game several days later, couldn't play, but agreed to do the job of linesman. Not bad when the 1968 European Football of the Year is your linesman, but, deep down, that was the genuine George Best. We won easily and afterwards the navy team invited us to their mess at Tamar for lunch and drinks. Again George was brilliant, signing autographs and posing for pictures with young and old alike. We had only been in the mess for 25 minutes when one of the members of the Senior Rates team came up to me and said: 'George Best will have to leave!' 'What's he done wrong?' I asked. 'He's wearing jeans and somebody has complained. Jeans are not allowed in the mess and if somebody complains, there's nothing we can do.' George - who was drinking orange juice - left without a word of complaint and we followed in protest. Needless to say, the story was blown out of proportion and by the time he got back to Britain the story was that he had been kicked out for being drunk. For three weeks while he was here George, under the watchful eye of Mr McMurdo, didn't touch alcohol. Meanwhile, he went on trips to Repulse Bay and Macau, for a wager. But it was too good to last. One late afternoon, I was having a beer with former Glasgow Rangers and Seiko player Billy Semple, who ran Rumours, a well-known bar at that time, more recently called the King's Arms in Causeway Bay. I was working for a beer company, hence my excuse for an afternoon on the ale. Out of the blue, in walked George and shouted 'three Carlsbergs, Billy'. He was on the slippery slope. Several hours later after swapping some yarns, I left, but George was still going strong into the night. Mr McMurdo was furious when he found out. George also played darts in Hong Kong for our side, which was aptly called the Presstuds, as it comprised footballers and journalists. It never ceased to amuse when an opponent would observe disbelievingly that he was about to contest a match with the legendary George Best. George's life has often been described as a game of two halves, one on the field and one off it. There is little doubt about his genius on the field and undoubtedly he was the greatest footballer never to have played in the World Cup finals. The memory that will stick in my mind is him waltzing past the Benfica goalkeeper at Wembley in 1968 in extra time to put Manchester United and Matt Busby on their way to claiming the European Cup in one of the most emotional nights of football. The final whistle has gone, George. God bless from all your Hong Kong friends.
