True, some of the younger forwards had the look of rock stars, but they didn’t have the attitude. George Best might have been hailed as ‘El Beatle’ by the Spanish sports press, but he was no John Lennon.  Light ale was football’s drug of choice. There was nothing mind-expanding about a cocktail of  Bovril and Bill Shankly.  Yet something about the game pulled this photographer in. The glossy pages of The Football League Review were a new frontier in that distant era and football was free from hype and media artifice. There were no trends to chase, no heartfelt sympathies to abandon for fear of being dubbed uncool.  The game was its own square world, cultish, unmanipulated, far from the concerns of trendsetters.  Artists secretly craved the respect of the very establishment they effected to despise,  football was free of such duplicity.  Unlike a band, the game would not sell out. After all, who would buy it? Football was a world in which you could express yourself almost unnoticed, even by your subjects.