The Cult: One-Club Man Ledley King

You can read previous entries of The Cult here.

There are a few things to consider when you think of the state of play in the Premier League at the turn of the millennium. For one thing, Tottenham Hotspur weren't the force they have become in recent seasons. This was a different time: teams like Leeds United were very much relevant and competing in the Champions League (before their big Jordan Belfort moment) and Coventry City were still in the top tier.

Tottenham finished 10th in 2000, with Leeds third, then 12th in 2001. Spurs were a Fulham (of Scott Parker and Clint Dempsey vintage) or West Ham (of Scott Parker vintage) in terms of mid-table mediocrity and the odd stylish star. The common soundbite back then – and seemingly for time immemorial – was that Tottenham played nice, easy-on-the-eye football, but that if you really got at them – really got all up in their faces – they'd eventually succumb and collapse like opiate-fuelled dandies. That Fergie simply said "Lads, its Tottenham" prior to a clash with Manchester United explains this perfectly.

The man who helped put an end to that inherent shitshow of weakness – as best as one man could – was Ledley King. After making his senior debut for Spurs under George Graham in 1999 King established himself the following year, often playing as a holding midfielder. Clearly, though, his significance and his place in The Cult lie in his ability at centre-back. The fact that he was played in midfield early in his Spurs career just tells us he was a good ball player; that's what set him apart from a glut of nuts-and-bolts centre-halves, who were a dime a dozen back then. Take Gary Doherty, King's peer in the Spurs squad between 2000 and 2004, for example.

Through the years King would prove he had the agility of a youthful Rio Ferdinand and the ball-playing tekkers of a Desailly, but with all the poise and command of Bobby Moore. As a one-club man, he was our John Terry, but without all the inherent evil. I took pride in knowing our homemade stalwart was one of the good guys.

He's sometimes regarded as the best defender Tottenham and England barely had, but I'd go beyond that and say he was the best defender of his generation. Of course, we do love "what ifs", especially us Spurs fans, who in recent years have so often been on the edge of success only to be taken in by the warm, comforting embrace of the botch job.

The trouble with Ledley is that the discussions about the man who would be king – of the Lane, perhaps, maybe of so much more – always carried the disclaimer: "body permitting". His was a body that was both Rolls Royce and Reliant Robin, sometimes simultaneously. At his peak he outpaced even Arjen Robben, but he was robbed of his prime years by a number of injuries that railroaded what would have otherwise been an even greater career. The most notable was his recurring knee problem, an ailment that would eventually see him play top-class football without training in the week and with a cartilage-free left knee.

The fact that his knee was made of cinder wood by the end of his career really speaks volumes about the otherworldly talent and skill King possessed. He maintained his fitness by swimming in Spurs' pool and only played actual football at weekends. Surely no player could survive large stretches of their career only playing competitive matches, without ever training, and not experience slumps in form. That is unless they possessed a wealth of residual talent, knowledge and position-specific knowhow. With a handful of exceptions, every professional in the world must do what they do all the time if they want to be good at it. Ledley King was among those exceptions.

Imagine never training, yet still performing well enough to get your one and only club into the Champions League, when all around you are higher-waged sides and UAE-Russo-backed playthings masquerading as projects. King's story is just as significant for the fact that he played on for so long when his body simply didn't want to. He must have felt the profound affection of the Tottenham faithful every time he featured and, in a way, that love would have helped him endure.

Many players suffer catastrophic injuries that end their career outright, sometimes when beginning the crest of their peak in form. Dean Ashton was just about to cement his spot in the national set-up when Sean Wright-Phillips came in like a perma-one-for-the-future wrecking ball and shattered his ankle. Roy Keane ended Alf-Inge Håland's career in the Manchester derby in one fell swoop of bone-crushing disregard for humanity. Jack Wilshere seems condemned to a life sat on the sidelines, intermittently vaping.

Of course, footballers have been playing through career-ending problems since long before the Premier League was dreamt up on the back of a napkin in a dimly lit room in Soho. The goalkeeper Bert Trautmann famously helped his Manchester City side win the 1956 FA Cup Final despite nursing a broken neck sustained in the middle of the game. There are several mad examples of unbridled bravery and pride like this, but few instances of players going on, year on year, through physical deterioration like King's knee problem. Football is scattered with sick notes, but Ledley's is unique, in a sense, as his injury caused him immense and almost constant pain. Thanks to a few injections, the agony only came after the game. Accordingly, he was able to stay sharp and be effective every time he was surgically transplanted back into the starting XI.

This meant that when he played, he knew he would be paying for it in the week, but he'd be able to compete when needed. Still, he would have understood that with each game he was playing he was eroding more and more cartilage in his knee, until it totally wore away. Whether the advancement of medical science and operations mean he has no lasting pain, I wouldn't want to guess (and make shit up in the process). However, it seems fair to assume it's going to be problematic for him for the rest of his life. This is the sort of commitment he made to his sport and to his club. Beyond his footballing ability – which was immense – it's his sacrifice that makes King so worthy, so heroic, so totally, utterly Cult.

It's not especially easy to find YouTube clips of defenders carrying out their defensive duties. Most of their job is anticipation and positioning, things that don't generally make great viewing. Invariably, you might see clips of a defender doing tricks, scoring goals or skinning players; this is then held up as a sign of quality, but can be deeply deceiving in centre-backs. I watched videos of Vlad Chiriches looking like a world beater, but it turned out to be amateur hour the moment he rocked up at White Hart Lane.

We could talk about the ridiculously early goal which Ledley scored against Bradford, but I'd rather show you this sublime tackle on Arjen Robben. The context is a tad frustrating because Spurs go on to concede from the resulting corner, but that's irrelevant (or, being as it's Spurs, perhaps it's fitting). King didn't know that, anyway – he just made the tackle. The gas he shows sprinting from the halfway line to make a perfectly timed challenge on the mightily speedy Robben, just as he's about to pull the trigger, is quite remarkable.

"He is an absolute freak." –– Harry Redknapp

@nick_thompsonog