Not at all surprising that same word kept recurring as soccer bigwigs reacted to the news, FIFA uberboss Sepp Blatter among them.
“Iconic.”
That David Beckham is — and soon enough, “was”, as we revert to the past tense following his retirement announcement on Thursday, though lord knows it’s hard to imagine him ever fully disappearing from the public eye.
Flash his photograph in front of a random sample of the population pretty much anywhere on planet earth, and there will be instant recognition, significant adulation, some of it from those who admired his deft way with a set piece, and more of it from those who simply know his pretty face.
Muhammad Ali throwing a jab or the flying Michael Jordan silhouette may at different points in history have been the greatest examples of sports Esperanto, but there’s a strong argument to be made that Becks’ mug eventually supplanted both.
So that’s something — to have become perhaps the most famous person in the world game, and therefore maybe the most famous person in the world. The Beckham brand cleared its final and most difficult hurdle when he arrived in Los Angeles to play for the Galaxy, and while not exactly turning the continent soccer mad, he at least made the celebrity transition seamlessly to American red carpets and late night talk shows.
No real debate there. That star power is exactly what Tim Leiweke was buying when he signed Beckham to play in MLS, a move that will also forever be a subject of discussion as to its lasting impact on the sport in North America.
But if you want a real argument, put all of the iconography aside, and try to put David Beckham, footballer, into a larger perspective.
What has come down since Beckham announced that this championship-winning season with Paris Saint-Germain would be his last is more of the same kind of pointless criticism of his on-pitch abilities that has followed him during his entire career.
He is not Pele, he is not Maradona, he is not Lionel Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo — though not sure who ever suggested he was, other than perhaps the throngs of screaming Japanese schoolgirls who staked out the English team hotel day and night during the 2002 World Cup.
He was a very good player on some great sides, though only on the Galaxy was he indisputably the best on his own club (and some days, Landon Donovan might have given him a run for is money there…). Even at Beckham’s peak, he shone most as a kind of trick shot artist, brilliant on free kicks, masterful at crossing the ball. As his pace deserted him in the late stages of his career, that and a streak of bulldog competitiveness, was really all that he had to offer.
Beckham tends to refer to himself as “an honest footballer,” and if for some that might smack of false modesty, it also may well be the truth. For all of the Hollywood trappings, there’s a simple working class guy in there — a polite, well-mannered and courteous working class guy, once you get past all of his handlers — who is a bit astounded by all that has happened for him.
And those championships, in four different countries, are certainly worth noting — none more impressive than the one in Spain, where he fought back from exile after Fabio Capello dumped him from the Real Madrid side to win back his place in the starting 11, and make a significant contribution to winning La Liga.
That’s it, really, and it seems both unfair and irrelevant to criticize someone for not being everything that some imagined him to be.
A point of comparison: Robert DeNiro, back when he was still trying, was the greatest screen actor of his generation, perhaps of any generation.
Tom Cruise is a handsome movie star who has sold an awful lot of tickets over the course of his career, and who has occasionally risen to greater artistic heights.
Messi is the young DeNiro.
Beckham is Cruise.
There’s room in the world — and the sport — for both of them.