Why does thierry henry like football

London is also where his friends, agent and former teammates reside. It is where his daughter Tea lives, too. But his return to the U. Now that he has announced his definitive retirement , it's time to think about his legacy and his place in the pantheon of French football. The story of Henry and France has always been a sort of " Je t'aime We're a complex bunch. He never felt that his fellow Frenchmen gave him enough credit for his talent and achievements, even before his handball against Ireland in a World Cup qualifying playoff in He never felt France recognised him like he should be recognised.

Henry has always had a very high opinion of himself. You don't become the player he became if you haven't, to be fair. He was and still is far more revered in England than in France. He left our country at a young age to go to Juventus and then to Arsenal.

He has the personality that doesn't fit the French standard. There is no doubt that the French never fancied or understood his attitude. And the reverse is true, too. He loves London and New York, loves the spirit there more than what he finds in Paris. His friend and former teammate Emmanuel Petit spoke to sport. That means a lot. He is revered there.

This bad image [in the French press] of Thierry Henry, it annoys me. What can we reproach Henry for? His handball against Ireland?

He has done nothing. France is hypocritical and cowardly. Sometimes I think that if we'd been overrun by the Germans, we'd be better run. Perhaps because he was not smiling when he scored for Les Bleus. Well, that's what I hate in this country. I have great difficulty with the French, I have never seen such arrogant, smug, lying and hypocritical people. Of course, Petit went too far. He had to apologise for his comments regarding the Germans. But he is right.

The French are arrogant and smug, especially when it comes to sport. We are not a sporting country and we don't celebrate sportsmen like other countries do. But his words lead us to a question: what does Petit, or indeed Henry, want? A statue? We don't do statues for sportsmen. The only French football player to have a statue in his likeness is Zinedine Zidane and it depicts him headbutting Marco Materazzi in the World Cup final.

French sculptor, Adel Abdessemed, wanted "to show the dark side of Zidane, the inevitable destiny and the immediate consequence of such an action. Perhaps Henry wants to feature higher in the poll of favourite French athletes he voted was 10th in He was No.

If that's what he wants, perhaps he should open up more to the French public. There's history there. Rewind to his handball against Ireland. To this day, I still think that anyone would have done the same thing. However, as I said, the French don't have a sporting culture. Winning at all cost? That is not us. Cheating to win? Even less so. He was never forgiven and the incident won't be forgotten. The other strike against him, and probably the worst representation of France overseas, is the aftermath of the World Cup.

The country was humiliated by the player's strike in South Africa. Henry let things spiral when he was probably the only one who could have stopped the action. When he came back to France, he asked for a private meeting with then-president Nicolas Sarkozy. Henry went solo, tried to distance himself from the attitude of the squad in Africa.

It backfired, though. French fans voiced their anger at Henry for trying to distance himself from the situation. He didn't do anything to stop the strike and now wanted to clear his name. It provided a glimpse into his personality. Yes, he can be manipulative, but he is by far one of the brightest footballers you will ever meet. Perhaps the most interesting part of Henry's retirement, considering his history with his homeland, is the debate about where he stands among the greats of French football.

Stan Collymore may infuriate some but he is a genuinely passionate broadcaster, brilliantly well-researched and with a deep, soulful, almost claustrophobic sense of manly connection to his sport. Whereas the best thing you can say about Henry on Sky Sports is that he looks like he smells nice. Often he has been banal or noncommittal.

At his worst he has seemed to be present against his will, like a man shaken from his sleep, forced into a tight shiny outfit, taken to an underground studio and compelled, for reasons that remain unclear, to talk in a low, monotonous voice about taking chances or the importance of top players. This is all unexpected.

Henry was one of the punditry stars of the last World Cup, although the requirements are a little different on the BBC, its choppier style giving only a brief, cartoonish snapshot of each talking head. My own favourites in this format are Danny Murphy, whose wise words are given depth by a slightly unnerving air, the look of a man who might suddenly announce that he spent three days walking to the studio from Anglesey and would anyone like to buy a bag of meat.

And Martin Keown, who looks sad and brave, like a man giving an urgent, heartfelt funeral oration for a much-loved family gerbil.

In part because the level of expectation has been ramped up, with punditry increasingly a distinct form of entertainment its own right. In the middle of this, Henry seems oddly remote. The most common explanation is that he is struggling with the need to commit, unable to speak freely about players he knows well.

Alan Shearer said something similar happened to him at the start of his Match of the Day career. Unsure if he wanted to go back into football, he was afraid of alienating potential colleagues. And in a way, perhaps this is why punditry seems so important these days. Football can feel distant, a glazed and airless private city state. Neville has been a vital presence for Sky.

His lucidity, his obvious delight in detail is so raw and unforced it can feel like an antidote to the plasticity, offering a sense of pattern and structure the product itself often scarcely deserves. If Neville talks like one of us, Henry is still clearly one of them. So much so you half expect to tune in and find him speaking with one hand held firmly over his mouth, FBI stakeout-style, as the more princely players do these days when they stroll from the pitch.

Although happily for Henry, the issue is surely one of attitude rather than ability. Loosen up. Tear down the velvet rope. Thrust a hand through the barricades. Come over to our side. This article is more than 6 years old. Barney Ronay.