Every clear-out creates dilemmas. What to keep, if anything, and what to throw away?
Procrastination dictated that the old shoe box in the cellar accumulated another layer of dust. The little men with the big heads would have to wait a little longer for their freedom after more than two decades enveloped in darkness. It was after lockdown and ahead of a big move across the Atlantic that they finally saw the light. Standing less than 7cm tall, although the height often varied dramatically and depended on the player, Corinthian football figures could easily fit in the palm of your hand.
Yet they were more commonly found perched on top of work computers, in a team line on shelves and in carefully arranged squads in display cabinets. While somewhat inappropriately labelled as sports action figures, especially on one prominent auction site, the inanimate wee men with oversized craniums didn’t do anything other than stare endlessly into the distance, mostly with a ball superglued to one foot.
Thousands of football fans probably owned at least one of the diminutive replicas as Corinthian figures exploded in popularity in the mid-1990s and early 2000s. My own collection emerged in batches, as mild embarrassment set in at the number of figures I had amassed (and how much I had shelled out for them).
I rescued the tiny superstars from the cellar, like new signings unveiled a few at a time, until the full ensemble of 54 stood in an unruly huddle on a bedroom table. Brochures and players cards accompanied the Lilliputian football brethren, who were all intact except for scatterings of light dust. I hadn’t managed to collect any full teams but there were plenty of famous faces. Not all were instantly recognisable.
Some legends of the beautiful game were present. Diego Maradona, Pele, George Best and Billy McNeill even remained in their original boxes. I had clearly anticipated making some money from them, which seemed foolish now.
There was no shortage of internationals, Zinedine Zidane complete with a unibrow, a very cheerful looking Romario, a slightly cross eyed Gabriel Batistuta and near faultless depiction of Luis Enrique all stood resplendent in their national kits. A posse of suited managers – Kevin Keegan, Ruud Gullit and Gianluca Vialli – joined Old Firm heroes Henrik Larsson, Jorg Albertz and curiously home and away identikit versions of former Rangers striker Michael Mols, but the majority of figures came from Serie A.
My infatuation with Italian football began just before Italia 90 and as well as scrapbooking every possible scintilla of information about Vialli, Sampdoria and everything calcio it was clear I had splashed out a fair chunk on the prominent players from Italy’s greatest era.
The first group of replica little men were released in Italy by toymaker Giochi Preziosi – founded by the polarizing figure of former Como and Genoa President Enrico Preziosi – in March 1997 with 34 players from seven teams represented. Another 15 followed in July of the same year with 13 of the 18 Serie A given the honour of at least one hero in miniature.
La Gazzetta Dello sport even included an article which revealed that Giochi Preziosi commercial director Dario Berté stumbled upon the figures at a toy fair in New York. Cleary entranced by pocket size versions of Gary Neville and Neville Southall they agreed a deal with Corinthian to produce Italian designs which were shown off in a brilliant television advert.
Most of those immortalized in plastic were obvious choices.
Milan had an entire startling line up of 11 giocatore, while Inter and Juventus had nine each. Franco Baresi, Paolo Maldini, Giuseppe Bergomi, Gianluca Pagliuca, Alessandro Del Piero and Zinedine Zidane were among the select few depicted in a variety of poses.
Some of the supposed lesser clubs were afforded just one figurine each. A rather solemn Roberto Mancini of Samp, André Cruz of Napoli, Atalanta’s Domenico Morfeo and Marcelo Otero of Vicenza among them.
I was surprised and rather thrilled to find I had an original Giochi Preziosi booklet and a couple of the Serie A stars featured in the original ‘Superstars Headliners’ sets. The models were not always accurate which added a sense of frustration and more importantly fun to the discoveries. It turned out I had a couple of crackers.
Fiorentina playmaker extraordinaire Rui Costa resembled a middle aged woman in the midst of a crisis. Inter defender Salvatore Fresi looked both startled and delighted just to be part of it all. There were plenty of curiosities in a haphazard collection of Italian top flight players from Corinthian’s British editions.
A scaled down Gianfranco Zola was somehow taller than Paolo Maldini, both in the blue of the Azzurri. Upon first glance it was difficult to recognise Parma defender Lilian Thuram and goalkeeper Gianluigi Buffon. A doleful Edwin van der Sar appeared to be pondering the meaning of life having shrunk considerably at Juventus.
Why was Nicola Ventola, in a forgettable short sojourn at Bologna, afforded a figure of his own and why did I buy it? A buck toothed Ronaldo in an Inter away shirt was so poorly put together it seemed like a knock-off.
Stephen’s squadra just before their transatlantic journey
Others were stunningly sculpted. A very serious Edgar Davids, clad in the black and white of Juventus and hogging the ball under one foot, could not be mistaken for anyone else. The attention to detail in excellent figures of Roma’s Cafu and Hidetoshi Nakata of Perugia also immediately caught the eye.
My favourite was former Inter striker Kanu, whose size, stature and facial features were perfectly represented in a superb Arsenal replica.
Memories of a more carefree time came flooding back. I am slightly ashamed to admit I was in my early 20s when I began buying the wee men. Watching football was never enough, from a very young age I was captivated by memorabilia and paraphernalia.
From countless drawings, made up competitions in notebooks in which Sampdoria and Italy miraculously won in amazing circumstances, to epic Subbuteo matches, intense Tomy Super Cup football games, a cluster of Serie A metal pin badges on my prefect blazer and using Star Wars and He-Man characters as players (Ram Man was great for diving headers at the back post) there was no end to my fascination with the game.
I’m not a hoarder but never found it easy to discard things and the memories accompanying them. I never played with the little footballers, but derived a simple pleasure from placing them alongside team-mates or rivals and marvelling at their likeness to the real life models.
Throwing the entire assortment out seemed like a waste but I wasn’t prepared for the rigmarole of packaging, pricing and selling – not that I expected to make much money, if any at all. It took months to finally decide to shift the items which can essentially be labelled as toys for adults (adult toys sounds just plain wrong).
A charity shop in the south side of Glasgow enthusiastically took the bulk of the collection. I kept a select group. Within a few days I regretted the decision. I went back to the shop a week later to find them all gone.
Instead of closing the door on the secret world I had unlocked, I left it ajar. It rekindled my interest and it wasn’t long before I inexplicably found myself trawling eagerly through sites all over again looking for my favourite players.
Comparing model designs, kits and prices I found a seller in Epsom who had a huge catalogue of Corinthian models. Attilio Lombardo, Gianluca Vialli and Fabrizio Ravanelli joined the remnants of those that remained. Adding Mancini to reform the Gemelli del gol with Vialli was a step too far with the rare figure available for a minimum of £50 on auction websites.
Of the original Giochi Preziosi sets Stefan Schwarz (Fiorentina) and Giovanni Stroppa (Udinese) are considered the Holy Grail for collectors. I couldn’t find either anywhere. Kennet Andersson (Bologna) is equally sought after. The Swedish striker’s mini-me was available from a Japanese seller at the bargain price of £643 (plus £62 shipping). I didn’t put in a bid.
The last player on my wanted list came at a much more modest cost. I couldn’t resist the urge to place South Korean forward Ahn Jung-hwan – sacked by maniacal president Luciano Gaucci after he scored the winner against to eliminate Italy from the 2002 World Cup – beside Nakata in the colours of Perugia.
Ahn Jung-hwan keeping Nakata company
The compulsion to boost the numbers faded until a trip to Napoli in May last year.
A side street off the famous Spaccanapoli in the historic centre of the city had hundreds of football figures – all unofficial models – mostly of Maradona. Without sufficient room in my backpack for a scary giant bust of the greatest of all time I plumped for a smaller version.
Although it wasn’t a particularly great portrayal of Diego, his head was in proportion with the rest of his body and symbolically he stood a little taller than the rest of the chosen few in my exclusive team.
The Corinthian superstars survived the trip over the pond without any fresh additions or departures. There will inevitably be another clear out in the near future but I don’t intend to get rid of the micro men. Sometimes it’s the small, seemingly insignificant things in football that can provide unexpected moments of delight.
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