In 1969, I gave up women and alcohol - it was the worst 20

Hear the playful yet tragic words of George Best, the great footballer of Northern Ireland, who declared: “In 1969, I gave up women and alcohol – it was the worst 20 minutes of my life.” At first, these words sparkle with humor, a jest to amuse the crowd. Yet behind the jest lies the shadow of truth, for Best was a man both blessed and burdened. Gifted with skill that dazzled the world, he was also ensnared by his appetites. His remark is both laughter and lament, a mask of comedy hiding the sorrow of indulgence.

The origin of this saying is found in the tumultuous life of Best himself. In the late 1960s, he was not merely a footballer; he was a legend, adored by fans, pursued by fame, and surrounded by temptation. Known as the "Fifth Beatle" for his style and charm, he lived in a whirlwind of glamour. But with fame came excess, and with excess came decline. His words, uttered in jest, reveal his struggle: the inability to surrender pleasure, even when it threatened his greatness.

History offers many parallels. Recall the Roman general Mark Antony, who, though brave and skilled in war, was undone by his passions. His love for Cleopatra and his indulgence in revelry weakened his resolve, and in the end, he lost not only his empire but his life. Like Best, Antony’s story reminds us that unchecked desire can consume even the strongest of men. Their downfall was not from lack of talent or opportunity, but from the chains of appetite they would not cast off.

And yet, there is also tenderness in Best’s words. For he did not speak them as a teacher, but as one who laughed at his own weakness, who turned tragedy into humor. In this way, he remains human to us—not a perfect hero, but a flawed man who soared high and fell hard. His jest allows us to see ourselves, for who among mortals has not struggled with desires that burn too brightly? Thus, his saying is not only about his life, but about the universal conflict between discipline and indulgence.

The wisdom we may draw is twofold. First, humor can cloak pain, but it can also reveal it. Best’s laughter is the laughter of one who knows he has been defeated by his own cravings, yet refuses to hide it. Second, the tale warns us that gifts, no matter how extraordinary, cannot protect us if we lack self-mastery. The world may give us fame, wealth, or talent, but without discipline, these treasures turn to dust.

The lesson, O listener of tomorrow, is this: cherish joy, but do not let joy devour you. Women and wine, or whatever pleasures tempt your soul, are not evil in themselves, but when they master you, they steal your freedom. A man is not defined by what he enjoys, but by what he can govern. Best’s life shows us that laughter can ease regret, but it cannot erase the consequences of surrendering to excess.

Therefore, take action. Embrace pleasure with moderation. Let your humor be genuine, but let it also guide you to wisdom. Honor your gifts with discipline, for they are given not to be squandered but to be multiplied. Learn from George Best’s jest, and do not wait until your brilliance is dimmed to recognize the cost of indulgence. Laugh at your weaknesses, yes, but strive also to overcome them, so that your life may be not only a tale of glory lost, but of wisdom gained.