There was once an American research project in which members of the public were shown 100 pairs of photographs. Each pair was of two people who had taken part in an election. They were not well-known, just run-of-the-mill local and national candidates from around the world.
People were asked to guess who won these 100 elections. And, in over 80 of them, they choose right, in some cases overwhelmingly.
So why do I tell you this now, given I cannot remember exactly when this exercise was done, nor who conducted it, nor what the exact findings were? The answer is that it came to mind as I was sitting down with Spain’s prime minister, Pedro Sánchez. Why? Because, as politicians go, he is ridiculously good-looking.
There was a moment, with part of his face obscured by one of the microphones between us, when I could see only his hair, forehead and eyes, and he honestly had a look of George Clooney about him.
I am reliably informed that Mr Clooney is very, very good-looking. Lest I be drifting off into some weird Trump-style late-life obsession with male beauty – Trump talks about men’s looks all the time, in case you hadn’t noticed, and if you don’t follow the comedian Bransen Gates @branhattan on Instagram, you should – I checked with the women who were with me. They concurred with my assessment of Señor Sánchez.
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My point about the US survey is that the people taking part made a judgment about those poor candidates, which in the end boiled down to the question of who was better looking. Sure, strength, character, experience, empathy are all qualities (or lack of) that can emanate from a photo, but even those are essentially reduced to a question of the feelings that the looks of an individual immediately inspire.
It is also a fact of US presidential elections that the taller candidate usually wins, and as it happens, Sánchez scores well in the height stakes, at around 6 foot 3.
Now looks, even if they are Clooney’s, only get you so far. He still has to be a good actor. Sánchez still has to be an effective politician, and that he surely is, having survived eight years as prime minister without ever having a majority, and having to manage what has sometimes been labelled a “Frankenstein coalition.”
But there was another quality that came through loud and clear in our conversation and which, despite the evident threat from the far right in Spain, left me thinking I would not rule out Sánchez winning again next time round… and that is, that he thinks, speaks and acts in bold, primary colours. A bit, dare I say, like Donald Trump.
It is Sánchez’s bold, primary colours on foreign policy that have made him something of a darling of the global progressive left, at a time when the right appear to have all the political momentum, not least thanks to Trump and the MAGA movement and their European fellow travellers in the AfD, the Rassemblement National, Fidesz, Reform UK and more.
The Iran war, Sánchez insists, is “illegal, immoral, and counterproductive”; at a time Trump is undermining the rule of law, human rights and internationalism, Europe should stand up for them even more; Trump’s demand that all NATO members spend five per cent of GDP on defence is “arbitrary and not thought-through”; Israel has “never been more isolated,” and what is happening in Gaza is “genocide.”
On he goes, similar primary colours in domestic policy too. Immigration is a force for good, xenophobia always harms the countries where it festers; we need more Europe, not less, and we need more countries in the EU. And yes, that includes the UK. Everyone knows Brexit was a terrible mistake. You have to rectify it. We would love to have you back.
Nor was this Socialist Party leader averse to suggesting to the UK Labour government that piecemeal step-by-steppery to fix the Brexit mess would be better replaced by a bold move, just to admit the whole thing has been a disaster, and do the big about-turn. You can probably see why I liked him.
Others are less impressed, however. My favourite Spaniard is the wonderfully fiery Miriam González Durántez, aka Mrs Nick Clegg, who may yet have a tilt at high office herself. “Sánchez talks a big game, but his actions fail to follow through,” she tells me when I pick her brains on Spanish politics.
She adds: “His ‘No to the Iran war’ and his calls to defend the international order in Gaza and Venezuela have been applauded by progressives everywhere. But his posture on European defence is precisely what makes the European Union incapable of exerting any real influence in any of those conflicts. If he wants to play the role of Europe’s Asterix to Trump, he should live by democratic principles at home. And he should abandon the EU’s fetish for overregulation and fashion a Europe built on dynamism instead.” Ouch!
I see what Nick Clegg meant when he told me the only person he has ever feared is Miriam. She is still my favourite Spaniard, and I don’t ever want to cross her.
Names matter in politics, as well as looks. Pedro Sánchez… not a bad name for a Spanish politician. But how about this one: Gabriel Rufián?
I reckon Rufián is a terrific name for a politician, and this particular ruffian is making a name for himself as the leader of ERC, a left-wing Catalan nationalist party.
Right now he has his sights set on bigger things. He wants all the parties to the left of Sánchez – there are several, including those with Cabinet seats in the coalition government – to unite as part of an alliance led by him.
The far right VOX party gets a lot of attention in Spain. But the action on the left merits a lot of attention too.
There were a few sad and sorry Spurs and Manchester City fans still hanging around Madrid after they had both been given a Champions League spanking here, Spurs by Atletico, City by Real, on successive nights.
The headlines post Spurs’ defeat were all about the poor young goalkeeper, Antonin Kinsky, who was substituted in the most humiliating fashion after seventeen minutes, having let in three, two of which were definitely his fault. The romantic in me says he will go away, lick his wounds, come back stronger, become a successful established keeper.
But then I remember the story of Billy O’Rourke, a young Burnley goalkeeper thrown in at the deep end in similar fashion in 1978. He let in seven against Queen’s Park Rangers, in a game shown on Match of the Day, in an era very few games were on TV. There were no goalie subs back then, and he left the pitch at the end of the match in tears.
Some of you may remember when Manchester United pulled out of the FA Cup in 2000 because of fixture congestion caused by the FIFA Club World Cup in Brazil, refusing blandishments to “play the youth team.” Manager Alex Ferguson’s refusal was rooted in the memory of Billy O’Rourke. He said if a young goalie was sent out for United, and then let in a hatful, there was a risk it could destroy him. He stuck to his guns and United did not take part.
I hope Antonin Kinsky recovers and thrives. Billy O’Rourke did not. He played a few more games for Burnley, before clocking up a total of 170 games with smaller northern clubs, and sadly died of a brain haemorrhage in 2002, aged just 41. It’s not all glamour, especially for goalkeepers.
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