FOOTBALL'S CHARITABLE STATUS

Foreign players have been setting up foundations for some years. Juan Sebastian Veron funds a school in La Plata, his home city in Argentina; Ulysses de la Cruz, Reading's Ecuadorian defender, has financed infrastructure development in his home village; Pavel Nedved provides money for football schools in the Prague area and donated his match fees when appearing for the Czech Republic to charity; Brazilians Rai, Leonardo and Cafu helped develop the Milan Fundacao - the latter two played for Milan - which helps youngsters in the Sao Paulo favelas. The man who has gone furthest is Damiano Tommasi, Levante's former Italy midfielder, who, besides making a significant financial donation, spent an off-season helping to build low-cost housing for immigrants in Italy.

It is not just the top (ie, wealthiest) footballers who put something back. Mickey Evans was a journeyman footballer, primarily for Plymouth Argyle, whose brief Premier League career with Southampton will not have made him rich. Nevertheless at his testimonial last week he followed the example of fellow Republic of Ireland internationals Niall Quinn and Gary Kelly, who donated their testimonial receipts to charity, in passing on three-quarters of his proceeds to local charities.

What motivates Evans, Bellamy, Tommasi and the like? The same reasons, in all probability, as the general public. Donating time or money to charity usually makes people feel good about themselves, the more so if, like most footballers, they have been dealt a fortunate hand in life - Quinn said he was partly motivated by "guilt". A few may have a political or religious motivation, some have a personal interest. Following the loss of Jake, his four- month-old son, from cot death, Jody Craddock, the Wolves defender who has a successful sideline as an artist, donated work and football memorabilia to the Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) charity. What can largely be ruled out, with reference to individuals if not necessarily clubs, is a desire for good publicity. As Vernon said of Bellamy: "There are a lot cheaper ways of getting good publicity than this."

Besides, many football people do charitable works on the quiet, which is one reason why last season's Mayday campaign, which asked footballers to give up a day's salary to help nurses, had a mixed response. Gareth Southgate, the Middlesbrough manager, blocked the club's donation after the campaign organiser, Dr Noreena Hertz, listed who had contributed - effectively "outing" those who had not.

Almost implicit in the campaign was the sense that footballers were undeservingly wealthy. Why not target executives in the FTSE 500? Or City fund managers? Similarly, why did intelligentgiving.com pick on football clubs and not oil or pharmaceutical companies, or banks? Salaries in, and profits of, these companies are often on a par with elite footballers, but footballers, with their well- publicised affection for Cristal champagne and 1m weddings are a soft target.

The Premier League, backed by Barclays, have responded to the growing cynicism about footballers with a series of community charity initiatives. Critics will note these are usually accompanied by newspaper or broadcast media coverage. But as the minority of daft footballers who live to excess get disproportionate coverage, trying to redress the balance is understandable, wise even. For while it is true that most players are self-obsessed, an increasing number are realising that their celebrity and wealth gives them power to change people's lives for the better. What is startling about Bellamy's project is its ambition, and the protagonist's identity. The striker's bad-boy reputation may even be a good thing; if he can get involved in something like this, charity is not just for goodie-goodies.