This autobiography is a strange read. Barry Davies writes with a poetic feel, which at times is quite pleasant. Unfortunately, the snobbery that can sometimes come across in his commentary is in full measure here.
The book is crammed full of incidents where he feels hard done by, or where he was proved right after some sort of opposition. It might be that he predicted a win for a particular team, but his views weren't adhered to. Or a certain journalist said something about him in the 70s, which was grossly unfair (in BD's view). Or that John Motson kept getting the nod for the FA Cup Final (again, grossly unfair in BD's opinion). The resentment is still very fresh, and in every chapter he seems to need to tell the reader another anecdote in which he was let down/not treated fairly/not listened to. It gets a bit much after a while, particularly when Davies seems to suggest that certain England managers would have faired better if they had listened to some of his tactical advice. Davies was and still is a great commentator, but he is a journalist, not a tactician. This is just one example of how Davies can get a bit above his station at times.
Therefore, the book is a curious mixture of immense ego and deep insecurity. He could have sent the book to a therapist, rather than a publishing house. Barry Davies has had a life and career that few have matched, and that many would envy, and yet he's still bitter. He needs to wake up and smell the roses. He doesn't seem to appreciate all of the glories that his career and life have given him, which is rather a shame.