Football Memories
Posted: Wed Mar 27, 2024 10:42 pm
Hope it's ok to post here, last year I sat down and wrote a book about all my football memories. Here are the first three chapters.
The book is called Two minutes past Eight ( because that's what time European soccer special came onto radio 2 in them days,)
I'm not trying to plug my book, I just like sharing my memories, if anyone enjoys it I will add the rest of the book.
Katie
Two Minutes Past Eight
The Early Days
I’m trying to think of when I first started to watch football. It was most probably with my dad; the village team where we lived in Great Waltham, just outside of Chemsford in Essex, was half decent.
They wore a kit consisting of yellow shirts and maroon shorts. It shouldn’t really work, but it did. I remember going to watch them at New Writtle Street, which was Chelmsford City's home ground. It must have been a Mid-Essex Cup Final or something like that; whatever it might have been, I thought it was ever so exciting.
So in years, I think probably 1974 or 75. I know that my dad did some gardening for a lady called Nita or Neeta; I don’t know how you spelled it. Her garden overlooked the football pitch where Great Waltham played their home games. So I would go with him. The gardening memory might be a bit later, but I would have watched them when I was six, I think.
I would often go and watch village games. I found myself at a game not long after we moved to Broomfield in 1976. I found myself at a game on a Sunday morning. It wasn’t long before I found myself involved in the game emotionally. Curiously, though, it wasn’t the home team that I was cheering on but the away team. I think that I sensed a bit of injustice with some of the refereeing decisions. The away side found themselves down to nine men.
I became as incensed as them as I watched from the touchline. I knew that my Mum would be cooking Sunday dinner; she had probably told me what time to be in by, but how could I leave my new found heroes.
The away team wore sky blue, similar to the Coventry city colours of the time, but without the famous curved stripes that adorned City's kit. The game ended 2-2, but that wasn’t the end of it. I was hooked. I thought-out some of their players and found myself in the changing room, asking for autographs. It probably wouldn’t be allowed now, because of health and safety. I didn’t have a pen or paper but someone did and I got what I was after. As I write this it’s about forty-five since it happened, but my memory is as clear as day. I would have been around eight or nine. Some of those players could now be eighty or over, or possibly no longer with us. I’ve been to many football matches which were of a much higher standard; but for me this memory is right up there.
Leeds United
Leeds United were my first love. I can’t pinpoint the exact date, but it wasn’t long after I first started to kick a ball around. So if we are looking at around 1973 or so, I would have been 5 years old. The first crisis that I faced was, "Who would I support? Leeds, or Leeds United I genuinely believed that they were two different teams. I ran home from school at lunchtime and I quizzed my Mum, of all people, about what I should do.To be fair, she had other things on her mind; for example, my dinner, which consisted of eggs and homemade chips.
These were the days of TOPPS football cards, when for your money you would get six cards for a mere 5p. On the back was a list of appearances and goals from the previous three years of that player's career. It was surely ahead of its time when you take a look at today’s statistic-obsessed world. Also included in the pack were two pieces of chewing gum and, if you were lucky, a team poster. We didn’t know then how lucky we were! These days, they sell on eBay for over a pound just for one card.
I don’t know what drew me to Leeds, seeing as I was southern based. My very first best friend was a lad named Jamie Quill; his mom and dad owned the pub over the road. The family was all West Ham, apart from his granddad, whom he called "Pops." He supported Charlton Athletic. I never knew the reasoning behind that. I remember having a conversation with Jamie. He told me they were cockneys, being as they’d been born within the sound of Bow Bells.
One prominent memory I have is from 1973 FA Cup Final, where Leeds played against Sunderland. Leeds were overwhelming favourites, riding high in the first division and full of international stars. Sunderland were struggling in the second division, but we all know what happened. My main recollection of the game is sitting on my dad's knee with an orange and
black ball in my hand. It was similar to the beach balls that you could buy that had a mind of their own if the wind caught them. The ball had all the team names from the first division printed over it.They were matched in pairs. I could spend hours investigating why! Manchester United were matched with Wolverhampton Wanderers.
At the time, while watching the 1973 Cup Final, I thought that there were loads of goals. Every few minutes, my dad would sweep me up into the air.
It was only years later that I realised it was probably the result of Jim Montgomery’s double save, which has gone down in FA Cup folklore. At the time, I don’t think I realised what a massive shock the result was. Even though I called myself a Leeds fan, I don’t remember being particularly upset by the result.
I was obsessed by football. It wasn’t like these days, when you could feed your appetite easily and every game was on TV. You had Jimmy Hill and the recently retired Bob Wilson on "Match of the Day" on Saturday nights, and Brian Moore’s
"The Big Match" on Sunday afternoons, showing highlights of the weekend's matches. The only live games were the FA Cup Final, the European Finals, the World Cup, and the European Championships. It sounds like a lot, but compared to now, it is incredibly sparse for someone addicted to football.
It was the radio that provided a lifeline for me; there were countless school nights when I should have been asleep but instead was snuggled up in bed with the wireless against my ear.
One very clear memory around this time is when Leeds played a home game against West Ham. For whatever reason, I didn’t know the result until the following morning. I naturally assumed that it would be a walk in the park. After all, it was only West Ham. When a beaming Jamie Quill informed me the following morning of the result, Leeds United 1, West Ham United 3, it was a harsh football lesson for my young mind to take on board. Never take anything for granted.
I have a clear recollection of watching a TV programme around this time, which was aired early Saturday mornings and featured Jack Charlton. In it, he presided over training exercises with young players, and it featured corner and free- kick drills. I'd watch it before anyone else in the house was up, and then go out and practise what I'd seen.
All my dreams came true one Christmas when I awoke in the middle of the night to find that Father Christmas had brought me a Leeds kit. I don’t think I took it off for a month. I was ecstatic and remember vividly jumping up and down on my mom and dad’s bed, shouting excitedly, "He’s been, he’s been." That was without doubt the highlight of any Christmas presents that I ever received.
Even though I was too young to remember them, I am aware of two of the greatest goals ever scored. Eddie Gray's astonishing dribble from the corner flag. One where he dumped most of the Burnley team on their backsides and the other a delightful chip from way outside the penalty area, leaving the Burnley keeper clutching at thin air.
It was in 1972 that they gave one of the most complete performances ever seen when they humiliated hapless Southampton by seven goals to nil. It wasn’t just the result; it was the arrogance with which they did it. These were the days when Leeds United dined at the top table, with Liverpool and Brian Clough's Derby County (how times have changed), challenging for the league title.
Leeds had a certain reputation, but it never bothered me that they had gained the tag of "dirty Leeds”. It was slightly unfair, seeing as all the other teams weren’t exactly made up of angels.
The team was made up of names that rolled off the tongue and still do. Gray, Frankie and Eddie, Lorimer, Charlton, Giles, Reaney, Madeley, Jones, Clarke, and, of course, Bremner It was the snarling, tenacious, and often vicious ginger-haired Scotsman who became the object of my first hero worship.
I had a lucky escape when my plea to "Jim’ll fix it" to meet my idol went unanswered. Although I was distressed that a bunch of cubs eating sandwiches on a rollercoaster was more deserving than I was. Sadly now though, the glory days of Leeds United were coming to an end. Don Revie, the man who took Leeds out of the old second division and transformed them into one of English football’s giants left in 1974 to manage England, and in 1977, he headed to the Middle East and the life of Saudi Arabia His decision found him banned from English football for ten years, and although the ban was later overturned, he never worked in English football again. It was over, and so was my love affair with Leeds United. I had found another idol; this one was Scottish as well, and he went by the name of a certain Kenny Dalglish. Revie was to die in 1989, and Bremner in 1997, at just 54 years old.
My alliances may have moved on, but when I heard of both deaths, I was deeply saddened, and my childhood memories resurfaced, as I was back there again, jumping up and down on my mom.
and Dad’s bed. Even now, when I hear the words Leeds United or their latest result, my memories come flooding back. In recent years,more of that legendary team have departed; Trevor Cherry, Norman Hunter, Jack Charlton, and Terry Cooper have sadly died, but their names have been immortalised in the history of Leeds United. As for me, you never forget a first love, and if the glory days ever return to Elland Road, I'd like to think that Don Revie would be looking down with a smile on his face.
On My Radio
Even in these days when football is so easily accessible to watch, at heart I'm still a radio buff.My childhood football memories are filled with nights sitting next to the radio, or "wireless," as we often called it then. Nowadays, coverage is dominated by Radio 5 Live and TalkSport, but in the mid-seventies, when I first became a football fanatic Those channels never existed, and Radio 2 was the "place for your football fix; to be honest, it was the only place.
My early radio thrills included the title race from 1975–76, when QPR were just fourteen minutes from winning their first league championship, Kevin Keegan struck at the Wolves. I was 8 years old and wasn't a fan of either side, but the importance of the match generated an excitement in me that was compelling, as the voices of Brian Butler and Ron Jones crackled over the airwaves. Alongside them would be Denis Law or Jimmy Armfield.
I remember getting up the next day and seeing the back of the Daily Mirror, with Kevin Keegan reaching for the stars after his equaliser and being joined on the pitch by thousands of Scousers. One who was in the photo next to him and bore a remarkable resemblance to the long-haired lover from Liverpool, Jimmy Osmond. Liverpool went on to win the league, and QPR supporters still reminisce over their greatest ever season.
My love of the airwaves took me to faraway places that I had never heard of and aroused a curious fascination. Hearing the names of clubs such as Eintracht Frankfurt and Dynamo Dresden and Carl Zeiss Jena Those were the days of the old iron curtain, and I feared somewhat for the English teams and indeed for the commentators. It could have been on another planet, such was the mystery that these names had attached to them.
This was around the time when English teams started to dominate in Europe. Up until then, the Inter-City Fairs Cup, the UEFA Cup, and the Cup The Winners Cup had been a happy hunting ground for British teams, but Celtic and Manchester United remained the only two who had the big one, but that was about to change.
It was a late night once again as I listened to history being made. No one outside Liverpool had barely heard of the name David Fairclough until that March night in 1977, when the mighty reds hosted St. Ettiene in the European Cup quarterfinal final. Their talisman was a striker called Dominic Rochteau, and my friend Richard was obsessed with him.
A crescendo of noise exploded from the KOP and from my bedroom as well, as Super Sub Fairclough struck with just six minutes left. Liverpool went on to win the final against Borussia Dortmund Mönchengladbach in Rome, which I watched on TV, but it's the memory of listening to the radio and supersub Fairclough that remains not just a football memory but a childhood memory that is deep-rooted forever in my being.
This was just the start of English dominance for the next five years, as Liverpool followed up their1977 triumph by winning at Wembley the following year against FC Bruges thanks to a goalfrom Kenny Dalglish (whatever happened to him?) Then it was the turn of Nottingham Forest for two years and Aston Villa in 1982. Forest, managed by Brian Clough, astonished the football world by winning the First Division championship following promotion. Remarkably, they were drawn against mighty Liverpool in the very first round of the European Cup in 1978 and it seemed that was it; they would go no further, but Clough and Taylor seemingly had other ideas.
Forest won the first leg 2-0 with goals by Gary Birtles and Colin Barrett Even then, few people gave them a chance in the cauldron of noise that was Anfield on a European night. All this drama was introduced by the words, "It's two minutes past eight, and it's European soccer." special," and the spine-tingling anthem would blast out, and you'd be there. Amsterdam, Valencia, Juventus, and they would be here, in your bedroom, your shed, your kitchen, or your bathroom.
The drama didn't just stay confined to the voices coming out of the radio. It took a more dramatic
turn than that in our kitchen. It was the second leg of the European Cup between Liverpool and Bayern Munich at the Olympiastadion Stadium in Munich in 1981
Liverpool once found themselves as underdogs.The first leg had ended nil-nil at Anfield, and Bayern were in a confident mood with captain Paul Breitner writing off Liverpool. He had good reason to as well; Munich had a formidable record at home, but they hadn't reckoned on Ray Kennedy, who, known for his lovely left foot, shocked the home side when he rifled one in with his right foot with seven minutes to go.
These were the days of away goals counting double. Unable to contain my joy, I leapt into the air arms aloft, which was preceded by a loud bang and darkness. In my moment of ecstasy, I'd punched the lampshade and shattered the light bulb. Bedlam rained as the dog, sleeping in the corner, was rudely awakened from chasing rabbits into what must have seemed like mayhem.
Munich equalised with three minutes to go with a goal from Karl-Heinz Rummenigge, but it was a little too late as Liverpool marched onto their third European Cup final, where they would go on to beat Real Madrid.
These were the days before I became a bitter fan. I listened and celebrated the successes of Ipswich Town, Tottenham Hotspur, and Everton in European competitions, following their route to glory once again over the airwaves.
Anyone who loves football knows about FA Cup 3rd Round Day, played the first week of January is when the power of the radio certainly came into action. My cup-draw memories are of inching around the radio on Mondays at school in the early 1980s.
Mr. Straight was my woodwork teacher and also a Spurs fan, and he would bring his radio in on such days, and a hush (not unlike a minute's silence) and a nervy tension would start a few seconds before the draw was made.
There might be new fancy gadgets these days for doing the cup draw, but nothing compares to the rustle of the velvet bag full of balls on the radio. This is where our young hopes and dreams are made, but it is also where they are crushed and the harsh reality of defeat is learned.
Hopes and memories are made, but pain, sadness, and bitterness will be stored in young minds and hearts for a lifetime. Although the years may pass, the cup runs, the near misses, and the giant killings will never diminish.
The rise of the Premier League and Sky Television took football to another level, but even now sitting down beside the radio, hearing the noise of the crowd, and being told that Arsenal will be playing from left to right in the first half, rolls back the years to the mid-seventies, and being that eight-year-old listening to super sub David Fairclough send the KOP into meltdown, and my radio became a place where I travelled the corners of Europe and beyond at times.
The voices that travelled over the airwaves created memories that will last forever, and when talk turns to the past. I can smile and say to myself, "I was there". I really was, and in some ways I still am.
The Joy of Logacta
"Logacta," what the hell is that, you may well ask?
Well, I was lucky enough to find it written across a box in my Christmas stocking in the late seventies, and I can tell you now that in my opinion, it's up there with the best games ever made; it kept me amused for hundreds of hours.
Let me put you out of your misery; it’s a football game based on charts. It sounds a bit boring might be your first response, and "yes," that might have been my first response, but trust me, it wasn’t.
To be honest, for the mind of an eight-year-old, it was a lot to take in. Seven different dice, all different colours, but once you got going and understood, it was truly addictive. Think FIFA, think football manager, and you would be going down the right path. Because that’s exactly how it was.
The great thing was that you could play it on your own or with a friend. Amazingly, one of my friends had it as well, so bingo.
I don’t want to bore you with all the rules, but maybe just get a feel for what I’m talking about.
You’d start the season with everyone equal. Blue dice for home teams, red for away teams, I think. Then as the season progressed, you would fill in the league tables, and then different coloured dice would be thrown depending on the point difference between the two teams.
After every four games, you would have updated the league tables; teams would then get an extra die if they were the form team. You did all four divisions and you could make your own leagues up, if you so desired. It didn’t stop there though, you had the FA Cup, the League Cup, and all the European competitions to play for, and if my memory serves me right, the European Championships and the World Cup as well.
I think what really did it for me was the depth of it all, it wasn’t just a case of throwing a few dice. It might have been a kid's game, but it treated you like an adult. Even though it was fun, it was deadly serious as well.
I don’t know what happened to mine; I think that my friend kept his. I’ve seen them advertised in recent years on eBay for around eighty pounds. I bought a disc from eBay a few years ago; it enabled you to print out everything that you needed, but to be honest, I didn’t have the time or the patience to do it.
You can’t really compare it to FIFA; things have changed beyond recognition, and I think that the kids of today would probably laugh if you showed it to them and asked them to sit down and play it, but I used to love it.
I also played subbuteo, tiddly wink football, striker, and one game that I invented, was, where I flicked a die back and forth the living room, even numbers went one way and odd the other. The doors at either end of the room were the goals.
So there it is: a brief history of football logacta. In an age of technological advancements, it doesn’t really stand a chance and is now confined to the memory banks of people like myself.
The Day I Thought I’d Killed Wally Everett
I grew up in a small village called Great Waltham. It’s a small village about five miles outside of Chelmsford, in Essex It was like most villages of the 1970s, consisting of a few pubs, a local shop, a village school, a church that dominated the horizon, and a village green.
Our house was about 100 yards from the village green, it had quite a steep slope at one end that led to a road. It wasn’t a particularly busy road and was a way through to other villages that were more rural than ours.
There was a football pitch in the village, but that was slightly further away. More often than not we played on the patch of grass in the village. It’s a long time ago, so if I say 1975, I won’t be far out because we moved from the village in 1976. It wasn’t just football that we played, we played war as well. I had a British army uniform and Jamie had a German one, but on this particular day it was football that we were playing. The ball was flat and rolled into the road. Wally Everett, who had just finished work; was ambling down the road on his three-speed bike. He was probably in his sixties but looked older.
It was a warm, sunny day, possibly in August. He saw me and smiled at me as his front tyre bumped over the flat ball. The next thing I knew, Wally had flown over his handlebars and was sprawled across the road. I’m not ashamed to admit that I went absolutely loopy. I was 6 or 7. I didn’t hang around, and I was off like a shot.
I ran home, I can remember it like it was yesterday. My Mum was definitely at home. I’m not sure about my brother or my dad. I was hysterical, I doubt that she could understand me. I was in such a state. At that moment, I genuinely thought that I had killed Wally Everett, and I was on the way to prison for the rest of my life in actuality, I hadn’t killed him. He was unconscious and had to spend a night in the local hospital.
He was back at home the very next day, resting and recuperating, and guess who had to visit him to say "Sorry". I was terrified; he didn’t look to good as he sat there, minus a few front teeth and bruises all over his head. I can’t remember if he. had broken bones and I can’t remember what he said, but he knew that it was an accident and he gave me a big gappy smile, and I slept better that night because the threat of prison was over.
The book is called Two minutes past Eight ( because that's what time European soccer special came onto radio 2 in them days,)
I'm not trying to plug my book, I just like sharing my memories, if anyone enjoys it I will add the rest of the book.
Katie
Two Minutes Past Eight
The Early Days
I’m trying to think of when I first started to watch football. It was most probably with my dad; the village team where we lived in Great Waltham, just outside of Chemsford in Essex, was half decent.
They wore a kit consisting of yellow shirts and maroon shorts. It shouldn’t really work, but it did. I remember going to watch them at New Writtle Street, which was Chelmsford City's home ground. It must have been a Mid-Essex Cup Final or something like that; whatever it might have been, I thought it was ever so exciting.
So in years, I think probably 1974 or 75. I know that my dad did some gardening for a lady called Nita or Neeta; I don’t know how you spelled it. Her garden overlooked the football pitch where Great Waltham played their home games. So I would go with him. The gardening memory might be a bit later, but I would have watched them when I was six, I think.
I would often go and watch village games. I found myself at a game not long after we moved to Broomfield in 1976. I found myself at a game on a Sunday morning. It wasn’t long before I found myself involved in the game emotionally. Curiously, though, it wasn’t the home team that I was cheering on but the away team. I think that I sensed a bit of injustice with some of the refereeing decisions. The away side found themselves down to nine men.
I became as incensed as them as I watched from the touchline. I knew that my Mum would be cooking Sunday dinner; she had probably told me what time to be in by, but how could I leave my new found heroes.
The away team wore sky blue, similar to the Coventry city colours of the time, but without the famous curved stripes that adorned City's kit. The game ended 2-2, but that wasn’t the end of it. I was hooked. I thought-out some of their players and found myself in the changing room, asking for autographs. It probably wouldn’t be allowed now, because of health and safety. I didn’t have a pen or paper but someone did and I got what I was after. As I write this it’s about forty-five since it happened, but my memory is as clear as day. I would have been around eight or nine. Some of those players could now be eighty or over, or possibly no longer with us. I’ve been to many football matches which were of a much higher standard; but for me this memory is right up there.
Leeds United
Leeds United were my first love. I can’t pinpoint the exact date, but it wasn’t long after I first started to kick a ball around. So if we are looking at around 1973 or so, I would have been 5 years old. The first crisis that I faced was, "Who would I support? Leeds, or Leeds United I genuinely believed that they were two different teams. I ran home from school at lunchtime and I quizzed my Mum, of all people, about what I should do.To be fair, she had other things on her mind; for example, my dinner, which consisted of eggs and homemade chips.
These were the days of TOPPS football cards, when for your money you would get six cards for a mere 5p. On the back was a list of appearances and goals from the previous three years of that player's career. It was surely ahead of its time when you take a look at today’s statistic-obsessed world. Also included in the pack were two pieces of chewing gum and, if you were lucky, a team poster. We didn’t know then how lucky we were! These days, they sell on eBay for over a pound just for one card.
I don’t know what drew me to Leeds, seeing as I was southern based. My very first best friend was a lad named Jamie Quill; his mom and dad owned the pub over the road. The family was all West Ham, apart from his granddad, whom he called "Pops." He supported Charlton Athletic. I never knew the reasoning behind that. I remember having a conversation with Jamie. He told me they were cockneys, being as they’d been born within the sound of Bow Bells.
One prominent memory I have is from 1973 FA Cup Final, where Leeds played against Sunderland. Leeds were overwhelming favourites, riding high in the first division and full of international stars. Sunderland were struggling in the second division, but we all know what happened. My main recollection of the game is sitting on my dad's knee with an orange and
black ball in my hand. It was similar to the beach balls that you could buy that had a mind of their own if the wind caught them. The ball had all the team names from the first division printed over it.They were matched in pairs. I could spend hours investigating why! Manchester United were matched with Wolverhampton Wanderers.
At the time, while watching the 1973 Cup Final, I thought that there were loads of goals. Every few minutes, my dad would sweep me up into the air.
It was only years later that I realised it was probably the result of Jim Montgomery’s double save, which has gone down in FA Cup folklore. At the time, I don’t think I realised what a massive shock the result was. Even though I called myself a Leeds fan, I don’t remember being particularly upset by the result.
I was obsessed by football. It wasn’t like these days, when you could feed your appetite easily and every game was on TV. You had Jimmy Hill and the recently retired Bob Wilson on "Match of the Day" on Saturday nights, and Brian Moore’s
"The Big Match" on Sunday afternoons, showing highlights of the weekend's matches. The only live games were the FA Cup Final, the European Finals, the World Cup, and the European Championships. It sounds like a lot, but compared to now, it is incredibly sparse for someone addicted to football.
It was the radio that provided a lifeline for me; there were countless school nights when I should have been asleep but instead was snuggled up in bed with the wireless against my ear.
One very clear memory around this time is when Leeds played a home game against West Ham. For whatever reason, I didn’t know the result until the following morning. I naturally assumed that it would be a walk in the park. After all, it was only West Ham. When a beaming Jamie Quill informed me the following morning of the result, Leeds United 1, West Ham United 3, it was a harsh football lesson for my young mind to take on board. Never take anything for granted.
I have a clear recollection of watching a TV programme around this time, which was aired early Saturday mornings and featured Jack Charlton. In it, he presided over training exercises with young players, and it featured corner and free- kick drills. I'd watch it before anyone else in the house was up, and then go out and practise what I'd seen.
All my dreams came true one Christmas when I awoke in the middle of the night to find that Father Christmas had brought me a Leeds kit. I don’t think I took it off for a month. I was ecstatic and remember vividly jumping up and down on my mom and dad’s bed, shouting excitedly, "He’s been, he’s been." That was without doubt the highlight of any Christmas presents that I ever received.
Even though I was too young to remember them, I am aware of two of the greatest goals ever scored. Eddie Gray's astonishing dribble from the corner flag. One where he dumped most of the Burnley team on their backsides and the other a delightful chip from way outside the penalty area, leaving the Burnley keeper clutching at thin air.
It was in 1972 that they gave one of the most complete performances ever seen when they humiliated hapless Southampton by seven goals to nil. It wasn’t just the result; it was the arrogance with which they did it. These were the days when Leeds United dined at the top table, with Liverpool and Brian Clough's Derby County (how times have changed), challenging for the league title.
Leeds had a certain reputation, but it never bothered me that they had gained the tag of "dirty Leeds”. It was slightly unfair, seeing as all the other teams weren’t exactly made up of angels.
The team was made up of names that rolled off the tongue and still do. Gray, Frankie and Eddie, Lorimer, Charlton, Giles, Reaney, Madeley, Jones, Clarke, and, of course, Bremner It was the snarling, tenacious, and often vicious ginger-haired Scotsman who became the object of my first hero worship.
I had a lucky escape when my plea to "Jim’ll fix it" to meet my idol went unanswered. Although I was distressed that a bunch of cubs eating sandwiches on a rollercoaster was more deserving than I was. Sadly now though, the glory days of Leeds United were coming to an end. Don Revie, the man who took Leeds out of the old second division and transformed them into one of English football’s giants left in 1974 to manage England, and in 1977, he headed to the Middle East and the life of Saudi Arabia His decision found him banned from English football for ten years, and although the ban was later overturned, he never worked in English football again. It was over, and so was my love affair with Leeds United. I had found another idol; this one was Scottish as well, and he went by the name of a certain Kenny Dalglish. Revie was to die in 1989, and Bremner in 1997, at just 54 years old.
My alliances may have moved on, but when I heard of both deaths, I was deeply saddened, and my childhood memories resurfaced, as I was back there again, jumping up and down on my mom.
and Dad’s bed. Even now, when I hear the words Leeds United or their latest result, my memories come flooding back. In recent years,more of that legendary team have departed; Trevor Cherry, Norman Hunter, Jack Charlton, and Terry Cooper have sadly died, but their names have been immortalised in the history of Leeds United. As for me, you never forget a first love, and if the glory days ever return to Elland Road, I'd like to think that Don Revie would be looking down with a smile on his face.
On My Radio
Even in these days when football is so easily accessible to watch, at heart I'm still a radio buff.My childhood football memories are filled with nights sitting next to the radio, or "wireless," as we often called it then. Nowadays, coverage is dominated by Radio 5 Live and TalkSport, but in the mid-seventies, when I first became a football fanatic Those channels never existed, and Radio 2 was the "place for your football fix; to be honest, it was the only place.
My early radio thrills included the title race from 1975–76, when QPR were just fourteen minutes from winning their first league championship, Kevin Keegan struck at the Wolves. I was 8 years old and wasn't a fan of either side, but the importance of the match generated an excitement in me that was compelling, as the voices of Brian Butler and Ron Jones crackled over the airwaves. Alongside them would be Denis Law or Jimmy Armfield.
I remember getting up the next day and seeing the back of the Daily Mirror, with Kevin Keegan reaching for the stars after his equaliser and being joined on the pitch by thousands of Scousers. One who was in the photo next to him and bore a remarkable resemblance to the long-haired lover from Liverpool, Jimmy Osmond. Liverpool went on to win the league, and QPR supporters still reminisce over their greatest ever season.
My love of the airwaves took me to faraway places that I had never heard of and aroused a curious fascination. Hearing the names of clubs such as Eintracht Frankfurt and Dynamo Dresden and Carl Zeiss Jena Those were the days of the old iron curtain, and I feared somewhat for the English teams and indeed for the commentators. It could have been on another planet, such was the mystery that these names had attached to them.
This was around the time when English teams started to dominate in Europe. Up until then, the Inter-City Fairs Cup, the UEFA Cup, and the Cup The Winners Cup had been a happy hunting ground for British teams, but Celtic and Manchester United remained the only two who had the big one, but that was about to change.
It was a late night once again as I listened to history being made. No one outside Liverpool had barely heard of the name David Fairclough until that March night in 1977, when the mighty reds hosted St. Ettiene in the European Cup quarterfinal final. Their talisman was a striker called Dominic Rochteau, and my friend Richard was obsessed with him.
A crescendo of noise exploded from the KOP and from my bedroom as well, as Super Sub Fairclough struck with just six minutes left. Liverpool went on to win the final against Borussia Dortmund Mönchengladbach in Rome, which I watched on TV, but it's the memory of listening to the radio and supersub Fairclough that remains not just a football memory but a childhood memory that is deep-rooted forever in my being.
This was just the start of English dominance for the next five years, as Liverpool followed up their1977 triumph by winning at Wembley the following year against FC Bruges thanks to a goalfrom Kenny Dalglish (whatever happened to him?) Then it was the turn of Nottingham Forest for two years and Aston Villa in 1982. Forest, managed by Brian Clough, astonished the football world by winning the First Division championship following promotion. Remarkably, they were drawn against mighty Liverpool in the very first round of the European Cup in 1978 and it seemed that was it; they would go no further, but Clough and Taylor seemingly had other ideas.
Forest won the first leg 2-0 with goals by Gary Birtles and Colin Barrett Even then, few people gave them a chance in the cauldron of noise that was Anfield on a European night. All this drama was introduced by the words, "It's two minutes past eight, and it's European soccer." special," and the spine-tingling anthem would blast out, and you'd be there. Amsterdam, Valencia, Juventus, and they would be here, in your bedroom, your shed, your kitchen, or your bathroom.
The drama didn't just stay confined to the voices coming out of the radio. It took a more dramatic
turn than that in our kitchen. It was the second leg of the European Cup between Liverpool and Bayern Munich at the Olympiastadion Stadium in Munich in 1981
Liverpool once found themselves as underdogs.The first leg had ended nil-nil at Anfield, and Bayern were in a confident mood with captain Paul Breitner writing off Liverpool. He had good reason to as well; Munich had a formidable record at home, but they hadn't reckoned on Ray Kennedy, who, known for his lovely left foot, shocked the home side when he rifled one in with his right foot with seven minutes to go.
These were the days of away goals counting double. Unable to contain my joy, I leapt into the air arms aloft, which was preceded by a loud bang and darkness. In my moment of ecstasy, I'd punched the lampshade and shattered the light bulb. Bedlam rained as the dog, sleeping in the corner, was rudely awakened from chasing rabbits into what must have seemed like mayhem.
Munich equalised with three minutes to go with a goal from Karl-Heinz Rummenigge, but it was a little too late as Liverpool marched onto their third European Cup final, where they would go on to beat Real Madrid.
These were the days before I became a bitter fan. I listened and celebrated the successes of Ipswich Town, Tottenham Hotspur, and Everton in European competitions, following their route to glory once again over the airwaves.
Anyone who loves football knows about FA Cup 3rd Round Day, played the first week of January is when the power of the radio certainly came into action. My cup-draw memories are of inching around the radio on Mondays at school in the early 1980s.
Mr. Straight was my woodwork teacher and also a Spurs fan, and he would bring his radio in on such days, and a hush (not unlike a minute's silence) and a nervy tension would start a few seconds before the draw was made.
There might be new fancy gadgets these days for doing the cup draw, but nothing compares to the rustle of the velvet bag full of balls on the radio. This is where our young hopes and dreams are made, but it is also where they are crushed and the harsh reality of defeat is learned.
Hopes and memories are made, but pain, sadness, and bitterness will be stored in young minds and hearts for a lifetime. Although the years may pass, the cup runs, the near misses, and the giant killings will never diminish.
The rise of the Premier League and Sky Television took football to another level, but even now sitting down beside the radio, hearing the noise of the crowd, and being told that Arsenal will be playing from left to right in the first half, rolls back the years to the mid-seventies, and being that eight-year-old listening to super sub David Fairclough send the KOP into meltdown, and my radio became a place where I travelled the corners of Europe and beyond at times.
The voices that travelled over the airwaves created memories that will last forever, and when talk turns to the past. I can smile and say to myself, "I was there". I really was, and in some ways I still am.
The Joy of Logacta
"Logacta," what the hell is that, you may well ask?
Well, I was lucky enough to find it written across a box in my Christmas stocking in the late seventies, and I can tell you now that in my opinion, it's up there with the best games ever made; it kept me amused for hundreds of hours.
Let me put you out of your misery; it’s a football game based on charts. It sounds a bit boring might be your first response, and "yes," that might have been my first response, but trust me, it wasn’t.
To be honest, for the mind of an eight-year-old, it was a lot to take in. Seven different dice, all different colours, but once you got going and understood, it was truly addictive. Think FIFA, think football manager, and you would be going down the right path. Because that’s exactly how it was.
The great thing was that you could play it on your own or with a friend. Amazingly, one of my friends had it as well, so bingo.
I don’t want to bore you with all the rules, but maybe just get a feel for what I’m talking about.
You’d start the season with everyone equal. Blue dice for home teams, red for away teams, I think. Then as the season progressed, you would fill in the league tables, and then different coloured dice would be thrown depending on the point difference between the two teams.
After every four games, you would have updated the league tables; teams would then get an extra die if they were the form team. You did all four divisions and you could make your own leagues up, if you so desired. It didn’t stop there though, you had the FA Cup, the League Cup, and all the European competitions to play for, and if my memory serves me right, the European Championships and the World Cup as well.
I think what really did it for me was the depth of it all, it wasn’t just a case of throwing a few dice. It might have been a kid's game, but it treated you like an adult. Even though it was fun, it was deadly serious as well.
I don’t know what happened to mine; I think that my friend kept his. I’ve seen them advertised in recent years on eBay for around eighty pounds. I bought a disc from eBay a few years ago; it enabled you to print out everything that you needed, but to be honest, I didn’t have the time or the patience to do it.
You can’t really compare it to FIFA; things have changed beyond recognition, and I think that the kids of today would probably laugh if you showed it to them and asked them to sit down and play it, but I used to love it.
I also played subbuteo, tiddly wink football, striker, and one game that I invented, was, where I flicked a die back and forth the living room, even numbers went one way and odd the other. The doors at either end of the room were the goals.
So there it is: a brief history of football logacta. In an age of technological advancements, it doesn’t really stand a chance and is now confined to the memory banks of people like myself.
The Day I Thought I’d Killed Wally Everett
I grew up in a small village called Great Waltham. It’s a small village about five miles outside of Chelmsford, in Essex It was like most villages of the 1970s, consisting of a few pubs, a local shop, a village school, a church that dominated the horizon, and a village green.
Our house was about 100 yards from the village green, it had quite a steep slope at one end that led to a road. It wasn’t a particularly busy road and was a way through to other villages that were more rural than ours.
There was a football pitch in the village, but that was slightly further away. More often than not we played on the patch of grass in the village. It’s a long time ago, so if I say 1975, I won’t be far out because we moved from the village in 1976. It wasn’t just football that we played, we played war as well. I had a British army uniform and Jamie had a German one, but on this particular day it was football that we were playing. The ball was flat and rolled into the road. Wally Everett, who had just finished work; was ambling down the road on his three-speed bike. He was probably in his sixties but looked older.
It was a warm, sunny day, possibly in August. He saw me and smiled at me as his front tyre bumped over the flat ball. The next thing I knew, Wally had flown over his handlebars and was sprawled across the road. I’m not ashamed to admit that I went absolutely loopy. I was 6 or 7. I didn’t hang around, and I was off like a shot.
I ran home, I can remember it like it was yesterday. My Mum was definitely at home. I’m not sure about my brother or my dad. I was hysterical, I doubt that she could understand me. I was in such a state. At that moment, I genuinely thought that I had killed Wally Everett, and I was on the way to prison for the rest of my life in actuality, I hadn’t killed him. He was unconscious and had to spend a night in the local hospital.
He was back at home the very next day, resting and recuperating, and guess who had to visit him to say "Sorry". I was terrified; he didn’t look to good as he sat there, minus a few front teeth and bruises all over his head. I can’t remember if he. had broken bones and I can’t remember what he said, but he knew that it was an accident and he gave me a big gappy smile, and I slept better that night because the threat of prison was over.