IT'S NOT ALL BAD

A recent tv programme aired by Bravo, titled, Footballs Gone Soft and introduced by David Baddiel was a nostalgic trip back in time. It was a wonderful to have the memory jogged by a touch of the all our yesterdays. It encompassed the lighter moments of the 70's and 80's when it could well be argued that football was played with a smile on it's face. But in truth it was. I'm still convinced after all these years that football WAS BETTER then!!

I suspect that those of you not old enough to compare the different eras will probably be thinking there goes another grumpy old bastard living in the past! Though I would vehemently deny such an accusation, I suppose that a little truth does attach itself to such sentiments.

I often look back to the years mentioned and wonder what makes football so different from now to back in the good old days ( there I go again! ) Some would say that it's the initial memory and the fact that it was all a new experience. How many of you remember your first kiss, or first cigarette or first pint of beer? Most of you I suspect and there's always something special about your first time with anything! Even if in truth it wasn't really better then, your memories tell you different.

Maybe it was the peripheral activities associated with football spectating that emblazon themselves on the mind. In a world when when PC rules and everything is sanitized and football doesn't escape this trend it's good to recall how it used to be. At a time when the ownership of a private car was not as it is today, the reliance on public transport was essential for many. The Maynes's coach or a British Rail corridor train were common modes of transport. The trains left a lot to be desired in those days. You had to wipe your feet when you got off. The banter on the trains was second to none. No alcohol restrictions. But following a spate of trains being wrecked things changed. In came an experiment with the Football League Special. A specially adapted train that the F L payed £50k for. It had a carriage with TV's (telly's that is) and yes a disco. Complete with strobe and flashing coloured lights. Brightly painted walls and a variable selection of tunes. Probably the nearest you'd get to a trip without taking the mind altering drug, LSD !! If my memory serves me right each first division club got exclusive use of the train for one away match per season. My only experience was an away trip to Portman Road to watch City at Ipswich. The trial was pretty short lived and we went back to cattle trucks and shitty trains.

Arriving at your destination always brought about a sense of excitement coupled with trepidation. The latter was knowing that you had to run the gauntlet of home fans as you made your way to the ground. Despite a police presence and plenty of equine support backed by snarling alsations - that made the mother-in-law appear quite tame in comparison - you found yourself being herded like cattle to the stadium.The experience with the mounted section was akin to running the bulls in Spain. If you got in it's way, tough! No going for a pub drink...that was a no-no. However, you could get a pint in the ground. It was warm and looked like a specimen of something you take out others but it was alcohol. The pies were crap. The mobile 'food' vendor offered you the choice of hot dog's or Westlers steaming burgers with soggy onions. Yummy!! Prime carriers of what we now know to be samonella i'm sure. An acute shortage of Andrex was always evident on the return trip!!

Standing on packed terraces with scarfs tied to trouser. Open to the inclement weather. Going with the sway or the lurch of the crowd, mostly involuntary. The surges towards the opposing fans armed with a clenched fist and a snarling face that would win any gurning competition. Dodging the coins tossed by irate home fans. Thousands chanting and singing in unison with little or no respect for whoever the verbal insults may be aimed at. The jostling and resultant arguments with the far from sober clown behind you who keeps knocking you for six and seeing how succesful he can be in knocking your beer or Bovril from your grip. And oh those bobbies whose idea of crowd control was to give you a crack, push you out of the way or just drag you out by the scruff of the neck and woe betide if a barrier or wall got in the way. You hit it and hoped for the best. But it wasn't all bad.

With luck the game would be played in a mudbath with all visible markings hidden from view. If the pitch was frozen or snow covered to hell with it, the game went ahead.(City v Spurs 'ballet on ice' a prime example) It was a great leveller and by heck did you get some chuckles as players and officials tried to stay on their feet. The usual white ball was replaced with a ball that looked like it had been tangoe'd. The groundstaff were close at hand to re mark the penalty spot or sweep the snow away from the white lines! White lines and snow were a great combo!! At least the refs and linesman had an excuse for wondering if the ball had crossed the line then!! What excuse do they have today? Obviously not been to Specsavers!! But it wasn't all bad.

Coming home from the games was probably similar to today. Happy if you won. Down if you lost. The pressure to get results then was not as intense as it is nowadays. Losing a game today can cost you millions and fans are well aware of whats at stake. Before getting on your coach you'd go to the loo - no toilets on the coaches - or if you had to run the gauntlet (again) to catch your train, you'd seek out the nearest newspaper lad to get the Stop Press final scores. On arriving at Piccadilly Station, about 10.00 pm, irrespective of how far you'd travelled, the first edition of the Sunday papers were always on sale. To buy one was a must. Then when you got home the Football Pink was on the mat. You had usually missed MoTD and with no repeats or means to record it was tough. With luck you might find your teams game on Sunday's Big Match Granada presentation. This was of course your only chance to get involved in football debates and of course it wasn't always going to be your favoured team whose highlights were to be shown. No chance to see the goal or save of the day you may have witnessed.

Throughout the players tangled with each other with much gusto and at time very little finesse. If it moved, kick it, was the norm. But the players took it on the chin or should that be shin? Players hustled and bustled. Fists were regularly exchanged. Tackles from behind and side were permissable - with as I recall, little or no serious injury. Players would take a knock, dust themselves down and bounce back up. No diving. No holding out the arms pleading for some semblance of understanding from the ref who chose not to give you a free kick.Just plain football as it should be played. With a smile.

This was a time when footballers weren't the stars today's players purport to be. They were far from highly paid but nevertheless well paid. They were in the main working class guys doing something they love and getting paid for doing so.They had a 'common' touch. I firmly believe that players were hurt by defeat and were embarrased to face their peers.Players could communicate with fans. No isolating themselves. Autograph signing was not a chore. Players knew when to play to the gallery with their antics and when they did we all laughed with them or at them. Yellow cards would be brandished by over zealous officials in todays game. How many players today would ask the Royal guest (Princess Anne) at a Cup Final for their phone number and ask how their mother was? (City's Tony Coleman 1969 F A Cup Final) Players were not hounded by the press. They could have a social life without their every move being watched by the media. Players would be quite comfortable socialising in a City centre pub or eatery or local watering hole. For anyone who remembers the Slack Alice club in Manchester (George Best's) will know this was the place to be. A who's who of footballers from the North West football scene. For those of you who remember Granada's Friday tea time football programme, Kick Off will recall the excitement at seeing one or more of your clubs players etc on the couch or seeing a replay of that wonder save or goal. I remember Francis Lee being interviewed and saying how players used to sit and wait in hope for the Kick Off producer to phone up to ask if they would go on the programme. Players from all the north west clubs were more than willing to partake even if it meant doing some stunt that they would be embarrassed to recall in years to come. On a personal note I can actually recall wagging it off school on a Thursday or Friday and jumping on a 92 to Dickenson Road and walking to Maine Road to see if the BBC were setting up their MoTD cameras. Being on telly gave you a big buzz. It was of course a 'luxury' in those days given the coverage the sport gets today. But it wasn't all bad.

As the years have whizzed by and the media attention has intensified and the money players earn has grown out of all proportion, the beautiful game has changed. Fans are paying through the nose for what is supposed to be a working class sport. TV controls much of the game. The media write drivel about players. Who in the right mind is interested how much this or that player has spent on clothes from one of the countries designer stores? The less we know about players spending habits the better. Footballers have brought a new meaning to the phrase, Sunday roast! Players have become isolated from the very people who contribute so much to their over inflated earnings. The loyalty that both clubs and players showed for each other has gone down the pan. A club that employs a player is no more than a source of income. When they so eloquently touch the badge, it is not a declaration of love or loyalty it's a covert signal that screams at you 'this is the club that pays my wages'. And come next week, next season, next year or whatever, they will be caressing the badge of any club that pays their wages!! But it's not all bad.

Football has given me some tremendous times. Fond memories. Newly found friends and aquaintances. Plenty of heartaches. Tears of joy. Tears of happiness. And would I swap that............no way Jose. You choose your club as though it's a birth right. You stick with them through thick and thin. It is likely to be the longest relationship you find yourself in. There's no walking away when the going gets tough. You stick with it. I caressed the City badge back in 1964 and hope to do so for years to come after all, things are not all that bad.

 

Geoff Stevenson

 

                     

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