First of all, I didn’t need to be subsidised by family anymore, the government was doing it, and secondly, I had lost Les to a domestic bliss that would turn into Hell. That’s a story for him to tell you. It’s one of girl falls for boy, boy falls for girl three kids later and…… Continue reading A Bond Broken In The Dark.
Ending Up On The Wrong End Of A Yoyo.
As he went about dismantling Smith’s team after he’d been appointed, so Saunders did the same with the team that had been relegated. Or maybe that’s how it could’ve looked. In truth, it was an excuse to break up the circle of friends that had been causing off field mischief. Blake was sold to Portsmouth…… Continue reading Ending Up On The Wrong End Of A Yoyo.
Crack In The Cup.
Stories of what the team were getting up to have since become legendary. The nucleus was and in no particular order, local lads and Blues fans Robert Hopkins, who from now on, I’m just going to refer to as Hoppy simply because that’s what he prefers to be called, Noel Blake and Tony Coton, who…… Continue reading Crack In The Cup.
Miracles And A Zulu Birth.
Picking up from where I left off, 82/83 season started early. I’d wasted my birthday money on a Blues shirt. For one week only, I was as proud as proud can be. The train drivers were on strike, but me being me, had this money burning a hole. I badgered Les to chaperone me to…… Continue reading Miracles And A Zulu Birth.
Not Jones And French, But Smith And Saunders.
Coventry at home, first game of the season. Not only the first time I was to see Blues win, but the first and only time I was to see a kit that has gone down in football kit folklore. The change colours that Coventry wore that day made your eyes scream. it was hideous. So…… Continue reading Not Jones And French, But Smith And Saunders.
Picking The Bones.
From a time when I could’ve played my ribs like a xylophone, (Had I had any musical talent of course, which I don’t.) to a time where I’ve conceded defeat to baldness, I’ve had fun with life, and life has, at times, got its own back, and has had fun at my expense. There’s still…… Continue reading Picking The Bones.
Grounds For Divorce.
No, I haven’t got secretly married and it’s gone wrong…..again. Grounds are now referred to as stadiums, though I always felt that stadiums were something you watched athletics in. They’ve changed over the years. Even more dramatically since I’ve been watching the game. (Not down to me, I might add.) Even with disasters at both…… Continue reading Grounds For Divorce.
Getting Evolved In A Right Rattling Racket.
Team sport in essence, is tribalistc. Football, depending on your viewpoint, is the best or the worst. Although I could, I won’t bore you with the psychological reasons why. (I can hear the sighs of relief from here.) For decades, like the meagre coverage of the game, how we supported our clubs didn’t actually change…… Continue reading Getting Evolved In A Right Rattling Racket.
Highlighted In Pink.
There was a point in my life when I was known as the man with the pink paper. If you’ve got images of me flouncing around shouting into a mobile phone the size of a small shoebox, dressed in a pinstripe suit, red braces, carrying a briefcase and a copy of the Financial Times, then…… Continue reading Highlighted In Pink.
Oh, How On Earth Did He Miss That?
Well with the aid of football, I’ve pin pointed my adolescence and adult life. I’ve missed certain things out that will remain forever with me. Some things are always much better kept from an innocent world. Not necessarily because they were too juicy. Vice versa in fact. Something’s are just too plain boring. I panicked…… Continue reading Oh, How On Earth Did He Miss That?
