What does football mean to me . . . ?
(aka - confessions of an ex wannabe reserve sub).
Football is a game so rooted in mass culture that it's hard not to have an opinion of it. For some the whole shooting match is a farce - 22 grown men paid, in the top-flight game, weekly wages that most of us won't see for years in the daily grind of our working lives. Skills often sublime, sometimes mediocre and the whole panoply of emotions played out over this 90 minute spectacle.
As a youth l spent alternate Saturdays spending my paper round money watching Leeds Utd (£1 a week - 15p bus from Ossett to Tommy Wass's, the walk down to Elland road bedecked in three scarves and home-made banner, 10p for a programme, 50p into the boys' stand at the corner of the Kop (and shimmy on up over the barrier into the Kop proper with the big misters) and 10p for a packet of crisps (after getting up at 6am to lick t' road clean wi' t' tongue . . . ). The times when l couldn't get to watch would be spent listening to commentary on the radio decked out in luck bringing paraphernalia. Given that this was well into the decline of the 'Super Leeds' side of Bremner, Giles, Clarke, Gray, Hunter, Lorimer, etc then luck was a precious and elusive thing. These old, established players now feeling it and opposing teams no longer fearing them.
Boyhood belief in sportsmanship, engendered by my father (amongst other things encouraging me to support Man Utd when playing against foreign opposition - "But l hate Man U!!"), was shelved when l saw Eddie Gray, my favourite player at the time, holding a West Brom player back by the band in his shorts - 'Not Eddie, surely?'. Then there was the booing by the Leeds faithful of Terry yorath. l never understood why - was it because he was welsh and had grey-white hair or had he let the team down in some earlier encounter? As far as these things go it was probably a mixture of both. Still, a returning Carl Harris, Welsh and playing for Charlton, l think, got an appreciative cheer from the home crowd . . . and bagged a couple of goals too . . .
*l'm not singing anymore!?!'*
. . . this article may be finished at a later date. Right now there are other things to do (see www.frontline-online.blogspot.com). . .
(. . . and Leeds are playing shite.
All you Sunderland twats can f*ck off!, yer bastards, yer!)
Football is a game so rooted in mass culture that it's hard not to have an opinion of it. For some the whole shooting match is a farce - 22 grown men paid, in the top-flight game, weekly wages that most of us won't see for years in the daily grind of our working lives. Skills often sublime, sometimes mediocre and the whole panoply of emotions played out over this 90 minute spectacle.
As a youth l spent alternate Saturdays spending my paper round money watching Leeds Utd (£1 a week - 15p bus from Ossett to Tommy Wass's, the walk down to Elland road bedecked in three scarves and home-made banner, 10p for a programme, 50p into the boys' stand at the corner of the Kop (and shimmy on up over the barrier into the Kop proper with the big misters) and 10p for a packet of crisps (after getting up at 6am to lick t' road clean wi' t' tongue . . . ). The times when l couldn't get to watch would be spent listening to commentary on the radio decked out in luck bringing paraphernalia. Given that this was well into the decline of the 'Super Leeds' side of Bremner, Giles, Clarke, Gray, Hunter, Lorimer, etc then luck was a precious and elusive thing. These old, established players now feeling it and opposing teams no longer fearing them.
Boyhood belief in sportsmanship, engendered by my father (amongst other things encouraging me to support Man Utd when playing against foreign opposition - "But l hate Man U!!"), was shelved when l saw Eddie Gray, my favourite player at the time, holding a West Brom player back by the band in his shorts - 'Not Eddie, surely?'. Then there was the booing by the Leeds faithful of Terry yorath. l never understood why - was it because he was welsh and had grey-white hair or had he let the team down in some earlier encounter? As far as these things go it was probably a mixture of both. Still, a returning Carl Harris, Welsh and playing for Charlton, l think, got an appreciative cheer from the home crowd . . . and bagged a couple of goals too . . .
*l'm not singing anymore!?!'*
. . . this article may be finished at a later date. Right now there are other things to do (see www.frontline-online.blogspot.com). . .
(. . . and Leeds are playing shite.
All you Sunderland twats can f*ck off!, yer bastards, yer!)
posted by Mark Harrop at 5:25 AM
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