Friday, 9 December 2005

SATURDAYS WITHOUT FOOTBALL

"Looking back it's so bizarre, it runs in the family, all the things we are. On the back seat of the car with Joseph and Emily, we only see so far -And we all have our daddy's eyes, looking back it's so bizarre." They were the words that would reverberate from my Dad's Ford Cortina on a Saturday Afternoon. The days before Saturday afternoon football, when I was too young to be left alone with my Lo-lo ball watching Fall Guy repeats. Radio Solent would tease us blind with news of a goal, by use of that familiar synthesized cliffhanger jingle. Presenter Grant Coleman would postulate further: "There's been a goal at...." Yes Grant, where? "At...The," yes, where? "There's been a G-g-goal," said Grant, far too aware of the attention he was drawing to himself. "At....The.......Wait for it!" Where Grant? Where? You fuckhound! This isn't pay per minute on Clubcall, I just want to know if Saints are now four down at Kenilworth Road! "There's been a Goal at Kenilworth Road," he said, finally. "Here's John Hughes to tell us more."
"Yes Grant," said the reporter, who later found himself in the commentating netherworld, covering F.A. Vase ties between Havant and Waterlooville versus Little Wallop under Lyme Regis. "There's been a goal at Kenilworth Road." I know there's a fucking goal at Kenilworth Road John, I've just had Grant Coleman prick teasing me for the last minute an a half!
By now I'm chomping down hard on my Fox Glacier mint - this is very precarious when
you've still got a head full of milk teeth. On it went 'til I was old enough to cruise 'round on my three speed Grifter on a weekend diet of Nerds - shortly before they were pulled from the market after a tip off that they were spiked with shards of glass. Well, if our pitch doesn't pass a pitch inspection tomorrow, we'll be able to relive those warm nostalgic climes.

6 comments:

Emerson Marks said...

Gola boots, dog shit for goal post - or sometimes, upside down Raleigh Burners, which I was never happy with. Yes, you might get the satisfaction of the ricochet; the ball going in off a spokey-dokey, but, you run the risk. The risk of mutilating yourself on a loose chain; I learnt the lesson of 1986 world cup winning Argentina goalkeeper: Pumpido. Who almost tore his finger off in training - when not wearing his pair of Sondicos - he got his Wedding ring caught on the crossbar's net attachment. Risky business. Kids, go to the building site, thief yourself some large cones - much safer.

Dykey said...

Always fighting who would go in goal and your mum moaning at you upon return with dirt from ear to ear and your puffy jacket ripped and spliffy jeans ruined.
PS game will be fine 2moz i rec. no as no more rain!

Mark Sanderson said...

Famous last words Dykey! PS game will be fine 2moz i rec. no as no more rain!

iceman said...

ah, those were the days! I had a mate who lived down the road, Danny Black you might all remember (skinny kid, real name White), we used to kick around in his garden using two big chunky tree stumps for goalposts, a lot harder to score i know but when the ball went in off, it was a truly special moment. Scott may well have participated in these special moments from time to time.

froudie said...

playground footie with a tennis ball was the best - mum used to love sewing up the holes in the knees of my trousers form outrageous sliding tackles that were never meant for concrete pitches.

Mark Sanderson said...

Of course, and who could forget the mini leather joy of the the Italia '90 ball. Available at most petrol stations.

Looking back (bringing back the blog)

I haven't posted here since 2012 – that’s five years of not blogging. The blog is/was about Burridge AFC, the football team I played f...