Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts

Tuesday, 17 February 2015

LAURIE CUNNINGHAM and SHOOT! MAGAZINE (1976)


As a football mad kid, one of the highlights of my week was collecting our comics from Hamer's, the newsagent at the top of our street. Reserved and kept behind the counter would be Look-In! for my sister and Shoot! for me. When a new football title, Match, was published in 1979 I had that too but Shoot! was the main event. So much so that when we moved to Spain for a year my Nana would post it out to me along with jokes she'd copy down from Tony Blackburn's radio show. It was about two weeks out of date - the magazine, not Blackburn's jokes , they were waaaaay out of the date already -by the time it arrived, but that was how I kept in touch with the scores and what was happening back in England. News traveled slowly in the late 70s.

One thing that made Shoot! stand out was their famous League Ladders. At the start of each season they'd giveaway a piece of folded card with a slot for each position of all the English and Scottish divisions and fiddly little cut-out tabs for every club. With the Sunday Mirror in front of me I'd lie on the floor and painstakingly arrange all clubs in their current league position so, at a glance, I could tell you throughout the week - should anyone care to ask, and they never did - that Sunderland were sixth in the second division and Torquay were 15th in the fourth. I didn't support one specific team for many years; I just loved football, full stop. 

Last week I bought a few old copies - three for a quid - down the market. From 1975 and 1976 they are a few years earlier than when I started getting it but they're exactly as recall them and the features the same. There are big-name columnists like Liverpool's Kevin Keegan and QPR's Gerry Francis who weren't scared to offer an opinion. Francis expresses his pride in being named England captain aged 23, "the youngest international skipper in Europe" and then takes a journalist to task for inaccurate reporting, "I am afraid Mr James has unjustly wronged me and devalued the Daily Mail in my eyes". Like Mr Francis's mullet, some things never change.

You Are The Ref was another popular feature. "Before a match you see a player inserting contact lenses into his eyes. Do you (a) take no action or (b) refuse to allow him to play?" Then there was the Focus On... questionnaire in which players revealed with predictable regularity their favourite food as steak and chips and their favourite singer Olivia Newton-John.

One player who stands out in the issues I bought is Laurie Cunningham. I loved Laurie when he played alongside Cyrille Regis for West Bromwich Albion; such exciting players. Black players weren't a common sight so always seemed that little bit cooler to me, especially with flair like Cunningham. WBA had three in 1978: Cunningham, Regis and Brendon Batson, which allowed manager Ron Atkinson to name them the Three Degrees without anyone batting an eye. Cunningham would go on to play, with great acclaim, for Real Madrid - including a European Cup Final but in 1976 he was still plying his trade in the second division for Leyton Orient. In his Focus feature from the 9th October 1976 issue Laurie doesn't come across as the archetypal mid-70s footballer. His favourite singers are Isaac Hayes and Bob Marley and I get the impression his heart was somewhere else. If he wasn't a footballer he thought he'd be a professional dancer and the story goes he would pay his fines for being late for training by winning dance competitions.

He was certainly his own man. Look at these answers. Favourite Player: Nobody. Favourite Other Team: None. Most Difficult Opponent: Nobody. Personal Ambition: None. In fairness Laurie did have an ambition of playing for England, something no black man had done, which he would achieve six times.    

Tragically Laurie Cunningham died in a car crash, aged 33, in 1989. 

Saturday, 25 January 2014

THE FOOTBALL LEAGUE REVIEW (1967), THE FA CUP & THE DREAMS OF CHILDREN


It’s the fourth round of the FA Cup this weekend. Not that it matters to Queen’s Park Rangers whose aversion to cup competitions means they bail out at the first possible opportunity. At least this season they rolled over for a decent Everton side; a shade more palatable than being beaten at home to a team representing Vauxhall Motors as they did not so long ago. But whoever the opposition the club rarely gives a toss about any cup competition.

It’s a real pity fighting relegation, chasing promotion or even scrabbling over league positions is now the be-all and end-all to clubs. Winning a cup doesn’t carry the prestige it once did but I’d love it, love it, to see my team do it. Just once would be enough. When I kicked a tennis ball in the garden against the side of the garage as a kid I dreamt of scoring the winning cup final goal. All normal kids did. I couldn’t think of anything better in life; to such a degree I even imagined dying the next morning and the club erecting a statue outside the ground in my honour. Bit of an extreme fantasy for a child and one which became a greater dilemma once I became more interested in music and agonised over whether I’d prefer a number one single instead. In the increasingly unlucky event I achieve either of these (previously considered) monumental achievements it's doubtful many will even notice. 

Back in 1967 (before I was born) when QPR won the League Cup – to date their only major honour - cups were still a big deal. As a third division side Rangers beat first division West Bromwich Albion 3-2 after being two-down at half time in front of 98,000 people at Wembley Stadium. How’s that for a fairy tale?

I’d wager the two young fans on the cover of the 9th September 1967 issue of Football League Review were there. It’s an evocative snapshot - by Peter Robinson - from a bygone era. The fan on the left appears to have stuck a number 8 on the back of their mum’s stripy dress, pinched the waist in with a length of rope, and decorated a hat pinched from the local butcher. The fan on the right sports a variation on a traditional bobble hat, painted one of their dad’s old work shirts, and has scrawled the names of the team on back in felt-tip: Springett, Hazell, Larazus, Keen, Morgan, Marsh etc. Back then one knew the team, it was always the same. There weren't massive squads or players with a number 42 on their shirt who saw 20 minutes of playing time. Even as late as 1981 when Aston Villa won the first division they only used 14 players all season. Players didn’t get injured despite being allowed to kick seven shades of shit out of each other. The metatarsal, thankfully, had yet to be invented. 

Football League Review started life in 1965 as Soccer Review, changed its name the following year until 1972, and spent its last three years as League Football. Flicking through the 20 pages in this issue (50p from Walthamstow Wood Street Indoor Market last weekend) it’s interesting to see how things have changed and how they’ve stayed the same. I can’t remember the last bout of violence I witnessed in a ground but in 1967: “The Football League and its clubs are concerned to root out hooligans, to see they receive punishment that fits their crime. But they are also aware that the vast majority of spectators are immaculately behaved and are equally concerned to clear out the louts”, reads Harry Brown’s typically pompous editorial.

One of the causes of trouble identified in a separate column was “the factions who flaunt flags and banners simply to annoy or enrage rival supporters. They incite passion, and passion starts brawls, I have seen many a flare-up on the terraces ignited in this way. So have you”. Of course nowadays, as anyone who has had the misfortune to step inside Stamford Bridge knows, clubs – well, Chelsea – create huge plastic banners with slogans like “JT CAPTAIN, LEADER, LEGEND”, in support of their odious lump, guaranteed  - with just those few words - to boil the blood of opposing supporters. So, it does work, passions can be incited by a banner, even inside a soulless corporate shitbox.  

The gamesmanship of footballers was also under scrutiny in 1967 with complaints of “childish and petulant behaviour of many players”. Arguing with referees’ decisions, flashes of ill-temper, gesturing, kicking the ball away and time wasting are all highlighted as detracting from the spectators' enjoyment. “What would happen if a club decided to cut out all this malarkey, and play the game in a proper gentlemanly spirit?” asked Mr. Frank Hales from Oxford. I dunno Frank but just you wait until 2014.

Increased footballers’ wages were already an issue of concern and how “pound notes on the eyeballs blunt enthusiasm for leather footballs”. Manchester United's manager, Mr. Matt Busby, did not agree, claiming star salaries were the making of the modern footballer. “He is a smart, sophisticated man about town… soccer is really a profession with a future now”.

Amongst the consternation and brow-beating, light relief was provided with a little something for the ladies who each week got to vote for their most attractive footballer. This particular week, Georgie Best had to concede top spot to Sunderland’s Jim Baxter. Glaswegian “Slim Jim” wouldn’t have been my idea of a dreamboat but he did have a cool modish haircut and was something of a character, famous for drinking himself unconscious on Friday night and then turning in a great performance come three o’clock on Saturday. Hardly the epitome of smart sophistication but impressive nonetheless and guess who now has a statue in their home town? Yes, Jim Baxter.

Right then, who's for a game of three-and-in? Bring some jumpers for goalposts. Bagsy Charlie Austin.
Slim Jim Baxter, Sunderland & Scotland

Friday, 19 October 2012

WHAT THE WELL-DRESSED FOOTBALLER WAS WEARING AND DRIVING IN 1968

Footballers. Dontcha just hate them? If only they still looked like these stylish young men posing with their motors for The Topical Times Football Book 1968-69. I'll even excuse the hideous West London clubs a couple played for.




Sunday, 8 May 2011

TAARABT'S TOO GOOD FOR YOU - QPR PROMOTION SONG

This was made by the staff at Balcony Shirts, who downed their t-shirt making tools to produce a tribute to QPR’s promotion to the Premier League. Football songs are almost exclusively rubbish, especially if not for your favoured team, but not many sound like The Band and Teenage Fanclub huddled around a barbecue on Shepherd’s Bush Green. I promise this’ll be the last football related post for a very long time, so kindly allow this indulgence. Any involvement by the Raison family is entirely coincidental.

Saturday, 30 April 2011

QUEEN'S PARK RANGERS - CHAMPIONS


With a game to spare, Queen's Park Rangers this afternoon won the Championship. The last time I witnessed this was in 1983 so I am very excited but not quite as excited as Patrick Agyemang (centre) appears in this photo by taken by defender Peter Ramage.

Monday, 21 March 2011

ALL HAIL THE GENIUS OF ADEL TAARABT


Queen’s Park Rangers’ genius maverick showman, Adel Taarabt, was last night crowned Football League Player of the Year at a swanky London reception.

Instead of humbly walking up to collect his award, he nonchalantly slalomed around four tables, double backed on himself and did it again in case anyone missed it the first time, flipped a food trolley over his head, dropped his shoulder, and as the cheese and pineapple fell from the air he dinked it with the outside of his shoe with such reverse spin it hit the back of the trophy, which he caught under his suit jacket before sauntering off.

There are footballers and there is Adel Taarabt; a complete law unto himself. Thank you Adel, in thirty seasons I’ve never enjoyed watching a player as much, and probably never will again. Now go on and help win the Championship, then next season we can bask in Gary Lineker's boyish excitement at your audacious skills, Alan Hansen moaning because you're a liability and don't track back, and Mark Lawrenson sitting there as always as if his colostomy bag has just spilt open.