Bobby Smith

Growing up as a Spurs fan in the 1970's could be something of a challenge: After three successful cup winning seasons from 1971 to 1973, an ageing side began to crumble, leading to Bill Nicholson's departure and, eventually, an unthinkable relegation in the summer of 1977.

Even in those triumphant first three years it seemed that some of our players could do no right as they were, in some quarters, always being compared to their double winning predecessors from a decade earlier. However well they performed, Pat Jennings was no Bill Brown, Mullery no Blanchflower and Martin Chivers was no Bobby Smith.

Through the years that followed, successful or otherwise, it seemed that our fathers and various other people of their generation could never forgive a Spurs side that failed to lift both trophies in a season. It became very tiresome. It wasn't that we were disrespectful or ignorant of our history - it's just that we'd never seen these people play football. We could all recite the double winning side, but at times, their success almost became a curse.

Years later, in 2005, I met Bobby Smith at a Jimmy Greaves birthday evening. Other members of the double side were there along with more recent players such as Jennings, Perryman, Coates and Ricky Villa.

One player was designated to each table and Bobby sat with us. Whenever I had previously met players I had felt pretty comfortable, but I had no idea what to say to this legend that our parents' generation had been in awe of for so long. Well, as a tribute I'm afraid I can say nothing more insightful or indeed less trite than the fact that he was one of the nicest men, and certainly the nicest ex-footballer I have ever met.

It was easy to talk to him about Spurs and football in general and his love for both was evident. As the evening wore on, he dealt graciously with fawning drunken buffoonery and unscrupulous e-bay dealers with their reams of blank white cards. How they must be rubbing their grubby little hands now.

When I had to leave, it was earlier than most and as I stood up, I tried to think of something to say to Bobby that sounded respectful but not stupid. Before I could speak, he got up, shook my hand and thanked me for my company, adding what a pleasure the evening had been. In that moment, for the first time I really wished I'd seen him play.

It was indeed a pleasure but, to mis-quote Poet Laureate elect Stephen Morrissey, 'the pleasure, the privilege was mine.'

Memory Lane Again

I've decided that I'm not going to publish any posts that comment on our run-in to the end of the season for fear of jinxing it! So I'm going back down Memory White Hart Lane to re-produce the first article that I ever had published by anyone.

It appeared in The Spur fanzine in October 1990, a time when I felt somewhat disenchanted with the Terry Venables reign. I certainly wasn't alone in my feelings but it's hard to believe that now when you consider that we carried on to win the F A Cup that season and the manager eventually built a great side that included Sheringham, Ruddock and Anderton. Later Venables, as we all know, was sacked as a hero!

Anyway, this article recalled one of my favourites games when we won at Anfield for the first time in many years.



'Raising the Titanic'



Tired of the team of the Nineties? Dismayed at the widening gulf in players between us and A*****l? Puzzled as John Moncur never plays, while it seems that David Howells - talented and promising though he is - would have to notch up a hat-trick of own goals, decapitate a ball boy with piano wire and drop his shorts to the boys in blue before El Veg would even consider blowing the cobwebs off the number 5 card? *
As we wait impatiently for the glorious dawn of the post-Venables era, join me if you will, as we recall happier times at the Lane. No, not as far back as 1963 when you couldn't buy your team's latest kit but you could actually see them win a trophy. Not even to the early 80's and the Wembley triumphs.
No, let me take you to Saturday the sixteenth of March 1985...
Liverpool versus Tottenham Hotspur was the standing football joke of the year -
"When Spurs last beat Liverpool at Anfield the Titanic was still afloat, World War I was still two years away, Arsenal were still boring and Mrs Thatcher had just completed her first term in office."
With these merry quips ringing in my ears, me and the lads departed one brave spring morning, safe in the knowledge that three more points would see us on the way to the First Division Championship which, after all, is ours by God-given right. Well, yes anyway..., reality was something we had little grasp of on Saturday mornings which, in those days followed Fridays when we would sprint gleefully through the streets shaving seconds off the Waltham Cross to Cheshunt pub crawl. (forty-six minutes, fifteen seconds - alright try it then!) ** But that as they say is another story.
An uneventful four hour journey and several well-worn pre-match cliches later, my exuberance disappeared as I took my place in the crowd. I could see, to be quite frank, bugger-all. One third of the pitch was obliterated by other Spurs supporters, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were blocking my view, while the rest of the ground was bathed in the sort of spring sunlight that gives you a migraine for the following three years.
The game started and my eyes gradually adjusted to the areas of the pitch that I could actually see. For the first ten minutes, Bruce Grobelaar kept us entertained with his wonderfully amusing antics. How we laughed - 'Brucie is a ******! chanted some rather uncharitable members of the crowd.
the first half progressed. Roberts was brilliant, Clemence impenetrable but , although we'd had our chances, it always seemed as though we would have to wait another year. However, the very last incident of that half appeared to change our whole frame of mind: Nicol's volley was destined for the top corner - Danny Thomas rose like ... something that rises very quickly and we were safe. "There's only one Danny Thomas" we cried - and how cruelly we were later proved right. Just look at the talentless hit-man currently occupying the full-back spot and try not to argue with me.
Anyway, (I tried not mention 1990, honest), on to the second half and, after seventy-one minutes the 101st Greatest Sporting Moment. A dewy-eyed recollection of the goal doesn't follow at this stage, because I didn't actually see it! In fact, until I saw it again on 'Greavsie's six of the best' video, I thought that Crooks had put it away with his head!
What I did know, however, was that there it was Brian, in the back of the net.
Emotions, almost on a par with the Wembley and UEFA Cup triumphs ensued until long after the final whistle. Over came the team at the end - Perryman, Hoddle, Roberts and so on - not in a token gesture of 'thanks for coming'., that's a win bonus we weren't expecting,' but instead a genuine wish to share their delight with the supporters.
I even joined in with the alternative version of 'Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner' , strange because I was born in Enfield and didn't have a sister for anyone to get on in the first place.
The day wasn't over as we passed coachload after coachload of southern scousers on the motorway just ripe for taunting.
Several tauntings later we arrived back at our favourite hostelry, The Barley Mow at Tyttenhanger Green ***.
Happy Times

* - A reference to the way substitutions were carried out in those days. Howells wore number 5 and, as I recall, although I actually liked him as a player, it seemed he was never taken off no matter how he was playing whereas other, seemingly less deserving players were withdrawn.
** - A record that will stand as several of those pubs no longer exist.
*** - Again - sadly no more - a huge loss!

If you got to the end of that thank you. I must admit I cringed a few times and hope that my writing has got better over the twenty years that have passed.
I found it interesting to see how cynical some of us were in 1990 when the team and manager were on the verge of some special times. And those times are upon us again and hopefully, unlike the 1990's they'll be here for a long while yet.
Good times for a change.

Setting the Scene

To start off this blog , I replicate an article that I wrote and had published on mehstg.com - one of my favourite Spurs sites. This will hopefully set the tone of the blog and tell you where it all started.

I have a confession to make: The first game of football I saw was at Highbury. I’m not proud of it, but I had to tell someone. I was 7 years old and I remember nothing about the game or the opposition, but I do know the result – no prizes for guessing – it was 0-0.
I left with a heavy heart. Football was no fun, I thought, but happily I was wrong. A short while later, on the night of Wednesday 25th of October 1972, Dad took me to the Lane. 2nd round 1st leg UEFA Cup-Tie v Olympiakos Piraeus. I’m sure being a European Tie, the atmosphere would have been greater compared to the Gooners dreary league game. At the time, however, I just forgot my harrowing Highbury experience and got caught up in the match.
Memories fade of the actual game – I can remember four goals going in; two from Pearce and one each from Chivers and Coates. I do recall the players becoming legends in that 90 minutes – Peters, Knowles and Gilzean all stuck in the memory, but it was big Pat Jennings who attained instant hero status.
I also recall the away supporters coming into the North Stand and giving out pennants to the young Spurs fans. Imagine that happening now. Sadly this treasured memento has long disappeared.
So, I was set for life. To be fair to Dad, he’d always been Spurs through and through and there was never any doubt as to who I would follow. As for him taking me to Arsenal, I can never forgive him.