But are your photos as embarrassing as mine?
Wednesday, 14 November 2012
Tuesday, 21 August 2012
Tottenham Hotspur FC 1972/73
Another one from my archives - this must be 1972/73 looking at the UEFA Cup and the FA Youth Cup(?)
This is a bit of a candid shot with a few players looking away from the camera. Barry Daines appears to be looking at Pat Jennings' shirt and wondering how long it will take before he gets one with a badge.
There's plenty of reserves in here but how many can you name? Is that a former Liverpool manager in the second row?
This is a bit of a candid shot with a few players looking away from the camera. Barry Daines appears to be looking at Pat Jennings' shirt and wondering how long it will take before he gets one with a badge.
There's plenty of reserves in here but how many can you name? Is that a former Liverpool manager in the second row?
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
Monday, 16 July 2012
Spurs 1988-89
Having discovered this postcard amongst a collection of
memorabilia it brought back some mixed memories. I was never a huge fan of the
Venables era although I was prepared to be convinced at the end of his reign,
after FA Cup victory was followed by third place in the league.
When he arrived in 1987-88 however, he was following one of
the best seasons that those of us born in the latter half of the 1960’s had
ever witnessed. 1986/87 saw Spurs play some brilliant football under David
Pleat in finishing third in the league while reaching the FA Cup final.
Naturally, it wasn’t all down to El Tel that some of the
best players from that season disappeared but after watching the likes of
Hoddle, Waddle, Ardiles, Clive Allen, Ray Clemence, Richard Gough etc, the line
up at the start of Venables’ first full season wasn’t quite so inspiring – and yes,
I know he signed Paul Gascoigne.
From left to right – top row: Fairclough, Waddle, Mimms,
Stewart, Guthrie, Stevens, Mitchell Thomas.
Centre: Allan Harris, Statham, Gascoigne, Hughton, Samways,
Doug Livermore,
Front: Walsh, Paul Allen, Fenwick, El Tel, Mabbutt, John
Polston, Moran
Monday, 20 September 2010
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.'
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
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.
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.
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