Old Photos For No Reason Whatsoever

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Was this at the game (3-2 home win) where he was through on goal from the halfway line, but got crocked by Eddie Colquhoun chasing back? Think Francis was out for months after that. Or am I having a senior moment?
3-0, photo was on 17/4/71, see link below. Maybe you were linking of the 3-2 win in October 1974?

 
3-0, photo was on 17/4/71, see link below. Maybe you were linking of the 3-2 win in October 1974?

Yes that's the one. Eddie fucked Trev up good and proper....
 
Watched most of them. Makes me quite melancholic. Tickles my nostalgia gland.

Recommended.
Agree mate, I look back on growing up in Sheffield and realize that even though it was rough at times I had the most amazing childhood, I just didn't know it at the time! I miss the old days where ya mates mum was also ya second mum and she would make ya tea and also give ya a thick ear if ya misbehaved. I get all sorts of memories flooding back when I watch stuff like this!

Good times back then, nowhere near the same now.
 
Agree mate, I look back on growing up in Sheffield and realize that even though it was rough at times I had the most amazing childhood, I just didn't know it at the time! I miss the old days where ya mates mum was also ya second mum and she would make ya tea and also give ya a thick ear if ya misbehaved. I get all sorts of memories flooding back when I watch stuff like this!

Good times back then, nowhere near the same now.
I’m quite an unemotional person by and large - a non-singing-BLUT-arms-crossed-contemplator, if you will, but the power of memories of a time long gone in Sheffield really can get me.

Just what you said above, I grew up in the 70s, which by any objective measure was shit (power cuts, strikes, 3 day weeks Jimmy Savile (we didn’t know it at the time), dad getting made redundant from Firth Brown’s), but by ‘eck life in Woodseats were grand. Freedom, adventure, community. Feels like that life we took as normal as kids, was in fact a privilege that current and future generations won’t have.
 

Not sure if this photo has been seen before but it shows the beginning of the end of the football/cricket era at the Lane and the beginning of the move to a football-only stadium.
What a travesty we demolished the pavilion on Cherry Street 😢. It would have been a lovely nod to the ground's history.
 
Not an old photo but an old hero !! Geoff Taylor’s 90th B’day
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This one didn't end well. Emile Griffith beating Benny 'Kid' Paret to death in the ring, after Paret dropped hints about Emile's sexuality in the build up to the fight. Griffith was indeed homosexual, which was illegal at the time so not only was it nasty, it was downright dangerous for Emile who was already on thin ice for being black and successful.

America's still a nasty, spiteful place so God knows what it was like for blokes like this. One of the best books I read was 'A Mans World - The Double Life of Emile Griffith' by Donald McRae and is well worth a read. Also, a mate of mine met Emile a few times and said what a lovely old gentleman he was. That'll do for me 👍

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Mike Trusson part 2

Part two of one for the frog

How I got a trial at Plymouth Argyle.


Joe Short, leader of the local youth club and influential supporter of Plymouth Argyle, asked me if I wanted to attend a trial for Plymouth Argyle. I didn’t find out for a long time afterwards that he had promised the Plymouth Scout that he would bring 3 very promising players to the trial. But the third of the three players had got injured, so he had asked me instead. Looking back, I had been met with a few incredulous looks and even giggles when I told people I had been invited by Plymouth Argyle for a trial. Still, a trial for Plymouth. This was my big chance.

Like most boys of my age I ate, drank and dreamed football. I desperately wanted to be a professional footballer, but living in rural Somerset this wasn’t an easy ambition to fulfil. By the age of 13 I had some serious obstacles to overcome. I hadn’t played any representative football, I was small and weak for my age and professional football scouts tended to view Somerset as a somewhat backward area as far as football talent was concerned. In fairness it must be difficult to scout a match when the directions to a game could be
“ take the main road to Taunton, then follow the signs for Ilminster, but be careful of the sign near Hatch Beauchamp because the local kids have turned it around. Once you get to the disused railway bridge – just past old Apelleton’s farm, you’ve got to look out for a disused tractor on the right and take the next track on the left, the one with the very high hedge – if they haven’t cut it by now, and the pitch is about 200 yards up on the left. You can’t miss it, it’s the one with all the cows on it “!

Still, it was a trial and a potential first step on my way to fulfilling my dream of becoming a professional footballer.

The trial was in a small village in deepest Devon. That’s all we knew. My Mum and Dad said they would drive me down there on the Sunday in late October, I think the year was 1972.

Little did I know that that very rainy, knee knocking day, was going to change my life in such a profound way. But not before some trials and tribulations, which I will explain in further posts.87178A75-2034-40CD-AD60-ED259A9F5519.jpeg
 

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