'Memries' Enjoyment and Football - wrote this in a mood last night; feeling no better today.

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grafikhaus said:
Christ, the memories! From around 1964 to the early 70s me and my mates practically lived in Encs and Bingham. No arrangements were ever made but, as soon as we'd wolfed down Sunday lunch, we just collected in Encs as if by osmosis! In summer, we played until it got dark. Notable attendees were Christ Gaunt ('Train'), Andy Harris, Stewart Palmer, Dave Roe, Trevor Wilson and a bloke who was much older than us (probably in his 50s) but who loved a game. He was called Bert.
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Ahem. ..Bert ..... Did his house mysteriously burn down ?
 

Kenilworth said:
We played at Enks - although it was mostly known as Dog Shit Valley - a fact emblazoned on the wall of one of the buildings in huge letters in white paint....
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I remember the Dog Shit Valley graffiti, there was also the same catchy phrase written on the path near the swings. You'd see whole bunches of players jinking around invisible defenders as though they were Maradona going through the English defence, and only realised what they were doing when you took to the grass. They were slaloming through the many dog eggs that lurked in the grass.
 
Wapping Blade said:
Then we from Ecclesall Juniors were bussed to those dining huts every day!
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I too did this bus journey from the Juniors. When I was there the second and third bus went to the dining huts, the first bus went down to Greystones School, where we marveled at the neanderthal-like stance of the strange children from the strange school. :D
 
shorehamview said:
I too did this bus journey from the Juniors. When I was there the second and third bus went to the dining huts, the first bus went down to Greystones School, where we marveled at the neanderthal-like stance of the strange children from the strange school. :D
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Aye, we definitely had Ecclesall kids down as posh, but they still mullered us at football every time up at Maud Maxfield. A heavy defeat in Storm Abigail still rankles to this day. Ecclesall were playing into the teeth of a gale in the first half and yet still went off for their half-time oranges 6-0 up.

Our supervising teacher, Mr David Taylor, led us in the half-time team-talk with the inspirational words, "If they can score six in one half, so can we." I remember thinking, "What total bollocks."

As it happened Ecclesall did indeed take their foot off the pedal in the second half, even with the wind behind them - it finished 10-0. I remember looking over at our subs, including John Atkinson and Andrew Greenway, playing Three And In on an adjacent pitch and having much more fun than we were.

Our most surprising result was when we were in M4 and we were pitted against High Storrs First Years, including quite a few of those old Ecclesall kids. My brother, who was in the 6th Form at the time, confidently predicted that High Storrs with their wider catchment area and greater numbers to select from would stuff us out of sight.

We played on the High Storrs playing field in the usual wind, rain and mud. I started in midfield and was told I would be making way at half-time for whoever our one sub was. However, after about fifteen minutes Spike was chopped down and had to hobble off to the medical room, so I was told I'd be on for the whole game. I do remember taking one full in the bollocks from point blank range but carrying on as if nothing had happened, probably because it was so cold all feeling had gone from head to toe.

Miraculously, the whole team had a stormer and we ran out 5-1 victors, easily the best result we ever had in my time at Greystones.

I think Nigel Sanderson (N6 Blade) was out injured for them, which might explain the outcome.
 
Greenwich Blade said:
I've been wanting to get this off my chest for a while, and after seeing that bunch of joyless wage-stealers wearing the shirt of my beloved Sheffield United last Tuesday night as they shipped four goals at home to the mighty Shrewsbury Town, I cannot put it off any longer.

It's not a rant at the players or the manager; it's not a criticism of the Board or a moan at the fans who were already leaving on 37 minutes as I ran up the steps to the Kop having survived a difficult hitch north meaning that when I took my seat we were already 3-1 down.

What it is is a reflection on what the game of football meant to me growing up, and I would imagine to a huge percentage of the fan-base of Sheffield United and indeed ANY football club throughout the United Kingdom. It might also go some way to explaining to those who didn't know me as a kid or who haven't grown up with the game why all these years on, it still dominates my life.


When I was growing up in middle-class Sheffield, between the ages of 8 and 12 and attending Greystones Middle School, it is fair to say that I adored the game of football, and I was by no means the only one. We would arrive early in the morning, well before school started, and our first game of the day would commence despite the 8 o'clock murk in the playground. Morning playtime would mean another game, thankfully in better light, but still with the slight difficulty involved in kicking a tennis ball around as opposed to a size 5 casey.

Dinner time meant the longest game of the day, with no concerns about playing on a full stomach because for me at least, school dinners were somewhat inedible; that probably explains why I was as skinny as a rake back then. Afternoon playtime meant that we would charge around like mad things for our FOURTH game of the day before settling down for a well-earned rest during the afternoon Assembly.

We attended school Monday to Friday, and played four games of football every day, meaning we played 20 games in a week. What's more, we never, ever tired of it, possibly because the method of selecting teams was forever being rotated to keep it fresh. For instance, in a Sheffield school playground the obvious game would be United v Wednesday, and to be fair that did crop up more than any other. But don't forget, back in the 1970s Leeds United were the most successful team in the League, and as they were only just up the M1, they had a fair representation in the playground too. Thus United v Leeds would be played quite regularly, whilst there was a good one for that game of Scruples always playing in your head in the form of Wednesday v Leeds. Such was my hate for what I considered to be the glory-seeking fans of Leeds that on these occasions I would turn out for Wednesday. During one such game, I spent the whole match arguing and scuffling with my Bramall Lane-attending mate Jez who was horrified by my treachery. Well, I was dismayed at his lack of support for the true spirit of local football.

Also thrown into the mix was Rangers v Celtic (friends from north of the border, I must now confess that I turned out for Celtic in this one), as well as the rather obvious Mrs Harris' Class v Mr Jordan's Class. Each year - M1, M2, M3 and M4 - had two classes, and we stayed with the same classmates for those four years so there was plenty of time to build up rivalries.

You may be surprised to learn that when school was over we didn't stay on for another game in the playground, probably because it was getting dark by now during the winter months, although more likely it was just that we wanted to get away from school having been there all day. The only thing that might keep us from dashing straight home was if there was a fight in St Gabriel's churchyard; as we spilled out onto Greystones Road if you heard the shout, "Scrap at St Gabs!" there was only one place to head in order to watch two of your schoolmates beat the crap out of each other - Ian Wild and Craig Ramsden once donned boxing gloves for their epic encounter.

Usually though, we would head straight home where we would inevitably break out the Subbuteo and have a game of table football, albeit usually spread out on the carpet. During the lighter nights we would grab whatever full size ball was at hand and head off to Bingham Park where we would either have a full-scale game on the larger stretches of grass or a game of Three And In on the lawn by the toilets before the Park Keeper (affectionately known as Fish Face) would chase us off.

If none of these pitches were available, we'd have to settle for a game of SPOT against the garage doors on Stainton Road, or risk crossing Rustlings Road into Endcliffe Park, or Enks, where we would play football until it was dark, and sometimes beyond that - if you could still make out a white football in the gloom, you were good to carry on.

On a Saturday morning we'd either be in Bingham or Enks again, no matter how bad the weather was. Then in the afternoon Jez and I would head off to Bramall Lane with my dad for the dubious pleasure of watching Sheffield United plummet from Division One to Division Four across six miserable years. Jez and I would stand firstly in the EDS Pen for under-14s and later on the Kop in order to watch United toss away two-goal leads against the likes of Bristol Rovers or Millwall. Failing that, we'd lose 1-0 to some rubbishy team in a yellow away kit whilst the rain poured down, and yet at no point did we ever consider not going. We turned out week after week for year after year and watched some of the worst football ever seen at Bramall Lane, but despite all the suffering, believe it or not we actually enjoyed it. Seriously.

And that is the key to this whole thing - the word ENJOY.

That is why we played 20 games of football a week at school; that is why we kicked lumps out of each other after school and at weekends in Bingham Park or Enks; that is why when for whatever reason we couldn't play the real thing we'd get the Subbuteo out and flick our way to glory instead - we ENJOYED it. We had a love of the game that ran so deep we would miss mealtimes and important social occasions in order to play it or watch it. Enjoyment. Love. More enjoyment. More love. We would have given anything in those days to have turned out for Sheffield United, to have pulled on that shirt and to have run out to the strains of 'On Ilkley Moor Bah Tat'.

Which is why it hurt so much to see that shower last Tuesday play like they couldn't give a flying one, and why the fans were driven to chanting, "You're not fit to wear the shirt!" when Shrewsbury banged in their fourth. Give them a tennis ball and a school playground and make them enjoy the game again.
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Well written post Greenwich I would imagine many blades having read the post will have many memories of such enjoyable days at school and in the parks(no Xbox )
Great days at High Hazels playing on little Wembley
Down to lane to stick my face through the little white fence as close to the old players tunnel as possible
 
Whats weird for me is that I still see the Bladesmen from school, but have never kept in touch with any of the pigs..

Ties run deep when made young!
 
shorehamview said:
Greenwich Blade Did he used to live on Huntley Road? I lived there, next door but one to a lad with the same name who was a pretty good player, may be the same one.
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Lanky git? Dark hair? He was good at everything, sports wise; cricket, football and especially athletics where he held every record in every year in middle distance running at High Storrs.
 
Great post GB...I can identify with a lot of the above,playing in the street,parks and playing fields until after dark or with a tennis ball in the school yard...Happy days..Football was only interrupted by a bit of Cricket in the summer really.
As a nipper,Saturday and Tuesday night it would be down to the Lane to see the Wizards,unless we were away,and I had to suffer visiting sodding relatives,which ended up at my Grandad's on Northcote Road..he would always have World of Sport on with Dickie Davies and we had to watch wrestling ffs...worse than that,he still had an outside bog,which must have been the coldest in Sheffield..At least after that I could get home and pick up a Green un to read about how the Blades had got on,and then MOTD...followed by Sunday Soccer on Yorkshire tv the next day haha.
 

Dnblade said:
Great post GB...I can identify with a lot of the above,playing in the street,parks and playing fields until after dark or with a tennis ball in the school yard...Happy days..Football was only interrupted by a bit of Cricket in the summer really.
As a nipper,Saturday and Tuesday night it would be down to the Lane to see the Wizards,unless we were away,and I had to suffer visiting sodding relatives,which ended up at my Grandad's on Northcote Road..he would always have World of Sport on with Dickie Davies and we had to watch wrestling ffs...worse than that,he still had an outside bog,which must have been the coldest in Sheffield..At least after that I could get home and pick up a Green un to read about how the Blades had got on,and then MOTD...followed by Sunday Soccer on Yorkshire tv the next day haha.
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Sunday soccer.....Keith Macklin. What a top commentator he was!
 
You know Dnblade, you might be right. I don't know if he said it first, but I can hear him saying it now. (Not that I have mild schizophrenia or owt you understand)
 
Why do I always feel compelled to tap on the windscreens of cars displaying SUFC stickers? (I'm on my bike filtering past btw). I guess it's because it's such a rare thing to see in Leicester.
Did it again this morning.
Puzzled driver wound the window down, I give a thumbs up and say Up the Blades. Smile from the driver and I'm on my way. They must think I'm a loony.
 
GreasyChipBeattie said:
Sunday soccer.....Keith Macklin. What a top commentator he was!
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Funny how little things like this bring a smile to my face, even though my memories of Keith Macklin are linked to the era of industrial unrest and strikes, the three day week, panic over oil production and prices and power cuts! (also Chopper Bikes, flares, platform boots, Glam Rock, and girls screaming at a Scottish boy band all decked out in tartan!).

Thinking of Keith Macklin and Yorkshire TV's Sunday Soccer, I did a quick bit of research and found this fact (below) another Blades first!

".....Yorkshire football highlights were broadcast under a variety of different guises over the years; 'Soccer', Sunday Sport, Football Special and The Big Game. When the various ITV regional stations were due to begin screening regular Sunday afternoon football on 11th August 1968* Yorkshire Television had only been on air for a fortnight, but industrial unrest wiped out the opening weekend's coverage. YTV's camera crew were eventually assigned to cover their first televised football match on 25th August 1968 at Bramall Lane for Sheffield United v Millwall, Colin Addison scored the only goal in a 1-0 victory for the Blades......."
 
Oh, and talking of Yorkshire TV Soccer, just found this from Martin Tyler, this also brought a smile to my face........

**In 2007 Martin Tyler was asked for his most embarrassing moment, he recalled; "When an injury-stricken player was being taken from the field, I noted that it was a 'sad sight for Sheffield Wednesday fans'. Unfortunately, I inserted a stray H into the second word."
 
Grappler said:
Oh, and talking of Yorkshire TV Soccer, just found this from Martin Tyler, this also brought a smile to my face........

**In 2007 Martin Tyler was asked for his most embarrassing moment, he recalled; "When an injury-stricken player was being taken from the field, I noted that it was a 'sad sight for Sheffield Wednesday fans'. Unfortunately, I inserted a stray H into the second word."
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I remember Tyler walking around the pitch before a YTV televised game, and as he walked in front of the Kop he was serenaded with, "What's it like to be a twat, Martin Tyler..." to the tune of Michael Row the Boat Ashore.
 
Before Keith Macklin we had Danny Blanchflower. Every single time there was a goal scoring opportunity we heard him saying 'Chance'.

Used to mimic that phrase when we were out playing. Even now if I'm playing football with my grandson and he's about to score I'll say 'Chance'.

Wonder if he'll pick it up and pass it on to his grandkids.
 
bornablade said:
Before Keith Macklin we had Danny Blanchflower. Every single time there was a goal scoring opportunity we heard him saying 'Chance'.

Used to mimic that phrase when we were out playing. Even now if I'm playing football with my grandson and he's about to score I'll say 'Chance'.

Wonder if he'll pick it up and pass it on to his grandkids.
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Blanchflower commentated only for the 1968-69 season, I think.
 
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