Tuesday, the 13th of September
1966, it was just over a month since England had raised the World Cup,
football fever was rife and Nobby Nobson had been duly infected. After
school, and during the weekends, he would be kicking a ball in the garden,
sometimes with his Dad, sometimes with a few local friends, one of whom was
Terry Thompson, who lived 4 doors away, was of the same age and was in the same
class at the new school. Occasionally his emotionally-challenged cousin
Larry would join in but being 3 years older he was rather rough, cumbersome and
kicked the ball too hard when Nobby or Terry were forced into goal-keeping
duties. Today was a school day; the first 2 lessons had been struggled
through although Miss Tweed did have a screeching fit during the maths lesson
which was interrupted by a persistently farting Roger Grimes, a robust boy with
a big appetite and a talent for passing wind on request. After the
dinner-break it was time for the P. E. lesson, a lesson that would see a small
ball kicking tournament take place between 4 teams with the final taking place
on the following Thursday.
At 1pm, after much hustle and bustle in the claustrophobically
rank smelling changing rooms, with one or two arses still smarting from a few
well-aimed towel flicks, 4 tribes of 7 were marched out onto the awaiting
football pitches with Mr Liddell at the head and his part-time assistant Mr
Flank at the rear. The teams had been picked the week before and given
names of local sides. Mr Liddell was using this contest to expose
his refereeing prowess, to discover any hidden talent and desire and wheedle
out any 'on the pitch' ineptitude. Our Nobby was Vice-Captain of the
Wincheston Reds, the team lined up as thus:- No 1 Goalkeeper - Arthur Bent, No
2 Defender - Colin Crisp, No 3 - Defender - Willy Wafer, No 4 - Midfield -
William Staines, No 5 Midfield - Charlie Bateman, No 6 - Attacker - Terry
Thompson, No 7 - Attacker - Nobby Nobson. The draw had been made and
after Cudley Tigers had brushed aside Farmley Dons in a 6 - 1 spectacle it was
now up to the Wincheston Reds to face Crikeshire Utd for a place in the
final. The format was 15 minutes each way on a 5 -a-side pitch with a
draw being decided by penalty kicks. There were many keen faces looking
to impress, Wincheston Reds were adorned with cherry coloured bibs,
Crikeshire's were black and white striped. Mr Liddell looked on as both
teams took up positions, the two captains (Staines for Wincheston and a lanky
lad known as Geoff Flair for Utd) shook hands (all very formal don't you know)
and the whistle was blown.
The early play was fairly balanced; Bent in between the sticks was
called on to make an unorthodox save with his buttocks after the aforementioned
flatulent fellow Grimes sent forth a howitzer from his tubby legs. It scared
the utter shit out of the timid keeper who fearfully turned his back on the
ball and let his fortune-kissed rear save the day. The loose ball was
mopped up by Crisp who, with a blur of legs, ran the full length of the pitch
and fired about 20 feet over the bar. The air was filled with mumbled
descriptions of the mad foray with 'greedy bastard' the most accurate and
frequent. Tactics were found wanting, there were 14 players on the pitch,
12 of these all ran in an inane group chasing the globe, individually striving
to make a mark on the game. Faces became purple, brows moist, the first
half ended with a lot of huffing and puffing and no breakthrough.
The second 15 minute spell saw the fitter players take command and space begin
to develop. Staines for the Reds started to
rule the roost and make fools of players less adept and those less willing to
get stuck in. One tricky soaked moment saw the said player weave through
a group of 3 befuddled players and place the ball into the bottom corner for a
1 goal lead. From the immediate kick off the same player picked
out a peach of a pass that saw Terry Thompson brush home with the tip of his
toe to double the lead. All the while Nobson was running himself into the
ground trying to get a piece of the action. With 3 minutes left on the
clock the Reds looked to have secured victory but 2 quick strikes from Utd's
Flair levelled matters and made the last dying seconds a real testing
time. Panic set in, desperation soon followed; fear was also hot on the
emotional trail. The ball went this way and that when a freak
deflection off the left breast of Mr Liddell saw the ball drop to Nobson's feet
who now had the chance to dash and deliver. The globe was taken, the head
went down and the legs galloped until an advancing goalkeeper came and the ball
was deftly chipped into the awaiting mesh. The victory was had and the
whistle blew seconds later, it seems our young Nobby was a hero for a day, the
beaming smile on his face was a joy to behold, he was mobbed by his comrades -
it felt mighty good and Nobby almost began to cry. Alas during this terse
account I forgot to mention that the keeper for Crikeshire Utd was little John
O-Reilly, younger brother of the school bully, Knuckles. The day may have
ended with smiles but the morrow ended with a black eye, a torn shirt and a
real understanding of how delicate one's bollocks really are. Revenge would be
had, it would be a long time coming, first there was a final to consider.
