STAY IN. STAY SAFE.

Monday, 6th of April, 2020.

Lockdown – start of week 2.

Only twice in the last 8 days have I ventured out – to get food.

Last Sunday was a quick dash to Aldi and within half an hour I was back home. Yesterday, I thought I would do the same. Got-up and out by 9. Hardly anyone near the door, which was closed. Then I found out that the store would not be opening until 10 and then only to NHS staff. Totally understood.

By the time I’d gone home and had breakfast, by 10, Aldi car-park was quite full. The queue was well around the corner and down the hill. Everyone was safe distancing themselves. Some had trolleys. Only the smell of fag smoke made it un-pleasant as these days I have been accustomed to walking as quickly as possible away from people who do smoke in public. I could not very well do this then. Not got a problem with smokers – as my ex-partner was one. But felt constricted. It was, in this current climate, the least of my worries.

Every time the queue moved, the ginger lad in front of me moved closer, to the young, pretty blond girl in front of him who was also chatting to the older lady in front – it was akin to a human concertina. I knew roughly how much 2 metres apart is from seeing the hazard tape on my factory floor but maybe sometime we will all be handed mini measuring tape gadgets, which we can flick open – akin to pressing the button on our car key fob; it may save someone’s life.

By the time I got to the doors a chap was there in his blue uniform and gloves. It was a good job it was not raining I had mused to the young girl smoker behind me. Still a nip in the air though and I was glad I was wearing a light jacket. I wiped the trolley and put on my green surgical gloves from work which I had stuffed into my pocket – they were coming in handy.

I must have looked at the lists a couple of times as I had asked mum if she had wanted anything. My plan was to swiftly do a super-market sweep and then chill – afterall, it was Sunday.

Once in the store it was not a case of dodgem cars but dodgem people. Nearly everyone was slowly moving around. Then we would stop when coming to a crossroads near the fruit aisle and cash machine or wait for someone to move whilst I zeroed-in on my must have garlic bread. ‘The smoker’ though did not seem to quite grasp the concept and several times I had to check myself and take a pit-stop, to avoid being within an arm’s – length of her.

Everything was there. Even the Braces, blue packet bread my mum had requested. There was a problem at one point as I felt as though I was walking into a Nazi ambush, during the war (in my best Uncle Albert voice!) because when I went down the bread aisle, there were a line of trolleys waiting to be served at the checkout, like a succession of planes, back in the day, hovering in the sky, above Heathrow.  

So, I had to carefully negotiate past a chap, as though I was taking a hair-pin bend in that car in the opening sequence to the classic, Italian Job, maybe taking my life in my own hands, to stretch and bring home the bread, as it landed in my trolley.

Then, just as I contemplated squeezing through a crowded corner aisle,  I reversed myself as though I was the ball which Bobby Firmino played on the edge of Newcastle’s area, with the underside of his foot to play in Mo Salah, who swept a glorious goal into the net to help us win 3-1; I reversed geared up the empty coffee aisle and came down the left-wing, so to speak, and slotted myself into the red-stop 2 metre line on the floor which had been wisely marked out, like that 9 foot sandbagged redoubt which Stanley Baker had ordered to be constructed in ‘Zulu’.

Plenty of space to put first my mums stuff onto the conveyor belt – plus a chocolate bunny and some Aero chocolate truffles, as it was Easter after-all and you can guarantee, even though I and my brother are fifty something, mum, under normal circumstances, would’ve got us an egg each.

A thick plastic screen for the young lad who served us, like something out of a sci-fi movie but it was a necessary step. Thank goodness I had got into the 21^st century and was able to just tap the cash with my contactless card; though I’ll never forget my PIN number, as it relates to a certain Ian Rush, and his greatest day at Wembley, when Liverpool lifted the FA Cup.

Mind, Aldi did swindle me out of a quid! Because when I went to put my trolley back, despite trying three different sizes, I could not link my trolley back-up to any others, to release my money. I hoped that it helped someone else though, as I just shrugged my shoulders with a girl laughing in the queue which had now only stretched as far as the entrance to the car park.

It was time to go and I knew that I did not want to be that close to people again for another week. Even more so as one or two things have been quite disturbing and this has been that I saw an interview with a clearly over-worked doctor at the nearby Newport Royal Gwent Hospital. They are doing amazing work there, looking after patients with this deadly Covid – 19 and will be stretched to the limit.

People are dying in hospitals while others sun-bathe in public parks – totally flouting government advice.

The thing is, in my late dad’s voice, there have been 4,934 deaths in the UK.

The message is clear –

STAY IN. STAY SAFE.

1023

‘A Little Respect’

Sunday, 29^th of March, 2020.

So, that is it. I am, as of tomorrow on ‘lock-down’.

On Friday I was one of the ones selected to stay at home and be retained by my firm for the foreseeable. At least a month – possibly two.

We all just do not know how long this thing will last or even if it will be beaten – I mean, they must be working on an antidote right, but how long will it take and for it to be distributed? By then, how many more will have died?

Yesterday the UK figure went to over just under 1100 deaths. 1100 deaths – Christ, that’s horrendous enough and what are the officials saying, that they would be happy with 20,000!!! Jesus, even 1 is too much, never mind 20,000…

For the first time yesterday, I don’t mind admitting, I got scared. No, not that Liverpool may never win the League, again, but that I could become one of those statistics or that my mum or brother could become one. Or people who I also love and also know. It’s just, like a lottery winner, it could be anyone. I feel even more scared now as I read today that even healthy people have died of this Covid – 19. It is as indiscriminate as a bomb dropping during a war. This though is not one of my dreams where I get really scared of seeing grey clad German soldiers in their tanks on my old green but it is reality. Who is to say that the people I just avoided in Aldi have not got it? Who is to say that I’ve not got it?

More worrying in the bigger, unselfish picture, is that the poor NHS staff don’t know if they have got it. It is an absolute travesty that they have not been provided with testing kits. They above anyone should have these even before they start their shifts. It just does not make sense to keep them at risk at this time. They are akin to the soldiers who went over the top to face the machine guns and shrapnel bombs – let’s all hope to God that there is not a similar outcome in casualties like the Somme, in 1916.

Get them protected. Get them tested. ASAP.

I just stayed in yesterday. Got-up late. Late for a Saturday. 11 for goodness sake. Normally I am up and about and out down Morrisons by at least 11. What was I like? I did not even feel like going out. Despite the dry weather. At least it wasn’t raining. A quick walk around my garden and a kick-about of a ball was the sum total of my exercise. Lazy bistard!

As for the footie – well, I thought I’d sit down and watch Football Focus – or was it, Music Focus or, what passed for music these days! My, my, I may as well have spent an hour flicking through You Tube at Mo Salah, Mane and Bobby Firmino’s Liverpool goals. What a load of rubbish to be fair. Just, just, stick to the football. I don’t mind whatever music whilst watching clips of LFC but to be subjected to all that – no. Yes, I am getting on, over half a century now and am allowed to be put in the ‘grumpy old men category’!!

I recorded last Saturday’s MOTD and am half-way through watching it – so don’t spoil it for me to tell me that Terry probably topped the polls as the leading Premier League captain. Personally, and controversially being a Liverpool fan, I’d have Roy Keane every day of the week as Top of the List. What a never-say-die captain who just had that bit of Sounessesque nastiness to his game that you just knew your team had more than half a chance with him leading it. Liverpool should have got him from Forest when they could have. Imagine him and Souness having a dressing room bargy!!! Souness may have just come out on top but Liverpool FC would have been the winner; as it was Man United were – on so many occasions too, especially with Keane on the pitch. You could say ‘We loved to hate him’ – no, just hated him but with a grudging respect.

Anyhow, I recoded last nights Top Ten Premier strikers and if Robbie Fowler ‘God’ is not in the top 5 then there is going to be trouble! He had everything and I can only see that goal v Villa on footage now, when he struck it from at least 50 yards out, as my actually memory of seeing it in the ground has sadly disappeared. Or his 3 in 5 minutes v Arsenal. You can just see me there in my beany cap at that end, as the Kop was being re-built. Loved Fowler, twenty million times more than Owen.

So, I have that to watch, having also saved-up, just wisely now, my money. Then there is the ITV documentary on Friday about foreign players – how about Avi Cohen who scored at both ends v Villa when we clinched the league in 1980! A top 5 of the top Foreign Players would be a good programme – Henry springs to mind immediately – loved him, except when he scored against us. And Bergkamp – such class. Oozed it.

Also, I have on my recorder the highlights of the World Cup of 2018. Not too bothered to be honest. If they had decided to show highlights of Spain ’82, I would have been all over it like a rash. That was my first, proper final tournament. Watched majority of them. Just soo glad I got to witness Italy v Brazil live…What a contest of contrasts. Even now I still feel that Brazil will win the game…

Football has saved me on more than one occasion. Women come and go but there has always been football and the true, true, love of my life, Liverpool FC. To the day I die, that will never change. In an instant just thinking of some of the goals and matches I’ve seen can transform my mood, just like it has since I’ve been writing this.

With my other love Erasure, in the back-ground, for they are also my time-line to my life’s events, I feel more positive than when I started to write this blog; maybe once all this is finally over, we will all show each other more than ‘A Little Respect’.

A. Phillips.

Stay Safe and Sound.

24^th of March, 2020.

It was what, a few weeks ago now, maybe a month, that between the football banter and who to swap in the Works Fantasy Team, that Ross started to quote the daily figures straight off his mobile – of this Coronavirus thing, which was spreading across China, amidst images of people being forcibly pushed back into their homes by the authorities whilst we filled sports stadiums as I attended Wales v Scotland. It seemed light years away. Everything was normal as can be.

What was at the fore-front of my mind was Liverpool. Always, always Liverpool. And our quest to finally land the League T**le; which was de-railed when Watford soundly, convincingly defeated us 3-0.

Still this thing seemed distant as it now had spread a tad closer to home in Italy and Spain, where as a sign of the times, football matches were being played behind closed doors. Nope, did not think for a moment it would happen here, in this little island.

Every day of course the death figures were rising, in their hundreds. People were finally starting to take notice. Still though we got on with our daily lives here. Shopping, watching the sport, being as close as possible to one another whilst in Italy people were already creating ghost town scenes reminiscent of an apocalyptic novel, as people could be seen standing on their flat balconies, singing and chatting to each other whilst we popped to Morrisons for a coffee and a bite to eat.

After Liverpool somehow managed to scrape a 2-1 win against Bournemouth, all that left them with was 3 more wins from their remaining 9 games. Surely even they could not let that opportunity pass them by? Then Man City lost to Man United 2-0, and for the first time in 6 years I got really excited and the dam burst – Liverpool only needed 2 more wins or 6 points or just 6 draws, from their remining 9 games. The ‘Ti’ the ‘Tit’ no, nope, no, my keyboard still will not allow me to type the word – but you surely catch my drift; ‘it’ was close (and still is).

Meanwhile, in the real world, the death rate was still rising as cases were alarmingly reported in the UK. In hindsight, which we all know is a wonderful thing, that should have been a loud crashing chandelier, ala, Del Boy, style sound to tell everyone to stop what they were doing and perhaps limit their movements.

Of course, life carried on as usual. Work, football, Morrisons, popping-in to see friends and so forth and so on. I mean, even the weather was and still is improving after all that bloody rain we’ve been deluged with this year – it seemed never ending, I mean, even last week I took the rare opportunity of sitting out the back garden for the first time in months; within half an hour it was too cold and I came in. Typical.

It really started to affect us in an ever so slight way in work when they told us that we could no longer us the hand scanners to clock-in, when they ushered us off our line in a small group and read the government communique about the symptoms of Covid – 19 and that our firm was facing an un-certain time – which was understandable as by now Trump was not letting any planes fly in or out of America. We were also advised to wash our hands longer than usual and fair do’s, hand sanitisers were put up at regular spaces, and plenty of them.

The other Saturday night, with me having missed Liverpool’s best performance of the season, by far, so I was reliably informed, as they lost 3-1 to Athletico Madrid in the Champions League (at Anfield!), I chatted to Davie and the first words we said began with ‘t’ and ended in ‘e’ as we feared Liverpool were just jinxed and would never maybe win it. The other 99 per cent of our conversation always related back in some way to the Covid – 19, because as much as we tried to escape from it; we could not and can’t because it is THAT serious.

People are dying. The NHS is under siege as much as Liverpool’s deadly attack can destroy a team all on their own. Never mind when the health service is trying to normally, somehow cope with everything else on a day -to -day basis, now they’ve got this thing to cope with. And not just them either, it’s people who also work in pharmacies who are stressed to the hilt. I seen it with my own eyes yesterday as people queued at least the regulatory 2 metres apart, in Griffithstown, halfway down the road to make it to the chemist. I only contemplated going in there for all of a mili-second. The reason being my brother had texted me requesting Imodium, to stop the runs, and I was going to kill him, never mind Covid – 19 because he had had all morning to ask me and now, less than 2 hours before I was due to go to work, he decided to ask me then, so it was panic stations! I eventually got him some tablets and felt awkward just being in the Co-op, never mind being near people. Suffice to say I duly delivered the tablets, pushing them through his letter box; he would’ve been there for me and did so, especially when I broke my nose a few years back, but that’s another story!

As I wrote yesterday, I am so glad that I got away for my birthday and that I seen my mum, rightly or wrongly for two hours, where we chatted – and in the coming days and weeks, I think that it was just as well that we spent that time together. Also, that it was a good idea for once (!!) of my brother’s that we had that early Mother’s Day meal, on the Sunday after Liverpool beat Bournemouth and I snaffled the Sunday Times report. We ate like Kings and Queens then; even the salad starter was more than my normal meal. I fear times of rationing on everything ahead as we just don’t know how long this thing will last as even as I’ve typed this my phone has buzzed to tell me that there is a possible second out-break in China.

Stay safe and Sound.

1082 24/3/20.

A Birthday Memory to Cherish.

I was hoping that the café, by the sea, was open – especially in the current Coronavirus climate.

As I parked-up, having had a pleasant, un-eventful journey, I saw someone through the glass – it was a positive sign.

I was armed with £20, so I could realistically have had anything I wanted, especially as I eyed the rectangular cakes, which looked so appetising; finally deciding on a fudge one.

[Thinking about it now, on this Monday morning, I should have stayed. Stayed in the hotel over-looking the beach. It was the last chance to be anywhere sort of normal. To have escaped. I regret it now that I did not and will continue to regret it in the coming days and weeks when the country will no doubt go into ‘Lockdown’].

Coffee was ordered and I said, ‘I’ll have that cake and treat myself’, adding, ‘as it’s my birthday’. And it was too. I was determined to have done something with it. To make it a tad memorable amongst this growing un-certainty.

There were comfy chairs – well mini sofa ones; which were ideally placed to look out to the grey sea and tide, which was going out, continually revealing the long, sandy beach.

I knew I had made the right choice.

A couple sat opposite. They were from, as I established, ‘Cwmavon’ not ‘Carmathen’, as they told me Cwmavon was only about 2 miles away. I can’t recall their names at the minute but he, say ‘Bert’ was a Postman and this was the third week of his holiday. The day before they told me that they had been to ‘Verdi’s’.

‘Yes, I know where that is’ I said, thinking of being there with a former girlfriend – in fact, it had almost been our last date. It over-looked the same sea but from the end of Mumbles, near Swansea.

‘They were cleaning all the time there’ said the wife, who resembled Pauline Colins.

They were a lovely couple.

‘When he rings me up from work, he doesn’t ask anymore how am I, all he says is what’s for tea?’ the wife said, laughing, with her husband grinning in acknowledgement. ‘All he does is eat! Mind, he walks it off every day, walking between 10 and 14 miles’.

Then she told me, that Bert’s favourite was ice-cream and when they had gone to a café in Spain, they could go up and get as many re-fills of ice cream as they wanted. 

‘Oh no, not him!’ she shrieked, ‘he went and filled his bowl right-up, so much that the ice cream kept on coming out, that it went everywhere and in the end they had to switch the electric off in the shop to stop the ice cream coming out!’.

We were all laughing at this – how amusing…I had the image of all long lines of ice-cream spreading everywhere like foam from a fire-extinguisher!

‘He loves cakes too – cinnamon and lemon ones.’ He was a typical man who loves his food.

‘Businesses will be going to the wall’, she said at one stage, adding more than once, ‘it is what it is…’

How true – this horrendous thing is really beginning to bite home now. Italy and Spain are in lockdown and I truly believe that this country will be before the week is out. What is it 280 plus deaths now? Also, I feel it is going to get worse before it gets better. No one knows how long this is going to last…

I spoke to them about the football and being worried if Liverpool will ever win the League – as a decision was being made on that day to try and at least play the current season out at some point, which was a snippet of good news amongst the continuing doom and gloom.

‘I’ve got a ticket to see Wales and Scotland’ as Bert explained that he had almost begged his boss to have that time off and now he did not know when and more importantly ‘if’ he would be able to go to any re-arranged game. ‘I scratch his back – he scratches mine’ Bert said, as he explained that he worked a lot of overtime. I hoped that he would eventually get to see Wales, especially as he had forked out nigh on £100 for the day.

Sometime along the way my phone went and it was my mum. She had been worried about me and sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to me which made me smile. I was still loved by someone then. She guessed where I was, if not who I was with! Then I explained that I was meeting my cousin Christine later on and she was happy to hear that, as I was ‘down home’ as she calls Aberavon.

Remarkably the lady who I was talking to told me that she had once lived in the street, opposite the rugby ground in Port Talbot, and it backed onto my mum’s old street. She did not know a Dorothy Sporne or Passmore for that matter – once I had correctly recalled my nan’s maiden name. Just imagine if she had! Small world anyhow.

I could tell that Bert had itchy feet. Just like my dad would have. He could not stay in the same place for too long either. I felt that the lady could have just carried on chatting. That’s just it, they were so warm. I did not feel like a stranger. It was like I had known them for ages and had just bumped into them.  This is what people are going to miss, this is what I am going to yearn for. Interaction with people – even people I don’t know or now will never know.

She waved goodbye and I tried to eek out my coffee and contemplated getting another one but there was the beach, getting larger all the time as the tide went further out on the horizon. I could have a coffee anytime at home and try the crossword but the beach – well, it just called to me.

I had about an hour and there was only one thing to do.

Within five minutes I felt the wind in my face and threaded my way onto the sand, picking-up a random shell on the way and videoing the tide and the seasons of the sea, as winter was becoming spring. I was sure in the coming days, weeks and months, it would be a Birthday memory to cherish…

1085

23/3/20

‘Called on to Sing’

Memories of Liverpool v QPR (April, 1990).

Me and Gail queued-up – that’s what you could do in those days. Don’t ask me for how long. All we hoped was that the Kop turnstile would not stop clicking before we got there.

I’d met Gail on the Kop, on the left-hand side, the end nearest the Main Stand one late January day – versus Luton and arranged to meet her every game then. We rarely saw the reds draw, let alone lose. It just did not happen.

On this particular day we managed to squeeze into the top right-hand side of the famous old terrace, looking towards the old Kemlyn Stand (the Sir Kenny Dalglish Stand – these days). All that mattered was that we were ‘in’.

We had beaten Millwall with a goal from ‘Bupa-Man’ Gary Gillespie and then along the way had crushed Charlton away, 4-0, when our new hero, ‘Oh Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie Rose-en-thal’ had scored a hat-trick, following a surprising 3-4 semi reverse against Palace. Then we had beaten the soon to be Chav Chelsea, 4-1 – blowing them away and as I had headed towards the coach, Des had told me that we would be Champions. I was a pessimist then and nothing has changed in thirty years since.

The visitors on one of the last days in April 1990, QPR though, had not read the script. They only went and scored first, down at the Anfield Road End. The cheek of it!!! I’ve had to check this fact out but it was that Yank, Roy Wegerle – didn’t he have a moustache? He put the visitors in front. I knew I was worried.

This reds team though had Alan Hansen at the back – with my abiding memory of him striding forward against Southampton that season in I think, the crucial 3-2 League win, and laughing my head off in pride as the Kop chanted, ‘Hansen, Hansen, take the piss’ and he did, always. McMahon and Whelan were also there along with a front three which are an equal of Bobby Firmino, Mo Salah and Sadio Mane; in the form of Johnny Barnes, Peter Beardsley and my number one hero, Ian Rush. Not a bad spine, with ‘Brucie, Brucie Grob-el-laar’, in goal and Stevie Nicol as well who was a very decent player – akin to Andy Robertson.

Well, with the lads, wearing that red top which looked as though a few pigeons had crapped on it and a Candy logo – the top which I’d had in March, for my birthday (before we crucially beat Man U 2-1 away), attacking the Kop, desperate for a goal, the ball came in from the Main Stand side to the edge of the six yard box. Someone swivelled like a ballerina and lashed the ball into Dave Seaman’s top right-hand corner!

‘GOAL’!!!

Doubly or even triply delight for me because not only was it a Liverpool goal and a critical equaliser but it had been scored by said hero, none other than the goal machine, the moustachioed master, Heinz Bean loving lithe – nay, Gazelle, number nine with a shot-gun sling finish, in the form of Ian Rush.

I just know that I could not believe that he had scored from such an acute angle… I was nearly over-come. I don’t often cry (still I haven’t since my dad died a few hours after the win in Madrid) but give me a Liverpool goal and the chances are, I’ll immediately explode into a fountain of tears, especially if I happen to be really there. This time was no different. You see, I love Liverpool, right from the very, very, very depths of me and can’t never contain my most natural emotions. I will be the same till the day I die but before then I just want Liverpool to win the league again, I can die happy then.

Well, that was the equaliser, 1-1 at the break.

Not sure how Villa were doing. Villa being our nearest Title challengers. It had been nip and tuck but Liverpool had just gone on this incredible run since returning to Hillsborough and losing 2-0 before Christmas. Villa were hanging onto their coat-tails, just like Forest, United, Watford, Ipswich had in the past, except for Arsenal though, who had dramatically won the title right in front of our disbelieving eyes less than 12 months before. After that, anything could happen – and well, you all knew it did in subsequent years to come.

Sometime in the second half we won a penalty. Now, I’ve just got this feeling that it was not really a pen – as Stevie Nic got fouled outside the area but do you know, I took it, thank you very much, yessiiireeebeee. There was only one man to take it. The coolest player and one of the most graceful I’ve ever had the pleasure to see in real life, the player whose Anfield debut I had not seen because I’d criminally missed the bus against Oxford in August, 1987 and subsequently missed his introductory free-kick in front of an instant adoring Kop; Johnneeee Barnes.

Don’t ask me what the strike was like. Id have to You Tube it or watch it on video, providing my bro can set my dad’s video up for me, but the main thing was, Barnesy scored to make it 2-1 to Liverpool. It put us in the box seat -set-us up to have a real chance of winning the League there and then, that day.

The closer the time ticked the more tense I got because in those days before mobiles and instant info access, I used to carry a transistor radio with me. So, as the game neared it’s close and Liverpool, with Glen ‘Glenda’ Hysen, all grey permed locks alongside ‘Jocky’ Hansen in defence, with me having lost Gail, having gone to the loo and never finding her again amongst the sea of faces below me, I pressed my ear up against my radio as though some spirit was whispering to me Lottery numbers to the first draw, about five years later. What I heard though, as the Kop chanted, ‘Champions, Champions’ ringing out like bells being peeled out as regularly in those days for a Sunday service, was much more important meaningful news to me, which confirmed that Villa had drew 3-3 with Norwich.

Now I joined in with the celebrations going on all around me because I knew then for certain that Liverpool were League Champions.

Let that sink in a moment or two.

League, Cham-pions. Liverpool.

League Champions. Premier League Champions – it doesn’t matter. It means the same thing – Liverpool were champions of England. Not just for the first time either. It was for the 18^th time. 18 times Liverpool have won the League. 18 bloody times and in 1990, on that spring day, 30 years ago, I was fortunate enough to have witnessed it. Lived it. Breathed it. Felt it. Got emotional about it with every last one of my breaths. Tears running endlessly down my cheeks, as the Kop continued booming out, ‘Champions’ or ‘Camp-e-o-nee’ in equal measure.

I’m there again. I’m 21 again. Liverpool top of the tree, back where they belong, after only a year away. The King, Dalglish as manager as the players file past us, celebrating. Nowhere else I want to be. Living the moments which will, little did I know it, last over half a life-time in my memory…

Today, as I write this, Liverpool should have been playing Crystal Palace. Could have played at Everton on Monday and maybe they’d have won and then, just, just maybe, if they had beaten Roy Hodgson’s team, they could have turned back the clock and I could have perhaps closed my eyes and sang ‘Champions’ once again, in the blink of an eye…

The fat lady has maybe put back that date but you never know, she may still yet be called on to sing…

21/3/20.

‘Sweet Silver Song of the Lark’

So, I went to Davie’s last night. Not armed with any sweets. There was no need; there was no Liverpool and no football – whatsoever.

Davie answered the door. Within about five seconds though we had both uttered the un-mentionable ‘t’ word. You know the one, the one I have been desperately fighting against to say for the past three months. The one this PC even has not allowed me to type it. Ok, here goes, ‘The Title’, the bloody League Title….

I admitted to Davie that it is what I have been most concerned about, apart from the deaths and the possible fact my brother and mum may contact it – you know, that virus with ironically enough, the number 19 on the end of it; the number of titles Liverpool may well be on, if and when we ever get the season finished.

‘I know Crouch’ he said, as Fudge came and greeted me like I was one of the family – which I consider her to be part of my family, the same as I feel about Davie, Carly, Deano and the three girls. I mean, I see them more than my brother and mum as I’m always watching Liverpool with them! They are the people I see the most, apart from the crew I work – well, I turn-up, with, on the line in work.

Carly was there. In her PJ’s and she was eagerly rubbing the silver off a scratch card. It was the only gambling available – now that the footy, racing and rugby has been called-off. No wonder I had spent the day wandering around town, clueless as to what to look forward to, as I feel crushed without football and Liverpool.

‘Bist-ard’, or words to that effect, Carly hissed, ‘all I wanted was 43 on all four of them’ she sighed, and she would – or maybe Davie as well of course, have been in the money. ‘Three pound I’ve won Dai’ she said, as Davie came out of the shower; he had bought the ticket for Carly – love him. At least they would have their money back and be able to ‘go again’. We wondered if Liverpool will.

No matter how many times we talked about the different scenarios, it still would not seem right, unless football resumed properly, with full stadiums. Totally understand the precautions taken to hopefully prevent even one more death, as our manager, Jurgen Klopp said better than any politician.

The first scenario then is, if footy does come back to normal on the 3^rd of April then the reds next game will just happen to be against Man City of all teams. Oh, hang on a cotton picking minute, I could say now in my late Dad’s voice, if Sky use their heads here, they could put this game back to the end of any potential season – just, just in case, LFC don’t win the, the, t, ti, tit – no, my keyboard has reverted back to norm.

Another scenario cold be that the games are played behind closed-doors, as a couple of Europa League games have been. No, no, no – surely not. If footy is going to be played, it has to be fully-blown, all singing (well this applies to Anfield anyway) and dancing, in front of fans. But, if it has to be this way, then so be it. The pubs would do a roaring trade as everyone would be squeezed into them to create an atmosphere – that is, until the government ban more than 50 people gathering together of course; which may well happen.

Davie, swivelling in his Bond villain chair, cuppa in hand instead of a bottle of something, agreed that he would accept another scenario when the League is called to a stop right here, right now, as it stands, and as Liverpool have played 75% of their games, then the rules state that they will be crowned Champions – especially as they currently hold not just a pithy one or two point lead but an humungous 25 point lead. Surely no one would deny them the trophy? But, hold on, there is Karen Brady who is advocating that the season be null and void. Well, no wonder she is, West Ham have a real chance of going down if it isn’t. I have only one message for her, ‘You’re fired!’.

‘Never liked her or the other two’ Davie said. I came out with it and declared that if I lived in London, I would openly go and follow West Ham as I have always felt that they are the closest to Liverpool for passionate fans who are close to their club and also, they traditionally play good football. The sooner they are rid of ‘The Brady Bunch’, the better, so I’ve got nothing against West Ham what so ever, apart from when Liverpool don’t beat them which they had been very lucky too recently.

‘Whatever happens, I just want that title’ Davie said, and I agreed. I think that any Liverpool fan would concur.

It just has a hollow feeling in my heart though to think that Liverpool will not get the chance to properly win it. That’s what it boils down to.

Now, here is the thing and I’m going to really reveal something here. There is even more of a reason I want us to win it this year, for when we won the Champions League my and our celebrations were somewhat curtailed. I/we, were allowed to wallow for what, maybe an hour if that and then, then, I was called away, right at the point where we all were so deliriously happy, me, Dean, Davie, Carly even the girls were beaming and baby Kelsey as I told her to remember ‘this time and never forget it’. I could not have said anything more prophetic; for within less than an hour I saw my dad’s body on his living room floor, with a blanket over it…

So, I want to see Liverpool, properly, properly possibly win the Lea, Leag, Leag, Leag, nope, my keyboard still is not letting me type it or let me say it out loud, just like it has not all season.

The season just has to re-start. That’s it.

If every team does play again, in full stadiums, and Liverpool do just, just mange to maybe get over the line, then I want to be with Deano, Davie and Carly at that precise time; for it will mean even more than I could have ever thought…

The fat lady, with the red lippy, in the red dress, with a fag in her mouth, has been told that she may not have a gig in May and that it has been possibly postponed but maybe, just maybe, with hope in heart she will still be able to sing the sweet silver song of the lark…..

15/3/20.

A. Phillips RIP GLP.  1154

Slow Drag of her fag.

Liverpool v Bournemouth

7^th of March, 2020.

Even though there were plenty of car-parking spaces available – outside Davie’s house, I still went to the end of his road and then tried three times to squeeze my Corsa into the space on the corner, by the speed bump and why I may hear you ask? Because of superstition, because I thought if I could park there, then Liverpool would maybe get back to winning ways, as that is where I’d been parking all season, up until the Watford defeat.

It was absurd – I know but then, we footy fans are notoriously silly. I ended-up giving in to sensibility and parked right by Deano’s (of course) red Fiesta, almost opposite chez Wheatstone.

Carly greeted me. The gang was all there, for a change but there were, yet again, major developments taking place as Davie was waiting for a bed and a cooker to be delivered by Argos.

‘Sometime between one and three, Crouch’, said Carly, adding, ‘I know; right when the football will be on’.

Not only that, they were waiting for their roof to be repaired and this had caused a leak in their bedroom, which, as you can imagine, Carly was not too happy about; ‘I have to sleep with a bucket next to my bed’ she had hissed. Then, to cap it all, last Saturday, we’d had to push their mini up the lane, as it had shown red on the temperature gauge, only just having had its MOT! If it had not rained, it had deluged and to cap it all, Liverpool had started to annoyingly, shockingly, lose.

So, this was the game which we just had to win. The game where I had almost again, stood-up and taken notice that every result mattered and that I hoped, as though, in my mum’s expression, ‘a bomb had gone up the red men’s arse’. 

Let’s be honest. Liverpool have not been playing particularly well; well since the Leicester game, if I’m really being critical. They have just about done enough to eek out wins and the 4-0 win over Southampton had been flattering. They had played well in little quarter of an hour bursts but in defence – not ours at the moment, they have almost been pacing themselves; not wanting to run out of energy. However, they did not start this game off on the right foot either.

At least James Milner was in – but at left-back? Surely this just shows-up the lack of quality depth in our squad at left-back; this has to be addressed in the summer, as I so wanted Milner to have been in the middle.

Bournemouth played us on the break. Especially with our ever so trapeze artist, with that long balancing pole, high line of ours. After a bright opening we managed to concede. I mean, for Christ sake like.

Yes, yes, Gomes may have been fouled by the fella, whatever his name was but what really concerned us was the lacksidasical attitude of our defence. Why didn’t someone put a tackle in? If Gomes was more alert, he could have fouled the fella. I would have preferred that than for the opposition player to carry on, cross the ball in and them score a bloody tap-in! What was Virgil doing? He has been impervious for most of the season and is allowed an off day but that’s about three he’s had now in the last few games. He can’t just glide through every game – as much as we love him too.

I was just distraught. That was the worst thing that could happen. Crumbs, the air was so blue, it was more navy than Everton’s shirts…. At one point I said to Carly, ‘It’s a good job you don’t have a swear box!’

‘I know. Init’ she said, ‘I’d be rich’.

It got that bad that I even uttered the ‘c’ word in some shape or form and I never use that word – though I have in work recently but that’s another story. Carly just laughed, along with Davie and Dean. Normally I am a quiet sort of chap who does not say boo to a ghost, but when it comes to Liverpool, that’s it, that’s what does it, they know how to push my buttons like a naughty child.

Bournemouth got through again – surprise, surprise, not. Adrian made a world class save and it should have been 2-0. I can’t recall the save but I know he more than saved our bacon as I was livid and beginning to really lose it, as I felt as though 30 years was getting even longer (that’s it; didn’t Adrian tip the ball around or something like that?).

Somehow Liverpool, attacking the Anfield Road End, managed to press. Actually, play a decisive ball through instead of this tippy-tappy football around the area, lose the ball and be right in the brown stuff when Bournemouth countered. Sadio Mane got free on our left, inside the area and then, even then, cocked-up the pass across to his right, to Mo Salah, who somehow managed to shoot the ball, low, through the defender’s legs and into the bottom left-hand corner of Ramsdale’s net. 1-1.

Thank God for that.

A drop of tea, a lushly soft marshmallow yellow and purple sweet and then Liverpool were somewhat on it.

The visitors tried to break on the half-way line and the ball came to Virgil van Dijk and as he always fancies himself as a midfield general, he played a first time forward ball, to Sadio Mane who ran through on goal and produced a low, decisive, rasping shot, which almost curled bullet like into the left corner of Ramsdale’s net to make it 2-1.

‘Yes!’ I cried, hoping that normal service was going to be resumed, that Liverpool would now go on, full of confidence and put the plucky visitors to the sword.

Not a bit of it.

Liverpool still gave them a chance before the break to equalise and it was a real relief to get to the break in front, somehow.

Before too long the said oven arrived. Fair do’s to those lads, they wheeled it in and just happened to be reds; from Merthyr. They were shocked about the way we had been playing when we told them; ‘We should’ve been 2-0 down’, I emphasised.  

We helped Davie un-pack the oven and then before we knew it, the second half was un-folding.

The reds started well enough by attacking, with quick balls and some inter-change of passing, forward. That was more like it. It didn’t last though.

Liverpool soon went back into their shell. Was it just me who thought this? Well, no, as we were all going-off on one at the reds, urging them to step it up and get the game killing third. It never came.

Adrian was looking dodgy, and at one stage he came out to win the ball and completely floundered in No-Man’s land. A Bournemouth player lobbed the ball at an empty net and for all the face masks in China, it looked as though it was going to be a goal. But, then, hail the conquering hero, in the form of the never say die, James Milner, who managed to get back and somehow, somersaultingly, hook the ball from off the line, to safety. It may turn out to be one of the most important moments in the last 30 years….

We all looked at each other in dis-belief. It should have been a goal.

Milner, the oldest player on the pitch, and skipper for the day, had saved Liverpool’s blushes and in one fell swoop had given the reds a huge helping hand in our quest for the Title.

No wonder I again went off on one. Shouting and swearing to ever increasingly dizzying heights, as my stress levels were going higher than the roof of the main stand…

Liverpool did have another three – or four – minute spell when they looked threatening as Bobby Firmino put over a peach of a ball to Mane. It was a tap-in but Mane just couldn’t reach it in time. Mane seemed to be a bit more on it, as he had earlier produced a cracking, shot from on our left, outside the area, which thumped between Ramsdale’s left up-right and post. That would have been some goal.

Milner did the sensible thing as the clock ticked down, with the opposition playing with 10 men, as Billing limped around the pitch. Our skipper elected to play the ball short and keep it near the opposition area; so sensible and professional.

‘Don’t cross it’ urged Deano, who had even been up-staged by my shouting, for a change, much to the merriment of Davie and Carly.

Thank God the ref actually gave us something – as he seemed to have hated us all game, as he finally blew-up.

The relief was just incredibly exhausting, and we were only watching it in the living room – goodness knows how it had felt in the ground…

No wonder Klopp fist pumped the Kop three times in celebration – no doubt one was for relief.

The Fat Lady is putting on the red lippy, her red silk scarf, as she is maybe getting ready to perform in May, whilst having a long, slow drag of her fag…

7/3/20 1566

In Klopp we trust

Norwich City v Liverpool

15^TH of February, 2020.

Deano greeted me when I got to Davie’s house – wearing that all white away top – lush; Nike, take note.

The guy from next door was there. Tools being collected, for more work was being carried out on the Wheatstone abode. This time to Kelsey’s room, as the electrics were sorted. There is still a long way to go though, despite Davie having knocked a part of a wall away. The kids are getting bigger; so too are their rooms.

It had seemed like an age since the last game – Shrewsbury and even longer since the first team had played; Southampton. A lot had happened since then. Manchester City had been slapped with a two – year European ban; was the main talking point – but will they get a League points retrospective deduction as well; wouldn’t that be something! Stevie G may get his title medal afterall – as this season just goes into an even deeper dream; one day someone will wake me up.

Davie and Deano had beers in hand by the time the teams came out – me, just a tea; tidy.

Liverpool fielded the usual suspects; Alisson, Trent Alexander-Arnold and Andy Robertson as wing-backs. Joe Gomes and Virgil van Dijk at centre-back. Then there was Gini Wijnaldum, captain Jordan Henderson and Naby Keita getting a run-out in midfield. Up top was Mo Salah, Bobby Firmino and, despite Sadio Mane being on the bench, Alex-Oxlade Chamberlain. Not a bad line-up.

As well as facing Norwich, Liverpool would have to contend with storm ‘Denis’ which was hitting the country but you would not have thought so as the reds pressed immediately and began controlling the game. Bobby Firmino in particular was showing flashes of skill and the three of us agreed that he was on his game – when he is the opposition can usually look-out.

However, after about twenty minutes, with sweets going down in the bowl and beers being sunk at a quicker rate than Leicester’s Title bid, we began to get frustrated as Deano got annoyed and also Davie at the lack of cut and thrust. We seemed blunt. In a counter-argument Deano said, ‘We must be patient. They always find a way’.

‘They feel themselves into games’ I said, as outwardly I tried not to shout.

The opportunities were rare and if truth be told, I can’t recall many, expect when Norwich broke our defensive line with a ball over the top which set the one player marginally ahead of Virgil and away. But, but, just at the point of shooting, he played it to Pukki, who was thwarted by Alisson who had sprung cat-like out of his goal, on the right of his area, and now pulled out his outstretched right arm, to flick the ball away from his opponents feet. It was a great piece of keeping. What anticipation and timing by Alisson! It could have been a game changing moment but VAR may have over-ruled any goal, due to offside. Alisson was not to know that though. As much as we admire what Salah and Mane et al do – if Liverpool do win something; Alisson’s contribution will have been immeasurable.

The reds nearly scored when Bobby Firmino wriggled his way through and his shot was palmed away but Naby Keita, with the goal at his mercy, somehow managed to shoot the ball straight at Krul – anywhere either side and it would have been in, as Deano frustratedly pointed out.

I was wary that Norwich had beaten Man City there earlier in the season, on the counter and did not want a repeat result in this game. Norwich had had far too many chances in the first game at Anfield, which Deano could not recall, that we had seen in his ‘pent-house’ flat, well, it is on the top floor! So, Norwich knew how to create chances against us.

Baby Kelsey was hovering round and Davie teased her that she had let all the boys kiss her at the party she had been to earlier. So funny. Then she slid on the floor in a fashion which Bobby would have been happy to celebrating one of his away goals – I mean, he never scores at home; does he? However, give it time, you never know.

At the break, whilst Davie did some more hoovering, I chatted to Deano about going out for some food for my birthday next month. I had suggested the Saturday night; because my brother would be off then (he works alternative weekends you see). This arrangement was half way to being sorted before Deano had gently reminded me that Liverpool just happened to be playing on the 21^st of March, against Palace. What a schoolboy error; especially as I base everything around Liverpool’s fixtures!! ‘That might be the’ – at this point my type-writer has stopped me in my tracks and has issued an official warning to my brain not to type the rest of the sentence, as I don’t want to mention the un-mentionable – ala, Jordan Henderson!! Yes well, you all know what I mean. So, it could be a case of a possible Sunday afternoon meal instead -we will see.

I had shouted at the reds and to quote Deano, ‘I hope he (Klopp) had fired some ff’s into them’ in the dressing room – precisely.

Tea having been made and more sweets poured into the bowl – I was advised to leave my ones for Tuesday, the second half began. It was better.

Liverpool seemed more on it and Andy Robertson began to be on the ball and putting crosses into the area. We even began to shoot as Naby Keita blasted one from the edge of the area for Krul to produce a finger tip save over.  From one of the corners, Virgil van Dijk had an arrowing header saved and then got man-handled by two players in a manner which would have been more accustomed to a game played at The Millennium Stadium. No foul – no chance; what a joke.

‘Get the Ox off’ one of us suggested and ‘get Mane on’. This was surely the only option. We were crying out for Sadio’s pace and directness.

Fairs do’s to Jurgen Klopp, he must have been wired to our brains. For soon after the switch was made along with Fabinho coming on for Keita and this allowed Jordan Henderson – who was chasing every lost tackle or slip-shod pass in an effort to try and make sure this game did not pass us by (what a captain to have) – to move into a more advanced role.

Mane immediately made a difference as the front three began to link-up better and Robertson put a cracking ball across which Bobby Firmino nearly got to – ‘But why didn’t Mo, move to it as well?’ Deano asked, as Salah strangely stayed on the edge of the area.

Norwich were continually under the cosh it seemed and this was more like it.

Henderson looked-up, measured a ball forward into the area and Mane had no right whatsoever to latch his right foot onto the ball, control it, shift it to his left foot, and turn as deftly swiftly as a ballet dancer, to rifle the ball into the bottom right-hand corner of Krul’s net to make it 1-0.

I just went ‘Yesssssss’, turning, contortedly, with every nerve, into the arm of the sofa, in thankful prayer, saying, ‘I love him’ and at that moment, I did; I loved Sadio Mane with all my heart.

Even then VAR nearly intervened. Push, what push or foul on their player? Were they for real??? Never in a million years. The goal stood and it was scored after 77 patient (not) filled minutes as Liverpool had finally made the break-through. Just how important was that goal…

This immediately brought the Liverpool fans into song, singing the ditty which I just, just can’t type but we all know what was sung as my heart pounded in pride in possible trophy lifting anticipation.

‘Go on Crouch, aren’t you going to tell them off?’ asked Davie, as he began to take-up our fans mantle with Deano joining in with a fist for good measure! Heady times indeed.

Still the game was being played. Still only 1-0 but a comfortable one, even if Norwich had shot against Alisson’s left near post trying to catch out our brilliant Brazilian. Not a chance. ‘He would have got to it’ Davie said, confidently, as we later discussed the difference between Alisson and Karius. Night and day; night and day.

Liverpool could have scored another one as Trent put a great ball across which Bobby Firmino just could not connect to properly, but they were content to see the game out. It’s what they do. They just seem to do enough. To pace themselves. Incredible. I wonder if they will ever be able to cut loose again. It will no doubt be down to Klopp and what he wants.

In Klopp we trust.

16/2/20 1513

A. Phillips

Purple Scarf

Liverpool v Shrewsbury Town

FA Cup 4^th Round Replay

4^th of February, 2020.

I wrapped my purple scarf around baby Kelsey, as she was twiddling her thumbs on Davie’s mobile.

Seven – year -old Kelsey was playing a game – just like Liverpool’s kids were about to; some of them were only ten years old than her.

Davie flicked through the channels, trying, like any red I knew, to get a decent stream.

‘I’m sure it’s on here, Crouch’ he said, as ‘Bein’ came through, as if by magic.

We were not sure though if that it was the right channel, but he then found out that a vehicle had over-turned on the M6 so kick-off had been delayed and we would not have to settle for watching Oxford v the Geordie ‘Barcodes’ Newcastle.

It was only me and Davie, as he told me that Deano, was staying at home. ‘Faggot’, I jested, smiling, as we all three hardly miss a game together like Alisson missing a cross.

Sweets were in the bowl – some soft winey gum streaky types, but soon my pink and white staple ‘Refresher’ ones were poured in – saved over from Saturday night when I had shot straight to see the ‘boys’ after the rugby, for a post-match analysis following the Southampton win. I did not need to drink as I was heady – giddy even, on a lead which I still can’t ‘Rubiks Cube’ figure out how we’ve got!

So, to this game.

A replay which our manager, Jurgen Klopp had insisted that he would not be at or any of the first team squad. That was of course not totally adhered to as one James Milner, whom the camera panned to on several occasions, was there amongst the crowd. What a man – he was at Anfield of his own free will and had already offered the lads encouragement. One day he will be a manager – let’s hope not too soon as he is the ‘Swiss Army knife’ of the squad, due to him being able to fill so many positions.

Neil Critchley was the home manager – as he usually is for the Under -23’s which lined-up for this replay. What an experience he and they were gaining. Playing in front of a packed house as well.

As I had stated on ‘Twitter’; when the whistle blows, I just want Liverpool to win; this game was no different.

Me and Davie did not shout anything detrimental because the young lads were playing with such authority and growing confidence, as they attacked the Anfield Road End, that if you blinked, they could have easily been mistaken for the First Team.

They were more than holding their own.

Neco Williams was the stand-out player at right-back and he had one or two chances go just wide. Certainly, he is one to put on the subs bench now. What a prospect and he is Welsh as well – a real bonus for me.

The sweets were going down well. ‘So moreish’ as an absent Deano would have said. I think next time I’ll have to just to be done with it, and get three packs. They were as addictive as the ball was to sticking like glue to our very young reds.

I and Davie did not know all the players but the one called, Cain, was more than able even though he looked as though he should have been locked in his bedroom revising for a school test in the morning.

The all-blue Shrewsbury were being out-skilled by basically Liverpool’s Youth Team. Curtis Jones, being given the honour of being made Liverpool’s youngest ever captain for the night, showed porn like filth skill when he somehow nut-megged an opponent on the right of the Shrews area. It was skill ala Salah and it was a joy to watch as much as re-runs of ‘Number Six’ being won.

There was a rare scare or two as the visitors had the audacity to attack the Kop End, defended stoutly by two young Dutch Masters, schooled and tutored no doubt by possibly the next ‘Player of the Year’, Virgil van Dijk, in the form of the ginger haired Sepp van den Berg and Ki-Jan Hoever, who cleaned every danger without being noticed, such was their professional performances.

Jelly Babies were poured into the bowl at the break. Kelsey had wrapped my scarf back around her at several stages of the half – happily playing on the phone. Such an angel she is getting. No hassle or tantrums at all, before she had to brush her teeth prior to Davie calling her to ‘go-up’.

It was a call, which some of our kids could have had but instead, they were preparing to come out in the second half and attack a roaring Kop End that greeted them enthusiastically as though they had tread the lush green turf of Anfield all their young precocious precious playing lives.

Me and Davie got concerned as Shrewsbury had an attacking spell – causing problems as the kids lost their composure at one stage but they came through that dodgy period. In fact, there was a ten minute period when the kids penned Shrewsbury into their own area as they won a succession of corners and if a man from Mars had come to see the game, he would not have known that the players in red were the Youth Team players, up against seasoned League Division One opponents.

A cross came over from the Shrewsbury left and a bit of skill which resulted in Shaun Whalley, heading into the net, from close range, to give the visitors the lead.

I was really gutted and felt that Liverpool would have a mountain to climb.

Davie though had begun protesting that the goal had been offside.

I dismissed this as I thought that at least it had been a great experience for the ‘Milky Bar Klopp Kids’.

But hang-on. VAR was checking ‘the goal’ and as we sat there, the camera panned to Sam Ricketts, the Shrewsbury manager and before the final decision came, I knew what had happened as I heard the rippled roaring Kop, celebrating the goal being chalked-off.

It was a crucial moment.

Press, press, press at every opportunity. Never giving the visitors a chance to put their foot on the deck and play. It was just like watching Liverpool’s first team, only the boys were much nippier. Klopp must have been loving it.

Then, after about 75 minutes, their keeper, O’Leary, kicked the ball down the middle and one of our players eagerly went to challenge for the ball and a Shrewsbury defender, Ro-Shaun Williams, headed back to safety. However, the ball incredibly found its way into the top left-hand corner of O’Leary’s net, for a comical own-goal!

Oh my, I just jumped off the sofa and ran towards the kitchen in celebration, shock, surprise and joy. It was just nuts; as not even VAR could erase it.

The kids were ahead.

Did they listen to me when our keeper, Kelleher, was on the ball, as I shouted, ‘TIME!’ –  as if he could hear me above that din!

Liverpool tried to get a second as Harvey Elliott played a less than successful pass forward through the centre-circle on a break-away. A better ball and Wirral born striker, Joe Hardy, a January signing from Brentford, would have been clean through on goal.

The lads more than held their own. In their own back-yard as though they were out late playing under the white glare of street lamp-lights, like we all used to when growing-up, like during the war, (well, The Falklands one for me!).

The kids had done very well and I wondered if any of them owned a long purple scarf.

5/2/20. 1299 A. Phillips

‘Under the Radar’

A review of ‘Trailing Clouds of Glory’ by Nick Burnell: – Welsh Football’s Forgotten Heroes of 1976.

It seems apt that I finished reading this well researched book in my car – as I sat there, almost under the radar – a lot like the achievement this engaging book points out.

Let’s state this right here, right now (in my best Uncle Bryn accent) in 1976 Wales reached the Quarter-Finals of a major football tournament.

The thing is, this fact never gets acknowledged by anyone in the football world, unless you watched this team and read this superb book.

The author, Nick Burnell initially details the playing career of the English amateur, Mike Smith, who became Welsh manager in 1974, as successor to Dave Bowen.

Smith created such a strong feeling within the Welsh squad that no-one, no matter if he played in the 4th Division –  like Wrexham’s Aaron Griffiths or in the First Division, like Terry Yorath at high flying Leeds for example, the player always wanted to turn-up and be part of the squad, for the crack, camaraderie and chuckles, as well as a couple of beers of course! They were to a man, loath to miss being with their mates and devastated not to be actually picked to play for their country.

This, along with the individual quality of the players which was harnessed by Smith, is at the very core of why this particular squad was successful and achieved an un-matched feat of winning five qualifiers on the trot, which has yet to be surpassed almost 50 years later.

Wales narrowly lost away in Austria, then subsequently beat Luxembourg twice and also got a creditable victory in Budapest, as they beat Hungary home and away. Qualification for the Euro Quarter-finals all came down to the final game, against Austria, at the teams favoured Racecourse venue.  

A draw was needed to qualify but Wales commendably ‘went for it’ and won, 1-0, thanks to a strike by local boy, Griffiths.  

It meant that Wales, now I can’t state this anymore transparently, qualified for the Quarter-Finals of a major tournament.

It was an achievement shared by the likes of goalie Dai Davies – who had come into the team midway through the campaign, for Gary Sprake. Dave Roberts and Mal Page in defence as well as the silky – smooth Leighton Phillips of Aston Villa at centre-half. In the middle was the classy John Mahoney of a successful Stoke City team. On the wing Leighton James terrorised and up front was the powerful John Toshack who also experienced success on the domestic and European front with Liverpool.

Wales though lost the first leg of their quarter – final tie, in Yugoslavia, despite Smith stressing the need before-hand not to concede early! Despite this set-back, Wales carried out a damage limitation job and lost 2-0.

As the book announces through captain, Terry Yorath, the tie could still be won in the return-leg.

A packed Nubian Park was the venue for the second leg but even before the game started, things did not bode well for Wales, as Burnell explains that the East German ref Glockner, was upset that a West German flag was hoisted before hand – as Burnell  suggests  – this may have had an influential bearing on subsequent decisions.

Wales fell behind to an early harshly awarded penalty. This meant the aggregate score was 3-0 to the Yugoslavs, who were a very skillful team; it meant that Wales had an Alp like peak mountain to climb, to have any chance of going through to the semi-finals.

As Burnell explains, Wales, their spirit un-daunted, gave it their best shot and gave themselves a glimmer of hope when Ian Evans scored to make it 1-1 (1-3).

Despite several near misses the turning point came though when Yorath’s weakly struck a spot-kick was saved. This all but extinguished Wales chances.

Fans came onto the pitch – as the author explains though this was the norm at the ground in those days (even I did, in 1982/83 when Cardiff won promotion back to Division 2).  UEFA though took a dim view and banned Wales from hosting further European games at the venue for two years.

It was a sad end to an otherwise excellent qualifying campaign – something which the author points out, that Welsh football fans were to become all-too familiar with over the next 40 years.

The book highlights a time when I myself was growing-up and has a nostalgic feel, making it not just a book about football.

I highly recommend it and have already suggested to the author, through Facebook, that he considers writing another one, on Wales qualification quest in the 1980’s.

Perhaps Burnell could write a contemporary book about the Welsh Euro 2020 successful campaign – with the players of 1976, giving their views on the modern achievements, under Ryan Giggs. 

Let’s hope that the 1976 teams’ feats, thanks to this informative, interesting, un-putdownable book, are no longer kept under the radar.

4/2/2020. A. Phillips 844