Great Soccer Forum Write Off (09 1/4)

Dub13

Article 1

JUMPERS FOR GOALPOSTS

Break-time. A huge field. One ball. Two sets of goalposts; well, a few of jumpers if I’m honest. 18-a-side or something ludicrous. Not even a referee. I’m there, a 7 year old kid, just waiting to get an opportunity to touch the ball. This is how I came to love the beautiful game.
The ball came, and I wanted to do something fancy, but I just wasn’t good enough. So I’d just kick it away nervously. A rush of energy came through my body. It’s impossible to adequately explain the thrill of kicking a ball, especially at that age. The satisfaction elicited is almost primal. I’m hooked in that instant, seriously.
I wander towards the goal. The ball comes to me. I kick it past the keeper and score a goal. Now, if kicking a ball was an experience, imagine my reaction to scoring a goal. I had to stay cool in front of my friends, of course, but inside I was bubbling with enthusiasm. I had to do that goal scoring thing some more. I decided that I just couldn’t get that feeling enough.
A year later, Italia ’90, and the fascination explodes. ‘We’re all part of Jackie’s army’ is the line on everyone’s lips. Bonner makes that penalty save and kids in the school yard begin spending hours trying to get the dive exactly right. I re-christen myself ‘Schillaci’ along with most other kids in the playground, even if he put a dagger through the heart of the nation. Football is not just a game anymore, it’s in the collective psyche.
We cannot underestimate the impact of those times on this country. The Celtic Tiger was just about to bite, and this all happened at a time of enlightenment for the nation. Football was part of our journey.
Now, kicking a ball against the wall in my back yard is the highlight of my day, and many of my friends. ‘Homework’s done, going for a kickabout Mum’. Those were the days. You couldn’t find a happier boy than a boy with a football.
The innocence with which we played was immense. It wasn’t about the money that you could make, or the fame that you could garner. There was no real knowledge of that side of it yet. It made a difference to how we played and carried ourselves, even as young children. Nobody wore diamond earrings. Nobody rolled around on the floor after a slide tackle. Parents simply enjoyed the game.
Watching a game of u-12s the other week was frightening. Parents screaming, kids feigning injury, 11-year olds squaring up to each other. I don’t remember this from my childhood. This may be for nostalgic reasons, but I don’t remember these things from way back when. Kids asking how much money they can make, simply answering the question of ‘What do you want to be when you grow up’ with ‘footballer’. Why? ‘Because I can make a lot of money, and girls love footballers.’
Now, I’m not asking for football to go back to ‘pre-Sky’. However, I’d like us to somehow see all the kids of the future enjoy the game for the game’s sake. That innocence with which my peers embraced the game of football is a beautiful thing that, from what I can see, has been lost somewhat. To what degree, I am afraid to speculate.
I just want my kids to have the same feeling I did when I first discovered the game I loved. Maybe that’s wholly up to me, and I’m fine with that, but sometimes I just get a but wistful. Part of me wishes it was like it was.
‘Goooooolaccciooooooooo’

Dub13

Article 2


How to Start, Run and Make a Football Team Successful

I’ll never forget being involved in that first rag-tag kickaround in the park. Fourteen lads who’d never met each other, indeed some of us had pre-conceived notions about others, based solely on the fact that we’d once argued with them on an internet forum. It was an August evening, messages had been flying for about a week beforehand. “I’ll be the guy in the 1962 Spartak Moscow jersey, the one they wore only the once away to Helsingborgs in the Fairs Cup that year, ah sure, I’ll find yiz”. We played a seven-a-side, and everyone was in good form. Some obviously of a higher standard than others, but we all agreed it was a decent run-out and we’d come back next week.

After a few more evenings of this, I was picked to be the “manager”. Something I’d never done before, and got to work on getting us a league to play in, and get it paid for. Well, we found the league without too much difficulty, and then got sponsored for jerseys. All the lads quite willingly transferred a hundred euro, or so, to an account I had set up, and I paid the league fees out of that.

There was an overflow on the amount of teams entering the league, so we were told to play in a smaller league, on Sunday evenings. Six teams there were. After a couple of friendlies, in which we did quite well, we took to the field in our first ever competitive match. And we won. Four nil! Won our next game too, three nil. Then things went down hill. Only seven more points garnered from the next thirteen games, and we finished fifth of the six.

So, that was the first season over. How is it actually run?

Well. I bought a SIM card and stuck it into an old phone, the phone company allow enough free text messages each month to allow me to text each player the details of the upcoming game, they then reply and tell me I they’ll be there or not. At times, in the early seasons, some of the players didn’t seem to be as committed as I’d like them to have been. Turning up some weeks, not bothering others, especially if;

a. Raining
b. Sun too bright
c. their favourite team was on the telly
d. didn’t fancy it
e. girlfriend said no
f. other spurious excuse

I can tell you now that I got extremely annoyed, and nearly threw in the towel at times, but we found some better, more committed players as time went by. In the third season we managed to finish in fourth and I was delighted, this was real progress, we had the players to compete, and it was taking shape. If we could keep the commitment right, have fifteen or sixteen lads at the match every week, then we might do something worth writing about.

The following season saw somewhat of drop off, results wise. Some of my best players headed off for the summer, others had holidays booked, some dropped out of the squad completely, and we finished seventh in the league. A step backwards. The lowest point was losing a cup-tie eight, nine or ten nil. I lost count after their third goal went in after five minutes. This focussed the lads. What do we want here? Continue on as is, or step it up, and actually try to win things? We got in some excellent players and went on a six-game unbeaten run, albeit in pre-season. Things were looking good for the fifth season. Better players and more commitment saw us with that core group of sixteen lads, out every week, rain hail or shine and actually playing some nice attacking football. With one little dip in form, in mid-season, we finished second in the league, three points behind the winners. One result is all that was in it. Our striker was the top scorer in the league, and our defence one of the soundest. We collected our medals last week.

It’s not a hard thing to do, run a team. Sure, it takes time, but the satisfaction of seeing my plans bear fruit is enough for me. Picking the right player to do a job, calling the substitutions or moving a player for tactical reasons, when it comes off, it makes me smile. There are tough decisions too. Not picking a player in a game, trying to tell them that their chance will come, and if they do well, they’ll be the first name picked next week. Sure, there are dark times and some misunderstandings, but it all fades into the distance when you have a medal around your neck.

Next up, a winners medal. Seeing the winners with their trophy has increased the hunger, and we’ll all step up again for the new season.

Dub13

Article 3

A touch of Glass

[A touch of Glass

So... deep, deep, deep, I make it sixty seconds. Jimmy Glass knocks it long. It comes now to Bagshaw. Bagshaw back to Anthony. Up to Stevens... and the ball goes out now for a corner to Carlisle United – will they have time to take it? Referee looks at his watch... and here comes Jimmy Glass! Carlisle United goalkeeper Jimmy Glass is coming up for the kick – everyone is going up... there isn’t one player in the Carlisle half! Well, well... and the corner kick comes in... and... the goalkeeper’s punch... oh... Jimmy Glass! Jimmy Glass! Jimmy Glass, the goalkeeper, has scored a goal for Carlisle United! There’s a pitch invasion! There is a pitch invasion! The referee has been swamped – they’re bouncing on the crossbar!”

- Commentator Derek Lacey, BBC Radio Cumbria[/B]

JAMES “Jimmy” Glass was never destined to be a household name in football. The journeyman goalkeeper took in 12 clubs over the course his ten year career having started at Crystal Palace in 1991. In fact, he had only managed 115 first team appearances by the time he retired in 2001.

Yet Glass managed to etch his name in the sport’s folklore back on the final day of the 1998/99 season when he scored possibly the decade’s most famous non-top flight goal, in the process saving Carlisle United from relegation and possible bankruptcy.

BBC Radio Cumbria commentator Derek Lacey remembers the game fondly. Speaking in 2008, Lacey recounted the greatest day of his commentating career.

“I didn’t sleep the night before the last game,” he said. “I got up at half past two in the morning and drove to Southwaite Services. I bought a bacon sarnie and a cup of coffee. Two other lads were there – Carlisle fans who couldn’t sleep. The three of us sat there ’til five o’clock in the morning.”

Carlisle needed to beat Plymouth at home and hope Scarborough failed to beat Peterborough United in order to preserve the league status they had held for 71 years. Things didn’t go according to plan however as Lee Phillips put the visitors ahead, while the Scarborough game was all square at 1-1.

Skipper David Brightwell equalised to restore parity and give Carlisle some hope. With injury time looming the board went up to indicate that there would be four additional minutes. In the final minute the home side were awarded a corner.

“It was the 94th minute and basically we needed to score a goal to survive,” said Glass. “We had a corner. I looked over at (manager) Nigel Pearson and he just waved me up.”

The ball was floated to the edge of the six yard box where it was met with a firm header. The goal bound effort was saved but the rebound dropped to Glass right in front of goal.

“It just fell to my right foot and I couldn’t miss,” said Glass.

The home fans invaded the pitch almost as soon as the ball hit the back of the net. Meanwhile Scarborough fans were celebrating, thinking that their draw was enough for them to survive, but news of the amazing goal meant they were down.

“When Jimmy Glass scored I just forgot everything else,” said Derek Lacey. “It just went on a personal note. I turned to my co-commentator Graham Moss and said ‘I’m sorry, you’re going to have to carry on.’”

“If I was doing it today I’d probably have done it more professionally instead of the emotional side of it,” he admits. “But then again... people remember it.”

The game was to be Glass’ last in a Carlisle United shirt. Club chairman Michael Knighton considered signing him on a permanent basis but pulled out of the deal after Glass asked for a pay rise. He returned to Swindon Town but fell out with manager Jimmy Quinn and left soon after.

Part of the Crystal Palace team beaten by Beckham, Giggs et al in the 1992 FA Youth Cup final, Glass served as tennis player Andre Agassi’s personal bodyguard at Wimbledon the same year. In 1998 he became the first goalkeeper to score an own goal at Wembley while playing for Bournemouth in the Auto Windscreens Shield final.

He was also at infamous Crystal Palace versus Manchester United game in 1995, sitting only a few seats from Matthew Simmons, the fan assaulted by Eric Cantona.

However none of that could hold a candle to the events of May 8, 1999.

Glass eventually left football at only 27 and spent two years working as an IT salesman in Dorset. He has since moved on to start his own taxi company. His autobiography, entitled One Hit Wonder, was released in 2004.

Football often throws up players deserving of cult status and, thanks to that last day of the season drama, Jimmy Glass will forever have a place in the hearts of Carlisle United fans.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KejwqhLDeOs

Dub13

Article 4

The Agony and the Ecstacy

It had been a long time since this 14 year old had cried in front of his father. Something he was proud of. But tonight he had cried in front of his father. He was embarassed, but not ashamed. He had had good reason to cry.

For a football fan, conceding a goal is painful. Losing the match compounds this pain. Conceding a goal in the last minute to lose a game adds acute anxiety to this chronic pain. But imagine conceding a goal, in the last minute, to lose a Home game that ultimately means you LOSE THE LEAGUE - well there may not be words in the english language to describe this feeling. Perhaps agony comes closest.

But that's what happened tonight. For days all anybody (commentators, journalists, schoolfriends, the dogs in the street) had been saying is 'As long as Liverpool do not lose this match by more than a goal, they will win the league'. And they all seemed to think it was a foregone conclusion. That bugged me. Every time I heard someone say that we would win, I felt that bit more pessimistic. They were putting a hex on us. I'm not superstitious about other things in life, but football, well, that's different. Makes me irrational. The statistics about how long it had been since Liverpool had lost by more than a goal at Anfield only served to increase my tension, rather than to relax me.

The match being at fortress Anfield did give me some confidence. But that was completely eroded once Arsenal scored a goal early in the second half. Nevertheless we were holding out as the clock ticked (excruciatingly slowly) down. But then it all went wrong. Michael Thomas scored the goal that deserves the label 'title-winning goal' more than any of the many pretenders down through the years. Agony. In footballing terms, the worst night of my life.

Through my tears, I lie awake all night analysing the match. 'Why didn't anyone pick up on Alan Smith at the back post? Why did John Barnes give the ball away in the last minute? And having managed to win it back after giving it away, how the hell did he contrive to give it away a second time?' But it was hard to be angry with John Barnes. What a player and what a season. There had to be a better culprit. Steve Nicol. Normally reliable. But why, oh why, did he dive in on Michael Thomas? In the last minute. Of the game that they only had to not lose my more than a goal. When they were already one-nil down. And he was last man...But then, why didn't anyone go with the runner, Michael Thomas? Why did Grobelaaar stop in no mans land? I could have gone on all night.

But looking for a victim at whom to point the finger of blame was merely avoiding staring truth in the face. The reason that we had lost was not because of an individual error. But because we had reneged on our attacking tradition. A team, no a club, that had thrived on an offensive policy had abandoned its attacking principles. On the night when it mattered most. In endeavouring not to lose, rather than attempting to win, the team was in unfamiliar territory. Players who only knew how to win, did not know how not to lose. And so they lost. Had King Kenny buckled under the pressure? Would Shankly or Paisley have done the same?

But that was irrelevant now. The record books will report Arsenal Football Club as the 1988/89 League Champions. There will not be an asterisk or a footnote saying that they only won it by a goal in the last minute. That Liverpool came agonisingly close. But it will be more than an asterisk or a footnote in the memory recesses of my brain. The pain will subside, but the scars will remain.

Such is the life of a football fan. But one thing I know is that this agony will make any future ecstacies taste all the better. Who knows, maybe one day we'll get our revenge against Arsenal and beat them late in a match to win something. Experience their ecstacy. Dreaming about that is the only thing that will keep the tears away and get me through the night. It shouldn't matter this much. But it does.

Dub13

This poll will close today at 13:08.

Dub13

Unsticked for more exposure.

Dub13

I am going to extend the voting for 48 hours,seems as its a draw.It the only fair was I can think of getting a qualifier.

Dub13

Bump.

Dub13

Article 1 JUMPERS FOR GOALPOSTS By SlickRic


Article 2 How to Start, Run and Make a Football Team Successful By Des


Article 3 A touch of Glass By Xavi6


Article 4 The Agony and the Ecstacy By Racing Flat


Well done to everybody who entered,its not easy to put a few hundred words together and put them up for public vote.Congrats to SlickRic who goes into the end of year final (and can not take part in any more heats as he has his spot in the final).

The 2/4 wright off will take place at the end of June.

SlickRic

Thanks, that was genuinely unexpected.

get in :pac:

Racing Flat

Well done SlickRic. After a cagey 90minutes, you stuffed me in extra time :pac:. Well done also Des and Xavi6.