Post by Admin on Dec 1, 2013 20:02:53 GMT
Neither are YOU
Bringbacklenwhite
My favourite story from when I played with Inter New Mills (yes you read it right first time) in the Stockport Sunday Junior League.
Home teams were expected to organise a local referee for their own games.
Inter always had Stan the local butcher to officiate. A wonderful, gentle, calm gentleman until he donned the black uniform and strode onto to the pitch and assumed his gestapo-like personna. He stood 5 feet 3 inches in his stocking feet and had a swept back mane of sandy hair. All that was missing was the double SS insignia on his collar.
We were playing a team from Timperley. After a fairly even first half we convened for oranges and a b*ll*cking from the manager. Three of the opposition disappeared behind the changing room for a crafty fag.
As we returned to the pitch their left winger still had his cigarette on the go and stood waiting for kick-off intent on draining the last meagre lung full of smoke from a rather pathetic roll-up.
"Come here, laddie" barked Hauptenfuerer Stanley.
"Who me" queried the coughing, spluttering spindly youth near the touchline.
"Yes, you. Come here. How dare you enter the field of play still smoking a cigarette ?" asked our Stan, his face going bright red under the ginger mane. "What's your name ?" as he reached for his notebook.
"Georgie F***king Best" came the retort.
We expected Stanley to explode incandescently on the spot. But he calmly, and rather theatrically took out his teamsheets and painstakingly ran his finger up and down the list. Eventually he came out with a classic line.................
........ "Well Georgie F***king Best isn't playing today....................... and NEITHER ARE YOU........OFF"
It took us about 5 minutes to recover from laughing before anyone could kick the ball to start the second half.
Yannick Salem
BigFudge
The only player with such a distinctive name and distinctive look to make so little impact at County, I didn't even notice he was playing against Torquay!
Yeovil -v- County, 12th September 2009
Hatter In Macc
Not a game that many County fans would have been prioritising as a 'must-see' when the fixtures were first published. And, once the season got under way, and as the match-day drew nearer, the unremarkable positions in the table of the two League One teams did not suggest that there would be much to write home about this contest after the final whistle had been blown. Nothing very peculiar about the eventual scoreline, either: a pleasing enough two-all draw away from home for County (although, as it was later to turn out, the point gained made no difference whatsoever to our ultimately futile attempt to stay up that term...).
Just a matter of days beforehand, however, Carl Baker had lost his brother, Michael, to leukaemia.
Despite this, and his younger brother also having the disease, Carl asked to play. Even more astonishingly, he turned in a man-of-the-match performance, scoring both of County's goals - which included a seemingly nerveless penalty - as the points were shared.
After converting the spot-kick, Carl raced over to the visitors' dugout to collect and wave aloft a 'For u Mike' t-shirt. And even the Yeovil supporters were moved to applaud that. But, for poignancy, the moment was to be surpassed by some distance at the end of the game, when our man at Number Ten approached the away-end to thank the travelling contingent, and to find that many of the couple of hundred or so of us on the terrace had signed a card which was handed over to him there and then. He appeared simultaneously shocked and touched at this gesture, and a number of hugs with fans on the lower steps followed.
Quite an occasion, then - befitting a very good player for County, but, moreover, a truly great and brave man.
Driving back from Somerset that evening, and still feeling quite emotional over what I had seen, my eyes began to roll as I heard reports on the radio of Adebayor having acted the goat while childishly teasing Arsenal fans after his goal against them for his new Premiership paymasters at the City of Manchester Stadium. The irony wasn't lost on me...
Young, Alex
Archie
When he signed for County in November 1968 it seemed like a coup of the first order. Other than George Best he's probably the most skillful player to play for the club in peacetime and, at 13246 for his debut at home to Luton, the crowd was just about double that for the previous home game. 3 wins and a draw in his first 4 games had the club on course for promotion but only 4 wins in the second half of the season saw a final finishing position of 9th. Worse yet, Young picked up a knee injury that forced his retirement at the end of the season having played in just 25 games and scoring 6 goals.
Difficult to put it in today's terms but I suppose it would be rather like signing Michael Owen today.
This is the wiki article on him.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alex_Young_%28footballer_born_1937%29
"You're gonna get your f**kin' heads kicked in!"
Unknown User
An iconic chant from The 70's. Yes, those were the days.
Always seemed to kick off when sides from Yorkshire came to visit.
I remember a game against Bradford, when a policeman, & horse, were dragged into the moat at the bottom of the Main Stand.
Thankfully, things have mellowed a bit since then and hopefully that particular chant will remain a thing of the past.
"Yard Duty"
bringbacklenwhite (somehow lost among the 'K' thread on the old site, I thought I'd include it here)
I remember it well.
Ducking flying footballs and then spilling the remnants of cold coffee over 4 infants, all grasping your left hand at the same, caused by another running into you and headbutting you in a precarious part of you anatomy.
Mopping up cut knees and head bumps with the immortal phrase "put a wet paper towel on it".
Trying to round up the mad dog from next door that loved chasing the footballs and screaming children trying to get out of it's way. Ducks and geese were also frequent visitors to our rural idyll.
Being dive bombed by seagulls trying to eat the kids crisps (pre-healthy eating clamp down).
Suggesting to the mad woman (other side from the dog) that if she doesn't like children and the noise that goes with them perhaps buying a house next to a school was not a brilliant lifestyle choice for her retirement.
Unclamping a child from the goalposts when he refused to come in after a game of football because he has been sent off by one of the big boys. It took his mum, grandma, 2 dinner ladies, myself and 2 hours to extracate him from the post.
Catching the rabbit that had escaped from our nature study hut and run underneath it. It finally responded to having a broom handle thrust at it's backside.
Deciding if it was raining hard enough to declare "indoor play" or "teacher's nightmare" as it was called. The phrase "they won't melt" was often rolled out.
Do I miss it ?
Not a lot.
Bringbacklenwhite
My favourite story from when I played with Inter New Mills (yes you read it right first time) in the Stockport Sunday Junior League.
Home teams were expected to organise a local referee for their own games.
Inter always had Stan the local butcher to officiate. A wonderful, gentle, calm gentleman until he donned the black uniform and strode onto to the pitch and assumed his gestapo-like personna. He stood 5 feet 3 inches in his stocking feet and had a swept back mane of sandy hair. All that was missing was the double SS insignia on his collar.
We were playing a team from Timperley. After a fairly even first half we convened for oranges and a b*ll*cking from the manager. Three of the opposition disappeared behind the changing room for a crafty fag.
As we returned to the pitch their left winger still had his cigarette on the go and stood waiting for kick-off intent on draining the last meagre lung full of smoke from a rather pathetic roll-up.
"Come here, laddie" barked Hauptenfuerer Stanley.
"Who me" queried the coughing, spluttering spindly youth near the touchline.
"Yes, you. Come here. How dare you enter the field of play still smoking a cigarette ?" asked our Stan, his face going bright red under the ginger mane. "What's your name ?" as he reached for his notebook.
"Georgie F***king Best" came the retort.
We expected Stanley to explode incandescently on the spot. But he calmly, and rather theatrically took out his teamsheets and painstakingly ran his finger up and down the list. Eventually he came out with a classic line.................
........ "Well Georgie F***king Best isn't playing today....................... and NEITHER ARE YOU........OFF"
It took us about 5 minutes to recover from laughing before anyone could kick the ball to start the second half.
Yannick Salem
BigFudge
The only player with such a distinctive name and distinctive look to make so little impact at County, I didn't even notice he was playing against Torquay!
Yeovil -v- County, 12th September 2009
Hatter In Macc
Not a game that many County fans would have been prioritising as a 'must-see' when the fixtures were first published. And, once the season got under way, and as the match-day drew nearer, the unremarkable positions in the table of the two League One teams did not suggest that there would be much to write home about this contest after the final whistle had been blown. Nothing very peculiar about the eventual scoreline, either: a pleasing enough two-all draw away from home for County (although, as it was later to turn out, the point gained made no difference whatsoever to our ultimately futile attempt to stay up that term...).
Just a matter of days beforehand, however, Carl Baker had lost his brother, Michael, to leukaemia.
Despite this, and his younger brother also having the disease, Carl asked to play. Even more astonishingly, he turned in a man-of-the-match performance, scoring both of County's goals - which included a seemingly nerveless penalty - as the points were shared.
After converting the spot-kick, Carl raced over to the visitors' dugout to collect and wave aloft a 'For u Mike' t-shirt. And even the Yeovil supporters were moved to applaud that. But, for poignancy, the moment was to be surpassed by some distance at the end of the game, when our man at Number Ten approached the away-end to thank the travelling contingent, and to find that many of the couple of hundred or so of us on the terrace had signed a card which was handed over to him there and then. He appeared simultaneously shocked and touched at this gesture, and a number of hugs with fans on the lower steps followed.
Quite an occasion, then - befitting a very good player for County, but, moreover, a truly great and brave man.
Driving back from Somerset that evening, and still feeling quite emotional over what I had seen, my eyes began to roll as I heard reports on the radio of Adebayor having acted the goat while childishly teasing Arsenal fans after his goal against them for his new Premiership paymasters at the City of Manchester Stadium. The irony wasn't lost on me...
Young, Alex
Archie
When he signed for County in November 1968 it seemed like a coup of the first order. Other than George Best he's probably the most skillful player to play for the club in peacetime and, at 13246 for his debut at home to Luton, the crowd was just about double that for the previous home game. 3 wins and a draw in his first 4 games had the club on course for promotion but only 4 wins in the second half of the season saw a final finishing position of 9th. Worse yet, Young picked up a knee injury that forced his retirement at the end of the season having played in just 25 games and scoring 6 goals.
Difficult to put it in today's terms but I suppose it would be rather like signing Michael Owen today.
This is the wiki article on him.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alex_Young_%28footballer_born_1937%29
"You're gonna get your f**kin' heads kicked in!"
Unknown User
An iconic chant from The 70's. Yes, those were the days.
Always seemed to kick off when sides from Yorkshire came to visit.
I remember a game against Bradford, when a policeman, & horse, were dragged into the moat at the bottom of the Main Stand.
Thankfully, things have mellowed a bit since then and hopefully that particular chant will remain a thing of the past.
"Yard Duty"
bringbacklenwhite (somehow lost among the 'K' thread on the old site, I thought I'd include it here)
I remember it well.
Ducking flying footballs and then spilling the remnants of cold coffee over 4 infants, all grasping your left hand at the same, caused by another running into you and headbutting you in a precarious part of you anatomy.
Mopping up cut knees and head bumps with the immortal phrase "put a wet paper towel on it".
Trying to round up the mad dog from next door that loved chasing the footballs and screaming children trying to get out of it's way. Ducks and geese were also frequent visitors to our rural idyll.
Being dive bombed by seagulls trying to eat the kids crisps (pre-healthy eating clamp down).
Suggesting to the mad woman (other side from the dog) that if she doesn't like children and the noise that goes with them perhaps buying a house next to a school was not a brilliant lifestyle choice for her retirement.
Unclamping a child from the goalposts when he refused to come in after a game of football because he has been sent off by one of the big boys. It took his mum, grandma, 2 dinner ladies, myself and 2 hours to extracate him from the post.
Catching the rabbit that had escaped from our nature study hut and run underneath it. It finally responded to having a broom handle thrust at it's backside.
Deciding if it was raining hard enough to declare "indoor play" or "teacher's nightmare" as it was called. The phrase "they won't melt" was often rolled out.
Do I miss it ?
Not a lot.