might have been fitted in somehow after all down at the Pier Head, don’t you think? Recall the architect’s design that called for it to look like a deflated old football of brown leather straight from Daisy in the pasture. Might have been a memorial to all the footballers who played in the city for […]

Pick up the ball, la’, in the penalty area and us playin’ at West Brom in the Cup! “I thought I heard the Ref’s wee whistle.” Nah, t’wasn’t that, Ron: it wuz some Baggie whistling in the crowd! Any team in stripes, they oughta be in jail any road. “What’s that berd on yer crest, […]

I. The Saint The Saint headed it in, and I don’t know how he did, the photos showed him horizontal, flying in midair in the Leeds area, his characteristic cropped head, in extra time to win us that first FA Cup, in ’65 the first and only time I went to Wembley, the gear!, the […]

“Some o’them wudden know the way to the Pier ‘ead,” the old-time fan grouses about our new crew: a Czech, a Norwegian, a German, several Spaniards, a Finn. . . . True, it’s not like the old days with all the players from the home nations, Scots, Welsh, and English, with an Irishman, maybe a […]

At Anfield for a reserves match, we arrive in the club car park in Uncle Bruce’s old black Ford Prefect. We freeze in the empty stands till half time, and the special treat: mugs of tea laced with Johnnie Walker, plus an eccles cake. Bruce’s merry men: my Grandad, brother Bill the Mirth- quake, myself, […]