Saturday 11th September, 1976
3pm - Fulham versus Wolves
Football League Division 2
Do NOT adjust your sets. That IS the correct fixture date.
Some of football's greats grind out a goal-less "feast" of long-ago football. Still fresh enough in MY mind though.
... and no, I can hardly believe that number in the title, myself. Yet fifty years ago this week, I went along to watch my first ever professional football match, in the flesh. It was the start of a long-running love affair between me and Fulham F.C. And, frankly, a mostly one-sided affair, at that. Previously, my relationship with the professional game had been almost exclusively via the BBC's 'Match of the Day' TV show. The first host of which I remember being David Coleman (once I was old enough to stay up and watch it on a Saturday night). And via ITV's competing offering, the Sunday afternoon 'Big Match' (from London Weekend Television) presented by Brian Moore. I was alive for (but have no memory of) England's only ever World Cup victory. Famously achieved on home soil against wartime rivals (West) Germany.
All blame for my eventual Fulham connection lies with my brother Kevin. I was the youngest of seven Harney siblings (a London-Irish, Catholic family!). Kevin was the 2nd-youngest; though almost 4 years my senior. Which was (officially) a "difficult" age gap. Although not as difficult as the fifty year gap between me and our father.
Kevin, of course, was landed with the task of being my (unwilling) guide, mentor, and chaperone; an almost permanent shadow for perhaps the first c. 10 years of my life. Unwittingly cramping his style, embarrassing him in front of his cool friends, and obstructing his summer holiday activities, etc., at every turn. He regularly observed that my only positive role in his life was as a (dodgy) excuse for his missing homework. Apparently, I even ATE it, once.
We went to the same junior and secondary schools (St. Winifred's, followed by the Salesian College, in Battersea). And the latter influenced my eventual choice of club. AND my brother's. Because its South-West London location required us to receive new free train and bus travel passes, every school term. Which got us pretty close to Craven Cottage, relatively quickly. Despite having to go in and out of Central London, and change trains, to get there.
We grew up pretty much equi-distant from three other London clubs: Charlton; Millwall and Crystal Palace. West Ham United and Leyton Orient weren't too far away either. So we were pretty well-served by "minor" clubs. There was even a strong family connection to the Charlton and Woolwich area, through our mother's family and upbringing. But The Valley wasn't an easy ground to get to from Hither Green. Requiring a good walk at each end and a couple of badly connecting bus rides.
Following Millwall would never even have been a consideration. Our youthful years coincided with the Cold Blow Lane terraces' particularly "nasty"/notorious fan base. Think Harry the Dog, Bobby the Wolf, F Troop, Treatment, the Half-way Line, The Bushwhackers, etc.. The association of some of these with the far right National Front party racists, and extreme casual violence, were mutually self-supporting.
Our Dad, incidentally, always referred to himself as a Crystal Palace fan. Purely because of that geographical nearness to our house. But he had NEVER been along to watch a game. He actually preferred sitting in front of the TV watching horse racing, in fact. Always picking The Grey, if there was one running (nostalgically, it was always assumed). But never gambling on the outcomes. He was a man of few excesses; but remained fond of horses as a result of his own youth, spent in rural and disadvantaged Ireland. Where owning a horse still went with the territory. "Literally"!
There is, famously, a code of honour amongst "Real Football Fans" that you never change your club allegiance. Foreign tourist fans of the EPL would struggle to grapple with this concept, one imagines. Given that their allegiances seem to largely coincide with, and be dictated by, whichever club won the title last season.
In my youth, many kids at school flirted with calling themselves Manchester United fans (after those glory years of the late 1960s) or Liverpool fans, in the years that followed on from there. Basking in the reflections cast by their respective periods of success. But it was always implicitly understood that, once you had actually been along to watch an actual game, your lifetime allegiance was decided; and you had grown up.
It is widely agreed to be permissible to "take an interest" in a team whose geography you happen to fall into, at some life-stage. Perhaps whilst at college, or in your early career, if that requires you to be flexible over your home location. I've taken such a local interest in Cambridge United, Peterborough and QPR, at various times. I've also "looked out for" the scores of several other teams, after I've been along to watch them a few times; perhaps with a buddy who's a fan of theirs. In that category, I would include Stoke City, Luton Town, Spurs and Arsenal. With the exception of that last club, they hardly represent a glory hunters dream ticket.
For those who appreciate the fine detail, I went to a few QPR games in my early Guinness years. When I lived in Greenford, when they had that terrible plastic pitch, and shortly after Guinness (a locally-based business at Park Royal, of course) had been the shirt sponsors. You might even be able to still picture that iconic strip. We had a box at Loftus Road which was not particularly popular with the higher-ups, LOL! So I would often make up the numbers. Even taking Mrs. H along once, before we were married. She was quite game, having also previously accompanied me to the Abbey Stadium, on more than one occasion. She was always fascinated (gob-smacked, even) by the tribal behaviours. Like an amateur David Attenborough/Anthropologist.
It's sometimes observed that Nostalgia can be a dangerous and highly selective drug. But I'm fully prepared to administer it occasionally, and in small doses. Those who appreciate the impact of this "Class C" stimulant, and sometime-friend, should read on...
It was on the morning of Saturday 11th September 1976, that my own fate was sealed in regard to lifetime club allegiance. When Kevin convinced me (perhaps over breakfast?) that it would be a good idea to accompany him to Putney Bridge tube station (and then along the Thames riverbank) to attend my own first ever pro game. At the comparatively tender age of 12, I officially became a (Craven) "Cottager".
My personal fave pop chart hit of all time, "Egyptian Reggae" (obvs.) was still nearly a year away from its peak success. Instead, in the UK chart that week, we were putting up with / enjoying DANCING QUEEN by Sweden fans, ABBA. They were top of the pile, again. Closely followed by THE KILLING OF GEORGIE by Celtic and Scotland fan, ROD STEWART. While CAN'T GET BY WITHOUT YOU, by The REAL THING, was at #3. And I can't be certain of this, but I suspect they had leanings towards the Liverpool clubs.
The UK's top-selling cars were all still made here. Imagine that! Ford's Escort and Cortina lead the field. Followed (not so very closely) by British Leyland's (remember them?!) Mini. Yes the original one; which was actually quite small, despite misleadingly claiming to be Tardis-like, inside. Hence the name. What were you (or your family) driving?
Kevin had been dabbling with Fulham F.C. since a little before their ultimately unsuccessful F.A Cup campaign of 1974-'75. The time when Peter Mellor had a shocker in goal, that saw West Ham United, from the other end of town, seal a 2-0 victory in that year's all-London, Wembley final. And tearful defeat (yet again) for poor old Fulham.
Matchday programme: 15 pence! I kept my copy for several decades, as a fond souvenir. Until it was forcibly ejected from the house, with many others, in a Stalinist "clutter" purge.
And, to be fair, it wasn't a bad idea at all. Fulham would be hosting just-relegated Wolverhampton Wanderers, in a tier 2 game. Wolves had retained a starry roster of top tier players, including: Derek Parkin, Ken Hibbitt, Willie Carr, Bobby Gould and Alan Sunderland. And they would benefit from that strategy by being immediately promoted back into "Division 1", as we then (quite rightly!) called it.
Fulham themselves boasted some starry names, too. Alan Mullery had recently retired from the game, after his second spell at the club. But not before he'd lured his old mucker, and World Cup winning England captain, Bobby Moore, to join him in the Fulham squad. It was the surprise signing that would later inspire one of my favourite football-related quotes. Spoken by Warren Mitchell, in character as West Ham fan, Alf Garnett. In a TV chat show interview (further details, sadly, now forgotten and lost):
"When it was time for him to retire, Bobby Moore moved to Fulham.
Where they do play a more elderly style of football."
Cheeky! Sprinkle in the stardust of George Best ("The Greatest Player Never to have Won a World Cup"?) just back from a lucrative spell in the USA's "North American Soccer League", and "cheeky-chappie" entertainer, Rodney Marsh (also in his second spell at the club) - all three were seasoned internationals, with top class club experience and honours - and you had quite a potential fixture on your hands. I had only missed Johnny Haynes (another "Great" and former England World Cup captain) by a matter of what now seems just a few short years (though it was half my lifetime, at that time). Which would later become something of a retrospective regret.
We enjoyed a glorious, late summer, sunny September afternoon, down on the river. I even appreciated my first experience of what is famously unchallenged as "The Best Walk to a Ground in World Football", despite my callow youth. With sailing and rowing going ahead on the tide, heedless of other more important sports nearby, as we trudged towards the prominent landmark floodlight pylons.
After such an experience, watching some of football's all-time great's I was, perhaps unsurprisingly, all-in. I'm pretty sure, in such a small ground as Craven Cottage, I could even smell the blood, sweat, tears, booze and fags on the players, as they came close to the touch-line.
Best was no longer at his (errrmm) best. The years of drink had taken a yard off his pace. But he still had "a yard in his head", showing occasional flashes of his mercurial brilliance, his jinking runs, and his effortless ball control, poise and balance. Entertaining the crowds, and lifting the performances of the largely journeyman team around him - along with the attendance numbers. Myself included.
The result was a 0 - 0 draw; but very far from a "bore-draw". It would later be the featured game on 'Match of the Day', despite that scoreline. It had been a surprise to see all those massive, green, liveried, outside broadcast trucks, outside the ground, on the Stevenage Road. Somebody in the BBC production team must have reckoned that the entertainment value of those star-studded tier 2 sides would break down their regular viewers' normal antipathy to lower league games. But surely they would have wished for some (Fulham) goals. As we did!
Marsh would soon tire of his role and, ironically, run AWAY from Fulham's football "circus"; exiting early. Moore and Best though, all credit to them both, had more stickability, professionalism and gravitas. The club would JUST survive that season in the second tier, with their help. Dabbling with, but ultimately evading, the looming relegation trap-door. But at least we avoided "The Double" (home and away defeats) against one of the promoted sides.
I would go on, just over a year later, in October 1977, to take my Dad to his first and only game of pro-football. When George Best led Fulham to a handy away win, at Crystal Palace. Dad was particularly pleased to have also seen his superstar fellow Irish man perform, at the home of "his" club.
Although Best would also be involved in a controversial, bad challenge on Palace's young, promising defender, Ian Evans. Effectively ending Evans's career at the club. Rumours swirled of a contributing factor having been Best turning out onto the pitch in a particularly drunken state. Which one could hardly put past him.
And so, thanks to Kevin, my 50-year association with live Association Football was born. There was no way out. Previously, the closest I'd ever got was when playing Subbuteo with my brother, or local friends. Trying not to step on the fragile players, when they exited the field of play. Which was a rectangle of marked green baize, stretched out on the living room floor.
Those are 50 years in which Fulham F.C. has gone on to gloriously win pretty much...
the square-root of bugger all. The trophy cabinet is bare, in Old Mother Hubbard style. There have been some lower league titles and runners-up places. And a surprise Europa League final. But Fulham fans are still left, jokingly and self-effacingly, occasionally singing:
🎵"We won it, one time.
We won it, one time.
The Intertoto -
We won it, one time!"🎵
It's a particularly poignant and redolent anniversary for me, this year. Since late January saw Kevin, a Fulham fan of MORE than fifty years, finally lose his relatively short battle with a late-diagnosed cancer.
This anniversary also provides an interesting moment for reflection and an informal audit of The People's Game; The Beautiful Game. Since so very much has palpably changed in those intervening decades. We can all, surely, imagine some of the disbelieving responses one might have expected to have got from a 1976 football fan, on suggesting to them even the vague, outline possibility of:
VAR
The Premier League
The World Club Cup
Multiple substitutions (note the Wolves programme shows one each)
Multi-millionaire players
Billionaire ex-players
The top tier's "Best League in the World" status
AFC Bournemouth (and Fulham F.C.) in the top flight
Lincoln City and Wrexham in tier 2
West Ham top of the table
Many famous old names no longer in the pyramid's top 4 flights
Craven Cottage now boasting both the oldest and newest grandstands in professional English football - and, famously, "The Highest Season Ticket Prices"
The early deaths of Bobby Moore, George Best and many others
The eventual disappearance of hats, coats, football rattles and ties from the crowd
Insert your own favourite, additional bug-bear, here
... oh, and no more England World Cup Wins. SIXTY years of Hurt - and counting!
There is also, I believe, some leeway given by the authorities for a degree of two-timing: in more casually following a second, minor club. That's to say, one which does NOT compete directly with your first love. In my case, that is Enfield Town. Who have yet to meet Fulham in any fixture, in any competition.
I've been going along to Donkey Lane to watch The Towners, intermittently, since they moved into their "new" permanent home there, about a mile from my house, almost 15 years ago, in Nov. 2011. A formerly run-down athletics track, by the side of the picturesque A10 North-South arterial road. In that first season with me in tow, they won promotion from what was then called the Ryman League Division One (North), into Tier 7. And we never looked back. They and Fulham make up the subjects of the bulk of my reporting from around English football's "pyramid", as The Fabulous Football Pharaoh.
This week's article is a rare example of a blog page entry which includes no recent match reporting or attendance details. That's not because the Pharaoh has been lax, on your behalf. But because the shelf-life window on this 50 year tribute article was closing fast. I hope you can forgive me, just this one time.
And anyway, recent action may yet soon come your way again, from:
(struggling) Fulham vs. Crystal Palace
(table-topping) Enfield Town vs. Cray Wanderers
... and from my own, latest Walking Football exploits.
Yes, once again, we go from The Sublime to The Ridiculous.
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