I'm now having flashbacks of matches past. I remember going to Camp Nou to see a normal domestic match and it was mindblowing. Who was on the pitch (I can't actually remember now, it was twenty years ago) but it was the support. Fervent doesn't even get close. But then I was listening to a Gary Linekar interview recently and didn't know about the history of the club and it's place in the resistence to Franco's assault on their language.
No, but nearby. I recently drove past the village where we used to play in the beck (Laneshawbridge) and remembered every turn in the road and every fills in the land as if I’d been there the day before
Oh man, where to start... My favourite ever Laurel & Hardy clip (their films used to be on so often; I seem to remember watching many as a boy, when ill or truanting from school). That sublime dummy (to imagine that scoring could be an anti-climax...). Snooker's most gifted tragic genius (watched on a black-and-white telly when Dad was still alive...)
But that game. One of the most beautiful nights of my life and yet I was nowhere near Anfield, nor TV, nor consistent WiFi signal. Football as the catalyst for something far more wonderful, powerful and communal. Such happiness. Probably the greatest game ever and certainly the YouTube clip I've watched more than any other. I'd planned to write about it here too at some point, but I can't imagine it would have anything to do with football, but everything to do with the ability of great art to move us with an intensity like nothing else.
You must write about it! It's a peculiar thing that so much can be conveyed in the way someone *doesn't* touch the ball, like Pele, in the same way Miles Davis doesn't play a note when others might. I'm very glad you enjoyed the various elements of the post, and very glad you commented - thank you
My family lived in Laneshawbridge in the seventies and eighties (we lived a little way down the road towards Colne from the late eighties). I dare say it's so small they'd have known each other. And I played in the beck often, taking walks to Wycoller with its ruined hall and stone bridges that are about 500 years old or something, and up "over the tops" if you went roughly towards Skipton.
Those special matches that remind you what football is all about. I was thinking recently about going to the old Wembley Stadium in the nineties to see Colne Dynamos (sadly the club was dissolved after winning entry to the football conference but not being able to meet league stipulations), and later Burnley for the Football League Second Division play-off Final in 94. Magic.
Those days are not made of the same material as the rest are they. And what a coincidence - I saw my first match at Turf Moor...a dire 0-0 v Blackpool in 1976 at Christmas, while staying with my cousins in Colne, as I did for most summers and occasional Christmases in the late 70s
Small world. Are they still in Colne?
I'm now having flashbacks of matches past. I remember going to Camp Nou to see a normal domestic match and it was mindblowing. Who was on the pitch (I can't actually remember now, it was twenty years ago) but it was the support. Fervent doesn't even get close. But then I was listening to a Gary Linekar interview recently and didn't know about the history of the club and it's place in the resistence to Franco's assault on their language.
And yes, Barcelona has a mad history didnt it! Never been there and I am deeply envious
No, but nearby. I recently drove past the village where we used to play in the beck (Laneshawbridge) and remembered every turn in the road and every fills in the land as if I’d been there the day before
Oh man, where to start... My favourite ever Laurel & Hardy clip (their films used to be on so often; I seem to remember watching many as a boy, when ill or truanting from school). That sublime dummy (to imagine that scoring could be an anti-climax...). Snooker's most gifted tragic genius (watched on a black-and-white telly when Dad was still alive...)
But that game. One of the most beautiful nights of my life and yet I was nowhere near Anfield, nor TV, nor consistent WiFi signal. Football as the catalyst for something far more wonderful, powerful and communal. Such happiness. Probably the greatest game ever and certainly the YouTube clip I've watched more than any other. I'd planned to write about it here too at some point, but I can't imagine it would have anything to do with football, but everything to do with the ability of great art to move us with an intensity like nothing else.
You must write about it! It's a peculiar thing that so much can be conveyed in the way someone *doesn't* touch the ball, like Pele, in the same way Miles Davis doesn't play a note when others might. I'm very glad you enjoyed the various elements of the post, and very glad you commented - thank you
My family lived in Laneshawbridge in the seventies and eighties (we lived a little way down the road towards Colne from the late eighties). I dare say it's so small they'd have known each other. And I played in the beck often, taking walks to Wycoller with its ruined hall and stone bridges that are about 500 years old or something, and up "over the tops" if you went roughly towards Skipton.
How crazy is that! Summers giddy on dandelion and burdock and kendal mint cake. My cousins were called Storey
Apparently my aunt and uncle (the Waring’s) lived next door to a family called Storey. How bizarre!
This is ridiculous!
Those Higgins shots...
Crazy aren't they!
Higgins, White, O'Sullivan – the ones you always want/wanted to watch.
My morning has been improved by hearing that chord and Hardy’s harmonies. Fair play to you ‘ark.
The essentials of life right there Giler x
Those special matches that remind you what football is all about. I was thinking recently about going to the old Wembley Stadium in the nineties to see Colne Dynamos (sadly the club was dissolved after winning entry to the football conference but not being able to meet league stipulations), and later Burnley for the Football League Second Division play-off Final in 94. Magic.
Those days are not made of the same material as the rest are they. And what a coincidence - I saw my first match at Turf Moor...a dire 0-0 v Blackpool in 1976 at Christmas, while staying with my cousins in Colne, as I did for most summers and occasional Christmases in the late 70s
That’s such a great story. Heartening after this really disappointing season
It has been disappointing hasn't it, though a very tiny sliver of hope that all is not lost after today