Chairman’s Chit Chat February 2025
During the festive season I was transported back to my school days.
Jessie and I were with our family in South Shields. On Boxing Day afternoon I settled down in front of the T.V. with son-in-law, Paul, and grandson, Edward, to watch Newcastle United v.Aston Villa.
I was mesmerised by the skill of the players, the ball control, the pinpoint accuracy of the passes, the turns of speed and the athletic agility of the goalkeepers. This was the beautiful game in action.
It took me back to my school days.
No matter the time of year, after dinner (yes – dinner not lunch – the ladies who served us our 12:30 pm meal were called dinner ladies), there were always games of football on the playing field. These were organised roughly in year groups, so there would be several games in progress at the same time.
The beautiful game they were not.
There were no pitch boundaries and the goal posts were a couple of heaps of discarded clothing. Inevitably, the two best players in each game would take the lead as team captains. They would then take turns to pick their side from the jostling crowd of boys around them (it was an all-boys school). This could take a little time because there were often in excess of 16 players a side. Everyone took part: no tactical substitutions here.
The following sad fact has scarred me for life.
I was ALWAYS the last to be picked.
Well, that is not strictly true. I was never actually picked. It was just that I was the last boy left, who then forlornly trotted off after his team mates. Looking back, I suppose there were a couple of reasons for this. First and foremost, I was useless at the game; I had no natural or acquired talent at all. Secondly, I was hampered by poor eyesight, not helped by the fact that my parents insisted I take off my glasses to play rough boys’ games to save them getting broken – again!
There were no such refinements as 3-5-2 or 3-4-3 formations; simply everyone in a rugby-style loose scrum jostling for possession of the ball. Now and again there would be a break out and the yelling, arm-waving mob would hurtle pell mell towards the hapless “rush back” goalie (me), like the hordes of Genghis Khan sweeping across the Mongolian Plain. In the face of this onslaught, I would stand transfixed as the ball rocketed past me.
Little wonder I was traumatised!
Oh, Paul and Edward were happy. The final score was Newcastle 2 – Aston Villa 0.
Tags: football, game, school