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mulliganisms · 4 years

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Himself Alone 1970

In the thin air of the Azteca Stadium in the 1970 World Cup Final Pele hovers majestically over his Italian prey - Himself is similarly airborne as his ten year old derriere has been launched towards a Western Irish sky by a bolting horse.

In the next few moments gravity will work on both and Himself will attempt to match the cacophony of 107,412 and will come pretty close. Life is flashing before him, At ten his life is as watchable as a reality TV spin off on a cable channel - thin content which Himself tries to stretch out by endless previously ons recaps and in next week’s show...He had recently sat through Love Story - will he die before his own has ever tasted love? Never to skate in Central Park? Never having to say sorry - and not even the drawn out death where Ali Mcgraw looks more glamorous as the end nears but an instant hit of body on Connemara marble. At least he would die with as clean a conscience as Bobby Moore post diamond necklace scandal.

The nag that had inched forward like a non league crowd following a triumphant cup tie vs higher placed opposition who wanted to savour the relative luxury of the away ground now moves with energy and purpose as speedily and unexpectedly as the appearance of the roundel insignia on Japanese fighter planes over the Pearl Harbour skies. Not like in the Michael Bay travesty but as in the epic war fillum he's just seen at the ABC Essex Rd: Tora Tora Tora - surprise surprise surprise - like all 70s boys he was multilingual - provided there was a war on. feuer achtung Banzai hande hoch. And this is war: man vs horse - all about personal survival.

Fortunately Himself had bronze, silver and gold badges acquired thro many hours of perspiration starting with Mum’s dexterous use of a safety pin when she somehow retrieved the elastic swimming trunk cord - as much a wonder to Himself as the third of the working class consistently voting against their own interests or the touting of £100k Peter Marinello as the next George Best. The swimming lessons in the Tibberton Rd Public baths - always busy as very few folk had bathrooms at home relying on the Saturday night tin bath. That would be followed by climbing into the blue and white cotton pyjamas warmed in front of the coal fire in readiness for the Andy Williams Xmas snowbound belatedly screened in April.

Finally the inflating and tying off of said blue and white cotton sleepwear and the desperate drying of them with dressing room hairdryer which had been recently installed owing to demand from men growing their hair longer. This had resulted in the wolf whistling of certain players at football grounds- obviously only visiting or especially former heroes especially Jimmy Robertson at the Lanewhen he scored for Arsenal. The skills these medals acknowledged were of no use on land. If only his bolting mount had been a giant sea horse...

Himself has never ridden before but he has seen the Grand National on the telly so The pose is pure Pat Taafe - Mum’s fave Irish jockey who won the grand national that year resulting in her annual bet paying off with jubblies all round.The horse is no Arkle the champion horse much less Champion the Wonder Horse star of Saturday Morning Pictures - a communal cinema going experience where the largely junior crowd heckled the Government Information films watched rapt at key moments in Z for Zorro and cheered at Flash Gordon - all behaviours far more endurable than the Vue/Cineworld going adult munching supersize tacos swimming in collagenous red , loudly predicting plot outcomes and turning their phone screens up just in case they miss an update from their co-worshippers of WKD, Lynx and cuffed sweatpants who style themselves as the whatsapp group lethal banter squad

The horse is one of a team too - some of his mates bearing Aulfella and da brudders others pulling a trap navigated by Mam with dasisters. They have names tho none as resonant as

Tostao, Gerson, Jairzinho - Brazil 1970 the greatest team ever - and the highlight of their play wasn’t even a goal but an outrageous dummy and miss vs Uruguay by the totemic Pele. Pele’s opening goal and Carlos Alberto’s clinching fourth meant Brazil won Jules Rimet three times and got to keep the trophy. Perhaps that’s what drives Mark Francois and Rees Mogg towards urging constant war on Germany - a hat trick of victories would give them world domination in perpetuity - the natural order of things.

The rarity of sightings of these yellow and green shirts enhanced their allure. They were only glimpsed every four years and the white clad Germans and Orange dutch every two. Contrast that with the attention mega trawler supernet net of todays’ neverending news - transfer deadline day is more exciting than most games. No such problem in 1970 midweek - we got Sportsnight with Coleman - which did feature football but only after you had sat through all sorts of things boxing, figure skating but the one most pertinent to the crisis - showjumping

Following exposure on the telly kids would head to the park to attempt to copy their newfound Gods - the Willie Carr flick, the Best robbing of Banks at wembley - scandalously ruled out for ungentlemanly conduct, The Denis Law sleeve grab (does anyone still make long sleeve shirts?).

Rosemary Gardens cinder pitch was their Highbury, their Lords (with matting rolled out and stumps on springs) even their Wimbledon when anyone cared to play (two weeks in June) but it was never our Hickstead- our Wembley stadium never the Empire Pool Wembley

The only pools that mattered were the centrepiece of early Saturday night ritual. The football results delivered to kitchens steaming with anticipation of life changing news and perfectly cooked potato flesh - invariably just like the clocks that year of nothing in our lives and others changed. However, one of Aulfella’s friends, Old Docherty, actually won the pools and grew beardier, scroogier and unhappier with each occasional visit -never once bringing anything with him. For Irish kids the visitors from Home - and most of them were in the same boat as us, ie a barely afloat dinghy - were always good for a few bob. It was considered good luck to give the kid some silver. Yet this man whom fortune had shone on never once shelled out to us. In fact he spent one whole day complaining that the imminent decimalisation of the currency meant penny for the guy was now prone to hyper inflation and nothing but a profiteering shameful scam perpetrated on the unknowing and donors should be handing over 0.471new pence. God knows what he did during bob a job week. Bob a job week was where uniformed kids washed cars, cleaned windows, ran errands - known collectively as odd jobs. They ain’t odd tho are they? Night time Czar is an odd job as is innovation sherpa at Microsoft and eBay curator - here is a Crying Boy print in cracked frame contrasted with a chipped babycham glass tight against the cracked soda stream bottle - and they all earn more than a few bob.

Being Catholics Himself and crowd were always a bit self conscious during bonfire night possibly cos of the burning of effigies. Anyway he had All Souls day - Halloween - then to Church all souls - Old Docherty cme one year and the highlight was his reaction to the collection plate: a dummy worthy of Pele followed by a Barry John pass or if the row was very empty - he demonstrated real potential in the new sport of Frisby.

Always happier as player than spectator, Himself enjoyed the privilege of altar serving which often yielded significant coinage. The tariff was clearly signposted - weddings, baptisms - then the biggest payers: mourners. We used to pray for for a big funeral not the old miser Docherty of course - even tho he had promised Aulfella he’d get his newish telly in the will

Telly was the talk of the summer for the cinder pitch in the park was also the scene of filming the TV show Budgie. This starred Adam Faith who was an actor/ pop star and managed his own career as well as other artists. It’s not easy doing that - only Louis CK really handles himself and look where that’s got him. When the show was aired one local geezer was rechristened as Budgie because of his feathered cut - the Rachel of its time. Until the 90s such references were pretty universal but the market led fragmentation of broadcasting reflected the times of greater social inequality especially in broadcasting. Food banks remain a shock to us children of the 1970s - then we had Adam Faith, Bob Hope but no Charity - too much Charley Pride. Thanks to the proliferation of channels TV has lost its role as cultural glue. Back then Cultural glue was, well, glue - sniffed from a crisp packet. Now football is the cultural glue though it seems far more one way than in the past

Old stadiums are demolished to be replaced by what look like PFI prisons - do you think real supporters care about their new stadia? If they did you’d hear new songs - we have a craft beer concession in our stand/ we followed carbon neutral building practices/ four figure sums our tickets cost four figure sums.

He pines for the old Highbury, the Lane , the Den. There used to be alphabetically ordered boards on the side of the pitch with a key to the code supplied in the programme intended for half time scores - Himself’s crowd always bet upon the initial of which of the neighbours teen sons would be turfed out. In their flared wrangler belt loop they wore their red and white wool scarf knitted by loving aunties (no doubt she’d be sued for copyright by the club now). The offender would be escorted out by a hopefully helmet free copper- if there’d been a pitch invasion - their perp walk taking them past a raucously cheering Northbank to a warholian fifteen minutes - of fame not that is not the wait for VAR.

As football grew into the monolith it is today other sports were forced into the shadows - after all you can recreate the epic Celtic vs Leeds European Cup Semi -Final the two legged Battle of Britain - see it wasn’t just kids who were obsessed by war tho even the ten year olds knew the actual Battle did not feature Scottish pilots in Mescherschmidts. You could even recreate speedway in the bombed out church with some soil at the corner and the bike - the Ivan Mauger skiddy turn at corner. But showjumping ?

Its rural and/ or upper class credentials meant it never really caught on in London as a participation sport - how could it? The horses in the area were totter or rag and bone man and the coal carthorse. Undeterred Himself devised a game where he would jump over paving stones which hosted street furniture - lamp posts, beacons - obviously any failure to clear the slab would deduct faults. In truth this was the steeplechase a la Alf Tupper in the Victor whose every win would see his thought bubble read “I’ve run him” sparking huge moral panics about comics ruining kids English -

So as his mount charges towards a Dry stone wall Himself searches for showjumping knowledge that might help - Princess Anne who went on to winning medal in 1976 - only athlete not required to undergo a sex test - typical class privilege; David Broome; Lucinda Prior Palmer - just one person - the only double barrelled name Himself knew was Ian Storey Moore- who kept winning at Badminton -now he’s really getting lost...Himself suddenly knew he could be saved and weirdly his Gordon Banks turned out to be Hughie Greene.

In those days beer was delivered by horse - called dray carts On Opportunity Knocks that year the Dray King for Thwaites Star brewery had been declared Britain's champion beer drinker. Using the technique he’d seen Tonto use Himself directs the horse towards the stream. It stops to drink and he dismounts and does the full Harvey Smith - futile but made me feel better - gesture politics they call that now. Himself recreates the Central Park scene from Love Story there is no snow but sweet connemara rain turning the earth into mud…(falling up/ snow angels / eating snow build snowman)

No horses were harmed in the making of this story...

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