The Archive

The Northern League have their own anti-swearing initiative in place. Owen Amos reports

My first memory of football swearing is, strangely, a good one. It was the mid-1990s, Easington Colliery Welfare, near Sunderland, at home in the Northern League Second Division. The crowd was 60, at best. Easington had a corner. The right-winger jogged over and placed the ball. It was one inch – maximum – outside the quadrant. The referee couldn’t see; the linesman wasn’t bothered. The opposition were too busy shouting “Hold!” and “Tight!” to notice.

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Journalist Terry Daley used to work for Chelsea – at least when it suited the club. It seems Roman learnt a few tricks from Pravda…

“This must be your dream job, I bet your dad must be really proud of you,” is the first thing almost everyone said to me after they found out that I was working for Chelsea’s official publications. To nodding heads and blank stares I’d point out that the money was terrible, the people above me had no idea what fans wanted, didn’t care what they had to say and had less of an idea of what made a good magazine. The response was the same almost every time: “Still, Chelsea eh? And what happened with Mourinho? Go on, tell us.”

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No sooner than Euro 2008 had finished than friendlies and summer tours began. Mark O'Brien remembers a time when football went unnoticed – and you could look forward to the real thing 

All dads have their quirks. Mine’s was his annoyance if anyone, ie me, read his Liverpool Echo before he got in from work. “But the words are all the same, I don’t get it.” “Yes, but you’ve let the newness out.” I thought he was mad at the time, as I was left to pick the paper up off the mat, hold it by my fingertips and pore over the back page but no more. Over the years, though, I have come to understand the simple pleasure of opening an unsullied newspaper. It’s all about neatness, order and anticipation, and in many ways those same feelings always applied to the football season, too.

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For day four of the WSC advent calendar we have a piece from issue 259, September 2008. Ariel Ortega – nicknamed “little donkey” – was dubbed the next Maradona and so it partially proved, though not in a good way, reports Chris Bradley

There was one conspicuous absence as the open-top bus carried the victorious River Plate squad through the streets of Buenos Aires on June 22. The fans were there, with flags and songs; there was joy and champagne and fireworks; but, not for the first time this season, there was no Ariel Ortega.

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The name Clough is becoming as much a fixture at the Pirelli Stadium as it was at the City Ground. Nigel warms up for his 11th season as Burton manager with a game against his old club and it's a friendly that lives up to the name, thanks in part to fans who are savouring slow progress, writes Pete Green

Some friendlies have always belied the name. The Manchester United fans playing up at Altrincham the other week have continued a long tradition of friction at non-competitive fixtures that dates back to the rioting spectators who knocked a Preston player unconscious at a kickaround against Aston Villa in 1885. Here at Burton Albion, some Derby fans were thrown out last week after contriving to pick a fight with some other Derby men. But midway through this gentle workout against Nottingham Forest I realise that this is the safest and least threatened I have ever felt at a game of football. I even leave my nerdy indie specs on in the half-time queue for a pint.

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