Search: ' Ray Clemence'

Thirty years ago a west London club very nearly won the title – and it would have been a popular success, too. Graham Dunbar recalls QPR's finest 42 games

It is April 17, 2006, Easter Monday, and Queens Park Rangers lose 3-2 at Norwich in the definitive meaningless and mediocre end-of-season game. Two teams playing second-rate, second-tier football in what could be the worst five-goal affair anyone has seen; a match with no significance beyond reminding both clubs that the Premiership is a distant dream.

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John Williams fondly recalls one of the games great characters

I last saw Emlyn Hughes in the summer of 2004. He was working for the Football Association on a fans’ roadshow in Manchester as part of the preparations for Euro 2004. Emlyn’s job was to leaven the necessary talk about train times, policing and fan embassies in Portugal with some humorous and stirring England football reminiscences. He didn’t disappoint. On wobbly legs and occasionally slowing in speech, Yosser offered both barbs and bouquets for current England players, while recalling his own past battles for Liverpool and England. He, deservedly, had the audience glazed in utter admiration. The physical and psychological signs of the illness that finally claimed him were clear then, but it was hard to know whether the old fighter was winning his battle or bravely carrying on regardless. Sadly, it proved to be the latter.

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In the first of a series on aspects of how the game is played today, Philip Cornwall considers how the improvement in defensive coaching has taken away much of the sting from corners – unless you're lucky enough to be playing West Ham

My earliest knowledge of the hazards of corners came playing for Maids Moreton C of E, back in the 1976-77 season. After a sound spanking by Pad­bury, Mrs Benson told her primary school charges that rather than pass across the face of our own goal, it would be better to put the ball out for a corner.

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Phil Ball remembers Grimsby Town's 1979-80 season

There’s pleasure in purgatory. Thus speaks the Grims­by Town supporter, a strange creature stuck out in the wilds of north-east Lincolnshire, miles from any­where, in a cut-off place with a cut-off mentality to boot. If you are handed the burden of following this club from an early age, you very soon learn that you are likely to spend the rest of your life having the piss taken out of you, a curious state of affairs which nevertheless hardens you and makes you all the more determined to face things out – to go into the world, as Val Doonican might have put it, walking straight and looking at your adversaries in the eye.

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Ken Gall argues that the demise of the home internationals left Scotland chasing irrelevant targets such as the World Cup

With Björn Borg-style skinny-fit tracksuits and Go­la trainers in the shops, and Planet of the Apes set to be the summer’s hit movie, surely all we need to complete a nostalgia-fest for jaded thirty-somethings is the return of the home internationals. For Scots fans of that age, the memories linger: Brian Moore in the commentary box with Sir Alf; male relatives drinking cans of beer in the afternoon around the television; the Hampden roar; the offensive chants about Jimmy Hill.

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