Me and Sham went out for a nice walk this morning. Albert Park to Ladgate Lane via Ayrsome Street, Linthorpe and Acklam and back via Grove Hill. As we walked past the old Ayrsome Park, it occurred to me that today is 46 years ago today since I went to my first Boro match. 4th January 1969 Boro vs Millwall. I was 7 years old. It's easy to remember the date because it was the 3rd round of the FA Cup which is always the first Saturday in January.
My Uncle Joe took me. He lived at 6 Cromer Street behind the old Telephone Exchange on Marton Road with my Grandma. I can't remember how I got to his house, maybe my Dad took me down but he didn't come to the match with us. I remember Joe buying me a big bag of fruit pastilles and I ate the lot. What a greedy get.
We walked to the ground via Albert Park getting to the ground at about 1pm. Joe bought me a football special (an alternative to the programme) It was just a match day version of the Evening Gazette but it seemed really special to me. Whenever people reminisce about football matches they often talk about the smell of bovril in the air to the point of cliche. There's a good reason for that though. It's because it's true. I swear if I shut my eyes and transport my mind back I can almost smell the stench of the salty beef drink on my clothing.
We took our seats in the lower section of the North Stand and waited for what seemed an eternity for the players to come out. I don't remember much about the match. I think Millwall scored first and we equalised. We lost the replay, played 2 days afterwards, 1-0. It was a quick turnaround but it was pre-penalty shoot-outs so I suppose they had to get on with it in case they drew again. If like me you're wondering what the record is for replays in the FA Cup and when multiple replays were abolished (go on admit it, you are)? Here's the answer.
I loved it and Joe took me more matches that and the following season. Joe alternated the match day treats between sweets, pea pods and monkey nuts which I enjoyed all as much as each other and it went on until one match (pretty sure it was Leicester City) when we got separated (I suppose technically I was lost) in Albert Park. Instead of going back to Cromer Street for some reason I decided to walk home. It didn't seem a big deal to me and I wasn't chastised but that was the end of that, no more football with Uncle Joe.
Great story.
ReplyDeleteIan