1974/75: Diary of a Season – Part 3
Wolves
v Burnley
‘Lonely This Christmas’
14th December 1974
Lame duck Jimmy Carter stands for the US
presidency. Even ‘whispering’ Bob Harris is given an interview after the
‘Peanut King’ lets on that he’s a big rock fan. Perish the thought that
Carter’s cashing in on the popular vote.
But surely even Carter can pull more votes than
Wolverhampton. It’s dreary beyond belief.
‘Molinews’ (yes, really!) includes a
picture of Steve Kindon fondling the leg of a barmaid footballer. We’re told
he’s ‘pulling her leg’. Dear God! Steve and sidekick Barry Powell are also
wearing the most bum-clenchingly awful trousers seen since we abandoned caves. The checks
aren’t just loud they’re seismic. Mock not, though, for Steve is in hot, hot
form. He’s had a bit of an in-out time at Molineux up to press. However, since
replacing Alan Sunderland in mid November, he’s now making his mark. His brace
against Coventry last week secured the points. Today, he’s equally impressive. John
Richards is no slouch either. Twice Wolves take the lead but thanks to Leighton James,
Burnley cling on to parity at the break. Wolves are too strong though. After the interval
Wolves swarm all over the Clarets. They win 4-2 and it could have been worse. Richards and
Kindon share the spoils. Burnley drop to eighth. I then have to endure a hospital staff
party that makes Formica and armpit hair loss absorbing conversation pieces. One guy
reasons that a party only needs one song to make it swing. That song is Slade’s Merry
Christmas Everybody. All right Noddy, it was a fair result. Now can we move on please?
Burnley v Middlesborough
‘Get Dancing’
21st December 1974
I should be Christmas shopping. Hell, I
should be through by now. Getting up at the crack of noon knocks that one on the head,
though. Burnley play as if they’ve forgotten their shopping, too. Their minds seem
elsewhere. Fletcher gives us an early lead but David Armstrong levels in the second half.
It’s no more than Jack Charlton’s side deserves. Any team that includes Souness,
Boam, Maddren and Foggon will be scrappers. Today, they're robust, tight and well-knit.
They’re still above us, too. Jimmy Adamson has sold Geoff ‘Do-it-All’ Nulty
to Newcastle for £100K. Did he ever forgive him for that penalty at Ipswich? I suspect
that Jimmy will regret this. Nulty was incredibly useful last year and could have been
again.
Leeds v Burnley
‘You Can Make Me Dance Sing Or Anything’
26th December 1974
It’s all up for MP John Stonehouse.
Wanted for theft, forgery and deception, the Australian Police have finally caught up with
him. Plans are made to bring him home. As for Lord Lucan, he’s still missing. Like
Stonehouse, nobody really believes he’s dead.
We spend Christmas in Leeds this year. With my
brother-in-law a dyed-in-the-wool Leeds fan, we slag and blag our way through the
festivities. The copious booze ups the tempo so by Boxing Day afternoon we’re barely
able to stagger into Elland Road. But we manage to find our separate entrances.
Leeds have recovered from the Clough fiasco.
Jimmy Armfield is now in charge. Under his calming influence, there’s been an upturn
in form. OK, they’ve not exactly ripped up trees (Sheffield United might disagree),
but they’ve hurdled over two European Cup opponents; FC Zurich and Ujpest Dozsa and
are en route for the Paris final. (There, they would dominate but still lose to Gerd
Muller’s Bayern Munich. Lorimer’s disallowed goal would prompt a riot.) Hunter
is out with a cartilage injury. I wish him a very, very slow recovery. New starlet Frankie
Gray (brother of Eddie) is now playing at left back. Showman Duncan McKenzie is playing up
front. Blackburn boss, Gordon Lee, dismisses him as a ‘piss pot player’. Fancy
Dan or not, I’d rather have him in my side than not.
Unusually, Jimmy Adamson is given programme
space. Armfield says he owes our Jimmy for help given when Armfield was boss at Bolton.
Anyway, Jimmy A grabs the opportunity first to have another go at his old bete noir, the
offside law. He concedes, however, that, "more and more teams have pushed extra
players forward this season, forcing their opponents to come out of defence. That’s
why there have been more goals scored." ‘Total Football’.
He then has a go at cracking hooliganism. Jimmy
claims, "the answer lies with the courts. If a firmer line was taken, there would be
a considerable deterrent to anyone contemplating disruptive activity." I despair.
Other methods are proving much more successful in reducing youth crime. Again, the
argument is stripped of weight so that some handy prejudice can carry the solution.
Jimmy finishes off by tilting at the
"escalation of transfer fees." He suggests that special legislation might be
needed. Now this is much nearer to home. Both Bob Lord and Harry Potts were surprisingly
sanguine about the abolition of the maximum wage back in 1961. But this measure removed
the very thing which Jimmy wants to restore, a mechanism for maintaining an artificially
level playing field. Burnley may be well placed but they’re losing out to the bigger
clubs and Jimmy is astute enough to recognise that. His warning against players having
freedom of contract may say much about his conditioning as a tithe footballer, but he has
foreseen the dangers of Bosman, too. Like Nostradamus, he over eggs it a bit, though.
"Freedom of contract would be the end of
British football. Many clubs would go to the wall, many players and many other people who
work in the game would be out of a job. It would only benefit a tiny handful of players
who would improve their financial standing. But for the average player – not only in
the lower divisions but in Division One too – it would be a disastrous step. The most
worrying factor is that the game would undoubtedly suffer. Clubs would have to abandon
their scouting systems and there would be no coaching at youth level. The home-grown
youngsters who are the lifeblood of the game would no longer roll off the production line.
The motorways (make that autobahns as well, Jimmy) would be packed with managers of big
city clubs driving furniture vans full of money to sign players. At a time when the
majority of clubs are experiencing severe financial strictures, the game would die. I
leave you with that thought for Christmas." Hmm. Makes you think.
But this is no day for thinking. I’m tanked
up and ready to rock. Something less cerebral is called for. And once the game gets going,
the fire on the pitch turns to fire in our bellies. For this is a truly nasty, petulant
game. And I love it. Last year’s thrashing still rankles with Leeds. Seven players
are booked as old scores are settled, many by proxy. Having erased the debt with Armfield,
Jimmy rips up his diplomacy degree and announces, "We were provoked and we
retaliated… it has happened with Leeds for the past ten years." Jimmy Adamson
would be out of a job by the time Burnley next returned to Elland Road. I’m not sure
that he would have been given another programme slot.
Despite the post-match froth, in between the
fights there are four goals. James puts us ahead but Joe Jordan levels. Then after the
break, Peter Lorimer puts Leeds in front only for James to snatch a late draw with a cool,
precise finish. Housed in a half-renovated section of the old Scratching Shed, we go
absolutely berserk. That’s the great thing about nasty petulant games, you get as
pumped up as hell. So when your team scores, you’re ready to hit the stratosphere.
However, once home, the red mists have evaporated and the excess booze is leaving my
stomach sour and churning, nicely primed for a Morecambe and Wise Christmas Special.
Burnley v Carlisle United
‘Too Good To Be Forgotten’
31st December 1974
So what will we remember 1974 for? Elland
Road? Mohammed Ali? Hillsborough? Lord Lucan? Martin Dobson? The IRA? How about something
nearer to the hearth like the cost of living? That seems to be rocketing with a 20% rise
in the last twelve months. Wages are up by 26%. Even the poor downtrodden teachers get
32%. That’s fair, they can’t all get their kids singing ‘To Sir With
Love’ can they? What is really worrying, though, is the big hike in petrol prices.
Given that supporting Burnley means supporting my local Thrust petrol station, I’m
disturbed to note that 4 Star has risen from 42p to 72p a gallon between June and
December. Not that I’ve far to go today. So I can save a bit. The game is a steal,
too. Carlisle should have gone away with something. Burnley play as if they want to get
their hangover in before tonight’s piss up. Carlisle take a deserved first half lead
through winger Dennis Martin. But Leighton James turns rescuer again. Doug Collins chips
in with another and Burnley rag two points.
Burnley v Wimbledon
‘Wombling Merry Christmas’
4th January 1975
Oh God! What I can I possibly say? I
can’t face work. I can’t face anyone. The Khmer Rouge are besieging Phnom Penh.
But those poor people still have no idea what real suffering is. Ray Hankin says he’s
never going out again. Perhaps I should look him up. We need a Wimbledon survivors group.
I imagine Burnley as empty as Chernobyl (forgive the anachronism). Alright, Wimbledon are
incredible. Such organisation. Such composure. They are the first side to shackle James
this season. A Southern League outfit, for Christ’s sake! Burnley bombard Wimbledon
but it’s all very predictable, long ball tactics. Without James doing his stuff, they
look poor. Sure, they have enough opportunities to win. Thomson, Fletcher and James fluff
easy chances. But keeper Dickie Guy is tremendous. Then at the start of the second half,
Mahon pokes home a goal from 12 yards. Burnley push forward relentlessly but they
can’t break them down. Jimmy says, "The players gave everything but their skills
were off." I admire him for saying anything. I become as mute as a Trappist monk.
QPR v Burnley
‘Streets Of London’
11th January 1975
It’s a day of wan, filtered sunlight.
Two Windscale workers have died of Leukaemia. Is this nuclear stuff safe? Maybe our
hospital staff are going to be in high demand. They seem to know their worth already for
14,000 of them got a 74% wage rise this week.
The QPR programme contains a cartoon. A fat
irate ref is berating a Trevor Francis type, "Intimidation, rude gestures, just what
do you think you are playing – Australian Test cricket?" It’s not funny.
Neither is, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. If Thomo don’t get you then Lillee
must." Our batsmen have become duckers and divers. That’s the good ones. Willis
has given them a bit back, but we’re outgunned. Losing to the Aussies is bad enough.
Being decimated by them is unbearable.
However, today offers rehabilitation. It’s
not much of a game. Very scrappy and not much goalmouth action, either, at least in the
first half. Then something nice happens. Morris, playing in midfield, sends James away
down the right. James gets Wimbledon out of his system and makes it to the by-line. He
fires the ball across the goal area and there is Hankin to run it in at the far post. QPR
don’t threaten much in return, although Givens blasts several chances over the top.
Burnley have a fair measure of luck but Rodaway, Thomson, Ingham and Newton all excel in a
makeshift back four. Stevenson is in cracking form, too. It’s like Wimbledon in
reverse. Burnley up to fifth. That’s better. I can show my scarf off on the Tube. I
get a Standard but it’s full of Spurs' 5-2 win at Newcastle. They led 4-0 at
interval. Alfie Conn has scored a hat trick. The reporter is in raptures. On the other
hand the Loftus Road hack is pretty dismissive about Burnley. ‘Determined’ but
‘lucky’. That’s as good as he makes it. The game is described as
‘dour’ and ‘unenterprising’. I suppose it was but when you win, it
changes everything. With someone to share the blarney, you can convince yourself that
everyone played a blinder. I’ve no one to share the blarney with so I talk to myself.
Burnley v Luton Town
‘Down Down’
18th January 1975
Portugal finally concedes Angola to the
Angolans, but not without a 13 year fight. After five years’ worth of ‘the
troubles’, the IRA seem no further on. They decide to end their Christmas truce.
There’s nothing ahead except more bloody strife. Last May, the Unionist militants
sponsored a general strike, bringing Ulster to the brink of collapse. It scuppered Willie
Whitelaw’s power-sharing initiative. It scuppered Sunningdale’s hopes of a
limited unification. Faulkner is finished. So is any realistic hope of peace.
It’s an icy week. For several days, I worry
that the game might be off. I need my Saturday football fix. I need it badly. But
it’s OK. The game is on. Not that it’s up to much On a bright, tingling
afternoon, Billy Ingham puts us ahead midway through the first half. It should have
settled everyone. It doesn’t. Bucked by three Christmas wins, Luton play all the
football. Ron Futcher is their centre forward, having grabbed a festive hat trick against
Wolves. His lethargy deceives. He is really quite threatening. Burnley spend most of the
second half keeping the Hatters out. Ron’s brother, Paul, is superb at the heart of
the visitors’ defence. Luton have all the luck that comes to relegation-bound sides.
Sod all. Burnley are very lucky to win. Still we’re up to third. Who’s
complaining?
Birmingham City v Burnley
‘Ms Grace’
1st February 1975
The cost of a TV licence has shot up. A
black and white licence now costs £7. It was £1. Just as well I haven’t a colour
set. That’s gone up from £6 to £18! Who needs colour anyway? Well, Birmingham
might. God, this is a grey place. It’s not just the overcast weather. Everything is
in monochrome. At least the game is fair entertainment. Birmingham have found goals hard
to come by in recent months. Nevertheless they go ahead with a long-range effort from Gary
Emmanuel. Then James tears them to shreds. It is his precise right wing cross that enables
Hankin to out-jump Roger Hynd and plant a header beyond Latchford. It’s 1-1 at half
time and it remains like that. Burnley should have won but I’m prepared to accept a
good point even though Brum are 17th. However, I worry that we depend too much
upon James. Others can play but so many of the goals come from him or from his prompting.
If ever he should become injured or, worse still, leave. It doesn’t bear thinking
about.
Burnley v Leicester City
‘Make Me Smile (Come Up And See Me)’
8th February 1975
The Government can’t be worried about
Windscale. They’ve commissioned two new nuclear power stations at Sizewell and
Torness Point. I shouldn’t be worried about Leicester. They’re second from
bottom. They’ve drawn four and lost nine of their thirteen league games since beating
Burnley in November. However, any team which has Frank Worthington and Keith Weller should
be reckoned, so I’m cautious. There again, they’ve just bought that big oaf,
Jeff Blockley. On another sunny, cold afternoon it’s a re-run of the Luton game. This
time there’s no early goal. With less than thirty minutes left, I’m becoming
distinctly uneasy. Burnley are not threatening much and though Leicester look awful,
they’re fairly untroubled at the back. I have to concede that Blockley is looking
quite good. Then Hankin scores. Leicester have to press forward, leaving more space at the
rear. It’s enough for Keith Newton to squeeze in a rare goal. Two more ragged points.
Newcastle United v Burnley
‘Help Me Make It Through The Night’
15th February 1975
Thatcher beats Heath. She announces, "I
owe nothing to Women’s Lib." ‘That’s alright then’ sigh the
mightily relieved feminists. After all, she seems too preoccupied with propagating the
Male Eunuch to be at all concerned about the female kind. As if to prove the point, Heath
embarks on his record-breaking sulk. This is a trying day for me, too. At lunchtime, I
have too many McEwans. No, let me re-phrase that. At lunchtime, I don’t have nearly
enough McEwans. Like a crap anaesthetist, I fail to get the booze / wooze ratio right.
With the salty Tyneside wind making early inroads, there’s far too little to muffle
the pain.
Newcastle are still fresh from their midweek
thrashing of Liverpool (4-1). Their blood’s up and their talons are famished. Only a
few weeks ago, their manager, Joe Harvey, had burst into the referee’s room at half
time demanding better protection for his players. Newcastle had conceded ten in two. But
the ref wouldn’t sub Joe a defence. Now that his attack is so hot, he no longer needs
one. Trust Burnley to turn up too late.
Burnley aren’t ever in this. In front of
over 40,000 partisan Geordies, Supermac slams in two early goals, adding to the two he
scored against the Reds. He’s in fabulous form, quick, strong and skilful. Worse
still, he plays with a knowing swagger. Burnley have no answer. That’s unsurprising.
They don’t even know the question. Nulty looks good in their midfield. I despair.
It’s no better after the break. Barrowclough soon ties up an emphatic win. Liz drives
home. I sleep. I have had too much reality for one day.
Burnley v Sheffield United
‘Please Mr Postman’
22nd February 1975
What a difference a week makes! Alright,
Burnley aren’t brilliant. But they don’t need to be. James is once again Mr
Indispensable. He saves it up for the second half, though. First, he clips over a left
wing cross. Noble goes up with tough centre back Eddie Colquhoun. The ball seems to flick
off both their heads and up and over Jim Brown. Noble claims it, although TV evidence
proves it’s an own goal. Never mind, Fletcher makes absolutely sure when he thumps in
an unstoppable header from another left wing cross. Guess who’s the provider?
Prematurely greying Alan Woodward heads in for the Blades, but it comes too late to do any
real damage. Burnley are up to second. Perfectly on cue, a brilliant sunset seals the day.
Coventry City v Burnley
‘Dreamer’
1st March 1975
It’s been a bloody week. The IRA have
killed PC Tibble. That was on Thursday. He seemed to have stumbled upon their operation.
And then yesterday, thirty-five were killed as a result of the Moorgate tube disaster. I
start to read the report but can’t finish it. Those rescue workers have no escape,
though. I keep trying to repel the images of them groping, squeezing and slithering
through impacted, twisted steel and worse, in the narrow confines of that black tunnel. It
seems like grisly potholing. A doctor says, "If there’s a hell, I’ve seen
it."
En route I talk with a lorry driver. We’re
both munching spongeyform sandwiches at motorway service station. He asks where I’m
going. When I tell him, he says, "Christ, you don’t want to go there, it’s
full of bloody Belgians!" Actually, there is more evidence of Germans here. Not so
much in person. More by deed. But what the Luftwaffe started, the city’s lugubrious
planners finished. The result is unbelievably drab. As at Birmingham, the grey day
perfectly complements the surroundings
In contrast, the game is like a shining beacon.
Even though some toe rag nicks my scarf. For what he is about to witness may the good Lord
make him eternally regretful. Burnley simply stuff the ‘Sky Blues’ out of sight.
They have a bit of a fight for twenty minutes or so, then James delivers. He’s given
a hard time by the home crowd. Always a sure sign of respect. He’s given even a
harder time by the home defence. Always a sure sign of desperation. And the first time
they give him a few inches of space, he cleans up, cracking an unstoppable rising drive
just inside the right hand post. Any hope of a second half recovery is strangled at birth.
Noble is first to a right wing corner, flicking in a header at point blank range.
Fletcher’s effort is just garnish. Flynn’s late left wing corner finds him in
acres of space. Fletch buries his header with power and precision. The Coventry PA
announcer describes Burnley’s performance as ‘rampant’. How could I
possibly disagree?
Burnley v Liverpool
‘If’
8th March 1975
Yesterday they found the body of the heiress
Lesley Whittle, the victim of the ‘Black Panther’. Left gagged, bound and
terrified in that hole, the ransom demands were just a sadistic sideplay. However, the US
Government seem prepared to indulge these sickos if they offer the right deal. It’s
claimed that the CIA contracted the Mob to bump off Castro. The US citizens must be
comforted, knowing that their taxes are being put to such good use.
Today, Burnley have a credibility gap to
straddle. Few hacks rate them as potential champions, despite being second to
Bingham’s boring Everton. Liverpool are not out of it, either. They are three points
adrift but have a game in hand. Nearly 32,000 turn up, easily Burnley’s biggest gate
of the season. It’s not a great game. Too much at stake. Burnley make the most of
limited pickings when Hankin stoops to squeeze in a brave header from yet another
James’ cross. It’s enough to keep them in front at the interval. It’s not
enough to sustain them afterwards. Terry McDermott ties things up with a low drive that
evades Stevenson’s grasp. In the end we are grateful for a point. I try to contain my
disappointment. After all, we’re still second.
Tim Quelch
February 2000
