Homer's Odyssey
'Playing at Home' reviewed
I'm never likely to meet John Aizlewood (Playing at Home, Orion Books Ltd,
£16.99) as we don't move in the same circles - he cites Chris Evans as a drinking buddy -
but if I ever do I'll shake his hand and buy him a pint. (OK, I'll shake his hand.) To get
round all ninety two grounds in a lifetime is fair enough. To get round them in one
season, a potential logistical nightmare, and get paid to do it, is manna from heaven. To
do it and then write so brilliantly about it is something that only dreams are made of.
Apart, that is, from having to sample football ground food at every turn. Let's start by
getting a few facts out of the way. He's a Sheffield Wednesday fan, thirty something, and,
if his appearance on the front cover is anything to go by, instantly recognisable if you
ever crossed paths. He also writes with a charming blend of passion, humour and sarcasm
which will tug at a few heart-strings and certainly rattle a few cages throughout the
'corporate' football fans' world. (Happy New Year Wayne.)
I first perused the Burnley chapter, number ninety by the way, in the
bookshop, and was hooked immediately. I then perceived to buy the book for a B*******n fan
(no, not that one) and knew instantly that this wonderfully intuitive appraisal of not
just the Plymouth game but how Burnley Football Club is the town
and vice versa, by, to all intents and purposes a neutral, unbiased spectator, would stick
in the craw. Well, it is Christmas. Since I was there on that fateful last day of the
season I could relate completely to the atmosphere, genuinely and accurately recreated in
Mr Aizlewood's description of events. We are in fact mentioned more than once. As the away
team at Chesterfield in the one nil defeat. Also, and how's this for a bit of irony, his
visit to Turf Moor was originally planned for earlier in the season. a night match versus
Blackpool, which as we know was rained off. He went to Preston against Luton instead. So,
but for this quirk of fate, his marvellous account of our great escape would never have
made it into print.
It's not so much a 'can't put down' read as a 'can't resist picking it up
again' one. You see we all know someone who supports a particular team or we've been to a
particular venue on our travels with Burnley. We can relate in so many ways, and it's very
amusing to boot. He doesn't pull any punches about the police, racism, the hooligan
element or certain chairmen, but it's all done expertly and is so very familiar. He
embellishes his accounts with weird and wonderful local 'characters'. Most, similar to our
friends at Fulham recently with their racist yet quaintly geographically challenged abuse
of their mega-rich chairman, being from that section of society sitting uncomfortably just
above Homo Erectus. (Though the wags amongst them would argue this was how George Michael
got arrested.) In the Burnley context I could have quite possibly been sitting close to
'twat it' man, and thus the author, in the Longside, though what he would have made of our
own legend (should that have a hyphen?) 'Rocky' would have been very interesting but
probably unprintable.
So "buy it" is my firm recommendation, (even if you don't, take
time out to sneak a crafty read of our bit if you can). I can guarantee you an
entertaining and poignant journey to all ninety one 'Theatres of Dreams' and even that
other place.
Cluggo
December 1998
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