I was ten
years old. I cannot remember my Dad asking me to go, but when I was there has stuck in my
mind ever since. I was hooked. The atmosphere, the passion, THE TURF, so overwhelming for
a child as young as I was. It was August 20th 1966, standing on the Cricket Field Terrace,
we beat Sheffield United 4-0, and after the roar and the shock of the sound it produced
after the first goal, I was addicted, addicted to that certain noise after a goal and
always will be.
My Dad could not believe it when I asked him to 'take me to the Turf
again', but he did, to the very next home game, Fulham. It was a night match and very
different. I thought the whole world was in the dark and only our ground was illuminated.
It was something magic and I loved it, we won again 3-0 and I could not wait to get the
next BFC result from West Brom. All this was back in the days of Harry Potts, Bob Lord,
Adam Blacklaw, Brian O'Neill (my favourite), Lochhead, Irvine and Harris, plus another
player who didn't figure in the team much but seems to now. There were anything from
15-40,000 standing supporters with no segregation. Since then a lot has happened, or you
may beg to differ.
After my Dad introduced me to the above delights I would always be at the
bottom of my street (Towneley Street) on the rec playing football and waiting for the next
highlight of my life: Burnley's next game. I went whenever I could, which was all the home
games and the odd away trip. I used to hate it and still do when summer came and the close
season started.
When I look back, some of the things that stick in my memory. The
Eintracht Frankfurt 1-2 exit, the Cricket Field Terrace disappearing, standing on the old
Bob Lord Terrace one evening waiting for the result from the tannoy of the Swindon game in
the League cup, before that terrace went too.
I played on the Turf in the final of the Keighley Cup - a Burnley schools
knockout competition - for my school, Barden, when I was sixteen. I cannot remember a lot
about it as I was so excited.
When Burnley played away in the evenings, I would sneak out of bed and
stand silently freezing at the top of the stairs, listening to News at ten for Burnley's
score. Dad had told me he would tell me the score in the morning, but that wasn't good
enough, I needed to know A.S.A.P.
The other highs and lows were the Newcastle semi at Hillsborough, when I
found myself in the Newcastle end and frightened out of my life. The relegations and
promotions, but more of the relegations. The Anglo Scottish cup game against Celtic; I was
working as a barman in The Hop, a Burnley pub on Trafalgar street and sneaked off to see
that, and was very lucky to sneak back again. The FA cup sixth round against Sheffield
Wednesday at home, the last game I saw with my Dad with me; we both agreed we did not
deserve our penalty. I listened to the replay on the radio in our front room as we got
hammered 5-0 and can still remember my Dad smiling for some strange reason that now I'll
never know. My mother always called them "washer women" - she still does. The
4-1 thumping we gave Spurs. when Clemence should have been sent off in the League cup.
The wettest away game, at Oxford in the FA cup; me and my ex-wife got
soaked to the skin, singing mostly the praises of a certain Billy Hamilton along with the
hundreds of other Clarets in the uncovered end. The terrible away pens at Barnet and
Gillingham. The ripping shots of Frank Casper - remember the net he busted at QPR, and the
Frank Casper the manager. I was pleased for some reason. The heartache, misery and
destruction John 'I love myself' Bond caused. The Orient Game. The Jimmy Mullen revival,
then fiasco. Clive Middlemass (what do you expect from a Leeds man?). The breath of fresh
air from (peoples' choice) Adrian Heath. what the hell happened to that Gentile he bought?
I would have liked to see him play. Then, God Damn, Chris 'I haven't got a clue' Waddle.
To tell you the truth, I didn't like that move, especially Glen Roeder. My workmates
(Londoners) said 'give Chris a chance, he'll turn them round', but I never believed it for
a second, I'm sure John Bond paid him to come to us.
I have lived and worked In South London now since 1979, and try to get to
any of our games when I'm not driving my red 136 bus between Grove Park and Peckham. My
Dad has been dead many moons now, and my Mum moved to Worthing a year ago, so I don't even
get the Burnley Express sent to me anymore. No computer and the newspapers are all full of
Southern teams, and they need to be 'cause most of these 'so called' Southern fans are
armchair fans and have no passion at all.
I visited my Mum in Burnley when they built the Longside stand. I went to
the game and sat in the Bob Lord stand just so I could view it, and I felt proud. (Even if
I did think they should have wrapped the shoulders round to join the other stands.)
Anyway, the only contact I have is your magazine and Teletext / Ceefax,
which I'm glued to on matchdays. The last three games: 1) Preston, what joy, Eastwood
scores, but why is Payton or Cookie not playing? It doesn't matter after we get beat 4-1,
and that's all I know, I'm in the dark and don't know why or how we've been beaten. Next
game, Stoke, home, Teletext again. I'm ready and excited to watch at 7.15 and by 9.30 I
don't XXXXXXX believe it, or do I? Saturday comes around, I've taken the day off so I can
attend a workmate's wedding. He's not that much into football, but he has said to me
"Burnley? didn't Ralph Coates used to play for them?" So you know he's not into
football now. Anyway, I'm indoors 12 noon thinking, today is Bob's wedding and Burnley
play Darlington in the cup, it'll be on Teletext, what should I do? The only thing I can
do really, sit in the chair, stuff his wedding, I have my own vows to worry about. (As all
Londoners say to us, sorry mate!) There's no contest, I get comfy in the chair with plenty
of tea and rolled cigarettes, and yes you've guessed it, rearranged to Tuesday evening at
'Boro. That reminded me of the time I went to Southend United for a promotion game on a
Saturday. I didn't know where the ground was until I was right beside it thinking, where's
all my Northern blood singing In their droves, where's the crowds? Yes, you've guessed it
again, we won 4-1 the night before. Still, back to the present, Tuesday comes around, I
finish work at 3.15 and cannot wait. I joke with the 'so called' Millwall fans at work,
that we'll be out of it the same as them tonight (not believing it in a heartbeat), I get
indoors before my family, Text on straight away, all the remotes hidden around my body. No
one will view telly programmes tonight, but wait, there's no other gripping games tonight,
it's got to be on Radio 5 Live.
I scan the papers, yes, 7.30 The Tuesday match, so I sit there, Walkman
hanging on my waist, earphones clamped to my head looking at text and listening to Five
Live for two hours before 7.30. Family arrives and realise it's Burnley night and promptly
go upstairs. 7.30 comes, great, magic, terrific, paradise.... Pleat, Ipswich, Under 21
friendly against the Czechs the main match. Come on, you're taking the piss. David car
park crawler Pleat you're having me over, the main match? God, tell me what do you think
if say, Brentford was playing Leyton O's or Barnet against Luton in the cup, do you still
think they'd come from Ipswich? I hate you, whoever you are.
So, more attention to Text, then a news flash from 'Boro. (Yes, I can hear
the lads in the background singing.) Text can always be a couple of minutes behind in
giving the scores and sometimes it annoys me that they lapse for twenty minutes or more.
Back to Pleat and the sedative U21s bore, half time, time to dash to the kitchen for a
cuppa tea. (How come Southerners can't make tea?) I don't know why I wait until half time,
I've got the Walkman. I guess I just want it all, I cannot get enough. Second half,
Pleat's been buggered off (thank god) and we're back at 'Boro. Yes, Burnley 2-0 up, Payton
again, although he's been booked. Then, in no time at all Payton gets sent off, and I'm
sat there thinking, and then it comes again, Pleat makes way for a report from the
Riverside. As soon as the commentator said, 'Could this be a revival, Darlington have
pulled one back' my heart sank. I knew it was going pear shaped. Then it's back to David
'I'm so smooth' Pleat, we hear the rest of the practice match and then heart sink time
again, we go back to 'Boro. 'Darlington equalise and now a dangerous cross comes in and
Kval (where's Ward?) flaps at it and gets hold of it a second time and clears downfield,
the ball goes straight back with Darlington, a shot, he scores, Darlington lead 3-2 in
injury time and there's no way back now for Burnley'. They break of at this point saying
they'll give the final score as soon as the match ends.
I know we won't score again but cannot wait to see our 2 on text turn into
a 3 before their 2 has changed - no chance. Full time, Darlington at home to Man City.
Good! At least Teasdale will not get that large gate in his fat back pocket.
I am writing this the day after, after reading on the Text Clubcall
headlines 'Stan may quit'. What the hell is happening? Or what is not happening?
I don't know much about Teasdale, only what I've read, that he saved BFC
once. If he did, then I would give him full credit and would thank him profusely if I ever
had the chance, but Burnley have been on the slide for years now and he seems to be
dragging his feet. We'll probably never be able to compete with Man United or Arsenal
unless I win a triple rollover on the lottery and plough it into BFC, which I'd love, but
if you cannot or will not put up X amount of £s to at least a half decent club, then go,
be gone. We all know football has turned Into a business for the well heeled, but for me
it's a passion, pride, a love affair. I loved it when at Millwall, when we had Ted McMinn,
I bumped into an old school friend Alan Shackleton (Shacky) - no relation to the other -
all the smiling Northern faces.
I took my then ten year old daughter to see the friendly games against
that Brazilian club (Gremio) and Man city, at the start of 'clueless' mismanagement. She
kept saying she supported Man Utd and wanted to see them play.
Seeing as she lives with my ex-wife on the Isle of Grain I took her to
these two games and since then we have been to Gillingham last season. (I cannot let her
be another best team Man Utd fan can I?) Although she asks me how Burnley are going on and
where are they in the league, I can tell that there isn't that spark of magic in her face
that I once had and still do.
And then at Watford last year, the first game of the season, all those
genuine fans. I felt sorry for them coming all that way, spending hard earned money and
seeing a sad game. I bumped off work (lost a day's pay and knew I would be threatened with
the sack) just to travel and see the game. I sacrificed with the rest of my Clarets. Tell
me, is the board doing the same? NO. They should be there to take the name of Burnley
Football Club forward. If they cannot or will not, then please give control to someone who
will. If you can do nothing more than you have done, please don't hold us back anymore or
drag us down deeper. I know I will support BFC through anything, but not everyone is like
me. We have already lost good supporters and will continue too unless Burnley FC gets a
gigantic bump start from someone with the club's interest at heart, but like everything
else, you have to speculate to accumulate. But it's not as though we are building from
scratch, we have a very sound foundation with which we could and can achieve so much more,
if it were not for the root of all evil - Teasdale.
I would welcome comments from anyone for or against what I have written,
be it good, bad or if I am somehow missing the whole point.
Thanks for giving me news (albeit as the name suggests). But, I hope as
I'm sure thousands of others do, we will someday have something to write home about.
Mike Farnworth
