We had been behind the Iron Curtain. Now we had experienced America. In the Tournament there were childish preliminaries such as the teams lining up on the far side of the field, each man to await his call by the commentator on the public-address system. The name was called, the player was required to make a bow and run out of the line - something similar to the end of a pantomime when the performers enter the stage one after the other to receive the applause of the audience - the Principal Boy to be cheered, the Demon King to get his deserts. This is not our idea of the preliminaries to a soccer match. Imagine it at the FA Cup Final at Wembley! Comparison with pantomime just about fits it. On return from New York I felt that whilst I cannot agree with any of the principles of the Communist regime - I deplore them, I hate them, I think they are rotten - I felt that Khrushchev is not entirely to blame for the world situation. That is being frank and truthful.
As Champions, we felt that 1960-61 would contain heartaches as well as rejoicings, and perhaps honours. First we defeated Arsenal, after a struggle, at Turf Moor by 3-2, Jimmy McIlroy having one of his excellent games. Soon came the European Cup, an experience we were to share with great clubs like Manchester United and Wolverhampton Wanderers. We were jolly soon to find out the way of going about it; the many points to be watched in dealing with these fly Continentals were all part and parcel of the job.
Having received a bye in the first round, we were drawn to play the French Champions, Rheims, in the second round. The first leg of these home-and-away pairings was at Burnley, on November 16 1960, and brought our debut in this tremendously exciting and popular competition. About 40,000 spectators were thrilled by the display of cultured, scientific football. To everyone’s satisfaction in our part of the world we won by 2-0. After the game there was a lot of conjecture as to whether two goals’ advantage would be sufficient to win the round.
The return match was played in Paris on November 30. We arrived at the ground there an hour before the kick-off. Remember this was an all-ticket match, but a crowd of about 40,000 was already present. Such was the interest. As usual, when Burnley visit Continental grounds, all the party inspected the dressing-rooms, then went out and had a look at the pitch and its surroundings. We were in for a shock. There were fantastic scenes! Immediately a section of the crowd recognised us as members of the opposition, cat-calling, ferocious whistling, and the throwing of fireworks (bombers and rockets), oranges, and banana skins were our lot. What a French reception! No wonder they cannot get a stable government. I always understood that in the wars we had preserved this country from strangulation by the enemy. And, as this was only a football match, it was reasonable to expect some reciprocation in our reception. More antics were to follow. The game in the first half resembled that at Burnley - wonderful football by both sides - our Jimmy Robson scoring the first goal. Half-time came and Burnley (aggregate score 3-0) seemed to be sitting on top of the world. The referee from Spain, let me emphasise, had also shared in this capital first half.
During the interval the Rheims team must have had serious tactical talks, as the game recommenced with a different type of football from the French side. Their whole idea was to use the long ball into our penalty area, and the charge of the light brigade - except that it wasn’t so light - began by nine-tenths of their players following up. It is no exaggeration to say that Adam Blacklaw, in goal, had a fifth column to combat in Press photographers. They encroached on the field of play, taking shapshots of Blacklaw jumping to catch these long, high balls. This was bad enough and, of course, should not have happened, but there was also the distraction of flashlight snapshots in his range of vision. Something we were not prepared for, as it is an imposition on any goalkeeper and would not be allowed in Britain. In this tormenting second half the Burnley team had to endure all the characteristics of Continental crowds. Brian Pilkington, at outside-left, jumped yards when a firework rocket burst under his feet. All kinds of distractions, all kinds of unfair tactics, both by spectators and players, were used against us. I wish to give you the impression that the Continentals, in spite of all the praise they receive from their Press and certain sections of ours, just have not got it and most certainly cannot take it.
Now came the explosion. I say emphatically that everyone in football knows Harry Potts to be a gentlemanly, upright manager. The incident which caused all the commotion was said by some people to be completely out of character. I disagree entirely. From that moment to this I have never thought he did anything wrong. He had nothing for which to reproach himself. Many will disagree, but few English people witnessed, let alone experienced, the extreme provocation. The first free kick given against us in this half was for an offence committed wide of the penalty area on the left-wing in the Rheims half. The referee blew his whistle, turned his back to run towards the goal area . . . and while he was so doing the free kick was taken from quite a different position. It is no exaggeration to say that for this and other free kicks twenty to twenty-five yards were stolen - on every occasion. This because the referee, for some unknown reason, did not give the same attention to requirements as in the first half.
Well, Harry Potts was sitting on a bench close to the touchline and halfway line. An offence was committed twenty yards from the halfway line on this right flank and in the Rheims half. The right full-back, to my amazement, brought the ball forward and was actually placing it in our half of the field near the half-way line, stealing at least twenty two yards. The referee had his back turned; he was busy running into our penalty area.
The right-back had placed the ball for the free kick two yards from the touchline when, unable to bear this unsportsmanlike attitude of Rheims players any longer, Harry Potts walked quietly on to the pitch - only about a couple of yards - and rolled the ball back to the place where the kick should have been taken. He was immediately accosted by the Rheims right-half, but did not remonstrate: he simply walked back to the bench beside the line. By this time the referee had learned of the commotion and raced back to where Harry was sitting.
The referee had not seen the incident - this I emphasise as showing how he was missing all this stealing of yards behind his back. The referee then ordered the manager into the stand, and, thank heaven, he arrived there safely. He had to walk a matter of twenty yards to reach the seats of the Burnley directors and while making his way to us he was pushed and shoved and manhandled by French spectators, and the incapable French gendarmes just stood there motionless, watching the scene. British police would have been prompt to give him protection.
This match was shown on European television and was seen throughout England. I am given to understand that the BBC commentator, Kenneth Wolstenholme, described the incident as it happened without explaining all the incidents and provocation which led Harry Potts to make this timely, physical protest. I use those words deliberately: our manager’s action brought more common sense into the remainder of the game.
True, Burnley lost by 3-2, but we won the round on aggregate (4-3). Let me add this in all sincerity: Potts did something which created better control by the referee in the remaining stages of a mad match and which drew attention to the difficulties and handicaps British teams encounter abroad. In due course he was punished by the Football Association - an event referred to later in the chronological section of our story - but here one must add this. With all these goings-on, in the sweat and swelter of that broiling European Cup-tie, with their own club being ‘robbed’, our FA representatives apparently could sit a couple of yards from the unguarded touchline and not intervene. They were not there to realise the enormous extent of the provocation, which called for the serenity of an angel.
