”Hold your position Simon,” became synonymous with the start of my footballing journey. That was about 36 years ago whilst playing football at left back for Hamworthy Royals. Every September and October I am always reminded of these halcyon days at the start of Autumn and in particular the new school term where the hopes and dreams of my school footballers start all over again.
It is like there is a switch that is instantly switched on August 31st and I ask, what is it with September? As soon as the first day of September arrives the evenings seem darker. The temperature is definitely cooler. There is certainly an autumnal feel in air and the summer holiday seems a distant memory.
I begrudgingly switch off the alarm and stroll into work for 9 am where we have a training day that involves us drinking coffee and working out how many weeks it is until October Half Term. Once that conundrum is solved I decide that is enough maths and coffee for one day and I go home at 3 pm. This training is repeated the next day and the pupils arrive midweek. There is always an air of optimism when the pupils appear on their first day back and one simple question from a nine year old lad got me recollecting to my very own life. It made me question what September is really about?
“What do you have to do to get into the football team?” he asked hopefully on his first day at his new school.
September is the year for new born optimism and new beginnings in many educational establishments with excited parents finally realising they have peace and quiet after trying to amuse, distract and entertain their children for six and a half weeks. My Mum would invariably plead, “Role on September” about four times a day for the duration of the holidays (that is about 180 times you know). How many of you have made similar declarations? In the world of football September is the time of year where thousands of youngsters start to aspire of playing for their first youth football team. This question made me reminisce about when I was that little boy (whisper it quietly) thirty years ago when all I wanted was to play for a football team.
My Grandad bought me the Mexico 86 Panini sticker album with six packets of stickers to get me going. I was enthralled with the “shinys”. I absorbed all the information needed to succeed as an adult, such as Bryan Robson was born in Chester-Le-Street and Gary Bailey was in the England squad. I meticulously studied the results next to the stickers and I am sure England beat Turkey 8-0 and they played Northern Ireland in their qualifying group (I know my memory is ridiculous if this is correct).
My first live football experience was when my Dad took me to The Haymoor for the England v Argentina match. The cheering and shouting was a sight to behold but there was real passion there. I sensed all was not good with Maradona’s first goal and soon learnt you were not allowed to punch the ball in the net otherwise you will get a pint of lager chucked at your miniature television in the corner of a smoky drinking establishment in Dorset.
The second goal seemed like he ran for ever and ever and why on earth did no one trip him up? Especially as old football habitually had dirty defenders flying in with two feet at all time. Two stand out memories are involving Gary Lineker. When he scored his headed goal I remember the pub screaming ferociously each time the replay was screened and I assumed England had scored three quick goals to go into the lead.
The second was John Barnes causing havoc on the left wing and always weaving in and out past everyone in blue. I am adamant to this day his cross that went to Lineker resulted in him being fouled and pushed into the goal by some defender in the last minute. How else did he not head the ball in from the goal line? Nevertheless I fell in love with footy in Mexico 86 as an eight year old and even had the duvet set with Pique, the mascot for this World Cup. Surely I had unquestionably completed my football induction and I was all set to actually kick a ball now.
I recall playing 2v2 at my First School and wanting to be that bloke who had just scored a hat-trick against Poland. I was playing on the bottom playground with one of those tiny plastic balls with holes in that were the size of tennis balls. We were on the pitch where the rubbish players would play. I watched with envy at the lads on the grass field at the top getting stuck in to what seemed to be an eleven aside feast of footy with an actual football.
Now being a PE Teacher of this age group I can safely pronounce that these matches would unquestionably have been a game of kick and rush; all follow the ball and not pass to anyone in these crowded situations. However, it looked like footballing heaven and I wanted to be a part of it. Perhaps I was a visionary with my mate Daniel, where we were playing small sided games to develop touch, technique and the toe punt! I always thought I was ahead of my time!
In September 1986 I joined Middle School and was promoted to using a tennis ball in a twenty aside match. Here I excelled being the target man for the one handed throw reminiscent to that of a deep mid-wicket cricket fielder returning the ball to the bowler. In fact I had mastered scoring with my eye where I would rise like a salmon and eye the ball in. Perhaps that was because I was sporting a large bouffant (ahhh those were the days) hair style that prevented me from seeing the ball visibly and would consistently miss-time the ball contact. This was an excuse used many a time in the mid 2000s as goalkeeper playing for Cobham sporting a Jens Lehman look. It was in fact the talk of the terraces of such hostile grounds as Cranborne and Sturminster Newton.
“Get your hair cut keeper,” would be the aggressive and cutting chant from the villagers aimed at my direction. That was the equivalent of flares being fired in this day and age from behind the goal; trust me I was at the heart of such hostile hooliganism! I’d give anything for more of those chants now as a veteran footballer!
After a year of mob tennis ball football on the playground I was ready to play proper football for a proper team and my tenth birthday in October would prove of life changing significance. We had a babysitter who had just finished playing Under-18s for Hamworthy Royals and as a birthday treat he contacted the manager as he had started an Under-10s team. Just a separate thought here, if adult footy was still in age groups I would be playing Under-46’s now. Oh my! In those days communication was difficult as carrier pigeons had the weekend off and Sting had stolen the message in the bottle idea. I don’t think we had a phone and were given a verbal message to meet on the field behind Hamworthy United’s ground at 10am on a Saturday.
Arriving at the battered old ground with Hamworthy United labelled on the damp and dingy stand made me shiver with excitement. To me it seemed like Wembley Stadium. I travelled with my Dad and I am sure I did not shut up for the duration of the journey but I can remember the massive excitement that I was going to join an actual football team. We waited and waited but no one arrived. I was gutted. Where we they? I was buzzing with adrenaline and felt so deflated. A sign of the emotions associated with The Beautiful Game and such emotions I would suffer all too frequently in my subsequent years that ensued. It transpired that we were at the incorrect place as it was supposed to be the school next to the ground. Oh well, off to home we go and I am sure I was talking about Frank Stapleton and the headers he used to score. Blimey, I was an exciting lad back then!
I only had to wait a week to sense the buzz of adrenaline again as we had managed to get in touch with the manager Ian. We were told to report for a match away against Boscombe Albion. Whilst getting changed the players seemed super confident and all knew each other but they were incredibly kind with their conversations.
“What position do you play?” questioned Marc. Little did I know this lad I spoke to would ask me to be his best man at his wedding some 18 years later. Sport can be such an avenue to make friends and draw out extra confidence in those individuals that deem themselves to be shy. You can even express yourself without talking if you need to whilst participating and this is a fantastic feeling when you get lost in the sport you adore. That is certainly a reason why being a PE Teacher can be such a fulfilling career and I take this responsibility awfully seriously.
I did not know what position I was as I was given a substitute role against Boscombe Albion. In fact I thought substitute was a position. There was an element of immense pride sporting the royal blue kit and I considered myself to be equivalent to those World Cup Players. I eventually would come on at left back and this was my introduction to “proper” football. I mentioned that I was a visionary a year earlier and I can draw comparisons here to my performance to full backs today. I didn’t care much for defending and tracking the winger I was up against. I decided to keep running forward and following the ball.
“Hold your position Simon,” roared Ian in complete frustration.
I didn’t have a clue what left back was but in a funny little way I like to think that I contributed to the start of the wing back phenomenon. This did not last long as I would find myself in goal about four weeks later! About 36 years later I am still this goalkeeper desperate to have a run around on pitch and score a few goals.
That question from the Year 5 lad earlier today made me think how I started playing this game and these memories came flooding back. I represented Hamworthy Royals until I was approaching 18 years of age and I have friends for life from that team. Granted we don’t always see each other but when we do we share this common bond. I was even asked to be best man for another player that played for Royals. I can’t believe that it is about 36 years ago that I started this football trek and forging new lifelong friendships. Most of my subsequent friendships have come via football and for that I am eternally grateful.
It makes me realise the role I have in creating memories for the youngsters of today. I have been reliably informed that this nine year old has been going on about joining the school football team all through his summer holiday. This is a big deal for him and for many other boys and girls out there. Yes, September can be depressing once summer ends but for all those youngsters it is the start of a lifelong journey that will keep them entertained physically, skilfully and socially. When I smell the autumn ambiance that September brings I look back with fondness to those damp and misty Sunday mornings charging around in an advanced wing back position to later diving around my penalty area as a goalkeeper making saves and picking the ball out of my net. Here I was always dreaming big with an abundance of optimism and I appreciate others are starting their own journey of dreams.
Each first of September surely starts the conveyor belt that signals the journey of dreams every year for youngsters all around the country. It certainly did not disappoint me three decades ago and I am sure it will continue to give equal value to those that join the ride. To me that is what September is all about!
