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Spurs v West Ham |
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| Bob 70-71 |
Dear Bob
That Saturday one of his friends was ill and unable to make the game, and so consequently there was a free ticket. I was only seven years of age then and had never been to a real game before, although I regularly watched the Big Match on LWT on Sunday afternoons. So naturally I was overjoyed by such an unexpected and exciting offer. I donned my West Ham scarf, that my Mother had knitted me, and badge and set off for the game. We weaved our way through the heavy traffic on the way to the ground. I remember being bumper-to-bumper for what seemed miles. Finally we reached the ground and I took up my seat with all the other Tottenham season ticket holders. Before my eyes there was this huge pitch with packed stands. I surveyed the large green, lush surface as pristine as a Subbuteo pitch. The air was thick with the smells of food and the acrid pong of tobacco. There were 53,640 in attendance that day, and I had never seen anything like it before. Tottenham
were favourites to win. Spurs were considered to have the
stronger squad and had high expectations for the coming
season; they eventually finished third. West Ham, on the
other hand, were an enigma. The 1970/71 season would see them struggle again. The Hammers would just avoid relegation and finally finish third from bottom (in the days of two up, two down, and two points for a win), and be ignominiously dumped out of the FA Cup in the third round at Blackpool by a 4-0 margin. It was one of the Irons' worst seasons since joining the top flight in 1958, and things were not helped by the fact that Bobby Moore and Jimmy Greaves were both fined by the club for going out drinking the night before the debacle at Blackpool. The match had the added interest in seeing Jimmy Greaves' return to White Hart Lane for the first time since the exchange deal, in March 1970, that saw Hammer favourite and World Cup star Martin Peters go to Tottenham. It would be both Peters and Greaves' first game against their old clubs, and it would be Greaves' last competitive match at White Hart Lane, as the end of that season would see his retirement. The line
ups that day were: My neighbour's companion, Mr. Woodward who had spent the whole match chain-smoking, saw my reaction. He leaned over to me and said, 'Don't worry son, you see, you just watch that fellow there.' He pointed over to one of the West Ham strikers. 'That one there, see?' 'Yes.' I snuffled as I wiped the tears from my cheek, while the hubbub around me died down. 'You just keep your eye on him, he'll score in a minute. You mark my words; Greavsie will nick one in a minute.' So we
watched him. Within a minute Bobby Moore sent in a cross,
Geoff Hurst nodded the ball on, and sure enough, as if by
fate, a sleight, But Mr. Woodward clapped "I told you," he said with a broad grin of satisfaction, "I told you Jimmy Greaves would get one." And he laughed, and I laughed too. Tottenham went in at half time 2-1 up with another goal by Alan Gilzean in the 38th minute. A young Steve Perryman in the Tottenham midfield had called the shots that half. The second half saw the precocious young talent of Trevor Brooking take control, supported by the silky skill and calmness of Bobby Moore at the back. West Ham equalized in the 59th minute with a header by Bennett, from a cross down the left, and the Hammers could have quietly easily have "nicked it", as my neighbour muttered in consternation, towards the end. So, the game finished in a 2-2 draw, a diplomatic way to end a marvellous day, and that Sunday, at 2.45, I got to watch the highlights on the Big Match. Richard
Bowen.
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R |
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