How I Joined The Ways Of The Evil Ones
By Razcal June 28 2002
I went to my first Tigers game back in 1969 at the age of 12. I had been playing rugby for my school team for more than a year and had developed an interest in the game.
By Razcal June 28 2002
I went to my first Tigers game back in 1969 at the age of 12. I had been playing rugby for my school team for more than a year and had developed an interest in the game.
Then someone called Bleddyn Jones went to work with my dad and having chatted briefly to him while waiting in my dad’s office I felt I ought to go and watch him. My father, who had never watched me play also felt he ought to go and watch his colleague.
I think we planned to go to several games but they were called off due to a frozen pitch. The game in which I made my debut as a Tiger fan was against Northampton. Tigers won and I think there were 4 tries. I know we paid to get in but I can’t remember how much. I do remember you just paid to get in the ground and could sit or stand where you liked. And as there were not many spectators you had plenty of room.
Surprisingly, my father chose to stand which probably means I was a Crumbieite 30 years before Denise! I do remember that Bleddyn scored a try, I think someone else was taking the kicks in those days but I missed the try because I was in the loo.
Looking back it all seems so surreal. It didn’t actually seem to matter to many there who won or lost. There was no great animation from the crowd, possibly because there was no great crowd. And certainly no replica shirts, club scarves or flags. The nearest you got to that were the sprinkling of former players with their players’ ties. The second teams came through the crowd carrying goal posts having played on what was then known as the Welford Road Recreation ground over the road.
That was my father’s only effort to encourage his new colleague but I made several other visits to Welford Road without becoming a regular in the naïve belief that by watching good players I would become one myself. Dad used to give me the bus fare and I used to keep it as he was mean on pocket money. That meant walking from Wigston to the ground and back after having played on Saturday morning myself. Not quite breaking the ice on the village pump but eh those were the days.
Then came the game which really got me hooked, The Barbarians game on Boxing day 1970. Tigers lost but it was, in my memory a good game and my first exposure to real atmosphere at a game. It is interesting that my parents were happy for me to take myself off to the rugby alone but I was not allowed near the football after being taken to a so called friendly between Leicester City and Glasgow Rangers for a friend’s birthday treat. A treat which ended when a child was stretchered off in front of us with a massive cut to the head after being hit by a flying bottle.
My finest hour as a fan was helping the score board attendant. Where the Alliance and Leicester Stand is now used to be a bank of old coal waste. Perched on the top was one of those old fashioned score boards you could never understand. You know the kind , where a converted try was called a goal, Pontypridd had one last season.
The attendant had the devil’s own job if there was a flurry of scoring in keeping up because he not only had to change the points for a team but also adjust the number of goals or tries or drop goals or penalty goals. So a gang of scrawny youths, myself included, used to jostle for the privilege of handing up the relevant plate with the required number on it. This would then be hung on the correct nail. Heaven for us was the guy being so busy you got to hang the plate on the nail yourself. The feeling was akin to grabbing the 200th post on a mammoth thread on this site.
Since then I have had some ups and downs as a fan. I went to the first cup final in 1978 when we lost a dour game to Gloucester. Then I went to live in France for 3 years when of course we won the cup each year. The next final I was able to attend we lost to Bristol so I developed my tendency to be prone to superstitions following this. The next final was in 89 and I deliberately stayed away to make certain of victory and they lost again.
By this time there was definitely much more of an atmosphere at games and bigger crowds. Anyway time marches on. Razcal having gone to France under strict instructions to find a French wife with access to free holiday accommodation in the South of France had returned with an English wife and had started a family.
When my children were born I promised them a few things. I would always buy them any book, I would take them to any activity they expressed an interest in and I would never force them into an activity just because I liked it. So I did not take the razcal juniors born in 1990 and 1993 to games.
Then one day in 1995 I was informed by Mrs. Razcal that I could not attend the game because I had to look after the children while she took up the only available hair appointment. Well, it takes more than that to defeat razcal. Accompanied children under 5 were admitted free and they both jumped at the chance to go with daddy.
We sat in the far corner of the Crumbie with a plentiful stock of sweets, biscuits, juice and toys. I fully expected the razcal genes to come out and see my two offspring really enjoy the game. Well, my son got his toy cars out and played with them on the steps and then right on kick off demanded to know if it was time to go home yet and was not pleased with the firm response of no.
When we got home mummy razcal asked what he thought of rugby. He paused then said, “Well first they fighted a bit, then they kicked the ball.” Daddy razcal was a little miffed. However, the week before the Heineken final in 1997 the same hair appointment stroke rugby clash occurred again. This time, razcal junior picked up on the clappy clap clap chants and demanded to know, as soon as he got out of the ground where his season ticket was. He has now become our lucky mascot.
He got his season ticket eventually at the start of the 1998-99 season because he developed a kidney problem requiring an operation. Any home defeats since then he has missed through operations or illness and until the Bristol game he had never seen the Tigers lose at home. His first away game at West Hartlepool saw us go top of the league and, unlike his dad, Tigers won the first final he attended in Paris.
Indeed, Tigers have won an important trophy every year he has been a member. Unlike his dad he has played on the hallowed turf in the under 10s cup and he has been a mascot. He took advantage of his visit to the dressing room to choose his peg but unfortunately for him he has probably inherited his dad’s not very good player genes.
Well I enjoy reading other peoples’ articles more than writing my own. So I would really like to hear how MCM, BT, Denise, Vicky, TT , Stopsy, all the TJs and the rest of you got hooked. It should make for a mini series.
I think we planned to go to several games but they were called off due to a frozen pitch. The game in which I made my debut as a Tiger fan was against Northampton. Tigers won and I think there were 4 tries. I know we paid to get in but I can’t remember how much. I do remember you just paid to get in the ground and could sit or stand where you liked. And as there were not many spectators you had plenty of room.
Surprisingly, my father chose to stand which probably means I was a Crumbieite 30 years before Denise! I do remember that Bleddyn scored a try, I think someone else was taking the kicks in those days but I missed the try because I was in the loo.
Looking back it all seems so surreal. It didn’t actually seem to matter to many there who won or lost. There was no great animation from the crowd, possibly because there was no great crowd. And certainly no replica shirts, club scarves or flags. The nearest you got to that were the sprinkling of former players with their players’ ties. The second teams came through the crowd carrying goal posts having played on what was then known as the Welford Road Recreation ground over the road.
That was my father’s only effort to encourage his new colleague but I made several other visits to Welford Road without becoming a regular in the naïve belief that by watching good players I would become one myself. Dad used to give me the bus fare and I used to keep it as he was mean on pocket money. That meant walking from Wigston to the ground and back after having played on Saturday morning myself. Not quite breaking the ice on the village pump but eh those were the days.
Then came the game which really got me hooked, The Barbarians game on Boxing day 1970. Tigers lost but it was, in my memory a good game and my first exposure to real atmosphere at a game. It is interesting that my parents were happy for me to take myself off to the rugby alone but I was not allowed near the football after being taken to a so called friendly between Leicester City and Glasgow Rangers for a friend’s birthday treat. A treat which ended when a child was stretchered off in front of us with a massive cut to the head after being hit by a flying bottle.
My finest hour as a fan was helping the score board attendant. Where the Alliance and Leicester Stand is now used to be a bank of old coal waste. Perched on the top was one of those old fashioned score boards you could never understand. You know the kind , where a converted try was called a goal, Pontypridd had one last season.
The attendant had the devil’s own job if there was a flurry of scoring in keeping up because he not only had to change the points for a team but also adjust the number of goals or tries or drop goals or penalty goals. So a gang of scrawny youths, myself included, used to jostle for the privilege of handing up the relevant plate with the required number on it. This would then be hung on the correct nail. Heaven for us was the guy being so busy you got to hang the plate on the nail yourself. The feeling was akin to grabbing the 200th post on a mammoth thread on this site.
Since then I have had some ups and downs as a fan. I went to the first cup final in 1978 when we lost a dour game to Gloucester. Then I went to live in France for 3 years when of course we won the cup each year. The next final I was able to attend we lost to Bristol so I developed my tendency to be prone to superstitions following this. The next final was in 89 and I deliberately stayed away to make certain of victory and they lost again.
By this time there was definitely much more of an atmosphere at games and bigger crowds. Anyway time marches on. Razcal having gone to France under strict instructions to find a French wife with access to free holiday accommodation in the South of France had returned with an English wife and had started a family.
When my children were born I promised them a few things. I would always buy them any book, I would take them to any activity they expressed an interest in and I would never force them into an activity just because I liked it. So I did not take the razcal juniors born in 1990 and 1993 to games.
Then one day in 1995 I was informed by Mrs. Razcal that I could not attend the game because I had to look after the children while she took up the only available hair appointment. Well, it takes more than that to defeat razcal. Accompanied children under 5 were admitted free and they both jumped at the chance to go with daddy.
We sat in the far corner of the Crumbie with a plentiful stock of sweets, biscuits, juice and toys. I fully expected the razcal genes to come out and see my two offspring really enjoy the game. Well, my son got his toy cars out and played with them on the steps and then right on kick off demanded to know if it was time to go home yet and was not pleased with the firm response of no.
When we got home mummy razcal asked what he thought of rugby. He paused then said, “Well first they fighted a bit, then they kicked the ball.” Daddy razcal was a little miffed. However, the week before the Heineken final in 1997 the same hair appointment stroke rugby clash occurred again. This time, razcal junior picked up on the clappy clap clap chants and demanded to know, as soon as he got out of the ground where his season ticket was. He has now become our lucky mascot.
He got his season ticket eventually at the start of the 1998-99 season because he developed a kidney problem requiring an operation. Any home defeats since then he has missed through operations or illness and until the Bristol game he had never seen the Tigers lose at home. His first away game at West Hartlepool saw us go top of the league and, unlike his dad, Tigers won the first final he attended in Paris.
Indeed, Tigers have won an important trophy every year he has been a member. Unlike his dad he has played on the hallowed turf in the under 10s cup and he has been a mascot. He took advantage of his visit to the dressing room to choose his peg but unfortunately for him he has probably inherited his dad’s not very good player genes.
Well I enjoy reading other peoples’ articles more than writing my own. So I would really like to hear how MCM, BT, Denise, Vicky, TT , Stopsy, all the TJs and the rest of you got hooked. It should make for a mini series.
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