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Why would anyone but my mother want to read this?
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By acoi March 10 2005
'48! Would've been 1948, but numbers were still rationed after the war! I knew life would be sweet when the stork flew beyond the pre - fab's and dropped me down a proper, terracotta chimney in Clarendon Park where I landed, on my feet, on a current copy of the Daily Express.
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'48! Would've been 1948, but numbers were still rationed after the war! I knew life would be sweet when the stork flew beyond the pre - fab's and dropped me down a proper, terracotta chimney in Clarendon Park where I landed, on my feet, on a current copy of the Daily Express.
I had second thoughts when five years later I was back up the chimney cleaning it for pocket money, but times got less hard as I grew.
In the flamboyant fifties you were still allowed a childhood; the U. S. had already bought the place, but MacDonalds was twenty years off and they stayed strangely, paranoically behind the wire at Bruntingthorpe, with their very impressive machines. The times built you up to be a rugby player; short trousers and long winters that followed you to bed - you had to play outdoors, it was warmer!
1960, rationing was over and I moved up to Moat, then a rugby school. I followed in giant footsteps {notably Griff' [L.T.A.S.C.] who Tigers blindly let slip through their net}, but when I turned out with my forward's physique [fat] and genuinely deft sidestep, circumstances conspired against me. I naively joined the scrum, knowing nothing of the game, and never enjoyed putting my head back in there again; I would enjoy a run, tackle, drive and pass, but still had no more than a rudimentary idea of what I was doing, so I would infringe, which usually meant a scrum.
I did ask the teacher for the rules be he opted not to teach, alarmingly saying I should find out for myself - my response did not help. Thereafter I began routinely forgetting my kit, getting my kicks from swimming [my parents helped form and run the Leicester Penguins Swimming Club] and the only true freedom a fledgling had then, my push bike. I would also play chess for the school, now evoking misty - eyed images of great halls, warmth, and biscuits with a cup of tea [at home all we would get was rising damp].
There was no family tradition of following team sports, but in 1961 my interest was aroused by the communal buzz surrounding City's visit to Wembley. The World was still in monochrome then, but I watched the game on the box and was incensed by the injustice of City, with only ten fit players on the pitch, matching but losing to a much vaunted Spurs side.
Thereafter, I followed their progress, and latterly, if only sporadically, got to see them play, mostly at away games which I enjoyed the most. The Mercury carried other scores too, the most intriguing being the names of Tiger's opposition, but experience told me rugby was best left to mature.
Marriages, mouths to feed, and long hours for a pittance took priority over all spectator sport for many years, but as the overtime eighties approached the credit card nineties, someone asked me at an hours notice if I wanted to go to Goodison. The game was the four all draw between Everton and Liverpool, and the credit card companies have never looked back since.
I began watching City again, including the Oxford game when they almost disappeared, and was hooked by the gradual rebuilding under Brian Little right through to Martin O'Neil and Spain in 1997. I had always wanted to go abroad with my team.
However, also around 1990 I began following up that latent interest in Tigers, principally sustained because a friend, 'Livo', who used to play for Belgrave, came along too, and he explained the reasons why all those blokes had to keep putting their heads in the scrum, and why everything else. I owe him a deep debt, for rugby became my first sporting [though some would dispute 'sporting'] love and truly endures. He also got me a ticket for the 1991 World Cup final at Twickers - now that's friendship! - but it comes from the ethos that makes rugby so much more ...... intangible even.
Season tickets for empty terraces and away games followed, though there were rather too many one sided games back then, and eventually, professionalism, and, my! how the game has grown! It is far more than soccer can ever be, it's akin to comparing chess and draughts.
So I am blessed. A wife who enjoys rugby, a truly beautiful game, an outstanding club, success on the pitch, trips abroad, an address one hundred and fifty miles from the ground, and penury! I knew I was right in '48 when that stork .........
In the flamboyant fifties you were still allowed a childhood; the U. S. had already bought the place, but MacDonalds was twenty years off and they stayed strangely, paranoically behind the wire at Bruntingthorpe, with their very impressive machines. The times built you up to be a rugby player; short trousers and long winters that followed you to bed - you had to play outdoors, it was warmer!
1960, rationing was over and I moved up to Moat, then a rugby school. I followed in giant footsteps {notably Griff' [L.T.A.S.C.] who Tigers blindly let slip through their net}, but when I turned out with my forward's physique [fat] and genuinely deft sidestep, circumstances conspired against me. I naively joined the scrum, knowing nothing of the game, and never enjoyed putting my head back in there again; I would enjoy a run, tackle, drive and pass, but still had no more than a rudimentary idea of what I was doing, so I would infringe, which usually meant a scrum.
I did ask the teacher for the rules be he opted not to teach, alarmingly saying I should find out for myself - my response did not help. Thereafter I began routinely forgetting my kit, getting my kicks from swimming [my parents helped form and run the Leicester Penguins Swimming Club] and the only true freedom a fledgling had then, my push bike. I would also play chess for the school, now evoking misty - eyed images of great halls, warmth, and biscuits with a cup of tea [at home all we would get was rising damp].
There was no family tradition of following team sports, but in 1961 my interest was aroused by the communal buzz surrounding City's visit to Wembley. The World was still in monochrome then, but I watched the game on the box and was incensed by the injustice of City, with only ten fit players on the pitch, matching but losing to a much vaunted Spurs side.
Thereafter, I followed their progress, and latterly, if only sporadically, got to see them play, mostly at away games which I enjoyed the most. The Mercury carried other scores too, the most intriguing being the names of Tiger's opposition, but experience told me rugby was best left to mature.
Marriages, mouths to feed, and long hours for a pittance took priority over all spectator sport for many years, but as the overtime eighties approached the credit card nineties, someone asked me at an hours notice if I wanted to go to Goodison. The game was the four all draw between Everton and Liverpool, and the credit card companies have never looked back since.
I began watching City again, including the Oxford game when they almost disappeared, and was hooked by the gradual rebuilding under Brian Little right through to Martin O'Neil and Spain in 1997. I had always wanted to go abroad with my team.
However, also around 1990 I began following up that latent interest in Tigers, principally sustained because a friend, 'Livo', who used to play for Belgrave, came along too, and he explained the reasons why all those blokes had to keep putting their heads in the scrum, and why everything else. I owe him a deep debt, for rugby became my first sporting [though some would dispute 'sporting'] love and truly endures. He also got me a ticket for the 1991 World Cup final at Twickers - now that's friendship! - but it comes from the ethos that makes rugby so much more ...... intangible even.
Season tickets for empty terraces and away games followed, though there were rather too many one sided games back then, and eventually, professionalism, and, my! how the game has grown! It is far more than soccer can ever be, it's akin to comparing chess and draughts.
So I am blessed. A wife who enjoys rugby, a truly beautiful game, an outstanding club, success on the pitch, trips abroad, an address one hundred and fifty miles from the ground, and penury! I knew I was right in '48 when that stork .........
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