It was 1977 and I hadn’t kicked a player (sorry ball) in anger for over 3 years. My route back into football came with the interdepartmental 5 a side competition and the Town Planning Section that won it. It was like Lincoln winning the FA Cup; I was the only one that had played any organised football before; but that victory rekindled my enthusiasm at a time when I needed a form of release.

Home life was a mess, Linda my wife had miscarried our first child; mum was very ill with cancer and Linda’s father suddenly and tragically died. At the time it was the lowest point in my life; there was more to come, much more; but adversity breeds inner strength which you could not imagine is possible; human resolve is a remarkable thing and a problem shared is always a problem helped.

The key was that I was back playing football, I felt a more mature player and I was enjoying it. The 77/78 season was mainly uneventful; a mid table finish; although I did spend half a match in goal and kept a clean sheet! Our keeper was injured for the match against Blackbrook and our reserve keeper got injured in the 1st half and couldn’t continue, from 2-1 down we managed a 2-2 draw. In truth I rarely touched the ball, but what a record; never conceded as a keeper!

1978/79 season and I felt fitter, although the team position improved only slightly. I was made vice captain and my first job as skipper was at Rainhill Labour, a division below us in the cup. We won 3-2 in as rough a game as I ever played in. Coins came at us from the touchline and at the end of the match, I went into the referees changing room with our treasurer to pay the half match fees and sign the score card and found the ref held up against the wall by someone who didn’t feel he had refereed well that afternoon. After rescuing the official, we told the rest of our team to make a hasty departure.

The following season was our championship year; sadly it was the year my mum died of cancer; I played probably my best ever football, maybe someone watched over me that year and drove me on.

The team we had then had built up a reputation as being a hard side that got the ball down and played good football; we had a midfield general in Keith Dixon, who when I would see Paul Cook play in his prime always made me think of Keith. A centre forward who was lightening fast, had a rather large nose and who we nicknamed Concorde! All round we were solid and a tough side to beat.

This was also the season for me to regain the number 9 shirt on some occasions; and although I played most of the games as centre half, I became our utility player able to fill in a number of positions, mainly along the back 4 and up front in our 4-4-2 formation. One of the team suggested I should have my own shirt with not a number, but a question mark on the back!

BICC Burndy was a rough game, I was playing centre half and having my usual tussle with their number 9; he squared up to me after one challenge, but I stood my ground and told him “this is a football not domino match” all around me the players from both sides saw the funny side and it did relieve the tension, the game ended in a 1-1 draw and whenever we played them again, it was played in a better spirit.

My sending off that season came at Rainhill Hospital. The staff side at the then mental hospital were in our divison and they were a pretty tough lot. The patients used to come out around the pitch and watch the game; there was even an ice cream van present as this was the start of the seasons fixtures and it was a hot day. Concorde was still holidaying in Corfu so I got the shout to lead the line.

A guy who worked with my dad was a referee and although we had never had him before, had spoken to dad at work that he was refereeing our game on the Saturday. Dad told him; “you will have no problems with them; a good clean footballing side”

10 minutes into the game I chased the ball toward the touchline with their right back; it went into touch and as I went to collect the ball for the throw; a punch caught me on the side of the head from the number 2; then another one came in. I turned around collared him and threw a right jab which connected. All hell let loose.

Minutes later the ref called the right back over and dismissed him from the field. I thought great that’s 10 against 11; then he called me over, a booking maybe, “name” he said; “you know my dad” I replied; “name” again he asked, I gave it and he sent me off for retaliation. “Oh and I’ll be having words with your dad on Monday” he said as I departed.

I stood on the touchline with a track suit on, but the crowd got ugly; the ref came over to us both and ordered us to the dressing rooms. As I walked around the pitch pass the crowds, I was pelted with ice cream cornets!

I scored my one and only hat trick against British Sidac, all of them bundled in from inside the 6 yard box. We won the league on the tightest of goal average and I still have that treasured medal

The late 70s seemed to be one of struggle and relegation for Burnley, back to the 2nd Division and then into the 3rd for the first time; the 80s were to prove even more traumatic. Would the good times ever return?

The following season was tougher for me and was ended by events surrounding the birth of our son

Colinwaldron