Banksy (47 page)

Brazil’s triumph was also that of Pelé and of football in general.
Following his bitter disappointment of 1966, Pelé had a World Cup swansong to remember. The ‘beautiful game’ had a beautiful final in which we witnessed what is probably the most complete performance by the most complete team in the history of international football.

It would be twelve years before England were to compete at another World Cup finals. As far as the international team was concerned, England were about to enter a prolonged decline. At the time, if anyone had told me that England were to spend the seventies and beyond watching from the wings and sliding down FIFA’s international rankings, I would have laughed, believing it to be nonsense. As a new decade was finding its feet we had not only very good international players, but a number who were world class. No one could foresee how our fortunes would plummet.

When we arrived home, Alf gathered us together for one last chat.

‘You’ve all done me proud and you’ve done yourselves proud,’ he said. ‘You didn’t deserve what happened in León. Let me tell you all, I am so very, very proud of you. As England manager, it has been an honour and a privilege to have you in my charge.’

He then shook every one of us by the hand and thanked us for our efforts, before slipping quietly away.

Some of the older players such as Jack and Bobby Charlton and Nobby Stiles saw this gesture as an epitaph to their international careers. Looking back now, perhaps Alf could see dark clouds on the horizon, and intended it as his own.

It was the belief of Sir Stanley Matthews that Stoke City, although never fielding what he classed as a great team, had two that he judged to be ‘very good’. Those were the team that was pipped for the League Championship on the last day of the season in 1947, and Tony Waddington’s side of the early seventies.

I was lucky enough to be a member of the latter when Stoke City suffered agonizing defeats in two FA Cup semi-finals and won the League Cup. Cruelly, I was to be denied a place in the side that went so very close to winning the First Division title in 1974 for the first time in the club’s history, but more of that later.

At the time I joined Stoke City it was because I believed they were a good side with the potential to be even better. By 1970–71 that potential had been realized under Tony Waddington and Stoke were competing for honours with the best.

We began the 1970–71 term modestly enough. A goalless draw on the opening day of the season against Ipswich Town was followed by two victories and three draws in our next eight league matches. On 26 September, however, we started to believe in our own ability. Arsenal, who boasted the meanest defensive record in the First Division, came to the Victoria Ground and we took them apart. Arsenal had made a habit of winning games 1–0, earning their ‘boring Arsenal’ tag to go with the ‘lucky Arsenal’ that they had been saddled with since way back in the thirties. While they may have lacked the flamboyance of Manchester United, the flair of Liverpool and the zest of Leeds United, in truth this Arsenal team, containing players such as my old Leicester City team mate Frank McLintock, John Radford, Ray Kennedy, George Graham and Charlie George, were a great
side (as they were to prove by going on to win the League and Cup double that season). And on that day we thrashed them.

Stoke City were absolutely humming and the normally resolute Gunners defence had no answer. Two goals from John Ritchie and one each from Terry Conroy, Jimmy Greenhoff and Alan Bloor gave us a convincing 5–0 victory and sent the statisticians searching their records for the last time Arsenal had conceded so many goals in the course of a game.

Terry Conroy’s was a marvellous goal. His stinging drive from all of twenty-five yards followed a six-man passing movement and was voted
Match of the Day
’s Goal of the Season. (By coincidence the Arsenal goalkeeper Bob Wilson was being sounded out as a potential presenter by the BBC and had been invited on to the programme that evening to talk about the game. On his TV debut poor Bob had to sit and pass comment on the five goals he had just conceded!)

Our fine victory over Arsenal gave the team an immense boost in confidence, though it was to be in the FA Cup rather than the League where our self-belief was to have an impact on our performances that season.

Stoke finished the campaign in mid-table, though we did enjoy some memorable results. Leeds United arrived at the Victoria Ground as leaders of the First Division, and in front of Alf Ramsey we sent them away with their tails between their legs, two goals from John Ritchie and one from Harry Burrows giving us a 3–0 victory. We also earned a fine goalless draw at Fortress Anfield at a time when few sides ever left with anything more than a cup of tea. I was pleased with my own performance in this Boxing Day game. Liverpool put us under almost constant pressure and I had to be at my best to deny John Toshack, Phil Boersma and Steve Heighway, all three of whom had me at full stretch.

The Kop gave me a terrific reception as I ran into the penalty area for the pre-match kickabout. When I acknowledged their applause with a wave they applauded even more. I found the
Kop’s sporting reception very gratifying, though by no means unique. At most grounds I was given a rousing welcome by the home fans, which never failed to leave me feeling humble. Bobby Moore, Bobby Charlton and Geoff Hurst told me they too received similar approbation from the opposition’s fans. That’s how it was in 1970. Supporters of opposing teams, appeared to me, to appreciate the efforts of top players, in particular those who had excelled for England.

It narks me no end to hear someone like David Beckham being booed every time he touches the ball at grounds all over England. Though these boo boys are in the minority of all football fans, there have been occasions when the reception David Beckham has received has bordered on hatred. Not only is that unjust, it is also unwarranted. To his credit, David had risen above it all with dignity, and is all the more appreciated by true lovers of the game as a result.

Supporters were no less fanatical followers of their team in the sixties and early seventies. Arguably, given the spartan conditions in which they watched matches, their support was even more committed. However, these bedrock supporters of clubs were also lovers of football as a sport, and quick to acknowledge good play on the part of the opposition and the achievements of visiting players. Sadly, all that was to change as the seventies unfolded and moronic tribalism infested a great many of our football grounds to the great detriment of the game. The discerning fan has always appreciated the efforts of a player, irrespective of what colours he wears. Happily, in recent years, as football has reverted once again to being a family game, I’ve seen ample evidence of supporters appreciating the efforts of players of opposing sides. Long may that attitude prevail throughout the country.

In March 1971 Stoke City entertained Manchester United at the Victoria Ground. For all my efforts and those of my team mates, there was no stopping George Best. In this game George was simply scintillating and his wizardry on the ball caused us all
manner of problems from start to finish. Wilf McGuinness had just been sacked as United manager and Sir Matt Busby had returned to take temporary charge of the team. Perhaps this inspired George, for the Victoria Ground lit up like a Catherine wheel as George displayed his staggering array of skills to the full, culminating in what I believe to be the best ever goal scored against me.

We were defending the Boothen End. George received the ball just outside our penalty area and junked along our defensive line in search of an opening. Faced with Jackie Marsh and Alan Bloor, George dropped his left shoulder and made as if he was about to sprint off to his left, only to drag the ball back with the sole of his boot and move to his right. It was as if someone had just played Chubby Checker on the Tannoy. Jackie and Alan twisted their bodies this way and that as they frantically sought to block his way.

George appeared to be showing too much of the ball. Eric Skeels came charging in for the tackle, his left boot extended ready to sweep the ball away, while George danced joyously on his toes before making the ball do a disappearing act, once again pulling it back with the sole of his boot. Denis Smith and Mike Pejic then presented themselves for a dose of humiliation. George duly obliged, motioning towards them before curling his foot around the ball and dragging away to his left. A three-yard burst of speed and he was free. That left just yours truly between him and the goal.

I came rushing out to cut down the angle. A goalkeeper faced with a one-on-one situation has to keep his eyes on the ball, not on the body of the opponent. George’s left boot flashed over the ball. I was on the point of going down to my right when his right boot took the ball the opposite way. I immediately adjusted my position. All my weight fell on my left leg as I prepared to spreadeagle myself at his feet. But with another drop of his shoulder, George veered away to my right. Unbalanced I rocked on the heels of my boots before flopping down unceremoniously
on my backside in the muddy goalmouth. George, as if out for a stroll in the park, carried on before leisurely rolling the ball into the empty net. For a brief moment there was silence. Then the whole of the Victoria Ground burst into appreciative applause.

George didn’t sprint over to the United supporters and strut like a peacock before them; didn’t run to his team mates for a schoolgirl embrace, then push them aside and make them play kiss-chase. He simply walked back to the centre line, his right arm half-raised in acknowledgement of the applause he so richly deserved.

I wouldn’t have thought it possible for any player to bamboozle so many would-be custodians in such a confined space. That George did was a truly remarkable demonstration of his skills. He shook off five quality defenders the way a dog shakes water off its back, before dumping me on my arse in the mud. Such golden memories are treasured for ever, even by those on the receiving end.

Stanley Matthews, who was at the game, always left the ground a few minutes before the final whistle to avoid the crowds. Stoke employed a commissionaire in those days, who because his job was to remain in the foyer entrance, never saw a game. As Stan made his way through the foyer, the commissionaire asked him the score. He summed it up perfectly in five words: ‘Stoke one, George Best two.’

Among the many photographs hanging in my study is a set which shows George’s goal in sequence. I often look at them and wonder how he managed to do it and I still haven’t worked it out. I display them as a constant reminder to me of how privileged I am to have played against a man of such breathtaking brilliance.

As is well known, for much of his career and since George lived a lifestyle that many people may view as being at odds with mine as a family man. I never think like that. I have never passed judgement on George on anything but his ability as a footballer and, as footballers go, he was a true genius. In May 1971, just
two months after the wonder goal at Stoke, I was confronted with George’s genius yet again when playing for England against Northern Ireland at Windsor Park, Belfast. The first half was a very tight affair, with neither side able to break the deadlock. I had just made a save from Middlesbrough’s Eric McMordie and was preparing to kick the ball upfield.

George positioned himself in front of me, presumably in an effort to disrupt my clearance kick. I veered around him and threw the ball in the air ready to kick it upfield. As I tossed it, George struck like a viper. He suddenly raised a boot and managed to flick the ball away from me. The ball, still airborne, headed for the goalmouth and we jostled each other like two schoolboys on sports day as we raced to reach it first. George leaned forward, extended his neck and managed to head the ball into the net. Windsor Park erupted, first with cheers and then with catcalls as the referee rightly awarded a free kick against George. He was furious and argued with the referee, saying his goal should be allowed because the ball had not been in my hand when he kicked it away. The referee was having none of his protests, however, and ruled he had been guilty of dangerous kicking.

For days this audacious piece of opportunism fuelled much debate on television and in the newspapers, but the consensus of opinion was that the referee was right to disallow the goal. In the end England won the match with a goal from Allan Clarke, but all anyone ever remembers of that game is George’s lightning reaction to a ball tossed eighteen inches in the air. Whenever I meet George nowadays, usually at sporting dinners, I often have cause to remind him of the perfect timing he used to demonstrate on the field, particularly in that game at Windsor Park – now he’s a hopeless timekeeper and invariably turns up late!

The 1970–71 season saw Stoke City embark upon a thrilling FA Cup run that was to end in heartache and controversy.

We began our FA Cup trail with a 2–1 success over Millwall.
We then dispatched Huddersfield Town, though only after two replays. In round five we beat Ipswich Town after a replay, and then met Hull City at snowswept Boothferry Park where the home side gave us one almighty scare.

A crowd of 42,000 packed into the Second Division side’s ground to see Hull race into a two-goal lead, both goals coming from Ken Wagstaff. Terry Conroy gave us hope when scoring right on half time and two second-half goals from John Ritchie crowned a remarkable comeback for us. But Hull just wouldn’t lie down. In the last ten minutes they piled on the pressure. It was backs-to-the-wall stuff and I had to be at my best to deny Chris Chilton and Ken Houghton. When the referee finally blew his whistle after six minutes of injury time, it came as a blessed relief to us all.

The semi-finals pitched us against Arsenal at Hillsborough. The Stoke fans were gripped by cup fever and our allocation of 27,500 tickets was sold out within four hours of going on sale. Arsenal were on course for a league and cup double and came into the match on the back of a run that had seen them win fourteen of their last sixteen games.