Renfrew forward John Horne, had been sent off for some innocuous infraction; the team had lost a contentious and feisty match and the players had made their way up the steps into the Pavilion at Western Park. The home team had been consoled by several home spectators as they passed, each muttering something derogatory about the evening’s referee.
One fan however, was more concerned to share his feelings directly with the man-in-the-middle. And share he most certainly did. Actually, ‘offload,’ would be more accurate.
It took only about thirty seconds for the poor ref to shepherd the last of the players off the pitch and then head to the dressing room himself. But the amount of expletives the spectator managed to fire off in his direction was blinding; disgraceful, actually.
What can I say? I was an angry young forty-something.
(Read more …)
It’s often been said that I’m a bit of a dinosaur. You may have sussed that out for yourself, having read previous editions of ‘FREW THE LOOKING GLASS. Probably a little stegosaurus would be the most accurate visual description if you know what I mean. One that wears rose-tinted glasses, at that. And you don’t see many of them around these days.
“Tick.”
Remember that time you paid a restaurant for a four course meal, but the chef hadn’t bothered to prepare a desert course? Or when you went to the theatre to see a standard five act play, but the curtain remained down after four? And then there was that time your wife re-mortgaged the house to buy tickets for a Van Morrison gig (mistakenly confusing your fan-worship of Jim Morrison) and he buggered off after forty-five minutes with no encore?
By good fortune, the Renfrew Ladies had landed a home draw against Glasgow City FC in the Scottish Cup Quarter Final. I don’t suppose even the most optimistic of Renfrew supporters genuinely believed in the chance of an upset, but I’d have been eternally kicking myself had it happened and not been there.
You see, I’m an out and out traditionalist. And if that means being regarded as a misty-eyed plonker who views sporting life through a black and white lens, then I’m afraid I’m guilty as charged, m’lud.
As football fans, each and every one of us wants our club to be successful. That’s the whole point of sport, right? To win. Unless of course your name happens to be Claude ‘Lefty’ Williams, the three-game losing pitcher for the infamous Chicago White Sox (subsequently referred to as the Black Sox) in the 1919 World Series.
As a follower of Non-League football myself, I found this book quite engrossing.
Cee Tee Jackson 