121 Sporting Snippets

 

On the annual plod around the Lines I finished nineteenth, the high spot of a cross country record that had improved year by year. Though pleased to have made the fourth year top twenty, the achievement was diluted by the rising number of cross country rebels. For whatever reasons the amount of lads that weaselled out of it – good runners amongst them – hit a peak in the fourth year.

Rugby: how we laughed at the boy playing number eight on the day my mate Kevin Garlick, in the second row, chose to soldier on in ripped shorts. As Kevin wore nothing underneath, the number eight got the shock of his life when he stooped to bind the next scrum and the back of his hand came into contact with Kevin’s sweaty plums. ‘You should have heard him scream,’ Kev laughed.

Wednesday 19^th November 1969. Gillingham beat Southend in an FA Cup replay. After a desperately poor start to the season for the Gills, a win of any kind was welcome. Paul and I were there to see it.

The two of us watched most games at Priestfield Stadium that season, sometimes with Clive, and usually from the Redfern Avenue/Rainham End corner. Besides affording a good view, it was handy for the pies at the stall at the back of the terrace. And on Saturday afternoons, our corner of the ground was the first on the circuit for a chap – a Tommy Docherty lookalike – that flogged papers early in the second half, meaning we found out the half time scores quicker that most. By pouncing to ask someone who’d just bought a paper, of course. 

Someone else who favoured that corner of the ground was an old chap in a flat cap who loved to shout ‘Come on the naval port!’ The reaction of people in earshot was always the same; a frown, a smirk, and a sympathetic shake of the head. Poor old bugger.