THE PIE SHOP Chapter Nine The Winning Goal. (Inspiration Point)

It was almost the end of the 1956 football season. We had only one more match to play and if we won that one, we, the Second Team of the Victoria Casuals would be the League Champions for the first time. The first team had topped their league several times and had completed their matches for the season.

We'd played that afternoon and won, so to celebrate we had, as usual, all gone to the dance that evening, at the King's Hall I think it was, yes it was, I remember now, the barman charged all my younger brother's drinks to me, the evening ended up costing me twice as much as it should have. And of course we'd ended up in the Pie Shop just after midnight. To be honest we were all feeling a bit 'end of season..ish' and instead of the noisy badinage that was the hallmark of that time of night in there, things were a bit subdued.

There was a lull in the conversation at our table, not an awkward one, we all knew each other too well for that, we all just ate our pies and mash thinking our own thoughts, almost unaware of our companions. My thoughts were still on the girl I had 'taken home' half-an-hour ago…. I'd only known her for a few months but I had made up my mind already that she was the girl I would marry, if she'd have me.

Tony Aston broke the silence, he could always be relied on to start a discussion when things went a bit slack. "What do you reckon was your greatest sporting achievement?" he asked Tommy Holton. Tommy looked a bit surprised for a moment then replied. "Scoring the winning goal in last year's Cup Final against Pedro Street. I'd say that's my favourite memory. Why do you ask?"

We all perked up a bit and began thinking how we would have aswered if he had asked us. "Well," Tony went on. "Look at it this way, sport is something we all care about, spend far too much time and money on, worry ourselves sick about and yet really it's a pointless exercise isn't it. I mean look at Stanley Matthews, you couldn't play the game better than he does. Take that performance for Blackpool in the Cup Final, have you ever seen such a nail-biting game? but look how much he gets for doing it, even when he's playing for England. Compare that to blokes like us earning a much bigger wedge just working in the docks or at Bishopsgate Goods Yard, or labouring on a building site. See what I mean? Think of how those blokes must feel when they play the other team off the park and hear the crowds cheering them on. Must be a fantastic feeling…until you get your wage packet!" We all nodded trying to imagine such feelings…Wembley, Lords, The White City, Epsom, Hackney Marshes, all the same really, the height of what we were trying achieve. All it needed was a bit of effort, some talent and a hell of a lot of luck, and all that, whatever 'that' was, could be ours!

Eddy Taylor looked up. "You're right Tone," he said, emphasising his points by jabbing his fork towards Tony's chest. "There may seem to be no real point, but we all know there bloody well is I can tell you, Take that time at the Bethnal Green Town Hall a couple of weeks ago. When I caught Harry Oxlade on the chin with a right hook, I saw his eyes glaze over and I knew I was now the new East London flyweight champion. I can't tell you how I felt at that very moment, it was as if I was floatin', as if it was happenin' to someone else and I was just watchin'. A fantastic feelin', I can tell you, but at that moment unreal. Now that had nuffin' to do with money, I'd have done it for free! All I can say is, if that's how it feels to win that title, what it must be like to know that you're the best at what you do in the world"…his voice trailed off but we all knew what he meant.

It was a dream of course, we all knew it was, but life is about dreaming dreams and trying to make them come true. Has anyone ever taken part in any sport and not dreamed of being the best? Sport is just another route open to exploration, another way to make an indelible mark on life. Make a difference, the feeling of achievement would last long after any amount of money that was paid. Some would take it, some would compete in the world of commerce with no less determination, enthusiasm, or commitment. It was a different game that's all, with different rules and rewards.Some would succeed, some wouldn't, all would give it their best shot.

It went quiet again for a minute. Then Allan Davis said "This game next week is gonna be a hard one." We all nodded, Hoxton Blues were a tough outfit. He went on. "If we win it means we move up into the league above us doesn't it?" Again we all nodded and he pursued his theme. "If we play in the higher league, it means the scouts from Arsenal, Spurs and Chelsea, teams like that might spot us doesn't it?" Again we all nodded though I immediately discounted the possiblity, that seemed to me not in the realms of luck, more to do with miracles! But miracles did happen on Hackney Marshes, look at what happened to Tommy Harmer and Danny Clapton, we knew them and they had been spotted by scouts from The Spurs and Arsenal and both ended up playing for England, so….

It started me thinking…Some of the blokes brought their girlfriends with them when they played, I never had. To be entirely honest I had only a limited talent as a footballer and was never too keen to show what skills I had, I was kept in the team by training hard in the gym in Whitechapel, my enthusiasm, and sheer determination to win. But if…no, when we won this match the celebrations would be quite something. What if I played better than I had ever played before, what if I laid on goals for the other forwards? What if I, dare I even think it? scored a goallll???? What if all this happened and She was there to see it?

I felt my pulse beginning to race and the more I thought about it the better the idea seemed, I was seeing her tomorrow. I'd been invited to Sunday Tea at her house, I had already met her mother briefly but that was considered 'unofficial', I was now to meet her father and the rest of her family 'officially'. Hmmmm! My mind wandered for a minute then I dragged it back to the conversation in hand. Yes! I'd ask her to come to the game, convince her it would a great day…if I could.

Her father turned out to be Spurs supporter….that could have been a bit tricky since Arsenal is my team, but in the event wasn't; we got along just fine. The Sunday Tea was really good too, ham, salad, cakes, tea, it was a great afternoon and it turned out to be easier to convince her to come to the game than I had expected. "OK," she said "I'll come, I know some of the girls who'll be there, they were at school the same time as me." So far so good!

I checked with some of the other blokes and yes, their girlfriends were coming too. So were some of their parents and other friends, so were all of the first team players and their friends. There would, it seemed, be quite a crowd. I could already hear them cheering… I'd be modest of course, it had been the team around me that made me look good, it was the other players that took their chances well, I had been just lucky to be in the right place at the right time. Yes! That's how I'd play it. That would impress Her and everyone else. I would play the game of my life! I did too but not quite how I'd dreamed it would be.

I should have known things wouldn't go as planned as early as Thursday of that week. It started raining, not just a drizzle but that heavy 'saturate everything' type of rain. On Friday it rained heavier still though it did ease up a bit in the evening as we assembled in the clubroom above the Public Bar in The Victoria Arms, the old pub opposite Victoria Park. Everyone reported fit and waited with bated breath while the manager decided who would play. There were no such things as subs in those days, you were in the team or out of it. The best you could hope for in the latter case was that of being proclaimed first reserve and hope someone fell out before Saturday. Still the team was announced and wonder of wonders, I was in it, outside left, my favourite position, my brother Billy, so much a better player than me, was named inside left. We had played together with a ball of some sort since he was three and were both delighted with our inclusion.

Saturday morning dawned with the rain still falling. It stopped at about mid-day. No one had a car so we had to make our way to Hackney Marshes by bus. We were all in high spirits, made higher by the acheivement of Arsenal winning the First Division Championship, (Spurs came second), we pulled the legs of the supporters of other teams lower down the table. It was a noisey journey that increased in intensity as we got nearer to the Marshes. We changed behind the goals, wrapping our clothes in waterproof sheets, we wouldn't use the brick built air raid shelters that had been turned into changing rooms by the council recently, we did once and we had all our clothes stolen, but that's another story. Now all that mattered was that the rain had stopped, we were ready to play the game of our lives and so were Hoxton Blues.

The pitch was like a quagmire.Great areas of it, saturated by the rain, undermined our efforts to keep upright when trying to turn quickly. It felt as though we really needed to have studs about a foot long to run properly. It became a dour, knock down, drag out type of game with little real skill in evidence. But I did help Stan Froud to score the opening goal, a long pass early in the game when the ball was still dryish and would travel roughly at the speed you intended and approximately in the direction too. He slid the ball down his chest and slammed it past their goalie before he could move. I couldn't see her on the touchline….Hoxton levelled the score within minutes.

At half-time, one all! I looked again to see if She was there…I still couldn't see her and it had started to rain again. Would she come now? I hoped so. We played well and scored again early in the second half, my brother went on one of his zig-zagging dribbling runs and before the opposing centre half finally knocked him off his feet, he slipped the ball to me; I thumped it into the goal area and Stan was on it like a flash , their goalie never saw the ball and it's two-one. Where was she? I still couldn't see her. Hoxton equalised again ten minutes later…. She was there, had been all the time…under the umbrellas at the far side by the corner flag, with her mates… Their right back, a heavy bloke, was knocking me about a bit, but I was giving him a run for his money. I wondered if she had seen how well I was playing, I hoped so…..I must lift my game still higher.

Two or three minutes to go, we were trying hard to get the winner, so were they. By now the ball had absorbed a lot of water and resembled a cannon ball, so heavy that our skipper decided that for corners and free kicks our heavier backs should move forward so that they could get the ball into the penalty area. We lighter blokes were finding it difficult to kick the ball long distances and almost impossible to loft it high into the air.

The move paid off after Billy dribbled his way into the penalty area, I took the ball from him, tried to turn and was smashed into the ground by their goalie, but, serve him right, the ball squirted out from under both of us and went for a corner. This was it, my big moment…I could see it all, David Morris, our giant right back would take the corner kick….the ball would come hurtling across the front of the goal, no quirky bendy flights of the ball in those days. I would come running in from the wing, would jump like Tommy Lawton of Arsenal and with a neat flick of my head would nod the ball into the net for the winner….Fate hadn't read the script!

What actually happened was that Dave took the corner alright, the ball did come across high in the air; I did race toward it and was certain that I would be able to steer it into the goal…I am taller than most of those around me and could jump higher and I did, but the ball, now more like a ball of lead, suddenly dipped wildly and still travelling at a hell of speed, hit me full in the groin. I have never felt pain like it!

I doubled up into a ball myself while still in the air and moving toward the goal. Their goalie seeing my forward if somewhat unusual progress toward his goal dropped his shoulder to stop me. I hit him with the ball still lodged firmly in my groin, bounced off his shoulder, suffering a second assault on my manhood, somersaulted over his shoulder and landed face down in the goal in the deepest puddle of mud I have ever seen, at close quarters or otherwise, with sweaty bodies falling on top of me as the goalie and his team-mates tried to hide the ball hoping to convince the ref I had handled it.

I lay there for a few moments, winded and in agony from the pain in my lower regions and the illegal attentions of their full backs who had wormed their way into the pile of players in the goal, and were trying to retrieve the ball that was still lodged between my legs. I groaned as they tugged at it and I tried to move. Why wasn't anyone rushing to help me stand up?….I'll tell you why. The Hoxton players, those that weren’t pressing my face into the mud or jerking the ball loose from between my legs, were arguing with the ref, insisting I had handled the ball, my lot were busy celebrating the winning goal! The ref waved aside their protests and blew up for full time. It was all over, we had won, I had scored a goal, not just any goal THE goal. I could hardly believe it.

I finally staggered to my feet covered from head to toe in mud, thick, black mud with tufts of grass here and there. My first thought was 'had She seen this pathetic performance?' Yes! of course, she must have. I just felt so utterly ridiculous…standing there alone in their goal, dripping wet, covered in mud and bending over to lessen the pain in my stomach… NO! I didn't try to put a brave face on things to impress her. And I knew I would have to travel home on a bus in this state.

Wiping mud from my eyes I looked around the pitch. All our players were shaking hands or jumping up and down with delight, I limped towards them on stiff legs, the pain in my stomach still forcing me to bend forward as I walked, still wishing to take part in the celebrations. Then I realised they too were all covered in mud, they had grabbed handfulls of the stuff and thrown it at each other in their excitement at winning. Everyone else was either laughing behind their hands or guffawing out loud. Were they laughing at me or all of us? we must have been a rare sight. Perhaps though, they were laughing for the joy of the moment? Well, I suppose from their point of view it must have been a very funny sight and was probably both.

In the far corner, under the umbrellas, She was still standing with her friends, and yes they too were all giggling at my discomfort, their umbrellas jigging up and down as they tried to hide their amusement from me. I waved to her causing spasms of pain to shoot up my legs and lower stomach again, she stopped giggling, smiled and waved back, then started giggling again.

Tony's other question then sprang into my mind, "How would it feel to achieve something really special in a great sporting event?" Well now I reckon I can answer that one. Painful! Bloody marvellous! Pathetic! Awesome! Hilarious! Unbelieveable! Ecstatic! Worried! Ten-feet tall! Ridiculous! and covered as I was in mud Embarrassing!! You can't feel all those emotions all at once?…Oh yes you can! I did at the time and even now, fifty-three years later, I experience them all again when She and I recall the day we all went home soaking wet, covered in mud and I had scored the winning goal!!!!