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THE ROCKLIFFE FILES - GIVE 'EM A SHOUT FOR ME 17-10-06
Toby Higgins
Croatia 2 England 0 eh? What's that all about? I thought we were world beaters? England's superstars just didn't want it as much as their Croat counterparts last Wednesday, and, speaking as a Boro fan, what sweetens the bitterness of defeat considerably is the fact that the name 'Downing' didn't even appear on the list of substitutes. Who do we blame now?
The defeat should act as a wake up call for England's squad of headline-grabbing, pop star-dating, autobiography-writing 'stars', who will hopefully spend less time writing books and more time practicing passing the ball away from their own goal, and other such basics.
If Stewart Downing was to follow in the footsteps of his supposedly more able England team mates and produce a book, hopefully he'll be able to (or pay someone to) think of a much more apt and imaginative title than, "Rio - My story" or "Gerrard - My Autobiography". Something like, "I'm Stewart Downing - Fuck The Lor'a Yas", would be ideal. As I become the 1735th Boro fan to defend Downing from the Fleet Street confidence bashers.
It would seem that almost every footballer in the England set-up at the moment has at one time or another considered writing an autobiography, but how many of us have read one? A recent internet poll posed the question, "Are you going to read Ashley Cole's autobiography?" to which 89% who took part in the poll answered "not a chance". While internet polls are clearly not the most reliable source, it's hardly a surprising statistic.
Footballers writing their autobiography's while they are still playing seems a little strange it must be said because obviously, you're not getting the full story of a player's career. One autobiography which does tell you about a man's entire career, from beginning to end, and is one that this writer would recommend, is Jeff Winter's book, "Who's the B*****d in the black?"
I'm not reviewing the book, nor am I on commission for how many copies are sold (yet.) but the reason I mention this autobiography is because, this weekend, I realised something Jeff mentions in his autobiography is very similar to what I felt like this weekend.
Saturday's home game with Everton was the first Premier League match at the Riverside I have missed for some three years, and believe me, it was painful. Each League game I have missed prior to these three years has been because of matters beyond my control, be it a poorly planned holiday, a wedding, or an outbreak of foot and mouth disease.
The summer between seasons is hard enough, and, sad as some may think I am, I pine for the Riverside during the hot June and July months. The smell of the match day burgers which hang greasily over the edge of the bun, the murmur that hovers in the concourse prior to kick off, and the sound of Pig Bag blasting out around the Stadium as the team takes to the field is what I live for.
Once upon time, it's what Jeff Winter lived for, or something very similar, and while much has changed in the world since Jeff first started going to the games, the Boro are still here, and so is the passion, the ritual and the routine that comes with supporting Boro through thick and thin.
But, decisions, sometimes very tough ones, often have to be made after some serious consideration. During the week prior to the Everton game, I made the heart-wrenching decision to stay at University this weekend, and not come home for the game.
Jeff made that decision the day he drove past Ayresome Park, and, instead of turning round and going to the game, he carried on driving. He refereed a local game that afternoon, and the rest, as they say, is history.
My decision to come to University wasn't a tough one, because to get where I want to be in life, it's almost essential that I spend my three years at Uni. The real decision was not to come home every week to watch the team I love.
On Saturday afternoon, I regretted the decision. As a few of us sat in a bar in the centre of Lancaster, watching the scores come in on a TV which had the volume turned down, it was impossible to move my fixated eyes from the screen. When the second goal went in, I was able to breath a little easier, but my heart sank when I saw that Yakubu had missed a penalty, and that we had then conceded. At 2-1 up and with well over ten minutes to play, I feared the worst.
Every other game which kicked off at 3pm in the English Football League finished before ours on Saturday, and at one stage I was sitting so close to the edge of my seat as I peered up at the screen, I almost fell off.
The problem I have is that I simply can't stand not watching the game. Listening on the radio, or watching the scores come in on Sky Sports is something I can't do. I somehow feel that, if I'm there, at the game, I can somehow make a difference to the outcome. Ridiculous I know, but that's how it is.
But when the result finally came in as being confirmed, I felt like I'd run a marathon, and I now appreciate how difficult it is for fans who can only manage one or two games a year. It won't be easy getting accustomed to this way of supporting the Boro, but I'll manage.
Saturday was massive for Gareth too. A win, a good performance an a bit of passion is all that's asked, and on Saturday, all three were checked off the list; just like they will be next week against Newcastle.
.which again, I won't be attending. Give 'em a shout for me, guys.
And don't ever take, MY BORO, away.
Same time next week
Up the Boro
WHOSE THE B*****D IN THE BLACK AVAILABLE HERE
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