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BORO v SPURS - BLAST FROM THE PAST II
White Hart Lane. In recent years a happy hunting ground for the Boro (ignore the last two please), particularly the seasons when a 3-0 away win became more like an annual ritual than a result. Shame we're at home then in many ways. Particularly as the sleeping giant of Tottenham has been re-awakened and like the Boro, are starting to look like a genuine top six side. That is of course in our case, when we can be bothered to play.
Spurs and Boro meanwhile share no great rivalry as far as I'm aware although we did sign Nicky Barmby from them so hey, perhaps there should be some animosity. And Ricketts started there didn't he, or am I making that up? Either way, here are some of your memories of games between the two sides...
Smog Eat Smog
Middlesbrough 1-0 Spurs, 07/05/2005
In order for us to achieve qualification for the Uefa Cup for the second successive year, we were dependant on gaining four points from our final two games last season. Those games happened to be against Spurs and Manchester City, the two teams ready to creep above us should we fail to make our points total.
So despite being in the middle of university exams I decided the final home game of the season could not be missed. I'd put aside enough money to get me a return train ticket from York and a ticket for the match, but my funds were that low that they would stretch me no further. Not even for a bite to eat at one of the many dodgy food outlets dotted outside the Riverside. So a week before the match, I ring the old man, to ask him to buy me a ticket for the game. This one phone call led me on a lucky roll gamblers all over the world would envy, and to what is probably my best matchday experience ever.
Stroke Of Luck Number One.
My Dad answers the phone giggling like a schoolgirl and immediately begins to divulge why he has had such a sudden rush of euphoria. A work colleague of his has a daughter who works for the Premier League and frequently gets given complimentary executive tickets for football matches across the country. It just so happens, that she has seven tickets to the Boro v Spurs match, but is unable to attend. So she gives the tickets to her Dad.
Although not a football man himself, he accepts the tickets, because they include a free five course pre-match meal (as well as executive match tickets, but he's in it for the food- fat bastard). The man fills up other places with his wife, and two older couples who are close friends of his. However, he has a spare ticket, and knowing how much of a Boro fan me da' is. Bonus for me though, I get to take my Dads season ticket, so only got the train ticket to pay for.
Stroke Of Luck Number Two.
The next day at Uni, I check my finalised exam timetable, and find my exams are on the following week from which I expected, so I will not be rushing back to York, with an exam the Monday morning after the match. Get in.
Stroke Of Luck Number Three.
The best bit. Two days before the match, my Dad rings with news that literally made me fall off my chair with excitement. Old couple number 2 pulled out! One of them unfortunately had to go into hospital. YES! I'd never been so happy at someone else's misfortune - don't worry, it wasn't serious or life threatening). Two tickets were available, and my dad was asked to fill the places, if he could. He said he'd given one to my uncle. Not asking if I wanted one, he skipped needless conversation, and told me I needed to be outside the stadium main entrance suited and booted at 12pm. From what he'd been told, we had great west stand seats and executive service for the matchday five-course meal.
Stroke Of Luck Number Four
Matchday arrives, and I make my way to York train station in my suit (obviously Boro shirt under my smartest shirt and tie combination). Although I'm in good time, I don't want to risk anything, so get straight onto the train, knees still knocking together with anticipation. Eventually the train gets rolling, and I employ my usual trick of trying to avoid eye contact with the ticket guy, in the hope that he'll walk past, not noticing I haven't bought a ticket.
Unfortunately my luck didn't stretch that far (and seeing as the train service started at York, it was possibly the stupidest idea I've ever had). However, I asked if they do student concessions, which apparently are available with a student railcard. Lying, I said I had one. He asked to see it. I fumbled around in my pockets and wallet, pretending to look as if I'd forgot it. Giving me a knowing look, I thought my number was up, but "just this once" he gave me a half price ticket.
Stroke Of Luck Number Five, Six, Seven, Eight.
When I get to the stadium, everyone is waiting for me (for which I apologised), and a club representative escorts us to our seats for our meal Bearing in mind all the time, they thought we were Premier League reps. We pass Joseph Job on the way up some stairs, and I wish him well in his recovery from injury. We find our seats, and drink orders are collected. Politely my Dad offers to buy the first round. The waitress points out though that "as representatives of the Premier League, you are guests of the club, and as a result all drinks, food and service you receive today are courtesy of the football club." Probably the biggest mistake they ever made.
Fighting the urge to order a pint and portion of everything, I put in my order for food and drinks, and sat and watched as the injured Tony McMahon gave the room his pre-match thoughts. When the first pint comes, it is pulled to perfection. The food is equally amazing. A starter of peppered pork (obviously with some poncy side-salad) followed by tomato and leek soup, main course of Sirloin beef, sweet potatoes and mixed vegetables and a dessert of apple and blackberry pie with custard. Then we finished with a cheese board and coffee.
Make no mistake, it wasn't just out of politeness that Delia Smith said our club had the best matchday food she'd ever tasted. I still have dreams about the deliciousness. Anyway, feeling fuller than Santa on the home straight, we were escorted to our seats, from which we could see Sir Steve and his guests slightly to our right and two rows down.
The match itself doesn't really stick in my memory, but I seem to recall Boateng shinning a goal in early on, and us successfully sitting on our lead for the following 80 minutes (would you believe it?). The result meant a point at Manchester City on the final day would see us in Europe again, so all was good.
Returning to our dinner table we found a selection of sandwiches and a gift courtesy of the club. Some sort of silver, world-wide time telling thing, but it had a Boro crest on it so it was cool. The other guests at the table (the old couple and the guy who went just for the food and his wife) left soon after, leaving an open bar to three very happy Boro fans. Eventually on leaving the stadium an hour later (slightly worse for wear) I bump into everyone's best pal Steve McClaren. He signs my (complimentary) programme and wishes me all the best, hoping I've had a good day. It was then I realised my lucky streak was over. Almost ruined my day...
Middlesbrough Red & White Sox
Tottenham 0-3 Middlesbrough, 13/09/1998
Ahhh...Spurs...what else could they remind me of but my honeymoon..?
Cyprus, September 1998....me and (the then) missus were in the first flush of married bliss. It lasted till the second week. Miserable cow.
I digress. Robbo had just got us back into the Prem and Hamilton Ricard had made
a tit of himself. Again. And I found myself in an Irish bar in Ayia Napa on my
honeymoon watching my beloved play Spurs.
At White Hart Lane. We never win there.
And I sat with my Boro shirt on in a packed bar... packed out with Spurs
fans... all looking at me. "Fuck it, lets have a beer..."
I wish I could tell you about the wonderful flowing movements, the 80 yard
passes... but I don't remember a thing about the game itself (good stuff those
brandy sours), but I do remember jumping around like a mad man every time Boro
scored... and all the Spurs boys looking ever so slightly pissed off.
Boro won 3-0... I was pissed... Spurs boys buggered off without saying a word. :o)
"Last drink love?".... "Two beers please barman..."
"These are on the house..."
"Why's that then?"
"You are either brave or very very stupid..."
Never did quite work out which one it was.
Andrew Morgan
Spurs 2-0 Middlesbrough, 28/11/2004
Oh boy what a cracker! That's all that can be said for this dismal trip to North London, in the pissing rain, at the end of November, when I was so mentally exhausted that I had had a pretty nasty panic attack in the middle of Kings Cross station the night before. How my life had peaked then! Nor had I ever wanted, or indeed needed, a positive Boro result so badly in my life. True to form, the Boro cocked it up again and I felt even worse. Thanks Franck...
Memories flowed, along with the lager, as we met at the O'Neills pub opposite St. Pancreas station- a place dear to my heart as it was the first place I had ever met The Wizard of Smog. Tickets distributed and tube caught, we walked the remaining 320 miles down Seven Sisters Road to Spurs, with Oort swigging lager and talking his usual blend of interesting bollocks along the way. We also bumped into a man who was convinced he knew me from the Fulham away match earlier in the season but he could have been anyone as far as I knew- I certainly didn't recognise him anyway.
Into the ground and up 320 flights of stairs (to add insult to injury to our corpulent weary legs) to the Spurs away enclosure, with the feeling of nausea ever increasing as we made our way to our seats and looked down at the precipice-style drop that was immediately below us. Still, a good view. Of Chris Kamara at least who was doing commentary on this space-pod lander style camera shed thing that was suspended in the roof of the away stand. The stadium filled up, we got our voices in tune for the match and hoped we could banish our 2-0 humiliation at the hands of Villareal mid-week with a return to our strong league form.
The game was pretty fast, albeit one watched in a fog for me. Indeed in the first half I spent more time watching Chirpy the Cockerel running up and down the touchline being an arse, or lying on the advertising hoardings and stroking his cock suggestively. Oh how I wished I had some eggs to throw at the randy bastard at that point. But there was a game to watch and, unfortunately I missed most of it.
Queudrue's idiotic sending-off (Christ knows what he was thinking with that two-footed challenge) was missed because of this damn cockerel. Their first goal after some constant pressure was missed too because of this chirpy piece of shit. I did catch the second goal though, although I wish I had missed it as it was a Schwarzer classic- hit on the backside of the Spurs player and trickling over the line. We couldn't believe it but we were also hardly surprised. Spurs had the tactics to beat ten-man Boro by simply switching play often and tiring us out. And it worked.
Leaving the stadium was a dejecting experience, as was the equally enjoyable walk back in the rain. We lost people (Bassett disappeared, we still don't know where), we lost points but in the end, we wouldn't lose face. Six months later we would beat them, in the League and to a European spot. And that was enough to appease the feelings I had of that November day.
But looking at the League table as it stands today, I can't help but wonder who benefited most from last season and which one of us turned out to be the stronger team. Because as things look at present, only one of the two clubs has truly evolved. And it certainly isn't us...
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