*Guest Post by
So here I am forty two years of age with my Dad having given me a legacy that that will live with me forever. No Dad didn’t take me to my first match, no he didn’t but my first kit, he probably didn’t even know the words to Bubbles but because of my dear Dad I ended up as a strange mix………a born and bred scouse West Ham fan!.
Picture the scene if you will, my first memory of football coming home from school wanting to know which team to follow. My elder brother had already nailed his colours to the predictable Liverpool mast, reason enough for me to look elsewhere. So I asked my Dad. That’s where it all started to go wrong!. Scottish born and bred he had no real interest in football. He had a loose affinity with Aberdeen but had never seen them play. Next port of call…..Grandad!, problem was Grandad was born in Burma and had no interest what so ever in football!. So where does a young impressionable boy turn to know for football guidance?
Eamonn the baby sitter!, he was my first hero. He bought my first kit, taught me the words to Bubbles and took me to my first game (away at Anfield lost 3-0, although I did try and convince some of my class mates that one of the goals had been cancelled after the final whistle!).
So here I am, in Liverpool wearing my claret and blue, waiting for the day when my team would come and win at Anfield! (still waiting!)
But that’s not where Dad’s influence left me. Picture the scene at the 1981 League cup final. It’s the last few minutes and I’m listening in the front garden with my brother and Dad as we trail 1-0 to the red sh*te! The football goes under the car in the drive and in his attempts to retrieve the ball my Dad slips and breaks his wrist, and consequently I miss the Alvin Martin header and then the Ray Stewart penalty.
Thanks Dad
So to make it up to me, we decided to have a family trip to London. My brother and my mum went off to the National History museum, me and my Dad went to Upton Park!.
There it was, the home of my heros!, The double caravan/portacabin with its array of West Ham gear for sale, the old claret and blue train plate on the outside of the stand, we even managed to get into the ground and I had my photo taken behind the goal on the terrace, clearly remember the little wooden box for the commentator hanging off the main stand!, But then it happened!, the appearance of a chap with incredibly curly hair!, He started running up and down the steps in a tracksuit. Who could it be? None other than Patsy Holland who was making his comeback from injury. He asked if we were going to the match that night. Dad replied that it would be too late for me and I was too young to be getting the tube for a evening kick off. Gutted, I walked away with my 99p poster and headed back into central London to meet the rest of the family.
So the morning comes and surely I’d not missed anything? Had I? The only problem was that it only turned out to be the West Ham versus Bury league cup tie! A mere 10-0 victory had been missed so that we could go and see Joseph and his Amazing Technicolored dream coat!
Thanks Dad!
So life in the 80’s plodded by, playing three and in with my brother pretending to be Billy Bonds or Sir Trev, then we had the whole ‘86 season, two games to go, were going to do it, then Kenny Dalglish scores from a offside position to clinch the league. I’d been full off it in school and ended up in…..third behind the other locals Everton. Thanks for this Dad. Look what you started!
No Europe because of the whole Heysel debarcle but hang on, 1988, 30th of November, a Wednesday night to remember. Under the lights at the Boleyn, the Hammers versus the Red Sh*te, all set to listen to the game on Radio Merseyside, not expecting much though, approx 19.20 my mum shouts upstairs, “Rob, your Dad isn’t feeling well”, so down I come to find an ambulance on its way and my Dad having a heart attack. Three hours later we’re sat in a hospital cubicle in the Royal Liverpool E.D (ironically where I now work!), listening to the porters wander past as the score becomes more and more implausible. Did I follow it, did I hell. I missed the lot and sat with my mum while we waited for my Dad to go to the ward.
Thanks Dad!
It’s 1991. My daughter Cara arrives, WHU baby grows, WHU teddy bear/ bibs/booties, you name it she had it. Her first match aged three was at the old Burnden Park against Bolton, a three nil win, (Cottee, Bishop and Danny Williamson!). I had to leave at two nil as when the second goal went in Cara dropped her crisps in the squash as the crowd surged forwards on the terrace!
Now was my chance!, our two goldfish were named Ian Fishop and Alfin Martin, any chance to spread the word of the Hammers was taken with Cara, she could name fifty plus players with only the first name as a prompt by the age of four. Then apparently I became an embarrassment! She couldn’t understand how a mild mannered man could transform for ninety minutes to a screaming lunatic, she was at a loss as to why I would pick her up and hug her if we scored, so she stopped coming to the game. Even getting a dog called Ludo made no difference, she was lost to the faith.
Have some sympathy for me folks. My babysitter gave up on the Hammers and changed his allegiance to the red sh*te (never to be forgiven), we still haven’t win at Anfield!, I had to endure being eight rows behind the goal at Cardiff when we lost on penalties to the red sh*te! I clearly remember walking out of the Millennium stadium as someone started the chAant “3-2 and we f**ked it up….”, travelled back to Liverpool in a car full of red sh*te fans!.
And now to bring you up to date……..I remain a loyal scouse hammer, still have a dog called Ludo, have a room with West Ham shirts/pictures/books in it, get to the games whenever I can, have met some other Hammers fans that have migrated here but none that have started here!. Cara now lives in London and is coming back after a few years in the Wilderness, she’ll even wear a West Ham shirt to work!.
The red sh*te remain the bane of my life, rare home wins, disappointing efforts at Anfield and generally them doing better than us (even if they only ever win on penalties!). Dad sadly died in 1998, good man that he was he waited tlll the close season. He never saw a game live, he hardly ever bothered with match of the day, but his indifference gave me the club I follow today.
Thanks Dad