1966 & all that...

For those that missed the final,Channel 4 is showing it tomorrow at 13.30. This time in colour.

Checked the time again. 5.40 tonight

Continued... (you missed your chance guys).

Yes, England were in the final, you were aware of it , yet not bombarded by it... mainly cos there were only daily newspapers, TV started in late afternoon & the BBC Light Programme on the radio might allow the likes of David Jacobs or Pete Harris to drop standards by playing “he’s football crazy, he’s football mad” to remind the good housewives at home while their husband’s were out working, to prepare a nice meal for them to enjoy after Saturday’s match, Ladies were not interested in football, but keeping the old man and kids happy was all important.

As soon as the holidays started I made my way to Grandad’s flat in North London. World Cup fever was non-existent around his place in Highgate. We visited Hampstead where it was only slightly more evident, but it slowly crept increasingly into the conscious as you moved towards the City Centre.

You spotted the odd bit of bunting or the occasional flag... you know THE FLAG, the UNION Flag... yes back then the thinking was imperialist, not nationalist. England represented the United Kingdom & likely all of its Commonwealth of Nations too.
In fact, with hindsight the lack of nationalism was incredible in comparison to what was to happen whenever we played the Germans over the following half-century. It was definitely a more polite & respectful outlook. Perhaps it was also because the war had only finished 21 years earlier and was maybe just that little bit too raw...(?)

Anyway, the Germans had seen off the Ruskie’s in their semi-final and that meant they were on our side now. As pictures of Bobby and the boys on the set of the latest James Bond film reminded us, you can never really trust the Russians.

I could not escape how recent the war was. Grandad went to his work office the afternoon of the match. His office was a monument to post-war reconstruction, ten storeys of shiny glass & stainless steel. On one side the totally deserted area had walkways & wine-bars, there were also medieval Church’s plus a large chunk of the original roman walls of the City. Yet on the other side was the biggest bomb crater you could ever imagine. It was massive and had taken most of the years since the war to be cleared. It was in the early stages of being a building site. Nowadays you would know it as the Barbican.

Good old Grandad had conspired with the office caretaker that I could watch the match on a large but – allegedly – portable TV with a tiny screen & twin bunny ear wires poking out of the top. I won’t bore you further with details of the match apart from the observation that England scored TWO dodgy goals in extra time.

The first required the French referee to chat to his linesman, a fierce looking fella from Baku in what was then the Soviet Union. Apparently he had lost most of his family to German aggression less than two decades previously. It was never going to be much of a conversation, not least as they did not share a common language. The linesman said one word, legend has it that it was “Stalingrad”, but we will never really know. The Frenchman was – predictably – happy to collaborate, knowing that the Russian Gentleman was obviously a trustworthy character.

The next dodgy goal arrived right at the end. It should never have stood. Whoever has heard of a goal being allowed while the pitch is being invaded? It may have escaped everyone’s notice at the time, but some people were on the pitch, they thought it was all over.

The final whistle was sheer joy. I had kept the few workmen on the building site updated by writing the score in large typeface on a piece of foolscap & holding it to the window, they seemed pleased enough to celebrate with a brew up. These were indeed different times.

And that glorious summer evening myself & Grandad headed back to Crawley. There was a noticeable light mood. But as we were about to board the train at Victoria Station something incredible happened. A very drunk man bellowed out “Champions”. You NEVER saw or heard anyone publicly drunk in daylight hours & this sort of behaviour simply would not have been tolerated on any other day.

I was expecting a “tut-tut” or a “Should bring back national service” or even “I blame all these foreigners flooding into the place”. But no, it was greeted with smiles and liberal toleration. The snooty woman in the seat opposite me in the train carriage even attempted a chat about football. I attempted to tell her that Alan Ball was our best player, but she had clearly only heard of two Bobbie’s and a Nobby.

But – believe me – she would not normally have made the effort to converse with a scruffy kid. I felt we were moving to a more liberal, less stuffy attitude. It was further evidenced the following year on the August Bank Holiday. I was stood at the Clock End Highbury watching the fans fighting on the North Bank. It amused everyone around me. It was greeted with a good natured “Here they go again”, just a bit of lark, nothing sinister.

My mate David & his Brother Peter had even accompanied me to a cold nil-nil at Town Mead in the new season following the World Cup win. They had never shown any interest previously. Football, and in particular football fans were now getting their time in the spotlight.

Something had changed. I thought at the time that finally the stiff upper lip had started to sag and the place was better off for it. Why not let some of those stupid old-fashioned standards slip a bit. And okay I just have to accept that now when I arrive at a London train terminal, there will always be an intoxicated person shouting.

At the time I thought it was a new dawn, 55 years later I am left wondering if it was really a sunset...?

Man-4-man you are right, but we were still unlikely to beat THAT Brazil side.

Ramsey made mistakes. He had failed to adequately blood replacements for his "favourites", most noticeably Banks. And he had not kept up with the trend for imact subs. In '66 you were not allowed ANY substitutes. In the 1970 defeat to West Germany, the two substitutions made by both sides were pivotal to the final result.

Postscript: Funny how quickly it has gone quiet, but - with apologies - I will finish what I started, wistfully recalling a time when it was more enjoyable & possibly also the catalyst for when it all started to change for the worse...?

As the saying goes: "The Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton". The playing fields of Pound Hill were the less salubrious formative location in the development of an England Manager & Team that in 2021 we have an abundance of reasons to express our pride & delight in. A team who were unbeaten over the entire competition - including 120 minutes of play in the final, against the standout team in the competition - and finally only failed to win the trophy by the narrowest margin. Of course, it was hugely frustrating, but there is so much to be positive about.

Yet England players faced extreme personal abuse & the country was humiliated by the antics of those that stole the headlines. The abiding image for many is an England fan dancing in Leicester Square, with a lit firework inserted up his jacksee, while others live streamed the event to a global audience. Lets see if he tries it in Qatar next year? Okay, It is different times, yet my sincere feeling is that if that same defeat had happened in '66 we would have been proud, magnanimous & reflective in defeat, but not despondent, never angry or ashamed...!

Please don't kid yourselves that the difference is simply that we won in 1966 and did not win in 2021. In '66 expectation was realistic, British Clubs had no significant history of European success, the European Cup final had been played 11 times with winners from only 3 cities, Madrid, Lisbon & Milan.

Believe it or not, the day after the final in 66, Geoff Hurst cut the lawn at his Essex suburban home. Up to that win in 1966 the general public were not interested in footballers, their wives, girlfriends & habits. And there was no interest whatsoever in football fans or their opinions & aspirations, why would there be, they were only customers, no more, no less...? IMHO The crucial piece that has gone missing over 55 years is PERSPECTIVE. I believe that the 66 final was the last ever time that England played and it was ultimately still JUST a football match...! Becoming world champions in a post-imperial world, when the countries status & role was rapidly diminishing, ensured that football success became - very nearly - EVERYTHING. Football suddenly embodied ALL aspects of national identity & attainment.

Which means that now in 2021 the news hacks can lazily fill hours of coverage by spending a few minutes accosting any Tom, Dick, Harry, or cute kids with face paint or even dear old Doris out on the street for a cliched trite vox pop, that somehow is deemed to have a relevance or even significance - it is on the national news after all - despite the fact she has no actual knowledge at all of football.

And maybe - just maybe - ultimately, football being elevated in the national psyche to THAT degree can rebound. Any defeat is a national tragedy, any failure is amplified way beyond its natural level... "boo, we should not be drawing with the likes of Scotland", "we will never be good enough", "we were robbed", "we never play like an England team", "they MUST have cheated their way to victory", "that sort aren't the right kind of people for a penalty situation"... etc, etc.

And maybe it all helps to contribute to an unfair pressure on a group of young men being asked to face a goalkeeper from 12 yards, not actually face their own or their nation's Waterloo...!