…you just turned up at Oakwell and watched 11 men in red and white try to win a game? You knew nowt about ownership, finance, transfers, the ‘content’ of training, what the west stand was made of or any of that f@ckwittery. All the things we know about now but can't do anything about. You just turned up cheered the lads on and went home happy or pissed off.
And you had to wait for the Green'un to check the rest of the scores unless you were at home looking on Ceefax.
Or try and look in that telly shop near the bus station. And the woman in there would turn all the telly's off if they saw a crowd looking in.
No buying tickets in advance. You just paid on the day and knew where your mates would be in the ground.
No looking at a phone every 10 seconds to check where your mates were. Because you did the same pubs at the same time and if someone wasn’t there it was their problem.
Good question. Like Boris did about Brexit I wrote 2 essays on the answer - one for and one against. And my final answer is YES. (unlike Boris it won't be NO next week) The Saturday product itself on the pitch has often been far superior to the present day. And far worse. I think abolition of the BBS is somewhat extreme however.
....when huge crowds turned up to FA Cup games, at least half of which were played on complete quagmires, where if the ball could roll more than three metres without getting stuck it was considered a great success.
...when we could walk round to the opposite end at half-time. Saw some lovely goals from the Spion Kop in the 70s.
Anyone remember the game when Mike Lester put the ball up his shirt when he was being tackled on the floor?
Those were the days. When you could actually believe in your two-bob newspaper. Just cheering the lads on - everything in life was okay. Apart from Mam’s bruised eye (she was a careless sort). Telly was great; full of dream makers, artists and heroes - I would have done anything to the meet them. A job for life. Our Queen. Best of British. Real Ale. Rock & Roll. Punk Rock. Real Men. Sheep.
Used to absolutely love it when my Dad first started taking me. Stood either in the Ponty or in between Ponty and West Stand. Sheer excitement and joy at the thought of going. Oh, and a nice Bovril at half time.