Reverence for Barnsley feeds game's immortal soul

<div id="twocolumnleftcolumninsiderightcolumntop">http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/sport/2008/03/04/reverence_for_barnsley_feeds_g.html <h1>Reverence for Barnsley feeds game's immortal soul</h1> <p class="standfirst">For old times' sake, I'll raise a glass come kick-off at Oakwell on Saturday and drink to Marmsey Fetball Cleb</p> </div><div id="twocolumnleftcolumninsiderightcolumn">

No apologies, here, in wishing for another extraordinary FA Cup upset at the weekend. No disrespect or malevolence towards Chelsea, either, but I suspect I am not alone in hoping they go the way of Liverpool, further victims of the little club doing its utmost to persuade us that the grand old competition still retains a semblance of its traditional romance and magic. So let's hear it for Marmsey Fetball Cleb.</p>

Barnsley to you and the rest of the nation, but a small group of national newspaper sportswriters whose patches included Oakwell in the 60s and 70s came to know and love the place under its assumed name.</p>

Assumed since one of those nights when we joined the after-match hospitality in the boardroom, where chairman Ernest Dennis, a burly fruit and veg man, occupied his usual perch, right elbow on the bar, glass in hand, his voice ever so slightly posher with each scotch. On this occasion, he announced with slightly imperfect diction: &quot;My only reason for ever wanting to be chairman here is to try and safeguard the future of Marmsey Fetball Cleb.&quot;</p>

Just one of countless, priceless instances and memories of a place for which those who visited on a regular basis developed a fondness unmatched at any other club in the country. There was always a warmth, a heart and soul about Barnsley that was created not by personal wealth or lasting success but by the people who played for it, supported it and ran it. Not that we should expect Roman Abramovich and other foreign owners to even begin to understand. Barnsley represent something that simply cannot be bought.</p>

Mind you, money has been important and sometimes made available from the unlikeliest of sources. Especially the night three national newspaper colleagues and I turned up for another &quot;crisis&quot; meeting of directors and spent hours waiting outside the boardroom. One of our number, the man from the Mail, could never resist the lure of a fruit machine. Coin followed coin with scant reward until suddenly Tic Tac Toe triggered the jackpot and a clattering avalanche of cash. It also produced a stampede from the boardroom. The proceeds of the win were handed over and my friend insisted for years that he was the one who kept Barnsley solvent.</p>

There were times when there was no milk for the tea and when the few light bulbs allowed to be lit had to be of the lowest wattage. Then there was the classic &quot;Night of Joe Hayes&quot;, an evening when Vic Buckingham, the manager of Fulham, was driving north to watch their striker George Kerr. Barnsley's manager, the Scot Johnny Steele, planned carefully for the anticipated windfall by taking Hayes aside, instructing him to &quot;give Kerr as much of the ball as you can because we think we can do business with Fulham&quot;. Now Hayes, once of Manchester City, was known as a one-goal-a-season man but Kerr has since told the story: &quot;Joe Hayes scored a hat-trick, I didn't get a bloody kick, Buckingham left at half-time and later signed Allan Clarke from Walsall.&quot;</p>

We never laughed at Barnsley, always with them. On match days the ritual was to first buy a programme and then an Albert Hirst meat pie, and if you heard a cheer from within before you'd negotiated the turnstile the gatemen were trained in reassurance: &quot;Don't worry, them's not cheers for t'teams coming out, they're 'cos t'pies 'ave arrived.&quot; Things are different now, of course, with players from all parts of the world, not the Harrys and Alfs, Normans and Skinners of those days, but you hope that the heart and soul, the spirit of the place remains intact.</p>

Oh, and another thing, Barnsley - as Barnsley St Peter's - were formed in 1887 by the Rev Tiverton Preedy and they still find time to remember him. Prior to their season in the Premier League in 1997-98, for instance, club representatives traced his grave to some overgrown cemetery in London, exposed it, tidied it and laid wreaths of red and white flowers. There is something different, something special about Barnsley, you see. Something that has led some 300 writers - many of them household names - to contribute to the Stop Press item in their match programme, always without a fee.</p>

Should the team dispose of Chelsea on Saturday and reach the semi-finals perhaps the Rev Preedy could expect another visit. For old times' sake, for decent standards and values, for teaching some of us what football was intended to represent, I shall raise a glass come kick-off time at Oakwell and drink to Marmsey Fetball Cleb. Sheers!</p> </div>

 

Nice one

I've won on that bandit before.

 

That is good thank you. nt

 

Excellent

Love it.

Lets hope that spirit still exists.

 

Do think our Fans could lay a wreath

On Rev Preedy's grave on their way to the semi finals at Wembley.

 

top stuff nt

 

Excellent nt

 

great, thanks!

makes a nice change from most of the other stuff on here
at the moment...

 

Cracking piece by John Sadler nt