I Cried, But Not for Argentina in 1978

After the 1974 World Cup I gave up on the hope of ever playing football myself but was keener than ever to watch some live football to supplement what I had learned from books, the television pundits – whose knitwear choices were almost as bad as Kevin Keegan’s flowery shirts – and my weekly Shoot magazine.

My Uncle Derek went to the local league matches in Peterborough and, seeing how lonely I was, asked me if I’d like to go with him. He wasn’t my real uncle and nor was his brother Uncle Don, or their friend Harry, but we were to become an unlikely back four in the stands of London Road, home of Peterborough United. Noel Cantwell had assembled a promotion-winning side with John Cozens and Jim Hall, and later David Gregory, banging in the goals while Chris Turner banged into anyone trying to score at the other end.

I’d seen Leeds United for the first time in an FA Cup tie as they beat Posh 4.1. It was funny to see the players in real life that I had followed so closely on the radio and television – a bit like meeting a pen pal in the flesh for the first time. I’d done that too, staying with a French ‘correspondent’ called Patrick, during which time Leeds beat Barcelona to reach the 1975 European Cup Final, only to lose to the Germans; always the Germans.

Don Revie had left Leeds after the Championship win in 1974 to manage England but the Italians – and just about everyone else – paid Don little respect as England failed to qualify for the 1978 World Cup – the second World Cup in succession. The disappointment of this was compounded by the death of my grandfather who clearly wasn’t destined to watch England in any more World Cup Finals.

Scotland did qualify for a second World Cup in succession and, as in 1974, failed to get through to the latter stages because they didn’t score enough goals. Although my Leeds heroes Peter Lorimer, Billy Bremner and Joe Jordan were no longer the key players, Ally MacLeod was convinced that Scotland were going to be more than brave – they were going to be brilliant! Sadly, being on the road with Ally’s Army was more akin to dodging the piles of rubbish on Jim Callaghan’s streets as he and Ally kept their feet on the accelerators to doom.

I’d just finished my A’Levels as the 1978 tournament started. I’d also just finished with my first girlfriend, Denise. ‘Knowing me Knowing You’ was the best I could do as she had failed to supplant football from being my first love.

I did have a friend now though. Tim had arrived at our school – Arthur Mellows Village College – in the autumn of 1974 and my first three questions to him were: ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Do you drink coffee?’ (I had proudly consumed my first cup that weekend without being sick) and ‘What football team do you support?’ Unfortunately he supported Newcastle United but we became good friends anyway. Incredibly, it transpired that his family had moved into one of the new houses at the foot of our garden, built in the same field where I had spent so many hours with my 1970 Mexico football. I must have dribbled in and out of their bathroom suite many times.

Finally I had someone to watch the matches with and we sat in front of the televisions at his house or mine as the big fights between Austria and Germany, and Brazil and Argentina went the distance. Arie Haan was still scoring long range goals for Holland and Johnny Rep and Rob Rensenbrink made up for the non-appearance of Johan Cruyff, though there wasn’t the magic about the Dutch that he had brought to the 1974 team. Rob Rensenbrink did score the World Cup’s 1000th goal during the tournament and the final against Argentina was memorable in more ways than one.

Argentina had been allowed to delay their matches until the evenings so that they knew in advance what they needed to do to progress. They also delayed their appearance in the Final against Holland (as West Germany had done to England after half-time in that terrible match in Mexico in 1970). A television series preceding the 1978 World Cup tournament had proclaimed that ‘…we’re on our way, to Argentina where they make dreams today…’. Perhaps they should have substituted ‘deals’ for ‘dreams?’

Of course we were still glued to the action before theatrically falling to the ground, clutching our heads. Tim had discovered his father’s bottle of whisky and I found out that it was bit stronger than coffee. The tarmac outside his front door bears a stain that will forever be synonymous with Argentina winning their first World Cup.

See also:

1974: http://sportales.com/soccer/by-the-1974-world-cup-i-had-grown-but-we-had-declined/

1970: http://sportales.com/soccer/the-1970-world-cup-the-end-of-a-golden-age/

1966: http://sportales.com/soccer/i-was-six-in-1966-and-thought-the-world-cup-was-just-for-fun/

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