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Nostalgia Thread

Tranquilo

By Tranquilo
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Midfielder

Midfielder

Posted
Posted

Just takes me back to a different country... full of confidence, lots of jobs, we made things, businesses or corporations where not bigger than countries... Twas 1972 when this ad was made,  ... this was a time so so different to today... this ad IMO shows the skill we had in making ads, music writing and of a more gentle time... 

Enjoy tis a great ad.

 

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JackDoff

JackDoff

Posted
Posted
28 minutes ago, Midfielder said:

Just takes me back to a different country... full of confidence, lots of jobs, we made things, businesses or corporations where not bigger than countries... Twas 1972 when this ad was made,  ... this was a time so so different to today... this ad IMO shows the skill we had in making ads, music writing and of a more gentle time... 

Enjoy tis a great ad.

 

This has the same feeling for me as well as the ad....great times being a kid

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Smoggy

Smoggy

Posted
Posted (edited)

 

Just found this...my under 10's football club, champions! We were good, very very good, happy times...I remember this photo being taken and thinking at the time it was an odd line up...why wouldn't  you do the traditional thing with a proper line to tier line up with a bench to stand on at the back...but anyway...

.....

Edited by Smoggy
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Smoggy

Smoggy

Posted
Posted
36 minutes ago, marron said:

Awesome.

Was a big deal actually...that is the stock photo from the local paper...the reporter came dowm to interview and ask a few questions as we went unbeaten and this was a county wide comp...we didnt play a game the day this was taken i recall...we just got kitted up for the oddly staged photo...

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Edinburgh

Edinburgh

Posted
Posted
7 hours ago, Smoggy said:

Was a big deal actually...that is the stock photo from the local paper...the reporter came dowm to interview and ask a few questions as we went unbeaten and this was a county wide comp...we didnt play a game the day this was taken i recall...we just got kitted up for the oddly staged photo...

Did any of the team go onto bigger and better in football?

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Smoggy

Smoggy

Posted
Posted (edited)

 

 
  • 15:00, 23 MAR 2019
  • UPDATED16CLICK TO PLAY
 
 

Boro fans of a certain vintage still go all misty eyed at the thought of Ayresome Park.

It was tatty around the edges by the end, all rusty corrugated iron, peeling paint and crumbling concrete.

Facilities were spartan, the corners were exposed to the elements and there was no room to expand or cash to upgrade.

It was time to leave. No one would deny that. The box-fresh Cellnet Riverside Stadium brought a whiff of fresh paint and exciting possibility that matched a new sense of ambition.

It was the launch pad for an unprecedented golden age. It has already staged more glory games than the tired old ground ever did.

And yet there is still a sentimental pull. Every picture prompts a sigh and sparks a rush of nostalgia to recharge the emotional batteries.

The old ground is long gone but it still very much part of the Boro cultural furniture. Well, mine anyway. Here’s an unapologetic sentimental wallow in the essence of Ayresome, a checklist of the sights, sounds and smells that spark memories and prompt a little impromptu mental EIO.

Seeing the floodlights

Whichever direction you snaked towards the ground from, there was a magic moment when the lights suddenly loomed above the roofs and your step and heart quickened.

More so at night when the low ghostly glow of the lights teased before you saw them, squeezed and spilled through gaps in the houses

The lights cast strange shadows in and around the ground and illuminated the elements as rain swirled and fog billowed.

Night matches were magic.

Seeing the pitch

No matter how many times you saw it, the whack of the bright green across your retinas took the breath away.

Especially under the lights. Coming over the top of the steps at the back of the Holgate then bang! There it was.

Ayresome’s pitch was legendary. It won awards. Special ICI seeds was the rumour

The smell of the Holgate

Mogga said it was the whiff of Bovril that took him back to the Holgate. He was being diplomatic.

The beef extract was just one part of the heady chemical cocktail in that close packed crowd.

There was also the whiff of Woodbines, beer, farts, fried onions and the caustic waft of ammonia from the primitive toilet - which definitely wasn’t for the faint-hearted.

The swearing!

I don’t remember much about my first match, who Boro played or what the score was but bloody hell! The swearing!

I’d heard adults swear before, snapping at kids or when they whacked their thumb with a hammer but nothing prepared me for the full throated foghorn of creative invective aimed at the players on both sides.

It was incredible. And no one took a blind bit of notice.

The post-goal surge

At a game with a decent crowd in the Holgate you were physically lifted off your feet, pushed and pulled and buffeted by the tide of ecstatic humanity that exploded with a goal.

A tightly packed standing group suddenly spontaneously expanded as they created space for a delirious EIO or leapt to hug their mates or rushed towards the front to hail the goalscorer - usually Bernie - clambering up the fence.

Hot drinks, hats and hotdogs went flying. Specs would go spinning underfoot. It was like a mosh-pit.

You could get sucked five or ten yards away from where you started, thrust into the middle of a group of smiling strangers.

On the night of the ZDS win over Villa Mrs V disappeared squealing into the mob while I suddenly came face-to-face with a lad I hadn’t seen since Sixth Form. We screamed at each other for a split second and then he was gone. I haven’t seen him since.

It was probably ‘dangerous’ but it was brilliant fun. And if you got lost you just wriggled back to your own spot.

Finding ‘your’ spot

There were no seats, no designated number, no markings anywhere on the terraces but everyone had their own spot.

You evolved into it. You earned it through regularity. Your regular neighbours recognised and respected it.

We were about six steps back, level with the six yard box line on the left, backs against a crush barrier.

But get in early or someone else will worm their way in. Then you would have to wait for a surge so you could elbow them out of the way

Finding your stand

There was a definite evolution cycle of Ayresome fandom: from the shiny faced Boys End for junior reds to the active passion of the Holgate to the world weary cynicism of the Chickenrun.

Some diverted into the East End which was handy for taunting the away fans. Some opted for the uncovered corners. Were they mad?

There were posh seats too in the main stand. Those people may even have had season tickets. Some may even have had access to the almost mythical swanky 100 Club where the top brass and players’ guests hung out.

The Chickenrun

I only went in the notorious Chickenrun once, press-ganged by friends. It was toxic. Very funny though.

It was a 90 minute gauntlet of savage put-downs, acidic well rehearsed quips and cynicism rained down on Boro players by Teesside’s feared Stadtler and Waldorf Crew. They absolutely tortured Kerny. And destroyed Martin Russell. I think they finished him. Another victim.

It was horrible. And that was during a good run.

Watching the Holgate EIO

If I was ever watching the game from another part of the ground or watching the highlights and there was a goal I just watched the Holgate explode. It looked brilliant.

A seething mass of emotion, one huge turbulent frothing sea of joy. I miss that.

Bootboy Alley

Ayresome was slap bang in the middle of the town. The alley behind the houses on Ayresome Street was a reminder of everyday life.

It was also a handy cut from the front shop window of the ground down to the Holgate entrance.

Badly lit, full of potholes and adorned with graffiti - ‘Neal Out!’ - it was a busy thoroughfare.

And, as the name suggests, it had a colourful past as the scene of set-piece violence.

 

The Holgate toilets

Don’t go there. No, I mean literally, don’t go there. It was medieval. Barbaric. A wall. That was it.

It was uncovered and exposed to the elements until the final few years.

It forced the desperate and the degenerate to improvise.

 

Taunting the police

Not all the police but one specific beefy bobby who looked like Micky Quinn.

When he strolled past the Holgate it was to the sound of 2,000 wags whistling the Laurel and Hardy theme

Donkey jackets

It seemed that half the crowd had come straight from work. Or nipped out from the back shift on the sly.

Donkey jackets with the ICI or BSC logos were very well represented in the crowd.

Getting a good view for big games

For a crunch clash with something at stake the ‘part-timers’ turned up, the ground was heaving - everybody got a squeeze - and all bets were off. Good luck getting and holding on to your own spot.

I’ve seen people clamber up the floodlights to get a good sight-line. We’ve even had people on the Holgate roof.

Guessing the crowd

Now that is pretty easy with a big season-ticket base and an easily quantifiable away section but at Ayresome the crowd could fluctuate wildly depending on the sexiness of the fixture, the last few results and the weather.

If it was lashing down and the team were currently useless cynics and faint-hearts just stayed in the pub when you got up to go.

It could be 12,000 one week and 25,000 the next. And in Charlie Amer’s day there was always the suspicion that the figure they announced was only on vague nodding terms with reality.

Crushes outside the turnstiles

Post Hillsborough and in a world of fan friendly all-seater stadiums it is almost inconceivable that crushes were part and parcel of a game.

Every ground had its pinch-points: tunnels, gates, tiny clutches of turnstiles unable to cope with thousands of fans at rush-hour.

At the Ayresome Street entrance to the Holgate there was a small unlit area outside the turnstiles hemmed in by the ground on one side and the hospital wall on the other.

That left thousands to stream in from behind and from ‘Bootboy Alley’ and pile up on top of each other and squeeze gradually forward until the reached the kiosk.

If you were really lucky you might get an extra shove into the mass from the rear end of a police horse.

Edited by Smoggy
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Smoggy

Smoggy

Posted
Posted (edited)

Ok, so here was everyone's first pint, schooner or middy in a licenced establishment? Mine would have been aged 16 in the Hydro pub in Redcar, pint of Carling lager and I hated it and couldn't finish it lol

A few attempts before then though. A older brother of a mate told us to try this pub in the centre of Middlesbrough as they usually served without questions. So in we go practicing out deepest voices and trying to look mature lol Walk up to the bar (typical rough arse Boro pub, full of steel worker types or long since retired blokes who never moved from their stool) and order a couple of pints. The barman smiles and pulls us a couple of pints, quick look to my mate and exchange smiles as we think we have score a hit. The barman puts the beers down on the bar mat and takes our money. Just about to pick up the beers and head away when the big bloke behind the bar tells us to now give the pints to the old fellas at the end of the bar and then get the **** out else he will sling us out :rolleyes:

We were not going to argue with this massive bloke and so give the pints away and exit the pub to roars of laughter from the old fellas and the bloke behind the bar, ******* bastards lol We learn't an important lesson that day. And of course my mates older brother knew what would happen lol

That kind of sums up the Boro humor though. It could be brutal like that at times :D

Edited by Smoggy
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marron

marron

Posted
Posted

Yeah about 16 I'd say as well but I can't remember where. Could have been anywhere! There was a place on Botany Road - Glenmore? Just down from the Iron Duke, where it could have been. The Duke itself. Or the Townie. Or the Criterion or Chamberlain or Century in the city. The Bristol on Harris St? The Australian on Abercrombie or the Broadway or the Lansdowne. The Oxford, the Sando. The botany view or the Sydney Park, both good candidates. The workers club in Thirroul, or maybe it was Corrimal, I borrowed a wrist band.

VB almost certainly at that point although I drank a lot of Old.

Two that i remember well with stories though are my mate and I used to go to the Epping on a Friday arvo and try our luck, we usually got in one and a game of pool before getting the boot. I remember that one because the day I turned 18 I went in specifically so I could laugh at the guy but he never came and asked!

Also the Globe on King St, the bouncer knew me by sight. They had gigs there. One week I went early to slip the net. So I'm in downstairs at the bar (the gigs were in a room upstairs) and the bouncer rocks up walking through before his shift starts. Me and my mate hunch right over and then as he goes past us we go upstairs quick smart. There's a bloke at the door where you pay. "Who are you guys?" "We're in the band.". "Oh ok no worries". Then we hid in the toilets for an hour.  :lol:

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Smoggy

Smoggy

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Posted (edited)
27 minutes ago, marron said:

Yeah about 16 I'd say as well but I can't remember where. Could have been anywhere! There was a place on Botany Road - Glenmore? Just down from the Iron Duke, where it could have been. The Duke itself. Or the Townie. Or the Criterion or Chamberlain or Century in the city. The Bristol on Harris St? The Australian on Abercrombie or the Broadway or the Lansdowne. The Oxford, the Sando. The botany view or the Sydney Park, both good candidates. The workers club in Thirroul, or maybe it was Corrimal, I borrowed a wrist band.

VB almost certainly at that point although I drank a lot of Old.

Two that i remember well with stories though are my mate and I used to go to the Epping on a Friday arvo and try our luck, we usually got in one and a game of pool before getting the boot. I remember that one because the day I turned 18 I went in specifically so I could laugh at the guy but he never came and asked!

Also the Globe on King St, the bouncer knew me by sight. They had gigs there. One week I went early to slip the net. So I'm in downstairs at the bar (the gigs were in a room upstairs) and the bouncer rocks up walking through before his shift starts. Me and my mate hunch right over and then as he goes past us we go upstairs quick smart. There's a bloke at the door where you pay. "Who are you guys?" "We're in the band.". "Oh ok no worries". Then we hid in the toilets for an hour.  :lol:

The Hydro where we went to in Redcar as a group knew we were underage, but served you anyway. We used to hang around the back pool table room and mostly the bouncers left you alone, unless the police were sniffing around as they sometimes did. You knew about it then as a big massive baldy headed bouncer would suddenly snatch your pint away mid sip, you took the hint and departed pretty sharp. You would be back the following night and the same bouncer would ignore you again though.

A mate made a big mistake one night though, the bouncers came around and started taking our drinks and we started to depart, but a mate of a friend (wasn't part of our usual group) continued to sip away even with the bouncer moving in. I didn't see what happened as I was already out in the back alley (we went out through a back staff door), but I did see this lad come out with blood spurting out of his nose like a tap and all down his shirt, he nose was knocked well out of line.

You played the game and if you didn't that was the price, lucky he didn't get a pool cue up his arse to be honest.

Edited by Smoggy
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Smoggy

Smoggy

Posted
Posted (edited)
1 hour ago, marron said:

Yeah, the flares. The skinhead style dates it too. :lol:

 

 

At least back then there was distinctive styles that were part of a movement that involved music and other things, violence included of course...it was intetesting....the music and culture..less so the violence. 

What do we have these days...fat arse women walking around in active wear.

Edited by Erimus
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