Gf60 provides the second leg of his League trophy journey;
To this day, I wonder what made me think that I could go the flicks, watch a lunch time screening of “Get Carter” in Muswell Hill and get to the spuds in good time for the game? With some 40 000 locked out, the Gods were looking after me……I strolled in happily with about an hour to go. Only the following day did I realise my luck.
This was a game of more than a little import…if we won or drew 0-0 we would be Champions. A score draw meant that Leeds would take it…on goal average (no goal difference in 1971). No room for stress then.
Though the spuds were in 3rd place, there was no doubt that we wanted it more but would goals come? Pulse rate soaring but as long as it stayed goal-less we were OK. Only 3 minutes to go.
And then Ray Kennedy sored with a fine header from Geordie Armstrong’s cross that gave Pat Jennings (soon to be a gooner) no chance.
But now real fear. The spuds would do anything not to get beaten. One goal and we’d blown our first title since 1953. Ooh, those minutes were painful.
But at last, the final whistle. Like hundreds of other gooners go celebrate on their pitch. On my way I heard someone say “Look at those bastards. Dancing on our grave” I should have thought to say “that’s for fkin up my Christmas 21 years ago” but the chance was lost. What wasn’t lost though was the chance to take home a lump of the ground. Where to put this ultimate souvenir?
Was there any better place to plant it than where the dogs did their business? Haven’t thought of one yet and so it remains.