Sheffield United vs Preston North End

UTB 37
single handedly brought back the media
attention that his quote per comment
persona had in spades, but even the ever
effervescent Harry had grown tired of the
struggle. Investment seemed to dry up,
I suppose there is only so much you can
put in, and there was no doubt that he
wanted to sell us and had actively tried
on several occasions to do just that, but
it wouldn’t be us if it was that easy. The
fighting amongst the fans had also got out
of hand and the atmosphere was poison. A
red card to the board protest was arranged
and I seem to recall that was for a game
against Huddersfield Town which we lost
2-0 in front of about 12,000 hardy souls on
a wet December 9th, and that was the final
straw for Harry who resigned on the 12th.
The feeling of loss was incredible, but
it summed up where we were, and it was
about that time that I took an interest in the
affairs of crisp bags in football, because
there wasn’t frankly a whole lot else
happening. We had done the usual match
day ritual, which generally meant meeting
in the Mulberry Tavern, putting Led
Zeppelin on the video juke box numerous
times to keep my best mate happy, and
having a pint or two on our way to the
game. Believe me, the weather was as
bleak that day as all else associated with
the club at that point.
We had been on the Kop since John
Street’s demise and for a number of years
after the Kop had been made an all-seater,
we perched in the old west paddock,
which I had quite enjoyed. Admittedly,
you didn’t have someone relieving
themselves down the back of your leg
in quite the same way as you tended to
towards the middle of the back section of
the Shoreham, but there was still enough
in the way of primitive sanitation and
potential fire hazards present to keep even
the biggest football purist happy until the
wrecking ball put it to rest once and for all.
▲ Nathan Blake goes close but United are
defeated in Dave Bassett’s last game
There was still no screen on the John
Street side of the Kop then, and as a result
of the weather the rain was being blown
in from that side as early darkness fell,
making it the perfect scene for the misery
happening out on the turf before our
eyes. We both sat in silence with the only
positive being that we had recently finally
got a new owner a few days earlier in the
shape of Manchester businessman Mike
McDonald, so there seemed to be a ray of
shining through on a grim day.
From where we were sat, and without
the cover that the old stand had once
given, the light of the windows of the
Cricketer’s Arms beckoned, and my mate
looked longingly at the pub.
“You can see the Cricketers from here,”
he stated, and to be fair he was stating the
obvious because there really was nothing
else there. Nothing was said for a few long
minutes until, and without ceremony, he
rose from his soggy seat, zipped his coat
up, sagely patted me on the shoulder and
said, “See you in a bit.”
SHEFFIELD UNITED vs PRESTON NORTH END