I’d a free invite into corporate ‘hostility’ at Wigan Football Club for their game against Watford this past Saturday and duly dropped by at the JJB stadium. Our party of four males was aged between 7 and 77. The former of which I was charged with entertaining for a good part of the afternoon! Remember what it was like when you were that age? Football games were such a mystery – they still are to some of us!
The hospitality package included a three-course dinner in one of the lounges at the stadium. Sure there was a choice of but one meal but I had a very good scran all the same thank you. A small army of young ladies kept the drinks coming over too.
Two former top-flight referees (whom I didn’t catch the names of) MC’d the proceedings in a jolly Northern way with plenty of crap gags and the odd sweary word thrown in. Part of the presentation were the various quizzes and competitions before and after the game. One couple were asked to stand up by the man with the mic as they had chosen to travel up from Watford for the game on their honeymoon. “It was either Wigan or The Maldives” quoth the blushing bride to the assembly only half-jokingly I considered.
This story about the late footballer and gay icon came to my attention recently.
Justin Fashanu’s life is a pretty sad story. The article above makes uncomfortable reading.
He and brother John were brought up in a Barnardo’s home I understand and it’s interesting to see the way their respective lives developed in different ways considering their challenging start in life.
I recall when Brian Clough splashed out £1m on Justin to buy him from Norwich City for Nottingham Forest. His reputation had largely been established by one long-distance wonder goal and whilst many big clubs were in for him Clough and Taylor performed a typical ‘smash and grab’ raid for the big striker.
Things didn’t work out at all for Fashanu at The City Ground. His performances were mediocre at best and not punctuated by regular goal scoring. Whatever Fashanu was up to in his private life, and he was said to be visiting a gay club or two around Nottingham, he merely succeeded in antagonising Clough, not least by his lacklustre performances on the pitch. Finally one morning Clough banished Fashanu from the Forest training ground. My understanding is that Fashanu refused to leave and at this point Clough called the police to intervene and escort the player away.
Shortly afterwards neighbouring Notts County signed Fashanu for a cut-price £100,000. His displays for Notts were marked by the same ineffectiveness as displayed on the other side of the Trent however. His time at Forest and Notts signalled his long descent into mediocrity, a career that never really started. I often wonder how his life and career would have shaped up if that one wonder goal had slipped the wrong side of the post. A sliding doors moment.
You really have to hear this.
Last night, my mate Mike was telling me about this minor car accident he had been involved in recently. Nothing particularly unusual about it, just a standard rear-end shunt when a guy hit him up the rear end of his little Audi.
Nobody hurt, they retired to a quiet road opposite to exchange details. Here’s the good bit. the other driver handed his business card to Mike. His name was…
Mike was very proud that he had at last met a guy named ‘Miles Ponsonby’.
If anyone can offer a suitable headline for this incident I shall forward it. I can think of a couple straight off but I won’t spoil the fun!