The FA Cup. It was great in the late 70's/early '80's. When terrestrial telly meant three channels and drawing the curtains to watch, thus resolving that biggest of home entertainment issues of the time - the sun making half the screen unwatchable.
May seemed a more temperate month back then. Forget 'Dracula' lollies from the ice cream van and melting tar on the roads; ignore men with mullets and Farahs and women in headscarves and dungarees, doing their best to be Felicity Kendall from The Good Life. May down our street meant the end of the footy season and the promise of school holidays on the horizon. It meant dancing round may poles dressed in Russian peasant-like costumes, and the first feel of summer, slightly cooler but good for long rides on our Chopper bikes. None of us looked even vaguely coiffeured. It wasn't a thing. Male kids had hair that resembled that 'just got out of bed' look to a tee. We'd never seen a mobile phone. My solitary experience of using a computer was at school when they got given a load of BBC and Acorn products. No designer labels, unless you counted C&A or M&S. Mind, not M&S. That was posh. Their stuff even had 'St Michael' on it.
The FA Cup Final was a big thing on the telly. Grandstand used to start as soon as The Multi-Coloured Swapshop ended, and the build-up included special performances of 'It's a Knockout' for the two teams and other random bits to build the excitement. We'd usually watch the lot. My mum went shopping on Friday nights so we were stuffed full of Corona pop and Banjoes and those crisps that looked like little pigs and lunch was always a haslet and pickle sarnie on Mother's Pride. My dad would drift in about two-ish from the garden where he'd been attempting to do something that looked good but needed a LOT of effort. We watched the first Cup Final I remember like this. It was Spurs v QPR in 1982. It was bloody dull. Highlights of future cup finals would be Coventry v Spurs in 1987 and Man Utd v Brighton in 84.
Then the years went past like a blur and here I now sit, wreathed in memories of the early 80's and wishing they'd invent time travel just so I could go back and watch a decent Ipswich performance and hear my dad say "Blimey they were good" again. He's still alive, my dad, but the years are getting more advanced and he's gone off football a bit; thinks it's all money and cheating and that there's too much of it on the telly when he'd rather be watching Inspector Morse repeats or strange true crime things on Netflix. I tried to get him to sit with me and watch the Town away at Lincoln on I Follow over New Year, and he sat politely for five minutes and then apologised and, with resolution, went off and found something else to do, a sudoku he'd overlooked or a bit of cleaning he could do with their new Shark Hoover.
And the FA Cup has made me lose my former youthful enthusiasm. Partly because Town have never been great in it since '78, which I don't remember all that well, being four, but mostly because gone are the Motson commentaries and excitement and actual top-flight sides playing their best for it. Like the League Cup, it's become formulaic and lost magic as a result. The Champions League is the one they all turn up for now. And that's a sanitary pad compared to the magic of the Cup.
So I didn't go yesterday. It's unlikely I'll go to the Burnley game. I'm more excited by Plymouth and Sheffield Wednesday in the league.
Tel felt the same when I broached this argument in the pub last night. "Gawd yeah, bleedin' FA cup weekends are like England friendlies, aint they? Yer knar 'oos won before they start. S'like wotchin' the Premier League reserves innit? Bleedin' waster time. Should jus' make the fourf Champions League spot up for grabs for 'oo wins it".
Tel is back from Braintree. We had a curry on Thursday as I had Friday off. He's as formulaic as the Cup. He had tandoori lamb chops and chicken vindaloo and bombay spuds and a keema naan. He drank lager like it was lemonade, which to be fair it well could be; our local Indian has, we reckon, watered down the draft Kingfisher it serves as it tastes weaker. We've switched to Cobra from bottles. Even that's a bit weak.
Mrs Tel didn't join us because she is now officially joining Sandy on Fridays for Zumba classes in Kelvedon. Tel complained that Tony and Sandy still had their Xmas decorations up when he dropped her at their place on Friday morning. "Lazy sods" he muttered. Still, as he never even put any up at the bungalow, he kept it low-key.
it's been a funny Christmas. Tel didn't enjoy it much. It gives you hope that they won't move this year. He doesn't think much of Braintree. They've taken the bungalow off the market anyway for now. They're thinking of having a Gazebo added for a hot tub in a patch of their garden they don't use. Tel showed me the brochures for the tubs. They looked like those things you crush grapes in to make wine.
4-1 is a great result against (admittedly) crap Championship opposition. The fact Wednesday did Newcastle 2-1 was a shock and made me feel uneasy about the league. Could we have surrendered second place a bit too easily? Still, we've got them and Plymouth at PR in the next few weeks so we should hopefully make the ground up. The new signings look like being done so there is hope of us improving, at least more than a useless draw away at a 10-man Lincoln.
Tel's coming to Plymouth and Wednesday. I bought him a ticket for next Saturday and he smiled and said 'Ta mate. Issa biggun that!". Not sure what he was referring to when he said it. The envelope was normal-sized. If he meant the game, well, yes, it's season defining. We've booked Trongs for after. Last time we did that, we won. You look for these little metaphors in everything, don't you?
But the Cup? Nah. Enjoy Burnley you crazy Townheads!
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