Posh's 1994/95 Season
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You're So... We're So... This is dedicated to Woody (my son Daniel). A dad always dreams of a son who comes to football with him and Woody has done so. That's the way God planned it: That's the way God planned it Toby. Billy Preston 1969 The End and the Beginning Thank you to all those who have stood (and I emphasise the word 'stood') on the Glebe Road side of the Posh ground over the past few years. Next season we will have to sit down and watch Peterborough United if we want to stay on the Glebe Road side. Time has marched on and a stand is to be built on our beloved concrete. No more stamping feet to keep warm. No more wandering about. No more dandelions. It is very self-indulgent, I know, but I I would particularly like to thank Woody, Les, Trevor, Stewart, Colin, Geoff 'the Pieman', Steve, Jack, 'Eastern Gas', David, Derek, Angus, Phil Walden, Vern and the gang for their friendship, jokes and extra strong mints. But, most of all, I would like to recognise all those people that we all nod to, or say 'hello' to - the sort of folk whose names we never get to find out, the people who just go down in folklore as 'the Man Behind Me', 'the Mick Halsall Fan Club' or 'the man with the Dodgy Glasses', people who, if we were to meet on the sea front at Great Yarmouth in high summer, we would greet like long-lost friends. These 36,623 words are a personal diary of a year in the life of supporting a football club, MY football club. This is not intended to be authoritative or comprehensive. There are hundreds of others who have their own point of view or could describe away games and thankless journeys better far better than me. The title refers to a pretty ordinary, or even wretched, season for the Posh. The management might claim that we have had a season of 'transition'. As the cliché goes, 'That's as maybe'. There have been games when the familiar old terrace chant of 'You're so shit it's unbelievable' could easily have been replaced by 'We're so shit it's unbelievable'. Don't you agree? Still, there's always 1995/96. Come On You Blues! Toby Wood July 1995 Saturday 23rd April 1994 St George's Day The connection between Swindon, Dundee and my own beloved Peterborough United is that we were all relegated on the same day, Saturday 23rd April 1994, St George's Day, two full weeks before the end of the 1994/95 Football League season. Posh's cause had appeared hopeless for ages. Despite glimmers of hope including early optimistic home form beating Barnsley 4-1, defeating Oxford away 2-1, and a home draw with Crystal Palace it was clear that our slippery fingers would not be able to hold on to First Division status. Indeed Dominic Iorfa's wonderful winning goal at Oxford had been, for me, the only real highlight of the season; the 30 yard shot had left his foot like a remote controlled speedboat buzzing and winding towards its target on a Sunday morning boating lake. The away game at Charlton this afternoon would undoubtedly be the beginning of the last rites of our two season stay in the First Division. I decided not to go to London to attend the wake. I had enjoyed the home matches standing on the Glebe Road side of Posh's neat and comparatively well-maintained London Road ground. Going to the game on a Saturday with the lads had been part of the weekend ritual of forgetting about work or paying the bills. I settled down in the front room with my little personal radio tinkling Radio 5 into my one good ear whilst fiddling with the remote control of the television. At precisely 3 o'clock I flicked over to BBC2, just in time to see the start of 'Zulu', the intrepid, if slightly dated, tale of how a rump outfit of the British Army had held out against the Zulus at Rorke's Drift in 1879. I remember my father taking me to see the film when it had first been released in the 1960s. Stanley Baker (all hard face and determination), other British repertory regulars and 'introducing Michael Caine' were all there in smart red uniforms facing inevitable defeat. This was just like Posh at 'The Valley', attempting to stave off the ever-increasing probability of relegation. Battles in our own previous campaigns came to mind; Terry Bly scoring 52 goals in the 1960/61 season, our first in the Football League; beating Arsenal 2-1 in the F.A. Cup in 1965 and, more recently, the defeat of Souness' Liverpool 1-0 in the League Cup in December 1991, Garry Kimble scoring the winner in the nineteenth minute. Indeed, thanks to this one game, Peterborough United have a 100% record against Liverpool and not many teams can claim that! By half time I heard on my radio that Posh were 4-0 down and all hopes of surviving were evaporating rapidly. Outside an unseasonal hailstorm strafed the garden. I recalled the most famous day in the club's history, the 2-1 defeat of Stockport in the Third Division play-off final at Wembley on 24th May 1992. What a daft system the play-offs are but who cared on the day when Ken Charlery scored the 89th minute winner that sent us all into the new First Division. Going straight from the Third to the First Division in one go AND having finished sixth in the Third Division at that. Pretty impressive, huh! My gaze wandered back towards the television set - the thin red line was still warding off the unwelcome approaches of the 'fahsands' of Zulus. Gosh, Michael Caine was still going great guns. 4.30 p.m. and he and his mates were still hanging on. Indeed they were a damn sight more successful than the thin blue line down at Charlton. The teleprinter soon tapped out its messages, Scottish and non-league games, closely followed by the all-important final result: CHARLTON 5 PETERBOROUGH 1. That was it - the final nail in the already constructed coffin. Having conceded 17 goals in the last four games we didn't deserve to stay up. Who would have thought that our defence, so resolute for much of the season, could have disintegrated so badly? I didn't need to watch the teleprinter or James Alexander Gordon further. At 4.55 p.m. I turned over to watch the end of the film. They were still at it. The uniforms were now tattered and blood-stained but the lads were still fighting. The Zulu warriors, having won decisively, turned and walked slowly back over the hill, occasionally looking back to survey the damage. The credits started to roll and the names of 11 Victoria Cross winners were displayed on the screen. Darren Bradshaw, Ken Charlery, Tony Adcock and the rest were not amongst them. The hordes of First Division players had given us a good mauling throughout the season and were now leaving us for dead. Relegation was our reward. Posh had not scraped together enough points and had conceded far too many goals - 'fahsands of 'em'. Feeling Demented at the end of April 1994 Standing on the Glebe Road after the Bolton game; Another home defeat has passed before my eyes again; The realisation's hit me - we're going down, down, down. All right, in the last two home games we've scored five Trying to keep our First Division hopes alive; Trouble is - the other teams have scored seven. It was fun while it lasted, it would have been fun to remain For at least another season playing good teams again; Now it's not my groin that's strained - it's my heart. So now the Second Division is behind the relegation door; At least we've never been there before; Let's hope we escape back up before the year 2000. Next season's games could well be boring and dull Playing the likes of Rotherham, Wrexham and Hull And what's worse we'll be meeting Cambridge as well. Playing Cambridge once is like a living hell; Worse than being with Ian Paisley in a death row cell And we've got to play them twice - home and away. There's nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide And I'm seriously contemplating relegation suicide 'But wait', a voice says, 'don't do it - there's always hope.' 'Next season we could be invincible and bounce straight back With Dominic Iorfa scoring eighty goals in attack!' Father Christmas does exist and pigs might fly. We could be brilliant, we could go far; Who needs players like Giggs and Cantona? We do, and Beckenbauer, Charlton and George Best. But I know that I'll keep going despite the anguish and pain; Being born a Catholic I know it's all part of the game And, besides that, I would have nothing to write about. Saturday 30th April 1994 Posh 2 Nottingham Forest 3 From very early in the day it was obvious that our last home Saturday of the 1993/94 season was going to be memorable. We were already assured of relegation from the First Division at the end of our second season. The 5-1 thumping by Charlton on the previous Saturday merely ensured what most of us had know for a few weeks - we were just not good enough to stay up.