August 23rd, 1969. The team read:
Who was on the bench? I can't remember.
The players wore numbers one to eleven. Warming up consisted of a few pot shots at goal. The pre match meal was probably pie and chips washed down with a pint of beer, real beer, not lager of course. For the players I mean. I ate fish and chips washed down by Tizer.
We paid in real money. I had a rosette and a bobble hat, a scarf knitted by my Mum that came down to my ankles and one of those rattles. I bought a West Ham badge on the way in and my Dad bought the programme, A5 size, claret and blue on the cover showing the club badge and the name of the opposition, West Bromwich Albion. Hurst scored.
We lost. 1-3.
So many memories since then, so much love, so much hurt, so much romance. So much water under the bridge.
We move on. I think it is called progress. But my thoughts today are for the Boleyn, for Ron Greewood, for Bobby Moore, for John Lyall, for Trevor Brooking...