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The Game that Got Me Hooked

In another instalment of our irregular feature, Trust member Dale Hurman tells us about the game that made him a Wanderers Nut .

My name is Dale and I am an addict. There I said it. They do say the biggest battle is admitting you have a problem, and I do have an addiction. Although Shakespeare first used that word in the first scene of Henry V, it only become more widely used at the start of the last century and particularly in relation to opium. I suppose when most people think of addiction they think of drugs, or alcohol. But I have an usual addiction, albeit one that is far from unique. I am addicted to football. There are a few things I have a psychological dependancy on. Music certainly. Women, well let's not go there. But football, I just can't get enough.

1985 was the year that it started to work its magic on me. Some consider the year to be the lowest ever in English football, the fire at Bradford, death at Heysel, Jock Stein's passing, a lot of people were falling out of love with the game. English teams were thrown out of Europe and between August and December there wasn't any football shown on TV at all. None, zilch, a total blackout. But despite all the obstacles, I'd fallen for the game. If I wasn't out on the school field pretending to be Bruce Grobbelaar I was in the playground swapping panini strikers, got, got, need, mega need.

As you may have guessed, I followed Liverpool as a kid and watched my local side Burnham with a couple of mates. I saw watched, but I spent most of the time playing on the training pitch at the far end of the ground instead.

My first ever Wycombe game was the local derby with Slough Town at Loakes Park in February 1988 but it failed to leave a lasting impression. My next game was almost two and a half years later, and was again the local derby, this time at Wexham Park. I remember a cracking game, a massive crowd (compared to what I was used to) and a great atmosphere. My interest had been aroused and I was ready for more. I was aware that Wycombe had just moved to a new ground and after checking it out one Sunday afternoon I returned the following Saturday to see a game. It was the fourth qualifying round of the F.A. Cup against Basingstoke Town. I was treated to a footballing feast as the Blues demolished them 6-0. I was like a modern day Oliver Twist with his bowl. I wanted more.

And I got it. The following week was the game that got me hooked, against Kettering Town. I can remember the excitement, a huge crowd was expected, and over 4,000 turned up. Kettering Town were runaway leaders at the top of the Conference, and they were still unbeaten. Mark West scored within three minutes to give us the lead. Ten minutes in, it was 2-0, Dave Carroll curling home a shot from the edge of the area and right into the postage stamp, inches between post and crossbar. It was a goal of sheer poetry, a thing of beauty. Mark West then made it 3-0, and less than half an hour had gone. Andy Hunt, who soon afterwards moved to Newcastle United for £150,000 got a goal back before half-time, but it was nothing more than a consolation for the poppies.

The Blues came out for the second half and it was soon four. Mark West heading home to complete his hat-trick. This really was exhibition stuff. In front of Chuck Moussaddik, the central-defensive pairing of Andy Kerr and Glyn Creaser dealt with the occasional Kettering attack. Martin Blackler and Simon Stapleton controlled the middle of the park whilst Dave Carroll tormented them down the right and Simon Hutchinson tormented them down the left. With Nicky Evans supporting Mark West, they didn't have a chance. On the hour mark, Mark West notched his fourth, and Wycombe led 5-1. This was a team that had hitherto dropped just six points from 15 league games. Debutant goalkeeper Kevin Blackwell (currently manager of Sheffield United) didn't know what had hit him, and one scribe rather kindly wrote that a pile of coats couldn't have done any worse. I left the ground with my head in a spin, much like Kettering's beleagured defence that afternoon. It was a magical match, a golden memory and so powerful it surged through my bloodstream like maximum strength opium. That comes from Poppies too.

I was unwell the following week and was unable to see the Blues beat our enemies Yeovil Town 2-0. Such were the withdrawal symptoms that I hitched a lift in the back of a van for the F.A. Cup First Round replay against Boston United, arriving 40 minutes late. It was almost as if the team had been waiting just for me, as right on half-time Mark West smashed home to give the Blues the lead, going on to win 4-0.

It was almost like a dream, extended highlights on the BBC soon followed, covering the Blues 1-1 draw with Peterborough United and Motty in the snow. Another four-goal haul from Westy, Scotty joined and a F.A. Trophy run, ending in glory at Wembley in front of a record crowd. After all that is it any wonder I'm addicted.

Dale Hurman

posted in special-features | 23.04.2009. 21:59

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